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 THE 
 
 DRAMATIC WORKS 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
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1 
 
 I 
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I 
 
I 
 
 THE 
 
 DRAMATIC WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 SHAKSPE ARE, 
 
 FROM THE TEXT OP JOHNSON, STEEVENS AND REED. 
 
 TTTTH 
 
 SUMMARY REMARKS OX EACH PLAY, COPIOUS GLOSSARY, AND YARIORUM N(TE& 
 ^mMUu1)tH tottj) a 33ottrait of SJafespcare mts mang Kllustratfonu. 
 
 Tke bouae in which Shakspeara waa bora* 
 
 NEW YOKK: 
 LEAYITT & AJuLBl^ BROS., 
 
 ijTo. 8 HOWARD STREET. 
 
?■ 7 S'3 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOlll 
 
 OF 
 
 W. SHARSPEARE. 
 
 After all the laborious research which has been 
 espeuded on the subject of Shakspeare's biography, 
 few particulars are known on those points which 
 would be most gratifying to the curiosity of his 
 ^ rational admirers. We may trace his ancestors to the 
 ^ doomaday book, and his posterity till they dwindle 
 [\j into tongueless obscurity ; but of his own habits and 
 cc domestic character we know comparatively nothing, 
 % Dnring his eaily days, his path in life was so hum- 
 ble, that all o(ir inqniiies necessarily terminate in 
 disappointment; and of the more busy period of 
 his existence, when he wrote for the stage, and was 
 _^ the public favourite, his remarkable humility of 
 ^ mind and manners induced him to avoid the eye of 
 notoriety ; and, unfortunately, there was no Bosvvel! 
 ^ or Medwin to make memoranda of his conversations, 
 :3 or transmit to our times a fac-simile of the great 
 dramatist in the familiar moments of relaxation and 
 ^ friendly intercourse. Such hiatuses in tlie life of 
 ^ Shakspeare cannot novi' be supplied ; more than 
 j« two hundred years have elapsed since his mortal 
 5 reniains were left to moulder beneath a tomb, over 
 ^ which Time has shaken the dust of his wings too 
 .j^ often to allow of our recovering details, local and 
 X, fugitive, however interesting. Rowe was the first, 
 ^ whose researches elicited anythinpr like a satisfac- 
 ^ tory memoir of our great bard. Poets and critics 
 2> have laboriously re-trodden his steps ; the genius of 
 Pope and the acumen of Johnson have been em- 
 ployed on the same subject, but the sun of their 
 ^ adoration had gone down before their intellectual 
 telescopes were levelled to discover its perfections. 
 Malone has done the most, and appears indeed to 
 liave exhausted the subject: but, Irom inadvertency 
 or carelessness, he has overlooked many particulars 
 which deserve preservation. Having turned o\ er a 
 variety oi" books, and consulted every accessible 
 ftathority, we shall attempt to condense, under one 
 bead, such recollections of Shakspeare, as are at 
 present scattered over many volumes, as well as the 
 more obvious and I'ainiliar portions of his history. 
 
 Jt appeals a family, designated indifferently 
 Shaxper, Shakespeare, Shakspere, and Shak- 
 speare, were well known in Warwickshire during 
 the sixteenth century. Rowe says : " It seems by 
 the rei^ister and other public writings of Stratford, 
 that the poet's family were of good figure and fashion 
 there, and are mentioned as gentlemen." Tiiis 
 Bccouri tuiiis out to be veiy incorrect; for on 
 wfcrence to the authorities cited, we fiud that tlje 
 
 Shakspeares, though their property was respect- 
 able, never rose above the rank of tradesmen or 
 husbandmen. Nothing is known of the immediate 
 ancestors of John Shakspeare, the poet's father, 
 who was originally a glover, afterwards a butcher, 
 and, in the last place, a wool-stapler, in the town of 
 Stratford. Being very industrious, his wealth gave 
 him importance among his neighbours, and having 
 served various offices in the borough with credit, 
 he ultimately obtained its supreme municipal ho- 
 nours , being elected high-bailiff, at Michaelmas 
 1568. His townsfolk no doubt considered this the 
 summit of earthly felicity; but however reverend 
 the corporation of Stratford in its own estinjation, 
 we cannot but smile at these erudite sages, out of 
 nineteen of whom, as we find from their signatures, 
 attached to a public document, 1564, only seven 
 were able to write their names. While chief n>a- 
 gistrate of the borough, and on his marriage with 
 Alary Arden, he obtained a grant of arms from the * 
 Herald's College, and was allowed to impale hia 
 own achievement with that of the ancient family of 
 the Ardens. 
 
 In the deed respecting John Shakspeare, his pro 
 perty is declared to be worth five hundred pounds, 
 a sum by no means inconsiderable in thos'' days; 
 and, on the whole, we have sufficient evidence of 
 his worldly prosperity. From some unexplained 
 causes, however, his affairs began tv. alter for the 
 worse about 1574, and after employing such expe- 
 dients to relieve his growing necessities as in the 
 end served only to aggravate them, he at length 
 fell into such extreme poverty, that he was obliged 
 to give security for a debt of five pounds; and a 
 distress issuing for the seizure of his goods, it waa 
 returned : " Joh'es Shakspere nihil habet unde distr 
 potest levari." (John Shakspere has no effects oa 
 which a distraint can be levied.) During the last 
 ten years of his life we have no particidar account 
 of his circumstances ; but, as in 159/ he describes 
 himself as "of very small wealth and very few 
 friends," we may justly suppose that he remained 
 in great indigence. He seems, indeed, to have fallen 
 into decay with his native town, the trade of which 
 was almost ruined ; as we may learn from the sup 
 plication of the burgesses, in 1590. The town ha*» 
 then " fallen into much decay, for want ol such trade 
 as heretofore they had by clothing, and making of 
 yarn, employing and mainlining a number of poor 
 people by the same, which now live ia great peniuf 
 
 Si 
 
LIFE OF SIIAKSPEARB. 
 
 end misery, by reason they are not set at work as 
 before they have been." 
 
 John Shakspeare died in 1601. His family con- 
 •isted of eiyht children, Jane, Margaret, William, 
 Gilbert, Lone, Anne, Richard, and Edmund. 
 Lorie and Margaret died when but a few months 
 ohl. Of Gilbert nothing is known but the register 
 of his baptism. Jane married one Hart, a hatter 
 of Strat/ord. and died in 1646, leaving three sons. 
 She is mentioned with much kindness in her il- 
 liisttions brother's will; and the descendants of 
 her chiidreo were to be found in Stratford within 
 these ievv years. In 1794, a house of Shakspeare's, 
 in Henley -street, belonged to Thomas Hart, a 
 butcher, and the sixth in descent from Jane. Anne 
 Shakspeare died an infant ; Richard, according to 
 tlie parish register, was buried in 1612. Edmund 
 Shakspeare, actuated probably by his brother's re- 
 putation at the theatre, became an actor; he per- 
 Jbrmed at the Globe, lived in St. Saviour's, South- 
 wark, and was interred in the churchyard of that 
 parish, on the 31st of December, 1607. 
 
 William Shakspeare was born April 23d, 1554, 
 at Stratford-upon-Avon. The house, in which the 
 poet first saw the light, was bought in 1597, from a 
 family of the name of Underhill. It had been called 
 the great house, not because it is really large, but 
 on account of its having been at that time the best 
 in the town. In its present dilapidated state, the 
 ablest artists have exerted their skill, to preserve 
 the outline of so remarkable a building for the 
 gratification of posterity, and the most minute par- 
 ticulars concerning it have been collected with the 
 ntinost avidity. 
 
 The chamber, in which our unrivalled dramatist 
 is said to hiive draun his first breath, is pencilled 
 over with the nunes of innumerable visitors in 
 every grade of life. Royalty has been proud to 
 pay tins simple tribute to exalted intellect ; and 
 genius has p;i(ised in its triumphs, to inscribe these 
 hallowed wails with the brief sentences which re- 
 cord its love and veneration for the wonderful 
 man, who orsce lecognised this lowly tenement as 
 his home. Tne I'ollowinj; lines are ascribed to Lu 
 cien iiiionaparte, who, duriijg his stay in England, 
 made an excursion into Warwickshire, expressly 
 to gratify his curiosity respecting our all praised 
 - — ,v Shakspeare : 
 
 " The eye of Genius glistens to admire 
 How memory kails tlie sound of Shakspeare's lyre. 
 One tear I'll shed to form a crystal shrine 
 Of all that s grand, immortal, and divine. 
 Let princes o'er tiieir subject kingdoms rule, 
 'Tis Sliaksoeare's province to couunand the soul! 
 To add one leaf, oh, Shakspeare ! to thy bays, 
 How vain the etfort, and how mean my lays ! 
 Immortal Shakspeare ! o'er thy hallovv'd page. 
 Age becomes taught, and youth is e'en made sage.* 
 
 This house, so venerable on account of its former 
 inmate, is now divided, one part being a butcher's 
 shop, and the other a public-house. 
 
 Of Shakspeare's infancy we know nothing, ex 
 cept that he narrowly escaped falling a victim to 
 the plague, which at that time almost depopulated 
 his native town. We next find him at the free 
 gramma -school of Stratford, where we may sup- 
 
 f)ose he . cquired the small Latin and less Greek," 
 or which lien Jonson gives him credit. But even 
 this imperfect species of education was soon inter- 
 rupted, the poverty of his father presenting an 
 insurmountable obstacle to his further progress. 
 There can be little doubt, however, that his quick 
 and apprehensive mind would profit materially even 
 by this limited supply of instruction. In after life, 
 he seeiTjs to have been acquainted with Italian and 
 French, but these languages he probably acquired 
 through his own unassisted industry. He now for a 
 considerable period remaintdat home, and attended 
 to his father's occupation, that of i butcher; and 
 Aubrcv, an author in whoru we should not put iB»» 
 
 plicit confidence, relates that young Shakspear» 
 killed a calf" in high style," and graced the slaughter 
 with an oration. The same writer informs hs, that 
 growing disgusted with this employment, he com- 
 menced schoolmaster, but this, from his juvenility at 
 the time mentioned, is highly improbable. 
 
 Shakspeare's eighteenth year was scarcely past, 
 when, relinquishing his school, or his office, (for 
 Malone makes him an attorney's clerk), he ven- 
 tured to contract that important engagement, oa 
 which the happiness or misery of life generally 
 turns. He selected for his wife Anne Hathaway, 
 the daughter of a reputable yeoman in fke vicinity 
 of Stratford. At her marriage, she waa f ight years 
 older than her husband, and Shakspeare's domestic 
 felicity does not appear to have been advanced by 
 the connexion. In the year following, 1583, his 
 daughter Susanna was born ; and in eighteen months 
 afterwards, his wife bore him twins, a boy and a 
 girl, baptized by the names of Hamnet and Judith. 
 This was the whole of the poet's family ; from which 
 we are perhaps justified in concluding, as there are 
 other circumstances to ntrengthen the opinion, that 
 his connubial lot was not enviable ; indeed, hi« 
 wife's years were so ill-assorted to his own, that 
 little congeniality of sentiment was to be expected. 
 Hamnet, Shakspeare's only son, died at the early 
 age oi" twelve years, an event long and deeply re- 
 gretted : the daughters, Susanna and Judith, were 
 married, and had children. Shakspeare's last lineal 
 descendant was Lady Barnard, buried, in 1670, at 
 Abingdon in Berkshire. Some branches of the fa- 
 mily still exist, and are resident at Tewkesbury and 
 Stratford ; they are in great indigence, and it reflects 
 disgrace on the age, that a proposal for their benefit, 
 recently made, received hardly any atteotioa. 
 Surely, when our nobility patronise the refuse of 
 society, in the shape of pedestrians and pugilists, 
 their generosity might be exercised in succouring 
 those who claim kindred with him, who was the 
 glory of his country and of human nature. 
 
 The marriage of our bard proved his want of 
 worldly prudence ; nor was the next important 
 event of his life of a discreeter nature, yet it led 
 to his London journey, and consequently was the 
 first step towards his future distinction. " Siiak- 
 speare (we quote from Dr. Drake) was now, to all 
 appearance, settled in the country ; he was carrying 
 on his own and his father s business ; he was 
 married, and had a family around him : a situatiou 
 in which tiie comforts of domestic privacy migiit be 
 predicted within his reach, but which augured little 
 of that splendid destiny, that universal iame, and 
 unparalleled celebrity, which awaited his future 
 career." Mere trifles frequently change the whole 
 course of existence, and so it happened in the pre- 
 sent instance. Shakspeare's companions were loose 
 and dissolute, idle, and immoderately fond of plea- 
 sure, and some of them were in the I'requent practice 
 ui' deer-stealing. The embryo dramatist was of ten 
 induced to join them in their predatory exploits, 
 particularly in their intrusions on the property of 
 sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, in the neighbour- 
 hood of Stratford. Detection followed ; and Shak- 
 speare, imagining himself treated with undue seve- 
 rity, affixed in revenge a scurrilous bal'nd to the 
 gate of Charlecote Park. The whole o5 ..lis offen- 
 sive production has been receritly dis3C J.t:red ; vre 
 copy it as a curiosity, though it certainly does do 
 credit to the head or heart of the author. 
 
 Complete Copy of the Verses on Sir Thamas Lucy 
 
 A parliament member, a justice of peace, 
 At home a poor scarecrow, in London an asse : 
 If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 Synge lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 He thinks hymself greate, yet an asse in hys st&ts, 
 "We allowe bye his eares but with asses to liUUJ : 
 If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 Synge lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 1 
 
LIFE Oh RH. 
 
 [AKSPEARE. 
 
 He's ft haughty, proud, insolent knighte of the shire, 
 At home nobodye love«, yet there's many him feare : 
 If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 Syn?:e lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 To the sessions he went, and did sorely complain 
 
 His parke hid l»een robb'd, and his deer they were slaine : 
 
 This Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 
 Synge lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 He !A\d 'twas a ryot, his men had been beat, 
 His venson was stole, and clandestinely eat : 
 Soe Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 Synge lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 So haughty was he when the fact was confess'd, 
 He sayd 'twas a crime that could not be redress'd : 
 Soe Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 Synge lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 Though lucies a dozen he paints in his coat. 
 His name it shall Lowsie for Lucy be wrote : 
 For Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 Synge lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 If a juvenile frolick he cannot forgive, 
 We'll synge lowsie Lucy as long as we live : 
 And Lucy the lowsie a libel may call it. 
 We'll synge lowsie Lucy whatever befSall it. 
 
 Sir Thomas, enraged at this aggravation of injury 
 by insult, increased in harshness to the juvenile 
 offender, who soon felt compelled to quit the home 
 of his infancy, and the residence of his family. The 
 time of his aeparture is doubtful ; it was probably 
 about This whole story, however, has lately 
 
 fallen into disrepute, and his removal to London 
 has been ascribed to natural inclination, or domes- 
 tic infelicity ; perhaps estrangement from his wife. 
 This supposition is in a degree confirmed, by the 
 negligent way in which she is noticed in his will ; 
 and the circumstance of his not living with her 
 after 1584. It is singular too, that an entry ap- 
 pears in the Stratford register, which records the 
 burial of a child named " Thonias Green, alias 
 Shakspeare.'''' The conclusion which may be drawn 
 from this circumstance is evident. For the sake 
 of the poet's memory, we trust that the deer-steal- 
 ing story is fabulous ; but it is certainly confirmed 
 by several particulars in the Second Part of Henry 
 IV. and, indeed, by the whole character of Justice 
 Shallow. 
 
 The inhabitants of Shakspeare's native town 
 were passionately fond of dramatic entertainments. 
 Travelling companies of players appear to have 
 visited Stratford on more than twenty occasions, 
 between 1559, (when the poet was under six years 
 of age,) and 1587. Bnrbage and Green, two cele- 
 brated actors, were his townsmen, and eve.-i from 
 childhood his attention must have beeu attracted to 
 the stage, by the powerful influence of novelty, and, 
 in all probability, by his personal acqiiaintance with 
 some of the comedians. When, therefore, his views 
 in life were unavoidably altered, it was natural that 
 the theatre should present itself to his mind as his 
 best asylum ; and directing his fugitive steps to the 
 metropolis, he became a player, and, in the end, a 
 writer for the stage. The tale of Shakspeare's at- 
 tending at the Globe, on his fi»st arrival in London, 
 to take the charge of gentlemen's horses, during 
 the performance, is much doubted at present ; but 
 it seems likely that the hrst office he held in the 
 theatre, was that of or prompter's attend- 
 
 ant. He did not long continue in that capacity, being 
 soon admitted to perform minor parts in the popular 
 plays of that period. 
 
 Shakspeare followed the profession of an actor 
 upwards of seventeen years, and till within about 
 thirteen years of his death ; but we have good 
 reason to suppose that six shillings and eight-pence 
 a week was the highest reward of his dramatic 
 efforts. Of his merit as a player, we have no 
 positive data on which to found an estimate, and 
 acct)rdingly there is great dilFerence of opinion 
 among his critics. Tragedians and dramatists were 
 
 not then so jealously watched as at present; dinma! 
 reviewers were unknown, and an actor's fauifc 
 depended entirely on the caprice of judges, who 
 were too frequently very incompetent to form a cor- 
 rect decision. From some satirical passages in tlie 
 writings of his contemporaries, we may fairly sup- 
 pose that he was not a favourite (jerformer with the 
 public. His instructions to the players in Hamlet, 
 however, bespeak such mastery in their art, and are 
 in themselves so excellent, that we are sttongly 
 inclined to believe, that his unpopidarity must be 
 attributed more to the bad taste of his auditors, than 
 from the deficiency of his own powers. Acting, 
 considered as a science, was then in its infancy ; lie 
 that " strutted and bellowed " most, would be 
 esteemed the best actor. Shakspeare's adherence 
 to nature would be misunderstood, and his gentle- 
 ness would be censured as tameness. 
 
 The only characters, which we know with cer- 
 tainty to ha\ e been personated by Shakspeare, are 
 the Ghost in Hamlet, and Adam in As You Like \t 
 his name appears in the list of players attached to 
 Ben Jonson's Sejanus, and Every Man in his Hu- 
 mour ; but it is sufficiently evident, that he never 
 sustained any very important part ; and, but fur his 
 genius as a poet, which neitiier indigence nor ob- 
 scurity could repress, that name, which we now re- 
 peat with reverence and love, would have been 
 in the darkness of oblivion. That Shakspeare was 
 not more successful on the stage, might arise from 
 the injustice and false taste of his audience ; but 
 this is hardly to be lamented, since, had lie bf^en 
 eminent as an actor, he would probably ha\e 
 neglected composition. ''It may indeed be con- 
 sidered (says Dr. Drake) as a most fortunate cir- 
 cumstance for the lovers of dramatic poetry, thai 
 our author, in point of execution, did not attain to 
 the loftiest summit of his profession. He would in 
 that case, it is very probable, have either sat down 
 content with the high reputation accruing to hina 
 from this source, or would have found little time 
 for the labours of com osition ; and, consequently, 
 we should have been in a great degree, if not 
 altogether, deprived of what now constitutes the 
 noblest efforts of human genius." 
 
 Despised as an actor, Shakspeare aspired to 
 distinction as an author; and notwithstanding his 
 mighty capacity, he was for a long time content 
 with altering and revising the productions of others. 
 Of the dramas produced previous to IGOO, there 
 were some which abounded with felicitous ideaa 
 and effective situations; but the writers had used 
 their materials with little skill, and the touch of a 
 master was required to reduce them to order and 
 consistency. Tlie noblest geniuses of the age did 
 not refuse such employment. Decker, Ruwiry, 
 Heywood, and Jonson, were often occupied in con 
 ferring value on such productions: and to tliis un- 
 thankful labour, the early eftbrts of our bard were 
 modestly confined. 
 
 Dramatists were, generally speaking, abjectly 
 poor ; they were enthralled by managers, either for 
 past favours, existing debts, or the well-founded 
 apprehension of needing their assistance. What can 
 be more affecting, than to find the illustrious Ben 
 Jonson supplicating from Henslowe the advance of 
 a sum so paltry as '•'■five shillings." Tlie calling 
 Shakspeare embraced was, in a majority of instances, 
 anything rather than profitable : his mighty mind 
 could scarcely have selected any sphere ol' action 
 more barren of reward : but the camp, the senate, 
 and the bar, were then almost exclusively filled 
 by the young scions of nobility; and ])referring to f)e 
 first among his brother authors, however humble 
 their prospects, he poured out all the wealth of bia 
 intellect on the stage, and laid the fouridation of a 
 renown, which is perpetually increasing, and is 
 never likely to he equalled. 
 
 No portion of Shakspeare's history is more rb- 
 soure than the peviod at which he first ventured ta 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 rely on the resources of his own mind, and produce 
 AH original drama on the stage which he had so 
 often trod unnoticed. Every attempt to select from 
 the long list of his wonderful productions the one 
 which had paved the way for his future eminence, 
 ois maiden effort in the arena of his coming glories, 
 has ended in uncertainty and disappointment. The 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, and the Comedy of 
 Errors, have been pitched upon, but almost any of 
 his other plays might have been chosen with an 
 equal approximation to truth. Our bard, however, 
 was well known as a dramatic writer in 1592, and 
 there is reason to suppose that all his compositions 
 for the sta^e were written between 1590 and 1613, 
 a period of about twenty-three years. And when 
 't is considered that we possess thirty of his plays, 
 which are indisputably genuine, besides several, the 
 authenticity of which is doubtful, the marvellous 
 power and range of his intellect will be sufficiently 
 evident. According to tlie chronological order in 
 which the critics have placed his dramas, his genius 
 appears in fall vigour from its first flight to the 
 moment when its eagle pinions becan»e quiescent for 
 ever. A Midsummer Night s Dream is the second 
 inscription on the luminous column of his renown. 
 Othello, The Tempest, and Twejfth Night, are 
 engraven in characters of light on its base. Other 
 minds have had their infancy, their maturity, and 
 their decline. In other intellects, even the most 
 lesplendent, we observe the unfoldings of genius, as 
 of the gradual unfolding of the morning's light, its 
 maturity as of the full blaze of noon, and its decline 
 and decay as the twilight of evening and the 
 darkness of night. Milton wrote Sampson Agonistes 
 befoie Paradise Lost, and Paradise Regained after 
 it; but the rise, progress, and termination of Shak- 
 speare's brilliant career were equally glorious. In 
 combining author and actor in his own person, the 
 dramatist might in some degree alleviate his pecu- 
 niary difliiculties, but it could scarcely have redeemed 
 him from the indigence under which his brother 
 writers were rvi*i!'t<r::3g ; yet his superlative merits 
 as a poet soon advanced him in the regard of the 
 great and the noble. The players in his time were 
 constantly denominated and treated as servants ; 
 find M'hen the actor's duty made his presence neces- 
 «ary at his patron's mansion, the buttery was the 
 jnly place to which he expected admittance. On the 
 contrary, the friendship of the dramatist was fre- 
 quently sought by the opulent : even noblemen made 
 Dim their companion, and chose him at once as the 
 object of bounty and esteem. In this manner, Shak- 
 Bpeare became the bosom associate of the all-ac- 
 complished lord Southampton. That nobleman's 
 father-in-law, sir Thomas Heminge, was treasurer 
 of the queen's chamber, in which capacity it was his 
 duty to reward the actors employed at court : thus 
 plays and players were almost forced upon the notice 
 of lord Southampton, and the hold theatrical amuse- 
 ments had on his mind, is evident, even at a late 
 period of his life, from his shunning the court for a 
 diurnal attendance at the Globe ; his entertainment 
 of Cecil with " plaies and his ordering Richard II. 
 to be performed on the night previous to the rebel- 
 lion of the earl of Essex. Shakspeare's intimacy 
 with Southampton commenced when the latter was 
 about twenty years of age, and from the dedications 
 prefixed to Venus and Adonis in 1593, and the Rape 
 of Lucrece in 1594, it is apparent that their friend- 
 ship was cemented by great liberality in the patron, 
 and lively gratitude in the poet. 
 
 Howe, on the authority of Davenant, relates, that 
 m order to enable Shakspeare to complete a pur- 
 chase, Southampton at one time presented him with 
 a thousand pounds, a gift truly princely. The 
 tradition derives credit from the wealth which the 
 dramatijk is known to have possessed in a few 
 jrears subsequently t& his arrival in London; for it 
 IS oootrury to probability, that his opulence could 
 bftve ariseu from his emolomeuts, either as actor 
 
 or author. All his original productions were sold 
 absolutely to the theatre, and the gain accrttiitg 
 from them could not have been large, as he neithef 
 published his plays, ncir received advantage from 
 their dedication to the wealthy. Some of his dra- 
 mas were printed in liis life-time : but this was done 
 surreptitiously, and was at once a liaud on author, 
 proprietor, and reader. 
 
 Of Shakspeare's comparative opulence there cao 
 be no doubt; in 1597, he purchased New Places 
 the most respectable n)ansion in his native Strat- 
 ford, and went to considerable expense in alterations 
 and repairs. A drawing of it is seen in the margir 
 of an ancient survey made by order of sir George 
 Carew, (ai'terwards baron Carew, of Clopton, and 
 earl of Totness,) and foimd at Clopton. near Strat- 
 ford upon- A von, in 1785. 
 
 In the succeeding year, we find Richard Quyney, 
 a townsman, applying to him as a person of sub- 
 stance, for the loan oi thirty pounds y and shortly 
 after, we find him expressing liis readiness to lend, 
 on proper security, a sum of money lor the use of 
 the town of Stratford. His continued fid\ ance in 
 worldly consideration is indicated by his further 
 purchases. In 1602, according to Wheeler, he gave 
 £320, for one hondred and seventy acres of land, 
 which he added to his estate in New Place. In 
 1605. he bought for £440 a moiety of the great and 
 small tithes of Stratford ; and in l6l3, a tenement in 
 Blackfriars for £140. It is remarkable in this latter 
 purchase, that only £80 of the money was paid 
 down, the residue being left as a mortgage on the 
 premises. Malone is of opinion that his annual 
 income could not have been less than £200, which, 
 at the age when he lived, was equal to £800 at 
 present. 
 
 Several of the nobility, particiilaily the earls of 
 Pembroke and Montgomery, vied with Southampton 
 in conferring benefits on Siiakspeare, and lie was dis- 
 tinguished in a most flattering manner, by the favour 
 of two successive sovereigns. We are told that 
 the Merry Wives of Windsor (the first draught of 
 which was finished in a fortnight,) was written ex- 
 pressly at the command of the Virgin Queen, who 
 being highly delighted with Falstaff's humour in 
 Henry IV., wished him to be exhibited under the 
 influence of love. The character of Falstaff, one of 
 the happiest and most original of all the author's 
 efforts, was, according to Bowman the player, who 
 cited sir VVilliam Bishop as his authority, drawn 
 from a townsman of Stratford, who either faithlessly 
 broke a contract, or spitefully refused to part with 
 some land, for a valuable consideration, adjoining to 
 Shakspeare's, in or near that town. 
 
 The author's reputation was no doubt increased by 
 the approbation of his royal mistress, which in all 
 likelihood was the only solid advantage he obtained 
 from her notice. Rowe celebrates the " many gra- 
 cious marks of her favour" which Shakspeare re- 
 ceived ; but no traces of any pecuniary reward from 
 her munificence is to be found, and the almost inva- 
 ri ible parsimony of Elizabeth towards literary men, 
 may fairly induce us to question whether her gene- 
 rosity was exhibited in anything more substantial 
 than praise, notwithstanding all the elegant flattery 
 which the poet offered on the shrine of her vanity 
 Elizabeth was certainly a very highly-gifted wo- 
 man, but she was too selfish to pay for applause, 
 which she was sure of obtaining at an easier rate. 
 
 In James I. the stage found a warm and generous 
 patron. In 1599, he gave protection to a company 
 of English comedians in his Scottish capital ; and 
 he had no sooner ascended the British throne, thaa 
 he effected an absolute change in the theatrical 
 world. In the first year of his reign, an act of par- 
 liament passed, which took from the nobility the 
 privilege of licensing comedians, and all the skele- 
 ton companies then existing were imraediatelv 
 united into three regular establishments, ^atronis^a 
 by the royal family. Henry, priuce of ales, be- 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 I 
 
 mm« the patron of lord Nottingham's company, 
 which pcHformed at the Curtain ; the earl of Wor- 
 cester's servants, who commonly acted at the Red 
 Bull, were turned over to the queen, and ulti- 
 mately designated Children of the Revels ; while 
 the king declared the lord chamberlain's company 
 under his own especial care. The license which 
 James granted to Laurence Fletcher, William 
 Shakspeare, Richard Buibage, and others, dated 
 May 19, 1603, constituted them his servants, gave 
 them legal possession of their usual house, the 
 Qlobe, and allowed them to exhibit every kind of 
 dramatic representation, in all suitable places in 
 bi» dominions. From this document we learn that 
 the Globe was the theatre generally occupied by 
 the lord chamberlain's servants ; but they had some 
 interest in the house at Blackfriars, which, in the 
 end, they purchased. At these theatres all Shak- 
 speare's plays were originally acted ; the Globe was 
 the summer, the Blackfriars the winter house of 
 .he company with which he was connected. 
 
 Inspired with feelings of gratitude for the dis- 
 tinction accorded to his associates, or in compli- 
 ance with the servile spirit of the times, Shakspeare 
 assiduously courted a monarch, whose ear was 
 ever open to the blandishments of flattery. In op- 
 position to historical evidence, Banquo, the ances- 
 tor of James, is represented in the tragedy of Mac- 
 beth, as noble in mind, and free from the guilt of 
 Duncan's murder. There is another passage in 
 the same play respecting the eftlcacy of the royal 
 touch in curing the evil, highly complimentary, 
 and this delicate praise richly merited the honour 
 it is said to have earned, — "an amicable letter," 
 penned by king .James's own hand. Dayenant, if 
 we may credit Oldys, possessed this curious epis- 
 tle, and related the circumstance to Sheffield, duke 
 of Buckingham. The favour shown by Elizabeth 
 ayd her successor to Shakspeare was a lact familiar 
 « his own day. Ben Jonson says, — 
 
 « Sweet swan of Avon, what a siffht it were 
 To see thee in our waters yet appear; 
 And mark those flights upon the banks of ThamBB, 
 That did so please Eliza and our James." 
 
 Shakspeare seems to have cherished a sincere 
 regard for James. There are pass-iges in the last 
 written of his plays, which refer to that monarch 
 in highly laudatory terms; and in a curious MS. 
 volume of poems, written apparently about the 
 period of the Revolution, the following lines occur, 
 which are confidently ascribed to our poet : — 
 
 ' Shakspeare upon the ELing. 
 
 * Crownes have their compasse, length of dayes their date; 
 
 Triumphes their tombes, felicity her fate : 
 
 yf more than earth can earth make none partaker, 
 
 B It knowledge makes the king most like his Maker.* 
 
 Though Elizabeth and James were particularly 
 fona of dramatic representations, it does not appear 
 that they ever visited the public theatres ; they 
 gratiiif'd their taste by commanding the comedians 
 to peif'irm plays at court. These entertainments 
 vr°.re os'tally given at night, which arrangement 
 su <^d the actors, as the theatres were generally 
 opt - in the morning. The ordinary fee for such 
 a {^erformance in London was £o: Vis: 4d. and an 
 additional £3. 6s : 8d. was sometimes bestowed by 
 the bounty of royalty. 
 
 Shakspeare ^ 'on became im.portant in the ma- 
 nagement of tlic theatre, and participated in all 
 che emoluments of the company. It is impossible 
 to estimate his ivicome from this source : we are 
 ignorant into how many shares this theatrical pro- 
 perty was divided; nor can we tell what proportion 
 of them was enjoyed by our poet. If, however, 
 he was equal with Heminges, who is joined with 
 hnn in the iicerse, we are auth'^rized by his partner 
 to assert that it produced " a | od yearly income." 
 
 This worldly elevation induced him to quit the 
 drudgery of an actor, which employment he speak* 
 of in his Sonnets with disgust, and henceforth he 
 seems to have yielded all the powers of his com 
 
 f)rehensive mind to the improvement of dramatic 
 iterature. The affectionate wish which Shakspeare 
 formed in early life, to return, after his biflliani 
 career, to his native Stratford, and die at home, 
 induced him to purchase New Place, in 1597. In 
 the pleasure ground of that unassuming mansion, he 
 planted with his own hand a mulberry tree, which 
 flourished for many years, and was regarded with 
 reverence. To this favourite spot, in 1613 or 1614, he 
 retired from the ap^ilauses of his contemporaries- 
 and the bustle of the world, to the genuine reposo 
 and unsophisticated pleasures of a country life Au- 
 brey informs us, that it was our bard's custom to 
 visit Stratford yearly; but previous to 1596, the 
 place of his residence in London has not been 
 discovered. He then lodged near the Bear Garden 
 in Southwark, and it is not improbable that he 
 remained there till his final retirement from the 
 metropolis. 
 
 We shall now throw together such facts as we 
 have gleaned in a careful course of reading, with 
 reference to the subject, as may serve to illustrate 
 the manners, habits, and individual character of 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The following abstract of his life is from Aubrey : 
 "Mr. William Shakspeare was bom at Stratfbrd-upoc* 
 Avon, in the county of Warwick ; his father was 
 a butcher, and I have been told heretofore by some 
 of his neighbours, that when he was a boy he ex- 
 ercised his father's trade ; but when he killed a 
 calfe, he would doe it in a high style and make a 
 speech. There was, at that time, another butcher's 
 son in that towne, that was helde not at all inferior 
 to him for a naturall witt, his acquaintance and 
 coetanean, but died young. This Wm. being in- 
 clined naturally to poetry and acting, came to Lon- 
 don, I guesse about eighteen, and was an actor at 
 one of the playhouses, and did act exceedingly well. 
 Now B. Jonson never was a good actor, but an 
 excellent instructor. He began early to make es- 
 sayes at dramatic poetry, which at that time wa« 
 very lowe, and his playes took well. He was a 
 handsome well shap't man, and of a verie readie 
 and pleasant smooth witt : the humour of the consta- 
 ble in A Midsummer Night's Dreanie, he happened 
 to take at Grendon, in Bucks, which is the loade 
 from London to Stratforde, and there was living that 
 constable about 1642, when I first came to Oxon, 
 Mr. Jos. Howe is of that parishe, and knew him. 
 Ben Jonson and he did gather humours of men 
 dayly, wherever they came. One time, as he was 
 at a tavern at Stratford-upon-Avon, one Combes, 
 an old rich usurer, was to be buryed, he makes there 
 this extemporary epitaph : 
 
 ' Ten in the hundred the devill allowes. 
 
 But Combes will have twelve, he sweares and vowei 
 
 If any one ask who lies in this tombc, 
 
 Hoh, quoth the devill, 'tis my John o'Comhe.' 
 
 " He was wont to goe to his native countrie onc6 
 a yeare. I think I have been told, that he left 2 ot 
 300 lib. per annum, or thereabout, to a sister. J 
 have heard sir Wm. Davenant and Mr. Thomas 
 Shadwell (who is counted the best comedian w* 
 have nowy say that he had a most prodigious witt' 
 and did admire his naturall parts beyond all other 
 dramaticall writers. He was wont to say, that h« 
 never blotted out a line in his life ; sayd Ben Jon- 
 son, I wish he had blotted out a thousand. His 
 comedies will remain witt as long as the English 
 tongue is understood, for that he handles mores 
 hominum : now our present writers reflect so much 
 upon particular persons and coxcombities, that 
 twenty years hence they will not be understood." 
 
 There is no such character in the MidsumBtei 
 Night's Dream as a constable, Aubrey moat pro- 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEAIIE 
 
 heMy referred to the sapcious Dogberry in Much 
 Ado about Nothing. Tnis account, though seem- 
 ingly sanctioned by good authority, and written 
 most probably witliin thirty years ol" Shakspeare's 
 death, is treated by his biograpliers as incredible ; 
 yet it IS well worth preservation, for we cannot 
 find any reasonable grounds on which Aubrey's tes- 
 timony should be rejected. The story of the epitaph 
 is variously told. In the following version the wit is 
 certainly heightened : "Mr. John Combe had amassed 
 cc^asiderable wealth by the practice of usury ; he 
 wa« Shakspeare's intimate friend. In the gaiety of 
 conversation he told the poet that he fancied he in- 
 tended to furnish his epitaph ; and since whatever 
 might be said of him alter he was dead must be un- 
 known to him, he reqiusied it might be written forth- 
 with. The bard immediately gave him the following 
 % erses : — 
 
 * Ten ill the hundred lies here engrav'd ; 
 
 'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd : 
 
 If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb? 
 
 Oh ! oh ! quolh the devil, 'tis my John-a Combe.* 
 
 Peck, in his Memoirs of Milton, 4tn. 1740, has 
 introduced another epitaph, which he attributes, 
 though it does not appear on what authority, to Shak- 
 epeare. It is on a Tom-a-Combe, otherwise Thin- 
 beard, brother to the above-named John, who is 
 noticed by Rovve : 
 
 " Thin in beard, and thick in purse. 
 Never man beloved worse : 
 He went to the grave with many a curse; 
 I'he devil and he had both one nurse. » 
 
 Much has been .said of the rivalship and dissen- 
 sion between Ben Jonson and Shakspeare : we shall 
 give a few particulars, from which we think it will 
 appear that they both were entirely free from per- 
 sonal ill will. Pope says, that Jonson " loved Shak- 
 speare as well as honoured his memory, celebrates 
 the honesty, openness and frankness of his temper, 
 and only distinguishes, as he reasonably ought, 
 between the real merit of the author, and the silly 
 and derogatory applauses of the players." Gil- 
 christ, a very clever critic, published a pamphlet 
 to prove that Jonson was never a harsh or envious 
 rival of Shakspeare, and that the popular opinion on 
 that subject is altogether erroneous. Rovve gives 
 us the subjoined anecdote, which has been thought 
 worthy of credit : " Mr. Jonson, who was at that time 
 altogetiier unknown to the world, had offered one 
 of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted ; 
 and the persons into whose hands it was put, after 
 having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, 
 were just upon returning it to him wilh an ill-na- 
 tured answer, that it would be of no service to their 
 company, when Shakspeare luckily cast his eye 
 upon it, and found something so well in it as to en- 
 gage him first to read it through, and afterwards to 
 recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the 
 public." It is not a little remarkable, that Jonson 
 seems to have held a higher place in public estima- 
 tion than our poet, for more than a century after the 
 death of the latter. Within that period, Ben's works 
 went through numerous editions, and were read 
 with eagerness, while Shakspeare's remained in com- 
 parative neglect till the time of Rowe: of this fact, 
 abundant evidence might be given; not only was 
 Jonson preferred, but even Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 with many dramatic writers infinitely below them in 
 merit, were exalted above him. The following pas- 
 sages are curious, and will satisfactorily show the 
 little estimation our bard's works were held in by 
 the million of that day. 
 
 " You see 
 
 What audience we have, what company 
 
 To Shakspeare comes ; whose mirth did once beguile 
 
 Dull hours, and buskin'd, made even sorrow smile : 
 
 So lovely were the wounds, that men would say, 
 
 They could endure the bleeding a whole day. 
 
 Jie bas but few friends lately ."—Prologue to the Sigters. 
 
 * Shakspeare to thee was dull, wh( »e best jest Hm 
 
 I' th' lady's questions, and the fool's rep ies; 
 Whose wit our nicer times would obsceneness calli 
 And which made bawdry pass for comical. 
 Nature was all his art ; thy vein was free 
 As his, but without his scurrility." 
 
 Verses on Fletcher, by William Cartvrright.IM^. 
 
 " In our old plays, the humour, love, and passion, 
 Like doublet, hose, and closk, are out of fashion; 
 That which the world call'd wit in Shakspeare k »ge. 
 Is laugh'd at as improper for our stage." 
 
 Prologue to Shirley's Love Tricks, ICWi 
 
 • At every shop, while Shakspeare's lofty style 
 Neglected lies, to mice and worms a spoil ; 
 Gilt on the back, just smoking from the prpss. 
 The apprentice shews you D'Urfey's Hudibras; 
 Crown's Mask, bound up with Settle's choicest labours, 
 And promises some new essay of Babors." 
 
 Satire, published in 1680. 
 
 In the Spectator, Addison has several papers, in 
 which a very high character is given of Shak- 
 speare's genius : but it is evident from the quota- 
 tions introduced, that the elegant critic had no ac- 
 quaintance with his original, but through the me- 
 dium of Davenant's new modelled editions of his 
 great god-fathefs dramas. This fact is partly ac- 
 counted lor on the principle that classical literature 
 and the learning of the schools were esteemed in 
 those days as the best criterions of talent. Jonson's 
 constant objection to Shakspeare, was the want of 
 that species of knowledge ; and upon his proficiency 
 in it, he arrogated the superiority to himself. All 
 classical scholars, however, did not sanction Jon- 
 son's claims ; since, among the warmest admirers c£ 
 Shakspeare, was one of the most learned men of his 
 age, the great and excellent Hales. "On one occa- 
 sion, the latter, after listening in silence to a warm 
 debate between sir John Suckling and Jonson 
 reported to have interposed, by observing * 
 it' Shakspeare had not read the ancients, he 
 likewise not stolen anything from them, and i.i.. . 
 if he (Jonson) would produce anyone topic finely 
 treated by any of them, he would undertake to 
 show something upon the same subject, at least as 
 well written by Shakspeare.' A trial, it is added, 
 being in consequence agreed to, judges were ap- 
 pointed to decide the dispute, who unanimously 
 voted in favour of the English poet, after a candid 
 examination and comparison of the passages pro- 
 duced by the contending parties." All this prove-* 
 nothing more than a collision of intellect between 
 these great men, which might exist without a particle 
 of enmity or malicious feeling, and there are several 
 circumstances to favour the opinion that Shak- 
 speare and Jonson lived together on the moat 
 friendly terms. Our bard, in all probability, as- 
 sisted in the composition of Sejanus; and on his 
 death, Jonson wrote an elegy in his honour, in- 
 scribed his effigy with panegyrical verses, and fur 
 nished a preface for the first edition of his plays 
 nor did the lapse of years cool his regard, or efface 
 from his mind the recollection of his companion 
 in his declining days, he declared with all the 
 energy of truth, " I loved the man, and do honoui 
 his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any.' 
 
 Fuller's comparative view of these illustrious 
 writers is highly interesting : "Shakspeare was ai 
 eminent instance of the truth of that rule : Poeta not 
 Jit, sednascitur, (one is not made but born a poet.' 
 Indeed his learning was but very little ; so that a* 
 Cornish diamonds are not polished by any lapidary^ 
 but are pointed and smoothed even as they are 
 taken out of the earth, .so nature itself was all the 
 art which was used upon him. Many were the wit 
 combats betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two 
 I beheld, like a Spanish great yalleon, and au 
 English man of war 'f Master Jonson, like the 
 former, was built far higher in Isarning, solid, but 
 slow in his performances. Shakspeare, with the 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 X 
 
 Bft^Heh man of war, fesser in bulk, but lighter in 
 saihng, couid turn with all tides, and take advan- 
 tage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and 
 invention." 
 
 The following anecdote, preserved by Malone, 
 will serve to show the habits of close intimacy in 
 which these great and amiable men lived. In the 
 Berious business of life, rivals, and even enemies, 
 are often obliged to associate , but when we find 
 men seeking each other in the season of relaxation, 
 and mingling thoughts in their sportive humours, we 
 may safely pronounce theuj to be friends. An ami- 
 cable dispute arose concerning the njotto of the 
 Globe theatre, " Totus mundus ayit histrionein ;" 
 (all the world acts a play;) some condemned it 
 Rs anmeaning, others ueclared it to be a hue piece 
 of sententious wisdom ; Jonson, being asked for his 
 opinion., wrote on a scrap of paper, 
 
 * If but stage actors all the world displays. 
 Where shall we tind spectators of their plays?" 
 
 Shakspeare smiled, and takiiig the pen, set down 
 these lines under Ben's couplet: 
 
 " Little or much of what we see, we do, 
 We're all both actors and spectators too.» 
 
 All this may be called trifling ; but even trifles 
 become interesting, when connected with a Jonson 
 and a Shakspeare. 
 
 jMr. Gilford has triumphantly proved, that the 
 once generally received opinion of .Jonson's malig- 
 nant feelings towards his friend and benefactor, is 
 void of the slightest foundation in fact ; on the con- 
 trary, we are justified in believing that the author 
 of Sejanns was, on all occasions, ready to admit the 
 wonderful merit of his less learned, but more highly- 
 pjfted contemporary. lines under Shak spear's 
 
 «fiigy breathe the warmest spirit of reverence and 
 ove : 
 
 * The fi^ire that thou here seest put, 
 It was for gentle Shakspeare cut ; 
 Wlierein the graver had a strife 
 With nature to outdo the life. 
 
 O, could he but have drawne his wit 
 As well in brass, as he hath hit 
 His face, the print would then surpass 
 All that was ever writ in brass : 
 But since he cannot, rcailer, looke 
 Not ou his picture but his booke.* 
 
 The anecdf)tes subjoined rest, perhaps, on slight 
 authority; l>iit every particular relative to our un- 
 rivalled dramatist has such powerfnl attraction, 
 that we should not feel justified in witliholding t.'iem. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth used sometimes to sit behind 
 the scenes, \\hi!e her favourite plays were perfwrm- 
 ing: one evening. Shaksoeare enacted the part of 
 a monarch (probably, in llein-y IV.). The audience 
 knew that her majesty was present. She crossed the 
 staire wliile ShakH[)eare was acting, and being 
 loudly greeted by the spectators, curtsied politely 
 to the poet, who took no notice of her condescension. 
 VVIien behind the scenes, she caught his eye and 
 moved again, but still he would not throw olf his 
 character to pay her any attention. This made her 
 majesty think of some means to know whether she 
 could induce him to forget the dignity ofiiis charac- 
 ter while on the stage. Accordingly, as he was about 
 to make his exit, she stepped before him, dro('[)fd 
 her glove, and re-crossed the stage, which Shak- 
 speare noticing took it up with these Vvords, so 
 immediately aflrr finishing his speech, that they 
 seemed to belong to it : 
 
 ■ And though now bent on this high embassy. 
 Yet stoop we to laJce up our cousin's glore." 
 
 He then withdraw from the stage, and presented the 
 rk»ve to the queen, who was n!u(,h pleased with his 
 behaviour, and coniplimented him on its propriety. 
 One cveaiug, Bi-rbage performed Richard III. 
 
 and while behind the scenes, Shakspeare overhesH 
 him making an assigiiation with a lady of consider- 
 able beauty. Burbage was to knock at herchamb*>f 
 door ; she was to say, '"' Who comes there ?" and oi. 
 receiving for answer, " "Tis I, Richard the Third,' 
 the favourite tragedian was to be adn)itted. Shak 
 speare instantly determined to keep the appoini- 
 meut himself. Tapping at the lady's door, he n^de 
 the expected response to her interrogatory, and 
 gained admittance, I'he poet's eloquence soon con- 
 verted the fair one's anger into satisfaction ; but the 
 real Simon Pure quickly arrived ; he rapped loudly^ 
 and to the expected qfiery replied, " 'Tis I, Richard 
 the Third." " Then," quoth Shakspeare, " go thy 
 ways, Burby, for tliou knowest that William the 
 Conqueror reigned before Bichard the T/iird.^ 
 Shakspeare's associates, during his residence ia 
 London, were the great spirits who were engaged, 
 like him, in the pursuit of literary distinction : with 
 Fletcher he was particularly intimate, and it is 
 believed he assisted hint largely in the coinpositioQ 
 of The Two Noble Kinsmen, Rowley, Forde, IMas- 
 singer, and Decker were also indebted to his liberal 
 muse : indeed, there is scarcely any draniatist of 
 his age to whom the light of his genius was not 
 extended, 
 
 A tradition exists of a literary club, of which 
 Shakspeare was a member, and which included tlie 
 following illustrious names: Jonson, Fletcher; Sel- 
 den, Cotton, Carew, Martin, Beaumont, and Donne, 
 The meetings of such a phalanx of talent must 
 necessarily have been attended with " the feast isi' 
 reason and the flow of soui." 
 
 Of Shakspeare's convivial disposition, the fol- 
 lowing legendary story, told by Joim Jorda*i, a 
 native of Stratford, might be given as evidence; 
 though, certainly, it does not redound ranch to his 
 credit, Shakspeare, says the tradition, loved hearty 
 draughts of English beer or ale, and there were two 
 clubs of persons who met at a village called Bid- 
 ford, about seven miles below Stratford, wlio dis- 
 tinguished themselves by the designation of topers 
 and sippers, the former of whom could drink the 
 •most without being intoxicated ; the latter, how- 
 ever, were superior to most other drinkers in the 
 country. These lovers of John Barleycorn chal- 
 lenged all England to drink with them, to try the 
 strength of their heads ; the Stratford bard and his 
 comjjaiu'ons accepted it, and went to Bidford, on 
 a Whit- Monday, to encounter the topers; but 
 they were gone to Evesham fair uj)on a like expe- 
 dition, so that Shakspeare and his Stratford friends 
 were forced to sit down with the sippers ; upon trial, 
 they found themselves inferior to tlieir opponents ; 
 the poet and his companions became so intoxicated 
 that they were forced to decline further tiial. 
 Leaving Bidford, they proceeded hon)eward, but 
 poor \ViUiam, when he had gone about half a mile_, 
 laid himself down on the turf, under the houghs oi 
 a crab - tree, where he reposed for tiie night. 
 Awaking with the lark, he was invited to return ta 
 Bidford and renew the contest, but he refused 
 telling them, that he had drunk with 
 
 * Piping Pebworth, Dancing Marston, 
 HaviDted Hillborough, and Hunpcry Grafton, 
 With Dadgiiig Exhall, Papist Wixford, 
 Beggarly Broom, and Drunken Bidford." 
 
 'i'hese epithets, we are told, are still given tj these 
 adjoining villages ; and the readt r will, according 
 to his degree of faith, credit or reject a tale, the 
 particulars of which correspond so ill with the 
 bard s character. 
 
 There is a tradition in Stratford, of our poet's 
 likening the carbuncled face of a drunken I Jack- 
 smith to a inaple. The smith addressed him as h» 
 leaiit over a mercer's door, thus : 
 
 Sbakgpeare, tell mc if you can, 
 
 between a youth and a youug man." 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 Td wliich Shakapeare instantly answered : 
 
 « Tliou son of fire, with thy face like a mnple, [apple." 
 The same difference as between a scalded and a coddled 
 
 This story was told, upwards of fifty years since, to 
 a gentleman at Stratford, by a person who was then 
 more than eighty years old, whose lather might 
 iiave been a contemporary of Shakspeare. Perhaps, 
 however, it was only a version of a story told oi 
 'i'arleton, the clown. 
 
 We c ome now to speak of some traditional gal- 
 lantries of wtir poet , they may not deserve entn;e 
 credence, but it would not be satisfactory to omit 
 them altogether. In his journeyings between 
 Stratford and London, Shakspeare oiten put up at 
 the Crown Inn, Oxford ; the hostess was beantilul 
 and witty : the host, a discreet citizen, of a satur- 
 nine complexiors, but a lover of plays and play- 
 wrights, and, more particularly, of his visitor. Ihe 
 b«rd's frequent calls, and the loveliness of the 
 landlady, gave occasion to the following story : 
 Young 'William Davenant, afterwards air William, 
 was then a slip of a school-boy, of about eiglit years 
 old : this lad was so much attached to Shakspeare, 
 that whenever he heard of his arrival he would quit 
 the school to see him. One day, an old townsman, 
 observing the boy hastening homewards with 
 breathless impatience, demanded of him whither he 
 was running in that eager manner. "To see my 
 god-father Shakspeare," was the reply. " There's 
 a good boy," said the citizen; ''but have a care 
 you don't take God s name in vain." 
 
 From the Sonnets of our author we may conclude 
 that he had loriiied an unhappy attachment, for 
 while he celebrates the charms of his fair enslaver 
 in the most hyperbolical terms, he is at no less pains 
 to proclaim the utter worthlessness of her charac- 
 ter. He 
 
 * Swore her fair, and thought her bright, 
 While she was black as hell, and dark as i 
 
 light.* 
 
 With the perverseness so common in affairs of 
 gallantry, the lady neglected the poet, and placed 
 ber love on a youth of remarkable beauty, the dear 
 friend and associate of the dramatist himself. The 
 yoiuig man's participation in this violation of atfec- 
 tion and friendship is uncertain, as appear* from 
 several passages, and, in particular, from the I44th 
 Sonnet, wliich we quote, as it epitomises the whole 
 oi the tale : 
 
 « Two loves I have of comfort and despair, 
 Which like two spirits do suggest me still ; 
 The better angel is a man right lair, 
 The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. 
 To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
 Tempteth iny b -tter angel from my side, 
 And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, 
 Wooing his pwrity with her foul pride : 
 And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 
 Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; 
 And being both from me, both to each friend, 
 1 guess one atigel in another's hell ; 
 Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt. 
 Till my bad angel fire my good one out." 
 
 A 
 end 
 
 breach, however, did ensue between the bard 
 lis good spirit ; yet the pangs of separation 
 
 soon proved intolerable; and in defiance of his jea- 
 lousies and doubts, Shaksjjeare took back his friend 
 to his bosom, with an affection which seemed more 
 powerful for this short interruption. 
 
 It hris {4ftbn been mentioned as singular, that 
 Shakspeare does not appear to have written any 
 C';a)rnendatx>ry verses on his literary companions, 
 to which his great good-nature, it might have been 
 Buppirsed, would have inclined him; it was not 
 kiio\\'a that he \vm\ composed even a solitary stanza 
 to applaud the living or eulogize Ihe dead. The 
 
 annexed epitaphs, '.f they I nulhentic, anl thet 
 have much of Shakspeare's n -unier about them, wsil 
 prove, that, in two instances at lea t, he laid aside 
 that diffidence of his own merits, which made liim 
 undervalue the plau.iits of a uh se, the slightest 
 breath of whose praise would l.;>ve conferred im- 
 mortaliiy.- In a MS. volume of poems, by Hernck 
 and others, in tlie handwriting of Charles 1., pre- 
 served in the Bodleian library, is the loilowing epi- 
 taph, ascribed to our poet: 
 
 « AN EPITAPH. 
 
 « When God was pleas'd, the world unwilling yet, 
 Elias James to nature payd his debt, 
 And hc-re reposeth ; as he liv'd, he dyde; 
 The sayiiig iii him strongly verefied,— 
 Such life, such death : then, the known truth to t«!l. 
 He liv'd a godly life, and dyde as well. 
 
 « WM. SHAKSPEARE,» 
 
 Sir William Dugdale, in his Visitation Book, 
 describes a monument in Tongue church, Salop, 
 erected in memory of sir Thomas Stanley, who died 
 about the year 1600. After a long prose inscription, 
 the frail marble was charged with the following 
 poetical encomiums : 
 
 * These following Verses were made by 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, the late famous Tragsdiwi; 
 
 * Written upon the east end of this tomb. 
 « Aske who lyes here, but do not weepe ; 
 He is not dead, he doth but sleepe. 
 This stony register is for his bones. 
 His fame is more perpetual than these stones : 
 And his own goodness, with himself being goOB, 
 Shall live, when earthly monument is none." 
 
 * Written upon the west end thereof 
 * Not monumental stone preserves our fame. 
 Nor skye aspiring pyramids our name. 
 The memory of him for whom this stands, 
 Shall out- live marble, and defacers' hands. 
 When all to time's consumption shall be given, 
 Stanley, for whom this stands, shall stand in heaven ■ 
 
 Shakspeare seems to have had no personal con 
 nexion with the theatre lor about three years pre- 
 viously to his death, and this scanty remnant of his 
 days was passed in peace and comfort. Rowe says : 
 " The latter part of his life was spent, as all men ol 
 good sense would wish theirs may be, in ease, retire- 
 ment, and the conversation of his friends. His 
 pleasurable wit and good-nature engaged him in 
 the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship, 
 of the gentlemen of the neighboui hood." And m 
 the words of Dr. Drake, "lie was hij^h in reputa- 
 tion as a poet, favoured by the great and accom- 
 plished, and beloved by all who knew him." Nothing 
 can be more delightful than to contemplate this 
 wonderful man, in the vigour of his age, and in the 
 full possession of his amazing faculties, retiring 
 from the scene of his well-earned triumphs, to find, 
 in the comparative seclusion of his native town, 
 that repose and quietude both of mind and body 
 which is not to be looked for in the hustle of the 
 world. And if he, whose glory was to hll the mi- 
 verse, and whose pursuits (if anything conuei ted 
 with time can be,) were worthy of an immortal 
 soul, could pant for retirement in the meridian ol 
 his days, what excuse have they, who, in senectud© 
 and feebleness, continue to toil among the mole-hills 
 of earth for a little perishable gold, for which they 
 have no use when they have obtained it ? 
 
 Shakspeare retired from the metropolis at a period 
 little past the prime of life. We meet with no hint 
 of any failure in his constitution; and the execution 
 of his will, in " perfect health and memory," on th« 
 26th of March, 1616, warrants no immediate expec- 
 tation of his decease. The curtain was now to fall, 
 however, ou hU earthly stage of existence. He dieo 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 on ttc 23d of April, the anniversary of his birth, 
 
 luiring exactly completed his titty second year. On 
 the 25th, two dajs alter his death, his body vv«s laid 
 in its original dust, being buried under the north side 
 of the chancel of the great church at Stratford; a 
 flat stone, protecting all that was perisliable of the 
 remaioa of Stiakspeare, bears this inscription: 
 
 « Good frend, for Jesus' sake, forbeare 
 To digs the dust enclosed here ! 
 Bless'd be the man that spares these stones. 
 And curst be he that moves my bones.* 
 
 The common opinion is, that these lines were 
 written by the poet himself ; bat this notion has, 
 perhaps, originated solely from the use of the word 
 " my" in the closing line. " The imprecation," says 
 Malone, was probably suggested by an apprehension 
 "that our authors remains might share the same 
 fate with those of the rest of his countrymen, and be 
 added to the immense pile of human bones deposited 
 in Stratford charnel-house." 
 
 We shall now give a brief abstract of Shakspeare's 
 will, which is yet extant in the Prerogative Office. 
 It bears date, March 25, 1616, and commences with 
 the following paragraphs : 
 
 " In the name of God, amen. I, William Shak- 
 Bpeare, at Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of 
 Warwick, gent, in perfect health and memory,(God 
 be praised !) do make and ordain this my last will 
 and testament in manner and form following; that is 
 to say : 
 
 " First. I commend my soul into the hands of God 
 my Creator, hopinaj, and assuredly believing, through 
 the only merits of Jesus Christ, my Saviour, to be 
 made partaker of life everlasting: and my body to 
 the earth, whereof it is made." 
 
 It then proceeds to make the bequests enumerated 
 below : 
 
 To his dangher Judith he gave £150 of lawful 
 English money; £100 to be paid in discharge of her 
 marriage-portion witiMn one year after his decease, 
 an l the remaining £50 upon her giving up to her 
 fider sister, Susanna Hall, all lier right in a copy hold 
 tenement and appurt^^nances, parcel of the manor of 
 Howington. To tlie said Judith he also bequeathed 
 £150 niore, if she or any of her issue were living 
 three years from the date of his will ; but, in the 
 contrary event, then he directed that £100 of the 
 sum should be paid to his niece, Elizabeth Hall, and 
 I he proceeds of the £50 to his sister Joan, or Jone 
 Hart, for life, with residue to her children. He 
 further gave to the said Judith a broad silver-gilt 
 bowl. To his sister Joan, beside the contingent 
 bequest above mentioned, he gave £20 and all his 
 wearing apparel ; also the house in Stratford, in 
 which she was to reside for her natural life, uader 
 
 he yearly rent of twelvepence. To her three sons, 
 
 William Hart, Hart, and Michael Hart, he gave 
 
 £5 a- piece, to be paid within one year after his 
 decease. To his grand-daughter, Elizabeth Hall, 
 he bequeathed all his plate, the silver bowl above 
 2xcepted. To the poor of Stratf »rd he bequeallied 
 £iO; to Mr. Thomas Cole, his sword; to Thomas 
 Russel, £5; to Francis Collins, esq. £13: QsiSd.; 
 
 0 Hamlet, (Hammet) saddler, £1 : 6*: ^d. to buy 
 Bring; and a like sum, for the same purpose, to 
 W^ilUam Reynolds, gent. Anthony Nash^ gent. John 
 Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell, 
 his " fellows ;" also, twenty shillings in gold to his 
 
 Bdsun, William Walker, 'lo his daughter, Susanna 
 all, be beoiv^thed New Place, with its appurte- 
 nances; two messuages, or tenements, with their 
 appurtenaoces, situated in Henley-street; also, all 
 his ^ barns, stables, orchards, gardens, lands, te- 
 cemeats, and hereditaments whatsoever, situate, 
 Ijiug, and being, or to be had, received, perceived 
 cr takes, withia the towns, hamlets, villages, fields. 
 
 and grounds of Stratford-upon-Avon, Old Stratford, 
 Bishopton, and Welcombe, or in any of them, in tiic 
 said c<>unty of Warwick ; and also, all that mes- 
 suage or tenement, with the appurtenances, wherein 
 one John Robinson dwelleth, situated, lying, and 
 being in the Blackfriars, London, near the Ward- 
 robe: and all my other lands, tenements, and 
 hereditaments whatsoever, to have and to hold all 
 and singular the said premises, with their appurte- 
 nances, unto the said Susanna Hall, for and during 
 the term of her natural life ; and, after her decease, 
 to the first son of her body, lawfully issuing, and lo 
 the heirs male of her said first son, lawfully issuing; 
 and for default of such issue, to the second eon ot 
 her body, lawfully issuing, and to the heirs male of 
 the said second son, lawfully issuing;" and so Ibrth, 
 ag to third, fouith, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of 
 her body, and their heirs male : " and for default of 
 such issue, the said premises to be and remain to my 
 niece. Hall, and the heirs male of her body, lawfully 
 issuing; and for default of such issue, to her daughter 
 Judith, and the heirs male of her body, lawfully- 
 issuing : and for default of such issue, to the right 
 heirs of me the &aid William Shakspeare." To the 
 said Susanna Hall and her husband, whom he ap- 
 pointed executors of his will, under the direction of 
 Francis Collins, and Thomas Russel, esqrs, he 
 further bequeathed all the rest of his " good«, chat- 
 tels, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuff what- 
 soever," after the payment of his debts, legacies, 
 and funeral expenses; with the exception of his 
 '^second-best bed, with the furniture^ which con- 
 stituted the only bequest he made to his wife, and 
 that by insertion alter the will was written out. 
 
 A tew additional facts respecting Shakspeare's 
 family may be acceptable. His wife survived him 
 seven years, and was buried between his grave and 
 the north wall of the chancel, under a stone inlaid 
 with brass, and inscribed thus : 
 
 "Heere lyeth interred the bodj^e of Anne, wife of 
 Mr. William Shakspeare, who departed this life th« 
 sixth day of August, 1623, being of the age of aixty- 
 seven yeares." 
 
 It may be supposed that the poet's marriage was 
 not productive of much domestic comfort. She dil 
 not reside with him in London; their children were 
 born very early after their union ; and we have seen 
 how coldly she is noticed in the will. 
 
 The causes which led to the striking difference 
 which Shakspeare makes in his testament between 
 his daughters are unknown ; but Susanna is, evi- 
 dently, the favourite. Judith married Thomas 
 Quiney, a gentleman of good family, by whom she 
 had three children, but they died young, leaving no 
 posterity. The art of writing was not among thia 
 lady's accomplishments, as her mark appears to a 
 deed, still extant, accompanied by the explana'toty 
 appendage of " Signum Judith Shakspeare.^'' Her 
 elder sister married Dr. Hall, a physician of consi- 
 derable reputation. After her father's death, she 
 resided with her husband at New Place. She be- 
 came a widow, and was honoured, for some time, 
 with the company of Henrietta Maria, the queen of 
 Charles I. Her only child, Elizabeth Hall, the niece 
 mentioned in Shakspeare's will, continuod to reside 
 there when she became lady Barn ird. This lady, 
 though twice married, left no children. She died in 
 16j9 — 70, and in her the family of our bard becanje 
 extinct. Mrs. Susanna Hall died in July, J649, ag( .f 
 sixty-six ; she was buried at Stratford, and the ?ol- 
 lowing record of her wit, piety, and humanity, wa« 
 inscribed on her tomb. The lines do not uc r ap- 
 pear on the stone, but they have been preserved by 
 Dugdaie. 
 
 ' Witty above her «exe, but that's not all. 
 Wise to salvation, was good mispress Hall : 
 Something of Shakspeare was in that, but thit 
 Wholly of him with whom she's now ia bl#M. 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPF.ARE. 
 
 Tlien, passRDger, liast ne'er a tearc. 
 To weep w itlj her, that wept with all : 
 
 That wept, jet set herselfe to chcre 
 Them up with comforts cordial) ? 
 
 Her love shi^U live, her mercy spread, 
 
 When thou hast ne'er a tcare to shed.* 
 
 We have thus, as briefly as the importance of 
 sach a memoir would permit, gone over the meagre 
 
 hio^aphical remains of the noblest dramatic po« 
 the world has ever predated. Without attemptiii| 
 to draw the character of this matchless writer, vv« 
 have, occasionally, in the conrse of our narrative, 
 endeavoured to mark the feeling of respect and ad- 
 miration by which we are inHuenced while coD" 
 templating the mighty f>erformances of a mind 
 which, with little assistance from education, sur^ 
 passed all the eflbrts of ancient or modern genius. 
 
 Ctironologtcal ^vtftv of ^iiaifts(prare*5J 3BramaiE;, 
 
 ON THE AUTHORITY OP MALONE, CHALMERS, AND DRAKE. 
 
 The ensuing enumeration of Shakspeare's dramas, 
 with the dates assigned by the most generally re- 
 ceived authorities, is given merely as a matter of cu- 
 riosity; for the learned commentators are so much 
 at variance in their chronology, that it deserves 
 Uttle or no attention. Indeed, when we reflect that 
 the fiist edition of our author did not appear till 
 several years after his death, and was then pub- 
 lislied by the players, who, it can scarcely be sup- 
 posed, would pay any regard to the order of time 
 in their arrangement of the dramas, it must be ob- 
 vious, that with a very few exceptions, the dates 
 fiven to those compositions are purely conjectural. 
 
 A cloud rests over Shakspeare's career as an author, 
 which is not now likely to be dispersed ; those who 
 were most familiar with the operations of his ex- 
 traordinary genius, seem to have been hardly awars 
 " that he was not for a day, but for all time they 
 paid their shillings and applauded his productions 
 on the stage, perhaps, but they had little taste or 
 inclination to do thr-m justice in the closet. Shak- 
 speare himself api ears to have been remarkably 
 careless of his own fame : he produced his grea 
 works without effort, and bequeathtM them to hu 
 country, unconscious of their merit, and reckless Oi 
 their fate. 
 
 Malone. Chalmers 
 
 Pericles nvt acknowledc/ed . 
 
 First Part of King Henry VI 1589 . . J 589 . 
 
 Second . . ditto 1590 .. 1590 . 
 
 Third . . ditto 1591 . . 1.595 . 
 
 A Midsummer Night's Dream 1592 . . 1598 
 
 Comedy of Errors 1593 . . 1591 
 
 Taming of the Shrew 1594 . . 1598 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost 1594 . . ]59'2 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona 1595 . . 1595 
 
 Romeo and Juliet 3595 . . 1592 
 
 Hamlet 1596 . . 1597 
 
 King John 1596 . . J598 
 
 King Richard II 1597 . . 1595 
 
 King Richard III 1597 . . 1595 
 
 First Part of King Henry IV 1597 . 1596 
 
 Second . . ditto 1598 . . 1597 
 
 Merchant of Venice 1598 . 1.597 
 
 All's well that Ends well 1598 . . 1599 
 
 King Henry V 1599 . . 1597 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing 1600 . . 1599 
 
 As You Like It 1600 . . 1599 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor 1601 . . 1595 
 
 Kmg Henry VIII 1601 , . 1613 
 
 Troilus and Cressida 1602 . . 1600 
 
 Measure for Measure 1603 . . lJi04 
 
 The Winter's Tale 1604 .. 1501 
 
 King Lear. Id05 , , 1605 
 
 Cymbeline 1505 . . 1606 
 
 Macbeth 1506 . 1605 
 
 Julius Caesar . 1607 . . 16U7 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra 1608 . . 1608 
 
 Timon of Athens 1609 . . 1601 
 
 Corinlanus J610 . . 1609 
 
 Othello 1611 . . 1614 
 
 The Tempest 1612 . . 1613 
 
 Twelfth Night 1614 . . 1608 
 
 Titn« Andronicns. not acknowledged by these critics, nor indeed bv any author of r£eiiH> k«i 
 originally published about 1589. 
 
 Drake. 
 1590 
 1592 
 1592 
 1592 
 1593 
 1591 
 K94 
 1591 
 1595 
 1593 
 1597 
 1598 
 1596 
 1595 
 1596 
 1593 
 1597 
 1598 
 1598 
 1599 
 1600 
 1601 
 1602 
 1601 
 16 3 
 1610 
 1601 
 1605 
 16J6 
 1607 
 1608 
 1602 
 H>09 
 1612 
 1611 
 1613 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Bwgraphical Memoir of Shakspeare « ▼ 
 
 Chronological Order of Shakspeare's Dramas ZIV 
 
 ^.^empest I 
 
 Two GenMemen of Verona. . . , , "7 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor 33 
 
 /^-^weHth Night ; or, What you Will , . . 53 
 
 Measure for Measure. 71 
 
 Mucli Ado About Nofhing. . . 92 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. . . . . .... HI 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost 127 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 148 
 
 As \ on Like It , . 167 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well 187 
 
 Taming of the Shrew 208 
 
 W interns Tale 228 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 261 
 
 Macbeth. 265 
 
 King John 283 
 
 , — Richard II 302 
 
 — Henry IV.— Part. 1 323 
 
 — Henry IV.— Part. If 346 
 
 — Henry V 370 
 
 — Henry VI —Part. 1 393 
 
 — Henry VI.— Part. II 414 
 
 — Henry VI —Pa«^. Ill 438 
 
 — Richard III 461 
 
 — Henry VI il 4S9 
 
 Tfoilns and Cressida . . , , 5!3 
 
 Timon of Athens. 5.'i9 
 
 Coriolanus 558 
 
 Julius Cffisar 58.5 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. . . » . . .... GO-1 
 
 Cymbelinft. iVMi 
 
 Titus Andronicus. ... 656 
 
 Pericles, Prince of Tyre . 675 
 
 King Lear 69.'? 
 
 ^J{omeo and Jnliet 719 
 
 Hamlft, prince of Denmark 742 
 
 Othello. Moor of Venice ♦ . 771 
 
 Glossary •«••••••• 
 
 Explanatorj Nolei. •...ttX^ 
 
TEMPEST, 
 
 It Is observed of The Tempest, that its plan is regular; (bis the author of The Revisal thinks, what I think too, 
 atcidental eftect of tlie story, not intended or regarded by our author. But, whatever might be Shakspeare's intention io 
 forming or adopting the plot, he has made it instrumental to the production of many characters, diversified with boundless 
 invention, and preserved with profound skill in nature, extensive knowledge of opinions; and accurate obserA atiou ol 
 life. In a single drama are here exhibited princes, courtiers, and sailors, all speaking in their real characters. There is 
 the agency of airy spit its, and of an earthly goblin; the operations of magic, the tumults of a sl<Hm, the adventurns ol 
 a desert island, the nnti\e effusion of untaught atfection, the punishment of guilt, and the linal happiness of the pair foi 
 whom our passions and reason are equally interested. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 ALONSO. King of Naples. 
 SEBASTIAN, kis Brother. 
 PROSl'EKO, the riqhtJuL Duke of Milan. 
 ANTONIO, his BroUier, the usinpiny Duke of Milan. 
 FERDINAND. Son to the King of Naples. 
 GONZALO, an hviest old Counsellor of Naples. 
 ADRIAN, J . 
 FRANCISCO, \ 
 
 CALIBAN, a savage and d" for wed Slave, 
 TRINCULO, a Jester. 
 
 STEPHANO, a drunken Butler. 
 
 Master of a Ship, — Boatswain,— and 3Iarin4r», 
 
 MIRANDA, Daughter to Prospero. 
 
 ARIEL, an airy Spirit. 
 
 IRIS, , 
 
 CERES, \ 
 
 JUNO, > Spirits. 
 
 Nymphs, % 
 
 Reapers, ' 
 
 Other Spirits attending on Prospero* 
 
 ScENE^ — The Sea, with a Ship; afterwards an uninhabited Island. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Scene 1. — On a Ship at Sea. — A storm, with 
 thunder and liyhtning. 
 Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. 
 Master. Boatswain, — 
 Boats. Here, master: What cheer? 
 Master. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall to't 
 varely, or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. 
 
 Enter Mariners. [Exit. 
 Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheerly, cheerly, my 
 hearts ; yare, ya;v : Take in the top-sail ; Tend to 
 the master's whistle. — Blow till thou burst thy wind, 
 if room enougli ! 
 
 Entsr Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, 
 GoNZALO, and others. 
 
 Alyn. Good Boatswain, have care. Where's the 
 master? Play the men. 
 
 Boats. I pray now, keep below. 
 
 Ant. Where is the master, Boatswain? 
 
 Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our la- 
 bour; keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. 
 
 Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 
 
 Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care 
 these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: si- 
 lence ; trouble us not. 
 
 Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou ha.st aboard. 
 
 Boats. None that I more love than myself. You 
 are a counsellor; if you can command these ele- 
 ments to silence, and work the peace of the present, 
 we will not hand a rope more; use your authority. 
 If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, 
 and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mis- 
 hance of the hour, if it so hap. — Cheerly, good 
 hearts. — Out of our way, I say. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : me- 
 s, he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his 
 complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, 
 to his hanging I make the rope of his destiny our 
 cable, for our own doth little advantage ! If he be not 
 born to be hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt. 
 Re-enter Boatswain. 
 
 Boats. Down with the topmast; yare; lower, 
 l>wer; bring her to try with main course. {A cry 
 within.) A plague upon this howling ! they are 
 ouder than the weather, or our office. — 
 
 Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
 Vet again ? wiiat do you here ? Shall we give o'er, 
 and drown? Have you a mind to sink ? 
 
 Seb. A pox o' your throat! you bawling, blas^ 
 phemous, incharitable dog! 
 
 lioats. Work you, then. 
 
 Ant. Han? cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent 
 noise-maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than 
 thou art. 
 
 Gon. I'll warrant him from drowning ; though 
 the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as 
 leaky as an unstaunched wench. 
 
 Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ; set her two 
 courses; olfto sea again, lay her olf. 
 
 Enter Mariners, wet. 
 Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Boats. What, nmst our mouths be cold ? [thrm, 
 
 Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist 
 For our case is as theirs. 
 
 Seb. I am out of patience. [drunkards,— 
 
 Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by 
 This wide-chapped rascal ; — 'Would, thou might'st 
 The washing often tides ! [lie drowning', 
 
 Gon. He'll be hanged yet ; 
 Though every drop of water swear against it. 
 And gape at wid'st to glut him. 
 
 {A confused noise within.) — Mercy on us ! We 
 split, we split ! — Farewell, my wife and children \ 
 Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split! — 
 
 Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. Let's take leave of him. \Exit 
 
 Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 
 sea for an acre of barren groimd ; long heath, brown 
 furze, any thing: The wills above be done! but I 
 would fain die a dry death. [Exit, 
 
 Scene II. — The Islafid : before the Cell of 
 Prospero. 
 Enter Prospero and Miranda. 
 
 Mira. If hy your art, my dearest father, you have 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
 The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitcli, 
 But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek. 
 Dashes the fire out. O, t have suffered 
 With those that I saw suft'er! a brave vessel. 
 Who had no doubt some noble creatures in hor, 
 Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'di 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
 It should the good ship so have swallow'd, aud 
 The freighting souls within her. 
 
 Pro. Be collected 
 
 No more amazement: tell your piteoua heart. 
 There's no harm done. 
 
 Mira, O, woe the day 
 
 Pro, Vo harm. 
 
 I have done aothing but in care of thee, 
 
2 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act L 
 
 (Of t'i'ee rny dpaii 'ont' ! ihv3e, my daughter!; who 
 Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
 f)f Vvliet. ce. I aM ; uoi that J ar.i more better 
 .''niaVi ;Prusj>i?io tr;astei of a fuU poor cell, 
 Anci thy no greater lather. 
 
 Mir a. More to know 
 
 Did never meddle with my thoughts. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis time 
 
 1 sliould inform thee further. Lend thy hand, 
 And pluck my magic jarnient from me. — So; 
 
 {Lays down his mantle.) 
 Lie there my art — Wipe thou thine eyes; have 
 comfort. 
 
 The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
 
 The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
 
 I have with such provision in mine art 
 
 So safely ordered, that there is no soul — 
 
 No, not so much perdition as an hair. 
 
 Betid to any creature in the vessel [down ; 
 
 Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit 
 
 For thou must now know further. 
 
 Mira. You have often 
 
 Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd. 
 And left liie to a bootless inquisition ; 
 Concluding, Stay, not yet. — 
 
 Pro. The hour's now come ; 
 
 The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
 Obey, and be attentive. Can'st thou remember 
 A time belbre we came unto this cell '? 
 I do not think thou can'st ; tor then thou was not 
 Out three years old. 
 
 Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. 
 
 Pro. By what? by any other house, or person ? 
 01" any thing the image tell me, that 
 Hath kept with thv remembrance. 
 
 Mira. ' 'Tis far off; 
 
 And rathei like a dream than an assurance, 
 That my remembrance warrants; Had I not 
 Four or five women once, that tended me? [is it. 
 
 Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda : but how 
 That this lives in thy mind ? VVhat seest thou else 
 In the dark backward and abysm of time ? 
 If thou reniember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
 Mow thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 
 
 Mira. But that I do not. 
 
 Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years 
 Thy father was the duke of Milan, and [since, 
 A prince of power. 
 
 mira. Sir, are not you my father? 
 
 Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
 She said — thou wast my daughter; and thy father 
 Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
 A princess ; no worse issued. 
 
 Mira. O, the heavens ! 
 
 What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? 
 Or blessed was't, we did ? 
 
 Pro. Both, both, my girl: 
 
 By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence ; 
 But blessedly holp hither. 
 
 Mira. O, my heart bleeds 
 
 To tliink o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, 
 Whicli is from my remembrance ! Please you, turther. 
 
 Pro. My brotiier, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, — 
 1 pray thee, mark me, — that a brother should 
 Be so perfidious I — he, whom next thyself. 
 Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
 The manage of my state ; as, at that time. 
 Through all the signioriesii*; was the first, 
 And Piospero the prime di;ke ; being so reputed 
 In dignity, and, for the liberal arts. 
 Without a parallel : those being all my study, ■ 
 The government I cast upon my brother, 
 And to my state grew stranger, being transported, 
 And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
 Dost thou attend me ? 
 
 Mira. Sir, most heed fully. 
 
 Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits. 
 How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom 
 To trash for over-topping; new created [them, 
 The creatures that were mioe; I say, or ciiaug d 
 
 Or else new fof m'd them ; having both the key 
 Of officer and office, set all hearts 
 To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was 
 The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, [not, 
 And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'^* 
 I pray thee, mark me. 
 
 Mira. O, good sir, T do. 
 
 Pro. I thus neglecting wurldly ends, all dedicat« 
 To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
 With that, which, but by being so retir'd, 
 O er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false bi other 
 A wak'd an evil nature : and my trust. 
 Like a good parent, did beget of liim 
 A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
 As my trust was ; which had, indeed, no limit, 
 A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded. 
 Not only with what my revenue yielded, 
 But what my power might else exact, — like one. 
 Who having, unto truth, by telling of it. 
 Made such a sinner of his memory. 
 To credit his own lie, — he did believe 
 He was the duke ; out of the substitution. 
 And executing the outward lace of royalty, 
 With all prerogative ; — Hence his ambition 
 Growing, — Dost hear ? 
 
 Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 
 
 Pro. To have no screen between this part Im» 
 play'd. 
 
 And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
 Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library 
 Was dukedom large enough; of temporal royalties 
 He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
 (So dry he was ibr sway) with the king of Naples, 
 To give him annual tribute, do him homage; 
 Subject his coronet to the crown, and bend 
 The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas! poor Milan!) 
 To most ignoble stooj)ing. 
 
 Mira. O, the heavens ! 
 
 Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then tell 
 If this might be a brother, ^n?*, 
 
 Mira. I should sin 
 
 To think but nobly of my grandmother: 
 Good wombs have borne bad sons. 
 
 Pro. Now the conditioiw 
 
 The king of Naples, being an enemy 
 To me inveterate, liearkei s my brother's suit; 
 Which was, that he in lieu o' tlie premises, — 
 Of homage, and I know not how much tribute,— 
 Should presently extirpate me and mine 
 Out of the dukedom ; and confer fair Milan, 
 With all the honours, on my brother: Whereon, 
 A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
 Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan ; and, i'the dead of darkness. 
 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me, and thy crying self. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for pity J 
 
 I, not rememb'ting how I cried «ut then. 
 Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint. 
 That wrings mine eyes. 
 
 Pro. Hear a little further. 
 
 And then I'll bring thee to the present business. 
 Which now's ujjon us : without the which, this story 
 Were most impertinent. 
 
 Mira, Wherefore did they not 
 
 That hour destroy us ? 
 
 Pro. Well demanded, wench ; 
 
 My tale [jrovokes that question. Dear, they durst not; 
 (So dear the love my people bore me) nor set 
 A mark so b'oody on the business ; but 
 With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
 In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
 Bore MS some leagues to sea; where theyprepai^d 
 A rottt n carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
 Instiiif tiv ely had quit it: there they hoist us, 
 To ciy to the sea, that roar'd lo u'^ ; to sigh 
 To the winds, whose })ify, sighing back again. 
 Did us but loving wrong. 
 
 Mira. Alack ! what troubU 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Was I then to yot ! 
 
 Pro. O ! a chenibim 
 
 Thou wast, that dii preserve ine! Thou didst smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt ; 
 Under my burden groan'd ; which raised in me 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 Against what should ensue. 
 
 Mira. How came we ashore ? 
 
 Pro. By Providence divine. 
 S^)me food we had, and some fresh water, that 
 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
 Out of his charity (who being then appointed 
 Master of this design,) did give us ; with 
 Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries. 
 Which since have steaded much ; so of his gentleness, 
 Knowing I lov'd my books, he i'urnish'd me. 
 From my ovvn library, with volumes that 
 1 priz'd above my dukedom. 
 
 Mira. 'Would I might 
 
 But ever see that man ! 
 
 Pro. Now I arise : — 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
 Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here 
 Have I, thy school-master, made thee more profit 
 Than other princes can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful, fyou, sir, 
 
 Mira. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, I pray 
 (For still 'tis beating in my mind,) vour reason 
 For raising this sea-storm ? 
 
 Pro. Know thus far forth. — 
 
 By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, 
 Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
 Brought to this shore : and by my prescience 
 I find my zenith doth depend vpon 
 A most auspicious star; whose influence 
 If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
 Will ever after droop. — Here cease more questions ; 
 Thou art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness. 
 And giv« it way ; — I know thou can'st not choose. 
 
 (Miranda sleeps.) 
 Come away, servant, come : I am ready now ; 
 Approach, my Ariel; come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 An. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail ! 1 come 
 To ansv^■er thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, 
 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
 On the curi'd clouds : to thy strong bidding, task 
 Ariel, and all his quality. 
 
 Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 
 
 Perform'd to point the tempest that 1 bade thee ? 
 
 Ari. To every article. 
 I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flam'd amazement: sometimes I'd divide. 
 And burn in many places ; on the top-mast, 
 1'he yards and bowsprit, wonid I flame distinctly, 
 'i'lien meet and join : .Jove's lightnings, the precursors 
 O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight out running were not: the fire and cracks 
 )f sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
 eem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble ; 
 Yea, his dread trident shake. 
 
 Pro. My brave spirit ! 
 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
 Would not infect his reason? 
 
 Ari. * Not a soul 
 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 Some tricks of desperation : all, but mariners, 
 Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit tlie vef«el.. 
 I hen all a-fire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, 
 With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,) 
 Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, " Hell is empty, 
 And all the devils are here." 
 
 P.'-o. Why, that's my spirit ! 
 
 But was not this nigh shore ? 
 
 Ari. Close by, my nmster. 
 
 Pro. But are they, A iel, sale ? 
 
 Ari. Not a hair peris h'd ; 
 
 On their sustaining garments not a blemish, 
 But fresher than beiore : and, as thou bad'st mt. 
 In troops I have dispers'd tliem 'bout the isle 
 The king's son have I landed by himself ; 
 Whom I left, cooling of the air witri signs 
 In an odd angle of the isle and sitting, 
 His arms in this sad knot. 
 
 Pro. Of the king's ship 
 
 The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, 
 And all the rest o' the fleet? 
 
 Ari. Safely in harbour 
 
 Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where one* 
 Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid: 
 The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
 whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd laboar 
 1 liave left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet, 
 Which I disj ers'd, they all have met again ; 
 And are upon the Mediterranean flote. 
 Bound sadly home for Naples ; 
 Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, 
 And his great person perish. 
 
 Pro. Ariel, thy charge 
 
 Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work : 
 What is the time o" the day ? 
 
 Ari. Past the mid season. 
 
 Pro. At least two glasses : the time 'twixt six and 
 Must by us both be spent most preciously, [now, 
 
 Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me 
 pains. 
 
 Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, 
 Which is not yet perform'd me. 
 
 Pro. 
 
 How 
 
 moody ' 
 
 What is't thou can'st demand ? 
 Ari. My liberty. 
 
 Pro. Before the time be out? no more. 
 Ari. I praj ti;e9 
 
 Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; 
 Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd 
 Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst proniia© 
 To bate me a full year. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou forget 
 
 From what a torment I did free thee ? 
 Ari. No 
 Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st 
 It much to tread the ooze of the salt deep : 
 To run upon the sharp wind of the nortli^ 
 To do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
 When it is bak'd with frost. 
 Ari. I do not, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing I Hast thou forgot 
 The f"ul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, 
 Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her? 
 Ari. No, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou hast : where was she born ? 
 
 speak ; tell me. 
 Ari. Sir, in Argier. 
 
 Pro. O, was she so? I iiust. 
 
 Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, 
 Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
 For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
 To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
 Thou know'st, was banislrd ; for one thing si e did. 
 They would not take her life . is not this true ? 
 Ari. Ay, sir. [child 
 Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought witk 
 And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, 
 As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant : 
 And, for thou wert a spirit too delicate 
 To act h»-r earthly and abhorr'd commands, 
 Refusing her grand bests, she did confine tl'.e«» 
 By help of her more potent ministers, 
 And in her most unmitigabie rage. 
 Into a cloven pine ; within w liich rift 
 Imprison d, thou did st painfully lemain 
 A dozen years ; within which space she died. 
 And h ft thee there; where thou did'st vent thy groana 
 As last as mill- wheels strike : then was this it.laud, 
 (Save for the son that she did litter here, 
 A freckled whelp, hag-! ^n,) not honour* d with 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 Aci I 
 
 A human shape. 
 
 Ari. Yes ; Caliban, her son. 
 
 Pro. Dull tiling-, 1 say so ; he, that Caliban, 
 Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
 VV^hat torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 ( )rever-an<,'ry bears ; it was a torment 
 I'o lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
 Could not again undo ; it was mine art. 
 When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
 The pine, and let thee out. 
 
 An. I thank thee, master 
 
 Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak. 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
 Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
 
 Ari. Pardon, master : 
 
 I will be correspondent to command. 
 Arid do my spiriting gently. 
 
 Pro. Do so ; and after two days 
 
 1 will discbarge thee. 
 
 Ari. That's my noble master 
 
 W^iiat shall 1 do? say what ? what shall 1 do ? 
 
 Pro. Go, make thyself like to a nymph of the sea ; 
 Be subject to no sight but mine : invisible 
 '1\> every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape. 
 And hitiier come in't: hence, with diligence. 
 
 [Exit Ariel. 
 
 Awake, dear heart, avvake ! thou hast slept well ; 
 
 Avvake ! 
 
 Mira. The strangeness of your stoiy put 
 Heaviness in me. 
 
 Pro. Shake it oW : come on ; 
 
 We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
 Yields us kind answer. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, 
 
 I do not love to look on. 
 
 Pro. But, as 'tis, 
 
 W^e cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
 Fetch in our wood, and serve in offices 
 'i'liiit prorit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban I 
 T\un\ earth, thou ! speak, 
 
 Cal. (Within.J There's wood enough within. 
 
 Pro. Come Ibrth, I say : there's other business for 
 Cuine forth, thou tortoise! when? — [thee : 
 
 Re-enter Arikl, like a water-nymph. 
 Fine apjtarition ! My quaint Ariel, 
 Hark m thine ear. 
 
 Ari. My lord, it shall be done. {Exit. 
 
 Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself 
 L pon thy wicked dam, come forth 1 
 Enter Caliban. 
 
 Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
 Witii raven's feather front unwholesome fen, 
 )Vop on you both I a south-east blow on ye, 
 A id blistt^r you all o'er! [cramps. 
 
 Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 
 iSide-stitciies that shall pen thy breatli up ; urchins 
 Shall, ibr tliat va? t of night thattiiey may work. 
 All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
 (Vs thick as honey-combs, each pincli more stinging 
 'I'iian bees that made tliem. 
 
 Cal. I must eat my dinner. 
 
 T lis island's vvmq, by Sycorax my mother, 
 Wnich thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first 
 Thou sti ok st me, and mad'st much of me • would'st 
 give me 
 
 \\'';iter with berries in't; and teach me how 
 name the bigger light, and how the less, 
 j'liat burn by day and night : and then I lov'd thee, 
 And sheu'd the« all th§*qualities o' the isle, [tile ; 
 1 he fresh sprin^js, brine pits, barren place, and fer- 
 Ctirsed be I <hal did so I — All the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toa Is, beetles, bats, light on you ! 
 For I am all the subjects that you liave, 
 \Vhich first vvat mine own king ; and here you sty me 
 In this hard roc^, whiles you do keep from me 
 The rest of tltc island. 
 
 PrQ. Thou most lying slave, [thee. 
 
 Whom stripea aay move, not kindness: I have us'd 
 
 Filth as thou art, vvith human care ; and lodg'd the 
 In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
 The honourof my child. 
 
 Cal. O ho, O ho ! — 'would it had been done ' 
 Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else 
 This isle with Calibans. 
 
 Pro. Abhorred slave. 
 
 Which any print of goodness will not take. 
 Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
 l^ook pains to make thee speak, taught thee eachhom 
 One thing or other: when thou did'st not, savage. 
 Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
 A thing most brutish, 1 endow'd thy purposes 
 With words that made them known : but thy vile race, 
 Though thou did'st iearn, had that in't, which good 
 natures 
 
 Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
 Deservedly confin'd into this rock. 
 Who had'st deserv'd more than a prison. 
 
 Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on'l 
 Is, I know how to curse : the red plague rid you, 
 For learning me your language I 
 
 Pre. Hag-seed, hence! 
 
 Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best. 
 To answer other business. Slirug'st thou, malice ? 
 If thou neglect'st. or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I'll rack thee with old crampsj 
 Fill all thy bones with aches: make thee roar. 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, 'pray thee ! — 
 I must obey : his art is of such power, \^Asi(it 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pro. So, slave : hence ! 
 
 {Exit Caliban^ 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing t 
 Ferdinand following him. 
 ARIEL'S SONG. 
 Come unto these yellotv sands, 
 
 And then take hands : 
 Covrfsied when you have, and kiss'd^ 
 
 ( The ivi/d tuaves ivhistj 
 Foot it j'eatly here and there ; 
 And, siveet sprites, the burden bear. 
 
 Hark, hark'. 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. {Dispersedly ) 
 
 The ivatch-dogs bark : 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. {Dispersp-dly ^ 
 
 Hark, har ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticle 
 Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. 
 Fer Where should this music be? i' the air « 
 the earth ? 
 
 It sounds no more : — and sure, it waits upon 
 Some god of tlie island. Sitting on a bank. 
 VVeeping again the king my father's wreck, 
 This music crept by me upon the waters ; 
 Allaying both their Airy, and my passion. 
 With its sweet air : thence 1 have follow'd it, 
 Oi- it hath drawn me rather : — But 'tis gone. 
 No, it begins again. 
 
 Ariel sings. 
 Full fathom five thy father lies ; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that ivere his eyps 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 Hark ! now I hear them. — ding-dong, beii. 
 
 [Burden, ding-dong 
 Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father: 
 This i? no mortal business, nor no scMmd 
 That the earth owes: — I hear ii now above me. 
 
 Pro. The i'ringed curtains of thine eye advance. 
 And say, what thou seest yond', 
 
 Mira. What is't? a spirit? 
 
 Lord, how it looks about ' Believe me, s.T, 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 8 
 
 It carries a brave fdrni : — But 'tis a spirit, [senses 
 
 Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath such 
 As we liave, such : this gallant, which thou seest, 
 Was iu the wreck; and but he's something stain'd 
 With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'stcall 
 A. goodly person : he hath lost his fellows, [him 
 And strays about to find theni. 
 
 Mira. I raight call him 
 
 A thing divine; for nothing natural 
 I ever saw so noble. 
 
 Pro. It goes on, (Asida.) 
 
 As my soul prompts it: — Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free 
 Within two days lor this. [thee 
 
 Fer. Most sure, the goddess 
 
 On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe my prayer 
 May know, if you remain upon this island : 
 And that you will some good instruction give, 
 How I may bear me here : My prime request, 
 Which I do last pronounce, is, O, you wonder ! 
 If you be maid or no? 
 
 Mira. No wonder, sir; 
 
 But, certainly a maid. 
 
 Fer. My language ! heavens ! — 
 
 . am the best of them that speak this speech. 
 Were I but where 'tis spoken. 
 
 Pro. How! the best? 
 
 What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee? 
 
 Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
 To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me ; 
 And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples, 
 Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
 The king my father wreck'd. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for mercy I 
 
 Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of Milan 
 And liis brave son, being twain. 
 
 Pro. The duke of Milan, 
 
 And his more braver daughter, could control thee 
 Tf now'twere fit to do't : — At the first sight {Aside.) 
 They hiive chang'd eyes : — Delicate Ariel, 
 MJ set thee free for this! — A word, good sir; 
 I fear you have done yourself some wrong: A word. 
 
 Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently ? This 
 Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
 That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move ray father 
 To be inclin'd my way I 
 
 Fer. O, if a virgin, 
 
 And your atfection not gone forth, I'll make you 
 The queen of Naples. 
 
 Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more.— 
 
 They are both in cithers powers; but this swift 
 business 
 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning {Aside.) 
 Make the prize light. — One word more; I charge 
 thee. 
 
 That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp 
 The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself 
 Upon this island; as a spy, to win it 
 Worn me, the lord ou't. 
 
 Fer. No, as I am a man. 
 
 Mir. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: 
 If the ill spirit have so fair an house, 
 Good things will strive to dwell with't. 
 
 Pro. _ Follow me.— (To Ferd.) 
 
 Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. — Come. 
 I'll miinacle tliy neck and feet together : 
 Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy Ibod shall be 
 The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks 
 Wherein tlie acorn cradled. Follow. 
 
 Fer. _ No; 
 
 I will resist such entertainment, till 
 Mine enenjy has more power. {He draws.) 
 
 Mira. O, dear father, 
 
 Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
 Hf 's gentle, and not fearful. 
 
 Pro. What, I say, 
 
 My foot my tutor! Put thy sword up, traitor; 
 Who mak'st a shew, but dar'st not strike, thy con- 
 science 
 
 Is so possess d with guilt: come from thy ward; 
 War 1 can here disarm thee with this stick. 
 
 And make thy weapon drop. 
 
 Mira. Beseech you, fattier! 
 
 Pro. Hence ! hang not on my garments. 
 
 Mira. Sir, ha>e pity 
 
 I'll be his surety. 
 
 P*-o. Silence . one word more 
 
 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. Whnt ■ 
 An advocate for an impostor? hush! 
 Thou think'st, there are no more such shapes as he 
 Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish wench 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels. 
 
 Mira. My affections 
 
 Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
 To see a goodlier man. 
 
 Pro. • Come on ; obey : {To Ferd, 
 
 Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
 And have no vigour in them. 
 
 Fer. So they are : 
 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
 My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
 The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats. 
 To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
 Might I but through my prison once a day 
 Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 
 Let liberty make use of; space enough 
 Have 1 in such a prison. 
 
 Pro. It works : — Come on. — 
 
 Thou hast done well, fine Ariel I— Follow me. — 
 
 {To Ferd. and Mir.) 
 Hark, what thou else shalt do me. {To Ariel.) 
 
 Mira. Be of comf ort ; 
 
 My father's of a better nature, sir. 
 Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted, 
 Which now came from him. 
 
 Pro. Thou shnlt be as freo 
 
 As mountain winds : but then exactly do 
 All points of my command. 
 
 Ari. To the syllable. 
 
 Pro. C-ome, follow : speak not for him. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene 1. — Another part sf the Island. 
 
 Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
 Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
 
 Con. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry : you have cause 
 (So have we all) of joy ; for our escape 
 Is mucli beyond our loss. Our hint of woe 
 Is common; every day, some sailor's wife, 
 The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, 
 Have just our theme nf woe : but for the miracle, 
 I mean our preservation, few in millions 
 Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 
 Our sorrow with our comfort. 
 
 A Ion. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 
 
 Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
 
 Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit, 
 by and by it will strike. 
 
 Gon. Sir,— 
 
 Seh. One:— Tell. 
 
 Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's offcr'd, 
 Comes to the entertainer — 
 Seb. A dollar. 
 
 Goji. Dolour comes to him, indeed ; you have 
 spoken truer than you purposed. [should 
 Seb. Vou have taken it wiselier than I meant vos 
 Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 
 Ant. Fy, vJiat a spendthrift is he of bis tongue ! 
 Alon. I pr'ythee, spare. 
 Gon. Well, I have done : But yet — 
 Seb. He will be talking. 
 
 Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian for a joot 
 
 wager, first begins to crow? 
 Seb. The old cock. 
 Ant. The cockrel. 
 Seb. Done : The wager? 
 Ant. A laughter. 
 Seb. A match. 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 Adt. Though this island seera to be desert, — 
 SbK Hi>, ha, ha! 
 Ant. So, you've pay'd. 
 
 Adr Uninhabitable, aud almost inaccessible, — 
 •S^fc!^ Yet. 
 Adi Yet— 
 
 Ant. He could not miss it. 
 
 Adt . It must needs be of subtle, tender, and de- 
 Jicale temperance. 
 
 Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench, [livered. 
 
 Seh. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly de- 
 
 Adr. l^he air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 
 
 Seh. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 
 
 Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 
 
 Hon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 
 
 Ant. True ; save means to^live. 
 
 Seh. Of that there's none, or little. [green! 
 
 (ion. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how 
 
 Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. 
 
 Seh. With an eye of green in't. 
 
 Ant. He misses not much. 
 
 Seh. No ; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 
 
 Qon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed almost 
 (joyond credit), — 
 
 Seh. As many vouch'd rarities are. 
 
 Gun. That our garments being, as they were, 
 drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
 freshness, and glosses; being rather new dy'd, than 
 stain'd with salt water. 
 
 Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would 
 it not say, he lies? 
 
 Seh. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 
 
 Qon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as 
 when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage 
 of the king's fair daughter, Claribel, to the king of 
 7\inis. 
 
 Seh. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well 
 iU our return. 
 
 Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
 paragon to their queen. 
 
 Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 
 
 Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! How came that 
 widow in? Widow Dido! 
 
 Seh. What if he had said, widower iEneas too ? 
 good lord, how you take it ' 
 
 Adr. Widow Dido, said you ? you make me study 
 of tiiat : She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 
 
 Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
 
 Adr. Carthage ? 
 
 Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
 
 Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 
 
 Seh. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. 
 
 Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy 
 next? 
 
 Seh. I think he will carry this island home in his 
 pocket, aud give it his son for an apple. 
 
 Ant. And, sowing the kernels ol' it in the sea, 
 bring forth more islands. 
 
 Gon. Ay? 
 
 Ant. Why, in good time 
 
 Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem 
 now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the mar- 
 riage of your daughter, who is now queen. 
 
 Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
 
 Seh. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
 
 Ant. O, widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido, 
 
 Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first 
 day I wore it? [ mean, in a sort. 
 
 An^ That soi t was well fish'd for. 
 
 Gon When I wore it at your daughter's marriage ? 
 
 Alon. You cram these words into mine ears, against 
 The stomach of my sense. Would I had never 
 Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence. 
 My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, 
 Wh'jis so far from Italy remov'd, 
 J ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
 Of Naples and of Milan, what stra ige fish 
 Hath made his meal on thee ! 
 
 Fran. Sir, he may live ; 
 
 I saw hitn beat tbe surges under him 
 
 And ride upon their liacks; he trod the water. 
 
 Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
 
 The surge most swoln that met him ; his bold head 
 
 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
 
 Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
 
 To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd 
 
 As stooping to relieve him : I not doubt, 
 
 He came alive to land. 
 
 Alon. No, no, ht's gone. 
 
 Seh. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss 
 That would not bless our Europe with your daughter 
 But rather lose her to an African ; 
 Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye. 
 Who hath cause to wet the grief on't 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seh. You were kneel'd to, and iraportun'd other- 
 By all of us ; and the fair soul herself [vvis« 
 Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost 
 I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have [your son, 
 More widows in them of this business' making. 
 Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault's 
 Your own. 
 
 Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. 
 
 Gon. My lord Sebastiaii, 
 
 The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness. 
 And time to speak it in ; you rub the sore. 
 When you should bring the plaster. 
 
 Seh. Very well. 
 
 Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 
 
 Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir. 
 When you are cloudy. 
 
 Seh. Foul weather ? 
 
 Ant. Very foui. 
 
 Gon. Had T plantation of this isle, my lord, — 
 
 Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed. 
 
 Seh. Or docks, or mallow*. 
 
 Gon. And were the king of it. What would I do? 
 
 Seh. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. 
 
 Gon. r the commonwealth, I would by contraries 
 Execute all things: for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
 Letters should not be known ; no use of service, 
 Of riches, or of i overty ; no contracts. 
 Successions ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none . 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
 No occupation; all men idle, all; 
 And women too ; but innocent and pure : 
 No sovereignty : — 
 
 Seh. And yet he would be king on't 
 
 Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets 
 the beginning. 
 
 Gon. All things in common nature should produce 
 Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony. 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine. 
 Would I not have : but nature should bring forth. 
 Of its own kind, all foizon, all abundance, 
 To feed my innocent people. 
 
 Seh. No marrying among his subjects? 
 
 Ant. None, man; all idle; whores, and knaves. 
 
 Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir. 
 To excel the golden age. 
 
 Seh. ' Save his majesty I 
 
 Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 
 
 Gon. And, do you mark me, sir? — fras 
 
 Alon. Pr' ythee no more : thou dost talk nothing to 
 
 Gon. I do well believe your highness , and did it 
 to ministe.r occasion to these ^mtlemea, who 'ii'e 
 of such sensible and nimble lung*, that they always 
 use to laugh at nothing. 
 
 Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 
 
 Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am no- 
 thing to you : so you may continue, and laugh al 
 nothing still. 
 
 Ant. What a blow was there given! 
 
 Seh. An it had not fallen flat-long. 
 
 Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle ; yon 
 would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she wouW 
 continue in it five weeks without changing. 
 
 Enter Ariel invisihle, j^^aying solemn 
 
J3CENE 1. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 8eb. We would so, and then go a bat fowling. 
 
 ^nt. Nay^ ofood my lord, be not angry. 
 
 Gon. No, I warrant yon; I will not adventure 
 my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, 
 for I am very heavy ? 
 
 Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 
 
 (All sleep but Alon. Seb. and Ant ) 
 
 Alon. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes 
 W^ouid, with theniseh es, slmt up my thoughts : I 
 They are inclin'd to do so. ["find, 
 
 Seb. Please you, .sir, 
 
 Do not omit the heavy offer of it: 
 It seldom visits .sorrow ; when it doth. 
 It is a comforter. 
 
 Ant. We two, my lord. 
 
 Will guard your person, while you take your rest. 
 And watch your safety. 
 
 Alon. Thank you : Wondrous heavy. — 
 
 [^Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. 
 
 Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! 
 
 Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 
 
 Seb. ^ ^ Why 
 
 Doth it not then our eye-lids sink? I find not 
 Myself dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Ant. Nor T; my spirits are nimble. 
 
 They fell together all, as by consent; 
 They dropp'd, as by a thunder stroke. What might, 
 Worthy Sebastian ? — O, what might ? — No more : — 
 And yet, methinks, 1 see it in thy face, [and 
 What thou should'st be : the occasion speaks thee ; 
 My strong imagination sees a crown 
 Dropping upon thy head. 
 
 Seb. What, art thou waking? 
 
 Ant. Do you not hear me speak ? 
 
 Seb. I do ; and, surely. 
 
 It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st 
 Out of thy sleep: What is it thou did'st say? 
 This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
 With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving. 
 And yet so fast asleep. 
 
 Ant. Noble Sebastian, 
 
 Thou let'st thy fortune sleep — die, rather ; wink'sl 
 Whiles thou art waking. 
 
 Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ; 
 
 There's meaning in thy snores. 
 
 Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
 Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do, 
 Trebles thee o'er. 
 
 Seb. Well ; I am standing water. 
 
 Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 
 
 Seb. Do so : to ebb. 
 
 Hereditary sloth instructs me. 
 
 Ant. O, 
 If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish. 
 Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, 
 You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed, 
 Most often do so near the bottom run, 
 By their own fear, or sloth. 
 
 Seb. Pr'ythee, say on : 
 
 The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
 A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed. 
 Which throes thee much to yield. 
 
 Ant. Thus, sir: 
 
 Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
 (Who shall be of as little memory, 
 Wlien he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded 
 (For he's a spirit of persuasion only,) 
 The king his son's alive ; 'tis as impossible 
 That he's undrown'd, as he that sleeps here, swims. 
 
 Seb. I have no hope 
 That he's undrown'd. 
 
 J^nt. O, out of that no hope. 
 
 What great hope have you ! No hope, that way, is 
 Another way so high an hope, that even 
 Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
 But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with 
 That Feidinand is drown'd? [me, 
 
 Seb He's gone. 
 
 j^yil^ Then, tell me, 
 
 Who's tke next heir of Naples? 
 
 Seb. ^ ^ Claribel- 
 
 ^ Ant. She, that is queen of Tunis ; she, that oTnt-IIf 
 Ten leagues beyond man's lilo ; she, that fromNaplei» 
 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
 (The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new born chin* 
 Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom 
 We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast agaii*! 
 And by that destin'd to perform an act. 
 Whereof what's past is prologue ; what to come. 
 In yours and my discharge. 
 
 Seb. What stufT is this ? — How «-ay you T 
 
 Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunia: 
 So is she heir of Naples ; twixt which regions 
 There is some space. 
 
 Ant. A space whose every cubit 
 
 Seems to cry out. How shall thai Ciaribel 
 Measure us bach to Naples? — Keep in Tunis, 
 And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death 
 That now hath seiz'd them ; vvliy, they were no wors* 
 Than now they are : there be, that can rule Naplea, 
 As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate 
 As amply, and unnecessarily. 
 As this Gonzalo; 1 myself could make 
 A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
 The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
 For your advancement! Do you understand meT 
 
 Seb. Methinks, I do. 
 
 Ant. And how does your contf i 
 
 Tender your own good fortune? 
 
 Seb. I remember. 
 
 You did supplant your brother Prospero. 
 
 Ant. True . 
 
 And, look, how well my garments sit upon me ; 
 Much feater than before : My brother's servants 
 Were then my fellows, now they are my n)en. 
 
 Seb. But, for your conscience — 
 
 Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe, 
 'Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not 
 This deity in my bosom ; twenty consciences, 
 That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be thtj. 
 And nielt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother* 
 No better than the earth he lies upon, 
 If he were that which now he's like ; whom I, 
 With this obedient steel, three inches of it. 
 Can lay to bed lor ever: whiles you doing thus, 
 To the perpetual wink f or aye might put 
 This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who 
 Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest 
 They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk; 
 They'll tell the clock to any business that 
 W e say 'befits the hour. 
 
 Seb. Thy case, dear friend. 
 
 Shall be my precedent; as thou gotst Milan, 
 I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword ; one stroke 
 Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st; 
 And I the king shall love thee. 
 
 Ant. Draw together: 
 
 And when I rear my hand, do you the like. 
 To fall it on Gonzalo. 
 
 Seb. ' O, but one word. {They converse apart., 
 Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible. 
 
 Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger 
 That these, his friends, are in; and sends me forth, 
 (For else liis project dies,) to keep them living. 
 
 (Sings in Gonzalo s ear.) 
 While you hrre do snoring He, 
 Open-ry'd Conspiracy 
 His timt doth take: 
 If of life vov keep a care. 
 Shake off sh<r)iber, and beware; 
 Awake ! Awake I 
 
 Ant. Then let us both be sudden {Thry wake\ 
 
 Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king! 
 
 Alo'f Why, how now. ho ! awake! Wh.v are you 
 Wherefore this ghastly looking ? [drawn ? 
 
 Q„n What's the matter f 
 
 Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repow 
 Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
 Like bulls, or ratlier lions; did it not wake you 
 It struck mine ear most terribly. 
 
 Alon. ^ heard nothing. 
 
8 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 Ant. O, 'twas a din to friglit a monster's ear ; 
 To tn^ke an earthquake I sure it was the roar 
 Of a whole herd of lions. 
 A Ion. Heard you thisj Oonzalo? 
 
 Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humnnng. 
 And that a strange one too, which did awake me : 
 1 sliak'd yon, sir, lud cry'd ; as mine eyes open'd, 
 saw their weapons drawn : — there was a noise, 
 'hat's Verify : best stand upon our guard ; 
 )r that we quit this place : let's draw our weapons. 
 Alon. Lead oft' this ground ; and let's make further 
 or my poor son [search 
 Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! 
 
 or he is, sure, i' the island. 
 Alon. Lead away. 
 
 Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know wliat I have 
 done : [Aside.) 
 So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. 
 Scene II. — Another part of the Island. 
 Enter Caliban, with a burden of wood. 
 A noise of thunder heard. 
 Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks np 
 From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him 
 iiy inch- meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, 
 And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch. 
 Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire. 
 Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark 
 Out of my way, unless he bid tliem ; but 
 For every trifle are they set upon me : 
 Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me, 
 And a.'ter, bite me; then like hedge hogs, which 
 Lie tumbling in n») bare-foot way, and mount 
 'J'heir pricks at my foot fall ; sometiaie am I 
 All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, 
 1) > hiss me into madness : — Lo ! now ! lo ! 
 
 Enter Trinculo. 
 Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me, 
 For bringing wood in slowly : I'll fall flat; 
 Perchance, he will not mind me. 
 
 Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear oft' 
 any weather nt all, and another storm brewing; I 
 hear it sine ' the wind : yond' same black cloud, 
 yond" huge one, looks like a foul bumbard that 
 would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did 
 bel'ore, I know not where to hide my head: yond' 
 same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. — What 
 have we iiere ? a man or a fish ? Dead or alive ? A 
 fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish- 
 like sntell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. 
 A strange tish : Were I in England now (as once 
 1 was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holyday 
 Ibol there but would give a piece of silver: there 
 would this monster make a man ; any strange beast 
 tiiere makes a man: when they will not give a doit 
 . relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see 
 a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins like 
 arms ! Warm, o' my troth ' I do now let loose my 
 opinion, hold it no longer , this is no fish, but an 
 islander, that hath lately sufl'ered by a thunderbolt. 
 (Thunder.) Alas! the storm is come again; my best 
 way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no 
 other shelter hereabout: Misery acquaints a man 
 with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till 
 the dregs oi' tlie storm be past. 
 Enter Stephano, singing ; a bottle in his hand. 
 Steph. I shall no more to sea, to sea, 
 
 Here shall I die ashore ; — • 
 Tliis is a very scurvy tune to sing a man's funeral ; 
 Well, here's my comfort. {Brinks.) 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
 
 The gunner, and his mate, 
 h^Sd Mall^ Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
 But none of us card for Kate : 
 For she had a tongue with a tang, 
 Would cry lo a sailor. Go hang : 
 She lovd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, {itch: 
 Yet a tailot might scratch her ivhereer she did 
 Then to sea, boys, and let her hung. 
 
 This IS a scurvy tune too: but nere's mj comfort 
 
 {Drinks. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me : O ! 
 
 Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? 
 Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men 
 of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scai)'d drowning, to be 
 afeard now of your four legs ; for it hath been said 
 As proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot 
 make him give ground : and it shall be said so again, 
 while Stephano breathes at nostrils. 
 
 Cal. The spirit tornjents me : O ! 
 
 Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with fouz 
 legs; who hath got, as I take it, an ague: Wnere 
 the devil should he learn our language? I will give 
 him some relief, if it be but for that, of 1 can re 
 co\'er him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples 
 with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever 
 trod on neat's-leather. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; 
 I'll bring my wood home faster. 
 
 Ste. He's in his fit now ; and does not talk after 
 the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have 
 never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove 
 his fit: if I can recover him, and keep him tame, I 
 will not take too umch for him : he shall pay for him 
 that hath him, and that soundly. 
 
 Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thoa wilt 
 Anon, I know it by thy trembling : 
 Now Prosper works upon thee. 
 
 iS^e. Come on your ways ; o|)en your mouth: here 
 is that which will give language to you, cat: open 
 your mouth : this will shake your shaking, I :an tell 
 you, aad that soundly : you cannot tell who's vour 
 friend : open your chaps again. 
 
 Trin. I should know that voice : It should be — 
 But he is drowned ; and these are devils : O ! de* 
 fend me I — 
 
 Ste. Four legs and two voices; a most delicate 
 monster ! His forward voice now is to speak well 
 of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul 
 speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my 
 bottle will recover him, I will help his ague : Come, 
 — Amen ! I will pour some in thy other mouth. 
 
 Trin. Stephano, — 
 
 Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! 
 mercy! This is a devil, and no monster: I will 
 leave him^ I have no long spoon. 
 
 Trin. Stephano!— if thou beest Stephano, touch 
 me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo; — be not 
 afeard, — thy good friend Trinculo. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll pull 
 thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, 
 these are they. Thou art very IMnculo, indeed. 
 How canist thou to be the siege of this moon-calf* 
 Can he vent 'I'rinculos? 
 
 Trin. 1 took him to be killed with a thunder- 
 stroke : — But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I 
 hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm 
 overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's 
 gaberdine, for fear of the storni : And art thou living, 
 Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scap'd! 
 
 Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about ; my stomach 
 is not constant. 
 
 Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites 
 That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor • 
 I will kneel to him. 
 
 Ste. How didst thou 'scape? how cam'st thcji 
 hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
 I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailois 
 heaved over-board, by this bottle! which 1 made 
 of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands since 1 
 was cast a shore. 
 
 Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy 
 True subject; for the liquor is not earthly. 
 
 Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap"dst. 
 
 Ti'in. Swam ashore, man, like a duck; I can 
 swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Ste. Here, k;ss the book : though thou cans/ 
 swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
 
 Tt in. O Stephano, bast mvi i"ure- of this '/ 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Ste. The whole butt, man ; my cellar is in a rock 
 hv the se;i-side, where my wine is iiid. How now 
 moon-calf? how does thine ague ? 
 
 Cal, Hast thou not dropped from heaven? 
 
 Ste. Out o' the moon, 1 do assure thee : I was 
 the man in the moon, when time was. 
 
 Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee : 
 My mistress shewed me thee, thy dog, and bush. 
 
 Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : 1 will 
 fnrnish it anon with new contents : swear. 
 
 Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
 monster: — I afeard of him? — a very weak monster : 
 — The ujan i' the moon? — a most poor credulous 
 monster : Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. 
 
 Cal. I'll shew thee every fertile inch o' the island 
 And kiss thy foot: I pr'ythee, be «iiy god. 
 
 Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 
 monster; when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle, 
 
 Col. I'll kiss thy foot : I'll swear myself thy sub- 
 
 Ste. Come on then ; down, and swear. [ject, 
 
 Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- 
 headed monster : A most scurvy monster ' 1 could 
 find in my heart to beat him, — 
 
 Ste. Come, kiss 
 
 Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink : an 
 abominable monster! [thee berries; 
 
 Cal. I'll shew thee the best springs; I'll pluck 
 ni fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
 \ plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! 
 I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
 I'hou w<»nd'rous xwau. 
 
 Trin. A most ridiculous monster; to make a 
 wonder of a poor drunkard. 
 
 Cal. I pr'ythee. let me bring thee where crabs grow; 
 And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts 
 Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmozet ; I'll bring thee 
 To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee 
 Young sea-mells from the rock. Wilt thou go with me'^ 
 Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any 
 more talkitig. — Trinculo, the king and all our com- 
 pany else being drowned, we will inherit here. — 
 B»re; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill 
 him by and by again. 
 
 Cal. Farewell, master ; fareivell, farewell. 
 
 {Sings drunhenly.) 
 Trin. A howling monster; a drunken monster. 
 Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish; 
 Nor fetch in firing 
 At requiring, 
 Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish ; 
 'Ban, 'Ban, Ca — Caliban, 
 Has a neiv master — Get a new man. 
 Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom, 
 hey day, freedom ! 
 Ste. O brave monster! lead the way. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Before Prosperous Cell. 
 Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. 
 Ver. There be some sports are painful ; but their 
 labour 
 
 Delight in tiiem sets off : some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
 As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
 The mistress, which i serve, quickens what's dead. 
 And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is 
 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; 
 And he's compo.s'd of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up. 
 Upon a sore injunction : my sweet mistress 
 Weeps, when siie sees me work; and says, such 
 Had ne'er like executor. I ibrget: [baseness 
 But these sweet thoug hts do even refresh my labours; 
 Most busy less, when I do it. 
 
 Enter Mirand.i ; and Prospero at a distance. 
 
 Mira Alas, now ! pray you, 
 
 Work not so bard : I would, t/ie lightning had 
 
 Burnt up those logs, that you ate enjoin'd to pile! 
 Pray, set it down, and rest yoif • when this bums, 
 'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father 
 Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself; 
 He's safe for these three hours. 
 
 Fer. O most dear mistres* 
 
 The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
 What I must strive to do. 
 
 Mira. ' If you'll sit dowo, 
 
 I'll bear your logs the while • Pray give me thati 
 I'll carry it to the pile. 
 
 Fer. No, precious creature . 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back 
 Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
 While I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mira. It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you : and I should do it 
 With much more ease ; for my good w^ll is to it. 
 And yours against. 
 
 Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected , 
 
 This visitation shews it. 
 
 Mira. You look wearily, [me 
 
 Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning witij 
 When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
 (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) 
 What is your name ? 
 
 Mira. Miranda : — O my father, 
 
 I have broke yoqr best to say so I 
 
 Fer. Admir'd Miranda. 
 
 Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
 What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
 I ha\ e ey"d with best regard ; and many a time 
 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
 Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
 Have I lik'd several women; never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd. 
 And put it to the foil : but you, O you. 
 So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best. ' 
 
 Mira. I do not know 
 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember. 
 Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I ^een 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend. 
 And my dear father • how features are abroad, 
 I am skill-less of ; but, by my modesty, 
 (The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
 Any companion in the world but you ; 
 Nor can imagination form a shape. 
 Besides yourself, to like of - but I prattle 
 Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
 Therein forget. 
 
 Fer. I am, in my condition, 
 
 A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; 
 (I would, not so!) and would no more endure 
 This wooden slavery, than I would suffer 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul speaks 
 The very instant that I saw you, did 
 My heart fly to your service ; there resides. 
 To make me slave to it ; and, for your sake, 
 Am I this patient log-man. 
 
 Mira. Do you love me ? 
 
 Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, 
 And crown what I profess with kind event. 
 If I speak true ; if hollowly, invert 
 What best is boded me, to mischief! 1, 
 Beyond all limit of what else i' the world. 
 Do love, prize, honour you. 
 
 Mira. 1 am a fool. 
 
 To weep at what I am glad of. 
 
 Pro. Fair encounter 
 
 Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
 On that which breeds between them ! 
 
 Fer. Wherefore weep you? 
 
 Mira. At mine nnworthiness, that dare not offer 
 What I desire to give; and much less take, 
 What I shall die to want: but this is triiliug; 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself. 
 The bigger bulk it shews. Hence, 'Sashiul ctumiiigi 
 And prompt me, plain and holy inne fince 
 
10 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act til 
 
 I am your wife, if you will marry me , 
 If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
 You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, 
 Whether you will or no. 
 
 Fet My mistress, dearest, 
 
 And I thus humble ever. 
 
 Wlira. My husband then ? 
 
 Fer. Ay, witn a heart as willing 
 A « bondage e'er of" freedom : here's my hand. 
 
 Mira And mine, with my heart in"t : And now 
 farewell, 
 Till half an hour hence. 
 
 Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 
 
 [Exeunt Fer. and Mir. 
 
 Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be. 
 Who are siirpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. L'U to my book ; 
 For yet, ere supper time, must I perform 
 Much business appertaining. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — Another part of ike Island. 
 Enter Stephano and Trinculo ; Caliban fol- 
 lowing, tvit/i a bottle. 
 
 Ste. Tell not me ; — when the butt is out, we will 
 drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, 
 and board 'em : Servant-monster, drink to me. 
 
 Trin. Servant-monster? the folly of this island! 
 They say, there's but live upon this isle : we are 
 three of them ; if the other two be brained like us, 
 the state totters. , 
 
 Ste. Drink, servant- monster, when I bid thee; 
 thy eyes are almost set in tliy head. 
 
 Trin. Where should they be set else? he were a 
 braipe monster indeed, if th-. y were set in his tail. 
 
 Ste. My man-monster }>ath drowned his tongue 
 in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I 
 swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty 
 leagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my 
 lieutenant, monster, or my standard. [standard. 
 
 Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no 
 
 Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster, 
 
 Trin. Nor go neither : but you'll lie, like dogs ; 
 and yet say nothing neither. 
 
 Ste. Mooncalf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
 beesta good moon-calf 
 
 Cal. How does thy honour ? Let me lick thy shoe : 
 I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. 
 
 Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster; I am 
 in case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed 
 fish thou, was there ever a man a coward that hath 
 drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a 
 monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a 
 monster ? 
 
 Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
 my lord ? 
 
 Trin. Lord, quoth he! — that a monster should 
 be such a natural! 
 
 Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head ; 
 if you prove a mutineer, the next tree — The poor 
 monster's my subject, and he shall not suff'er in- 
 dignity. 
 
 Cat. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd 
 to hearken once again the suit I made thee? 
 
 Ste. Marry will I : kneel and repeat it; I will 
 stand, and so shall Trinculo. 
 
 Enter Ariel, invisible. 
 
 Cal. As I told thee 
 Before, I am subject to a tyrant ; 
 A sorcerer, tnat by his cimning hath 
 Cneated me of this island. 
 
 Art. Thou liest. 
 
 Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou I 
 
 would my valiant master would destroy thee : 
 I do not lie. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his 
 tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your 
 
 Trin. Why, I said nothing. [teeth. 
 
 Ste. Mum then, and no more. — [To Caliban.) 
 Proceed. 
 
 Cal. I say, by si rcery he got this isle , 
 From me he got it. II' thy greatness will 
 Revenge it on him — ibr, I know, thou dar'st; 
 But this thing dare not. 
 
 Ste. That's most certain. 
 
 Cal. 1'hou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee, 
 
 Ste. How now shall this be compassed? CnosS 
 thou, bring me to the party ? 
 
 Cal. Yea, yea, my lord ; I'll yield him thee asleep 
 Where thou may'st knock a nail in his head. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. [patch .~- 
 
 Cal. What a pied ninny's this? Thou scuivy 
 I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows. 
 And take his bottle from him ; when that's gone. 
 He shall drink nought but brine; ibr I'll not shew 
 Where the quick freshes are. [hitii 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- 
 ru, t the monster one word further, and, by this 
 hand, I'M tnrn my mercy out of doors, and make a 
 stock-fish of thee. 
 
 Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing: I'll go 
 further off. 
 
 Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ? 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Ste. Do I so? take thou that. {Strikes him.) As 
 you like this, give me the lie another time 
 
 Trin. 1 did not give the lie: — Out o' your wits, 
 
 and hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle ! this can 
 
 sack, and drinking do. — A murrain on your monster, 
 and the devil take your fingers ! 
 
 Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee 
 stand further off. 
 
 Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time, 
 I'll beat him too. 
 
 Ste. Stand further. — Come, proceed. 
 
 CaJ. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
 I' the afternoon to sleep : there thou may'st brain lum 
 Having first seiz'd his books; or with a Idg 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, 
 Or cut his wezand with thy knife : reniernber, 
 First to possess his books ; for without them 
 He's but a sot, as I am, nor hatii not 
 One spirit to command : they all do hate him. 
 As rootedly as I : burn but his books ; 
 He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,) 
 Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal 
 And that most deeply to consider, is 
 The beauty of his daughter; he himself 
 Calls her a nonpareil : I ne'er saw woman 
 But only Sycorax my dam, and she ; 
 But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 
 As greatest does least. 
 
 Ste. Is it so brave a lass* 
 
 Cal. Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, I warrant. 
 And bring thee forth brave brood. 
 
 Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his daughter 
 and I will be king and queen ; ( save our graces ! { 
 and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys : — Dost 
 thou like the plot, Trinculo? 
 
 Trin. Excellent. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat thee 
 but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. 
 
 Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep ; 
 Wilt thou destroy him then ? 
 
 Ste. Ay, on mine honoui 
 
 Ari. This will 1 tell my master. 
 
 Cai. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of pleasure 
 Let us be jocund : will you troll the catch 
 You taught me but while-ere? 
 
 Ste. At thy request, -monster, I will do reason^ 
 any reason : Come on, Trinculo let us sing. (Siiiga ) 
 
 Flout 'em, and shout 'em ; and skotit 'em, and 
 Thought is free. [Jiout 'em ; 
 
 Cal. Th;it's not the tune. 
 
 {Ariel plays the tune oi a tabor and pipe.) 
 
 Ste. What is this same ? 
 
 Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by tht 
 picture oi' Tsio-body. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 11 
 
 Ste. If thou beest a man, shew thyself in thy 
 likeness : if tlioti he ist a devil, take it as thou Hst. 
 
 Trin. O, forgive me my sins! 
 
 Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee : — 
 Mercy upon us ! 
 
 Cat Art thou afeard? 
 
 cste. No, monaster, not I. 
 
 Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, 
 Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. 
 Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
 Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices. 
 That, if I tKen had wak'd after long sleep. 
 Will make me slee[) again : and then, in dreaming, 
 The clouds, methought, would open, and shew riches 
 Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd, 
 I cry'd to dreani again, 
 
 Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, 
 where I shall have my music for nothing. 
 
 Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 
 
 Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the 
 story. [and after, do our work. 
 
 Trin. The sound is going away : let's follow it, 
 
 Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow. — I would, I 
 could see this taborer : he lays it on. 
 
 Trin. Wilt come ? I'll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt. 
 Scene III. — Another part of the Island. 
 Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
 Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
 
 Gon. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir; 
 IVIy old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed. 
 Through forth-rights and meanders ! By your pa- 
 I nee^s must rest me. [tience, 
 
 Aiua. Old lor^d, 1 cannot blame thee, 
 
 Wko am myself attach'd with weariness, 
 To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
 Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
 No longer ibr my flatterer : he is drown'd, 
 Whom thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks 
 Ou! frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. 
 
 Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. 
 
 [Aside to Sebastian. ] 
 l>o not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
 That you resolv'd to effect. 
 
 Seh. The next advantage 
 
 Will we take thoroughly. 
 
 Ant. Let it be to-night; 
 
 For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
 Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance. 
 As when they are fresh. 
 
 Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 
 
 Solemn and strange music ; and Prosper© above, 
 
 invisible. Enter several strange Shapes, bring- 
 ing in a banquet ; they dance about it with gentle 
 
 actions of salutation ; and, inviting the King, 
 
 §fc. to eat. they depart. 
 
 Alon. What harmony is this? my good friends, 
 
 Gon. Marvellous sweet music 1 [hark ! 
 
 Alon. G'wG us kind keepers, heavens! What 
 were these ? 
 
 Seb. A living drollery : Now I will believe. 
 That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia 
 There is one tree, the phoenix' throne; one phoenix 
 At this hour reigning there. 
 
 Ant. I'll believe both : 
 
 And what does else want credit, come to me, 
 And I'll be sworn 'tis true ; Travellers ne'er did lie. 
 Though fools at home condemn them. 
 
 Gon. If in Naples 
 
 I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
 If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
 (For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
 vVho, though they are of monstrous shape, yet^ note. 
 Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
 Our human generation you shall find 
 Many, nay, almost any. 
 
 Pro. Honest lord. 
 
 Thou hast said well , for some of you there present, 
 Are worse than devils. {Aside.) 
 
 Alon. I cannot too much muse, 
 
 Such shapes, such gestuie, and such sound eft* 
 
 pressing 
 
 (Although they want the use of tongue) a kinu 
 Of excellent dumb discourse. 
 
 Pro. Praise in departing. [Aside}^ 
 
 Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 
 
 Seb. No matter, sinct 
 
 They have left their viands behind ; for we have 
 
 stomachs. — 
 Will't please you taste of what is here ? 
 
 A Ion. Not I. 
 
 Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we 
 were boys. 
 
 Who would believe that there were mountaineers, 
 Devv-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging 
 at them 
 
 Wallets of flesh ? or that ti)ere were such men. 
 Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we 
 Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us [find 
 Good warrant of. 
 
 Alon. I will stand to, and feed. 
 
 Although my last : no matter, since I feel 
 The best is past: — Brother, my lord the duke, 
 Stand to, and do as we. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel lihe a harpy 
 claps his tvings upon the table, and with a quaint 
 device, the banquet va?iishes. 
 Ari. You are tliree tnen of sin, whom destiny 
 (That hath to instrument this lower world. 
 And whatisin't,) the never-surfeited sea 
 Hathcaused tobelch up; and on this island 
 Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men 
 Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; 
 
 {Seeing Alon. Seb. Q'c. draw their swords.) 
 And even with such like valoar, men hang and drowa 
 Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellow 
 Are ministers of fate ; the elements. 
 Of whom your swords are teuiper'd, may as well 
 W ound the loud wind**, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
 Kill tlie still-closing waters, as diminish 
 One dowle tliat's in my plume ; my fellow-ministel 
 Are like invulnerable : if you could hurt. 
 Your swords are now too massy for your strength* 
 And will not be uplifted : but, remember, 
 (For that's my business to you,) that you three 
 From Milan did supplant good Prospero, 
 Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it 
 Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 
 The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
 Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures 
 Against your peace : thee, of thy son, Alonso, 
 Tliey have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, 
 Ling'ring perdition (worse than any death 
 Can be at once,) shall step by step attend [froia 
 You and your ways; -.yliose wraths to guard yoa 
 (Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 
 Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow. 
 And a clear life ensuin-g. 
 
 He vanishes in thunder : then, to soft music, enter 
 the Shapes again, and dance with tnops and 
 mowes. and carry out the table. [hast thou 
 Pro. (Aside.) Bravely the figure of this harpy 
 Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring . 
 Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated. 
 In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life. 
 And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
 Their several kinds have done: my high charms woi k. 
 And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
 In their distractions : they now are in my power; 
 And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit 
 Young Ferdinand, (whonj they suppose is drown'd,^ 
 And his and my loved darling. 
 
 [Exit Pro. from above 
 Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stan^ 
 In this strange stare ? f yoa 
 
 Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous I 
 
 Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it; 
 The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. 
 That dt^ep yid dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
 The name of Prosper ; it dia oass my trespaaSi 
 
12 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 rherefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
 '11 seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
 And with him there lie mudded. [Exil. 
 
 SeL But one fiend at a time, 
 
 1 11 fight their legions o'er. 
 
 Ant. I'll be thy second. 
 
 [Exeunt Seb. and Ant. 
 
 Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great 
 Like poison given to work a great time after, [guilt, 
 N )w 'gins to bite the spirits : — I do beseech you, 
 That are of suppler joints, follow them swiitiy. 
 And hinder them from what this ecstasy 
 May now provoke them to. 
 
 Jict/ Follow, I pray you. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene T. — Before Prosperous Cell. 
 
 Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Mrnxmyx. 
 
 Pro. If I have too austerely pu;iish'd you, 
 V^our compensation makes amends ; for I 
 Have gi\en yoa here a thread of mine own life, 
 Or tliat, for which I live ; whom once again 
 I teud^^r to tliy hand : all thy vexations 
 \\'ere but ray trials of thy love, and thou 
 Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore heaven, 
 I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
 Du nut sinile at me, tliat I boast her olf, 
 l^ur thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise. 
 Ami make it halt behind her. 
 
 Fe?: 1 do believe it, 
 
 -Agiiinst an oracle. 
 
 Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
 VVoitliily purchas'd, take my daughter; but 
 if tliou d«st break her virgin kuot before 
 All s;air,timonious ceremouies may 
 Wish I'dll and holy rite be tnitiister'd, 
 No swtiet aspersion shall tiie heavens let fall 
 To make this contract grow; but barren hate, 
 &hO!:r ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew 
 Til'" union of your bed with .weeds so loathly, 
 I'lrit you shall hate it both: therefore, take heed. 
 As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 
 
 Fer. As I hope 
 
 I 'M- q liet days, fair issue, and long life, 
 W'ltii sucli love as 'tis now; the murkiest den. 
 The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
 Oisr worser Genius can, shall never melt 
 Alme honour into lust ; to take away 
 I'lie edj^e of that day's celebration, 
 VV'lien 1 shall tliink, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd. 
 Or iiiglit kept chain'd below. 
 
 Pro. Fairly spoke: 
 
 8it. tnen, and talk with her, she is thine own.— 
 VV Hat, Ariel ; my industrious servant, Ariel ! 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 An. What would my potent master ? here I am. 
 
 iVo, Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service 
 Did worthily perform ; and I must use you 
 fn such another trick : go, bring the rabble, 
 O'er whom I gave thee power, here, to this place : 
 Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
 Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
 Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise. 
 And they expect it from me. 
 
 Ari. Presently ? 
 
 Pro Ay, with a twink. 
 
 Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go, 
 And bjeathe twice ; and cry, so, so; 
 Each one, tripping on his toe, 
 Will be here with mop and mowe : 
 Do you love me, master? no. 
 
 Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach. 
 Till thou dost hear me call. 
 
 Art. Well, I conceive. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Look, thou be true : do not give dalliance 
 Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw 
 »o thv* fire i' the blood : be more abstemious. 
 Or else, gr'i»d night, your vow 1 
 
 i^er. I warr»nt you, sir; 
 
 The white-cold virgin snow noon mv heart 
 Abates the ardour of my liver. 
 
 Pro. ^ Well.— 
 
 Now come, my Ariel ; bring a corollary, 
 Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly.— 
 No tongue ; all eyes ; be silen^ {Soft music) 
 
 A Masque. Enter Iris 
 
 Ins. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; 
 Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 
 And flat meads, thatch'd with stover, tliem to keep 
 Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims. 
 Which spongy April at thy best betrims, [groves 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and the brooa 
 Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves. 
 Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
 And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard. 
 Where thou thyself dost air : the queen o' the sky. 
 Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, 
 Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace 
 Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. 
 To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain 
 Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain 
 Enter Ceres 
 
 Cer Hail! many-colour'd messenger, that ne'et 
 Dost disobey the wile of Jupiter; 
 Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 
 Difiusest honey-drops, refreshing showers; 
 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
 My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down. 
 Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy queen 
 Summon'd nie hither, to this short-grass'd green? 
 
 Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
 And some donation fi-eely to estate 
 On the bless'd lovers. 
 
 Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 
 
 If Venus, or her son, as tiiou dost know. 
 Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot 
 l^he means, that dusky Dis my daughter got. 
 Her and her blind boy's scandal'd conjpany 
 1 have forsworn. 
 
 Iris. Of her society 
 
 Be not afraid ; I met her deity 
 Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and er son 
 Dove-drawn with her; here thougSit they to have done 
 Some wanton charm upon tliis man and maid. 
 Whose vows are that no bed ride shall be paid 
 TiH Hymen's torch be lighted : but in vain ; 
 Mars's hot minion is return'd again ; 
 Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, 
 Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows 
 And be a boy right out. 
 
 Cer. Highest queen of state, 
 
 Great Juno comes ; I know her by her gait. 
 Efiter Juno. 
 
 Jun. How does my bounteous sister? Go with m^ 
 To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be 
 And honour'd in their issue. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Jun. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing. 
 Long continuance, and increashig, 
 Hourly joys be still upon you ! 
 Juno sings her blessings on you. 
 Cer, Earth's increase, and foizon plenty; 
 Bands and garners never empty ; 
 Vines, with clust'rimi bunches grom^ng 
 Plants, ivith goodly burden boiving , 
 Spring come to you, at the farthest. 
 In the very end of harvest 1 
 Scarcity, and want, shall shun you; 
 Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
 Fer. Tiiis is a most majestic vision, and 
 Harmonious charmingly: May I be bold 
 To think these spirits ? 
 
 Pro. Spirits, which by m\» ai* 
 
 I have from their confines call'd to enact 
 My present fancies. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 Fer. Let me live here ever ; 
 
 So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife. 
 Make tliis place Paradise. {Juno and Ceres ivhispvr, 
 and send Iris on employment. ) 
 
 Pro. Sweet now, silence ; 
 
 hmo and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
 There's something else to do: hush, and be mute, 
 Or else our spell is marr'd. [brooks. 
 
 Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring 
 W^ith your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks. 
 Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
 Answer your summons : Juno does command : 
 Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
 A contract of true love ; be not too late. 
 
 Enter certain Nymphs. 
 Yon stm-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary. 
 Come hither from the furrow, and be merry; 
 Make holyday : yonr rye-straw hats put on, 
 And these ftes-i nymphs encounter every one 
 In country footing. * 
 Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they 
 Join ivith the Nymphs in a graceful dance ; 
 toivards the end whereof Prospero starts sud- 
 denly, and speaks ; after luhich, to a strange, 
 hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. 
 Pro. [Aside.) I had forgot that Ibul conspiracy 
 Of the beast Caliban, and: his coniederates. 
 Against my life ; the minute of their plot 
 Is almost come. — [To the Spirits.) Well done ; — 
 avoid ; — no more. [passion 
 Fer. This is most strange : yonr father's in some 
 That works him strongly. 
 
 Mira. Never till this day. 
 
 Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
 
 Pro. Yon do look, my son, in a niov'd sort. 
 As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir: 
 Our revels ;jow are ended : these our actors. 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air : 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 I'he solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Vea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
 And, like this unsubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind : we are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd ; 
 Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled. 
 Be not disturb d with my inhrmity : 
 If you he pleased, retire into my cell. 
 And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk. 
 To still my beating naind. 
 
 Fer. Mira. We wish you peace. 
 
 iExeunt. 
 
 Pro. Come with a thought : — I thank you : — 
 Ariel, come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 An. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy plea- 
 Pro. Spirit, [sure ? 
 We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 
 
 Ari. Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres, 
 I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd. 
 Lest I might anger thee. [varlets? 
 Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these 
 Ari. 1 told you, sir, they were red-hot with drink- 
 So full of valour, that they smote the air [ing ; 
 For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
 Vor kissing of their feet : yet always bending 
 Toward their project : then I beat my tabor, 
 At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
 ^dvanc'd thf ir eye lids, lifted up their noses, 
 \s they smelt music ; so I charm'd their ears. 
 That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through 
 Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and 
 thorns, 
 
 Which enter'd their frail shins : at last I left them 
 {.' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell. 
 There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
 O'erstunk their feet 
 
 la 
 
 Pro. This was well done, my bin! 
 
 Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
 
 7^he trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither. 
 
 For stale to catch these thieves. 
 
 Ari. I go, 1 go. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
 Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost, 
 And as, with age, his body uglier grows. 
 So his mind cankers I will plague them all. 
 Re-enter ARiEL,loade7i with glistering apparel,^ c 
 Even to roaring : — Come, hang them on this line. 
 
 {Prospero and Ariel remain invisible.} 
 Enter Caliban, Steph.\no, ««t/TRiNCULO, all wet 
 
 Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole 
 may not 
 
 Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. 
 
 Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a 
 harmless fairy, has done little better than played the 
 Jack with us. 
 
 Trin. Monster, I do smell all horsc-piss ; at 
 which my nose is in great indignation. 
 
 Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I 
 should take a displeasure against you ; look you, — 
 
 Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 
 
 Cal. Good, my lord, give me thy favour still 
 Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to [softly. 
 Shall hoodwink this mischance therefore, speak 
 All's hush'd as midnight yet. 
 
 Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — 
 
 Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour ic 
 that, monster, but an infinite loss. 
 
 Trin. That's more to me than my wetting : yet 
 this is your harmless fairy, monster. 
 
 Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er 
 ears for my labour. 
 
 Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet: seest thou here 
 This is the mouth o'the cell : no noise, and ente' ; 
 Do that good mischief, which may make this isliii:,!. 
 Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
 For aye thy tbot-licker. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand : I do begin to have bl'^ory 
 thoughts. 
 
 Trin. O king Stephano! O peer ! O worthy 
 Stephano! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee ! 
 
 Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 
 
 Trin. O, ho, monster; we know what belongs tc 
 a frippery: — O king Stephano ! 
 
 Ste. Put oifthat gown, Trinculo; by this hand, 
 I'll have that gown. 
 
 Trin. Thy grace shall have it [mean, 
 
 Cal. The dropsy drown this fool! what do you 
 To doat thus on such luggage ? Let's along. 
 And do the murder first: if he awake, 
 From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ; 
 Make us strange stuff. * 
 
 Ste. Be you quiet, monster. — Mistress line, is not 
 this my jerkin ? Now is the jerkin under the line : 
 now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and pro^e 
 a bald jerkin. 
 
 Trin. Do, do . we steal by line and level, and 
 like your grace. 
 
 Ste. 1 thank thee for that jest ; here's a garmen ■ 
 for't, wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king 
 of this country • Steal by lifie and level, is an excel- 
 lent pass of pate ; there's another garment fbr't. 
 
 Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon your 
 fingers, and away with the rest. 
 
 Cal. I will have none on't : we shall lose our time, 
 And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
 With foreheads villanous low. 
 
 Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to near 
 this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'D 
 turn you out of my kingdom : go to^ carry this. 
 
 Trin. And this. 
 
 Ste. Ay, and this. 
 A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits M 
 
 shape of hounds, and hunt them about; Pro»- 
 I pero and Ariel setting them on. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
14 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act T 
 
 Pro. ^ey. Mountain hey! 
 
 Art. Silver ! there it goes, Silver*. 
 
 P*-o. Fury, Fury ! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, 
 hark. ! [Cal. Ste. and Trin. are driven out. 
 Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints 
 W\i\\ dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews 
 With aged cramps ; and more pinch-spotted make 
 Than pard, or cat o' mountain. [them, 
 
 Ari. Hark, they roar. 
 
 Pro. Let them he hunted soundly. At this hour 
 Lie at my mercy all mine enemies: 
 Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
 Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little. 
 Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene L — Before the Cell of Prospero. 
 Enter Prospero in his magic robes ; and Ariel. 
 
 Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
 My charms crack not; my spirits obey ; and time 
 Goes upright with his carriage. Bow]s the day ? 
 
 Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, 
 5fou said our work should cease. 
 
 Pro. I did say so. 
 
 When first 1 rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit. 
 How fares the king and his ? 
 
 Ari. Confin'd together 
 
 In the same fashion as you gave in charge , 
 Just as you left them, sir; all prisoners 
 In the lime grove, vvliich weather-fends your cell; 
 They cannot budge, till you release. The king, 
 His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ; 
 And the remainder mourning over them, 
 Brim-full of sorrow, and dismay ; but chiefly 
 Him you term"d, sir. The good old lord Gonzalo ; 
 His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
 From eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly works 
 That if yon now beheld them, your affections [them. 
 Would become tender. 
 
 Pre. Dost thou think so, spirit ? 
 
 Art. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
 
 Pro. And mine shall. 
 
 Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling, 
 Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself. 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
 Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? 
 Though with their high wrongs, I am struck to the 
 Yet, with my nobler reason'gainst my fury [quick. 
 Do I take part : the rarer action is 
 In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent. 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown further: Go, release them, Ariel ; 
 My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore. 
 And they shall be themselves. 
 
 Ari. I ll fetch them , sir. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and 
 And ye, that on the sands with printless loot [groves, 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
 W'hen he comes back; you demi-puppets, that 
 By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make, 
 \V''hereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight mushrooms ; that rejoice 
 To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
 (Weak masters though ye be,) 1 have be-dimm'd 
 f he noon tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
 A nd 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
 Szt roaring war ; to the dread rattling thunder 
 Have I given lire, and rilted Jove's stout oak 
 With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
 Hive I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
 The pine and cedar: graves, at my command. 
 Have waked their sleepers; oped, and let them fortt 
 By my so potent art. But this rough magic 
 I here abjure: and, when I have requir'd 
 Sonie heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
 To work mine end upon their senses, tha 
 This airy charm is for, I'll break my stutt" 
 Bury it certain fathomi in the earth, 
 
 And deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
 
 I'll drown my book. (Solemn music.') 
 
 Re-enter Ariel : after him Alonso, with a frantic 
 
 gesture, attended by Gonzalo ; Sebastian ana 
 
 Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian 
 
 and Francisco : they all enter the circle tvkich 
 
 Prospero had made, and there stand charmed ' 
 
 lohich Prospero observing, speaks. 
 A solemn air, and the best comfortei 
 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains. 
 Now useless, bsil'd within thy skull ! There stands 
 For you are spell-stopp'd. — 
 Holy Gonzalo, honourable man. 
 Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of tLine, 
 Fall fellovvly drops. — The charm dissolves apace ; 
 And as the morning steals upon the night. 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo, 
 My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
 To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces 
 Home, both in word and deed. — Most cruelly 
 Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : 
 Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ; — 
 Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and 
 You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, [blood 
 Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebastian, 
 (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 
 Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee. 
 Unnatural though thou art ! — Their understanding 
 Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly fill the reasonable shores. 
 That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them. 
 That yet looks on me, or would know me : — Ariel 
 Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell • [Exit Art 
 I will dis-case me, and myself present, 
 As I was sometime Milan : — quickly, spirit; 
 Thou shalt ere long be free. jp€Tc 
 Ariel re-enters singing, and helps to attire Prm 
 
 Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I : 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie : 
 There I couch ivhen oivls do cry. 
 On the bat's back I do Jiy, 
 After summer, merrily : 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bougft 
 
 Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel : 1 shall miss thee , 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so. — 
 To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : 
 There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
 Under the hatches ; the master, and the boatswaiik, 
 Being awake, enforce them to this place ; 
 And presently, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
 Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit 
 
 Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
 Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us 
 Out of this fearful country ! 
 
 Pro. _ Behold, sir king. 
 
 The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero : 
 For more assurance that a living prince 
 Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; 
 And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
 A hearty welcome. 
 
 Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no. 
 
 Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me. 
 As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
 Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and since I saw the*. 
 The afllictiou of my mind amends, with which, 
 I fear, a madness held me : this must crave 
 (An if this be at all,) a most strange story 
 Thy dukedom I resign; and do entreat fperc 
 Thou pardon me my wrongs -—But how should Pros' 
 Be living, and be here ? 
 
 Pro. First, noWe friend, 
 
 Let me embrace thine age ; whose honour cannot 
 Be measur'd or confin'd. 
 
 Gon. Whether this bo, 
 
 Or be not, I'll urt swear 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 Pro. /on do yet taste 
 
 Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
 Believe things certain. — Welcome, my friends all • — 
 But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 
 
 {Aside to Seb. and Ant.) 
 I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
 And justify you traitors ; at this time 
 I'll tell no tales. 
 
 Seb. The devil speaks in him. {Aside.) 
 
 Pro. No : — 
 
 For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
 W^ould even infect my month, I do forgive 
 rhy rankest faidt ; all of them ; and require 
 My dukedom of thee, which^perforce, I know. 
 Thou must restore, 
 
 Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 
 
 Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
 How thou hast met us here, who three hours since. 
 Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I hav e lost, 
 How sharp the point jf this remembrance is ! 
 My dear sou Ferdinand. 
 
 Pro. I am woe for't, sir. 
 
 Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and Patience 
 Says it is past her cure. 
 
 Pro. I rather tliink, 
 
 7ou have not sought her help; of whose soft grace 
 For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid. 
 And rest myself content. 
 
 Alon. You the like loss ? 
 
 Pro. As great to me, as late ; and, portable 
 To nmke the dear less, have I means much weaker 
 Than you may call to comfort you ; for 1 
 Have lost my daughter. 
 
 Alon. A daughter ? 
 
 0 heavens ! that they were living both in Naples. 
 The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
 Myself were mudded in that oozy bed [ter? 
 Where my son lies. When did you lose yourdaugh- 
 
 Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords 
 At this encounter do so much admire, 
 That they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
 Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
 Are natural brea^ii : but, howso'er you have 
 B?en justled I'rom yo^r senses, know for certain. 
 Tha. I am Prospero, and that very duke 
 VVhich was thrust forth of Milan ; who most strangely 
 Upon this shore,vvhere you were wreck'd,was landed. 
 To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ; 
 For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
 Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
 Befitting tliis first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
 This cell's my court : here have I few attendants, 
 And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. 
 My dukedom since you iiave given me again, 
 
 1 will requite you with as good a thing; 
 
 At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye, 
 As nmch as me my dukedom, 
 T/ie entrance of th£ Cell opens, and discovers Fer- 
 dinand and Miranda playing at chess. 
 
 Mir. Sweet lord, you play me false. 
 
 Per. No, my dearest love, 
 
 I would not for the world. 
 
 Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
 And I would call it fair play. [wrangle, 
 
 Alon. If this prove 
 
 A vision of the island, one dear son 
 Siiall I twice lose 
 
 Seb, A most high miracle I 
 
 Per. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful : 
 I have curs'd them without cause. {Fer. kneels to Al.) 
 
 Alon. Now all the blessings 
 
 Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
 Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 
 
 Mira. O ! wonder ! 
 
 How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 How beauteous mankind is ! 0 brave new world. 
 That has such people in't ! 
 
 Pro. Tis new to thee, [at play ? 
 
 Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast 
 
 13 
 
 Ycur eld'st acquaintance cannot be three houra: 
 Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
 And brought us thus together ? 
 
 Fer. ^ Sir, she's monUu* 
 
 But, by immortal Providence, she's mine ; 
 1 chose her, when I could not ask my father 
 For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she 
 Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, 
 Of whom soolten I have heard renown. 
 But never saw before ; of whom I have 
 Received a second life, and second father 
 This lady makes him to me. 
 
 Alon. I am her's ; 
 
 But O, how oddly will it sound, that I 
 Must ask my child forgiveness ! 
 
 Pro. There, sir, stop, 
 
 Let us not burden our remembrances 
 With a heaviness that's gone, 
 
 Gon. I have inly wept. 
 
 Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, y^" gods 
 And on tiiis couple drop a blessed crown ; 
 For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way 
 Which brought us hither! 
 
 Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo. 
 
 Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issu« 
 Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice 
 Beyond a common joy ; and set it down 
 With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage 
 Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; 
 And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, 
 W^here he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom. 
 In a poor isle : and all of us, ourselves, 
 W^hen no man was his own. 
 
 Alon. Give me your hands : {To Fer. and Mir.) 
 Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart. 
 That doth not wish you joy ! 
 
 Gon. Be't so ! Ament 
 
 Re-enter Ari£L, ivith the Master and Boatswain 
 amazedly following. 
 
 0 look, sir, look, sir; here are more of us ! 
 
 1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land. 
 
 This fellow could not drown, — Now, blasphemy, 
 That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ? 
 Hast thou no month by laud? What is the news? 
 
 Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
 Our king and company; the next, our ship, — 
 Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, 
 Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as wheu 
 We first put out to sea. 
 
 Ari. ^ Sir, all this service > 
 
 Ha^e I done since I went, \{A$id9.) 
 
 Pro. My tricksy spirit ,' } 
 
 -il/on.Thf se are not natural events: they strengthen. 
 From stratige to stranger : — Say, how came you hi* 
 
 Boats. If I did think, sir, I vvtre well awake, [tber ? 
 I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep. 
 And (how we know not,) all clapp'd tmder hatches, 
 Where,buteven now,with strange and several noisps, 
 Ol roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains, 
 And more diversity of soimds, all horrible, 
 We were awak'd; straightway, at liberty : 
 Where we, in al her trim, freshly beheld 
 Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master 
 Capering to eye her : on a trice, so please yon. 
 Even in a dream, were we divided irom thern. 
 And were brought moping hither. 
 
 Ari. Was t well done ? | 
 
 Pro. Bravely, my diligence, Thoushalt / (Aside.) 
 be free. * 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men tiadl 
 And there is in this business more that nature 
 Was ever conduct of : souie oracle 
 Must rectify our knowledge. 
 
 Pro. Sir, my liege. 
 
 Do not infest your mind with beating on 
 The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisara 
 Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you 
 (Which to you shall seem probable,) of every 
 These happen'd accidents till when, be cheerful 
 
 TFMPEST, 
 
16 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 And think of each fhinj? well. — Come hither, spirit : 
 8et Caliban and his companions free : {Aside.) 
 Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How tares my gracious 
 There are yet missing of your company [sir ? 
 
 Some few odd lads, that you remember not. 
 Re-enter Ariel driving in Caliban, Siephano, 
 7nd 1'rinculo, in their stolen apparel. 
 
 Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no 
 man lake care for himself; for all is but fortune: — 
 Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio ! 
 
 Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
 hea-^, here's a goodly sight. 
 
 CuL O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed ! 
 How fine my master is J J am afraid 
 He will chastise me. 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha! 
 
 What things are these, my lord Antonio? 
 Will money bny them? 
 
 Ani. Very like ; one of them 
 f 8 a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 
 
 Pro. Mark, but the badges of these men, my lords, 
 Then say, if they be true: — This mis-shapen knave, 
 His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
 That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs. 
 And deal in her command, without her power: 
 These three have robb'd me : and this demi-devil 
 (For he's a bastard one,) had plotted with them 
 To take my life : two of these fellows you 
 Must know, and own: this thing of darkness I 
 Acknowledge mine. 
 
 CaL I shall be pinch'd to death. 
 
 Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 
 
 Seb. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? [they 
 
 Aloti. And Trinculo is reeling ripe. Where should 
 Find this grand liquor, that hath gilded them? — 
 cam'st thou in this pickle ''' 
 
 Trin. 1 have been m such a pickle, since I saw you 
 V«st, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I 
 »hall not fear fly-blowing. 
 
 Seb. Why, how now, Stephano ? [cramp. 
 
 Ste. O, touch me not ; I am not Stephano, but a 
 
 Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah ? 
 
 Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 
 
 Alon This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. 
 
 {Pointing to Caliban.) 
 
 .Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, 
 A.S in his shape ; — Go, sirrah, to my cell* 
 Fake with you your companions ; as you look 
 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 
 
 €ivl Ay, that I will ; and Til be wise hereaftnr. 
 
 And seek for grace. What a thrice double ass 
 Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship tliis dull fool • 
 
 Pro. Go to ; away ! [found it» 
 
 Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you 
 Seb. Or stole it ratlier. [Exeunt Cal.Ste.and Trin 
 Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train 
 To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 
 For this one night; which (part of it,) I'll waste 
 With such discourse, as, 1 not doubt, shall make 
 Go quick away: the story of my life. 
 And the particular accidents, gone by. 
 Since 1 came to this isle : and in the morn, 
 I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
 Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
 Of these our dear-beloved solemnized; 
 And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
 Every third thought shall be my grave. 
 
 Alon. I long 
 
 To hear the story of your life, which must 
 Take the ear strangely. 
 
 Pro. ril deliver all ; 
 
 And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
 And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
 Your royal fleet far off, — My Ariel; — chick, — 
 That is thy charge ; then to the elements 
 Be free, and fare thou well ; — {aside.) Please j 
 
 draw near. [Exsurt. 
 
 EFILOGVE.— Spoken by Prospero. 
 
 Now my charms are all o'erthrown. 
 And what strength I have's mine own 
 Which is most faint : now, 'tis true, 
 I must be here confin'd by you. 
 Or sent to Naples. Let me not, 
 Since I have my dukedom got. 
 And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
 In this bare island, by your spell; 
 But release me from my bands. 
 With the help of your good hands. 
 Gentle breath of yours my sails 
 Must fill, or else my project fails. 
 Which was to please : now I want 
 Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; 
 And my ending is despair. 
 Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; 
 Which pierces so, that it assaults 
 Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 
 As you from crimes would pardon'd 
 Let your indulsence set cie 4r*«. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, 
 
 I! this play there is a strange mixture of knowledge and ignorance, of care and negligence. The versification is 
 t fcxceiient, the allusions are learned and just ; but the author conveys his heroes by sea from one inland tow<| 
 to another in the same country,- he places tlie emperor at Milan, and sends Viis young men to attend him, but neve 
 mentions him more; he makes Proteus, after an interview with Silvia, say he has only seen her picture: and, if wfr 
 may credit the old copies, he has, by mistaking places, lef his scenery inextricable. The reason of all this confusion 
 seems to be, that lie took his story from a novel, which he sometimes followed, and sometimes forsook ; sometimes remem- 
 bered, and sometimes forgot. 
 
 That this play is nglitiv attributed to Shakspeare, I have little doubt. If it be taken from him, to whrra shall it 
 lie given? This question may be asked of all the disputed plays, except Titus Andronicus ; and it will be found more 
 credible, that Shakspeare might sometimes sink below his highest flights, thau that any other should rise up to bit 
 lowAM. JohllS07l. 
 
 rUKE OF MIL AN, Father to Silvia. 
 PROTEUs!^^' } Gentlemen of Verona. 
 ANTONIo", Father to Proteus. 
 THURIO, afooiish Rival to Valentine. 
 EGLAMOUR, A{/e?u for Silvia, in her escape. 
 SPEED, a cloxctiish Servant to Valentine. 
 LAUJSCE, Servant to Proteus. 
 
 Scene, — Sofnetimes in Verona; t 
 
 PANTHINO, Servant to Antonio. 
 Host, where Julia lodges in Milan. 
 Out lavs. 
 
 JULIA, a Lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus. 
 SILVIA, the Duke's Daughter, beloved by Valentint, 
 LUCETTA, Waiting-woman to Julia. 
 Servants, Musicians, 
 in Milan ; and on the Frontiers of Mantua. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — An open Place in Verona. 
 Enter Valentine and Proteus. 
 
 Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus; 
 Home-keepins youth have ever homely wits ; 
 Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days 
 To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love 
 r rather would entreat thy company, 
 To see the wonders of the world abroad. 
 Than living- dully slnggardiz'd at home, 
 Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 But, since thon lov'st, love still, and thrive therein^ 
 Even as I would, when I to love begin. 
 
 Pr&. Wilt thou begone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu! 
 Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest 
 Sotne rare note- worthy object in thy travel : 
 Wish me partaker in thy liappiness. 
 When thou dost meet gco^,'. hap ; and, in thy danger, 
 It'evet danger do environ ^-feee. 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers. 
 For 1 will be thy bead's-man, Valentme. 
 
 Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. 
 
 Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. 
 
 Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love, 
 tlow young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
 For he was more than over shoes in love. 
 
 Val. 'Tis true : for you are over boots in love. 
 And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots. 
 
 Val. No, I'll not, for it boots thee not 
 
 Pro. What? 
 
 Val. To be 
 
 In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy 
 looks. 
 
 With heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth, 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: 
 If haply won, perhaps, a hapless ga'n; 
 If lost, why then a grievous labour won; 
 However, but a folly bought with wit. 
 Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 
 
 Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. 
 
 Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll 
 prove. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not love. 
 
 Val. Love is your master, for he masters you: 
 And he, that is so yoked by a fool, 
 Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. 
 
 Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 
 
 Val. And writers say. As the most forward bud 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
 Even 80 by love the young and tender wit 
 
 Is turn'd to folly ; blusting in the bud. 
 Losing his verdure even in the prime. 
 And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee. 
 That art a votary to Ibnd desire ? 
 Once more adieu : ray father at the road 
 Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
 
 Pro. And thither will I bring thee, valentine 
 
 Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave 
 At Milan, let me hear from thee by letters, 
 Of thy success in love, and what news else 
 Betideth here, in absence of thy friend ; 
 And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 
 
 Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan .' 
 
 Val. As much to you at home ! and so, farewell. 
 
 \Exit Valentv90 
 
 Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love. 
 He leaves his friends, to dignify theui more ; 
 1 leave myself, my friends, and all for love. 
 Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorplios'd me ; 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. 
 War with good counsel, set the world at nought; 
 Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought 
 
 Enter Speed. 
 Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : saw you my master? 
 Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for 
 Milan. 
 
 Speed. Twenty to one then, he is shipp'd already 
 And I have play'd the sheep, in losing him. 
 
 Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often .stray. 
 Ad if the shepherd be awhile away. 
 
 Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd 
 then, and I a sheep ? 
 
 Pro. I do. [ I wake or sleep. 
 
 Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether 
 
 Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep 
 
 Speed. This proves me still a slieep. 
 
 Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 
 
 Speed. Nay, that I ran deny by a circumstance. 
 
 Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another 
 
 Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
 sheep the shepherd; but 1 seek my master, and my 
 master seeks not me : therefore, I am no sheep. 
 
 Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, 
 the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thon for 
 wages followest thy master, thy master f )r wage* 
 follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. 
 
 Speed. Such another proof will n>ake me cry baa. 
 
 Pro. But dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter to 
 Julia? 
 
 Speed. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter 
 to her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mutton, 
 gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labou?. 
 
 Pro. Here's too small a pai-^^re for surK ^ store 
 
18 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 at* muttons. [best stick her. 
 
 Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were 
 Pro. Nay, in that you are astray ; 'twere best 
 pound you. [ior carrying jrour letter. 
 
 Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me 
 Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, a pinfold. 
 Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and 
 over, [ lover. 
 
 Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your 
 Pro. But what sai(^ she ? did she nod ? 
 Speed. I. [Speed nods. 
 
 Pro. Nod, I ; why, that's noddy. 
 Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod : and 
 you ask me, if slie did nod ; and 1 say, I. 
 Pro. And that set together, is — noddy. 
 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
 together, take it for your pains. [letter. 
 Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the 
 Speed. 
 with you, 
 
 Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear 
 
 Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? 
 Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; hav- 
 *.ng nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains. 
 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 
 Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 
 Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: what 
 said she ? 
 
 Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the 
 matter, may be both at once delivered. [she? 
 
 Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : what said 
 
 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. 
 
 Pro. Why ? Could'st thou perceive so much from 
 hor ? 
 
 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from 
 her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your 
 letter: and being so hard to n\e that brought vour 
 mind, I fear, she'll prove as hard to you in telling 
 her mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as 
 hard as steel. 
 
 Pro. What, said she nothing? 
 
 Speed. No, not so much as — take this for thy 
 pains. To testify your bounty, 1 thank you, yon have 
 testern'd me ; in requital wiiereof, henceforth carr 
 your letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you 
 to my master. [wreck ; 
 
 Pro. Go, go, be g'>ne, to save your ship from 
 Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
 Being destined to a drier death on shore : — 
 I must go send some better messenger; 
 I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines, 
 Receiving them trom such a worthless post. 
 
 lExeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Garden of Julia's House. 
 Enter Julia atid Lucetta. 
 
 Jill. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
 Woul'dst thou then counsel me to fall in love ? 
 
 Ltic. Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfrPy. 
 
 Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen. 
 That ev*ry day with parle encounter me, 
 In thy opinion, which is worthiest love? 
 
 X(?(6\ Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew 
 According to my shallow simple skill. [my minu 
 
 Jul. NVhat think'st thou of the fair sir Eglamour? 
 
 Luc. A.s of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine ; 
 But, Were I you, he never should be mine, 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? 
 
 Luc. Weil of his wealth ; but of himself, so, so. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the gentie Proteus ? 
 
 Luc. Lord, lord,' to see v^hat folly reigns in us! 
 
 Jul. How now! \that means this passion at his 
 name ? 
 
 Luc. Pardon, dear madim ; 'tis a passing shame. 
 That I, unworthy body as I am, 
 Shoii'd censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 
 Jul. Why not ok Proteus, as of all the rest ? 
 
 L>ic Then thus, of many good I think him 
 
 Jul. Your reason? [best 
 JLuc. t have no other but a woman's reason ; 
 i thiak hino. so, because I think him so. 
 
 Jul.And woiild'st thou have me cast my love on him? 
 Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast awr.y. 
 Jid. Why, he of all the rest hath never niov'd nic. 
 Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 
 Jul. His little speakii}g shews Iks love but siv.all. 
 Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all. 
 Jul. They do not love, that do not show their lo\ e. 
 Luc. O, they lo\e least, that let men know their 
 Jid. I would, I knew his mind. [ love 
 
 Luc. Peruse this paper, madam 
 
 Jul. To Julia, — Say, from whom ? 
 Luc. . That the contents will shew 
 
 Jid. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? 
 Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think , frorr 
 Proteus : 
 
 He would have given it you, but t, being in the way 
 Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray 
 
 Jul. Novv, by my mcdesty, a goodly broker! 
 Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?. 
 To whisper and conspire against my youth? 
 Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth. 
 And you an officer fit for the place. 
 There, take the paper, see it be return'd ; 
 Or else return no more into iny sight, [hate 
 
 Luc. To plead for love, deserves more fee than 
 
 Jid. Will you be gone ? 
 
 Lite. That you may ruiriinate. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. And yet, I would, 1 had o'erlook'd the letter 
 It were a shame to call her back again. 
 And pray her to a fault for which ] chid her. 
 What fool is she, that knows 1 am a maid. 
 And would not force the letter to my view ! 
 Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that 
 Which they would have the protlerer construe. Ay 
 Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love, 
 'J'hat, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, 
 And presently, all humble, kiss the rod , 
 How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence. 
 When willingly I vvould have had herhere^ 
 How angrily I taught my brow to frowa 
 When inward joy onforc'd my heart to suiilfc . 
 My penance is, to call Lucetta bacfe 
 And ask remission for my folly past :— 
 What ho ! Lucetta I 
 
 Re-enter IiUt;ett>. 
 Luc. What would yom ladyjtitijf t 
 
 Jul. Is it near dinner-time 
 
 Luc. I would it wore* 
 
 That you might kill your stomach on your meat, 
 And not upon your t^iaid. 
 
 Jtd. What is't you tooK. up 
 
 So gingerly . 
 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then ^ 
 
 Lue. fo t'«ke a paper up, that 1 let fall 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing concerning me 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 
 
 Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concern.s 
 Vnless it have a false interpreter. 
 
 Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. 
 
 Luc. That I might siag it, madam, to a tune • 
 Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 
 
 Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible: 
 Best sing it to the tune of Light o' love. 
 
 Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
 
 Jul. Heavy? belike, it hath some burden then. 
 
 Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would yoa 
 
 Jul. And why not you ? [sing it, 
 
 Luc. I cannot reach so high. 
 
 Jul. Let'.s see your song : — How now, minion? 
 
 Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out 
 And vet, methinks, I do not like this tune 
 
 Jul. You do not? 
 
 Luc. No, madam, it is too sharp. 
 
 Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 
 
 Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, 
 And mar the concord with too harsh a descant ; 
 There wanteth but a a^ean to fill your song. 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 1^ 
 
 Jul. The n.ean is drown'd with your unruly base. 
 
 Luc. Indeed, 1 bid the base for Proteus. 
 
 Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
 Here is a coil vvitli protestation ! — [Tears the letter.) 
 Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : 
 Vou would be tingering them, to anger me. 
 
 Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be 
 best pleas'd 
 
 To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. 
 Jul. Nay, would f were so anger'd with the same! 
 
 0 hateful hands, to tear such loving words] 
 Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey, 
 And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings ! 
 I'll kiss each several paper for amendis. 
 
 And, here is writ — kind Julia; — unkind Julia! 
 As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 
 
 1 throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
 Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
 Look, here is writ — love-wounded Proteus ' — 
 Poor wounded name ! my bosom, as a bed. 
 
 Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd ; 
 
 And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 
 
 But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down? 
 
 Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away. 
 
 Till I have found each letter in the letter, 
 
 Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind bear 
 
 Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock. 
 
 And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 
 
 Lo, here in one line is his nanie twice writ, — 
 
 Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
 
 To the stveet Julia; that I'll tear away ; • 
 
 And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
 
 He couples it to his complaining names ; 
 
 Thus will 1 fold them one upon another; 
 
 Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 
 
 Re enter Lucetta. 
 
 Ijuc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father 
 Jul. Well, let us go. [stavs. 
 Lvc What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales 
 here ? 
 
 Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 
 
 Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down . 
 Yet here they shall not lie, tor catching cold. 
 
 Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you 
 1 see things too, although you judge I wink. [see ; 
 
 Jul. Come, come wiil'tplease you go? ^Exeunt. 
 
 Sc. III. — The same. A Room in Antonio's house. 
 Enter Antonio and PANxmNO. 
 
 Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that? 
 Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? 
 
 Pan ' Twas of his nephew Proteus, your .son. 
 
 Ant. Why, what of him ? 
 
 Pan. He wonder'd, that your lordship 
 
 Would suffer him to spend his youth att home ; 
 While other men, of slender reputation. 
 Put forth their sons, to seek preferment out : 
 Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
 Some, to discover islands far away ; 
 Some, to the studious universities. 
 For any, or for all these exercises, 
 He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet; 
 And did request me, to importune you, 
 To let him spend his time no more at home. 
 Which w-^idd be great impeachment to his age, 
 In having known no travel in his youth. 
 
 Ajit. Nor need'st thou nu>ch importune me t J that. 
 Whereon this month I have been hammering 
 I have consider'd well his loss of time ; 
 And how he cannot be a perfect man, 
 Not b>;ivig try'd and tutor'd in the world : 
 Experiei.ce is by industry atchiev'd, 
 And perfected by the swift course of time : 
 Then, (ell me, whither were I best to send him? 
 
 Pan. I think, your lordship is not ignorant. 
 How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
 Attends th« erapecor in his royal court. 
 
 Ant. 1 know it well. [thither 
 
 Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship Jienthina 
 There shall he practist tilts and tournaments. 
 Hear sweet discourse, converse with Hoblemen; 
 And be in eye of every exercise. 
 Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 
 
 Ant. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd 
 And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it. 
 The execution of itsiiall make known; 
 Even with the speediest execution 
 I will despatch nim to the emperor's court. 
 
 Pan. 'lo morrow, may it please you, Don Al- , 
 With other gentlemen of good esteem, [phonso. 
 Are journeying to salute the emperor. 
 And to commend their service to his will. 
 
 Ant. Good company ; with them shall Proteus go % 
 And, in good time, — now will we break with him. 
 
 Enter Proieus. 
 Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines, sweet life ! 
 Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 
 Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn . 
 O, that our fathers would applaud our loves. 
 To seal our happiness with their consents ? 
 
 0 heavenly Julia ! [there ? 
 Ant. How now ? what letter are you reading 
 Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or 
 
 Of commendation sent from Valentine, [two 
 Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 
 
 Ant. Lend me the letter; let use see what news. 
 
 Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he writei 
 How happily he lives, how well-belov'd. 
 And daily graced by the emperor; 
 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 
 
 Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? 
 
 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will. 
 And not depending on his friendly wish. 
 
 Ant. My will is something sorted with his wLsb 
 Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
 For what I will, 1 will, and there an end. 
 
 1 am resolv'd, that tliou shalt spend some time 
 With Valentinus in the emperor's court ; 
 What maintenance he from liis friends receives 
 Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. 
 To-morrow be in readiness to go ; 
 
 Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 
 
 Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided 
 Please you, deliberate a day or two. 'thee 
 
 Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent aftei 
 No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go. — 
 Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ'd 
 To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Ant. and Pan, 
 
 Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear ol 
 burning ; 
 
 And drench'd me in the sea, where lam drown'd 
 I fear'd to shew my father Julia's letter. 
 Lest he should take exceptions to my love • 
 And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
 Hath he excepted most against my love. 
 O, how this spring of love resembleth 
 
 The uncertain glory of an April day; 
 Which now shews all the beauty of the sun. 
 
 And by and by a cloud takes all away I 
 
 i2e e«^er Panthino. 
 
 Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you , 
 He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. 
 
 Pro. Why, this it is ! my heart accords thereto ; 
 And yet a thousand times it answers no. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 Scene I. — Milan. An Apartment in the Duiti^$ 
 Palace. 
 Enter Valentine and Speed 
 Speed. Sir, your glove. 
 
 Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. [but one 
 Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is 
 Val. Ha ! let me see ; ay, give it me, it's mine 
 
 Swf-et ornament that decks a thing divine ] 
 
 Ah Silvia ! Silvia I 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 'Spe«d. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia.' 
 
 Val. How now, sirrah ? 
 
 Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 
 
 Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her? 
 
 Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. 
 
 Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. [slow. 
 
 Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too 
 
 Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam 
 
 Sneed. She that your worship loves? [Silvia? 
 
 Val. Why, how know yon that I am in love ? 
 
 Syeed. Marry, by these special marks: — First, 
 you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your 
 arms like a male-content; to relish a love-song, like 
 a Robin-red-breast ; to walk alone, like one that 
 hath the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that 
 had lost his A, B, C ; to weep, like a young wench 
 that had buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that 
 takes diet: to watch, like one that fears robbing; 
 to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You 
 were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; 
 when you walked, to walk like one of the lions: 
 when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; 
 when you looked sadly, it was for want of money : 
 and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, 
 that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you 
 my master. 
 
 Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceived without you. 
 
 Val. Without me ? they cannot. 
 
 Speed. Without you ; nay, that's certain, for, 
 without you were so simple, none else would ; but 
 you are so without these follies, that these follies are 
 within you, and shine through you like the water in 
 an urinal ; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a 
 pbvsician to comment on your malady. 
 
 Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Sylvia ? 
 
 Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at 
 gupper ? 
 
 Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. 
 
 Speed. Why^^fiir, I know her not. 
 
 lal. Dost thoa know her by my gazing on her, 
 and j'et knowest her not ? 
 
 Speed. Is she not hard-favoured, sir"? 
 
 Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured. 
 
 Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 
 
 Val. What dost thou know? [favoured. 
 
 Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well 
 
 Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
 favour infinite. 
 
 Speed. That's because the one is painted, and 
 <Jie ^her out of all count. 
 
 Val. How painted? and how out of count? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, 
 that no man counts of her beauty. [beauty. 
 
 Val. How esteemest thou me ? I account of her 
 
 Speed.Yoa never saw her since she was deformed. 
 
 Val. How long hath she been deformed ? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and 
 still I see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed. If you love her, you cannot .see her. 
 
 Val. Why? 
 
 Speed. Because love is blind. O. that you had 
 mine eyes; or your own had the lights they were 
 wont to have when you chid at sir Proteus forgoing 
 Dn^ arte red ! 
 
 Val. What should I see then? 
 
 Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing 
 df.formity: for he, being in love, could not see to 
 garter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see 
 to put on your hose. 
 
 Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last 
 morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 
 
 Speed. True., sir, I was in love with my bed : I 
 thank you, yos: swinged me for my love, which 
 BJdkes me the bolder fe: chid? you for yours. 
 
 Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 
 
 Speed. I would you were set ; so your affection 
 would cease. [lines to one she loves. 
 
 Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
 
 Speed. And have you ? 
 Val. I have. 
 
 Speed. Are they not lamely writ • 
 
 Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them 
 
 Peace, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet ! 
 
 now will he interpret to her. [Aside.) [morrows, 
 Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good- 
 Speed O, 'give you good even ! here's a millioo 
 
 of manners. {Aside.) 
 
 Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- 
 sand, [it him. (Aside.) 
 Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives 
 Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter 
 
 Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
 
 Wliich 1 was much unwilling to proceed in 
 
 But for my duty to your ladyship. [done. 
 Sil. I thank you, gentle servant : 'tis very clerkly 
 Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
 
 For, l^ing ignorant to whom it goes, 
 
 I writ at random, very doubtfully. [pains? 
 Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much 
 Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write. 
 
 Please you command, a thousand times as much: 
 
 And yet, — 
 
 Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel; 
 And yet I will not name it : — and yet I care not; — 
 And yet take this again : — and yet I thank you; 
 Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
 
 Speed. And yet you will ; and yet another yet. 
 [Aside.) [like it? 
 
 Val. What means your ladyship? do you not 
 
 Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ: 
 But since unwillingly, take them again* 
 Nay, take them. 
 
 Val. Madatrj, they are for you. 
 
 Sil. Ay, ay: you writ them, sir, at my request; 
 But 1 will none of them ; they are for you ■ 
 I would have had them writ more movingly. 
 
 Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another 
 
 Sil. And when it"s writ, for my sake read it over; 
 And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. 
 
 Val. Kit please me, madam! what then? 
 
 Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour 
 And so good morrow, servant. ^Exit Silvia. 
 
 Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
 As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 
 steeple ! [suitor 
 My master sues to her; and she hath taught her 
 He being her pupil, to become her tutor 
 O exceWent device ! was there ever heard a better? 
 That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
 write the letter? 
 
 Val. How now, sir? what, are you reasoning with 
 yourself? 
 
 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming ; 'tis you that have 
 the reason. 
 
 Val. To do what? 
 
 Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silviau 
 Val. To whom ? [ figure. 
 
 Speed. To yourself : why, she wooes you by a 
 Val. What fiff ure { 
 Speed. By a letter, I should say. 
 Val. Why, she hath not writ to me? 
 Speed. What needs she, when she hath made yon 
 write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? 
 Val. No, believe me 
 
 Speed. No believing you indeed, sir; but did yoo 
 perceive her earnest? 
 
 Val. She gave me none, except an angiy word. 
 
 Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 
 Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 
 
 Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and 
 there an end. 
 
 Val. I would, it were no worse. 
 
 Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well . 
 For often you have tvrif to her; and she, in modesty. 
 Or else for want of idle time, could nut again reply; 
 
?!5CENE 4. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 21 
 
 r fearing else some tnessenger, that might her 
 mind discover, 
 Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto 
 her lover. — 
 
 All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. — 
 Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner time. 
 y<xl. I liave dined. 
 
 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the cameleon 
 IjO\ e can l"(.*ed on the air, I am one that am nourished 
 by uiy victuals, and would fain have meat; O. be not 
 hke yotir mistress; be moved, be mo\ e6..[_Exeunt. 
 
 ScKNE IT. — Verona. A Room in Julia's House. 
 
 Enter Proteus and Julia. 
 Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
 Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
 Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 
 Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner: 
 Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 
 
 {Giving a ring.) 
 
 Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here, take 
 you this. 
 
 Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
 
 Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
 And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day. 
 Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, 
 I'he next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness .' 
 My fatlier stays my coming ; answer not ; 
 The tide is now : nay, not the tide of tears ; 
 That tide will stay me longer than I should ; 
 
 [Exit Julia. 
 Julia, farewell. — What! gone without a word? 
 Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
 For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. 
 Enter Panthino. 
 
 Pan. Sir Proteus, you are staid for. 
 
 Pro. Go ; I come, 1 come : — 
 Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Street. 
 Enter Launce, leading a dog. 
 Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done 
 weeping; all the kind of tlie Launces have this very 
 lauFt; I liave received my proportion, like the pro- 
 digious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the 
 Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the 
 sourest-natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, 
 my fotiier wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, 
 our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a 
 great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur 
 shed one tear; he is a stone, a very pebble-stone, 
 and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would 
 have wept to have seen our parting ; why, my grandam 
 having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at .my 
 parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it : Tiiis 
 shoe is my father; — no, this left shoe is my father; — 
 no, no, this left shoe is my mother; — nay, timt cannot 
 be so neither ; — yes, it is so, it is so ; it hath the 
 worse r sole : this shoe, with the hole in it, is my 
 mother, and this my father; a vengeance on't ! there 
 'tis: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, 
 she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand : 
 this hat is Nan, our maid; I am tiie dog: — no, the 
 dog is himseli", and I am the dog, — O, the dog is me, 
 ftnd I auj myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my 
 father; Father, your blessing ; now should not the 
 •hoe speak a word for weeping; now should I kiss 
 my fatiier; well, he weeps on : — now come I to my 
 mother, (O, that she could speak now !) like a good 
 woman; — well, I kiss her; — why, there 'tis; here's 
 my mother's breath up and down; now come I to my 
 sister; mark the moan she makes: now, the dog all 
 
 bis while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but 
 
 ee how I lay the dust with my tears. 
 
 Enter Panthino, 
 Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard ; thy master is 
 shipped and thou art to post after with oars. What's 
 
 the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass > 
 you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 
 
 Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost j for it 
 is the nnkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd. 
 
 Pan. What's the unkindest tide ? 
 
 Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here ; Crab, my dog 
 
 Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood : an^ 
 in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; a-nd, in losing 
 thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing tliy master^ 
 lose tl}y service; and, in losing thy service, — Why 
 dost thou stop my mouth ? 
 
 Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue 
 
 Pan. Where should 1 lose my tongue ? 
 
 Laun. In thy tale. 
 
 Pan. In thy tail? 
 
 Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and tine 
 master, and the service ? The tide ! — Why, man^ 
 if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my 
 tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat 
 with my sighs. [thee. 
 
 Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to call 
 
 Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. 
 
 Pan. Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene IV. — Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Valentine, Silvla, Thurio, and Speed 
 Sil. Servant — 
 Val. Mistress? 
 
 Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. 
 
 Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. 
 
 Speed. Not of you. 
 
 Val. Of my mistress then. 
 
 Speed. 'Tvvere good, you knocked him. 
 
 Sil. Servant, you are sad. 
 
 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
 
 Thu. Seem you that you are not? 
 
 Val. Haply I do. 
 
 Thu. So do counterfeits. 
 
 Val. So do you. 
 
 Thu. What seem I, that 1 am not? 
 VaL Wise. ^ 
 
 Thu. Wiiat instance of the contrary ? 
 Val. Your folly. 
 
 Thi. And how quote you my folly? 
 Val. I quote it in your jerki,). 
 Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 
 Val. Well, then, I'll double yoi.r folly. 
 Thu. How? ' ctiOQf 
 
 Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change 
 Val. Give hiui leave, madam ; he is a kind of 
 cameleon. 
 
 Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, 
 than live in your air. 
 
 Val. You have said, sir. 
 
 Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere yoa 
 begin. 
 
 Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 
 shot oft'. 
 
 Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. 
 Sil. Who is that, servant? 
 
 Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for yon gave the fiie 
 sir Thurio borrows his vvit from your ladyship's 
 looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your 
 company. 
 
 TAm. Sir, if you spend word for word with ine, I 
 shall make your vvit bankrupt. 
 
 Val. I know ii well, sir; you have an exchequer 
 of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your 
 followers; for it appears by their V)are liveries, that 
 they live by your bare words. [father. 
 
 Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes my 
 
 Enter DuKE. 
 Duke. Now, daughter Silvia„ you are hard beset 
 Sir Valentine, your father's in good health* 
 What say you to a letter from your friends 
 Of much good news''* 
 
22 . TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Val. My lord, I will be thankful 
 
 To any happy messenger from thence. 
 
 Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
 To be of worth, and wortliy estimation, 
 And not without desert so well reputed. 
 
 Duke. Hath he not a son ? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deserves 
 The honour and regard of such a father. 
 Duke. You know him well f 
 
 Val. I knew him, as myself ; for from our infancy 
 We have convers"d, and spent our hours together : 
 And though myself have been an idle truant. 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time, 
 To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; 
 Yet hath Sir Proteus, for lhat's his name, 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days; 
 His years but young, but his experience old; 
 His head unmellow d, but his judgment ripe; 
 And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
 He is complete in feature, and in mind. 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good, 
 He is as worthy for an empress' love. 
 As meet to be an emperor's coimsellor. 
 Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me, 
 With commendation from great potentates ; 
 And here he nieans to spend his time a- while : 
 I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 
 
 Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 
 
 Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth ; 
 Silvia, I speak to you; and you, sir Thurio: — 
 For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it : 
 I'll send him hitlier to you presently. [Exit Duke. 
 
 Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
 flad come along with me, but that his mistress 
 Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
 
 Sil. Belike, tliat now she hath enfranchis d them 
 Upon some other pawn for fealty. [still. 
 
 Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners 
 
 Sil. Nay, (hen he should be bhnd ; and, being 
 blind. 
 
 How could he see his way to seek out you ? 
 
 Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
 
 T/m. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. 
 
 Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; 
 Upon a homely object love can wink. 
 
 Enter Proteus. 
 
 Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the gen- 
 tleman, [seech you, 
 
 Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I be- 
 Confirm his welcome with some special I'avour. 
 
 Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither. 
 If this be he, you oft have wish'd to hear from. 
 
 Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him 
 To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 
 
 Pro. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servant 
 To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 
 
 Val. Leave otf discourse ol' disability : — 
 Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
 
 Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 
 
 Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed ; 
 Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 
 
 Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. 
 
 Sil. That you are welcome !* 
 
 Pfo. No; that you are worthless. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak 
 with you 
 
 Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. {Exit Servant.) 
 Come, sir Tiiurio, 
 Gio with me: — Once more, new servant, welcome: 
 L'U leave yo'i to confer of home affairs; 
 When you have done, we look to hear from you. 
 Pro. Wf'il both attend upon your ladyship. 
 
 i Ex sunj. Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you 
 
 came ? 
 
 Pro. Your friends are well, ani hav(^ them much 
 Val. And how do yours ? [commended. 
 Pro. I left them all in health. 
 
 Val. How does your lady? and how thrives your 
 love ? 
 
 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you 
 I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. 
 
 Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : 
 I have done penance for contenming love; 
 Whose high imperious thoughts iiave punish'd me 
 With bitter fasts, with penitential groans. 
 With nightly tears, and daily heart sore sighs; 
 For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 
 Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes. 
 And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow 
 O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord; 
 And hath so humbled me, as, I confess. 
 There is no woe to his correction. 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
 Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep. 
 Upon the very naked name of love. 
 
 Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye: 
 Was this the idol that you worship so? 
 
 Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint? 
 
 Pro. No; but she is an earthly paragon. 
 
 Val. Call her divine. 
 
 Pro. I will not flatter her. 
 
 Val. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises. 
 
 Pro. When 1 was sick you gave me bitter pills; 
 And I must minister the like to you. 
 
 Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine. 
 Yet let her be a principality, 
 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
 
 Pro. Except niy mistress. 
 
 Val. Sweet, except not auj; 
 
 Except thou will except against my love. 
 
 Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 
 
 Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too; 
 She shall be dignified with tliis high honour,— 
 To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
 And, of so great a favour growing proud. 
 Disdain to root the summer-swelliug flower. 
 And make rough winter everlasting. 
 
 Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? 
 
 Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all 1 can, is nothing 
 To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; 
 She is alone. 
 
 Pro. Then let her alone. [own; 
 
 Val. Not lor the world : why, man, she is mine 
 And I as rich in having such a jewel. 
 As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearl. 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
 Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee. 
 Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
 My foolish rival, that her father likes, 
 Only for his possessions are so huge. 
 Is gone with her along ; and I must after. 
 For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 
 
 Pro. But she loves jou? 
 
 Val. Ay, we are betroth 'd . 
 
 Nay, more, our marriage hour. 
 With all the cunning ♦lanner of our flight, 
 Determin'd of: how I must climb her window; 
 The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
 Plotted ; and 'greed on, for my happiness 
 Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, 
 In these affairs to aid me witii thy counsel. 
 
 Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forta. 
 I must unto tlie road, to disembark 
 Some necessaries that I needs must use ; 
 And then I'll presently attend you. 
 
 Val. Will you make haste? 
 
 Pro. I will. {'Exit Vol, 
 
 Even as one heat another bent expels. 
 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another 
 
 So the remembrance of my former love 
 
Scene 7. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 23 
 
 is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 Js it mine eye, or Valeiitiniis' praise, 
 Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
 That makes me reasonless, to reason thus ? 
 She's fair ; and so is Julia, that I love ; — 
 That 1 did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 
 VVhich, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 
 Bears no impression of the thing it was, 
 Methitiks, my zeal to Valentine is cold ; 
 And that I love him not, as I was wont: 
 O ! but I love his lady too, too much ; 
 And that's the reason I love h\m so little. 
 How shall 1 dote on her with more advice, 
 Tlmt thus without advice begin to love her? 
 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 
 And that hath dazzled my reason's light; 
 Bat when I look on her perfections, 
 There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
 If I can check my erring love I will ; 
 If not, to compass her Til use my skill. lExit. 
 
 Scene V. — The same. A street. 
 Enter Speed and Launce. 
 Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to 
 Milan. 
 
 haun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for I 
 am not welcome. I reckon this always — that a man 
 is never undone, till he be hanged ; nor welcome to 
 a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess 
 say, welcome 
 
 Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale 
 house with you presently; where, for one shot of 
 five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. 
 Rut, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam 
 Julia? 
 
 Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
 parted very fairly in jest. 
 
 Speed. But shall she marry him? 
 haun. No. 
 
 Speed. How then? shall he marry her? 
 Laun. No, neither. 
 Speed. What, are they broken ? 
 Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 
 Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with 
 them? 
 
 Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well v;Ith 
 him, it stands well with her. [not. 
 
 Speed. What an ass art thou ? I understand thee 
 
 Laun. What a block art thou, that thou can'st 
 not ! My statF understands me. 
 
 Speed. What thou say'st ? 
 
 Laun. Ay, and what 1 do, to« : look thee, I'll but 
 lean, and my staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 
 
 Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. 
 
 Speed. But tell me true, vvill't be a match ? 
 
 Laun. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if he 
 say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, 
 it will. 
 
 Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. 
 
 Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from 
 me, but by a parable. 
 
 Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
 how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable 
 lover? 
 
 Laun. I never knew him otherwise. 
 Speed. Than how ? 
 
 haun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him 
 to be. [me. 
 Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest 
 Laun. Why fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy 
 master. 
 
 Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 
 
 haun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he 
 burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the 
 ale-house, so; if not, thou art an iJebrew, a Jew, 
 and not worth the name of a Christian. 
 
 Speed. Why? 
 
 Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity 
 
 in thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian Will 
 thou go ? 
 
 Speed. At thy service. [Exeuni 
 Sc. VI. — The same. An Apartment in the Palac* 
 Enter Proteus. 
 
 Pro. To leave my Julia, shall 1 be forsworn j 
 To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
 And even that povyer, which gave ir.e first my ratii 
 Provokes me to tliis threefold perjury. 
 Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear. 
 
 0 sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd, 
 Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
 At first I did adore a twinkling star. 
 
 But now I worship a celestial sun. 
 Unheedful vows may heedlidly be broken; 
 And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 
 To learn his wit to change the bad for better.— 
 Fye, fye, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
 Whose sovereignty so ott thou hast preferr'd 
 With twenty thousand soul confirming oaths. 
 
 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 
 
 But there I leave to love, where I should love 
 
 Julia I lose, and Valentine T lose: 
 
 II' I keep theui, 1 needs must lose myself; 
 
 If I lose them, thus find I by their loss. 
 
 For Valentine, myself: lor Julia, Silvia. 
 
 I to myself am dearer than a Iriend ; 
 
 For love is still more precious in itself : 
 
 And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair! 
 
 Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
 
 I will forget that Julia is alive, 
 
 Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead ; 
 
 And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, 
 
 Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 
 
 I cannot now prove constant to myself, 
 
 Without some treachery used to Valentine 
 
 This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder. 
 
 To climb celestial Silvia's chamber- window ; \ 
 
 Myself in counsel, his competitor: 
 
 Now presently I'll give her father notice 
 
 Of their disguising, and pretended flight; 
 
 Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine ; 
 
 For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter 
 
 But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross. 
 
 By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceed' ng. 
 
 Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, 
 
 As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drif t. I Exit. 
 
 Scene VII. — Verona. A Room in Julia's House 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
 
 Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist me ! 
 And, even, in kind love, I do conjure thee,— 
 Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
 Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, — 
 To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean. 
 How, with my honour, I may undertake 
 A journey to my loving Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long. 
 
 Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
 To measure kingdoms with his feeble stei)s ; 
 Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly; 
 And when the flight is made to one so dear. 
 Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 
 
 Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul'* 
 Pity the dearth that I have pined in, ' [leod? 
 
 By longing for that food so long a time. 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love. 
 Thou vvould'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
 
 Luc. 1 do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; 
 But qualify the fire's extreme rage, '-^ 
 Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 
 
 Jul. The more thou dam'bt it up, tiie more it burns 
 The current, that with gentle murmur glides. 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But, when his fair course is not hindered, 
 He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stoneti. 
 
24 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Giving a geicle kiss to every sedge 
 He ovei taketh ia his pilgriinao:e ; 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays. 
 With willing sport, to the wild ocean. 
 Then let me go, and hinder not my course: 
 I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, 
 And make a pastime ot each weary step, 
 Till the last step hav e brought me to my love ; 
 And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 
 
 Luc. But in what habit will you go along? 
 
 Jul. Not like a woman; for 1 would prevent 
 The loose encounters of" lascivious men : 
 Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
 As may beseem some well reputed page. 
 
 Luc. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair. 
 
 Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it ^^^) in silken strings, 
 With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : 
 To be fantastic, may become a youth 
 Of greater time than 1 shall show to be, [breeches ? 
 
 Luc. Wiiat fashion, madam, shall I make your 
 
 Jul. That tits as well, as — " tell me, good my lord, 
 " What compass will you wear your farthingale ?" 
 Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. You must needs have them with a cod-piece, 
 madam. 
 
 Jul. Out, out, Lucetta; that will be ill-favour'd. 
 
 Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin. 
 Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. 
 
 Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have 
 What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly : 
 But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me. 
 For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? 
 I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 
 
 Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. 
 
 Jul. Nay, that I will not. 
 
 Luc. Then never dream of infamy, but go. 
 If Proteus like your journey, when you come. 
 No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone . 
 Xfear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 
 
 Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear : 
 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
 And instances as infinite of love. 
 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
 
 Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 
 
 Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect; 
 But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
 His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
 His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; 
 His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. 
 
 Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come 
 to him ! 
 
 Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that 
 To bear a hard opinion of his truth ; [wrong. 
 Only deserve my love, by loving him ; 
 And presently go^with me to my chamber. 
 To take a note of what I stand in need of. 
 To furnish me upon my longing journey. 
 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose. 
 My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
 Only, in lieu thereof, despatch me hence • 
 Come, answer not, but to it presently; 
 I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT m. 
 
 Scene I. — Milan. An Anti-room in the Duhe^s 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke, Thurio, aiid Proteus. 
 
 Duhe. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; 
 
 We have some secrets to confer about. 
 
 lExit Thurio. 
 flow tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me ? 
 
 Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis- 
 The law of friendship bids me to conceal: [cover. 
 But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 
 Done to me, undeserving as I am. 
 My duty pricks me on to utter that, 
 Whi'^.h else no worldly good should draw from me. 
 
 Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 
 
 This night intends to steal away your daughtei ; 
 
 Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
 
 1 know, you have determin'd to bestow her 
 
 On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates , 
 
 And should she thus be stolen away from you. 
 
 It would be much vexation to your age. 
 
 Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
 
 To cross my friend in his intended drift. 
 
 Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
 
 A pack of sorrows, which would press you dowH; 
 
 Being unpievented, to your timeless gra\o. 
 
 Duke. Proteus, I thank tiiee for thine honest care 
 Which to requite, command me while 1 live. 
 This love of theirs myself have often seen. 
 Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep; 
 And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 
 Sir Valentine her company, and my court: 
 But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err. 
 And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
 (A rashness that 1 ever yet have shunn'd,) 
 I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
 That, which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
 And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this. 
 Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower. 
 The key whereof myself have ever kept; 
 And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 
 
 Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
 How he her chamber-window will ascend. 
 And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
 For which the youthful lover now is gone, 
 And this way comes he with it presently ; 
 Where, if it please you, you may intercept him 
 But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, , 
 That my discovery be not aimed at; 
 For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 
 Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
 That I had any light from thee of this. 
 
 Pro. Adieu, my lord ; sir Valentine is coming. 
 
 Enter Valentine. [Exit, 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? 
 Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
 That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
 And I am going to deliver them. 
 
 Duke. Be they of much import ? 
 
 Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
 My health, and hapjjy being at your court. 
 
 Duke. Nay, then no matter ; stay with me awhile 
 1 am to break with thee of some affairs. 
 That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought 
 To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. 
 
 Val. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure,the match 
 Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman 
 Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
 Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
 Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ? [ward 
 
 Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, fro 
 Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; 
 Neither regarding that she is my child. 
 Nor fearing me as if I were her father: 
 And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers. 
 Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; 
 And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
 Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
 I now am full resolved to take a wife. 
 And turn her out to who will take her in : 
 Then let her beauty be her wedding -dower 
 For me and ray possessions she esteems not. 
 
 Val. What would your grace have me to dointiiiif 
 
 Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here. 
 Whom I affect ; but she is nice, and coy. 
 And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
 Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor 
 (For long agone I have forgot to court : 
 Besides, the fashion of the time is chang d ;) 
 How, and which way, I may beitow myself. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 25 
 
 'J'l} be regarded m her snn bright eye. 
 
 Val. Win her with gifts, it' she respect not words: 
 Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, 
 More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. 
 Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 
 Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best con- 
 Send her another ; never give her o'er ; [tents her : 
 For scM-n at first makes after-love the more. 
 If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you^ 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
 For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
 Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; 
 For, get you gone, she doth not mean away : 
 Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
 i'hongh ne'er so blark, say, they have angels' faces. 
 Tliat man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 Duke. Rut she, I mean, is promis d by her friends 
 Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
 And kept severely from resort of men. 
 That no man hath access by day to her. 
 
 Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. 
 Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept 
 That no man hath recourse to her by night. [safe, 
 Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window ? 
 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground ; 
 And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
 Without apparent hazard of his life. 
 
 Val. Wliy then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords, 
 To cast up with a {)air of anchoring hooks. 
 Would serve to scale another Hero's tower. 
 So bold Leander would adventure it. 
 
 Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
 Advise me where I may have such a ladder, [that. 
 Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell rae 
 Duke. This very night j for love is like a child, 
 r\\M longs for every thing that he can come by. 
 Va/. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. 
 D:ik(^. Hut, hark thee ; I will go to her alone ; 
 H".v sliall I best convey the ladder thither? 
 
 Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
 Under a cloak, that is of any length. _ [turn. 
 Di:k? A cloak as long as thine will serve the 
 Val. Ay, my good lord. 
 Ihike. Then let me see thy cloak ; 
 '11 get me one of such another length. 
 
 Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 
 Duke. How sliall I fashion me to wear a cloak ? — 
 I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. — 
 VVhat letter is this same ? What's here? — To Silvia? 
 And here an engine fit for my proceeding I 
 I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 
 My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly ; 
 
 And slaves they are to me, that send them Jiying : 
 0, could their master come and go as lightly, 
 Himself would lodge, ivhere senseless they are 
 lying. 
 
 My herald thoughts in thy piire bosom rest them ; 
 
 While I, their king, that thither them importune, 
 Do curse the grace that with such grace hath 
 bless d them, 
 
 Because myself do want my servants' fortune : 
 I curse myself, for they a-^e sent by me, [.be. 
 That they should harbour where their lord should 
 What's here ? 
 
 Silvia, this night Iivill enfranchise thee : 
 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. — 
 Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,) 
 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car. 
 And with thy daring folly burn the world? 
 Wilt fhou reach stars, because they shine on thee? 
 Go, base intruder ! over- weening slave I 
 Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
 And think, my i^atience, more than thy desert, 
 Is privilege for thy departure hence : 
 Thank me for this, more than for all the favours. 
 Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. 
 But if thou linger in my territories, 
 Long-er than swiftest expedition 
 
 Will give thee time to leave our royal conrt. 
 By hea\en, n»y wrath shall far exceed the love 
 I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
 Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse ; 
 But as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hencei 
 
 [Exit Duie. 
 
 Val. And why not death, rather than living tor- 
 To die, is to be banish'd front myself : [meat V 
 
 And Silvia is myself : banish'd fi-om ner, 
 Is self from self; a deadly banishment ! 
 What light is ligiit, if Silvia be not seen? 
 What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? 
 Unless it be to think that she is by. 
 And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
 Except I be by Silvia in the night. 
 There is no music in the nightingale : 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day. 
 There is no day for me to look upon : 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be. 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 Foster'd, illiunin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 
 I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
 Tarry I here, I but attend on death • 
 But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 
 
 Enter Proteus and Launce. 
 Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. 
 Latin. So-ho! so- ho! 
 Pro. What seest thou ? 
 
 Laun. Him we go to find : there's not a hair oi's 
 head, but 'tis a Valentine. 
 Pro. Valentine ? 
 Val. No. 
 
 Pro. Who then ? his spirit? 
 Val. Neither. ' 
 Pro. What then? 
 Val. Nothing. 
 
 Laun. Can nothing speak ? master, shall T stnk© ? 
 Pro. Whom would'st thou strike ? 
 Laun. Nothing. 
 Pro. Villain, forbear. 
 
 Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: 1 pray yon,— 
 
 Pro. Sirrah, 1 say, forbear : — Friend Valentine, 
 a word. [news, 
 
 Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good 
 So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
 
 Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine. 
 For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. 
 
 Val. Is Silvia dead? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia f— 
 Hath she forsworn me ? 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me J — 
 What is your news? [vanish'i. 
 
 Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are 
 
 Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news 
 From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. 
 
 Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already. 
 And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 
 Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 
 
 Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath ofter'd to the doom^ 
 (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,) 
 A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears . 
 Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; 
 With them, upon her knees, her humble self ; 
 Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became 
 As if but now they waxed pale for woe : [tljea, 
 But neither bended knees, pure hands held up. 
 Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tf ars. 
 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire: 
 But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
 Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so. 
 When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
 That to close prison he commanded her, 
 With many bitter threats of biding there. 
 
 Val. No more ; unless the next word, that tbo« 
 speak'st. 
 
 Have some malignant power upon my life : 
 If so, I tray thee, breathe it in mine ear. 
 
26 TvVO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 As ending^ anthem of my endless dolour. 
 
 Pro. Cease to lament for that thou can'st not help, 
 And study help, for that which thou lament'st 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
 Here if thou st&y, thou canst not see thy love; 
 Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
 Hope is a lover's st^tlT; walk, hence with that. 
 And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; 
 Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
 The time now serves not to expostulate: 
 Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate; 
 And, ere I part with thee, confer at lar.-^e 
 Of all that may concern thy love-aftairs: 
 As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, 
 Regard thy danger, and along with me. 
 
 Val. I pray thee, Lautice, an if thou seest my boy, 
 Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate. 
 
 Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. — Come,Valentine. 
 
 Val. O my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine ! 
 
 [Exeunt Valentine and Protects. 
 
 Latin. I am but a foo*l, look you ; and yet I have 
 the wit to think, my master is a kind of knave : but 
 that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives 
 not now, that knows me to be in love ; yet I am in 
 love ; but a team of horse shall not pluck that 
 from me ; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman : 
 but that woman, I will not tell myself ; and yet 'tis 
 a milkmaid ; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had 
 gossips : yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, 
 and serves for wages. She hath more qualities 
 than a water spaniel, — which is much in a bare 
 christian. Here is the cat-log {Pulling out a paper) 
 of her conditions. Impritnis, She can fetch ana 
 carry. Why, a horse can do no more ; nay, a horse 
 cannot fetch, but only carry ; therefore, is she better 
 than a jade. Item, She can milk ; look you, a sweet 
 virtue in a maid with clean hands. 
 
 Enter Speed, 
 
 Speed. How now, signior Launce ? what news 
 with your mastership? 
 
 Laun. With my master's s!iip? why, it is at sea. 
 
 Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the 
 svord : what news then in your paper? 
 
 Laitn. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st 
 
 Speed. Why, man, how black? 
 
 hnun. Why, as black as ink. 
 
 Sjieed. Let me read them. 
 
 Laun. Fye on thee, jolt head ; thou canst not read. 
 
 Speed. Thuu liest, I can. [ thee ? 
 
 Latin. I will try thee : tell me this : who begot 
 
 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 
 
 Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy 
 f randinother ; this proves, that thou canst not read. 
 
 Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper. 
 
 Laun. There ; and St. Nicholas be thy speed ! 
 
 Speed. \m])Y\m\s, She can milk. 
 
 Lami. Ay, that she can. 
 
 S/ieed. Item, She brews good ale. 
 
 Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, — Blessing 
 of your heart, you brew good ale. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can sew. 
 
 Laun. That's as much as to say. Can she so? 
 
 Sjiced Item, She can knit. 
 
 Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a 
 wench, when she can knit him a stock? 
 
 Speed. Item, She can wash and scour. 
 
 Laun. A special virtue ; for then she need not be 
 Viaslied and scoured. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can spin. 
 
 Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, when 
 t!ie can spin for her living. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues. 
 
 Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues; 
 (hat, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore 
 bave nc) names. 
 
 Speed. Here follow her vices. 
 
 Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
 
 Act hi 
 
 Speed. Item, She is not to he kissed fasting, im 
 respect of her breath. 
 
 Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a 
 breakfast : read on. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. 
 
 Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath- 
 
 Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep. 
 
 Laun. It's no matter {or that, so she sleep not Id 
 her talk. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is slow in words. 
 
 Latin. O villain, tl/at set this down among her 
 vices! To be slow in words, is a woman's only 
 virtue : I pray thee, out with't; and place it for ht» 
 chief virtue. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is proud. 
 
 Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, 
 and cannot be taVn from her. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. [crusts. 
 Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love 
 Speed. Item, She is curst. 
 
 Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 
 
 Speed. She ivill often p>~aise her liquor. 
 
 Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will 
 not, I will ; for good things should be praised. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is too liberal. 
 
 Laun. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ 
 down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not; for 
 that I'll keep shut: now of another thing she may; 
 and that I cannot help. Well, proceed. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath tnore hair than wit, and 
 more faults than hairs, and more wealth than 
 faults. 
 
 Laun. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, 
 and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article : 
 rehearse that once more. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, — 
 Laun. More hair than wit, — it may bt ; I'll prove 
 it: the cover of the salt hides the salt* and there 
 fore it is more than the salt ; the hair that covers the 
 wit, is more than the wit; for the greater liides tha 
 less. What's next? 
 Speed. — And more faults than haurs, — 
 Laun. That's tnonstrous : O, that that were out i 
 Speed. — And more wealth than faults. 
 Laun. Why, that word makes the la u Its gracious. 
 W~ell, I'll have h^^ aud if it be a match, as nothing 
 is injpossible, — 
 
 Speed. What then? 
 
 Laun. Why, then I will tell thee, — that tby 
 master stays for thee at the north gat^'. 
 Speed For me ? 
 
 Laun. For thee? ay; who art thou? he hath staid 
 for a better man than thee. 
 
 Speed. Atid must I go to him? 
 
 Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid 
 so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 
 
 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? 'pox of 
 your love-letters ! [Exit. 
 
 Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my 
 letter: an unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- 
 self into secrets! — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's 
 correction. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. A Room in the Duke's Pa- 
 lace. Enter Duke and Thurio ; Proteus behind. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love 
 Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. (.you^ 
 
 Thu. Since his exile s'ae hath despis'd me most. 
 Forsworn my company, and raii'd at me, 
 That I am desperate of obtaining her. 
 
 Duke. This weak impress of love is as a fig-sre 
 Trench'd in ice ; whicii with an hour's heat, 
 Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen thoMghts, 
 And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. — 
 How now, sir Proteus? Is your countryman. 
 According to our proclamation, gone? 
 
 Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 
 Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that griet 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 27 
 
 Dtthe, So I believe ; but Thnrio thinks not so. — 
 Proteus, tlie good conceit 1 hold of thee, 
 (For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,) 
 Makes nie the better to confer with thee. 
 
 Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 
 Let me not live to look upon your grace. 
 
 Duhe. Thon know'st, how willingly I would effect 
 The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. 
 
 Pro. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
 ■J^ow she opposes her against my will. 
 
 Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 
 
 Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
 What might we do, to make the girl forget 
 The lo\e of Valentine, and love sir Thurio ? 
 
 Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine 
 With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; 
 Three things that women highly hold in hate. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate. 
 
 Pro.,. Ay, if his enemy deliver it: 
 Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
 By one, whom sheesteemeth as his Iriend. 
 
 Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. 
 
 Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do: 
 Tis an ill office for a gentleman ; 
 Esfjecially, against his very friend. [him, 
 
 Duke. Wliere your good word cannot advantage 
 Your slander never can endamage him ; 
 Therefore the office is indifferent. 
 Being entreated to it by your friend. 
 
 Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord • if I can do it. 
 By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 
 8he shall not long continue love to him. 
 But say, this weed her love from Valentine, 
 It follows not, that she will love sir Thnrio. 
 
 Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, 
 Lest it should ravel, and be good to none. 
 You must provide to bottom it on me : 
 Which must be done, by praising me as much 
 As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. fkiud; 
 
 Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this 
 Because we know, on Valentine's report. 
 You are already love's firm votary, 
 And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
 Upon this warrant shall you have access, 
 Where you with Silvia may confer at large; 
 For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy. 
 And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you; 
 Where you may temper her, by your persuasion, 
 '*^o hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 
 
 J*ro. As much as I can do, 1 will effect: — 
 But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
 Vou must lay lime, to tangle her desires, 
 By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
 Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 
 
 Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred poesy. 
 
 Pro Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart; 
 Write till your ink be dry; and witii your tears 
 iVloist it again ; and f rame some feeling line. 
 That may discover such integrity : 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews ; 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. 
 Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
 After your dire lamenting elegies. 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber- window 
 VV'itli some sweet concert: to their instruments 
 Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence 
 Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. 
 This, or else nothing, will iniierit her. [love. 
 
 Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in 
 
 Thu. And thy advice this night I II put in practice : 
 Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver. 
 Let us into the city presently, 
 To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music : 
 I have a sonnet that will serve the turn. 
 To give the onset to tliy good advice. 
 
 Duke. About it, genflemen. 
 
 Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till afte.r sr pper : 
 
 And afterwards determine our proceedings. 
 Duke. Even now about it; I will {lardon you. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT. IV. 
 
 SciiNE I. — A Forest, near Mantua. 
 Enter certain Outlaws. 
 
 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger. 
 
 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down 
 
 with 'em. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed, 
 
 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us tiiat you have 
 
 about you ; 
 If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. 
 
 Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villaiuB 
 That all the travellers do fear so much. 
 
 Val. My friends,— 
 
 1 Out, That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. 
 
 2 Out. Peace; we'll hear him. 
 
 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 
 For he's a proper man. 
 
 Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose 
 A man I am, crossed with adversity: 
 My riches are these poor habiliments, 
 Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
 You take the sun) and substance that I have. 
 
 2 Out. Whither travel you? 
 Val. To Verona. 
 
 1 Out. Whence came you? 
 Val. From Milan. 
 
 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd tfiere ? [staia, 
 Val. Some sixteen months ; and longer might hew 
 
 If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 
 
 1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence? 
 Val. I was. 
 
 2 Out. For what offerlce? 
 
 Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse 
 I kili'd a man, whose death I much repent; 
 But yet I slew him manfully in fight, 
 Without false vantage, or base treachery. 
 
 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done «n • 
 But were you banifh'd for sosmall a fault? 
 
 Val. I was, and held me glad of sii.:h a doom. 
 
 1 Out. Have you the tongues? 
 
 Val. My youthful travel therein ra?de me happy 
 Or else I often had been miserable. 
 
 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat frini; 
 This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 
 
 1 Out. We'll have him ; sirs, a word. 
 
 Speed. Master, be one of them; 
 
 It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
 Val. Peace, villain ! 
 
 2 Out. Tell us this : have you any tiling to take to? 
 Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 
 
 3 Om^. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 
 Such as the fiiry of ungovern'd youth 
 
 Thrust from the company of awful men; 
 Myself was from Verona banislied, 
 For [)ractising to steal away a lady. 
 An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
 
 2 Out. And 1 from Mantua, for a gentleman. 
 Whom, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the hea> t. 
 
 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
 But to the purpose, — (for vve cite our faults, 
 
 T'hat they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,) 
 And, partly, seeing you are beautified 
 W ith goodly shape ; and by your f»wn report 
 A linguist; and a man of such perfection. 
 As we do in our quality much want; — 
 
 2 Out. Indeed, because you are a Isinish d man. 
 Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : 
 
 Are you content to be our general? 
 To make a virtue of necessity. 
 
 And live, Hs we do, in this wilderness? [consort? 
 
 3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of oaf 
 Sny, ay, and be the captain of us all : 
 
 We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee 
 Love thee as our commander, and our king. 
 
 I Out. But if thou scorn our ( ourtesy, thou dieii 
 
28 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have 
 olFer'd. 
 
 Frt/. T take your offer, and will live with you ; 
 Provided tiiat you do no outrages 
 On silly women, or poor passengers. 
 
 S Out. No, yre detest such vile base practices. 
 Come, g3 with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, 
 And shew thee all the treasure we have got; 
 Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Milan. Court of the Palace. 
 Enter Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
 ^nd now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
 Under the colour of commending him, 
 I have access my own love to prefer; 
 But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
 To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
 When I protest true loyalty to her. 
 She twits nie with my falsehood to my friend ; 
 When to her beauty I commend my vows. 
 She bids me think, how I have been forsworn 
 In breaking faith with Julia whom J lov'd : 
 And, Botwithstanding all her sudden quips, 
 Tl.e least whereof w ould quell a lover's hope, 
 i'et, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, 
 The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
 But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window, 
 And give some evening music to her ear. 
 
 Enter Thurio and Musicians. 
 
 Thu. How now, sir Proteus? are you crept be- 
 fore us ? 
 
 Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for, yon know, that love 
 Will creep in service wiiere it cannot go. 
 
 Thu. Ay, but, I hope, sir, that you love not here. 
 
 Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
 
 Thu. Whom? Silvia? 
 
 Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake. 
 
 Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen. 
 Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 
 Enter Host, at a distance ; an'd Julia, in boy^s 
 clothes. 
 
 Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks you're 
 allycliolly ; I pray you, why is it? 
 
 Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 
 
 Host. Come, we'll have you merry : I'll bring yon 
 w'lete you shall hear music, and see the gentleman 
 vjat yon ask'd for. 
 
 Jill. But shall I hear him speak ? 
 
 Host. Ay, that you shall. 
 
 Jul. That will be music. (Music plays ) 
 
 Host. Hark! hark! 
 
 Jul. Is he among these? 
 
 Host. Ay ; but peace, let's hear 'em. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 ff^ko is Silvia? what is she. 
 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she; 
 
 The heavens such grace did lend her 
 That she might admired be. 
 Is she kind, as she is fair ? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness : 
 Love doth to her eyes repair. 
 
 To help him of his blindness ; 
 And, being help'd, inhabits there. 
 Then to Silvia let us sing, 
 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 iShe excels each mortal thing. 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 Host. How now ? are you sadder than you were 
 
 befoje? 
 
 How do you, man? the music likes you not. 
 Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not. 
 Host. Why, my pretty youth? 
 Jul. He plays false, father 
 
 Host. How? out of tune on tlie strings? 
 
 Jul. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves mj 
 very heart-strings. 
 
 Host. You have a quick ear. 
 
 Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes nie ha» 
 a slow heart. 
 
 Host. I perceive, you delight not in music. 
 
 Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 
 
 Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music ! 
 
 Jul. Ay ; that change is the spite. L^hing 
 
 Host. You would have them always play but on 
 
 Jul. I would always have one play but one thijig 
 But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on 
 often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 
 
 Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me 
 he loved her out of all nick. 
 
 Jul. Where is Launce ? 
 
 Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to-morrow 
 by his master's command, he must carry for a pre- 
 sent to his lady. 
 
 Jul. Peace .' stand aside ! the company parts. 
 
 Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead. 
 That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. 
 
 Thu. Where meet we ? 
 
 Pro. At saint Gregory's well. 
 
 Thu. Farewell. {Exeunt Thurio and Musicians ) 
 Silvia appears above, at her windotv. 
 
 Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen ; 
 Who is that, tliat spake ? 
 
 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth. 
 You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 
 
 Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 
 
 Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 
 
 Sil. What is your will ? 
 
 Pro. That I may compass yours. 
 
 Sil. You have your wish ; my will is even this,— 
 l^hat presently you hie you home to bed. 
 Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! 
 Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless 
 To be seduced by thy flattery. 
 That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? 
 Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
 For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear, 
 I am so far from granting thy request, 
 That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ; 
 And by and by intend to chide myself, 
 Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 
 
 Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady 
 But she is dead. 
 
 Jul. 'Twere false, if I should speak it; 
 For, I am sure, she is not buried. {Aside.; 
 
 Sil. Say, that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend. 
 Survives ; to whom, thyself art witness, 
 I am betroth'd : and art thou not asham'd 
 To wrong him with tl'.y iniportunacy ? 
 
 Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. 
 
 Sil. And so, suppose am I ; for in his grave. 
 Assure thysell, my love is buried. 
 
 Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth, 
 
 Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence j 
 Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. 
 
 Jul. He heard not that. {Aside.) 
 
 Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate. 
 Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
 The picture that hanging in your chamber; 
 To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep : 
 For, since the substance of your perfect self 
 Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 
 And to your.shadow I will make true love. [it 
 
 Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would sure decftivtt 
 And make it but a shadow, as I am. {Aside.) 
 
 Sil, I am very loth to be your idol, sir: 
 But, since your falsehood shall become you well 
 To worship shadows, and adore false shapes. 
 Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it : 
 And so, good rest. 
 
 Pro, As wretches have o'er-night, 
 
 That wait for execution in the morn. 
 
 ^Exeunt Proteus ; and Silvia., from above 
 
Scene 4 TWO GENTLEM£ 
 
 Jul. Host, will yon go? 
 
 Host. By iny hallidoiu, I was fast asleep. 
 
 Jui. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus? 
 
 Host. Marry, at my house. Trust nie, I think, 
 tis almost day. 
 
 Jul. Not so ; bnt it hath been the longest night 
 That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III. — The same. 
 Enter Eglamour. 
 Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
 Entreated me to call, and know her mind ; 
 There's some great matter she'd employ me in. — 
 Madam, madam I 
 
 Silvia appears above, at her window. 
 Sll Who calls? 
 
 EyI. Your servant, and your friend; 
 
 One that attends your ladyship's command. 
 
 SiL Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow. 
 
 Eyl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
 According to your ladyship's impose, 
 1 am thus early come, to know what service 
 It is your pleasure to command me in. 
 
 Sii. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
 (Tliink not, I flatter, for, I swear, I do not,) 
 Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomjilish'd. 
 Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will 
 I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
 Nor how my ftither would enforce me marry 
 Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. 
 Thyself hast lov'd ; and I have heard thee say 
 No grief did ever come so near thy heart. 
 As when thy lady and thy true love died. 
 Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. > 
 Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
 To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; 
 And, for the \fviys are dangerous to pass, 
 I do desire thy wcrthy company, 
 Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
 Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
 But think upon my grief, a lady's grief: 
 And on the justice of my flying hence. 
 To keep me from a most unholy match, 
 Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. 
 I do desire thee, even from a heart 
 A.s full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 
 Vo bear me company, and go with me : 
 If not, to hide what I have said to thee. 
 That I may venture to depart alone. 
 
 Ef/l. Madam, I pity much your grievances ; 
 Which since I know they virtuously are placed, 
 I give cimsent to go along with you ; 
 Recking as little what betideth me 
 As much I wish all good befortune you. 
 When will you go? 
 
 Sil. This evening coming. 
 
 Eyl. Where shall I meet you ? 
 
 SiL At friar Patrick's cell. 
 
 Where I intend holy confession. 
 
 Eyl. I will not fail your ladyship : 
 flood-morrow, gentle lady. 
 
 Sil. Good-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. (Exeunt.) 
 
 Scene IV. — l^ie same. 
 Enter Launce, with his dog. 
 When a man's servant shall play the cur with 
 him, look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up 
 of a puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when 
 three or tour of his blind brothers and sisters went 
 to it! I have taught him — even as one would say 
 precisely, Thus 1 would teach a dog. I was sent 
 to deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from 
 my master; and I came no sooner into the dining- 
 chaniber, but he steps me to her trencher, and steals 
 her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing, when a cur 
 cannot keep himself in all companies ! I would 
 have, as one should say, one that takes upon him 
 to be a d<ig -ndeed, to b<^, as it were, a dog at all 
 things. If I had not had more wit than he. to 
 take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he 
 
 T OF VERONA. 29 
 
 had been hanged for't; sure as I tive be had euP 
 fered for't. you shall judge. He thrusts nie aim 
 self into the company of three or four gentleman 
 like dogs, under the duke's table : he had not beeo 
 there (bless the mark) a pissing while, but all the 
 chamber smelt him. Out with the dor/, says one 
 IVhat cur is that? says another; Whip him out, 
 says the third ; Hany him up, s:tys the duke. I, 
 having been acquainted with the smell before, 
 knew it was Ciab; and goes me to the fellow that 
 whips the dogs : Friend, quoth I, you mean to whip 
 the doy '! Ay, marry, do I, quoth he. You do hitn 
 the more wro7ig, quoth I ; 'twas I did the thiny yov 
 wot of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me 
 out of the chamber. How many masters would 
 do this for their servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I 
 have sat on the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, 
 otherwise he had been executed : I have stood on 
 the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had 
 sutiered for't : thou think'st not of this now ! — Nay, 
 I remember the trick you served me, when I took 
 my leave of madam Silvia ; did not I bid thee still 
 mark me, and do as I do? When did'st thou see 
 me heave np my leg, and make water against a 
 gentlewoman's farthingale ? didst thou ever see me 
 do such a trick ? 
 
 Enter Proteus and Julia. 
 
 Pro. Sebastian is thy name ? I like thee wftll. 
 And will employ thee in some service presently. 
 
 Jtd. In what you please; — I will do what I can. 
 
 Pro. I hope thou wilt. — How now, you whoreson 
 peasant ? ( To Launce.) 
 
 Where have you been these two days loitering? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog 
 you bade me. 
 
 Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur ; and 
 tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
 
 Pro. But she received my dog? [present. 
 
 Laun. No, indeed, she did not: her** have / 
 brought him back again. 
 
 Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me f 
 
 Laun. Ay sir; the other squirrel was st-^len fi om 
 me by the hangman's boys in the market-place : and 
 then 1 offered her mine own ; who is a dog as big as 
 ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 
 
 Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again. 
 Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
 Away, I say : stay'st thou to vex me here ? 
 A slave, that, still an end, turns me to shame. 
 
 \Exit Launce, 
 
 Sebastian, I have entertained thee. 
 Partly, that I have need of such a youth. 
 That can with some discretion do mf business. 
 For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt ; 
 But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour. 
 Which (if my augury deceive nie not) 
 Witness goo3 bringing np, fortune, and trnth: 
 Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
 Go presently, and take this ring with thee. 
 Deliver it to madam Silvia : 
 
 She loved me well, deliver'd it to me. [token 
 Jul. It seems you loved her not, to leave bei 
 
 She's dead, belike. 
 
 Pro. Not so : I think, she Uv£8 
 
 Jid. Alas ! 
 
 Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ? 
 
 Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 
 
 Pro. Wherefore should'st thou [lity her? 
 
 Jul. Because, methinks that she loved you as H 
 As you do love your lady Silvia : 
 She dreams on him, that has forgot her love ; 
 You dote on her, that cares not for your lof e. 
 'Tis pity, love should be so contrary; 
 And thinking on it makes me cry, alas ! 
 
 Pro. Well, give her that ring, anJ therewithal 
 This letter; — that's her chamber. — Tell my lady, 
 I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
 Your message done, hie home unto i»y chamber^ 
 
80 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.[^Jj;. Pro. 
 
 Jtil. How many women would do such a message? 
 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertained 
 A fox, to be the shepherd of thy Iambs: 
 Alas , poor fool ! why do I pity him 
 That with his veiy heart despiseth me ? 
 Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 
 Fiecause I love him, I must pity him. 
 This ring 1 gave him, when he parted from me, 
 To bind him to remember my good will : 
 And now am I (unhappy messenger) 
 To plead for that, which I would not obtain; 
 To carry that which I would have refns'd ; 
 To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. 
 I am my master's true confirmed love ; 
 But cannot be true servant to my master. 
 Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
 Yet I will woo for him ; but yet so coldly, 
 
 heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 
 
 Enter Silvia, attended. 
 Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean 
 To bring me vvhere to speak with madam Silvia. 
 
 8'd. What would you with her, if that I be she ? 
 
 Jid. If you be she, 1 do entreat your patience 
 To hear me speak the message 1 am sent on. 
 
 Sil. From whom? 
 
 Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 
 Sil. O ! — he sends you for a picture ? 
 Jul. Ay, madam. 
 
 Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
 
 {Picture brought.) 
 Go, give your master this : tell him from me. 
 One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget. 
 Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 
 
 Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. 
 
 Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvis'd 
 Delivered you a paper that I should not ; 
 This is the letter to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. f pray thee, let me look on that again. 
 
 Jtd. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 
 
 Hil. There, hold 
 I will not look, upon your master's lines: 
 ] know they are stuff'd with protestations, 
 And full of new-found oaths; which he will break. 
 As easily as I do tear his paper. 
 
 Jttl. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 
 
 Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me ; 
 For, I have heard him say a thousand times. 
 His Julia gave it him at his departm-e: 
 Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring, 
 Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 
 
 Jul. She thanks you. 
 
 Sil. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Jid. I thank you, madam, that you tender her: 
 Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 
 
 Sil. Dost thou know her? 
 
 Jtd. Almost as well as I do know myself : 
 To think upon her woes , I do protest, 
 That I have wept an hundred several times. [her. 
 
 Sil. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook 
 
 Jid. I think she doth, and that's her cause of 
 
 Sil. Is she not passing fair ? [sorrow. 
 
 Jid. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is: 
 When she did think my master lov'd her well. 
 She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
 But since she did neglect her looking-glass. 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 
 The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks. 
 And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
 Tiiat now she is become as black as I, 
 
 Sil. How tall was she ? 
 
 Jul. About my stature: for, at Pentecost. 
 When all onr pageants of dehght were play'l. 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part. 
 And I was trimm'd in mr\dam Julia's gown; 
 Which served me as fit, by all men's judgment. 
 As if the garment had been made for me : 
 Therefore, J know she is about my height. 
 And, at that time, I made her weep a-good. 
 
 For I did play a lamentable part; 
 Madam, twas Ariadne, passioning 
 For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; 
 Which I so lively acted with my tears. 
 That my poor mistress, moved therewithal. 
 Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead^ 
 If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. 
 
 Sil. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth I— 
 Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left! — 
 I weep myself, to think upon thy words. 
 Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee this 
 For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'sther 
 Farewell. iExit Silvig 
 
 Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er yo 
 know her. 
 
 A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. 
 
 I hope my master's suit will be but cold. 
 
 Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
 
 Alas, how love can trifle with itself! 
 
 Here is her picture : let me see ; I think. 
 
 If I had such a tire, this face of mine 
 
 Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
 
 And yet the painter flatter'd her a little. 
 
 Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
 
 Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
 
 If that be all the difi'erence in his love, 
 
 I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. 
 
 Her eyes are grey as glass , and so are mine: 
 
 Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high 
 
 What should it be, that he respects in her. 
 
 But 1 can make respective in myself, 
 
 If this fond love were not a blinded god ? 
 
 Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, 
 
 For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless ibrm, 
 
 Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and adord. 
 
 And, were there sense in this idolatry. 
 
 My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
 
 I'll use thee kindly tor thy mistress' sake. 
 
 That us'd me so ; or else, by Jove, 1 vow 
 
 I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes. 
 
 To make my master out of love with thee. f Exit 
 
 ACT V. 
 Scene I. — The same. An Abbey 
 Enter Eglamour, 
 Egl The sun begins to gild the western sky ; 
 And now, it is about the very hour 
 That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me. 
 She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours. 
 Unless it be to come before their time ; 
 So much they spur their expedition. 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 See where she comes : Lady, a happy evening f 
 
 Sil. Amen, amen! go on, good Eglamour I 
 Out at the postern by the abbey- wall ; 
 I fear I am attended by some spies. 
 
 Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues oft . 
 If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — The same. An Apartment in the 
 Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julu- 
 
 Thu. Sir Proteus, what savs Silvia to my suit? 
 
 Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was ; 
 And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
 
 Thu. What, that my leg is too long ? 
 
 Pro. No ; that it is too little. ^ [rounder 
 
 Thu. I'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat 
 
 Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my face ? 
 
 Pro. She says, it is a fair one. 
 
 Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies ; my face is black, 
 
 Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is. 
 Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 
 
 Jjil. 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes 
 For I had rather wink than look on them. (Aside.) 
 
 Thu. How likes she my discourse? 
 
 Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. [peace? 
 
 Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and 
 
SCEITE A. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 
 
 81 
 
 Jul. But better, indeed, whfu you hold your 
 peace. C Aside.) 
 Thu. What says she to my valour? 
 Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 
 Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. 
 
 ( Aside.) 
 
 Thu. What says she to my birth ? 
 
 Pro. That you are well deriv'd. 
 
 Jul. True ; from a gentleman to a fool. (Aside.) 
 
 Thu. Considers she my possessions? 
 
 Pro. O, ay ; and pities them. 
 
 Thu Wherefore? 
 
 J?il. That such an ass should owe thera. (Aside.) 
 Pro. That they are out by lease. 
 Jul. Here comes the duke. 
 
 Eiiter DUKJE. 
 Duke, flow now, sir Proteus ! how now, Thurio .' 
 "Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late ? 
 Thu. Not I. 
 Pro. Nor I. 
 
 Duke. Saw you my daughter? 
 
 Pro. Neither. 
 
 Duke. Why, then she's fled unto that peasant 
 And Eglamour is in her company. [Valentine ; 
 'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both. 
 As he in penance wander'd through the forest : 
 Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; 
 But, being mask'a^ he was not sure of it: 
 Besides, she did intend confession 
 At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not: 
 These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
 Therefore, 1 pray you, stand not to discourse. 
 But mount you presently ; and meet with me 
 Upon the rising of the mountain- foot 
 Tiiat leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. 
 Despatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 
 
 Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
 riiat flies her fortune when it follows her : 
 I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour, 
 i'han for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. And I will follow more for Silvia's leve, 
 Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love, 
 riiau hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — Frontiers of Mantua. The Forest. 
 Enter Silvia and Outlaws. 
 
 1 Out. Come, come ; 
 
 Be patient, we must bring you to our captain. 
 
 Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
 Have h^ani'd me how to brook this patiently. 
 
 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 
 
 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her? 
 
 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us. 
 But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him. 
 
 Go thou with her to the west end of the wood, 
 There is our captain: we'll follow him that's fled : 
 The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape [cave : 
 
 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's 
 Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind. 
 And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
 
 Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter Valentine. 
 \al. How use doth breed a habit in a man! 
 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
 
 Here can I sit alone , unseen of any, 
 ^ And, tu the nightingale's complaining notes, 
 "Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 
 
 O thou that dost inhabit in my breast. 
 
 Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ; 
 
 Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall. 
 
 And leave no memory of what it vvas ! 
 
 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
 
 Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! 
 
 \Vliat hallooing, and what stir, is this to-day ? 
 
 iiiese are my mates, that make their wills their law, 
 
 Have some unhappy passenger in chase: 
 
 They love me well : yet 1 have much to do. 
 
 To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 
 Withdraw thee, Valentine ; who's this comes here? 
 
 [Steps asidt- 
 
 Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. 
 
 Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you, 
 (Though you respect not aught your servant doth,} 
 To hazard life, and rescue you from him 
 That would have forc'd your honour and your love 
 Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; 
 A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, 
 And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 
 
 Val. How like a dream is this 1 see and hoar ! 
 Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. [Asuie.] 
 
 Sil. O miserable, unhappy tliat I am ! 
 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; 
 But, by my coming, I have made you happy. 
 
 Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me mos<t unhappy 
 
 Jul. And me, when he approaclieth to your pre- 
 sence. {Aside.) 
 
 Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 I would have been a breakfast for the beast. 
 Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
 O, heaven be judge, how I love Valentine, 
 Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
 And full as much, (for more there cannot be,) 
 I do detest false perjur'd Proteus : 
 Therefore be gone, solicit n:e no more. 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death 
 Would I not undergo for one calm look ? 
 O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd. 
 When women cannot love where they're belov'd. 
 
 Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he's belo« 'd 
 Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love. 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
 Descended into perjury, to love me. 
 Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou had'st two 
 And that's far worse than none ; better have none 
 Thau plural faith, which is too much by one . 
 Thou counterfeit to thy true friend 
 
 Pro. In love. 
 
 Who respects friends ? 
 
 Sil. All men but Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form, 
 I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; 
 And love you 'gainst the nature of love, 'brce you 
 
 Sil. O heaven ! 
 
 Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desiie. 
 
 Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
 
 Pro. Valentine ! [loye , 
 
 Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or 
 (For such is a friend now,) treacherous man ! 
 Thou hast beguil'd my hopes ; nought but niine eye 
 Could have persuaded me : now I dare not say, 
 I have one friend alive ; thou would'st disprove me. ' 
 Who should be trusted now. when one's right haud 
 Is perjur'd to the bosom ? Proteus, 
 I am sorry 1 must never trust thee more, 
 But count the world a stranger for thy saka 
 The private wound is deepest: O time, mostcarstt 
 'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worffti 
 
 Pro. My shame and guilt, confound me — 
 Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrov» 
 Be a sufficient ransom for ofl'ence, 
 I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer. 
 As e'er I did commit. 
 
 Val. Then I am paid ; 
 
 ^And once again I do jeceive thee honest : — 
 Who by repentance is not satisfied. 
 Is not of heaven, nor earth ; for these are j^leae'ii; 
 By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd : — 
 And, that my love may appear plain and free. 
 All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 
 
 Jtil. O n»e, unhappy ! (Faints.. 
 
 Pro. Look to the boy. 
 
as 
 
 Vtd.Wliy, boy! why, wag! how now? what is 
 Look up ; speak. [the matter? 
 
 JaJ. O good sir, my master charg d me 
 
 To deliver a ring to madam Silvia ; 
 iVhich, out of my neglect, was nev er done. 
 
 Pro. Where is that rin.u, boy ? 
 
 Jul. Here 'tis ; this is it. {Gives a ring ) 
 
 Pro. How ! let me see ; 
 >Vhy this is the ring I gave to Julia. 
 
 Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook. 
 riiLB is the ring you sent to Silvia. 
 
 [Shews another ring ) 
 
 i'ro. But how cam'st thou by thi^ "ing? at my 
 I gjive it unto Julia. [depart, 
 
 Jul. And Julia herself did give it me , 
 And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 
 
 iVo. How I Julia ! 
 
 Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths. 
 And entertain'd them deeply in her h:^art : 
 How oft hast thou with perjury cleft th^ root? 
 O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush; 
 Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me 
 Such an immodest raiment; if shame live 
 In a disguise of love i 
 
 It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, [minds. 
 Vj'omen to change their shapes, than men their 
 Pro. Than men their minds ! 'tis true ; ') heaven ! 
 were man 
 
 But constant, he were perfect : that one error [sins : 
 
 Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all 
 
 Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins : 
 
 What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
 
 More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye ? 
 VaL Come, come, a hand from either : 
 
 Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
 
 Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. 
 Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for 
 Jul. And I have mine. [ever. 
 
 Enter Outlaws, with Duke and Thurio. 
 Out. A prize, a prize, a prize ! 
 
 Val. Forbear, I say : it is my lord the duke. 
 Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
 Banish'd Valentine. 
 Duke. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine. 
 VaL Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy fJeath; 
 tkmc* Bot within the measure of mv wrath: 
 
 Act V, 
 
 Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
 Milan shall not behold thee. Here she standi. 
 Take but possession of her with a touch ; — 
 I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. — 
 
 Thu. Sir Valentine, 1 care not for her, I ; 
 I hold him but a fool, that will endanger 
 His body for a girl, that loves him not . 
 I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 
 
 Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, 
 To make such means for her as thou hast done. 
 And leave her on such slight conditions. — 
 Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 
 [ do applaud thy spirit, Valentine^ 
 And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
 Know, then, I here forget all former griefs. 
 Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again. — 
 Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, 
 To which I thus subscribe, — sir Valentine, 
 Thou art a gentleman, and well deiiv'd ; 
 Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 
 
 Vol. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made me 
 happy. 
 
 I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake. 
 To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 
 
 Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be, 
 Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, 
 Are men, endued with worthy qualities; 
 Forgive them what they have committed here. 
 And let them be recall'd from their exile : 
 They are reformed, civil, full of good. 
 And fit for great employment, worthy lord. [thee : 
 Duke. Thou hast prevail'd: I pardon them and 
 Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 
 Come, let us go ; we will include all jars 
 With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 
 
 VaL And as we walk along, I dare be bold 
 With our discourse to make your grace to smile : 
 What think you of this page, my lord ? [blushen. 
 Duke. I think the boy hath grace in Vim; Ire 
 VaL I warrant you, my lord, more grace tl'in haj 
 Duke. What mean you by tliat saying ? 
 VaL Please you, I'll tell you as we pass ak ^g, 
 That you will wonder what hath fortuned. — 
 Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear 
 The story of your loves discovered : 
 That done, our day of marriage shall be yours: 
 One feast.onehou'se.ooe mutual happiness. [Mf 
 
 TVfO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, 
 
 Of this play there is a tradition preserved by Mr. Rowe, that it was written at the command of O^een Eliznbetli, 
 who was so delighted with the character of Falstaff, that slie wished it to be diffused througli more plays ; but suspecting 
 that it might pall by continued uniformity, directed the poet to diversify his manner, oy shewing liim in love. No 
 lask is harder tiian that of writing to the ideas of another. Shakspeare knew what the queen, if the story be tine, 
 seems not to have known, that by any real passion of tenderness, the selfish craft, the careless jollity, and tlv/" lazT 
 luxury of Falstaff must have suffered so much abatement, that little of his former cast would have remained. I'alsfaft 
 c iuld not love, but by c easing to be Falstaff. He could only counterfeit love, and his professions could be prompted, 
 not by the hope of pleasure, but of money. Thus the poet approached as near as he could to the work enioincd 
 him; yet having perhaps in the former plays completed his own idea., seems not to have been able to give Falstafll 
 all his former power of entertainment. 
 
 This comedy is remarkable for the variety and number of the personages, who exlilbit more ctiaracters appropri- 
 ated and discriminated, than perhaps can be lonnd in any other play. 
 
 WTiether Shakspeare was the first ihat produced upon the English stage tlie effect of language distorted and depraved 
 by provincial or foreign pronunciation, I cannot certainly decide. This mode of forming ridiculous ciiaracters can 
 confer prnise only on him who originally discovered it, for it requires not much of either wit or judgment; its 
 success must be derived almost wholly from the player, but its power in a skilful mouth, even he that despises it 
 is unable to resist. 
 
 The conduct of this drama is deficient; the action begins and ends often, before the conclusion, and the different 
 
 £arts inigiit change places without inconvenience : but its general power, that power by which all works of genius shall 
 nally be tried, is such, that perhaps it never yet had reader or spectator who did not think it too soon at the end. 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ JvhTison. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. 
 FKNTON. 
 
 SHALLOW, n covntry Jnsfice. 
 SLENDER, Cousin to Shallow. 
 
 Mr PAGB' I Gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. 
 WILLIAM PAGE, a Boy, Son to Mr. Page. 
 olR HUGH EVANS, a Welch Parson. 
 Dr. CAIUS, a French Physician. 
 Host of the Garter Inn. 
 
 M PA 
 
 ^'ANS, a Welch 
 French Physicit 
 '.rter Inn. 
 
 Scene, — Windsor ^ and the Paris adjacent. 
 
 BARDOLPH,— PISTOL,— NYM, Followers of Falstaff. 
 ROBIN, Page to FALSTAFF. 
 SIMPLE, Servant to Slender. 
 RUGBY, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 Mrs. FORD. 
 Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. ANNE PAGE, her Bavqhter, in love with Fentom. 
 Mrs QUICKLY, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 Servants to Page, Ford, etc. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — TVindsor. Before Page's House. 
 Enter Justice SiiAiiLOW, Slender, and Sir Hugh 
 Evans. 
 
 Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not ; I will make 
 Star-'jhamber matter of it : if he were twenty sir 
 
 Jjhn Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, 
 
 esquire. 
 
 Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, 
 and coram. 
 
 Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum. 
 
 S'cjt. Ay, and r at olorum too ; and a gentleman 
 born, master parson ; who writes \\\mse\i armigero ; 
 in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armi- 
 gero. 
 
 Shal. Ay, that we do ; and have done any time 
 these three hundred years. 
 
 Sleii. All his successors, gone before him, have 
 done't ; and all his ancestors, that come after him, 
 may : they may give the dozen wiute luces in their 
 
 Shal. It is an old coat. [coat. 
 
 Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old 
 coat well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar 
 beast to man, and signifies — love. 
 
 Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is 
 an old coat. 
 
 Slen. I may quarter, coz? 
 
 Shal. Yon may, by marrying. 
 
 Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it. 
 
 Shal. Not a whit. 
 
 Eva. Yes, py'r lady ; if he has a quarter of your 
 coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my 
 simple conjectures : but this is all one : if sir John 
 Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, 
 I am of the church, and will be glad to do my be- 
 nevolence, to make atonements and compromises 
 between you. 
 
 SJtal. 'J'lie Council shall hear it : it is a riot. 
 
 Eva. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; 
 tiiere is no fear of Got in a riot : the Council, look 
 y)u, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not 
 to hear a riot ; take your vizaments in that. 
 
 Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the 
 •word should end it. 
 
 Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and 
 end it; and there is another device in my prain, 
 which, peradventure, prings gout discretions with 
 it : there is Anne Page, which is daughter te 
 master George Page, which is pretty virginity. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has brown hair, 
 and speaks small like a woman. 
 
 Eva. It is that fery verson for all the 'orld;, as 
 just as you will desire; and seven hundred pounds 
 of monies, and gold, and silver, is htr giandsire, 
 upon his death's-bed, ( Got deliver to a joyful 
 resurrections!) give, when she is able to overtake 
 seventeen years old : it were a goot motion, if we 
 leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a 
 marriage between master Abraham, acd mistresa 
 Anne Page. [pound ? 
 
 Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred 
 
 Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. 
 
 Shal. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has 
 good gifts. 
 
 Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, 
 is good gifts. 
 
 Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page is 
 Falstaff there ? 
 
 Eva. Shall 1 tell yon a lie ? I do despise a liar, 
 as I do despise one that is false ; or, as I despise 
 one that is not true. The knight, .sir Johr^, 13 
 there ; and I beseech you, be ruled by your well- 
 willers. I will peat the door (Jcnochs) lor master 
 Page. What, hoa J Got pless your house here ! 
 
 Enter Page. 
 Page. Who's there ? 
 
 Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and 
 justice Shallow : and here young master Slender: 
 that, peradventures, shall tell you another tale, ii 
 matters grow to your likings. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see j-our worsk^p;? well : 
 thank you for my venison, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see fcn mucl 
 good do it your good heart ! I wished your venison 
 l^etter; it was ill killed : — How doth good mistress 
 Page? — and I love you always with my heart, la 
 
 Page. Sir, I thank you. [with my heart 
 
 ShoJ. S=r, I tliank you ; by yea and no, I do. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act I. 
 
 U 
 
 f'age 1 am glad see you, good master Slender. 
 
 ISlen. How does your lallow greyhound, sir? 1 
 heard say, he was out-run on Cotsale. 
 
 Page. It could not be judged, sir. 
 
 Slen. You'll not confess, you 11 not confess, 
 
 Shal. That he will not; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your 
 auit: — 'tis a good dog. 
 
 Page. A cur, sir. 
 
 Ska/. Sir Ve's a good dog, and a fair dog ; can 
 there be more said ? he is good, and fair. — Is sir 
 John Falstaff here ? 
 
 Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could do 
 a good office between you. 
 
 Eva. It is Si oke as a Christians ought to speak. 
 
 S/iaL He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 
 
 Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 
 
 S/ial. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not 
 that so, master Page? He hath wrong'd me; in- 
 deed, he hath ; — at a word he hath ; — believe me ; — 
 Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd. 
 
 Page. Here comes sir John. 
 
 K?iter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, and 
 Pistol. 
 
 Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you'll complain of 
 me to the king ! 
 
 Skal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed 
 my deer, and broke open my lodge. 
 
 Pal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter? 
 
 Shal. Tut, Br^iui .' this shall be answer'd. 
 
 Fal. I will answer it straight; — I have done all 
 this : — that is now answer'd. 
 
 S/ial. The Council shall know this. 
 
 Fal. 'l\vere better ibr you, if it were known in 
 vounsel you'll be laugh'd at. 
 
 Eva. Pauca verba, sir John, goot worts. 
 
 Fal. Good wurts ! good cabbage. — Slender, I 
 broke your head ; what matter have you against me ? 
 
 Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against 
 you ; and against your coney-catching rascals, Bar- 
 dolph, Nyiii, and Pistol. They carried me to tiie 
 tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked 
 my pocket. 
 
 Bard. You Banbury cheese ! 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Nym. Slice, I say ! paucUy pat/ca ; slice ! that's 
 my humour. [cousin ? 
 
 Slen. Where's Simple, my man ? — can you tell, 
 
 Eva. Pe'ace : I pray you ! Now let us under- 
 stand • there is three umpires in tiiis matter, as I 
 understand : that is — master Page, Jide licet, master 
 l"age; and there is myseW, Jidelicet, myself; and 
 the three party is, lastly and finally, mine host of 
 the Garter. [them. 
 
 Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between 
 
 Eva. Ferry goot : I will make a prief of it in my 
 ote-book; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
 cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 
 
 Fal. Pistol,— 
 
 Pist. He hears with ears. 
 
 Eva. The tevil and his tarn ! what phrase is this. 
 He hears with ears? Why, it is afiectations. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I 
 might never come in mine own great chamber again 
 else,) of seven groats in mill sixpences, and two 
 Kdward shovel-boards, that cost me t'wo shilling and 
 two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. 
 
 Fal. Is this true. Pistol? 
 
 Eva. No • it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 
 
 Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner I — Sir John and 
 master mine, 
 f combat challenge of this latten bilbo: 
 Word of denial in thy labras here ; 
 Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest. 
 
 Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. 
 
 Ifym. Be advis'd, sir, and pass good humours ; I 
 will say, marry trap, with you, if you run the nut- 
 
 honk's humour on me; that is the very note of st, 
 
 Slen. By tiiis hat, then he in the red face had it: 
 for though I cantiot remember what did when yoo 
 made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 
 
 Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John ? 
 
 Bard. Why, sir, for my part, 1 say, the f^entla- 
 man had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 
 
 Eva. It is his five senses • fie, what the li^norance is ! 
 
 Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as tliey sav, ca. 
 shier'd ; and so conclusions pass d the careires. 
 
 Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tia 
 no matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst 1 live again, 
 but in honest, civil, godly comj)any, ibr this trick 
 if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those tliat have 
 the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. 
 
 Eva. So God 'udge me, that is a virtuonp mind. 
 
 Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- 
 men ; you hear it. 
 
 Enter Mistress Anne Page, tvith ivine; Mistress 
 Ford and Mistress Page folioivtng. 
 
 Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in : we'll 
 drink within. [Exit Anne Page. 
 
 Slen. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Page. Hovv now, mistress Ford ? 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well 
 met : by your leave, good xmstre ss.{Kissing her ) 
 
 Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : — 
 Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner; come, 
 gentlemen, I hope we shall dr'uk down all uiikind- 
 ness. [Exeunt all but Shal. Slen. and Evans 
 
 Slen. I had rather than forty sliilliags, I had aiy 
 book of Songs and Sonnets here : — 
 
 Enter Simple. 
 How now,. Simple ! Where have you been ? I must 
 wait on myself, must I? You have nut The Book 
 of Riddles about you, have you ? 
 
 Sim. Book of Riddles I why, did you not lend it 
 to Alice Siiortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a loit- 
 night afore Michaelmas ? 
 
 Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for yoa, 
 A word with you, coz: marry, this, coz : there is, 
 as 'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afaro 
 by sir Hugh here ;— do you understand uie ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me refesonaole * if it 
 be so, I shall do that that is reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, but understand me. 
 
 Slen. So J do, sir. 
 
 Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender . I 
 will description the matter to you, if you be capacity 
 ofit , , 
 
 Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says : 
 I pray you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in 
 his country, simple though I stand here. 
 
 Eva. But this is not the question ; the question 
 is concerning your marriage. 
 
 Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. 
 
 Eva. Marry, is it; the very point of it ; to mistresa 
 Anne Page. 
 
 Sleii. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon 
 any reasonable demands. 
 
 Eva. But can you afiection the'oman? Let u« 
 command to know that of yo'ir mouth, or ot" your 
 lips; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is 
 parcel of the mouth; — therefore, precisely, "'su 
 you carry your good will to the maid ? 
 
 Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? 
 
 Slen. I hope, sir, — 1 will do, as it shall become 
 one that would do reason. 
 
 Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you mixat 
 speak possitable, if you can carry her your dfsiie* 
 towards her. 
 
 Shal. That you must : will you, upon good 
 dowry, marry her ? 
 
 Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon 
 your request, cousin, in any reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, conceive me. conceive me, sv^eel 
 coz ; what I do, is to pleasure you, coz : can you 
 love the maid? 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 85 
 
 Slen. 1 will marry her, sir, at your request; but 
 if there be no great love in the beginning, yet hea- 
 ven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when 
 we are married, and have more occasion to know one 
 anotlier: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more 
 •.ontempt; but if you say, marry her, I will marry 
 er, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. 
 hva It IS a feiv discretion answer; save, the 
 aul' is in tW 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, according 
 
 0 our meaning, resolutely ; — his meaning is good. 
 Shal. Ay, 1 think my cousin meant well. 
 
 Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. 
 
 Re enter Anne Page. 
 Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne : — Would 
 
 1 were young, for your sake, mistress Anne! 
 Anne. Tlie dinner is on the table ; niy father 
 
 desires your worships' company. 
 
 Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 
 
 Eva. Od's plessed will ! I will not be absence at 
 the grace. [Exeunt Shal. and Sir H. Evans. 
 
 Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir ? 
 
 Slen. No, I tJiank you, ibrsooth, heartily ; I am 
 
 Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. [very well. 
 Slen. I am not a-hungry, J thank you, forsooth, 
 o, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon 
 y cousin Shallow: [Exit Simple.] A justice of 
 eace sometime may be beholden to his friend for 
 a man: — I keep but three men and a boy yet, till 
 my mother be dead: but what though? yet I live 
 like a poor gentleman born. 
 
 Anne. I may not go in without your worship : 
 they would not sit till you come. 
 
 Slen. I'faitli, I'll eat nothing : I thank you as 
 much as though I did. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 
 
 Slen. I had rather walk here, 1 thank you ; I 
 bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword 
 and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys 
 for a dish of stewed prunes; and, by my troth, I 
 cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do 
 your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' the town ? [of 
 
 Anne. J think there are, sir; I heard them talked 
 
 Slen. I love the sport well : but I shall as soon 
 quarrel at it, as any man in England :— you are 
 afraid, if yon see the bear loose, are you not? 
 
 Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 
 
 Sle7t. TJiat's meat and drink to me now : I have 
 seen Sackerson loose, twenty times ; and have taken 
 him by the chain : but, I warrant you, the women 
 have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it pass'd : — but 
 women, indeed, cannot abide 'em; they are very ill- 
 favoured rough things. 
 
 He-enter Page. 
 
 Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come ; we 
 stay lor you. 
 
 Slen. I'll eat nothing, 1 thank you, sir. 
 _ Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, 
 sir : come, come. 
 
 Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 
 
 Page. Come on, sir. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 
 Anne. Not I, sir; pray you, keep on. 
 Slen. Truly, I will not go first ; tridy, la : I will 
 not do you that wr Jig. 
 Anne. I pray yon, sir. 
 
 Slen. I ll rather be unmannerly than trouble'some ; 
 ou do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— The same, 
 hnter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 
 Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' 
 nuse, which is the way : and there dwells one mis- 
 ress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, 
 -ir his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his 
 washer, and his wringer. 
 Simp. Well, sir. 
 
 Eva. Nay, it is petter yet :— give her this letter ; 
 for it is a 'omao that altogether's acquaintance with 
 
 mistress Anne Page: and the letter is to de.-iiie and 
 require her to solicit your master's desires to mis- 
 tress Anne Page : I pray you, begone : I will make 
 an end of my dinner; there's pippins and cheese to 
 come. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene HI. — A Roo?n in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol 
 and Robin. 
 
 Fal Mine host of the Garter,— 
 
 Host. What says «ny bully-rook ? Speak schf>- 
 larly, and wisely. [ot my followers. 
 
 Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some 
 
 Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier : let them 
 wag ; trot, trot. 
 
 Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week- 
 
 Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Ccesar, Keisar, and 
 Pheezar. 1 will entertain Bardolph ; he shall draw, 
 he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector? 
 
 Fal. Do so, good mine host. 
 
 Host. 1 have spoke; let him follow : let me see 
 thee froth, and lime : 1 am at a word ; follow. 
 
 lExit Host. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, follow him ; a tapster is a good 
 trade : an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered 
 serving-man, a fresh tapster go ; adieu. 
 
 Bard. It is a life that 1 have desired; I will 
 thrive. [Exit Bard. 
 
 Pist. O base Gongarian wight ' wilt thou tlie 
 spigot wield ? 
 
 Nym. He was gotten in drink : is not the humour 
 conceited ? His mind is not heroic, and there's the 
 humour of it. 
 
 Fal. I am glad, I am so acquit of this tinder- 
 box ; his theits were too open ; hrs filching was like 
 au unskilful singtr, he kept not time. Iresf.t. 
 
 Nym. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's 
 
 Pis. Convey, the wise it call : steal ! foh ; a fico 
 for the phrase ! 
 
 Fal. VV ell, sirs, I am almost out at heels„ 
 
 Pist. Why then, let kibes ensue 
 
 Fal. There is ikj remedy ; 1 mu.st coney-catch | 
 1 must shift. 
 
 Pist. Young ravv?ns must have food. 
 
 Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town? 
 
 Pist. I ken the wight ; he is ol" substance good. 
 
 Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I ana 
 
 Pist. Two yards, and more. [about. 
 
 Fal. No quips now. Pistol : indeed I am in the 
 waist two yards about : but I am now about no waste; 
 I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to rr;ake love 
 to Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment in her; she dis- 
 courses, she carves, she gives the leer of in\itation : 
 I can construe the action of her familiar style ; and 
 the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be English'd 
 rightly, is, 1 am sir John Falstaff's. 
 
 Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated 
 her well ; out of honesty into English. [pass? 
 
 Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humoii 
 
 Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule 
 of her husband's purse ; she hath legions of angels 
 
 Pist. As many devils entertain ; and, To her, boy, 
 say J. [me the angels. 
 
 'Nym. The humour rises ; it is good : humour 
 
 Fal. 1 have writ me here a letter to ht- r : and 
 here another to Page's wife ; who even now gave 
 me good eyes too, examin'd my parts with most 
 judicious eyelids : sometimes the beam of her vie\f 
 gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. 
 
 Pist. Then did the sun on dung hill shine 
 
 Nyi7i. 1 thank thee for that humour. 
 
 Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors wi 
 such a greedy intention, that the appetite of he 
 eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning glass 
 Here's another letter to her: she bears the purse 
 too; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. 
 I will be cheater to them b().th, and they shall be 
 exchequers to me ; they shall be my East and \V<'st 
 Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go. beai 
 
^ MERRY WIVES 
 
 thou t!iis letter to mistress Page ; and thou this to 
 laistress Ford: we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 
 
 Pist. Shall 1 sir Pandarus ol" Troy become, 
 And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all ! 
 
 Nym. I will run no base humour : here, take the 
 hnmour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation. 
 
 Fal. Hold, sirrah, {to Rob.) bear you these let- 
 ters tightly ; 
 Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.— 
 Rogues, hence, avauut! vanish like hail-stones, go ; 
 Trudge, plod, away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack I 
 Falstalf will learn tlie humour of this age, 
 EVench thrift, you rogues ; iiiysell', and skirted page. 
 
 lExeunt Fal. and Rob 'm. 
 
 Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts i i'or gourd and 
 fullam holds, 
 And high and low beguile the rich and poor: 
 Tester Til have in pouch, when thou slialt lack, 
 Base Phrygian Turk ! 
 
 Nym. 1 have operations in my head, which be 
 hismours of revenge. 
 
 Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? 
 
 Nym. By welkin, and her star ! 
 
 Pist. With tvit, or steel ? 
 
 Nym. With both the humours, I : 
 
 1 will discuss the humour of this love to Page. 
 Pist. And I to Ford siiall eke unfold, 
 How Falstaft", varlet vile. 
 His dove will prove, his gold will hold. 
 And his soft couch defile. 
 Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will incense 
 Page to deal with poison; 1 will possess him with 
 yellowness, for the revolt of mien is dangerous: that 
 IS say true humour. 
 
 Pist. Thou art the Mar.s of malcontents : I se- 
 ond thee ; troop c n. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene TV. — A Room in Dr. Cains'' House. 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly, Simple, and Rugby, 
 
 Quick. What: John Rugby! — I pray thee, go 
 to the casement, and see if you can see my master, 
 master Doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i'faith, and 
 find any body in the house, here will be an old 
 abusing of God's patience, and the king's English. 
 
 Ru(^. I II go watch. {Exit Rugby. 
 
 _ Quick. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at 
 night, in faith, at the hitter end of a sea-coal fire. 
 An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant 
 shall come in house withal; and, I warrant you, no 
 tell-tale, nor no breed-bate; his worst fault is, that 
 he is given to prayer; he is something peevish that 
 way: but nobody but has his fault;— but let that 
 pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is? 
 
 Siin. Ay, for fault of a better. 
 
 Quick. And master Slender's your master? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, 
 like a glover's paring knife ? 
 
 Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, 
 with a little yellow beard; a Cain -coloured beard. 
 
 Quick. A softly-spri/^hted man, is he not? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he is as tall a man of his 
 hands, as any is between this and his head ; he hath 
 fought with a warrener. 
 
 Quick. How say you ? — O, I should remember 
 him ? Does he not hold up his head, as it were? and 
 strut in his gait? 
 
 Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 
 
 Quick Well, heaven .send Anne Page no worse 
 fortune ! Tell master parson Evans, I will do w hat 
 I can for your master: Anne is a good girl, and I 
 wish — 
 
 Re-enter Rugby. 
 
 Rug. Out, alas ! here come-3 my master. 
 
 Quick. We shall all be shent : run in here, good 
 young man; go into this eloset, (Shuts Simple in 
 the closet.) He will not stay long. — What, John 
 Rugby ! John, what, John, I say ! — Go, John, go 
 enquire for my master ; I doubt, he be not well, 
 
 OF WINDSOR. Act L 
 
 that he comes not home : — and down, dovm, ad< ^itf». 
 
 a, &c. [Sings.) 
 
 Enter Doctor Catus. 
 
 Caius. Vat is you sing? I do not like dcse toy.s, 
 Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitiet 
 vei'd; a box, a green-a box ; do intend vat S sp(;ak . 
 a green-a box. 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad 
 he went not in himself: if he had found the young 
 man, he would have been horn-mad. {Aside.) 
 
 Caius. Fe,fe fe.fe. ma foi, il fait fort chaucl 
 Je m'en vais d la Cour, — la grande ajf'aire. 
 
 Quick. Is it this, sir ? 
 
 Caius. Ouy : mette le au mon pocket; depeche 
 quickly : — Vere is dat knave Rugby ? 
 Quick. What, John Rugby ! John I 
 Rug. Here, sir. 
 
 Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
 Rugby : come, take-a your rapier, and come after 
 my heel to de court. 
 
 Riig. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 
 
 Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long : — Od's me ! 
 Quay joublief dere is some simples in my closet, 
 dat 1 will not ibr the varld 1 shall leave behind. 
 
 Quick. Ah nie ! he'll find the young man there, 
 and be mad ! 
 
 Caius. 0 diable, diable! vat is in my closet? — 
 Villainy ! larronl {Pidling Simple out ) Rugby, my 
 
 Quick. Good master, be content, [rapier 
 
 Caius. Verefore shall 1 be content-a? 
 
 Quick. 'Wq young man is an iionest man, 
 
 Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? 
 dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 
 
 Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic ; hear 
 the truth of it • he came of an errand to me from 
 
 Caius. Veil. [parson Hugh. 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to — 
 
 Quick. Peace, I pray you, 
 
 Caius. Peace-a your tongue: — Speak-a your tale. 
 
 Su}i. To desire this honest gentlewoman, y')nr 
 maid, to speak a good word to Mrs, Anne Page for 
 my master, in the way of marriage. 
 
 Quick. Tliis is all, indeed, la ; but I'll ne'er put 
 my finger in the fire, and need nf>t, 
 
 Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? — Rugby, baillez 
 me some paper : tarry you a little-a while, ( Jf rttes.") 
 
 Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been 
 thoroughly moved, you should ha*e heard him so 
 loud, and so melancholy ; — but notwithstanding, 
 man, I'll do your master what good I can : and the 
 very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my mas- 
 ter, — I may call him my master, look you, for I 
 keep his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, 
 scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and 
 do all myself: — [hand. 
 
 Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one body's 
 
 Quick. Are you avis'd o' that? you shall find it a 
 great charge : and to be up early and down late ; — 
 but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear: 1 
 would have no words of it;) my master himself is 
 in love with mistress Anne Page : but notwithstand- 
 ing that, — 1 know Anne's mind, — that's neither 
 here nor there. 
 
 Caius. You jack'nape; give-a dis letter to sir 
 Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge ; I will cut his troat 
 in de park ; and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape 
 priest iiO meddle or make : — you may be gone ; it is 
 not good you tarry here : — by gar, 1 will cut all his 
 two stones ; by gar, he shall not have a stone (o trow 
 at his dog. [Exit Simple. 
 
 Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 
 
 Caius. It is no matter-a for dat; — do not yoB 
 tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? — 
 by gar, I vill kill de Jack Priest; and I have ap 
 pointed mine host of de Jarterre to measure out 
 weapon : — by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page. 
 
 Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
 well : we must give folks leave to prate : what,th« 
 good-jer ' 
 
A-CT IL Scene 1, 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 ST 
 
 Cains. Rugby, come to de court vit me : — By 
 gar if 1 have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head 
 oul of my door : — Follow my heels, Rugby. 
 
 [Exeunt Cams and Rugby. 
 
 Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your own. 
 No, I know Anne's minrl for that : never a woman in 
 VVindsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do; 
 Eior can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven. 
 
 Fent. {Within.) Who's within there, ho? 
 
 Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the 
 House, J pray you. 
 
 Enter Fenton. 
 
 Fen. How now, good w )man ; how dost thou ? 
 
 Quick. The better, that it pleases your good 
 worship to ask. [Anne ? 
 
 Fen. What news? how does pretty mistress 
 
 Quick. In truth, sir, and sli^ js pretty, and honest, 
 and gentle; and one that is you^ friend, I can tell 
 you that by the way; 1 praise heaven for it. 
 
 Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? Shall 
 I not lose my suit ? 
 
 Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above : but 
 notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a 
 book, she loves you : — have not your worship a 
 Mart above your eye? 
 
 Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? 
 
 Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale; — good faith, 
 it is such another Nan : — but, I detest, an honest 
 maid as ever broke bread : — we had an hour's talk 
 of that wart: — I shall, never laugh but in that 
 maid's company ! But, indeed, she is given too 
 much to allicholly, and musing : but for you — 
 Well, go to. 
 
 Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day; hold, tliere's 
 money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my behalf : 
 if thou seest her before me, commend me — 
 
 Quick. Will I? i'foith, that we will; and 1 will 
 tell your worship more of the wart, the next time 
 we have confidence; and of other wooers. 
 
 Fetit. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Quick. Farewell to your worship. — Truly, an 
 honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; fori 
 know Anne's mind as well as another does : — out 
 upo I't ! what have I forgot ? [Exit. 
 
 ACT n. Scene I.— Before Pages House. 
 Enter Mi.stress Page» 7vit/i a letter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. V^'hat ! have I 'scap'd love-letters in 
 the holy-day tinae of my beauty, and am I now a 
 subject for them Let me see : [Reads.) 
 
 Ask me no reason why Hove you; for though love 
 use reason for his precisian, he admits him not for 
 h '.s counsell'or : you are not young, no more am I; 
 yo to then, there's sympathy : yon are merry, so am 
 I ; Ha ! ha ! then there's more sympathy : you love 
 sack, and so dol ; would you desire better sympa- 
 thy ? Let it suffice thee, mistress Page, [at the least, 
 if the love of a. soldier can suffice), that I love thee. 
 I will not say, pity me, tis not a soldier-like 
 phrase : but I say, love me. By me, 
 
 Thine own true knight, 
 
 By day or night, 
 
 Or any kind of light, 
 
 With all his might 
 
 For thee to fight, John Falstafp. 
 
 What a Herod of Jewry is this !— O wicked, wicked 
 world : — oae that is well nigh worn to pieces with 
 age, to show himself a young gallant! What an 
 nnweiohed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard 
 picked (with the devil's name) out of my conver- 
 sation, that he dares in this manner assay me ? 
 Why, he hath not been thrice in my company I — 
 What should I say to him ? — I was then frugal of 
 my mirth : — heaven forgive me ! — Why, I'll exhibit 
 a bill in the parliament for the putting down of men 
 How shall I be revenged on him? for revenged I 
 will be. as sure as his g jts are made of puddings. 
 
 Enter Mistress Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me. 1 was going 
 to your house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. 
 You look very ill. [show to the contrary 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll r>e 'er believe that ; 1 have to 
 
 Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind, 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then; ^et, I say, I could 
 show you to the contrary : O, mistress Page, give 
 me some counsel ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman ? 
 
 31rs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for oia 
 trifling respect, I could come to such hononr! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman ; take iSe 
 honour : what is it? — dispense with trifles; — 
 what is it? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If I would buc go to hell for an ele 
 nal moment, or so, I could be knighted. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What? thou best ! — Sir Alice Ford! 
 — These knights will hack ; and so thou shouldst 
 not alter the article of thy gentry. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We burn day light: — here, read, 
 read ; — perceive how I might be knighted. — I shall 
 think the worse of fat men, as long as I have an 
 eye to make difference of men's liking : and yet 
 he would not swear ; praised women's modesty : 
 and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to 
 all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his dis- 
 position would have gone to the truth of his words : 
 but they do no more adhere and keep place together 
 than the hundredth Psalm to the t-une of Green 
 Sleeves. What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, 
 with so many tons of oil in his belly, ashore at 
 Windsor ? How shall I be revenged' on him ? ( 
 think the best way were to entertain him with hope, 
 till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his 
 own grease. — Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name 
 of Page and Ford diflers ! — To thy great comfort 
 in this mystery of ill opmions, here's the twin-bro- 
 ther of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, i 
 protest, mine never shall. I warrant, he hath a 
 thousand of these letters, writ with blank space fof 
 different names (sure niore), and these are of the 
 second edition : he will | rint them out of doubt; 
 for he cares not what he puts i«to the yjress when 
 he would put us two. I had rather be a giantess, and 
 lie under mount Pelion. Well, I will find you 
 twenty lascivious turtles, ere one chaste man. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the \ ery same ; the very 
 hand, the very words: what doth he think of us? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not : it makes me al- 
 most ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll 
 entertain myself like one, that I am not acquainted 
 withal ; for, sure, unless h^^ know some strain in me, 
 that I know not myself, he would never have board- 
 ed me in this fury. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it ? I'll be sure 
 to keep him above deck. 
 
 Mrs. Page. So will I ; if he come under niy 
 hatches, I'll never to sea again. Let's be reveng'd 
 on iiim : let's appoint him a meeting; give him. a 
 show of comfort in his suit ; and lead him on with 
 a fine baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his horses to 
 mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any vil- 
 lany against him, that may not sully the chariness 
 of our lionesty. O, that my husband saw this letter, 
 it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and 
 my good man too : he's as far from jealousy, as J 
 am from giving him cause : and that, I hope, is an 
 unmeasurable distance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against thla 
 greasy knight : come hither. \ T//ey retire. 
 
 Enter Ford, Pistol, Page, and Nyal 
 
 Ford Well, I hope, it be not so. 
 
 Pist. Hope is a curfail dog in some i 
 Sir John affects thy wife. 
 
 429-431 
 
88 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act n. 
 
 Ford. Wl f, sir, my wife is not young. [poor, 
 PinL He wooes both high and low, both rich and 
 
 Both young and old, one with another. Ford ; 
 
 He loves tliy gaily inaut'ry ; Ford, perpend. 
 Ford. Love my wife ? [thou, 
 Pist. With liver burning hot : prevent, or go 
 
 Like sir Acteon, with Ringwood at thy heels : — 
 
 O, odious is tlie name ! 
 Ford. What name, sir ? 
 
 Pist. The horn, I say : farewell. [night : 
 
 Take heed ; have open eye , for thieves do loot by 
 Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do 
 
 Away, sir corporal Nym. [sing.— 
 
 Believe it, Page ; he speaks sense. [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Ford. I will be patient; I will Hud out tliis. 
 
 Nt/m. And this is true; {to Page.) I like not 
 the Imiiiour of lying. He hath wronged me in 
 some humours; I should have borne the humoured 
 etter to her: but I have a sword, and it shall bite 
 upon my necessity. He loves your wife ; there's 
 the short aud the long. My name is corporal 
 Nym ; I speak, and I avouch. 'Tis true : — my 
 name is Nym, and Falstati' loves your wife. — Adieu ! 
 Move not the humour of bread and cheese; and 
 e humour of it Adieu. {Exit Nym. 
 
 Page. The humour of it, quoth'a ! here's a fellow 
 frights humour out of his wits. 
 
 Ford- I will seek out FalstatF. [rogue. 
 
 Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting 
 
 Ford. If 1 do find it, well. 
 
 Page. 1 will not believe such a Catalan, though the 
 priest o" the town commended him for a true man. 
 
 Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow : well. 
 
 Page How now, Meg? [you, 
 
 Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? — Flark 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank t why art 
 thou melancholy ? 
 
 Ford. 1 melancholy ? I am not melancholy. — 
 Get you home, go 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in 
 thy head now. — Will you go, mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Have with you.--You'll come to 
 dinner, George ? Look, who comes yonder : she 
 shall be our messenger to this paltry knight. {Aside 
 ioMrs. Ford.) 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her: she'll fit it. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter 
 Anne ? [good mistress Anne ? 
 
 Quick. Ay, fovsooth ; and, I pray, how does 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go in w th us, and see : we have an 
 hours talk with you. 
 
 lExeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Quichly. 
 
 Page. How now, master Ford ?■ 
 
 Ford. You have heard what this knave told me : 
 did you not ? [me ? 
 
 Page. Yes ; and you heard what the other told 
 
 Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 
 
 Page. Hang 'em, slaves; I do not think the 
 k-night would offer it : but these that accuse him in 
 liis intent towards our wives, are a yoke of his 
 discarded men : very rogues, now they be out of 
 
 F\rd. W ere they his men ? [service. 
 
 Page. Marry, were they. 
 
 Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does 
 \it lie at the Garter? 
 
 Page. Ay, urarry. does he. If he skould intend 
 this voyage toward-! my wife, I would turn her 
 loose to him ; and <vhat he gets more of her than 
 sliarp words, let it lie oa my hea-d. 
 
 Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife • but I would 
 b% loath to turn them together : a man may be too 
 confident: I would have nothing lie on my head : 
 I cannot be thus satisfifd. 
 
 Page. Look, where my ranting host of the Garter 
 I )njes : there is either liquor in his pate, or money 
 Ml his purse, when he looks so merrily. — How now, 
 host ? 
 
 Enter Host anfl St allow 
 Host. How noSv, bully-rook ? thou'rt a gentle 
 man: cavalero-justice, I say. 
 
 Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even, 
 and twenty, good master Page ! Master Page, wiH 
 you go with us ? we have sport in hand. [rook. 
 Host. Tell him, cavalero justice ; tell him, buUy- 
 Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between 
 sir Hugh the Welch priest, and Cains the French 
 doctor. [you. 
 Ford. Good mine hosto'the Garter, a word with 
 Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook? {They gc 
 aside.) 
 
 Shal. Will you {to Page) go with us to behold 
 it? My merry host hath had the measuring of their 
 weapons ; and, I think, he hath appointed them 
 contrary places : for, believe me, I hear, the par.^on 
 is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our spori 
 shall be. [guest-cavalier? 
 
 Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, iny 
 
 Ford. None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle 
 of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell 
 him my name is Brook : only for a jest. 
 
 Host. My hand, bully : thou shalt have egress and 
 regress; said I well ? and ihy name shall be Brook: 
 it is a merry knight. — ^Vill you go on, hearts ? 
 
 Shal. Have with you, mine host. 
 
 Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good 
 skill in his rapier. 
 
 Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more : in 
 these times you stand on distance, your passes, 
 stoccadoes, and I know not what: 'tis the heart, 
 master Page ; "tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the 
 time, with my long sword, I would have made you 
 four tall iellows skip like rats. 
 
 Host. Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag? 
 
 Page. Ha\e with you: — I had rather hear thena 
 scold than fight. [Exeunt Host, Shalloiv and Page 
 
 Ford. Tliough Page be a secure lool, and stands 
 so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put c(I 
 my opinion so easily : she was in his company at 
 Page's house ; arid, what they made there, J know 
 not. Well, I will look furtlier into't: and I have a 
 disguise to sound Falstaff: if I find her honest, 
 I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis laboui 
 well bestovved. [JExit 
 
 Scene IT. — A Room in the Garter Inn 
 
 Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 
 
 Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 
 
 Pist. Why, then the world's mine oyster 
 Which 1 with sword will open. — 
 I will retort the sum in equipage. 
 
 Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
 should lay my countenance to pawn: I have grated 
 upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and 
 your coach-fellow, Nym ; or else you had looked 
 through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am 
 damned in hell, for swearing to gentlemen my friends, 
 you were good soldiers, and tall fellows: and whet 
 mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took'i 
 upon mine honour, thou hadst it not. 
 
 Pist. Didst thou not share? hadst thou not fi 
 teen pence ? 
 
 Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason think'st tho 
 I'll endanger my soul, gratis? At a word, hang 
 no more about me, I am no gibbet for you: — go.— 
 A short knife and a throng; — to your manor o. 
 Pickt-hatch, go. — You'll not bear a letter for me, 
 you rogue ! — You stand upon your honour! — Why 
 thou 'nconfinable baseness, it is as much as I cap 
 do to keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, 
 I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of heaveu jn 
 the left hand, and hiding mine honour lU ni\ neces- 
 sity, am lain to shuifle, to hedge, and to lurch; and 
 yet you, rogue, will esconce your rags, your cat- 
 a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and 
 vour bold- beating oaths, under the shelter of youi 
 honour ! Y ou will not do it, you ? 
 
BcENE 2. MERRY WIVES 
 
 Pist. I do relent; What wonld'st thou more of 
 Ejiiter Robin. [man? 
 
 Sob. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. 
 Fai. Let her approach. 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly. 
 
 Quich. Give your worship good-morrow. 
 FaL Good-morrow, good wife. 
 Quich. Not so, an't please your worship. 
 Fal. Good maid, then. 
 
 Quich. I'll be sworn; as my mother was, the first 
 tour I was born. 
 
 Fal. I do believe the swearer: what with me? 
 
 Quich. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word 
 or two ? 
 
 Fal. Two thousand, fair woman ; and I'll vouch- 
 safe thee the hearing. 
 
 Quich. There is one mistress Ford, sir; — I pray, 
 come a little nearer this ways: — 1 myself dwell 
 with master doctor Caius. 
 
 Fal. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say, 
 
 Quich. Your worsliip says very true : I pray 
 your woi-ship, come a little nearer this ways. 
 
 Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears ; — mine own 
 people, mine own people. 
 
 Quich. Are they so? Heaven bless them, and 
 make them his servants! 
 
 Fal. Well: Mistress Ford;— what of her? 
 
 Quich. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, 
 lord I your worship's a wanton : well, heaven for- 
 give you, and all of us, I pray ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — 
 
 Quich. Marry, this is the short and the long of 
 it ; you have brought her into such a canaries, as 
 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when 
 the court lay at Windsor, could never have brought 
 her to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, 
 and lords, and gentlemen, with their coaches; I 
 warrant you, coach after coach, letter after letter, 
 gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, (all musk,) and 
 80 rushling, I warrant yon, in silk and gold; and 
 in such alligant terms; and in such wine and sugar 
 of the best, and the fairest, that would have won 
 any woman's heart ; and, I warrant you, they could 
 never get an eye-wink ot her. — I had myself twenty 
 angels given me this morning : but 1 defy all an- 
 gels, ( in any such sort, as they say,) but in the way 
 of honesty: — and, I warrant you, they could ne\er 
 get her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest 
 of them all : and yet there has been earls, nay, 
 which is more, pensioners ; but, I warrant you, all 
 is one with her. f good she Mercury, 
 
 Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief, my 
 
 Quich. Marry, she hath received your letter; for 
 the which she thanks you a thousand times : and 
 she gives you to notify, that her husband will be 
 absence from his house between ten and eleven. 
 
 JP«/. Ten and eleven? 
 
 Quich. Ay. forsooth ; and then you may come 
 and see the picture, she says, that yon wot of ; — 
 master Ford, her husband, will be from home. 
 Alas! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him; 
 he's a very jealousy man : she leads a very fram- 
 pold life with him, good heart. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven : woman, commend me to 
 her : I will not fail her. 
 
 Quich. Why, you say well : but I have another 
 
 essenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath 
 cr hearty commendations to you too; — and let 
 tne tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil 
 modest wife, and one ( I tell you ) that will not miss 
 rou morning nor evening prayer, as any is in 
 Windsor, whoe'er be the otiier : and she bade me 
 tell your worship, that her husband is seldom from 
 home : but, she hopes, there vvill come a time. I 
 never knew a woman so dote upon a man; surely, 
 I think you have charuis, la ; yes, in truth. 
 
 Fal. Not 1, I assure thee; setting the attraction 
 of u»Y good iKirts asido, I have uo other charms. 
 
 OF WINDSOR. z% 
 
 Quich. Blessing on your heart lor't! 
 
 Fal. But, I pray thee, tell nie this . has FcTid'i 
 
 wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each oth^r how 
 they love me ? 
 
 Quich. That were a jest, indeed ! — they hai-e cot 
 so little grace, I hope • — tliat were a trick, indeed ! 
 But mistress Page vvould desire you to send hei 
 your little page, of all loves ; her husband has a 
 niarvellous inlection to the little page : and, trr\y, 
 master Page is an honest man. Never a wile iu 
 Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what 
 she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, go to 
 bed when she list, rise when she list, all is as she 
 will ; and, truly, she deserves it : for if there be a 
 kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You must 
 send her your page ; no remedy. 
 
 Fal. Why, I will. 
 
 Quich. Nay, but do so then: and look yoi\ Le 
 may come and go between you both; and, in any 
 case, have a nay word, that you may know one 
 another's mind, and the boy never need to under- 
 stand any thing; for 'tis not good that childreo 
 should know any wickedness : old folks, you know, 
 have discretion, as they say, and know the world. 
 
 Fal. Fare thee well : conmiend me to them both : 
 there's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 
 
 along with this woman. This news distracts me ! 
 
 [Exeunt Quichly and Rohin. 
 
 Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : 
 Clap on more sails; pursue, up with your fights;^ 
 Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them ill I 
 
 [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Fal. Say'st thou so, old .lack? go thy ways; I'll 
 make more of thy old body than I have done. \\'ill 
 they yet look after thee ? Wilt thou, after the 
 expence of so much money, be now a gainer? 
 Good body, I thank thee : let them say, 'tis grossly 
 done ; so it be fairly done, no nuitter. 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook be ow 
 vvould fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
 you; and hath sent your worship a mornirii's 
 
 FaL Brook, is his name ? [draught of sa tk. 
 
 Bard. Ay, sir. 
 
 Fal. Call him in. [Exit Bardolph.] Such Broob 
 are welcome to me, that o'erllow such liquor. A \ \ 
 ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I e ^ 
 compassed you ? go to ; via ! 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. 
 Ford. Bless you, sir. 
 
 Fal. And you, sir : would you speak with me ' 
 
 Ford. I make bold to press with so little pre* 
 paration upon you. 
 
 Fal. You're welcome: what's your will? — Give 
 us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
 much ; my name is Brook. 
 
 Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more ac- 
 quaintance of you. 
 
 Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours : not to 
 charge you; tor I must let you understand, I think 
 myself in better plight for a lender than you are; 
 the which hath something embt)ldeiied me to this 
 unseasoned intrusion : for they say, if money go 
 before, all ways do lie open. 
 
 Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on- 
 
 Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money hers 
 troubles me : if you will help me to bear it, sii 
 John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carnage. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I know not how 1 may d'^serve to be 
 your porter. [hearing, 
 
 ?Wd. 1 will tell you, sir, if yor. vvili give ine the 
 
 Fal. Speak, good master Brook; I shall be glad 
 to be your servant. 
 
 Ford. Sir, 1 hear you are a scholar, — I will be 
 
 brief with you, and you have been a man long 
 
 known to me, though I had never so good means, 
 as desire, to make rnyseli" acquainted with you. J 
 
40 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act it. 
 
 shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very 
 much lay ope a mine own imperfection: but, good 
 sir John, as jou have one eye upon my follies, as 
 you hear them unfolded, turn another into the re- 
 gister of your own : that I may pass with a reproof 
 the easier, sith, you yourself know, how easy it is 
 to be nich an oflenJer. 
 
 Fal. Very well, sir ; proceed. 
 
 Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her 
 Husband's nante is Ford, 
 
 Fal. Well, sir. 
 
 Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest to 
 yju, bestowed much on her: followed her with a 
 noting observance ; engrossed opportunities to meet 
 her; fee'd every slight occasion, that could but 
 niggardly gi\e me sight of her; not only bought 
 many presents to give her, but have given largely 
 to many, to know what she would have given • 
 briefly, I liave pursued her, as love hath pursued 
 me ; which hath been, on the wing of all occasions. 
 But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind 
 ©r in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received 
 none; unless experience be a jewel; that I have 
 purchased at an infinite rate ; and that hath taught 
 me to say this [sues; 
 Love like a shadow flies, token substance love pur- 
 Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursices. 
 
 Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfac- 
 tion at her hands ? 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fai. Have you importunt-d her to such a purpose? 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Of what quality was your love then ? 
 
 Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's 
 g:round ; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistak- 
 ing the place where I erected it. [ 1?*^® ^ 
 
 Fal To what purpose have you unfolded this to 
 
 Ford. When I have told you that. I have told 
 you all. Some say, that, though she appear honest 
 to me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth 
 (10 i'ar, that there is shiewd construction made of 
 her. Now, sir John, here is the heart of my pur- 
 pose : you are a gentleman of excellent breeding, 
 admirable discourse, of great admittance, authen- 
 tic iti your place and person, generally allowed for 
 your many war-like, court-like, and learned pre- 
 parations. 
 
 Fal O, sir! 
 
 Ford. Believe it, for you know it: — There is 
 money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all 
 I have ; only give me so much of your time in ex- 
 change of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the ho- 
 nesty of this Ford's wife : use your art of wooing, 
 win her to consent to yon; if any man may, you 
 Hiay as soon as any. 
 
 Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of 
 your affection, that I should win what you would 
 enjoy? Methiuks, you prescribe to yourself very 
 preposterously. 
 
 Ford. O, understand my drift! she dwells so 
 securely on the excellency of her honour, that the 
 folly of my soul dares nut present itself ; she is too 
 bright to be looked against. Now, could I come to 
 her with any detection in my hand, my desires had 
 instance and argument to commend themselves ; I 
 could drive her then from the ward of her purity, 
 her reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand 
 other her defences, which now are too strongly em- 
 battled against me • wiiat say you to't, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with 
 your money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, 
 as I am a^entieman, you shall, if you will, enjoy 
 Ford's wife. 
 
 Ford. O, good sir ! 
 
 FaL Master Brook, I say yon shall. [none. 
 Ford. Want no money, sir John, you shall want 
 Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you 
 ghall want none. I shall be with her, ( I may tell 
 ^ou), by her own appointment; even as yot came 
 ttt to aie. her assistant, or go -between, parted from 
 
 me : 1 say, T shall be with her between ten an^ 
 eleven ; for at that time the jealous rascally knave, 
 her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at 
 night; you shall know how I speed. 
 
 Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
 know Ford, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I know 
 him not: — yet I wrong him to call him poor; they 
 say, the jealous wittoUy knave hath masses of mo- 
 ney : for the which his wife seems tome well fa- 
 voured. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly 
 rogue's coffer; and there's my harvest-home. 
 
 Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir; that you 
 might avoid him, if you saw him. 
 
 Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ' 
 I will stare him out of his wits; I will awe him 
 with my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor 
 o'er the cuckold's horns : master Brook, thou shalt 
 know, I will predominate o'er the peasant, and thou 
 shalt lie with his wife. — Come to me soon at night : — 
 Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his stile ; thou, 
 master Brook, shalt know him for a knave and 
 cuckold : — come to me soon at night. [Exit. 
 
 Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! 
 — My heart is ready to crack with impatience. — 
 Who says, this is improvident jealousy ? My wife 
 hath sent to him, the hour is fixed, the matcit is 
 made. Would any man have thought this? — See 
 the hell of having a false woman '. my bed shall be 
 abused, my cofiers ransacked; my reputation gnawn 
 at ; and 1 shall not only receive this villanous 
 wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable 
 terms, and by him that does me this wrong. 
 Terms I names! Amaimon sountls well; Luci- 
 fer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are devils' ad- 
 ditions, the names of fiends : but cuckold I wittol- 
 cuckold ! the devil himself hath not such a name. 
 Page is an ass, a secure ass ; he will trust his wife, 
 he will not be jealous : I will rather trust a Fleming 
 with my butter, parson Hugh the Welchman with 
 my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, 
 or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my wife 
 with herself : then she plots, then she ruminates, 
 then she devises : and what they think in their 
 hearts they may effect, they will break their hearts 
 but they will effect. Heaven be praised for my 
 jealousy ! — Eleven o'clock the hour ; — I will pre- 
 vent this, detect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, 
 and laugh at Page. I will about it; better three 
 hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! 
 cuckold! cuckold ! cuckold! [Fxit 
 
 Scene lU.— Windsor Park. 
 Enter Caius and Rugby. 
 Caius. Jack Rugby. 
 Rug. Sir. 
 
 Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack? 
 
 Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro- 
 mised to meet. 
 
 Caius. By gar, he has save his soid, dat he is no 
 come ; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no come : 
 by gar. Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be 
 come. 
 
 Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would 
 kill him if he came. 
 
 Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill 
 kill him. Take your rapier. Jack; I vill tell yo« 
 how I vill kill him. 
 
 Ru^. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 
 
 Caius. Villany, take your ra{>ier. 
 
 Rug. Forbear ; here's company. 
 
 Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and VaGR. 
 Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor. 
 Shal. Save you, master doctor Caius. 
 Page. Now, good master doctor! 
 Slen. Give you good-morrow, sir. 
 Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree. Tour, com* 
 for? 
 
 Host. To see thee fight, '.o see thee foin, to see 
 
Act III. Scene 1. MERRY WIVES 
 
 thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there ; to 
 Bfee thee pass thy piinto, thy stock, tliy reverse, thy 
 distance, thj inontant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian ? 
 is he dead, niy Francisco? ha, bully! What says my 
 Escii.apids? my Galeij ? my heart of elder ? ha! is 
 he dead, bully Stale ? is he dead ? 
 
 Caitis. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the 
 voHd ; he is not show his face. 
 
 Host. Thou art a Castilian king. Urinal! Hector 
 of Greece, my boy ! 
 
 ^ Caius. I pray you, bear vitness dat me have stay 
 six or seven, two or tree hoars for him, and he is no 
 come. 
 
 S/ial. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he is 
 a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you 
 should fight, you go against the hair of your profes- 
 sion ; is it not true, master Page? 
 
 Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a 
 great fighter, though now a man of peace. 
 
 Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though 1 now be 
 old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my linger 
 itches to make one : though we are justices, and 
 doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have some 
 salt of our youth in us ; we are the sons of women, 
 master Page. 
 
 Parje. 'Tis true, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. It will be Ibund so, master Page. Master 
 doctor Caius, I am come to letch you home. I am 
 sworn of the peace; you have showed yourself a 
 wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself a 
 wise and patient churchman : you must go with me, 
 master doctor. 
 
 Host, Pardon, guest justice : — A word, monsieur 
 Muck-water. 
 
 Caius. Muck-vather! vat is dat? 
 
 Host. Muck - water, in our English tongue, is 
 valour, bully. 
 
 Caius. By gar, then I have as much muck-vater 
 
 as de Englishman. Scurv y jack-dog priest! by gar, 
 
 iiie vill cut his ears. 
 
 Host. He will clapper-claw thee, tightly, bully. 
 
 Caius. Clapper-de-claw? vat is dat? 
 
 Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 
 
 Caius. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de- 
 claw nje , for, by gar, me vill have it. 
 
 Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. 
 
 Cains. Me tank you for dat. 
 
 Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, master 
 guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, 
 go you through the town to Frogmore. ( Aside to 
 them. ) 
 
 Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 
 
 Host. He is there : see vvliat humour he is in ; and 
 I will bring the doctor about by the fields : will it 
 do well ? 
 
 Shal. We will do it. 
 
 Page, Shal. andSlen. Adieu, good master doctor. 
 
 [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest; lor he 
 speak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 
 
 Host. Let him die: but, "first, sheath thy impa- 
 tience; throw cold water on thy choler : go about 
 the fields with me through Frogmore ; I will bring 
 thee where mistress Anne Page is, at a farmhouse, 
 a-feasting : and thou shalt woo her : Cry'd game, 
 said 1 well? 
 
 Caius. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, I 
 love you • and I shall procure-a you de good guest, 
 de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my 
 j-atients. 
 
 Host. For the which I will be thy adversary 
 towards Anne Page; said I well? 
 Caius. By gar, tis good ; veil said. 
 Host. Let us wag then. 
 
 Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. {Exeunt. 
 ACT III. 
 Scene I. — A Field near Frogmore. 
 hfiter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 
 Eva. 1 pray you now, good master Slenders ser- 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 41 
 
 ving man, and friend Simple by your name, wnich 
 vvay have you looked for master Caius, that calls 
 himself i>oc^or of Physic? 
 
 Sim. Many, sir, the city-ward, the park-ward; 
 every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but 
 the town way. 
 
 Eva. I most fehenaently desire you, yov will also 
 look that way. 
 
 Sim. I will, sir. 
 
 Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, 
 and trempling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he ha\e 
 deceived me: — how melancolies I am! — I will 
 knog his urinals about his kaave's costaid, when I 
 have good opportunities for the 'ork — 'pless my 
 soul ! ( Sings. ) 
 
 To shallow rivers, to xvhose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals ; 
 There ivill ive make our peds of roses 
 And a thousand vagrant posies. 
 To shallow — 
 'Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals : 
 When as I sat in Pabijlon, — 
 And a thousand vagrant posies. 
 To shallow — 
 Siin. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. 
 Eva. Ht^. welcome : — 
 
 To shallow rivers, to ivhose falls — 
 Heaven prosper the right! — Wliat weapons is he? 
 
 Sim. No weapons, sir : there comes my master, 
 master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frog- 
 more, over the stile, this way. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else k'^ep 
 it in your arms. 
 
 Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 Shal. How now, master parson"'' Good-morrow, 
 good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dire, 
 and a good student from his book, and it is uod- 
 Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! | derful 
 
 Page. Save you, good sir Hugh ! 
 Eva. 'Pless you irom his nuTcy sake, all of you ! 
 Slial. What ! the sword and the word ! do you 
 study them both, master parson ? 
 
 Page. And youthful still, in your doublet aiid 
 hose, this. raw rheumatic day? 
 
 Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. 
 Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, 
 master parson ? 
 Eva. Fery well : what is it ? 
 
 Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, 
 belike, having received wrong by some person, is at 
 most odds with his own gravity and patience, that 
 ever you saw. 
 
 Shal. I have lived fourscore years, and upwards; 
 I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learu 
 ing so wide of his own respect. 
 
 Eva. What is he ? 
 
 Page. I think you know him ; master doctor 
 Cains, the renowned French physician. 
 
 Eva. Gofs will, and his passion of my heart ! 1 
 had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge. 
 
 Page. Why ? 
 
 Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates 
 and Galen, — and he is a knave besides ; a cowaidly 
 knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 
 
 Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight 
 with iiim. 
 
 Slen. O, sweet Anne Page 1 
 
 Shal. It appears so, by his weapons : — Keep tlie^o 
 asunder; — here comes doctor Caius. 
 
 Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. 
 
 Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in 3'our 
 
 Shal. So do you, good master doctor, [weapon. 
 
 Host. Disarm them, and let them question ; let 
 them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. 
 
 Caius. [ pray you, let-a me speak a word vityout 
 ear: verefore vill you not meet-a me? ^ 
 
 Eva. Pray you, use your patience : in good time. 
 
42 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, 
 John ape. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, let ns not be laugliing-stogs to 
 other men's humours ; I desire you in friendship, and 
 I will one way or other make you amends : — I will 
 koog your uri.ials about your knave's cogscomb, for 
 missing ySm- meetings and appointments. 
 
 Caius. D table ! — Jack Kugby, — mine Host de 
 Jarterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him? have 
 I n.)t, at de place 1 did appoint? 
 
 Eva. As I am a Christian's soul, now, look you, 
 this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by mine 
 host of the Garter. 
 
 Host. Peace, I say, Giiallia and Gaul, French 
 and Welch ; soul-cuier and body curer. 
 
 Catus. Ay, dat is very good! excellent! 
 
 Host. Peace, 1 say ; hear mine host of the Garter. 
 Am 1 politic ? am I subtle ? am I a Machiavel ? 
 Shall 1 lose my doctor? no ; he gives me the potions, 
 and the motions. Shall I lose my parson? my priest? 
 my sir Hugh ? no ; he gives me the proverbs, and the 
 no-verbs. — Give me thy hand, terrestrial ; so : — Give 
 
 nie thy hand, celestial ; so. Boys of art, I have 
 
 deceived you both ; I have directed you to wrong 
 places : your hearts are mighty, your skins are 
 whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. — Come, lay 
 their swords to pawn , — Follow me, lad of peace ; 
 follow, follow, follow. 
 
 Shal. Trust me, a mad hoat : — Follow, gentle- 
 men, follow. 
 
 Slen. O, sweet An ie Page ! 
 
 \ Exeunt Shallow, Slender, Page atcd Host. 
 
 Cains. Hal do I perceive dat? ha\e you make -a 
 de sot of us? ha, ha I 
 
 Eva. This is well ; he has made us his vlouting- 
 etog. I desire you, t!)at we may be friends, and let 
 us knog our prains together, to be revenge on this 
 same scab, scurvy, cogging companion, the host of 
 the Charter. 
 
 Caius. By gar, vit all my heart; he promise to 
 bring me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deceive me 
 too. 
 
 Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles ; — Pray you, 
 follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The Street in Windsor. 
 Etiter Mistress Page and Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; 
 you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a 
 leader : whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, 
 or eye your master's heels ? 
 
 Rob. 1 had rather, forsooth, go before you like a 
 man, than follow him like a dwarf. 
 
 Mrs. Page. O you are a flattering boy ; now, I 
 see, you'll be a courtier. 
 
 Enter FoRD, 
 
 Ford. Well met, mistress Page : whither go you ? 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife : is she 
 at home ? 
 
 Ford. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, 
 for want of company : I think, if your husbands 
 were dead, you two would marry. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Be sure of that,— two other husbands. 
 
 Ford. W here had you this pretty weathercock ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his 
 oame is my husband had him of: what do you call 
 j:)ur knifilit's name, sirrah? 
 
 Rob. Sir John FalstafF. 
 
 Ford. Sir John Falstalf ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Page. He, he; I can never hit on's name. 
 -There is such a league between my good man and 
 he ! — Is your wife at home, indeed ? 
 
 Ford. Indeed, she is. 
 
 Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir; — lam sick, till 
 I see her. \ Exetint Mrs. Page and Robin. 
 
 Ford. Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? 
 hath he any thinking? Sure, they sleep; he bath 
 
 no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter 
 
 twenty miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point- 
 blank twelve score. He pieces out bis wife's incli' 
 nation ; he gives her folly motion, and adrantage 
 and now she's going to my wife, and Falstaflf s boy 
 with her. A man may hear this shower sing in the 
 wind ! — and Falstatt''s boy with her ! — Good plots ' 
 — they are laid ; and our revolted wives share dam- 
 nation together. Well ; I will take him, then torture 
 my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from 
 the so seeming Mrs. Page, divulge Page hims.elf fcr 
 a secure and wiU'ul Acta^on ; and to these violeni 
 proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim, {Clock 
 strikes.) The clock gives me my cue, and my as- 
 surance bids me search : there I shall find Falstatf : 
 I shrill be rather praised for this, than mocked ; for 
 it is as positive as the earth, is firm, that Falstalf is 
 there : I will go. 
 
 Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh 
 Evans, Caius, and Rugby. 
 
 Shal. Page, ^c. Well met, master Ford. 
 
 Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good cheer 
 at home ; and, I pray you, all go with me. 
 
 Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. 
 
 Slen. And so must I, sir ; we have appointed to 
 dine with mistress Anne, and I would not break 
 with her for more money than I'll speak of. 
 
 Shal. We have lingered about a match between 
 Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we 
 shall have our answer. 
 
 Slen. I hope. I have your good will, father Page. 
 
 Page. You have, master Slender; I stand wholly 
 for you : — but my wife, master doctor, is for you 
 altogether. 
 
 Cains. Ay, by gar; and de maid is love-a me ; my 
 nnrsh-a Quickly tell me so miish. 
 
 Host. What say you to young master Fenton ? he 
 capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes 
 verses, he speaks holyday, he smells April and May • 
 he will carry't, he will carry't; 'tis in his buttons 
 he will carry't. 
 
 Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The 
 gentleman is of no having : he kept company with 
 the wild Prince and Poins ; he is of too liigh a re- 
 
 fion, he knows too much. No, he shall not knit a 
 not in his fortunes with the finger of my substance . 
 if he take her, let him take lier simply ; the wealth 1 
 have waits on my consent, and my consent goes not 
 that way. 
 
 Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go 
 home with me to dinner; besides your cheer, you 
 shall have sport; 1 will shew you a monster. — 
 Master doctor, you shall go; — so shall you, master 
 Page ; — and you, sir Hugh. 
 
 Shal. Well, fare you well : — we shall have the 
 freer wooing at master Page's. 
 
 [Exeunt Slinlloiv and Slender. 
 
 Caius. Go home, John Rugby; 1 come anon. 
 
 [Exit Rugby. 
 
 Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest 
 knight Falstaft', and drink canary vvith him. 
 
 [Exit Host. 
 
 Ford. [Aside.) I think, I shall drink in pipe wine 
 first with him; I'll make him dance. Will you go, 
 gentles ? 
 
 All. Have with you, to see this monster. [Exeunt 
 Scene III. — A Room in Ford's house. 
 Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John ! what, Hubert ! 
 Mrs. Page. Quickly, rjuickly ! Is the bud ban- 
 ket— 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I warrant : — What, Robin, J say. 
 
 Enter Serva7its, with a baskoi] 
 Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 
 Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. [be brici 
 
 Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we mu* 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John 
 
Scene 8. ' MERRY WIVES 
 
 and Robert, be ready here hai J by in the brew- 
 house ; and,'\vhen I suddenly call you, come forth, 
 and (without any pause, or staggering), take this 
 basket on your shoulders: that done, trudge with it 
 in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters in 
 Datchet mead, and there empty it in the muddy 
 ditch, close by the Thames side. 
 Mrs. Page. You will do it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I hav e told them over and over ; they 
 .ack no direction : be gone, and come when you are 
 calle [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 
 
 Enter Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas musket? what 
 news with you ? 
 
 Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back- 
 door, mistress Ford ; and requests your company. 
 
 Mrs. Page. \ ou little Jack-a-lent, have you been 
 true to us ? 
 
 Rob Ay, I'll be sworn: my master knows not of 
 your being here ; and hath threatened to put me 
 into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it; for, he 
 swears, he'll turn me away. 
 
 3irs, Page. Thou'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
 thine sliall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee 
 a new doublet and hose. — I'll go hide me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do so:— Go tell thy master, lam 
 a.one. Mrs. Page, remember you your cue. 
 
 [Exit Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if T do not act it, 
 hiss me. [Exit Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go to then; we'll use this unwhole- 
 some humidity, this gross watery pumpion; — we'll 
 teach him how to know turtles from jays. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Have J caught thee, my heavenly jewel? 
 Why, now h t me die, for I have lived long enough ; 
 this is the period of my ambition : O this blessed 
 hour I 
 
 Mr.i. Ford. O sweet Sir John I 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, T cannot prate, 
 niistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I 
 would thy husband were dead ; I'll speak, it before 
 the besthird, I would make tiiee my ladj-. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 1 your lady, sir John ! alas, I should 
 be a pitiful lady. 
 
 Fal. Let the court of France show me such an- 
 other; I see how thine eye would emulate the dia- 
 mond ; thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, 
 that becomes the ship- tire, the tire- valiant, or any 
 tire of Venetian adniittance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
 become notliing else; nor that well neither. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so : thou would'st 
 make an absolute courtier; and the tirnj fixture of 
 thy foot would give an excellent motion to my gait, 
 ill a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
 it fortune thy foe were not ; nature is thy friend : 
 come, thou canst not hide it. [me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in 
 
 Fal. What made me love thee? let that persuade 
 thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, 
 I cannot cog, and say, tliou art this and that, like a 
 many of these lisping hawthorn buv's, that come like 
 women in men's apparel, and smeh like Buckler's- 
 bury in simj-le-time ; I cannot : but I 1(\ -e thee ; none 
 but thee : and thou deservt st it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; I fear, you 
 love mistress Page. 
 
 Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by 
 he Counter-gate ; wliicli is as hatefid to me as the 
 eek of a lin)e-kiln. 
 
 Mrs Ford. Well, heaven knows, how I love 
 yi)u ; and you shall one day find it. 
 
 Fal. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay I must tell you, so you do ; or 
 e 'se I could not be in that mind. 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 43 
 
 Rob. [ivithin.) Mistress Ford, mistress Ford^ 
 here's mistress rage at the door, sweating, and 
 blowing, and looking vt'ildly, and would needs speak 
 with you presently. [behind the arras, 
 
 Fal. She shall not see me ; T will ensconce me 
 Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so. she's a very tattling 
 woman. — {Falstaff hides himself.] 
 
 Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 
 
 What's the matter? how now ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford, what have yoo 
 done ? You're shamed, you are overthrown, you are 
 undone for ever. [Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress 
 
 Mrs. Page. O well-a day, mistress Ford ! havicg 
 an honest man to your husband, to give him such 
 cause of suspicion I 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion? 
 
 Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion? — Out up. 
 on you ! how am I mistook in you ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, wo- 
 man, with all the oflficers in Windsor, to search foi 
 a gentleman, that, he says, is here now in the house, 
 by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his ab- 
 sence. You are undone. [so, I hope. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Speak louder. — [Aside.) — Tis not 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, tiiat you 
 have such a man here ; but 'tis most certain, your 
 husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to 
 search for such a one. I come before to tell you ; 
 if you know yourself clear, why I am glad of it: 
 but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him 
 out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses to you ,' 
 defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good 
 life for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What shall I do ?— There is a gentle- 
 man, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own 
 shame, so much as his peril : 1 had rather than a 
 thousand pound, he were out of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you hadra 
 ther, and you had rather ; your husband's here at 
 hand, bethink you of some conveyance : in the 
 house you cannot hide him. — O, how have you de- 
 ceived me! — Look, here is a basket; if he be o/ 
 any reasonable stature, he may creep in here ; and 
 throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to 
 bucking: or, it is whiting-time, send him by your 
 two men to Datchet mead. [shall I do? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there . what 
 
 Re enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Let me see't, let me see't! O let me see't ! 
 I'll in, r i in ; — follow your friend's counsel : — I'll in. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What! Sir John Falstaff! Are tlie^e 
 yom- letters, knight? 
 
 Fal. I love thee, and none but thee ; help me 
 away : let me creep in here ; I'll never — 
 [He goes into the basket ; they cover him with 
 foul linen.) 
 
 Mrs. Page. Help to cover yor» master, boy: call 
 your men. mistress Ford : — You dissembling kniuht! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John, Robert, John ! [Ex-d 
 Robin. Reenter Servants.] Go take up tlifse 
 clothes here, quickly; where's the cowl-statf? look, 
 how you drunible : carry them to the laundress in 
 Datchet mead ; quickly, come. 
 E7iter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect \vith<iut 
 cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be 
 your jest; 1 deserve it. — How now? whither brai 
 you this ? 
 
 Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 
 
 Mrs. Ford.WUy, what have }^>ii todo whithertlicy 
 bear it? you were best meddle with buck-washing. 
 
 Ford. 'Buck ? I would I could wash myself of 
 the buck! Buck, buck, buck? ay, buck! I Mai 
 rant you. buck; and of the season too; it sljall ap 
 pear.' [Ex^funi Servanta with the basket.] Gectl 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act II L 
 
 men, I have breamed to-night; Til tell yon my 
 dream. Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my 
 chambers, search, seek, find out : I'll warrant we'll 
 unkennel the fox: — Let me stop this way first: — 
 ao, now uncape. 
 
 P lye. Good master Ford, be contented: you 
 wrong yom^ell'tjo much. 
 
 Ford. True, Diaster Page. — Up, Gentlemen ; you 
 thall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. lExit. 
 
 Eva. 'J his is fei-y fantastical humours, and jea- 
 ,*?isies. 
 
 Cuius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is 
 not jealous in France. 
 
 2''a(je. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the issue 
 of his search. [Exeunt Evans, Pacje, and Cains. 
 
 Mrs.Paye. Is thei-e not a double excellency in tliis? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, 
 that my husband is deceived, or sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Pacje. What a taking was he in, when your 
 husband asked who was in the basket , 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am half afi-aid he will have need of 
 wasihng ; so throwing him into the water will do him 
 a beneht. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I W(i,r'Id 
 all of the same strain wer e in the same distress. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 1 tliink, my husband hath some special 
 Buspicion of Falstaff s being here, lor I never saw 
 him so gross in his jealousy till now. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that : and we 
 will yet have more tricks with Falstaft': his disso- 
 lute disease will scarce obey this medicine. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish canion, 
 misti-ess Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing 
 into the water; and give him another hope, to be- 
 tray liim to another punishment? 
 
 Mrs. Page. We'll do it; let him be sent for to- 
 morrow eit^ht o'clock, to have amends. 
 He enter Ford, Page,, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. 1 cannot find him : may be, the knave 
 brag'jed of that he could not compass. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heard you tiiat ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace : — ^you use me well, 
 oiaster Ford, do you? 
 
 i^orc/. Ay, I do so. [thoughts! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven make vou better than your 
 
 Ford. Artien. [ter l ord. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, mas- 
 
 Ford. Ay, ; I must bear it. 
 
 Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in the 
 chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, 
 heaven forgive my sins at the dv.y of judgment I 
 
 Cains. By gar, nor I too ; dere is no bodies. 
 
 Page. Fie, fie, master Ford . are you not ashamed? 
 What spirit, what devil suggests tliis imagination? 
 I would not have your distemper in this kind, for 
 the wealth of Windsor Castle. 
 
 Ford. Tis my fault, master Page : T suffer for it. 
 
 Eva. You sulfer for a pad conscience : your wife 
 is as honest a 'omans, as I will desires among five 
 thousand, and five hundi'ed too. 
 
 Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 
 
 Ford. Well; — I proniised you a dinner: — Come, 
 come, walk in the park : I pray you, pardon me ; I 
 will hereafter make known to you, why I have done 
 this.-^Cotne, wife; — come, mistress Page; I pray 
 you. pardon me; pray heartily, i)ardon me. 
 
 Page. Let's go in, gentlemen ; but, trust me, we'll 
 mock birn. I do invite you to-moiTOw naorning to 
 my house to breakfast; after, we'll a-birding toge- 
 thf^r ; I liave a fine hawk for the bush : shall it be so ? 
 
 Fo7'd. Any thing. rconapany. 
 
 Eva. If there is one, I shall maki two in the 
 
 Caius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a de 
 Eva. hi your teeth: for shame [tuid. 
 
 Ford. Pray you go, master Page. 
 
 Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow 
 »n the lousy knave, n-'ine host. 
 
 Caius Dat is good ■ by gan vit all my heart. 
 Eva. A lou^ knave \ to have his gibes, and his 
 «okeries. ' 'Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. -4 Room in Page's House. 
 Enter Fenton and Mistress Anne Page. 
 Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; 
 Theielore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 
 Anne. Alas ! how then ? 
 
 Fe?it. Why, thou must be thyself 
 
 He doth object, I am too great of birth; 
 And that, my state being gall'd with my expence 
 I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 
 Besides these, other bars he lays before me,— - 
 iVly riots past, my wild societies; 
 And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible 
 I should love thee, but as a property. 
 
 Anne. May be, he tells you true. 
 
 Fent. No, heavpn so speed me in my time to come 
 Albeit, I will confess, thy lather's wealth 
 Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne ; 
 Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
 "^I'han stamps in gold, or siniis in sealed bags j 
 And "tis the very ricliesof thyself 
 That now I aim at. 
 
 Anna. Gentle master Fentoa, 
 
 Yet seek my father's love : still seek it, sir: 
 11" opportuuity and humblest suit 
 Cannot attain it, why then — Hark you hither. 
 
 {They converse apart. 
 
 Enter SHALLOW, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly ; my 
 kinsman shall speak for himself. 
 
 Sien. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't : slid, 'tis but 
 venturing. 
 
 Shal. Be not disrnay'd. 
 
 Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care no< 
 for that, — but that I am afeard. 
 
 Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a 
 word with you. 
 
 Anne. I come to him. — This is my father's choice. 
 O, what a world of vile ill-lavour'd laults 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a-year ! 
 
 [Aside^^ 
 
 Quick. And how does good master Fenton ? Pray 
 you, a word with yon. 
 
 Shal. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thoK 
 hadst a father ! 
 
 Sleji. I had a father, mistress Anne; — my uncle 
 can tell you good jests of him : — Pray you, uncle 
 tell mistress Anne the jest, how ray lather stole tvvc 
 geese out of a pen, good uncle, 
 
 Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 
 
 Sle?i. Ay, that 1 do; as well as I love any woman 
 in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, un 
 der the degree of a 'squire. 
 
 Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty 
 pounds jointure. [himself 
 
 Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for 
 
 Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you ibr 
 that good coinfoi-t. — She calls you, coz : I'll leave you. 
 
 Anne. Now, master Slender. 
 
 Slen. Now, good Mistress Anne. 
 , Amie. What IS your will ? 
 
 Slen. My will? 'od's heartlings, that's a pretty 
 jest, indeed ! I ne'er made my \vill yet, I thank 
 heaven; I am not such a sickly creature, I give 
 heaven praise. fvvith me ? 
 
 Anne. I mean, master Slender-, what would you 
 
 Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little 0{ 
 nothing with you : your father, and my uncle, have 
 made motions: if it be my luck, so; if not, happj 
 man be his dole ! They can tell you how things go 
 better than I can : you may ask your father; hei^ 
 he comes. 
 
 Enter Page and Mistress Page. 
 Page. Now, master Slender : — Love him, daugh 
 ter Anne. — 
 
 Why, how now ! What does master Feuton here ? 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 45 
 
 You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: 
 I told you, sir, my dau^^liter is disposed of. 
 
 Fent Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my 
 
 Page. She is no match for you. [child. 
 
 Fent. Sir, will you hear me ? 
 
 Page. No, good master Fenton. 
 
 Come, master Shallow; come, son Slender; in: — 
 Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Ftnton. 
 
 [Exeunt 'Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Quick. Speak, to mistress Page. [daughter 
 
 Fmt. Good mistress Page, for that I love your 
 In such a righteous fashion as I do. 
 Perforce, against all ciiecks, rebukes, and manners, 
 I must advance the colours of my love, 
 And not retire: let me have your good will. 
 
 Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' 
 fool. [husband. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a belter 
 
 Quick. 1'hat's my master, master doctor. 
 
 Anne. Alas, I had rather be. set quick i' the earth. 
 And bowl'd to death with turnips. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself : good 
 master Fenton, 
 1 will not be your friend, nor enemy: 
 My daughter will 1 question how she loves yon, 
 And as 1 find her, so am I affected ; 
 'Till then, farewell, sir: — She must needs go in ; 
 Her father will be angry. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne. 
 
 Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress: I'arewell, Nan. 
 
 Quick. This is my doing now; — Nfiy, said I, will 
 you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician ? 
 look on master Fenton : — this is my doing. 
 
 Fent. I thank thee ; and I pray tiiee, once to night 
 Give my sweet Nan this ring : there's for thy pains. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! A 
 kind heart he hath : a woman would run through tire 
 and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I would 
 my master had mistress Anne; or I would master 
 Slender had her ; or, in sooth, I would master Fenton 
 had her : I will do what I can for them all three ; for 
 so I liave promised, and I'll be as good as my word; 
 but speciously for master Fenton. Well, I must of 
 another erraud to sir John Falstaff" from my two mis- 
 <Te3Sts ; what a beast am I to slack it! [Exit. 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Falstaff and Baremjlph. 
 FaJ. Bardolph, I say, — 
 Bard. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in't. 
 [Exit Bard.} Have I lived to be carried in a basket, 
 like \ barrow of butcher's offal ; and to be thrown 
 into Thames? Well, if I be served such another 
 trick, ril have my brains ta'en out, and butter'd, and 
 give them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues 
 flighted me into the river with as little remorse as 
 they would have drowned a bitch's blind pup})ies, 
 fil'teen i' the litter : and you may know by my size, 
 that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bot- 
 tom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had 
 been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and 
 shallow; a death that I abhor ; for the water swells 
 a man; and what a tiling should I have been, when 
 I had been swelled ! I should liave been a mountain 
 of mummy. 
 
 Re-enter Bakdolph, with the wine. 
 Bard Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with 
 you. 
 
 Fal. Come, let me i)our in some sack to the 
 Thames water; fur my belly's as cold, as if! had 
 swallowed snow balls for pills to cool the reins. C:dl 
 
 Bard. Come in, woman. [her in. 
 
 Enter Mistress QuiCKLY. 
 
 Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy : give 
 your worship good-morrow. 
 
 FaL Take away these chalices : go brew rve 
 pottle of sack finely. 
 Bard. With eggs, sir? 
 
 Fal. Simple of itseli'; I'll no pullet-sperm iu njy 
 hre\vi\g.Q.—[Exit Bardolph^ — How now ? 
 
 Quick. Many, sn-, 1 come to your worship from 
 mistress Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I 
 was thrown into the ford : I have my b'-lly full of ford. 
 
 Quick. Alas the day ! godd heart, that was not her 
 fault : she dues so take on with her men ; they mistook, 
 their erection. [man's promise, 
 
 Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish wo- 
 
 Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
 yearn your heart to see it. Her liusband goes this 
 morning a-birding; she desires you once more to 
 come to her between eight and nine : I must carry 
 her word quickly : she'll make you amends, 1 warrant 
 you. 
 
 Fal. Well, I will visit her : tell her so ; and bid 
 her think what a man is : let her consider his frailty, 
 and then judge of my merit. 
 
 Quick. I will tell her. 
 
 Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'stthou? 
 
 Quick. Eight and nine, sir! 
 
 Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 
 
 Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit 
 
 Fal. 1 marvel, I hear not of master Brook; he 
 sent me word to stay within : I like his money wek. 
 O, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Ford. 
 Ford. Bless you, sir! 
 
 Fal. Now, master Brook? you come to know 
 what hath [)assed between me and Ford's wife? 
 
 Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I was &1 
 her house the hour she appointed me. 
 
 Ford. And how sped you, sir? 
 
 Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. How so, sir? Did she change her tletcF 
 mi nation ? 
 
 FaL No, master Brook ; but the peaking cornuto, 
 her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continuaj 
 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of onr 
 encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested, 
 and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy 
 and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thithet 
 provoked and instigated by his distemper, and for- 
 sooth, to search his house for his wife's love. 
 
 Ford. What, while you were there? 
 
 FaL While I was there. 
 
 Ford. And did he search for you, and could not 
 find you ? 
 
 FaL You shall hear. A.'? good luck would have it, 
 comes in one mistress Page; gives intelligence of 
 Ford's approach ; and, by her invention and Ford's 
 wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck- 
 
 Ford. A buck-basket ! [basket. 
 
 FaL By the Lord, a buck-basket: rammed me in 
 with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, 
 and greasy napkins; that, master Brook, there was 
 the rankest compound of villanous smell, that ever 
 offended nostril. 
 
 Ford. And how long lay you there? 
 
 FaL Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what 1 
 have suffered to bring this woman to evil fur your 
 good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple 
 of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by 
 their mistress, to carry me in the name offoul clothes 
 to Drttcliet-Iane : they took me on their shoulders, 
 met the jealous knave their master in the door, who 
 asked them once or twice what they had in their 
 basket: I quaked for fear, lest the lunatic kna'^o 
 would have searched it ; but fate, ordaining he should 
 be a cuckold, held his hand. Well : on went he ihr 
 a search, and away went I for foul clothes But 
 mark the sequel, masti^r Brook : I suffered the panga 
 of three several deaths : first, an intolerable fright, 
 to be detected with a jealous rotten bell-wether : next 
 
46 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 to he compassed, like a good bilbo, in the circum- 
 lerence of a peck, liilt to point, heel to head : and 
 then, to be stopped in, like a strong distillation, with 
 stinking clothes, that fretted in their own grease : 
 think ot" that, — a man of my kidney, — think of tmt ; 
 that atn as subject to heat, as butter; a man ot ron- 
 timial dissolution and thaw; it was a miracle to 
 'scape sntibcation. And in the height of this bath, 
 when 1 was more than half stewed in grease, like a 
 Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and 
 cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; 
 j.iiik of that, — hissing hot,— think of that, master 
 Brook. 
 
 Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my 
 sake you have sutfered all this. My suit then is 
 desperate ; you'll undertake her no more. 
 
 hal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, 
 as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus, 
 ller husband is this morning gone a-birding : I have 
 received from her another embassy of meeting ; 'tvvixt 
 eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appoint- 
 ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and 
 you shall know how I speed ; and the conclusion 
 shall be crowned with your enjoying her : adieu. 
 You shall have her, master Brook ; master Brook, 
 you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 
 
 Fjrd. Hum ! ha ! is this a vision ? is this a dream ? 
 do 1 sleep? Master Ford, awake; awake, master 
 Ford ; there's a hole made in your best coat, master 
 Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 'tis to have linen 
 and buck-baskets! — Well, I will proclaim myself 
 what I am : I will now take the lecher; he is at my 
 house: he cannot 'scape me; 'tis impossible he 
 should ; he cannot creep into a half-penny purse, nor 
 into a pepper-box ; but, lest the de\ il that guides 
 hinj should aid him, I will search impossible places. 
 'J'houf^h what T am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I 
 would not, shall not make me tame ; if 1 have horns 
 to make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll 
 bs horn-mad. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I.— The Street. 
 Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Quici-kly, and 
 William. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, think'st 
 thou ? 
 
 Quick. Sure he is by this, or will be presently ; 
 but truly he is very courageous mad, about his 
 throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires you 
 to come suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll be with her bv and by^ I'll but 
 bring my young man here to school. Look, where his 
 njaster comes; 'tis a playing-day, I see. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
 How now, sir Hugh? no school to-day ? [play. 
 
 Eva. No ; master Slender is let the boys leave to 
 
 Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 
 
 Mi-s. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my son 
 profits nothing in the world at his book ; I pray 
 you, ask him some questions in his accidence. 
 
 Eva. Come hither, William; hold up your head; 
 come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah : hold up your head ; 
 H iswer your master, be not afraid. 
 
 Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns? 
 mil. Two. 
 
 Qiiicl: Truly, 1 thought there had been one num- 
 hi'r more ; because they say, od's nouns. 
 
 Eva. Peace your tattliugs. — What is fair, Wil- 
 
 TFill. Pulcher. [liam? 
 
 Quich Poulcats ! there are fairer things than 
 ponlcats, sure. 
 
 Ev. You are a very simplicity 'oman; I pray 
 you, peace. — What is Icpis, William? 
 
 Will A stoue 
 
 Eva. And what is a stone, William? 
 
 Will. A pebble. [youi praiii, 
 
 Eva. No, it is lapis; I pray you remember io 
 
 fTill. Lapis. 
 
 Eva. That is good, William. What is he, Wil- 
 liam, that does lend articles ? 
 
 Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun ; and 
 be thus declined, Singidariter, nominativo, hie 
 h<BC, hoc. 
 
 Ev. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog ; — pray yoil 
 mark ; genetivo hujus : well, what is your accusU' 
 live case ? 
 
 Will. Accusativo, hinc. 
 
 Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child : 
 Accusativo. hing, hong, hog. [y<J'i. 
 
 Quich. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant 
 
 Eva, Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the 
 focative case, William ? 
 
 Will. O — vocativo, O, 
 
 Eva. Remeiriber, William, focative is caret 
 
 Quick. And that's a good root. 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Peace. 
 
 Ev. What is your genitive case plural, William ? 
 Will. Genitive case ? 
 Eva. Ay. 
 
 Will. Genitive^ — horum, harum, horum. 
 Quick. Vengeance of Jenny's case ! lie on her ! 
 — never name her, child, if she be a whore. 
 Eva. For shame, 'oman. 
 
 Quick. Yon do ill to teach the child such words: 
 he teaches him to hick and to hack, which tl)ey li 
 do fast enough of themselves, and to call horum :— 
 fie upon you ! 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no 
 nn'derstandings for thy cases, and the numbeis oi 
 the genders ? Thou art as foolish christian crt"^- 
 tures as I would desires. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace 
 
 Eva. Shew me now, William, some deciepsiom 
 of your pronouns. 
 
 PFilL Forsooth, I have forgot. 
 
 Eva. It is ki, k<s, cod; \i you forget your kiee, 
 your kces, and your cods, you must be prcecljes. 
 Go your ways, and play, go. [he was. 
 
 Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar, than 1 thought 
 
 Eva. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, 
 mistress Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sir 
 Hugh.] Get you home, boy. — Come, we slay too 
 long. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in Ford's House. 
 Enter Falstaff and Mistress Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my 
 sufferance : I see, you are obsequious in your Jove, 
 and i profess requital to a hair's breadth ; not only, 
 mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all 
 the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of i\. 
 But are you sure of your husband now? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. {Within.) What hoa, gossip Ford 
 what hoa I 
 
 Mrs. Ford Step into the chamber, sir John. 
 
 [Exit Fahta^ 
 
 Enter Mistress Page 
 Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ? who's ai 
 home beside yourself? 
 
 M7-S. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 
 Mrs. Page. Indeed? , 
 
 Mrs. Ford.l>(o, certainly :— speak louder. {Asidi'l 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobo<ly 
 Mrs. Ford. Why 1 _ [here. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in hisi 
 old Itmes again : he so takes on yonder with m^ 
 husband ; so rails against all married mankind ; s? 
 curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion 
 soever ; and so butfets himself on the forehead, 
 crying Peer-out, peer-out! that any madness. 1 ev 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 47 
 
 yet beheld, seenned but tameness, civility, and pa- 
 tience, to this his distemper 1.3 is in now : I am glad 
 the fat ktiif^ht is not here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears, he 
 was carried out, the last time he searched for him, 
 in a basket : protests to my husband, he is now here ; 
 and hath drawn him and the rest of their company 
 from their sport, to make aiiother experiment of his 
 suspicion ; but I am glad the knight is not here ; now 
 he shall see his own tbolery. 
 
 Mrs. Furd. How near is he, mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be 
 here anon. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! — the knight is li^re. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, then von are utterly shamed, 
 and he's but a dead man. What a won)an are you ? 
 — Away with him, away with him; better shame 
 than murder. 
 
 Mrs. Furd. Which way should he go ? how should 
 I bestow him Shall I put him into the basket again V 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket. May I 
 Dot go out, ere he come ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers 
 watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue 
 out; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. 
 But what make you here? Lchinmey. 
 
 Fal. What shall I do? — I'll creep up into the 
 
 Mrs. Furd. There they always used to discharge 
 their birding pieces: creep into the kiln-hole. 
 
 Fal. Where is it? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. 
 Neitlier press, cofi'er, chest, try^k_, well, vault, but 
 he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such 
 places, and goes to tliem by his note : there is no 
 hiding you in the house. 
 5 Fal. I'll go out then. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance, 
 you ()it-, sir Julin. Unless you go out disguised, — 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There is 
 no woman's gown big enough tor him ; otherwise, 
 he might put on a hat, a muftler, and a kerchief, and 
 so e.sca[)e. 
 
 Fal. Good hearts, devise something: any extre- 
 mity, rather than a mischief. 
 
 Mr'i. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
 Brentford, has a gown above. 
 
 Mrs. Page. On n»y word, it will serve him ; she's 
 as big as he is ; and there's her thrum'd hat^ and her 
 muffler tdO : run up, sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mistress Page 
 and I will look some linen for your head. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you 
 straight: ptit on the gown the while. [Exit Falstaff. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. V would, my husband vvonld meet 
 him in this shape : he cannot abide the old woman of 
 Brentford ; he swears, she's a witch ; forbade her 
 my house, and hath threatened to beat her. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband s 
 cudgel; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he ; and 
 ifilks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had in- 
 telligence. 
 
 Mn. Ford. Well try that; for I'll appoint my 
 men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the 
 door with it, as they did last time. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently : 
 let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. \'\\ first direct my men, what they 
 shall do with the basket. Go up. 1 11 bring linen 
 for him straiglit. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we can- 
 not misuse him enough. 
 
 We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, 
 
 Wives may be merry, and yet h )nest too : , 
 
 We do not act, that often jest and iangli ; 
 'Tis old but true. Still swine eat all the draff. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Mistress Ford, tvith tico Se7'vants. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your 
 shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; il' he bid yon 
 set it down, obey him : quickly, despatch. [Exit. 
 
 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. [again. 
 
 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knigiii 
 I Serv. I hope not; I had as lief bear so much 
 
 lead. 
 
 Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius. and Sir 
 Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, tnaster Page, 
 have you any way then to unfool me again? — Set 
 down the basket, villain: — Somebody call my wile : 
 
 You, youth in a basket, come out heie ! — O, 
 
 you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a ging, a par k, 
 a conspiracy against me : now shall the devil be 
 shamed. VVMiat ! wife, I say! come, come ibrth : 
 behold what honest clothes you send forth to the 
 bleaching. 
 
 Page. Why, this passes; Master Ford, you are 
 not to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned. 
 
 Eva. Why this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad 
 dog ! [deetl 
 
 Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well; in- 
 Enter Mistress Ford. 
 
 Ford. So say 1 too, sir. — Come hither, mistress 
 Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest 
 wife, the \irtuous creature, that hath the jealous foni 
 to her husband I I suspect without cause, mistress, 
 do I ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you 
 suspect me in any dishonesty. 
 
 Ford. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out.- 
 
 Come forth, sirrah. 
 
 [Pulls the clothes out of the bavkH 
 
 Page. This passes ! [al'.»ue, 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Are yon not ashamed ? let the cioll es 
 
 Ford. I shall find you anon. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up y^fW 
 wife's clothes ? Come away. 
 
 Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why — 
 
 Ford. Master Page, as 1 am a man, there was one 
 conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket : 
 why may not he be there again ? In my house 1 
 am sure he is: my intelligence is true ; my jealousy 
 is reasonable: pluck me out all the linen. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If you find a man tiiere, he shall d'e 
 a flea's death. 
 
 Page. Here's no man. 
 
 Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, master F(»rd ; 
 this wrongs you. 
 
 Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not fol- 
 low the imaginations of ymir own heart: this is 
 jealousies. 
 
 Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. 
 
 Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. 
 
 Ford. Help to search my house this one time : if 
 I find not what I seek, show no colour for my ex- 
 tremity, let me for ever be yoin- table-sport; let 
 them say of me, As jealous as Ford, that searched 
 a hollow walnut lor his wife's lenian. Satisfy me 
 once more ; once more search with me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page ! come you, 
 and the old woman, down ; my husband will come 
 into the chamber. 
 
 Ford. Old woman! What old woman's that? 
 
 M7's. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brent 
 ford. 
 
 Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean I 
 Have I not forbid her my house ? Slie comes cl' 
 errands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do riot' 
 know what's brought to pass under the profession 
 of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spe 
 by the figure, and such daubery as this is; beyond 
 our element: we know nothing. — Come down, you 
 witch, you hag you ; come down, 1 say. 
 
48 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act 
 
 Mrs. Ford. INay^ good, sweet nnsband, — good 
 gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 
 
 Enter Faj-staff in women's clothes, ledby Mistress 
 Page. 
 
 Mrs. Pifge. Come, mother Prat, ;ome, give me 
 y(Mir hand. 
 
 Ford, ril prat her : Out of my door, you 
 
 witch [beats him), you rag, you baggage, you pole- 
 cat, you ronyon ! out! out! Pll conjure you, Pll for- 
 tune tell you. [Exit Falstaff. 
 3lrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ? 1 tliink, you 
 Bw killed the poor woman. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it: — 'Tis a goodly 
 credit for you. 
 
 Ford. Hang her, witch ! 
 
 Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch 
 indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; 
 I spy a great peard under her muffler. 
 
 Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech 
 you, follow ; see but the issue of my jealousy : if I 
 cry out thus upon no trail, never trust me when I 
 open again. [come, gentlemen. 
 
 Page. Let's obey his humour a little further : 
 
 [Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; 
 he beat him most nnpitifully, methought. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I ll have the cudgel hallowed, and 
 hurigu'er the altar; it hath done meritorious service. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What think you ? May we, with the 
 warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good 
 conscience, pursue him with any iarther revenge ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
 ec ired out of lum ; if the devil have him not in fee- 
 simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, 
 in the wav of waste, attempt us again. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we 
 bave served him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to 
 Bcrape the figures out of your husband s brains. If 
 tliey can find in their hearts, the poor unvii tuous fat 
 knight siiall be any further afflicted, we two will still 
 be the ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him publicly 
 shamed; and, methinks, there would be no l eriod to 
 the jest, should he not be publicly shamed. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, to the foige with it then, shape 
 it: 1 wo(dd not have things cool. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — A Room in the Garter Inn, 
 Enter Host and Bardolph. 
 Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of 
 your horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow at 
 court, and they are going to meet him. 
 
 Host. What duke should that be, comes so se- 
 cretly ? I hear not of him in the court: let me speak 
 with the gentlemen; they speak English? 
 Bard. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you. 
 Host. They shall have my horses; but I'll make 
 4hem pay, I'll sauce them: they have had my house 
 a week at command; 1 have turned away my other 
 guests: tliey must come olf; 111 sauce them; come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Ford^s House. 
 Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page, Mistress Ford, 
 and Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as 
 ever i did iooK uikiu. [nii instant? 
 
 Page. And did he send yon both these letters at 
 
 Mrs. Page, Within a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Ford. Pardon me, wife : henceforth do what thou 
 I rather will suspect the sun with cold, [wilt; 
 Than thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour 
 In him, that was of late an heretic, [stand. 
 As firm as faith. 
 
 Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; no more. 
 
 Be not OS extreme in submission 
 
 As in offence ; 
 
 But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
 Yet once again, to make us public sport. 
 Appoint a meeting with this old fat tellow, 
 Where we may take him. and disgrace him for it. 
 Ford. There is no better way than that the« 
 spoke of. 
 
 Page. How ! to send him word they'll meet him 
 in tlie park at inidni; bt ! fie, fie ; he'll never come. 
 
 Eva. You say, he hz-G been thrown into the rivers, 
 and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman* 
 niethinks, there should be terrors in him, that he 
 should not come ; methinks, his fiesh \f punished, he 
 shall have no desires. 
 
 Page. So think I too, [he comes, 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him wiieo 
 And let us two devise to bring him thither. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Tnere is an old tale goes, that Herne 
 the hunter. 
 Sometime a kee{)er here in Windsor fo est. 
 Doth all the winter time, at stiH midnight, 
 W alk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns , 
 And there he blasts the tiee, and takes the cattle ; 
 And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a 
 In a most hideous and dreadful manner: [chain 
 You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, 
 The .superstitious idle-headed eld 
 Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age, 
 This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth. 
 
 Page. Why, yet there want not many that do 
 In deep of night to walk by tliis Heme's oak : [fear 
 But What of this ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ; 
 That Falstatt at that oak shall meet with us. 
 Disguised like Herne, with huge horns on his head. 
 
 Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come 
 And lu this shape: when you have brought him 
 thither, 
 
 What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? 
 Mrs. Page, That likev/ise iiave we thought upon 
 and thus : 
 
 Nan Page, my daughter, and my little son. 
 
 And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress 
 
 Like urchins, ouphes, and iairies, green and whitti 
 
 With rounds of waxen tapers on tiieir heads, 
 
 And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden. 
 
 As Falstalf, she, and I, are newly met. 
 
 Let them from I'ortli a saw-pit rush at once 
 
 With some diti'used song ; upon their sigh , 
 
 W e two in great amazed.iess will fiy : 
 
 TTien let them all encircle him about. 
 
 And, fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ; 
 
 And ask him, why, that hour of iairy revrl. 
 
 In their so secret paths he dares to tread. 
 
 In shape profane. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth. 
 
 Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, 
 And burn tiiin with their tape i s. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Tiie truth being knowu, 
 
 We'll all present ourselves ; dis-horn tlie spirit. 
 And tjiock him home to Windsor. 
 
 Ford. The children musl 
 
 Be practis'd well to this, or they'll ne er do't. 
 
 Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours, 
 and I will be like a jack a-napes pi'"'^ to hum the 
 knight with my taber. [vizards 
 
 Ford. That will be excellent. ' t'li go buy them 
 
 Mrs. Page. My Nan shall he the queen of all the 
 Finely attired in a robe of white. [fairies, 
 
 Page. That silk will 1 go buy: — and in that tin.e 
 Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, (Aside) 
 
 Ana marry her at Eton. Go, send to lalstati 
 
 straight. 
 
 Ford. Nay , I'll to him again in the name of Brook 
 He ll tell me all his purpose : sure, he'll come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fear not you that : go, get us pro- 
 And tricking lor our fairies. j perties^ 
 
 Eva. Let us about it : it is admirable pleasures^ 
 and very honest knaveries. 
 
 iExeunl Page, Ford and Evans 
 
Scene 6. MERRY WIVES 
 
 Mrs. Page Go, Mrs. Fdi J, 
 Send quickly to Sir Jolin, to know liis luind. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. Ford. 
 ril to the doctor; he hath my good will. 
 And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
 That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
 And he my husband best of all affects : 
 Th(?" doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
 Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her. 
 Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Host and Simple. 
 Host. What would'st thou have, boor? wbat, 
 ftick-skin ? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, short, 
 i|uick, snap. 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John 
 FaLstaff from my master Slender. 
 
 Host. 'J'^here's his chamber, his house, his castle, 
 nis standing bed, and truckle-bed ; 'tis painted 
 about with ttie story of the prodigal, fresh and new : 
 ho, knock and call; he'll speak like an ^?z^//ropo- 
 pharjinian unto thee : knock, I say. 
 
 Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone 
 lip into his chamber ; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, 
 till she come down; I come to speak with her, 
 indeed. 
 
 Host. Ha ! a fat woman I the knight may be 
 robbed: I'll call. — Bully knight! Bully sir John! 
 speak from thy lungs military : art thou there ? it 
 is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 
 
 Fal. (Above.) How now, mine host? 
 
 Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the com- 
 ing down ol'thy fat woman : let her descend, bully, 
 let her descend ; my chambers are honourable : fye ! 
 fr-vacy ? fye I 
 
 Enter Falstaff 
 
 Eal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even 
 now with me ; but she's gone. [Brentford ? 
 
 Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of 
 
 Fal. Ay, marry, was it. muscle-shell : what would 
 you with her ? 
 
 Sim My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to 
 her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, 
 sir, whether one Nyrn, sir, that beguiled him of a 
 chain, had the chain, or no. 
 
 Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 
 
 Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir? 
 
 Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man, 
 that beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened 
 him of it. 
 
 Si?n. I would I could have spoken wit-h the wo- 
 man herself; I had other things to have spoken with 
 her too, from him. 
 
 Fal. What are they ? let us know. 
 
 Host. Ay, come ; quick. 
 
 Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 
 
 Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. 
 
 Si?n. Why, sir, they were nothing but about mis- 
 tress Ann Page: to know if it were my master's 
 fortune to have her, or no. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 
 
 What, sir? [told me so. 
 
 Fal. To have her, — or no: go; I say the woman 
 
 Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir? 
 
 Fal. Ay, sir Tike ; who more bold? 
 
 Sim. I thank your worshi|j : I shall make my 
 master j;lad with these tidings. [Exit Simple. 
 
 Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, sir John. 
 Was there a wise woman with thee ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host; one, that 
 Aath taught me more wit than ever I learnea before 
 m my life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but 
 Was paid for my learning. 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Out. alas, sir! cozenage ! mere cozer\age ! 
 
 Host. Where he my horscs ? speak well of them, 
 varletla. 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 49 
 
 lia/cL Run away with the cozeners: for so B4)on 
 as I came beyond Eton, they threw me oif. from 
 behind one of them, in a slough of mire: and 
 spurs, and away, like three German devils, three 
 Doctor Paustuses. 
 
 Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, vi|. 
 lain : do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honesi 
 men. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Eva. Where is mine host? 
 
 Host. What is the matter, sir ? 
 
 Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : there 
 is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there is 
 three cousin Germans., that has cozened all 
 hosts of Reading, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, 
 of horses and money. 1 tell you for good-will, 
 look you : you are wise, and full of gibes and 
 vlouting-stogs ; and 'tis not convenient you shonld 
 be cozened : fare you well. [_Exit. 
 
 Enter Dr. Caius. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mine host de Jarterre? 
 
 Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, an 
 doubtful dilemma. 
 
 Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell-a 
 me, dat you make grand preparation for a duke 
 de Jarmany . by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de 
 court is know to come ; I tell you for good vill : 
 adieu. _ _ \_ExiL 
 
 Host. Hue and cry, villain, go : — assist me, knight ; 
 r am undone: — fly, run, hue and cry, villain, I am 
 undone ! [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. I would all the world might be cozened ; for 
 [ iiave been cozened and beaten too. If it should 
 come to the ear of the court, how I have been 
 transformed, and how my transformation hath been 
 washed and cudgeled, they would melt me out of 
 ny fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's boots 
 Mtii me ; I warrant they would whip me with their 
 ine wits till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. 
 I never prospered since I forswore myself at/jr/m^m 
 Well, if my wind were but long enough to say my 
 prayers, I would repent. — 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly. 
 
 Now ! whence come you ? 
 
 Quick. From the two parties, forsootli. 
 
 Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the 
 other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have 
 suffered more for their sakes, more, than the villanous 
 inconstancy of man's disposition is able to beai. 
 
 Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes, 1 war- 
 rant ; speciously one of them; mistress Ford, good 
 heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see 
 a white spot abcut her. 
 
 Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue ? I 
 was beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow : 
 and I was like to be apprehended for the witch ot 
 Brentford ; but that my admirable dexterity of wit, 
 my coimterfeiting the action of an old woman, de- 
 livered me, the knave constable had set me i' the 
 stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch 
 
 Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham- 
 ber : you shall hear how things go ; and, 1 warrant, 
 to your content. Here is a letter will say some- 
 what. Good hearts, what a do here is to bring you 
 together ! Sure, one of you does not serve heaven 
 well, that you are so crossed. 
 
 Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exetnit. 
 
 Scene Yl.— Another Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Fenton and Host. 
 Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind 
 is heary, I will give over all. 
 
 Fent. Yet hear me speak : assist me in my pur 
 
 fose, 
 am a gentleman, I'll give thee 
 A. hundred pounds in gold more than your lois. 
 
50 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 Host. I will hear yoii, master Fenton ; aud I 
 will, at the least, keep your counsel. 
 
 Feiit. From time to time 1 have acquainted you 
 With the dear love 1 bear to fair Anne Page ; 
 Wlio, mutually, hath answer'd my atiection 
 [So far forth as herself might be her chooser,) 
 Even to my wish : 1 have a letter from her 
 Of such contents as you will wonder at ; 
 The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, 
 'J^hat neither, singly, can be manifested. 
 Wit) out the show of both ; — wherein fat FalstafF 
 Uith a great scene : the image of the jest 
 
 [Shoiving the letter.) 
 I'll s'lovv you here at large. Hark, good mine host . 
 To night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, 
 Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen: 
 The purpose why, is here; in which disguise, 
 VVhile other jests are something rank on foot. 
 Her father liath conimanded her to slip 
 Away with Slender, and witii him to Eton 
 In>inediateiy to mai ry : she hath consented . 
 Now, sir. 
 
 Her mother, even strong against that match. 
 And firm for doctor Gains, hath appointed 
 'I'hat he shall likewise shuffle her away, 
 VV^hile other sports are tasking of their minds. 
 And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
 Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot 
 She, seemingly obedient, likevvise hath 
 Made promise to the doctor; — Now, thws it rests: 
 Her father means she shall be all in white ; 
 And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
 To take her by the hand, and bid her go. 
 She shall go with him : — her mother hath intended. 
 The better to denote her to the doctor, 
 (For they must all be mask'd and vizaided,) 
 That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd. 
 With ribbands pendant, tlariiig 'bout her head ; 
 And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe. 
 To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, 
 1'he maid hath given consent to go with him. 
 
 Host. Which means she to deceive? father or 
 mother ? 
 
 Fki^it. Both, my good host, to go along with me : 
 And here it rests, — that you'll procure tiie vicar 
 To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one. 
 And. in the lawful name of marrying. 
 To give our hearts united ceremony. [vicar; 
 
 Host, Well, husband your device; I'll to the 
 Bring yon the trraid, you shall not lack a priest. 
 
 Fent. So shall I ever more be bound to tliee ; 
 Besides, I'll make a present recompense. [Exeujit. 
 
 ACT V. — Scene I. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, no more pratt'ling ; — go I'll 
 
 hold . this is the third time ; 1 hope, good luck 
 lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say, there is 
 divinity in odd ninnbers, eitiier in nativity, chance, 
 or death. — Away. 
 
 Quick, ril provide yon a chain ; and I'll do what 
 I can to get you a pair of horns. 
 
 Fal. Away, I say ; time wears : hold up your head, 
 and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quichly. 
 
 Enter Ford. 
 
 How now, master Brook ? Master Brook, the matter 
 will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the 
 Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you shall 
 see wonders. 
 
 Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you 
 told ine you had appointed ? 
 
 Fal. 1 went to her, master Brook, as you see, 
 like a j>oor old man : but I came from her, master 
 Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave, 
 her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy 
 in him, master Brook, that ever governed frenity. 
 I will tell you. — He beat me grievously, in the shape 
 of a woman ; for in the shape of njan, inaster Brook, 
 I fe«r not Ooliah wiih a weavers beam; because I 
 
 know also, lifp is a shuttle. I am in haste , g^o alone 
 with me ; 1 11 tell you all, master Brook. Since I 
 pluck'd geese, play'd truant, and whip'd top, I knew 
 not what it was to be beaten, till lately. Follow me 
 I'll tell you strange things of this knave Ford : on 
 whom to night I will be revenged, and I will deliver 
 his wife into your hand. — Follow • strange things in 
 hand, master Brook ! follow. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene IL— Windsor Park. 
 Enter Page, Shallow, and Slendbr. 
 
 Page. Come, come : we'll couch i' the castie 
 ditch, till we see tne light of our fairies. — Hemeiu 
 her, son Slender, my daughter. 
 
 S^en. Ay, forsooth; 1 have spoke with her, and 
 we have a nay-word, how to know one another. 1 
 come to her in white, and cry, mum; she cries, 
 budget ; and by that we know one another. 
 
 Shal. 'J'hat's good too: but what needs either your 
 mum, or her budget 1 the white will decipher her 
 well enough. — it hath struck ten o'clock. 
 
 Page, 'i'he night is dark; light and spirits will 
 become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No man 
 means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by 
 his horns. Let's away ; follow me. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Dr. Caius. 
 
 Mrs Page. Master Doctor, my daughter is in 
 green : when you see your time, take her by the 
 hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch 
 it quickly : go before into the park ; we two must 
 go together. 
 
 Caius. I know vat I have to do ; adieu. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. ^ [Exit Caiub. 
 My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of 
 Falstaft", as he will chate at the doctor's marrying my 
 daugiiter • but 'tis no matter; better a little eluding, 
 than a great deal ( f heart break. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. W\\e\ e is Nan now, and her troop of 
 fairies ? and the Welch devil, Hugh ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by 
 Heme's oak, with obscure lights ; which at the veiy 
 instant of Falstatt's and our meeting, they will at 
 once display to the night. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be 
 mocked ; if he be amazed, he will every way be 
 mocked. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. [lecnery, 
 Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their 
 
 Those that betray them do no treachery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'he hour draws on ; to the oak, u» 
 
 the oak 1 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene W .— Windsor Park. 
 Enter .Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 
 Eva. Tr'xh, trib, fairies ; come ; and remember 
 your parts: be pold, I pray you: follow me into tne 
 pit; and when I give you the watch-'ords, do as I 
 pid you ; come, come ; trib, trib. {Exeunt- 
 
 Scene V. — Another part of the Park. 
 Mnter Falstaff disguised, tvith a buck's head on 
 Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve: the 
 minute draws on ; now, the hot-blooded gods assist 
 me: — Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy 
 Europa ; love set on thy horns. — O, powerful love ! 
 tiiat, in some respects, makes a beast a man ; in 
 some other, a man a beast. — You were also, Jupiter 
 a swan, for the love of Leda : — O, onmipotent lov 
 how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose 
 — A fault done first in the form of a beast; — O. Jove, 
 a beastly fault! and then another fault in the sem- 
 blance of a fowl ; think on't, Jove ; a foul fault. — 
 When gods have hot backs, what shall popr men do? 
 For me, I am here a Windsor stag, and the fattest, 
 I think, i' the forest : send me a cool rut time, Jove 
 or who can blame me to pi.ss my taliow?--» 
 comes here my doe? 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 51 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer, 
 my male deer ? 
 
 Fal. My doe with the black scut?— Let the sky 
 rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of Green 
 Sleeves; hail kissing comfits, and snow eringoes; let 
 there come a temjjest of provocation, I will shelter 
 me here. {Embracing her.) 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, 
 sweetheart. 
 
 Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch ; 
 I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 
 fellow of this walk, and my horns 1 bequeath to your 
 husbands. Am I a woodman ? 'ha ! Speak I like 
 Heme the hunter? — Why, now is Cupid a child o< 
 conscience ; he makes restitution. As 1 am a true 
 spirit; welcome I (Noise within ) 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven torsive our sins I 
 
 Fal. What should this be? 
 
 Mrl'.pZge.} Away, away. [They run off.) 
 
 Fal. I think tlie devil will not have me dnmned, 
 est the oil that is in me shoidd set hell on fire ; he 
 Aould never else cross me thus. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a satyr; Mrs. 
 Quickly, and Pistol ; Anne Page, as the Fairy 
 Queen, attended by her brother and others, 
 dressed like fairies, ivith waxen tapers on their 
 heads. 
 
 Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white. 
 You moonshine revellers, and shades of night. 
 You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny. 
 Attend your office, and your quality. — 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. [toys. 
 
 Pist. Elves, list your names; sifence, you airy 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap : 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearts unswept. 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry: 
 Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. 
 
 Fal. They are fairies; he that speaks to them, 
 shall die : 
 
 I'll wink and couch : no man i\>Ar works must eye. 
 
 [Lies down upon hi» face.) 
 Eva. Where's Pedef — Go you, and where you 
 find a maid, 
 
 That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
 
 Raisr up the organs of her fantasy. 
 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; 
 
 But those as sleep, and think not on their sins. 
 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and 
 
 Quick. About, about ; [shins. 
 Search Windsor-castle, elves, within and out: 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
 (n state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit ; 
 Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look you scour 
 With juice of balm, and every precious flower. 
 Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest. 
 With loyal blazon, evermore be blest I 
 And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, 
 hike to the Garter's compass, in a ring: 
 The expressure that it bears, green let it be. 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
 And, Hony soil qui mal y pense, write. 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white: 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, \ 
 Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee: > 
 Prairies use flowers for tlieir charactery. J 
 Away ; disperse : but, till 'tis one o'clock, 
 Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
 Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in 
 order set ; 
 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns he, 
 To guide our measure round about the tree. 
 But, stay ; I smell a man of middle earth. 
 
 Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welch fairy! 
 Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese J 
 
 Pist. worm, thou wast o'er-look'd even i 
 
 thy birth. 
 
 Quick. With trial fire toiich me his finger-end ( 
 If he be chaste, the flame will back descend. 
 And turn him to no pain ; but if he start. 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
 
 Pist. A tri»d, come. 
 
 Eva. Come, will this wood take firto 
 
 {They burr, him with their takers, 
 Fal. Oh, oh, oh : 
 
 Quick. Corrupt^ corrupt, and tainted in desire J 
 j About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme : 
 ' And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 
 
 Eva. It is right ; indeed he is f ull of lecheries atd 
 iniquity. 
 
 ( SONG. 
 
 Fie on vinfid fantasy ! 
 
 Fie on lust and l^txicry ! 
 
 Jjust is but a. bloody fire. 
 
 Kindled with unchaste desire. 
 
 Fed in heart ; whose fames aspire. 
 
 As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher 
 
 Pinch him, fairies, midually ; 
 
 Pinch him for his villany ; 
 Pinch him, and burn him. and turn him about. 
 Till ca7idles, and starlight, and moonshine be out 
 
 During this song, the fairies pinch Falstaff 
 Doctor Cains comes one ivay, and steals away 
 a fairy in green; Slender another tvay, an 
 takes off a fairy in ivhite ; and Fenton coinea 
 and steals away Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of 
 hunting is made luithin. All the fairies run 
 away. Falstaffpullsojfhis buck's head, and rises. 
 
 Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. FoRa 
 They lay hold of him. 
 Page. Nay, do not fly; I think, we have watch'd 
 you now : 
 
 Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn? 
 Mrs. Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest ns 
 higher: — 
 
 Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives? 
 See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes ^ 
 Become the forest better than the town ? 
 
 Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? — Master 
 Brook, FalstafFs a knave, a ctickoldly knave; here 
 are his horns, master Brook ; and, master Brook, he 
 hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck basket, 
 his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money; which 
 must be paid to Master Brook ; his horses are 
 arrested for it, master Brook. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we ha\e had ill luck; we 
 could never meet. I will neA'er take you for my 
 love again, but I will always count you my deer. 
 
 Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. 
 
 Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are 
 extant. 
 
 Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three oi 
 four times in the thought, they were not fairies: and 
 yet the guiltiness of n y mind, the sudden surprise 
 of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery 
 into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all 
 rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now 
 how wit may be made a Jack-a lent, when 'tis upon 
 ill employment! 
 
 Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave yo 
 desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 
 
 Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. ^yo« 
 Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray 
 Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till 
 thou art able to W(X) her in good English. 
 
 Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried 
 it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er 
 reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goa 
 too? Shall I hav(. a coxcomb of frize? 'Tis tiia 
 I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. 
 
62 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act T 
 
 M!va. Seose is not good to give putter ; your pelly 
 is all putter. 
 
 Fal. Seese and putter! have I lived to stand at 
 the taunt of" one that makes fritters of English? This 
 M enough to be the decay of lust and late -walking, 
 through the realm, 
 
 Mrs, Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though 
 we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the 
 head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without 
 Bcruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made 
 you our delight? 
 
 Ford. What, a hedge- pudding ? a bag of flax ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. A pulled man? [trails? 
 
 Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intoleraole en- 
 
 Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ? 
 
 Page. And as poor as Job ? 
 
 Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? 
 
 Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, 
 and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, 
 and swearings, and starings, pribbles, and prabbles? 
 
 Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start 
 of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the 
 Welch flannel : ignorance itself is a plummet o'er 
 me ; use me as you will. 
 
 Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to 
 one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, 
 to whom you should have been a pander: over and 
 above that you have sufl'ered, I think, to repay that 
 money will be a biting affliction. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, husbaud, let that go to make 
 amends : 
 
 Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. 
 
 iord. Well, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last. 
 
 Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a 
 posset to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee 
 to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee : tell 
 her, master Slender hath married her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt tiiat: if Anne Page be 
 my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 Enter Si-ender. 
 
 Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! fother Page ! 
 
 Page. Son ! how now ? how now, son ? have you 
 despatched ? 
 
 Slen. Despatched ! — Fil make the best in Gloces- 
 tershire know on't; would I were hanged, la, else. 
 
 Page. Of what, son ? 
 
 Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress 
 Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy : if it had 
 not been i' the church, I would have swinged him, 
 .>r he should have swinged me. If I did not think it 
 bad been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 
 'tis a post- master's boy. 
 
 Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. 
 
 Slen. What need you tell n)e that? I think so. 
 when I took a boy for a girl : if I had been married 
 to him, for a 1 he was in woman's apparel, I would 
 out have had him. 
 
 Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell 
 you, how you should know my daughter by her gar- 
 
 S/en. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum,and 
 she cried budget, as Anne and I had appointed ; and 
 yet it was not Anne, but a post master's boy. 
 
 Eva. Jeshu ! Master Slender, cannot you see but 
 marry boys ? 
 
 Page. O, I am vexed at heart: what shall 1 do? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : 1 knew 
 of your {)urpose ; turned my daughter into green • 
 and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the 
 deanery, and there married. 
 
 Enter Caius. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, \ ara 
 cozened; \ ha' married un gargon, a toy ; un pay 
 san, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, 1 
 am cozened. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green 
 
 Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy : be ga-, I'll raise 
 all Wmdsor. [Evit Caius. 
 
 Ford. This is strange: who hath got ihe right 
 Anne ? 
 
 Page. My heart misgives me : here con>cs master 
 Fenton. 
 
 Enter Fenton and Antve Page. 
 
 How now, master Fenton ? [pardon ; 
 
 Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, 
 Page. Now, mistress ! how chance you went not 
 
 with master Slender ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master dr»c- 
 
 tor, maid ? 
 
 Fent. You do amaze her; hear the truth of it 
 You would have married her most shamefullv, 
 Where there was no proportion held in love*. 
 The truth is. She and I, long since contracted. 
 Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. 
 The offence is holy, that she hath comn)Uted ; 
 And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
 Of disobedience, or unduteons title : 
 Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
 A thousand irreligious cursed hours, [her. 
 Which forced marriage would have brought upon 
 
 Ford. Stand not amazed : here is no remedy : — 
 In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; 
 Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 
 
 Bm. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
 stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glaii'^ed. 
 
 Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven give 
 thee joy ! 
 
 What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd 
 Bal. When night- dogs run, all sorts of deer are 
 chas'd, 
 
 Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your we 
 Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no furth 
 Master Fenton, 
 Heaven give you many, many merry days 
 Good husband, let us every one go' ome. 
 And laugh this sport o'er by a country Are 
 Sir John and all. 
 
 Fo^d. Let it be so:— Sir John, 
 To master Brook you yet shall hold vour \r 
 For he, to night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford. 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 OE, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 This plsy is in the graver part elegant and easy, and in some of the lighter scenes exquisitely humorous. Aguo- 
 che<;k is drawn with ^tvat propriety, but his character is, in a great measure, that of natural fatuity, ai\d is there- 
 fore r. ot the proper prey of a satirist. The soliloquy of Malvolio is truly comic ; he is betrayed to ridicule merely bf 
 bis pride. The marriage of Olivia, and the su. ceeding perplexity, though well enough contrived to divert oa thi 
 sta^e, wants credibility, and fails to produce the proper instruction required in the drama, as it exhibits no ji 
 picture of life. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ORSINO. Di(ke of lUyrta. 
 
 SEB.\ST1AN, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola. 
 ANTONIO, a Sea Captain, Friend to Sebastia?i. 
 A Sen Captain, Friend to Viola. 
 VALENTINE, ) ^ „ „ n i. 
 
 CUHIO, I Gentlemen attending on the Duke, 
 
 SIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia. 
 SIR ANDREW AGUE CHEEK. 
 
 Servants to Olivia. 
 
 MALVOLIO, Steward to OHvia. 
 FABIAN, " 
 
 Clovni , 
 
 OLIVIA, a' rich Countess. 
 VIOLA, in love with the Duke. 
 MARIA, Olivia's Woman. 
 Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, 
 Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — A City in Illyria; and the Sea coast near it. 
 
 Musicians and oi/uf 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Scene I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Duke, Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending. 
 
 Duke. If rmisic be the food of love, play on. 
 Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 
 
 The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
 
 That strain again; — it had a dying fall 
 O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south. 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing, and giving odour. — Enough; no more, 
 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. 
 O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou 
 That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
 Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there. 
 Of what validity and pitch soever. 
 But falls into abatement and low price. 
 Even in a minute ' so full of shapes is fancy, 
 That it alone is high-fantastical. 
 
 Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? 
 
 Duke. What. Curio? 
 
 Cur. ' The hart. 
 
 Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have • 
 O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
 Methought she purged the air of pestilence : 
 That instant was 1 turn'd into a hart ; 
 And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, 
 E'er since pursue me. - How now ? what news from 
 her? 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 Val. So please my lord, 1 might not be admitted. 
 But from her handmaid do return this answer : 
 The element itself, till seven years heat. 
 Shall not behold her face at ample viewi 
 But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk. 
 And water once a-day her chamber round 
 With eye offending brine : all this, to vSeason 
 A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh. 
 And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 
 
 Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, 
 To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
 How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
 Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart, 
 These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fili'd. 
 Her sweet perfections) with one self king! — 
 Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
 Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. 
 
 [ Exeunt. 
 
 Scene l\.—The Sea-coast. 
 Eftter \ lOLPi., Captain, and Sailors. 
 Vio What country, friends, is this? 
 
 Cap. Illyria, lady 
 
 Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? 
 My brother he is in Elysium. sailors ? 
 
 Perchance he is not drown'd : — What think yon, 
 
 Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. 
 
 Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, 
 may he be. \ chance. 
 
 Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you with 
 Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 
 When you, and that poor number saved wilh you, 
 Hung on our driving boat, I saw youi brother. 
 Most provident in peril, bind tiimself 
 ''Courage and hope both teaching him the practice 
 To a strong mast that lived upon the sea ; 
 Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
 I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, 
 .So long as I could see. 
 
 Vio. For saying so, there's goldr 
 
 Mine own escape nnfoldeth to my hope. 
 Whereto thy speech serve.s for authority. 
 The like of him. Know'st tiiou this country? 
 
 Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born 
 Not three hours' travel frou» this very place. 
 
 Vio. Who governs here ? 
 
 Cap. A noble duke , in nature 
 
 As in his name. 
 
 Vio. What is his name ? 
 
 Cap. Orsino. 
 
 Vio. Orsino! t have heard my father name him . 
 He was a bachelor then. 
 
 Cap. And so is now. 
 
 Or was so very late : for but a month 
 Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh 
 In murmur, { as, you know, what great ones do. 
 The less will prattle of,) that he did seek 
 The love of fair Olivia. 
 
 Vio. What's she? 
 
 Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a coudl , 
 That died some twelve month since; then leaving hw 
 In the protection of his son, her brother, 
 Who shortly also died ; for whose dear love^ 
 They say, she hath abjured the company 
 And sight of men. 
 
 Vio. O, that I served that lady 
 
 And might not be delivered to the world. 
 Till I had made mine own occasion mellow. 
 What my estate is. 
 
 Cap. That were hard to con^pass : 
 
 Because she will admit no kind of suit. 
 No, not the duke's. 
 
 Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; 
 And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
 Doth oft close in pollution, yet of fhee _ 
 I will believe, thoa hast a mind that suits 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 Act I. 
 
 With this thy fair and outward character. 
 I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, 
 Conceal me what I am, and be my aid 
 For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
 The form of my intent. Til serve this duke ; 
 Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him, 
 It may be worth thy pains ; for [ can sing, 
 And speak to him in many sorts of music, 
 That will allow me very worth his service. 
 What else may hap, to titne I will commit; 
 Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 
 
 Cap, Be you his eunuch, and your mute Til be : 
 When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyts not see ! 
 
 Vio. I thank thee : lead me on. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — A Rootn in Olivia's house. 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 
 
 Sir T. What a plague means my niece, to take 
 the death of her brother thus ? I am sure, care's an 
 enemy to life. 
 
 Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in 
 earlier o'nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes great 
 exceptions to your ill hours. 
 
 Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. 
 
 Mar. Ay. but you must confine yoursell' within 
 the modest limits of order. 
 
 Sir To. Confine ! I'll confine myself no finer than 
 1 am : these clothes are good enough to drink in, 
 and so be these boots too ' an they be not, let them 
 hang themseh es in their own straps. 
 
 Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you : 
 I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of ft 
 foolish knight, that you brought in one night heW 
 to be her wooer. 
 
 Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek ? 
 
 Ma?'. Ay, he. 
 
 Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in lUyria. 
 
 Mar. VVhafs that to the purpose? 
 
 Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a-year. 
 
 Mitr. Ay but he'll have but a year in all these 
 ducats ; he's a very Ibol, and a prodigal. 
 
 Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so ! he plays o'the 
 viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages 
 word for word without book, and hath all the good 
 gifts of nature. 
 
 Mar. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for, be- 
 sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, 
 but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the 
 gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the 
 prudent, he would quit^kiy have the gift of a grave. 
 
 Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and 
 substractors, that say so of him. Who are they ? 
 
 Mar. Thtry that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly 
 in your company. 
 
 Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; I'll 
 drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my 
 throat, and drink in Illyria : he's a coward, and a 
 coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his 
 brains turn o' the toe like a parish top. What, 
 wench? Castillano vtd,5o; for here comes sir An- 
 drew Ague-face. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Sir A. Sir Toby Belch I how now, sir Toby Belch? 
 
 Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew! 
 
 Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 
 
 Mar. And you too, sir. 
 
 Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. 
 
 Sir And. What's that? 
 
 Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. 
 
 Sir And. (jood mistress Accost, I de^re better ac- 
 
 Mar. My name is Mary, sir. [quaintance. 
 
 Si*" And. Good mistress Mary Accost 
 
 Sir To. Vou misdate, knight; accost, is, front 
 Iser, board h'^^r, woo her, assail her. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her 
 in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? 
 
 Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen 
 
 Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would 
 thou might'st never draw sword again. 
 
 Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I 
 might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you 
 think you ha\ e fools in hand ? 
 
 Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's 
 my hand. 
 
 Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you, bring 
 your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. 
 
 Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your 
 
 Mar. It's dry, sir. [metaphor? 
 
 Sir Ar.d. Why. I think so ; I am not such an ass, 
 but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? 
 
 Mar. A dry jest, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Are you full of them? 
 
 Mar. Ay, sir; 1 have them at my fingers' ends 
 marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. 
 
 [Exit Maria 
 
 Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary 
 when did I see thee so put down? 
 
 Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless yon 
 see canary put me down : methinks, sometimes I 
 have no more wit than a Christian, oi an ordinary 
 man has : but I am a great eater of beef, and, I be- 
 lieve, that does haim to my wit. 
 
 Sir To. No question. 
 
 Sir And. An I thought tliat, I'd forswear it. I'll 
 ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. Pourqiioy , my dear knight! 
 
 Sir And. What is pourquoy 'l do or not do? I 
 would I had bestowed tliat time in the t(»iigijes, that 
 I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting ; O, had 
 I but followed the arts I [of hair. 
 
 Sn- To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 
 
 Sir And.W\\^ , would that have mended my hair? 
 
 Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will noi 
 curl by nature. [not ? 
 
 Sir And. But it becomes me well euougli, does't 
 
 Sir To. Excellent! it hangs like flax on a distafi': 
 and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her 
 legs, and spin it off. 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby : 
 your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four 
 to one she'll none of me : the count iiimself, here 
 hard by, wooes her. 
 
 Sir To. She'll none o' the count ; she'll not mate 
 above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit: 
 I have heard her swear it. T .t, there's life in't, man. 
 
 Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow 
 o' the strangest mind i' the world : I delight in 
 masques and revels sometiiires altogether. 
 
 Sir To. Art thou good at these kicksliavvs, knight? 
 
 Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he 
 be', under the degree of my betters ; and yet 1 will 
 not compare with an old man. 
 
 •SVrTo.What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. 
 
 Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. 
 
 Sir And. And, I think. [ have the back trick, 
 simply as strong as any man in Illyria. 
 
 Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where- 
 fore have these gifts a curtain before them ? are 
 they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's pic- 
 ture ? why dost ttiou not go to church in a galiiard ? 
 and come home in a coranto? My very walk should 
 be a jig! 1 would not so much as make water, but 
 in a sink a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a 
 world to hide virtues in ? I did think, by the excel 
 lent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the 
 star of a galliard. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does 'iidifTerent 
 well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about 
 some re' els? [under Taurus ? 
 
 Sir Tc What shall we ■^o e.se ? were we not born 
 
 Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. 
 
 Sir To. No sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me 
 see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha' — excellent! 
 
 {Exeunt, 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 55 
 
 Scene IV — A Room in the Dukes Palace. 
 Enter VaTiENTine, one/ Viola in mau's attire^ 
 
 Val. If the duke continue these favours towarcls 
 you Cesario, you are like to be much advanced: 
 he Kath known you but three days, and aheady you 
 are no stranger. 
 
 Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli- 
 
 Sence, that you call in question the continuance of 
 is love: is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? 
 Val. No, believe me. 
 
 Enter Duke, CuRio, and Attendants. 
 
 Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 
 
 Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 
 
 Vio. On your attendance, my lord : here. 
 
 Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — Cesario, 
 Tliou know'st no less but all : I have unclasp'd 
 To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
 Therefore, good youth.addressthy gait unto her; 
 Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors. 
 And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, 
 Till thou have audience. 
 
 Vio. Sure, my noble lord. 
 
 If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow 
 As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 
 
 Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds. 
 Rattier than make unprofited return. 
 
 Vio Say, 1 do speak with her, my lord ; what then? 
 Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, 
 Sirprise her with disccurse of my dear faith: 
 If sliall become thee well to act my woes; 
 Sue will attend it better in thy youth, 
 Tlian in a nuncio of" more grave aspect. 
 
 Vio. I think not so, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Dear lad, believe it j 
 
 Fur tliey shall yet belie thy ha py years, 
 Tliat say, thou art a man : Diana's lip 
 Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe 
 Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, 
 And ail is semblative a woman's part. 
 1 know, thy constellation is right apt 
 For ttiis affair: — Some four, or five, attend him; 
 All, if you will; fori myself am best. 
 When least in company : — Prosper well in thisj 
 And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, 
 'Vo cfill his fortunes thine. 
 
 Vio. I ll do my best. 
 
 To woo your lady : yet {Aside.) a barful strife ! 
 Waoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V» -A Room in Olivia's house. 
 
 Enter Maria and Cloion. j 
 
 Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, 
 or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may ! 
 enter, in way of thy excuse : my lady will hang thee 
 for tfiy absence. 
 
 Clo. Let her hang me ! he, that is well hanged in 
 tliis world, needs to fear no colours. 
 
 Mar. Make that good. 
 
 Clo. He sliall see none to fear. 
 
 Mar. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where 
 that saying was born, of //e«r }to colours. 
 
 C/o. Wiiere, good mistress Mary ? 
 
 Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to say 
 in your foolery. 
 
 Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; 
 and those that are fools, let them use tlieir talents. 
 
 Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long 
 absent: or, to be turned away, is not that as good as 
 a hanging to you ? 
 
 Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- 
 riage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out. 
 
 Mar. You are resolute then? 
 
 Clo. Not so neither; but ^ am resolved on two 
 points. 
 
 Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold : or, if 
 both break, your gaskins fall. 
 
 Clo Apt, in good faith; very apt' Well, go thy 
 
 way ; if sir'I oby would It-ave drinking, tl 
 witty a piece of love's flesh as anv in llli 
 
 Iiou vvert as 
 
 . ... .Ilyria. 
 
 Mar. 1 eace, you rogue, no more o'that; her« 
 comes my lady : make your excuse wisely, you wej-^i 
 
 Enter Olivia and Malvolio. 
 Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good 
 fooling! Tfiose wits, that think they have thee, do 
 very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, 
 may pass for a wise man : for what says Qninapaios t 
 
 Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit. God blew 
 
 thee, lady ! 
 
 Oli Take the fool away. [lady. 
 Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the 
 
 OH. Go to, you're a dry fool ; I'll no more of you : 
 besides, you grow dishonest. 
 
 Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
 counsel will amend; for give tfie dry fool drink, 
 then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man 
 mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer disho- 
 nest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him: any- 
 thing, that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that 
 transgresses, is but patched with sin; and sin, that 
 amends, is but patched with virtue : if that this 
 simple syllogism will serve, so ; if it will not, what 
 remedy ? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, 
 so beauty's a flower: — the lady bade take away the 
 fool ; therefore, I say again, take her away. 
 
 Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. 
 
 Clo. Misprision in the highest degree i — Lady, 
 Cucullus non facit monacum ; that's as much as 
 to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good ma- 
 donna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 
 
 Oli. Can you do it? 
 
 Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. 
 
 Oli. Make your proof. 
 
 Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna ; good 
 my mouse of virtue, answer me. 
 
 Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bid* 
 your proof. 
 
 Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? 
 
 Oli, Good fool, for my brother's death. 
 
 Clo. I tliink, his soul is in hell, madonna. 
 
 OH. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 
 
 Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn fof 
 your brother's soul being in heaven. — Take away the 
 fool, gentlemen. 
 
 Oli, What think you of this fool, Malvolio? dotii 
 he not mend ? 
 
 Mai. Yes ; and shall do, till the pangs of death 
 shake him : infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever 
 make the better fool. 
 
 Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the 
 better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be sworn 
 that I am no fox ; but he will not pass his word for 
 two-pence that you are no fool. 
 
 oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such 
 a barren rascal ; 1 saw him put down the other day 
 with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a 
 stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; 
 unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is 
 gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow 
 so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' 
 zanies. 
 
 OH. O, yon are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
 taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, 
 guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those 
 tilings for bird bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: 
 there is no slander in an allowed fool, tiioiigh he do 
 notiiing but rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet 
 man, though he do nothing but reprove. 
 
 Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, 
 thou speakest well of fools. 
 
 Re enter Maria. 
 Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen- 
 tleman, much desires to speak with you. 
 Oil. From the count Oisino, is it f 
 
5e 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 Act L 
 
 Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young man, 
 and well attended. 
 
 OH. Who of my people hold him in delay? 
 
 M.ar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 
 
 OH. Fetch him oft', 1 pray yon ; he speaks nothing 
 nt madman: fie on him! [Exit Maria.] Go you, 
 Malvolio : if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, 
 or not at ho^e ; what you will, to dismiss it. fExii 
 Malvolie. ] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows 
 old, and people dislike it. 
 
 Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy 
 eldest son should be a fool ; whose skull Jove cram 
 with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has 
 a most v/eak pia mater. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch. 
 
 OIL By mine honour, half drunk.- What is he at 
 the gate, cousin ? 
 
 Sir To. A gentleman. 
 
 OH. A gentleman ? What gentleman " 
 
 Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here— A plague o' these 
 pickle-herrings ! — How now, sot ? 
 
 Clo. Good Sir Toby, 
 
 OH. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so eariy 
 Ivy this lethargy ? [the gate. 
 
 Sir To. Lechery ! I defy lechery : there's one at 
 
 Qli. Ay, marry ; what is he ? 
 
 Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, 1 care 
 not ; give me faith, say L Well, it's all one. iExit. 
 
 OH. What's a drunken man like, fool ? 
 
 Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman : 
 One draught above heat makes him a fool ;the second 
 mads him ; and a third rowns him, 
 
 OH. Go thou and see the coroner, and let him sit 
 o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's 
 rown'd : go, look after him. 
 
 Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool 
 shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Re-enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mat Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will 
 iip^^ak with you. I told him you were sick : he takes 
 on hiRi to understand so much, and therefore comes 
 to speak with you : I told him you were asleep; he 
 seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and 
 therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be 
 said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. 
 
 OH. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. 
 
 Mai. He has been told sl> ; and he says, he'll stand 
 «at your door like a sheritrs post, and be the sup- 
 porter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. 
 
 OH. What kind of man is he ? 
 
 Mai. Why, of man kind. 
 
 OH. What manner of man? 
 
 Mai. Of very ill manner ; he'll speak with you, 
 will you, or no. 
 
 OH. Of what personage, and years, is he ? 
 
 Mai. Not yet old enough for a man. nor young 
 enough for a boy ; as a squash is before 'tis a peas- 
 cod, or a codling when 'tis ahnost an apple : 'tis with 
 him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He 
 is very well-favoured, and bespeaks very shrewishly; 
 one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out 
 of him. 
 
 Oli. Let him approach : call in my gentlewoman. 
 Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. lExit. 
 
 Re-enter Maria. 
 Oltv. Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er my 
 fat e ; we'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 
 
 Enter Viola. 
 Vio. The honoura'.le- lady of the house, which is 
 »lie?_ [will? 
 Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her ; your 
 Vio. Most ladiaut, exquisite, and unmatchable 
 auty, — I pray you, tell me, if this he the lady of 
 the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to 
 cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is excel- 
 \e^i\^ well penn'd^ I have taken great pains to con 
 
 it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn • I am 
 very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. 
 
 Oli. Whence came you, sir? 
 
 Via. I can say little more than I have studied, 
 and that question's out of my part. Good gentle 
 one, give me modest assurance, if you be the ladv of 
 the house, that \ may proceed in my speech. 
 
 Oli. Are you a comedian ? 
 
 Vio. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the very 
 fangs of mafjice, I swear, I am not that \ pla^ A:e 
 you the lady of the house? 
 
 Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 
 
 Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
 yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to 
 reserve. But this is from my commission: I will on 
 with my speech in your praise, and then shew you 
 the heart of my message. 
 
 Oli. Come to what is important in't : I forgive you 
 the praise. [poetical. 
 
 Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis 
 
 OH. It is the more like to be feigned , I pray you, 
 keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and 
 allov/ed your approach, rather to wonder at you than 
 to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone ; if you 
 have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with 
 me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. 
 
 Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. 
 
 Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here a little 
 longer, — Some mollification for your giant, sweet 
 
 OH. Tell me your mind. [lady. 
 
 Vio. I am a messenger. 
 
 Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- 
 liver, when the courtesy of it is so leartul. Speak 
 your oflice. 
 
 Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
 overture of war, no taxation of homage ; 1 hold th^ 
 olive in my hand ; my words are as full of peace as 
 matter. 
 
 Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what 
 would you ? 
 
 Vio. The rudeness, that hath appeared in me 
 have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I ann 
 and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to 
 your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. 
 
 Oli. Give us the place alone : we will hear this 
 divinity. [Exit Maria.] Now, sir, what is your text ? 
 
 Vio. Most sweet lady, 
 
 Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
 said of it. Where lies your text? 
 Vio. In Oisino's bosom, 
 
 Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? 
 
 Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of hia 
 heart. [more to say? 
 
 Oli. O, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no 
 
 Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 
 
 OH. Have you any commission from your lord to 
 negociate with my face ? you are now out of your 
 text : but we will draw the curtain, and shew you 
 the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was 
 this present : is't not well done ? (Unveiling.' 
 
 Via. Excellently done, if God aid all. [weather. 
 
 Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and 
 
 Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
 Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: 
 Lady, your are the cruel'st she aljve. 
 If you lead these graces to the grave. 
 And leave the world no copy. 
 
 OH. O, sir, 1 will not be so hard-hearted ; I will 
 give out divers schedules of my beauty : it shall 
 be inventoried ; and every particle, and utensil, 
 labelled to my will : as, item, two lips indifferent 
 red; item, two grey eyes, with Hds to them; item, 
 one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sen* 
 hither to 'praise me ? 
 
 Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud , 
 But, if you were the dev<l, you are fair. 
 My lord and master loves you ; O, such love 
 Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown d 
 The nonpareil of beauty ! 
 
 Oli. How does he love me ' 
 
Act ir. Scene 2^ 
 
 OR, WHAT 
 
 YOU WILL. 
 
 57 
 
 Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears. 
 With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 
 Oil. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love 
 him : 
 
 Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. 
 Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
 In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, 
 And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
 A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
 He u)ight have took his answer long ago. 
 
 Vio. If 1 did love you in my master's flame. 
 With such a suffering, such a deadly life. 
 In your denial I would find no sense, 
 ( would not understand it. 
 
 Oli. Why, what would you ? 
 
 Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
 A.nd call upon my soul within the house j 
 Write loyai cantons of contemned love; 
 And sing them loud even in the dead of night; 
 Holla your name to the res erberate hills. 
 And make the babbling gossip of the air 
 Cry out, Ohvia ! O, you should not rest 
 Between the elements of air and earth. 
 But you should pity me. [age ? 
 
 Oli. You might do much : what is your parent- 
 
 Vio. Above my fortunes, yet ray slate is well ; 
 I am a gentleman. 
 
 Oli. Get you to your lord ; 
 
 I annot love him ; let him send no more ; 
 
 ess, perchance, you come to me again, 
 Te tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
 1 thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 
 
 Vio. 1 am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse • 
 My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
 Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love; 
 M.nd let your fervour, like my master's, be 
 Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit. 
 
 Oli. What is your parentage ? 
 Above mi/ fortunes, yet my state is well; 
 
 I am a yentleman. Fll be sworn thou art; 
 
 Thy tongue, tliy lace, tliy limbs, actions, and spirit, 
 Do give thee five-fold blazon : — Not too fast : — soft ! 
 sol 1 1 
 
 Unless the master were the man. — How now ? 
 Even so quickly may one catch the plague? 
 Metbinks, I feel this youth's perfections. 
 With an invisible and subtle stealth, 
 To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.— 
 What, ho, Malvolio I 
 
 Re-enter Malvolio. 
 
 WaL Here, madam, at your service. 
 
 Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger. 
 The county's man : he left this ring behind him. 
 Would I, or not ; tell him, 1 11 none of it. 
 Desire him not to flatter with his lord, 
 Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him: 
 If that the youth will conje this way to-morrow, 
 I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio, 
 
 Mai. Madam, I will. \Exit. 
 
 Oli. I do I know not what ; and fear to find 
 Mine eye too great a flatterer ibr my mind. 
 Fate, shew thy force : ourselves we do not owe ; 
 What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT n. 
 
 Scene I, — The Sea-coast. 
 Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 
 
 Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not 
 that I go with you ? 
 
 Seb. By yout patience, no my stars shine darkly 
 over me ; the malignancy of my fate might, per- 
 haps, distemper yours ; therefore 1 shall crave of you 
 your leave, that I may bear my evils alone : it were 
 a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them 
 on you. fbound. 
 
 Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are 
 
 Seb. No, 'sooth, sir ; my determinate voyage is 
 mere extravagancy But I perceive in you so ex- 
 
 cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not titorl 
 from me wiiat I am willing to keep in ; therefore it 
 charges nie in manners the rather to express my- 
 self. You nuist know of me, then, 7\nionio, ray 
 nauie is Sebastian, whjch I called Roderigo ; my 
 father was that Sebastian oi' Messaline, whom, \ 
 know, you have heard of: he left behind him, n'ly. 
 S"lf, and a sister, botii born in au hour. If the hea- 
 vens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended.' 
 but, you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before yoa 
 took rue from the breach of the sea, was my sister 
 
 Ant. Alas, tlie day! [drown'd, 
 
 Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- 
 sembled me, was yet oi many accounted beautiful; 
 but, though 1 couid not, with such estimable won- 
 der, overfar believe that, yet thus far 1 will boldly 
 publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not 
 but call fair : she is drowned already, sir, with salt 
 water, though 1 seem to drown her remembrance 
 again with more. 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 
 
 Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 
 
 Afit. If you will not niurder me for my love, let 
 me be your servant. 
 
 Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, 
 that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it 
 not. Fare ye well at once : my bosom is fidl of 
 kindness ; and I am yet so near the manners of my 
 mother, that upon the least occasion more mine 
 eyes will tell tales of me, I am bound to the count 
 Orsino's court : farewell, f Exit 
 
 Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with the«! 
 T have many enemies in Orsino s couit. 
 Else would I very shortly see thee there : 
 But, come what may, I do adore thee so. 
 That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [ExiL 
 
 Scene II, — A Street. 
 
 Enter YiohA; MxhYOLio following. 
 
 Mai. Were not you even now with the coimteatt 
 Olivia ? 
 
 Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I hav« 
 since arrived but hither. 
 
 Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir ; you mighj 
 have saved me my pains, to have taken it away 
 yourself Slie adds moreover, that you shou Id put 
 your lord into a desperate assurance she will none 
 of him : and one thing more; that you be never so 
 hardy to come again in his aftairs, unless it be to 
 report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. 
 
 Vio. She took the ring of nie : I'll none of it. 
 
 Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; 
 and her will is, it should be so returned : if it be 
 worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; if not, 
 be it his that finds it. [Exii. 
 
 Vio. I lelt no ring with her : what means tbia 
 lady ? 
 
 Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her] 
 
 She made good view of me ; indeed, so much. 
 
 That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongiW| 
 
 For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
 
 She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 
 
 Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
 
 None of my lord's ring ! whv, he sent her nooe. 
 
 I am the man ; — if it be so (as 'tis), 
 
 Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
 
 Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness. 
 
 Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
 
 How easy is it for the proper-false 
 
 In women's waxen hearts to set their foriras! 
 
 Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; 
 
 For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
 
 How will this fadge ? iVly raa.ster loves her deaHf 
 
 And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; 
 
 And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : 
 
 What will become of this ? As I am man. 
 
 My state is desperate for uiy master's love* 
 
 As I am woman, now alas the day! 
 
 What thrittless sighs shall poorOlivia Oreath© ? 
 
53 
 
 TWELFTH NICIHT, 
 
 O time, thoii must untangle this, not I ; 
 
 [t is too hard a knot lor me to untie. [Exit 
 
 Scene III. — A Ruom in Olivias house. 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch a7id Sir Andrew Ague- 
 cheek. 
 
 Sur To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bed 
 after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo 
 surgere, thou know'st, — 
 
 Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not : but I 
 know, to be up late, is to be up late. 
 
 Sir To- A false c()nclusi(m ; I hate it as an un- 
 filled can : to be up after midnight, and to go to bed 
 then, is early : so that, to go to bed after midnight, 
 is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of 
 the four elements ? 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, so they say ; but, I think, it rather 
 consists of eating and drinking, 
 
 8'>r To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat 
 and drink. — Marian, I say ! a stoop of wine ! 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. 
 
 Clo. How now, my hearts ? Did you never see 
 the picture of we three ? 
 
 Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
 breast. I had rather than tbrty shillings I had such 
 a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. 
 fn sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last 
 night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the 
 Vapians passing the equinoctial of Quenbiis ; 'twas 
 very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy 
 leman : hadst it ? 
 
 Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's 
 nose is no whipstock : my lady has a white hand, 
 and the myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fool- 
 H3^, when all is done. Now. a song. 
 
 Sir To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you : let's 
 feave a song. 
 
 Sjy And. There's a testril of me too : if one knight 
 
 give a [good life? 
 
 Ch, WouH you have a love-song, or a song of 
 
 Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. 0 mistress mine, ivJiere are yon roaming? 
 0, stay, and hear ; your true lovers coming, 
 
 That can sing both high and low : 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 
 Journeys end in lovers' meeting. 
 Every wise mari s son doth kno w. 
 Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith ! 
 Sir To. Good, good. 
 Clo. What is love ! "tis not hereafter; 
 
 Present mirth hath present laughter ; 
 
 Wliafs to come, is still unsure : 
 In delay there lies no plenty ; 
 Then come kiss me, siveet-and-txveaity , 
 Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
 
 Sit And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true knight. 
 
 Sir To. A contagious breath. 
 
 Sir Arid. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. 
 
 Sir To. To hear by tlie nose, it is dulcet in 
 contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance 
 indeed ? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, 
 that will draw three souls out of one weaver ? shall 
 we do that? [a catch. 
 
 Sir And. An you love me. let's do't : I am a dog at 
 
 Clo. ByV lady^ sir, and s'^^me dogs will catch well. 
 
 Sir And. Most certain : let our catch be. Thou 
 knave. 
 
 Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall 
 be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. 
 
 Str And. Tis not the first time I have constrain'd 
 one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold 
 thy pfMce. 
 
 Clo 1 shall ne\'er begin, if I hold mv peace. 
 
 Sir And Good, i'faith . Come, begin. {They sing 
 a catch.) 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here. 
 If my lady have not called up her steward, Mal- 
 volio, and bid him turn you out of doors, neve* 
 trust me. 
 
 Sir To, My lady's a Catalan, vve are politicians : 
 Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and Three merry men 
 be ice. Am not I consanguineous'-' am I not of her 
 blood V Tilly vally, lady ! There dwelt a man m 
 Babylon, lady, lady ! {Singing.) [fooling. 
 
 Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable 
 
 Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis- 
 posed, and so do 1 too; he does it with a bettei 
 grace, but I do it more natural. 
 
 Sir To. 0, the twelfth day of December, — 
 
 {Singing.) 
 
 Mar. For the love o' God, peace. 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. My masters, are you mad or what are you? 
 Ha\ e you no wit, maimers, nor honesty, but to gabble 
 like tinkers at this time of niglit? Do ye make an 
 alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out 
 your coziers' catches without any mitigation or 
 remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, 
 persons, nor time, in you ? [Sneck up ! 
 
 Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
 
 Mai. Sir Toby, I nuist be round with you. My 
 lady bade me tell you, that, though she hcft l)ou!s you 
 as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. 
 If you can separate yourself and your nn'sdemeanors, 
 you are welcome to the house ; ii" not, an it would 
 please you to take leave of her, she is very willing 
 to bid you fa'ewell. \meds be gone. 
 
 Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I wusi 
 
 Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. 
 
 Clo. His eyes do sheiv his days xre almost done 
 
 Mai. Is't even so ? 
 
 Sir To. But I will never die 
 
 Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 
 
 Mai. This is much credit to you. 
 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go? {Singing.) 
 
 Clo. TT'hat an if you do ? 
 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? 
 
 Clo. 0 no. no, no, no. you dare not. 
 
 Sir To. Out o' time? sir, ye lie. — Art any more 
 than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art 
 virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ? 
 
 Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne ; and ginger shall be hot 
 i' the mouth too. 
 
 Sir To. Thou'rt i"the right. — Go, sir, rub your 
 chain with crums : — A stoop of wine, Maria.' 
 
 Mai. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's fa- 
 vour at any thing more than contempt, you would 
 not give means for this uncivil rule ; she shall know 
 of it. by this hand. [Exit 
 
 Mar. Go shake your ears. 
 
 Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when 
 a man's a-hungry, to challenge him to the field ; and 
 then to break promise with him, and make a fool 
 of him. 
 
 Sir To. Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge; 
 or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word ol 
 mouth. 
 
 Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to night • 
 since the youth of the count's was to-day with my 
 lady, she is much out of qtn"et. For monsieur Mai 
 yolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gu.l him 
 into a nayword, and make him a cotnmon recreation, 
 do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my 
 bed : I know, I can do't. 
 
 Sir To. Possess us, possess us ; tell us something 
 of him. 
 
 Mar. Many, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Pu- 
 ritan. 
 
 Sir And. O, if I thought tnat, I'd beat him i.. 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Sir To. What, for being a Puritan ? thy exqui- 
 lite reason, dear knight? 
 
 Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I 
 have reason good enough. 
 
 Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any 
 ithing constantly but a time pleaser; an affectioned 
 ass. that cons state without book, and ntters it by 
 great swarths : the best jjersuaded of himself, so 
 crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is 
 his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love 
 him ; and on that vice in him will my revenge find 
 Dotable cause to work. 
 
 Sir To. What wilt thou do ? 
 
 Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles 
 of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the 
 shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- 
 sureofhis eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall 
 find himself most feelingly personated : I can write 
 very like my lady, your niece ; on a forgotten matter 
 we can hardly make distinction of our hands. 
 
 Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. 
 
 Sir And. I have't in my nose too. 
 
 Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou 
 wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that 
 she is in love with him. [colour. 
 
 Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that 
 
 Sir And. And your horse now could make him 
 
 Mar. Ass, I doubt not. [an ass. 
 
 Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. 
 
 Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know, my 
 physic will work with him. I will plant you two, 
 and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the 
 letter; observe his construction of it. For this Hight, 
 to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. \Mxit. 
 
 Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 
 
 Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. 
 
 Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that 
 adores me; whato'that? 
 
 Sir And. I was adored once too. 
 
 Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. — Thou hadst need 
 send for more money. 
 
 Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a 
 foul way out. 
 
 Sir To. Send for money, knight ; if thou hast her 
 not in the end, call me Cut. [you will. 
 
 Sir And. li" I do not, never trust me, take it how 
 
 Sir To. Come, come ; I'll go burn some sack, 
 'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight ; come, 
 kuight. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Enter DuBLE, Viola, Curio, and others. 
 Duke. Give me some music: — Now, good mor- 
 row, friends : 
 
 Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
 That old and antique song we heard last night ; 
 Methought it did relieve niy passion much ; 
 More than light airs and recollected terms. 
 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times; 
 
 Come, but one verse. [should sing it. 
 
 Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that 
 Duke. Who was it? 
 
 C?zr. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool that the 
 lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is 
 about the house. 
 
 Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 
 
 [Exit Curio. — Music. 
 dome hither, boy ; if ever thou shalt love. 
 In the sweet pangs of it remember me : 
 For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
 Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
 Pave, in the constant image of the creature 
 That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune? 
 
 Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
 Where love is thron "d 
 
 Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
 ]S% life upim't, young though thou art, thine eye 
 Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves ; 
 Hath i^ uot, boy? 
 
 Vio. A little, by your favour. 
 
 Duke. What Kind of woman is"t ? 
 Vio. Of your complexioik 
 
 Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, 
 Vio. About your years, my lord. [i'faith ? 
 
 Duke. Too old, by heaven : let still the woma« 
 An elder than herself; so wears she to him, Uako 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
 For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
 Otn- fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
 Than women' ^ are. 
 
 Vio. I think it well, my lord 
 
 Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself. 
 Or thy affection cannot hold the bent : 
 For women are as roses ; whose fair flower. 
 Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. 
 
 Vio. And so they are : alas, that they are so; 
 To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 
 
 Re-enter CuRio, and Clown. 
 
 Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last 
 Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: [night:— 
 Tlie spinsters and the knitters in the sun. 
 And the free maids, that weave their thread with 
 Do use to channt it; it is silly sooth, [bones. 
 And dallies with the innocence of love, 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Clo. Are you ready, sir? 
 
 Duke. Ay ; pr'ythee, sing. {Music.) 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. Cone away, coine atvay, death. 
 And in sad cypress let ix<a be laid; 
 
 Fly aivay,Jiy away, breath; 
 I am slain by a fa ir cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all ivith yew, 
 
 0, prepare it ; 
 My part of death no one so true 
 
 Did share it. j 
 Not a floiver, not a flower siveet, 
 On my black coffin let there be strown ; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet {thrown; 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall l§ 
 A thousand thousand sighs to sat e. 
 
 Lay me, 0, ivhere 
 Sad true lover neerfmd my grave. 
 To weep there. 
 Duke. There's for thy pains. 
 Clo. No pains, sir; 1 take pleasure in singingf, sir. 
 Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. 
 Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
 time or another. 
 
 Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 
 ' Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and 
 the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taiiata, 
 for thy mind is a very opal ! — I woidd have men of 
 such constancy put to sea, that their business might 
 be every thing, and their intent every where ; for 
 that's it, that always makes a good voyage of no- 
 thing. — Farewell. \_Exit Clown. 
 
 Duke. Let all the rest give place. 
 
 [Exeunt Curio and Attendants, 
 Once more^ Cesario, 
 Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty : 
 Tell her, my love, more noble than the world. 
 Prizes not quantity of dirty lands : 
 The parts, that fortune hath bestow'd upon her. 
 Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; 
 But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, 
 That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. 
 Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir? 
 Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 
 Vio. 'Sooth, but you niiuti 
 
 Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is. 
 Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
 As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; 
 You tell her so : must she not then be answer'd? 
 
 Duke. There is no woman's sides, 
 Can bide the beating of so strong passion 
 As love doth give my heart : no wo m's heart 
 
60 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 Act II. 
 
 bo big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
 Alas, their love may be called appetite, — 
 No motion of the liver, but the palate, — 
 That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt ; 
 But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
 And can digest as much : make no compare 
 Between that love a woman can bear me, 
 And that I owe Olivia. 
 
 Vio. Ay, but I know, — 
 
 Duke. What dost thou know ? 
 
 Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe : 
 In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
 My father had a daughter loved a man. 
 As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
 I should your lordship. 
 
 Duke. And what's her history ? 
 
 Vio. A blank, my lord : She never told her love, 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
 Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought; 
 And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 
 ishe sat like patience on a monument, 
 Smiling at grief. Was tiot this love, indeed ? 
 We men may say more, swear mure : but, indeed, 
 Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
 Much in our vows, but little in our lo\e. 
 
 Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? 
 
 Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house. 
 And all the brothers too ; — and yet I know not. — 
 Sir, shall I to this lady ? 
 
 Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 
 
 To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say. 
 My love can give no place, bide no delay. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Olivia's Garden. 
 Enter HirTosy Belch, Sir Andrew Ague cheek, 
 a7id Fabian. 
 Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. 
 F'afj. Nay, I'll come ; if I lose a scruple of this 
 sport let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 
 [ 6'/r To' Would'st thou not be glad to have the 
 fliijgudlj rascally slieep-biter come by some notable 
 shame 
 
 Fuh. I would exult, man : you know, he brought 
 n e out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting 
 liere. 
 
 Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again ; 
 and we will fool him black and blue: — Shall we 
 not. Sir Andrew ? 
 
 Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Sir To. Here comes the little vilJain : — How 
 now, my nettle of India? 
 
 Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Ma!- 
 volio's coming down this walk ; he has been yonder 
 i' the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, 
 this half hour : ohserve him, for the love of mockery ; 
 for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative 
 ifliot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! {The 
 men hide them.selves.) Lie thou there ; {throws 
 down a letter] for here comes the trout that must 
 be caught with tickling iExit Maria. 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria 
 once told me, she did affect me : and I have heard 
 herself come thus neao, that; should she fancy, it 
 siiould be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses 
 n»e with a more exalted respect, than any one else 
 that follows her. What should I think on't? 
 
 Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue.' 
 
 Fah. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare 
 turkey-cock of him ; how he jets under his advanced 
 lumes ! 
 
 Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue ! — 
 
 Sir To. Peace, I S3v. 
 
 Mai. To be Count Malvolio!— 
 
 Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 
 
 Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 
 
 ^iV To. Peace, p«ace ! 
 
 Mai. There is example for't ; the lady of thr 
 
 strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 
 
 Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace ! now he's deeply in ; look, how; 
 imagination blows him. i 
 
 Mal.^ Having been three months married to her^ 
 sitting in my state, — 
 
 Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye I 
 
 Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched 
 velvet gown; haying come froin a day-bed, wherei 
 I left Olivia sleeping. 
 
 Sir 7^0. Fire and brimstone ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace, peace ! 
 
 Mai. And then to have the humour of state : and 
 after a demure travel of regard, — telling them, I knov*> 
 my place, as 1 would they should do theirs, — to asli! 
 for my kinsman Toby : 
 
 Sir To. Bolts and shackles I 
 
 Fab. O, peace, peace, |)eace ! no\v, now. 
 
 Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient startyl 
 make out for him: I frown the while; and per-f 
 chance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich 
 jewel, Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: 
 
 Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? 
 
 Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with 
 cars, yet peace. 
 
 Mai. I extend my hand to him, thus, quenching 
 my familiar smile with an austere regard oi control : 
 
 Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the 
 lips then ? 
 
 31al. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having 
 cast me on your niece, yive me this prerogative oj 
 speech : — 
 
 Sir To. What, what? 
 
 Mai. You must amend your drunkenness. 
 Sir To. Out, scab ! 
 
 Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews si 
 our plot. 
 
 Mai Besides, you waste the treasure of you* 
 time ivith a foolish kniyht ; 
 
 Sir And. I'hat's me, 1 warrant you. 
 
 Mai. One Sir Andrew : [fook 
 
 Sir Attd. I knew, 'twas I ; for many do call m# 
 
 Mai. What employment have we here ? {Tak- 
 ing up the letter.) 
 
 Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 
 
 Sir To. O, peace ! and the spirit of humours io 
 timate reading aloud to him ! 
 
 Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand • these 
 be her very 6^'s, her [7's, and her 7''s; and thus 
 makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt ol 
 question, her hand. 
 
 Sir And. Her C's, her U's and her Ts : why 
 that? 
 
 Mai. {reads.) To the unknown beloved, this, and 
 my good tvishes : her very phrases ! — By your 
 leave, wax.— Soft ! — and the impressuie her Lu- 
 crece, with which she uses to seal : 'tis my lady : 
 to whom should this be ? 
 
 Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 
 31al. {reads.) Jove knows I love : 
 But who? 
 Lips do not move, 
 No man must know. 
 No man 7nust know. — What follows ? the number 
 altered! — No man must know : — If this should b 
 thee, Malvolio? 
 
 Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! 
 Mai. I may command, where I adore : 
 But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
 TT'ith bloodless stroke my heart doth gore 
 M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. 
 Fab. A Fustian riddle ! 
 Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 
 Mai. M, O, A, I, doth sway mydife. — Nay, bui 
 first, let me see, — let me see, — let e see. 
 
 Fab. What a dish of poison hath slie dress'd himt 
 Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel cheokii 
 at it. 
 
 Mai. I may command where I adore* Why, sh* 
 
Act til Scene 1. OR, WHAT 
 
 may command me; I serve Iier, she is my lady. 
 Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There 
 j is no obstruction in this : — And the end,— What 
 should that alphabetical position portend? if J 
 could make that resemble something in me, — 
 Softly l—M, 0, A, L— 
 
 I Sir T. O, ay ! make up that : — he is now at a 
 cold scent. 
 
 Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though 
 it be as rank as a fox. 
 
 Ma/. iW,— Malvolio; — M,— why, that begins my 
 Dame. 
 
 Fab. Did not I say, he would word it out ? the 
 cur is excellent at faults. 
 
 Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in the 
 sequel : that suffers under probation : A should 
 follow, but 0 does. 
 
 Fab. And 0 shall end, I hope. 
 
 Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 
 cry, 0. 
 
 Mai. And then 7 comes behind. 
 Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you 
 night see more detraction t your heels, than for- 
 hines before you. 
 
 Mai. M, O, A, I; — This simulat'on is not as the 
 former: — and yet, to crush this a little, it would 
 ;)ow to me, for every one of these letters are in my 
 lame. Soft! here follows prose. — If this fall into 
 jhy hand, revolve- In my stars I am above thee ; 
 fmt he not afraid of greatness : some are born 
 yreat, some achieve greatness, and some have 
 'greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their 
 'imids ; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. 
 Arid, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, 
 7asl thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be 
 opposite with a kinsman, snrly with servants : 
 lei thy tongue tang arguments of state ; put thy- 
 t^lf into the trick oj' singularity : she thus advises 
 '^hee, that sighs for thee. Kemember who com- 
 mended thy yellow stockings ; and ivished to see 
 \lhee ever cross-gartered : I say, remember. Go 
 [|fo,- thou art made, if thou desirest to be so ; if 
 lot, let me see thee a steivard still, the fellow of 
 servants, and not worthy to touch fortune s 
 'ingers. Farewell. She, that ivould alter services 
 vith thee, 
 
 The fortunate-unhappy. 
 Oay-light and champian discovers not more : this 
 s open. I will be proud, 1 will read politic au- 
 i.hors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross 
 icquaintance, I will be point-de-vice, the very man. 
 I Jo not now fool myself, to let imagination jade 
 , lie ; for every reason excites to this, that my lady 
 I oves me. She did commend my yellow stockings 
 I'bf late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered ; 
 md in this she manifests herself to my love, and, 
 i/vith a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits 
 i)f her liking I thank my stars, I am happy. I 
 mil be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and 
 l;ro,ss-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting 
 ')n. Jove, and my stars be praised ! — He re is yet 
 I postscript. Thou tanst not choose but know who 
 \ am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear 
 n thy smiling ; thy smiles become thee well : 
 'herefore in my presence still smile, dear my 
 ^i^weet, I prythee. Jove, 1 thank thee. — I will 
 imile; I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ' Fab. I will not give my part of this sport lor a 
 )ension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 
 1 Sir To. I could marry this wench for this de\ice : 
 Sir And. So could I too. 
 
 Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but 
 inch another jesL 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Sir And. Nor 1 neither. 
 Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 
 Sir To. W ilt thou set thy foot o' my neck ? 
 Sir And. Or o' mine either 'I 
 
 YOU WILL, 
 
 Sir To. Shall 1 play my freedom a( tray -trip and 
 
 become thy bond-slave ;* 
 
 Sir And. Ffaith, or I either'' 
 
 Sir To. Wliy, thou hast put him in such a dreajot 
 that when the image of it leai es him, he must run 
 mad. 
 
 Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon him ? 
 
 Sir To. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. 
 
 Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 
 mark his first approach before niy lady • he will 
 come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour 
 she abhors ; and cross gartered, a fasliioii slie de- 
 tests ; and he will smile upon her, which will now 
 be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted 
 to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn 
 him into a notable contempt : if you will see it, 
 follow me. 
 
 Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel- 
 lent devil of wit ! 
 Sir And. I'll make one too. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT. in. 
 
 Scene I. — Olivia's Garden. 
 Eriter Viola, and Clown ivith a tabor. 
 
 Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : dost thou 
 live by thy tabor ? 
 
 Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. 
 
 Vio. Art tUou a churchman ? 
 
 Clo. No such matter, sir, I do live by the church : 
 for I do live at niy house, and my house doth stand 
 by the church. 
 
 Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beg- 
 gar, if a beggar dwell near him ; or, the church 
 stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stajjd by the 
 church. 
 
 Clo. You have said, sir. — To see this age! — A 
 sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; how 
 quickly the wrong side may be turned outward! 
 
 F/y. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely 
 with words, may quickly make them wanton, ' 
 Clo. I would, therefore, niy sister had had no* 
 Vio. Why, man? [name, sir 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word ; and to dally 
 with that word, might make my sister wanton: but 
 indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds di* 
 graced them. 
 
 Vio. Thy reason, man? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
 words; and words are grown so false, 1 am loath to 
 pro\'e reason with them, 
 
 Vio. I warrant, thou art a nierry fellow, and 
 carest for nothing. 
 
 Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something : but in 
 my conscience, sir, 1 do not care for you ; if that be 
 to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you 
 invisible. 
 
 Vio. Art thou not the lady Olivia's fool ? 
 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the lady Olivia has no folly: 
 she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and 
 fools are as like husbands, as pilchards are to her- 
 rings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, woi 
 her fool, but her corrupter ol words. 
 
 ^ io. I saw thee late at the count Orsiiio's. 
 
 Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like 
 the sun ; it shines every where. I would be sorry, 
 sir, but the fool should be as oft with your mastt-r, 
 as with my mistress : 1 tnink I saw your wisdom 
 there. 
 
 Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more 
 with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee 
 
 Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair 
 send thee a beard ! 
 
 Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick 
 for one ; tiiough 1 would not have it grow on my 
 chin. Is thy lady within? 
 
 Clo. Would not a pair of these ha\e bred, sir? 
 
 Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. 
 
 Clo. I would play lord Fandarus ol Phrygia. sir 
 to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 
 
62 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 Vio. I understand you, sir ; 'tis well begg'd. 
 
 do. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, beg- 
 eing but a beggar ; Cressida was a beggar. My 
 lady is within, sir. 1 will construe to theni whence 
 you come ; who you are, and what you would, are 
 out of my welkin : I might say, element; but the 
 word is over-worn. [Exit. 
 
 Vi). This fellow's wise enough to play the Ibol ; 
 And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit : 
 He must observe their mood on whom he jests. 
 The quality of persons, and the lime ; 
 And, like the haggard, cherk at every feather 
 That coMies belbre his eye. 'I'his is a practice, 
 As full of labour as a wise man's art : 
 For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit ; 
 But wise meji, folly-l'allen, quite taint their wit. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch a?id Sir Andrew Ague- 
 Cheek. 
 
 Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Dieu votis garde, monsieur. 
 
 Vio. El vous aussi ; voire serviteur. 
 
 Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. 
 
 Sir To. W ill you encounter the house 'i my niece 
 is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. 
 
 Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she 
 is the list of my voyage. 
 
 Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. 
 
 Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than 
 I understand what you mean by bidding me taste 
 
 Sir To. 1 mean to go, sir, to enter. [my legs. 
 
 Vio. 1 will answer you with gait and entrance : 
 but we are prevented. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Maria. 
 Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain 
 odours ou you I [odours! well. 
 
 Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier : Rai?i 
 
 Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
 own most pregiiatit and vouchsafed ear. 
 
 Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouclisafed : — 
 ril get 'em all three ready. [to my hearing. 
 
 on. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me 
 
 \Exemit Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. 
 Give me your hand, sir. 
 
 Vio. My duty, madam, and most hmnble service. 
 OH. V\ liat is your name? 
 
 Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. 
 
 OH. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world, 
 Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: 
 You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. 
 
 Fio. And he is yours, and his must needs be 
 yours ; 
 
 Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 
 
 on. For him, I tliink not on him: for his 
 thoughts, [me ! 
 
 Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with 
 
 Vio. Madam, I couie to whet your gentle thoughts 
 On his behalf:— 
 
 0/i. O, by your leave, I pray you ; 
 
 I bade you never speak again of him : 
 13ut, would you undertake anotiier suit, 
 1 had ratiier hear you to solicit that. 
 Than music from the spheres. 
 
 Vio Dear lady, 
 
 Oh. Give me l(?ave, I beseech you : I did send. 
 After the last enchantment you did here, 
 A ring in chase of you ; so dul I abuse 
 Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you: 
 Under your harti construction must I sit. 
 To force tb vt on you, in a shameful cunning, 
 Which you knew none of yours : what might you 
 Have you not set mine honour at the stake, [think ? 
 And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts. 
 That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of your 
 receiving 
 
 Rnougb is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, 
 Hides my poor heart: so let me hear you speak. 
 
 Vio. I pity you. 
 0/i. 'J'hat's a degree to love. 
 Vio. No, not a grise ; for 'tis a vulgar proof. 
 That very oft wc pity enemies. 
 
 OH. Why, then, melhinks, 'tis time to smil 
 
 0 world, hew apt the poor are to be proud I [again 
 if one should be a prey, how much the better 
 
 To fall before the lion than the wolf? {Clock strikes. 
 The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — 
 Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
 And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest. 
 Your wife is like to reap a proper man • 
 There lies your way, due west. 
 
 Vio. Then westward-h 
 
 Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship .' 
 You'll nothing, madam, to my loi d by me ? 
 
 OH. Stay : 
 
 1 pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 
 
 Vio. That you do think, yon are not what you are. 
 
 OH. If I think so, I think the same of yon. 
 
 Vio. Then think you right ; J am not what I am. 
 
 OH. I would you were as I would have you be ' 
 
 Vio. Would it be better, madam, tlian I am, 
 I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 
 
 OH. O, what a deal ot'scorn looks beautiful 
 In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
 A nuird'rous guilt shews not itself more soon 
 Than love that would seem hid : lo\e's night is noon 
 Cesario, by the roses of the spring. 
 By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
 I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride. 
 Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
 Do not extort thy reasons from this clause. 
 For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
 But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
 Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better, 
 
 Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth 
 I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. 
 And that no woman has ; nor never none 
 Shall mistress be of it, save 1 alone. 
 And so adieu, good madam ; never more 
 Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 
 
 OH. Yet come again* for thou, peihaps, ma^ a, 
 mo\ e 
 
 That heart, which now abhors, to like his ld\ e, 
 
 lExev.,^1 
 
 Scene H. — A Ro^m in Olivia's house. 
 Enter SiR Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Actk 
 CHEEK, and Fabian. 
 Sir And. No, faith. I II not stay a jot longer. 
 Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give lliy reason. 
 Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir An' 
 drew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, T saw your niece do more favours 
 to the count s serving man, tiian ever she bestowed 
 upon me ; 1 saw't i'the orchard. [n»e that. 
 
 Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell 
 
 Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 
 
 Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
 toward you. 
 
 Sir And. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me ? 
 
 Fab. I will ppove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths^ 
 of judgment and reason. 
 
 Sir To. And they have been grand jurymen, since 
 before Noah was a sailor.- 
 
 Fab. She did shew favour to the youth in yow 
 sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
 mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brim- 
 stone in your liver : you should then have accosted 
 her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from 
 the mint, you should have banged the youth into 
 dumbness. This was looked for at your liand, and 
 this was baulked: the double gilt of this opportu- 
 nity you let time wash o(F, and you are now sailed 
 into the north of my lady's opinion: where you will 
 hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless 
 you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either 
 of valour, or policy. 
 
 Sir And. And't be any way, \i must be with va-. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 63 
 
 kour; for policy I hate : I had as lief be a Brownist 
 as a poliMcian. 
 
 Sir To. Why then, hiiild me thy fortunes upon 
 the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth 
 to fight with him ; hurt him in eleven places ; my 
 niece shall take noteof it ; and assure thyself, there is 
 no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's 
 commendation with woman, than report of valour. 
 Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew, 
 Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challena;e 
 to him ? 
 
 Sir To. Go. write it in a martial hand ; be curst 
 and brief ; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo- 
 quent and full of invention : taunt him with the 
 licence of ink : if thou thou'st him some thrice, it 
 shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in 
 thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big 
 enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em 
 down ; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in 
 thy ink ; tliough thou write with a gouse-pen, no 
 matter : about it. 
 
 Sir And. Where shall I find yon ? 
 
 Sir To. We'll call tliee at the cnhiculo : go. 
 
 lExit Sir Andrew. 
 
 Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad ; some two 
 thousand strong, or so. 
 
 Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : but 
 you'll not deliver it. 
 
 Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means 
 etir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and 
 vvainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, 
 if he were opened, and you find so much blood in 
 his liver as will dog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the 
 rest of the anatomy. 
 
 Fab, And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
 visage no great presage of cruelty. 
 
 Enter Maria, 
 
 Sir To. Look where the youngest wren of nine 
 conies. 
 
 ! Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
 yourselves into stitches, follow nie : yon' gull Mal- 
 j volio is turned heathen, a very reuegado ; for there 
 is no Christian that means to be saved by believing 
 rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages 
 of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. 
 
 Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that keeps 
 a school i' the church. — I have dogged him, like h's 
 murderer : he does obey every point of the letter 
 that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his 
 ''ace into more lines, than are in the new map, with 
 the augmentation of the Indies : you have not seen 
 such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling 
 things at hini. I know, my lady will strike him : if' 
 she do, he'll smile, and take't fur a great favour 
 
 Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — A Street. 
 Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 
 Seb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you ; 
 But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
 I will no further chide you. 
 
 Ant. I could not stay behin on ; my desire,, 
 More sharu than filed steel, di pur me forth ; 
 And not all love to see you, ( ugh so much. 
 As might have drawn one to a longer voyage, ) 
 I But jealousy what might befal your travel, 
 ) Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, 
 ' Unguided,and unfriended, often prove 
 R Dugh and unhospitable . my willing love, 
 The rather by these arguments of fear, 
 Sei forth in your pursuit. 
 
 Seb. My kind Antonio, 
 
 [ can no other answer make, but, thanks, 
 And thanks, and ever thanks. Often good turns 
 Are shufHed off with such nncurrent pay : 
 But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, 
 Vou should find better dealing. What's to do? 
 
 Shall we go see the reliques of this town ? 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, first go see yxmt 
 lodging. 
 
 Seb. I ani hot weary, and 'tis long t© night ; 
 I pray you let us satisfy our eyes 
 With the memorials, and the things of fame, 
 That do renown this city. 
 
 Ant. 'Would, you'd pardcn me, 
 
 I do not without danger walk these streets : | 
 Once, in a sea fight,*gainst the count his gallies 
 I did some service; of such mte, indeed, 
 That, were I ta'en here, it vvould scarce be answer'd 
 
 Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. 
 
 And. offenct; is not of such a bloody nature; 
 Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel. 
 Might well have given us bloody argument. 
 It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
 What we took from them ; which, for traffic'.s sake. 
 Most of our city did : only myself stood out; 
 Fur which, if 1 be lapsed in this place, 
 I shall pay dear. 
 
 Seb. Do not then walk too open. 
 
 Aiid. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my 
 In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, [purse; 
 Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, 
 Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know- 
 ledge. 
 
 With viewing of the town ; there shall you have me. 
 Seb. I your purse ? 
 
 xint. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy 
 You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
 1 think, is not for idle markets, sir. [an hour. 
 
 Seb. I'll be your purse bearer, and leave you loi 
 
 Ant. To the Elephant. — 
 
 Seb. I do remember. [Exeiini. 
 
 Scene IV. — Olivias Garden. 
 Enter Olivia and Maria. 
 
 Oli. I have sent alter him : he says, he'll come; 
 How shall I fieast him ? what bestow on hmi ? 
 For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd, or bor- 
 
 I speak too loud. [row'd. 
 
 Wtiere is Mai volio 7 — he is sad and civil, 
 
 And suits well for a ser\ant with my fortunes;-— 
 
 Wliere is Mai volio? 
 
 Mar. He's coming, madam ; 
 
 But in stmnge manner. He is sure possess'd. 
 
 Oli. Why, what's the mattt-r? does he rave? 
 
 Mar. No, madam, 
 
 He does nothing but smile : your ladyship 
 W ere best have guard about you, if lie come 
 For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits, 
 
 Oli. Go call him hither. — I'm as mad as he. 
 If sad and merry madness equal be. — 
 
 Enter MalVolio. 
 How noAV, Malvolio? 
 
 Binl. Sweet lady, ho, ho. {Smiles fantastically. 
 
 Oli. Smil'st thou? 
 I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 
 
 Mai. Sad, lady? I could be sad this does make 
 some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering 
 but what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is 
 w^ith me as the very true sonnet is : Please one, an 
 please all. 
 
 Oli. Why. how dost thou, man? what is the matter 
 with thee ? 
 
 Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in 
 my legs: it did come to his hands, and commatidj 
 shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet 
 Roman hand. 
 
 Oli. \N\\i thou go to bed, Malvolio? [to thee 
 Mai. To bed? ay, sweetheart; and I'll come 
 Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile so 
 and kiss thy hand so oft? 
 
 Mar. How do you, Malvolio? 
 Mai. At your request? Yes; nightingales an. 
 swer daws. 
 
 Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold 
 ness before my lady? 
 Mai. Be not afraid of greatness ' — 'twas well wr 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 Act III. 
 
 OIL Wliat meanest thou hy that, Malvolio? 
 Mai. Soine are born areat, — 
 OIL Ha ? 
 
 MaL Some achieve greatness, — 
 OIL What say'st tliou ? 
 
 MaL And some have greatness thrust upon them. 
 OIL Heaven restore tliee ! 
 
 MaL Remember icho commended thy yellow 
 OIL Tliy yellow stockings ? [^stockings: — 
 
 MaL And wished to see thee cross-gartered. 
 OH. Cross-gartered? [so; — 
 
 Mai. Go to ; thou art made, if thou desirest to be 
 OH. Am I made ? 
 
 Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still. 
 OH. Why, this is very midsummer madiiess. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
 Orsino's is returned; I could hardly entieat iiim 
 back : he attends your ladyshi{»'s pleasure. 
 
 OH. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good 
 Maria, let this fellow he looked to. Where's my 
 cousin Toby ? Let some of my people have a special 
 care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the 
 nalt of my dowry. 
 
 [Exeunt Olivia and Maria. 
 
 Mul. Oh , oh ! do you come near me now '/ no 
 worse man than sir Toby to look to me ? This con- 
 cars directly with the letter: she sends him on 
 jjurpose, that I may appear stubborn to hitn ; for she 
 incites me to tliat in the letter. Cast thy humble 
 slough, says she ; — be opposite ivith a kinsman, 
 surly ivith servants, — let thy tongue tang argu- 
 ments of state, — put thyself into the trick of sin- 
 gularity ; and, cwnsequently, sets down tlie man- 
 ner how; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow 
 tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, an(i so forth. 
 I have limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove 
 make me thankiul! And, when she went away now, 
 Let this fellow be looked to : Fellow ! not Malvolio, 
 nor ailer my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing 
 adheres together ; that no dram of a scruple, no 
 scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous 
 or unsafe circumstance, — What can be said ? No- 
 thing, that can be, can come between tne and the full 
 prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not 1, is the doer 
 of this, and he is to be thanked. 
 
 Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch and 
 Fabian. 
 
 Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanc- 
 tity ? If all the devils iu hell be drawn in little, and 
 Legion himself possessed him, yet Til speak to him. 
 
 Fab. Jlere he is, here he is: — How is't with you, 
 sir ? how is't with you, man ? 
 
 MaL Go off; I discard you ; let me enjoy my pri- 
 vate ; go of}". 
 
 Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within 
 him! did not I tell you? — Sir Toby, my lady prays 
 you to have a care of him. 
 
 MaL Ah, ah ! does she so? 
 
 Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must deal 
 ently with him; let me alone. — How do you, Mal- 
 rolio? how is't with you? What, man! defy the 
 devil: consider, he's an enemy to mankind. 
 
 MaL Do you know what you say ? 
 
 Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he 
 takes it at heart ? Pray God, he be not bewitched ! 
 
 Fab. Carry his water to the wise w(unan. 
 
 Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow 
 morniiig-, if I live. My lady would not lose him for 
 more than I'll say. 
 
 MaL How now, mistress ? 
 
 Mar. O lord I 
 
 Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace ; this is not the 
 <vay : do you not see, you move hiui ? let me alone 
 with him. 
 
 Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : the 
 fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 
 
 Sir T<j. VVhy, now now, lay bawcock ? how dost 
 
 Uhou, chuck ? 
 
 MaL Sir? 
 
 Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. W^hat, man! 
 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with &atan • 
 Hang him, foul collier! 
 
 Mar, Get him to say his prayers ; good sir Toby, 
 get him to pray. 
 
 My prayers, minx ? [ liness. 
 
 Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of god 
 
 MaL Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shal 
 low things: I am not of your element- you shall 
 know more hereafter. [E.vit 
 
 Sir To. Is't possible? 
 
 Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, 1 
 could condenm it as an improbable fiction. 
 
 Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection 
 of the device, man. 
 
 Mar. Nay, pursue him now ; lest the device take 
 air, and taint. 
 
 Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. 
 
 Mar. The house will be the quieter. 
 
 Sir To, Come, we'll have him in a dark room, 
 and bound. My niece is already in the belief, that 
 he is mad ; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, 
 and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of 
 breath, prompt us to have mercy on him : at wliich 
 time, we will bring the device to tiie bar, and crown 
 thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague cheek. 
 
 Fab. More matter for a May morning. 
 
 Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it ; I was 
 rant, there's vinegar and pepper iu't. 
 
 Fab. Is't so saucy ? 
 
 Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him : do but read. 
 Sir To. Give me. (Reads) Youth, whatsoever 
 thou art, thou art but a scurvy felloiv 
 Fab. Good and valiant 
 
 Sir To. W under not, nor admire not in thy mind, 
 why I do callthee so, for I will sheiv thee no reason 
 fort 
 
 Fab. A good note : that keeps you tVom the blow 
 of the law. 
 
 Sir To. Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in 
 my sight she uses thee kindly : but thou liest in thy 
 throat, that is not the matter I challenge thee for. 
 
 Fab. Very brief, aitd exceeding good sense-less. 
 
 Sir To. I will way lay thee going home; ivher« 
 if it be thy chance to kill me, 
 
 Fab. Good. 
 
 Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain 
 Fab. Still you keep o the windy side of the law 
 good. 
 
 Sir To. Fare thee well; and God have mercy 
 upon one of our souls '. He may have mercy upon 
 mine ; but my hojje is better, and so look to tliyself. 
 Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn 
 enemy, Andrew Ague-ciieek. 
 
 Sir To. If tliis letter move him not, his legs 
 cannot: I'll give't him. 
 
 Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't ; he is 
 now in some conmierce with my lady, and will by 
 and by depart. 
 
 Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew ; scout me for him at the 
 corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailifF: so soon 
 as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as thou drawest 
 swear horrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a ter- 
 rible oath, with a swaggeringaccent sharply twanged 
 off, gives manhood more approbation than ever 
 proof itself would have earned him. Away. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing, [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : for the 
 behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to 
 be of good capacity and breeding; his employment 
 between his lord and my niece conhrms no less ; 
 therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, 
 will breed no terror in the youth, he will find it 
 comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his 
 challenge by word of mouth ; set upon Ague cheek 
 a notable report of valour; and drive the gentleman, 
 (as, I know, his youth will aptly receive it,) into • 
 most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and in»- 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 OR. WHAT 
 
 YOU WILL. 
 
 65 
 
 petuosity. This will so frignt tnern botn, that they 
 will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices. 
 
 Enter Olivia and V^iola. 
 
 Fah. Here he comes with your niece : give theni 
 way, till he take leave, and presently after him. 
 
 Sir To, I will meditate the while upon some horrid 
 message lor a cliallenge. 
 
 \Exeu7it Sir To. Fab. ^ Mar. 
 
 OH. I have said too much nnto a heart ot stone, 
 And laid mine honour too tmchary out: 
 There's something in me, that reproves my fanit ; 
 Unt such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
 That it but tnocks reproof. [bears, 
 
 Vio. With the same 'havionr that your passion 
 Go on my master's griefs. 
 
 on. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture ; 
 Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you : 
 And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
 What shall you ask of me, that III deny; 
 I'hat honour, sav'd, may upon asking give? fter. 
 
 Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my mas- 
 
 Oii. How with mine honour may I give him that, 
 Which I have given to you ? 
 
 Vio. I will acquit you ! 
 
 OH. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well: 
 A tiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. [Exit. 
 
 Rc-ifnter Sir To:jy Belch and Fabian. 
 Sir To. OentleHian, God save thee. 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir To. Tliat defence thou hast, betake thee to't : 
 of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, 
 I know not; but thy iotercepter, full of despight, 
 bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard 
 end : dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy pre[)aration, 
 for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 
 
 Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure, no man hath 
 any quarrel to me ; my remembrance is very free 
 and clear from any image of otFence done to any man. 
 
 Sir Ti/. You'll find it otiierwise, 1 assure you : 
 therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake 
 you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him 
 what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish 
 
 Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he ? [man withal. 
 
 Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unhacked 
 rapier, and on carpet consideration ; but he is a 
 devil in private brawl ; souls and bodies hath he 
 divorced three ; and his incensement at this moment 
 is so implacable, that satisfaction cati be none but 
 by pangs of death and sepulchre : hob, nob, is his 
 word ; give t, or take't. 
 
 Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire 
 some conduct of the lady. I am no tighter. 1 have 
 heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels pur- 
 posely on others, to taste tlieir valour : belike this 
 is a man of that quirk. 
 
 Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself out 
 of a very competent injury ; therefore, get you on, 
 and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the 
 house, unless you undertake that with me, which 
 with as nuich safety you might answer him: there- 
 fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked ; for meddle 
 you must, thats certain, or forswear to wear iron 
 about you. 
 
 Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you, 
 do me this courteous oifice, as to know of the knight 
 what my olVence to him is ; it is something of my 
 negligence, nothing of my purpose. 
 
 Sir To. I will do so. — Signior Fabian, stay yoii 
 by this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir Toby. 
 
 Vio. JPray you, sir, do you know of this matter ? 
 
 Fab. I know, tlie knight is incensed against you, 
 even to a niortal arbitrement; but nothing of the 
 circumstance more. 
 
 Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he ? 
 Fab. Nothing of that won lerful promise, to read 
 him by his form, as you are like to find him in the 
 proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most 
 ;»lful, bloody, and fatal opposite, that you could 
 
 possibly have found in any part of lllyria : will 
 yon walk tovvards him ? I will make yonr peace 
 with h in, if I ran. 
 
 Vio. I shall be much bound to you fort : i nm 
 one, that would rather go with sir priest, thau sir 
 knight : I care not who knows so mu(;h of my 
 mettle. iExtviti 
 Re-enter Sir Toby, ivith Sir Andrew, 
 
 Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I have not 
 seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
 scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in with 
 such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable; and en 
 the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit 
 the ground they step on : they say, lie has been 
 fencer to the Sophy. 
 
 Sir And. Pox on't, I'll not meddle vvith him. 
 
 Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified • 
 Fabian can scarcp hold him yonder. 
 
 Sir And. Plague on't ; an I thought he had been 
 valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him 
 damned ere I d have challenged him. Let him let the 
 matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet. 
 
 Sir To. I ll make the motion : stand here, make 
 a good show on't; this shall end without the pcMdi 
 tion of souls : marry, I'll ride your hoi se as m ell as 
 I ride you. [Aside ) 
 
 Re-enter Fabian and Viola. 
 
 I have his horse {to Fob.) to take up the quarrel ; 
 I have persuaded him the youth's a devil. 
 
 Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; ana 
 pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heeU 
 
 Sir To. There's no remedy, sir; he will fight with 
 you for his oath's sake : marry, he hath bett*.ir be- 
 thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now 
 scarce to be worth talking of : therefore dra-v, for 
 the supportance of his vow ; he {)rotests, he will no! 
 hurt you. 
 
 Vio. Pray God defend me ! A little thing would 
 make me tt^ll them how much I lack of a man. (^s«c/e 
 
 Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy 
 the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one 
 bout with you ; he cannot by the duello avoid it : 
 but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a 
 soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on: to't. 
 
 Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath. {Draws 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Vio. I do assure you 'tis against my will. {Draws 
 
 Ant. Put up your sword ; — if this young gentle 
 Have done oft'ence, I take the fault on me ; [man 
 If you offend him, I for him defy you. {Drawing. 
 
 Sir To. You sir? why, what are you? 
 
 Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more 
 Than you have heard him brag to vou he will. 
 
 Sir To. Nay, if yon be an undertaker, I am for 
 you. {Draws.) 
 
 Enter fiuo Officers. [ficers. 
 Fob. G good sir Toby, hold ; here come the of- 
 S'.r To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio.) 
 Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword, if you please. 
 
 {To Sir Andrew.) 
 Sir And. Marry, will I, sir ; — and, for that 1 
 promised you, I'll be as good as my word : he 
 will bear you easily, and reins well. 
 
 1 Q/f. This is the man ; do thy office. 
 
 2 Olf. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
 Of count Orsino. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake me, sir, 
 
 1 OJ". No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well. 
 Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. 
 Take him avvay ; he knows,^ I know him, well. 
 
 Ant. I must obey. — This comes with seeking you; 
 But tht-re's no remedy ; I shall answer it. 
 What will you do ? Now my necessity 
 Makes me to ask you for my purse : it g.rieves me 
 Much more, for what I cannot do for you,, 
 Than what betals m.vself. You stand amaa'd ; 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 But be of comfort. 
 2 Off. Come, sir, away. 
 
 Ant. I must entreat of you some of ti at money. 
 
 Vio. What money, sir ? 
 For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, 
 And, pjirt, beins prompted by your present trouble, 
 O., t of my lean and low ability 
 I'll lend yon something : my having is not much ; 
 I'll make division of my present with you : 
 Hold, there is half my coffer. 
 
 Ant. Will you deny me now? 
 
 Is't [)ossible, that n)y deserts to you 
 Can lack persuasion ? Do not tempt my misery, 
 Lest that it make me so unsound a man, 
 As to upbraid you witli those kindnesses 
 That 1 have done for you. 
 
 Yto. I know of none ; 
 
 Nor know I you by voice, or any feature ; 
 I hate ingratitude more in a man, 
 Tban lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness. 
 Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption 
 inhabits our frail blood. 
 
 Ant. O heavens themselves ! 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, 1 pray you, go. [see here. 
 
 Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth, that you 
 I snatch 'd one half out of the jaws of death ; 
 
 Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, 
 
 And to his image, which, metlionght, did promise 
 Most venerable worth, did I devotion. [away. 
 
 1 Off. VVliat's that to us? The time goes by; 
 
 Ant. But, O, how \ ile an idol proves this god ! — 
 Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. — 
 In nature tliere's no blemish, but the mind ; 
 None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind : 
 Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous-evil 
 Are empty tiunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 
 
 I Off. The man grows mad ; away with him. 
 CoMie, come, sir. 
 
 Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers tvith Antonio, 
 
 Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion 
 That ne oeiieves nnnself ; so do not I. [fly, 
 Prove true, imagination, O, prove true, 
 That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 
 
 Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fa- 
 bian : we'll whisper o'ei a couplet or two of most 
 sage saws, 
 
 Vio. He nam'd Sebastian ; I my brother know 
 Yet living in my glass; even such and so. 
 In favour was my brother; and he went 
 Still in this fashion, colom-, ornament. 
 For him I imitate : O, if it prove. 
 Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a 
 coward than a hare : his dishonesty appears, in 
 leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying 
 him ; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. [in it. 
 
 Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
 
 Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him. 
 
 Sir To. Do, cuif him soundly, but never draw 
 thy sword. 
 
 Sir And. An I do not, — [E.xit. 
 Fab. Come, let's see the event. 
 Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing 
 yet [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The Street before Olivia's House. 
 Enter Sebastian and Clown. 
 
 Clo Will you make me believe, that I am not 
 »€nt for you ? 
 
 Seb. Go to, go to, tnou art a foolish fellow ; 
 Let me be clear of thee. 
 
 Clo. Well held out, i'faith I No, I do not know 
 jrou ; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid 
 you come speak with her ; nor yout name is not 
 master Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither. — 
 Nothing, that is so, is so. 
 
 Seb. 1 pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else * 
 Thouknow'st not me 
 
 Clo. Vent my folly ! he has heaid that word o 
 some ^reat man, and new applies it to a fool. Vent 
 my folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, 
 will prove a cockney. — I pr'ythee now, ungird thy 
 strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my 
 lady : shall I vent to her, that thou art coming ? 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me 
 There's money for thee ; if you tarry longer, 
 I shall give worse payment. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand : — 
 These wise men, that give fools money, get theia- 
 selves a good report after fourteen years purchase. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 
 
 Sir And. Now, sir, have 1 met you again i there's 
 for you. {Striking Sebastian.) 
 
 Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there: 
 are all the people mad? [B ea tiny Sir Andretv.) 
 
 Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll tiirow your dagger o'er 
 the house. 
 
 Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I would not 
 be in some of your coats for two-pence, [Exit. Clo. 
 
 Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. {Holding Sebastian.) 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way 
 to work with him ; 1 11 have an action of battery 
 against him, if there be any law in illyria : though 
 I struck him first, yet ifs no matter for that. 
 
 Seb. Let go thy hand. 
 
 Sir To. Come sir, I will not let you go. Come 
 my young soldier, put up your ir^n: you are well 
 fleshed ; come on. [thou now ? 
 
 Seh. I will be free from thee. What wouldsi 
 If thou dar'st tempt me furtiier, draw thy sword 
 
 [Draics.) 
 
 Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an 
 ounce or two of this malapert blood irom you. 
 
 Enter Olivia. {Draws.) 
 
 OH. Hold, Toby ; on thy liie, I charge thee, h(»Id 
 Sir To. Madam ? 
 
 OH. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretcl , 
 Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves. 
 Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of my 
 
 Be not offended, dear Cesario I [sight 
 
 Rudesby, be gone ! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend, 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andreiv, and Fabian 
 Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
 In this uncivil and unjust extent 
 Against thy peace. Go with me to my house , 
 And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
 This ruffian hath botch'd u[), (hat thou thereby 
 May'st smile at this: thou shait not choose but go 
 Do not deny : beshrew his soul for me. 
 He started one poor heart of mine in thee, 
 
 Seb. W liat relish is in this ? how runs the stream ? 
 Or 1 am mad, or else this is a dream ; — 
 Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ; 
 If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep. 
 
 OH. Nay, come, I pr'ythee : "would thou'dst be 
 
 Seb. Madam, I will, [rul'd by me ! 
 
 OH. O, say so, and so be ! [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II, A Room in Olivia's House. 
 Enter Maria and C/otvn. 
 Mar. Nay, 1 pr'ythee, put on this gown, and thi. 
 beard ; make him believe thou art sir Topas the 
 curate ; do it quickly : Til call sir Toby the whilst 
 
 [Exit Maria 
 
 Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
 myself in't ; and I would I were the first that ever 
 dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat cuoiigh 
 to become the function well ; nor lean enoiigii te 
 be thought a good student : but to be said, an ho- 
 nest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly 
 as to say, a careful man. and a great scholar. Tlw 
 competitors enter. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Marla 
 
 Sir To. Jo- e bless thee, master parson. 
 Clo. Bone dies, Sir Toby ; for as the old 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 of Prague, that ne^■er saw pen ^nd ink, very wittily 
 said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that in, is : 
 so 1, being master parson, am master parson : for 
 what is that, but that? and is, but is ? 
 
 Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 
 
 CIo. What, hoa, I say, — Peace in this prison I 
 
 Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good knave. 
 
 Mai. [in an inner chamber.) Who calls there ? 
 
 Clc. Su- Topas, the curate, who comes to visit 
 Malvoilo the lunatic. [my lady. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to 
 
 Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest thou 
 this man V talkest thou nothing but of ladies ? 
 
 Sir To. Well said, master parson. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged : 
 good sir Toi)as, do not think I am mad ; they have 
 laid me here in hideous darkness. 
 
 Clo. Fye, thou dishonest Sathan ! I call thee by 
 the most modest terms ; for I am one of those 
 gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with 
 courtesy : say'st thou, that house is dark ? 
 
 Mai. As hell, sir Topas. 
 
 Cl'j. Wliy, it hath bay-windows, transparent as 
 barricadoes, and the clear stones towards thi" 
 south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet 
 cumplainest thou of obstruction ? 
 
 Mai. 1 am not mad, sir Topas ; I say to you, 
 this house is dark. 
 
 Clo. Madman, thou errest : I say, there is no 
 darkness, but ignorance ; in which thou art more 
 puzzled, than the Egyptians in their fog. 
 
 Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
 though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and I say, 
 there was nevcM' man thus abused : I am no more 
 mad than you are ; make the trial of it in any con- 
 stant question. 
 
 Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, con- 
 cerning wild fowl ? [inhabit a bird. 
 
 Mai. That the soul of our grandam n:ii;ht haply 
 
 Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion ; 
 
 Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way ap- 
 p'ove his opinion. 
 
 Clo. Fare tliee well : remain thou still in dark- 
 ness • thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, 
 ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a 
 woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy 
 grandam. Fare thee well. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas ! 
 
 Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas . 
 
 Clo. Nay, I a:ii for all waters. 
 
 Mar. Tliou might'st have done this without thy 
 beard, and gown ; he sees thee not. 
 
 Sir To. 'I'o him in thine own voice, and bring 
 Hie word how thou fiudesl him : I would we were 
 well rid of this knavery. If he may be convenient- 
 ly delivered. I would he were ; for I am now so 
 far in offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue 
 with any safety tiiis sport to the upshot. Come by 
 and hy to my ciiamber. [Exeunt SirTohy and Maria. 
 
 Clo. Hey Rubin, jolly Robin, 
 
 'Veil me how thy lady does. {Singing.) 
 
 Mai. Fool — 
 
 Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy. 
 Mai. f ool,— 
 
 Clo. Alas, tvhy is she so ? 
 
 Mai. F(.oi, 1 say ;— 
 
 Clo. She loves another — Who calls, ha ? 
 
 Mai. (jootl tool, as ever thou wilt deserve well 
 at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and 
 |ia{.M- . us \ a:ii a gentleman, I aill live to be ttiank- 
 
 f'U. Master Malvolio ! [ful to thee for't. 
 
 Mai. Ay, good fool. 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits ? 
 
 Mai. Fool, there was uever man so notoriously 
 abused • I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. 
 
 Clo. But as well ? then you are mad, indeed, if 
 jou be no better in your wits than a f lol. 
 
 Mai. They have here [iropertied me; keep me 
 in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and clo 
 all tliey ca i tu *ace me out of my wits. ^ 
 
 Clo. Advise yon what you say; th^ minister is 
 here. — Malvolioj Malvolio, thy wits the heavens 
 restore I endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thw 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, [vain bibble babble. 
 
 Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. — 
 Who, I, sir ? not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good sir 
 Topas. — Marry, amen. — I will, sir, 1 will 
 
 Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say.— 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir ? I 
 am shent for speaking to you. 
 
 Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and 
 some paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits 
 any man in Illyria. 
 
 Clo. Well-a-day, — that you were, sir i 
 
 Mai. By this hand, I am : good fool, some ink. 
 paper, and light, and convey what I will set down 
 to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever 
 the bearing of letter did. 
 
 Clo. I will help youto't. But tell me true, ail 
 you not mad indeed ? or do you but counterfeit ? 
 
 Mai. Believe me, [ am not; I tell thee true, 
 
 Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see 
 his brains. 1 will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. 
 
 Fal. Fool- I'll requite it in the highest degree : 
 I pr'ythee, gone. 
 
 Clo. I am gone, sir. 
 
 And anon, sir., 
 I'll be with you again. 
 In a trice, 
 Like to the old vice. 
 Your need to sustain; 
 
 Who with dagger of lath^ 
 In his rage arid his ivrath, 
 
 Cries ah, ha ! to the devil: 
 Like a mad lad, 
 Pare thy nails , dad, 
 
 Adieu, goodman drivel. '.ExiU 
 
 Scene UL— Olivias Garden. 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 Seb. This is the air ; that is the glorious suk 
 This pearl she gave me, I do feel't, and see't : 
 And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus^ 
 Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then ? 
 I could not find him at the Elephant : 
 Vet there he was; and there 1 found this credit, 
 That he did range the town to seek me out. 
 His counsel now might do me golden service ; 
 For though my soul disputes well with my sense. 
 That this may be some error, but no madness. 
 Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
 So far exceed all instance, all discourse. 
 That I am ready to distrust mine eyes. 
 And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me 
 To any other trust, but that I am mad. 
 Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so, [lowers, 
 Slie could not sway her house, command her fol- 
 Take, and give back, affairs, and their despatch, 
 With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing. 
 As. I perceive, she does : there's something in 't. 
 That is deceivable. But here comes the ludy. 
 
 Enter Olivia and a Priest. 
 
 OH. Blame not this haste of mine: if you mean 
 Now go with me. and with this holy man, ['veil. 
 Into the chantry by : there, before him, 
 And underneath that consecrated root. 
 Plight me the full assurance of your tn 'h • 
 'i hat my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
 May live at peace : he shall conceal it, 
 Whdes you are willing it shall come to note ; 
 What time we will our celebration keep 
 Arc-ording to my birth. — What do you say? 
 
 Seb. I ll fillow this good nmn, and go with you ; 
 And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
 
 OH. Then lead the way, good father; ^And 
 
 heavens so shine, 
 That they may fairly note this act of mine ! [Exeunt 
 
68 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT, 
 
 Act V. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SoRNE I. — The Street before Olivia's house. 
 Enter Clown and Fabian. 
 Fah. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter, 
 CIo Good master FaUan, grant uie another request. 
 Fab. Any thing. 
 
 (Jlo. Do nv»t desire to see this letter. 
 Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, 
 itfS'.re my dog again. 
 
 Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. 
 Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? 
 Clo. Ay, sir; we are sonie oi lier trappings. 
 l)u!ce. i know thee well : liow dost thou, my 
 good t'ell(AV y [worse lor my friends. 
 
 Ciu. Truly, sir, the better fur my toes, and tlie 
 Duke. J list tiie contrary ; the better for tliy iVieuds. 
 Clo. No, sir, the worse. 
 Duke. How ran that be ? 
 
 Via. Man y, sir, they praise nie, and make an ass 
 of me; now, my foes tell me plainly l anianass: 
 si> that by my foes, sir, 1 proht m the knowledge ol 
 luysell; and by niy I'riends 1 am abused : so that, 
 csjiiclusioris to be as kisses, if your f-nr negatives 
 make your two alKrmatives, why, tiien tiie worse 
 for my friends, and the better for my loes. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is excellent. 
 
 do. liy my troth, sir, no; though it please you 
 to be one of u»y friends. [tliere's gold. 
 
 Duke. 'I'hou shalt not be the worse for ine ; 
 
 Clo. But that it wo(dd be double-dealing, sir, 1 
 would you could make it another. 
 
 Duke.. O, you give me ill counsel. 
 
 Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
 once, and let your liesh and blood obey it. 
 
 Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a 
 d )uble dealer; there's another. 
 
 Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play j and 
 tliL' old sayaig is, the tliird pays for all : tlie triplex, 
 sii, is a good tripping measure; or the bells ot i'St. 
 Bt noet, sir, may put you in mind; One, two, three. 
 
 Duke. You can fuol no more money out of me 
 at this throw : if you will let your lady know, I nm 
 here to speak with her, and bring her along with 
 you, it may awake my bounty iurtner. 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, fill I 
 couie again. 1 go, sir; but I would not iiave you 
 to think, tiiat my desire of ha\iug is the sin of 
 covetousuess : but, as you say, sir, let your bounty 
 take a nap, I will awake it anon. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Officers. 
 Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 
 Duke. Tiiat face ol'his 1 do remember well; 
 Yet, when 1 saw it last, it was besmear'd 
 As black as Vulcan, in ihe smoke of war : 
 A bawbliu^L; vessel was he captain of, 
 For shaiiow draught, and bulk, unprizable ; 
 Witt) which such scathful grapple did he make 
 With tile uiDst nobie bottom ot our fleet, 
 Tiiid very envy, and the tongue of loss, 
 Cry'd i'auie and honour on him. — What's the matter? 
 
 i OJ'. Orsino, this is that Antonjo, 
 TivAi took the Phoenix, and her fraught, from Candy ; 
 And this h lie, that did the 'J'iger board. 
 When your young nephew Titus lost his leg : 
 th're in the streets, desperate of shame, and state, 
 In private brabble did we apprehend him. 
 ^ Vio. rie did me kindness, sir; drew on my side ; 
 But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, 
 
 I kiJMW not vviiat 'twas, but distraction. 
 
 Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief ! 
 VVlidt ioolisti boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
 VVhoui thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, 
 
 II st made thine enemies? 
 
 Ant. Orsino, noble sir. 
 
 Be plt as'd that I shake off these names you give me ; 
 Aiitonio never yet was thief, or pirate. 
 Though, i confess, on base and ground enough, I 
 
 Orsino s enemy. A witchcraft drew loe hither; 
 That most ungrateful boy there, by your side. 
 From the rude sea's enrag'd and loamy RiOuth 
 Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was ; 
 His life 1 gave him, and did thereto add 
 My love, without retention, or restraint, 
 All his in dedication : for his sake. 
 Did I expqse myself, pure for his love. 
 Into the danger of this adverse town; 
 Drew to delend him, when he was beset; 
 VVhere being appreliended, his false cunniaji 
 (Not meaning to partake with me in danger^ 
 Taught him to face me out of his acquainti.nc«., 
 And grew a twenty-years-removed thing, 
 While one would wink ; denied me mine own pa»M 
 Which I had recommended to his use 
 Not half an hour before. 
 
 yio. How can this be ? 
 
 Duke. When came he to this town ? [foie^ 
 Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months be. 
 (No interim, not a minute's vacancy,) 
 Both day and night did we keep company. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Here comes the countess; now heavtn 
 
 walks on earth. 
 
 But for thee, iellow, fellow, thy words are madneaa: 
 Three months this youth hath tended upon me; 
 But more of that anon. Take him aside. 
 
 on. What would njy lord, but that he may not 
 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? — [have, 
 Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
 
 Vio. Madam ! 
 
 Duke. Gracious Olivia, [lord,-— 
 
 Oli. What do you say, Cesario? — Good my 
 Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes owt 
 Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord. 
 
 It is as fat and lulsome to mine ear 
 
 As hov\ling after music. 
 Duke. Still so cruel ? 
 
 Oli. Still so constant, lord. 
 
 Duke. What! to perveiseness? you uncivillady 
 To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
 My soul the laithfuU'st offerings hath breath'd out, 
 'I'liat e'er devotion tender'd i What shall I do ? 
 
 Oli. Even what it please my lord, thi».t shall 
 become him. 
 
 Duke Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. 
 Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, 
 Kill what I love; a savage jealousy. 
 That sometimes savours nobly ? — But hear me this . 
 Since you to non-regardance cast my faith. 
 And that J partly know the instrument 
 That screws me from my true place in your favour^ 
 Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, s ill; 
 But this your minion, whom, 1 know, you love. 
 And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly 
 Him will I tear out of that cruel eye. 
 Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. — 
 Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mis 
 Pll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, [cliief 
 To spite a raven's heart within a dove. {Going. 
 
 Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly. 
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths vvould die. 
 
 {Following. 
 
 OH. Where goes Cesario ? 
 
 Vio. After him I lo^ f 
 
 More than I love these eyes, more than my liie 
 More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wile • 
 It I do leign, you witnesses above. 
 Punish my life, for tainting of my love ! 
 
 Oli. Ah me, detested! how am I beguil'd ! 
 
 Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does *lo ycu 
 wrong? 
 
 Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? — 
 Call Ibrth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant 
 Duke. Come away. {To Viola. 
 
 Oli. Whither, ny lord? Cesario, husband, stay 
 Duke. Husbanc" ? 
 
 Oli. Ay, husband ; cai> he that deny 
 
Scene 1. OR, WHAT 
 
 Duke. Her hv.sband, sirrah ? 
 
 Vio. No, my lord, not I. 
 
 OIL Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear, 
 That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 
 Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up ; 
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
 As great as that thou fear'st. — O, welcome, father! 
 
 Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 
 Father, 1 charge thee, by thy reverence. 
 Here to unfold (though lately we intended 
 To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
 Reveals belbre 'tis ripe.) what thoti dost know, 
 Hath newly past between this youth and me. 
 
 Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
 ConHrrn'd by mutual joinder of your hands. 
 Attested by the holy close of lips, 
 Strengthened by interchangement of your rings ; 
 And all the ceremony of this compact 
 Seal'd in my function, by my testimony: 
 Since when, my watch hatli told me, toward my 
 f have travelled but two hours. [grave 
 
 Duke. O, thou dissembling cub ! what wilt thou be, 
 When time hath sovv'd a grizzle on thy case? 
 Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 
 That thine own trip shall be thine ovt-rthrow? 
 Farewell, and take her; but direct thy leet. 
 Where thou and I henceforth may never nieet 
 
 Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 
 
 Oli. O, do not swear ; 
 
 Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, with his head 
 broke. 
 
 Sir And. Fur the love of God, a surgeon ; send 
 one presently to sir Toby. 
 OIL What's the matter? 
 
 Sir And. He lias broke my head across, and has 
 given sir Toby a bloody coxcouib too : for the love of 
 God. your help : 1 had rather than forty pound I 
 were at home. 
 
 OH. Who has done this, sir Andrew? 
 
 Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario : 
 we took him for a coward, but he's the very devil 
 
 Duke. My gentleman, Cesario! [incardinate. 
 
 Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : — You broke 
 my head lor notl;ing ; and that that I did, I was set 
 on to do't by sir Toby. 
 
 Vio. VVliy do you speak to me ? I never hurt you : 
 You Jrevv your sword upon me, without cause ; 
 But i bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 
 
 Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you 
 have hurt me ; I think, you set nothing by a bloody 
 coxcomb. 
 
 Enter Sir ToBY Belch, drunk, led by the Cloivn. 
 Here conies Sir Toby halting, you shall hear more : 
 but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled 
 you othergates than he did. 
 
 Duke. How now, gentleman? how is't with you ? 
 
 Sir To. That s all one ; he has hurt me, and there's 
 the end on't. — Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon, sot? 
 
 Clo. O, he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone ; his 
 eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 
 
 Sir To. Then he's a rogue. After a passy- measure, 
 or a pavin, I hate a drunken rogue. 
 
 on. Away with him ; who hath made this havock 
 with tliem? [be dressed together. 
 
 Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll 
 
 Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox 
 i:i>'iib, and a knave? a tnin-faced knave, a gull? 
 
 on. Get hirii to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. 
 [Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andre it. 
 
 Enter S!:pastian. 
 Seb. I am soiiy, madam, I have hurt your kinsman ; 
 But, had it been the brother of my blood, 
 t must have done do less, with wit, and safety. 
 You throw a strange regard upon me, and 
 By that I do perceive it hath oifended you ; 
 Pardon me, sweet one, even lor the vows 
 We made eacli otuer but sli late a^^o. 
 
 YOU WILL. 69 
 
 Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
 
 A natural perspective, that is, and is not. [persous, 
 
 Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
 How have the hours rack'd aad tortur'd me. 
 Since I have lost thee. 
 
 A7it. Sebastian are you? 
 
 Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? 
 
 Ant. How have you made division of yourself ?-• 
 An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
 Than these two preatures. Which is Sebastian ? 
 
 Oli. Most wonderful ! 
 
 Seb. Do I stand there? I never had a brother 
 Nor can there be that deity in my nature. 
 Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
 Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd 
 Of charity, what kin are you to me ? {To Viola.) 
 What countryman? what name ? what parentage? 
 
 Vio. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father; 
 Such a Sebastian was my brother too. 
 So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
 If spirits can assume both form and suit. 
 You come to fright us. 
 
 Seb. A spirit 1 am, indeed j 
 
 But am in that dimension grossly clad, 
 Which from the womb I did participate. 
 Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
 I should my tears let fall upon your cheek. 
 And say — Thrice welcome, drowned Viola! 
 
 Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 
 
 Seb. And so had mine. 
 
 Vio. And died that day, when Viola from her birih 
 Had nuniber'd thirteen years. 
 
 Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
 He finished, indeed, his mortal act. 
 That day that made my sister thirteen years. 
 
 Vio. if nothing lets to make us Jiapjiy b'^th 
 But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
 Do not embrace me, till each circumstaBce 
 Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump; 
 That I am Viola : which to confirm, 
 I'll bring you to a captain in this town. 
 Where lie my mai(Ien weeds ; by whose gentle help 
 I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count : 
 All the occurrence of my fortune since 
 Hath been between this lady, and this lord. 
 
 Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook : 
 But nature to her bias drew in that. {To Olivia.) 
 You wou'd have been contracted to a maid; 
 Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd. 
 You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 
 
 Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood. — 
 If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
 I shall have share in this most happy wreck : 
 Boy, thou hast said tome a thousand times, {To Vio) 
 Thou never should'st love woman like to me. 
 
 Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear; 
 And all those swearings keep as true in soul, 
 As doth that orbed continent the fire 
 Ti.at severs day from night. 
 
 Duke. Give me thy hand ; 
 
 And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 
 
 Vio. The captain, that did bring rne first on shore, 
 Hath my maid's garments : he, upon some action. 
 Is now in durance ; at Mal volio's suit, 
 A genllemaii, and I'oilower of my lady's. 
 
 on. He shall enlarge him : fetch MalvoUo hither:— 
 And yet, alas, now I remember me, 
 Tiiey say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. 
 
 Re-enter Cljwn, with a letter. 
 
 A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
 
 From my remembran'-e clearly banish'd his. — 
 
 How does he, sirraii ? 
 
 C/t). Truly, madam, he h)lds Belzebub at the 
 stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do: 
 he has here writ a letter to you, 1 should have given 
 it you tC'^day morning; Imt as a luaduiati's epistles 
 are iin Sj.els, so it skills not much, wb.en they are 
 
 OIL O^.eu ic, and lea l iL [.delivered. 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT, OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 tjio. iiook then to be well edified, when the fool 
 delivers the madman : — By the Lord, madam, — 
 
 Oil. How now ! art thou mad ? 
 
 Clo. No madam, I do but read madness : an yonr 
 ladyship will have it as it otight to be, yon mnst 
 
 On. Pr"yt'*ee, read i' thy right wits. [allow rox. 
 
 Clo. 80 \ do, madonna; but to read his right wits, 
 .s to read thus : therefore perpend, my princess, and 
 give ear. 
 
 Oli. Head it yon, sirrah. [To Fabian.) 
 
 Fab. (reads.) By the Lord, madam, you ivrong 
 me, and the world shall knotv it : though you /tave 
 put me into darkness, and given yonr drunlcen 
 cousin ride over me, yet have I the benefit of my 
 senses as luell as your ladyship. I have your own 
 letter that indiiced me to the semblance I put on; 
 with the ivhich I doubt not but to do myself much 
 right or you much shame. Thinh of me as you 
 please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and 
 speak out of my injury. 
 
 The madly-used Malvolio. 
 
 on. Did he write this ? 
 Clo. Ay, madaTn. 
 
 DuTcB. This savours not much of distraction. 
 Oli. See him delivered, Fabian ; bring him hither. 
 
 ['Exit Fabian. 
 
 My lord, so please yon, these things further thought 
 To think me as well a sister as a wife. [on. 
 One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you. 
 Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 
 Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your 
 offer. — 
 
 Your master quits you; {To Viola.) and, for your 
 
 service done him. 
 So much against the mettle of your sex, 
 So lar btneath yoiir soft and tender breeding, 
 And since you call'd me master for so long. 
 Hero is my hand ; you shall from this time be 
 Your master's mistress. 
 
 Oli. A sister ? — you are she. 
 
 Re-enter Fabian, tvith Malvolio. 
 
 Duke. Is this the madnian ? 
 
 Oli. Ay, ray lord, the same : 
 
 How now, Malvolio? 
 
 Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong. 
 
 Notorious wrong. 
 
 Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no. 
 
 Mai. Lady,you have. Pray you, peruse that letter : 
 You must not now deny it is your hand. 
 Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase; 
 Oi say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention: 
 You can say none of this : well, grant it then. 
 And tell me, in the modesty of honour, 
 Why you have given me such clear lights of favour; 
 Bade me come smiling, and cross-garter'd to you. 
 To put on yellow stockings, and to frown 
 Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people : 
 And, acting this in an obedient hope, 
 Why have you suif">''d me to be imprison'd^ 
 Kept in a dark hous-?, visited by the priest. 
 And made the most notorious geek, and gull. 
 That e'er invention play'd on? tell nwe why. 
 
 Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
 Thoiig,h, 1 confe®!, much like the character: 
 B'lt, out of noes' on, 'tis Maria's hand. 
 And fiow 1 do b* think me. it was she 
 
 First told me, thou wast mad ; then ram st in smiling, 
 And in such forms which here were presuppos'd 
 l^pon thee in the letter. Pry thee, be content: 
 This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee", 
 But, when we know the grounds and authors ot it. 
 Tho« shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 
 Of thine own cause. 
 
 Fab. Good madam, hear me speak; 
 
 And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come. 
 Taint the condition of this present hour. 
 Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall tfot, 
 Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby, 
 Set this device against Malvolio here, 
 Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
 VVe had conceiv'd against him»: Maria writ 
 The letter, at sir Toby's great importance; 
 In recompense whereof, he hath married her. 
 How with a sportful malice it was follow'd. 
 May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; 
 If that the injuries be justly weigh'd, 
 That have on both sides past. 
 
 Oli. Alas, poor fool! how have they bafBed thee! 
 
 Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve 
 greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon, 
 them. I was one, sir, in this interlude; one sir 
 Topas, sir; but that's all one : — By the Lord, fool., 
 I am not mad; — But do you remember? Madam, 
 tvhy laugh you at such a barren rascal? an you 
 smile not, he's gaggd : and thus the whirligig of 
 time brings in his revenges. 
 
 Mai. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you- 
 
 [Exit 
 
 OH. He hath been most notononsly abus'd. 
 
 Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace :— 
 He hath not told us of the captain yet; 
 When that is known, and golden time convents, 
 A solemn combination shall be made 
 Of our dear souls. — Meantime, sweet sister. 
 We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come ; 
 For so you shall be, while you are a man ; 
 But, when in other habits you are seen, 
 Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. { ExeunU 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. When that I was and a little tiny boy. 
 
 With hey, ho, the ivind and the ram, 
 A foolish thing was but a toy. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But ivhen I came to mans estate, 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the ram, 
 
 'Gainst knave and thief men shut their gait 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But ivhen I came, alas! to wive. 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came unto my bed. 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 
 
 With toss-pots still had drunken head. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 A great while ago the ivorld begun, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 But thafs all one, our play is done. 
 And ivell strive to please you every d(tg 
 
 [Exit. 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE 
 
 The novel of Giraldi Cirithio, from wliich Shakspeare is supposed to have borrowed this fable, may be rei,i la 
 Shakspeare Jlliistrated, elegantly Iranslaled. with remarks which will assist the inquirer to discover how luueb 
 iiOsufditv Shakspeare lias admitted or avoided. 
 
 1 cannot but suspect that some other had new-modelled the novel of Cinfhio, or written a story which iu seme 
 particulars resembled it, and that Cinthio was not the author whom Shakspeare immediately followed. The empei'or 
 in Cinthio is named Maximine : the duke, in Shakspearc's enumeration of the persons of the drama, is called Vin- 
 centio. This appears a very slight remark; but since the duke has no name in the play, nor is ever mentioned hut by 
 his title, why should he be called Vincentio among the persons, but because the name was copied from the story, 
 and placed superlluousiy at the head of the list, by the mere habit of transcription? It is iherefore likely that there 
 was then a story of Vincentio duke of Vienna, dift'erent frotn that of Maximine emperor of the Romans. 
 
 Of this play, the light or comic part is very natural and pleasing, but the grave Scenes, if a few passages he 
 excepted, havo more labour than elegance. The plot is rather intricate than artful. The time of the action is inde- 
 finite : some time, we know not hnw much, must have elapsed between the recess of the duke and the imprisonment 
 of Clodio; for he must have learned the story of Mariana in his disguise, or he delegated his power 'i man alreadr 
 known to be corrupted. The unities of action and place are sufliciently preserved. lo.hnsoy 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 VINCENTIO, Duke of Vienna. 
 
 ANGELO, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absentee. 
 
 ESCALUS, an ancient Lord, joined vnth Angela in the 
 
 depututio7t. 
 CLAUDIO, a younq Gentleman. 
 liUCIO, a Fdntasiie. 
 Two other like Gentlemen. 
 
 VARRIUS, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke. 
 Provost. 
 
 THOMAS,— PETER,— iiwo Friars. 
 A Jitstice. 
 
 ELBOW, a sitnple Constable. 
 
 FROTH, a foolish Gentleman. 
 Clvicn. Servant to Mrs. Over-done. 
 ABHORSON. an Executioner. 
 BARNARD INE, a dissolute Prisoner, 
 ISABELLA, Sister to Claudia. 
 MARIANA, betrothed to Angela. 
 JULIET, beloved by Claudia. 
 FRANCISCA, a Nun. 
 Mistress OVER DONE, a Bawd. 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers and otker 
 Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — Vienna. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords, and Attendants. 
 Duke. Escalii.s, — 
 Escal. My lord. 
 
 Duke. Oi" government the properties to unfold. 
 Would seem in me to att'ect speech and discourse; 
 Since I am put to know, liiat your own science 
 Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
 My strength can give you : then no more remains 
 But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, 
 And let them work. The nature of our people, 
 Our city's institutions, and the terms 
 For common justice, you are as pregnant in, 
 As art and practice hath enriched any 
 That we remember: there is our commission. 
 From which we would not have you warp. — Call 
 I say, bid come before us Angelo. — [hither, 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 What figure of us, think you, he will bear ? 
 For you must know, we have with special soul 
 Elected him our absence to supply; 
 Lent him our terror, dresi him with our love ; 
 And given his deputation all the organs 
 Of our own power: what think you of it? 
 
 Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
 To undergo such ample grace and hour, 
 It is lord Angelo. 
 
 Enter Ani'.elo. 
 
 Duke. Look, where he comes. 
 
 Ang. Always obedient to your grace's \y\\\, 
 I come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Duke. Angelo, 
 There is a kind of character in thy life. 
 That, to the observer, doth thy history 
 Fully unfold: thyself and thy belongings 
 Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
 Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
 Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ; 
 Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd, 
 But to fine issues: nor nature never lends 
 The smallest scruple of her excellence 
 
 But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
 
 Herself the glory of a creditor. 
 
 Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 
 
 To one, that can my part in hin) advertise ; 
 
 Hold therefore, Angelo ; 
 
 In our remove, be thou at full ourself: 
 
 Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
 
 Live in thy tongue and heart: Okl Escalus, 
 
 Thjiigh first in question, is thy sec(mdary: 
 
 Take thy commission. 
 
 Ang. Now, good my lord. 
 
 Let there be some more test made of my metaJ, 
 Before so noble and so great a figure 
 Be stamp'd upon it. 
 
 Duke. No more evasion : 
 
 We have, with a leaven'd and prepared choice, 
 Proceeded to you ; therefore take your lionours. 
 Our haste from hence is of so quick condition. 
 That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
 Matters of needful value. We shall write to yott. 
 As time and our concernings shall importune. 
 How it goes with us ; and do look to know 
 What doth befall you here. So, fare you we } : 
 To the hopeful execution do I leave you 
 Of your comnussions. 
 
 Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord. 
 
 That we may bring you something on the way. 
 
 Duke. My haste may not admit it; 
 Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do 
 With any scruple : your scope is as mine own ; 
 So to enforce, or qualify the laws, 
 As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand; 
 rU privily away : I love the people. 
 But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
 Though it do well, I do not relish well 
 Their loud applause, and aves vehement : 
 Nor do I think the man of safe discretion. 
 That does aft'ect it. Once more, fare vou well. 
 
 Ang. The heavens give safety to yon purposes.^ 
 
 Ewcal. Lead forth, and bring you baclc in happi> 
 ness. 
 
 Duke. I thank you : fare you well. [Extl 
 Escal. I shall desire yon, sir, to give nie leave 
 To have free speech with you ; and it ccuccrns me 
 To look into the bottom of mj place : 
 A power I have ; but of what strength and nature 
 
72 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 1 am not yet. instructed. 
 
 Ang. "f is so with me : — Let us withdraw toge- 
 And we may soon our satisfaction have [ther, 
 Touching that point. 
 
 Escal. I'll wait upon your honour. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Street. 
 
 Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. 
 Lucia. If the duke, with the other dukes, come 
 not to ccimposition witli the kins "f Hungary, why, 
 tlieii all the dukes fall upon the king. 
 
 1 Ge7it. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the 
 king of Hungary's ! 
 
 2 Getii. A men. 
 
 Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious 
 pirate, that went to sea with the ten commandments, 
 out scraped one out of the table. 
 
 '2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal ? 
 
 Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 
 
 1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to command 
 the csjitain and all the rest from their functions; 
 they put forth to steal : there's not a soldier of us all, 
 that, iki the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish tiie 
 petition well, that prays for peace. 
 
 "2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 
 Lucio. I believe thee; ibr, I think, thou never 
 Wast where grace was said. 
 
 2 Gent. No? a dozen times at least. 
 J C;6;«^. What? in metre? 
 
 Lucio. In any proportion, or in any language. 
 
 1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. 
 
 Lucio. Ay ! why not? Grace is grace, despite of 
 nil controversy: as for example: I'tinu thyself art 
 a wicked ^ illain, despite of all grace. 
 
 1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers 
 between us. 
 
 Lucio, 1 grant; as there may between the lists 
 and the vehet: thou art the list. 
 
 1 Gent. And thou the velvet: thou art good vel- 
 vet ihou art a three-pil'd piece. I warrant thee : 
 1 iiad as lief be a list of an English kersey, as be 
 ;iil (l, as thou art pil'l, for a French velvet. Do I 
 speak feelingly now ? 
 
 Lucio. 1 tiiiuk thou dost; and, indeed, with most 
 painl'ul feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine 
 own conl'ession, learn to begin thy health ; but, whilst 
 I live, forget to drink after thee. 
 
 1 Gent. 1 tiiink, I have done myself wrong ; have 
 { not ? [tainted or I'ree. 
 
 2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast; whether thou art 
 Lucio. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation 
 
 comes I I have purchased as many diseases under 
 her roof, as come to — 
 
 2 Gent. To what, I pray ? 
 
 I Gent. .).tdgfc. 
 
 •2 (rent. To three thousand dollars a-year. 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, and more. 
 
 Lucio. A French crown more. 
 
 1 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me : 
 hut thou art full of error; I am sound. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy ; but 
 so sound, as tilings that are hollow: thy bones are 
 hollow : impiety has made a feast cf thee. 
 
 Enter Baivd. 
 
 1 Gent. How now ? which of your hips has the 
 most profound sciatica ? 
 
 Bawd. Well, well; there's one yonder arrested, 
 and curried to prison, was worth five thousand of 
 you ad. 
 
 1 Gent Who's that, I pray thee ? 
 
 Hated. Mai ry, sir, tliat's Claiidio, signior Claudio. 
 
 1 Gvnt. Claudio to t)rison ! 'tis not so. 
 
 Bawd. Nity, but I know, 'tis so: I saw him ar 
 resvd ; saw hun cio-rit-d nway; and. wliich is more, 
 within these three days his head's to be choi)ped oft". 
 
 Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have 
 it so : ai t tlioii sure of tais 
 
 liaivd. I am too sure of it: and it is for getting 
 Uiadam Juiietti witii child 
 
 Lucto. Believe me, this may be ; he promised to 
 meet me two hours since ; and he was ever precise 
 in promise- keeping. 
 
 2 Gent Besides, you know, it draws something 
 near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 
 
 1 Gent. But most of all, agreeing with tie pro- 
 clamation. 
 
 Lucio. Away ; let's go learn the truth of it. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. 
 
 Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the 
 sweat, what with the gallows, and what «ith po- 
 verty, I am custom-shrunk. How now? what's the 
 news with yon ? 
 
 Enter Cioivn. 
 
 Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. 
 Baivd. Well ; what has he done ? 
 Clo. A woman. 
 
 Bawd. But what's his offence ? 
 
 Clo. Groping for fronts in a peculiar river. 
 
 Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him? 
 
 Clo. No ; but there is a woman with maid by him: 
 you have not heard of the proclamation, have you? 
 
 Bawd. VVhat proclamation, man? 
 
 Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be 
 pluck'd down. 
 
 Bawd. And what shall become of those in the city? 
 
 Clo. They shall stand for seed : they had gone 
 down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. 
 
 Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the 
 suburbs be ptilTd down? 
 
 Clo. To the ground, mistress. 
 
 Baivd. Why, here's a change, indeed, in the con> 
 monwealth I What shall become of me? 
 
 Clo. Come ; fear not you : good counsellors lack 
 no clients: though you change your place, yon need 
 not change your trade; I'll be your tapster still. 
 Courage; there will be pity taken on you: you, that 
 have worn your eyes almost out in the serv ce, y u 
 will be considered. [withdraw. 
 
 Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's 
 
 Clo. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the pro- 
 vost to prison ; and there's madam Juliet. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. 
 
 Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Offiimrs; 
 Lucio, and two Gentlemen. 
 
 Claud. Fellow, v,'hy dost thou show me thus to 
 the world ? 
 Bear me to pris(;n, where I am committed. 
 
 Pro. I do it not in evil disposition. 
 But from lord Angelo by special charge. 
 
 Claud. Tims can the demi god, Authority, 
 Make us pay down for our olfence by weight.- • 
 The words of heaven ; — on whom it will, it will j 
 On whom it will not, so; yet slnl tis just. 
 
 Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio? whence comes 
 this restraint? 
 
 Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty 
 As surfeit is the father of mucli fast. 
 So e\ery scope by the immoderate use 
 Turns to restraint: our natures do pursue, 
 (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,) 
 A tiiirsty evil ; and when we drink, we die. 
 
 Lucio. If I could speak so wist;iy under an airesi 
 I would send for certain of my creditrrs : and yet, 
 t say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery oj 
 freedom, oS the morality of imprisonment.— What's 
 thy olfence, Claudn.? 
 
 Claud. What, but to speak of would oifeud again, 
 
 Lucio. What is it ? murder :* 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Lucio Lechery? 
 
 Claud. Call it so. 
 
 Pruv. Away, sir; you must go. 
 
 Claud. Oiie word, good friend : — Lucio, a word 
 with you. {Takes him aside.) 
 
 Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. — 
 Is lechery so look'd after ? fcontrad 
 
 Claud. 'I'hus stands it with me: — Upon a true 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 73 
 
 L got possession of Julietta's Ked ; 
 
 You know the lady ; she is last my wife. 
 
 Save that we do the ienuuciation lack 
 
 Ol'culward order: this we catne not to, 
 
 Only tor propagation of a dower 
 
 Remaining in the coffer of her friends; 
 
 From whom we thought it meet to hide our love. 
 
 Till time had made them for us. But it chances, 
 
 The stealth of our most mutual entertainment. 
 
 With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. 
 
 Lucio. With child, perhaps ? 
 
 Claud. Unhappily, even so. 
 And the new deputy now for the duke, — 
 Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness 
 Or whether that the body public be 
 A horse, whereon the governor doth ride. 
 Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
 He can command, lets it straight feel the spur : 
 Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
 Or in his eminence tliat fills it up, 
 [ stagger in: — But this new governor 
 Awakes me all the enrolled penalties, [wall 
 Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the 
 Sn long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, 
 A.nd none of them been worn; and, for a name. 
 Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
 Freshly on me : — 'tis surely, lor a name. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant, it is : and thy head stands so 
 tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be 
 in love, may sigh it otF. Send after the duke, and 
 appeal to him. 
 
 Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found. 
 I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service : 
 This day my sister should the cloister enter, 
 And there receive her approbation : 
 Acquaint her with the danger of my state; 
 Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 
 To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him; 
 I have great hope in that : for in her youth 
 There is a prone and speechless dialect. 
 Such as moves men ; beside, she hath prosperous art. 
 When she will play with reason and discourse. 
 And well she can persuade. 
 
 Lucio. I pray, she may • as well for the encou- 
 ragement of the like, vvhich else would stand under 
 grievous imposition; as for the enjoying of thy life, 
 who I would be sorry should be thus Ibolishly lost 
 at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. 
 
 Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Within two hours, 
 
 Claud. Come, officer, away. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene IV. — A Monastery. 
 Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 
 
 DuL-e. No, holy father; throw away that thought ; 
 Believe not, that the dribbling dart of love 
 Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee 
 To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose 
 More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
 Of burning youth. 
 
 Fri. May your grace speak of it? 
 
 Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
 How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd ; 
 And held in idle price to haunt assemblies. 
 Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 
 I have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
 (A man of stricture, and firm abstinence,) 
 My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
 And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; 
 For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
 And so it is receiv'd : now, pious sir, 
 1 ou will demand of me, why I do this? 
 
 Fri. Oladiy, my lord. [laws, 
 
 Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting 
 (The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,) 
 Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep; 
 Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave, 
 That goes not out to prey: now, as fond fathers 
 Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch 
 Odj to Stick it in their children's sight. 
 
 For terror, not to use ; in time the rod 
 Becomes more mock'd than fear'd : so our decreef, 
 Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead , 
 And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; 
 The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
 Goes all decorum. 
 
 Fri. It rested in your grace 
 
 To unloose this tied up justice, when you {'leas d 
 And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, 
 Than in Lord Angelo. 
 
 Duke. I do tear, too dreadful : 
 
 Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 
 ''I'would be my tyranny to strike, and gall them 
 For what I bid them do : for we bid this be done. 
 When e\'il deeds have their permissive pass. 
 And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, na 
 I have on Angelo imj)os'd the office ; [father 
 Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, 
 And yet my nature never in the sight. 
 To do it slander : and to behold his sway, 
 1 will, as 'twere a brother of your order. 
 Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythee. 
 Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 
 How I may forraaUy in person bear me 
 Like a true friar. More reasons for this action. 
 At our more leisure shall I render you ; 
 Only, this one : — Lord Angelo is precise ; 
 Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
 That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
 Is more to bread than stone : hence shall we see. 
 If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 [ Exeunit 
 
 Scene V. — A I^unnery. 
 Enter Isabella and Francisca. 
 
 Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges ? 
 
 Fran. Are not these large enough ? 
 
 Isab. Yes, truly : I speak not as desiring more ; 
 But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
 Upon the sister-hood, the votarists oi saint Clare. 
 
 Lucio. Ho ! Peace be in this place I ( JVilhitu) 
 
 Isab. Who's that vvhsch calls 7 
 
 Fran. It is a man's voice: gentle Isabella, 
 Turn you the key, and know his business of him* 
 You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn : 
 When you have vow'd, you must not speak with 
 But in the presence of the prioress : [men. 
 Then, if you speak, you must not shew your face; 
 Or, if you shew your face, you must not speak. 
 He calls again ; I pray you answer him. [Exit. 
 
 Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that calls ? 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be ; as those cheek-roses 
 Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead nie, 
 As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
 A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
 To her unhappy brother Claudio? 
 
 Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask ; 
 The rather, for I now must mate yo-u know 
 I am that Isabella, and his sister, [you: 
 
 Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greetf 
 Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. 
 
 Isab. Woe me ! For what ? 
 
 Lucio. For that, which, if myself might be his judge 
 He should receive his punishment in thanks* 
 He hath got his friend with child. 
 
 Isab. Sir, make me not your story. 
 
 Lucio. It is trno. 
 
 I would not — though 'tis my familiar s)n 
 With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest. 
 Tongue far from heart, — play with all virgins bo: 
 I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted ; 
 By your renouncement, an immortal spirit; 
 And to be talk'd with in sincerity. 
 As with a saint. 
 
 Isab. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me 
 
 Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth 
 'tis thus: 
 
 Your brother and his lover have c ibrac'd. 
 
u 
 
 As those that feed grow full ; as blossoming time. 
 That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
 To teeming foison ; even so her plenteous womb 
 Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. 
 
 Isab. Some one with child by him ? — Mv cousin 
 J.diet? 
 
 Lucij. Is she your cousin ? [names, 
 Isab. Adoptedly; as school-maids change their 
 By vain, though apt affection, 
 Lucio. _ She it is. 
 
 Isab. O, let him marry her! 
 hucio. This is the point. 
 
 I'he duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
 Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
 fn hand, and hope of action ; but we do learn 
 By those that know the very nerves of state. 
 His givings out were of ati infinite distance 
 From his true-meant design. Upon his place. 
 And with full line of his authority. 
 Governs lord Angelo ; a man whose blood 
 Is vei7 snow-broth; one who never feels 
 The wanton stings and motions of the sense ; 
 But doth rebate and blimt his natural edge 
 With profits of the tnind, study and fast. 
 He (to give fear to use and libeity, 
 Which have, for long, run by the hideous law. 
 As mice by lions), hath pick'd out an act, 
 Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
 Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it; 
 And follows close the rigour of the statute, 
 To make him an example: ail hope is gone, 
 Unless you hai'e the grace by your fair prayer 
 I'o soften Angelo: and that's my pith 
 Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. 
 Isab. Doth he so seek his life ? 
 Lucio. Has censur d him 
 
 Already ; and, as 1 hear, fhe provost hath 
 A warrant for his executi )n. 
 
 lsaf<. Alas ! what poor ability's in me 
 1 0 do him gooil ? 
 
 Luino. Assay the power you have. 
 
 Isab. My power! Alas I I doubt, — 
 hucio. Our doubts are traitors. 
 
 And make us lose the good we oft might win. 
 By fearing to attempt : go to lord Angelo, 
 And let him learn to knovv, when maidens sue. 
 Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel. 
 All their petitions are as freely theirs 
 As they themselves would owe them. 
 Isab. I'll see what I can do. 
 Lucio. But, speedily. 
 
 Isab. I will about it straight ; 
 No longer staying but to give the mother 
 Notice of my affair, I humbly thank you : 
 Commend me to my brother: soon at night 
 I'll send him certain word of my success. 
 Lucio. I take my leave of you. 
 Isab. Good sir, adieu. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A Hall in Angelo's house. 
 
 Enter Angelo, Escalus, a Justice, Provost, 
 Officers, and other Attendants. 
 
 Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the law. 
 Setting it up to fear the birds of prey. 
 And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
 Their perch, and not their terror. 
 
 Escal. Ay, but yet 
 
 Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, 
 Than fall, and bruise to death: alas! this gentleman, 
 Whon) [ would save, had a most noble father. 
 Let but your honour know, 
 (Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,) 
 That, in the working of your own affections. 
 Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing. 
 Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
 Could have attain'd the efiect of your own purpose, 
 Whether you had not, sometime in your life, 
 rr'd iu this point which now you censure him. 
 
 Aer it 
 
 And pull'd the law upon yon, 
 
 Ang. Tis one thing to be tem[ited, Escalus 
 Another thing to fall. I not deny. 
 The jury, passing on the prisoner's life. 
 May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
 Guiltier than him they try: what's open made <« 
 justice. 
 
 That justice seizes. What know the laws. 
 That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pi eg. 
 nant. 
 
 The jewel that we fiud, we stoop and take it. 
 
 Because we see it; but what we do not see, 
 
 We tread upon, and never think of it. 
 
 You may not so extenuate his ofience. 
 
 For I have had such faults; but rather tell me 
 
 When I, that censure him, do so offend. 
 
 Let mine own judgment pattern out my death. 
 
 And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 
 
 Escal. Be it as your wisdom will, 
 
 ■^g- Where is the provost ? 
 
 Prov. Here, if it like your honour. 
 ^ ^ng. See that Claudic 
 
 lie executed by nme to-morrow morning: 
 Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ; 
 For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 
 
 [Exit Provost. 
 
 ^ Escal. Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us 
 Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : full ! 
 Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none ; 
 And some condemned for a fault alone. 
 
 Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, ^V. 
 
 Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be good 
 people in a commun-weal, that'do nothing but use 
 their abuses in common houses, I know no law; 
 bring them away, 
 
 Ang. How now, sir! What's your name? and 
 what's the matter ? 
 
 EJb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's 
 constable, and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon 
 'ustice, sir, and do bring in here before your good 
 lonour two notorious benefactors, 
 
 A7ig. Benefcictors ? Well; what benefactors are 
 they ^ are they net malefactors ? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well 
 what they are: but precise villains they are, that I 
 am sure of; and void of all profanation m the world, 
 that good christians ought to have. 
 
 Escal. This comes off well ; here's a wise officer. 
 
 Ayig. Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is 
 your name ? Why dost thou not speak, Elbow ? 
 
 Clo. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. 
 
 Ang. What are you, sir? 
 
 Elb. He, sir? a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one 
 that serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as 
 the)^ say, plnck'd down in the suburbs ; and now she 
 
 rofesses a hot-house, whir h, I think, is a very ill 
 
 ouse too. 
 
 Escal. How know you that ? 
 Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven 
 and your honour, — 
 Escal How ! thy wife ? 
 
 Elb. Ay sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest 
 woman, — 
 
 Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? 
 
 Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well 
 as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, 
 it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. 
 
 Escal. How dost thou know that, constable ? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had 
 been a vyoman cardinally given, might have beea 
 accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanli- 
 ness there. 
 
 Escal. By tne woman's means ? 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Over done's means: but 
 as she spit in his face, so she defied him. 
 
 Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this it not so, 
 
 Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou ho. 
 nourable man, prove it. 
 
 Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces'! {To Angtlo,) 
 
 MEASURE rCR MEASURE. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 75 
 
 ^h. Sir, she came in great \^lth child ; and long- 
 ing ( saving your honour's reverence ) for stew'd 
 prunes ; sir^ we had but two in the house, which at 
 that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit- 
 dish, a dish of some tliree-pence ; your honours have 
 seen such dishes; they are no' China dishes, but 
 ^cry good dishes, 
 
 Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the dish, sir. 
 
 Clo. No indeed, sir, not ol" a pin : you are therein 
 ill the right: but, to the point ■ as I say, this mistress 
 Klbow, being, as 1 say, with child, and being great 
 belly'd, and longing, as I said, for prunes ; and 
 naving but two in the dish, as I said, master Frotli 
 liere, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, 
 and, as T say, paying for them very honestly ; — for, 
 as you know, master Froth, I could not give you 
 three-pence again. 
 
 Froth. No, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Very well : you being then, if you be remem- 
 ber'd, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes. 
 
 Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well • I telling you then, if you be 
 remeniber'd, that such a one, and such a one, were 
 past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept 
 very good diet, as I told you. 
 
 Froth. All this is true. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then. 
 
 Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : to the pur- 
 pose. — What was done to Elbow's wife, that he 
 hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was 
 done to her, 
 
 Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 
 
 Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 
 
 Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your ho- 
 nour's leave : and, I beseech you, look into master 
 Froth here, sir ; a man of fourscore pound a year ; 
 whose father died at Hallowmas; — Was't not at 
 Hallowmas, master Froth ? 
 
 Froth. All-hollond eve. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well ; I hope here be truths : he, 
 sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; — 'twas in 
 the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a 
 delight to sit: have you not? 
 
 Froth. 1 have so ; because it is an open room, 
 and good for winter. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then ; — I hope here be truths. 
 
 Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, 
 When nights are longest there : I'll take my leave. 
 And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; 
 Hoping, you'll find good cause to whip them all. 
 
 Escal. I think no less : good morrow to your 
 lordship. [Exit Anyelo. 
 
 Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's wife, 
 once more? 
 
 Clo. Once, sir ? there was nothing done to her once. 
 
 Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask hira what this man 
 did to my wife. 
 
 Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. 
 
 Escal. Well, sir : what did this gentleman to her ? 
 
 Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's 
 face : — Good master Froth, look upon his honour ; 
 'tis for a good purpose : doth your honour mark his 
 
 Escal. Ay, sir, very well. (face? 
 
 Clo. Nay. I beseech you, mark it well. 
 
 Escal. Well, I do so, 
 
 Clo. Doth your honour see any harm in his face ? 
 Escal. Why, no. 
 
 Clo. I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the 
 worst thing about him : good then ; if his face be 
 Uie worst tiling about him, how could master Froth 
 do the constable's wife any harm? J would know 
 that of your honour. Cto it? 
 
 EscaL He's in the right : constable, what say you 
 
 Elb, First, an it like you, the house is a respected 
 house ; next, this is a respected fellow ; and his 
 mistress is a respected woman. 
 
 Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more re- 
 spected [terson than any of us all. 
 
 Elb. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet: 
 
 the time is yet to come, that she was ever respect© 
 with man, woman, or child. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before ha 
 married with her. 
 
 Escal. Which is the wiser here ? justice, or ini- 
 quity? — Is this true ? 
 
 Elb. Oihon caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked 
 Hannibal ! I respected with her, before 1 was mar- 
 ried to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she 
 with me, let not your worship think me the pooi 
 duke's officer : — Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, 
 or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. 
 
 Escal. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you mighl 
 have your action of slander too, 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it: 
 what is't your worship's pleasure I should do with 
 this wicked caitiff? 
 
 Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some of- 
 fences in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou 
 couldst, let him continue in his courses, till thoa 
 know'st what they are, 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it: — Thoa 
 see'st, thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon 
 thee; thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou 
 art to continue. 
 
 Escal. Where were you born, friend ? {ToFroth.) 
 
 Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. 
 
 Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a-year? 
 
 Froth. Yes, and't please you, sir, 
 
 Escal. So, — What trade are you of, sir? 
 
 {To the Cloivn.) 
 
 Clo. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 
 
 Escal. Your mistress's name ? 
 
 Clo. Mistress Over-done. 
 
 Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband ? 
 
 Clo. Nine, sir; Over-done by the last. 
 
 Escal Nine ! — Come hither to me, master Froth. 
 Master Froth, I would not liave you acquainted with 
 tapsters ; they will draw you, master Froth, and yoa 
 will hang them : get you gone, and let me hear no 
 more ot you. 
 
 Froth. I thank your worship : for mine own part, 
 I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am 
 drawn in, 
 
 Escal. Well ; no more of it, master Froth , fare- 
 well, [Exit Frolh.] — Come you hither to me, master 
 tapster ; wliat's your name, master tapster? 
 
 Clo. Poiiipey. 
 
 Escal. What else ? 
 
 Clo. Bum, sir. 
 
 Escal. 'Ti oth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
 about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, yon are 
 Pompey the great. Pompey,you are partly a bawd, 
 Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. 
 Are you not ? come, tell me true ; it shall be the 
 better for you. 
 
 CVo, Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow, that would live. 
 
 Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a 
 bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? 
 is it a lawful trade ? 
 
 Clo. If the law would allow it, sir. 
 
 Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; 
 nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 
 
 Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay 
 all the youths in the city ? 
 
 Escal. No, Pompey. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to'! 
 then : if your worship will take order for the drabs 
 and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. 
 
 Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, 1 can 
 tell you : it is but heading and hanging. 
 
 Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that 
 way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give 
 out a commission for more heads. If this law hold 
 in Vienna ten years, I'll rent the fairest house in it, 
 after three-pence a bay : if you live to see this come 
 to pass, say Pompey told you so. 
 
 Escal. Thank you, good Pompey ; and, in requital 
 of your prophecy, hark you, — I advise you, let rne 
 not find you before me again upon wny complainl 
 
T6 
 
 whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you do : if I 
 do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove 
 a shrewd Caesar to you ; in plain dealina:, Poinp<ey, I 
 shall have you whipt: so for this time, Pompey, fare 
 you well. 
 
 Clo. I thank your worship for your good counsel ; 
 but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall 
 better determine. 
 
 VMiip me ? No, no ; let carman whip his jade ; 
 
 The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Exit. 
 
 EscaL Come hither to me, master Elbow; come 
 hither, master constable. How long have you been 
 in this place of constable ? 
 
 Elb. Seven years and a half, sir. 
 
 Eacal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, 
 you had continued in it some time : you say, seven 
 years together ? 
 
 EIL And a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you ! 
 
 They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't ; are 
 
 there not men in your ward sufficient to servo: it? 
 Elh. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters : 
 they are chosen, they are glad to choose n)e for 
 
 tliem; I do it for some piece of money, and go 
 
 through with all. 
 
 ^ Escal. Look you, bring me in the name of some 
 six or seven, the most surfit ient of your parish. 
 
 Elb. To your worship's house, sir ? 
 
 Escal. To my house : fare you well. [Exit Elbow. 
 What's o'clock, think you ? 
 
 Just. Eleven, sir. 
 
 Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 
 
 Jtisi. I humbly thank you. 
 
 Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; 
 But there's no remedy. 
 
 Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 
 
 Escal. It is but needful : 
 
 Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so; 
 Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : 
 But yet, — poor Claudio ! — There's no remedy. 
 Come, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene W. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Provost and a Servant. 
 Ser. He's hearing of a cause ; he will come 
 I'll tell him of you. [straight. 
 
 Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.^ I'll know 
 His pleasure ; may be, he will relent : alas, 
 He hath but as offended in a dream! 
 All sects, all ages, smack of this vice ; and he 
 To die for it!— 
 
 Enter Ancelo. 
 
 Ang. _ Now, what's the matter, provost? 
 
 Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? 
 
 Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea V hadst thou not 
 Why dost thou ask again ? [order ? 
 
 Prov. Lest I might be too rash : 
 
 Under your good correction, 1 have seen, 
 When, after execution, judgment hath 
 Repented o'er his doom. 
 
 Ang. ^ Go to ; let that be mine : 
 
 Do you your office, or give up your place. 
 And you shall well be spar'd. 
 
 Prov. I crave your honour's pardon — 
 
 What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet ? 
 She's very near her hour. 
 
 Ang. Dispose of her 
 
 1 0 some more fitter place ; and that with speed. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Here is the sister if the man condemn'd, 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Ang. Hath he a sister ? 
 
 Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, 
 And to be shortly of a sisterhood. 
 If not already. 
 
 ./4ng. Well, let her be admitted. 
 
 lExit Servant, 
 isee you the fornicatress be remov'd* 
 
 Act H 
 
 Let her have needful, but not lavish, means: 
 There shall be order for it. 
 
 Enter Lucio «wo? Isabella. 
 
 Prov. Save your honour ! {Offering to i etir€. 
 
 Ang. Stay a little while. — [To Isnb.) You art 
 welcome : what s your will ? 
 
 Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, 
 Please but your honour hear nie. 
 
 Ang. Well ; what's your suit? 
 
 Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor. 
 And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
 For which I would not plead, but that I must; 
 For which I must not plead, but that I am 
 At war, 'twixt will, and will not. 
 
 Any. Well ; the matter ? 
 
 Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die* 
 I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 
 And not my brother 
 
 Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces j 
 
 Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it! 
 Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done : 
 Mine were the very cypher of a function. 
 To find the faults, whose fine stands in record. 
 And let go by the actor. 
 
 Isab. O just, but severe law ! 
 
 I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honour I 
 
 [Retiring.) 
 
 Lucio. [To Isab.) Giv't not o'er so: to him again 
 intreat him ; 
 Kneel down before him, han^- upon his gown ; 
 You are too cold : if you should need a pin, 
 You could not with more tame a tongue desire it 
 To him, I say. 
 
 Isab. Must he needs die ? 
 
 Ang. Maiden, no remedy 
 
 Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him. 
 And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy 
 Ang. 1 will not do't. 
 
 Isab. But can you if you would? 
 
 Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 
 Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no 
 wrong, 
 
 If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
 As mine is to him ? 
 
 Ang. He's sentenc'd ; 'tis too late 
 
 Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella.) 
 
 Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word. 
 May call it back again : well believe this. 
 No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
 Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword. 
 The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe. 
 Become them with one half so good a grace. 
 As mercy does. If he had been as you 
 And you as he, you would have slipt like him; 
 But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 
 
 Ang. Pray you, begone. 
 
 Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, 
 And you were Isabel ! would it then be thus ? 
 No ; { would tell what 'twere to be a judge, 
 And what a prisoner. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, touch him : there's the vein. [Aside.) 
 
 Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
 And you but waste your words. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 
 And He, that might the vantage best have took. 
 Found out the remedy. How would you be. 
 If he, which is the top of judgment, should 
 But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips 
 Like man new made. 
 
 Ang. Be you content, fair maid , 
 
 It is the law, not I, condemns your brother ; 
 W ere he my kinsman, brother, or my son. 
 It should be thus with him; — he must die to- 
 morrow, [spare him . 
 
 Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden ! Spare him. 
 He s not prepar'd for death ! Even fo'- our kitchens 
 We kill tiie fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURK 
 
MEASUEE FOR MEASURE. 77 
 
 Scene 3. 
 
 With less respect than we do minister 
 To our gross selves ? (iood, good my lord, bethink. 
 Who is it that hath died for this offence ? [you : 
 There's many have committed it. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, well said. 
 
 Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath 
 Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, [slept : 
 II the first man, that did the edict infringe, 
 H;i \ answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake; 
 I'h es note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, 
 Ij " ks in a glass, that shows what future evils, 
 (Eiilier now, or by remissness new conceiv'd. 
 And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,) 
 Are now to have no successive degrees. 
 But. where they live, to end. 
 
 Isah. Yet, show some pity, 
 
 Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; 
 For then I pity those I do not know, 
 Wliich a dismiss'd offence would after gall ; 
 And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong. 
 Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
 Your brother dies to-morrow: be content. 
 
 Isab. So you must be the first, that gives this sen- 
 tence ; 
 
 And he that sutFers : O, it is excellent \ 
 To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
 To use it like a giant. 
 
 Lucio. That's well said. 
 
 Isab. Could great men thunder 
 As Jove hiinselt does, Jove would ne'er be quiet. 
 For every pelting, petty officer. 
 Would use his heaven for thunder •. nothing but 
 
 Merciful heaven ! [thunder. 
 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous boit, 
 Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 
 Than the soft myrtle ; — ^.O, but man, proud man ! 
 Drest in a little brief authority ; 
 iMost ignorant of what he's most assur'd. 
 His glassy essence, — like an angry ape. 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven. 
 As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens. 
 Would all themselves laugh mortal. 
 
 Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench : he will relent; 
 He's coming, I perceive 't. 
 
 Prov. Pray heaven, she win him ! 
 
 Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: 
 Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ; 
 But, in the less, foul profanation. 
 
 Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that. 
 
 Isab. That in the captain's but a cholerick word, 
 Wliicb in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 
 
 Lucio. Art advis'd o' that ? more on't. 
 
 Any. Why do you put these sayings upon me ? 
 
 Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, 
 Hatli yet a kind of medicine in itself, 
 Tiiat skins the vice o' the top : go to your bosonj ; 
 Knock tliere ; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
 That's like my brother's fault: if it confess 
 A natural guiltiness, such as is his. 
 Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
 Against my brother's life. 
 
 Ang. She speaks, and 'tis 
 
 Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. — Fare you 
 
 Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. [well. 
 
 Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to-morrow. 
 
 Isab. Hark ! how I'll bribe you: good my lord, 
 
 Ang. How! bribe me? [turn back. 
 
 Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share 
 with you, . 
 
 Lucio. You had marr'd all else. 
 
 Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold. 
 Or stones, whose rates are either rich, or poor, 
 As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
 That shall l>e up at heaven, and enter there. 
 Ere sun-rise: prayers from preserved souls. 
 From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
 To nothing temporal. 
 
 Ang. Well : come to me 
 
 To-morrow. 
 
 Lucio. Go to ; it is well ; away. [Aside to Isabel,) 
 
 Isab. Heaven keep your hono-.jT safe! 
 
 Ang. Amen; fori 
 
 Am that way going to temptation, [Aside.) 
 Where prayers cross. 
 
 Isab. At what hour to-moriow 
 
 Shall I attend your worship? 
 
 Ang. At any time 'fore noon. 
 
 Isab. Save your honour ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Prxwoat, 
 
 Ang. From thee ; even from thy virtue !— 
 
 What's this? what's this? Is this her fault, or mine? 
 The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most ? Ha! 
 Not she ; nor doth she tempt : but it is I, 
 That lying by the violet, in the sun. 
 Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower. 
 Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be, 
 'J'hat niodesty may more betray our sense 
 Than woman's lightness ? Having wasfe grouna 
 Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, [enouffh, 
 And pitch our evils there? O, fy, fy, f y ! 
 What dost thou ? or what art thou, Angelo ? 
 Dost thou desire her foully, for those things 
 That make her good ? O, let her brother live ; 
 Thieves tor their robbery have authority. 
 When judges steal theniselves. What? do I lov« 
 That I desire to hear her speak again, [her. 
 And feast upon her eyes ? What is't I dream on . 
 
 0 cunning enemy, that to catch a saint. 
 
 With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
 Is that temptation, that doth goad us on 
 To sin in loving virtue ; never could the strumpet. 
 With all her double vigour, art and nature. 
 Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
 Subdues me quite : — Ever, till now, 
 When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd Viovt 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Scene III. — A Room in a Prison. 
 Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Prcvvst^ 
 Duke. Hail to you. Provost ! so I think j'ou are. 
 Prov. I am the provost: what's your will, good 
 friar ? 
 
 Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bh.'ss d Jrder, 
 
 1 come to visit the fifflicted spirits 
 
 Here in the prison : do me the common right 
 To let me see them ; and to make me know 
 The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
 To them accordingly, [needfuL 
 
 Prov. I would do more than that, if more were 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine. 
 Who, falling in the flames of her ow^n youth. 
 Hath blister'd her report : she is with child ; 
 And he, that got it, sentenc'd ; a young man 
 More fit to do another such offence. 
 Than die for this. 
 
 Duke. When must he die ? 
 
 Pro. As I do think, to morrow. — 
 I have provided for you ; stay a while, [To Juhet.) 
 And you shall be conducted. 
 
 Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? 
 
 Juliet. I do ; and bear the shame most patiently. 
 
 Duke. I'll tecich you how you shall arraign youi 
 conscience, 
 And try your penitence if it be sound. 
 Or hollowly put on. 
 
 Juliet. I'll gladly learn. 
 
 Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ? 
 
 Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd liira. 
 
 Duke. So, then, it seems, your most oftenceful uel 
 Was mutually committed? 
 
 Juliet. Mutually. 
 
 Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his 
 
 Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter: but lest yon do 
 repent. 
 
 As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, — 
 Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not 
 heaven : 
 
 Showing, we'd not spare heaven, as wp love it, 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 ISut as we stand m fear,— 
 
 Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil ; 
 And take the shame with joy. 
 
 Duhe There rest. 
 
 Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow. 
 And I am going with instruction to him. — 
 Grace go with you ! Benedicite ! \_ExiL 
 
 Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! O injurious love, 
 That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
 Is still a dying horror! 
 
 Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Anyelo's house. 
 Enter Angelo. 
 Aug. When I would pray and think, I think and 
 pray 
 
 To several subjects : heaven hath my empty words ; 
 Whilst my invention, hearing nr)t my tongue. 
 Anchors on Isabel : heaven in my mouth, 
 As if I did but only chew his name ; 
 And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil 
 Of my conception: the state whereon I studied. 
 Is like a good thing, being often read, 
 Grown learVl and tedious ; yea, my gravity, 
 Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride. 
 Could I, with boot, change for an idle p!un\e, 
 Which the air beats for vain. O place! O form ! 
 How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, 
 Wrench awe from fools, and tie tiie wiser souls 
 To thy false seeming? Blood, thou still art blood : 
 Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
 'Tis not tlie devil's crest. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 How now, who's there ? 
 
 Serv. One Isabel, a sister, 
 
 Pesires access to you. 
 
 Any. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. 
 
 O heavens ! 
 
 Why does my blood thus muster to my heart ; 
 Making both it unable for itself. 
 And dispossessing all the other parts 
 Of necessary fitness ? 
 
 So play the ioolish throngs with one that swoons; 
 Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
 By which he should revive : and even so 
 The general, subject to a well-wish'd king. 
 Quit their own part, and in obsequious tondness 
 Crowd to his presence, wiiere their untaught love 
 Must needs appear otfence. — 
 
 E?iter Isabella. 
 How now, fair maid ? 
 Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Ang. That you might know it, would much better 
 please me, 
 
 Tijan to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. 
 Isab. Even so ? — Heaven keep your honour ! 
 
 [Retiring. 
 
 Any. Yet may he live a while : and, it may be. 
 As long as you, or I : yet he must die. 
 Isab. Under your sentence '' 
 Ang. Yea. 
 
 Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve. 
 Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted. 
 That his soul sicken not. 
 
 Ang. Ha! Fy, these filthy vices! It were as good 
 To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen 
 A man already made, as to remit 
 Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, 
 In stamps that nre forbid : 'tis all as easy 
 Falsely to take away a life true made. 
 As to put mettle in restrained means, 
 To make a false one. 
 
 Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 
 
 Ang. Say you so? then I shall poze you quickly. 
 Which had you rather, Tliat the most, just law 
 Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him, 
 Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness. 
 As she that he hath stain'd ? 
 
 liab Sir, believe this. 
 
 I had rather give my body than my soul. 
 
 Ang. I talk not ot your soul ; our cornpell d sins 
 Stand more for number than accompt. 
 
 Isab. How say y v\ ? 
 
 Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can »peak 
 Against the thing I say. Answer to this ; — 
 I, now the voice of the recorded law. 
 Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
 Might there not be a charity in sin. 
 To save this brother's life ? 
 
 Isab. Please you to t?v)'i 
 
 I'll take it as a peril to my soul. 
 It is no sin at all, but charity. 
 
 Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of ycnr soul, 
 Were equal poize of sin and charity. 
 
 Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin. 
 Heaven, let me bear it ! you granting of my suit. 
 If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer 
 To have it added to the faults of mine. 
 And nothing of t our answer. 
 
 Ang. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant 
 Or seem so, craftily ; and that's not good. 
 
 Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good. 
 But graciously to know I am no better. 
 
 Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright, 
 When it doth tax itself : as those black masks 
 Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 
 Than beauty could displayed. — But mark me ; 
 To be received plain, I'll speak more gross : 
 Your brother is to die. 
 
 Isab. So. 
 
 Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears 
 Accountant to the law upon that pain. 
 Isab. True. 
 
 Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 
 (As I subscribe not that, nor any other, 
 i3ut in the loss of question,) that you, his sister. 
 Finding yourself desir'd of such a person, 
 Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, 
 Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
 Of the all- binding law ; and that there were 
 No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
 You must lay down the treasures of your body 
 To this supposed, or else let him suf}'er: 
 What would you do ? 
 
 Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself: 
 That is, were I under the terms of death. 
 The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies. 
 And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
 That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield 
 My body up to shame. 
 
 Ang. Then must your brother die. 
 
 Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way: 
 Better it were, a brother died at once, 
 Than that a sister, by redeeming him. 
 Should die for ever. 
 
 Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence. 
 That you have slander'd so? 
 
 Isab. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon. 
 Are of two houses: lawful mercy is 
 Nothing a-kin to foul redemption. 
 
 Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant, 
 And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother 
 A merriment than a vice. 
 
 Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls out. 
 To have what we'd have, we speak not what we meanv 
 I something do excuse the thing I hate, 
 For his advantage, that I dearly love. 
 
 Ang. We are all frail. 
 
 Isab. Else let my brother die 
 
 If not a feodary, but only he. 
 
 Owe, and succeed by weakness. 
 
 Ang. Nay, women are frail tea 
 
 Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view theniK 
 selves ; 
 
 Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
 Women ! — Help heaven ! men their creation ma 
 In j)rofiting by them. Nay, call us ten times fr 
 For we are soft as our complexions are, 
 
Act hi. Scene 1. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 And credulnus to false prints. 
 
 An^. I think, it well : 
 
 And trom this testimony of your own sex, 
 (Since, J suppose, we are made to be no stronger 
 rhiin faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold ; — 
 I do arrest youi words ; be that you are, 
 That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none • 
 ff you be one, (as you are well express'd 
 By all external warrants,) show it now, 
 By piittint;- on the destin a livery. 
 
 Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord. 
 Let me intreat you speak the former language. 
 
 Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 
 
 Isab. My brother did love Juliet ; and you tell me. 
 That he shall die for it. 
 
 Anrj. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. 
 
 Isab. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't. 
 Which seems a little fouler than it is. 
 To pluck on others. 
 
 Any. Believe me, on mine honour, 
 
 My words express my purpose. 
 
 Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd. 
 And most pernicious purpose ' — Seeming, seeming ! 
 I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look fort: 
 Sign me a present pardon for my brother, 
 Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world 
 Aloud, what man thou art. 
 
 Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel? 
 
 My unsoil'd name, the ansterjness of my life, 
 My vouch against you, and my place i' the state, 
 Will so your accusation overweigh. 
 That you shall stifle in your own report. 
 And smell of calumny. I have begun; 
 And now I give my sensual race the rein : 
 Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
 Lay by all nicety, and proliiious blushes. 
 That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy brother 
 By yielding up thy body to my will ; 
 Or else he must not only die the death. 
 But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
 To lingering sufferance : answer me to-morrow, 
 Or by the affection that now guides me most, 
 V\\ prove a tyrant to him • as for you, 
 Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Isab. To whom shall I complain ? Did I tell this. 
 Who would believe me? O perilous mouths. 
 That bear in them one and the self-same tongue. 
 Either of condemnation or approof ! 
 Bidding the law make court'sy to their will ; 
 Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite. 
 To follow as it draws I I'll to my brother: 
 Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, 
 Yet halh he in him such a mind of honour, 
 Tiiat had he twenty heads to tender down 
 On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, 
 Before his sister should her body stoop 
 To such a^iorr'd pollution. 
 Then Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die : 
 More than our brother is our chastity. 
 I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request. 
 And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in the Prison. 
 
 Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost. 
 
 Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord 
 Angelo ? 
 
 Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, 
 But only hope : 
 
 [ have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 
 
 Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death, or liff;. 
 Shall thereby be tne sweeter. Reason thus with life — 
 If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
 That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, 
 (Servile to all the skicy influences,) 
 That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st. 
 Hourly afflict merely, thou art death's fool ; 
 
 79 
 
 For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, 
 And yet run'st toward hirn still : thou art not noble 
 For all the accommodations that tliou bear'st. 
 Are nurs'd by baseness : thou art by no means 
 valiant ; 
 
 For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
 Of a poor worm : thy best of rest is sleep. 
 And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
 For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
 That issue out of dust: happy thou art not; 
 For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get; 
 And what thou hast, Ibrget'st : thou art not certain,' 
 For thy complexion shifts to strange effects. 
 After the moon: if tho!i art rich, thou art poor: 
 For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows^ 
 Thou bear'st thy heavy riclies but a journey. 
 And death unloads thee : friend hast thou none , 
 For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire. 
 The mere eflusion of thy proper loins. 
 Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum. 
 For ending thee no sooner: thou hast nor youth, nor 
 
 But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, 
 Dreaming on both: for all tliy blessed youtn 
 Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
 Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich. 
 Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 
 To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this. 
 That bears the name of life? Yet in tiiis life 
 Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear. 
 That makes these odds all even. 
 
 Claud. I humbly thank you 
 
 To si>e to live, I find, I seek to die ; 
 And, seeking death, find life : let it come on. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 Isab. What, ho! Peace here; grace ^nd good 
 
 company ! [a welcome 
 
 Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserve* 
 Duke. Dear sir, ere long 1 11 visit you attain. 
 Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 
 Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 
 Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's 
 
 your sister. 
 Duke. Provost, a word with you. 
 Prov. As many as you please 
 
 Duke, Bring them to speak, wh^ i e I may be con- 
 
 ceal'd. 
 
 Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. 
 
 Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort ? 
 
 Isab. Why, as all comforts are ; most good in deed : 
 Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven. 
 Intends you for his swift ambassador, 
 Where you sliall be an everlasting leiger. 
 Therefore your best appointment make with speed j 
 To-morrow you set on. 
 
 Claud. Is there no remedy? 
 
 Isab. None, but such remedy, as, to save a headi 
 To cleave a heart in twain. 
 
 Claud. But is there any ? 
 
 Isab. Yes, brother, yon may live; 
 There is a devilish mercy in tlie judge. 
 If you'll imploi e it, that will free your life, 
 But fetter you till death. 
 
 Claud. Perpetual durance ? 
 
 Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance ; a restr iiot. 
 Though all tiie world's vastidity you had. 
 To a determiu'd scope. 
 
 Claud. But in what nature ? 
 
 Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't) 
 Would bark your honour from that trunk you betV. 
 And leave you naked. 
 
 Claud. Let me know the point. 
 
 Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake 
 Lest thou a leverous life should'st entertain, 
 And six or seven winters more respect 
 Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension; 
 And the poor beetle, that we tread upon. 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act III. 
 
 80 
 
 In corporal sufferaoce finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies. 
 
 Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 
 
 Think you I can a resohition fetch 
 From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
 I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
 And hug it in mine arms [grave 
 
 Isab. There spake my brother; there my father's 
 Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou nuist die : 
 Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
 In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, — 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth i'the head, and lollies doth enmew, 
 As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil ; 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell. 
 
 Claud. The princely Angelo? 
 
 Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
 The damned'st body to invest and cover 
 In princely guards! Dost thou think, Claudio, 
 If I would yield him my virginity, 
 Thou might'st be freed ? 
 
 Claud. O, heavens ! it cannot be. 
 
 Isab. Yes, he would give it thee, from this rank 
 offence, 
 
 So to offend him still : this night's the time 
 That I should do what I abhor to name, 
 Or else thou diest to- morrow. 
 
 Claud. Thou shalt not do't. 
 
 Isab. O, were it but my life, 
 I'd throw it down for your deliverance 
 As frankly as a pin. 
 
 Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 
 
 Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him. 
 That thus can make him bite the law by the nose. 
 When he would forc^ it? Sure it is no sin; 
 Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
 
 Isab. Which is the least? 
 • Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, 
 Why, would he (or the momentary trick 
 Be perdurably fin'd? — O Isabel! 
 
 Isab. What says my brother? 
 
 Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 
 
 Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 
 
 Claud. Ay. but to dl-?, and go we know not where ; 
 To lie in cold t)bstr(iclion, and to rot; 
 This sensible warm motion to become 
 A kneaded clod ; and the deiiglited spirit 
 To bathe in fiery tioods, or to reside 
 In thrilling- regions of thick ribbed ice; 
 To be im()rison'd in the viewless winds, 
 And blown with restless violence round about 
 The pendent world, or to be worse than worst 
 Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imagine howling! — tis too horrible! 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life. 
 That age. ache, penury, and imprisonment 
 Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 
 
 What sin you do to save a brother's life. 
 Nature dispenses with the deed so far. 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 Isab. O, you beast ! 
 
 ,0, faithless coward! O, dishonest wretch! 
 Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? 
 Is"t not a kind of incest, to take life [think? 
 From thine own sister's shame? What should I 
 Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair! 
 For such a warped slip of wilderness 
 Ne'er issu'd from his blood. 'I'ake my defiance! 
 Die ; perish ! might but my bending down 
 Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
 I'll pi ay a thousand prayers for thy death. 
 No word to save thee. 
 
 Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
 
 Isab. O, fy, fy, fy ! 
 
 Thy sin's ost accidental, but a trade : 
 
 Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd • 
 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going. 
 Claud. O hear me, Isabella, 
 
 Re-enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one 
 Isab. What is your will ? [word. 
 Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I 
 would by and by have some speech with you: th« 
 satislactiou I would require, is likewise your cwu 
 ben-^fit. 
 
 Isab. I have no superfluous leisure : my stay ma%t 
 be stolen out of other affairs ; but 1 will attend you a 
 while. 
 
 Duke. {To Claudio, aside.) Son, I have over 
 heard what hath past between you and your sister. 
 Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only 
 he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise his 
 judgment with the disposition of natures ; she, having 
 the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gra- 
 cious denial, which he is most glad to recei\e: 1 am 
 confessor to Angelo, and I knov this to be true; 
 therefore prepare yourself to death : do not satisfy 
 your resolution with hopes that are fallible: to- 
 morrow you must die; go to youi knees, and make 
 ready. 
 
 Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out 
 of love with life, that I will sue to be rid ol it, 
 Duke. Hold you there : farewell. [Exit Claudio. 
 
 Re-enter Proijost. 
 
 Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Prov. What's your will, father? 
 
 Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone • 
 leave me awhile with the maid; my mind promises 
 with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my company. 
 
 Pruv. In good time. \Exit Provost. 
 
 Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath 
 made you good : the goodness, that is cheap io 
 beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace^ 
 being the soid of your complexion, should keep the 
 body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath 
 made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my under- 
 standing; and, but that frailty hath examples for his 
 falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How would you 
 d(j to content this substitute, and to save your brother ? 
 
 Isab. I arn now going to resolve him: 1 had ra- 
 ther my brother die by the law, than my son should 
 be unlawfully born. But O, how much is the good 
 duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he return, and I 
 can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, oi 
 discover his government. 
 
 Duke, 'i'hat shall not be much amiss: yet, as the 
 matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation ; 
 he made trial of you only. — Therefore, fasten your 
 ear on my advisings; to tlie love I have in doing 
 good, a remedy presents itself. I du make myself 
 believe, that you may most uprighteously do a poor 
 wronued lady a merited benefit; redeem your bro- 
 ther from the angry law; do no stain to your own 
 gracious person; and much please the absent duke, 
 if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hear 
 ing of this busines. 
 
 Isab. Let me hear you speak further; I have 
 spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the 
 truth of my spirit. 
 
 Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fear- 
 ful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister 
 of Frederick, the great soldier, who miscarried at 
 sea ? 
 
 Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words 
 went with her name. 
 
 Duke. Her should this Angelo have married , was 
 aflianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed, 
 between which time of the contract, and limit of 
 the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wre'-ked 
 at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry oi 
 his sister. But mark, how heavily this fel to th» 
 poor gentlewoman • there she lost a u 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 81 
 
 nowned brother, in his love toward her ever most 
 kind and natural ; with him the portion and sinew of 
 her fortune, her marriage-dowry; witli both, her 
 combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo. 
 
 Isab. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her? 
 
 Duhe. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of 
 them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, 
 
 1)retending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, 
 )et;towed heron her own lamentation, which siie yet 
 wears for his sake ; and he, a niarble to her tears, is 
 washed with them, but relents not. 
 
 Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take this 
 
 {>oor maid from the world ! What corruption in this 
 ife, that it will let this man live I — But how out of 
 this can she avail ? 
 
 Duke. Ft is a rupture that you may easily heal : 
 and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but 
 keeps you from dishonour in doing it. 
 Isab. Show me how, good father. 
 Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the 
 contin-iance of her first nifection ; his unjust unkind- 
 ness, that in all reason shou'd have quenched her 
 love, hath, like an impediment in tlie current, made 
 it more violent and unruly. (Jo you to Angelo ; an - 
 .swer his requiring with a plausible obt dience ; agree 
 with his demands to the point : only refer yourself to 
 this advantage, — first, tliat your stay with liim may 
 not be long; that the time may have all shadow and 
 silence in it, and the place answer to convenience : 
 this being granted in course, now follows all. W e 
 shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your 
 appointment, go in your place ; if the encounter 
 acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to 
 her recompense : and here, by this, is your brother 
 saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana 
 advantaged, add the corrupt deputy scaled. The 
 maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt. If 
 you think well to carry this as you may, the double- 
 ness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. 
 What thijik you of it? 
 
 Isab. The image of it gives me content already ; 
 and, I trust, it wi.l grow to a most prosperous per- 
 fection. 
 
 Diike. It lies much in your holding up: haste you 
 speedily to Angelo; if for this night he entreat you 
 to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will 
 presently to St. Luke's ; there, at the moated grange, 
 resides this dejected Mariana : at that place call 
 upon me ; and despatch with Angelo, that it may be 
 quickly. 
 
 [sab. I thank you for this comfort : fare you well, 
 good father. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. — The Street before the Prison. 
 Enter Duke, as a Friar; to him Elbow, Clown, 
 and Officers. 
 
 Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that 
 rou will needs buy and sell men and women like 
 beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and 
 vvhite bastard. 
 
 Duke. O, heavens ! what stuft'is here ! 
 
 C/o.'Twas never merry world, since, of two usur- 
 ies, the merriest was put down, and the worser 
 allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him 
 warm; and furr'd with fox and lamb skins too, to 
 signify, that craft, being richer than innocency, stands 
 for the facing. ffriar. 
 
 Elb. Come your way, sir. — Bless you. good father 
 
 Duke. And you, good brother faihgr; what 
 offence hath this man made you, sir? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, he hath otlVnded the law ; and, 
 sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have 
 found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which w? 
 have sent to the deputy. 
 
 Duke. Fy, sirrah ; a bawd, a wicked bawd ! 
 The evil that thou causest to be done. 
 That is thy means to live : do thou but think 
 What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
 From such a filthy vice; say to thyself, — 
 lu their abominable and beastly touches 
 
 I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 
 Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
 So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend. 
 
 do. Indeed, it does stink in some soit, sir; bo 
 yet, sir, I would prove [for sia, 
 
 Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs 
 Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer. 
 Correction and instruction must both work , 
 Ere this rude beast will profit. 
 
 Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has giver 
 him warning : the deputy cannot abide a wliore- 
 master; if he be a whoremonger and comes before hiiL, 
 he were as good go a mile on his errand. 
 
 Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to bci 
 Free fiom our faults, as iaults from seeming, free ' 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir 
 
 Clo. I spy comlbrt ; I cry , bail : here's a gentle-^ 
 man, and a friend of rniiie. 
 
 Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ? What, at tho 
 heels of Ca'sar? Art thou led in triumph? What, 
 is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made 
 woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the 
 pocket, and extracting it clutch'd? What reply? 
 Ha ! VVhat say'st thou to this tune, matter, and 
 method? Is't not drown'd i' the last lan? Ha! 
 Wiiat say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was, 
 !nan ? Which is the way ? Is it sad, and few words ? 
 Or how? The trick of it? 
 
 Duke. Still thus, and thus! still worse ! 
 
 Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress ? 
 Procures she still ? Ha ? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, 
 and she is herself in the tub. 
 
 Lucio. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it: it 
 must be so : ever your fresh whore, and your {)0w- 
 der'd bawd: an unshunn'd consequence; it mmi 
 be so : art going to prison, Pompey ? 
 
 Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey : farewell ; 
 go ; say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey ? 
 Or how ? 
 
 Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 
 
 Lucio. Well, then imprison him : if imprisonment 
 be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right : bawd is 
 he, doubtless, and of antiquity too : Ijawd-born.— 
 Farewell, good Pompey : commend me to the prison, 
 Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; 
 you will keep the house. [bail. 
 
 Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my 
 
 Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pon)pey ; it is not 
 the wear. I will pray. Pompey, to increase your 
 bondage : if you take it not patiently, why, your 
 mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless 
 you, friar. 
 
 Duke. And you. 
 
 Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey? Ha? 
 
 Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 
 
 Clo. You will not ba I me then, sir? 
 
 Lucio. Then, Pompey? nor how. — What news 
 abroad, friar ? What news? 
 
 Elb. Come your ways, sHr ; come. 
 
 Lucio. Go, — to kenn*^!, Pompey, go. 
 
 [Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Qfficets. 
 What news, friar, of the duke ? 
 
 Duke. I know none : can you tell me of any? 
 
 Lucio. Some say, he is with the emperor of 
 Russia ; other some, he is in Rome : but where is 
 he, think you ? 
 
 Duke. I know not where but wheresoever, 1 
 wish him well. 
 
 Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to 
 steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was 
 never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his 
 absence : he puts transgression to't. 
 
 Duke. He does well in't. 
 
 Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would cU 
 no harm in him : something too crabbed that way 
 friar. 
 
 6 
 
82 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Di ke. It is too general a vic«., and severity must 
 
 *^^Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 
 kindred ; it is well ally'd : but it is impossible to 
 extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put 
 down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man 
 and woman, after the downright way of creation : is 
 it true, think you ? •, o 
 
 DuK-e. How should he be made, then ; 
 
 Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him : — 
 Some, that he was begot between two stock-hshes : 
 —But it is certain, that when he makes water, las 
 urine is congeal d ice ; that I kno%v Jo be true : and 
 he is a motion ungenerative, that s intalhb e. 
 
 Duke. Yon are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace. 
 
 Lucio. Whv, what a ruthless thing is this in lum, 
 for the rebellion of a cod- piece, to take away the 
 life of a man ? Would the duke, that is absent, have 
 done this ? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the 
 getting a hundred bastards, he w^ould have paid tor 
 the nursing a thousand : he had some teehng ol the 
 sport; he knew the service, and that instructed him 
 to mercy. , , , , , i j 
 
 Duke. I never heard the absent duke much de- 
 tected for women; he was not inclined that way. 
 
 Liccio. O, sir, you are decened. 
 
 Z)M^e. 'Tis not possible. 
 
 Ltwio. Who ? not the duke ? yes, your beggar of 
 fifty ;— and liis use was, to put a ducat in her c ack- 
 disli : tlie duke had crotchets in him : he would be 
 drunk too; that let me inform you. 
 
 Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, 1 was an inward ol his : a shy lellow 
 was the duke : and, I believe, I know the cause of 
 his withdrawing. . , >, r> 
 
 Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause 
 
 Lucio. No —pardon ;— 'tis a secret must be lock d 
 within the teeth and the lips: but this I can let you 
 understand,— The greater tile ot the subject held the 
 d'nke to be wise, . 
 
 Duke. Wise ? why, no question but he was. _ 
 
 Liicio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing 
 fellow. . „ 
 
 Duke. Either this is envy in you, fo ly, or mis- 
 taking ; the very stream of his life, and the business 
 he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give 
 him a better proclamation. Let him be but testi- 
 monCrd in his own bringings forth, and he shall 
 appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman, and 
 a soldier: therefore, you speak unskilfully; or, it 
 your knowledge be more, it is much darken d in 
 your malice. 
 
 L?icio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 
 
 Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and 
 knowledge with dearer love. 
 
 Li'cio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 
 
 Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know 
 not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
 'as our prayers are he mav,) let me desire you to 
 make your answer before him: if it be honest you 
 have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: 1 atn 
 bound to call upon you ; and, I pray you your name 
 
 Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known to the 
 
 ^"j)uke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live 
 to report you. 
 
 Lucto. I fear you not. 
 
 Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more ; 
 or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, 
 mdeed, I can do you little harm : you'll forswear 
 this agaiiu , , , . • 
 
 Lucio. I'll be hang'd first: thou art deceiv d in 
 me, friar. But no more of this : canst thou tell, if 
 Cla'udio die to-morrow, or no ? 
 
 Duke. Why should he die, sir ? 
 
 Lucio. Why? Tor tilling a bottle with a tun-dish. 
 1 would, the duke, we talk of, were returnd a^ain : 
 this uusenitui'd agent will unpeople the province 
 with continency ; sparrows must not build in his 
 bouse-«aves, because they are lecherous. 1 he duke 
 
 yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd ; h« 
 would never bring them to light would he were 
 return'd ! Marry, this Claudio is condemn'd for 
 untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I pr'ythee, pray 
 for me. The duke, 1 say to thee again, would eat 
 mutton on Fridays. He's now past it ; yet, and I 
 say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though 
 she smelt brown bread and garlic : say, that I said 
 so. Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
 Can censure 'scape ; back- wounding calumny 
 The whitest virtue strikes : what king so strong. 
 Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue 
 But who comes here ? 
 Enter EscALUS, Provost, Bawd, and Officers 
 Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 
 Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honour 
 is Hccounted a merciful man: good my lord. 
 
 Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still 
 forfeit in the same kind ? This would make mercy 
 swear, and play the tyrant. 
 
 Prov. A bawd of eleven years continuance, may 
 it please your honour. 
 
 Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information 
 against me : mistress Kate K.eep-down was with 
 child by him in the duke's time, he promised her 
 marriage ; his child is a year and a quarter old, 
 come Philii) and Jacob : I have kept it myself ; and 
 see how he goes about to abuse me. 
 
 Escal. Tiiat fellow is a fellow of much license :— 
 let him be called before us.— Away with her to 
 pris(Ui : go to; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and 
 Ojficers.] Protest, my brother Angelo will not be 
 aiter'd, Claudio must die to-morrow: 1ft him be 
 fiirnish'd with divine?, and have all charitable pre- 
 paration ; if my brother wrought by my pity, it shoiila 
 not be so with him. 
 
 Prov. So please you, this friar hath been witl: 
 him, and advised him for the entertainment of death 
 Escal. Good even, good father. 
 Duke. Bhss and goodness on you ! 
 Esced. Ot whence are you ? 
 
 Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is 
 now 
 
 To use it for my time : I am a brother 
 Of gracious order, late come from the see. 
 In special business from his holiness. 
 
 Escal. What news abroad i' the world? 
 Duke. None; but that there is so gieat a fever on 
 goodness, tliat the dissolution of it must cure it : 
 novelty is onlv in request; and it is as dangerous to 
 be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be 
 constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth 
 enough alive, to make societies secure ; but security 
 enougii, to make fellowships accurs'd : much u|)on 
 this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. '\ his 
 new is old enough, yet it is every day's news. J 
 prav you, sir, of what disposition was the duke ? 
 
 Escal One, that, above all other strifes, ecu 
 tended especially to know himself. 
 
 Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? 
 Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, 
 than merry at any thing which profess'd to make 
 him rejoice : a gentleman of all temperance. But 
 leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may 
 prove prosperous ; and let me desire to know, hoTJ 
 you find Claudio pre. ared. I am made to under- 
 stand, that you have lent him visitation. _ 
 
 Duke. He professes to have received no sinister 
 measures from his judge, but most willingly humbles 
 himself to the determination of justice : yet had he 
 framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, 
 many deceiving promises of life ; which I, by my 
 good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he 
 resolved to die. 
 
 Escal. You have paid the heavens your function, 
 and the prisoner the very debt ot your calling. I 
 have labour'd for the poor gentlemau. to the ex- 
 treU'Mt shore of my modesty ; but my brother justice 
 
Act IV. Scene 2. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to 
 tell hini, he is indeed — justice. 
 
 Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his 
 proceeding, it shall become .lira well ; wherein, if 
 ne chance to fail, he hath se'^cenced hmiself. 
 
 Escal. I am going to visit tiie prisoner : fare 
 you well. 
 
 Duke. Peace be with you ! 
 
 [Exeunt Escalus and Provost. 
 He, who the sword of heaven will bear. 
 Should be as holy as severe ; 
 Pattern in himself to know, 
 Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
 More nor less to others paying, 
 Than by self-otFences weighing. 
 Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
 Kills for faults of his own liking I 
 1 wice treble shame on Angelo, 
 To weed my vice, and let his grow ! 
 0, what may man within him hide. 
 Though angel on the outward side ! 
 How may likeness, made in crimes. 
 Making practice on the times. 
 Draw with idle spiders' strings 
 Most [jond'rous and substantial things ! 
 Craft against vice I must apply: 
 With Angelo to-night shall lie 
 His old betrothed, but despis'd ; 
 So disguise shall, by the disguis'd. 
 Pay with falsehoold false exacting, 
 And perform an old contracting. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Marianas House. 
 Mariana discovered sitting ; a Boy singing. 
 SONG. 
 
 Take, oh take those lips away. 
 
 That so sa eetly ivere forsworn ; 
 And those eyes, the break cf day, 
 
 Lights that do mislead the in^rn : 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 bring again. 
 Seals of love, but seaVd in vain, 
 
 seal din vain. 
 
 Mart. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
 away ; 
 
 Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
 Hath often stiil'd my brawding discontent. — 
 
 [Exit Boy. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish. 
 You had not found iiie here so musical : 
 Let me excuse me, and believe me so, — 
 My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. 
 Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such a 
 charm. 
 
 To make bad, good, and good provoke to harnti. 
 I pray you, tell me, hath any body inqui ed for me 
 here to-day ? much upon this time have I promis'd 
 here to meet. 
 
 Mart. You have not been Inquired after : I have 
 «at here all day. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Duke. I do constantly believe you : — The time is 
 come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance a 
 .ittle : may be, I will call upon you anon, for some 
 advantage to yourself. 
 
 Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. Very well met, and welcome. 
 What is the news from this good deputy ? 
 
 Isab. He hath a garden circuuunur'd with brick, 
 Whose westt^rn side is with a vineyard back'd ; 
 And to that vineyard is a planched gate, 
 Thut makes his opening with this bigger key 
 This other doth comma,^d a little door. 
 
 83 
 
 Which from the vineyard to the garden leads , 
 There have I made my promise to call on him, 
 Upon the heavy middle of the night. (way ? 
 
 Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find thii 
 
 Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upout; 
 With whispering and most'guilty diligence. 
 In action all of precept he did show me 
 The way twice o'er. 
 
 Duke. Are th^re no other tokens 
 
 Between you 'greed, concerning her observance ? 
 
 Isab. No, none, but cnly a repair i' the dark; 
 And that I have possessed him, my most stay 
 Can be but brief: for I have made him know, 
 I have a servant comes with me along. 
 That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is, 
 I come about my brother. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis well borue 
 
 I have nut yet made known to Mariana 
 A word oi'this : — What, ho ! within ! come forth ! 
 
 Re-enter Mariana. 
 
 I pray you be acquainted with this maid; 
 Slie comes to do you good. 
 
 Isab. I do desire the likt. 
 
 Duke. Do you persuade yourself, that I respect 
 you ! [found it. 
 
 Mari. Good friar, I know you do, and have 
 
 Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand, 
 W ho hath a story ready for your ear: 
 I shall attend your leisure ; but make haste ; 
 The vaporous night approaclies. 
 
 Mari. VV^iirt please you walk aside? 
 
 [Exeunt Mariana and Isabella, 
 
 Duke. O place and srrealness. uiillKuis oi' lalse 
 Are struck upon thee ! volumes of report [eyea 
 Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
 Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes of wit 
 Make thee the father of their idle di eam. 
 And rack thee in their fancies! — Welcome! How 
 agreed ? 
 
 Re-enter Mariana and Isabellj^. 
 
 Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon hei"> father, 
 If you advise it. 
 
 Duke. It is not my consent. 
 
 But my entreaty too. 
 
 Isab. Little have you to say. 
 
 When you depart from \v"\ but, soft and Lm, 
 Remember now my bra 
 
 Mari. Pear me not. 
 
 Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, I'ear you not at all ] 
 He is your husband on a pre-contract : 
 To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin ; 
 Sith that the justice of your title to him 
 Doth tlt)unsh the deceit. Come, let us go; 
 Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in the Prison. 
 
 Enter Provost and Clown. 
 
 Prov. Come hither, sirrah : can you cut ofT a 
 man's head ? 
 
 Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can : but if he 
 be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I can 
 never cut off a woman's Iiead. 
 
 Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and 
 yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are 
 to die Claudio and Barnardine : here is in our pri- 
 son a common executioner, who in his office lacks a 
 helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it 
 shall redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall 
 have your full time of imprisonment, and your de- 
 liverance with an unpitied whippping ; for you have 
 been a notorious bawd, 
 
 Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, timeout 
 of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a lawful 
 hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruc- 
 tion from my fellow partner. [the 
 
 Prov. What ho. Abhorson ! Where's Abihci3on^ 
 
84 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Enier Abhorson. 
 Abhor. Do you call, sir? 
 
 Frov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to- 
 tnorrow in your execution : if you think it meet, 
 compound with hini by the year, and let him abide 
 liere with you; if not, use him for the present, and 
 'lisiuiss him : he cannot plead his estimation with 
 you ; he hath been a bawd. 
 
 Abhor. A bawd, sir ? Fy upon him, he will dis- 
 credit our mystery. 
 
 Prov. Go' to, sir ; yoa weigh equally ; a feather 
 will turn the scale. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely, 
 ?ir, a good favour you have, but that you have a 
 hauging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a 
 mystery? 
 
 Abhor. Ah, sir, a mystery. 
 
 6Vo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery ; 
 and your whores, sir, being members of mj occu- 
 pation, using painting, do prove my occupation a 
 mystery: but what mystery there should be in 
 hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. 
 
 Abr'f>^. Sir, it is a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Prooi'. 
 
 Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief : 
 rf it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks 
 it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your 
 thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's 
 aijparel fits your thief. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Prov. Are you agreed ? 
 
 (Jlo. Sir, I will serve him; fori do find, your 
 liangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd ; 
 ke doth oftener ask forgiveness. 
 
 Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
 axe, to-morrow, four o'clock. 
 
 Abhor. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in my 
 trade ; follow. 
 
 Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and I hope, if you 
 have occasion to use me for your own turn, you 
 shall find me yare : ior, truly, sir, for your kindness, 
 1 owe you a good turn. 
 
 Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : 
 
 [Exeunt Clown and Abhorson. 
 O* e has my pity ; not a jot the other, 
 Bt .'ng a murderer, though he were my brother. 
 
 Enter Claudio. 
 Look,here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : 
 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 
 Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnar- 
 dine''' [labour 
 
 Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless 
 When it lies starkly in the travellers bones : 
 He will not wake. 
 
 Prov. Who can do good on him ? 
 
 Well, gj' prepare yourself. But hark, what noise ? 
 
 [Knocking within.) 
 Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit Claudio. 
 
 By and by : — 
 1 hope it is some pardon, or reprieve, 
 For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the 
 night [late ? 
 
 Envelop you, good provost ! Whc jailed here of 
 Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 
 Duke. Not Isabel ? 
 
 Prov. No. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 They wiH then, ere't be long. 
 
 Prov What comfort is for Claudio ? 
 
 Duke. Tiiere's some in hope. 
 
 Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 
 
 Duke. Not so, not so ; his 'ife is par^tllel'd 
 Even with fciie stroke and line ui" his great justice ; 
 He doth witli holy abstinence subdue 
 That in himself, which he spurs on his power 
 To qualify in others : were lie iiieal'd [nous; 
 With that which he corrects, then were he tyrau 
 
 Jut this being so, he's just.— Now are they come.— 
 [Knock within. — Provost yoes out. 
 This is a gentle provost: seldom, when 
 The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. — 
 How now ? What noise ? That spirit's possess 
 
 with haste, [strokes. 
 That wounds the unsisting postern with these 
 
 Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. 
 
 Prov. There he must stay, until the officer 
 Arise to let him in ; he is call'd up. 
 
 Duke'. Have you no countermand for Ciandio yet 
 But he must die to-morrow ? 
 
 Prov. None, sir, none, 
 
 Duke. As near the dawning. Provost, as it is, 
 Yon shall hear more ere morning. 
 
 Prov. Happily, 
 You something know; yet, I believe, there comes 
 No counterm'and ; no such example have we : 
 Besides, upon the very siege of justice. 
 Lord Angelc hath to the public ear 
 Prol'ess'd the contrary. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 
 Duke.T\i\s is his lordship's man. 
 
 Prov. And here comes Claudio'j pardon. 
 
 Me^s. My lord hath sent yon this note : and by 
 me tliis further charge, that you svverve not from 
 the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, uoi 
 other circumstance. Good-morrow ; for, as I ti'ke 
 it, it is almost day. 
 
 Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messev<jer 
 
 Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sm 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 For which the pardoner himself is in : 
 
 Hence hath offence his quick c-elerity, 
 
 When it is borne in high authority : 
 
 When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended. 
 
 That for the fault's love, is the ofiender I'riended — 
 
 Now, sir, what news ? 
 
 Prov. 1 told you : lord Angelo, belike, tiiinkiu 
 me remiss in mine office, awakens me with th^ 
 unwonted putting on : niethinks, strangely ; for u 
 hatfi not used it before. 
 
 Duke. Pray you. let's hear. 
 
 Prov. [Reads.) Whatsoever yon may hear to t/i& 
 contrary, let Claudio be executed by Jour of the 
 clock ; and, in the afternoon, Barnardine : for my 
 better satisfaction. Let me Jtave Claudio s /t(r adsent 
 me by five. Let thisbedulyperform' d; with a thought 
 that more depends on it than tve must yet deliver. 
 Thus fail not to do your o£ice, as you ivill answ r 
 it at your peril. — What say you to this, sir ? 
 
 Duke. What is that BarnarJine, who is to be ex 
 cuted in the afternoon ? 
 
 Prov. A Bohemian born; but here nursed up fwid 
 bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old. 
 
 Duke. How came it, that the absent duke had not 
 either deliver d him to his liberty, or executed him ? 
 I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so. 
 
 Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him . 
 and, indeed, his fact, till now in the government o 
 lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. 
 
 Duke. Is it now apparent ? 
 
 Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. 
 
 Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in pri- 
 How seems he to be touch'd ? [son 
 
 Prov. A man that apprehends death no mor 
 dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep; careless, reck- 
 less, and fearless of what s past, present, or to cooii* , 
 insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 
 
 Duke. He wants advice. 
 
 Prov. He will hear none : he hath evermore hail 
 the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape 
 hence, he would not ; drunk many times a day, if not 
 many days entirely drunk. We have very often 
 awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and 
 showed him a seeming warrant for it : it hath not 
 moved him at all. 
 
 Duke. More of him anon. There is written in 
 your brow, Provost, hone^ity and r.oustancy : if 1 
 
Scene 3. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 read it not truly, my ancient skill begnilos me ; but 
 in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in 
 hazard. Claudio, whom here you have a warrant to 
 eiecute, is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo, 
 who hath sentenced hrm : to make you understand 
 this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days 
 respite ; for the which you ate to do me both a pre- 
 «e;it and a dangerous courtesy. 
 
 Prov. Pray, sir, in what ? 
 
 Duke. In the delaying death. 
 
 Prov. Alack! how may I do it? having the hour 
 lintited ; and an express command, under penalty, 
 to deliver his head in the view ol" Angelo . 1 may 
 make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the 
 smallest. 
 
 Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, 
 if my instructions may be your guide. Let this 
 Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head 
 borne to Angelo. 
 
 Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis- 
 cover the favour. 
 
 Duke. O, death's a great disguiser: and you may 
 add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; and 
 say, it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared 
 before his death : you know, the course is com- 
 mon. If any thing fall to you upon this, more than 
 thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I pro- 
 fess, [ will plead against it with my life. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, good father ; it is against my 
 oath. [ deputy ? 
 
 Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the 
 
 Prov. To him and to his substitutes. 
 
 Duke. You will think you have made no offence, 
 'f the duke avouch the justice of your dealing? 
 
 Prov. But what likelihood is in that ? 
 
 Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 
 since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, inte- 
 grity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt you, 
 1 will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out 
 of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of 
 the duke. You know the character, 1 doubt not ; 
 and the signet is not strange to you. 
 
 Prov. i know them both. 
 
 Duke. The contents of this is the return of t<he 
 duke; you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; 
 where you shall find, within these two days he will 
 be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not : 
 fi)r he this very day receives letters of strange tenor ; 
 pt^rchance, of the duke's death; perchance, enter- 
 ing into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing 
 of what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up 
 the shepherd : put not yourself into amazement, 
 how these things should be : all ditliculties are but 
 «asy when they are known. Call your execu- 
 tioner, and off with Bernardine's head: I will give 
 him a present shrift, and advise him for a bet- 
 ter place. Yet yuu are amazed; but this shall ab- 
 solutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost 
 clear dawn. [Exeunt. 
 Scene III. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Clown. 
 fUo. I am as well acquainted here as I was in 
 our house of profession : one would think, it were 
 mistress Over done's own house, for here be many 
 of her old customers. First, here's young master 
 Rash ; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and 
 old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds ; of 
 which he made five marks, ready money : marry, 
 the ginger was not much in recjuest, for the old 
 women were all dead. Then is there here one 
 master Caper, at the suit of master Three- |>ile the 
 Tiercer, for some four suits of peach coloured satin, 
 which now peaches him a beggar, 'i'hen have we 
 ere young Dizy, and young master De-.-p-vow, and 
 master Coppt-r-spur, and master Starve-lackey the 
 lapier and dagger-man, and young Drup-heir that 
 «iiird lusty Pudding, and master Forthright the 
 tilter, and brave master Shoe-tie the great traveller, 
 aii'i wild Half-can that stabb'd Pots, und, I think, 
 
 85 
 
 forty more ; all great doers in our trade, and are 
 now for the Lord" s sake. 
 
 Enter Abhorson. 
 
 Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 
 
 Clo. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be 
 hang'd, master Barnardine ! 
 
 Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine ! 
 
 Barnar. {Within.) A pox o' your throats! Wlis 
 makes that noise there ? What are you? 
 
 Clo. Your friends, sir; the hangman: you must 
 be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 
 
 Barnar. {^T ithin.) Away, you rogue, away; I 
 am sleepy. 
 
 Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly 
 too. 
 
 Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are 
 executed, and sleep afterwards. 
 
 Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch liim out. 
 
 Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming ; I hear his 
 straw rustle. 
 
 Enter Barnardine. 
 
 Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? 
 Clo. Very ready, sir, 
 
 Barnar. How now, Abhorson ? what's the news 
 with you ? 
 
 Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into 
 your prayers ; for, look you, the warrant's come. 
 
 Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all 
 night, I am not fitted for't. 
 
 Clo. O, the belter, sir ; for he that drinks all night, 
 and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the 
 sounder all the next day. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly 
 father : do we jest now, think you ? 
 
 Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
 how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise 
 you, comfort you, and pray with you. 
 
 Barnar. Friar, not 1 ; I have been drinking 
 hard all night, and I will have more time to pre- 
 pare me, or they shall beat out my brains with 
 billets : I will not consent to die this day, that's 
 certain, [you, 
 
 Duke. O, sir, you must : and therefore, I beseech 
 look forward on the journey you shall go, 
 
 Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any 
 man's persuasion. 
 
 Duke.. But hear you, — 
 
 Barnar. Not a word ; if you have any thing to 
 say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will not I 
 to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Provost. 
 
 Duke. Unfit to live, or die : O, gravel heart! — 
 After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 
 
 [Exeunt Abhorson and Clown, 
 
 Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? 
 
 Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death; 
 And, to transport him in the mind he is. 
 Were damnable. 
 
 Prov. Here in the prison, faihe» 
 
 There died this morning of a cruel fever 
 One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, 
 A man of Claudio's years; his beard, and head. 
 Just of his colour : what if we do omit 
 This reprobate, till he were well inclined ; 
 And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
 Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? 
 
 Duke. 'O, 'tis an accident that heaven urovideil 
 Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
 Prerix'd by Angelo : see, this be done. 
 And sent according to command ; whiles I 
 Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 
 
 Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
 But Barnardine must die this afternoon : 
 And how shall we continue Clandio, 
 To save me from the danger that might comfe 
 
8e 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act rV, 
 
 ir he were known alive? [holds, 
 
 Duke. Let this be done ; — Put them u secret 
 Both Barnardine and Ciaudio : ere twice 
 rise sun hath made his journal greeting to 
 The under generation, you shall find 
 Your salety manifested. 
 
 Prov. 1 am your free dependent. 
 
 Duke. Quick, despatch 
 
 And semi the head to Angelo. [Exit Provost. 
 Kow will I write letters to Angelo, — 
 
 The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents 
 
 Shall witness to him, I am near at home ; 
 And that, by great injunctions, 1 am bound 
 To enter publicly: him I'll desire 
 '^"o meet me at the consecrated fount, 
 A. league below the city ; and from thence. 
 By cold gradation and weal-balanced form. 
 We shall proceed with Angelo. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Prov. Here is tlie head ; I'll carry it myself, 
 
 Duke. Convenient is it : make a swift return ; 
 For I would commune with you of such things, 
 That want no ear but yours. 
 
 Prov. _ I'll make all speed. [.E.vit, 
 
 Isab. [WithiJi.) Peace, ho, be here ! 
 
 Duke. The tongue of Isabel ; — she's come tc 
 know. 
 
 If yet her brother's pardon be come hither : 
 But I will keep her ignorant of her good. 
 To make her heavenly comforts of despair. 
 When it is least expected. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 Isab. Ho, by your leave. 
 
 Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 
 daughter. 
 
 Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
 Ilith yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? 
 
 Duke He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the 
 His head is off, and sent to Angelo. [world : 
 
 Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 
 
 Du1c». It is no other : 
 
 Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. 
 
 [sab. 0, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. 
 
 Isab. Unhappy Ciaudio ! Wretched Isabel ! 
 Injurious world ! Most damned Angelo ! 
 
 Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot : 
 Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
 Mark what I say ; which you shall find 
 By every syllable, a faithful verity : [eyes ; 
 
 The duke comes home to-morrow ; — nay, dry your 
 One ol our convent, and his confessor, 
 Gives me this instance : already he hath carried 
 Notice to Escalus and Angelo; 
 Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, 
 There to give up their power. II' you can, pace 
 
 your wisdom 
 In that good path that I would wish it go ; 
 And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, 
 Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart. 
 And general honour. 
 
 isab. I am directed by you. 
 
 Duke. This letter then to friar Peter give ; 
 'TIS that he sent me of the duke's return : 
 Say, by this token, I desire his company 
 At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours, 
 ril perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you 
 Before the duke ; and to the head of Angelo 
 Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self, 
 I am combined by a sacred vow. 
 And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter : 
 Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
 With a light heart ; trust not my holy order. 
 If 1 pervert your course. — Who's here ? 
 
 l^ter Lucio. 
 Lucio. Good even! 
 
 Friar, where is the provost ? 
 Puke. Not within, sir. 
 
 Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mm« 
 heart, to see thine eyes so red : thou must be pa 
 tient : 1 am fain to dine and sup with water and 
 bran; I dare net for my head fill my belly, one 
 fruitful meal would set me t» "t : but they saj the 
 duke will be here to monow. By my troth, Isabel, 
 I lov'd thy brother: if the old fantastical duke o 
 dark corners had been at home, he had lived. 
 
 [Exit IsabellA 
 
 Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholde 
 to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them 
 
 Jjucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so wel 
 as I do : he's a better woodman than thou takest 
 him for. 
 
 Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare 
 ye well. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, tan-y; I'll go along with thee ; I can 
 tell thee pretty tales of the du^e. 
 
 Duke. You have told me too many of him al- 
 ready, sir, if they be true; if not true, none were 
 enough. 
 
 Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench 
 with child. 
 
 Duke. Did you such a thing? 
 
 Lucio. Yes, marry, did I : but was fain to for- 
 swear it ; they would else have married me to the 
 rotten medlar. 
 
 Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest : 
 rest you well. 
 
 Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the 
 lane's end : if bawdy talk oflend you, we'll have 
 very little of it: nay, friar, I am a kind of bur, I 
 shall stick. [Exeunt. 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Angela's House. 
 Enter Angelo and Escalus. 
 
 Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd 
 other. 
 
 Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
 His actions show much like to madness: pray hea 
 ven, his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet hiic 
 at the gates, and re-deliver our authorities there? 
 
 Escal. I guess not. 
 
 A?ig. And why should we proclaim it in an hour 
 before his entering, that if any crave redress of in- 
 justice, they shoidd exhibit their petitions in the 
 street ? 
 
 Escal. He shows his reason for that, to have a 
 despatch of complaints ; and to deliver us from de- 
 vices hereafter, which shall then have no power Ic 
 stand against us. 
 
 Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd 
 Betimes i' the morn, I'll call you at your house : 
 Give notice to such men of sort and suit. 
 As are to meet him. 
 
 Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well. {Exit 
 
 Ang. Good night. — 
 This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnaut 
 And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
 And by an eminent body, that enforc'd 
 The law against it ! — But that her tender shame 
 Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, [no 
 How might she tongue me ? Yet reason dares her?— 
 For my authority bears a credent bulk. 
 That no particular scandal once can touch. 
 But it confounds the breather, fie should have liv'd. 
 Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense. 
 Might, in the limes to come, have ta'en revenge. 
 By so receiving a dishonour'd life, [liv'd 
 VVith ransom of such shame. 'Would yet he had 
 Alack, when once our grace we have forgot. 
 Nothing goes right : we would, and we would not 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene Y. — Fields without the Totvn. 
 Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. 
 Duke. These letters at fittmie deliver me. 
 
 [Giving letiertt 
 The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. 
 The matter being afoot, keep your instruction. 
 And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
 
Act y. Scene 1. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 87 
 
 Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, 
 As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavins' house, 
 And tell him where 1 stay : give the like notice 
 To Valentiniis, Rowland, and to Crassiis, 
 And bid tliem bring the trumpets to the gate; 
 But send me Flavius first. 
 
 F. Peter. It shall be speeded well. 
 
 [.Exit Friar. 
 
 Enter Varrius. 
 
 Duke. 1 thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made 
 good haste : 
 
 Come, we will walk : there's other of our friends 
 Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene Yl.Street near the City Gate. 
 Fmter Isabella and Mariana. 
 
 Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath ; 
 A would say the truth ; but to accuse him so, 
 That is your part: yet I'm advis'd to do it; 
 He says, to veil full purpose. 
 
 Mari. Be rul'd by him. 
 
 Isab. Besides, he tells me, that, if peradventu.e 
 He speak against me on the adverse side, 
 I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic. 
 That's bitter to sweet end. 
 
 Mari. 1 would, friar Peter — 
 
 Isab. O, peace ; the friar is come. 
 
 Enter Friar Peter. 
 F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand 
 most fit, 
 
 W^here you may have such vantage on the duke. 
 He shall not pass you : twice have the trumpets 
 
 sounded ; 
 The generous and gravest citizens 
 Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
 The duke is ent'ring ; therefore hence, away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — A public Place near the City Gate. 
 Marl4NA {veiled), Isabella, and Peter, at a dis- 
 tance. Enter at opjiosite doors, Duke, Varrius, 
 Lords; Angelo, Escalus, Lucio^ Provost, 
 Officers, and Citizens. 
 
 Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met: — 
 Our old and iaithful friend, we are glad to see you. 
 Anfj. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal 
 
 grace I 
 
 Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
 We have made inquiry ot you ; and we hear 
 Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 
 Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, 
 Foreruiming more requital. 
 
 Ang. You make my bonds still greater. 
 
 Duke. O, your desert speaks loud ; and I should 
 wrong it. 
 
 To lock it in the wards of covert bosom. 
 When it deserves with characters of brass 
 A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time 
 And razure of oblivion: give me your hand, 
 And let the subject see, to make them know 
 That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
 Favours tliat keep within. — Come, Escalus; 
 You must walk by us on our other hand ; — 
 And good supporters are you. 
 
 Peter and Isabella come f )rward. 
 
 F Peter. Now is your time ; speak loud, and 
 kneel before him. 
 
 liob. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail your regard 
 Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have said, a maid ! 
 O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye 
 By throwing it on any other object, 
 Till you have heard me in my true complaint, 
 And given me, justice, justice, justice, justice ! 
 
 Duke. Relate your wrongs : in what ? By whom ? 
 Be brief: 
 
 Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice : 
 Reveal yourself to him. 
 
 Isab. O, worthy duke. 
 
 You bid me seek redemption of the devil 
 Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak 
 Must either punish me, not being believ'd. 
 Or wring redress from you : hear me, O, hear lae, 
 here. 
 
 Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm 
 She hath been a suitor to me for her brother. 
 Cut off by course of justice ! 
 
 Isab. , By course of justice 
 
 Ang. And she will speak most bitterly, and 
 strange. [speak . 
 
 Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I 
 That Angelo's forsworn ; is it not strange ? 
 That Angelo's a murderer; is't net strange? 
 That Angelo is an adult'rous thief. 
 An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; 
 Is it not strange, and strange ? 
 
 Duke. Nay, ten times strange 
 
 Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo, 
 Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
 Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth 
 To the end of reckoning. 
 
 Duke. Away with her : — Poor soul, 
 
 She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. 
 
 Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st 
 There is another comfort than this world. 
 That thou neglect me not, with that opinion 
 That I am touch'd with madness; make not im 
 possible 
 
 That which but seems unlike : 'tis not impossible. 
 
 But one, the wicked'st caititfon tb^ ground. 
 
 May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute. 
 
 As Angelo ; even so may Angefo, 
 
 In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms. 
 
 Be an arch-villain ; believe it, royal prince. 
 
 If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, 
 
 Had I more name for badness. 
 
 Duke. By mine hone st^ 
 
 If she be mad, (as I believe no other,) 
 Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, 
 Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
 As e'er I heard in madness. 
 
 Isab. O, gracious duke 
 
 Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason 
 For inequality: but let your reason- serve 
 To make the truth appear, where it seems hid ; 
 And hide the false, seems true. 
 
 Duke. Many that are not mad 
 
 Have, sure, more lack of reason. What woulc* 
 you say ? 
 
 Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, 
 Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 
 To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo : 
 I, in probation of a sistei'^ood, 
 W^as sent to by my brother ; one Lucio 
 Was then the messenger; — 
 
 Lucio. That's I, an't like your grac^ 
 
 1 came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her 
 To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, 
 For her poor brother's pa i don. 
 
 Isab. That's he, indeed. 
 
 Duke. You were not bid to speak. 
 
 Lucio. No, my good lord 
 
 Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 
 
 Duke. I wish you now Ihen 
 
 Pray you, take note of it: and when you have 
 A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then 
 Be perfect. 
 
 Lncto^ I warrant your honour. 
 
 Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take hesd to it 
 
 Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my taje 
 
 Lucio. Right, 
 
 Duke. It may be right; but you are in the wrODJi 
 To speak before your time. — Proceed. 
 
 IsaJb. I we5!| 
 
 To tL s pernicious caitiff deputy. 
 
 Z>j. t That's somewhat madly apoken. 
 
88 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act v. 
 
 Isab. Pardon it ; 
 
 The phrase is to the matter. 
 
 Duke. Mended again: the matter; — Proceed. 
 
 Isab. In brief, — to set th.e needless process by, 
 How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, 
 Uovv he refell'd me, and how I reply'd 
 'For this was ot iauch length,) the vile conclusion 
 { now begin with grief and shame to utter: 
 He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 
 To his concupiscible intemperate lust, 
 Kelease my brother; and, after much debatement, 
 My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour. 
 And I did yield to him : but the next morn betimes, 
 His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
 For my poor brothei-'s head. 
 
 Duke. This is most likely! 
 
 Isab. O that it were as like as it is true ! 
 
 Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not 
 what thou sp-v?ak'st ; 
 Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour. 
 In hateful practice: first, his integrity 
 (Stands without blemish : — next, it imports no reason. 
 That with such vehemency he should pursue 
 Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended. 
 He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, 
 And not have cut him off": sonie one hath set you on ; 
 Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
 Thou cam'st here to complain. 
 
 Isab. And is this all ? 
 
 Tlien, t)h, you blessed ministers above. 
 Keep me in patience ; and, with ripen'd time. 
 Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
 In countenance! — Heaven shield your grace from 
 woe, 
 
 As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! 
 
 Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone : — An officer! 
 To prison with her: — Shall we thus permit 
 A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
 On liim so near us? This needs must be a practice. 
 Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? 
 
 Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodo- 
 wick. 
 
 Duke. A ghostly father, belike : — Who knows 
 
 that Lodowick ? 
 Lucio. My lord, I know him ; 'tis a meddling 
 
 friar ; 
 
 1 do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord. 
 For certain words he spake against your grace 
 In your retirement, 1 had swing'd him soundly. 
 Duke. Words against me ? This' a good friar, 
 belike I 
 
 And to set on this wretched woman here 
 Against our substitule ! — Let this friar be found. 
 
 Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that 
 1 saw them at the prison: a saucy friai, [friar 
 A very scurvy fellow. 
 
 F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace ! 
 
 I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
 Your royal ear abus'd : first, hath this woman 
 Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute ; 
 Who is as free from touch or soil with her, 
 As siie from one ungot. 
 
 Duke. We did believe no less. 
 
 Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? 
 
 F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy ; 
 Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, 
 As he's reported by tliis gentleman ; 
 And, on uiy trust, a man that never yet 
 Did. as he voucliea, misreport your grace. 
 
 Luoto. My lord, most villanously; believe it 
 
 F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear 
 himself; 
 
 But at this instant he is sick, my lord. 
 
 Of a strange fever : upon his mere request, 
 
 (Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
 
 Intended "gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither. 
 
 To speak, as frouj his mouth, what he doth know 
 
 l"? true, and false ; and what he with his oath, 
 
 And all probation, will make up full clear, [man, 
 
 Whensoever he's ",oi vented. First, for this wo- 
 
 (To justify this worthy nobleman, 
 So vulgarly and personally accus'd,) 
 Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes. 
 Till she herself confess it. 
 
 Duke. Good friar, let's bear it 
 
 [Isabella is carried off", yuardedi 
 Mariana comes forward.) 
 Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ? — 
 
 0 heaven.' the vanity of wretched fools!— 
 Give us some seats. — Come, cou.siu Angelc \ 
 In this rU be impartial ; be you judge 
 
 or your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar? 
 Fir st, let her show he- face ; and, after, speak. 
 
 Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face, 
 Until my husband bid me. 
 
 Duke. What, are you married ? 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Are yon a maid? 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke. A widow, then ? 
 
 Mari. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Why, you 
 
 Are nothing then : — Neither maid, widow, nor wife? 
 
 Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk j for many 
 of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 
 
 Duke. Silence that fellow: 1 would, he had some 
 To prattle for himself. [cause 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. 
 
 Mari. My lord, I do confess 1 ne'er was married; 
 And, I confess, besides, I am no maid : 
 
 1 have known my husband; yet my husband knows 
 That ever he knew me. [not, 
 
 Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be 
 no better. 
 
 Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou 
 wert so too. 
 
 Lucio Well, my lord. 
 
 Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. 
 
 Mari. Now I come to't, my lord : 
 She, that accuses him of iornication. 
 In self-same manner doth accuse my husband; 
 And charges him, my lord, with such a time. 
 When I'll depose 1 had him in mine arms. 
 With all the effect of love. 
 
 Ang. Charges she more than me ? 
 
 Mari. Not that I know. 
 
 Duke. No ? you say, your husband. 
 
 Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
 Who thinks, lie knows, that he ne'er knew iiiy body, 
 But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. 
 
 Ang. This is a strange abuse : — Let's see thy 
 face. 
 
 Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask 
 
 ( Unveiling.) 
 
 This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, [on* 
 Which, once thou swor'st, was worth (he looking 
 'i'liis is the hand, which, with a vow"d contract. 
 Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body» 
 That took away the match from Isabel, 
 And did supply thee at thy garden-house 
 In her imagin'd person. 
 
 Duke. Know you this woman ? 
 
 Lucio. Carnally, she says. 
 
 Duke. Sirrah, no more. 
 
 Lucio. Enough, my lord. 
 
 Ang. My lord, I must confess, 1 know this 
 woman ; 
 
 And, five years since, there was some speech o/ 
 marriage 
 
 Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off. 
 
 Partly, for that her promised proportions 
 
 Came short of composition; but, in chief. 
 
 For that her reputation was disvalued 
 
 In levity : since which time, of five years, 
 
 I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her 
 
 Upon my faith and honour. 
 
 Mari. Noble prince, 
 
 As there comes light from heaven, and vvoi ds from 
 breath. 
 
 As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue. 
 
Scene X 
 
 I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly 
 
 As words could raake up vows : and my good lord, 
 
 But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house. 
 
 He knew me as a wife : as this is true 
 
 Let me in safety raise me from my knees ^ 
 
 Or else for ever be confixed here, 
 
 A marble monument! 
 
 Ang. I did but smile till now ; 
 
 Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ; 
 My patience here is touch'd : I do perceive. 
 These poor informal women ar** no more 
 But instruments of some more mightier member, 
 That sets them on : let me have way, my lord. 
 To find this practice out. 
 
 Duke. Ay, with my heart ; 
 
 And punish them unto your height of pleasure. — 
 Thou foolish friar; and thou ptrnicious woman. 
 Compact with her that's gone ! think'st thou, thy 
 oaths, [saint. 
 Though they would swear down each particular 
 Were testimonies against his worth and credit. 
 That's seal'd in approbation ?— You, lord Escalus, 
 Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
 To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd. — 
 There is another ft iar that set them on ; 
 Let him be sent for. 
 
 F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord : for he, 
 indeed. 
 
 Hath set tlie women on this complaint : 
 
 Vour provost knows the place where he abides. 
 
 And he may fetch him. 
 
 Duke. Go, do it instantly. — [Exit Provost. 
 And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin. 
 Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
 Do with your injuries as seems you best. 
 In any chastisement . I for a while 
 Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have well 
 Determined upon these slanderers. 
 
 Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly. — [Exit 
 Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew 
 that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest |)erson ? 
 
 Lucio. Cucullus nonfacit monachum : honest in 
 nothing, but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke 
 most villanous speeches of the duke. 
 
 Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he 
 come, and enforce tht-m against him: we shall find 
 this friar a notable fellow. 
 
 Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 
 
 Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again; 
 [To an Attendant.) I would speak \yith her: pray 
 you, my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall 
 see how I'll handle her. 
 
 Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. 
 
 Escal. Say you ? 
 
 Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her 
 privately, she would sooner confess; perchance, 
 publicly she'll be ashamed. 
 
 Re-enter Officers with Isabella ; the Duke in 
 the Friar's habit, and Provost. 
 
 Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 
 
 Lucio. That's the way; for women are light at 
 midnight. 
 
 Escal. Come on, mistress: (To Isahella.) here's 
 a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 
 
 Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke 
 fif ; here, with the provost. 
 
 Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to him 
 we call upon you. 
 
 Lucio. Mum. 
 
 Escal. Come, sir: did you set these women on 
 « slander lord Angelo? they have confess'd you 
 Duke. 'Tis false. [did. 
 Escal. Huw ! know you where you are ? 
 Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let the 
 devil 
 
 Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne : — 
 Where is the duke ? 'tis he should hear me speak. 
 
 Escal. The duke's in us; and we will hear you 
 Look, j'ou speak justly. [speak : 
 
 89 
 
 Duke. Boldly, at least: — But, O, poorsoul% 
 
 Come you to seek the Ian b here of the fox ? 
 
 Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone? 
 
 'J'hen is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust 
 
 ^riius to retort your manifest appeal, 
 
 And put your trial in the villain's mouth. 
 
 Which "here you come to accuse. 
 Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of 
 Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd 
 friar ! 
 
 1s t not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women 
 To accuse this worthy man; but, in foul moutK, 
 And in the witness of his proper ear. 
 To call him villain ? 
 
 And then to glance from him to the duke himself J 
 To tax him with injustice ? Take him hence ; 
 To the rack with him : — We'll touze you joint by 
 joint. 
 
 But we will know this purpose . — What ! unjust? 
 
 Duke. Be not so hot; the duke 
 Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he 
 Dare rack his own ; his subject am I not. 
 Nor here provincial : my business in this state 
 Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
 Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble. 
 Till it o'er-run the stew : laws, ior all faults ; 
 But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes 
 Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop. 
 As much in mock as mark. 
 
 Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to 
 prison. 
 
 Ang. What can you vouch against him, signior 
 Lucio ? 
 
 Is this the man that you did tell us of ? 
 
 Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. — Come hither, goodraan 
 bald pate : do you know me ? 
 
 Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of youi 
 voice : I met you at the prison, in the absence of 
 the duke. 
 
 Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remember 
 what vou said of the duke ? 
 Duke. Most notedly, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Do you so, sir ? And was the duke a 
 flesh-monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then re- 
 ported him to be ? 
 
 Duke. You must, .sir, change persons with me, 
 ere you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke 
 so of him ; and much more, nuich worse. 
 
 Lucio. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck 
 thee by the nose, for thy speeches ? 
 
 Duke. I protest I love the duke, as I love my- 
 self 
 
 Ang. Hark; how the villain would close now, 
 after his treasonable abuses. 
 
 Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal:— 
 away with him to pri.son : — where is the provost? — 
 — away with him to prison; lay bolts enough upon 
 him : let him speak no more : — away with those 
 giglots too, and with the other confederate com- 
 panion. {The Provost lays hands on the Duke.) 
 
 Duke. Stay, sir; stay awhile. 
 
 Ang. What I resists he ? Help him, Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir ; come, sir ; fob, sir: 
 why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be 
 hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage, with 
 a pox to you . show your sheep-biting face, and be 
 hang d an hour ! Will't not off? [Duke.) 
 {Pulls off the Friar's hood, ana discovers the 
 
 Duke. Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a 
 duke. — 
 
 First, provost, let me bail these gentle three;— 
 Sneak not away, sir ; {tp Lucio.) for the Iriar and voa 
 Must have a word anon: — lay hold on him. 
 
 Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 
 
 Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit yott 
 down. — {To Escahia ^ 
 
 We'll borrow place oi him.— Sir, by your leave : 
 
 {To Angela^ 
 Hast thou or word, or wit, or imj «. lence. 
 That yet can do thee office ? If tl, i hast 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
90 
 
 Rely upon it tul my tale be heard, 
 And hold no longer out. 
 
 Ang. O my dread lord, 
 
 I sliould be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
 To think I can be undiscernible, 
 When I perceive, your grace, like power divine. 
 Hath look'd upon my passes : then, good prince, 
 No longer session hold upon my shame. 
 But let my trial be mine own confession ; 
 Immediate sentence then, and sequent death. 
 Is all the grace I beg. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Mariana : — 
 
 Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? 
 
 Ang. I was, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her in- 
 stantly. — 
 
 Do you the office, friar; which consummate, 
 Return him here again : — Go with him, provost. 
 
 [Exeunt Angela, Mariajia, Peter and Provost. 
 
 Escal. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dis- 
 honour. 
 
 Than at the strangeness of it. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Isabel: 
 
 Your friar is now your prince : as I was then 
 Advertising, and holy to your businesa. 
 Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
 Attorney'd at your service. 
 
 Ls-ah. O, give me pardon. 
 
 That 1, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
 Vour unknown sovereignty. 
 
 Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel : 
 
 And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
 Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; 
 And you may marvel, whj I obscur'd myself, 
 Labouring to save his life; and would not rather 
 Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power. 
 Than let him so be lost : O, most kind maid. 
 It was tlie swift celerity of his death. 
 Which I did think witli slower foot came on. 
 That brain'd my purpose : but, peace be with him ! 
 Hiat life is better life, past fearing death. 
 Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort, 
 So happy is your brother. 
 
 Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 
 Isab. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. For this new- married man, approaching 
 here. 
 
 Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd 
 Your well-defended honour, you must pardon 
 For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudged your 
 brother, 
 
 (Being criminal, in double violation 
 Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach, 
 Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,) 
 The very mercy of the law cries out 
 Most audible, even from his proper tongue. 
 An Angelo for Claudia, death for death. 
 Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; 
 Like doth quit like, and Measure stiW for Measure. 
 Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested • 
 Which though thou wouldst deny, denies thee 
 vantage : 
 
 We do condenm thee to the very block. 
 
 Where Ciaudio stoop'd to death, and with like 
 
 haste ; 
 Away with him. 
 
 Mari. O, my most gracious lord, 
 
 I hope you will not mock me with a husband ! 
 ■ Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a 
 husband : 
 
 Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, 
 I thought your marriage fit; else im{)utation. 
 For that he knew you, might reproach your life. 
 And choke your good to come : for his possessions. 
 Although by confiscation they are ours. 
 We do instate and widow you withal. 
 To biiy you a better husband. 
 
 Mari. O, my dear lord, 
 
 I crave no other, nor no better man. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 Duke. Never crave him; we are definitive. 
 Mari. Gentle, my liege, — {Kneehng., 
 Diike. You do but lose your labour: 
 
 Away with him to death. — Now, sir, to you. 
 
 {To Lucio.) 
 
 Mari. O, my good lord! — Sweet Isabel, taka 
 my part ; 
 
 Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
 I'll lend you all my life to do you servict. 
 
 Duke. Against all sense you do imp6rtune her : 
 Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact. 
 Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break. 
 And take her hence in horror. 
 
 Mari. Isabel, 
 Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
 Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'll speak all. 
 They say, best men are moulded out of faults; 
 And, for tlie most, become much more the better 
 For being a little bad : so may my husband. 
 O, Isabel ! will you not lend a knee ? 
 
 Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 
 
 Isab. Most bounteous sir, 
 
 {Kneeling \ 
 
 Look, ?*'it please you, on this man condemned. 
 
 As if mj brother liv'd : I partly think, 
 
 A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, 
 
 'Till he did look on me ; since it is so, 
 
 Let him not die: my brother had but justice. 
 
 In that he did the thing for which he died : 
 
 For Angelo, 
 
 His act did not o'ertake his bad intent; 
 
 And must be buried but as an intent 
 
 That perish'd by the way : thoughts are no subjects^ 
 
 Intents but merely thoughts. 
 
 Mari. Merely, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Your suit's unprofitable ; stand up, 1 say.— 
 I have bethought me of another fault: — 
 Provost, how came it, Ciaudio was bej.eaded 
 At an unusual hour? 
 
 Prov. It was corjmanded so. 
 
 Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed i' 
 
 Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private 
 message. 
 
 Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office . 
 Give up your keys. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, noble lord: 
 
 I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; 
 Yet did repent me, after more advice: 
 For testimony whereof one in the prison, 
 That should by private order else have died, 
 I have reserv'd alive. 
 
 Duke. What's he ? 
 
 Prov. His name is Barnardine. 
 
 Duke. I would thou had'st done so by Ciaudio.— 
 Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 
 
 [Exit Provost 
 
 Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
 As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd. 
 Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood. 
 And lack of temper'd judgment aftervvards. 
 
 Ang. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure : 
 And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, 
 That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 
 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 
 
 Re-enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio, and 
 Juliet. 
 
 Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? 
 Prov. This, my lord 
 
 Duke. There was a friar told me of this man ; — 
 Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul. 
 That apprehends no further than this world. 
 And squar'st thy life according. Thou'it condemn''! 
 But for those earthly faults, I quit them all; 
 And pray thee, take this mercy to provide 
 
 For better times to come : Friar, advise him ; 
 
 I leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow 
 that ? 
 
 Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd. 
 That should have died when Ciaudio lost his h 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASCJRE. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 As like almost to Claudio, as himself. 
 
 {Un7nuffles Claudio.) 
 
 Dule. U he be like your brother, {To Isabella.) 
 for his sake 
 Is he pardon'd ; and, for your lovely sake, 
 Give me your hand, and say you will be mine, 
 He is my brother too: but fitter time ibr that. 
 By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe ; 
 Methinks, I see a quickening in his eye : — 
 Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well: 
 Look that you love your wife ; her worth, worth 
 I find an apt renussion in myself: [yours. — 
 
 And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon : — 
 You, sirrah, {To Lucio.) that knew me for a fool, 
 
 a coward, 
 One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; 
 Wherein have 1 so deserv'd of you. 
 That you extol me thus ? 
 
 Lucio. 'Faith my lord, I spoke it but according 
 to the trick : if you will hang me for it, you may, 
 but I had rather it would please you, I might be 
 whipp'd. 
 
 Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. — 
 Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ; 
 li any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 
 (As I have heard him swear himself, there's one 
 Whom he begot with child,) lot hei appear, 
 And he shall marry her ; the c-aptial finish'd, 
 
 Let him be whipp'd and hang-'d. 
 
 Lucio. I beseech your highness, ffo not marry me 
 to a vvliore ! Your highness said even now, I made 
 you a duke; good my lord, do not recompeiise me 
 in making- me a cuckold. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. 
 Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal 
 Remit thy other forfeits : — Take him to prison: 
 And see our pleasure herein executed. 
 
 Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing (o 
 death, whipping, and hanging. 
 
 Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. — 
 She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.— 
 Joy to you, Mariana ! — love her, Angelo ; 
 1 have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. — 
 Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodne 
 There's more behind, that is more gratulate. 
 Thanks, provost, for thy care, and secrecy; 
 We shall employ thee in a worthier place :- 
 Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
 The head of Ragozine for Claudio's; 
 The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel, 
 I have a motion nmch imports your good : 
 Whereto, if you'll a willing ear inclme. 
 What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine:— 
 So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll show 
 What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know* 
 
 lEsstmt» 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 
 
 This play may be justlv said to sontain two of the inosf sprightly characters that Shakspeare ever drew. The wit, 
 the humourist, the gentleman, and the soldier, are combined in Benedick. It is to be lamented, indeed, that the 
 first and most splendid of tliese distinctions, is disgraced by unnecessary protaneness ; for (he goodness of his lieart 
 is hardly sulixcient to atone for the license of his tongue. The too sarcastic levity, which flashes out in the conver- 
 s«ition of Beatrice, may be excused on account of the steadiness and friendship so apparent in her behaviour, when 
 uhe urges her lover to risk his life by a challenge to Claudio. In the conduct of the fable, liowever, there is an 
 imperfection similar to that which Dr. Johnson has pointed out in The Merry Wives of Windsor second con- 
 trivance is less ingenious than tlie first :— or, to speak more plainly, the same incident is become stale by repetition 
 I wish some other methcd had been found to entrap Brairice, than that very one which before had been success- 
 fully practised on Benedick. Muck Ado About Nothing (as I understand from one of Mr. Vertue s MSS.) formerly 
 passed under the title of Benedick and Befitrix. Heiniug the player received, on the 20th of May; 1613, the sum o7 
 forty pounds, and twenty pounds more as his majesty's gratuity, for exhibiting six. plays at Hampton Court, among 
 which was this comedy. Steevetis. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ff>ON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon. 
 DON JOHN, his bastard Brother. 
 
 CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence, favourite to 
 Don Pedro. 
 
 BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua, favourite likewise 
 
 of Don Pedro. 
 LEONATO, Governor of Messina. 
 ANTONIO, his Brother. 
 BALTHAZAR, Servant to Don Pedro. 
 
 ?0NRa3e^' \ followers of Don John. 
 
 vErg Esf ^' } "^'^^ /"''^"^ OMcers. 
 A Sextvn. 
 A Friar. 
 A Boy. 
 
 HERO, Daughter to Leonato. 
 BEATRICE, l^iece to Leonato. 
 MAHGARET, 
 URSULA, 
 
 I Gentlewomen attending on Hero. 
 Messengers, Watch, and Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — Messina. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Bzfore Leonato's [louse. 
 
 Etter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with 
 a Messenger. 
 
 Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of 
 Arragon comes this night to Messina. 
 
 Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three 
 Ifaoues off, wlien 1 left him. 
 
 Leon. How many gentlemen have yon lost in this 
 action ? 
 
 Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 
 
 Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever 
 brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don 
 Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Flo- 
 rentine, called Clandio. 
 
 Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally 
 remembered by Don Pedro : he hath borne himself 
 beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the figure 
 of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, 
 better bettered expectation, than you must expect 
 of me to teli you how. 
 
 Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be 
 very much glad of it. 
 
 Mess I have already delivered him letters, and 
 there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that 
 toy could not show itself modest enough without a 
 badge of bitterness. 
 
 Leon. Did he break out into tears ? 
 
 Mess. In great measure. 
 
 Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : there are 
 no faces truer than those that are so washed. How 
 much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at 
 weeping? 
 
 Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned 
 from the wars, or no ? 
 
 Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there was 
 none such in the army of any sort. 
 
 Leon. What is he that you ask for, niete ? 
 
 Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of 
 Padua. [he was. 
 
 Mess. O, he is ret irned ; and as pleasant as ever 
 
 Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and 
 challenged Cupid at the flight ; and my uncle's fool, 
 reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and 
 challenged him at the bird-bolt.-^I pray you, how 
 many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But 
 how many hath he killed ? for, indeed, I promised to 
 eat a!l of his killing. 
 
 Leoti. Faith, nitce, you tax signior Benedick to« 
 much ; but he'll be meet with you, 1 doubt it not 
 
 Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these 
 wars. 
 
 Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to 
 eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath an 
 excellent stomach. 
 
 Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 
 
 Beat. And a good soldier to a lady ; — but what is 
 he to a lord ? 
 
 Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuffed 
 with all honourable virtues. 
 
 Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a 
 stuffed man : but for the itutEng, — Well, we are 
 all mortal. 
 
 Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece ; there 
 is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Betiedick and 
 her: they never meet, but there is a skirmish of wit 
 between them. 
 
 Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last 
 conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and 
 now is the old man governed with one : so that if 
 he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let h'lu 
 bear it for a difference between hiniself and his 
 horse : for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be 
 known a reasonable creature. — Who is his compa- 
 panion now? He hath every month a new swor.i 
 brother. 
 
 Mess. Is it possible ? 
 
 Beat. Very easily possible : he wears his faith but 
 as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the 
 next block. [boot 
 
 Mess. I see, iady, the gentleman is not in yrtWf 
 
 Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my stu 
 But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there IWV 
 young squarer now, that will make a voyage "With 
 him to the devil ? 
 
 Mess. He is most in the company of the 
 noble Claudio. 
 
 Beat. O Lord ! he will hang upon him like 
 disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilenca 
 and the taker runs presently mad. God help th 
 noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it 
 will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured 
 
 Mess. I will hold friends with you, ladv 
 
 Beat. Do, good friend. 
 
 Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 
 
 Beat. No, not till a hot January. 
 
 Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 93 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, at/ended hij Balthazar and 
 others, Don John, Claudio, and Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come 
 to nicct your trouble : the fashion of the world is to 
 avoid cost, and you eucoutiter it, 
 
 Leon. Never came trouble to my house in th;5 
 likeness of your grace : for trouble being gone, cota 
 fort should remain ; but, when you depart front. r» 
 sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave 
 
 D. Pedro. You embrace your charge "tjo wl- 
 lingly. — 1 think, this is your daughter. 
 
 Leon, fler mother hath many times lo^ so. 
 
 Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that yoi a«Kfid her ? 
 
 Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for fch*, i w^e you a 
 child. 
 
 D. Pedro. You have it full, Berviick : we may 
 guess by this what you are, bein^3^nian. Truly, 
 the lady fathers herself: — Be 1m .py, lady! for you 
 are like an honourable father. 
 
 Bene. If signior Leonato be hfr father, she woidd 
 not have his head on her shc<7: le^-s, for all Messina, 
 as like hiiu as iliie is. 
 
 Beat. I wond'-r that yoif vill still be talking, si- 
 gnior Be ledick ; nobody wi^rWs you. 
 
 Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain I are you yet 
 living? 
 
 Beat. Is it possible^, dafdain should die, while she 
 hath such meet food to feed it, as signior I3enedick ? 
 Courtesy itself must ionvert to disdain, if you come 
 in her presence. 
 
 Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat: — But it is 
 certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : 
 and I would I could find my heart, that 1 had not 
 a hard heart; for, truly, I love none. 
 
 Beat. A dear happiness to women ; they would 
 else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I 
 thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your humour 
 f>r that; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, 
 than a man swear he loves me. 
 
 Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind I 
 fo some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predesti- 
 nate scratclied face. 
 
 Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 
 'twere such a face as yours were. 
 
 Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 
 
 Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast 
 of yours. 
 
 Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your 
 tongue; and so good a continuer: but keep your 
 way o' God's name ; 1 have done. 
 
 Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I know 
 you of ohl. 
 
 D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : Leonato, — 
 signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear 
 friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him, we 
 shall stay herj at the least a month ; and he heartily 
 prays some occasion may detain us longer: I dare 
 swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 
 
 Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be 
 forsworn. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord : being 
 reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all 
 duty. 
 
 D. John. J thank you : I am not of many words, 
 but I thank you. 
 
 Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 
 
 D. Pedro Your hand, Leonato ; we will go to- 
 gether. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. 
 
 Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter 
 of sigiiior Leonato ? 
 
 Bene. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. 
 
 Claud. Is she no*^ a modest young lady ? 
 
 Bene. Do you question me as an honest man 
 should do, for my simnle true judgment ; or would 
 you have ine .'peak after my custom, as being a 
 professed tyrant to their sex V 
 
 Claud. No, 1 pray tiiee, speak in sober judgment. 
 
 Bene. Why, i'faith, niethinks she is too low for 
 a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too 
 little for a great praise : only this commendation I 
 
 can afford her; that vtfe "bz other tlmn she 's, sli« 
 were unhandsome j and Wing jx^ other but as she is, 
 I do not Uke be/. 
 
 Clav^. Tfcou tiiinkest I am in spovt ; I pray thee, 
 iell ns? trEily how thou likest her. [her? 
 
 Ben^^. Would you buy her, that you inquire after 
 
 Claud. Can the world biry such a jewel ? 
 
 Bens. Yea, ana a case to put it mto. But speak 
 yiiju this with a sad brow? or do you play the flout 
 \Wf^ Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder ani 
 Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key shziO. 
 a man take you, to go in the song? 
 
 Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady tha 
 ever I looked on. 
 
 Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I sr« 
 no such matter : there's her cousin, an she wer» 
 not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much ii 
 beauty, as the first of May doth the last of Decern 
 ber. But I hope you have no intent to tarn hus. 
 band ; have you ? 
 
 Claud. I would scarce trust myself, thou|^h I had 
 sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 
 
 Bene. Is it come to this, i'faith ? Hath not the 
 world one man, but he will wear his cap with sus- 
 picion ? Shall I never see a bachelor of threescore 
 again? Go to, i'faith : an thou wilt needs thrust thy 
 neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh 
 away Sundays, Look, Don Pedro is returned to 
 seek you. 
 
 Re-enter Don Pedro, 
 
 D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
 you follovved not to Leonato's? [to tell. 
 
 Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me 
 
 D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 
 
 Bene. You hear. Count Claudio : I can be secret 
 as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but or 
 my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance 
 — he is in love. With who? — now that is your 
 grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is: — 
 with Hero, Leonato's short daughter, 
 
 Claud. If this were so, so were it utterea. 
 
 Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : " it is not so, 
 nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, God forbid it should 
 be so." 
 
 Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God 
 forbid it should be otherwise. 
 
 D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is 
 very well worthy, 
 
 Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, 1 speak my thought. 
 
 Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, ray lord, 
 I spoke mine. 
 
 Claud. That T love her, I feel. 
 
 D- Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 
 
 Bene. That I neither feel how she should be 
 loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the 
 opinion that fire cannot melt out of me ; I will die 
 in it at the stake. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in 
 the despite of beauty. 
 
 Claud. And never could maintain his part, but 
 in the force of his will. 
 
 Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; 
 that she brought me up, I likewise give her most 
 humble thanks : but that I will have a recheat 
 winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an 
 invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me : 
 because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust 
 any, I will do myself the right to trust none ; and the 
 fine is (for the which 1 may go the finer), I will live 
 a bachelor. [with lov*?. 
 
 D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale 
 
 Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, 
 my lord ; not with love : prove, that ever I l<»se niore 
 blood with love, than I will get again with drinking, 
 pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, and 
 hang me up at the door of a brothel house, for {h» 
 sign of blind Cupid. 
 
U MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 p. Pedro. Well, if ever thon dost fall from this 
 faith, thou wilt prove a notable argumeut. 
 
 Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and 
 ehoot at me : and he that hits me, let him be clapped 
 on the shoulder, and called Adam, f 
 ^ J). Pedro. Well, as time shall trf : 
 In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke. 
 
 Bene. Tlie savage bull may ; bat if ever the sen- 
 sible Benedick bear it, pluck olF the bull's horns, 
 and set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely 
 painted ; and in such great letters as they write. 
 Here is good horse to hire, let them signify under 
 my sign, — here you may see Benedick the married 
 man. 
 
 Claud. If this should ever happen, thoii would'st 
 be horn mad. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
 quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 
 ■ Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, you will teuiporize with the 
 hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, 
 repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell 
 him, 1 will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he 
 hath made great preparati(m. 
 
 Bene. 1 have ahnost matter enough in me for such 
 an embassage ; and so I commit you — 
 
 Claud. To the tuition of God : from mv house, 
 (if I had it)— _ [Benedick. 
 
 J), Pedro. The sixth of July : your loving friend. 
 
 Bene. Nay,, mock not, mock not : the body of 
 your discourse is some time guarded with fragments, 
 and the guards are but slightly basted on neither: 
 ere you flout old ends any further, examine your 
 conscience : and so I leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me 
 good. [how, 
 
 ]). Pedre. My love is thine to teach ; teach it but 
 And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
 Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
 
 Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? 
 
 D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir : 
 Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? 
 
 Claud. O, my lord. 
 
 When you went onward on this ended action, 
 I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
 That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
 Than to drive liking to the name of love : 
 But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
 Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
 Come tlironging soft and delicate desires, 
 All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
 Saying, 1 lik'd her ere I went to wars. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wilt be Hke a lover presently, 
 And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
 If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it; 
 And I will break with her, and vvith her father. 
 And thou shalt have her : Was't not to this end, 
 That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ? 
 
 Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love. 
 That know love's grief by his complexion ! 
 But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
 I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 
 
 J). Pedro. What need the bridge much broader 
 than the flood ? 
 The fairest grant is the necessity : 
 Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once, thou lov'st ; 
 And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
 I know, we shall have revelling to night ; 
 I will assume thy part in some disguise, 
 And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; 
 And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart, 
 And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
 And strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
 Then, after, to her father will I break ; 
 A nd, the conclusion is, she shall be thine : 
 in practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 
 ScENB II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Leonato and Antonio. 
 
 JLeon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin, 
 four soii ? Hath he provided this music ;* 
 
 AOT I, 
 
 Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I con 
 tell you strange news that you yet dreamed not of, 
 Leon. Are they good ? 
 
 Ant. As the event stamps them ; but they have a 
 good cover, they shew well outward. The prince 
 and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley 
 in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a man 
 of mine : the prince discovered to Claudio, that he 
 loved my niece your daughter, and meant to ac- 
 knowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he found 
 her accordant, he meant to take the present time by 
 the top. and instantly break with you of it. 
 
 Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? 
 
 Ant. A good sharp fellow : 1 will send for him, 
 and question him yourself 
 
 Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till it 
 appear itself: — but I will acquaint my daughter 
 withal, tliat she may be the better prepared for an 
 answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and 
 tell her of it. {Several persons cross the stage.) 
 Cousins, you know what you have to do. — O, I cry 
 you mercy, friend ; you go with me, and 1 will use 
 your skill: — good cousins, have a care this busy 
 time. [Exeunt 
 Scene III. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Don John and Conrade. 
 
 Con. What the goujere, my lord ! why are vou 
 thus out of measure sad ? 
 
 D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that 
 breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. 
 
 Con. You should hear reason. 
 
 D. John. And, when I have heard it, what bless- 
 ing bringeth it ? [ferance. 
 
 Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suf- 
 
 D. John. I wonder, that thou, being (as thou 
 say'st thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to 
 apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I 
 cannot hide what I am : I must be sad, when 1 have 
 cause, and smile at no man's jests ; eat when I have 
 stomach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep, when 
 I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business ; laugh 
 when J am merry, and claw no man in his humour. 
 
 Con. Yea, but you must not make the full sho\\ 
 of this, till you may do it without controlment 
 You have of late stood out against your brother, 
 and he hath ta'en you newly into his grae-e ; where 
 it is impossible you should take true root, but by 
 the fair weather that you make yourself : it is need- 
 ful that you frame the season for your own harvest. 
 
 D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, 
 than a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood 
 to be disdain'd of all, than to fashion a carriage to 
 rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said 
 to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied, 
 that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with 
 a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I 
 have decreed not to sing in my cage : if I had my 
 mouth, I would bite ; if I had my liberty, I would 
 do my liking : in the mean time, let me be that I 
 am, and seek not to alter me. 
 
 Con. Can you make no use of your discontent ? 
 
 D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only 
 — Who comes here ? Wliat news, Borachio ? 
 Enter Borachio. 
 
 Bora. I came yonder from a great supper ; the 
 prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo- 
 nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intended 
 marriage. 
 
 D. John. Will it serve for any model to build « 
 mischief on ? What is he for a fool, that betroths 
 himself to unquietness? 
 
 Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand 
 
 D. John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio? 
 
 Bora. Even he. 
 
 D. John. A proper squire ! and who, and who? 
 which way looks he? [Leonato. 
 Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of 
 D. John. A very forward March chick! How 
 came you to tliis ? 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 95 
 
 Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was 
 smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and 
 Claudio, liand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt 
 me behind the arras; and there heard it agreed 
 upon, that the prince should woo Hero for himself, 
 and having obtained her, give her to count Claudio. 
 
 D. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may 
 prove food to my displeasure : that young start-up 
 falh all the glory of my overtiirow ; if I can cross 
 him any way, I bless myself every way : you are 
 Voth sure, and will assist me? 
 
 Con. To the death, my lord. 
 
 D. John. Let us to the great supper ; their cheer 
 ISthe greater, that 1 am subdued : 'would the cook 
 Were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to be 
 iflne ? 
 
 Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. \Exeunt. 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A Hall in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and 
 others. 
 
 Leon. Was not count John here at supper ? 
 Ant. I saw him not. 
 
 Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never 
 can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. 
 
 Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 
 
 Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made 
 just in the mid way between him and Benedick : 
 the one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and 
 the other, too like r.iy lady's eldest son, evermore 
 tattling. 
 
 Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in 
 count John's mouth, and half count John's melan- 
 choly in signior Benedick's face, — 
 
 Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, 
 and money enough in his purse, such a man would 
 wiii any woman in the world, — if he could get her 
 good will. 
 
 Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee 
 a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 
 
 Ant. In faith she is too curst. 
 
 Beat. Too curst is more than curst : I shall les- 
 sen God's sending that way : for it is said, God 
 sends a curst cow short horns ; but to a cow too 
 curst he sends none. [no horns. 
 
 Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you 
 
 Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for the 
 ov'hich blessing, I am at him upon my knees every 
 »norning and evening : Lord! I could not endure a 
 husband with a beard on his face; I had rather lie 
 in the woollen. [no beard. 
 
 Leon. You may light upon a husband that hath 
 
 Beat. What should I do with him ? dress him in 
 my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewo- 
 man ? He that hath a beard is more than a youth ; 
 and he that hath no beard, is less than a man : and 
 he that is more than a youth, is not for me ; and he 
 that is less than a man, I am not for him : there- 
 fore I will even ttke sixpence in earnest of the 
 bear-herd, and lead his ape.s into hell. 
 
 Leon. Well then, go you into hell ? 
 
 Beat. No ; but to the gate ; and there will the 
 devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on 
 his head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, yet 
 you to heaven ; here s no place for you maids : so 
 deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Pefer for 
 the heavens : he shews me where the bachelors sit, 
 and there live we as merry as the day is long. 
 
 Ant. Well, niece {to Hero.) I trust, you will be 
 luled by your father. 
 
 Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make 
 courtesy, and say. Father, as it please you : — but 
 
 f et for all tliat, cousin, let him be a handsome fel- 
 ow, or elsp make another courtesy, and say, Father, 
 it please me. 
 Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
 6tted with a husband. 
 
 Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
 
 than earth. Would it not gneve a woman to be 
 over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make 
 an account of her life to a clod of wayward mail? 
 No, uncle, I'll none : Adam's sons are my brethren; 
 and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 
 
 Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if 
 the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know 
 ynur answer. 
 
 Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if 
 you be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be 
 too important, tell him, there is measure in every 
 thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, 
 Hero; wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a 
 Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace : the first 
 suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as 
 fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a 
 measure full of state and ancientry; and then comes 
 repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the 
 cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into hia 
 grave. 
 
 Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 
 
 Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a church 
 by dfiy-liglit. 
 
 Leon. The revellers are entering ; brother, make 
 good room. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Bal- 
 thazar ; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, 
 Ursula, and others, masked. 
 D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with youf 
 
 friend ? 
 
 Hero. So you walk softly, and look, sweetly, and 
 say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and, espe- 
 cially, when I walk away. 
 
 D. Pedro- With me in your company? 
 
 Hero. I may say so, when I please. 
 
 D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? 
 
 Hero. When I hke your favour; for God defend, 
 the lute should be like the case I 
 
 D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof ; within 
 the house is Jove. 
 
 Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. 
 
 D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak lo\ e. 
 
 {Takes her aside.) 
 
 Bene. Well, I would you did lii;e me. 
 
 Mary. So would not I, for your own sake ; for I 
 have many ill qualities. 
 
 Bene. Whicti is one ? 
 
 Mary. 1 say my prayers aloud. [Amen. 
 Bene. 1 lo»e you the better; the hearers may cry, 
 Mary. God match me with a good dancer I 
 Balth. Amen. 
 
 Mary. And God keep him out of my sight, when 
 the dance is done ! — Answer, clerk. 
 
 Balth. No more words ; the clerk is answered. 
 
 Urs. I know you well enough ; you are signior 
 Antonio. 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not, 
 
 Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 
 
 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 
 
 Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless 
 you were the very man : here's his dry hand up 
 and down ; you are he, you are he. 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not. 
 
 Urs. Come, come; do you think I do not knovy 
 you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself f 
 Go to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and 
 there's an end. 
 
 Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? 
 
 Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 
 
 Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? 
 
 Bene. Not now. 
 
 Beat. That I was disd iinful, — and that I had mj 
 good wit out of (he Hundred merry Tales; — Well 
 (his was signior Benedick that said so. 
 
 Bene. W hat's he ? 
 
 Beat. I am sure, you knew him well enough. 
 Bene. Not I, believe me. 
 Beat. Did he never make vou laugh? 
 Bene. I pray you, what is he 
 
96 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull 
 fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders : 
 Done but libertines delight in him ; and the com- 
 mendation is not in his wit, but in his villany ; for 
 he both pleaseth men and angers them, and then 
 thoy laugh at him, and beat him : I am sure he is 
 in the fleet : T would he had boarded me. 
 
 Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him 
 what you say. 
 
 Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or 
 two on me ; which, peradventure, not marked, or 
 not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy and 
 tlien there's a partridge' win^ saved, for the fool 
 will eat no supper that night. {Music within.) We 
 must follow the leaders. 
 
 Bene. In every good thing. 
 
 Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave 
 them at the next turning. {Dance.) 
 [Exeunt all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio. 
 
 D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, 
 and hath withdrawn her father to break with him 
 about it : the ladies follow her, and but one visor 
 remains. [bearing. 
 
 Bora. And that is Claudio : I know hitu by his 
 
 D. John. Are not you signior Benedick? 
 
 Claud. You know me well ; I am he. 
 
 D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother 
 in li'.s love : he is enamour'd on Hero ; 1 pray you, 
 dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth : 
 you may do the part of an honest man in it. 
 
 Ciatid. How know you he loves her? 
 
 D. John. I heard him swear his affection. 
 
 Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would 
 marry her to-night. 
 
 D. John. Come, let us to the banquet 
 
 [Exeunt Don John and Borachio. 
 
 Claud. Thus answer J in name of Bened*ck, 
 But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. — 
 ' i'ls certain so ; — the prince wooes for himself 
 F.i<-ri(lship is constant in all other things, 
 ^S i\r in the office and affairs of love : 
 'i'lieref'ore, all hearts in love use their own tongues; 
 Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
 Anil trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, 
 Ai^ainst whuse charms faith melteth into blood. 
 Ttiis is an accident of hourly proof. 
 Which 1 mistrusf-ed not : farewell, therefore, Hero I 
 
 Re-enter Beniedick. 
 Bene. Count Claudio ? 
 Claud. Yea, the same. 
 Bene. Come, Will you go with me ? 
 Claud. Whither ? 
 
 Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
 business, count. What fashion will you wear the 
 garland of ? About your neck, like an usurer's chain? 
 or under your arn«, like a lieutenant's scarf? You 
 must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your 
 Hero. 
 
 Claud. I wish him joy of her. 
 
 Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover ; 
 80 they sell bullocks. But did you think the prince 
 would have served you thus? 
 
 Claud. I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man; 
 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat 
 the post. 
 
 Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Bene. Alas ! poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep 
 into sedges.—- — But, that my lady Beatrice should 
 know me, and not know me! The prince's fool ! — 
 Ha! it may be, I go under that title, because I am 
 merry. — Yea ; but so : I am a]>t to do myself 
 wroog- : I apfi not so reputed : it is the base, the 
 bitter disposTtion of Beatrice, that puts the world 
 into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be 
 revenged as I may. 
 
 Re-enter Don Pedro, Hero, and Leonato. 
 
 D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? 
 Did you see him ? 
 
 Bene. Troth, my Ic sd, I have played the pait of 
 lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a 
 lodge in a warren ; I told him, and, 1 think, I told 
 him true, that your grace had got the good will o! 
 this young lady ; and I ofl'ered him my company to 
 a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being 
 forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy 
 to be whipped, 
 
 D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault? 
 
 Bene. The flat transgression of a scho?' boy; 
 who, being overjoy'd with finding a birds nest, 
 shews it his companion, and he steals it. 
 
 D. Pedro. thou make a trust a transgression ? 
 The transgression is in the stealer. 
 
 Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had** 
 been made, and the garland too; for the garland'' 
 he might have worn himself; and the rod he might 
 have bestow'd on you, who, as 1 take it, have stol'n 
 his bird's nest. 
 
 D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and 
 restore them to the owner. 
 
 Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by mj 
 faith, you say honestly. 
 
 D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice Imth a quarrel to 
 you ; the gentleman, that danced with lier, told 
 her she is much wronged by you. 
 
 Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of 
 a block ; an'oak, but with one green leaf on it, 
 would have answer'd her; my \ery \isor began to 
 assume life, and scold with her : she told me, not 
 thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince's 
 jester; that I was duller than a great thaw ; huddling 
 jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance, 
 upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a 
 whole army shooting at me : she speaks poniards, 
 and every word stabs : if her breath were as terrible 
 as her terminations, there were no living near her, 
 she would infect to the north star. I would not 
 marry her, though she were endowed with ali that 
 Adam had lett him before he transgressed : she 
 would have made Hercides have turned spit; yea, 
 and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Cotne, 
 talk not of her; \ou shall find her the infernal Ate ia 
 good apparel. I would to God. some scholar would 
 conjure her; for, certainly, while she is here, a n)an 
 may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary • and 
 people sin upon purpose, because \hvy would go 
 thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and per 
 turbation follow her. 
 
 Re-enter '^'^AUDio and Bbatrick. 
 
 D. Pedro. Look, here she corae.s. 
 
 Bene. Will your grace couunand me any service 
 to the world's end? 1 will go on ttie slightest errand 
 now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send 
 me on ; I will letch you a tooth-picker now from the 
 farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester 
 John's foot ; fetch you a hair off' the great Cham s 
 beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather 
 than hold three words' conference with this harpy: 
 you have no employment for me ? 
 
 D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company 
 
 Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not; I can- 
 not endure my lady Tongue. [Exit 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the 
 heart of signior Benedick. 
 
 Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while ; and 
 I gave him use /or it, a double heart f(»r his single 
 one : marry, once before, he won it of me with false 
 dice, therefore your grace may well say, I have lost it 
 
 £>. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you 
 have put him down. 
 
 Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, 
 lest I should prove the mother of fools. 1 have-' 
 brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, how now, count? wherefore are 
 ' Claud. Not sad, my lord. (you sad? 
 
 D. Pedro. How then? Sick? 
 
 Claud. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 97 
 
 merry, nor well . but civil, cotine^; civil as an orange, 
 and gometliing of tliat jealous coiiiijlexion. 
 
 D, Pedro. I'faith, lady, 1 itiink your blazon to be 
 true ; though, I'll be sworn, ifhe be so, his conceit is 
 f^ilse. Here. Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, 
 and iair Hero is won ; I have broke with her lather, 
 and his good will obtained: name the day of mar- 
 tiaae, and God give thee joy I 
 
 ' id-um. Count, take o<" me niy daughter, and with 
 llfir niy fortunes ; his grace hath made the match, and 
 il grace say Amen to it ! 
 
 Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your due. 
 
 ClauU. Silence is tiie perfectest herald of joy : I 
 were but little happy, if I could say how niucii. — 
 Lady, as you are none, I am youi's: 1 give away 
 myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. 
 
 Beat. Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his 
 moutii with a kiss, and let hint not speak, neither. 
 
 D.Pedro. In i'aith, lady, you have a merry iieait. 
 
 Beat. Vea, my lonl ; I tnauk it, poor fool, it keeps 
 on the windy side of care: tny cousin tells iiim in 
 his ear, that he is in her heart. 
 
 Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 
 
 Beat. Good lord, fir alliance ! — Thus goes every 
 one to the woild but I, and I am sun burned ; I may 
 sit in a corner, and cry, heigh-ho! ibra husband. 
 
 D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get yoti one. 
 
 Beat. 1 would rather have one uf your father's 
 getting : hath your grace ne'er a brotlier like you ? 
 lour father got excellent husbands, if a maid could 
 come bv them. 
 
 D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady? 
 
 Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another 
 for working-days : your grace is too costly to wear 
 everyday; — But, I beseech your grace, pardon me; 
 I was born to speak all tnirtli, and no matter, 
 
 D. Pedro. Your silence nu)st offends me, and to 
 be merry best becomes you ; for, out of question, you 
 were born in a merry hour. 
 
 Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cvy'd ; but 
 then there was a star danced, and under that was I 
 born. — Cousins, God give you joy I 
 
 Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 
 you of / 
 
 Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's 
 pardon. [Exit Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. 
 
 Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in 
 her, my lord : she is never sad, but wiien she sleeps ; 
 and nuteversad then, t'or I have heard my daughter 
 say, she hath oi'ten dreamed of unhappiness, and 
 waked herself with laughing. [band. 
 
 D.Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a hus- 
 
 Leon. O, by no means; she mocks ail her wooers 
 out of suit. [dick. 
 
 B. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene- 
 
 Leon. O lord, my lord, if they were but a week 
 married, they would talk themselves mad. 
 
 D. Pedto. Count Claudio, when mean you to go 
 to chin ch ? 
 
 Claud. To morrow, my lord : time goeson crutches, 
 till love have all his rites. 
 
 Leon. Not till iVlonday, my dear son, which is 
 hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief too, to 
 have all things answer my minc^. 
 
 J). Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a 
 breathing; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
 shall not go dully by us ; 1 will, in the interim, 
 undertake one of Hercules' labours ; which is, to 
 bririg signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a 
 mountain of affection, the ane with the other. I 
 would fain have it a match ; and 1 doubt not but to 
 fashion it, if you three will but minister such assist- 
 ance as I shall give you direction. 
 
 Leon. My lord, 1 am for you, though it cost me 
 ten nights' watchings. 
 
 Claud. And I, my l«)rd. 
 
 D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? 
 
 Hero. I will do any modest otiice, my lord, to 
 help my cousin to a good husband. 
 
 D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest 
 husband that I know: thus far can I praise him; he 
 is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and con- 
 tinued honesty. I will teacli you how to humour yout 
 cousin, that slie shall fall in love with Benedick: — 
 and 1, with your two helps, will so practise on Bene- 
 dick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy 
 stomach, he shall lall in love with Beatrice. If we 
 can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer ; his ylory 
 shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in 
 with ine, and I will tell you my driit. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Another Roo?n in Leonato's Hi use. 
 Enter Don John and Borachio. 
 
 D. John. It is so ; the count Claudio shall ma 
 the daughter of Leonato, 
 
 Bora. Yea, tny lord, but I can cross it. 
 
 D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impedini 
 w 11 be medicinable to me : I am «!ck in displeasure 
 him ; and whatsoever comes athwart his atlecti 
 ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross 
 marriage ? 
 
 Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly, 
 that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 
 
 I). JoJm. Shew mt briefly how. 
 
 Bora. I think, 1 told your lordship, a year since, 
 how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the wait- 
 ing-gentlewoman to Hero. 
 
 D. John. I remember. 
 
 Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
 night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber- 
 window, [this marriage? 
 IJ. John. What life is in that, to be tlie death of 
 Bora. 'I'he poison of that lies in you to temper. 
 Go you to the prince your brother; s[)are not to teli 
 him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying 
 the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you 
 mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one 
 as Hero. 
 
 D. John. What proof shall I make of that? 
 
 Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
 Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato: look you 
 for any other issue ? 
 
 D. John. Only to despite them, 1 will endeavour 
 any thing. 
 
 Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don 
 Pedro and the count Claudio, alone: tell them, that 
 you know that Hero loves me ; intend a kind of zeal 
 both to the prince and Claudio, as — in love of your 
 brother's honour, who hath made this match; and 
 his friend's reputation, who is thus hke to be cozened 
 with the semblance of a maid, — that you have dis- 
 covered thus. They will scarcely believe this with- 
 out trial : offer them instances; which shall bear no 
 less likelihood, than to see me at her chamber-win- 
 dow ; hear me call Margaret, Hero; hear Margaret 
 term me Borachio: and bring them to see this, the 
 very night before tlie intended wedding: for, in the 
 mean time, 1 will so fashion the matter, that Hero 
 siiall be absent ; and there shall a()[)ear such seeni- 
 ing truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be 
 call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthrown. 
 
 D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can 
 I will p't it in practice: be cunning in the working 
 this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 
 
 Bora. Be you constant in tf e accusation, and D»y 
 cunning shall not shame me. 
 
 D. John. I will presently -o learn their day o' 
 marriage. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III. — Leonato'' s Garden. 
 Enter Benedick and a Boy. 
 Bene. Boy, — 
 Boy. Signior. 
 
 Bene. In my chamber- window lies a book ; bring 
 it hither to me in the orchard. 
 Boy. I am here already, sir 
 
 Bene. I know that; but I would have thee lience, 
 and here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much wonder, 
 that one man seeing how much another man is a 
 
08 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 fool when he dedicates his behaviour? to love, will, 
 after he hath laughed at such shallow tollie i in others, 
 beconte tlie argument of his own scorn, by falling in 
 love: and such a man is Claudio. I have known, 
 when there was no music with him but the drum 
 and fife ; and now had he rather hear the tabor and 
 the pipe : I have known, when he would have walked 
 ten mile a-foot, to see a good armour; and now will 
 he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a 
 new doublet. He was wont to speak plain, and to 
 the purpose, like an honest man, and a soldier; and 
 now is he turn'd orthographer ; his words are a very 
 fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. 
 May I be so converted, and see with these eyes? 
 I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn, but 
 love may transform me to an oyster; but Til take 
 my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he 
 shall never make me such a fool. One woman is 
 fair; yet I am well : another is wise; yet I am well : 
 another virtuous; yet I am well : but till all graces 
 be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my 
 grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll 
 none ; \irtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, or 
 I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near me ; 
 noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an 
 excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what 
 colour it please God. Ha ! the prince and monsieur 
 Love! I will hide me in the arbour. {Withdraws.) 
 Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? 
 
 Claud. Yea, my good lord: — How still the even- 
 ing is. 
 
 As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 
 
 D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid 
 himself ? 
 
 Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended, 
 W e'll Ht the kid fox with a penny-worth. 
 
 Enter Balthazar, ".vith music. 
 D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song 
 again. 
 
 Bulth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
 To slander music any more than once. 
 
 D. Pedro. I t is the witness still of excellency. 
 To put a strange face on his own perfection; — 
 I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 
 
 Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; 
 Since many a wooer does commence his suit 
 To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he wooes; 
 Yet will he swear, he loves. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 
 
 Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument. 
 Do it in notes. 
 
 Balth. Note this before my notes, 
 
 There's not a note of mine, that's worth the noting. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets, that he 
 upeaks ; 
 
 Note, notes, forfcooth, and noting! {Music.) 
 
 Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravished ! 
 — Is it not strange, that sheeps' guts should hale 
 tiouls out of men's bodies? — Well, a horn for my 
 money, when all's done. 
 
 Balthazar sings. 
 I. 
 
 Balth Siqh no more, ladies, sif/h no more, 
 Men tcere deceivers ever ; 
 One foot in aea and one on shore; 
 To one thinff constant never : 
 Then si(jh not so, 
 Bui let them r/o. 
 And be you hlillie and bonny ; 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 IL 
 
 Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 
 Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 
 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 Since summer first was leavy. 
 Then sigh not so, §f^c. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 D. Pedro, By my troth, a good soug. 
 
 Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Ha ? no ; no, faith ; thou singest well 
 enough for a shift. 
 
 Bene. {Aside.) An he had been a dog, that shouM 
 hive howled thus, they would have hanged him: 
 and, I I ray God, his bad voice bode no mischief I 
 I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what 
 plague could have come after it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, marry {to Claudio] ; — Dost thoa 
 hear, Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some excel- 
 lent music ;for to-morrow night we would have it at 
 the lady Hero's chamber-witidow. 
 
 Balth. 'I'he best I can, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar 
 and music.'] Come hither, Leonato : what was it 
 you tiild me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was 
 in love with signior Benedick? 
 
 Claud. O. ay: — Stalk on, stalk on. the fowl sits. 
 {Aside to Pedro.) 1 did never think that lady would 
 have loved any man. 
 
 Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderfyl 
 that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom 
 she hath, in all outward behaviowrs, seemed ever to 
 abhor. 
 
 Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to 
 think of it; but that she lo\es him with an enraged 
 affection, — it is past the infinite of thought. 
 
 D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit 
 
 Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 
 
 Leon. O God ! counterfeit ! There never was conn- 
 terl'eit of passion came so near the life of passion, as 
 she discovers it. [she ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shew* 
 Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. 
 
 {Asids.) 
 
 Leon. What effecfs, my lord ! She will sit you,— 
 You heard my daughter tell you how 
 Claud. Slie did, indeed. 
 
 D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? Yon amaz9 
 me : I would have thought her s})int had been inviu 
 cible against all assaults of affection. 
 
 Leon. 1 would have sworn it had, my lord; espe* 
 cially against Benedick. 
 
 Bene. {Aside.) I should think this a gull, but that 
 the white bearded fellow speaks it : knavei7 cannot, 
 sure, hide itself in such reverence. 
 
 Claud. He hath taen the infection; hold it up. 
 
 [Aside.) 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection knovvn to 
 Benedick? [torment. 
 
 Leon. No; and swears she never will ; that's hei 
 
 Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : 
 Shall I, says she, that have so oft encountered him 
 with scorn, tvrite to him that I love him? 
 
 Leon, 'i'his says she now when she is beginning to 
 write to him : for she ll be up twenty times a night; 
 and there will she sit in her suiock, till she hav« 
 writ a sheet of paper: — my daughter tells us all. 
 
 Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I re- 
 member a pretty jest your daughter told us of. 
 
 Leon. O ! — When she had writ it, and whs readmj 
 it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice betweec 
 the sheet? — 
 
 Claud. That. 
 
 Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand half, 
 pence ; railed at herself, that she (cliouSd be so im- 
 modest to write to one that she knew would floul 
 her : I measure him, says she, by my cnvn spirit ; fof 
 I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though 
 I love him, 1 should. 
 
 Claud. Then down upon her k aees she. falls, 
 weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, 
 curses : — 0 sweet Benedick ! God give me patience! 
 
 Leon. She doth indeed; my daut>hter says so: 
 and the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, thai 
 my daughter is .sometime afraid she will do a de*- 
 perate outrage to herself: it is very true. 
 
Act III. Scene 1. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 99 
 
 D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of 
 ri by some other, if she will not discover, it. 
 
 Claud. To what end ? He would make but a 
 »|'ortof it, and torment the poor lady worse. 
 
 D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang 
 him: she's an excellent sweet lady : and^ out of all 
 gasoicion, she is virtuous. 
 
 Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 
 
 IK Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 
 
 Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating 
 in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that 
 blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I 
 have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. 
 
 jD. Pedro. 1 would she had bestowed this dotage 
 on me; I would have datfd all other lespects, and 
 made her half myself : I pray you, tell Benedick of 
 it, and hear what he will say. 
 
 Leon. Were it ^ood, think you ? 
 
 Claud. Hero tliinks surely she will die; for she 
 says, she will die, if he love her not; and she will 
 die, ere she makes her love known ; and she will die 
 if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one breath of 
 her accustomed crossness. 
 
 D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make 
 tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it : 
 f »r the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible 
 
 Claud. He is a very proper man. [spirit. 
 
 D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Claud. 'Fore God, and in niy mind very wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, shew some sparks 
 that are like wit. 
 
 Leon. And I take him to be valiant. 
 
 D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the 
 managing ul quarrels you may see he is wise ; lor 
 either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
 dert-ikes them with a most Christian-like fear. 
 
 Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep 
 peace ; il he break the peace, he ought to enter into 
 a quarre'I with fear and trembling. 
 
 J). Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth 
 fear God, howsoever it seems not in liim, by some 
 large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your 
 niece : shall we go see Benedick, and tell him of her 
 love ? 
 
 Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it 
 out with ^ood counsel. 
 
 Leon. N ly, that's impossible; she may wear her 
 hear t out first. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your 
 daughter; let it cooi the while. I love Benedick 
 well : and 1 could wish he would modestly examine 
 himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a 
 lady. 
 
 Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. 
 
 Claud. If he do not doat on her upon this, I will 
 never trust my expectation. {Aside.) 
 
 D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread fur 
 her; and that must your daughter and her gentle- 
 woman cany. The s{)ort will be, when they hold 
 one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such 
 matter; that's the scene that I would see, which will 
 be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to call 
 him in to dinner. {Aside.) 
 [.Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 
 
 Benedick, advances from the arbour. 
 Bene. This can be no trick : the conference was 
 Badly borne, — 'i'hey have the truth of this from Hero. 
 They seem to pity the lady ; it seems, her atl'ections 
 have their fuU bent. Lo\e me ! why, it must be re- 
 quited. I hear how I am censured : they say, I will 
 bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come 
 from her; they say too, that she will rather die than 
 give any sign of aifection. — I did never think to 
 marry : — I must not seem proud : — Happy are they, 
 that hear their detractions, and can put them to 
 mendmg. They say, the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I 
 can bear thetA witness: and virtuous; — 'tis so, I 
 cannot reprove it : and wise, but lor loving me — 
 
 By my troth, it is no addition to her wit;— nor no 
 great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly io 
 love with her. — I may chance ht.ve some odd quiika 
 and remnants of wit broken on me, because I havo 
 railed so long against marriage : but doth not th« 
 appetite alter'? A man loves the meat in his youtL 
 that he cannot endure in his age : shall quips, anil 
 sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe 
 a man from the career of liis humour? No: the worlij 
 must be peopled. When I said, I would die a ba- 
 chelor, 1 did not think I should live till I weie 
 married. — Here comes Beatrice : by this day, slie"* 
 a fair lady : 1 do spy some marks oi love in her 
 
 Enter BEATRirp 
 
 Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you con* 
 in to dinner. 
 
 Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 
 
 Beat. I took no more pains lor those thanks, than 
 you take pains to thank me ; if it had been painful, 
 1 woidd not have come. 
 
 Bene. You take pleasure in the message ? 
 
 Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon 
 a knife's point, and choke a daw withal : — You have 
 no stomach, signior ; fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! Against my will I am sent to hid you 
 come to dinner — there's a double meaning in that. 1 
 took no more pains for those thanks, than you took 
 pains to thank me — that's as .nuch as to say. Any 
 pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks: — If I 
 do not take pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love 
 her, I am a Jew : I will go get her picture. [Exit, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Leonatd's Garden* 
 Enter Hero, Margaret, ar.d Ursula. 
 
 Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parLitr 
 There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
 Proposing with the Prince and Claudio : 
 Whi.sper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
 Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
 Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us; 
 And bid her steal into the pleached bower. 
 Where honey- suckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
 Forbid the sun to enter; — like favourites. 
 Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
 Against that power that bred it : — there will she hida 
 listen our purpose : this is thy office ; [her. 
 Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 
 
 Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre- 
 sently. _ [Exit 
 
 Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth cc me. 
 As we do trace this alley up and down. 
 Our talk must only be of Benedick : 
 When I do name him, let it be thy part 
 To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
 My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
 Is sick in love with Beatrice : of this matter 
 Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made. 
 That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin; 
 
 Enter Beatrice, behind. 
 
 For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
 Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 
 
 Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
 Cut with her golden oars the silver stream. 
 And greedily devour the treacherous bait • 
 So angle we for Beatrice; who even now 
 Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
 Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 
 
 Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear I<M» 
 nothing 
 
 Of the false sweet bait, that we lay for it. 
 
 {They advance to ths bowmr) 
 No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
 1 know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
 As haggards of the rock. 
 
 Urs. But are you sure. 
 
100 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act nr. 
 
 Tliat Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? [lord. 
 Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed 
 Ui s. And did tbey bid yon tell her of" it, madam ? 
 Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it : 
 But 1 persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, 
 I'o \v;sli him wrestle with aflection, 
 A nd never to let Beatrice know of it. 
 
 Urs: Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman 
 Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed. 
 As rver Beatrice shall couch upon? 
 
 Hero. OUodoflove! Ijsnow, he doth deserve 
 As tiiuch as may be yielded to a man : 
 But nature never fram'd a woman's heart 
 l^r prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprising what they look on; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 Ail matter else seems weak : she cannot love. 
 Nor take no sh ipe nor project of afiection, 
 She is so sell-endeared. 
 
 Urs. Sure, I think so ; 
 
 And theiefore, certainly, it were not good, 
 Slie kriew his love, lest she make spurt at it. 
 
 Hero. VViiy, you speak truth : I never yet saw man. 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
 But she would spell him backward: if fair friced, 
 Siie'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister; 
 [f black, wiiy nature, drawing of an antic, 
 Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed; 
 [flow, an agate very vilely cut: 
 Jf speakin;,', why, a vane blown with all winds; 
 If silt-nt, why a block, moved with none. 
 Sc turns she every nran the wrong side out; 
 And ntver gives to truth and virtue, that 
 Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 
 
 Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 
 Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashions, 
 As Beatrice is, cannot be coumiendable : 
 B'lt who dare fell her so? If I should speak. 
 She'd mock mo into air; O, she would laugh me 
 Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
 Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, 
 Consume avvay in sighs, waste inwardly : 
 Ft were a l)etter death than die with mocks; 
 Which is as bad as die with tickling. 
 
 Urs. Vet tell her of it; hear wiiat she will say. 
 Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick, 
 And counsel iiiuj to f^ght agamst his passion : 
 And, truly, 1 11 devise some honest slanders 
 To stain my cousin with : one doth not know. 
 How much an ill word may empoison liking. 
 
 Urn. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
 She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
 (Having so swift and excellent a wit. 
 As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse 
 So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. 
 
 Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
 Always excepted my dear Claudio. 
 
 Urs. \ pray you, be not angry with me, madam. 
 Speaking my fancy; signior Benedick, 
 For siiape, for bearing, argument and valour, 
 Goes foremost in report through Italy. 
 
 Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. 
 Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. — 
 When are you married, madam ? [in; 
 
 Hero. VVhy, every day ; — to morrow : come, go 
 I'll shew thee some attires; and have thy counsel. 
 Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 
 
 Urc She's lim'd, I warrant you; we have caught 
 iier, madam. 
 
 ' Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps : 
 Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
 
 [Exeunt Hero and Ursula. 
 
 Beatrice advances. 
 
 Beat. What fire is in mine ears ? Can this be true ? 
 
 Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much^ 
 Contempt, farewell! and, maiden pride, adieu! 
 
 No glory lives behind the back of such. 
 And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee; 
 
 Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ; 
 If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 
 
 To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
 For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I 
 Belie\e it better than reportingly. [Exit 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in Leonato^s House. 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and 
 Leonato. 
 
 D. Pedro. I do but stay, till your marriage bs 
 consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. 
 
 Claud. I'll bring you thither, ray lord, if you'U 
 vouchsafe me. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in 
 the new gloss of your marriage, as to shew a child 
 his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only 
 be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from 
 the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is 
 all mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow- 
 string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him : 
 he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue in 
 the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue 
 speaks. 
 
 Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 
 
 Leon. So say I ; methinks, you are sadder. 
 
 Claud. I hope, he be in love. 
 p. Pedro. Hang him, truant ; there's no true drop 
 of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love : if he 
 be sad, he wants money. 
 
 Bene. I have the tooth ach|f 
 
 D. Pedro. Draw it. 
 
 Bene. Hang it. [warda 
 Claud. You must hang it tirst, and draw it after- 
 
 jy. Pedro. What ! sigh for the tooth-ach ? 
 
 Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm? 
 
 Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he 
 Claud. Yet say 1, he is in love. [that has it 
 
 D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy is 
 him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange dis- 
 guises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day; a Frenchman 
 I to-morrow ; or in the shape of two countries at once, 
 as, a German from the waist downward, all slops; 
 and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet; 
 unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears 
 he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have 
 it appear he is. 
 
 Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
 there is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat 
 o'mornings; what should that bode ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's ? 
 
 Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen 
 with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath 
 already stuffed tennis-balls. 
 
 Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by 
 thr> loss of a beard. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: can 
 you smell him out by that ? 
 
 Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet 
 youth's in love. [choly. 
 
 D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melaa- 
 
 Claud. And when was he wont to wash his fa'ce ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, 
 I hear what they say of him. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now 
 crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. 
 
 D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him ; 
 conclude, conclude, he is in love. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. 
 
 D. Pedro. That would I know too ; I warrant, 
 one that knows him not. 
 
 Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in despil» 
 of all, dies for him. [warda, 
 
 D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up^ 
 
 Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach.— - 
 Old signior, walk aside with me: I have studied 
 eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which 
 these hobby-horses must not hear. 
 
 [Exeunt Benedich and Leonaie 
 
 D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him ab<Ma>t 
 Beatrice 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 101 
 
 Claud. 'Tis even, so: Hero and Margaret have by 
 this played their parts witii Beatrice ; and tiien the 
 two beats will not bite one another, when they meet. 
 
 Enter Don John. 
 
 Don John. My lord and brother, God save yon. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 
 
 J). John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
 
 D.Pedro. Itipiivate? [with you. 
 
 D. John. If it please you : — yet count Claudio may 
 l?ar; ibr what I would speak, of, concerns him. 
 
 D. Pedro. What's the matter? 
 
 D. John. Means your lordship to be married to- 
 morrow? {To Claudio.) 
 
 D. Pedro. You know, he does. 
 
 D. John. I know not that, when he knows what 
 I know. [discover it. 
 
 Claud, there be any impediment, I pray you, 
 
 D. Jrlm. You may think, I love you not; let that 
 uppe^r hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now 
 wil' ^nanifest: for my brother, I think, he holds you 
 *vell; and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect 
 vour ensuing marriage: surely, suit ill spent, and 
 mbour ill bestowed! 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 D. John. I came hither to tell you: and, circum- 
 fit^iaces sliortened (for she hath been too long a talk- 
 ''Dg of), the lady is disloyal. 
 
 Claud. Who? Hero 
 
 D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
 /•■^ery man's Hero. 
 Claud. Disloyal? 
 
 p. John. The word is too good to paint out her 
 wjckedness ;•! could say, she were worse ; think you 
 •<f a worse title, and I will ht her to it. Wonder 
 not, till further warrant: go but with me to-night, 
 you shall see her chamber-window entered ; even the 
 ttight before her wedding-day: if you love her then, 
 to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your 
 Honour to change your mind. 
 
 Claud. May this be so ? 
 
 D. Pedro. I will not think it. 
 
 D. Jithru If you dare not trust that you see, con- 
 fess not tiiat you know : if you wdl follow me, I will 
 shew you enough ; and, when you have seen more, 
 and heard more, proceed accordingly. 
 
 Claud. If 1 see any thing to-niglit why I should 
 not marry her to-morrow ; in the congregation, where 
 I should wed, there will 1 shame her. 
 
 D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, 
 I will join v^ith thee to disgrace her. 
 
 D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you 
 are my vyitnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, 
 and let the issue shew itself. 
 
 D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! 
 
 Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting! 
 
 D. John. O plague right well prevented ! 
 So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI.— J. Street. 
 Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. 
 
 Voyb. Are you good men and true? 
 
 Very. Yea. or else it were pity but they should 
 suffer salvation, body and soid. 
 
 Doyb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
 them, if they should have any allegiance in them, 
 being cho.seu for the prince's watch. 
 
 Very. Well, give tliem their charge, neighbour 
 Dojiberry. [man to be constable? 
 
 Doyb. First, who think y )u the most des\rtless 
 
 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake. >ir, or George Seacoal ; 
 for they can write and read. 
 
 Doyb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal : God hath 
 blessed you with a good name : to be a well favoured 
 man is the gift of ibrtune ; but to write and read 
 comes by natme. 
 
 2 TVatch. B(ith which, master constable, 
 
 Doyb. You have ; I knew it would be your answer. 
 
 Tell, for yciar favr-y:, jir, why, give God thanks, 
 
 and make no boast of it; and for your writing an<| 
 reading, lef that appear when there is, no need 
 such vanity.' Y«ni nrc thought heie' tc be the most 
 senseless and fU m'.'n for'tlie constalM'e "of the w atch 
 therefore bear you the lantern : this is juiir cnarge ; 
 you sh;-ll contpreueno all »aj.'r-)ni "her vck are to 
 bid any i\\:\n ^(anJ, ii' tue [.riiice's .'laii e. 
 
 3 fVatch. How if he will not stand ? 
 
 Doyb. Why, then, take no note of hiai, but 1. t 
 him go; and pre.sently call the rest of the wj, tc.i 
 togetiier, and thank God you are rid of a knave. 
 
 Very. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he 
 is none of the prince's subjects. 
 
 Doyb. True, and they are to meddle with none 
 but the prince's subjects : — You shall also make no 
 noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble and 
 talk, is most tolerable and not to be endured. 
 
 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; we 
 know what belongs to a watch. 
 
 Doyb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
 quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping should 
 offend : only have a care that your bills be not stolen : 
 — Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses, and bid 
 those that are drunk get them to bed. 
 
 2 14'^atch. How if they will not ? 
 
 Doyb. Why then, let them alone till they are 
 sober; if they make you not then the better answer, 
 you may say, they are not the men you took them for. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, sir. 
 
 Doyb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect hi.n, 
 by virtue of your office, to be no true man: and, for 
 such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with 
 them, why, the more is for your honesty. 
 
 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall w e 
 not lay hands on him? 
 
 Doyb. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I think, 
 they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peace- 
 able way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to h t 
 him shew himself what he is, and steal out of yo; :- 
 company. [puf Vtw . . 
 
 Fer^.' You have been always called a mercilii! man, 
 
 Doyb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by rny w i;i , 
 much more a man, who hath any honesty in h'v.n. 
 
 Very. If you hear a child cry in the night, viu 
 must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 
 
 2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and w ill 
 not hear us? 
 
 Doyb Why then, depart in peace, and let t!.e 
 child wake her with crying: for the ewe that w.l! 
 not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answ er a 
 calf when he bleats. 
 
 Very. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Doyb. This is the end of the charge. You, con- 
 stable, are to present the prince's own person ; il' you 
 meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. 
 
 Very. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. 
 
 Doyb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man 
 that knows the statues, he may stay him : many 
 not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, tlie 
 watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence 
 to stay a man against his will. 
 
 Very. By'r lady, I tliink, it be so. 
 
 Doyb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, roasters, good night: 
 an there be any matter of weight chances, call up 
 me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, ai/d 
 good- night. — Come, neighbour. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge 
 let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and 
 then all to bed. 
 
 Doyb. One word more, honest neighbours : I pray 
 you, watch about signior Leonato's door; (or tiiO 
 wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great cud 
 to-night: adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. 
 
 [Exeunt Doyberry and Veryes 
 
 Enter Borachio and Conrade. 
 Bora. What! Conrade, — 
 
 Watch. Peace, stir not. {Asiue.'l 
 
 Bora. Conrade, I say ! 
 
 Con. H-^re, man, I am at thy elbow. 
 
102 
 
 Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought, 
 there would a s^iab follow. 
 
 Con. J wili ewp thee ae answer ''or that; and now 
 ,orvvard vvitH tiiy tale. - " ' 
 
 Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent- 
 house, /lor 'U'driy.'Mes rain; and I wiil, liko a true 
 JriinkaVd, jtirer to Ihee. ' (close. 
 
 U'atc/i, (Aside.) Some treason, masters; yet stand 
 
 Bora. Therelore know, I have earned of Don 
 l.ohn a thjusand ducats. [dear? 
 
 Con. Is it possible that any villainy should be so 
 
 Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible 
 any viUainy should be so rich ; lor when rich villains 
 have noed of poor ones, poor ones may make what 
 
 Con. I wonder at it. [price they will. 
 
 Bora. That shews, thou art unconfirmed : thou 
 knovvest, that tlie fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a 
 cicak, is nothing to a man. 
 
 Con. Yes, it is apparel. 
 
 Bora. I mean, the fashion. 
 
 Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 
 
 Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the fool. 
 Biitseest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion 
 is? 
 
 Watch. I know that Deformed; he lias been a 
 vile thief this seven year; he goes up and down hke 
 a gentleman : I remember his name. 
 
 Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 
 
 Con. No; 'twas the vane on the bouse. 
 
 Bora. Seest thou not, J say, what a deformed 
 thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all 
 the hot bloods, between fourteen and five-and-thirty ? 
 /sometime, i'ashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers 
 in the reechy painting; sometime, like god Bel's 
 priests in the old church window ; sometime, like the 
 sliavenHercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, 
 where his cod piece seems as massy as his club? 
 
 Con. All this I see; and see, that the fashion 
 wears out mire apparel than the man : but art not 
 tljpu thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou 
 hast slul'ted out of thy tale into telling me of the 
 tashion ? 
 
 Bora. Not so, neither : but know, that I have to- 
 uiglit wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle- 
 woman, by the name of Hero; she leans me out at 
 ner mistiess's chamber- window, bids me a thousand 
 times good-night. — 1 tell this tale vilely I — 1 should 
 first tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and tny 
 master, planted, and placed, and possessed by my 
 master, Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this 
 amiable encounter. 
 
 Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero ? 
 
 Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio ; 
 but tile devil my master knew she was Margaret; 
 and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, 
 partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, 
 out chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any 
 slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio 
 enraged ; swore he would meet her, as he was ap- 
 pointed, next morning at the temple, and there, be- 
 fore the whole congregation, shame her with what 
 he saw over-night, and send her home again without 
 a husband. [stand. 
 
 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, 
 
 2 Watch. Call up the right master Constable : we 
 Jiave here recovered the most dangerous piece of 
 lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. 
 
 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I 
 mow him, he wears a lock. 
 Con. Masteis, masters. 
 
 'i Walch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, 
 f A^arraiit you. 
 Con. Masters, — 
 
 1 Watch. Never speak; we chaige you, let us 
 obey you to go with us. 
 
 Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, 
 l<?ing taken up of these men's bills. 
 
 Con. A couimodity in questiou, I warrant you. 
 Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in LeonatoU House. 
 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
 
 Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and 
 desire her to rise. 
 
 Urs. I will, lady. 
 
 Hero. And bid her come hither. 
 
 Urs. Well. [Exit Ursula. 
 
 Mary. Troth, I think, your other rabato were 
 better. 
 
 Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it's not so good ; and I warrant, 
 your cousin will say so. 
 
 Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another ; 
 I'll wear none but this. 
 
 Mary. I like the new tire within excellently, if 
 the hair were a thought browner: and your gown's 
 a most rare fashio«, i'faith. I saw the duchess of • 
 Milan's gown, that they praise so. 
 
 Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in 
 respect of your's : cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced 
 witii siUer; set with pearls, down sleeves, side- 
 ysleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a blueish 
 tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excel- 
 lent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. 
 
 Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart 
 is exceeding heavy ! [man. 
 
 Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of a 
 
 Hero. Fy upon thee ! art not ashamed ? 
 
 Mary. Of what, lady ? of speaking honourably ? 
 Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not 
 your lord honourable without marriage ? I think, 
 you would have me say, saving your reverence, — a 
 husband: an bad thinking do not wrest true speak- 
 ing, I'll offend nobody : Is there any harm in — the 
 heavier for a hushandl None, I think, an if it be 
 the right husband, and the right wife ; otherwise 'tis 
 light, and not heavy: ask mj lady Beatrice else, 
 here she comes. 
 
 Enter Beatrice 
 Hero. Good morrow, coz. 
 
 Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. [tune ? 
 
 Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the sick 
 
 Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 
 
 Marg. Clap us into — Eight o^ love ; that gcea 
 without a burden ; do you sing it, and I'll dance it. 
 
 Beat. Yea, Liyht o' love, with your heels !— 
 then, if your husband have stables enough, ^ ou'll see 
 he shall lack no bai ns. [with my heels. 
 
 Mary. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn that 
 
 Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time 
 you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill • 
 — hey ho ! 
 
 Mary. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 
 
 Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 
 
 Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there'i 
 no more sailing by the star. 
 
 Beat. What means the fool, trow ? 
 
 Mary. Nothing I ; but God send every one thei. 
 heart's desire ! [an excellent perfum* 
 
 Hero. These gloves the count sent me, 'ifcey ai 
 
 Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. 
 
 Mary. A maid, and stutFed ! there's goodly catch 
 ing of cold. 
 
 Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how lon^ 
 have you profess'd apprehension? 
 
 Mary. Ever since you left it : d«th not my wig" 
 become me rarely ? 
 
 Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear ii 
 in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick. 
 
 Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduut 
 Benedictus, and lay it to your heart ; it is the only 
 thing for a qualm. 
 
 Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 
 
 Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have 
 some moral in this Benedictus. 
 
 Mary. Moral ? no, by my troth, I have no moral 
 meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You iim»J 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
ACT IV. Scene 1. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 109 
 
 think, perchance, that T think yon are in love : nay, 
 by'r lady, I am not snch a fool to think what I list ; 
 nor I list not to think wliat I can; nor indeed. I 
 «annot think, if 1 would think my heart out of 
 thinking, that you are in love or that yon will be in 
 love, or that yon can be in love : yet Penedick was 
 ■uch another, and now is he become a man : he 
 swore he would never marry ;and yet now, in despite 
 of his heart, he eats his meat without grudtting : 
 and how you may be converted I know not ; but nie- 
 thinks. you look with your eyes as other women do. 
 
 Beat. What pace is this, that thy tongue keeps? 
 
 Marj. Not a false gallop. 
 
 Re enter Uksula. 
 
 Urs. Madam, withdraw ; the prince, the count, 
 signior Benedick. Don John, and all the gallants of 
 the town, are come to fetch you to church. 
 
 Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, 
 good Ursula. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Another Room in Leonato's house. 
 
 Enter Leonato, ivUh Dogberry and Verges. 
 
 Lion. What would you with me, honest neigh- 
 bour? 
 
 Doyb. Marry, sir, I would have some con6dence 
 with you, that decerns you nearly. 
 
 Leon Brief, I pray yon ; for you see, 'tis a busy 
 
 Dotjb. Marry, this it is, sir. [time with me. 
 
 Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 
 
 Leon. What is it, my good friends ? 
 
 Doijb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off 
 the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits are not so 
 blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were; but 
 in faith, honest, as the skin between his brows 
 
 f^e^'j- Ves. I thank God, I am as honest as any 
 man living, that is an old man, and no honester 
 than I. [hour Verges. 
 
 Doffb. Comparisons are odorous : palabras, neigh- 
 
 Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 
 
 Doijb. It pleases your worship to say so. but we 
 •re the poor duke's otticers ; bti4,tru{y, for mine own 
 part, if I were as tedious as a king, 1 could find in 
 my heart to bestow it all on your worship. 
 
 Leon. All thy tedionsness on me! ha! 
 
 Doyb Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more 
 than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your 
 worship, as of any man in the city; and though I 
 be but a poor mnn, I am glad to hear it. 
 
 y erg. Vnd so ami. 
 
 Leon I would fain know what you have to say. 
 
 Very. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting 
 your worship's pre.sence, have ta'en a couple of as 
 arrant knaves as any in Messina. 
 
 Dogb A good old man, sir; he will be talking; 
 as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out; 
 God help ns! it is a world to see ! — Well said, 
 i'faith, neighbour Verges: — well, God's a good 
 man ; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride be- 
 hind : — An honest soul, i'faith. sir, by my troth he 
 is, as ever broke bread : but, God is to be worship- 
 ped : All men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour ! 
 
 Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of 
 
 /Jojri Gifts, that God gives. [you. 
 
 Leon. I must leave you. 
 
 Doyb One word, sir : our watch, sir, have in- 
 deed comprehended two auspicious persons, and 
 we would have them this morning examined before 
 four worship. 
 
 ^ Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring 
 it me; I am now in great haste, as it may appear 
 Dogb. It shall be suffigance. [unto you 
 
 • heon. Drink some wine ere you go : fare you well. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mets. My lord, they stay for you to give your 
 daughter to her husband. 
 
 Leun. 1 will wait upon them ; I am ready. 
 
 [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. 
 ^ Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis 
 Ueacoal. bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the 
 
 gaol : we are now to examination th ^se men. 
 
 Very. And we must do it wisely. 
 
 Doyb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; 
 here's t\\M.{touching his forehead) shall drive .some 
 of them to a non com: only get the learned writer 
 to set down our excomniunication, and meet me at 
 the gaol. [Exeunt. 
 ACT IV. 
 
 ScENR I. — The inside of a Church. 
 
 Enter Don Pf uno. Don 3 OHs, Leonato, Frtar , 
 Claudio, Benedick, Hero, ««£/ Beatrice, etc. 
 
 Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief ; only to the 
 plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
 particular duties afterwards. jlady t 
 
 Friar You come hither, my lord, to marry this 
 
 Claud No. [marry her, 
 
 Leon. To be married to her. friar; you come to 
 
 Friar Lady, you com.e hither to be married to 
 
 Hero I do. [this count ? 
 
 Friar. If either of you know any inward impedi- 
 ment why you should not be conjoined, I cnarge 
 you, on your souls, to utter it. 
 
 Claud. Know you any, Hero ? 
 
 Hero None, my lord. 
 
 Friar Know you any, count ? 
 
 Leon 1 dare make his answer, none. 
 
 Claud O. what men dare do ! what men may do I 
 what men daily do ! not knowing what they do ! 
 
 Bene. How now ! Interjections ? Why, then some 
 be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he ! [leave ; 
 
 Claud. Stand thee by, friar : — Father, by vonr 
 Will you with free and unconstrained soul 
 Give ine this maid, your daughter? 
 
 Leon As freely , son. as God did give her me. 
 
 Claud And what have I to give yon back, whose 
 worth 
 
 May connterpoi.se this rich and precious gift? 
 
 D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 
 
 Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank* 
 There, Leonato, take her back again; [fulness.— 
 Give not this orange to your friend ; 
 She's but the siv;n and semblance of her honour :— 
 Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 
 O, what authority and show of truth 
 Can cunning sin cover itself withal I 
 Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, 
 To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear 
 All you that see her, that she were a maid, 
 By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 
 She knows the heat of a luxurious bed : 
 Her bhish is guiltiness, not modesty. 
 
 Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? 
 
 Claud, Not to be married 
 
 Not knit my soul to an approved wanton. 
 
 Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, 
 Have vanquished the resistance of her youth. 
 And made defeat of her virginity 
 
 Claud. I know what you would say; If I have 
 known her. 
 
 You'll .say, she did embrace me as a husband, 
 .^nd so extenuate the 'forehand sin : 
 No, Leon;ito. 
 
 1 never tempted her with word too Urge ; 
 But. as a brother to his sister, «how'd 
 Bashful sincerity, and comely love. 
 
 Hero And seem'd 1 ever oiherwise to yt,„? 
 
 Claud Outon thy seeming ! I will write against it 
 You seem to me as Dian in her orb ; 
 As chaste as is the bud, ere it be blown ; 
 But yon are more intemperate in your blood 
 Than Venus, or those pamper'd animalg 
 That rage in savage sensuality. 
 
 Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? 
 
 Leon Sweet prince, why speak not you ? 
 
 D Pedro What should I speak ? 
 
 I stand di.shonour*d, that have gone about 
 'I'o link my dear friend to a common stale, 
 
 Leon. Are these things iuoken? or do 1 but dream? 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act IV, 
 
 104 
 
 D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things 
 are true. 
 
 Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. 
 
 Hero. True, O God ! 
 
 Claud. Leonatn, stand I here ? 
 e~this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother? 
 
 this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own ? 
 
 Lfon. All this is so ; but what of this, my lord ? 
 
 Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
 daughter ; 
 And, by that fatherly and kindly power 
 That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 
 
 Leon. I charae thee do so, as thou art my child. 
 
 Hero. O God defend n.e ! how am I beset! — 
 What kind of catechising call you this ? 
 
 Claud. To make yon answer truly to your name. 
 
 Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name 
 With any just reproach ? 
 
 Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; 
 
 Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
 What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
 Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ? 
 Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 
 
 Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. — 
 Leonato, 
 
 I am sorry you must hear: upon mine honour. 
 Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, 
 Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night. 
 Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ; 
 Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
 Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
 A tliousand times in secret. 
 
 D. John. Fy, fy! (hey are 
 
 Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of ; 
 Tfiere is not chastity enough in language, 
 Without olience, to utter them : thus, pretty lady, 
 I am sorry for thy much niisgovernment. 
 
 Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been. 
 If half thy outward graces had been placed 
 About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart! 
 Rut, fare thee well, most foul, tnost fair; farewell, 
 Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! 
 F'or thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, 
 An I on niy eye-lids shall conjecture hang, 
 To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm. 
 And never shall it more be gracious. 
 
 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? 
 
 {Hero sivoons.) 
 
 Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink 
 you down ? [thus to light, 
 
 D. John. Come, let us go: these things, come 
 Smother her spirits up. 
 
 [Exetaii Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio. 
 Bene. How doth the lady ? 
 
 Beat. Dead, I think ; — help, uncle : — 
 
 Hero! why. Hero! — Uncle! — Siguier Benedick! — 
 friar ! 
 
 Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand ! 
 Death is the fairest cover for her shame. 
 That may be wish'd for. 
 
 Beat. How now, cousin Hero? 
 
 Friar. Ha\e comfort, lady. 
 
 Leon. Dost thou look up? 
 
 Friar. Yea ; wherefore should she not ? ^ 
 
 Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly 
 Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny [thing 
 'i'he story that is printed in her blood ? — 
 Do not li\e, Hero ; do not ope thine e^^es : 
 F(ir di<i I think thou wouldst not quickly die, 
 Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, 
 My-elf woidd, on the rearward ol' reproaches, 
 St) ike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one ? 
 Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ? 
 O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ? 
 Why e\er wast thou lovely in my eyes? 
 Why had I not with charitable hand. 
 Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ; 
 Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy, 
 ' might ha 'e said. No part of it is mine, 
 
 This shame derives itself fro7n unknoivn loins f 
 But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd 
 And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much 
 That I myself was to myself not mine 
 Valuing of her ; why, slie — O, she is falh d 
 Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea 
 Hath clrops too few to wash her clean agaia * 
 And salt too little, which may season give 
 To her foul tainted fiesh ! 
 
 Bene. Sir, sir, be patient: 
 
 For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! 
 
 Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last niglit 
 
 Beat. No. truly, not ; although, until last night, 
 I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 
 
 Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is strongei 
 made, 
 
 Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron 1 
 Would the two princes lie '? and Claudio lie ? 
 Who lov'd her so, that S[)eaking of her foulness 
 Wash'd it with tears ? Hence from her ; let her die 
 
 Friar. Hear me a little ; 
 For I have only been silent so long. 
 And giv en way unto this course of fortune. 
 By noting of the lady: I have mark'd 
 A thousand blushing apparitions start 
 Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
 In angel whiteness bear away those blushes; 
 And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire. 
 To burn the errors, that these princes hold 
 Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool; 
 Trust not my reading, nor my observations. 
 Which with experimental seal doth vvarraut 
 The tenour of my book ; trust not my age> 
 My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 
 If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
 Under some biting error, 
 
 Leon. Friar, it cannot be 
 
 Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left 
 Is, that she will not add to her dansnation 
 A sin of perjury; she not denies it: 
 Why seek'st thou then to cov er with excuse 
 That which appears in proper nakedness? 
 
 Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of. 
 
 Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know 
 If I know more of any man alive, ^none 
 Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant. 
 Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my father, 
 Prove you, that any man with me convers'd 
 At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
 Maintain'd the change of words with any creature. 
 Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. 
 
 Friar. There is some strange misprision in the 
 princes. 
 
 Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour 
 And if their wisdoms be misled in this, 
 The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 
 Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies. 
 
 Leon. I know not: If they speak but truth of her 
 These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her ho 
 The proudest of them shall well hear of it. [nour 
 Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine. 
 Nor age so eat up my invention, 
 Nor fortune made such ha\ oc of my means. 
 Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends. 
 But they shall find, awak'd in siicli a kind. 
 Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, | 
 Ability in means, and choice of friends. 
 To quit me of them throughly. 
 
 Friar. Pause a while, 
 
 And let my counsel sway you in this case 
 Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; 
 Let her awhile be secretly kept in. 
 And publish it, that she is dead indeed : 
 Maintain a mourning ostentalior ; 
 And on your family's old monument 
 Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
 That appertain unto a burial. [this do 
 
 Leon. What shall become of this? What will 
 
Scene 2. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her 
 behalf 
 
 Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
 
 But not lor that dream I on this strange course, 
 
 But on this travail look for greater birth. 
 
 She dying, as it must be so maintain'd. 
 
 Upon the instant that she was accus'd, 
 
 Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd. 
 
 Of every hearer: for it so falls out, 
 
 That what we have we prize not to the worth, 
 
 Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost. 
 
 Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
 
 The virtue, that possession would not show us 
 
 Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio: 
 
 When he shall hear she died upon his words. 
 
 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 
 Into his study of imagination ; 
 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 
 Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
 
 More moving-delicate, and full of life. 
 
 Into the eye and urospect of his soul. 
 
 Than when she iiv'd indeed : — then shall he mourn, 
 
 (If ever love had interest in his liver,) 
 
 And wish he had not so accused her; 
 
 No, though he thought his accusation true. 
 
 Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
 
 Will fashion the event in better shape 
 
 Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
 
 But if all aim but this be leveil'd false. 
 
 The supposition of the lady's death 
 
 Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
 
 And, if it sort not vveil, you may conceal her 
 
 iAs best befits her wounded iH-putation,) 
 n some recliisive and religious life, 
 Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 
 
 Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you : 
 And though, you know, my inwardness and love 
 Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
 Tet, by nmi^ honour, I will deal in this 
 As secretly, and justly, as your soul 
 Should with your body. 
 
 Leon. Being that I flow iu grief, 
 
 The smallest twine may lead me. 
 
 Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; 
 F:r to strange aores strangely they strain the 
 cure. — 
 
 Come, lady, die to live; this wedding day. 
 
 Perhaps, is but prolonged ; have patience, and 
 endure. [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. 
 Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this 
 while ? 
 
 Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 
 Bene. I will not desire that. 
 Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. 
 Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is 
 wrong d. 
 
 Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of 
 me. that woidd right her ! 
 
 Bene. Is there any way to shew such friendship ? 
 
 Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 
 
 Bene. May a man do it? 
 
 B-.at. It is a man's office, but not yours. 
 
 Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as 
 von , is not tiiat strange ? 
 
 Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : it 
 were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so 
 well ai you : but believe me not; and yet 1 lie not; 
 1 confess nothing, nor I deny nothing : — I am sorry 
 lOr my cousin. 
 
 Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 
 
 Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 
 
 Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and 
 
 will make him eat it, that says, 1 love not you. 
 
 Beat Will you not eat your word ? 
 
 Bene \Vith no sauce that can be devised to it: 
 1 protest, I lovo thee. 
 
 Beat. VVhy then, God forgive me ! 
 
 Bene. What olVence, sweet Beatrice? 
 
 Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was 
 About to protest, I loved you. 
 
 105 
 
 Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 
 
 Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that 
 
 none is left to protest. 
 
 Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee 
 
 Beat. Kill Claudio. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 
 
 Beat. You kill me to deny it: Farewell. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 
 
 Beat. I am gone, though 1 am here ; — ^^ITiere U 
 no love in you : — Nay, I pray you, let rae go. 
 
 Bene. Beatrice, — 
 
 Beat. In faith, 1 will go. 
 
 Bene. We'll be friends first. 
 
 Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, thaa 
 fight with mine enemy. 
 
 Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? 
 
 Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
 that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins- 
 woman ? — O, that I were a man ! — What ! bear 'j«*r 
 in hand until they come to take hands, and then, 
 with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmiti- 
 gated rancour, — O God, that I were a man. I would 
 eat his heart in the market place. 
 
 Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; — 
 
 Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ? — a pro- 
 
 Bene. Nay, but Beatrice ; — [per saying. 
 
 Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is slan- 
 
 Bene. Beat — [dered, she is undone. 
 
 Beat. Princes, and counties ! Surely, a princely 
 testimony, a goodly count-confect ; a sweet gallant, 
 surely ! O, that I were a man for his sake , or that 
 I had any friend woidd be a man for my sake ! But 
 manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into com- 
 pliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and 
 trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercules, that 
 only tells a lie, and swears it : — I cannot be a man 
 with wishing, therefore 1 will die a woman with 
 grieving. [love thee. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, 1 
 
 Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
 swearing by it. [hath wronged Hero ? 
 
 Bene. Think you in your soul the count (/laudio 
 
 Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. 
 
 Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge 
 him ; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you : by 
 this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account. 
 As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort 
 your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, fare- 
 well. [ExeuTtt 
 
 Scene II. — A Prison. 
 
 Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns , 
 and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. 
 
 Doyh. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? 
 
 Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! 
 Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? 
 Doyb. Marry, that am I and my partner. 
 
 Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the exhibition 
 to examine. 
 
 Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be 
 examined ? let them come before master constable. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — 
 What is your name, friend ? 
 
 Bora. Borachio. 
 
 Doyb. Pray write down — Borachio. Your 
 
 sirrah i ^ [Conra 
 
 Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name 
 
 Doyb. Write down — master gentleman Conra 
 — Masters, do you serve God? 
 
 Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope. 
 
 Doyb. Write down— that they hope they ser>« 
 God:— and write God first; for God defend but 
 God should go before such villains !— Masters, it ia 
 proved already that you are little better than false 
 knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. 
 How answer you for yourselves i 
 
 Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 
 
 Doyb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you 
 but 1 will go about with him.— C ne you hither 
 
106 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 «imh ; a word ?n your ear, sir; I say to you, it is 
 thoMglit you are false knaves. 
 
 Born. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 
 
 Dofjb. Well, stand aside. — Fore God, they are 
 both in a tale : have you writ down — that they are 
 cone ? 
 
 Sexton, Master constable, you go not tlie way to 
 examine ' you must call forth the watch, that are 
 their accusers. 
 
 Do(jh. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : — Let 
 the watch come forth: — Masters, I charge you, in 
 the prince's name, accuse these men 
 
 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the 
 prince's brother, was a villain. 
 
 Doyb. Write down — prince John a villain: — 
 Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother — 
 
 Bora. Master constable, — [villain. 
 
 Doyb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like 
 ^ly look, I promise thee. 
 
 Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 
 
 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thou- 
 sand ducats of Don John, for accusing lady Hero 
 wnnigfully. 
 
 Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. 
 Very. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 
 Sexton. What else, fellow? 
 
 1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, 
 upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole 
 assembly, and not marry her. 
 
 Doyb. O villain! thou wilt be condemned into 
 tverlasting redemption for this. 
 Sexton. What else ? 
 
 2 Watch. This is all. 
 
 Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can 
 deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
 away ; Kero was in this manner accused, in this 
 very rianner refused, and upon the grief of this, 
 sudilenly died. — Master constable, let these men 
 be bound, and brought to Leonato's : I will go be- 
 fore, and shew him their examination. [Exit. 
 
 Doyb. Come, let them be opinioned. 
 
 Very. Let them be in band. 
 
 Con. Olf, coxcomb ! 
 
 Doyb. God's my life, where 's the sexton? let 
 him write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — 
 Come, bind them : Thou naughty varlet! 
 
 Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 
 
 Doyb. Dost thou not susp ect my place ? Dost 
 thou not suspect my years ? — O that he were here 
 to write me down — an ass! but, masters, remem- 
 ber, that I am an ass; though it be not written 
 down, yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou 
 villain, thou art fidl of piety, as shall be proved 
 upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; 
 and, which is more, an officer ; and, which is more, 
 a houseliolder ; and, which is more, as pretty a 
 piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one that 
 knows the law, go to; and a rich I'ellow enough, 
 goto; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one 
 that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome 
 about him : — Bring him away. O, that 1 had been 
 writ down — an ass ! [Exeunt. 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene L — Before Lemtato's House. 
 Enter Leonato and Antonio. 
 
 Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
 '\nd 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief 
 Against yourself. 
 
 Jjeon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel. 
 
 Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
 As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 
 Nor let no comforter delight mine ear. 
 But such a one, whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
 Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child. 
 Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine. 
 And bid him speak of patience ; 
 Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine. 
 And let it answer every strain for strain ; 
 As thus for thusj and such a grief for such. 
 
 In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: 
 If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard : 
 Cry — sorrow, wag I and hem, when he should 
 groan ; 
 
 Patch grief with proverbs ; make misfortune »'«-unk 
 
 With candle-wasters : bring him yet to me. 
 
 And I of him will gather patience. 
 
 But there is no such man : for, brother, men 
 
 Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
 
 Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it. 
 
 Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
 
 Would give preceptial medicine to rage, 
 
 Fetter strong madness in a silken thread. 
 
 Charm ach with air, and agony with words: 
 
 No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
 
 To those that wring under the load of sorrow ; 
 
 But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency. 
 
 To be so moral, when he shall endure 
 
 The like himself: therefore give me no counsel: 
 
 My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 
 
 Ant. Therein do men from children notiiinf 
 difier. rblood': 
 
 Leon. I pray thee, peace ; I will be flesh ana 
 For there was never yet philosopher, 
 'J'hat could endure the tooth-ach patiently ; 
 However they have writ the style of gods. 
 And made a pish at chance and sufferance. 
 
 Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
 Make those, that do ofiend you, suffer too. 
 
 Leon, There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will do 
 My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied ; [so : 
 
 And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince. 
 And all of them, that thus dishonour her. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 
 Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. 
 D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 
 Claud. Good day to both of you. 
 
 Leon. Hear you, mv lords, — 
 D. Pedro. We have srnne haste, Lecaato, 
 
 Leon. Some haste, my lord . — well, fare you 
 
 well, my lord : — 
 Are you so hasty now? — well, all is one. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good 
 
 old man. 
 
 Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling^ 
 Some of us would lie low. 
 
 Claud. Who wrongs him ? 
 
 Leon. Marry 
 Thou, thou dost wrong me ; thou dissembler, thou :— 
 Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, 
 I fear thee not. 
 
 Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand. 
 
 If it should give your age such cause of lear : 
 In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 
 
 Leon. Tush, tush, nia i, never fleer and jest at 
 I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ; [n»e : 
 
 As, under privilege of age, to brag 
 Wliat I have done being young, or what would doj 
 Were I not old : Know, Claudio, to thy head, 
 Thou hast so wrong'd niine innocent child and me. 
 That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by ; 
 And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days. 
 Do challenge thee t(» trial of a man. 
 I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 
 Thy slander hath gone thro^^gh and through hrr 
 And she lies buried with her ancestors : [heart, 
 O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept, 
 Save this of her's, fram'd by thy villainy. 
 
 Claud. My villainy ! 
 
 Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thiue, f say, 
 
 D. Pedro. You say not right, olci nun. 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, 
 
 I'll prove it on his body, if he dare ; 
 Despite his nice fence, and his active practice. 
 His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. 
 Claud. Away, I will not have to do with ycn- 
 Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kiH'i 
 my child ; 
 
 If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 Ani. He snail kill two of ns, and men indeed ; 
 But that's no matter; let him kill one first; — 
 Win me and wear uie, — let him answer me ; — 
 Come, follow me, boy ; come, boy, follow me : 
 Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence ; 
 Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 
 Jjeoti. Brother, — [niece , 
 
 Ant. Content yourself : God knows, I lov'd njy 
 And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains. 
 That dare as well answer a man, indeed. 
 As 1 dare take a serpent by the tongue : 
 Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! — 
 JLion. Brother Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Hold you content ; What, man ! I know 
 them, yea, 
 
 And what they wei^h, even to the utmost scruple : 
 Scambling, out-facing, fashion- mong'ring boys, 
 ITiat lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander, 
 Go anticly, and shew outward hideousness. 
 And speak off half a dozen dangerous v/ords. 
 How they miglit hurt their enemies, if they durst, 
 And this is all. 
 
 Leon. But, brother Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Come, 'tis no matter ; 
 
 Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. 
 
 D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake 
 your patience. 
 My heart is sorry for your daughter's death ; 
 But, on niy honour, she was charg'd with nothing 
 But what was true, and very full of proof. 
 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, — 
 
 /). Pedro. I will not hear you. 
 
 Leon. No ? 
 
 Brother, away : — I will be heard ; — 
 
 Ant. And shall, 
 
 i \t some of us will smart for it. 
 
 [E.xeunt Leonato and Antonio. 
 
 Enter Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro See, see ; here comes tlie man we 
 went to seek. 
 Claud. Now, signior ! what news ? 
 Bene. Good day, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : You are almost 
 eome to j^art alniost a fray. 
 
 Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
 unapped oft" with two old men without teeth. 
 
 D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother : What think'st 
 thou ? Had we fought, I doubt, we should have 
 been too young for them. 
 
 Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. 
 I came to seek you both. 
 
 Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ; 
 for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain 
 have it beaten away : Wilt thou use thy wit? 
 
 Bene. It is in my scabbard ; shall I draw it ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ? 
 
 Claud. Never any did so. though very many have 
 been beside their wit. — I will bid thee draw, as we 
 do the minstrels ; draw, to pleasure us. 
 
 1). Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks 
 pale : — Art thou sick, or angry ? 
 
 ^ Claud. What ! courage, man I What though care 
 killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in tnee to 
 kill care. 
 
 Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an 
 you charge it against me: — I pray you, choose 
 another subject. 
 
 Claud. Nay, then give him another staff: this 
 last was broke cross. 
 
 D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
 Bi )re-; I think, he be angry indeed. 
 
 Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 
 
 Bene. Shall I spea!: a word in your ear ? 
 
 Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 
 
 Bene. You are a villain; I jest not; — I will 
 make it good how you dare, with what you dare, 
 and when you dare : — Do me right, or I will pro- 
 test your cowardice. You have killed a sweet 
 
 lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you : Lei 
 me hear from you. ' [good cheer, 
 
 Claud. W^ell, I will meet you, so I may havo 
 
 D. Pedro. What, a feasr ? a feast? 
 
 Claud. I'faith, 1 thank him ; he hath bid me to 
 a calf's head and a capon, the which if I ^o not 
 carve most curiously, say my knife's naught. — Shall 
 I not find a woodcock too ? 
 
 Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily 
 
 D. Pedro. I'll tell tiiee how Beatrice praised thy 
 wit the other day : 1 said, thou hadst a fine wit; 
 True, says she, a fine little one : No, said I, a great 
 wit ; Riy/it, s.iys she, a great gross one : Nay, said 
 I, a good wit ; Just , sn\d she, it hurts no body : Nay, 
 said I, the gentleman is wise ; Certain, said she, <i 
 ivise gentleman : Noy, saul I, he hath the tongues; 
 That, I believe, said she. for he swore a thing to me 
 on Monday night, which he forstvore on Tuesday 
 morning; there's a double tongue; there's twc 
 tongties. Thus did she, an liour together, trans-shape 
 tl»y particular virtues : yet, at last, she concluded 
 with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy. 
 
 Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and 
 said, she cared not. 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for al! 
 that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would 
 love him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. 
 
 Claud. All, all; and moreover, God saw him 
 when he was hid in the garden. 
 
 D.Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull'a 
 horn on the sensible Benedick's head ? 
 
 Claud. Yea, and text underneath. Here divclU 
 Betiedick the married man '/ 
 
 Bene. Fai e you well, boy ; you know my mind 
 I will leave you now to your gossip like humour: 
 you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, 
 God be thanked, hurt not. — My lord, for yom 
 many courtesies I thank you : I must discontinue 
 your company : your brother, the bastard, is fled 
 from Messina : you have, among you, killed a swee> 
 and innocent lady : For my lord Lack-beard, there 
 he and I shall meet ; and till then, peace be witK 
 him. [Exit Benedick 
 
 D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 
 
 Cloud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll war- 
 rant you, for the love of Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee ? 
 
 Claud. Most sincerely. 
 
 D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when ho 
 goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit. 
 
 Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with 
 CoNRADE and Borachio. 
 
 Claud. He is then a giant to an ai^e : but then ia 
 an ape a doctor to such a man. 
 
 D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be ; pluck op, my 
 heart, and be sad ! Did he not say, my brother 
 was fled ? 
 
 Dogb. Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame 
 you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her 
 balance : nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, 
 you must be looked to. 
 
 D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men 
 bound ! Borachio, one ! 
 
 Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord .' 
 
 D. Pedro. Officers, what offence hav e these men 
 done ? 
 
 Dogb. Many, sir, they have committed false re* 
 port; moreover, they have spoken untruths; se- 
 condarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they 
 have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified un- 
 just things, and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. 
 
 D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done: 
 thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth ana 
 lastly, why they are committed ; and, to conclude, 
 what you lay to their charge ? 
 
 Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division i 
 and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. 
 
 D. Pedro. Whom have you oflended, masters^ 
 that you are thus bound to your answer ? tbii 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
108 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act V 
 
 learned constable is too cunning to be understood : 
 \N hat s your oiFeiice ? 
 
 Bora. Sweet prince. let me go no further to 
 ,jine answer: do you hear nie, and let this count 
 ell me. I nave deceived even your very eyes : 
 'W'hat your wisdoms could not discover, these 
 shallow fools have brought to li^ht; who, in the 
 night, overheard me confessing to this man, how 
 Don John, y^our brother, incensed me to slander the 
 lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard, 
 and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments; 
 how you disgraced her, when you should marry 
 her : my villainy they have upon record ; which I 
 had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to 
 my shame : the lady is dead upon mine and my 
 master's false accusation ; and, briefly, I desire 
 Qothing but the reward of a villain. 
 
 D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
 
 your blood ? 
 Claud. I have drunk, poison, whiles he uttered it. 
 D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this ? 
 Bora. Y ea, and paid me richly for the practice of it. 
 D. Pedro. He is compos'd and frani'd of trea- 
 And fled he is upon this villainy. [chery: — 
 
 Claud. Sweet Hero ! now tliy image doth appear 
 In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 
 
 Doyb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs ; by this 
 time our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of 
 the matter : and, masters, do not forget to specify, 
 when time and ulace shall serve, that 1 am an ass. 
 
 Verg. Here, nere comes master signior Leonato, 
 and the sexton too. 
 
 Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, ivith the Sexton. 
 
 Leon. Which is the villain ? Let me see hiseyes ; 
 That, when I note another man like him, 
 I may avoid him : Which of these is he ? 
 
 Bora. If you would know your wronger, • look 
 on me. 
 
 Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath 
 Mine innocent child ? [hast kill'd 
 
 Bora. Yea, even I alone. 
 
 Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou bely'st thyself ; 
 Here stand a pair of honourable men, 
 A third is flid, that had a hand in it : — 
 I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death ; 
 Record it with your high and worthy deeds ; 
 'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 
 
 Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, 
 Yet I must speak : Choose your revenge yourself; 
 Impose me to what penance your invention 
 Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not, 
 But in mistaking. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; 
 
 And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
 I would bend under any heavy weight, 
 That he'll enjoin me to. 
 
 Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live, 
 That were impossible ; but I pray you both. 
 Possess the people in iMessina here 
 How innocent she died : and, if your love 
 Can labour aught in sad invention. 
 Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb. 
 And sing it to her bones ; sing it to-night : — 
 To-morrow morning come you to my house ; 
 And since you could not be my son in law. 
 Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter, 
 Almost the copy of my child that's dead, 
 And she alone is heir to both of us ; 
 Give her the right you should have given her cousin,, 
 And so dies my revenge. 
 
 Claud. O, noble sir, 
 
 Your over kindness doth wring tears from me ! 
 I do embrace your offer; and dispose 
 Few- hencefiyth of poor Claudio, [ing ; 
 
 Leo7i. To-njorrow then I will expect your com- 
 To-night I take my leave. — This naughty man 
 Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
 Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong, 
 Hir d to it by your brother. 
 
 Bora No, by my soul, she was not ; 
 
 Nor knew not what she did , when she spoke to me 
 But always hath been just and virtuous. 
 In any thing that I do know by her. 
 
 Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under 
 white and black,) this plaintifi" here, the offender, 
 did call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered 
 in his punishment : And also, the watch heard thera 
 talk of one Deformed : they say, he wears a key in 
 his ear, and a lock hanging by it ; and borrows mo- 
 ney in God's name ; the which he hath used so long, 
 and never paid, that now nien grow hard-hearted, 
 and will lend nothing for God's sake : pray you, ex- 
 amine him upon that point. 
 
 Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. , 
 Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful I 
 and rex erend youth ; and I praise God for you. 
 Leon. There's for thy pains. 
 Dogb. God save the foundation ! [I thank thee. 
 Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and 
 Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ; 
 which., I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, 
 for the example of others. God keep your worship; 
 I wish your worship well ; God restore you to health: 
 I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry 
 meeting may be wished, God prohibit it. — Come, 
 neiglibour. [Exeunt Dogberry , Verges, and Watch. 
 Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 
 Ant. Farewell, my lords ; v*"e look for you to- 
 D. Pedro. We will not fail. [morrow 
 Claud. To night I'll mourn with Hero. 
 
 {Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. 
 Leon. Bring you these fellows on ; we'll talk with 
 Margaret, 
 
 How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Leonatds Garden. 
 Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting 
 
 Beyie. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de- 
 serve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech 
 of Beatrice. [of my beauty ? 
 
 Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise 
 
 Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man 
 living shall come o\er it; for, in most comely truth, 
 thou deservest it. 
 
 Marg. To have no man come over me ? why, shall 
 I always keep below stairs? 
 
 Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
 mouth ; it catches. [which hit, but hurt not. 
 
 Marg. And your's as blant as the fencer's foils. 
 
 Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not 
 hurt a woman: and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice: I 
 give thee the bucklers. [our own. 
 
 Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of 
 
 Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put ir 
 the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous wea- 
 pons for maids. 
 
 Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, 1 
 think, hath legs. [Exit. 
 
 Bene. And therefore will come. 
 
 The god of love, {Singing.) 
 That sits above, 
 And knows me, and knoivs me, 
 How pitiful I deserve, — 
 I mean, in singing ; but m loving, — Leander the goo3 
 swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pandars, and 
 a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, 
 whose names yet run smoothly in the even road of a 
 blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned 
 over and over as my poor self, in love: Marry, I 
 cannot shew it in rhyme ; I have tried ; I can find out 
 no rhyme to lady but baby, an innocent rhyme ; for 
 scorn, horn, a hard rhyme ; for school, fool, a bab- 
 bling rhyme ; very ominous endings : no, I was not 
 born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in 
 festival terms. 
 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called 
 
 thee ? 
 
Scene 4. MUCH ADO ABOUT 
 
 Beat. Yea, sigmor, and depart when you bid me. 
 Bene. O, stay but till then ! 
 
 Beat. Then is spoken ; fare yon well now : — and 
 yet, ere 1 go, let me go with that I came lor, which 
 Is, with know'ng what hath passed between you and 
 Glaiulio [thee. 
 
 Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will kiss 
 
 Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind 
 is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; there- 
 fore I will depart unkissed. 
 
 Bene. Thou iiast irif^hted the word out of his right 
 sense, so Ibrcible is thy wit : but I must tell thee 
 i.laiiily Claudio undergoes my challenge ; and either 
 1 must sliortly hear from him, or I will subscribe 
 him a i oward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for 
 which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love 
 with me ? 
 
 Beat. For them all together; which maintained 
 so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any 
 good part to intermingle with them. But for which 
 of my good parts did you first suffer love for me 
 
 Bene. Suffer love; a good epithet! I do sutler 
 love, indeed, for I love thee against my will. 
 
 Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas ! poor 
 heart ! If you spite it for my aake, I will spite it for 
 yours; for I will never lo\e that which my friend 
 hates. 
 
 Beiie. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. 
 
 Beat. It appears not in this confession ; there's not 
 one wise man among tvventy that will praise himself. 
 
 Bene. A n old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived 
 in the time of good neighbours . if a man do not erect 
 iu this age his own %mb ere he dies, he shall live 
 no longer in monument than the bell rings, and the 
 widow weeps. 
 
 Beat. An. I how long is that, think yon? 
 
 Bene. Question ?— Why. an hour in clamour, and 
 a quarter in rheum : therefore it is most expedient 
 for the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, tind no 
 impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his 
 own \ irtues,as I am to myself: So inncii for praising 
 myself, (who, I myself will bear witness, is praise- 
 worthy,) and now tell me. How doth your cousin ? 
 
 Beat. Very ill. 
 
 Bene. And how do you? 
 
 Beat. Very ill too. 
 
 Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend : there will 
 I leave you too, lor here comes one in haste. 
 
 Enter Ursula. 
 
 Zhs. Madam, you must come to your uncle ; 
 yonder's old coil at home : it is proved, my lady Hero 
 nath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio 
 mightily abus'd : and Don John is the author of all, 
 who is fled and gone: will you come presently? 
 
 Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ? 
 
 Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and 
 be buried in thy eyes ; and, moreover, I will go with 
 thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The Inside of a Church. 
 filnterDon Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, ivith 
 7nusic and tapers. 
 Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? 
 Atten. It is, my lord. 
 Claud. (Reads from a scroll.) 
 
 Done to death by slanderous tongues, 
 
 W OS the Hero that here lies : 
 Death, in yuerdon of her tvrongs. 
 
 Gives her fame, luhich never dies : 
 So the life that died with shame. 
 Lives in death with glorious fame. 
 Hang thou there upon the tomb, (affixing it.) 
 Praising her ivhen I am dumb. — 
 No\T, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 
 SONG. 
 
 Pardon, Goddess of the night, 
 Those ihat sleiv thy virgin knight ; 
 
 NOTHING. lot 
 
 For the which, with songs of woe. 
 Round about her tomb they go. 
 Midnight, assist our inoan ; 
 Help us to sigh and groan, 
 
 Heavily, lieavily : 
 Graves, yaivn, a7id yield your dead 
 Till death be uttered. 
 Heavily, heavily. 
 Claud. Now unto thy bones good night! 
 
 Yearly will 1 do this rite. 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; pot yom 
 torches out; [day 
 The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle 
 Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 
 
 Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray . 
 Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well. 
 Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several 
 way. [wfeds ; 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on oth^ir 
 And then to Leonato's we will go. 
 
 Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue 
 speed's. 
 
 Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, 
 Ursula, Friar, and Hero. 
 Friar. Did I not tell you, she was innocent? 
 Leon. So are tiie prince and Claudio, who accused 
 Upon the error that you heard debated : [her 
 But Margaret was in some fault for this; 
 Although against her will, as it appears 
 In the true course of all the question. 
 
 Ant.. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well 
 Bene. And so am I, being else by i'aitli enforc'd 
 To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
 
 Leo7i. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen aU 
 Withdraw into a chamber by yoms^hes; 
 And, when I send i'or you, come hither mask'd: 
 The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
 To visit me : — You know your office, brother, 
 I'ou must be father to your brother's daughter. 
 And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 Ant. Which I will do with confirm d countenance. 
 Bene. Friar. 1 must entreat your pains, I think. 
 Friar. To do what, signior? 
 Be7ie. To bind ine, or undo me, one of them.— > 
 Signior Leonato, triitli it is, good signior. 
 Your niece regards me with an eye ot favour, [troe. 
 Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 'tis most 
 Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 
 Leo7i. The sight whereof, I think, you had from mc, 
 From Claudio and the prince ; but what's your wili? 
 
 Be7ie. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical' 
 But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
 May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
 In the estate of honourable marriage; — 
 In which, good Iriar, I shall desire yoar help. 
 Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
 Friar. Vnd my helpi. 
 
 Here comes the prince, and Claudio. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, tvith Attendants. 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
 Leo7i. Good morrow, prince ; — good morrow 
 Claudio : 
 
 We here attend you : are you yet determin'd 
 To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? 
 Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an EfJiiopo. 
 Leon. Call her forth, brother; here's the friai 
 ready. [Exit Antonio 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick : why, what's 
 the matter. 
 That you have such a February faee, 
 So full of irost, of storm, and cloudiness? 
 
 Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:-* 
 Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns wvlh gold. 
 And all Europa shall rejoice at thee ; 
 As once Europa did at lusty jove. 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act V 
 
 110 
 
 W^hen he would play the noble beast in love. 
 
 Bene. Bdll Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
 A.n(l some such strange bull lenp'd your father's cow. 
 And got a calf in that same noble feat, 
 Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio, with the ladies mashed. 
 
 (■laud. For this I nwr you: here come other 
 
 reckonings. 
 ^Vhich is the lady I must seize upon? 
 Ant. 'I'his same is she, and I no give you her. 
 Claud. Why, then she's mine : sweet, let me see 
 
 your face. 
 
 Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand 
 Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 
 
 Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar; 
 ) am your husband, if you like of me. 
 
 Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : 
 And when you loved, you were my otiier husband. 
 
 Claua Another Hero? [Unmaskiny. 
 
 Hero. Nothing certainer : 
 
 ( )ne lieiu died defil'd • but I do live. 
 And. surely as I live, I am a maid. 
 
 D. Padro. The fornuer Hero ! Hero, that is dead ! 
 
 Leon She died, my lord, but whiles her slander 
 lived. 
 
 Priaf All this amazement can I qualify ; 
 VVhen, after that the holy rites are ended, 
 I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: 
 Meantime, let wonder seem familiar. 
 And to the chapel let us presently. 
 
 Bene. Soil and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice ? 
 
 Beat. I answer to that name; {un7naslcs.) What 
 is your will ? 
 
 Bene. Do not you love me ? 
 
 Beat. No. no more than reason. 
 
 Bene. Why, then your uncle, an<l the prince, and 
 Clandio, 
 
 Have been decei' ed: for they svvore you did. 
 Btiat. Do no! you love me ? 
 
 Bene No, no more than reason. 
 
 Beat Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, 
 Are mu:h deceiv'd; lor they did swear, you did. 
 Bene. They swore, that you were almost sick for 
 u»e. [for me. 
 
 Beat. They snore that you were well-nigh dead 
 Bene, 'Tis no such matter : — Then, you do rot 
 love me ? 
 
 Beat. No, tritlj , but iu friendly recompeusf . 
 
 Leon. Conie, cousin, I am sure you love the geir 
 tlemao. 
 
 Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves bei 
 For here's a paper, written in his hand, 
 A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
 Fashion'd to Beatrice. 
 
 Hero. And here's another. 
 
 Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, 
 Containing her atfection unto Benedick. 
 
 Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands agains 
 our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, by this 
 light, I take thee for pity. 
 
 Beat. I would not deny yon; But, by this good daj 
 I yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly, to save 
 your life, for I was told you were in a consumption. 
 
 Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her.) 
 
 D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick, tlie marriea 
 man ? 
 
 Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit- 
 crackers cannot flout me out of my humour : dost thoii 
 think, I care for a satire, or an epigram ? No : if a man 
 will be beaten with brains, he shall wear nothing 
 handsome about him : in brief, since I do purjtose to 
 marry, I will think nothing to any purpose, that the 
 world can say against it; and therefore never flout 
 at me for what I have said against it; for man is a 
 giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. — For thy 
 part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee ; but in 
 that thou ait like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, 
 and love my cousin. 
 
 Claud. I had well hoped, thou woiddst have de- 
 nied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out 
 of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer; 
 which, out ()f question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do 
 not look exceeding narrowly to thee. 
 
 Bene. Come, come, we are friends: — let's have a 
 dance ere we are married, that we may lighten oui 
 own hearts, and our wives' heels. 
 
 Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 
 
 Bene. First, o' my word ; therefore, play, fnusic. — 
 Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a wife : 
 there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with 
 horn. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight. 
 And brought with armed men back to Messina. 
 
 Bene. Think not on him till to-mornnv; I'll devise 
 thee brave punishments for hisn. — Strike up, pipers, 
 [Dance — Exeunt 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Wild and fantastical as this play is, all the parts in their various modes are well written, and give the kind 
 of pleasure which the author designed. Fairies iti his time were much in fashion; coniincu tradition had made 
 Ihem familiar, and Spencer's poem had made them great. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 THESEUS, Duke of Athens. 
 EGEUS. Father to Hermia. 
 
 LYSANDEJl,— DEMETRIUS,— m love with Hermia. 
 PHII.OSTRATK, Master of the Rebels to Theseus. 
 QUINCE, the Carpenter. 
 SNUG, the Joiner. 
 BOTTOM, the Weaver. 
 FLUTE, the BfUows mender. 
 SNOUT, the Tinker. 
 STARVELING, the Tailor. 
 
 HIPFOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to 
 
 Theseus. 
 
 IIERMIA, Daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. 
 HRLEISA.m love with Demetrius 
 
 OBERON, King of the Fairies. 
 TlT.\NiA, Quffn of the Fairies. 
 PUCK, or Robin Goodfellow, a FcUrr. 
 PEAS BLOSSOM, . 
 
 Fairies. 
 
 COBWiiB. 
 iMOTH, 
 
 MUSTARD SEED, ) 
 Ft/ramus, \ 
 
 WaU^' > Characters in the Interlude "performed 
 Moonshine, I '^'^ C^^^vsns. 
 
 Lion, I 
 
 Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. 
 Attendants on Theseus and tiippolpla. 
 
 Scene, — Athens, and a Wood not far from it. 
 
 ACT r. 
 
 Scene I. — Athens. A Room in the Palace of 
 Theseus. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
 Diaws on apace ; four happy day.s bring in 
 Another moon: but, oh, nietliinks, liow slow 
 "I'tiis old moon wanes ! she lingers iny desires, 
 Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
 Lon<; withering out a young man's revenue. 
 
 Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in 
 nights; 
 
 Four nights will quickly dream away the time; 
 A I'l then the moon, like to a sil\er bow 
 New bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 \J< our solemnities. 
 
 The. Go, Philostrate, 
 
 Stir uj) the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
 Awake the pert and nimble spirit of nurth ; 
 Turn melancholy forth to funerals. 
 The pale companion is not lor our pomp. — 
 
 [Exit Philostrate. 
 Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
 *\nd won thy love, doing thee injuries; 
 But I will wed thee in another key. 
 With pomj), with triumph, and with revelling. 
 
 Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and 
 
 DEJlETtlUS. 
 
 E<je. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 
 The. Thanks, good Egeus: What's the news 
 with thee ? 
 
 Eifje. Full of vexation come T, with complaint 
 Aganist my child, my daughter Hermia. — 
 Stand forth, Demetrius; — my noble lord, 
 'I'liis man bath my consent to marry her: — 
 Stand fortii, Lysander; — and, my gracious duke. 
 This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child : 
 7''i)OU, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes. 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
 Thou h.^st by moon-light at her window sung, 
 With fe'gning voice, verses of feigning love; 
 And stolen the impression of her fantasy 
 With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits. 
 Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats ; messengers 
 Of strong prevailirient in unharden'd youth : 
 "With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart; 
 Turu'd her obedience, which is due to me. 
 To stubborn harshness : — And, my gracious duke, 
 Be it so she will not here before your grace 
 Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
 I beg the ancient privilege of Atliens; 
 A.S she is mine, i may dispose of her : 
 
 Which shall be either to this gentltman. 
 Or to her deatii ; according to our law. 
 Immediately provided in that case. [maid: 
 
 The. What say you, Hermia ? be advised, fair 
 To you your father should be as a god; 
 One thatcompos'd your beauties; yea, and one 
 To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
 By him imprinted, and within his power 
 'lo leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
 Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
 
 Her. So is Lysander. 
 
 The. In himself he is: 
 
 But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
 The other nmst be held tlie worthier. 
 
 Her. 1 would my father look'd but with my 
 eyes. [look. 
 
 The. Rather your eyes must with his judgtaeul 
 
 Her. 1 do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
 I know not by what power I am made bold ; 
 Nor how it may concern my modesty 
 In such a presence liere to plead my thoughts i 
 But I beseech your grace, that I rnay know 
 The worst that may befall me in this case. 
 If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 
 
 The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
 For ever the society of men. 
 Therefore, lair Hermia, question your desires, 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice. 
 You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 To live a barren sister all your life. 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
 I'hrice blessed they, that master so their blood. 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
 But earthlier happy is the rose distili'd, 
 Than that, whici), withering; on the virgin thorn. 
 Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. 
 
 Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord. 
 Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
 Unto his lord-ship, whose unwished yoke 
 My soul consents not to give sovereignty. [moon. 
 
 The. Take time to pause; and, by the next nei» 
 (The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
 ^ For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
 Upon that day either prepare to die, 
 For disobedience to your father's w ill '. 
 Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would: 
 i Or on Diana's altar to protest 
 For aye, austerity and single life. 
 
 Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia; — And. Lysander 
 Thy crazed title to my certain right. [yield 
 
 Lys. Vou have her fixther's love, Demetrius, 
 Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. 
 
 Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love; 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
 And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
 I do estate unto Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he. 
 As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd. 
 If not with vantage, as Demetrius'; 
 And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
 I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : 
 Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 
 Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head. 
 Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
 And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes. 
 Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
 Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 
 
 The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, 
 And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; 
 But, being over-full of self-afFairs, 
 My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come; 
 And coHie, Egeus; you shall go with me, 
 I have some private schooling tor you both. — 
 For yon, fairHennia, look you arm yourself 
 To fit your fancies to your lather's will ; 
 Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
 (VVhich by no means we may extenuate,) 
 To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
 Come, my Hippolyfa; what cheer, my love ? 
 Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
 I must employ you in some business 
 Against our nupti d ; and confer with you 
 01 something nearly that concerns yourselves. 
 
 Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. and train. 
 
 Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek 
 so pale ? 
 
 How chance the roses there do fade so fast? 
 
 Her. Belike, for want of rain; which I could 
 well 
 
 Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 
 
 Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, 
 Could ever hear by tale or history. 
 The course of true love never did run smooth: 
 But, either it was dilferent in blood ; — 
 
 Her. O cross ! too high to be enthralfd to low ! 
 
 Lys. Or else misgrali'ed, in respect of years; — 
 
 Her. O spite ! too old to be engaged to young! 
 
 Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice ol lriends; — 
 
 Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's eye! 
 
 Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
 War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it; 
 Making it momentary as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, sliort as any dream; 
 Brief as the liglitning in the collied night. 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, 
 ft stands as an edict in destiny : 
 Then let us teach our trial patience, 
 Because it is a customary cross ; 
 As due to love, as thoughts and dreams, and sighs. 
 Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 
 
 Lys. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, 
 I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Hermia. 
 Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
 From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; 
 And she resj^rects me as her only son. 
 There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
 And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
 Cannot pursue us : if thou lov'st me then. 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night; 
 And in the wood, a league without the town. 
 Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
 To do observance to a morn of May, 
 There will I stay for thee. 
 
 Her. My good Lysander ! 
 I swear to thee hy Cupid's strongest how; 
 By his best arrow with the golden head ; 
 By the simplicity of Venus' doves; 
 
 By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; 
 And by that fire, which burn'd the Carthage queei^ 
 When the i'alse Trojan under sail was seen ; • 
 By all the vows that ever men have broke. 
 In number more than ever vvomen spoke ;— 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. [Helena 
 Lys. Keep promise, love: Look, here comes 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 
 
 Hel. Call you me fair! that fail again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves your lair: O, happy fair! 
 Your eyes are load-stars; and your tongue's sweet 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd s ear, [air 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn-buds appear. 
 Sickness is catching; O, were favour so! 
 Your's woidd I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye. 
 My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
 Were the world mine, Demetrius being Ijated, 
 The rest I'll give to be to you translated. 
 O, teach me how you look ; and with what art 
 You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 Her. I frown upon him, yet be loves me still. 
 
 Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles 
 such skill ! 
 
 Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 
 Hel. O, that my prayers could such aftection 
 move ! 
 
 Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 
 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me 
 Her, His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 
 Hel. None, but your beauty; would that fault 
 were mine ! 
 
 Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face; 
 Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 
 Before the time I did Lysander see, 
 Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me : 
 O then what graces in my love do dwell. 
 That he hath turn'd a heaven into hell ! 
 
 Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: 
 To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold 
 Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass. 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
 (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
 Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 
 
 Her. And in the wood, where olten you and I 
 Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, 
 Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, 
 There my Lysander and myself shall meet: 
 And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes. 
 To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
 Farewell, sweet playfellow; j)ray thou for us. 
 And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! — 
 Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
 From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 
 
 [Exit Her?nia. 
 
 Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
 As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit Lys, 
 
 Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be ! 
 Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
 But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; 
 He will not know what all but he do know. 
 And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes. 
 So I, admiring of his qualities. 
 Things base and vile, holding no quantity. 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind: 
 Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; 
 Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 
 And therefore is Love said to be a child, 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
 As waggish boys in game themselves forswear. 
 So the boy Love is perjur'd every where : 
 For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne. 
 He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ; 
 And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 
 So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 113 
 
 will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : 
 Then to the wood will he, t(^-morrow night, 
 Pursue lier: and for this intellig-ence, 
 ff I have thanks, it is a dear expence : 
 Rut herein mean I to enrich my pain. 
 To have his sight thither, and back, again. ^ Exit. 
 
 Scene -The same. A Rooin in a Cottage. 
 Enter Snug, Bottom. Flute, Snoui, Quince, 
 and Starveling. 
 
 Quin. Is all our company here ? 
 
 Bot. You were best to call them generally, man 
 by man, according to the scrip. 
 
 Qmn. Here is th:^ scroll of every man's name, 
 which is thought fit, throu<;h all Athens, to pl iy in 
 our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his 
 wedding-day at night. 
 
 Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
 treats on ; then read the nanit^s of the actors; and 
 so grow to a point 
 
 Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable co- 
 medy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. 
 
 Bot. A very good piece of \vork, I assure you, 
 and a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth 
 your actors by the scroll — Masters, spread your- 
 selves, [weaver. 
 
 Quin. Answer as T call you. — Nick Bottom, the 
 
 Bot. Ready : Name what part I am for, and 
 proceed. [ramus. 
 
 Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py- 
 
 Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant? 
 
 Qui7i. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly 
 for love. 
 
 Bot. That will a^k some tears in the true per- 
 forming of it : if I do it, let the audience look to 
 their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in 
 some measure. To the rest: — Yet my chief humour 
 is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a part 
 t) tear a cat in, to make all split. 
 
 " The raging rocks, 
 
 " V/ith shivering shocks, 
 
 " Shall break the locks 
 
 " Of prison-gates : 
 ^ And Phibbus' car 
 ' Shall shine from far. 
 And make and mar 
 " The foolish fates.*' 
 This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players. 
 — This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is 
 more condoling. 
 
 Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 
 F/u. Here, Peter Quince. 
 Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 
 Flu. What is Thisby? a wandeiing knight? 
 Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 
 Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman ; I 
 have a beard coming. 
 
 Quin. That's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, 
 and you may speak as small as you will. 
 
 Bot. An I may hide my lace, let me play Thisby 
 too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisne, 
 Thisne — Ah, Pyranms, my lover dear ; thy Thisby 
 dear ! and lady dear ! 
 Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus; and Flute, 
 Bot. Well, proceed. [you Thisby. 
 
 Qnvn. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 
 6tar. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
 w other. — Tom Snout, the tinker. 
 Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You, Pyramus's father: myself, Thishy's 
 father; — Snug, the joiner, you tne lion's part:— 
 and, I hope, here is a play fitted. 
 
 Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray yon, 
 if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 
 
 Quin. You may do it extempore> for it is nofhing 
 but roaring, 
 
 Bot. Let me play the Hon too : 1 will roar, that 
 will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will 
 
 roar, (hat I will make the duke say, Let him roar 
 again. Let hi7n roar again. 
 
 Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would 
 fright the duchess and the ladies, that they w ^uld 
 shriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. 
 
 All. Tiiat would hang us every motliei's son. 
 
 Fot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright 
 the ladies out of their wits, tliey would have no more 
 discretion but to hang ns : but I will aggravate inv 
 voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any suc k- 
 ing-dove ; I will roar you an 'twere any night 
 ingale. 
 
 Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus: for 
 Pyramus is a sweet-laced man ; a i)ro[)er man ? ^ 
 one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely, 
 gentleman-iike man ; therefore you must needs play 
 Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were 
 I best to play it in ? 
 
 Q^dn. Why, what you will. 
 
 Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
 coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your 
 purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-co- 
 loured beard, your perfect yellow. 
 
 Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair 
 at all, and then you will play bare -faced. — But, 
 masters, here are your parts: and I am to entreat 
 you, request you, and desire you, to con them by 
 to-morrow night; and meet me in the palace wood, 
 a mile without the town, by moon-nght ; there will 
 we rehearse : for if we meet in the city we shall be 
 doggd with company, and our devir ^s known. In 
 the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such 
 as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. 
 
 Bot. We will meet ; and there we may "ehearse 
 more obscenely, and courageously. Take pjiins ; b« 
 perfect ; adieu. 
 
 Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 
 
 Bot. Enough ; hold, or cut bow-strings. [Exew^, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene 1 —A Wood near Athena. 
 Enter a Fairy at one door and PucK at another 
 Puck. Bow now, spirit ! whither wander you? 
 Fai. Over hill, over dale. 
 
 Thorough bu.sh, thorough brier, 
 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 
 I do wander every where, 
 
 Svvifter than the moones sphere ; 
 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 
 To dew her orbs upon the green : 
 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours : 
 
 In those freckles live their savours : 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here. 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll be gone ; 
 Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 
 
 Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night j 
 Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. 
 For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
 Because thatsne, as her attendant, hath 
 A lovely boy, sbjYn from an Indian king; 
 She never had so sweet a changeling : 
 And jealous Oberon would have the child 
 Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild : 
 But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy ; 
 Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her jot: 
 And now they never meet in grove, or green. 
 By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen, 
 But they do square ; that all their elves, for fear. 
 Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 
 
 Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
 Call'd Robin Goodfellow : are you not he. 
 That fright the maidens of the villagery ; 
 Skim milk ; and sometimes labour in the quc-rn. 
 And bootless make the breathles.<J housewife chum 
 
 8 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 ad sometime make the dri-nk to bear no barm ; 
 Mislead night- wanderers, laughing at their harm? 
 Those that Ilobgobhn call you, and sweet Puck, 
 Yon do their work, and they shall have good luck : 
 Are not you he ? 
 
 Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 
 
 1 am that merry wanderer of t!ie night. 
 [ jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile. 
 Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 
 Ami sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl. 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab ; 
 Ai.d, when she drinks, against her lips I bob. 
 And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
 The wisest aimt, telling the saddest tale, 
 Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
 Then slip 1 i'roin her bum, down topples she, 
 And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ; 
 And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe ; 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear, 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
 But rooui, Faery, here comes Oberon. 
 
 Fai. And here my mistress : — Would that he were 
 gone ! 
 
 Scene II. — Enter Oberon, at one door, with his 
 train, and Titania, at another, with hers. 
 
 Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. 
 
 Tita. What, jealous Oberon ? Fail y, skip hence ; 
 I have forswouj his bed and company. 
 
 Obe. Tarry, rash wanton ; Am not 1 thy lord? 
 
 Tita. Then 1 must be thy lady : but I know. 
 When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land. 
 And in the shape of Corin sat all day. 
 Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love 
 To amorous Phiilida. Why art thou here, 
 Come lion) the farthest steep of India? 
 But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
 Vour buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love, 
 To Theseus must be wedded; and you come 
 To give their bed joy and^prosperity. 
 
 Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, 
 Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
 Knovvitig I kuow thy love to I'heseus ? 
 Didst thou not lead hiiai through the glimmering 
 From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? [night 
 And make hiuj with fair JEig\6. break his faith, 
 With Ariadne, and Antiopa ? 
 
 Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
 And never, since the middle summer's spnng, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead. 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook. 
 Or on the beaciied margent of the sea, 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. 
 But v^ith thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
 Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain. 
 As in revenge, have suck'd np from the sea 
 Contagious fogs; which falling in the land. 
 Have every peltmg river made so proud, 
 'I'liat they ha» e overborne their contments : 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
 The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn 
 Hath rotted, ere his youth attaiti'd a beard : 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field. 
 The crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; 
 The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud; 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green. 
 For lack of tread, are undistinguishable ; 
 The human mortals want their winter here; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol blest : — 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of floods. 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air. 
 That rheumatic diseases do abound : 
 And thorough this distemperature, we see 
 I'be seasons alter; hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
 And on old Hyom's chin, and icy crown, 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set : the spring, the summer, 
 The chilling autumn, angry winter, change 
 
 Their wonted liveries; and the 'mazed world, 
 By their increase, now knows not which is which* 
 And this same progeny of evils comes 
 From our debate, from our dissension ; 
 We are their parents and original. 
 
 Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you : 
 Why shoidd Titania cross her Oberon ? 
 I do but beg a little changeling boy. 
 To be my henchman. 
 
 Tita. Set your heart at reit, 
 
 The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
 His mother was a vot'ress of my order : 
 And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
 Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; 
 And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands. 
 Marking the embarked traders on the flood; 
 When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive. 
 And grow big bellied, with the wanton wind: 
 Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait, 
 (Following her womb, then ricl) with my young 
 Would imitate ; and sail upon the land, [squire,; 
 To fetch me trifles, and return again. 
 As from a voyage, rich with merchandize. 
 But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; 
 And, for her sake, I do rear up the boy ; 
 And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 
 
 Obe. How long witfiin this wood intend you stay? 
 
 Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
 If you will patiently dance in our round 
 And see our moon light revels, go with us ; 
 If not, shun me, and 1 will spare your haunts. 
 
 Obe. Give me that boy, and 1 will go with thee. 
 
 Tita. Not for thy kingdom. Fairies, a\\ay : 
 We shall chide downright, ii I longer stay. 
 
 lExeunt Titania and her train. 
 
 Obe. Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this 
 Till I torment thee lor this injury. — [grove. 
 My gentle Puck, come hither : tnou remember>t 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
 And heard a mermaid, on a dolphm's back. 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song : 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
 To hear the sea maid's music. 
 
 Puck. I remember 
 
 Obe. That very time I saw, (but thou could'st not,) 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal, throned by the west; 
 And lous'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: 
 But 1 might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 Quenoh'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon ; 
 And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
 Vet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
 It fell upon a little western flower, — 
 Before, milk-white ; now purple with love's wound, 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once 
 The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid. 
 Will make or man or woman madly dote 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again. 
 Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 
 
 Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes. [Exit Pnek 
 
 Obe. Having once this juice, 
 
 I'll watch Titania when she is asleep. 
 And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
 The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
 . (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
 On meddling monkey, or on busy ape). 
 She shall pursue it with the soul of love. 
 And ere I take this charm off from her sight, 
 (As I can take it, wHi another herb,) 
 I'll make her render up her page to me. — 
 But who comes here ? I am invisible; 
 And I will over-hear their conference 
 
SCE^E 3. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 IIK 
 
 Enter Demetrius, Helena following htm. 
 
 Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not 
 Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia ? 
 The one I'll slay, the other slayeth rue. 
 Thou tuld'st nie, they were stoCn into this wood. 
 And here am I, and wood within this W(/od, 
 Because i cannot meet with Hermia. 
 Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
 
 Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; 
 But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
 Is true as steel : leave you your oower to draw. 
 And I shall have no power to follow you. 
 
 Dem. Do I entice j'ou ? Do I speak you fair ? 
 Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 
 Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you ? 
 
 Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
 I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
 'We more you beat me, I will fawn on you: 
 Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me. 
 Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave. 
 Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
 What worser phice can I beg in your love, 
 (And yet a place of high respect with me,) 
 Than to be used as you use your dog ? 
 
 Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit; 
 For I am sick, when I do look on thee. 
 
 Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on yoii. 
 
 Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much. 
 To leave the city, and commit yourself 
 Into the hands of one, that loves you not; 
 To trust the opportunity of night, 
 And the ill counsel of a desert place. 
 With the rich worth of your virginity, 
 
 Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. 
 Tt is not night, when I do see your face. 
 Therefore I think I am not in the night : 
 Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company ; 
 For you, in my respect, are all the world. 
 Then how can it be said, I am alone. 
 When all the world is here to look on me ? 
 
 Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, 
 And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
 
 Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
 Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd ; 
 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
 The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
 Makes speed to catch the tiger: bootless speed ! 
 When cowardice pursues, and valour flies, 
 
 De7n. I will not stay thy questions; let me go: 
 Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
 But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
 
 Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field. 
 You do me mischief, Fy, Demetrius! 
 Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex ; 
 We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
 We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
 I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell. 
 To die upon the hand I love so well. 
 
 lExeunt Dem. and Hel. 
 
 Obe. Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave 
 this grove, 
 
 riiou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. — 
 
 Re-enter PuCK. 
 Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. 
 Puck. Ay, there it is. 
 
 Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 
 
 know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine. 
 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine : 
 There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
 Luird in these flowers with dances and delight; 
 And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
 Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in: 
 A-nd with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes. 
 And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
 Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : 
 A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
 With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ; 
 
 But do it, when the next thing he espies 
 May be the lady : thou shalt know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
 Effect it with some care ; that he may prove 
 More fond on her, than she upon her love : 
 And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
 Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so 
 
 [Exexni 
 
 Scene III. — Another pari of the Wood 
 Enter Titania, with her train, 
 Tita. Come, now a roundel.^nd a fairy song 
 Then, fpr the third part of a minute, hence ; 
 Some to kill cankers in the nmsk-rose buds : 
 Some, war with rear-mice for their leathern wings, 
 To make my small elves coats ; and some, keep back 
 The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders 
 At our quaint spirits: sing me now asleep; 
 Then to your offices, and let me rest. 
 
 SONG. 
 I. 
 
 1 Fai. You spotted snakes, with double tonyuSt 
 Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ; 
 Newts, and blind worms, dona wrong; 
 Come not near our fairy queen : 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Philomel, with melody, 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby : 
 Lulla, lulla, lidlaby ; lulla, luUa, lullaby : 
 Never harm, nor spell nor charm. 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So, good night, with lullaby, 
 
 II. 
 
 2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here : 
 
 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, henci { 
 Beetles black, approach not near; 
 TForm, nor snail, do no of'ence, 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Philomel, with melody, §Cc. 
 1 Fai. Hence, away ; now all is well ; 
 One, aloof, stand sentinel. 
 
 [Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps 
 
 Enter Oberon. 
 Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 
 
 [Squeezes the jiower on Titania's eye-lids. 
 Do it for thy true-love take ; 
 Love, and languish for his sake; 
 Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
 Pard, or boar with bristled hair. 
 In thy eye that shall appear 
 When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
 Wake, when some vile thing is near. {Exit, 
 Enter Lysander and Hermia, 
 hys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in th« 
 wood ; 
 
 And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way, 
 We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 
 
 And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
 
 Her, Be it so, Lysander; find you out a bed. 
 For I upon this bank will rest my head. 
 
 Lys, One turf shall serve as pillow for us both 
 One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. 
 
 Her. Nay, good Lysander; lor my sake, my d 
 Lie further oft" yet, do not lie so near. 
 
 Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocen 
 Love takes the meaning, in love's conference 
 I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit ; 
 So that but one heart we can make of it : ^ 
 Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
 So then, two bosoms, and a single troth. 
 Then, by your side no bed-room me deny; 
 For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 
 
 Her. Lysander riddles very prettily.— 
 Now much beshrew my manners and my prioef 
 If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. 
 But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
 
116 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act m 
 
 further ofiT ; in human modcv^ty 
 Such separation, as, may well be said. 
 Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 
 So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend 
 Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ' 
 
 L]/s. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I 
 And the 1 end life, when I end loyalty ! 
 'ilere is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! 
 
 Her. VVith Jialf that wish the wisher's eyes be 
 press'd ! {They sleep.) 
 
 Enter PucK. 
 Puck, Through the forest have I gone. 
 But Athenian found I none, 
 On whose eyes I might approve 
 This flower's force in stirnng love. 
 Night and silence ! who is here ? 
 Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
 This is he, my master said. 
 Despised the Athenian maid ; 
 And here the maiden, sleeping sound. 
 On the dank, and dirty ground. 
 Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
 Near this lack, love, kill-courtesy. 
 Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
 All the power this charm doth owe : 
 When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
 Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid. 
 So awake, when I am gone, 
 For 1 nmst now to Oberon. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
 
 llel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Deme- 
 trius, [me thus. 
 
 Dv7n. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt 
 
 Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. 
 
 Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I aioue will go. 
 
 {Exit Demetrius. 
 
 Hel. O, I am out of breath m this fond chase ! 
 Tiie more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
 Happy is Hermia, whereso'er she lies; 
 For she hatn blessed and attractive eyes, 
 l-ftnv came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears : 
 If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
 No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
 For beasts that meet me, run awav for fear: 
 Tlierelbre, no marvel, though Demetrius 
 Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
 What wicked and aissenibling glass of mine 
 Made me coinpare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? — 
 But who is here? — Lysander! on t!ie ground! 
 Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound : 
 Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
 
 Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet 
 sake. {Tf^aking.) 
 Transparent Helena! Nature here shows art, 
 INiat through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
 Where is Demetrius ? 0, how fit a word 
 Is that vile name, to perish on my sword? 
 
 Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so : 
 What though he love your Herraia? Lord, what 
 though ? 
 
 Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 
 
 Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent 
 The tedious minutes 1 with her have spent. 
 Not Herrnia, but Helena I love: 
 Who will not hange a raven for a dove ? 
 T"he will of niaj is by his reason sway'd : 
 And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
 Thir.gd growing are not ripe until their season ; 
 So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 
 And touching now the point of human skill, 
 lleason becomes the marshal to my will. 
 And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook 
 Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 
 
 iie^. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ? 
 When, at your hands, did 1 deserve this scorn? 
 Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man. 
 That I did never, no, nor never can, 
 DeseJ ve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye. 
 
 But you must fiout my insufficiency ? 
 Good troth, you do me wrong, good sot/h, you dtt 
 In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
 But fare you well : perforce I must coufesa, 
 I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
 O, that a lady, of one man refus'd, 
 Shoidd, of another, therefore be abus'd ! [ Egit. 
 Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep tboa 
 there ; 
 
 And never may'st thou come Lysander near! 
 For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
 The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; 
 Or, as the heresies, that men do leave. 
 Are hated most of those they did deceive ; 
 So thou, my surl'eit, and my heresy. 
 Of all be hated ; but the most of me ! 
 And all rny powers, address your love and mi^ht, 
 To honour Helen, and to be her knight ! [Exit. 
 Her. [Starting.) Help me, Lysander, help me ! 
 do thy best, 
 
 To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast! 
 Ah n)e, for pity ! — what a dream was here ? 
 Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear! 
 Methought a serpent eat my heart away. 
 And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
 Lysander ! what, remov'd? Lysander ! lord ! 
 VVhat, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? 
 Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear; 
 Speak, of all loves; 1 swoon almost with fear. 
 No ? — then 1 well perceive you are not nigh : 
 Either death, or you. I II find immediately. \^Exit 
 
 ACT II L 
 
 Scene I. — The same. The Queen of Fairies 
 
 lying asleep. 
 Enter QuiNCE, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout 
 
 and Starveling. 
 Bot. Are we all met ? 
 
 Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous conve- 
 nient place for our rehearsal : this green plot shall 
 be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring house ; 
 and we will do it in action, as we will do it before 
 
 Bot. Peter Quince, — [the duke 
 
 Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ? 
 
 But. There are things in this comedy of P^ramus 
 and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyranius 
 must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies 
 cannot abide. Hovv answer you that ? 
 
 Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. 
 
 Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, 
 when all is done. 
 
 Bot. Not a whit: I have a device to make all 
 well. Write me a prologue : and let the prologue 
 seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords : 
 and that Pyramus is not killed indeed : and, for the 
 more better assurance, tell them, that I Pyramus am 
 not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : this will put 
 them out of fear. 
 
 Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and it 
 shall be written in eight and six. 
 
 Bot. No, make it two more ; let it hb vritten ir 
 eight and eight 
 
 Snout. VVill not the ladies be afeard of the liou? 
 
 Star. I fear it, I promise you. 
 
 Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your- 
 selves : to bring in, God shield us! a lion among 
 ladies, is a most dreadful thing ; for there is not a 
 more fearful wild-fowl than your lion, living; and we 
 ought to look to it. [is not a liou. 
 
 Snout. Ttierefore, another prologue must tell, he 
 
 Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his 
 face must be seen through the lion's neck ; ana he 
 himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the 
 same defect, — Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish 
 you, or, I would request you, or, 1 would entreat 
 you, not to fear, not to tremble ; my life for yours. If 
 you think 1 come hither as a lion, it were pity of ray 
 life : no, I am no such thing; I am a man as othet 
 men are : — and there, indeed, let him name his nam® 
 and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 117 
 
 Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard 
 Aings; that is. to bring- the moon-light into a cham- 
 ber • (or you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by 
 moon-light. , . [our play ? 
 
 SftMo. Doth the moon shine that night we play 
 
 Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the almanack; 
 ficd out moon-shine, find out moon-shine. 
 
 Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 
 
 BoL Why, then you may leave a casement of the 
 great 'chamber window, where we play, open ; and 
 the moon may shine in at the casement. 
 
 Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush ol 
 thorns and a Iante^n, and say, he comes to disfigure, 
 or to present, the person of moon-&hine. Then, there 
 is another tiling : we must have a wall in the great 
 chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, 
 did talk through the chink of a wail. 
 
 Snug. You never can bring in a wall.— What say 
 you. Bottom? . n j 
 
 Bot. Some man or other must present wail : and 
 let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some 
 rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him hold 
 his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Py- 
 ramus and Thisby whisper. . „ ^ 
 
 Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
 down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. 
 Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your 
 speech, enter into that brake ; and so every one ac- 
 cording to his cue. 
 
 Enter PuoK behind. 
 
 Puck. What hempen home-spn.ns have we swag- 
 gering here. 
 So near the cradle of the fairy queen? 
 What, a [Jay toward? I'll be an auditor; 
 An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. 
 
 Quin. Speak, Pyramus ;— Tiiisby, stand forth. 
 
 Pyr.Thishij,tkeJloioers of odious savours sweet— 
 
 Quin. Odours, odours. 
 
 Pyr. odours savours sweet : 
 
 So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. — 
 But, hark, a voice ! stay thou but here a while. 
 
 And by and by I will to thee appear. [Exit. 
 
 Puck. A stranger Pyramus tiiau e'er play'd h^^re ! 
 
 [Aside.) — [Exit. 
 
 This. Must I speak now ? 
 
 Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must under- 
 stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is 
 to come again. t/'"^' 
 
 This. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily white oj 
 
 OJ colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
 Most briskly juvenaL and eke most lovely Jew, 
 
 As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, 
 III meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny s tomb. 
 
 Quin. Ninus' tomb, man : why you must not speak 
 that yet: that you answer to Pyramus : you speak 
 all your part at once, cues and aU. Pyramus enter; 
 vour cue is past ; it is, never tire. 
 
 Rt' enter PucK, and Bo itom with an asss head. 
 This. 0,—As true as truest horse, that yet would 
 never tire. ■ 
 
 Pyr. IJ I were fair, Thisby, I ivere only thine : — 
 Quin. O moustious ! O strange ! we are haunted. 
 Pray, masters ! iiy, masters '. help '. [Exeunt Clowns. 
 Puck, ril follow you. I II lead you about a round, 
 Through bog, through bush, through brake, through 
 brier ; 
 
 Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 
 
 A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
 And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn. 
 Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 
 
 [ Exit. 
 
 Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery of 
 fhetn, to make me afeard. 
 
 Re-enter Snout. 
 Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I 
 ■ee 00 thee •* 
 
 Bot. What do you see? you see an ass a her^J of 
 your own ; do you ? 
 
 Re-enter Quince. 
 Quin. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee tbou art 
 translated. f E.vi£. 
 
 Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass 
 of me ; to fright me, if they could But I will 
 stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk 
 up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall 
 hear I am not afraid. {Sings) 
 The ousel-cock, so black of hue, 
 
 With orange-tawny bill. 
 The throstle with his note so true. 
 The wren with little quill; 
 Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery- 
 bed? {Waking.) 
 Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 
 The plain-song ctickoc gray. 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark. 
 And dares not answer, nay ; — 
 for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a 
 bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 
 cuckoo never so? 
 
 Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again 
 Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note. 
 So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
 And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me, 
 On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 
 
 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little 
 reason for that ; And yet, to say the truth, reason 
 and love keep little company together now-a-days ; 
 The more the pity, that some honest neighbours 
 will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upott 
 occasion. 
 
 Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiiul. 
 
 Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to 
 get out of this wood, I have enough to serve imm 
 own turn. 
 
 Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; 
 Thou sh ilt remain here, whether thou wilt or na 
 I am a spirit, of no common rate ; 
 The summer still doth tend upon my state. 
 And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 
 I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 
 And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep. 
 And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep: 
 And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, 
 That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.— 
 Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed t 
 
 Enter four Fairies. 
 
 1 Fai. Ready. 
 
 2 Fai. And I. 
 
 3 Fai. And I. 
 
 4 Fai. Where shall we go 
 Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman 
 
 Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes; 
 Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries; 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries 
 The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, 
 And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, 
 And ligiit them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
 To have my love to bed, and to arise ; 
 And pluck the wings from painted butterflies. 
 To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes: 
 Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. ' 
 
 1 Fai. Hail, mortal ! 
 
 2 Fai. Hail! 
 
 3 Fai. Hail I 
 
 4 Fai. Hail ! u . i 
 Bot. I cry your worships mercy, heartily. — 1 
 
 beseech, your worship's name. 
 
 Cob. Cobweb, . 
 
 Bot. I shall desire you of more acCf<mmtance,gQOd 
 master CobA'eb : If I cut my finger, I shall raaka 
 bold with vou.— Your nan;e, honest gentleman ; 
 
 Peas. Peas blossom. 
 ^ Bot. I pray you, commesd me tc piistr«ss hquaah. 
 
118 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Aci m 
 
 your rnothprj and to master Peas-cod, yoiir father. 
 Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of 
 more acquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech 
 
 Mus. Mustard-seed. [you, sir? 
 
 Bot. Good master Mustard - seed, I know your 
 patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
 beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
 house : I promise you, your kindred hath made my 
 eyes vaster ere now. I desire you more acquaint- 
 ance, good master Mustard-seed. [bower. 
 
 Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my 
 
 The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ; 
 And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 
 
 liamenting some enforced chastity. 
 
 Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Another part of the Wood. 
 Enter Oberon. 
 Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd ; 
 Then, what it was that next came in her eye. 
 Which she must dote on in extremity. 
 
 Enter Puck. 
 Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit ! 
 What night-rule now about this haunted grove ? 
 
 Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
 Near to her close and consecrated bower. 
 While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
 A crew of patches, rude mechanicals. 
 That work for bread upon Athenian stalls. 
 Were met together to rehearse a play. 
 Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. 
 The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort. 
 Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
 Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake : 
 When I did him at this advantage take, 
 A ll ass's nowl I fixed on his head ; 
 Anon, his Thisbe must be answered. 
 And lurth my mimic comes : when they him spy. 
 As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye. 
 Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort. 
 Rising and cawing at the gun's report, 
 Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky ; 
 So, at his sight, away his fellows fly : 
 And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; 
 He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
 Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus 
 strong. 
 
 Made senseless things begin to do them wrong : 
 For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; 
 Some, sleeves ; some, hats : from yielders all things 
 
 I led them on in this distracted fear, [catch. 
 And left sweet Pyramus translated there : 
 
 When in that moment (so it came to pass,) 
 Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 
 
 Obe. 'J'his falls out better thati I could devise. 
 But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ? 
 
 Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, — 
 And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
 Timt when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Hermia. 
 
 Ooe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. 
 
 Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 
 
 Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? 
 Iny breath so bitter on your bitter foe. [worse ; 
 
 Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee 
 F'.)r thou, 1 fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
 
 II (liou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 
 Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep. 
 And kill ni i too. 
 
 The sun was not so true unto the day. 
 As he to me . Would he have stol'n away 
 From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon. 
 This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the moon 
 May through the centre creep, ard so displease 
 Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes, 
 it camhX but thou hast miirder'd him ; 
 
 So should a murderer look : so dead, so grim. 
 
 Dem. So should the muraer'd look; and so should U 
 Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty : 
 Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear. 
 As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 
 
 Ser. What's this to my Lysander? where is he? 
 Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 
 
 Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. 
 
 Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past the 
 bounds 
 
 Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? 
 Henceforth he never number'd among men I 
 Oh ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ; 
 Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake. 
 And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O bi-ave touch! 
 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
 An adder did it; for with doubler tongue 
 Tiian thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
 
 Dem. You speod yo'jr passion on a mispns'd 
 I am not guilty of JLysander's blood ; [mood : 
 
 Nor is he dead, for aught that I can te!L 
 
 Her. I pray thee, tell me then, that he is veil. 
 
 Dem. An if I could, what should I get therefore ? 
 
 Her. A privilege, never to see me more. — 
 And from thy hated presence part I so: 
 See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Ejf- \ 
 
 Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein; 
 Here, therefore, for a while I will remain, 
 So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
 For debt, that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; 
 Which now, in some slight measure it will pay. 
 If for his tender here I make some stay. {Lies down ' 
 ^ Obe. What hast thou done ? thou hast mistake? 
 quite, 
 
 And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight: 
 
 Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
 
 Some true love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 
 
 Puck. Then fate o'er-rules; that, one man holdinf 
 A million fail, confounding oath on oath. [troth 
 Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind. 
 And Helena of Athens look thou find: 
 All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer 
 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh bK»od dear: 
 By some illusion see thon bring her here , 
 I'll charm his eyes, against she do appeal 
 
 Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go ; 
 Swilter than arrow from the Tartar's bow iJileil, 
 Obe. Flower of this purple die. 
 
 Hit with Cupid's archery, 
 
 Sink in apple of his eye ! 
 
 When his love he doth espy, ' 
 
 Let her shine as gloriously 
 
 As the Venus of tne sky. — 
 
 When thou wak'st, if she be by. 
 
 Beg of her for remedy. 
 
 Re enter Puct. 
 Puck. Captain of our fairy baud, 
 
 Helena is here at hand ; 
 
 And the youth, mistook by me. 
 
 Pleading lor a lover's fee j 
 
 Shall we their fond pageant see ? 
 
 Lord, what fools these mortals be ! 
 Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make. 
 
 Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
 Puck. Then will two at once, woo one; 
 
 That must needs be sport alone ; 
 
 And those things do best please me. 
 
 That beial preposterously. 
 
 Enter Lysander and Helbna. 
 Li/s. Why should you think, that I should wooi? 
 
 scorn ? 
 
 Scorn and derision never come in tears ; 
 Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so bom. 
 
 In their nativity all truth appears. 
 How can these things ia me seem scorn to you. 
 Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true 7 
 
 Hel. You do advance your cunning more and mor. 
 
 When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray J 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 119 
 
 Thcscvows are Hermia's: will you give her o'er? 
 Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing 
 weigh : 
 
 Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales. 
 Will even weigli j and both as light as tales. 
 
 Lys. I had no judgmetit, when to her I swore. 
 
 He/. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 
 
 Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 
 
 Detn. {Awaking.) O Helen, goddess, nymph, 
 perfect, divine ! 
 To what, my lf)ve, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
 Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
 Thy lip^, those kissing cherries, tempting grow I 
 l^hat pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
 Fann'd with tlie eastern wind, turns to a crow. 
 When thou hold'st up thy hand : O, let me kiss 
 This princess of pure white, this seal ol' bliss ! 
 
 Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are beut 
 To set against me, for your merriment. 
 If you were civil, and knew courtesy. 
 You would not do me thus much injury. 
 Can you not hate me, as I know you do. 
 But you must join, in souls, to mock me too? 
 If you were men, as men you are in show. 
 You would not use a getitle lady so ; 
 To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts. 
 When, I ain sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
 You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
 And now both rivals, to mock Helena: 
 A trim exploit, a manly enterprize. 
 To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes. 
 With your derision! none, of noble sort, 
 Would so offend a virgin ; and extort 
 A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
 
 JLys. You are unkind, Demetrius^ be not so; 
 For you love Hermia ; this, you know, I know : 
 And here, with all good will, with all my heart. 
 In Hermia's lo\e I yield you up my part; 
 And yours ol' Helena to me bequeath. 
 Whom I do love, and will do to ray death. 
 
 HeL Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 
 
 Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia: I will none : 
 If e'er I lov'd her, all tiiat love is gone. 
 My heart with her but, as guest- wise, sojourn'd : 
 And now to Helen is it home return'd. 
 There to remain. 
 
 Li/s. Helen, it is not so. 
 
 Dem. Disparage not tlie faith thou dost not know. 
 Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. — 
 Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. 
 
 Enter Hermia. 
 
 Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
 takes. 
 
 The ear more quick of apprehension makes; 
 Wherein it dotti impair the seeing sense, 
 It pays the hearing double recompense ; 
 Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
 Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
 But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? 
 
 Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press 
 to go ? [side ? 
 
 Her, What love could press Lysander from my 
 
 Irt/s. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide. 
 Fair Helena; who more engilds the night 
 Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. [know, 
 Why seek'st thou me ? could not tiiis make thee 
 Tltf; hate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? 
 
 Tier. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be. 
 
 Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
 Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three, 
 To fashictn this false sport in spite of me. 
 Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
 Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
 To bait me with this foul derision ? 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
 Tl e sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 VN hen we have cliid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — O, and is all forgot ? 
 
 All school-days' friendship, childho.^ lunoceDce? 
 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial gods. 
 
 Have with our neelds created both one flower, 
 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 
 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key; 
 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 
 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew togetUei, 
 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted 
 
 But yet a union in partition, 
 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; 
 
 So, with two seeming bodies, but one hearty 
 
 I'wo of the first, like coats in heraldry. 
 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one cresL 
 
 And will yoii rend our ancient love asunder, 
 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 
 
 It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
 
 Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it ; 
 
 Though I alone do feel the injury. 
 
 Her. I am amazed at your passionate words 
 I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me. 
 
 HeL Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn. 
 To follow me, and praise my eyes and face V 
 And made your other love, "Demetrius, 
 (Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) 
 To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare. 
 Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this 
 To her he hates ? and wherefore dotli Lysande* 
 Deny your love, so rich within his soul. 
 And tender me, forso<jth, affection ; 
 But by your setting on, by your consent? 
 What though 1 be not so in grace us you, 
 So hung upon with love, so fortunate; 
 But miserable most, to love unlov'd? 
 This you should pity, rather than despise. 
 
 Her. I understand not '^ liat you mean by thia 
 
 Hel. Ay, do, persevci, counterfeit sad looks. 
 Make mowes upon me, when 1 turn ray bac& ; 
 Wink at each otl'^r ; hold the sweet jest up: 
 This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
 It you have any pity, grace or manners. 
 You would not make me such an argument. 
 But, fare ye well: 'tis partly mine own fault; 
 Wiiich death, or absence, soon shall remedy, 
 
 Lys. Stay, gentle Helena, hear my excuse ; 
 My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 
 
 Hel. O excellent ! 
 
 Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 
 
 Dem. If she cannot entreat, 1 can compel. 
 
 Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she en- 
 treat; [prayers.—- 
 Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak 
 Helen, I love thee ; by my life, J do; 
 1 swear by that, which 1 will lose for thee. 
 To prove him false, that says I love thee not. 
 
 Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. 
 
 Lys. If ihou say so, withdraw, and prove it toa 
 
 Dem. Quick, come, — 
 
 Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? 
 
 Lys. Away, you Elhiop I 
 
 Dem. No, no, sir : — he will 
 
 Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow J 
 But yet come not : you are a tame man, go! 
 
 Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr : vile thing, lei 
 loose ; 
 
 Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. 
 
 Her. Why are you grown so rude V what change 
 Sweet love ? [is thia» 
 
 Lys. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out ! 
 
 Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence! 
 
 Her. Do you not jest ? 
 
 Hel. Yes, sooth ; and so d6 you, 
 
 Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with the« 
 Dem. I would, I had your bond; for I perceive, 
 A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word. 
 Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill het 
 dead ? 
 
 Although 1 hate her, I'll not harm her so. [hate? 
 
 Her. What, can you do me greater barm, than 
 Hate me ! whe -eibre ? O me ! what news, oiy love " 
 Am not I Heripia ? Are not you. Lysander 
 
I am as fair now, as 1 was erewhHe. [left me ; 
 ijince niglit you lov'd me; yet, since night you 
 Why, then you left me, — O, the gods forbid I — 
 (n earnest, shall I say ? 
 
 Lys. Ay, by my life ; 
 
 And never did desire to see thee more. 
 Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt, 
 Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest, 
 That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 
 
 Her. O ii»e ! you juggler ! you cunker-blossom ! 
 Von thief of love ! what, have you conie by night. 
 And stol'n my love's heart from him ? 
 
 Hel. Fine, i'faith ! 
 
 Have you no modesty, no maiden shame. 
 No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear 
 [rnpatient answers from my gentle tongue ? 
 Fy, fy ! you counterfeit, you puppet you ! 
 
 Her. Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the 
 game. 
 
 Now I perceive, that she hath made compare 
 
 Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height; 
 
 And with her personage, her tall personage, 
 
 Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with hira. 
 
 And are you grown so high in his esteem, 
 
 Because I am so dwarfish, and so low ? 
 
 How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak; 
 
 How low am I ? I am not yet so low, 
 
 But that piy nails can reach unto thine eyes. 
 
 Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentle- 
 Let her not hurt me : 1 was never curst ; [men ; 
 [ have no ^ift at all in shrewishness ; 
 I am a right maid for my cowardice ; 
 liet her not strike me: you, perhaps, may think. 
 Because she's sometiiing lower than myself, 
 'J'hat I can match her. 
 
 Her, Lower ! hark, again. 
 
 Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
 i evermore did Icve you, Hermia. 
 Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you; 
 Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
 [ told him of your stealth uuto this wood: 
 He follow'd you ; for love, 1 follow'd him. 
 |5ut he hath chid me hence ; and threatened me 
 To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too: 
 knd now, so you will let me q iiet go, 
 Vo Athens will I bear my folly back, 
 Knd follow you no further: let me go: 
 iT'ju see how simple and how fond I am. 
 
 Her. Why, get you gone: who is't that hinders 
 you ? 
 
 Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 
 
 Her. What, with Lysander? 
 
 Hel. With Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. Be not afraid ; she shall not harm thee, 
 Helena. [part. 
 
 Dem. No, sir ; she shall not, though you take her 
 
 Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd : 
 h\\e was a vixen when she went to school ; 
 And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 
 
 Her. L ttle again ? nothing but low and little ? — 
 Why will yon suffer her to flout me thus? 
 Let me come to her. 
 
 Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf; 
 
 You minimus, of hind'ring knct-grass made; 
 You bead, you acorii. 
 
 Dem. You are too officious, 
 
 In hor behalf that scorns your services. 
 L(:t Ler alone; speak not of Helena; 
 Take not her part: for if thou dost intend 
 Never so little show of lovk> to her. 
 Thou shalt aby it. 
 
 Jbys. Now nhe holds me not; • 
 
 Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
 Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
 
 Dem. Follow? nay, I'll co with thee, cheek by 
 jole. [Exeunt Lys. and Dem. 
 
 Her. You. ntistress. all this coil is 'long of jou : 
 Nav, go not bacfc. 
 
 del. I will not trust you, I ; 
 
 Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 Your hands, than mine, are quicker lor a fray, 
 My legs are longer though, to run away. iKxit 
 
 Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say 
 
 [Exit, pursuing Helena, 
 
 Obe. This is thy negligence : still thou niistak'st, 
 Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully 
 
 Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, 1 mistook. 
 Did not yoti tell me, I should know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he had on ? 
 And so far blameless proves my enterpriae. 
 That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes : 
 And so far am I glad it so did sort, 
 As this their jangling I esteem a sport. [figbt 
 
 Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place ta 
 Hie therefi)re, Robin, overcast the night; 
 The starry welkin cover thou anon 
 With drooping fog, as black as Achsroa; 
 And lead these testy rivals so astray. 
 As one come not within another's way. 
 [jike to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue. 
 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 
 And sometime rail thou like Demetrius; 
 And from each other look thou lead them thus. 
 Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
 With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep: 
 Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
 Whose liquor hath this virtuous property. 
 To take from thence all error, with nis might. 
 And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. 
 When they next wake, all this derision 
 Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision; 
 And back to Athens shall the lovers wend. 
 With league, whose date till death shall never enA 
 Whiles I in this afllair do thee employ, 
 I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy; 
 And then 1 will her charmed eye release 
 From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. 
 
 Puck. My faiiy lord, this must be done with hastej 
 For night's swift dragons cut th^ clouds full fast, 
 And yonder shines Aurora's hnrbhiger; 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and 
 there. 
 
 Troop home to church- yards : daiimed spirits all. 
 
 That in cross-ways and floods have burial. 
 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upon. 
 
 They wilfully themselves exile from light, 
 
 And must for aye consort with black-biow'd night 
 
 Obe. But we are spirits of another sort: 
 I with the morning's love have oft nmde sport; 
 And, like a forester, the groves may tread. 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red. 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
 'J'urns into yellow gold his salt green streams. 
 But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: 
 We may efl'ect this business yet ere day. [Exit Ober, 
 Puck. Up and down, up and down; 
 
 I will lead them up and down: 
 
 I am fear'd in field and town ; 
 
 Goblin, lead them up and down. 
 Here comes one. 
 
 Enter Lysander, 
 
 Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak 
 thou now. [art thou ? 
 
 Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready Wher« 
 Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
 Puck. Follow me then 
 
 To plainer ground. [Exit Lys. as following the voic«. 
 
 Enter Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. Lysander ! speak again. 
 
 Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? 
 Speak. In some bush ? Where dost thou hide thy 
 head? 
 
 Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the start. 
 Telling the bushes, that thou look'st for wars. 
 And wilt not come? Come, recreant: coa\e, tbol 
 child ; 
 
 I'll whip thee with a rod he is defil'd, 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 121 
 
 rhat draws a sword on thee. 
 Dem. Yea ; art thou there ? 
 
 Puck. FolloM my voice ; we'll try manhood here. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Lysander. 
 Lys. He goes before me^ and still dares me on; 
 When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
 The vilLiin is much lighter heel'd than I : 
 t tollow'd last, but f aster he did fly ; 
 That fallen am I in dark uneven way, 
 And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! 
 
 {Lies down.) 
 For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
 ril find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. {Sleeps.) 
 Re-enter Puck and DeiMETRIus. 
 Puck. Ho, ho ! ho, ho! Coward, why com 'st thou 
 not ? 
 
 Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot, 
 Thou runn'st before me, shitting every place ; 
 And dar'st not stand, nor look, me in the face. 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 Puck. Come hither ; I am here. 
 
 Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt 
 buy this dear, 
 If ever I tiiy f ace by day-light see : 
 Now, go tliy way. — Faintness constraineth me 
 To measure out my length on this cold bed. — 
 By day's approach look to be visited. 
 
 {Lies down and sleeps.) 
 Enter Helena. 
 Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night. 
 Abate thy hours : sliine, comforts, f rom the east ; 
 That I may back to Athens by day-light. 
 
 From these, that my poor company detest: — 
 A.nd, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
 Steal me a wtiile from mine own company. {Sleeps.) 
 Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more j 
 Two of both kinds make up four. 
 Here she comes, curst and sad : — 
 Cupid IS a knavish lad, 
 Thus to make poor females mad. 
 
 Enter Hermia. 
 Iter. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
 
 Bedabbled witli the dew, and torn with briers; 
 I can no further crawl, no further go; 
 
 My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
 Here will I re-st nie, till the break of day. 
 Heavens shield l.ysander, if they mean a fray ! 
 
 [Lies dotvn.) 
 
 Puck. On the ground 
 
 Sleep sound • 
 
 I'll apply 
 
 To your eye, 
 Gentle lover, remedy 
 {Squeezing the juice on Ly Sander's eye.) 
 
 When thou wakest. 
 
 Thou takest 
 
 True delight 
 
 In the sight 
 
 Of thy former lady's eye : 
 And the country proverb known, 
 That every man should take his own. 
 In your waking shall be shown : 
 Jack shall have Jill ; 
 Nought shall go ill ; 
 fhe man shall have his mare again, and all shall be 
 well. [Exit Puck, —Dem. Hel. §Cc. sleep. 
 ACT IV. 
 Scene I. — The same. 
 Enter Titania and Bottom, Fairies attending ; 
 Oberon behind, unseen. 
 Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed. 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
 ^nd stick musk-ioses in thy sleek smooth head. 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 Bot. Wiiere's Peas-blossom? 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Scratch my head. Peas-blossom. — \^liere'« 
 monsieur Cobweb r 
 Cob. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get yonr 
 weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped 
 humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good mon- 
 sieur, bring me the horn y-bag. Do not fret yourself 
 too much in the action, monsieur; and, good mon- 
 sieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I would 
 be loth to have you over-flown with a honey-bag, 
 signior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed ? 
 
 Must. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Give me your neif; monsieur Mustard-seed. 
 Pi-ay you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 
 Must. What's your wili V 
 
 Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cava- 
 lero Cobweb to scratch. I must to tiie barber's, 
 monsieur; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy 
 about the face : and I am such a tender ass, if my 
 hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. 
 
 Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
 love ? 
 
 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music : let 
 us have the tongs and the bones. (eat. 
 Tita. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch 
 your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great desire 
 to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath no 
 fellow. 
 
 Tita, I have a venturous fairy, that shall seek 
 The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried 
 peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people 
 stir me ; 1 have an exposition of sleep come upon 
 me. (arms. — 
 
 Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my 
 Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 
 So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle. 
 Gently entwist, — the female ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
 O, how 1 love thee! how I dote on thee! {They sleep.) 
 
 Oberon advances. Enter Puck. 
 Obe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this 
 sweet sight ? 
 Her dotage now 1 do begin to pity. 
 For meeting her of late, behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet savours for this hateJ -.il fool, 
 I did upbraid her, and fall out with her : 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
 Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls 
 Stood now within the pretty flouerets' eyes. 
 Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 When I had, at my plesure, taunted her, 
 And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
 Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 
 To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
 And now I have the boy, 1 will undo 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
 And, gentle Puck, take this transformed sc&lp 
 From oft* the head of this Athenian swain ; 
 That he, awaking, when the other do. 
 May all to Athens back again repair; 
 And think no more of this night's accidents. 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen. 
 
 Be, as thou wast wont to be ; 
 
 {Touching her eyes with an herb') 
 
 See, as thou wast wont to see : 
 
 Dian's bud o er Cupid s flower 
 
 Hath such force and blessed power 
 Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 
 
 Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have 1 seen I 
 Methought I was enamoiir'd of an ass. 
 Obe. There lies your love. 
 
 Tif.a. How came thes*. things to pass? 
 
 O, how mine eyes do loath hia visai now I 
 
122 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 .'jCT lY 
 
 Obe. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off this head. — 
 Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
 Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
 Tita. Music, ho! music ; such as chaniieth sleep. 
 Puck. Now, when thou waV'st^ with thine own 
 
 fool's eyes peep. 
 Obe. Sound, music. [Still music.) Come, my 
 queen, take hands with me. 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. ■ 
 Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
 Aad will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, 
 Dpince in duke Theseus' house triumphantly. 
 And bless 'it to all fair posterity : 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
 Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
 Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark ; 
 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad. 
 Trip we after the night's shade ; 
 We the globe can compass soon. 
 Swifter than the wand'ring moon, 
 Tita. Come, my lord; and in our flight, 
 Tell me how it came this night. 
 That I sleeping here was found. 
 With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt, 
 {Ho7-ns sound tvilhin.) 
 
 Banter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; — 
 For now our observation is perform'd : 
 And since we have the vaward of the day, 
 My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
 Uncouple in Jhe western valley ; go : — 
 Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
 We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top. 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 
 Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, 
 When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
 With hounds of Sparta: never did 1 hear 
 Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves. 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 Seam'd all one mutual cry: I ne\er heard 
 So H.iisical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
 
 The. My hoimds are bred out of the Spartan kind. 
 So fiew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew; 
 Crook-knee'd, and dew laj)p'ci like Thessalian bulls; 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 
 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
 Was never hoUa'd to, nor clieer'd with horn. 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : [are these ? 
 Judtye, when you hear. — But, soft; what nymphs 
 
 Eye. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep; 
 And this Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
 This Helena, old Nedar's Helena: 
 I wonder of their being here together. 
 
 The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
 The rite of May ; and hearing our intent. 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
 Jiut, speak, Egeus; is not this the day. 
 That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 
 
 Ege. It is, my lord. [horns. 
 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 
 
 Horns and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, 
 HERjtfiA and Helena, wake, and start up. 
 The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 
 past ; 
 
 Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? 
 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. 
 
 [He and the rest kneel to Theseus.) 
 
 The, I pray you all, stand up, 
 
 f know, you are two rival enemies ; 
 [low comes this gentle concord in the world 
 That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 
 
 hifs. My lord, I shall reply araazedly 
 Halt 'sleej), half waking; : but as yet, 1 swear, 
 ft cmmot trulj say ho^ ] came here : 
 
 J But, as I think, (fo" truly would f speak — 
 
 And now I do bethink me, so it is ;) 
 I I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
 j Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
 j Without the peril of the Athenian law. 
 
 Eye. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enoughs 
 : I beg the law, the law, upon his head. — [trius 
 Hiey would hove stol'n away, they would, Dctue 
 Thereby to ha\e defeated you and me: 
 You, of your wife ; and me, of my conseut. 
 Of my consent that she should be your wife. 
 
 Dein, My lord, fair Helen told me of their stecUb 
 Of this their purpose hither, to this w^jd; 
 And I in fury hither follow'd them ; 
 Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
 But, my good loid, I wot not by what power, 
 (But, by some power it is,) my love to He.iBiiw,, 
 Melted as doth the snow, seems to me nc^ 
 As the remembrance of an idle gawd. 
 Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
 And all the faith, the virtue of my heait, 
 The object, and the pleasure of nsine eye, 
 Is only Helena. To her, my lord. 
 Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia ; 
 But, like in sickness, did I loath this food ; 
 But, as in health, come to my natural taste. 
 Now do I wish it, love it, long for it. 
 And will for evermore be true to it. 
 
 The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met : 
 Of tliis discourse we will hear more anon. — 
 Egeus, I will overbear your will; 
 For in the temple, by and by with us, 
 These couples shall eternally be knit. 
 And, for the morning now is something worn. 
 Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. — 
 Away, with us, to Athens: three and thr&c, 
 We'll hold a feast of great solemnity. — 
 Come, Hippolyta. 
 
 [Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, unci 
 Dem. These things seem small acd uid»*tin« 
 guishable. 
 
 Like far off mountains turned into cXor.dn. 
 
 Her. Methings, I see these things with parted < y« 
 When every tiling seems double 
 
 Hel. So methinks : 
 And I have ibund Demetrius like <B;ewel, 
 Mine own, and not mine own. 
 
 Dem. It wems to me, 
 
 Tliat yet we sleep, we dream. — !})o not you think, 
 'I'he duke was here, and bid u& Ibllow him? 
 
 Her. Vea; and my father. 
 
 Hel. And Hippolyta, 
 
 Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 
 
 Dem. Why then, we are aw9,ie : let's follow him ; 
 And, by the way, let us recouot our dreams. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 As they go out. Bottom awakes. 
 
 Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will an- 
 swer: — my next is. Most fair Pyramus. — Hey 
 ho! — Peter Quince! Flute, tthe bellows-mender 
 Snout, the tinker ! Starveling! God's my life ! stolen 
 hence, and left me asleep ! I have had a most rare 
 vision. I have had a dream, — past the wit of man 
 to say what dream it was: — Man is but an ass, if 
 he go about to expound this dream. Methought ] 
 was — there is no man can tell what. Methought 1 
 was, and methought I had, — but man is but a 
 
 fatched fool, if he will ofter to say what methought 
 had. The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of 
 man hath not seen ; man's hand is not able to taste, 
 his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what 
 my dream was, I will get Peter Quince to write a 
 ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom* 
 Dream, because it hath no bottom ; and I will sing it 
 in the latter end of a play, before the duke : per- 
 ad venture, to make it the more gracious, I. shall 
 sing it after death. 
 
Act Y. Scene 1. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 123 
 
 S( £NB 1. — Athens. A Room in Quince's House. 
 Eniet Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. 
 
 Quin. Have you seut to Bottom's house ? is he 
 come home yet ? [is transported. 
 
 Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he 
 
 Flu. Jf he come not, tiien the play is marred; it 
 £[oes not forward, doth it ? 
 
 Qul7i. It is not possible : you have not a man in 
 all Atliens able to discharge ryramus, but he. 
 
 Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any 
 l^andycral't man in Athens. 
 
 Quin. Yea, and the best person too : and he is a 
 very paramour, for a sweet voice. 
 
 Flu. You must say, paragon: a paramour is, God 
 bless us, a thing of nought. 
 
 Enter Snug. 
 Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the 
 temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies 
 more married : if our sport had gone forward, we 
 bad all been niade men. 
 
 _ Flu. O sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hath he lost 
 sixpence a-day during his life; he could not have 
 scaped sixpence a-day : an the duke had not given 
 him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be 
 hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a-day, 
 in Pyramus, or nothing. 
 
 Enter Bottom. 
 Bat. Where are these lads? where are these hearts? 
 Quin. Bottom ! — O most courageous day ! O most 
 happy hour ! 
 
 Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but 
 ask me not what; for if I tell you, I am no true 
 Atheniac. I will tell you every thing, right as it 
 fell out. 
 
 Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 
 
 Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell yon, 
 is, that the duke hath dined : get your apparel to- 
 gether ; good strings to your beards, new ribbons 
 to your pumps; meet presently at the palace ; every 
 man look o'er his part; for, the short and the long 
 is, our play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby 
 have clean linen ; and let not him, that plays the 
 lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the 
 lion's claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions, 
 nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet breath ; and 
 I do not doubt, but to hear them say, it is a sweet 
 comedy. No more words ; away ; go away. 
 
 ^Exeimt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. An Apartment in the Palace 
 of Theseus. 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostratb, 
 
 Lords, and Attendants. 
 Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers 
 speak of. [lieve 
 The. More strange than true. I never may be- 
 These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
 Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains. 
 Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet. 
 Are of imagination all compact: 
 One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; 
 Tliat is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic. 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling. 
 Doth glance Irom heaven to earth, from earth to 
 heaven ; 
 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 
 The forms ol things unknown, the poet's pen 
 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 
 A local habitation, and a name. 
 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination: 
 
 That, if it would but apprehend so?ne joy. 
 
 It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
 
 Or, in the night, imagining some fear. 
 How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear? 
 
 Hip. But all the story of the nigiit to d ovor« 
 And all their minds transfigiir d so together. 
 More wituesseth than fancy's images. 
 And grows to something of great constancy ; 
 But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. 
 
 Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and 
 Helena. 
 
 The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— 
 Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love, 
 Accompany your hearts ! 
 
 Lys. More than to us 
 
 Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed! 
 
 The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shal! 
 we have. 
 
 To wear away this long age fif three hours. 
 Between our after-supper, and bed-time? 
 Where is our usual manager of mirth? 
 What revels are in hand ? Is there no play. 
 To ease the anguish of a torturing hour"? 
 Call Philostrate. 
 
 Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. 
 
 The. Say, what abridgment have you for this 
 evening ? 
 
 What mask ? what music ? How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight? 
 
 Philost. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe; 
 Make choice of which your highness will see first 
 {Giving a paper 
 
 The. {Reads.) The battle with the Centaurs, it 
 
 be sung. 
 
 By an Athenian eunuch, to the harp. 
 
 We'll none of that: that have I told my love. 
 In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
 
 The riot of the tipsy bacchanals, 
 
 Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. 
 
 That is an old device; and it was play'd 
 When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
 
 The thrice three Muses mourning for the death 
 Of learning, late deceased in beggary. 
 
 That is some satire, keen, and critical. 
 Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
 
 A tedious brief scetze of young Pyramus, 
 And his love Thisbe : very tragical mirth 
 
 Merry and tragical? tedious and brief? 
 That is, hot ice, and vvonderous Strang* snow. 
 How shall we find the concord of this discord? 
 Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten word» 
 
 . ^^"^ '■> . 
 
 Which is as brief as 1 have known a play ; 
 But by ten words, my lord, it is too long; 
 Which makes it tedious: for in all they play 
 There is not one word apt, one player fitted. 
 And tragical, my noble lord, it is; 
 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
 Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess. 
 Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears 
 The passion of loud laughter never shed. 
 
 The. What are they that do play it? 
 
 Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens 
 here, 
 
 Which never labour'd in their minds till now; 
 And now have toii'd their unbreath'd memories 
 With this same play, against your nuptial. 
 
 The. And we will hear it. 
 
 Philost. No, my noble lord 
 
 It is not for you : I have heard it over. 
 And it is notning, nothing in the world; 
 Unless you can find sport in thrir intents. 
 Extremely strecch'd and conn'tK with crnel pain. 
 To do you service. 
 
 The. I will hear that play : 
 
 F'or never any thing can be amiss. 
 When simpleness and duty tender 't. .^i 
 
 I 
 ) 
 
124 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act V 
 
 3o, bring them in : and take your places, ladies. 
 
 [Exii Philostrate. 
 Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercliarged. 
 And duty in his service perishing. [thing. 
 The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such 
 Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. 
 Thtt. The kinder we, to give them thanks for 
 nothing. 
 
 Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake : 
 And what poor duty cannot do, 
 Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
 Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with prwneditated welcomes ; 
 VVhere I liave seen them shiver and look pale. 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences. 
 Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, 
 And, in conclusion, dumbly h ive broke ofif, 
 Not paying me a welcome : trust me, sweet. 
 Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome; 
 And in the modesty of fearful duty 
 I read as much, as from the rattling tongue 
 Of saucy, and audacious eloquence. 
 ljO\e, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, 
 fn least, speak most, to my capacity. 
 
 Enter Philostrate. 
 Philost. So please your grace, tiie prologue is 
 addrest. 
 
 Tlie. Let him approach. {Flourish of trumpets.) 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Prol. If we offend, it is with uur good will, 
 
 Thot you should think, we come not to offend, 
 hut with yoodtoiU. To show our simple skill, 
 
 That is the true beg ln7iing of our end. 
 Consider then, we come but in despite^ 
 
 Tfe do not come as minding to content you. 
 Our true intent is. All for your delight, \you, 
 
 J'Ve are not here. That you should here repent 
 T/te actors are at hand; and, by their show, 
 Ygu shall know all, that you are like to know. 
 
 The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
 
 Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt; 
 he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord : it 
 is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 
 
 Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, 
 like a child ou»Tecorder; a sound, but not in go- 
 vernment. 
 
 The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; no- 
 thing-impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? 
 
 Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moon-shine, 
 and Lion, as in dumb show. 
 
 Prol. " Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this 
 show ; 
 
 " But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
 This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 
 " This beauteous lady 'I'hisby is, certain, 
 ** This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 
 " Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers 
 sunder : 
 
 "And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are 
 content 
 
 " To whisper ; at the which let no man wonder. 
 This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
 " Presenteth moon shine : for. if you will know. 
 By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn 
 " To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
 ** This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, 
 " The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
 ** Did scare away, or rather did affright: 
 ** And, as she tied, her mantle she did fall ; 
 
 " Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain : 
 ** Anon comesPjraraus, sweet youth, and tall, 
 " And finds his trusty Thisby's tnantie slain : 
 ** Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 
 
 " He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; 
 "And, Thisby tarrying in tnulbrrry shade, 
 " His dagjfer drew, and died. For all the rest. 
 
 " Let lion, moon-shine, wall, and lovers twain, 
 " At large discourse, while here they do remain." 
 [Exeunt Prol. Thisbe, Lion, and Moon-shint, 
 
 The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. 
 
 Dejn. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, when 
 many asses do. 
 
 W all, " In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
 " That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ; 
 " And such a wall as I would have you think, 
 " That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, 
 " Through w hich the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby 
 " Did wliisper often veiy secretly. [show 
 " This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, dcth 
 " That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
 " And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
 " Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." 
 
 The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 
 better? 
 
 Dem. It is the wittiest partition, that ever I heard 
 discourse, my lord. 
 
 The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence! 
 
 Enter Pyramus. 
 Pyr. " O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue 
 so black ! 
 
 " O night, which ever art, when day is not! 
 " O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 
 
 " I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! — 
 " And thou, O wail, O sweet, O lovely wall, 
 
 " That stand'st between her father's ground and 
 mine ; 
 
 " Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, 
 "Shew me thy chink, to blink through with mine 
 
 eyne. ( Wall holds up kis fingers.) 
 
 " Thanks, courteous wall : Juve shield thee well 
 
 for ttiis ! 
 
 " But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. 
 
 ^' O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; 
 
 " Curst be thy stones tor thus deceiving me ! " 
 
 The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, shouljH 
 curse again. 
 
 Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving 
 me, is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am 
 to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will 
 fall pat as I told you : — yonder she comts. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 This. " O wall, full often hast thon heard ujy 
 moans, 
 
 " For pat ting my fair Pyramus and me : 
 " My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ; 
 " Thy stom s with lime and hair knit up in thee." 
 Pyr. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
 " To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
 " Thisby ! " 
 
 This. " My love ! thou art my love, I think." 
 Pyr. "Tliink what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
 grace ; 
 
 " And like Limander am I trusty still." 
 
 This. " And I like Helen, till the fates me kill" 
 Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." 
 This. " As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." 
 Pyr. " O, kiss me through the hole of this vile 
 wall." 
 
 This. " I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." 
 Pz/r. "Wilt thou at Ninny's tjmb meet me 
 
 straightway?" 
 This. " Tide hfe, tide death, I come without 
 
 delay." 
 
 TT'all.'-'- Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so \ 
 " And, being done, thus wall away doth go." 
 
 [JRxeunt Wall, Pyramus and Thisbe. 
 
 The. Now is the mural down between the two 
 neighbours. 
 
 Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls arc so 
 wilful, to hear without warning. 
 
 Hip. This is the silliest stuff' that ever I heard. 
 
 The. The best in this kind are but shadows: and 
 the worst are no worse, if itnaginafion aniend them. 
 
 Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not 
 theirs. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 125 
 
 The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they 
 of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. 
 Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. 
 
 Enter Lion and Moon-shine. 
 Lion. " You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do 
 fear [floor, 
 " The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on 
 ** May now, perchance, both quake and tremble, 
 here, ^ 
 When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
 ** Then know, that 1, one Snug, the joiner, am 
 " A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam : 
 '* i'oi if I should as lion come in strife 
 " Into this place, 'twere pity on my life." 
 The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. 
 Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 
 I saw. 
 
 Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 
 
 The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 
 
 De7n. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot 
 t-^irry liis discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. 
 
 The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
 ralour ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is 
 well : leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to 
 the moon. 
 
 Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon 
 present; " 
 
 Detn. He should have worn the horns on his head. 
 The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invi- 
 sible within the circumference. 
 
 Moon, " This lantern doth the horned moon 
 present ; 
 
 ^ Myself the man i'th'moon do seem to be." 
 
 The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the 
 man should be put into the lantern: how is it else 
 the man i'the moon ? 
 
 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : 
 for, you see, it is already in snuff*. 
 
 Hip. I am weary of this moon: would, he would 
 change ! 
 
 The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, 
 that he is in the wane : but yet, in courtesy, in all 
 reason, we must stay the time. 
 
 Lys. Proceed, n>ooo. 
 
 moon. " All that I have to say, is, to tell you that 
 the lantern is the moon ; I, the man in the moon ; 
 this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my 
 dog^" 
 
 Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; 
 for they are in the aioon. But silence ; here comes 
 Thisbe. 
 
 Enter Thishe. 
 This. " This is old Ninny's tomb • where is my 
 love?" 
 
 Lion. " Oh — .^''{The lion roars. — Thisbe runs off.) 
 Dem. Well roared, lion. 
 The. Well run, Thisbe. 
 
 Hip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the moon shines 
 with a good grace. 
 
 The. Well moused, Won. {The lion tears Thisbe' s 
 tiantle, and exit.) 
 
 Dem. And so comes Pyramus. 
 
 Lys. And then the moon -vanishes. 
 
 Enter Pyramus. 
 Pyr. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
 beams ; 
 
 " I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright : 
 For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams. 
 ** I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. 
 " But stay ; — O spite ! 
 " But mark ; — Poor knight, 
 ** What dreadful dole is here ! 
 " Eyes, do you see ? 
 " How can it be ? 
 " O diinty duck ! O dear ! 
 " Thy mantle good, 
 " What, stain d with blood" 
 
 " Approach, ye furies fell! 
 " O fates ! come, come ; 
 " Cut thread and thrum ; 
 " Quail, crush, conclude, and quell !" 
 The. This passion, and the death of a dearfriead, 
 would go near to make a man look sad. 
 
 Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
 Pyr. " O, wherefore, nature, didst thou liona 
 frame? 
 
 " Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear: 
 "Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame, 
 "That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look 'd 
 with cheer. 
 " Come, tears, confound ; 
 " Out, sword, and wouiid 
 " The pap of Pyramus : 
 " Ay, that left pap, 
 " Where heart doth hop : — 
 " Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
 " Now am I dead, 
 " Now am I fled ; 
 " My soul is in the sky : 
 
 " Tongue, lose thy light ! 
 " Moon, take thy flight ! 
 " Now die, die, die, die, die." {Dies.) 
 
 [Exit Moonshine, 
 Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; lor he is butone. 
 Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he 
 is nothing. 
 
 The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet 
 recover, and prove an ass. 
 
 Hip. How chance moon- shine is gone, before 
 Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? 
 
 The. She will find him by star-light.- Here she 
 comes ; and her passion ends the play. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, 
 for such a Pyramus; I hope, she will be brief. 
 
 Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Py- 
 ramus, which Thisbe, is the better. 
 
 Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet 
 eyes. 
 
 Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.-^ 
 This. " Asleep, my love ? 
 
 " VV^hat, dead, my dove? 
 " O Pyramus, arise, 
 
 " Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 
 
 "Dead, dead? A tomb 
 " Must rover thy sweet eyes. 
 
 " These lily brows, 
 
 " This cherry nose, 
 " These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
 
 " Are gone, are gone: 
 
 " Lovers, make moan! 
 " His eyes were green as leeks. 
 
 " O sisters three, 
 
 " Come, come to me, 
 " With hands as pale as milk ; 
 
 " Lay them in gore, 
 
 " Since you have shore 
 " With shears his thread of silk 
 
 " Tongue, not a word : — 
 
 " Come, trusty sword ; 
 " Come, blade, my breast imbrue 
 
 " And farewell, friends \ — 
 
 " Thus Thisbe ends : 
 " Adieu, adieu, adieu." {D- f») 
 
 The. Moon-shine and lion are left to bury the 
 dead. 
 
 Dem. Ay, and wall too. 
 
 Bot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down (hat 
 parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the 
 epilogue, or to hear a Bergoniask dance, between 
 two of our company. 
 
 The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play 
 needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the 
 players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. 
 Marry, if he that writ it had played Pyram'JS, aud 
 hanged himself in Thisbe's garter it would Lave 
 
126 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 been a fine tragedy: and so it is, trnlv; and very 
 notahly discnarged. But come, your Bergomask : 
 your epilogue alone. {Here a dance of Clowns.) 
 
 The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : 
 
 Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. 
 
 I fear we sh;ill out-sleep the coming morn, 
 
 As much as we this night have overvvatch'd. 
 
 This palpab.e-gross play hath well beguil'd 
 
 The heavy gait of night.— Sweet friends, to bed. 
 
 A fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
 
 In nightly revels, and new jollity.' [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Puck. 
 
 Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
 Whilst the heavy ploughman snoresij 
 
 All with weary task fordone. 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 
 Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud. 
 Puts the wretch, that lies in woe. 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is tlie tirfne of night, 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide. 
 Every one lets forth his sprite. 
 
 In the church-way paths to glide : 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecat's team, 
 From the presence ol' the sun. 
 
 Following darkness like a dream. 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Sball disturb this hallow'd house: 
 I am sent, with broom, before. 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Enter Oberon andTvi\^ix, with their train. 
 Oie. Through this house give glimmering light. 
 By the dead and drowsy fire : 
 Every elf, and fairy sprite, 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier ; 
 And this ditty, after me. 
 Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
 TUa, First, rehearse this song by r'»te ! 
 1 0 each word a warbling note. 
 
 Hand in hand, with fairy grace. 
 Will we sing, and bless this place. 
 
 SONG, AND DANCE. 
 Obe. Now, until the break of day. 
 
 Through this house each fairy gtray. 
 
 fo the best bride-bed will we. 
 
 Which by us shall blessed bej 
 
 And the issue, there create. 
 
 Ever shall be fortunate. 
 
 So shall all the couples three 
 
 Ever true in loving be : 1 
 
 And the blots of nature's hand ' 
 
 Shall not in their issue stand ; 
 
 Never mole, hare-lip, nor scai; 
 
 Nor niark prodigious, such as are 
 
 Despised in nativity, 
 
 Shall upon their children be.— 
 
 With this field-dew consecrafc. 
 
 Every fairy take his gait ; 
 
 And each several chamber bless. 
 
 Through this palace with sweet peace : 
 
 E'er shall it in safety rest. 
 
 And the owner of it blest. 
 Trip away ; 
 Make no stay; 
 
 Meet me all by break of day. 
 
 [Exeunt Oberon, Titania and tram 
 Puck. If we shadows have offended, 
 
 Think but this, [and all is mendedf^ 
 
 That you have but slumbered here, ' 
 
 While these visions did appear ; 
 
 And this iveak and idle theme. 
 
 No more yiehfmg but a dream, 
 
 irentles, do not reprehend ; 
 
 If you pardon, we ivill mend. 
 
 And, as Im an honest Puck, 
 
 If ive have unearned luck 
 
 Now to scape the serpe7iVe tongue, 
 
 fr g will make amends, ere long : 
 
 Else the Puck a liar call. 
 
 So, good night unto you all. 
 
 Give me your hands, if we befriends. 
 
 And Rubin shall restore amends. [Exit, 
 
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 In this plfiy, wliich all the editors have concyrred to censure, and some have rejected as unworthy of our poet* 
 ft must be confessed that there are many passages mean, childish, and vulgar: and some which ought not to bare 
 been exhibited, as we are told they were, to a maiden queen. But there are scattered through the whole many 
 ■parks of geniua; nor is there any play that has more evident marks of the hand of Shakspeare. Johnson^ 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 FERDINAND, King of Navarre. 
 BIROi>f, i 
 
 LONGAVILLE, > Lords, attending on the King. 
 DUMAIN, ) 
 
 BOYET, > Lords, attending on the Princess of 
 
 MERCAOE, ( France. 
 
 DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, a fantastical Spaniard. 
 SIR NATHANIEL, a Curate. 
 HOLOFERNES, a Schoolmaster. 
 DULL, a Constable. 
 
 COSTARD, a Clown. 
 
 MOTH, Page to Armado. 
 
 A Forester. ' 
 
 PRINCESS OF FRANCE, 
 
 ROSALINE, / 
 
 MARIA, > Ladies, attending on the Priuctttit 
 
 KATHARINE, ) 
 
 JAQUENETTA, a country Wench. 
 
 Officers and Others, Attendants on the King and 
 Princess. 
 
 Scene, — Navarre. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Navarre. A Park with a Palace in it. 
 Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and 
 
 DUMAIN. 
 
 King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives. 
 Live register'd upon our brazen tombs. 
 And then grace us in the disgrace of death; 
 When, spite of cormorant devouring time, 
 The endeavour of this present breath may buy 
 That h(monr, which shall bate his scythe's keen 
 And make us heirs of all eternity. [edge. 
 Therefore, brave conquerors ! — for so you are. 
 That war against your own affections. 
 And the huge army of the world's desires, — 
 Our late edict shall strongly stand !t force : 
 Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; 
 Our court shall be a little academe. 
 Still and contemplative in living a^rt. 
 You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
 Have sworn lor three years' term to live with me. 
 My fellow scholars, and to keep those statutes. 
 That are recorded in this schedule here : 
 Your oaths are past, and now subscribe j our names : 
 That his own hand may strike his honour down, 
 That violates the smallest branch herein : 
 If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do. 
 Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too. 
 
 Long. 1 am resolv'd: 'tis but a three years' fast; 
 The mmd shall banquet, though the body pine : 
 Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits 
 Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. 
 
 Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified; 
 The grosser manner of these world's delights 
 He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves* 
 To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ; 
 '^ith all these living in philosophy. 
 
 Biron. I can but say the protestation over. 
 So much, dear liege, 1 have already sworn. 
 That is, to live and study here three years. 
 But there are other strict observances : 
 As, not to see a woinan in that term ; 
 Wliich, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
 And, one day in a week to touch no food ; 
 knd but one meal on every day beside ; 
 "^he which, I hope, is not enrolled there : 
 And then, to sleep but three hours in the night. 
 And not he seen to wink of all the day; 
 (When I was wont to think no harm all night. 
 And make a dark night too of half the day ;) 
 Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
 O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep ; 
 Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 
 
 King. Y our oath is pass'd to pass away from these. 
 
 Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please ; 
 I only swore to srnd^ with your grace. 
 
 And stay here in your court for three years' space. 
 
 Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the re«4 
 
 Biron. By yea and nay, sir, (hen I swore in jest—* 
 What is the end of study? let me know. 
 
 King. Why, that to know^, which else we should 
 not know. [common sense ? 
 
 Biron Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from 
 
 King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense 
 
 Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so, 
 To know the thing I am forbid to know: 
 As thus, — To study where I well may dine. 
 
 When I to feast expressly am forbid ; 
 Or, study where to meet some mistress fine, 
 
 When mistresses from common sense are hid 
 Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath. 
 Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
 If study's gain be thus, and this be so, ^ 
 Study knows that, which yet he doth not know: > 
 Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. ) 
 
 King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, 
 /Vnd train our intellects to vain delight. 
 
 Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that mott 
 vain, 
 
 Which, with pain parchas'd, doth inherit pain : 
 As, painfully to pore upon a l»ook. 
 
 To seek the light of truth ; while truth the whiU 
 Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : 
 
 Light, seeking light, aoth light of light beguile: 
 So, ere you find w here light in darkness lies. 
 Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
 Study me how to please the eye indeed. 
 
 By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; 
 Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed. 
 
 And give him light that was it blinded by. 
 Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, 
 
 That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; 
 StnafI have continual plodders ever won, 
 
 Save base authority from others' books. 
 These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 
 
 That give a name to every fixed star, 
 Have no more profit of their shining nights, 
 
 Than those that walk, and 'vot not what they are 
 Too much to know, is to know nought but fame; 
 And every godfather can give a name. 
 
 King. How well he's read, to reason again* 
 reading ! [ceeding 
 
 Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro 
 
 Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow th 
 weeding. fa-breeditig 
 
 Biron. The spring is near, when green geese ar 
 
 Du7n. How follows that ? 
 
 Biron. Fit in his place and time 
 
 Dtim. In reason nothing. 
 
 Biron. Something then in rhyme. 
 
 Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost, ^ 
 That bites the fiifst-borM infants of the spring. 
 
128 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Act L 
 
 Biron. Well, say I am ; why shonld proud sum- 
 mer boast, 
 
 Defore the birds have any Ciuse to sing ? 
 Why should I joy in an abortive birth ? 
 At Christmas I no more desire a rose, ) 
 Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows;? 
 But like of each thing, that in season grows. ' 
 So you, to stiidj now it is too late, 
 Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. 
 
 King. Well, sit you out: go home, Biron ; adieu ! 
 
 Biron. No, my good lord ; I have sworn to stay 
 with you : 
 
 And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, 
 
 Than for that angel knowledge yon can say. 
 Yet confident I'll keep what I h ue swore. 
 
 And bide the penance of eacn three years' day. 
 Give me the paper, let me read the same • \ 
 And to the strict'st decrees I'll write luy name.f 
 
 Ki7ig. How well this yielelinj; rescues thee * 
 from shatne ! j 
 
 Biron. {Reads.) Item, That no ivoman shall 
 come within a mile of my court. — 
 And hath this been proclaim'd l 
 
 Long. Four days ago. 
 
 Biron. Let's see the penalty. 
 {Reads.) — On pain of losing her tongue. — 
 
 Who devis'd this? 
 
 Long. Marry, that did I. 
 Biron. Sweet lord, and why ? 
 Long. To fright them hence with that dread 
 penalty. 
 
 Biron. A dangernus law against gentility. 
 
 {Reads.) liem, If any man beseento talk tvith 
 a ivoman ivithiji the term of three years, he shall 
 endure such public shame as the rest of the court 
 can possibly devise. — 
 This article, my liege, yourself must break; 
 
 For well you know, here comes in embassy 
 The French king's daughter, with yourself to 
 P speak, — 
 
 A maid of grace, and complete majesty, — 
 About surrender up of Aquitain 
 
 To hl*r decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: 
 Therefore this artic le is made in vain, 
 
 Or vainly conies the admired princess hither. 
 
 King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite 
 forgot. 
 
 Biron. So study evermore is overshot; 
 While it doth study to have what it would, 
 It doth forget to do the thing it shouJd : 
 And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
 Tis won, as towns with lire ; so won, so lost. 
 
 King. We must, of (brce, dispense with this de- 
 ihe must lie here on niere necessity. [cree ; 
 
 Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
 Three thousand times within this three years' 
 space : 
 
 For every man with his affects is born ; 
 
 Not by might master'd, but by special grace: 
 If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, 
 I am forsworn on mere necessity. — 
 So to the laws at large I write my name : 
 
 (Subscribes.) 
 
 And he, that breaks them in the least degree, 
 Stands in attainder of eternal shame : 
 
 Suggestions are to others as to me ; 
 But, I believe, although I seem so loth, 
 I am the last, that will last keej) his oath. 
 But is there no quick recreation granted ? 
 King. Ay, "hat there is : our court you know is 
 haunted 
 
 With a refined traveller of Spain ; 
 A, man in all the world's new fashion planted. 
 
 That hath a mint of phiases in his brain : 
 One, whom the music of his own vain tongue 
 
 Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony; 
 A man of complements, whom right and wrong 
 
 Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : 
 This child oi' fancy, th?4 Armado hight, 
 
 For interim to our studies, shall relate. 
 
 In high-born words, the worth of many a knight 
 
 From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate* 
 How you delight my lords, I know not, I; 
 But, I protest, I love to hear him lie. 
 And I will use him for my minstrfcl.iy. 
 
 Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
 A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knighi. 
 Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be oui 
 sport ; 
 
 And so to study, three years is but short 
 
 Enter Dull xvith a letter, and Costaru 
 Dull. Which is the duke's own f>ersonP 
 Biron. This, fellow; What would'st? 
 Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I 
 
 am his grace's tharborough : but I would see his 
 
 own person in flesh and blood. 
 Biron. This is he. 
 
 Dull. Signior Arme — Arme — commends you. 
 There's villainy abroad; this letter will tell you 
 more. [nue. 
 
 Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching 
 
 King. A letter froni the magnificpnt Armado. 
 
 Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in 
 God for high words. [us patience ! 
 
 Long. A high hope for a low having . God grant 
 
 Biron. To hear? or forbear hearing? 
 
 Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh mode 
 rately; or to forbear both. 
 
 Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give U3 
 cause to climb in the merriness. 
 
 Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning 
 Jaqiienetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with 
 
 Biron. In what manner ? [the manner 
 
 Cost. In manner and form folIf^T^'ing, sir; a!l 
 these three : I was seen with her in the h^-p?r house, 
 sitting with her upon the form, and taken iu;.k>wingf 
 her into the park ; which, put together, is in man- 
 ner and form following. Now, sir, fof the rj.aa- 
 ner, — it is the manner of a man to speak to a 
 woman: for the form, — in some form. 
 
 Biron. For the following, sir? 
 
 Cost. As it shall follow in my correction; and 
 God defetid the right! 
 
 King. Will you hear this letter with attention? 
 
 Biron. As 1 would hear an oracle. 
 
 Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken 
 after the th sh. 
 
 King. {Reads.) Great deputy, the welkin s vice- 
 gerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's 
 eai'th's God, and body's fostering patron, — 
 
 Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 
 
 King. So it is, — 
 
 Cost. It may be so: but if he say it is so, he is, 
 in felling true, but so, so. 
 
 King. Peace. [fight! 
 Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares not 
 King. No words. 
 
 Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 
 
 King. So it is, besieged ivith sable-coloured 
 melancholy , I did cominend the black-oppressing 
 humour to the itiost wholesome physic of thy 
 health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, 
 betook myself to walk. The time lohen? About 
 the sixth hour; when beasts most graze, birds 
 best peck, and men sit down to that nourish- 
 ment which is called supper. So much for the 
 time xvhen: noiu for the ground which; which 
 I mean I ivalked ujion : it is ycleped thy park. 
 Then for the place where ; ivhere, 1 mean^ 
 I did encounter that obscene and most preposte- 
 rous event, that draweth from my snow-whits 
 pen the ebon coloured ink, which here thou 
 viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest : but to the 
 place, tvhere, — It standeth north-north east and 
 by east from the west corner of thy curious 
 knotted garden : there did I see that loiv-spirited 
 swain, t)iat base minnow of thy mirth, 
 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. — that unletter' d small-knowing smclf, 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST 
 
 12S 
 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. — that shallotv vassal, 
 Cost. StiSI me. 
 
 King. — which, as 1 remember , Right Costard, 
 Cost. O me ! 
 
 King. — sorted and consorted, contrartj to thy 
 estaohshed proclaimed edict and continent canon, 
 with — ivith — 0 loith — hut with this I passion to 
 zay lohere-with. 
 
 Cost. With a wench. 
 
 King. — ivith a child of our grandmother Eve, 
 a fethale; or, for thy more sweet understanding, 
 (I looman. Him I [as my ever-esteemed duty 
 pricks me on) have sent to thee, to receive the 
 meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, 
 Antony Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, 
 bearing, and estimation. 
 
 Dull. Me, an't shall please you ; I am Antony 
 Dull 
 
 King. For Jaquenetta, {so is the tveaker vessel 
 called, ivhich I apprehended with the aforesaid 
 srvain,) I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury ; 
 and shall, at the least of thy sioeet notice, bring 
 her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted 
 and heart-burning heat of duty, 
 
 Don Adriano de Akmado. 
 
 Biron. This is not so well as 1 looked tor, but the 
 best that ever I heard. 
 
 King. Ay, the best for the worst. — But, sirrah, 
 what say you to this? 
 
 Cost. Sir, 1 confess the wench. 
 
 King. Did yon hear the proclamation? 
 
 Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but 
 little of the marking of it. 
 
 King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, 
 to be taken with a wench. 
 
 Cost. I was taken with none, sir; I was taken 
 w'th a damosel. 
 
 King. Weil, it was proclaimed damosel. 
 
 Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir; she was 
 a virgin. 
 
 King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed 
 virgin. 
 
 Cost. Tf it were, T deny her virginity; I was 
 taken with a maid. 
 
 King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 
 
 Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 
 
 King. Sir, 1 vvill pronounce your sentence ; You 
 sliall fast a week with bran and water. 
 
 Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and 
 porridge. 
 
 King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. — 
 My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er — 
 And go we, lords, to put in practice that. 
 
 Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. — 
 [Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dumain. 
 Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, 
 Thes'i oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. — 
 Sirrah, come on, 
 
 Cost. I siilfer for the truth, sir: for true it is, I 
 was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true 
 girl : and therefore, Welcome the sour cup of pros- 
 perity! Affliction may one day smile again, and till 
 then. Sit thee down, sorrow! [Exeunt. 
 Scene tl. — Another of the same. Armada's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Armado and Moth. 
 
 Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great 
 spirit grows melancholy? 
 
 Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look snd. 
 
 Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same 
 things, dear imp. 
 
 Moth. No, no ; O lord, sir, no. 
 
 Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan- 
 cholv, my tender juvenal? 
 
 Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the work- 
 ing, my tough senior. 
 
 Ann. Why tough senior? why tough senior? 
 
 Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal? 
 
 Arm,. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a ^ougruent 
 epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which 
 we may nominate tender. 
 
 Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent 
 title to your old time, which we may name tough. 
 
 Arm. Pretty, and apt. 
 
 Moth. How mean you, sir? i pretty, and ray 
 sayiiig apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty ? 
 
 Arm. Thou pretty, because little. [apt? 
 
 Moth. Little pretty, because little : wherefore 
 
 Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 
 
 Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master 
 
 Arm. In thy condign praise. 
 
 Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 
 
 Ar7n. What? that an eel is ingenious ? 
 
 Moth. That an eel is quick. 
 
 Arm. T do say, thou art quick in answers : thoo 
 heatest my blood. 
 
 Moth. I am answered, sir. 
 
 Arm. I love not to be crossed. 
 
 Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love 
 not him. [Aside.) 
 
 Arm. I have promised to study three years with 
 the duke. 
 
 Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 
 
 Arm. Impossible, 
 
 Moth. How many is one thrice told ? 
 Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it titteth the spirit of 
 a tapster. 
 
 Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 
 
 Art)i, I confess both ; they are both the varnish 
 of a complete man. 
 
 Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much 
 the gross sum of deuce ace amounts to. 
 
 Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 
 
 Moth. Which the base vulgar do call, three. 
 
 Arm. True. 
 
 Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
 Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink : 
 and how easy it is to put years to the word three 
 and study three years in two words, the dancing 
 horse will tell you. 
 
 Arm. A most fine figure ! 
 
 Moth. To f-fove you a cypher. [Aside.) 
 
 Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love : and, 
 as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love 
 with a base wench. If drawing my sword against 
 the humour of afJection would deliver me from the 
 reprobate thought of it, I would take desire pri- 
 soner, and ransom him to any French courtier for 
 a new devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh; me- 
 thinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, 
 boy : what great men have been in love ? 
 
 Moth. Hercules, master. 
 
 Arm. Most sweet Hercules! — More authority, 
 dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let 
 them be men of good repute and carriage. 
 
 Moth. Sampson, master: he was a man of good 
 carriage, great carriage ; for he carried the town- 
 gates on his back, like a porter: and he was m 
 love. 
 
 Arm. O well-knit Sampson ! strong-jointed Samp- 
 son ! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as tlior 
 didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too. — 
 Who was Sampson's love, my dear Moth? 
 
 Moth. A woman, master. 
 
 Arm. Of what complexion ? 
 
 Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, 
 or one of the four. 
 
 Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion ? 
 
 Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. 
 
 Arm. Is that one of the tour complexions? 
 
 Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them 
 too. 
 
 Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers: but 
 to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampsoa 
 had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her 
 for her wit. 
 
 Moth. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit* 
 Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 LOVE'S LABOCJR LOST. 
 
 Act n 
 
 Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are 
 nuisked nnder sucii colours. 
 
 Arm. Delitie, define, well educated infant. 
 Moth. iMy father's wit, and my ino'i^^^r's tongue! 
 assiit tne ! [and pathetical ! 
 
 Arm. Sweet in\ocation of a child : most pretty. 
 Moth. If she be u'ade of white and red, 
 Her faults will ne'er be known; 
 For blushing^ cheeks by laults are bred. 
 
 And I'ears by pale-white shown; 
 Then, if slie tear, or be to blame. 
 
 By this you shall nut know; 
 For still her cheeks possess the same. 
 Which native she doth owe. 
 A dangerous rhyme, master, agait)st the reason of 
 white and red. [and the Beggar ? 
 
 Arm. Is there not a ballad, buy, of the King 
 Moth. The world was very guilty of such abali;.\i 
 some three ages since : but, I think, nuw 'tis not to 
 be found ; or, if it were, it wuuld iieither serve for 
 tije writing, nor the tune. ^ 
 
 Ar7n. 1 will have the subject newly writ o'er, 
 tliat I may example my digression by some mighty 
 precedent. Boy, I do lose that country girl, that 
 I took in the park with the rational hind Costard; 
 she deserves well. 
 
 Moth. To be wliipped ; and yet a better love than 
 ttiy master. (Aside.) 
 Arm. iSing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. 
 Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light 
 Ana. I say, sing. [wench. 
 Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 
 
 Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. 
 
 Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep 
 Costard safe : and you must let \\\n\ take no delight, 
 nor tio pei^nce ; biit a' must fast three days a- week : 
 for this damsel, I must kee{> her at the park : she is 
 allowed lor the day-woman. Fare you well. 
 
 Arm. Ida betray myself with blushing. — Maid, 
 
 Jaq. Man. 
 
 Ann I will visit thee at the lodge. 
 
 Jaq. I'hat's hereby. 
 
 Ann. I know where it is situate. 
 
 Jaq. Lord, how wise you are ! 
 
 Arm I will tell thee wonders. 
 
 Jaq. VVitii that face ? 
 
 Arm \ love thee. 
 
 Jaq. So I heard you say. 
 
 Arm. And so iarewell. 
 
 Jaq. Fair weatiier alter you ! 
 
 Duil. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 
 
 [Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. 
 
 Arm. Villain, thou shall fast for thy otfences, ere 
 thou be pardoned. 
 
 Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do 
 it on a fiill stomach. 
 
 Arm. 'i'hou shalt be heavily pimished. 
 
 Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows, 
 for they are but lightly rewarded. 
 
 Ar)u. Take away this villain; shut him up. 
 
 Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away. 
 
 Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast 
 being loose. [shalt to piison. 
 
 Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose; thou 
 
 Cost. Weil, ii ever I do see the merry days of 
 desolation that 1 have seen, some shall see — 
 
 Mjih. What shall some see? 
 
 Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they 
 j .ok upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent 
 in their words : and, therefore, I will say nothing: 
 I thank God, 1 have as little patience as another 
 niau ; and, therefore, I can be quiet. 
 
 [Exeunt Moth and Costard. 
 
 Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, 
 where her shoe, which is baser, guided by ^ her 
 foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be for- 
 Bworn, (which is a great argument of falsehood,) il' 
 I love : and i>uvA can that be true love, which is 
 /alaeiy atteni])tedV Love is a familiar; love is a 
 
 devil : there is no evil ange; bjit k/ve. Y et Samp, 
 son was so tempted ; and he had an excellent 
 strength : yet was Solomon so seduced ; and he 
 had a very good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too 
 hard for Hercules' club, and therefore too much 
 odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second 
 cause will not serve my turn ; the passado he re- 
 spects not, the duello he regards not: his disgrace 
 is to be called boy; but his glory is to subdue men. 
 Adieu, valour! rust, rapier! be still, drum! foi 
 your manager is in love ; yea, he loveth. Assist 
 me, some extemporal god of rhyme ; for, I aiij 
 sure, I shall turn sonneteer. Devise, wit ; write, 
 pen ; for 1 am for whole volumes in folio. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 Scene I. — Another part of the same. A Pavilion 
 and Tents at a distance. 
 
 Enter the Princess of France, Rosalink, 
 Marl\, Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
 spirits : 
 
 Consider who the king your father sends ; 
 
 To whom he sends; and what's his embassy: 
 
 Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, 
 
 To parley with tlie sole inhentor 
 
 O* all perfections that a man niay owe. 
 
 Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
 
 'I'han Aquitain; a dowry for a queen. 
 
 Be now as prodigal of all dear grace, 
 
 As nature was in making graces dear. 
 
 When she did starve the general world beside. 
 
 And prodigally gave them all to you. [mean, 
 
 Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but 
 Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ; 
 Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, 
 Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues; 
 i am less proud to hear you tell my worth. 
 Than you much willing to be counted wise 
 In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
 But now to task the tasker,— Good Boyet, 
 You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
 Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, 
 Till oainful study shall out-wear three years. 
 No woman may approach his silent court: 
 Therel'ore to us seemeth it a needful course. 
 Before we enter his Ibrbidden gates, 
 To know his pleasure; and in that behalf, J 
 Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
 As our best-moving fair solicitor: 
 Tell bim, the daugiiter of the king of France, 
 On serious business, craving quick despatch. 
 Importunes personal conference with his grace. 
 Hast:?, signify so much ; while we attend. 
 Like humbly- visag'd suitors, his high will. 
 
 Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Prin. All pride is willing pride, and your's is sc.— 
 Who are the votaries, my loving lords. 
 That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke ? 
 
 1 Lord. Longaville is one. 
 
 Prin. Know you the man ? 
 
 Mar. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast. 
 Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir 
 Of Jaques Falconbridge solemnized. 
 In Normandy saw I this Longaville: 
 A man of sovereign parts he is esteemed ; 
 Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms: 
 Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. 
 The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
 (If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,) 
 Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ; 
 VVhose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills 
 It should none spare that come within his povv-er. 
 
 Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so? 
 
 Mar. They say so most, that most his hamoara 
 know. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 181 
 
 Prin. Such efaort-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. 
 WIjo are ttse rest ? 
 
 Kath, The young Dutnain, a well accoinplish'd 
 0/"a,l, that virtue love, for virtue lov'd : ^ [youth. 
 Most power to do must harm, least knowing ill ; 
 For hs hath wi^ to make an ill shape good. 
 And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
 1 saw liim at the duke Alen9on's once ; 
 And much too little of that good i saw, 
 \n my report, to his great worthiness. 
 
 Res. Another of these students at that time. 
 Was there with him: if { have heard a truth, 
 Biron tiiey call hi.ii : but a merrier man, 
 Within Ihe limit of becoming mirth, 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
 His eye begets occasi<m for his wit ; 
 For every object tliat the o«e doth catch, 
 The other t(nns to a mirth-moving jest; 
 Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) 
 Deli\ ers in such apt and gracious words. 
 That aged ears play truant at his tales. 
 And younger hearings are quite ravished; 
 So s>\eet and voluble is his discourse. 
 
 Prin. God bless my ladies ! are tliey all in love ; 
 That every one her own hath garnished 
 With sHch bedeckin^^ ornaments of praise ? 
 
 Mar, Here comes Boyet. 
 
 Re-enter Boyet. 
 
 Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? 
 
 Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ; 
 And tie, and his competitors in oath. 
 Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady, 
 Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, 
 He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
 fLike one that comes here to besiege his court,) 
 Than seek a dispensation for his oath. 
 To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
 Here comes Navarre. {The Ladies mask.) 
 
 E.iter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
 Navarre. 
 
 Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and, welcome 
 [ have not yet: the roof of this court is too hi^h to 
 be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base 
 to be mine. 
 
 King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. 
 Prin. I will be welcome then; corid.';ct me tliither. 
 King. Hear me, dear lady; J liave sworn an oath. 
 Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn. 
 hing. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 
 Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and no- 
 thing else. 
 
 King. Y'our ladyship is ignorant what it is. 
 
 Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise. 
 Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
 [ hear your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping: 
 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord. 
 And sin to break it : 
 But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold ; 
 To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
 Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, 
 (^nd suddenly resolve rae in my suit.(G/ye6' a paper.) 
 
 King. Madam, I will, if suddenly 1 may. 
 
 Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away; 
 For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. 
 
 Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? 
 
 Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? 
 
 Biron. I know you did. 
 
 Ros. How needless was it then 
 
 To ask the question ! 
 Biron. You must not be so quick. 
 
 Ros. 'Tis long of you that spur me with such 
 questions. ['twill tire. 
 
 Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 
 Ros. Not tid it leave the rider in the mire. 
 Biron. What time o'day ? 
 
 Ros. The hour that fools should ask. 
 
 Biron. Now fair befal your mask! 
 
 Ros. Fair fall the face it covers 1 
 
 Biron. And §end you many lovers'. 
 
 Rps. Amen, so you be none. 
 
 Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 
 
 King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
 The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; 
 Being but the one half of an entire sum, 
 Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
 But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) 
 lleceiv'd that sum; yet there remains unpaid 
 A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which, 
 One part of Aquitain is bound to us. 
 Although not valued to the money's worth 
 If then the king your father will restore 
 But that one half which is unsatisfied. 
 We will give up our right in Aquitain, 
 And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
 But that, it seems, he little purposeth. 
 For here he doth demand to have repaid 
 An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands. 
 On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, 
 To have his title live in Aquitain ; 
 Which we much rather had depart withal. 
 And have the money by our father lent. 
 Than Aquitain so gelded as it is. 
 Dear princess, were not his requests so far 
 From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 
 A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, 
 And go well satisfied to France again. 
 
 Prin. You do the king my father too much 
 wrong, 
 
 And wrong the reputation of your name. 
 
 In so unseeming to confess receipt 
 
 Of that, which hath so faithfully been paid. 
 
 King. I do protest, I never heard of it; 
 And, if you'll prove it, I'll repay it back, 
 Or yield up Aquitain. 
 
 Prin. We arrest your word 
 
 Boyet, you can produce acquittances. 
 For such a sum, from special officers 
 Of Charles his father. 
 
 King. . Satisfy me so. 
 
 Boyet. So please your grace, the pacKet is not 
 come, 
 
 Where that and o4her specialties are bound ; 
 To-morrow you shall have a sight of tiiem. 
 
 King. It shall suffice me : at which interview, 
 All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
 Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand. 
 As honour, without breach of honour, may 
 Make tender of to thy true worthiness ; 
 You may not come, lair princess, in my gates ; 
 But here without you shall be so receiv'd. 
 As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart. 
 Though so denied fair harbour in my house. 
 Your own gix)d thoughts excuse me, and farewell: 
 To-morrow shall we visit you again. 
 
 Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your 
 grace ! 
 
 King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place 1 
 [Exeunt King and his train 
 Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my ovyn 
 
 heart. [be glad to see it. 
 
 Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations ; I would 
 Biron. I would, you heard it groan. 
 Ros. Is the fool sick ? 
 Biron. Sick at heart. 
 Ros. Alack, let it blood. 
 Biron. Would that do it good ? 
 Ros. My physic says, I. 
 Biron. Will you prick't with your eye ? 
 Ros. No poynt, with my knife. 
 Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 
 Ros. And yours from long living ! 
 Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. (Retiring.) 
 Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word : What lady is 
 
 that same ? 
 
 Boyet. The heir of Alen$on, Rosaline her name 
 
132 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Act ill 
 
 Dum. A rallant iadyl Monsieur, fare yoii well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Long, I beseech you a word : what is she in 
 the white? [the light. 
 
 Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in 
 Lo7ig. Perchance, light in the hght : I desire 
 her name. 
 
 Boyet. She hath but one for herself ; to desire 
 Ibat, were a shame. 
 
 Long. Pray yon, sir, whose daughter f 
 
 Boyet. Her mother's, 1 have heard. 
 
 Long. God's blessing on your beard ! 
 
 ^oyet. Good sir, be not otfended: 
 She is an heir of Falconbridge. 
 
 Long. Nay, my choler is ended, 
 ^ihe is a most sweet lady. • t 
 
 Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Exit Long. 
 
 Biron. What's her name, in the cap i" 
 
 Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. 
 
 Biron. Is she wedded, or no r 
 
 Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 
 
 Biron. You are welcome, sir ; adieu I 
 
 Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. 
 
 [Exit Biron. — Ladies unmask. 
 
 Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord; 
 Not a word with him but a jest. 
 
 Boyet. And every jest but a word. 
 
 Pi in. It well done of you to take him at his 
 word. , ^ [board. 
 
 Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to 
 
 i»i^/r. Two hot sheeps, marry ! 
 
 Boyet. And wherefore not ships C 
 
 No Sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. 
 
 Mar. You sheep, and I pasture ; shall that finish 
 
 Boyet. So you grant pasture for ine. [the jest 
 
 Mar. 
 
 {Offering to kiss her.) 
 Not so, gei 
 
 - '"^'^ beast ; 
 My'lTps are no common, though several they be. 
 Boyet. Belonging to whom ^ 
 
 ^lar. '^o my fortunes and me. 
 
 Prin. Good wits will be jangling : but, gentles, 
 
 The civil war of wits were much better used 
 On Navarre and his book-men ; ior h§re 'tis abused, 
 Boij'.t. Ifmy observation, (which very seldom lies,) 
 By the heart s still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, 
 Deceive nie not now, Navarre is infected. 
 Prin. With what ? . , ^ j 
 
 Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, aflected. 
 P/vn. Your reason? [retire 
 Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their 
 To tlie court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : 
 His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed, 
 Proud with his form, in his eye i)ride expressed : 
 His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see. 
 Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be ; 
 All senses to that sense did make their repair. 
 To feel only looking on fairest of fair : 
 Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye. 
 As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; 
 Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they 
 
 were glass'd. 
 Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
 His lace's own margent did quote such amazes, 
 That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes : 
 1 'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, 
 Ab you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. 
 Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd— 
 Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye 
 hath disclos'd: 
 
 I Mily have made a mouth of his eye, 
 
 II y adding a tongae which I know will not he. 
 iios. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st 
 
 skilfully. [of him. 
 
 Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news 
 Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her 
 
 father is but grim. 
 Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches t 
 
 Mor. No 
 
 What then, do yoa see ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 
 
 Boyet. You are too hard for me, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene \.— Another part of the same. 
 Enter Armado and Moth. 
 
 Ann. Warble, child ; make passionate my sens* 
 of" hearing. ^. 
 
 Moth. Concolinel [bingmg ] 
 
 Arm. Sweet air !— Go, tenderness of years ; lake 
 this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him 
 festinately hither:. 1 must employ him in a letter to 
 inv love. 
 
 'Moth. Master, will you win your love with a 
 French brawl? ,. . „ , „ 
 
 Arm. How mean'st thon ? brawling in 1^ rench ( 
 Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a 
 tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your 
 feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; sigh 
 a note, and sing a note ; sometime through the 
 throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love ; 
 sometime through the nose, as it" you snuffed up 
 love by smelling love ; with your hat perthouse-like, 
 o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms crossed 
 on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; 
 or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the 
 old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, 
 but a snip and away : these are complements, these 
 are humours ; these betray nice wenclies— that would 
 be betrayed without these ; and make them men of 
 cote, (do you note, men?) that most are aflected 
 
 to these. , , „ • • <» 
 
 Arm. How hast thou purchased this expeneucoT 
 
 Moth. By my penny of observation. 
 
 Arm. But O,— but O,— 
 
 ^Gth. — the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse? 
 
 Moth. No, master; tlie hobby-horse is but a 
 colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have 
 you forgot your love ? 
 
 Arm. Almost I had. 
 
 Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. 
 
 Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. 
 
 Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three 
 I will prove. 
 
 Arm. What wilt thou prove ? 
 
 Moth. A man, if 1 live: and this, by, m, and 
 without, upon the instant: by heart you love her, 
 because your heart cannot come by her : in heart 
 you love lier, because your heart is in love with her ; 
 and out of heart you love her, being out of heart thst 
 you cannot enjoy her. 
 
 Arrn. I am all these three. 
 
 Moth. And three times as much more, and yet 
 nothing at all. l^^^r. 
 
 Arm. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry me 
 
 Moth. A message well sympathized ; a horse to 
 be ambassador for an ass ! 
 
 Arm. Ha, ha I what say est thou ? 
 
 Moth. Marry, .sir, you must send the ass upcn the 
 horse, for he is very slow-gaited : but 1 go. 
 
 Arm. The way is but short; away, 
 
 MotL As swift as lead, sir. 
 
 Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
 Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? 
 
 Moth. Minime, honest master ; or rather, master 
 
 Arm. I sav, lead is slow. I***' 
 
 Moth. ' You are too swift, sir, to say so. 
 Is that lead slow which is fir'd frorji a gun? 
 
 Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetorick ! 
 He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's he :— 
 I shoot thee at the swain. , r ^ 
 
 Moth. Thump then, and 1 flee. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Arm. A most acute ju venal; voluble and freeof 
 grace ! • i r 
 
 By thy favour, 8we«jt welkin I must sigh in thy iace 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 133 
 
 Most rnde melancholy, valour gives thee place. 
 My herald is returned. 
 
 Re-enter Moth and Costard. 
 Moth. A wonder, master; here's a Costard broken 
 in a shin. 
 
 Arm. Some enig-ma, some riddle : come, — thy 
 
 I envoy ; — begin. 
 Cost. No egma, no riddle, no Venvoy ; no salve 
 ill the mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain: 
 uc Venvoy, no Venvoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! 
 
 Arm. By virtue, thon enforcest laughter ; thy silly 
 thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs pro- 
 vokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, my 
 stars ! Doth the inconsiderate take salve i'or Venvoy, 
 and the word, Venvoy, for a salve ^ 
 
 Moth. Do the w^ise think them other ? is not-- 
 Vem'joy a salve ? I make plain 
 
 Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse, to 
 Some obscure precedence, that hath tofore been sain. 
 I will example it : 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three. 
 There's the moral : now the Venvoy. 
 
 Moth. I will add the Venvoy : say the moral again. 
 Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 
 Were still at odds, being but three. 
 Moth. Until the goose came out of door. 
 And stay'd the odds by addiiig four. 
 Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow 
 with my Venvoy. 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 Arm. Until the goose came our of door. 
 
 Staying the odds by adding four. 
 Moth. A good Venvoy, ending in the goose: 
 Would you desire more ? 
 Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 
 that's flat:— 
 
 Sir, your penny worth is good, an your goose be fat. — 
 To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose : 
 i.et nje see a fat Venvoy ; ay, that's a fat goose. 
 Ann. Come hither, come hither : how did this 
 
 argument begin? 
 Moth. By saying that a Costard was bi-oken in a 
 shin. 
 
 Then call'd you for the Venvoy. 
 
 Cost. True, and I for a plantain : thus came your 
 argument in ; 
 Then the boy's fat Venvoy, the goose that you bought ; 
 And he ended the market. 
 
 Arm. But tell me ; how was there a CosteU-d 
 broken in a shin? 
 
 Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 
 
 Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth ! I will speak 
 that Venvoy. 
 
 I, Costard, running out, that was safely within. 
 Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 
 
 Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
 
 Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
 
 Ann. Sirra-h Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 
 
 Cost. O marry me to one Fiances; — 1 smell 
 gome Venvoy, some goose, in this. 
 
 Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at 
 liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert im- 
 mured, restrained, captivated, bound. 
 
 Cost. True, true; and now you will be my pur- 
 gation, and let me loose. 
 
 Ann. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur- 
 ance: and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
 but this: bear this significant to the country maid 
 iaquenetta: there is remuneration; {giving him 
 pioney) for the best ward of mine honour is, re- 
 warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. 
 
 Moth. Like the sequel, I. — Signior Costard, adieu. 
 
 Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh I my inconv 
 Jew! [Exit Moth. 
 
 Now wlil I look to his remuneration. Remune- 
 ration! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings: 
 three tkirtiiin^s — xetmrnxaiion.— Wliat s the price 
 
 of this inkle ? a penny : — No, /'// give you a rems» 
 nerationi why, it carries it. — Renumerution ! — 
 why, it is a fairer name than Fren<'h crown. I will 
 never buy and sell out of this word. 
 
 Enter BmoN. 
 Biron. O, my good knave Costard ! exceeding^ly 
 well met. 
 
 Cost. Pray yon, sir, how much carnation ribbon 
 may a man buy for a remuneration? 
 
 Biron. What is a remuneration? 
 
 Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. 
 
 Biron. O, why then, three-farthings worth of silk. 
 
 Cost. I thank your worship : God be with you ! 
 
 Biron. O, stay, slave : I must employ thee: 
 As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave. 
 Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 
 
 Cost. When vt'ould you have it done, sir? 
 
 Biron. O, this afternoon. 
 
 Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: fare you well. 
 
 Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. 
 
 Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. 
 
 Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 
 
 Cost. 1 will come to your worship* to-iaorrow 
 morning. 
 
 Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, 
 slave, it is but this : 
 
 The princess comes to hunt here in the park. 
 And in her train there is a gentle lady ; 
 When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her 
 name, 
 
 And Rosaline they call her: ask for her; 
 And to her white hand see thou do commend 
 This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon ; go. 
 
 [Gives him money.) 
 
 Cost. Guerdon, — O, sweet guerdon ! better thai* 
 remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better : mcsi 
 sweet guerdon ! — I will do it, sir, in print. — 
 G ue rdon — t^e m une ration, [Exit 
 
 Biron. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love I I tbit hay 
 been love's whip ; 
 A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
 A critic ; nay, a night-watch constable , 
 A domineering pedant o'er the boy. 
 Than whom no mortal so magnificent; 
 This wimpled, whining, purbhnd, wayward boy 
 This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ; 
 Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms. 
 The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
 Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, 
 Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces. 
 Sole injperator, and great general 
 Of trotting paritors, O my little heart! 
 And I to be a corporal of his field. 
 And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoopi 
 What? I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife! 
 A woman, that is like a German clock, ■ • 
 
 Still a repairing; ever out of frame ; * 
 And never going aright, being a watch, 
 But being watch'd that it may still go right? 
 Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ; 
 And, among three, to love the worst of all; 
 A whitely wanton with a velvet brow. 
 With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; 
 Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed. 
 Though Argus we,-e her eunuch and her guard t 
 And I to sigh for her! to watch for her ! 
 'i'o pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague. 
 That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
 Of his almighty dreadful little might. 
 Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groas : 
 Some men must love my lady, and sou:e Joan. [Exit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Another part of th.e sanrn. 
 
 Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria. Katha 
 KINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Foresier 
 Prin. Was that the king, tliat spurr'd his hoxm. 
 so hard 
 
1S4 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Act r?, 
 
 Ag-ninst the steep uprising of the hill? 
 
 Boyet. I know not ; but, I think, it was not he. 
 Prin. Whoe'er he was, he shoAt d a mounting 
 mind. 
 
 Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; 
 On Saturday we will return to France. — 
 Then, forester, my Inend, where is the bush, 
 That we must stand and play the murderer in? 
 
 l^o7\ Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice ; 
 A stund, wliere you may make the fairest shoot. 
 
 Prin. I thank my beauty, 1 am fair that shoot, 
 A.nd thereii|)on thou speak st, the fairest shoot. 
 
 For. Pardon me, nmdam, for 1 meant not so. 
 
 Prin. What, what ? lirst praise me, and again 
 say, no ? 
 
 0 short-liv'd pride ! not fair? alack for woe ! 
 For. Y es, madam, fair. 
 
 Prin. Nay, never paint me now ; 
 
 Where iair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
 Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; 
 
 {Giviny him money.) 
 Fair payment for foul words is more tiian due. 
 
 For. Nothing bu( fair is that which you inherit. 
 
 Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav d by merit. 
 
 0 heresy in fair, fit tor these days i 
 
 A giving hand, though foul, sliall have fair praise* — • 
 
 But coHie, the bow: — Now mercy goes to kill. 
 
 And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
 
 1'hus wilt I save my credit in the shoot : 
 
 Not wounding, pity would not let me do"t ; 
 
 If wounding, then it was to show my skill, 
 
 That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. 
 
 And, out of question, so it is sometimes; 
 
 Glory grows guilty oi' detested crimes ; 
 
 Wlien, for fame's sake, lor praise, an outward part. 
 
 We bend to that the working of the heart : 
 
 As I, lor praise alone, now seek to spill 
 
 1 he poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. 
 Boyet. Do not curst wives hold tliat sell'-sove- 
 
 reingty 
 
 Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be 
 Lords o'er their lords ? 
 
 Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may afford 
 To any lady tiiat subdues a lord. 
 
 Enter Costard. 
 
 Prin. Here comes a member of the common- 
 wealth, [the head lady ? 
 
 Cost. God dig-you-den all ! Pray yon, which is 
 
 Priiv Thou shalt know her, i'ellow, by the rest 
 that have no heads. 
 
 Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? 
 
 Prin. Tlie thickest, and the tallest. 
 
 Cost. Tlie thickest, and the tallest! it is so; 
 truth is truth. 
 An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit. 
 One of these maids' girdles for your waist should 
 be fit. [here. 
 Are not yo\i the chief woman? you are the thickest 
 
 Prin. What's your will, sir ? what's your will ? 
 
 Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one 
 lady Rosaline. [of mine : 
 
 Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good friend 
 Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet, you can carve j 
 Break up this capon. 
 
 Boyet. I am bound to serve. — 
 
 This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; 
 It is writ to Jaquenetta. 
 
 Prin. We will read it, I swear: 
 
 Break the neck of thr wax, and every one give ear. 
 
 Boyet (Reads). By heaven, that thou art fair, 
 is most infallible ; true, that thou art beauteous ; 
 truth itself that thou art lovely : more fairer than 
 fair, beautiful than beauteous ; truer than truth 
 itself, have commisoration on thy heroical vassal ! 
 The magnanimous and most illustrate king 
 Cophetiia set eye upon the pernicious and indubi- 
 tate beggar Zenelopuon ; and he it was that tnight 
 rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; lohich to anatomize 
 in ihe vulc^'ar, ^ 0 base and obscure vulgar) ! 
 
 videlicet, he came, mtv, and overcame: he cnme 
 one ; satv, tivo ; overcame, three. Who came? tht 
 Icing ; Why did he come l to see ; Why did he see ? 
 to overcome : To whom came he ? to the beggar; 
 What saw he 1 the beggar ; Who wercame he } 
 the beggar : The cojichtsion is victory ; On 
 whose side ? the Icing's : the captive is enrich' d; 
 0« whose side / the beggar s ; The caiastrf\phb is 
 a nuptial; On iv/wse side? The king's?— »?o, on 
 both in one, or one in both. I am the king , Jot stf 
 stands ihe comparison: thou the beggar ;j or s6 
 witnesselh thy lowliness. Shall I command Ihy 
 love? I may : Shall 1 enforce ihy love? I could: 
 Shall 1 entreat thy love? I will. What shalt 
 thoti exchange for rags? robes ; For titles, titles; 
 For thyself, we. Thus, expecting thy reply, 1 
 profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy pic- 
 ture, and my heart on Lhy Hvery part. 
 
 Thine, in the dearest design of industry, 
 Don Adriano de Armado, 
 Thus dost thou hear the Neiuean lion roar 
 
 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey 
 Submissive fall his princely feet before, 
 
 And he from forage will incline to play : 
 But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then ? 
 Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
 
 Pr 'm. What plume of feathers is he, that indifed 
 this letter? [better? 
 What vane ? wliat weather cock ? did you ever hear 
 
 Boyet. 1 any much deceived, but I remember the 
 style. [erewliile. 
 
 Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it 
 
 Boyei. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps 
 here in court ; 
 A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport 
 To the prince, and his book-mates. 
 
 Prin. 'J'hou fellow, a word : 
 
 Who gave thee this letter? 
 
 Cost. I told you ; my lord, 
 
 Prin. To whom should'st thou give it? 
 
 Cost. From my lord to my lady. 
 
 Pr'm. From which lord, to which lady? 
 
 Cost. Fron» my lord Biron, a good master of mine, 
 To a lady of France, that he call'd Ilosaline. 
 
 Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. — Gome, 
 lords, away. 
 
 Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twill be thine another day. 
 
 \Exit Princess and train. 
 Boyet. \y\\o is the suitor? who is the suitor? 
 Ros. Shall 1 teach you to know? 
 Boyd, Ay, my continent of beauty. 
 Rus. Why, she that bears the bow. 
 
 Finely put ofii'! [marry, 
 Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou 
 Hang nje by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 
 Fmely |)ut on ! 
 
 Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. 
 Boyet. And who is your deer? 
 
 Ros. If we chuse by the horns, yourself: come 
 Finely put on, indeed! — [near. 
 Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she 
 strikes at the brow. [her now ? 
 
 Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : have I hit 
 Ros. &hall I come ijpon thee with an old saying, 
 that was a man when king Pepin of France was a 
 little boy, as touching the hit it? 
 
 Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, 
 that was a woman when queen Guinever of Brilaio 
 was a little wench, as touching the hit it. 
 
 Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, (Singing.) 
 
 Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
 Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, c.innot, 
 An I cannot, another can. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. .ind Kaik, 
 Cost. By my troth, most pleasant ! how botii did 
 fit it! [buth did hit it 
 
 Mar. A mark marvellous well shot ; for thev 
 Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ; A 
 mark, says my lady! [ba. 
 Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it maj 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUE LOST. 
 
 18S 
 
 Mar. Wide o' the bow hand! I'faith your hand 
 is out. [hit the clout. 
 
 Cosi. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er 
 Bm/et. An if my hand be out, then, belike your 
 hand is in, [the pin. 
 
 Co.sf. Then will she get the npsliot by cleaving 
 Hilar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips 
 grow foal. 
 
 Cost She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; chal- 
 lenge her to bowl. 
 Boyet. I tear too much rubbing; Good night, my 
 good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. 
 Cost. By njy soul, a swain ! a most simple clown I 
 Jjord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put turn down ! 
 O' my troth, most sweet jests 1 most incony vulgar 
 wit! [were, so fit. 
 
 When it comes so smoothly olf, so obscenely, as it 
 ^ Armatho o' the one side, — O, a most dainty n>an ! 
 'J'o see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan ! 
 To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly a' 
 
 will swear ! — 
 And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit ! 
 Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! 
 {Shouting loithin.) Sola, sola ! 
 
 [Exit Costard, running. 
 
 Scene TT. — The same. 
 Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 
 Natk. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in the 
 testimony of a good conscience. 
 
 Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, — 
 blood : ripe as a pomewater, who now hangeth like 
 a jewel in the ear of c(slo, — the sky, tlie welkin, 
 the heaven ; and anon falieth like a crab on the face 
 of terra, — the soil, the land, the earth. 
 
 Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are 
 sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: but, sir, 
 I a-s'snre ye, it was a buck of the hrst head. 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 
 
 Dull. ''J\vas iKit a haud credo ; 'twas a pricket. 
 
 Hal. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of 
 insinuation, as it were, in via, in way of explica- 
 tion ; facere, as it were, replication, or rather 
 ostentare, to show% as it were, his inclination, — after 
 his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unprnned, 
 untrained, or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, un- 
 confirmed fashion, — to insert again my haud credo 
 lor a deer. [a pricket. 
 
 Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo ; 'twas 
 
 Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus ! — O thou 
 monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look ! 
 
 Nath. Sir, he hath never led of the dainties that 
 are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it 
 were he hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not 
 replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in 
 the duller parts ; 
 
 And such barren plants are set before us, that we 
 
 thankful should be 
 (Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts, 
 
 that do fructify in us more than he. 
 For, as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscr.>et, 
 or a fool, [a school : 
 
 So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in 
 But, omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind, 
 Many can brook the weather, tJiat love not the 
 wind. [your wit, 
 
 Dull. You two are book-men : can you tell by 
 What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not 
 hve weeks old as yet ? [man Dull. 
 
 Hoi. Dictynna, good man Dull ; Dictynna, good 
 Uull. What is Dictynna V 
 
 Nath. A title to Piioebe, to Luna, to the moon. 
 
 HoL The moon was a month old, when Adam 
 was no more ; [fivescore. 
 And raught not to five weeks, when he came to 
 The allusion holds in the exchange. 
 
 Dull. 'Tis true iiideed ; the collusion holds in the 
 exchange. 
 
 Hul. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu- 
 sion holds iii the exchange. 
 
 Dull. And I say, the pollusaoii nolds in the ex- 
 change ; for the moon is never but a month old : 
 and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that tlie prin- 
 cess kill'd. 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
 epitaph on the death of the detr ? and, to huinoui 
 the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess 
 kill'd, a pricket. 
 
 Nath. Perge, goc-d master Holofernes, perge ; sc 
 it shall please you to aorogatc «rvirr»'ity 
 
 Hoi. I will something affect the letter; f(«r it 
 argues facility. 
 
 The praiaejul princess p I erc'd and prick'd a pretty 
 }) leasing pricket ; 
 Sofne say, a sure; but not a sore, till now made 
 sore icith shooting. 
 The dogs did yell; jmt L to sore, then sorel jumps 
 from thicket ; [hooting. 
 Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a- 
 If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores ; 
 
 0 sore LI \more L. 
 
 Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but urte 
 Nath. A rare talent ! 
 
 Dull. II" a talent be a claw, look how he claws 
 him with a talent. 
 
 Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; 
 a foolish, extravagant spirit, full of tonus, figures, 
 shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revo- 
 lutions : these are begot in the veiitricle of memory, 
 nourished in the womb ol' pia mater ; and dcliver'd 
 upon tlie mellowing of occasion : but the >iii't is good 
 in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful lor it. 
 
 Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and s\i r.'tay 
 my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutor'd by 
 you, and their daughters profit very greatly under 
 you : you are a good member of the coumionv\ealth. 
 
 HoL Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they 
 shall want no instruction : if their dauglrers be ca- 
 p;ible, i will put it to them : but, vir sapit qui patina 
 loquitur: a soul feminine saluteth us. 
 
 Enter Jaquenetta and Costxrd. 
 
 Jaq. God give yoj good niorrow, master person. 
 
 Hoi. Master person, — quasi pers-on. And if ouo 
 should be pierced, which is the one ? 
 
 Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that U 
 likest to a hogshead. 
 
 Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of 
 conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, 
 pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty, it is well. 
 
 Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as ead me 
 this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent 
 me from Don Armatho : I beseech you, read it. 
 
 Hoi. Fausie, precor gelidd quando pecus o?nne 
 sub mnbrd 
 
 Ruminat,— and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! 
 I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : 
 
 Yinegia, Vinegia, 
 
 Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. 
 Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who uuderstandeth 
 thee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol, la, vii,fa.-~ 
 Under pardon, sir, what are the contents ? (tr, rather, 
 as Horace says in his — What, my soul, verses ? 
 
 Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 
 
 Hoi. Let me liear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; Lege, 
 domine. 
 
 Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I 
 
 swear to love ? 
 Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty 
 vowed ! [prove ; 
 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee Til faithfuj 
 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like 
 osiers bowed. [eyes ; 
 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine 
 W'^liere all those pleasures hve, that art would 
 comprehend: [aufiice, 
 If knowledge be the mark, to knov, thoe shal 
 Well learned is that tongue, that well r.an the 
 commend : [wonder 
 All ignorant that soul, that *ees thes wi 
 
1H6 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 'Which is to me soaie praise, that I thy parts 
 admire;) [iul thunder. 
 
 Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread- 
 Which, not to anger bent, is mus^c, and sweet fire. 
 Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, 
 That sings heaven's praise with such an eartiily 
 tongue ! 
 
 Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss 
 the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here 
 are only numbers ratified ; but, for the elegancy, fa- 
 cility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius 
 Naso was tiie man: and why indeed, Naso; but for 
 smelling out the odoril'erous tiovvers of fancy, the 
 jerks of invention ? Imitari, is nothing : so doth the 
 liound his master, the ape his keeper, tlie tired horse 
 his rider. But, damosella virgin, was this directed 
 to you ? 
 
 Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of 
 the strange queen's lords. 
 
 Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To the 
 snoiv-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Ro- 
 saline. 1 will look again on the intellect of the letter, 
 for the nomination of the party written unto. 
 
 Your ladyship's in all desired employment, Bi- 
 RON. Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of tlie votaries 
 with the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a 
 sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, 
 or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. — Trip 
 and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the royal 
 hand of tlie king; it may concern much : stay not 
 thy compliment; 1 forgive thy duty; adieu. 
 
 Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save 
 your life ! 
 
 Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 
 
 [Exeimt Cost, and Jaq. 
 
 'Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 
 very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith 
 
 tlol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co- 
 lourable colours. But, fo return to the verses; did 
 they please you, sir Nathaniel ? 
 
 Nath. Marvellous well for the ])en. 
 
 Hal. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain 
 pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall please 
 you to gratify the table with a grace. I will, on my 
 piivilege 1 have with the parents of the foresaid 
 child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto ; where I 
 will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither 
 jsavouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I beseech 
 your society. 
 
 Nath. And thank you too : for society (saith the 
 text), is tlie happiness of life. 
 
 Hoi. And, certes, the text most infallibly con- 
 cludes it. — Sir, [to Dull) I do invite you too; you 
 shall not say me, nay : pauca verba. — Away; the 
 gentles are at game, and we will to our recreation. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — Another part of the same. 
 Enter Biron, ivith a paper. 
 Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am 
 coursing myself : they have pitch'd a toil ; I am 
 toiling in a pitch; pitch, that defiles; defile ! a foul 
 word. Well, Set thee down, sorrow! for so, they 
 say, the ibol said, and so say I, and 1 the iool. 
 \V\ ell proved, vviti By the Lord, this love is as mad 
 as Ajax : it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: 
 'Veil proved again on my side ! I will not love : if 
 1 do, hang me ; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, 
 --by this light, but for her eye, I would not love 
 her; yes. tor her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in 
 the world but lie, and lie in ray throat. By heaven, 
 i do love : and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to 
 he melancholy ; and here is part of my rhyme, and 
 here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my 
 ■sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, 
 and the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter fool, 
 ■sweetest lady ! By the world, I would not care a 
 pin, if the other three were in : here comes one 
 with a piper; God give him grace to groan, ifiets 
 up into a tr(^.) 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Enter the King, with a paper. 
 King. Ah me ! 
 
 Biron. (Aside.) Shot by heaven !— Proceed 
 sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird 
 bolt under the left pan : — I'taith secrets. — 
 
 King. (Reads.) So sweet a kii-s the golden sun 
 gives not 
 
 To those fresh tnorning drops upon the ro«e, 
 As thy eye-beams, xvhen their fresh rays hav% 
 smote 
 
 The night of dew that on my cheehs down flows 
 Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 
 
 Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
 As doth thij face through tears of mine give light ; 
 
 Thou shin'st in every tear that I do tveep ; 
 No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, 
 
 So ridest thou trimnphing in my looe ; 
 Do but behold the tears that sivell in. me. 
 
 And they thy glory through my grief will sliow: 
 Bid do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
 My tears for glasses, and still make me tveep. 
 0 queen of queens, hoiv far dost thou excel I 
 No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. — 
 How shall she know niy griels ? ['II drop the paper : 
 Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here f 
 
 (Steps atide^ 
 
 Enter Longaville, with a paper. 
 What, Longaville ! and reading I listen, ear. 
 Birofi. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool ap 
 pe^r ! (Aside.) 
 Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn. 
 Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearinj 
 papers. (Aside. 
 King. In love, I hope ; Sweet fellowship it 
 shame ! (Aside. 
 Biro7i. One drunkard loves another of the name, 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 Long. Am T the first thf t have been perjur'd so ; 
 Biron. (Aside.) I could put thee in comfort ; not 
 by two, that 1 know : [society. 
 Thou mak'st the triumviiy, the corner-cap of 
 The shape of Love's Tyburn, that hangs up sim- 
 plicity, [move : 
 Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to 
 O sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
 These numbers will I tear and write in proso. 
 Biron. (Aside.) O, rhymes are guards on wanton 
 Cupid's hose : 
 Disfigure not his slop. 
 
 Long. This same shall go. — 
 
 (He reads the sonnet) 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 
 {^Gainst ivhom the world cannot hold argif 
 ment,) 
 
 Persuade my heaH to this false perjury 1 
 
 Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment. 
 A woman I forsivore ; but, I iviil prove, 
 
 Thou being a goddess, I forsivore ?iot thee : 
 My voiv teas earthly, thou a heavenly love; 
 
 ^Thy grace, being gaind, cures all disgrace in me. 
 Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 
 
 Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost 
 shine, 
 
 Exhal'st this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 
 If broken then, it is no fault of mine ; 
 If by me broke. What fool is not so wise. 
 To lose an oath to win a paradise '! 
 Biron. (Aside.) 'I'his is the liver vein, which 
 makes flesh a deity : 
 A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. 
 God amend us, God amend ! we are much out a' the 
 way. 
 
 Enter Domain, with a paper. 
 Long. By whom shall i send this ? — Company 
 stay. (Slejijiing aside. 
 
 Biron. (Aside.) All hid, all hid, an oid infant plajr 
 Like a demi god here sit I in the sky, 
 And wretched fools' secrets heedfuily o'er-eye. 
 
Scene 8 
 
 More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish ! 
 Dumain traxisfoi iii'd : four woodcocks in a dish ! 
 JJum. O most divine Kate ! 
 
 Biran. O most profane coxcomb !' (Aside.) 
 
 Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye I 
 Biron. i^y heart, she is but corporal ; there you 
 lie. [Aside.) 
 Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. 
 Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. 
 
 [Aside.) 
 
 Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
 
 Biron. Stoop, I say ; 
 
 Her shoulder is with child. [Aside.) 
 
 Dum. As fair as day. 
 
 Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun niust 
 shine. [Aside.) 
 
 Dum. O diat I had my wish ! 
 
 Long. And I had mine ! (Aside.) 
 
 King. And I mine too, good lord ! (Aside.) 
 
 Biron. Amen, so I had mine : is not that a good 
 word ? (Aside.) 
 
 Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she 
 Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 
 
 Biron. A^fever in your blood, why, then incision 
 Would let lier out in saucers; sweet misprision ! 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that 1 have 
 writ. 
 
 Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary 
 wit. (Aside.) 
 
 Dum. On a day, ( alach the day !J 
 
 Love, ivfiose month is ever May^ 
 Spied a blossom, passing fair. 
 Playing in the wanton air : 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find: 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Tf'ish'd himself the heavens breath. 
 Air, quoth lie, thy cheeks may blow ; 
 Air, ivould I might triumph so ! 
 But alach, my hand is sworn. 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ; 
 Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 Do not call it sin in me, 
 That I atn forsworn for thee i- 
 Thou,f )r whom even Jove toould swear, 
 Juno but an Ethiop were ; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. — 
 
 This will I send ; and something else more plain. 
 That shall express niy true love's fasting pain. 
 O, would the King, Biron, and Longaville, 
 Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill. 
 Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; 
 For none offend, where all alike do dote. 
 Long. Dumain, [advancing) thy love is far from 
 cliarity. 
 
 That in love's grief desir'st society : 
 
 Vou inay look pale, but 1 should blush, 1 know, 
 
 To be o'er heard, and taken napping so. 
 
 King. Come, sir, [advancing) you blush ; as his 
 your case is such ; 
 you chide at him, ofiending twice as much; 
 
 on do not love Maria; Longaville 
 Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; 
 Nor never lay his wreathed arras athwart 
 His loving bosom, to keep down his heart! 
 I have been closely shrouded ia this bush, 
 And mark'd you both, and for yoa both did blush. 
 I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion; 
 Saw sii'hs reek from you, noted well your passion : 
 Ah rael says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ; 
 One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes : 
 You would for paradise break faith and troth ; 
 
 [To Long.) 
 
 And Jwe, for your love, would infringe an oath. 
 
 (To Dumain.) 
 What vill Biron saif, when that he shall hear 
 
 187 
 
 A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear? 
 How will he scorn ? how will he spend his wit? 
 How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it? 
 For all the wealth that ever 1 did see, 
 I would not have him know so much by me. 
 
 Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. — 
 Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me. 
 
 (Descends from the tree. 
 Good heart, what grace hast thou, tiius to reprove 
 These worms for loving, that art most in love ? 
 Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears. 
 There is no certain princess that appears ; 
 You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing; 
 Tush, none but minstrels like of soniieting. 
 But are you not asham'd ? nay are you not. 
 All three of you, to be thus nmch o'ershot? 
 You found his mote ; the king your mote did see; 
 But I a beam do find in each of three. 
 
 0, what a scene of foolery I have seen, 
 
 Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! 
 
 0 me, with what strict patience have 1 sat. 
 To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 
 
 To see great Hercules whipping a gigg. 
 And profound Solomon to tune a jij^g, 
 And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys. 
 And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! 
 Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain, 
 And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? 
 And where my liege's ? all about the breast 
 A caudle, ho! 
 
 Ki?ig. Too bitter is thy jest. 
 Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view? 
 
 Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to youj 
 
 1, that am honest; I, that hold it sin 
 To break the vow I am engaged in ; 
 
 1 am betray'd, by keeping ccmpany 
 
 With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy 
 When shall you see me write a thing in rhyn^e ? 
 Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's tiuje 
 In pruning me ? When shall you hear, that I 
 Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
 A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
 A leg, a hmb? — 
 
 Knig. Soft ; whither away so fast? 
 
 A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? 
 
 Biron. 1 post from love ; good lover, let me go. 
 
 Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 
 Jaq. God bless the king! 
 
 King. What present hast thou thf*-e ? 
 
 Cost. Some certain treason. 
 
 King. What mais.es treason here ? 
 
 Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 
 
 King. If it mar nothing neither. 
 
 The treason, and you, go in peace away together. 
 
 Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read ; 
 Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treasoa, he said. 
 
 King. Biron, read it over. (Giving him tlie letter^ 
 — Where hadst thou it? 
 
 Jaq. Of Costard. 
 
 King. Where hadst thou it ? 
 
 Cost. Of Dun Adraniadio, Dun Adramadio. 
 
 King How now ! what is in you ? why dost thou 
 tear it ? [not fear it 
 
 Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy ; your grace needs 
 
 Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 
 let's hear it. 
 
 Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. 
 
 [Picks up the pieces.) 
 Biron. Ah, you whorescn loggerhead, (io Cos- 
 tard) you were born to do me shamerf— 
 Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess. 
 King. What? 
 
 Biron. That you three fools lack'd me faol ta 
 make up the mess ; 
 He, he, and you, my liege, and I, 
 Are pic^- purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
 O, dismiss thisi audi*"ace, and I shall tell you more. 
 
 Dum. Now the iiumber i^-sven 
 
 Biron. True siue • 've sure fow-. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST 
 
138 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Will these turtles be gone ? 
 
 King. Hence, sirs ; away. 
 
 Cost. W alk aside the true folk, and let the traitors 
 stay. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaquenet. 
 
 Siron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em- 
 brace ! 
 
 As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: 
 The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his iace ; 
 
 Young blood will not obey an old decree : 
 W e cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
 herefore, oCall hands must we be forsworn. 
 King. What, did these rent lines show some love 
 of tliine? [heavenly Rosaline, 
 
 Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the 
 That, lilce a rude and savage man of Inde, 
 
 At tlie first opening of the gorgeous east. 
 Bows not his vassal head ; and, sti ucken blind. 
 
 Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? 
 "A hat peremptory eagle-sighted eye 
 
 Dares look upon the heaven of her brow. 
 That is not blinded by her majesty ? [now? 
 
 King. What zeal, what fury liath inspir'd thee 
 My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ; 
 She, an attending star, scarce seen alight. 
 Biron. My eyes are tlien no eyes, nor I Biron : 
 O, but for my love, day would turn to night! 
 Of all complexions the cuU'd sovereignty 
 
 Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; 
 Where several worthies make one dignity ; 
 
 Where nothing wants, that want itsell doth seek. 
 Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues. — 
 
 Fy, pointed rhetoric! O, she needs it not: 
 To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ; [blot. 
 
 She passes praise; then praise too short doth 
 A wither'd hermit, live-score winters worn. 
 
 Might shake olT lifty, looking in her eye : 
 Beauty doth \ arnish age, as if new born, 
 
 And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 
 O, 'tis llie sun that maketh all things shiue ! 
 King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
 Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! 
 A wife of such wood were felicity. 
 O, who can gi\e an oath ? wiiere is a book? 
 
 'J'hat 1 may swear, beauty dolh beauty lack, 
 If thnt she harn not of her eye to look: 
 
 No face is lair, tliat is not full so black. 
 Kmg. O par (lox ! Black is the badge of hell, 
 Tiie hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night ; 
 And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 
 
 Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits 
 of light. 
 
 O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt. 
 
 It mourns, tiiat painting, and usurping hair. 
 Should ravish doters with a false asp^t; 
 
 And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
 Her favour turns the fashion of the days ; 
 
 For native blood is counted painting now; 
 And therefore red, that would a\ oid dispraise. 
 Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
 ^Duni. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers 
 black. [bright. 
 hong. And since her time, are colliers counted 
 King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion 
 crack. [light. 
 Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is 
 Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain. 
 
 For fear their colours should be wash'd away. 
 King, "i'were good yours did ; for, sir, to tell 
 von plain, 
 
 I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. 
 Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day 
 
 here, [she. 
 King. No devil will fright thee then so much as 
 Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff" so dear. 
 Long. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her 
 
 face see. {Shoimng his shoe.) 
 
 Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Her feet were much too dainty for such trej»d I 
 Dum. O vile I theii as she goes, what tipwi.rd liea 
 
 The street should see, as she walk'd over head 
 
 King. But what of this? Are we no4; all in lo\e? 
 
 Biron. O, nothing so sure \ and thereby all for 
 sworn. [now prov« 
 
 King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Biron, 
 Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn, [evil 
 
 Dum. Ay, marry, there; — some flattery for tlii 
 
 hong. O, some authority how to proceed; 
 Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devi 
 
 Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
 
 Biron. O, 'tis more than need !— 
 
 Have at you then, aff"ection's men at arms : 
 Consider, what you first did swear unto ; — 
 To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; — 
 Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state ol" youth. 
 Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too yoiuig; 
 And abstinence engenders maladies. 
 And where that you have vow'd to study, lords. 
 In that each of you hath forsworn his book : 
 Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look? 
 For when would you, my lord, or you, or you. 
 Have found the ground of study's excellence. 
 Without the beauty of a woman's face ? 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive ; 
 They are the ground, tlie books, the academes. 
 From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire 
 Why, universal plodding prisons up 
 The nimble spirits in the arteries; 
 As motion, and long-during action, tires 
 The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
 Now, for not looking on a woman's face. 
 You have in that forsworn the use of eyes; 
 And study too, the causer of your vow: 
 For where is any author in the world. 
 Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ? 
 Learning is but an adjunct to oursell', 
 And where we are, our learning likewise is. 
 Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes. 
 Do we not likewise see our learning tliere ? 
 O, we have made a vow to study, lords ; 
 And in that vow we have forsworn our books j 
 For when would you, nry liege, or you, or you. 
 In leaden contemplation, have found out 
 Such fiery numbers, as the pronrpting ey.es 
 Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with? 
 Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; 
 And therefore finding barren practisers, 
 Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil: 
 But love, first learned in a lady's eyes. 
 Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
 But with the motion of all elements, 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power; 
 And gives to every power a double power, ' 
 Above their functions and their offices. 
 It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
 A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
 A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
 When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd. 
 Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible. 
 Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; 
 Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross iu tast« » 
 For valour is not love a Hercules, 
 Still climbing trees in the Hespendes? 
 Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical, 
 As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ; 
 And, when love speaks, the voice of all the god» 
 Makes heaven drowsy with the liarmony. 
 Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
 Until his ink were temper'd with love's sigho. 
 O, then his lines would ravish savage ears. 
 And plant in tyrants mild humility 
 From women's eyes this doctrine 1 derive : 
 They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 
 They are the books, the arts, the academes, 
 That show, contain, and nourish all the world. 
 Else, none at all 123 aught proves excellent ; 
 Then fools yoa were these women to forswear ; 
 Or, keepii.g what is sworn, you w 11 i^rove foola. 
 For wisdom's sake, a word that .ill men love; 
 0{ for love's sake, a word that bves all men; 
 
Act V. Scene 1. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 1B% 
 
 Or for n«eii's sake, the authors of these women ; 
 Or women's sake, by whom we men are men ; 
 Let ns once lose our oaths, to find ourselves. 
 Or else we lose ourselves, to keep oui oaths : 
 It is religion to be thus forsworn; 
 For charity itself fulfils the law ; 
 And who can se\er love from charity? 
 
 King. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the 
 field ! [lords ; 
 
 Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them. 
 Pell-mell, down with tiiem ! but be first advis'd, 
 In conflict that you get the sun of them. 
 
 Long. Now to plain dealing ; lay these glozes by: 
 Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 
 
 King. And win them too; therefore let us devise 
 Some entertainment for them in their tents. 
 
 Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them 
 thither ; 
 
 Then, h(\ineward, every man attach the hand 
 Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon 
 We will with some strange pastime solace them, 
 Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; 
 For revels, dances, masks, and nierry hours. 
 Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. 
 
 King. Away, away I no time shall be omitted, 
 That will be time, and may by us be fitted. 
 
 Biron. Allans I aliens! — Sow'd cockle reap'd no 
 corn ; 
 
 And justice always whirls in equal measure : 
 Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn ; 
 If so, our copper buys no better treasure. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Another part of the same. 
 Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 Hoi. Satis quod sufficit. 
 
 Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at 
 dinner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant 
 without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious 
 without impudency, learned without opinion, and 
 strange without heresy. I did converse this quon- 
 dam day with a companion of the king's, who is 
 intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de 
 Armado. 
 
 Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour is 
 lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, 
 his eye ambiti(His, his gait majestical, and his ge- 
 neral behaviour vain, ridiculous, and Thrasonical. 
 He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, 
 as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. 
 
 Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 
 
 {Takes out his table-book.) 
 
 Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
 finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such 
 fanatical fantasms, such insociable and point-devise 
 companions, such rackers of orthography, as to 
 speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt; det, 
 when he should pronounce, debt; d, e, b, t; not 
 d, e, t; he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neigh- 
 bour, vacatur, nebour ; neigh, abbreviated, ne : 
 this is abhominable, (which he would call abomiu- 
 able,)it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intelligis, do- 
 fwewe.^' to make frantic, lunatic. 
 
 Nath. Laus deo, bone intelligo. 
 
 Hoi. Bone? bone, for bene: Priscian a little 
 
 watch'd ; 'twill serve. 
 
 Eyiter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 
 Nath. Videsne quis venit? 
 Hoi. Video, H gaudeo. 
 
 Arm. Chirra' _ {To Moth.) 
 
 Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah ? 
 
 Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd. 
 
 Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. 
 
 Moth. Thi y have been at a great feast of lan- 
 guages, and stolen the sci ; ps. (7b Costard, aside.) 
 
 Cost. O, they have lived long in the alms-basket 
 of words I 1 marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee 
 
 for a word • for thou art not so long by the head as 
 honorific ahilitudinitatibus : thou art easiei sv^^ai- 
 iowed than a flap dragon. 
 
 Moth. Peace ; the peal begins. 
 
 Arm. Monsieur, {to Hoi.) are you not letter'd ? 
 
 Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn- book 
 What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn oa his 
 head ? 
 
 Hoi. Ba, piceritia, with a horn added. 
 
 Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn :— Foa 
 hear his learning. 
 
 Hoi. Quis, quis, thou consonant? 
 
 Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat 
 thenj ; or the fifth, if I. 
 
 Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i. — 
 
 Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ; o, ii. 
 
 Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterra- 
 neum, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit : snip, 
 snap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my intellect: 
 true wit. [wit-old. 
 
 Moth. Offer'd by a child to an old man ; which is 
 
 Hoi. What is the figure ? what is the figure ? 
 
 Moth. Horns. [gig. 
 
 Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy 
 
 Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I 
 will whip about your infamy circum circa; a gig of 
 a cuckold's horn ! 
 
 Cos. An I had but one penny in the world, thou 
 shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is 
 the very renumeration I had of thy master, thou 
 half-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discre- 
 tion. O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou 
 wert but my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst 
 thou make me ! Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghill, 
 at thy fingers' ends, as they say. 
 
 Hoi. O, I smell false Latin ; dunghill for unguem. 
 
 Arm. Arts-man, prceambula ; we will be singled 
 from the barbarous. Do you not educate jouth at 
 the charge-house on the top of the mountain I 
 
 Hoi. Or, mons, the hill. 
 
 Ar7n. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. 
 HoL I do, sans question. 
 
 Arm. Sir, it is the king's tuost sweet {)lea.sure and 
 afltection, to congratulate th<: princess at iier pavi- 
 lion, in the posteriors of this day ; which the rude 
 multitude call, the afternoon. 
 
 Hoi. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, 
 is liable, congruent, and measurable for the after- 
 noon : the word is well cull'd, chose ; sweet and 
 apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 
 
 Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman; and 
 my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : — 
 for what is inward between us, let it pass: — I do 
 beseech thee, remember thy courtesy ; — I beseech 
 thee, apparel thy head ; — and among other importu- 
 nate and most serious designs,— and of great import 
 indeed, too; — but let that pass: — for I must tell 
 thee, it will please his grace (by the world) sometime 
 to lean upon my poor shoulder ; and with his royal 
 finger, thus, dally with my excrement, with my 
 mustachio : but, sweet heart, let that pass. By the 
 world, 1 recount no fable; some certain special 
 honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Ar- 
 mado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the 
 world: but let that pass. The very all of all is, — 
 but, sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, — that the 
 king would have me present the princess, sweet 
 chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, 
 or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. Now, under- 
 standing that the curate and your sweet self are 
 good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out ol 
 mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to 
 the end to crave your assistance. 
 
 Hoi. Sir, you ghall present before her the nine 
 worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning souie ej- 
 tertainraent of time, some show in the posterior of 
 this day, to be rendered by our assistajice, — the 
 king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, 
 and learned gentleman, — before the princess; I 
 none so fit as to present the niot vorthies. 
 
140 
 
 LOYE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Naih. Where ■will you find men worthy enough 
 Jo present them ? 
 
 Hoi. Joshua, yourself ; myself, or this gallant 
 gentleman, Judas Maccabeeus ; tliis swain, because 
 of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the 
 great; the page, Hercules. 
 
 Attn. Pardon, sir, error: he is not quantity enough 
 for that worthy's thumb : he is not so big as the end 
 of his club. 
 
 Uol. Shall I have audience ? he shall present 
 Hercules in minority : ]us enier and exit shall be 
 strangling a snake ; and 1 will ha\ e an apology for 
 that purpose. 
 
 Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the 
 audience hiss, you may cry : well done, Hercules! 
 now thou crushest the snake ! that is the way to 
 make an oli'ence gracious ; though few have the 
 grace to tlo it. 
 
 Arm. For the rest of the worthies? 
 
 Hoi. 1 will play three myself. 
 
 Moth. Tluice-woithy gentleman! 
 
 Arm. Shall I tell you a thing? 
 
 Hoi We attend. 
 
 Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. 
 I beseech you, follow. 
 
 Hoi. Via, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no 
 word all this wiiile. 
 
 Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 
 
 Hoi. Allons! we will employ thee. 
 
 Dull. I'll n>ake one in a dance, or so : or T will 
 play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance 
 the hay, 
 
 Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sporl, away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Another part of the same. Before the 
 
 Princess's Pavilion. 
 Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and 
 Maria. 
 
 Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, 
 i fairings come thus plentifully in: 
 A. lady wall'd about with diamonds! 
 Look you, what I have nnm the loving king. 
 
 Rgs. Madaui, came nothing else along with that? 
 
 Prin. Notliiiig but this ? yes, as much love in 
 rhyme, 
 
 As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
 Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all ; 
 That he was fjin to seal on Cupid s name. 
 
 Ros. That was the way to make his godhead waxj 
 For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 
 
 Rath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 
 
 Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd 
 your sister. 
 
 Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; 
 And so she died; had she been light, like you. 
 Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit. 
 She might have been a grandarn ere she died: 
 And 8l) may you ; for a light heart lives long. 
 
 Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this 
 light word ? 
 
 Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. [out. 
 
 Ros. W e need more light to find your meaning 
 
 Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuiF ; 
 Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. 
 
 Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. 
 
 Kath. So do not yo<i ; for you are a light wench. 
 Indeedj 1 weigh not you; and therefore 
 lii;ht. [for me. 
 
 Kath. You weigh me not, — O, that's you care not 
 
 Hos. Great reason ; for. Past cure is still past care. 
 
 Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit w^ll play'd. 
 But Rosaline, you have a iavour too ; 
 Who sent it? and what is it? 
 
 Ros. I would, you knew ; 
 
 An if my face were but as fair as yours. 
 My favour were as great ; be witness this. 
 Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron : 
 The numbers true ; and, were the numb'ring too, 
 I were the fairest goddess on the ground: 
 
 I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. 
 O, he hath dra\^ n my picture in his letter I 
 Prin. Any thing like? 
 
 Ros. Much, in the letters ; nothing in the praise 
 Prin. Beauteous as ink : a good conclusion. 
 Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy book. 
 Ros. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die youj 
 debtor, 
 
 My red dominical, my golden letter : 
 
 O, that your face were not so lull of O's I 
 
 Kath. A pox of that jest ! and beshrew all shrows . 
 
 Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain? 
 
 Kath. Madam, this glove. 
 
 Prin. Did he not send you twain ^ 
 
 Kath. Yes, madam ; and moreover. 
 Some thousand verses of a fa thful lover: 
 A huge translation of hypocrisy. 
 Vilely compil d, profound simplicity. tville ; 
 
 Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longa- 
 The letter is too long by half a mile. [heart, 
 
 Prin. 1 think no less: dost thou not wish, in 
 The chain were longer, and the letter short? [part 
 
 Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never 
 
 Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. 
 
 Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. 
 1 hat same Biron I'll torture ere 1 go. 
 O, that I knew he were but in by the week I 
 How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek; 
 And wait the season, and observe tiie times, 
 And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes; 
 And shape his service wholly to my behests; 
 And make him proud to make me proud that jests ! 
 So portent-like would I o'ersway his state. 
 That he should be my fool, and I his fate. 
 
 Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are 
 catch'd. 
 
 As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd, 
 Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school; 
 And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 
 
 Ros. The blood of youth burns not with suck 
 excess. 
 
 As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 
 
 Mar. Folly in fools bears not so stn^ng a note. 
 As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; 
 Since all the power thereof it doth apply, 
 To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 
 
 Enter Bo yet. 
 
 Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 
 Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter ? Where's 
 
 her grace ? 
 Prin. Thy news, Boyet? 
 
 Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare I — 
 
 Arm, wenches, arm ' encounters mounted are 
 Against your peace- : love doth approach disguis'd, 
 Armed in arguments ; you'll be surpris'd : 
 Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; 
 Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 
 
 Prin. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they, 
 That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, say 
 
 Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, 
 I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; 
 When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, 
 Toward that shade I might behold addrest 
 Th^ king and his companions: warily 
 I stole into a neighbour thicket by. 
 And overheard what you shall overhear; 
 That by and by, disguis'd they will be here. 
 Their herald is a pretty knavish page, 
 That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage " 
 Action, and accent, did they teach him there ; 
 Thus must thou speak, ana thus thy body beetf ' 
 And ever and anon they nmde a doubt. 
 Presence majestical would put him out ; 
 For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see ; 
 Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. 
 Tlie boy reply'd. An anyel is not evil ; 
 I should have fear d lier^ had she been a devil. 
 With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him OQ tat 
 ihoulder ; 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. 
 
 One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and fleer'd, and swore, 
 
 A better speech was never spoke before : 
 
 Another, witii his finger and his thumb, 
 
 Cry'd, Via ! ive will dot, come what will ccme : 
 
 The Ih) .-d he caper'd, and cried, All goes well: 
 
 The fourth turn d on tlie toe, and down he fell. 
 
 With that, they all did tumble on the ground, 
 
 With such a zea ous laughter, so profound, 
 
 I'hat in this spleen ridiculous appears, 
 
 To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. ^ 
 
 Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us? 
 
 Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd 
 thus, — 
 
 Like Muscovites, or Russians : as I guess. 
 Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance : 
 And every one his love-feat will advance 
 tJnto his several mistress ; which they'll know 
 By favours several, which they did bestow. 
 Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be 
 task'd : 
 
 For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd : 
 And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
 Despight of suit, to see a lady's face. 
 Hold, Rosaline, this favour tliou shalt wear; 
 And then the king will court thee for his dear; 
 Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ; 
 So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. — 
 And change you favours too ; so shall your loves 
 Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. 
 
 Bos. Come on then; wear the favours most in 
 sight. 
 
 Kath. But, in this changing, what is your intent? 
 
 Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs ; 
 They do it but in mocking merriment; 
 And mock for mock is only my intent. 
 'I'heir several counsels they unbosom shall 
 To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal. 
 Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
 \Vith visages display'd, to talk, and greet. 
 
 Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire ns to't? 
 
 Prin. No ; to the death, we will not niove a foot ; 
 Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ; 
 But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. 
 
 Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
 heart. 
 
 And quite divorce his memory from his part. 
 
 Prin. Therefore I do it; and, f make no doubt. 
 The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
 There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown ; 
 To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : 
 So shall we stay, mocking intended game ; 
 And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 
 
 [Trumpets sound within.) 
 
 Boyet. The trumpet sounds ; be mask'd. the 
 maskers come. [The Ladies mash.) 
 
 Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, 
 in Russian habits, and masked ; Moth, Mu- 
 sicians, and Attendants. 
 
 Moth. All hail the richest beauties on the earth! 
 
 Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. 
 
 Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, 
 
 (The ladies turn their backs to him.) 
 That ever turned their — baclcs — to mortal views ! 
 
 Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. 
 
 Moth. That ever turned their eyes to mortal 
 vietvs I Out — 
 
 Boyet. True ; out, indeed. 
 
 Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, 
 ^ot to behold— [voucJisafe 
 Biron. Once to behold, rogue. 
 ^ Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed 
 
 eyes, with your sun-beamed eyes — 
 
 Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet. 
 Yon were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. 
 Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me 
 out. 
 
 Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you 
 rogue. 
 
 Ros. What would these strangers? know their 
 
 minds, Boyet : 
 If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
 'I'hat some plain man recount their purposes : 
 Know what they would. 
 
 Boyet. What woidd you with the princess? 
 
 Biron. Nothing but | eace, and gentle visitation. 
 
 Ros. What would they, say they? 
 
 Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 
 
 Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be 
 gone. [gone. 
 
 Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may bo 
 
 King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles. 
 To tread a measure with her on this grass. 
 
 Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many 
 a mile. 
 
 To tread a nieasure with you on this grass. 
 
 Ros. \i is not so : ask them, how many inches 
 Is in one mile : if they have measur'd many. 
 The measure then of one is easily told. 
 
 Boyet. If, to come hither, you have measur'd 
 miles. 
 
 And many miles ; the princess bids you tell. 
 How many inches do fill up one mile. 
 
 Biron. ' T^W her, we measure them by weary- 
 steps. 
 
 Boyet. She hears herself. 
 
 Ros. How many weary steps. 
 
 Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, 
 Are number'd in the travel of one mile? 
 
 Biron. We number nothing that we spend for 
 Our duty is so rich, so infinite, [you ; 
 
 That we may do it still without accompt. 
 Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, 
 That we, like savages, mjy worshi[) it. 
 
 Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 
 
 King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do.' 
 Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, <» 
 shine 
 
 (Those clouds remov'd,) u<pon our wat'ry eyne. 
 
 Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; 
 Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. 
 King. Then, in our measure, do but vouchsafe 
 one change : 
 Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. 
 Ros. Flay, music, then, nay, you must do it 
 soon. {Music play.) 
 
 Not yet ; — no dance :- — thus change I like the moon. 
 King. Will you not dance ? How come you thus 
 estrang'd ? 
 
 Ros. You took the moon at full ; but now she's 
 chang'd. 
 
 King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
 The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it 
 Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 
 King. But your legs should do it 
 
 Rus. Since yon are strangers, and come here by 
 chance. 
 
 We'll not be nice : take hands ; — we will not dance. 
 
 King. Why take we hands then ? 
 
 Ros. Only to part friends 
 
 Conrt'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends. 
 
 King. More measure of this measure ; be not 
 nice. 
 
 Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 
 King. Prize you yourselves ; what buys your 
 
 company ? 
 Ros. Your absence only. 
 
 King. That can never Sx*. 
 
 Rus. Then cannot we be bought: and so adieu; 
 Twice to your visor, and half once to yon ! 
 
 King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more cJmt. 
 Ros. In private, then. 
 
 King. I am best pleas'd with that. 
 
 [They converse apart.) 
 Btron. White-handed mistress, one sweet wora 
 
 with thee. [three. 
 Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is 
 Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so 
 
 nice,) 
 
142 
 
 Metheglin, wort, and malmsey ; — Well run, dice ! 
 There's halt a dozen sweets. 
 
 Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu ! 
 
 Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. 
 
 Biron. One word in secret. 
 
 Prin. Let it not be sweet. 
 
 Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. 
 
 Prin. Gall ! bitter. 
 
 Biron. Therefore meet. 
 
 [They converse apart.) 
 
 Dunu Will you vouchsafe with me to change a 
 word ? 
 
 Mar. Name it. 
 
 Dum. Fair lady, — 
 
 Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord, — 
 
 Take that for your fair lady. 
 
 Dum. Please it you, 
 
 As much in private, and Fll bid adieu. 
 
 {They converse apart.) 
 Kath, What, was your visor made without a 
 tongue ? 
 
 honq. I know the rejrson, lady, why you ask. 
 Kath. O, for yoiir reason ! quickly, sir; I long. 
 Long. You have a double tongue within your 
 mask. 
 
 And would afford my speechless visor half. 
 
 Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman; — Is not veal 
 
 a calf? 
 Long. A calf, fair lady ? 
 Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 
 
 Long. Let's part the word. 
 
 Kaih. No, I'll not be your half: 
 
 Take ail, and wean it; it may prove an ox. 
 
 Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these 
 sliarp mocks! 
 Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. 
 
 Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. 
 hong. One word in private with you, ere 1 die. 
 Kath. Bleat soflly then, the butcher hears you cry. 
 
 [They converse apart.) 
 Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as 
 keen 
 
 As is the razor's edge invisible, 
 Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; 
 
 Above the sense of sense : so sertsible 
 Seemelh their conference ; their conceits have wings. 
 Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter 
 things. 
 
 Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break off, 
 break off. 
 
 Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! 
 King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple 
 wits. 
 
 [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, Music, and Atten- 
 dants. 
 
 Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. — 
 Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? 
 
 Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths 
 puff'd out. 
 
 Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross ; 
 fat, fat. 
 
 Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout ! 
 Will they not, think you, hang themselves to night? 
 
 Or ever, but in visors, show their faces ? 
 This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 
 
 Ros. O ! they were all in lamentable cases ! 
 The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 
 
 Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 
 
 Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : 
 No nom^, quoth I; my servant straigiit was mute, 
 
 Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart; 
 And trow you what he cail'd me ? 
 
 Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 
 
 Kath. Yes, in good faith. 
 
 Prin. Go, sickness as thou art! 
 
 Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute- 
 caps. 
 
 But will yoii hear? the king is my love sworn. 
 Prin. And quick Biron iiath plighted faith to me, 
 Katf And Longaville was i'or my service born. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. 
 
 Boyet. Madam, and pretty niistre&ses, give ear* 
 Immediately they will again be here 
 In their own shapes; for it can never be, 
 They will digest tJiis ha-rsh indignity. 
 
 Prin. Will they return ? 
 
 Boyet. They will, they will, God knows; 
 
 And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows; 
 Therefore, change favours; and, when riiey repair. 
 Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. 
 
 Prin. How blow ? bow blow ? speak to be under- 
 stood. 
 
 Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud* 
 Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, 
 Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 
 
 Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do, 
 If they return in their own shapes to woo ? 
 
 Ros. Good, madam, if by me you'll be advis'd. 
 Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd: 
 Let us conriplain to them what fools were here, 
 Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ; 
 And wonder, what they were ; and to what end 
 Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penu'd. 
 And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
 Should be presented at our tent to ns. 
 
 Boyet. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand. 
 
 Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 
 [Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria, 
 
 Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and 
 Dumain, in their proper habits. 
 
 KtJig. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the 
 princess ? 
 
 Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty. 
 Command me any service to her thither? 
 
 King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one 
 word. 
 
 Boyet. I will ; and so will she, I know, my lord. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons pea*; 
 And utters it again, when God doth please : 
 He is wit's pedlar; and retails his wares 
 At wakes, and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs; 
 And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know. 
 Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
 This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; 
 Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve : 
 He can carve too and lisp: why, this is he 
 That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy; 
 This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, 
 That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
 In honourable terms ; nay, he can sing 
 A mean most meanly ; and, in ushering. 
 Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet; 
 The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet; 
 This is the flower that smiles on every one. 
 To show his teeth as white as whales'bone: 
 And consciences, that will not die in debt. 
 Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 
 
 Kifig. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my 
 heart. 
 
 That put Armado's page out of his part 1 
 
 Enter the Princess, ushered ^i^Boyet ; Rosaline, 
 Maria, Katharine, and Attendants. 
 
 Biron. See where it comes ! — Behaviour, what 
 wert thou. 
 
 Till this manshow'd thee? and what art thou now? 
 King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day! 
 Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 
 Kijig. Construe my si)eechts better, if you may 
 Prin. Then wish me better, I will gi\e you leave. 
 King. We can»e to visit you ; and purpose now 
 
 To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then. 
 Prin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold your 
 vow : 
 
 Nor God, nor I, delight in perjiir'd men. 
 King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke; 
 'J'he virtue ol your eye must break my oath. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
Scene 2. ^ LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 14$ 
 
 Prin. Yon nick-name virtue: vice you should 
 have spoke ; 
 For \irtue"s office never breaks men's troth. 
 Now, by niy maiden honour, yet as pure 
 
 As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
 A world of torments though 1 should endure, 
 
 1 would nut yield to be your house's guest: 
 So n^uch 1 hate a breaking cause to be 
 Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
 Kw(j. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, 
 
 Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 
 Prin, Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear ; 
 We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game; 
 A mess of Russians lelt us but of late. 
 Kijig. How, madam ? Russians ? 
 Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord; 
 
 Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state, 
 
 Ros. Madam, speak true : — it is not so, my lord ; 
 My lady, (to the manner of the days,j 
 In coiu tesy, gives undeserving praise. 
 We four, indeed, confronted here with four 
 In Russian habit ; here they stay'd an hour, 
 And talk'd apace ; and in that hour^ my Urd, 
 They did not bless us with one happy word. 
 1 dare not call them fools ; but this 1 think, 
 When they are thirsty, fools would fain have 
 drink. 
 
 Biron. This jest is dry to me. — Fair, gentle 
 
 sweet. 
 
 Your wit makes wise things foolish : when we greet 
 With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye. 
 By light we lose light : your capacity 
 Is of that nature, that to your huge store 
 Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. 
 Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my 
 eye, — 
 
 Biron. 1 am a fool, and full of poverty. 
 Ros. Rut that you take what doth to you belong, 
 It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 
 Biron. O, 1 am yours, and all that I possess. 
 Ros. All the fool mine ? 
 
 Biron. I cannot give you less. 
 
 Ros Which of the visors was it that you wore ? 
 l?2r(?7z. Where ? when? what visor? why demand 
 you this ? 
 
 Ros. Tliere, then, that visor ; that superfluous case. 
 That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. 
 Kin<j. We are descried: they'll mock us now 
 downright. 
 
 Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 
 Prin. Amaz'd, my lord ? Why looks your iiigh- 
 ness sad ? 
 
 Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swooe ? Why 
 look you pale ? — 
 Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 
 
 Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for 
 perjury. 
 
 Can any face of brass hold longer out ? — 
 Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 
 
 Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; 
 Thrust thy sliarp wit quite through my ignorance ; 
 
 Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit j 
 And I will wish thee never more to dance. 
 
 Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
 O! never will I trust to speeches penn'd. 
 
 Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue ; 
 Nor never come in visor to my friend ; 
 
 Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: 
 TafTata phrases, silken terms precise. 
 
 Three- pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation. 
 Figures pedanticai : these summer-flies 
 
 Have blown me lull of maggot ostentation : 
 f do forswear thetu : ami I here protest. 
 
 By this white glove, (how white the hand, God 
 knows !) 
 
 Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 
 
 In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes : 
 And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la! — 
 My love to thee is siiund, sans crack or flaw 
 Ros. S^ins SAj^s, I pray you. 
 
 Biron. Yet I have a trick 
 
 Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick; 
 I'll leave it by degrees. Soil, let us see; 
 Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three ; 
 They are infected, in their hearts it lies ; 
 They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes*. 
 These lords are visited; you are not free. 
 For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. 
 
 Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens 
 to us. 
 
 Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us 
 
 Ros. It is not so : for how can this be true, 
 That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 
 
 Biron. Peace ; for 1 will not have to do with y(m. 
 
 Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as 1 intend. 
 
 Biron. Speak for yourselves my wit is at an end 
 
 King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude 
 transgression 
 Some fair excuse. 
 
 Prin. The fairest is confession 
 
 Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ? 
 
 King. Madam, I was. 
 
 Prin. And were you well advis'd i 
 
 King. I was, fair madam. 
 
 Prin. When you then were here. 
 
 What did you whisper in your lady's ear? 
 
 King. Tliat more than all the world I did respect 
 her. 
 
 Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re- 
 ject her. 
 King. Upon mine honour, no. 
 Prin. Peace, peace, forbear; 
 
 Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. 
 King. Despise me, when* 1 break this oath of 
 mine. 
 
 Prin. I wall ; and therefore keep it : — Rosaline, 
 What did the Russian whisper in your ear ? 
 
 Ros. Madam, he swore, tiiat he did hold me dear 
 As precious eye-sight ; and did value me 
 Above this world : adding thereto, moreover, 
 That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 
 
 Prin. God give thee joy of him ! the noble lord 
 Most honourably doth uphold his w^ord. 
 
 King. What mean you, madam ? by my life mj 
 troth, 
 
 I never swore this lady such an oath. 
 
 Ros. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm it plain, 
 You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 
 
 King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give ; 
 I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 
 
 Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; 
 And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear: — 
 What; will you have me, or your pearl again? 
 
 Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. — 
 I see the trick on't; — Here was a consent 
 (Knowing afore-hand of our merriment,) 
 To dash it like a Christmas comedy: 
 Some carry-table, some please-man, some slight^zany, 
 Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some 
 Dick,— 
 
 That smiles his cheek in years ; and knoAVS the trick 
 T'o make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, — 
 Told our intents before : which once disclos'd. 
 The ladies did change favours; and then we, 
 Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
 Now, to our perjury to add more terror. 
 We are again forsworn; in will, and error. 
 Much upon this it is : — And might not you, 
 
 {To Boyet. 
 Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue? 
 Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire, 
 
 And laugh upon the app e of her eye ? 
 And stand between her back, sir, and the lire. 
 
 Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ? 
 You put our page out: go, you^are allow'd ; 
 Die when you will, a smock shall be your siiroud. 
 You leer upon me, do yo'j ? there's an eye, 
 >Vounds like a leaden SAVord. 
 
 Boyet. Full njerrily 
 
 Hath this brave manage, this caixw, been run. 
 
flu 
 
 iron, Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have 
 done. 
 
 Enter CosTARD. 
 Welcome, pure wit I tlioii partest a fair fray. 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know, 
 Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. 
 
 Biron. What, are tliere but three ? 
 
 Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 
 
 For every one pursents three. 
 
 Biron. And three times thrice is nine. 
 
 Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope 
 it is not St) : 
 
 Vovi cannot beg iis, sir, I can assure you, sir; we 
 
 know what we know: 
 I hope, sir, chree times thrice, sir, — 
 
 Biron. Is not nine. 
 
 Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil 
 it doth amount. [nine. 
 
 Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get 
 yr.ur li\ing by reckoning, sir. 
 
 Biroii. How much is it / 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the 
 artors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: 
 f*>r my own part, I am, as they say, but to par- 
 f^'.ct one man, — e'en one poor man ; Pompion the 
 preat, sir. 
 
 Biron. Art thou one of the worthies? 
 
 Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of 
 Pompion the great: ibr mine own part, I know 
 not tl'e degree of the worthy ; but 1 am to stand 
 ♦or him. 
 
 Biron. Oo, bid them prepare. 
 
 Cost. We will tinn it linely olf, sir; we will take 
 
 some care. \_Kxit Costard. 
 
 Kintj. Uiron, they will shame us, let them not 
 
 approach. 
 
 Biron. W e are shame-proof, my lord : and 'tis 
 some policy 
 
 To have one sliow worse than the king's and his 
 company. 
 
 King. I say, they shall not come. [now; 
 
 Prin. Nny, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you 
 That spoi t best pleases, that doth least know how : 
 Where zeal stri\es to coiitent, and the contents 
 Die in the zeal ot them w hich it presents. 
 Their Ibrm coni'ounded makes most form in mirth ; 
 When great tilings labouring perish in their birth. 
 
 Biron. A riglit description of our sport, my lord. 
 
 Enter Armado. 
 Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of 
 tliy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. 
 [Armciflo converses tvit/itheKinfj , and delivers 
 
 htm a paper.) 
 Prin. Doth this man serve God ? 
 Biron. Why ask you? 
 
 Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making, 
 Artn. 'I'liat'.s all one, my fair, sweet, honey mo- 
 narch : for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding 
 fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: but we 
 will put it, as they say, to for tuna della yuerra. 
 I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couple- 
 inent! [Exit Armada. 
 
 King. Here is like to be a good presence of wor- 
 thies: he presents Hector of Troy; the swain, 
 Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; 
 Annado's page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Ma- 
 chabaius. 
 
 And if these four worthies in their first show thrive. 
 These lour will change habits, and present the 
 other five. 
 
 Biron. 'I'here is five in the first .show. 
 
 K big. \qw are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. 
 
 Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge 
 priest, the fool, and the boy: — 
 Abate a throw at novum ; and the whole world 
 again, [vein. 
 Cannot i)ri< k out five such, take each one in his 
 
 Act V. 
 
 King. The ship is under sail, and here she coci* 
 amain. 
 
 {Seats brought for the King, Princess, §!'c.) 
 Pageant oj the Nine W art hies. 
 Enter Costasd armed, for Pompey. 
 Cost. I Pomjiey am, 
 
 Boyet. You lie, you are not he 
 
 Cost. 1 Pompey am, 
 
 Boyet. VVith libbard's head on knee 
 
 Biron. Well said, old mocker ; 1 must needs bd 
 friends with thee. 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the 
 
 big;— 
 Dum. Tiie great. 
 
 Cost, it is great, sir; — Pompey snrnam^d ths 
 great ; 
 
 That ofi injield, ivith targe and shield, did make 
 
 my foe to siveat : 
 And travelling along this coast, I here a??i come 
 
 by chance ; 
 
 And lay my arms before, the legs of this stveet 
 lass of France. [done. 
 If your ladyship would say, Thanhs, Pompey, 1 had 
 Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 
 Cost. 'Tis ndt so nuicli worth : but, I hope, I waa 
 perfect: I made a little fault in, great. 
 
 Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves 
 the best worthy. 
 
 Enter Nathaniel armed, for Alexander. 
 Nath. Pf^ hen in the world I liv'd, I was the 
 ivorld s commander ; 
 By east, ivest, north, and south, I spread my 
 
 conquering might , 
 My 'scutcheon plain declares, that 1 im Ali- 
 sander. 
 
 Boyet. Vour nose says, no, you are not; for it 
 
 stands too right. 
 Biron. Vour nose smells, no, in this moat tf nd^r- 
 
 smelling knight. 
 Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd : proceed, good 
 
 Alexander. 
 
 Nath. PFhen in the world I Ik d, I was ths 
 
 tvorld s commander ; — 
 Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Ali- 
 
 sander, 
 
 Biron. Pompey the great, — 
 Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 
 
 Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- 
 sander. 
 
 Cost. O, sir, {to Nath.) you have overthrown 
 Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out 
 of the painted cloth lor this : your lion, that holds 
 his poll-ax silting on a close-stool, will be given to 
 A-jax: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror 
 and afeard to S[)eak ! run away for shame, Alisander 
 [Nath. retires.) There, an't shall please you ; a fool- 
 ish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and soon 
 dash'd ! He Is a marvellous good neighbour, in 
 sooth ; and a very good bowler : but for Alisander, 
 alas yen see, how 'tis; — a little o'erparted : — But 
 there are worthies a-coming will speak tlieir mind iu 
 some other sort. 
 
 Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 
 Enter Hw^ofernes armed, for Judas, and Moth 
 armed, for Hercules. 
 
 Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, 
 TV hose club kill'd Cerberus, that thee-htaUed 
 canus; 
 
 And, when he ivas a babe, a child, a shrimp. 
 
 Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus ; 
 Quoniam, he seemeih in 7rJnority; 
 Ergo, / co?ne with this apology. — _ 
 Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [Exit Moih 
 
 Hoi. Judas I am, — 
 
 Dmn. A Judas ! 
 
 Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir, — 
 Judas I am, ycleped Machabeeus. 
 
 Dui». Judas Machabaius dipt, is plain Judas. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 i^OVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 145 
 
 Biroru A kissing traitor : — How art thou prov'd 
 
 Jndas ? 
 ol. Judas I am. — 
 Dum. The tnuic sliarne for you, Judas. 
 TIol. What mean yon, sir ? 
 Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 
 Hoi. Begin, sir; you are my elder. 
 Biron. Well follow'd : Judas was hang'd on an 
 elder. 
 
 Hoi. 1 will not be put out of countenance. 
 Biron. Because thou hast no face. 
 Hoi. What is this ? 
 Boyet. A cittern head. 
 Dum. The head of a bodkin. 
 Biron. A death's face in a ring. 
 Long. The f;ice of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. 
 Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulchion. 
 Vu7n. The carved-bone face on a flask. 
 Biron. Si. George's half-cheek in a brooch. 
 Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 
 Bii'oii.. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer : 
 And now, forward ; for we have put thee in coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 
 Biron. False ; we have given thee faces. 
 Hoi. Cut you have outfac'd them all. 
 Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 
 Boyet. 'ITierelore, as he is, an ass, let him go. 
 And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou stay? 
 Dum. For the latter end of his name, 
 Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him; — 
 
 Jud as, away. 
 Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. 
 Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas: it grows 
 
 dark, he may stumble. [baited! 
 Prin. Alas, poor Machaba?us, how hath he been 
 
 Enter Armado armed, for Hector. 
 Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes 
 
 Hector in arms. 
 Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, 1 
 
 will now be merry. 
 King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. 
 Boyet. But is tliis Hector ? 
 
 Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean timbered. 
 
 Long. His leg is too big for Hector. 
 
 Dum. More call, certain. 
 
 Boyet. No ; he is best endued in the small. 
 
 Biron. This cannot be Hector. 
 
 Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. 
 
 Ar7n. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- 
 mighty, 
 Gave Hector a gift. — 
 
 Dmn. A gilt nutmeg. 
 
 Biron. A lemon. 
 
 Long. Siuok with cloves. 
 
 Dum. No, cloven. 
 
 Arm. Peace ! 
 The armipotetit Mars, of lances the almighty, 
 
 Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ; [yea 
 A man so breath' d, that certain he would fight. 
 
 From morn tdl night, out of his pavilion. 
 I am that Jiower, — 
 
 Dum. That mint. 
 
 Long. That columbine. 
 
 Arm. Sv.eet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 
 
 Lang. I must ratliei give it the rein ; for it runs 
 against Hector. 
 
 Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 
 
 Artn. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten : 
 gweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried ; 
 when he breath'd, he was a man — But I will for- 
 ward with my device: sweet royalty, [to the Prin- 
 tess.) bestow on me the sense of hearing. 
 
 {Biron whispers Costard.) 
 
 Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much de- 
 lighted. 
 
 Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 
 Boyet. Loves iier by the foot. 
 Dum. He uiMy not by the y ard. 
 
 Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal.'— 
 
 Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is 
 gone ; she is two months on her way. 
 
 Arm. What meanest thou ? 
 
 Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, 
 the poor wench is cast away : she's quit k ; the 
 child brags in her belly already; 'tis youfs. 
 
 Arm. Dost thou infaraonize me among poten- 
 tates? tiiou shalt die;. 
 
 Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd for Jaque- 
 netta that is quick by him; and hang'd, foi Pom. 
 pey that is dead by him. 
 
 Dum Most rare Pompey I 
 
 Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 
 
 Biron. Greater than great, great, great, grea^ 
 Pompey ! Pompey the huge ! 
 
 Dum. Hector trembles. 
 
 Bircn. Pompey is mov'd : — More Ates, mor 
 Ates ; stir them on ' stir them on ! 
 
 Dum. Hector will challenge him. 
 
 Biron Ay, if he have no more man's blood in'a 
 belly than will sup a flea. 
 
 Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 
 
 Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
 man; I'll slash ; I'll do it by the sword: — I pray 
 you, let me borrow my arms again. 
 
 Dum. Room for the incensed worthies 
 
 Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 
 
 Moth. Master, let rae take you a button-hole 
 lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for 
 the combat? What mean you ? you will lose your 
 reputation. 
 
 Arm, Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon mt\ I 
 will not combat in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath ma'le 
 the challenge. 
 
 Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 
 
 Biron. What reason have you for't ? 
 
 Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shiit 
 I go woolward for penance. 
 
 Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome 
 for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he 
 wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's ; aiM^ 
 that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour. 
 
 Enter Mercade. 
 
 Mer. God save you, madam ! 
 
 Prin. Welcome, Mercade ; 
 But that thou interrupt'st our merrimenl. 
 
 Mer. I ara sorry, madam ; for the news I bring. 
 Is ht;avy in my tongue. The king your father — 
 
 Prin. Dead, for my life. 
 
 Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. [cloud. 
 
 Biron. Worthies, away ; the scene begins to 
 
 Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: 
 I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole 
 of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. 
 
 [Exeunt fforihies. 
 
 King. How fares your majesty ? 
 
 Prin. Boyet, prepare; 1 will away to night. 
 
 King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. 
 
 Prin. Prepare, I say. — I thank you, gracious 
 lords, 
 
 For all your lair endeavours ; and entreat. 
 Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
 In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide, 
 The liberal opposition of our spirits: 
 If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
 In the converse of breath, your gentleness 
 Was guilty of it — Farewell, worthy lord! 
 A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue : 
 Excuse me so^ toming so short of thanks 
 For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 
 
 King. The extreme parts of time extremely form 
 All causes to the purpose of his speed; 
 And oiten, at his very loose, decides 
 That, which long process could not arbitrate 8 
 And though the mourning brow of progeny 
 Forbid tfce snuliug courtesy of love * 
 
U6 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 you; 
 
 full of 
 
 [love ; 
 
 The holy soit, which fain it would convince ; 
 Yet, since love's argument was first on foot. 
 Let not the cloud of sorrow jiistle it 
 From what it purpos'd ; since, to n ail friends lost, 
 Is not by much so wholesome, prof.table 
 ^.s to rejoice at friends but newly found. 
 Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are dou- 
 ble, [grief;— 
 Biron. Honest plain M'ords best pierce the ear of 
 4nd by these badges understand the king. 
 For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
 Play'd foul play with our oaths ; your beauty, la- 
 dies. 
 
 Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours 
 Even to the opposed end of our intents: 
 A.pd what in us hath seenj'd ridiculous, — 
 As love is full of unbefitting strains; 
 All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain; 
 Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye. 
 Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, 
 Varyinof in subjects as the eye doth roll 
 To eveiy varied object in his' glance : 
 Which party-coated presence of loose love 
 Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes. 
 Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities. 
 Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, 
 Suggested us to make : tlierefore, ladies, 
 Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
 Is likewise yours : we to ourselves [)rove false. 
 By being once false for ever to bf' *rue 
 To those, that make us both,- fair ladies 
 And even that falsehood, in itself a sin. 
 Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. 
 
 Pytn. We have receiv'd your letters 
 Your favours, the ambassadors ol' love ; 
 And, in our maiden council, rated them 
 At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, 
 As bombast, and as lining to the time; 
 But more devout than this, in our respects, 
 Have we not been; and therefore met your loves 
 In their own fashion, like a merriment. 
 
 Dum. Our letters, madanj, shovv'd much more 
 
 than jest. 
 Lojty. So did our looks. 
 
 Ros. We did not quote them so. 
 
 King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour. 
 Grant us your loves. 
 
 Prin. A time, methinks, too short 
 
 To make a world-vvithout-end bargain in: 
 No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much. 
 Full of dear guiltiness : and, therefore, this, — 
 If for my love (as there is no such cause) 
 Vou will do aught, this shall you do for me : 
 Your oath 1 will not trust; but go with speed 
 To some forlorn and naked hermitage. 
 Remote from all the pleasures of the world 
 There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 
 Have brought about their annual reckoning: 
 If this austere in>ociable life 
 Change not your offer, made in heat of blood ; 
 If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, 
 Nip not he gaudy blosson^ of your love, 
 But that it bear this trial, and last love ; 
 Then, at the expiration of the year. 
 Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts. 
 And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, 
 1 wdl be thine; and, till that instant, shut 
 My woeful self up in a mourning house; 
 Raining the tears of lanientation 
 For the remembrance of my father's death. 
 If this thou do deny, let our hands part; 
 Neither intitled in the other's hea.-t. 
 
 King. If this, or more than this, I would deny. 
 To flatter up these powers of mine with rest. 
 The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 
 Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 
 Biron. And what to me, my love, and what to 
 me ? 
 
 Rot. ou must be purged too, your sins are rank 
 ou are attaint with li"dts and i>erjury ; 
 
 Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, 
 
 A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, 
 
 Unt seek the weary beds of people sick. 
 
 Dum But what to n.e, mv love ? but what to ms 
 Kat/i. A wife!— A beard, fair health, and 
 nesty ; 
 
 With three-fold love J wish you all these three 
 
 Diwt. O, shall I say, J thank you, gentle wife ? 
 7,n ^^^^'^> '»y loi d;— a twelvemonth and a day 
 HI mark no words that sniooth-fac'd wooers s.iy • 
 Come when the king doth to my lady come, 
 llien, if I have much love, I'll give you some. 
 Bum I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then 
 Kat/i. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again 
 Long. What says Maria ? 
 „,/*^f^- At the twelvemonth's end 
 
 I II change my black gown for a faithful friend. 
 -Low^. ['11 stay with patience ; but the time is long 
 mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young, 
 ^''f j"', Studies my lady ? mistress, look ou nw^ 
 Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
 What humble suit attends thy answer there; 
 Impose some service on me for tiiy love, 
 
 Ros. Oil have I heard of you, my lord Biron, 
 Before 1 saw you : and the world's large tojigue 
 Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ; 
 Full of comparisons and wounding flouts ; 
 Which you on all estates will eiecute, 
 l^hat lie within the merc^ of your wit : 
 To weed this wormwood from your triiitful brain; 
 And, therewithal, to win ine, if you please. 
 (Without flie which I am not to be won,) ' 
 1 ou sliall this twelvemonth term, fr- ni day to day. 
 Visit the speechless sick, and still ci 'iverse 
 w?^!' ^5!"''^'""^ wretches: and your task shall be, 
 VVith all the fierce endeavour of your wit. 
 To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 
 
 Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of 
 death ? 
 
 It cannot be ; it is impc isible : 
 Mirth cannot move a s( ni in agony. 
 Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibiBg 
 spirit. 
 
 Whose influence is begot of tSat loose grace, 
 W hich shallow laughing hearers give to fools; 
 A jest's prosperity lies in tlie ear 
 Of" him that hears it, never in the tongue 
 Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears, 
 DeaI 'd with the clamours of their own dear groam. 
 Will hear your idle scorns, continue then. 
 And I will have you, and that fault withal; 
 But, if thev will not, throw away that spirit, 
 And I shall find you empty of that fault. 
 Right joyful of your reformation. 
 B, 
 
 [befall, 
 
 A twelvemonth ? well, befall what will 
 I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 
 Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my 
 
 leave. {To the King 
 
 King. No, madam : we will bring you on your way. 
 Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play : 
 Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy 
 Migl t well have made our sport a comedy. 
 
 King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a 
 day, 
 
 And then 'twill end. 
 Biron. That's too long for a play. 
 
 Enter Arm ado. 
 Arvi. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — 
 Prin. Was not that Hector? 
 Vufn. The worthy knight of Troy. 
 Arm. 1 will kiss thy royai finger, and takeleare: 
 I am a votary ; I have vowed to iaqueiietta to hold 
 the plough for tier sweet love three years. But, 
 most esteemed greatness, will yoi hear the dialogue 
 that the two learned men have compiled, in praise 
 of the owl and the cuckoo? it should have foilowed 
 in the end of our show. 
 
 King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 
 Arm. Holla I approach. 
 
dCENE 2. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 Bitfer HoLOFERNEs, Nathaniel, Moth, Cos- 
 tard, and others. 
 
 This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring ; 
 the oos maintain'd by the owl, the other by the 
 curkoo. Ver. begin. 
 
 SONG. 
 I. 
 
 Spring. When daisies pled, and violets blue, 
 And lady-sjnocks all silver-white, 
 And cuclcoo-bnds of yellow hue, 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight. 
 The cuckoo then, oni every tree, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — 0 ivord of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 i- II. 
 
 When shepherds pipe on oaien straws. 
 
 And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks. 
 When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
 
 And maidens blench their summer smocks, 
 *Ffie cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks martted 7nen,for thus sings he, 
 ' Cuckoo I 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — 0 word of fe 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 III. 
 
 fVint. When icicles hang by the wall. 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his naU 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 
 And ?nilk comes frozen home in pail, 
 TT hen blood is nipp'd, and ways be foui^ 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who ; 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 JV. 
 
 When all aloud the wind doth bloto. 
 
 And coughing drowns the parsons seiw 
 And birds sit brooding i?i the snoiv. 
 
 And Marians nose looks red and raw 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who ; 
 Tu-whit, to-ivho, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Arm. The words of Mercnry are harsh after 
 songs of Apollo, You, that way ; we, tliis waj. 
 
MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Of the Merchant of Venice the style is even and easy, with few peculiarities of diction, or anomalies of constrae* 
 tioii. The comic part raises laughter, and the serious tixes expectation. The probability of either one or the othcj 
 story cannot be maintained. The union of two actions in one event is in this drama eminently happy. Dryden 
 was much pleased with his own address in connecting the two plots of his Spanish Friar, which yet, 1 believe, the 
 tic will find excelled by this plav. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DUKE OF VENICE. 
 
 PRINCE OF MOROCCO, » c„;tn^c m Pnr-t;^ 
 PRINCE OF ARRAUON, \ ^"'^""^^ 
 ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice. 
 BASSANIO, his Friend, 
 SALANIO, ) 
 
 SALARINO, > Friends to Antonio anu Bassnnic 
 GRATIANO, \ 
 
 LORENZO, in Love with Jessica. 
 SHYLOCK, a Jew. 
 TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend. 
 
 LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown, Servant to Shylocl. 
 OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot. 
 SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice. 
 LEONARDO, Servant ttt Bassanio. 
 
 STeJh^NO*^' } ^^^^^"^^ Portia. 
 PORTIA, a rich Heiress. 
 NERISSA, her Waiting maid. 
 JESSICA, Daughter to Shy lock. 
 
 Mugjiificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justict, 
 Goaler, Servants, and other Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Yejiice. A Street. 
 Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 
 Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sadj 
 ft wearies nie ; yon say, it wearies yoti ; 
 JBut \\0JV I caught it, found it, or came by it. 
 What start" 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
 I am to learn ; 
 
 And such a waut-wit sadness makes of me, 
 Tliat 1 have much ado to know myself. 
 
 Solar. You mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
 There, where your argosies with portly sail, — 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood. 
 Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
 Do overpeer the petty trafiickers, 
 That curt sy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by tliem with their woven wings. 
 
 Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth. 
 The better part of my affections would 
 Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
 Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
 Peering in maps, for ports,, and piers, and roads; 
 And every object that might make me fear 
 Misfortune to my ventures, ouf of doubt. 
 Would make me sad. 
 
 Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, 
 
 Would blow nr.e to an ague, when 1 thought 
 What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
 I should not see the sandy hour-glass run. 
 But I should think of shallows and of flats ; 
 And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 
 Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs. 
 To kiss her burial. Should 1 go to church, 
 And see the holy ed.Hce of stone, 
 And not bethink me stiaight of d angerous rocks? 
 Which touching but my gentle vessel's side. 
 Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 
 Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; 
 And, in a word, but even now worth this. 
 And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought 
 To think on this; and shall 1 lack the thought. 
 That such a thing, bechanced, would make me sad? 
 But tell not me; I know, Antonio 
 Js sad to think upon his merchandize. 
 
 Ant. Believe me, no: 1 thank my fortune for it. 
 My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
 Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
 Upon the fortune of this present year: 
 Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. 
 
 Salan. Why then you are in love. 
 
 Ant. Fy, fy! 
 
 Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, 
 you are sad, 
 
 ecause you are not merry: and 'twere as easy 
 
 For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are 
 merry, [Janus, 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed 
 Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
 Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 
 And laugh, like parrots, at a bag piper; 
 And other of such vinegar aspect, 
 That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile. 
 Though Nestor swear tiie jest be laughable. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 
 Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
 kinstnan, 
 
 Gratiano, and Lorenzo : fare you well ; 
 We leave you now with better company. 
 Salar. I would have staid till I had made you 
 merry. 
 
 If worthier iriends had not prevented me. 
 
 Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it, your own business calls on you, 
 And you embrace the occasion to depart. 
 Salar. Good morrow, my good lord.s. 
 Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugn ? 
 Say, when ? 
 You grow exceeding strange : must it be so? 
 Salar. We ll m:)ke our leisures to attend on 
 yours. [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio • 
 Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found 
 Antonio, 
 
 We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time, 
 I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 
 
 Bass. I will not fail you. 
 
 Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; 
 You have too much respect upon the world : 
 They lose it. that do buy it with much care. 
 Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 
 
 Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gra 
 tiano ; 
 
 A stage, where every man must play a part. 
 And mine a sad one. 
 
 Gra. Let me play the fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within. 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
 Sleep, when he wakes? and creep into thejaundic* 
 By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio,— 
 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; — 
 There are a sort of men, whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond; 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 W'ith purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit: 
 As who should say, / am Sir Orach^ 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 149 
 
 And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark / 
 
 O, my Antonio, I do know of these. 
 
 That therefore only are reputed wise, 
 i For saying nothing; who, 1 am very sure, [ears, 
 i If they should speak, would almost damn those 
 \ Which, hearing them, would call their brothers 
 l| I'll tell thee more of this another time : [fools. 
 ! But tish not, with this melancholy bait, 
 j For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — 
 
 Come, good Lorenzo: — Fare ye well, a while; 
 
 I'll end my exhortation after dinner. . [time: 
 Lo7-. Well, we will leave you then till dinner- 
 1 I must be oue of these same dumb wise men, 
 I For Gratiano never Itts me speak. [more, 
 ! Qra. Well, keep me company but two years 
 j Thou shalt not know the sound of tliine own tongue. 
 
 Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear, 
 j Grat. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only com- 
 j mendable 
 
 j In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
 
 [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 
 \ Ant. Is that any thing now? 
 
 Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
 more than any man in all Venice : his reasons are 
 as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff ; 
 you shall seek all day ere you find them ; and, 
 when you have them, they are not worth the search. 
 
 Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same, 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
 That you to day promised to tell me of ? 
 
 Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate, 
 By something showing a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance : 
 Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
 From surh a noJ)le rate ; but my chief care 
 li, to come fairly olf from the great debts, 
 VVheiein my time, something too prodigal, 
 Ilath left tne gaged : to you, A»tonio, 
 I owe the most, in money, and in love • 
 And Irom your love I have a warranty 
 To unburthen all my plots, and purposes, 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
 Ant. 1 pray ycu, good Bassanio, let rae know it ; 
 4Lnd, if it stand, as you yourself still do. 
 Within tiie eye of honour, be assur'd. 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means. 
 Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 
 
 Bass. In my school days, when I had lost one 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight [shaft, 
 The sell-same way, with more advised watch. 
 To find the other forth : and, by advent'ring both, 
 f oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, 
 Because wiiat follows is pure innocence. 
 I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth. 
 That which 1 owe is lost ; but if you please 
 To shoot another arrow that self way 
 Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
 A.S I will watch the aim, or to find both, 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. [time, 
 
 Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but 
 To wind about my love with circumstance : 
 And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong. 
 In making question of my uttermost. 
 Than if you had inade waste of all I have : 
 Then do but say to me what I should do. 
 That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
 And I am piess'd unto it: therefore, speak. 
 
 Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left. 
 And she is fair, and. i'airer than that word. 
 Of wond'rous virtues; sometimes from her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages: 
 Her na.ne is Portia; nothing undervalued 
 To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
 Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
 For the four winds blow in from every coast 
 Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks 
 Hang on tier temples like a golden fleece; 
 Which makes her seat of Belment, Colchos' strand, 
 
 And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
 O, my Antonio, had I but the meauB 
 To hold a rival place with one of theaa, 
 I have a mind presages me such thrift, 
 That I should questionless be fortunate. 
 
 Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at 
 Nor have I money, nor couimodity [seftl 
 To raise a present sum : therefore go forth. 
 Try what my credit can in V'enice do; 
 That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost. 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is ; and I no question make, 
 To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Extnni 
 
 Scene II. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 Enter Portia and Nekissa. 
 
 Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body \» 
 aweary of this great world. 
 
 Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mi- 
 series were in the same abundance as your good 
 fortunes are : and yet, for aught I see, they are as 
 sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
 with nothing : it is no mean happiness, therefore, to 
 be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by 
 white hairs, but com()etency lives longer. 
 
 Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 
 
 Ner. They would do better, if well followed. 
 
 Pur. If to do were as easy, as to know what 
 were good to do, chapels had been churches, and 
 poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good 
 divine that follows his own instructions: I can 
 easier teach twenty what were good to be done, 
 than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teach 
 ing. The brain may devise laws for the blood; 
 but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree : such a 
 hare is madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshea 
 of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning- la 
 not in the fashion to choose me a husband : — O me, 
 the word choose ! I may neither choose whom J 
 would, nor refuse whom I dislike; so is the will 
 of a living daughter curb'd by the will of a d-^ad 
 father : — Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I car Jiot 
 choose one, nor refuse none ? 
 
 Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy 
 men, at tiieir deatti, have good inspirations; there- 
 fore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three 
 chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who 
 chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, 
 never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you 
 shall rightly love. But what warmth is there ia 
 your affection towards any of these {.rincely suitors 
 that are already come? 
 
 Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou 
 namest them, I will describe them ; and according 
 to my description, level at my affection. 
 
 Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth no- 
 thing but talk of his horse and he makes it a great 
 appropriation to his owrj good parts, that he can 
 shoe him himself : I am much afraid, my lady his 
 mother played false with a smith. 
 
 Ner. Then is there the county Palatine. 
 
 Por. He dath nothing but frown ; as who should 
 say. And if ym tvill not have me, choose : he hears 
 merry tales, and smiles not: I fear, he will prove 
 the weeping ;)hilosopher when he grows old, being 
 so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
 rather be married to a death's head with a bone in 
 his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me 
 from these two ! [La Bon? 
 
 Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur 
 
 Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass 
 for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
 mocker; but, he I why, he hath a horse better than 
 the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning 
 than the count Palatine : he is every man in no man : 
 if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering: he 
 will fence with his own shadow: if 1 should marry 
 him, I should marry twenty husbands • if he wom 
 
160 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act I 
 
 despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love me 
 to madness, I sliall never requite him. 
 
 Ner What say you then to Faulconbridge, the 
 young baron of England if 
 
 Por. You know, I say nothing to him; for he 
 understands not me, nor I him: he hath neither 
 liatin, French, nor Italian ; and you M ill come into 
 the court and swear, that I have a poor penny-worth 
 in the English. He is a proper man's picture ; but, 
 alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How 
 oddly he is suited! I think, he bought his doublet 
 1» Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in 
 Germany, and his behaviour every where. 
 
 Ner. \Vhat think you of the Scottish lord, his 
 
 eighbour ? 
 
 Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him ; 
 for he borrowed a box of the ear of the English- 
 man, and swore he would pay him again, when he 
 was able : I think, the Frenchman became his 
 surety, and sealed under for another. 
 
 Ner. How like you the young German, the duke 
 of Saxony's nephew ? 
 
 Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is 
 sober ; and most vilely in the af ternoon, when he 
 is drunk : when he is best, he is little worse than 
 a man ; and when he is worst, he is little better 
 than a beast: an the worst fall that ever fell, I 
 hope, I shall make shift to go without him. 
 
 ±^er. If he should orter to choose, and choose the 
 right casket, you should refuse to perlbi in your fa- 
 thers will, if you should refuse to accept hun. 
 
 Por. 'I'herefore, for f ear of the worst, I pray thee, 
 set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
 casket: for, if the devil be within, and that tempt- 
 ation without, I know he will choose it. 1 will do 
 any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a 
 sponge. 
 
 Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
 these lords; they have acquainted me with their 
 determinations: which is, indeed, to return to their 
 home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless 
 you may be won by souie other sort than your father's 
 lujposition, de|)Cnding on the caskets. 
 
 Por. If 1 live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die 
 as chaste as Diana, unless 1 be obtained by the 
 manner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel 
 of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one 
 among them but I dote on his very absence, and I 
 pray God grant them a fair de[)arture. 
 
 Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
 time, a Venetian, a scholar, and soldier, that came 
 hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat V 
 
 Por. Yes, yes, )t was Bassanio ; as I think, so 
 was he called. 
 
 Ner. True, madam: he, of all the men that ever 
 my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserv- 
 ing a fair lady. 
 
 Por. I remember him well ; and I remember him 
 worthy of thy praise. — How now ! what news ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. 'T^\e four strangers seek for you, madam, 
 to take their leave : and there is a fore-runner 
 come from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who 
 brings word, the prince, his master, will be here 
 to-night. 
 
 Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so 
 good heart as 1 can bid the other four farewell, I 
 should be glad of his approach : if he have the con- 
 dition of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, 
 I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. 
 CoB.e, Merissa. — Sirrah, go before. — W^hiles we 
 shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at 
 tlie door. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Venice. A public Place. 
 Enter Bassanio and Shylocx. 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. 
 Bass. Ay. sir, for tliree months. 
 Hhj/. For three months, — well. 
 
 Bass. For the \^hich, as I told yoo, A.ntamo shaO 
 
 he bound. 
 
 S/iy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure 
 me? Shall I know your answer? 
 
 Ski/. Three thousand ducats, for three months, 
 and Antonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. [contrary ? 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the 
 
 Shi/. Hoj no, no, no, no ; — my meaning in saying 
 he is a good man, is to have you understand me, 
 that he is sufficient : yet his means are in .suppo- 
 sition : he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another 
 to the Indies ; I understand moreover upo*: the 
 Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth foi 
 
 England, and other ventures he hath, squander'd 
 
 abroad; but ships are but boards, sailors but men: 
 there be land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, 
 and land-thieves; I mean, pirates; and then, there 
 is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks : — The 
 man is, notwithstanding, sufficient; — three thousand 
 ducats; — I think, I may take his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured, I may; and, that I may 
 be assured, I will bethink, me : may I speak with 
 Antonio ? 
 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habita- 
 tion which your prophet, the Naaarite, conjured the 
 devil into; 1 will buy with you, sell with you, talk 
 w^ith you, walk with you, and so following; but I 
 will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with 
 you. What news on the Rialto? — Who is he 
 comes here ? 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Bass. This is signior Antonio. 
 
 Shy. (Aside.) How like a fawning publican he 
 I hate him, for he is a Christian: [looksJ 
 But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails. 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift. 
 Which he calls interest: cursed be my tribe, 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear? 
 
 Shy. I am debating of my present store; 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 Of full three thousand ducats: What of that? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. 
 Will furnish me : But soft; how many montks 
 Do you desire? — Rest you fair, good signior; 
 
 {To Antonio] 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Ant. Shylock, albeit 1 neither lend nor borrow, 
 By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet, to supply the ripe wai ts of my friend, 
 rU break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd. 
 How much you would ? 
 
 Shy. Ay, ay, Ihree thousand ducats^ 
 
 Ant. And for three months. 
 
 Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me sa 
 
 Well then, your bond; and, let me see, BhI 
 
 hear you : 
 
 Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Afit. I do never use it. 
 
 Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep 
 This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
 (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) 
 The third possessor; ay, he was the third. 
 
 Ant. And what of hiin ? dnd he take interest 
 
 Shy. No, not tnke interest: not, as you 
 Directly interest; mark what Jacob did 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 151 
 
 When Laban and hiis.self were compromis'd. 
 
 That all the eaiilings which were streak'd, and pied. 
 
 Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being rank, 
 
 Id the end of autumn turned to the rams : 
 
 And when the work of generation was 
 
 Between these woolly breeders in the act. 
 
 The skilfil shepherd peel'd me certain wands. 
 
 And, in the doing of the deed of kind, 
 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes ; 
 
 Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
 
 Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's 
 
 This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; 
 
 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. [for; 
 
 Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
 Butsway'd, and fashion'd, by the hand of heaven. 
 Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
 Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams ? 
 
 Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : — 
 But note me, signior. 
 
 Ant. ■ Mark you this, Bassanio, 
 
 The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart ; 
 O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! [sum. 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round 
 Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
 
 ^n^. Well, Sliylock, shall we be beholden to you? 
 
 Shy. iSignior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
 In the Rialto you have rated me 
 About my monies, and niy usances : 
 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; 
 For sutferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
 You call me — misbeliever, cut throat dog, 
 And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
 And all for use of that wliich is mine own. 
 Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
 Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say, 
 Sh^loik, tve would have monies ; You say so ; 
 You, that did void your rheum upon my beard. 
 And loot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 
 Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
 Wiiat should 1 say to you ? Should I not say. 
 Hath a dog money 't is it possible, 
 A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or 
 Shall 1 bend low, and in a bondman's key. 
 With bated breath, and whispering humbleness. 
 Say this, 
 
 Fair sir, you spit on me on W ednesday last ; 
 You spurn d me such a day ; another tune 
 You calld me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
 I'll lend you thus much monies. 
 
 Ant. I am as like to call thee so again. 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 As to thy Iriends ; (for when did friendship take 
 A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
 Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 
 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
 Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with. 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 Gf usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me : 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 Ant. This were kindness. 
 
 Shy. This kindness will I show : — 
 
 Go with me to a notary, .seal xnt there 
 Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
 
 you repay me not on such a day, 
 In sucb a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
 Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut oifand taken 
 la vvhat part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 Ant. Content, in laith ; I'll seal to such a bond, 
 And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
 
 I'll rather d ivell in my necessity. 
 
 Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit il« 
 Within these two months, that's a month befoi 
 This bond expires, I do expect return 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are, 
 Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
 The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this; 
 If he should break his day, what should I gain 
 By the exaction of the forfeiture ? | 
 A pound of man's flesh, tasen from a man. 
 Is not so estimable, profitable neither. 
 As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say. 
 To buy his favour, I extend this friendship : 
 ]f he will take it, so; if not, adieu : 
 And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. 
 
 Ant. Yes, Shylock, 1 will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
 Give him direction for this merry bond, 
 And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
 I will be with you. [Exit 
 
 Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 
 
 This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. 
 
 Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 
 
 A7it. Come on; in this there can be no dismay, 
 My ships come home a month before the day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT H. 
 
 Scene I. — Belmont. A Boom in Portia's House. 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince op Mo- 
 rocco, atid /'is train; Portia, Nerissa, and 
 
 other of her Attendants. 
 
 Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion. 
 The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun^ 
 To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
 Bring me the fairest creature northward born. 
 Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles. 
 And let us make incision lor your love. 
 To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
 I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
 Hath fear'd the valiant; by my love, I swear. 
 The best-regarded virgins of our clime 
 Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hoe. 
 Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 
 
 Por. In terms of choice I auj not solely led 
 By nice direction of a maiden's eyes; 
 Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
 Bars me the right of voluntary choo-sing : 
 But, if my father had not scanted me, 
 And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myselt 
 His wile, who wins me by that means I told you^ 
 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair. 
 As any corner I have look'd on yet, 
 For my affection. 
 
 Mor. Even for that I thank you ; 
 
 Therefore, 1 pray you, lead me to the caskets. 
 To try my fortune. By this scimitar,— 
 That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince. 
 That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, 
 I would out-stare the sternest eyes that looV, 
 Out-brave the heart most daring on the eart , 
 Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-beai. 
 Yea, m(jck the lion when he roars for prey. 
 To win thee, lady : but, alas the while I 
 If Hercules and Lichas play at dice 
 Which is the better man, the greater throw 
 May turn by fortune from the weaker hand . 
 So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
 And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 
 Miss that, which one unworthier may attain. 
 And die with grieving. 
 
 Por. You must take your chance 
 
 Ai.d either not attempt to choose at all, 
 Or swear, before you choose, — if you choose wroDg^ 
 Never to speak to Jady afterward 
 In way of marriage ; thert fore be advis'd. 
 
 Mor. Nor wil not ; come, bring me unto my chanO 
 
152 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE, 
 
 Act H 
 
 JPor. First, forward to the temple ; after dinner 
 Your hazard shall be made. 
 Mot . Good fortune then ! (Cornets.) 
 
 o make me bless'd, orcursed'st among men. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Launcelot Gobbo. 
 haun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
 run from this Jew, my master : the riend is at mine 
 elbow : and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Laun 
 celot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or 
 good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the 
 start, run aivay : My conscience says, — no, take 
 heed, honest Lauiwelot ; take heed, honest Gobbo ; 
 or as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not 
 run ; scorn running with thy heels. Well, the snost 
 courageous fiend bids me pack ; via! says the fiend ; 
 away I says the fiend, for the heavens ; rouse up a 
 brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my 
 conscience, hanging about the neckof tiiy heart, says 
 very wisely to me, — my honest friend Launcelot, 
 being an honest mans son, or rather an honest 
 woman's son; — for, indeed, my father did something 
 smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste : 
 well, my conscience says, Launcelot, budge not; 
 budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my con- 
 science : Conscience, say I, you counsel well; fiend, 
 say I, you counsel well : to be ruled by my con- 
 science, I should stay with the Jew, tny master, who 
 (God bless the mark ! ) is a kind of devil; and, to 
 run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the 
 fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil him- 
 self: Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarna- 
 tion; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but 
 a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to 
 stay with the Jew : The fiend gives the more friendly 
 counsel : I will run, fiend; my heels are at your 
 commandment, I will run. 
 
 Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. 
 
 Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which 
 is the way to master Jew's ? 
 
 Laun. {Aside.) O heavens, this is my true be- 
 gotten father! who, being more than sandrblind, 
 high-gravel blind, knows me not: — [ will try con- 
 clusions with him. 
 
 Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which 
 IS the way to master Jew's? 
 
 Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next 
 turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; 
 marry at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but 
 turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. 
 
 Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to 
 hit. Canyon tell me. whether one Launcelot, that 
 dwells with him, dwell with him, or no ? 
 
 Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot? — 
 Mark me now; [aside.) now will 1 raise the waters : 
 — Talk you of young master Launcelot ? 
 
 Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son; his 
 father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor 
 man, and, (Jod be thanked, well to live. 
 
 Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we 
 talk of young master Launcelot. 
 
 Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 
 
 Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be- 
 seech you; Talk you of young master Launcelot? 
 
 Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 
 
 Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of mas- 
 ter Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (ac- 
 cording to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, 
 the sisters three, and such branches of learning,) is. 
 Indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain 
 terms, gone to heaven. 
 
 Gob. iViai ry, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
 tafFof mj age, my very prop. 
 
 haun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, 
 ft staff, or a prop? — Do you know me, father? 
 
 Qob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gen- 
 
 tleman : but, I pray yon, tell me, h my boy fGocI 
 
 rest his soul!) alive or dead ? 
 
 Laun. Do you not know me, fatl er? 
 
 Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, 1 know you not 
 
 Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you 
 might tail of the knowing me : it is ? wise father that 
 knows his own child. Well, old m?n, I will tell you 
 news of your son : give me yonr ble.ising : truth will 
 come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man'i 
 son may; but, in the end, truth will out. 
 
 Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure you ^ro 
 not Launcelot, my boy. 
 
 Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about 
 it, but give me your blessing: 1 am Launcelot, your 
 boy that was, your son that is, your child that shaSl be. 
 
 Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 
 
 Laun. 1 know not what 1 shall think of that; but 
 I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and, I am sure^ 
 Margery, your wife, is my mother. 
 
 Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I'll be sworn, 
 if thou be Launcelot, thou, art mirje own ilesh and 
 blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be ! what a beard 
 hast thou got ! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, 
 than Dobbin mythillhorse has on his tail. 
 
 Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail 
 grows backward ; I am sure he had more hair on 
 his tail, than I have on my face, when 1 last saw him. 
 
 Gob. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost 
 thou and thy master agree ? I have brought him a 
 present; how 'gree you now? 
 
 Laun. Well, well ; but for mine own part, as I 
 have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest 
 till I have run some ground : my master's a very Jew : 
 Give him a present! give him a halter : 1 am faiuish'd 
 in his service ; you may tell every finger I have with 
 my ribs. Father, I am glad vou arp cotnp ; give me 
 your present to one master Bassanio, who, indietd^ 
 gives rare new liveries ; if I serve not him, I will run 
 as far as God has any ground. — O rare fortune I 
 here comes the man;— to him, father : for I am a 
 Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and other 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. You may do so ; — but let it be so hasted, 
 that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the 
 clock : see these letters deliver'd ; put the liveries 
 to making; and desire Giatiano to come anon to niy 
 odging. [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Laun. To him, father. 
 
 Gob. God bless your worship 
 
 Bass. Gramercy : VVould st thou aught with me ? 
 
 Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 
 
 Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's 
 man ; that would, sir, as my father shall specify, — 
 
 Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
 say, to serve, — 
 
 Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, i serv i 
 the Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall 
 specify, — 
 
 Gob. His iTKtster and he (saving your worship's 
 reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins : — 
 
 Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the 
 Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my 
 father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto 
 you, — 
 
 Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would 
 bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is,— 
 
 Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to 
 myself, as your worship shall know by this honest 
 old man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, 
 poor man, my father. 
 
 Bass. One speak for both ; — What would you ? 
 
 Laun. Serve you, sir. 
 
 Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy sili 
 Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day. 
 And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment, 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
Scene 6. MERCHANT 
 
 Laun. The old proverb Is very w ell parted between 
 my master Shylock and you, sir; you have the grace 
 of God, sir, and he hath enough. 
 
 Bass. Thou speak'st it well : Go, father, witli 
 thy sen : 
 
 Take leave of th) old m?»jter, and inquire 
 Mv lodging out. — Give him a livery 
 
 ( To his Followers.) 
 More guarded than his fellows: see it done. 
 
 Laun. Fatlier, in: — T cannot get a service, no; 
 
 I have ne'er a tongue in niy head ! — Weil ; (look- 
 ng on his palm.) if any man in Italy have a fnirer 
 table, which doth offer to swear \X[)on a book ! — I 
 Hhall have good fortune; goto, here's simple line 
 of life! here's a small trifle of wives : alas, fifteen 
 wives is nothing; eleven widows, and nine maids, is 
 a simple coming-in for one man ; and 'then, to 
 'scape drowning thrice ; and to be in peril of my life 
 wilh the edge of a feather-bed ; — here are simple 
 'scapes ! Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good 
 wench lor this gear. — Father, come; I'll take my 
 leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 [Exeunt Launcelot and old Qohbo. 
 
 Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this; 
 These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd. 
 Return in haste, for i do feast to-night 
 iMy best esteem'd acquaintance ; hie thee, go. 
 
 Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 
 
 Enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. Where is your master? 
 
 Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. 
 
 [_Exit Leonardo. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, 
 
 Bass. Gratiano! 
 
 Gra. I have a suit to yon. 
 
 Bass. You have obtain'd it. 
 
 Gra. You must not deny me ; I must go with 
 you to Belmont. [Gratiano ; 
 
 Bass. VVhy, then you must; — But hear thee. 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice; — 
 Parts that become thee happily enough. 
 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; 
 But where thou art not known, why, there they show 
 Something too liberal ; — pray thee, take pain 
 To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
 Thy skipping spirit ; lest, through thy wild behaviour, 
 I be misconstrued in the place I go to. 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit. 
 Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
 Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
 Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen ; 
 ITse all the observance of civility. 
 Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
 To please his grandam, never trust me more. 
 
 Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 
 
 Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gnge 
 By what we do to-night. [me 
 
 Bass. No, that were pity ; 
 
 I would entreat yon rather to put on 
 Y our boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
 That purpose merriment; but fare you well, 
 I have some business. 
 
 Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest; 
 But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene IIL — The same. A Room in ShylocJc's 
 House. 
 
 Ent"^ Jessica end Launcelot. 
 Jes. I am soi ry, thou wilt leave my father so ; 
 Onr house is hell, and fhou, a merry devil. 
 Didst rob it of some taste of tediousuess : 
 But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee. 
 And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
 Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
 Givp him this letter; do it secretly, 
 
 OF YENICE. 153 
 
 And so farewell ; I would not have my father 
 See me talk with thee. 
 
 Laun. Adieu ; — tears exhibit my tongue. — Mo«( 
 beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew ! If a Christian 
 do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much de- 
 ceived : but, adieu ! these foolish drops do scmewha' 
 drown my manly spirit; adieu! [ExU 
 
 Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. 
 Alack, M'hat heinous sin is it in me, 
 To be asham'd to be my father's child ! 
 But though I am a daught»-r to his blood, 
 I am not to his manners : O Lorenzo, 
 If thou keep promise, 1 shall end this strife ; 
 Become a Christian, and thy io\ing wile. [Exit. 
 
 Scene \N.—The same. A Street. 
 
 Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and 
 Salanio. 
 
 Lor. Nay, we will slink away at supper time; 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 All in an hour. 
 
 Gra. We have not made good preparation. 
 
 Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch- 
 bearers. 
 
 Salan. "I'is vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd; 
 And better, in my mind, not undertook. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we ha\ e two hours 
 To furnish us ; — 
 
 Enter Launcelot, tvith a letter. 
 
 Friend Launcelot, whaf s the news 
 
 Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it 
 shall seem to signify. 
 
 Lor. 1 know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; 
 And whiter than the paper it writ on. 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 
 Gra. Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Laun. By your leave, sir. 
 
 Lor. Whither goest thou ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew 
 to sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 
 
 Lor. Hold here, take this: — tell gentle Jessica, 
 I will not fail her! — speak it privately ; go. — 
 Gentlemen, [^Exit Launcelot. 
 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
 
 Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 
 
 Salan. And so will I. 
 
 Lor. Meet me and Gratiano, 
 
 At Gratiano's lodging, some hour hence. 
 Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 [Exeunt Salar. and Salan 
 Gra. Was noCK^i letter from fair Jessica ? 
 Lor. I must n^eeds tell thee all : she hath^ di, 
 rected. 
 
 How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
 
 What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with ; 
 
 What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
 
 If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven. 
 
 It will be for his gentle daughter's sake: 
 
 And never dare misfortune cross her foot. 
 
 Unless she do it under this excuse,— 
 
 That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
 
 Come, go with me ; peruse this, as thou goest : 
 
 Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeuitl 
 
 Scene V. — The same. Before Shyloch's House 
 Enter Shylock and Launcelot. 
 Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be tb/ 
 judge. 
 
 The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio: 
 What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize. 
 As thou hast done with me ; — What Jessica !— 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out; 
 Why, Jessica, I say ! 
 
 Laun. Why, Jessica I 
 
 Shy. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee caR.. 
 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I conid 
 do nothing without bidding. 
 
154: MERCHANT 
 
 Enler Jessica. 
 " Jeg. Call you ? What is your will ? 
 
 Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : 
 There are my keys: — But wherefore should I go? 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
 But yet rU go in hate, to I'eed upon 
 The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl. 
 Look to my house : — I am right loth to go ; 
 There is some ill a-brevving towards my rest. 
 For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 
 
 Laun. 1 beseech you. sir, go ; my young master 
 doth expect yoiw reproach. 
 
 Shy. So do I his. 
 
 Laun. And they have conspired together, — I 
 will not say, you shall see a masque ; but if you do, 
 then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a 
 bleeding on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i" the 
 morning, falling out that year on Ash- Wednesday 
 was four year in the afternoon. [Jessica : 
 
 S/ii/. What! are there masques? Hear you me, 
 tiock up my doors: and when you hear the drum, 
 And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd file. 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street, 
 To ^aze on Christian Ibols with varnish'd laces; 
 Biit stop my house's ears, I mean my casements : 
 Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
 My sober house. — By Jacob's staff I swear, 
 I have DO mind of feasting forth to night : 
 But 1 will go. — Go you before me, sirrah : 
 Say, I will come. 
 
 Laun. I will go before, sir. — 
 
 Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; 
 There will come a Christian by. 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Latin. 
 
 Shij. What says that fool of Hagar's oti'spring, ha? 
 Jes. His words were, Farewell, mistress : no- 
 thing else. [feeder. 
 Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild cat; drones hive not with me; 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one, that I would have him help to waste 
 His borrow'd piuse. — Well, Jessica, go in; 
 Perhaps, I will retain immediately; 
 Do as I bid you. 
 
 Shut doors after you : fast bind, fast find ; 
 
 A proverb never stale in tluifty mind. [Exit. 
 
 Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 
 1 ha\ e a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 
 
 Scene W.—The Same. 
 
 Enter Gratia.no and Salarino, masqued, 
 
 Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lo- 
 Desir'd us to make stand. [renzo 
 
 Salar. His hour is almost past, 
 
 Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour. 
 For lovers ever run before Uie clock. 
 
 Salar. O, tea times laster Venus' pigeons fly 
 oseal love's bonds new riiade, than they are wont, 
 
 o keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 
 
 Gra. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast. 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down? 
 Where is the horse, that doth untread again 
 His tedious measures with the nnbated fire 
 That he did pace them first? All things that are. 
 Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
 Haw like a younker, or a prodigal. 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
 H igg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind ! 
 How like the prodigal doth she return ; 
 With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, 
 Lean, rent, a&d beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 Salar. Here comes Lorenzo; — more of this here- 
 after, [abode ; 
 Lor. Sweet friends, vour patience for my long 
 Not I, but my ail'airs, have naade you wait. 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 When you shall please to play the thieves for wives 
 I'll watch as long for you then. — Approach; 
 Here dwells my father Jew: — Ho ! who's withiD? 
 
 Enter Jessica above, in boy's clothes. 
 
 Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty. 
 Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jes. Lorenzo, certiiin ; and my love, indeed ; 
 For who love I so much ? And now who knows. 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 
 
 Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness thai 
 thou art. [paios 
 
 Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the 
 I ans glad 'tis night, you do not look on me. 
 For I am much asham'd of my exchange: 
 But love is blind, and lovers catuiot see 
 The pretty folies that thenuseUes commit; 
 For if they could, Cupid hin\.self would blush 
 To see fne thus transformed to a boy. 
 
 Lor. Descend, for you must be my forch-hearer 
 
 Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames? 
 They in themselves, good sooth, are too, too light. 
 Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
 And I should be obscur"d. 
 
 Lor. So are you, sweet. 
 
 Ev en in the lov ely garnish of a boy. 
 But come at once ; 
 
 For the close night doth play the runaway. 
 
 And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
 
 With some more ducats, and be with y(ui straight. 
 
 [Exit, from above* 
 Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew 
 Lor. Beshrew me, but 1 love her heartily. 
 
 For she is wise, ii I can judge of her; 
 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes he true; 
 
 And tiiie she is, as slie hath prov'd herself; 
 
 And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, 
 
 Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
 
 Enter Jessica, beloiv. 
 What, art thou come? — On, gentlemen, away; 
 Our Diasquing mates by this time for «s stay. 
 
 [Exit with Jessica and Salar ma. 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 Ant. Who's there ? 
 Gra. Signior Antonio? 
 
 Aiit. Fy, fy, Gratianol where are all the rest? 
 'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you :— 
 No masque to-night; the wind is come about, 
 Bassanio presently will go aboard : 
 I have sent twenty out to seek for you, 
 
 Gra. I am glad on t ; I desire no more delight, 
 Than to be under sail and gone to-night. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene WW.— Belmont. A Room in Portias House. 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enfi-r PoHTl-\, with the 
 
 Prince of AIokocco. and both their trains. 
 
 Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover 
 The several caskets to this noble prince : — 
 Now make your choice. [bears; — 
 
 Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscrii)tion 
 Who chooseth me, shall <jain ivhat many men 
 desire. 
 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries; — 
 W ho chooseth me, shall (jet as 7niich as he deserves 
 This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt; — 
 ho chooseth me, must fjive and hazard all he 
 hath. 
 
 How shall 1 know if I do choose the right ? 
 
 Por. The one of them contains my pictin-e, p*-ince 1 
 If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
 
 Mor. Some god direct my judgment I I/et D»e see 
 I will survey tlie inscriptions back again; 
 Wliat says this leaden casket? 
 W/io chooseth me, must tjite and hazard all hs 
 hath. 
 
 Must give — For what? for lead ? hazard for lea ■ 
 
Scene 9. 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 155 
 
 This casket threatens : men, that hazard all. 
 Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
 A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 
 I'll then nor give, nor liazard, aught for lead. 
 What says the silver, with her virgin hue ? 
 Wko chooseth me, ehallget as much as he deserves. 
 As much as he deserves ? — Pause there, Morocco, 
 And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
 11' thou be'.st rated by thy estimation. 
 Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 
 May not extend sfc far as to the lady; 
 And yet to be afeard of my deserving, 
 Wore but a weak disabling of myself. 
 As much as I deserve !— Wliy, that's the lady; 
 1 do in birth deser\e her, and in fortunes. 
 In graces, and in qualities of breeding; 
 But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
 What if I stray'd no further, but chose here ? — 
 Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : 
 Who chooseth me., shall gain what many men 
 desire. 
 
 Why, that's the lady : all the world desires her : 
 From the four corners of the earth they come, 
 'J'o kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
 The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
 Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now. 
 For princes to come view fair Portia : 
 The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head 
 Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
 To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come, 
 As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
 One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
 Is't like, that lead contains her? Twere damnation 
 To think so base a thought ; it were too gross 
 To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
 Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd, 
 Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold? 
 O sinfid thought ! Never so rich a gem 
 Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 
 A coin, .hat bears the figure of an angel 
 Stamped in gold ; but that's insculp'd upon ; 
 But here an angel in a golden bed 
 Lies all within. — Deliver me the key; 
 Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 
 Por, There, take it, prince ; and if my form lie 
 there. 
 
 Then T am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket.) 
 
 Mar. O hell ! wiiat have we here ? 
 A carrion death, within whose empty eye 
 There is a written scroll ? I'll read the writing. 
 All that glisters is not gold, 
 Often have you heard tluit told i 
 Many a man his life hath sold, 
 But my outside to behold: 
 Gilded tombs do tvor?ns infold 
 Had you been as wise as bold, 
 Young in limbs, in judgment old. 
 Your ansiver had not been inscrolVd : 
 Fare you ivell; your suit is cold. 
 Cold, indeed; and labour lost: 
 Then, farewell, heat; and, wf^lcome, frost. — 
 Portia, adieu ! \ have too griev'd a heart 
 To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. [Exit. 
 Por. A gentle riddance: Draw the curtains, 
 
 go ; 
 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. 
 Scene VIH. — Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Salarino and Salanio. 
 Salar. Why man, 1 saw Bassanio under sail; 
 With him is Gratianf> gone along ; 
 nd in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 
 Salon. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the 
 duke ; 
 
 Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 
 
 Salar. He came too late, tlie ship was under sail : 
 But there the duke was given to understani. 
 That in a gondola were seen together 
 Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
 Besides, Autonio certify'd the duke. 
 
 They were not with Bas.sanio in his ship. 
 
 Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
 So strange, outrageous, and so variable. 
 As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
 My daughter I— 0 my ducats I — 0 my daughi&p 
 Fled with a Christian! — 0 my christian ducatsl-^ 
 Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter! 
 A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats. 
 Of double ducats, stoVn from me by my daughter 
 And jewels ; tivo stones, two rich and precious 
 stones, 
 
 StoVn by my daughter! — Justice ! find the gtrl . 
 She hath the stones upon her, and the ducais ! 
 
 Salar. Why, all the bovs in Venice follow him, 
 Crying, — his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 
 
 Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day. 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 
 Salar. Marry, well remember'd : 
 
 T reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday ; 
 Who told me,— in the narrow s'eas, that part 
 The French and English, there misc;*rried 
 A vessel of our country, richly fraught : 
 I thought upon Antonio, when he told me ; 
 And wish'd in silence, that it were not his. 
 
 Salan.Yon were best to tell Antonio what you hear, 
 Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
 
 Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth, 
 r saw Bassanio and Antonio part : 
 Bassanio told him, he would make some speed 
 Of his return ; he answer'd — Do not so, 
 Slubber not business fur my sake, Bassanio, 
 But stay the very riping of the time ; 
 And for the Jew^s bond, which he hath of me. 
 Let it not enter in your mind of love : 
 Be merry , and employ your chief est thoughts 
 To courtship, and such fair ostents of love 
 As shall conveniently become you there : 
 And even there, his eye being big with tears. 
 Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
 And with affection wondrous sensible, 
 He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted, 
 
 Salan. I think, he only loves the world for him. 
 I pray thee, let us go, and find him out. 
 And quicken his embraced heaviness 
 With some delight or other. 
 
 Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IX. — Belmont. A Rooi7i in Poriia-s House. 
 Enter Nerissa, luith a Servant. 
 Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain 
 straight; 
 
 The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath. 
 And comes to his election presently. 
 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince op Arra- 
 gon, Portia, and their trains. 
 
 Por. Behold, there stand the casketj3, noble prince. 
 If you choose that v.'herein I am contain'd, 
 Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnis'd ; 
 But if you fail, without more speech, my lord. 
 You must be gone from hence immediately. 
 
 Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things 
 First, never to unfold to any one 
 Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail 
 Of the rij^ht casket, never in my life 
 To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly. 
 If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 
 Immediately to leave you and be gone. 
 
 Por. To these injunctions every one doih swea». 
 That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
 
 Ar. And so have I addn ss'd me. Fortune now 
 To my heart's hope! — Gold, silver, and base lead» 
 Who chooseth me, must give and hazara ai' 
 hath. 
 
 You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 
 What says the golden chest? ha ! let me see :— 
 Who chooseth me, shall gain what many 
 desire. 
 
 What many men desire? — That many may be 
 Bv the fool multitude, that choose by show. 
 
156 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Not learning more than the fo3cl eye doth teach ; 
 Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet. 
 Builds in the weather on the outward wall, 
 Even in the force and road of casualty. 
 I will not choose what many men desire, 
 Because I will not jimip with common spirits. 
 And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
 Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure house; 
 Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
 Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he de- 
 serves ; 
 
 And well said too : for who shall po about 
 To cozen fortune, and be honourable 
 Without the stamp of merit ! Let none presume 
 To wear an undeserved dignity. 
 O. that estates, degrees, and offices. 
 Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour 
 Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer! 
 How many then should cover, that stand bare ? 
 How many be commanded, that command ? 
 How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
 From the true seed of honour? and how much 
 hoiiour 
 
 Pick'd from the chatf and rnin of the times. 
 To be new varnish'd ? Well, but to my choice : 
 Tf^ko chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. 
 I will assume desert : — Give me the key for this, 
 And instantly unlock my fortunes here. [there. 
 Por. Too long a pause for that, which you find 
 Ar. What's here ? the portrait of a blinking idiot, 
 Presenting me a schedule ? I will read it. 
 How nuich unlike art thou to Portia ? 
 How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings? 
 Who chooseth me, shall have as much as he de- 
 serves. 
 
 Did 1 deserve no more than a fools head? 
 Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? 
 
 Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, 
 And of opposed natures. 
 
 At What is here? 
 
 The fire seveyi times tried this ; 
 
 Seven times tried that judgment is. 
 
 That did never choose atniss : 
 
 Some there be, that shadows liss ; 
 
 Such have but a shadow's bliss : 
 
 There be fools alive, I ivis, 
 
 Silver'd o'er ; and so was this. 
 
 Take tvhat ivife you ivill to bed, 
 
 I ivill ever be your head: 
 
 So begone, sir, you are sped. 
 
 Still more fool I shall appear 
 
 By the time J .it?»er here : 
 
 With o-ae fool's head I came to woo. 
 
 But I go away with two. — 
 
 Sweet, adieu ! I ll keep my oath. 
 
 Patiently to bear my wroth. 
 
 [Exeunt Arragon and train. 
 Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 
 O these deliberate fools! v/hen they do choose, 
 They have the wisdom by their wit to lose 
 Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy ; — 
 Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
 Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. Where is ray lady ? 
 
 Por. Here ; what would my lord ? 
 
 Serv. Madam, theie is alighted at your gate 
 A young Venetian, one, tha^comes before 
 -« To signify the approaching «T his lord : 
 From whom he bringeth sensible regreets; 
 To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath, 
 Gifts of rich value : yet I have not seen 
 So likely an ambassador of love ; 
 4 day in April never came so sweet. 
 To show how costly summer was at hand, 
 Aa this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 Per. No more, I pray thee ; I am half afeard, 
 Thou wilt sny anon, he is some kin to thee. 
 
 Thou spend'st such high-day wit In praisinjg; him. 
 Come, come, Nerissa : for I long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly, 
 Ner. Bassauio, lord Love, if thy will it be ! 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT in. 
 
 Scene I. — Venice. A Street* 
 Enter Salanio and Salarino 
 
 Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto? 
 
 Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, tlia 
 Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the 
 narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the 
 place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the 
 carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, 
 if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word. 
 
 Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, 
 as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours 
 believe she wept for tlie death of a third husband : 
 but it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or 
 crossing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good 
 
 Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title 
 
 good enough to keep his name company ! — 
 
 Salar. Come, the full stop. 
 
 Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou? — Why, the eui 
 is, he hath lost a ship. 
 
 Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses! 
 
 Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 
 cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness 
 of a Jew. — 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 How now, Shylock? what news among the mer- 
 chants ? 
 
 Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
 you, of my daughter's flight. 
 
 Salar. That's certain; I, for my part, knew .he 
 tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 
 
 Salan. And Shylock, for his owr j art, knew the 
 bird was fledg'd ; and then it is the complexion 3t 
 them all to leave the dam. 
 
 Shy. She is damn'd for it 
 
 iSamr. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 
 
 Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 
 
 Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at 
 these years ? 
 
 Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
 
 Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh 
 and hers, than between jet and ivory; more between 
 your bloods, than there is between red wine and 
 rhenish : — But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio 
 ha\e had any loss at sea or no? 
 
 Shy. Thei-e I have another bad match : a bank- 
 rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his lit ud on 
 the Rialto ; — a beggar, that u ed to come so ^niug 
 upon the mart; — let him look to his bond - he uas 
 wont to call me usurer; — let him look to his hr-iul: 
 he was wont to lend money for a Christian coui tt-i r ; 
 — let him look to his bond. 
 
 Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, tho-u wilt uol 
 take his flesh : What's that good for? 
 
 Shy. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nolVi'ng 
 else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgrnced o»e, 
 and hindered me of half a million: lau^^htd at mj 
 losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, 
 thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
 mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew: 
 Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, 
 dimensioiis, senses, affections, passions? fed \>ith 
 the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject 
 to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and summei 
 as a Christian is? if you prick us, do we not bleed 
 if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, 
 do we not die? and if yon wrong us, shall we not 
 revenge ? if we are like you in the rest, we will re- 
 semble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, 
 what is his humility ? revenue. If a Christian wrong 
 a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian 
 
Scene 2. MERCHANT 
 
 example? wby, revenge. The villaiuy, you teach 
 me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard, but I will 
 better the instruction. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Strv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 
 house, and desires to speak with you both. 
 
 Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 
 
 Enter Tubal, 
 
 Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third 
 cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn 
 Jew. [Exeunt Salan. Salar. and Servant. 
 
 Shy How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa ? 
 hast thou found my daughter? 
 
 Tub. ] often came where I did hear of her, but 
 cannot find her. 
 
 Sht/. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond 
 gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort I 
 The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I 
 never felt it till now : — two thousand ducats in that ; 
 and other precious, precious jewels. — 1 would my 
 daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in 
 her ear! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and 
 the ducats in her cotiin ! No news of them ? — W hy, 
 so : — and I know not what's spent in the search : 
 Why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so 
 much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis- 
 faction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring-, but 
 M'hat lights o' my shoulders; no sighs, but o' my 
 breathing ; no tears, buto' my shedding. 
 
 Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio, 
 as I heard in Genoa, — 
 
 Sht/. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? 
 
 Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, corning from 
 Tripolis. [it true ? 
 
 Shy. I thank God, 1 thank God: — Is it true? is 
 
 Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es- 
 caped the wreck. 
 
 Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, 
 good news : ha ! ha ! — Where ? in Genoa. 
 
 Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
 one night, fourscore ducats ! 
 
 Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : 1 shall 
 
 never see my gold again : tourscore ducats at a 
 sitting I fourscore ducats ! 
 
 Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in 
 my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose 
 but break. 
 
 Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him ; I'll 
 torture him ; I am glad of it. 
 
 Tub. One of then> showed me a ring, that he had 
 of your daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Shy. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal : 
 it was uiy turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was 
 a bachelor : i would not have given it for a wilder- 
 ness ol monkeys. 
 
 Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
 Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, 
 Tubal, fee me an olficer, bespeak him a fortnight 
 before: I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit: 
 for were he out of Venice, I can uiake what mer- 
 chandise I will : Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our 
 synagogue : go, good Tubal, at our synagogue, 
 Tubal [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II, — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, 
 and A ttendants. The cashets are set out. 
 
 Pc?: I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two. 
 Before you hazaid: for, in choosing wrong, 
 
 lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
 There's something tells uie, (but it is not love,) 
 I would not lose you ; and you know yourself. 
 Hate counsels not in such a quality : 
 But lest you should not understand me well, 
 (And vet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) 
 I wciuld detain you he^e some munth or two, 
 Before you venture for me. I could teacli you 
 How to cfeoose right, but then I am forsworn ; 
 
 OF VENICE. 157 
 
 So will I never be : so may you miss me } 
 
 But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, 
 
 That I had been forsworn. Beshrewyonr eyea, 
 
 They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me ; 
 
 One half of me is yours, the other half yours,— « 
 
 Mine own, 1 would say; but if mine, then yours. 
 
 And so all yours: O ! these naughty times 
 
 Put bars between the owners and their rights ; 
 
 And so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it £o. 
 
 Let fortune go to hell for it, — not I. 
 
 I speak too long ; but 'tis to peize the time ; 
 
 To eke it, and to draw it out in length. 
 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Bass. Let me choose : 
 
 For as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess 
 What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 
 Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust. 
 Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love. 
 There may as well be amity and life 
 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love, 
 
 Por. Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
 Where men enforced do speak any thing, 
 
 Bass. Promise my life, and I'll confess the trutk 
 
 Por. Well then, confess, and live. 
 
 Bass. Confess, and love 
 
 Had been the very sum of my confession : 
 
 0 happy torment, when my torturer 
 Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
 But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
 
 Por. Away then : I am lock'd in one of them ; 
 If you do love me, you will find me out, — 
 Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
 Let music sound, while he doth make his choice; 
 'I'hen if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
 Fading in music : that the comparison 
 IVIay stand more proper, mv eye shall be the stream 
 And wat'ry death-bed for Kim : He may win; 
 And what is music then ? then music is 
 Even as the flourish, when true subjects bow 
 To a new-crowned monarch ; such it is, 
 As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, 
 That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, 
 And summon him to marriage. Now he goes. 
 With no less presence, but with much more love. 
 Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
 The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
 To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice^ 
 The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 
 With bleared visages, come forth to view 
 The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules I 
 Live thou, I live: — With much much more dismay 
 
 1 view the fight, than thou that makest the fray. 
 
 Music, whilst Bassanio coniments on the caskeet 
 to himself. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. Tell me, where is fancy bred. 
 Or in the heart, or in the head? 
 Hoiv beyut, how nourished? 
 
 Reply. 
 
 2. It is enyender'd in the eyes, 
 TViih gazing fed: and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies : 
 
 Let us all ring fancy's knell ; 
 
 Til begin it, Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 All. Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 Bass. — So may the outward shows be ^ftst 
 themselves ; 
 The world is still deceiv'd with ornament, 
 lu law, what plea so tainted and corrupt. 
 But, being season'd with a gracious voice, » 
 Obscures the show of eviP' In religion, 
 What damned error, but some sober brow 
 Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 
 H dmg the grossness with fair ornament? 
 There is no vice so simple, hut assumes 
 Sume mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
 
158 xVCERCHANT 
 
 Hov» many cowards, ^hose hearts are all as false 
 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
 
 The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars; 
 
 VV^feo, inward search'd, have livers white as milk? 
 
 And thesp assume but valour's excrement, 
 
 To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
 
 And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight; 
 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
 
 So are tho^e crisped snaky golden locks. 
 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind. 
 
 Upon supi^osed fairness, often known 
 
 To be the dowry of a second head, 
 
 The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre. 
 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
 
 Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 
 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 
 To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 
 
 Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
 
 'Tween man and man: butfhou, thou nieagre lead. 
 
 Which rather threat'nest, than dost promise aught, 
 
 Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence. 
 
 And here choose I : Joy be the consequence ! 
 
 Por. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
 As doubtful thouglits, and rash-embrac'd despair. 
 And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy. 
 
 0 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy. 
 In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess : 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less, 
 For fear I surfeit 1 
 
 Bass. What find I here ? 
 
 COpening the leaden casket.) 
 Pair Portia's counterfeit? Whatdemi-god 
 Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? 
 Or whether,riding on the balls of mine, 
 Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips. 
 Parted with sii^ar breath ; so sweet a bar 
 Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hairs 
 The painter plays the spider; and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, 
 J'^aster than gnats in cobwebs: but her eyes, — 
 How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
 Melhinks, it should have power to steal both his. 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow, 
 In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
 Ooth lini"}) behind the substance. — Here's the scroll, 
 Tlie continent and summary of my fortune. 
 
 You that choose not by the vieiv. 
 Chance as fair, a?id choose as true I 
 Since this fortune falls to you, 
 Be content, and seek no new. 
 If you he well pleas' d with this. 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
 Turn you where your lady is. 
 And claim her with a loviny kiss. 
 
 A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave ; 
 
 (Kissing her.) 
 [ come by note, to give and to receive. 
 Like one of two contending in a prize, 
 TJiat thinks he hath done well in people's eyes. 
 Hearing applause, and universal shout, 
 Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt 
 Whether those peals of praise be his or no ; 
 So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so ; 
 As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
 Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 
 Pro. Yon see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
 Sucb 9s I am : though, for myself alone, 
 I woald not be ambitious in my wish. 
 To wish myself much better ; yet, for you, 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself ; 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
 More rich 
 
 lliat only to stand high on your account, 
 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
 IDxceed account : but the full sum of me 
 
 OF YENICE. 
 
 Ts sum of something ; which, to term m ^ 
 Is an unlesson'd girl, unschoofd, unpractis'd : 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; and happier than this. 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed. 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 Myself, and what is mine, to you and your<9 
 Is now converted : but now I was the lord 
 Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
 Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 
 l^is house, these servants, and this same myseif. 
 Are yours, my lord ; 1 give them with this ring ; 
 Which when you part from, lose, or give away. 
 Let it presage the ruin of your love, 
 And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 
 
 Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words. 
 Only my bluod speaks to you in my veins • 
 And there is such confusion in my powers, 
 As, after some oration fairly spoke 
 By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
 Among the buzzing pleased multitude; 
 Where every something, being blent together, 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
 fclxpress'd, and not express'd : But when this riug 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; 
 O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. 
 
 Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
 That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosnei. 
 To cry, good joy : Good joy, my lord and lady ! 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 
 For 1 anv sure, you can wish none from me : 
 And, when your honours mean to solemnize 
 The bargain of your faith, 1 do beseech you. 
 Even at that time I may be married too. 
 
 Ba»s. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife 
 
 Gra. I thank your lordship; you have got me Ofi* 
 My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
 You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
 You lov'd, I lov'd ; f(<r intermission 
 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
 Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ; 
 And so did mine too, as the matter falls : 
 For wooing here, until I sweat again; 
 And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
 With oaths of love ; at last,— if promise last, — 
 I got a promise of this fair one here, 
 To have her love, provided that your fortune 
 Achiev'd her mistress. 
 
 Por. Is this true, Nerissa ? 
 
 Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 
 
 Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 
 
 Gra. Yes, 'faith, my lord. [marriage. 
 
 Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your 
 
 Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a 
 thousand ducats. 
 
 Ner. What, and stake down ? 
 
 Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, aud 
 
 stake down. 
 
 But who comes here ? Lorenzo, and his infidel ? 
 What, my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio. 
 
 Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
 If that the youth of my new interest here 
 Have power to bid you welcome : By your leave, 
 I bid my very friends and countrymen. 
 Sweet Portia, welcome. 
 
 Por. So do I, my lord ; 
 
 They are entirely welcome. Ilord. 
 
 Lor. I thank your honour:— For my part, no} 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
 But meeting with Salerio by the way. 
 He did entreat me, past all saying nay. 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Sale. I did, my lord. 
 
 And I have reason for it. Siguior Antonio 
 Commends him to you. fGives Bassanio a ietlermj 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 159 
 
 Bast. Hre I ope his letter, 
 
 I pray yon tell me how my good friend doth. 
 
 Sa/e. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will show you his estate. [come. — 
 
 Gr7. Nerissa. cheer yon' stranger; bid her wel- 
 Vout iiand. Salerio ; What's the news from Venice ? 
 How .^oth tliat royal mercliant, good Antonio? 
 i know, he vvill be glad of our success ; 
 We are tlie Jasons, we have won the ileece. 
 
 Sa/e. 'Would you had won the fleece that he hath 
 lost I [same paper. 
 
 Pur. 'I'here are some shrewd contents in yon' 
 I'hat steal the colour from Uassanio"s cheek : 
 Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
 Could turn so much the constitution 
 Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ? — 
 With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, 
 And I must freely have the half of any thing 
 That tliis same paper brings you. 
 
 Bass. O, sweet Portia, 
 
 Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words, 
 Thate\er blotted paper! (jentle lady, 
 When I ilid first impart my love to you, 
 I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
 Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; 
 And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady. 
 Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
 How much I was a braggj-rt : when I told you 
 My estate was nothing, I siioidd then have told you 
 'I'hat I was worse titan nothing; for, indeed, 
 I have eti^ajjd myself to a dear friend, 
 Eugag'd my friend to his mere enemy, 
 To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; 
 The pajier as tiie body of my friend. 
 And every word in it a gaping wound. 
 Issuing life-blood. — But is it true, iSalerio? 
 Ha\e a I his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? 
 From 'I'ripolis, from .Mexico, anrl Dngland, 
 Frosn Ijisboo, Barbary, and India 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 Of merchant-marring rocks i 
 
 Sale. Not one, my lord. 
 
 Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
 The present money to discharge the Jew, 
 He woidd not take it: never did I know 
 A creature, tiiat did bear the shape of man, 
 So keen and greedy to con oimd a man : 
 He plies tile diske at morning, and at night; 
 And doth impeach the freedom of the state. 
 If they deny him justice : twenty merchants. 
 The duke himsell, and the magnllicoes 
 Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him; 
 Hut none can drive him irtim the envious plea 
 Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 Jes.Wlien I was with him, I have heard him swear. 
 To Tubal, ami to Chus, his countrymen, 
 hat he would rather have .Antonio's flesh, 
 
 an twenty times the value of the sum 
 t he did owe him : and I know, my lord, 
 w. authority, and power deny not, 
 ill go hard with poor .•\ntonio. 
 or. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble ? 
 OSS. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
 best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
 
 doing courtesies ; and one, in whom 
 The anrient Roman honour more appears. 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
 Por. What sum owes lie the Jew '^ 
 
 Has.t. For me, three thousand ducats. 
 
 P r. W hat, no more '^ 
 
 Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond; 
 Doubli' six thousand, and then treble that, 
 Bffore a friend of this description 
 Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. 
 First, go with me to church, and call me wife : 
 And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
 For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
 With an inquiet soul. You shall have gdd 
 Topay tlw petty debt twenty times over ; 
 
 When it is paid, bring your trne friend along: 
 My maid Nerissa, and mysell", mean time. 
 Will live as maids and widows. Come, away j 
 For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
 Bid your friends welcome, show a mer>-y cheer; 
 Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
 But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
 
 Bass. ( Reads. J Siveet Basmnio, my ships hatt 
 all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estat 
 is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; an 
 since, paying it, it is impossible I should lii>e 
 all debts are cleared between you and I, if 1 migli 
 but see you at tny death: notwithstanding, u^ 
 your pleasure : if your love do not persuade yoo 
 to come, let not my letter. 
 
 Por. O love, despatch all business, and be gone 
 Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
 I will make haste : but, till I come again, 
 No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 
 
 No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene lil.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Shylock, Salanio, Antonio, and Gaoler, 
 Shy. Gaoler, look to him ; tell not me of mercy ; — 
 This is the fool that lent out money gratis ; — 
 Gaoler, look to him. 
 Ant. Hear me yet, good Shy^»ck. 
 
 Shy. I'll have ray bond ; speak not againsi my 
 bond ; 
 
 I have sworn an oath, that I will have ray bond : 
 Thou call'dst me dog, before thou had'st a cause : 
 Bat, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 
 The duke shall grant me justice. — I do wonder* 
 Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
 To come abroad with him at his re^juest. 
 
 Ant. I I ray thee, hear me speak. [speak; 
 
 Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not heai thee 
 1*11 have my bond ; and therefore speak no more 
 I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool. 
 To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
 To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 
 I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond. {SsU* 
 
 Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur 
 That ever kept with men. 
 
 Ant. Let him alone; 
 
 I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
 He seeks my life ; his reason well I know; 
 I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
 Many, that have at times made moan to me ; 
 Therefore he hates me. 
 
 Salan. I am sure, the duke 
 
 Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 
 
 Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law< 
 For the commodity tliat strangers have 
 With us in Venice, if it be denied, 
 Will much impeach the justice of the state ; 
 Since that the trade and profit of the city 
 Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go: 
 These griefs and losses have so 'bated me. 
 That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
 
 To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
 
 Well, gaoler, on : — Pray Gcd, Bas.sanio come 
 To see me pay his debt, anc^ then I care not ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ScenbTV. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, ana 
 Balthazar. 
 
 Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presenc© 
 Vou have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of godlike amity; which appears most strongly 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
 But, if you knew to whom you show this honour 
 How true a gentleman you send relief, 
 How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
 I know, you would be prouder of the work* 
 Than customary bounty can enforce you. 
 
 Por. I never did repent for doing good, 
 Nor shall not now : for in companions 
 That do converse and waste the time tc^« ^ 
 
160 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 Act ITx* 
 
 ^Vhose souls (]o bear an eqnal yoke of love. 
 
 There must be needs a like proportion 
 
 Ot" lineaments, ot" manners, and ofspirit; 
 
 Which makes me think, that this Antonio, 
 
 Being the bosom lover of my lord, 
 
 Must needs be like my lord : if it be so. 
 
 How little is the cost I have bestow^'d, 
 
 In purchasing this semblance of my soul 
 
 From out the state of hellish cruelty ? 
 
 This comes too near the praising of nyself ; 
 
 Therefore, no more of it: hear othei things. — 
 
 Ijorenzo, I commit into your hands 
 
 'I'he husbandry and manage of my house. 
 
 Until my lord's return : for mine ovi n part, 
 
 i have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow. 
 
 To live in prayer and contemplation, 
 
 Only attended by JSerissa here, 
 
 Until her husband and my lord's return : 
 
 Tiiere is a monastery two miles off", 
 
 And there we will abide. I do desire you, 
 
 Not to deny this imposition ; 
 
 The which my love, and some necessity. 
 
 Now lays upon you. 
 
 Lor. Madam, with all my heart; 
 
 J shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 
 Por. My people do already know my mind. 
 And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
 In place of lord Bassanio and myself. 
 So tare you well, till we shall meet again. [you ! 
 
 Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on 
 
 Jess. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 Por. I tliank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 
 
 [Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
 
 Now, Balthazar, 
 
 As I have ever found thee honest, true. 
 So let me find thee still : take this same letter, 
 Aid use thou all the endeavour of a man, 
 n speed to Padua ; set", thou render this 
 hxio my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario; [thee, 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth give 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with iuiaoin'd speed 
 Unto tr,e tranect, to the couunon terry 
 Which trades to Venice : — waste no time in words, 
 l>iit get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee, 
 Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand, 
 That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands. 
 Before they think of us. 
 
 Aer. " Shall they see us ? 
 
 Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit. 
 That they shall think we are accomplished 
 With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager. 
 When we are both accoutred like young men, 
 ri{ prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
 And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; 
 And speak, between the change of man and boy. 
 With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
 Into a niauly stride ; and speak of frays. 
 Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lies. 
 How honourable ladies sought my love. 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
 I could not do with all: — then I II repent, 
 And wish, lor all that, that 1 had not kili'd them: 
 And twenty of these puny lies Til tell. 
 That men shall swear, I have discontinued school 
 Above a twelvemonth : — I have within my mind 
 A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
 Which I will practise. 
 
 Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? 
 
 Por. Fy ! what a question's that, 
 If thou wert near a lewd interpreter? 
 But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device, 
 When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
 At the park gate ; and therefore haste away, 
 For we must measure twenty miles to-day. [Exeunt. 
 Scene V. — The same. A Garden. 
 Enter Launcelot Jessica. 
 
 haun. \ es, truly lor, look you, tlie sins of the 
 
 father are to be laid upon the children; therefore, 
 I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with 
 yoa, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: 
 therefore, be of -good cheer; for, truly, I tliink, 
 you are damned. There is but one hope in it thas' 
 can do any good; and that is but a kind of bastard 
 hope neither. 
 
 Jess. And what hope is that, I pi ay thee? 
 
 Lau7i. Marry, you may partly hope that yoiir 
 father got you not, that you are not the Jew 
 daui^hter. 
 
 Jess. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed 
 so the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. 
 
 Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by 
 father and mother : thus when 1 shun Sc}Ua, your 
 father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, 
 you are gone both ways. 
 
 Jess. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hatb 
 made me a Christian. 
 
 Laun. Truly, the more to blame he : we were 
 Christians enough before ; e'en as many as could 
 well live, one by another : this niaking of Chris- 
 tians will raise the price of hogs : it" we grow all to 
 be pork-eaters, we shall not sliortly have a rasher 
 on the coals for money. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Jess. I'll tell my husband., Launcelot, what yon 
 .say ; here he comes. 
 
 Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Laun< 
 celot, if you thus get my wile into corners. 
 
 Jess. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: Laun- 
 celot and I are out : he tells me ilatly, there is no 
 mercy for me in heaven, because 1 am a Jew'a 
 daughter : and he says, you are no good member 
 of the commonwealth ; tor, in converting Jews to 
 Christians, you raise the price of pork. 
 
 Lor. 1 shall answer that better to the commoa- 
 wealth than you can the getting up of the ne gro's 
 belly; the Moor is with ciuld by you, Lauix elct. 
 
 Laun. It is much, that the Aloor should be moi*e 
 than reason: but if she be less than an honest wo- 
 man, she is, indeed, more than I took her ior. 
 
 Lor. How every fool can play upon the wonl ' 
 I think, the best grace of wit will sliortly turn into 
 silence; and discourse grow commendable in none 
 only but parrots. — Go in, sirrah ; bid them prepar* 
 for dinner. 
 
 Ijaun. That is done, sir ; they have all .stomarhs. 
 
 Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you I 
 then bid them prepare dinner. [word 
 
 Laun. That is done too, sir; only, cover is the 
 
 Lor. Will you cover them, sir ? 
 
 Laun. Not so, sir. neither; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion I Wilt 
 thou show the whole wealtli of tiiy wit in an instant? 
 I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain 
 meaning : go to thy fellows ; bid them cov er the 
 table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to 
 dinner. 
 
 Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; 
 for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your 
 coming to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and 
 conceits shall govern. [Exit 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited . 
 The fool hath planted in liis memory 
 An army of good words : and I do know 
 A many fools, that stand in better place, 
 Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
 Defy the matter. • How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
 And now, good sweet, say thy opinion. 
 How dost thou like the lord liassanio's wife ? 
 
 Jes. Past all expressing: it is very meet. 
 The lord Bassanio live an upright life ; 
 For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
 He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; 
 And, if on earth he do not mean it, it 
 Is reason he should never come to heaven. 
 Why, if two gods should play some heavenly raatok 
 And on the wa^er lay two earthly women 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 And Portia one there must be something else 
 Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world 
 Hath not her fellow. 
 
 Lor. Even such a husband 
 
 Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. 
 
 Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 
 
 Lor. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner. 
 
 Je.s. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach. 
 
 Lor. No, pray tliee, let it serve for table-talk. : 
 Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
 i .shall digest it. 
 
 Jes. Well, Ml set you forth. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 
 
 Enter the Duke, the Maynificoes ; Antonio, Bas- 
 SANio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and 
 others. 
 
 Duke. What, is Antonio here? 
 
 Ayit. Heady, so [)lease your grace. [answer 
 
 Duke. I am sorry for thee ; thou art come to 
 A stony adversary, au inhuman wretch 
 Uncapable of pity, \oid and empty 
 From any dram ol" mercy. 
 
 Ant. I have heard, 
 
 Vour grace hath ta'ftO great pains to qualify 
 His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
 And tiiat no lawful means can carry me 
 Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
 ]My patience to his fury ; and airi arm'd 
 To sufler, with a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 Duke. Go one, and call tlie Jew into the court. 
 
 Salan. He's ready it the door : he comes, my lord. 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 Duke Make room, and let him stand before our 
 face. — 
 
 Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too. 
 
 That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
 
 To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought, 
 
 'I'hou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse, more strange 
 
 Than ia thy strange apparent cruelty : 
 
 And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 
 
 (VVhich is a pound of this poor mercliant s flesh,) 
 
 Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
 
 But, toiich'd with human gentleness and love. 
 
 Forgive a nioiety of the principal; 
 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
 
 That have of late so huddled on his back; 
 
 Enoug-h to press a royal merchant dt)wn. 
 
 And pluck commiseration of his state 
 
 From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint. 
 
 From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 
 
 To offices of tender courtesy. 
 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. [pose ; 
 
 Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what 1 pur- 
 And by our holy Sabbath have 1 sworn, 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
 If you d^ny it, let the danger light 
 Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
 You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 
 A weight of cwrrioh flesli, than to receive 
 Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that: 
 But, say, it is my humour : is it answer'd ? 
 What if my house be troubled with a rat, 
 And"J be pleas'd to give ten thousand dueat-s 
 To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet? 
 S«jmf; mm there are, love not a gaping pig ; 
 Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat; 
 And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose, 
 Cannot contain their urine ; for atfection, 
 Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 
 Of what it likes, or loathes. Now, for your answer : 
 As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 
 Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; 
 Why he. a harmless necessary cat ; 
 Why he, a swollen bagpipe ; but of force 
 htast yield to such inevitable shaoie. 
 
 As to ofTend, himself being offended ; 
 
 So can I give no reason, nor 1 will not. 
 
 More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing, 
 
 I bear Antonio, that 1 follow thus 
 
 A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? 
 
 Bass. 'J'his is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. [answer. 
 
 Shy. I am not bound to please thee with n»y 
 
 Bass. Do all men kill the things, they do not love ? 
 
 Shy Hates any man the thing, he would not kill ? 
 
 Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 
 
 Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting 
 thee twice ? 
 
 Ant. I pray you, think you question with the. Jew: 
 You may as well go stand upon the beach. 
 And bid the main flood bate his usual height; 
 You may as well use question with the wolf, 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat lor the lamb; 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to uiake no noise. 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven; 
 You may as well do any thing most hard, 
 As seek to soften that (than which whats harder?) 
 His Jewish heart: — Therefore, I do beseech you, 
 Make no more ofl'ers, use no farther means. 
 But, with all brief and plain conveniency. 
 Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
 
 Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
 Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
 I would not draw them, I would have my bond. ^ 
 
 Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring 
 none? [wrong? 
 
 Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing m 
 You have among you many a purchas'd slave. 
 Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules. 
 You use in abject and in slavish parts. 
 Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you. 
 Let thenj be free, marry them to your heirs? 
 Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds 
 Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
 Be season'd with such viands? You will answer. 
 The slaves are ours: — So do 1 answer you: 
 The pound of flesh, which 1 demand ol" him. 
 Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it: 
 If you deny me, fy upon your law ! ■ 
 There is no force in ttie decrees of Venice : 
 I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? 
 
 Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this conrt, 
 Unless Bellario, a learned doctor. 
 Whom I have sent for to determine this. 
 Come here to day, 
 
 Salar. My lord, here stays without 
 
 A messenger with letters from the doctor. 
 New come from Padua. 
 
 Duke. Bring us the letters ; Call the messenger, 
 
 Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man? cou. 
 rage yet ! 
 
 The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all. 
 Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 
 
 Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
 Meetes.t for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
 Drops earliest to the ground, .and so let rae: 
 You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, 
 Than to live still, pnd write mine epitaph. 
 
 Enter Nerissa, drbssed like a lawyer's clerk 
 
 Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 
 
 Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your 
 grace. [Presents a letter.] 
 
 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 
 
 Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 
 there. (Jcv, 
 
 Gra. Not on thy sole, but on fhy soul, harslf 
 Thou makest thy knife keen : but no metal can. 
 No, not the hangman's axe, bea half the keenness 
 Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? 
 
 Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 
 
 Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog! 
 And for thy life let justice b* accus'd. 
 
162 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 Act IV, 
 
 Tbou almost iK.ak'st me wavei in my faith, 
 To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
 Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter. 
 Even from the gullows did his fell soul fleet, 
 And, whilst tiio i lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
 Infus'd itself in thee ; for thy desires 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 
 
 Shy. Till thou can'st rail the seal from oif my bond. 
 Thou but ofFend'st thy hmgs to speak so loud ; 
 Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
 To cureless ruin. — I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
 A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
 where is he ? 
 
 Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 
 
 To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 
 
 Duke. With all my heart: — some three or four 
 of you. 
 
 Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
 Meantime, the court shall hear Bellaria's letter. 
 
 (Clerk reads.) Your yrace shall understand, that, 
 at the. receipt of your letter, I am very sick : hut 
 in the instant that your messeyiger came, in loving 
 visitatio?i ivas ivith 7ne a young doctor of Rome, 
 his name is Balthasar : I acquainted Jam tvith 
 the cause in controversy betiveeii the Jew and 
 Antonio the merchant : ice turned o" er many books 
 together : he is furnished iviih my opinion ; ivhich, 
 bettered with his own learning, ( the greatness 
 whereof 1 cannot enough co7nmend.) comes with 
 him, at my importunity , to fill up your grace s 
 request in my stead. I beseech you. let his lack 
 of years be no impediment to let him lack a 
 reverend estimation ; for J never knew so young 
 a bo.iy with so eud a head. I leave him to your 
 gracious acce[jtance, whose trial shall better 
 publish his commendatiim. 
 
 Duke. You hear the iearn'd Bellario, what he 
 writes : 
 
 And here, 1 take it, is the doctor come. — 
 Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws 
 
 Give me your hand : cauie you from old Bellario? 
 Por. i did, my lord. 
 
 Duke. You are welcouie : take your place. 
 
 Are you acquainted with the dilference 
 That holds this present question in the court? 
 
 Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause. 
 Which is tlie merchant here, and which the Jew? 
 
 Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 
 
 Por. [s your name Shylock ? 
 
 Shy. Shylock is my name. 
 
 Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; 
 Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — 
 You stand within his danger, do you not '^. {To Ant.) 
 
 Ant. Ay, so he says. 
 
 Por. Do j'ou confess the bond ? 
 
 Ant. I do. 
 
 Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shy. On what com[)ul3ion must I ? tell me that. 
 
 Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath ; it is twice bless d : 
 ft blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown: 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
 The attribute to awe and majesty. 
 Wherein dofh sit the dread and fear of kings; 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
 W hen mercy seasons justice. Thereiore, Jew, 
 Thcugli justice be thy plea, consider this, — 
 That, in the course of justice, none of us 
 
 d see sahatioa: we do pray for mercy ; 
 
 And that same prayer doth teaoh us all to render 
 
 The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much. 
 To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
 Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
 Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant thertt 
 
 Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? 
 
 Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the coort ' 
 Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
 I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
 On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: 
 If this will not suffice, it must appear. 
 That malice bears down truth. And I beseech yoo, 
 Wrest once the law to your authority; 
 To do a great right, do a little wrong; 
 And curb this cruel devil of his will. 
 
 Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; 
 And many an error, by the same example. 
 Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 
 
 Shy. A Daniel come to judgment: — yea, a Da- 
 niel ! — 
 
 O wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! 
 Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 
 Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money olFer'd 
 thee. 
 
 Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
 No, not for Venice. 
 
 Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; 
 
 And lawfully by this the Jevv may claim 
 A pound of flesh, to be by him cut ofl' 
 Nearest the merchant's heart: — Be merciful; 
 Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. 
 
 Shy. When it is paid according to the teoour.— 
 It doth appear, you are a wortliy judge ; 
 You know the law, your exposition 
 Huth been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
 Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
 Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear, 
 Tliere is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 
 
 Ant. Most heartily 1 do beseech the court 
 To gi\e the judgment. 
 
 Por. Why then, thus it is. 
 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife: 
 
 Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ' 
 
 Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
 Hath full relation to the };enalty, 
 Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge ! 
 How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 
 
 Por. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 
 
 Shy. Ay, his breast* 
 
 So says the bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge ? — 
 Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 
 
 Por. It is 80. Are there balance here, to weigh 
 The flesh? 
 
 Shy. I have them ready. [charge, 
 
 Por. Have by some surgeon. Shylock, on your 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 
 Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 
 
 Por. It is not so express'd ; but what of that? 
 'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
 
 Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. 
 
 Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say? 
 
 Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd.— • 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio; i'are you well! 
 Grieve not, that I am fallen to this for you ; 
 For herein fortune shews herself more kind 
 Than is her custom : it is still her use. 
 To let the wretclied man outlive his vvealth. 
 To view witli iiollow eye, and wrinkled brow. 
 An age of poverty ; lioni which lingering penance 
 Of such a misery'doth she cut me off. 
 Comnjend me to your honourable wife: 
 Tell her tlie process of Antonio's end. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 163 
 
 ay, how I lov'd yoa ; speak me fair in death ; 
 And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge. 
 Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
 Repent not you, that you shall lose your friend. 
 And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
 For, if the Jew do cut hut deep enough, 
 J'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 
 
 Bass. Antonio, 1 am married to a wife. 
 Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
 But life itself, my wife, and all the world. 
 Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you. [that, 
 
 Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for 
 If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 
 
 Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love ; 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 
 Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back; 
 The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
 
 Shi/. These be the Christian husbands : I have a 
 daughter; 
 Would any of the stock of Barabbas 
 Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
 Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is ■ 
 thine ; . . 
 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. | 
 Shy. Most rightful judge ! [breast ; ' 
 
 Por. An.d you must cut tiiis flesh from off his 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
 
 Shj/. Most learned judge I — A sentence; come, 
 prepare. 
 
 Por. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. — 
 This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 
 The words expressly are, a pound of flesh : 
 Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
 But in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
 One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
 Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
 Unto the state of Venice. [j'ldge ! 
 
 Gra. O upright judge ! Mark, Jew; — O learned 
 
 Shj, Is that the law ? 
 
 Por. Thyself shalt see the act: 
 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assurd. 
 Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. 
 
 Gra. O learned judge I — Mark, Jew; — a learned 
 judge ! 
 
 Shy, 1 take this offer then ; — pay the bond thrice. 
 And let the Christian go. 
 Bass. Here is the money. 
 
 Por. Soft; 
 
 The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ! — no haste ; — 
 He sliall have nothing but the penalty. 
 
 Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 
 
 Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut oft' the flesh. 
 Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more. 
 But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more^ 
 Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
 As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
 Or the division of the twentieth part 
 Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn 
 But in the estimation ol' a hair, — 
 Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 
 
 Grra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on tlie hip, 
 
 Por. Why doth the Jew pause? tiike thy forfeiture. 
 
 Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 
 Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 
 Por. He hath refiis'd it iti tlie open court ; 
 He sliall have meiely justice, and his bond. 
 
 Ch'a. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! — 
 1 thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 
 Shy. Shall 1 not have barely niy principal? 
 
 Por. Thou shalt have notiiing but the forfeiture 
 I'o be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 
 
 Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it I 
 I'll stay no longer question. 
 
 For, Tarry, Jew; 
 
 The law hath yet another hold on yoo. 
 It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
 If it be prov'd against an alien, 
 That by direct, or indirect, attenix)ts. 
 He seek the life of any citizen. 
 The party, 'gainst the which he doth co&tn^« 
 Shall seize on half his goods: the other haif 
 Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
 And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
 Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
 In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st 
 For it appears by manifest proceeding. 
 That, indirectly, and directly too 
 Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
 Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'i 
 The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
 Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 
 Gra. Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hadg 
 thyself: 
 
 And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state. 
 Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
 Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 
 
 Duke. Tiiat thou shalt see the difference of our 
 I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: [spiriti 
 For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; 
 The other half comes to the general state. 
 Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 
 
 Por. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 
 
 Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that: 
 You take my house, when you do take the prop 
 That doth sustain my house ; you take my life. 
 When you do take the means whereby 1 live. 
 
 Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 
 
 Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else, for God's sako 
 
 Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court. 
 To quit the fine for one half of his good;! ; 
 I am content, so he will let me have , 
 The other half in use, — to render it. 
 Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
 That lately stole his daughter : 
 Two things provided more, — That, for this favottT, 
 He presently become a Christian ; 
 The other, that he do record a gift. 
 Here in the court, of all he dies possessed. 
 Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 
 
 Duke, tie shall do this; or else I do recant 
 The pardon that I late pronounced here. faay? 
 
 Por. Art thou contented, Jew ? what dost thoa 
 
 Shy. 1 am content. 
 
 Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 
 Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence : 
 I am not well ; send the deed after me. 
 And 1 will sign it. 
 
 Duke. Get thee gone,, but do it. 
 
 Gra. In christening thou shalt have two god- 
 fathers ; 
 
 Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more. 
 To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 
 
 [Exit Shyloch, 
 
 Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner 
 
 Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon 
 I must away this night toward Padua, 
 And it is meet I presently set forth. [not.— 
 
 Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves yo 
 Antonio, gratify this gentleman; 
 For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, Magnijicoes and train 
 
 Bass. Most worthy gentlemen, I and my friend 
 Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
 Of grievous | enalties ; in lieu whereof, 
 Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
 We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 
 
 Ant. And stand indebted, over and above. 
 In love and service to you evermore, 
 
 Por. He is well paid, that is well satisfied; 
 And I, delivering you, am satisfied. 
 And therein do account myself well paid; 
 My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
 I pray you, know me, when we meet again f 
 I , 'jsk yoa well, and so I take my leave. 
 
1G4 MERCHANT 
 
 Bass. Dear sii, of torce I must attempt you 
 further; 
 
 Take some rentembrance of us, as a tribute, 
 Not as a fee : grant me two things, I pray you. 
 Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 
 
 Par. You press me far, and therefore I will yield- 
 Give me your gloves, 1 11 wear ttieni for your sake ; 
 And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you: — 
 Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more j 
 And you in love shall not deny me this. 
 
 Bass. This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a trifle ; 
 I will not shame myself to give you this. 
 
 Por. I will have nothing else but only this ; 
 And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. [value. 
 
 Bass. There's more depends on this than on the 
 The dearest ring in Venice will 1 gi\e you, 
 And find it out by proclamation ; 
 Only for this, 1 pray you pardon me. 
 
 Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers ; 
 Y^ou taught me first to beg; and now, methinks. 
 Yon teach me how a beggar should be ansvver'd. 
 
 Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; 
 And, when she put it on, she made me vow, 
 'i'hat 1 should neither sell, nor give, nor luse it. 
 
 Por. Tliat 'souse serves many men to save their 
 gifts. 
 
 An if your wife be not a mad woman, 
 
 And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, 
 
 She would not hold out enemy for ever. 
 
 For giving it to nv.'. Well, peace be with you ! 
 
 [Exeunt Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring; 
 Let liis deservings, and my love withal, 
 Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 
 
 Bass. Go, Giatiano, run and overtake him. 
 Give him the ring ; and bring liim, if thou can'st, 
 Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste. 
 
 [_Exit Gratiano. 
 Come, you and I will thither presently; 
 And in the morning early will we botU 
 I'ly toward Belmont: Come, Antonio. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The Same. A Street. 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this 
 deed. 
 
 And let him sign it; we'll away to night. 
 And be a day before our husbands houje : 
 This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 
 
 Enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken : 
 My lord Bassanio, upon more advice, 
 Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat 
 Your ctunpany at dinner. 
 
 Por. That cannot be: 
 
 This ring I do accept most thankfully. 
 And so, 1 pray you, tell him : furthermore, 
 I pray you show my youth old Shy lock's house. 
 
 Gra. That will 1 do. 
 
 Ner. Sir, I would speak with you . — 
 
 I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, (To Portia.) 
 Which 1 did make him swear to keep for ever. 
 
 Por. Thou may'st, 1 warrant; we shall have 
 old swearing, 
 That they did give the rings away to men; 
 But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. 
 Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry 
 
 Ner. Come, good .sir, will you show me to thiv 
 house ? [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 ScB3fS I,— Belmont. Avenue to Portia's House 
 Enter IjORENZo awo? Jrssica. 
 Lor. The moon shines bright: — In such a night 
 as this, 
 
 Wlien the sweet vnnd did gently kiss the trees, 
 And they did make no noise • in such a night, 
 Troilus, methinks, mounted tiie Trojan whIIs, 
 
 OF VENICE. Act Y 
 
 And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tenia. 
 Where Cressid lay that night. 
 
 Jes. In such a night. 
 
 Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; 
 And saw the lion'« shadow ere himself. 
 And ran dismay'd away. 
 
 Lor. In such a night. 
 
 Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
 Upon the wild sea banks, and wav'd her lov« 
 To come again to Carthage. 
 
 Jes. In such a night, 
 
 Medea gather d the enchanted herbs. 
 That did renew old iEson. 
 
 Lor. In such a night, 
 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew; 
 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 Jes. And in such a night. 
 
 Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well; 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith. 
 And ne'er a true one. 
 
 Lor. And in such a night 
 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew. 
 Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 
 
 Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come : 
 But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night ? 
 Steph. A friend. 
 
 Lor. A friend ? what friend ? your name, I praj 
 you, friend ? 
 
 Steph. Stephano is my name ; and I bring word, 
 My mistress will before the break of day 
 Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about 
 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
 For happy wedlock hours. 
 
 Lor. Who comes witli he»\ 
 
 Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid- 
 I pray you, is my master yet returned / [him.— 
 
 Lor. He is not, nor we have not aes^rd froa, ' 
 But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
 And ceremoniously let us prepare 
 Some welcome for the mistress o( tL»e aoase. 
 
 Enter Lausclwt. 
 Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola ! 
 Lor. Who calls ? 
 
 Laun. Sola ! did yo« s^'e ntaster Lorenzo, and 
 mistress Lorenzo? sola, &ola ! 
 Lor. Leave hollaing, rean ; herft. 
 Laun. Sola! wheri-? where? 
 Lor. Here. 
 
 Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my 
 master, with h'u. horn full of good news; my m ster 
 will be here etc morning. [l^xit 
 
 Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect Uit ii 
 coming. 
 
 And yet no matter: — Why should we go in ? 
 My frjfe-nd Stephano, signify, I pray you, 
 Within the house, your mistress is at hand ; 
 And bring your music forth into the air. — 
 
 [Exit Siephan 
 
 How sweet the moon- light sleeps upon this bank I 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night. 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica; look, how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
 There's not the smallest orb which thou behold* 
 But in his motion like an angel sings. 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubim : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it — 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
 With sweetest touches |>ierce your mistrew* CMT 
 And draw her home with music. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 ICS 
 
 Jes. I ara never merry, when I hear sweet mu- 
 sic. {Music.) 
 Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive : 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd. 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 ^'etching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud. 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
 j Or any air of music touch their ears. 
 Yon shall perceive theni make a mutual stand. 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze. 
 By the sweet power of music : therefore, the poet 
 Did feign, that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and 
 floods ; 
 
 Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, 
 But music for the time doth change his nature: 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and s; oils ; 
 Thi motions of his spirit are dull as night. 
 And his affections dark as Erebus : 
 Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music. 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. 
 
 Par. That light, we see, is burning in my hall. 
 How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
 So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 
 
 Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the 
 candle. 
 
 Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
 A substitute shines brightly as a king, 
 Until a king be by; and then his state 
 Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
 Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 
 
 Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 
 
 Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; 
 Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. 
 
 Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 
 
 Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark. 
 When neither is attended ; and, I think. 
 The nightingale, if she should sing by day. 
 When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
 No better a musician than the wren. 
 How many things by season season'd are 
 To their right praise, and true perfection ! — 
 Peace, hoa ! the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 And v/ould not be awak'd ! [Music ceases., 
 
 Lor. ^ That is the voice, 
 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. [cuckoo, 
 
 Pot. He knows me, as the blind man knows the 
 By the bad voice. 
 
 leor. Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 Por. We have been praying for our husbands' 
 welfare, 
 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
 Are they return'd ? 
 
 Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 
 
 But there is come a messenger before. 
 To signify their coming. 
 
 Por. Go in, Nerissa, 
 
 Give order to my servants, that they take 
 No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
 Nor you, Lorenzo; — Jessica, nor you. 
 
 [A tucket sounds.) 
 
 Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: 
 VVe are no tell-tales, madam ; i'ear you not. 
 
 Por. Tliis night, methinks, is but the day-hghtsick. 
 It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day. 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Grat:ano, and their 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes 
 If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; 
 For a light wife doth make a heavy husband. 
 And never be Bassanio so for me ; 
 lJut God sort ail I — You are welcome home, my 
 lord. [friend. — 
 
 Bass. \ thank you, madam : give welcome to my 
 This is the saaia, this is Antonio, 
 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. [him; 
 
 Por. You should in all sense be much bound to 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 
 Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
 It must appear in other ways than words. 
 Therefore 1 scant this breathing courtesy. 
 
 [Qratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart.) 
 
 Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong. 
 In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : 
 Would he were gelt that had it, for my part. 
 Since you do take it, love, so much at heart 
 
 Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter ? 
 
 Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
 That she did give me ; whose posy was. 
 For all the world, like cutler's p'>etry 
 Upon a knife. Love me, and leave me not. 
 
 Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value ? 
 You swore to me when 1 did give it you, 
 That you would wear it till your hour of death ; 
 And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
 Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths. 
 You should have been respective, and have kept ii 
 Gave it a judge's clerk ! — but well I know. 
 The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it 
 
 Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man 
 
 Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 
 
 Gra. Now, by this hand, 1 gave it to a youth,-— 
 A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy. 
 No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk ; 
 A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee ; 
 I could not for my heart deny it him. [yon, 
 
 Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with 
 To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; 
 A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger. 
 And riveted so with faith unto your flesh. 
 I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
 Never to part with it ; and here he stands ; 
 I dare be sworn for him , he would not leave it. 
 Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
 That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
 Yoii give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; 
 An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 
 
 Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, 
 And swear I lost the ring defending it. [Aside.\ 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
 Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk. 
 That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine % 
 And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 Por. What ring gave you, my lord ? 
 
 Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 
 
 Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
 I would deny it ; but you see, my finger 
 Hath not the ring upon it ; it is gone. 
 
 Por. Even so void is your false heart of trulk 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
 Until I see the ring. 
 
 Ner. Nor I in yours. 
 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Bass. Sweet Portia, 
 
 If you did knovv to whom I gave the ring. 
 If you did know for whom 1 gave the ring. 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring. 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
 When naught would be accepted but the ring. 
 You would abate the strength of your disipleaftOl'®. 
 
 Por: If you had known the virtue of the ring. 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring. 
 Or your own honour to contain the ring, 
 Yo i would not then have parted with the rii^« 
 What man is there so much unreasonable. 
 If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
 With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
 To urge the thing held as a ceremony ? 
 Nerissa teaches me what to believe ; 
 I'll die f )r t but some woman had the ring. 
 
 Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul. 
 No vvomau h-id it, but a civil doctor. 
 
m MERCHANT 
 
 WiaSjfc did refase three thousand ducats of me, 
 
 And begg'd the ring ; the which I did deny him. 
 
 And suffer d him to go displeas'd away ; 
 
 Even he that i\ad held up the very life 
 
 Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? 
 
 1 was enforc'd to send it after him ; 
 
 I was beset with shame and courtesy ; 
 
 My honour would not let ingratitude 
 
 So much besmear it: Pardon me, good lady ; 
 
 For. by these blessed candles of the night. 
 
 Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd 
 
 I'he ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house : 
 Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd. 
 And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
 r will become as liberal as you ; 
 ni not deny him any thing 1 have, 
 No, not my body, nor my husband's bed : 
 Know him 1 shall, I am well sure of it : 
 Lie not a night from home ; watch me like Argus : 
 If you do not, if I be left alone. 
 Now, by mine honour, which is yet miae own, 
 ni have that doctor for my bedfellow. 
 
 Ner. And I his clerk ; therefore be well advis'd, 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection. 
 
 Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then ; 
 For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 
 
 Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 
 
 Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome, not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; 
 And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes. 
 Wherein I see myself, 
 
 Pur. Mark you but that ! 
 
 In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: 
 In each eye wne : — swear by your double self. 
 And there's an oath of credit. 
 
 Bass. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
 J never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 A nt. I once did lend my body for his wealth ; 
 Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
 
 (To Portia.) 
 Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again. 
 My soul upcn the forfeit, that your lord 
 Will never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 Por. Then you shall be his surety : give him this ; 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ant. Here, lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring. 
 
 Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave tlie doctor! 
 
 P.V. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio; 
 For by this ring the doctor lay with mm. 
 
 OF VENICE. Act V, 
 
 Ner. And pardon mft, my gentle Gratiano ; 
 For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerkj 
 In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. 
 
 Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways 
 In summer, where the ways are fair enough: 
 What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it? 
 
 Por. Speak not so grossly. — You are all amaa'd ■ 
 Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
 It comes from Padua, from Bellario: 
 There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor 
 Nerissa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here 
 Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you. 
 And but even now return'd ; I have not yet 
 Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome, 
 And I have better news in store for you. 
 Than you expect : unseal this letter soon ; 
 There you snail find, three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbour suddenly : 
 You shall not know by what strange accident 
 I chanced on this letter. 
 
 Ant. I am dumb. 
 
 Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not, 
 
 Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me 
 cuckold ? 
 
 Ner. Ay ; but the clerk that never means to do it. 
 Unless he live until he be a man. 
 
 Bass. Sweet doctor, you .shall be my bedfellow ; 
 When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 
 
 Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life aad 
 living; 
 
 For here I read for certain, that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 Por. How now, Lorenzo " 
 
 My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 
 
 Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee.— 
 There do I give to you, and Jessica, 
 From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift. 
 After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 
 
 Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
 Of stars ed people. 
 
 Por. It is almost morning. 
 
 And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
 Of these events at full : let us go in ; 
 And charge us there upon inter'ga tones. 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 Gra. Let it be so : the first iuter'gatory 
 That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is. 
 Whether till the next night she had rather aifty ; 
 Or go to bed now, being two hours to day : 
 But were the day come, I should wish it dark. 
 That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
 Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing 
 So sore, as keeping .safe Nerissa's rin?. [Exeuul 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT 
 
 Of this play the fable is wild and pleasing. I know not how the adies wiU approve tie fari ,(y witl^ which botk 
 Rc^alind and Celia give away ibeir liearts. To Cel.a much may be forgiven, for the heroism of htr friendship The 
 Character (5 Jaques is natural « id well preserved. The comic dialogue is ver> .p^ghllJ^ with less mixture of low 
 Sfonery tlian in some other pl.ys ; a.Id the graver part is elegant and han..omous By has enmg to the end o! 
 this work Shakspeare sui.pressed tV.e dialogue between the usurper and the hermit, and lost an opportunity «. 
 exhibiting 'a moral lesson, in which he might have found matter worthy of his highest powers. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DUKE, lirirtg In exile. 
 
 FREDERICK, Brother to the Duke, and Usurper of his 
 JJomitiions. 
 
 AMIENS, ♦ Lords attending upon the Duke in his 
 
 JAQUES, J banishme7it. 
 
 LE BEAU, a Courtier attending upon Frederick. 
 
 CHARLES, his Wrestler. 
 
 OLIVER, J 
 
 JAQUES, > Sons of Sir Rowland De Bois. 
 ORLANDO, S 
 
 DENNIS, } -^^^^""^^ '^^ Oliver. 
 
 TOUCHSTONE, a Clown. 
 
 SIR OLIVER MAR-TEXT, a Viear. 
 
 SYLVHJS. } Shepherds. 
 
 WILLIAM, a Country Fellow, in love with Audref. 
 
 A Person representing Hyme7i. 
 
 ROSALIND, Daughter to the banished Duke. 
 
 CELIA, Daughter to Frederick. 
 
 PHEBE, a Shepherdess. 
 
 AIT RE\ o Ci-vntrv Wevrh. 
 
 Loras oe^onging lo u.e two Dukes; Pages, torestns 
 and other Attendants. 
 
 The Scene lies, first, near Oliver's House ; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, ana pur-tl^ 
 
 in the Forest of Arden. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 Scene I. — An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fa- 
 shion bequeathed me : By will, but a poor thousand 
 crowns; awl, as thou say'st, charged my brother, 
 on his blessing, to breed me well : and there begins 
 my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, 
 and report speaks goldenly of his profit : for my 
 part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak 
 more properly, stays me here at home unkept : for 
 call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, 
 that dilfers not from the stalling of an ox ? His 
 horses are bred better ; for, besides that they are 
 fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, 
 and to that end riders dearly hired : but I, his bro- 
 ther, gain nothing under him but growth ; for the 
 which his animals on his dunghills are as nmch bound 
 to him us L Besides this nothing, that he so plenti- 
 fully gives me, the something that nature gave me, 
 his countenance seems to take from me : he lets me 
 feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, 
 and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with 
 my education. Tliis it is, Adam, that grieves me : 
 and the spirit of my father, which I think is within 
 me, begins to mutiny against this servitude : 1 will 
 no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise re- 
 medy how to avoid it. 
 
 Enter Outer. 
 
 Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother, 
 
 Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how 
 ke will shake me up. 
 
 Oli. Now, sir ! what make you here ? 
 
 Orl. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing. 
 
 Oli. What mar you then, sir ? 
 
 Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 
 which (jod made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, 
 with idleness. [awhile. 
 
 Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught 
 
 Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
 them? What proditjal portion have I spent, that 
 ■ I should come to such penury ? 
 
 Oil. Know you wiiere you are, sir? 
 
 Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 
 
 Oli. Know you before whom, sir ? 
 
 Orl. Ay, belter than he I am before knows me. 
 I know, you are my eldest brother; ard, in the gen- 
 tle condition of blood, you should bo ktiow me. 
 The courtesy of nnfi^ns allows you my better, in 
 that you are the firstborn; but the Slme tradition 
 takes not away my blood, were there tv Bnty brothers 
 
 betwixt us : I have a.s much of my father in me, aa 
 you : albeit, I confess, your coming before me is 
 nearer to his reverence. 
 Oli. What, boy ! 
 
 Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too 
 young in this. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villr.in''' 
 Orl. I am no villain : I am the youngest inp 3^ 
 sir Rowland de Bois ; he was my father ; and h*? 
 is thrice a villain, that says such a father begot 
 villains: wert thou not my brother, I would not tnk*^ 
 this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled 
 >ut thy tongue for saying so ; thou hast railed oa 
 thyself. 
 
 Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your fa- 
 ther's remembrance, be at accord. 
 Oli. Let me go, I say. 
 
 Orl. I will not, till I please : you shall hear me 
 My father charged you in his will to give nte good 
 education : you have trained me like a peasant, 
 obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like 
 qualities: the spirit of my father grows stiong in 
 me, and I will no longer endure it : therefoK allow 
 me such exercises as may become a geutleii.an, c 
 give me the poor allottery my father left ine by 
 testament ; with that I will go buy my fortunes. 
 
 Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is 
 spent ? Well, sir, get you in ; I will not long be 
 troubled with you : you shall have some part of 
 your will : I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Orl. I will no further otfend you than becomes 
 me for my good. 
 
 Oli. Get you wit^ him, you old dog. 
 
 Adam. Is old dog my reward ? Most true, I have 
 lost my teeth in your service. — God be with my old 
 master ! he would not have spoke such a word. 
 
 [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Oli. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me? 
 I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thou- 
 sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis i 
 Enter Dennis. 
 
 Den. Calls your worship ? 
 
 Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, ben 
 to speak w ith me ? 
 
 Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and 
 imoortunes access to you. 
 
 OH. Call him iu. [Exit Dennis.]— 'Twill bo a 
 good way ; and lo-morrow the wrestling is. 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 
 
 Oli. Good monsieur Charles! — what's the new 
 news at the new court? 
 
168 
 
 AS YOU 
 
 LIKE IT 
 
 Act L 
 
 Cha, Therfi's no news at the court, sir, but the 
 old news : that is, the old diiiie is banished by his 
 
 irounger brother the new duke ; and three or four 
 oving lords have put themselves into voluntary 
 exile with him, whose lands and revenues emicii 
 the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave 
 to wander. 
 
 OIL Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daugh- 
 ter, be banish ill with her father? 
 
 Cha O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, 
 lo loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred 
 together, — that she woidd have followed her exile, 
 jr have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, 
 end no less beloved of her uncle than his own 
 d iutrhter ; and never two ladies loved as they do. 
 OIL Where will the old duke live?* 
 Cha. 'J'hey say, he is already in the forest of Ar- 
 den, and a maiiy merry men with him; and there 
 they live like the old Robin Hood of England : 
 they say, many young gentlemen flock to hini every 
 day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in 
 tJie golden world. [new duke ? 
 
 OIL What, you wrestle to-morrow before the 
 Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint 
 fou with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to 
 understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, 
 lath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me 
 'o try a fall : to-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my 
 ;redit; and he that escapes me without some broken 
 I'mib, shall acquit him well. Your brother is but 
 ^oung, and tender; and, for j^our love, I would be 
 oath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if 
 oe come in : therelbre, out of my love to you, I 
 oatne hither to acquaint you withal ; that either you 
 juight stay liiui from his intendment, or brook such 
 lisgrace well as he shall run into; in that it is a 
 tiling of his own search, and altogether against 
 fliy will. 
 
 OIL Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, 
 which thou slialt And I will most kindly requite. I 
 had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, 
 and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade 
 him from it; but he is resolute. Ill tell thee, 
 Charles, — it 'is the stubbornest young lellow of" 
 France ; full of ambition, an envious emulutor of 
 every mans good parts, a secret and villainous con- 
 triver against me his natural brother; therefore use 
 thy discretion ; 1 had as lief thou didst break his 
 neck as his flnger : and thou wert best look to't; 
 for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do 
 not mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise 
 against thee by poison, entrap thee by some trea- 
 clierous device, and never leave thee, till he hath 
 ta'en tliy life by some indirect means or other : tor, 
 I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak, it, there 
 is not one so young and so villainous this day living. 
 I speak but brotherly of him ; but should 1 anato- 
 mise him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, 
 and thou must look pale and wonder. 
 
 Cha. I am heartily glad I came hitherto you : if 
 he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment : if 
 ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize 
 more : and so, God keep your worship I [Exit. 
 
 OIL Farewell, good Ctiarles. — Now will 1 ^tir 
 this gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of hiui ; 
 for my soul, yet 1 know not why, hates nothing 
 more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and 
 y<!t learr.ed ; fidl ot noble device; of all sorts en 
 chantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the 
 heart of the world and especially of my own people, 
 wrho best know him, that I am altogether misprised : 
 but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler sliall clear 
 r1) : nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy 
 Ihither, which now I'll go about. [Exit. 
 
 ScRKE II. — A Lawn hefa e the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Rosaijnd and Celia. 
 
 Cel, I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 
 Roa. Dear (/elia, I show more mirth <han 1 am 
 
 mistress of; and vvould you yet I were mpvrier? 
 Unless you could teach me to forget a banished fa- 
 ther, you must not learn me how to remember any 
 extraordinary pleasure. 
 
 CeL Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the 
 full weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy ba 
 nished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my 
 lather, so thou hadst been still with me, 1 could 
 have taught my love to take thy father for mine ; 
 so would st thou, if the truth of fhy love to me were 
 so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. 
 
 Ros. VVell, I will forget the condition of my 
 estate, to rejoice in yours, 
 
 CeL You know, my father hath no child but I, 
 nor none is like to ha\ e ; and, truly, when he dieSj 
 thou shalt be his heir : for what he hath taken away 
 from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in 
 affection ; by mine honour, I will ; and when 1 break 
 that oath, let me turn monster : therefore, my sweet 
 Rose, my dear Rose, be merry, 
 
 Rus. From henceforth, I will, coz, and devise 
 sports : let me see ; What think you of falling in 
 love ? 
 
 CeL Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal : 
 but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in 
 sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou 
 may'st in honour come off again. 
 
 llos. What shall be our sport then? 
 
 CeL Let us sit and mock the good liousewife, 
 Fortinie, from her wheel, that her gilts may hence- 
 Ibrth be l^estowed equally. 
 
 Ros. L""\vould we could do so; for her benefits 
 are rniglitily misplaced : and the bountiful blind 
 woman doth most mistake in her g;fts to women. 
 
 CeL "Tis true : for those that she makes fair, she 
 scarce makes honest ; and those that she makes 
 honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly. 
 
 Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's oflice 
 to nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, 
 not in the lineaments of nature. 
 
 Enter Touchstone 
 
 CeL No ? When nature hatli made a fair creature, 
 may she not by fortune fall into tiie tire I — Though 
 nature hath given us wit to llout at Ibrtune, hath not 
 fortune sent in this fool to cut otf the argument ? 
 
 Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard lor nature; 
 when fortune makes natine's natural the cutter off 
 of nature's wit. 
 
 CeL Peradventure, this is not fortune's work nei- 
 ther, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits 
 too didl to reason of such godd. sses, hath sent this 
 natural for our whetstone : for always the dulness 
 of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How now, 
 wit ? whither wander you ? [ father 
 
 Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your 
 
 CeL VVere you made the messenger? 
 
 Touch. No, by mine honour; but 1 was bid to 
 come for you. 
 
 Ros. VVhere learned you that oath, fool ? 
 
 Touch. Of a certain knight, that swoie by his 
 honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
 honour the mustard was naught: now, I II stand lo 
 it, tlie pancakes were naught, and the mustard was 
 good : and yet was not the kaight forsworn. 
 
 CeL How prove you that, in the great heap ol 
 your knowledge ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisiloin. 
 
 Touch. Stand you both lorth now: str :)ke youi 
 chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 
 
 CeL By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 
 
 Touch. By my knavery, ii I had it, then 1 were 
 but if you swear by that that is not, you are not for. 
 sw'orn : no more was this knight, swearing by his 
 honour, for he never had any ; or, if he had, he had 
 sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancake* 
 or that mustard. 
 
 CeL Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? 
 
 Touch. One thatold Frederick, your father, love* 
 
 CeL My father s love is enough to honour h m. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 AS YOU 
 
 LIKE IT. 
 
 169 
 
 Enongb ! speak no more ui him ; you'll be whipp'd 
 for taxation, one of these days. 
 
 Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak 
 wisely, what wise men do foolishly. 
 
 Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since the 
 ittle wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little 
 oolery, that wist' men have, makes a great show. 
 Here comes M. Le Beau. 
 
 Enter Le Beau. 
 
 Ros. With his njouth full of news. 
 
 Ce/. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed 
 Iheir yoimg. 
 
 Ros. Then shall we be news cramm'd 
 
 CV/. All the better; we shall be the more mar- 
 ketable. Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau : What's 
 the news ? [sport. 
 
 Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good 
 
 CV/, Sport? of what colour? 
 
 Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I 
 answer you ? 
 
 Ros: As wit and fortune will. 
 
 Touch. Or as the destinies decree. 
 
 Cel. W ell said ; that was laid on with a trowel. 
 
 Touch. Nay, if 1 keep not my rank, 
 
 Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. 
 
 Le Beau. \ o\\ amaze me, ladies : I would have 
 lold you of good wrestling, which you have lost 
 the sight of. 
 
 Ros. Y et tell us the manner of the wrestling. 
 
 Le Beau. 1 will tell yow the beginning, and, if it 
 please your ladyships, you may see the end; for 
 the best is yet to do ; and here, where you are, they 
 nre coming to perform it. 
 
 Cel. VVell, — the beginning, that is dead and 
 buried. 
 
 Le Beau. There comes an old tnan and his three 
 sons, 
 
 Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. 
 
 Le Beau. Tliree proper young men, of excellent 
 g;rowth and presence ; 
 
 Ro^. With bills on tiieir necks, — Be it known 
 unto lil men by these presents, 
 
 Le Btait. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
 Charles, the dukc-'s wrestler; which Charles in a 
 moment threw hiuj, and broke three of his ribs, 
 that there is little hope oi" life in him : so he served 
 the second, and so the third : yonder they lie ; the 
 pcusr old man, their father, making such pitiful dole 
 over tliem, that all the beholders take his part with 
 
 Ros. Alas.' [weeping. 
 
 Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that 
 the ladies have lost ? 
 
 Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 
 
 Touch. 'Vhns men may grow wiser every day ! it 
 is the Hist time tfiat ever 1 heard, breaking of ribs 
 was sport for ladies. 
 
 Cel. Or I, 1 promise thee. 
 
 Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken 
 music in his sides ? is there yet another dotes upon 
 rib-breaking ? — Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ? 
 
 Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here 
 is the [jldce appointed for the wrestling, and they 
 are ready to perform it. 
 
 Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : let us 
 now stay and see it. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Duke FREDERfCK, Lords, Or- 
 lando, Charles, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Come on ; since the youth will not be 
 entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 
 
 Ros. Is yonder the man? 
 
 Le Beau. Even he, madam. [cessfully. 
 
 Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks suc- 
 
 Duke F How now, daughter, and cousin ? are 
 you crept hitiier to see the wrestling? 
 
 lios. Ay, my liege : so please you give us leave. 
 
 Duki: F. Yoa will take little delight in it, I can 
 tell you, there is such odds in the men : in pity of 
 Ihe challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him. 
 
 but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies 
 see if you can move him. 
 
 Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beaa. 
 
 Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by. [Duke goi$ 
 
 apart.) 
 
 Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses 
 call for you. 
 
 Orl. 1 attend them, with all respect and Inty. 
 
 Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charlei 
 the wrestler? 
 
 Orl. No, fair pnncess ; he is the general chal- 
 lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with 
 him the strength of my youth. 
 
 Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold 
 for your years : you have seen cruel proof of this 
 man's strength : if you saw yourself with your eyes, 
 or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of 
 your adventure wpuld counsel you to a more equal 
 enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, 
 to embrace your own safety, and give over this 
 attempt. 
 
 Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not 
 therefore be misprised : we will make it our suit to 
 the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward, 
 
 Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard 
 thoughts : wherein I confess me much guilty, to 
 deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let 
 your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to 
 my trial : wherein if 1 be foiled, there is but one 
 shamed, that was never gracious; il' killed, but one 
 dead, that is willing to be so : I shall do my friends 
 no wrong, for I have none to lament me : the world 
 no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the 
 world I fill up a place, which may be better sup- 
 plied when 1 have made it empty, 
 
 Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it 
 were with you. 
 
 Cel. And mine, to eke out her's. [in you . 
 
 Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived 
 
 Cel. Your heart's desires be with you, 
 
 Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that ia 
 so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? 
 
 Orl. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a. mow 
 moiiest working. 
 
 Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 
 
 Cha. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall no\ 
 entreat him to a second, that have so mightily per 
 suaded him from a first. 
 
 Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should 
 not have mocked me before : but come your ways. 
 
 Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 
 
 tel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong 
 fellow by the leg. {Charles and Orlando wrestle^ 
 
 Ros. O excellent young man! 
 
 Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in nn'ne eye, I can 
 tell who should down, {Charles is thrown. Shout.) 
 
 Duke F. No more, no more. 
 
 Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace ; I am not yel 
 well breathed. 
 
 Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 
 
 Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 
 
 Duke F. Bear him away. {Charles is borne &3ii. 
 What is thy name, young man ? 
 
 Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of sir 
 Rowland de Bois. [man else 
 
 Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some 
 The world esteem'd thy father honourable, 
 Bu+ I did find him still mine enemy : 
 Tnou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, 
 Hadst thou descended from another house. 
 But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; 
 I would, thou hadst told me of another father. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke Fred, train, and Le Beau. 
 
 Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ? 
 
 Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, 
 His youngest son; — and would not change that 
 To be adopted heir to Frederick. [calling 
 
 Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul. 
 And all the world was of my I'atlier'i^ mind : 
 Had I before known this young m;* nis solv. 
 
170 
 
 AS YOU 
 
 LIKE IT. 
 
 Act I 
 
 I should have given hhn tears unto entreaties 
 Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 
 
 Cel. Gentle cousin. 
 
 Let us go thank him, and encourage him : 
 My father's rough and envious disposition 
 Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd : 
 If you do keep your promises in love. 
 But justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
 Your mistress shall be happy. 
 
 Roi. Gentleman, 
 
 {Giving him a chain from her neck.) 
 Wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune ; 
 I'hat could give more, but that her hand lacks 
 Shall we go, coz? [means. — 
 
 Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 
 
 Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better parts 
 Are all thrown down-, and that, which here stands up. 
 Is but a quintain, a mere lifehss block. 
 
 Ros. He calls us back : my pride fell with my 
 fortunes : 
 
 I'll ask him what he would : — Did you call, sir? — 
 Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown 
 Iklore than your enemies. 
 
 Cel. Will you go, coz ? 
 
 Ros. Have with you : — Fare your well. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. 
 Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my 
 tongue ? 
 
 I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 
 
 Re-enter Le Beau. 
 O poor Orlando I thou art overthrown : 
 Or Cliarles, or something weaker, masters thee. 
 
 Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you 
 To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd 
 High commendation, true applause, and love; 
 Yet such is now the duke's condition, 
 That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
 The duke is humorous; what he is, indeed, 
 IVIore suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. 
 
 Orl 1 thank you, sir : and, pray you, tell uie this ; 
 Which of the two was daughter of the duke. 
 That here was at the wrestlmg? 
 
 Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
 manners ; 
 
 But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter : 
 The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, 
 4.nd here detain'd by her usurping uncle. 
 To keep his daughter company; whose loves 
 Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
 But I can tell you, that of late this duke 
 Haih ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece ; 
 Grounded upon no other argument. 
 But that the people praise her for her virtues, 
 And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
 And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
 Will suddenly break forth.-— Sir, fare you well ! 
 Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
 Tshall desire more love and knowledge of you. 
 Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well ! 
 
 [Exit Le Beau. 
 Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; 
 From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother : — 
 But heavenly Rosalind I [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Celia and Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have 
 Biercy ! — Not a word ? 
 
 Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 
 
 Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 
 away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come, 
 lame me with reasons. 
 
 Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when 
 'the one should be lamed with reasons, and tne other 
 'flaad without any. 
 
 Cel. But is all this for your father? 
 
 Ros. Ko, some of it for my child's father : O, how 
 fall of briexs is this working-day world ! 
 
 C«l, They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee 
 
 in holyday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden 
 
 paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 
 
 Ros. I could shake them Cii my coat; these b»r«i 
 are in my heart. 
 
 Cel. Hem them away. [hira. 
 
 Ros. I would try ; ii I could cry hem, and have 
 
 Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy aflections 
 
 Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler 
 than myself. 
 
 Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in 
 time, in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests 
 out of service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it 
 possible, on such a sudden, you should ftill into so 
 strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? 
 
 Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 
 
 Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love 
 his son dearly ? By this kind of chase, I should 
 hate \\\n\, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet 
 I hate not Orlando. 
 
 Ros. No, 'faith ; hate hira not, for my sake. 
 
 Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well ? 
 
 Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love 
 him, because I do: — Look, here comes the duke. 
 
 Cel. With his eyes full (tf anger. 
 
 Enter Duhe Frederick, ivith Lords. 
 
 Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest 
 And get you from our court. [haste, 
 
 Ros. Me, uncle ? 
 
 Dtike F. You, cousm • 
 
 Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
 So near our public court as twenty miles. 
 Thou diest for it. 
 
 Ros. I do beseech your grace, 
 
 Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me ; 
 If with myself I hold intelligence. 
 Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ; 
 If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
 (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle. 
 Never, so much as in a thought unborn. 
 Did I offend your highness. 
 
 Duke F. Thus do all traitors ; 
 
 If their purgation did consist in words. 
 They are as innocent as grace itself : — 
 Let it suffice thee, tliat I trust thee not. 
 
 Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : 
 Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 
 
 Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there'i 
 enough. 
 
 Ros. So was I, when your highness took hia 
 dukedom ; 
 
 So was I, when your highness banish'd him : 
 Treason is not inherited, my lord ; 
 Or, if we did derive it from our friends. 
 What's that to me ? my father was no traitor : 
 Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much. 
 To think my poverty is treacherous. 
 
 Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 
 
 Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake 
 Else had she with her father rang'd along. 
 
 Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay. 
 It was your pleasure, and your own remorse ; 
 I was too young that time to value her, 
 But now I know her : if she be a traitor. 
 Why so am I ; we still have slept together, 
 Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; 
 And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
 Still we went coupled, and inseparable. 
 
 Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and hei 
 Her very silence, and her patience, [smoothnoM 
 Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
 Thou art a fool : she robs th ee of thy name ; 
 And thou wilt show more Wight, and seem moni 
 virtuous, 
 
 When she is gone : then opr n not thy lips ; 
 
 Firm and irre»'0cable is my doom 
 
 Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 
 
 Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, ra^ 
 I cannot live out of her company. [liege 
 
 Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide 
 yourself ; 
 
Act II. Scene 2. i AS YOU 
 
 If you out-stay the time, upon inJne honour, 
 And in the greatness of my word, you die. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke Frederic and Lords. 
 
 Cel. O my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt thou go ? 
 Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
 Xcharge thee, be not thou more griev'd than 1 am. 
 
 Ros. I have more cause. 
 
 Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; 
 
 Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke 
 Hath banish'd me, his daughter ? 
 
 Ros. That he hath not. 
 
 Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love 
 Which teacheth thee, that thou and I am one : 
 Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? 
 No ; let my father seek another heir. 
 Therefore devise with me, how we may fly. 
 Whither to go, and what to bear with us : 
 And do not seek to take your change upon you. 
 To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ; 
 For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
 Sav what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. 
 
 Ros. Why, whither shall we go ? 
 
 Cel. To seek my uncle. 
 
 Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, 
 Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ? 
 Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 
 
 Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire. 
 And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
 The like do you ; so shall we pass along. 
 And never stir assailants. 
 
 Ros, Were it not better. 
 
 Because that I am more than common tall. 
 That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
 A gallant cui tie ax upon my thigh, 
 A boar-spear in my hand ; and (in my heart 
 Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will) 
 We'll have a swashing and a martial outside ; 
 As many other mannish cowards have, 
 That do outface it with their semblances. 
 
 Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man ? 
 
 Ros. ril have no worse a name than Jove's own 
 page. 
 
 And therefore look you call me Ganymede. 
 But what will you be call'd ? 
 
 Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state ; 
 No longer Celia, but Aliena. 
 
 Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
 The clownish fool out of your father's court? 
 Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 
 
 Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
 Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away. 
 And get our jewels and our wealth together; 
 Devise the fittest time, and safest way 
 To hide us from pursuit, that will be made 
 After my flight : Now go we in content. 
 To liberty, and not to banishment. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT n. 
 
 Scene I. — The forest of Arden. 
 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, 
 in the dress of Foresters. 
 Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in 
 exile. 
 
 Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 
 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 
 
 More free from peril than the envious court ? 
 
 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
 
 I'he season's difference ; as, the icy fang, 
 
 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; 
 
 Which, when it bites and blows upon my body. 
 
 Even till 1 shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 
 
 This is no flattery : these are coimsellors. 
 
 That feelingly persuade me what 1 am. 
 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous. 
 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 
 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 
 SenuoQS in stones, and good iu every thing. 
 
 LIKE IT. 171 
 
 Ami. I would not change it : Happy is you 
 
 grace. 
 
 That can translate the stubbornness of fortaoe 
 Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 
 
 Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us veuiaon* 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
 Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
 Have their round haunches gor d. 
 
 1 Lord. Indeed, my lor«J 
 
 The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; 
 And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
 Than doth your brother, that hath banish'd you. 
 To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself^ 
 Did steal behind him, as he lay along 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook, that brawls along this wood : 
 To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, / 
 That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, ' 
 Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord. 
 The wretched animal heav'd I'orth such groans. 
 That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
 Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
 Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
 In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool. 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
 Augmenting it with tears. 
 
 Duke S. But what said Jaques i 
 
 Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 
 
 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand siniilies. 
 First, for his weeping in the needless stream : 
 Poor deer, quotii he, thou mak'st a testament 
 As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
 
 To that which had too much : Then, being aloce^ 
 Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; 
 'Tis right, quoth he; thus misery doth part 
 The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd, 
 F'ull of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
 And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jaques, 
 Siveep on. you fat and greasy citizens ; 
 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you Icoh 
 Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there 't 
 Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
 The body of the country, city, court. 
 Yea, and of this our life : swearing, that we 
 Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse. 
 To fright the aninials, and to kill them up, 
 In their assign'd and native dwelling place. 
 Duke S. And did you leave him in this contein 
 plation ? [menting 
 
 2 Lord. We did, my lord, \yeeping, and conu 
 Upon the sobbing deer 
 
 Duke S. Show me the place 
 
 I love to cope him in these sullen fits. 
 For then he's full of matter. 
 
 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants 
 Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them 
 It cannot be : some villains of my court 
 Are of consent and sufferance in this. 
 
 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
 The ladies, her attendants of her chanber, 
 Saw her a-bed ; and, in the morning early. 
 They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress 
 
 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom M 
 
 oft 
 
 Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
 Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman. 
 Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard 
 Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
 The parts and graces of the wrestler. 
 That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; 
 And she believes, wherever they are gone. 
 That youth is surely in their cornijany. 
 
 Duke F. Send to his brother : fetch th 
 If he be absent, bring his brother to me, 
 I'll make him find him do this suddenly » 
 
AS YOU 
 
 LIKE IT. 
 
 Act It 
 
 And let noJ search and inquisition quail 
 
 To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeuni, 
 
 Scene III. — Before Oliver's House 
 Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. 
 
 Orl. Who's there? [master, 
 
 Adam. What! nny young master? O, my gentle 
 O, my sweet master, O, you memory 
 Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
 Why are yon virtuous Why do people love you? 
 And wherefore are yoi/ gentle, strong, and valiant ? 
 Why would you be so fond to overcome 
 The bony priser of the humorous duke ? 
 Vour praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
 Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
 Their graces serve them but as enemies ? 
 No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master, 
 Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
 O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
 Envenoms him that bears it I 
 
 Orl. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 Adam. O, unhappy youth, 
 
 Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
 The enemy of all your graces lives : 
 Vour brother — (no, no brother : yet the son — 
 Vet not the son ; — I will not call him son — 
 Of hira I was about to call his father,) — 
 Hath heard your praises ; and this night he means 
 To burn the lodging where you use to lie. 
 And you within it : if he fail of that. 
 He will have other means to cut you off : 
 I overheard him, and his practices. 
 This is no place, this house is but a butchery ; 
 Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. [me go ? 
 
 Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 
 
 Adam No matter whither, so you come not here. 
 
 Orl. Wliat, wouldst thou have me go and beg ray 
 food ? 
 
 Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce 
 A thievish living on the common road ? 
 This I must do, or know not what to do : 
 Vet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
 f rather will subject me to the nmlice 
 Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. 
 
 Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, 
 The thrifty hire I saved under your father, 
 Which I did store, to be my foster nurse, 
 When service should in my old limbs lie lame. 
 And unregarded age in corners throwti ; 
 Take that : and He, that doth the ravens feed, 
 Vea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
 Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
 All this I give you : Let me be your servant; 
 Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty : 
 For in my youth I never did apply 
 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; 
 Nor did not with unbashfiil forehead woo 
 The means of weakness and debility : 
 Therefore my age is as a lusty winter. 
 Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you : 
 I'll do the service of a younger man 
 In all your business and necessities. 
 
 Orl. O good old man ; how well in thee appears 
 The constant service of the antique world, 
 When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
 Thou art not for the fashion of the ^e tinies. 
 Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; 
 A ad having that, do choke their service up 
 Eve;i with the having : it is not so with thee. 
 But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
 That cannot so much as a blossom vield, 
 tn lieu of ^1 thy pains and husbandry : 
 But come thy ways, we'll go along together; 
 And ere we have thy youtliful wages spent. 
 We'll light upon some settled low content. 
 
 Adam. Master, go on ; and I will follow thee, 
 To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.— 
 From seventeen years till now, almost fourscore, 
 Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
 At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
 
 But at fourscore, it is too late a week: 
 Yet fortune cannot recompense me better. 
 Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. 
 
 {ExeunU 
 Scene .—The forest of Arden. 
 E?tfer Rosalind in boys clothes, Cflu, drest lik* 
 a Shepherdess, and Touchstone. 
 Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 
 Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
 not weary. 
 
 Ros. 1 could find in my heart to disgrace my 
 man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but I must 
 comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose 
 ougfit to show itself courageous to petticoat; there- 
 fore, courage, good Aliena. 
 
 Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I cannot go no 
 further. 
 
 Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, 
 than bear you : yet I should bear no cross, if 1 did 
 bear you ; for, I think, you have no money in your 
 purse. 
 
 Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 
 
 Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool 
 I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; 
 but travellers must be content. 
 
 Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone : — Look you, 
 who comes here ; a young man, and an old, in so- 
 lemn talk. 
 
 Enter CoRiN and SiLVius. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still, 
 
 Sd. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her. 
 
 Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 
 
 Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; 
 Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
 As ever sigh'd upon a midniglit pillow: 
 But, if thy love were ever like to mine, 
 (As sure J think did never man love so,) 
 How many actions most ridiculous 
 Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? 
 
 Cor. Into a thousand, that 1 have forgotten. 
 
 Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily : 
 If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
 That ever love did make thee run into. 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 Or, if thou hast not sat as I do now. 
 Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise. 
 Thou hast not lov'd : ^ 
 Or, if thou hast not broke from company. 
 Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. 
 Thou hast not lov'd ; O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! 
 
 [Exit Silvius. 
 
 Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of th;^ 
 wound, 
 
 I have by hard adventure found mine own. 
 
 Touch. And 1 mine : I remember, when I was in 
 lo» e, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him 
 take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile : and I re 
 member the kissing of her batlet, and then the cow'd 
 dugs that her pretty chopp'd hands had milk"d : and 
 I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; 
 from whom I took "two cods, and, gi"^''^:? ^^^^ them 
 again, said with weeping tears. Wear these for my 
 sake. We. that are true lovers, run n)to strange 
 capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature 
 in love mortal in folly. 
 
 Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware o£ 
 
 Touch. Nay, 1 shall ne'er be 'ware of mine owa 
 wit, till I break my shins against it. 
 
 Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
 Is much upon my fashion. 
 
 Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale 
 with me. 
 
 Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond' man, 
 If he for gold will give us any food; 
 I faint almost to death. 
 
 Touch. Holloa : you, clown ! 
 
 Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman 
 
 Cor. Who calls ? 
 
Scene 7. AS YOU 
 
 * Touch. Your betters, sir. 
 
 Cor. Else are they very wretched. 
 
 Ro8. Peace, 1 say: — 
 
 Good f van (o yoH, friend. 
 
 Cor. And to yow, gentle sir, and to you all. 
 
 Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold. 
 Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
 Bring, ns where we may rest ourselves, and feed : 
 Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd. 
 And faints for succour. 
 
 Cor. Fair sir, T pity her, 
 
 A nd wish for her sake, more than for mine own, 
 My fortunes were more able to relieve her : 
 But I am shepherd to another man. 
 And do not sheer the fleeces tlmt I graze ; 
 My master is of churlish disposition, 
 And little recks to find the way to heaven 
 By doing deeds of hospitality : 
 Besides his cote, his tiocks, and bounds of feed. 
 Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 
 By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
 That you will feed on ; but what is, come see. 
 And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 
 
 Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pas- 
 ture? [erewhile, 
 
 Cor. That young swain, that you saw here but 
 That little cares for buying any thing. 
 
 Ros. 1 pi ay thee, if it stand with honesty. 
 Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
 And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. [place, 
 
 Cel. And we will mend thy wages : I like this 
 And willingly could waste my time in it. 
 
 Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold : 
 Go with me; if you like, upon report, 
 The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
 I will your very faithful feeder be, 
 4nd buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — The same. 
 
 Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ami. Under the greenivood tree^ 
 JVko loves to lie ivith me. 
 And tune his merry note 
 Unto the sweet birds throat, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy. 
 But tvinter and rough weather. 
 
 Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. [Jaqnes. 
 Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur 
 Jaq. I thank it. More, 1 pr'ythee, more. I can 
 
 suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks 
 
 eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more. [please you. 
 
 And. My voice is ragged • I know, I cannot 
 Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire 
 
 you to sing : Come, more 5 another stanza ; Call you 
 
 them stanzas ? 
 
 Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. 
 
 Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe 
 
 me nothing : Will you sing ? [self. 
 Ami. More at your request, than to please my- 
 Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll 
 bauk you : but that they call compliment, is like 
 
 the encounter of two dog apes ; and when a man 
 
 thanks me heartily, methiuks, I have given him a 
 
 penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. 
 
 Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your 
 
 tongues. 
 
 Ami, Well, I'll end the song.— Sirs, cover the 
 while ; the duke will drink under this tree :— 'he hath 
 been all this day to look you. 
 
 Jaq. And i liave been all this day to avoid him. 
 He is too disputable for my company : I think of as 
 many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks, and 
 make lio boast of them. Come, warble, come. 
 
 LIKE IT. 173 
 SONG 
 
 Who doth ambition shun, (All together here.) 
 
 And loves to live i the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eat s. 
 And pleased ivith what he gets. 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither} 
 Here shall he see ' 
 No enemy. 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I mauSo 
 yesterday in despite of my invention. 
 Ami. And I'll sing it. 
 Jaq. Thus i-t goes : 
 
 If it do come to pass, 
 
 That any man turn ass. 
 
 Leaving his wealth and ease 
 
 A stubborn tvill to please, 
 Ducddme, ducdame, ducdame 
 
 Here shall he see, 
 
 Ch'oss fools as he. 
 An if he will come to Ami. 
 
 A7ni. What's that ducddme? 
 
 Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 
 circle. I'll go sleep if I can ; if I cannot, I'll rail 
 against all the first-born of E^ypt. 
 
 Atni. And I'll go seek the duke ; his banquet is 
 pre par 'd. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene VI. — The same. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Adam. Dear master, I can go no further : O, I die 
 for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my 
 grave. Farewell, kind master. 
 
 Orl. W^hy, how now, Adam! no greater heart in 
 thee? Live a little ; comfort a litlle ; cheer thyself 
 a little : if this uncouth forest yield any thing savage 
 I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to 
 thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. 
 For my sake, be comfortable; hold death awhile at 
 the armsVnd : I will here be with thee presently; 
 and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give 
 thee leave to die : but if thou diest before 1 come, 
 thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou 
 look'st cheerily : and I'll be with thee quickly. — Yet 
 thou liest in the bleak air : Come, I will bear thee 
 to some shelter; and thou shall not Hie for lack of a 
 dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. Cheerly, 
 good Adam ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — The same. A table set out. 
 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Lords, and others. 
 
 Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast j 
 For I can no where find him like a man. 
 
 1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence ; 
 Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
 
 Duke S. If he,' compact of jars, grow musical, 
 We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : — Qo, 
 seek him ; tell him, I would speak with him. 
 
 Enter Jaques. 
 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own ap'jroach, 
 Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a liili» 
 is this, 
 
 That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
 What! you look merrily. 
 
 Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest 
 
 A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 
 As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
 VVho laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
 And raii'd on lady Fortune in gocd terms. 
 In good set terms, — and yet a mo Jey fooi. 
 Good morrotv, fool, quoth I : Nc .sir, quoth he, 
 Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent tnej'vrtum 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke; 
 And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 1 
 Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock : 
 Thus may we see, qtiotli he, hoiv the world wags , 
 'Tis but an hour ac o. since it was nine ; 
 
174 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 And aft<ir an h mr more, 'twill be eleven ; 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. 
 And then, fr(r~i hour to hour, we rot and rot. 
 And thereby angs a tale. When I did hear 
 The motley fojl thus mural on the time, 
 My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
 That fools should be so deep-contemplative; 
 And I did laugh, sans intermission, 
 An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! 
 A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 
 
 Duke S. What fool is this ? [tier; 
 
 Jaq. O worthy fool ! — One, that hath been a cour- 
 And says, if ladies be but young and fair, 
 They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, — 
 Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
 After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramra'd 
 With observation, the which he vents 
 In mangled forms : — O, that I were a fool ! 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 
 Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 
 
 Jaq. It is my only suit ; 
 
 Provided, that yon weed your better judgments 
 Of all opinion that grows rank in them, 
 That I am wise. I must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
 To blow on whom I please; for so fools have; 
 And they, that are most galled with my folly. 
 They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so? 
 The why is plain as way to parish church : 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart. 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
 Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. 
 lnv» st me in my motley ; give me leave 
 To jpeak my nn'nd, and 1 will through and through 
 C'f Jnse the foul body of the infected world, 
 ]f ihey will patiently receive my tnedicine. 
 
 Puke S, Fy on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldst 
 do. 
 
 Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good ? 
 
 Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: 
 For thou tliyself hast been a libertine. 
 As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
 And all the embossed sores, and headed e\'i1s, 
 That thou with license of free foot hast canglit, 
 Would'st thou disgorge into the general world. 
 
 Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 
 That can therein tax any private party ? 
 Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
 Till that the very very means do ebb? 
 What woman in the city do I name. 
 When that 1 say. The city-woman bears 
 The cost oi' princes on unworthy shoulders? 
 Who can come in, and say, that I mean her. 
 When such a one as she, such is her neighbour ? 
 Or what is he of basest function. 
 That says, his bravery is not on my cosi, 
 
 S^'hinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
 is folly to the mettle of my speech? 
 There then ; How, what then ? Let me see wherein 
 My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do hini right. 
 Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free, 
 Why then, my taxing like a wild-goose flies, 
 Uoclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn. 
 Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 
 Jaq. VVhy, I have eat none yet. 
 
 Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 
 Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 
 Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy 
 distress ; 
 
 Ortfse a rude despiser of good manners. 
 That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? 
 
 Orl. You toiich'd my vein at first; th*^ thorny point 
 Of bare distress hath ta'en froiit me the show 
 Of smooth civility : yet am 1 inland brec'. 
 And know some nurture : Hut forbear, I saf^ 
 He dies, that touches any of 'his fruit. 
 
 Till I and ray affairs are answered. 
 
 Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
 I must die. [shall force, 
 
 Duke S. What would you have ? your gentlenew 
 More than your force move us to gentleness. 
 
 Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it 
 
 Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to OJI 
 table. [you: 
 
 Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I juaf 
 I thought that all things had been savage here ; 
 And therefore put I on the countenance 
 Of stern commandment : but whate'er you are. 
 That in this desert inaccessible, 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
 If ever you have look'd on better days; 
 If ever been, where bells have knoll'd to church; 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast; 
 If ever from your eye-lids wiped a tear, 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied; 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
 In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 Duke S. True is it, that we have seen better days; 
 And have witli holy bell been knoll'd to church ; 
 And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd o\n eyes 
 Of drops, that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
 And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
 And take upon command what help we have, 
 That to your wanting may be ministred. 
 
 Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while. 
 Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 
 And give it food. There is an old poor man. 
 Who after me hath many a weary step 
 Limp'd in pure love; till he he first suffic'd, — 
 Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,w— 
 I will not touch a bit. 
 
 Duke S. Go find him out, 
 
 And we will nothing waste, till you return. 
 
 Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for yourgoo4 
 comfort ! \^£xit 
 
 Duke S. 'Vhon seest, we are not all alone unhappy 
 This wide and universal theatre 
 Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
 Wherein we play in. 
 
 Jaq. All the world's a stage. 
 
 And all the men and women merely players: 
 They have their exits, and their entrances; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts. 
 His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant. 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
 And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school; and then, the lover; 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eye-brow : then, a soldier. 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. 
 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel. 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 
 Even in the cannon's month*^ and then, the justice; 
 In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 
 Wil'n eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances, 
 And so he plays his part: the sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon; 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
 His youthiul hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
 For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 And whistles in his sound: last scene of all. 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 It second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thinj 
 
 Re-enter Orlando with Adam. 
 Duke S. Welcome: set down ycur venerabto 
 And let him feed [burden^ 
 Orl. 1 thank you most for him. 
 
 Adam. So had you need: 
 ' I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 
 
 Duke S. W elcome, fall to ; I will not trouble you 
 
Act in> Scene 2. AS YOU 
 
 As yet, to question you about your fortunes ; — 
 Ciive as some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 
 
 Amiens sings. 
 
 SONG 
 
 I. 
 
 blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude ; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Metghf ho! sing heigh, ho! unto the green holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, tnost loving mere folly! 
 Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 II. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the ivaters warp. 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 As friend remembered not. 
 Heigh, ho! sing heigh, ho! &c. 
 Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's 
 son, — 
 
 As you have whisper'd faithfully you were : 
 
 And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
 
 Most truly lima'd, and living in your face, — 
 
 Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke. 
 
 That lov'd yoiir father: the residue of your fortune, 
 
 00 to my cave and tell me. — Good old man. 
 Thou art right welcome as thy master is ; 
 Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand, 
 A.nd let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I, — A Room in the Palace, 
 Enter Duke Frederk^k, Oliver, Lords, and 
 Attendants. 
 Duke F Not see him since ^ Sir, sir, that can- 
 not be ; 
 
 But were I not the better part made mercy, 
 
 1 should not seek an absent argument 
 
 Of my revenge, thou present: but look to it ; 
 
 Find out thy brother, whereso'er he is ; 
 
 Seek him with candle ; bring him, dead or living. 
 
 Within this twelvemonth, or tui-n thou no more 
 
 To seek a living in our territory. 
 
 Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine. 
 
 Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands ; 
 
 Tin thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth. 
 
 Of what we think against thee. 
 
 OH. O, that your highness knew my heart in this ! 
 
 never lov'd my brother in my life. 
 
 Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him 
 out of doors ; 
 And let my officers of such a nature 
 Make an extent upon his house ;md lands; 
 Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene ll.—The Forest. 
 Enter Orlando, with a paper. 
 
 Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 
 
 And thou, thrice-crowned q jeen of night, survey 
 With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, 
 
 Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 
 O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books. 
 
 And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; 
 That every eye, which in this forest looks, 
 
 Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
 Run, run, Orlando ; carve, on every tree, 
 The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. [Exit, 
 
 Enter CoRiN a^id Touchstone. 
 Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, mas- 
 Touchstone 
 
 LIKE IT. 175 
 
 Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of its«lf, it 
 a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd'* 
 life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I 
 like it very well ; but in respect that it is private, 
 it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in tho 
 fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it \n not 
 in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare lifr?, look 
 you, it fits my humour well ; but as there is no more 
 plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. VliSi 
 any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? 
 
 Cor. No more, but that I know, the more on© 
 sickens, the worse at ease he is ; and that he that 
 wants money, means, and content, is without three 
 good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet, 
 and fire to burn : that good pasture makes fat sheep ; 
 and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the 
 sun : that he, that hath learned no wit by nature 
 nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes 
 of a very dull kindred. 
 
 Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. 
 Wast ever in court, shepherd ? 
 
 Cor. No, truly. 
 
 Touch. Then thou art damn'd 
 
 Cor. Nay, I hope, 
 
 Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd ; like an ill roasted 
 egg,*all on one side. 
 
 Cor. For not being at court? Your reasoK . 
 
 Touch. Why, if thou never wast at coti/t, thon 
 never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st 
 good manners, then thy manners must be wicked ; 
 and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation ; thoa 
 art in a parlous state, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone : those, that are 
 good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the 
 country, as the beha\iour of the country is n)Ost 
 mockable at the court. You told me, you sakte 
 not at the court, but you kiss yonr hands ; that 
 courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shep. 
 herds. 
 
 Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 
 
 Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; au^l 
 their fells, you know, are greasy. 
 
 Touch. Wliy, do not your courtier's hands sweat ? 
 and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as 
 the sweat of a man ? Shallow, shallow : a better 
 instance, I say ; come. 
 
 Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 
 
 Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shal 
 low, again ; a more sounder instance, come. 
 
 Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the sur- 
 gery of our sheep ; and would you h;ive us kiss tar? 
 The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. 
 
 Touch. Most shallow man ! Thou worms-meat, 
 in respect of a good piece of flesh • Indeed !— Learn 
 of the wise, and perpend : Civet is of a baser birth 
 than tar ; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend 
 the instance, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me ; I'll rest 
 
 Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd ? God help thee, 
 shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art 
 raw. 
 
 Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer ; I earn that I eat, 
 get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's 
 happiness ; glad of other men's good, content with 
 my harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see 
 my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. 
 
 Touch. That is another simple sin in you ; to 
 bring the ewes and the rams together, and to olfer 
 to get your living by the copulation of cattle : to be 
 bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a she-lamb of 
 a tvvelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, ( ickoldly 
 ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st 
 not danm'd for this, the devil himself vrill ha ;e no 
 shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shoultist 
 'scape. 
 
 Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my 
 new mistress's brother. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, reading a pcqcir, 
 Ros. Ft om the east to western Indt 
 
i.f« AS YOU 
 
 No jewel is like Rosalind. 
 Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
 All the pictures, fairest lin'd, 
 Are but black to Rosalind. 
 Let no face be kept in mind, 
 But the fair of Rosalind. 
 Touch. I'll rhyme yoii so, eight years together; 
 d'nners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted ; 
 it is the right butter-woman's rank to market. 
 Ros. Out, fool ! 
 Touch. For a taste : 
 
 If a hart do lack a hind, 
 
 Jjet him seek out Rosalind. 
 
 If the cat will after kind, 
 
 So, be sure, will Rosalind. 
 
 Winter-garments must be lind, 
 
 So must slender Rosalind. 
 
 They that reap, ?/iust sheaf and bind ; 
 
 Then to cart ivitk Rosalind. 
 
 Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 
 
 Such a nut is Rosaiind. 
 
 He that sweetest rose will find, 
 
 Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. 
 
 This is the very false gdlop of verses ; why do you 
 infect yourself with thern ? [tree. 
 
 Ros. Peace, you dull fool ; I found them on a 
 
 Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad IVuit. 
 
 Ros. I'll graif it with you, and then 1 shall gralf 
 it with a medlar: then it will be the earlit^st truit 
 in the country : for you'll be rotten ere you be half 
 ripe, and that's tlie right \ii)ue of the medlar. 
 
 Touch. Vou have said ; but whether wisely or no, 
 let the forest judge. 
 
 Enter Celia, reading a paper. 
 Rose. Peace ! 
 Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. 
 Cil Why should t/tis desert silent be if 
 lor U is un/>eoj>led/ No; 
 Tongues III hang on every tree, 
 
 That shall civil sayings show. 
 Some, how brief the iife of man 
 
 Runs his erring pilgrimage ; 
 That the stretching of a span 
 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 
 Some, of violated vows 
 
 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: 
 But upon the Jairest boughs. 
 
 Or at every sentence'' end, 
 Will I Rosalinda tvrite; 
 
 Teaching all that read, to know 
 The quintessence of every sprite 
 
 Heaven would in little show. 
 Therefore heaven nature charg'dy 
 
 That one body should be filVd 
 With all graces ivide enlarg'd: 
 
 Nature presently dislilld 
 Helens cheek, but not Iter heart: 
 
 Cleopatra's majesty ; 
 Atalanta's better part ; 
 
 Sad Lucretius modesty. 
 Thus Rosalind of many parts 
 
 By heavenly synod ivas devis'd; 
 Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 
 
 To have the touches dearest priz'd. 
 Heaven tvould that she these gifts should 
 And 1 to live and die her slave. [have, 
 
 Roi. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious ho- 
 mily of love have you wearied yuur pari'^hioiiers 
 withal, and never cry'd. Have patience, c^ood 
 people ! 
 
 Cel. How now! back, friends; — Shepherd, go 
 oflf a little: — Go with him, sirrah. 
 
 Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honour- 
 able retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet 
 witii scrip and s: rip page. 
 
 [Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. 
 
 LIKE IT. AoT IIL 
 
 Cel. Didst thou "iiear these verses ? 
 
 Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and mowetoo;for 
 some of them had in them more feet than the verses 
 woidd bear. [verses. 
 
 Cel. 'J'hat's no matter; the feet riiight bear the 
 
 Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not 
 bear themselves without the verse, and therefore 
 stood lamely in the verse. 
 
 Cel. But didst thou hear, without w^ondering how 
 thy name should be hang'd and carved upon thes« 
 trees ? 
 
 Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the 
 wonder before you came : for look here what I 
 found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rhymtd 
 since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, 
 which I can hardly remember. 
 
 Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? 
 
 Ros. Is it a man? 
 
 Cel. Ainl a chain, that you on-ce wore, about his 
 neck: change you colour? 
 Ros. I prytlite, who? 
 
 Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for frends 
 to meet ; but mountains may be reniovea with 
 earthquakes, and so encounter. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but who is it? 
 
 Cel. Is It possible ? 
 
 Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary 
 veliriiieiice, tell me who it is. 
 
 Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful 
 wonderful, aiid yet again wonderlul, and alter that 
 out of all whooping I 
 
 Ros. Good my comjilexion ! dost thou th^nk, 
 thougti I am capaiisou'd like a man,. 1 have a doub- 
 let and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay 
 more is a South-sea-oti' discovery. I pr'ythee, tell 
 me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: 1 wonlu 
 thou couldst stammer, that thou miglit'st pour this 
 concealed man out ot thy mouth, as wine comes out 
 of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at 
 once, or none at all. I pr'ythee, take the cork out of 
 thy mouth, that 1 may drink thy tidings. 
 
 Cel. So you may put a man in your bell^. 
 
 Ros. Is he of Gods making? What manner of 
 man ? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a 
 beard ? 
 
 Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 
 
 Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man wi'l 
 be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, 
 ii thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 
 
 Cel. It is young O.lando; that tripp'd up thj 
 wrestler's heels, and your heait, both in an instant. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak 
 sad brow, and true maid. 
 
 Cel. rfaith, coz, 'tis he 
 
 Ros. Orlando? 
 
 Cel. Orlando. 
 
 Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my 
 doublet and hose? — What did he, when thou saw's!: 
 him? What said he ? Mow look'd he ? Whereiu 
 went he? What makes he here? Did he ask fo^ 
 me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee? 
 and when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me 
 one word. 
 
 Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's moutb / 
 first : 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this 
 age's size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, 
 is more than to answer in a catechism. 
 
 Ros. But doth he know that I am in this fcrest, 
 and in man's apparel ? Looks he as freshly a? he did 
 the day he wrestled ? 
 
 Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to xfsolve 
 the propositions of a lover: — but take a taste of my 
 finding him, and relish it with a good observance, 
 i louud him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. 
 
 Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when il 
 drops forth such fruit. 
 
 CeL Gi ve me audience, good madam. 
 
 Ros. Proceed. 
 
 Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a. wounded 
 knight. 
 
Scene 2. AS YOU 
 
 Ros. Thongh it be pity to see such a sight, it well 
 becomes the ground. 
 
 Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee ; it _ 
 curvets very unseasonably. He was fiirnish'd like 
 a hunter. 
 
 Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 
 
 Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : 
 thou britig'st me out of tune. 
 
 Ros. Do you not know I am n woman? when I 
 think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Jaques. 
 
 Cel. You bring me out ; — Soft ! conies he not hers ? 
 
 Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 
 
 [Celia and Rosalind retire.) 
 
 Jaq. I thank you for your cdinpiUiy ; but, good 
 faith, I liad as lief have been myself alone. 
 
 Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion's sake, I 
 thank you too for your society. [can. 
 
 Jaq. God be with you ; let's meet as little as we 
 
 Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 
 
 Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
 ove-songs in their barks. 
 
 Orl. I pray you, mar no tnore of my verses with 
 reading them ill-favouredly. 
 
 Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? 
 
 Orl. Yes, just. 
 
 ,Taq. I do not like her name. 
 
 Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when 
 she was christen'd. 
 
 Jaq. What stature is she of? 
 
 Orl. Just as high as my heart. 
 
 Jaq. You are full of j^retty answers : Have you 
 not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and 
 conn'd them out of rings ? 
 
 Orl. Not so; but 1 answer you right painted 
 cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. 
 
 Jaq. You have a niuible wit; I think it was made 
 of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? 
 and we two will rail against our mistress the world, 
 and all our misery. 
 
 Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but 
 myself against whom I know most faults. 
 
 Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. 
 
 Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best 
 virtue. 1 am weary of you, 
 
 Jaq. By my troth^ 1 was seeking for a fool, when 
 I Ibund yon. 
 
 Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, 
 and you shall see him. 
 
 Jaq. There shall I see mine own tigure. 
 
 Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. 
 
 Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you : farewell, good 
 signior love. 
 
 Orl. I am glad of your departure : adieu, good 
 monsieur melancholy. ' [ward. 
 
 Exit Jaques. — Celia and Rosalind come for- 
 
 Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, 
 and under that habit play the knave with him. — 
 Do you hear, forester ? 
 
 Orl. Very well ; what would you ? 
 
 Ros. 1 pray you, what is't o'clock ? 
 
 Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day ; there's 
 no clock in the forest. 
 
 Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; 
 else sighing every minute, and groaning e\ery hour, 
 would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. 
 
 Orl. And why not the swii't foot of time ? had not 
 that been as proper? 
 
 Ro.<i. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers^ 
 paces with divers persons : I'll tell you who time 
 ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time 
 gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. 
 
 Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal ? 
 
 Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young mald^. 
 between the contract of her marriage, and the day 
 it is solemnized : if the interiiu be but a se'nnight, 
 time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of 
 ^even years. 
 
 Orl. Who ambles time withal ? 
 
 LIKE IT. 177 
 
 Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a tirh 
 man that hath not the gout : for the one sleeps 
 , easily, because he cannot study ; and the other lives 
 merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking 
 the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other 
 knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury : These 
 time ambles withal. 
 
 Orl. Who doth he gallop withal ? 
 Ros. With a tliief to the gallows : for though he 
 go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too 
 soon there. 
 
 Orl. Who stays it still withal ? 
 Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep 
 between term and term, and then they perceive not 
 how time moves. 
 
 Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? 
 Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here hi 
 the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat 
 Orl. Are you native of this place ? 
 Ros As the coney, that you see dwell where she 
 is kindled. 
 
 Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could 
 purchase in so removed a dwelling. 
 
 Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, 
 an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, 
 who was in his youth an in land man ; one that 
 knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. 
 1 have heard him read many lectuies against it; and 
 I thank God I am not a woman, to be touch d with 
 so many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd 
 their whole sex withal. 
 
 Orl. Can you remember any of" the principal evils, 
 that he laid to the ciiarge of women ? 
 
 Ros. There were none principal ; they were all 
 like one another, as half-pence are : every one fault 
 seeming monstrous, till his i'ellow fault came to 
 match it 
 
 Orl. I pry'tliee, recount some of them. 
 Ros. No ; I w'ill not cast away my jihysic, but 
 on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the 
 forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 
 Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon haw- 
 thorns, and elegies on brambles; all, ibrsooth, 
 deii'ying the name of Rosalind : if I could meet 
 that fancy monger, 1 would give him some good 
 counsel, tor he seems to have the quotidian of love 
 upon him. 
 
 Orl. I am he that is so love- snaked ; I pray you 
 tell me your remedy. 
 
 Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon yon : 
 he taught nie how to know a man in love ; in which 
 catje of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. 
 Orl. What were his marks ? 
 Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue 
 eye, and sunken ; which you have not : an unques- 
 tionable sirit ; which you have not : a beard neg- 
 lected \ which you have not : — but I pardon you for 
 that ; lor, simply, your having in beard is a younger 
 brother's revenue : — Then your hose should be un- 
 garter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbut- 
 ton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you 
 demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are 
 no such man; you are rather point-de-vice in your 
 aceoutreniPiits ; as loving yourself, than seeming 
 the lo'- er of any other. 
 
 Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- 
 lieve J love. 
 
 Ros, Me believe it ? you may as soon make her 
 that you iove believe it ; which I warrant, she is 
 apter to do, than to confess she does : that is one of 
 the points, in the which women still give the lie to 
 their consciences. B\it, in good sooth, are yo'i he 
 tliat hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosa- 
 lind is so admired ? 
 
 Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of 
 Rosalind, t am that he, that unfortunate he. 
 
 Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
 speak? [much 
 Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
 Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, i tell voa, 
 
 12 
 
AS YOU 
 
 LIKE IT. 
 
 Act IU 
 
 lieserves as "well a dark house and a whip, as mad- 
 ■m<£Q do : and the reason why they are not so [.u- 
 Qisiied and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, 
 that the whippers are in love too : Yet I profess 
 curing it by counsel. 
 
 Orl. Did you ever cure any so? 
 
 Jios. Yes, one ; and in tins manner. He was to 
 imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him 
 every day to woo me : at which time would I, 
 being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, 
 changeable, longing, and hking ; proud, fantastical, 
 apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of 
 einiles ; lor every passion something, and for no 
 passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for 
 the niosl part cattle ol' this colour : would now like 
 him, now loath him ; then entertain him, then for- 
 swear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; 
 that I drave my suitor irom his mad humour of love, 
 to a living humour of madness; which was, to for- 
 swear tae full stream of the world, and to live in a 
 nook merely monastic : And thus 1 cured him; 
 and this way will i take upon me to wash your liver 
 as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that tliere shall 
 not be one spot of love in t. 
 
 Orl. 1 would not be cured, youth. 
 
 Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me 
 Rosalind, and f.ome every day to my cote, and woo 
 nie. [me where it is. 
 
 Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell 
 
 Run. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you ; and, 
 by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest 
 you live : 'vVill you go? 
 
 Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 
 
 Rus. JSay, you must call me Rosalind: — Come, 
 sister, will you go ? [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey; Jaques at a 
 distance observinij them. 
 
 Touch. Come apace, good Ar.drey ; 1 will fetch 
 np your goats, Audrey: And liow, Audrey am I 
 the man yet Doth my simple feature content you ? 
 
 Aud. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what 
 I'eatures ? 
 
 Touch. I auj here with thee and thy goats, as the 
 most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the 
 Goths. 
 
 Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited I worse than Jove 
 in a tliatch'd house 1 {Aside.) 
 
 Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- 
 stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for- 
 ward cliild, understanding, it strikes a man more 
 dead tlian a great reckoning in a little room : — 
 Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. 
 
 Aud. I do not know what poetical is : Is it 
 honest in deed and word ? Is it a true thing ? 
 
 Touch. No, truly ; lor the truest poetry is the 
 most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry ; and 
 what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, 
 they do leign. 
 
 Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made 
 me poetical ? 
 
 Touch. I do, truly : for thou swear'st to me, thou 
 art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have 
 some hope thou didst feign. 
 
 Aud. Would you not have me honest? 
 
 Touch. No truly, un ess thou wert hard favour'd ; 
 for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a 
 sauce to sugar. 
 
 Jaq. A material fool I {Aside.) 
 
 Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray 
 the gods make me honest ! 
 
 Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a 
 foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 
 
 Aud. I am not a slut, though 1 thank the gods 1 
 am foul. 
 
 Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness I 
 •luttishneso may come hereafter. But be it as it 
 way be, 1 wiil marry thee : and to that end, I have 
 been with »Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next 
 
 village : who hatl promised to meet me in this place 
 
 of tiie forest, and to couple us. 
 
 Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. \Andi^ 
 
 Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! 
 
 Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear 
 ful heart, stagger in his attempt: for here we have 
 no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn- 
 beasts. But what though? Courage ! As horns are 
 odious, they are necessary. It is said, — Many a 
 man knows no end of his goods : right : many a 
 man has good horns, and knows no end of them. 
 Well, that is the dowry of his w^ile ; 'tis none of his 
 
 own getting. Horns? Even so: Poor men 
 
 alone ? No, no ; the noblest deer hath thena as 
 
 huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore 
 blessed ? No : as a wall'd town is more worthier 
 than a village, so is the forehe'ad of a married man 
 more honourable than the bare brow ol' a bachelor: 
 and by how much defence is better than no skill, by 
 so much is a horn more precious than to want. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. 
 Here comes sir Oliver: Sir Oliver Mar text, you are 
 well met: Will you despatch us here under this 
 tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ! 
 
 Sir OH. Is there none here to give the woman? 
 
 Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 
 
 Sir OH. Truly she must be given, cr the marriage 
 is not lawful. 
 
 Jaq. [Discovering himself.) Proceed, proceed; 
 1 11 give her. 
 
 Touch. Good even, good master What ye callt. 
 How do you, sir? You are very well met. God'ild 
 you for your last company : I am very glad to see 
 you : — Even a toy in hand here, sir : — Nay, pray 
 be cover'd. 
 
 Jaq. Will you be married, motley ? 
 
 Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his 
 curb, and the faulcon her bells, so man hath his de- 
 sires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be 
 nibbling. 
 
 Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
 be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to 
 church, and have a good priest, that can tell you 
 what marriage is: this fellow will but join you to- 
 gether as they join wainscot; then one of you will 
 prove a shrunk pannel, and, like gi een timber, warp, 
 warp. 
 
 Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better 
 to be married of liim than of another: for he is not 
 like to marry me well ; and not being'well married, 
 it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave 
 my wife. {Aside.) 
 
 Jaq. (io thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 
 
 Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ; 
 We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. 
 Farewell, good master Oliver I 
 
 Not — O sweet Oliver, 
 O brave Oliver, 
 Leave me not behi' the«; 
 But — Wind away. 
 Begone, 1 say, 
 I will not to wedding wi' thee. 
 [Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey. 
 
 Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave 
 of tnem all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit 
 
 Scene I V. — The same. Before a cottage. 
 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 Ros. Never talk to me, 1 will weep 
 Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to 
 consider, that tears do not become a man. 
 Ron. But ha\e I not cause to weep ? 
 Cel. As good cause as one would desire; theiv- 
 fore weep. 
 
 Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colonr. 
 Cel. Something browner than Judas s : marry, hit 
 kisses are Judas s own children. 
 
 Ros. riaith, his hair is of a good colour. 
 
Scene 5. AS YOU 
 
 Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnat was ever 
 the on y coloor. 
 
 Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the 
 touch of holy bread. 
 
 Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana 
 a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli- 
 giously; the very ice of chastity is in them. 
 
 Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
 morning, and comes not ? 
 
 Cel Nay certainly, there is no truth in him. 
 
 Ros. Do you think so ? 
 
 Cel. Yes : I think he is not a pick- purse, nor a 
 horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think 
 him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten 
 nut. 
 
 Ros. Not true in love ? 
 
 Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but, I think he is not in. 
 Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he 
 was. 
 
 Cel IVas is not is : besides, the oath of a lover 
 is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are 
 both the coiifirmers of false reckonings. He attends 
 here in the forest on the duke your father. 
 
 Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much 
 
 Juestion with liim : he asked me, of what parentage 
 was ? I told him, of as good as he ; so he laugh'd, 
 and let nie go. But what talk we of fathers, when 
 there is such a man as Orlando ? 
 
 Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave 
 verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, 
 and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart 
 the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his 
 horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble 
 goose : but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly 
 guides : — Who comes here? 
 
 Enter CoRiN. 
 
 Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquired 
 After the shepherd, that complained of love; 
 Who you saw sitting by me on the turf. 
 Praising tlie proud disdainful shepherdess. 
 That was his mistress. 
 
 Cel. Well, and what of him? 
 
 Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play d, 
 Between tiie pale complexion of true love 
 And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain. 
 Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 
 If you will mark it. 
 
 Ros. O come, let us remove ; 
 
 The sigltt of lovers feedeth those in love : — 
 Bring us unto tiiis sight, and you shall say 
 I'll prove a busy actur in tlieir play. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter SiLVius and Phebe. 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, 
 Phebe : 
 
 Say, that you love me not ; but say not so 
 In bitterness : The common executioner, 
 Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 
 hard. 
 
 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck. 
 But first begs pardon ; Wdl you sterner be 
 Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? 
 Ew^er Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance. 
 
 Phe. I would not be thy executioner; 
 I fly thee, for I woidd not injure thee. 
 Thou tell'st n»e, there is murder in mine eye : 
 Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, 
 That eyes, — that are the Irail'st and softest things, 
 Who shut their coward gates on atomies, — 
 Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers I 
 Now I do frovvn on thee with all my heart ; 
 And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill 
 tliee ; 
 
 Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; 
 Or, if thou can'st not, O, for sliauie, for shame, 
 I/ie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. 
 Now show the wound mine eye liath made in thee : 
 Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
 
 LIKE IT. IJd 
 
 Some .5car of it ; lean bnt upon a rneh. 
 
 The cicatrice and capable nnpressure _ 
 
 Thy palm some moment keeps : but now 
 
 Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee mtt; 
 
 N(^r, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
 
 That can do hurt. 
 
 Sil. O dear Phebe, 
 
 If ever, (as that ever may be near,) 
 You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, 
 Then shall you know the wounds invisible, ^ 
 That love's keen arrows make. 
 
 Phe. But, till that time. 
 
 Come not thou near me : and tvhen that time comes, 
 AfHict me with thy mocks, pity me not; 
 As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. 
 
 Ros. And why, I pray you? {Advancing.) Who 
 might be your movner. 
 That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
 Over the wretched ? What though you have mora 
 
 beauty, 
 
 (As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
 Than without candle may go dark to bed,) 
 Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? 
 Why, what means this ? Why do you look on me? 
 I see no more in you, than in the ordinary 
 Of nature's sale-work : — Od's my little life ! 
 I think, she means to tangle my eyes too: 
 No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not af.er it ; 
 'Tis not your inky brows, your black-silk hair, 
 Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream 
 That can entame my spirits to your vyorship. — 
 You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her 
 Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain ? 
 You are a thousand times a properer man. 
 Than she a woman : 'Tis such fools as you. 
 That make the world full of ill-favour'd children: 
 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; 
 And out of you she sees herself nioie projjer. 
 Than any of her lineaments can show her. — 
 But, mistress, know yourself ; down on your kner% 
 And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
 For I must tell you friendly in your ear, — 
 Sell when you can ; you are rjot for all markets: 
 Cry the man mercy; love him; take his off'er ; 
 Foul is most fijul, beijg foul to be a scoff*er. 
 So, take her to thee, shepherd : — tare you well. 
 Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year to- 
 gether ; 
 
 I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 
 
 Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and 
 she'll fall in love with my anger: if it be so, as {-Asi 
 as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce 
 her with bitter words, — Why look you so upon me? 
 
 Phe. For no ill will I bear you. 
 
 Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, 
 For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
 Besides, I like you not : if you will know ray house 
 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by : — 
 Will you go, sister ? — Shepherd, ply her hard : 
 Come, sister. — Shepherdess, look on him better. 
 And be not proud : though all the world could see 
 None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
 Come, to our flock. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosalind. Celia, and Corin. 
 
 Phe. Dear shepherd ! now I find thy saw of 
 might ; 
 
 Who ever lou'd, that lov'd not at first eight ? 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 
 
 Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou. Silvias 1 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
 
 Phe. Why, 1 am sorry for thee, gentle Silviaa. 
 
 Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; 
 If you do sorrow at my grief in love, 
 By giving love, your sorrow and my grief 
 VVere both extermined. 
 
 Phe. Thou hast my love ; is not that neighbourly? 
 
 Sil. I would have ycu. 
 
 Phe. Why, that were covetonsness. 
 
 Silvius, the ti«ne was, that I hated thee ; 
 And vet it is not, that I bear thee loV€: 
 
180 
 
 AS rOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 But since that tnou canst talk of love so well, 
 J'ltiv company, wliich erst was irksome to me, 
 \ wiii endure ; and I'll employ thee too : 
 13 U'. tio mt look tor further recompense. 
 Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 
 
 Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, 
 And I in such a po\erty of grace, 
 lliat I shall think it a most plenteons crop 
 To glean the broken ears after t'he man 
 Thai the main harvest reaps : loose now and then 
 A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. 
 
 P/ie. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me 
 ere while V 
 
 Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; 
 And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds, 
 That the old carlot once was master of. 
 
 Phe. Think not I love him, though 1 ask for him; j 
 'Tis but a peevish boy : — yet he talks well ;— j 
 But what care I for words ? yet words do well. 
 When he, that speaks them, pleases those that hear. ] 
 It is a pretty youth : — not \ery pretty : — I 
 But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes | 
 him : 
 
 He'll make a proper man : The best thing in hira 
 Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 
 Did make offence, his eye did he;d it up. 
 He IS not tall ; yet for his years he's tall : 
 His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 
 I'here was a pretty redness in his lip; 
 A little riper and more lusty red 
 Than lhat mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the dif- 
 ference 
 
 Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. 
 There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd 
 him 
 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 
 To lall in love with him : but, lor my part, 
 
 I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet 
 
 { have moie cause to hate him than to love him : 
 
 For what had he to do to chide at n)e ? 
 
 He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black ; 
 
 And, now I am reniember'd, scorn'd at me : 
 
 1 marvel, why I answer'd not again: 
 
 But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. 
 
 I'll write to him a very taunting letter, 
 
 And thou shalt bear it . Wilt thun, Silvius ? 
 
 Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 
 
 P/ie. I'll write it straight ; 
 
 The matter's in my head, and in my heart: 
 I will be bilter with him, and passing short : 
 Go with me, Silvius. [ExJ'unt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The same, 
 Entei' Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. 
 
 Jaq. 1 pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better 
 acqtiamted with thee. 
 
 Kos. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
 
 Jaq. I am so ; I dt) love it better than laughing. 
 
 Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are 
 abominable fellows ; and betray themselves to every ' 
 modern censure, worse than drunkards. 
 
 Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 
 
 Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 
 
 Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
 which is emulation ; nor the musician's, which is 
 fnnlastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor 
 the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, 
 which is politic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor 
 the lover's, which is all these : but it is a melancholy 
 of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted 
 from many objects ; and, i:ideed, the sundry con- 
 templation of my travels in which my often rumin- 
 ation wraps me, is a most h'lmorous sadness. 
 
 Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great 
 reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own 
 lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, 
 and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
 banris. 
 
 ^aq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 
 
 Enter Orlando. 
 
 Ros. And your experience makes yoa sad I 
 rather have a fool to make me merry, thnn expe- 
 rience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. 
 
 Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 
 
 Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk ir> 
 blank verse. [Exit. 
 
 Rot. Farewell, monsieur traveller : Look, you 
 lisp, and wear strange salts ; disable all the bene- 
 fits of your own country ; be out of love with your 
 nativity, and almost chide God for niaking you that 
 conntenarice yon are ; or I will scarce think you hav^e 
 swam in a gondola. — W'hy, how now, Orlando! 
 wliere have you been all this while? You a lover? 
 — An you serve me such another trick, never come 
 in my sight more. 
 
 Orl. Aly fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of 
 my promise. 
 
 Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ? Me that 
 will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and 
 break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute 
 in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that 
 Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant 
 him heart-whole. 
 
 Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in 
 my sight : I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. 
 
 Or/. Of a snail ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
 he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, 
 I think, than you can make a woman : besides, he 
 brings l)is destiny with him. 
 
 Orl. What's that ? 
 
 Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to 
 be beholden to your wives for : but hi- comes 
 armed in his fortune, and prevents the slanrler of I is 
 wife. jviriuous. 
 
 Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is 
 
 Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a 
 Rosalind of a better leer than you. 
 
 Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in 
 a holiday humour, and like enough to consent: — 
 What would you say to me now, an I were your 
 very Rosalind? 
 
 Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when 
 you were gravelled for lack of m !t!er, y u might 
 take occasion to kiss. Very good oraturs, when 
 they are out, they will spit; and lor lovers, lacking 
 (God warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 
 
 Orl. How if the kiss be denied 
 
 Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there 
 begins new matter. [mistress ? 
 
 Orl. W^ho could be out, being before his beloved 
 
 Ros. Marry, that should you, if I vvere your 
 mistress ; or 1 should think my honesty ranker than 
 my wit. 
 
 OrL What, of my suit ? 
 
 Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your 
 suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. 1 take some joy to say you are, because I 
 would be talking of her. [you. 
 
 Ros Well, in her person, I say, I will not have 
 
 Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. 
 
 Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. Tiie poor world 
 is almost six thousand \ears old, and in all this (itne 
 there was not any man died in his own person, vide- 
 licet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed 
 out with a Giecian club ; yet he did what he coulJ 
 to die btfore ; and he is one of the patterns of lovt, 
 Leandi r, he would have lived many a fair year 
 though Hero had turned nun, if it had not betn fo 
 a hot midsimimer night : for, good youth, he wen 
 but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, anri 
 beiuM taken with the cramp, was drowned ; ar d th» 
 foolish chroniclers of that age found it was — Her#, 
 ot Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died 
 from time to tiaie, and worms have eaten them, bni 
 not ibr love. 
 
Scene 3. AS YOU 
 
 Orl. I would not have my riglit Rosalind of this 
 •nind; for, 1 protest, her frow n mif^ht kill me. 
 
 Rus. By this hiuid, it will not kdl ti fly : But 
 come, now 1 will he your llosalind in a more 
 coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, 
 
 will grant it. 
 
 Orl. 'I'hen love me, Rosalind. 
 
 lios. Ves, faith will I, Fridays and Saturdays, 
 
 Orl. And wilt thou ha'.e me i [and all. 
 
 Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 
 
 Orl. VV hat say s» tlicu ? 
 
 Run. Are you not good ? 
 
 Orl. I hope so. 
 
 Rus. VVliy then, can one desire too much of a good 
 tUin^ ? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and 
 marry us. — Citve me your hand, Orlando : — What do 
 you say, sister i 
 
 Orl. I'ray thee, marry us. 
 
 Cel. I cannot say the words. 
 
 Rus. \o\\ tniist Ijegin, Will you, Orlando, — 
 
 6V/. Cio to : W ill you, Orlando, ha\ eto\vife 
 
 Orl. 1 w ill. Ithis Rosalind ? 
 
 Rus. Ay, but when? 
 
 Orl. W'liy now ; as fast as she can marry us. 
 Rus. Tiien you njust say, — 1 lake t/ie.e, Rosalind, 
 fur tvife. 
 
 Orl. i take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 
 
 Rus. I might ask you for your conmiission ; but, 
 — I do take thee, Orlando, lor my husband : Tiiere 
 a girl goes before the priest: and, certainly, a 
 woman's thought runs belore iier actions. 
 
 Orl, So do all thoughts : they are winged. 
 
 Rus. Now tell iue, how long you would have her, 
 after you ha\e possessed her. 
 
 Orl. Vor ever, and a tlay. 
 
 Rus. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Or- 
 lando; men are April when they woo, December 
 when they wed ; maids are May when they are 
 iiiai(U, but the sky changes when they are wives. I 
 will be more jealous ol thee tlian a Barbary cock- 
 pigeon over his lien; more clamorous than a parrot 
 n,i,fainst rain ; more new-fangled tlian an ape ; more 
 ^iddy in my desires than a monkey ; I will weep 
 lisr notliing,' like Diana in the fountain, and I will 
 Ho that wiien you are disposed to be merry ; I will 
 bugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined 
 lo sleep. 
 
 .0/7. But will my Rosalind do so? 
 Rus. By my life, she will do as 1 do. 
 Orl. O. but she is wise, 
 
 Rus. Or else she could not have the wit to do 
 this: tiie wiser, the waywarder : Make the doors 
 npon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; 
 shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole ; stop that, 
 'tw ill lly with the smoke out at the chimney. 
 
 Orl. A nran, that had a wife with such a wit, he 
 iijiuht say, — Tf^it, wlidker, ivilt ! 
 
 Rus: 5iay, you might keej) tliat ch<»ck for it, till 
 you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's 
 bed. [that? 
 
 Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse 
 
 Rwi. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. 
 You shall never take her without her answer, unless 
 you take her w ithout her tongue. O, that woman 
 that cannot make her faidt her husband's occasion, 
 let her never imrse her child herself, for she will 
 breed it like a fool. , [thee. 
 
 Orl. i'\)r tiiese two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
 
 Ros. Alas, dear love, [ cannot lack thee two hours. 
 
 Orl. 1 must attend the duke at dinner; by two 
 o'clock I will be with thee again. 
 
 Ros. Ay, go yoiu- ways, go your ways; — I knew 
 what you would prove ; my friends told me as tnuch. 
 aiul I tliougiit no less: — that llattering tongue of 
 yours won me : — 'tis but one cast away, and so, — 
 come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour? 
 
 Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 
 
 Ros By my troth, and in good earnest, and o 
 God mend nie, and by all pretty oatlis, tliat are not 
 dangerous, if you break, one jot of your promise, 
 
 LIKE IT. 18t 
 
 or come one minute behind your hour, I will think 
 you the most patbetical break-promise, and the most 
 hollow lovtr, and the most unworthy of her you call 
 Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band 
 of the unfaithful : therefore, beware my censure, and 
 keep your promise. 
 
 Orl. With no less religion, than if thou we rt in- 
 deed my Rosalind : so, adieu. 
 
 Ros. Well, time is the old justice, thatexamineB 
 all such oifenders, and let time tj-y : Adieu! 
 
 {Exit Orlando. 
 
 Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your 
 love-prate : we must have your doublet and hose 
 plucked over your head, and shew the world what 
 the bird hath done to her own nest. 
 
 Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that 
 thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in 
 love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath 
 an unknown bottom, like the bay ot Portugal. 
 
 ChI. Or rather bottomless; that as fast as you 
 pour affection in, it runs out. 
 
 Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus> 
 that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and 
 born of njadness ; that blind rascally boy, that abuse.s 
 every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him 
 be judge, how deep I am in love : — I'll tell thee, 
 Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : I'll 
 go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 
 
 Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. 
 Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. 
 
 Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman 
 conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's 
 horns upon his head, for a branch of victnry : — Have 
 you no song, forester, for this purpose ? 
 
 2 Lord. Yes, sir. 
 
 Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so 
 it make noise enough. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. What shall he have that Icill'd the deer? 
 
 2. His leather shin and horns to ivear. 
 
 1. Then sing him home : 
 Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ; \ The rest 
 // was a. crest, ere thou wast born, f shall bear 
 
 1. Thy father's father IV ore it ; |this bur- 
 
 2. And thy father bore it : ' den. 
 All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, 
 
 Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. 
 
 Scene III.— The Forest. 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 Rus. How say you novv ? Is it not past two 
 o'clo(^k? And here much Orlando! 
 
 Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled 
 brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone 
 forth — to sleep : — Look, who comes here. 
 
 Enter SiLvius. 
 
 67/. My errand is to you, fair youth ; — 
 My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : 
 
 [Giving a letter.) 
 I know not the contents ; but, as I guess, 
 By the stern brow and waspish action 
 Which she did use as shf was writing of it, 
 It bears an angry tenour. pard )n me, 
 I atn but as a gudtless messenger. 
 
 Ros. Patience herself would startle at this lelterj 
 And play the swaggerer; bear (his, bear all : 
 She says I am not fair ; that I lack manners , [mci 
 She calls me proud ; and, that she could not lov« 
 Were man as rare as phoenix ; Od's my will , 
 Her love is not the hare that 1 do hunt : 
 Why writes she .so to me? — Well, shepherd wel^ 
 This is a letter of your own de\ ice. 
 
 Sil. No, I protest, I know not the couten<», 
 Phebe did write it 
 
182 AS YOU 
 
 tlo$. Come, come, you are a fool, 
 
 And turu A into the extremity of love, 
 f sau her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
 A fretstone-colotird hand ; I verily did think, 
 That her old gloves were on, but "twas her hands; 
 She has a huswife's hand ; b'lt that's no matter : 
 I say, she never did invent this letter; 
 This is a man's invention, and his hand. 
 
 Sil. Sure, it is hers. 
 
 Hos. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, 
 A style for challengers; why, she defies me. 
 Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain 
 Could not drop iorth such giant rude invention. 
 Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect 
 Than in their countenance ; — Will you hear the 
 letter? 
 
 Sil. So please you, for T never heard it yet; 
 Yet beard too much of Phebe's cruelty. [writes. 
 
 RcJt. She Phebes me : Mark how the tyrant 
 Art thoti god to shepherd turnd, [Reads.) 
 That a maiden's heart hath hurndl 
 Can a woman rail tluis V 
 
 SiL Call you this railing? 
 
 Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
 
 Warrst thou with a woman s heart ? 
 Did you ever hear such railing? — 
 
 Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 
 That could do no vengeance to tne. — 
 Meaning me a beast. — 
 
 If the scorn of your bright eyne 
 Have power to raise such love in mine 
 ^laclc, in me what strange effect 
 Would they work in mild aspect? 
 Whiles you chid me, I did love ; 
 How then might your prayers move ! 
 He, that brings this love to thee, 
 Little knoivs this love m me : 
 And by him seal up thy mind; 
 ffhether that thy youth and kind 
 irm the faithful offer take 
 Of me, and all that I can make ; 
 Or else by him my love deny. 
 And then I II study how to die. 
 
 Sil Call you this chiding? 
 
 Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
 
 Ros. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no pity. — 
 Wilt thou love such a woman ? — What, to make 
 thee an instrument, and play I'alse strains upon thee ! 
 not to be endured I— Well, go your way to her, (for 
 I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say 
 this to her : — That if she love me, I charge her to 
 love thee : if she will not, I will never have her, 
 unless thou entreat for her. — If you be a true lover, 
 hence, and not a word ; for here com^s more com- 
 jiany. [Exit Silmus. 
 
 Enter Oliver. 
 
 OH. Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you 
 know 
 
 Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands 
 A sheep cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees ? 
 
 Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour 
 bottom. 
 
 The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream. 
 Left on your right hand, brings you to the place : 
 Hut at this hour the house doth keep itself. 
 There's none within. 
 
 Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue. 
 Then I should know you by description 
 Such garments, and such years : The boy is fair. 
 Of female favour, and bestows himself 
 Like a ripe sister: but the woman loiv. 
 And brovner than her brother. Are not you 
 '\'\\(* owner of the house I did inquire for ? 
 
 Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we aie. 
 
 OH. Orlando doth commend him to you both ; 
 And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, 
 Ke sends this bloody napkin: Are you he ? 
 
 Ros. i am ; what must we understand by this ? 
 
 LIKE IT. Act IV 
 
 Oh. Some ol my shame : if you will know of mb 
 What man I am, and how , and why, and wher« 
 This handkerchief was stain'd. 
 
 Cel. 1 pray you, teJl it 
 
 OH. When last the young Orlando parted from 
 He left a promise to return again [ OU; 
 
 Within an hour; and pacing through the forest. 
 Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy; 
 Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside. 
 And, mark, what objf'ct did present itself! 
 Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with aga. 
 And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
 A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair. 
 Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
 A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself. 
 Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'^ 
 The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly 
 Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
 And with indented glides did slip away 
 Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
 A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
 Lay coiictiiiig, head on ground, with cat-like watcia, 
 When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis 
 The royal disposition of that beast. 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
 This seen, Orlando did approach the man. 
 And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 
 
 Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same 
 brother ; 
 
 And he did render him the most unnatural, 
 Th;»t lived 'mongst men. 
 
 OH. And well he might so do 
 
 For well I know he was unnatural. 
 
 Ros. But, to Orlando; — Did he leave him there, 
 Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? 
 
 OH. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so; 
 But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. 
 And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 
 Made him give battle to the lioness, 
 Wiio quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling 
 From miserable slumber I awak'd. 
 
 Cel. Are you his brother? 
 
 Ros. Was it you he rescued ? 
 
 Cel. Was't you, that did so oft contrive to kill 
 him ? 
 
 OH. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Ros. But, for the bloody napkin? — 
 
 OH. By and by 
 
 When from the first to last, betwixt us two. 
 Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 
 As, how I came into that desert place; 
 In brief, he led me to the gentle duke. 
 Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment, 
 Coumiitting me unto my brother's love ; 
 Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
 Inhere stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
 The lioness had torn some flesh away. 
 Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted. 
 And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
 Brief, 1 recover'd him; bound up his wound; 
 And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 
 He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
 To tell this story, that you might excuse 
 His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 
 Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 
 That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Gany- 
 mede ? [Rosalind faints.) 
 
 OH. Many will swoon when they do look on blood 
 
 Cel. There is more in it: — cousin — Ganymede! 
 
 OH. Look, he recovers. 
 
 Ros. I would, I were at home* 
 
 Cel. We'll lead you thither : — 
 I prav you, will you take him by the arm? 
 
 Oh. Be of good cheer, youth: — You a man?— 
 You lack a man's heart. 
 
 Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body woniol 
 think this was ,weli counterfeited : 1 pray you, 
 
Act \. Scene 2. AS YOU 
 
 our brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh 
 o!— - 
 
 GIL This was not counterfeit ; there is too great 
 estimony in your complexion, that it was a passion 
 of earnest. 
 
 Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 
 
 OH. Weil then, take a good heart, and counter- 
 feit to be a man. 
 
 Ros. So I do : but i'faith, I should have been a 
 ^vtonmn by right. 
 
 Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, 
 draw homewards: — Good sir, go with us. 
 
 OH. That will T, lor I must bear answer back 
 ilow you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. I shall devise something: but, I pray you, 
 commend my counterfeiting to him : — Will you go? 
 
 lExeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — T/ie satne. 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Fouck. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, 
 gentle Audrey. 
 
 Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 
 the old gentleman's saying. 
 
 Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most 
 vile Mar text. But, Audrey , there is a youth here 
 in the forest lays claim to you. 
 
 Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interest in 
 me in the world : here comes the man you mean. 
 
 Enter William. 
 
 Touch, It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. 
 By my troth, we that liave good wits, have much to 
 answer for; we shall be flouting^ we cannot hold. 
 
 U^ill. Good even, Audrey. 
 
 Aud. God ye good even, William. 
 
 Tf^ill. An ! good even to you, sir. 
 
 Touch. Good even, gentle friend : cover thy 
 head, cover thy head : nay, prithee, be covered. 
 How old !ire you, friend ? 
 
 fFill. Five and twenty, sir. 
 
 Touch. A ripe age : is thy name William ? 
 
 mil. William, sir. _ [here ? 
 
 Touch. A fair name : Wnst born i' the forest 
 
 Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. 
 
 Touch. Thanh God; — a good answer: art rich? 
 
 Will. Faith, sir. so so. 
 
 Touch. So, so, is goud.-^very good, very excelle t 
 good : — and yet it is not ; it is but so so. Art thou 
 
 PP^i/l. Ay, sir, I have a pre1;ty wit. [wise ? 
 
 Touch. Why, tnou say'st well. I do now re- 
 member a saying ;*T/te fool doth think he is wise, 
 but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The 
 heathen phiU)sopher, when he had a desire to eat a 
 grape, would oj)en his lips when he put it into his 
 mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to 
 eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid ? 
 
 Will. I do, sir. 
 
 Touch. Give me your hand : art thou learned ? 
 Will. No, sir. 
 
 Touch. Then learn this of me: to have, is to 
 have: for it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being 
 poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one 
 doth empty the other: for all your writers do con- 
 sent, that ipse is he , now, you are not ipse, for 1 am 
 
 ft ill. Which he, sir? [he. 
 
 Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman : 
 therefore, y(Ui clown, abandon, — which is in the 
 vulgar leave, — the society, — which in the boorish 
 Is, company, — of this female, — which in the com- 
 [iDon is, woman, — which together is, abandon the 
 '-"ciety of this iemale ; or, clown, thou perishest; or, 
 ^ thy bettei undt-rstaiiding. diest ; to wit, I kill 
 make thee away, translate thy life into death, 
 tiiy lib( ity into bondage: I will deal in poison with 
 thee, rin bastinado, or in steel : I will bandy with 
 the<; faction; 1 will o'er-run thee with p )iicy ; I 
 will Kji\ thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore 
 tremble, and depart. 
 
 LIKE IT. 18% 
 Aud. Do, good William. 
 
 PrUl. God rest you merry, sir. I Exit. 
 
 Enter Corin. 
 
 Cor. Our master and mistress seek tew; come, 
 away, away. 
 
 Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey : — I attend, 
 I attend. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — The same. 
 Enter Orlando and Oliver. 
 
 Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance 
 you should like her? that, but seeing, you should 
 love her? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she should 
 grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? 
 
 Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, 
 the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my 
 sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but 
 say with me, I love Aliena ; say with her, that she 
 loves me: consent with both, that we may enjoy 
 each other: it shall be to your good; for my 
 fathers house, and all the revenue that was old sir 
 Rowland's, will I estate upon you. and here live 
 and die a shepherd. 
 
 Enter Rosalind. 
 
 Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding 
 be to-morrow; thither will I invite the duke, aod 
 all his contented followers : go you, and prepare 
 Aliena ; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. God save you, brother. 
 
 Oli. And you, fair sister. 
 
 Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to 
 see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 
 Orl. It is my arm. 
 
 Ros. I thought, thy heart had been wounded 
 with the claws of a lion 
 
 Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady 
 Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counter 
 feited to swoon, when he show'd me your hand- 
 kerchief? 
 
 Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 
 
 Ros. O, I know where you are ; — Nay, 'tis true , 
 there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight 
 of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of— / 
 came, saw, and overcame : For your brother and 
 my sister no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner 
 looked, but they loved; no sooner loved, but they 
 sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked one ano- 
 ther the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but 
 they sought the remedy : and in these degrees have 
 they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they 
 will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before 
 marriage: they are in the very wrath of love, and 
 they will together ; clubs cannot part them. 
 
 Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and I wi'IJ 
 bid the duke to the nuptials. But, O, how bitter a 
 thinof it is to look into happiness through another 
 man's eyes ! By so much the more shall 1 to-mor- 
 row be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how 
 much I shall think my brother happy, in having 
 what he wishes for. 
 
 Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve youi 
 turn for Rosalind? 
 
 Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 
 
 Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle 
 talking. Know of me then, (for now I speak to 
 some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman 
 of good conceit: I speak not this, that you should 
 bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, 1 
 say, I know you are ; neithei do I labour for a 
 greater esteem than nay in some little measure 
 draw a belief from ycu to do yourself good, and 
 not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that 
 I can do strange things : I have, since 1 was three 
 years old, conversed witli a magician, inost profound 
 in his art, and yet not damnable. If you do love 
 Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it 
 out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall yoa 
 marry her: I know into what straits of fortuuti 
 
184 
 
 AS YOU 
 
 LIKE IT. 
 
 Act T. 
 
 she is driven ; and it is not impossible to me, if it 
 appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before 
 your eyes to-morrow, human as slie is, and vvithout 
 ifay dttnger 
 
 O/l. Sjieakest thou in sober meanings ? 
 
 Ros. By my hie, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
 thouoh i say i am a magician: therefore, put you 
 in your best array, bid your friends; for if you will 
 be married to-morrow, you shall ^ and to Rosalind, 
 if you will. 
 
 Enter Silvius and Phebe. 
 Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. 
 
 P/m Youth, you have do»e nu' much ungentleness, 
 To show tiif letter that 1 writ to you. 
 
 .Ro* ! caie not if 1 liave : it is my study, 
 To Sf^ i despiteful and ungentle to you : 
 You a? i there foUow'd by a faithful shepherd ; 
 liook I pon him, love him ; he worships you. 
 
 P/te. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to 
 love. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — 
 
 P/te. And I for Ganymede. 
 Ori. And I (or Rosalind. 
 Ros. And I ibr no woman. 
 
 Si/. It is to be all made of faith and service; — 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 P/ie. And 1 for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And I ibr Rosalind. 
 
 Rui>. And I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. k is to be all nmde of fantasy, 
 A I! niade of passion, and all made of wishes; 
 All adoration, luty and observance, 
 All hujibleness, al' uatience, and impatience. 
 All purity, all tria.. .til observance; — 
 And so am 1 for PheOe, 
 
 P/ie. And so am i for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros And so am I for no woman. 
 
 P/ie. Jf this be so, why blan.e you me to love 
 you ? [To Rosalind.) 
 
 Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
 youV {To Phebe.) 
 
 Orl. It this be so, why blame yon me to love you V 
 
 Rus. Who do you speak to, why blame you me 
 to love you ? 
 
 Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear.' 
 
 Ros. Pray yon, no n)ore of this I 'tis like the 
 howling ol Irish wohes against the moon. — 1 will 
 help you, [to Silvius) if I can: — I would love you, 
 [to Phebe) if I could. — To-morrow meet ine all to- 
 gether. — I will marry you, [to Phebe) if ever I 
 marry woman, and 111 be married tomorrow: — 1 
 will satisly you, [to Orlando) if ever I satisfied 
 man, and yon shall be married to-morrow: — I will 
 content yon, [to Silvius) \i' wlvAt pleases you con- 
 tents yon, and you shall be married tomorrow. — 
 As you [to Orlando) love Rosalind, meet ; — as you 
 {to Silvius) love Pliebe, meet; — and as 1 love no 
 woman, 1 11 meet. — So, fare you well; 1 have lett 
 you coinniands. 
 
 Sil. I 11 not fail, ifl live. 
 
 Phe. Nor I. 
 
 Orl. Nor I. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III.— The same. 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 Tiuch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; 
 to morrow will we be married. 
 
 Aud. I do desn-e it with all my heart : and I hope 
 It is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of 
 the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's 
 pagt!S. 
 
 Enter two Pages. 
 I Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 
 Touch. By my troth, well met : Come, sit, sit, 
 and a mug. 
 
 2 Page. We are for you : sit i' the middle. 
 
 1 Page. Shall we clap into t roundly, without 
 hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse ; which 
 are the only prologues to a bad \oice? 
 
 2 Page. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, lika 
 two gipsies on a horse. 
 
 SONG 
 
 It tvas a lover, and his layn. 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nontno. 
 That o er the green ror/i Jield did pass, 
 
 In the spring limey the only jiretly rank time. 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 11. 
 
 Between the acres of /he rye. 
 
 With a. hey, and a hu, and a hey nouino, 
 These pretty country folks would lie. 
 
 In spring time, ^'c. 
 
 III. 
 
 This carol they began that hour, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 How that a lije was but a flower 
 
 In spring lime, ^'c. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And therefore lake the present time, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; 
 
 For love is croicned lu/fh the prime 
 In spring time, ^'c. 
 
 Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there 
 was no greater matter in the ditty, yt-t the note was 
 very untnneable. 
 
 1 Page. \'ou are dec^-ived, sir; we kept time, 
 we lost not our time. 
 
 Touch. By my troth, yes ; I ronnt it but time lost 
 to hear such a I'oolisli song. (Jod bt- with you ; and 
 God mend your voices ' Come, Audrey. [EAeunt 
 
 Scene IW— Another Part of the Forest, 
 
 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, J xyuEs, Orlando, 
 Oi.iVEK, and Celia, 
 Puke S. Dost thou bflit-ve, Orlando, that the boy 
 can do all this that he liatli promised ? 
 
 Orl. I sometimes do belies e, and sometimes do not; 
 As those that fear they hope, and know they iear. 
 Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Pmkbe. 
 Rus. Patience once more, whiles onr compact is 
 urged : 
 
 You say, il' i bring in your Rosalind [To the Duke.} 
 \o\\ will bestow her(m Orlando here? 
 
 Duke S. That would J, had I kingdoms to give 
 with her. 
 
 Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I 
 bring her? [To Orlando) 
 
 Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king-. 
 Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if 1 be willing? 
 
 [To Ph*'be.) 
 Phe. T\\i\i will I, should 1 die the hour alter 
 Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me. 
 You'll give yourself to this most iaitliiul shepherd ? 
 Plie. So is the bargain. 
 
 Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she 
 will ? [To Silvius.) 
 
 Sil. Though to have her and death were both one 
 thing. (even. 
 Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter 
 Keep you your word, O duke, to give your 
 
 daughter • — 
 You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter :— 
 Keep your word, Phebe, that you ll marry uie; 
 Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — 
 Keep your word, Sihius, that you'll marry her 
 If she ref use me : — and from hence i go. 
 To make these doubts all even. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosalind and Ce 
 
Scene 4, AS YOU 
 
 l>M^e 8. I do remember in this «fiep}ierd-boy 
 Some lively toiiclies of iny daiiglitt- r's favour. 
 
 Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
 Methonght he was a brother to your daughter : 
 But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born ; 
 And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
 Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
 Whom he reports to be a great magician. 
 Obscured in the circle of this forest. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and 
 these couples are coming to the ark! Here comes 
 a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are 
 called tools. 
 
 Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 
 
 Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome : This is 
 tlie motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often 
 me t in the ("orest : he hath been a courtier, he swears. 
 
 Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to 
 my purgation. I have trod a measure ; I have flat- 
 tered a lady ; I have been politic with my friend, 
 smooth with mine enemy ; 1 have undone three 
 t ti'lors ; 1 have had four quarrels, and like to have 
 Icnght one. 
 
 Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? 
 
 Touch. 'Faith, we liiet, and found the quarrel was 
 jijpon the seventh cause. 
 
 Jaq. How seventh cause? — Good my lord, like 
 
 Duke S. I like him very well. _ [this fellow. 
 
 Touch. God'ild you, sir; 1 desire you of the like. 
 J press in here, sir, amorigst the rt st of the country 
 copulatives, to swear, and to forswear; according 
 as uuirriage binds, and blood breaks: — A poor 
 viii;i») sir, an iil-l'avoured thing, sir, hut mine own ; 
 ;i poor humour of mine, sir, to take that, that no man 
 else will : rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in 
 n po)r house; as your pearl, in your foul oyster. 
 
 JJ ikf. S. By my iaith, he is very swift and sen- 
 tentious. 
 
 Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such 
 dulcet diseases. 
 
 Jaq. But, for the seventh cause ; how did you find 
 the quarrel on the seventh cause? 
 
 Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; — Bear 
 _^our body more seeming, Audrey : — as thus, sir. I 
 ciid dislike the. cut of a certain courtier's beard; he 
 sent me word, it I said his beard was not cut well, 
 he was in the mind it was : This is called the Re- 
 tort courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not 
 well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please 
 himself: This is called the Quip modest. If again, 
 it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This 
 is call'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : This 
 is call'd the Reproqf valiant. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would say, I lie. Tliis is call'd the 
 Cou7itercheck quarrelsome : and so to the Lie cir- 
 cumstantial, and the Lie direct. [well cut? 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not 
 
 Touch. 1 durst go no further tliao the Lie circum- 
 stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct; 
 and so we measured swords, and parted. 
 
 Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
 of the lie ? 
 
 Touch. Q, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book ; 
 as you have books for good manners : I will name you 
 the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous; the 
 second, the Quip modest; the third, the Reply 
 churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth, 
 the Countercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie 
 with circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie direct. All 
 these you niay avoid, but the lie direct; and you 
 may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven 
 •ustices could nut take up a quarrel ; but when the 
 
 tarlies were met themselves, one of them thought 
 ut of an If, as, If you said so, then I said so; 
 And they s.-iook hands, and swore brothers. Your 
 ^is the only p«ace-maker ; much virtue in If. 
 
 LIKE IT. 185 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as 
 good at any thing, and yet a fool. 
 
 Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking hor§e, 
 and under presentation of that, he shoots his wit 
 
 Enter Hymen, leadinrj Rosalind in wvnuatf» 
 clothes; «wc/Celia. 
 
 Still Music. 
 Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven. 
 When earthly things made even. 
 
 Atone together. 
 Good duke, receive thy daughter, 
 Hymen from heaven brought her, 
 
 Yea, brought her hither ; 
 That thou might' st join her hand ivith hiSj 
 Whose heart ivithin her bosom is. 
 
 Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [To Duke 8.) 
 
 To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [To Orlando:) 
 
 Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my 
 daughter. [lind. 
 Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosa> 
 Phe. If sight and shape be true, 
 Why then, — my love, adieu ! 
 Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : — 
 
 (I'oDukeS.) 
 
 I'll have no husband, if yo» be not he 
 
 {To Orlando.) 
 
 Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. {To Phebe*) 
 Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion : 
 'Tis I must make conclusion 
 
 Of these most strange events ! 
 Here's eight that must take hands. 
 To join in Hymen's bands, 
 If truth holds true contents. 
 You and you no cross shall part* 
 
 {To Orlando and Rosalind.) 
 You and you are heart in heart : 
 
 ^ To Oliver and Celia, 
 You {To Phebe) to his love must accord. 
 Or have a woman to your lord :— 
 You and you are sure together, 
 
 {To Touchstone and Audrey,) 
 As the winter to foul weather. 
 Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing. 
 Feed yourselves with questioning; 
 That reason wonder ntay diminish, 
 How thus we met, and these things finish. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Wedding is great Juno's crotvn; 
 
 0 blessed bond of board and bed ! ('. 
 *T^A' Hymen peoples every toivn; 
 
 High wedlock then be honoured ! 
 Honour, high honour and renown^ 
 To Hymen, god of every toivn ! 
 
 Duke S. O, my dear niece, welcome thou art to 
 Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. [me; 
 
 Phe. I will not eat my word : now thou art mine; 
 Thv faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 
 
 {To Silvius) 
 
 Enter Jaques de Bois. 
 Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word oT 
 1 am the second son of old sir Rowland, [twaj 
 That bring these tidings to this fair assembly;— 
 Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
 Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
 Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot. 
 In his own conduct, purposely to take 
 His brother here, and put him to the sword: 
 And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; 
 Where, meeting with an old religious man. 
 After some question with him, was conveiietl 
 Both from his enterprize and from t)-' worMs 
 
188 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 His crown beqgeathing to his banish'd brother, 
 And all their lands restor'd to them again 
 That were with him exil'd : This to be true, 
 I do eng^age my life. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, young man ; 
 
 Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding : 
 To one, his lands withheld ; and to the other, 
 A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
 First, in this forest, let us do those ends, 
 That here were well begun, and ^'ell begot : 
 And after, every of this happy number, 
 That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, 
 Shall share the good of our returned fortune. 
 According to the measure of their states. 
 Meantime, forget this new-falln dignity. 
 And fall into our rustic revelry : — 
 Play, music ; — and you brides and bridegroonjs all. 
 With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 
 
 Jag. Sir, by your patience ; if I heard you rightly, 
 The duke hath put on a religious life, 
 And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 
 
 Jaq de B. He hath. 
 
 Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
 There is much matter to be heard and leain'd. — 
 Voii to your former honour 1 bequeath ; 
 
 {To Duke S.) 
 Vour patience, and your virtue, well deserves it : — 
 Yo^i {io Orlat do) to a love that your true faith doth 
 njerit: — [allies: 
 You [to Oliver) to your land, and love, and great 
 You (to Silvius] to a long and well-deserved bed : — 
 And you {to Touchstone) to wrangling ; for thy loving 
 voyage [sures; 
 iA hut foi two ntoiiths viciuall'd : — So to vour lea- 
 
 I am for other than for dancing measures. 
 
 Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay 
 
 Jaq. To see no pastime, I : — what you would have 
 I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [kxit. 
 
 Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these 
 rites. 
 
 And we do trust they'll end in true delights. 
 
 dance.) 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Hos. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epi. 
 
 j logue : but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the 
 lord the prologue. If it be true, that good ivine 
 
 ^needs no busk, 'tis true, that a good play needs no 
 epilogue : Yet to good wine they do use good 
 bushes ; and good plays prove the better by the help 
 of good epilogues. VVhat a case am I in then, that 
 am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insiunate 
 with you in the behalf of a good play ? I am net for 
 nished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not be- 
 come me : my way is, to conjure you ; and I'll begin 
 with the women. I chartje you, O women, for the 
 love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as 
 
 t)lease them : and so I charge you, O men, lor tlie 
 ove you bear to women, (as I perceive by your sim- 
 I pering, none of you hate them,) that between you 
 i and the women, the play may please. If I weie a 
 woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beatos 
 that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and 
 I breaths that I defied not : and, I am sure, as many 
 I as have good beards, or good iaces, or sweet breaths, 
 i will, for my kind offer, when 1 make curt'sy, bid me 
 I farewell. ^ Exeun^. 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 This play has many delightful scenes, though not sufficiently probable; and some happy characters, though not 
 new, nor produced by any deep knowledge of human nature. Parolles is a boaster and a coward, such as has alwajs 
 Deen (he sport of the stage, but perhaps never raised more laughter or contempt than m the haiid^ ot bhakspeare. 
 
 I cannot reconcile my heart to Bertram; a man noble without generosity, and young without (ruth; who marnea 
 Helen as a coward, and leaves her as a profligate : wlien she is dead by his unkindness, sneaks nome to a seconl 
 marriage, is accused by a woman whom he has wronged, defends himself by falsehood and dismissed to happmess. 
 
 The story of Bertram and Diana had been told before of Mariana and Angelo, and, to confess the trutii, scarcelj 
 merited to be heard a second time. Jonnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING OF FRANCE. 
 DUKE OF FLORENCE. 
 BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon. 
 LAFtiO, an old Lord, 
 PAROLLES, a Follower of Bertram. 
 Several young French Lords, that serve with 
 in the Florentine War. 
 
 Stevmrd, 
 
 Cl0W7l, 
 
 Servants to the Countess of Rousillon. 
 
 A Page. ^ 
 COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, Mother to Bertram. 
 HELENA, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess. 
 An old Widoxv of Florence. 
 mk^K. Daughter to the Widot-y. 
 
 Neighbours and Friends t-o the Widon, 
 
 VIOLENTA 
 MARIANA, \ 
 Lords, attending 
 
 g on the Kinq ; Officers, Soldiers, etc, 
 French and Fk entitle. 
 
 Scene, — Partly in France^ and partly in Tuscany, 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Scene \.— Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Bertrajm, the Countess op Rousillon, 
 
 Helena, and Lafeu, in mourmnj. 
 Count. In delivering luy son from me, I bury a 
 second hnsband. 
 
 Ber. And I, in goin^, madam, weep o'er my fa- 
 ther's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's 
 command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in 
 subjection. 
 
 Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, ma- 
 dam : you, sir, a father: he, that so generally is 
 at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue 
 to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where 
 it wanted, rather than lack, it where there is much 
 abundance. [amendment ? 
 
 Count. What hope is there of his majesty's 
 
 Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam ; 
 under whose practices he hath persecuted time with 
 hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process 
 but only the losing of hope by time. 
 
 Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, 
 (O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill 
 was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched 
 so far, would have made nature immortal, and death 
 should have play, for lack of work. 'Would, for the 
 king's sake, he were living ! I think, it would be 
 the death oi the king's disease. 
 
 Laf. How called you the man you speak of, 
 madam ? 
 
 Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and 
 it was his great right to be so : Gerard de Narbon. 
 
 Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam ; the 
 king very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and 
 mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived 
 
 II, if knowledge could be set up against mor- 
 
 ity. [guishes of? 
 
 Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king Ian- 
 La/. A fistula, my lord. 
 
 Ber. 1 heard not of it before. 
 
 Laf. I would, it were not notorious. — Was this 
 gentlewoman the daughte> of Gerard de Narbon ? 
 
 Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed 
 to my overlooking. I have those h)pes of her good, 
 that lier education promises: her dispositions she 
 inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an 
 nocleao mind carries virtuous qualities, there com- 
 mendations go with pity, they are virtues and trai- 
 tors tot) ; in her, they are the better for their simple- 
 ness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her 
 goodness. [tears. 
 
 Laf Your commendations, aadam, get from her 
 
 Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season 
 her praise in. The remembr nee of her father never 
 approaches her heart, but ' ^e tyranny of her sor- 
 rows takes all livelihood frorr her cheek. No more 
 of this, Helena, goto, no r.iore ; lest it be rather 
 thought you aftect a sorrow, Chan to have. 
 
 Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. 
 
 Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the 
 dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. 
 
 Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, th« 
 excess makes it soon mortal. 
 
 Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 
 
 Laf. How understand we that? 
 
 Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and ^cceed thy 
 father 
 
 In manners, as in shape ! thy blood, and virtue. 
 Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness 
 Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, trust a few 
 Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
 Rather in power than use ; and keep thy friend 
 Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence. 
 But never tax'd for speech. What heaven mere wiH, 
 That thee may furnish, aud my prayers pluck down. 
 Fall OP thy head! Fareweil. — lijy lord, 
 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord 
 Advise him. 
 
 Laf. He cannot want the best, 
 
 That shall attend his love. 
 
 Count. Heaven bless him ! — Farewell, Bertram, 
 [Exit Countess. 
 
 Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your 
 thoughts, {to Helena^ be servants to you ! Be 
 comfortable to my iuotner, your mistress, and make 
 mtich of her. 
 
 Laf. Farewell, pretty lady : you must hold the 
 credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and J afeu 
 
 Hel. O, were that all ! — 1 think not on my tather 
 And these great tears grace his remembrance moj^ 
 Than those I shed for him. What was he like ? 
 I have forgot him : my imagination 
 Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's. 
 I am undone ; there is no living, none. 
 If Bertram be away. It were all one, 
 That I should love a bright particular star. 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me : 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself ; 
 The hind, that would be mated by the lion. 
 Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague^ 
 To see him every hour; to sit and dj-aw 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls. 
 In our heart's table ; heart, too capable 
 Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : 
 
188 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act L 
 
 But now he's ffone, and my idolatrous fancy 
 IMust sanctify his relics. Who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ; 
 And yet I know hir^ a notorious Har, 
 Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 
 Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him. 
 That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 
 Look bleak in the cold wiod : withal, full oft we see 
 Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 
 
 Par. Save you, fair quee*, 
 
 Hel. And you, monarch. 
 
 Par. No. 
 
 Hel. And no 
 
 Par. Are you meditating on virginity ? 
 
 Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in yon ; 
 !et me ask you a question: man is eneu'v to \ir- 
 ginity ; how may we barricado it against him ? 
 
 Par. Keep hitn out. 
 
 Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though 
 valiant in the defence, yet is weak; unfold to us 
 some warlike resistance. 
 
 Par. There is none ; man, sitting down before 
 you, will undermine you, and blow you up. 
 
 Hel. Bless our poor virginity iVoui underminers, 
 and blowers up ! — Is there no military policy, how 
 virgins might blow up men? 
 
 Par. Virginity being blown down, man will 
 quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down 
 again with the breach yourseh es made,' you lose 
 your city. It is not |)olitic in the commonwealth of 
 nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is 
 rational increase ; and there was never virgin got, 
 till virginity was first lost That, you were made of, 
 is metal to make virgins. Virginuy, by being once 
 lost, may be ten times found : by being ever kept, 
 it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion, away 
 with it. 
 
 Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore 
 I die a virgin. 
 
 Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against 
 the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- 
 ginity, is to accuse your mothers ; which is most 
 infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is 
 a virgin; virginity mtirders itself; and should be 
 buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a 
 desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds 
 mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itsetl' to the 
 very paring, and so dies with feediiig his own 
 stomach. Besides, virginity is pee\ ish, proud, idle, 
 made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin 
 in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but 
 lose by t: out with't : within ten years it will make 
 itself ten, which is a goodly increase ; and the 
 principle itself not much the worse : away with't. 
 
 Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her 
 own liking? 
 
 Par. Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him that 
 ne'er it likes. "Tis a commodity will lose the gloss 
 with lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : oti" 
 with't, wiule 'tis vend.ble: answer the time of re- 
 quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her 
 cap out of fashion ; richly suited, but unsuitable : 
 just like the brooch and tooth pick, which wear not 
 now : your date is better in your pie and your por- 
 ridge, than in your cheek: and your virginity, your 
 old \irginity, is like one of our French withered 
 pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, "tis a 
 withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 
 tis a withered pear: wdl you any thing with it? 
 
 HeL Not my virginity yet. 
 Viere shall your master have a thousand loves, 
 A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, 
 A i hoenix, captain, and an enemy, 
 A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
 A counsellor, a traitress, and a de;ir; 
 His humble ambition, proud humility. 
 His jarrii.g concord, and his discord dulcet. 
 His faith, his sweet disaster; wit! a world 
 
 Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, 
 That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he— 
 I know not what he shall : — God send hiui well !— 
 The court's a learning- place ; — and he is one-- 
 Par. What one, i'faith ? 
 Hel. That I wish well.— 'Tis pity- 
 Par. What's pity ? 
 
 Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, 
 Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born. 
 Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes. 
 Might with effects of them follow our friends. 
 And show what we alone must think ; which never 
 Returns us thanks. 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 Page. Monsieur Parolles, n.y lord calls for vou 
 
 {Exit Page 
 
 Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remtniber 
 thee, I will think of thee at court. 
 
 Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were bo n under a 
 Par. Under Mars, I. [charitable star 
 
 Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 
 Par. Why under Mars ? 
 
 Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you 
 must needs be born under Mars. 
 Par. When he was predominant. 
 Hel. When he was retrograde, 1 think, rather. 
 Par. Why think you so? 
 
 Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. 
 Par. That's for advantage. 
 
 Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
 safety : but the composition, that your valour and 
 fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
 like the wear well. 
 
 Par. 1 am so full nC business, I cannot answei 
 thee acutely : I will return j)erfer,t courtier; in the 
 which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, 
 so tiiou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and 
 nndi.rstat)d what advice shall thrust upon thee ; else 
 thou diest in thine unthanki'uloess, and thine igno 
 ranee makes thee away : farewell. When thou liasi 
 leisure, say tiiy prayers ; when thou hast none, re 
 member thy friends : get thee a good husband, and 
 use him as he uses thee : so farewell. [Exit 
 
 Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie. 
 Which we ascribe to heaven : the lated sky 
 Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull 
 Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
 What powe.r is it, which mounts my love so high ; 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? 
 The mightiest space in tbrtiine nature brings 
 To join like likes, and kiss like native things. 
 Impossible be strange attempts, to those 
 Tliat weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose. 
 What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove 
 'Vo show her m.erit, that did miss her love ? 
 The king's disease — my project may deceive me, 
 But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Scene IL — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter ike King op Fkance, 
 wit-h letters ; Lords and others attending. 
 
 King. The Florentines and Senoys ar by the ears; 
 Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
 A braving war. 
 
 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 
 
 King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it 
 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
 With caution, that the Florentine will move us 
 For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest f riend 
 Prejudicates the business, and would seem 
 To have us make denial. 
 
 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, 
 
 Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 
 For amplest credence. 
 
 Kinfj. He hath arm'd our aiiswM 
 
 And Florence is denied befoie he comes • 
 Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see 
 The 'I'uscan service, freely they have Irave 
 To stand on either part. 
 
Scene 8. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 180 
 
 2 Lm'd. It may well serve 
 
 A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 
 For b re. thing and exploit. 
 
 K^ig. What's he comes here ? 
 
 Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 
 
 1 Lord. It is the count Kousillon, my good lord, 
 Y'oung Bertr;iin. 
 
 Kinfj. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ; 
 
 Frank, nature, rather curious than in haste. 
 Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts 
 May'st thou inhei it too ! Welcome to Paris. 
 
 Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 
 
 King. 1 would I had that corporal soundness now, 
 As when thy father, and niyself, in friendship, 
 First try'd our soldiership ! He did look far 
 Into the service ol'the lime, and was 
 Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; 
 But on us both did haggish age steal on, 
 And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
 To talk of your good father : In his youth 
 He had the wit, which I can well observe 
 To d;)y in our young lords ; but they may jest, 
 Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, 
 Ere they can hide their levity in honour. 
 So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
 Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were. 
 His equal had awak'd them ; and his honour. 
 Clock to itself, knew the true n)inute, when 
 Exception bid him speak, and, at this time, 
 His tongue obey'd his hand : who were below him, 
 He us'd as creatures of another place ; 
 And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks. 
 Making them proud of his humility. 
 In their poor praise he humbled : Such a man 
 Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
 Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now 
 But goers backward. 
 
 Ber. His good remembrance, sir. 
 
 Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb ; 
 So in approof lives not his epitaph. 
 As in your royal speech. [ways say. 
 
 King. 'Would I were with him! He would al- 
 (Methinks, I hear him now ; his plausive words 
 lie sf att.er'd not in ears, but grafted them, 
 To grow there, and to bear,) — Let me not live, — 
 Thus his o()od melancholy oft began, 
 On the catastrophe and heel of pastime. 
 When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he. 
 After mij jiame lacks oil, to he the snvff 
 
 younger spirits, ivhose apprehensive senses 
 All but neiv things disdain; ivhose judgments are 
 Mere fat hers of their garments ; whose cotistancies 
 
 Expire before their fashions : This he wish'd : 
 
 I, alter him, do after him wish too, 
 Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, 
 I quickly were dissolved from my hive, 
 'J'ogive some labourers room. 
 
 "2 Lord. You are loved, sir; 
 
 Thev. that least lend it yon, shall lack you first. 
 
 King. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't, 
 count. 
 
 Since the physician at your father's died? 
 He was much fam'd. 
 
 Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 
 
 King. If he were living, I would try him yet; — 
 Lend me an arnj ; — the rest have worn me out 
 With several applications : — nature and sickness 
 Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; 
 My son's no dearer. 
 
 Ber. Thank your majesty. 
 
 [Exeunt. Flourish. 
 
 Scene III. — Rousilloiu A Room in the Countesses 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 
 
 Count. I will now hear: what say you of this 
 gentlewoman ? 
 
 Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your 
 conteut, i wish might be found in the calendar of my 
 
 past endeavonrs ; for then we wound our niodefry 
 and make foul tiie clearness of our deservinga, 
 of ourselves we publish them. 
 Cou7it. 
 
 gone. 
 
 mt. What does this knave here ? Get yod 
 sirrah : The complaints I have heard of you, I 
 do not all believe ; 'tis my slowness, that I do not : 
 for, I know, you lack not the folly to commit them, 
 and have ability enough to make such knaveries 
 yours. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, lama pool 
 
 Count. Well, sir. (ttllow. 
 
 Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, 
 though many ol' the rich are daran'd : But if 1 rmj 
 have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, 
 Isbel the vvoman and I will do as we may. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? 
 
 Clo. I do beg your good- will in this case. 
 
 Count. In what case? 
 
 t'lo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is 
 no heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the 
 blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, 
 they say, beams are blessings. 
 
 Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. 
 
 Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it : I am 
 driven on by the fiesh ; and he must needs go, that 
 the devil drives. 
 
 Count. Is this all your worship's reason? 
 
 Clo. Faith, madam, 1 have other holy reason."*, 
 such as they are. 
 
 Count. May the world know them ? 
 
 Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as 
 you and all flesh and blond are; and, indeed, I do 
 marry, that I may repent. [ness. 
 
 Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked- 
 
 Clo. 1 am out of friends, madam ; and I hope to 
 hai e Iriends tor my wife's sake. 
 
 Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
 
 Clo. You are shallow, madam ; e'en great friends ; 
 for the knaves come to do that for me, which I ana 
 a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my 
 team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if 1 be 
 his cuckold, he's my drudge : He, that coniforts my 
 wife, is the cherisiier of my fiesh and blood ; he, 
 that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh 
 and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is rav 
 friend : ergo, he that kisses iny wile, is my frien<L 
 If men could be contented to be what they are, 
 there were no fear in marriage ; for young Charbon 
 the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'ei 
 their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are 
 both one, they may joU horns together, like any 
 deer i' the herd 
 
 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and 
 calumnio'us knave ? 
 
 Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth 
 the next way : 
 
 For I the ballad tvill repeat, 
 
 Which men full true shall find ; 
 Your marriage comes by destiny, 
 Your cuckoo sings by kind. 
 .Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more 
 anon. 
 
 Stew. May it please you, madam, lhat he bid 
 Helen come to you : of her I am to speak. 
 
 Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would 
 speak with her; Helen I mean. 
 
 Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 
 
 {Singing. 
 Why theGrecians sacked Troy ? 
 Fond done, done fond. 
 
 Was this king Priam's joy. 
 With that she sighed as she stood , 
 With that she sighed as she stood. 
 
 And gave this sentence then : 
 Among tiine bad ij' one be go id. 
 Among nine bad if one be good. 
 There's yet one good in t m. 
 Count. VVhat, one good in ten ? you corrupt the 
 song, sirrah. 
 
190 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which is 
 6 purifying o' the song: 'V^'^oiild God wonld serve 
 the world so all the year! A^e'd find no fault with 
 Ihe tythe- woman, if I were the parson : One in ten, 
 quoth a' ! an we might have a good woman born but 
 every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould 
 mena the lottery well : a man may draw his heait 
 out, ere he pluck, one. 
 
 Count. \ ou'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I 
 eonimand you ? 
 
 Clo. That man should be at woman's command, 
 and yet no hurt done ! — Though honesty be no pu- 
 ritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the sur- 
 plice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. 
 — I am going, forsooth : the business is for Helen to 
 come hither. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Count. Well now. [woman entirely. 
 
 Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
 
 Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her 
 to »ne ; and she herself, without other advantage, 
 may lawfully mt)ke title to as much love as she 
 finds: there is more owing her, tlian is paid; and 
 more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. 
 
 Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her 
 than, I think, she wished tne : alone she was, and 
 did communicate to herself, her own words to her 
 own ears ; she thought, I dare vow for her, they 
 touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, 
 she loved your son : Fortune, she said, was no 
 goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their 
 two estates; Love, no god, that wnuld not extend 
 his might, only where qualities were level ; Diana, no 
 queen of virgms, that would suffer her poor knight to 
 be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or 
 ransom afterward : This she delivered in the most 
 bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin ex- 
 claim in : \>hicli 1 held my duty, speedily to ac 
 quaint you withal ; sithence, in the loss that may 
 happen, it concerns you something to know it. 
 
 Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep 
 it to yourself ; many likelihoods informed me of this 
 before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that 
 I could neither believe, nor misdoubt : Pray you, 
 leave me : stall this in your bosom, and 1 thank yon 
 for your honest care : I will speak with you furtiier 
 anon. [Exit Steward. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Count. Even so it was with me, when I was 
 young : 
 
 If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn 
 Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; 
 
 Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
 It is the show and seal of nature's truth, 
 Where love's strong passion is impress d in youth : 
 By our remembrances of days foregone. [none. 
 Such were our faults; — or then we thought them 
 Her eye is sick on't; J observe her now. 
 
 Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ? 
 
 Count. You know, Helen, 
 
 I am a mother to you. 
 
 Hel. Mine honourable mistress. 
 
 Count. Nay, a mother; 
 
 Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, 
 Methought you saw a serpent : What's in mother, 
 That you start at it ? I say, I am your mother ; 
 And put you in the catalogue of tiiose, 
 That were enwombed mine : 'Tis often seen. 
 Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds 
 A native slip to us from foreign seeds: 
 You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan. 
 Yet 1 express to you a mother's care : — 
 God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood. 
 To say, 1 am thy mother? What's the matter, 
 hat this disfemper'd messenger of wet, 
 he many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? 
 
 hv ? that you are niy daughter ? 
 
 /. That I am not. 
 
 i. I say, I assi your mother. 
 
 Pardon, madam : 
 
 The count Rousillon cannot be wy broker : 
 I am from humble, he from honour'd name: 
 No note upon my parents, his all noble : 
 My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
 His servant live, and will his vassal die: 
 He must not be my brother. 
 
 Count. Nor I your mothet ? 
 
 Hel. You are my mother, madam j 'Would yctJ 
 were 
 
 (So that my lord, yonr son, were not my brother.) 
 Indeed my mother ! — or, were you both our motlxiB 
 I care no more for, than I do for heaven. 
 So I were not his sister: Can't no other, 
 But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? 
 Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter- 
 in-law; 
 
 God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother 
 
 So strive upon your pulse : What, pale again ? 
 
 My fear hath catch d your fondness : now I See 
 
 The mystery of vour loneliness, mid find 
 
 Your salt tears' head. Now to ail sense 'tis gross. 
 
 You love my son; invention is asham'd, 
 
 Against the proclamation of the f)assion. 
 
 To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true; 
 
 But tell me then, 'tis so : — for, look, thy cheeks 
 
 Confess it, one to the other: and thine eyes 
 
 See it so grossly shown in tny behaviours, 
 
 That in their kind they speak it : oYily sin 
 
 And hellish obstinacy tie thy tdiigue. 
 
 That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so? 
 
 If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; 
 
 If it be not, forswear't : howe'er, I charge thee, 
 
 As heaven shall work in me for thine avail. 
 
 To tell me truly. 
 
 Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! 
 
 Count. Do you love my son ? 
 
 Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 
 
 Count. Love you my son ? 
 
 Hel. Do not you love him, madam ? 
 
 Count. Go not about ; my love hath in't a bond, 
 Wherecf the world takes note : come, come, disclose 
 The state of your affection ; for your passions 
 Have to the full appeach'd. 
 
 Hel. Then, I confess. 
 
 Here on nfy knee, before high heaven and you, 
 That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
 I love your son : — 
 
 xMy friends were poor, but honest ; so's my love : 
 
 Be' not offended ; for it hurts not him. 
 
 That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not 
 
 By any token of presumptuous suit; 
 
 Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ; 
 
 Yet never know how that desert should be. 
 
 I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; 
 
 Yet, in this captious and intenable sieve, 
 
 I still pour in the waters of my love. 
 
 And lack not to lose still : thus, Indiau-like, 
 
 Religious in mine error, I adore 
 
 The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, 
 
 But knows of him no more. My dearest madam. 
 
 Let not your hate encounter with my love, 
 
 For loving where you do : but, if yourself, 
 
 Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth. 
 
 Did ever, in so true a flame of liking. 
 
 Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian 
 
 Was both herself and love; O tiien, s^ive pity 
 
 To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose 
 
 But lend and give, where she is sure to lt)se ; 
 
 That seeks not to find that her search implies. 
 
 But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. 
 
 Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak \<:\A) . 
 To go to Paris ? 
 
 Hel. Madam, I had. 
 
 Count. Wherefore? tell true 
 
 Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear. 
 You know, my father left nie some prescriptions 
 Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading, 
 And manifest experience, had collected 
 For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me 
 In beedfuUest reservation to bestow them, 
 
Act it. Scene 1. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 191 
 
 notes, whose facnlties inclusive vrere. 
 More than they were in note : amongst the rest. 
 There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, 
 To cure the desperate languishes, whereof 
 The king is render'd lost. 
 
 Count. This was your motive 
 
 For Paris, was it? speak. 
 
 llel. My lord your son made me to think of this ; 
 Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, 
 Had, from the conversation of my thoughts. 
 Haply, been absent then. 
 
 Count. Bnt think you, Helen, 
 
 If you should tender your supposed aid, 
 He would receive it? He and his physicians 
 Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him ; 
 They, that they cannot help: How shall they credit 
 A pooj unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
 Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left otF 
 The danger to itself? 
 
 Hel. There's something hints, 
 
 More than ray father's skill, which was the greatest 
 Of his profession, that his good receipt 
 Shall, fbrfny legacy, be sanctified 
 By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would yoar 
 honour 
 
 But give me leave to try success, I'd venture 
 The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure, 
 By such a day and hour. 
 
 Count. Dost thou believ't? 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. 
 
 Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave 
 and love. 
 
 Means and attendants, and my loving greetings 
 To those of mine in court : I'll stay at home. 
 And pray God's blessing into thy attempt : 
 Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this. 
 What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT n. 
 
 Scene I. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
 
 flourish. Enter King, withy oung Lords, taking 
 leave for the Florentine war ; Bertram, Pa- 
 ROLLES, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike prin- 
 ciples [well : — 
 Do hot throw from you : — and you, my lord, fare- 
 Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain all. 
 The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd. 
 And is enough for both. 
 
 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir. 
 
 After vvell-enter'd soldiers, to return 
 And find your grace in health. 
 
 King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart 
 Will not confess, he owes the malady 
 That doth my life besiege. Farewell, youug lords ; 
 Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
 Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy, 
 (I'hose 'bated, that inherit but the fall 
 Of the last monarchy,) see, that you come 
 Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when 
 The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, 
 That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell. 
 
 '2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your 
 majesty ! 
 
 King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them : 
 They say, our French lack language to deny. 
 If they demand: beware of being captives. 
 Before you serve. 
 Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
 
 King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. 
 
 (The King retires to a couch.) 
 I Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be- 
 hind us ! 
 
 Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark 
 
 ^Jjord. O, 'tis brave wars 
 
 f'<sr. Most admirRible : I have seen those wars 
 JSef. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with 
 Too ifouny, and the ne.vl year, and 'tis too early. 
 
 Par, An thy mind atand to it, boy, sreal awaj 
 bravely. 
 
 Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smcls. 
 Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry. 
 Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, 
 But one to dance with : By heaven I'll steal away. 
 
 1 Lord. There's honour in the theft. 
 
 Par. Commit it, coanL 
 
 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. 
 Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured 
 
 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. [body. 
 "2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles ! 
 
 Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
 Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: — 
 You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one 
 captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of 
 war, here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very 
 sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and ob- 
 serve his reports for me. 
 
 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 
 
 Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! [Exeunt 
 Lords.] — What will you do? 
 
 Ber. Stay; the king (Seeing him rise. J 
 
 Par. Use a more specious ceremony to the no- 
 ble lords; you have restrained yourself within the 
 list of too cold an adieu : be more expressive to 
 them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the 
 time, there, do muster true gait, eat, speak, and 
 move under the influence of the most received star ; 
 and though the devil lead the measure, such are to 
 be followed: after them, and take a more dilated 
 farewell. 
 
 Ber. And I will do so. 
 
 Par. Woitliy fellows, and like to prove most 
 sinewy sword-nien. [Exeunt Bertram and Parolles* 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. Pardon, my lord, ( kneeling ) for me and 
 for my tidings. 
 
 King. I'll fee thee to stand up. 
 
 Laf. Then here's a man 
 
 Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you 
 Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy ; and 
 That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. 
 
 King. I would I had ; so 1 had broke thy pate. 
 And ask'd thee mercy ibr't. 
 
 Laf. Good faith, across : 
 
 But, my good lord, 'tis thus : Will you be car'd 
 Of your infirmity ? 
 
 King. No. 
 
 Laf. O, will you eat 
 
 No grapes, my royal fox ? yes, but you will. 
 My noble grapes, an if my royal tbx 
 Could reach them : I have seen a medicine. 
 That's able to breathe lift into a stone ; 
 Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary, 
 With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch 
 Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay. 
 To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand. 
 And write to her a love-line. 
 
 King. What her is this? 
 
 Laf, Why, doctor she : My lord, there's on€ 
 arriv'd, 
 
 If you will see her, — now, by my faith and honOQTg 
 If seriously I may convey my thoughts 
 In this my iiglit deliverance, I have spoke 
 With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession, 
 VV isd(Hn, and constancy, hath amajs'd me more 
 Than I dare blame my weakness: Will you see Iwi 
 (For that is her demand) and know ber business? 
 That done, laugh well at nie. 
 
 King. Now, gaod L^fett, 
 
 Bring in the admiration ; A\2,\ we with thee 
 May spend our wonder too. or take otf thine. 
 By wondering how thou took'st it. 
 
 Laf Nay, I'll fit yom, 
 
 And not be all day neither. [Exit Laf» 
 
 King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu with Helena. 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways ; 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 is his majesty, say yonr mind to him : 
 
 traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
 His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle. 
 That dare leave two together: fare yon well. [Exii. 
 
 King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us ? 
 
 Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was 
 My father ; in what he did profess, well found. 
 
 King. I knew him. [him; 
 
 fife/. The rather will I spare my praises towards 
 Kiiowing him, is enough. On his bed of death 
 Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one, 
 Which, as the dearest issue of his practice. 
 And of his old experience the only darling, 
 He bade me store up. as a triple eye. 
 Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so : 
 And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
 With that malignant cause, wherein the honour 
 Of my dear father's gift stands ciiief in power, 
 I come to tender it and my appliance, 
 With all bound humbleness. 
 
 King. We thank you, maiden ; 
 
 But may not be so credulous of cin-e, — 
 When our most learned doctors leave us ; and 
 The congregated college have concluded. 
 That labouring art can never ransom nature 
 From her unaidable estate, — I say, we must not 
 So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
 To prostitute our past-cure malady 
 To empirics ; or to dissever so 
 Our great self and oiu" credit, to esteem 
 A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 
 
 Hel. iVIy duty then shall pay me for my pains: 
 I will no more enf irce mine office on you ; 
 Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
 A modest one, to bear me back again. 
 
 King. 1 cannot give thee less, to be call'd 
 grateful 
 
 Thou thoughtst to help me ; and such thanks I give. 
 As one near death to those that wish him live : 
 13t!t, what at full I know, thou know'st no part; 
 I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 
 
 Hel. What 1 can do, can do no hurt to ti-y. 
 Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy : 
 He that of gn^atest works is fi'iisher. 
 Oft does them by the weakest minister: 
 So holy writ iti babes hath judgment sliown. 
 When judges have been babes. Great floods have 
 flown 
 
 From simple sources ; and great seas have dried. 
 When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
 Oft expectation fails, and most oft there 
 Where most it promises ; and oft it hits, 
 Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. 
 
 Ki7ig. I must not liear tliee ; fare thee well, 
 kind maid ; 
 
 Thy pains, not usd, must by thyself be paid: 
 Profters, not took, reap thanks for their reward. 
 
 Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
 It is not so with him, that all things knows. 
 As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows: 
 IJut most it is presumption in us, when 
 The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
 Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent ; 
 Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
 I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
 Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
 But know I think, and think I know most sure. 
 My art is nut past power, nor yon past cure. 
 
 King, Art thou so confident ? Within what space 
 Hop'st (hou my cure ? 
 
 Hel. The greatest grace lending grace. 
 
 Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
 Their fiery torcher his diin-nal ring; 
 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp, 
 Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp ; 
 Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
 Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass ; 
 What is infirm from your sound parts shall lly, 
 
 ealth shall live free, and sickr>ess freely die. 
 Upon thy certainty and confidence. 
 
 What dar'st thou venture ? 
 Hel. Tax of inij)udence,— 
 
 A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, — 
 Traduc'd by odious ballads : my maiden'si name 
 Sear'd otherwise ; no worse of worst extended. 
 With vilest torture let my life be ended. [speak 
 
 King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit dotb 
 His powertul sound, within an organ weak : 
 And what impossibility would slay 
 In common sense, sense saves another way. 
 Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate 
 Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate ; 
 Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all 
 That happiness and prime can happy call : 
 Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate 
 Skill inf,nitd, or monstrous desperate. 
 Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try; 
 That ministers thine own death, if I die. 
 
 Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property 
 Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; 
 And well deserv'd : Not helping, death's my fee; 
 But, if 1 help, what do you promise me ? 
 
 King. Make thy demand. 
 
 Hel. But will you make it even ? 
 
 King. Ay, by my sceptre, and n)y j)es of 
 heaven. [hand, 
 
 HeL Then thou shalt give me, with thy kingly 
 What husband in thy power I will command: 
 Exempted be from me the arrogance 
 'i'o choose from forth the royal blood of France ; 
 My low and humble name to propagate 
 With any branch or image of thy state : 
 But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know 
 Is free for me to task, thee to bestow. 
 
 King. Here is my hand ; the premises observed* 
 Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd ; 
 So make the choice of thy own tinie : for I, 
 Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
 More should I question thee, and niore I must; 
 Though, more to know, could not be mj>»*e to 
 trust ; [rest 
 From whence thou cani'st, how tended oOj-'Btt 
 (Jnquestion'd vvelconie, and undoubted blest. — 
 Give me sonie help here, ho I — If thou proceed 
 As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. 
 
 [FlonrisL Exeuni* 
 
 Scene H. — Rousillon. A Room in the Counteas^t 
 Palace. 
 
 Enier Countess and Clotvn. 
 
 Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the 
 height of your breeding, 
 
 Clo. I vvill show myself highly fed, and lowly 
 taugiit : I know my business is but to the court. 
 
 Count. To the court! why, what place make you 
 special, when you put ofl'that with such contempt? 
 But to the court i 
 
 Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man an^y 
 manners, he may easily put it off" at court: he, that 
 cannot make a leg, put olf's cap, kiss his hand, and 
 say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; 
 and. indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, wera 
 not for the court: but, for me, 1 have an answer 
 will serve ail men. 
 
 Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fit» 
 all ques-tions. 
 
 Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all but- 
 tocks; the pin-buttock, t<ie quatch-buttock, the 
 brawn-buttock, or any buttock. [tions? 
 
 Count. W\\\ your answer serve fit to all queSr 
 
 ^Vo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an at- 
 torney, as your French crown for your talfata punk, 
 as Tin's rush for Tom's fore-ftnger, as a pancake 
 for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May day, as the 
 nail to his hole, the cuckold to \\h horn, as a scold- 
 ing quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip <o 
 the f riar's mo\ith ; nay, as the pudding to his skin. 
 
 Count. Have you, I say, aa anawer of such fitne 
 for all questions ? 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 SCBKB 8. 
 
 Clo. From below yonr duke, to beneath yonr 
 ooustable, it will fit any question. 
 
 Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
 size, that mnst fit all demands. 
 
 Clo. But a trifle neither, in ffond faith, if the 
 learned should speak truth of it : nere it is, and all 
 that belongs to t : Ask. me, if I am a courtier; it shall 
 d) you no harm to learn. 
 
 Count. To be young agaJn, if we could : I will be 
 
 fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your 
 nswer. 1 pray you, sir, are you a courtier? 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, I'here's a simple putting 
 
 off; — more, more, a hundred of them. 
 
 Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that 
 (oves you. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare hot me. 
 
 Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this 
 homely meat. [you. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay, put me to't, I vvairant 
 
 Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Spare not me. 
 
 Count. Do you cry, 0 Lord, sir, at your whip- 
 ping, and spare not me I Indeed, your 0 Lord, sir, 
 IS very sequent to your whipping ; you would Uii- 
 swer very web to a whipping, if you were but 
 bound to't. 
 
 Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my — 
 
 0 Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not 
 serve ever. 
 
 Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, 
 to entertain it so merrily with a fool. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Why, there't serves well 
 again. _ ' [this, 
 
 Count. An end, sir, to your business : give Helen 
 And urge her to a present answer back : 
 Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son ; 
 This is not much. 
 
 Clo. Not much commendation to them. 
 
 Count. Not much employment lor you : you un- 
 derstand me ? 
 
 Clo. Most fruitfully ; 1 am there before my legs. 
 
 CoiMt. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene HL — Paris. A Room in the Kimjs 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 
 
 Laf. They say, miracles are past; and we have 
 our philosophical persons, to make modern and 
 familiar tilings, supernatural and causeless. Hence 
 is it, that we make trilles of terrors ; ensconcins^ 
 ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should 
 submit ourselves to an unknown fear. 
 
 Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, 
 thnt hath sliot out in our latter times. 
 
 Uer. A nd so 'tis. 
 
 Laf. To be relinquished of the artists, — 
 
 Par. So I say; bothof (ialen and Paracelsus. 
 
 Laf. Of all the learned and authentic lellows,— 
 
 Par, [light, so I say. 
 
 Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 
 
 Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. 
 
 Laf. Not to be liel[)eil, — 
 
 Par. Right: as 'twere a man as>^ured of an — 
 
 Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 
 
 Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have said. 
 
 l'.af. 1 may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. 
 
 Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in show- 
 ing, you shall read it in, What do you call 
 
 theie/ — _ lactor. 
 
 Laf. A showing of a heave»>ly effect in an earthly 
 
 Par. That's it I would have s.iid ; the very same. 
 
 Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier; 'tore me, 
 
 1 speak in respect 
 
 Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is 
 the brief and tiie tediouj of it; and he is of a most 
 !kcinorous spirit, tluit will not acknowledge it to be 
 
 haf. Very handof heaven. [the — 
 
 Par, Ay, wo 1 say. 
 
 haf In a most weak — 
 
 #*«r. And debile minister, great power, great 
 
 transcendence : which should, indeed, give us • 
 further use to be made, than alone the recoveiy 
 the king, as to be — 
 
 Laf Generally thankful. 
 
 Enter King, Helena, and Attendants, 
 
 Par. I would have said it; you say well ; here 
 comes the king. 
 
 Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says : I'll Iik« a 
 maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my neaJ , 
 why, he's able to lead her a coranto. 
 
 Par. Mort du Viyiaiyre! Is not this Helen? 
 
 Laf 'Fore God, I iiiink so. 
 
 King. Go, call before me all the lords in court 
 
 [Exit an Attendant 
 Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
 And with this healtljful hand, whose banish'd sense 
 Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
 The confirniation of my promis'd gift. 
 Which but attends thy naming. 
 
 Enter several Lords. 
 
 Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful par- 
 Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, [eel 
 O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice 
 I have to use : thy frank election make; [^;\ke. 
 Thou hast power to choose, and they none to for- 
 Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mis- 
 tress 
 
 Fall, when love please! — marry, to each, but one! 
 
 Laf. I'd give bay Curfal, and his furniture. 
 My mouth no more were broken than these boys' 
 And writ as little beard. 
 
 King. Peruse them well ; 
 
 Not one of those, but had a noble father. 
 
 Hel. Gentlemen, 
 Hea\ en hath, through me, restord the king to health. 
 
 All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. 
 
 Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest, 
 That I protest, I .simply am a maid : — 
 Please it your majesty, 1 have done already: 
 The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me. 
 We blush, that thou should' st ciioose : bni^he 
 refused. 
 
 Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; 
 W ell ne'er come there again. 
 
 King. Make choice ; and, see 
 
 Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. 
 
 Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly ; 
 And to imperial Love, that god most high. 
 Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my suit ? 
 
 1 Lord. And grant it. 
 
 Hel. Thanks, sir: all the rest is mute. 
 
 Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw 
 ames-ace for my liie. [eyes, 
 
 Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair 
 Before I speak, too threateningly r'^jjlies : 
 Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
 Her that so wishes, and her humble love I 
 
 2 Lord. No better, if you please. 
 
 Hel. My wish receive, 
 
 Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. 
 
 Laf. Do they all deny her? An they were sons 
 of mine, I'd have them whij)ped ; or I would send 
 them to tlie Turk, to make eumichs of. 
 
 Hel. Be not afraid {to a Lord) that I yonr hand 
 should take ; 
 I'll never do you wrong for your own sake; 
 Blessing upon your vows I and in your bed 
 Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed I 
 
 Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none 
 have her: sure, they are bastards to the Kngliafcj 
 the French ne'er got them. 
 
 Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good. 
 To make yourself a son out of luy bl.wd. 
 
 4 Jjord. Fair one, 1 think not so. 
 
 Laf. There's one grai)e yet. — I am sure, thy fa- 
 ther drank wine.— -But if thou be'.st not an ass, I am 
 a youth of fourteen ; I have known tlwje already. 
 
194 
 
 ALL'S v7ELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act n 
 
 flie/. I dare not say I take you ; {to Bertram) 
 but I give 
 
 Me, and my service, ever whilst J live, 
 Into your guiding power. — This is the man 
 
 King. Why then, young Bertram, take ^er, she's 
 thy wife. [highness, 
 
 Ber. My wife, my liege ? I shall beseech your 
 (n such a business give me leave to use 
 The help of mine own eyes. 
 
 King. Knovv'st thou not, Bertram, 
 
 What she has done for me ? 
 
 Ber Yes, my good lord : 
 
 But never hope to know why I should marry her. 
 
 King. T[\ou know'st, she has rais'd me f rom my 
 sickly bed. 
 
 Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
 Must answer for your raising ? I know her well ; 
 She had her breeding at my father's charge : 
 A poor physician's daughter my wife ! — Disdain 
 Rather corrupt me ever ! [which 
 
 King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the 
 I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods. 
 Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand oft" 
 In differences so mighty: if she be 
 All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
 A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st 
 Of virtue for the naine ; but do not so: 
 From lowest place when virtuous things proceed. 
 The place is aignlfied by the do* r's deed : 
 Where great additions swell, and virtue none, 
 It is a dropsied honour: good alone 
 Is good, without a name ; vileness is so : 
 The property by what it is should go, 
 Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; 
 In these to nature siie's immediate heir ; 
 And these breed honour; that is honour's scorn. 
 Which challenges itself as honour's born, 
 And is not like the sire • honours best thrive. 
 When rather from our acts we them derive 
 Than our fore-goers: the mere word's. a slave, 
 Debauch'd on every tomb; on e\ery grave, 
 A lying' trophy, and as oft is dumb. 
 Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb 
 Of honou/d hones indeed. What should be said ? 
 If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
 I can create the rest: virtue, and she, 
 Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me 
 
 Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. 
 
 King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou siiould'st 
 strive to choose. [glad ; 
 
 Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, 1 am 
 Let the rest go. [feat. 
 
 King. My honour's at the stake : which to de- 
 I must produce my power: here, take hei hand. 
 Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; 
 I'hat dost in vile misprision shackle up 
 My love, and her desert; that canst not dream, 
 We, poizing us in her defective scale. 
 Shall weigh thee to the beam: that wilt not know, 
 It is in us to plant thine honour, where 
 We please to have it grow : Check thy contempt: 
 Obey our will, which travails in thy good : 
 Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
 Do thine own fortunes that obedient right. 
 Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims; 
 Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, 
 Into the staggers, and the careless lapse [hate, 
 Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and 
 Loosing upon thee in th« name of justice. 
 Without all ternas of pity: speak; thine answer. 
 
 Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit 
 My fancy to your eyes : when I consider, 
 What great creation, and what dole of honour, 
 Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late 
 Was in ray nobler thoughts most base, is now 
 The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled. 
 Is, as 'twere, born so. 
 
 King. Take her by the hand, 
 
 (lvA tell ber she is thine; to whom 1 promise 
 
 A counterpoise ; if net to thy estate, 
 A balance more replete. 
 
 Ber. I take her hand. 
 
 King. Good forttme, and the favour of the kiug. 
 Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony 
 Shall seem expedient on the new-born brief. 
 And be perform'd lo-nignt: the solemn feast 
 Shall more attend upon the coming space. 
 Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, 
 Thy love's to me religious ; else, does err. 
 
 [Exeunt king, Bertram, Helena, Lords 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Laf. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you. 
 
 Par. Your pleasure, sir ? [recantation. 
 
 Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his 
 
 Par. Recantation? — My lord? my master? 
 
 Laf. Ay ; is it not a language, 1 speak? 
 
 Laf. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood 
 without bloody succeeding. My master ? 
 
 Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon? 
 
 Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is 
 man. [of another style. 
 
 Laf. To what is count's man ; count's master is 
 
 Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisly you, you 
 are too old. 
 
 Laf I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to 
 which title age cannot bring thee. 
 
 Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do, 
 
 Laf I did think tliee, for two ordinaries, to be 
 a pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make tolerable vent 
 of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the scarfs, and the 
 bantierets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me 
 from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. 
 I have now lound thee; when I lose thee again, I 
 care not: yet art thou ^ood for nothing but taking 
 up ; and that thou art scarce worth. 
 
 Pat. Hddst thou not the privilege of antiquity 
 upon thee, — 
 
 Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, \ts{ 
 thou hasten thy trial : — which if— Lord have mercy 
 on thee lor a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, 
 fare thee well ; tiiy casement 1 need not open, for I 
 look through thee. Give me ,hy hand 
 
 Par. My lord, you give me most ?gregious in- 
 dignity, [of it. 
 
 Ln'f. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy 
 
 Par. 1 have not, my lord, deserved it. 
 
 Laf. Yes, good taith, every dram of it; and 1 
 will not bate thee a scruple. 
 
 Par. Well, 1 shall be wiser. 
 
 Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to 
 pull at a smack o'the contrary. If ever thou be'st 
 bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what 
 it is to be proud of thy bo; dage. I have a desire 
 to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my 
 knowledge'; that I may say, in the default, he is a 
 man I know. 
 
 Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
 vexation. 
 
 Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and 
 niy poor doing eternal: for doing I ain past: as 
 will by thee, in what motion age will give mt 
 leave. [Exit 
 
 Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- 
 grace off" me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! -~- 
 Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of 
 authority. Ill beat him, by my life, if 1 can meet 
 him with any convenience, an he were double,, and 
 double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, 
 than I would have of— I'll beat him, an if I could 
 but meet him again. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, 
 there's news for you ; you have a new mistress. 
 
 Par. 1 most unfeignediy beseech your lordship 
 to make some reservation of your wrong*: he is mj 
 good lord ; whom I serve above, is my n»fister. 
 
 Laf Who? God? 
 
 Par. Ay, sir. 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 .L'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 193 
 
 liaf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost 
 ♦hon garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost make 
 hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants so ? Thou 
 ert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands, 
 mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, 
 beat thee : methinks, thou art a general olFeiice, 
 d every man should beat thee. I think, thou 
 ast created for men to breathe themselves upon 
 ee. [lord. 
 Par, Tliis is hard and undeserved measure, my 
 haf Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for 
 picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a 
 vagabond, and no true traveller : you are more saucy 
 with lords, and honourable personages, than the 
 heraldry of your birth and virtues gives you com- 
 mission. You are not worth another word, else I'd 
 call you knave. I leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good, very 
 good ; let it be concealed a while. 
 
 Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! 
 
 Par. What is the matter, sweet heart ? 
 
 Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have 
 I will not bed her. [sworn, 
 
 Par. What? what, sweet heart ? 
 
 Ber. O rtiy Parolles, they have married me ; — 
 I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 
 
 Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
 The tread of a man's foot: To the wars! 
 
 Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the 
 I know not yet. [import is. 
 
 Par. Ay, that would be known : To the wars, my 
 boy, to the wars ! 
 He wears his honour in a box unseen, 
 That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home ; 
 Spending his manly marrow in her arms, 
 Which should sustain the bound and high curvet 
 Of Mars' fiery steed : To other regions ! 
 France is a stable ; we, that dwell in't, jades ; 
 I'herefore, to the war! 
 
 Ber. It shall be so ; I'll send her to my house. 
 Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, 
 And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king 
 That which I durst not speak: his present gift 
 Shall furnish me to those Italian fields. 
 Where noblp fellows strike: war is no strife, 
 To the dark house, and the detested wife. 
 
 Par. Will this caprioio hold in thee, art sure? 
 
 Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
 I'll send her straight away: to-morrow 
 I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 
 
 Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise in it — 
 'Tis hard ; 
 
 A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd : 
 Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: 
 The king has done you wrong; but, hush! 'tis so. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Helena and Clown. 
 
 Hel. My mother greets me kindly : is she well ? 
 
 Clo. She is not well : but yet she has her health : 
 she's very merry ; but yet she is not well : but 
 thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing 
 i' the world : but yet she is not well. 
 
 Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that 
 she's not very well ? [things. 
 
 Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two 
 
 Hel. What two things ? 
 
 Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God 
 send her quickly! the other, that she's in earth, 
 from whence God send her quickly ! 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady! 
 
 Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have 
 mine own good fortunes. 
 
 Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; and 
 to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave ! 
 
 How does my old lady ? 
 
 Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her 
 money, \ would she did as you say. 
 
 Par. Why, I say nothing. 
 
 Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; foi many a 
 man's tongue shakes out his master's 'undoing : to 
 say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and ta 
 have nothing, is to be a great part of your \ 
 which is within a very little of nothing. 
 
 Par. Away, thou'rt a knave. 
 
 Clo. You should have said, sir, before a krra>« 
 thou art a knave ; that is, before me thou art a 
 knave : this had been truth, sir. [thee. 
 
 Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found 
 
 Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir ? or were you 
 taught to find me ? The search , sir, was profitable; 
 and much fool may you find in you, even to th« 
 world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter. 
 
 Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed. — 
 Madam, my lord will go away to-night; 
 A very serious business calls on him. 
 The great prerogative and rite of love, [ledge 
 Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
 But puts it off by a compell'd restraint ; [sweets, 
 Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with 
 Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
 To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, 
 And pleasure drown the brim. 
 
 Hel. What's his will else ? 
 
 Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the 
 king. 
 
 And make this haste as your own good proceeding 
 Strengthen'd with what apology you think 
 May make it probable need. 
 
 Hel. What more commands he ? 
 
 Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
 Attend his further pleasure. 
 
 Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. 
 
 Par. I shall report it so. 
 
 Hsl. I pray yoa. — Come, sirrah. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Another Rootn in the same. 
 Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 
 haf. But, 1 hope, your lordship thinks not him a 
 soldier. 
 
 Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 
 
 haf. You have it from his own deliverance. 
 
 Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 
 
 haf. Then niy dial goes not true ; I took this lark 
 for a bunting. 
 
 Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in 
 knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 
 
 haf. I have then sinned against his experience, 
 and transgressed against his valour; and my state 
 that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my 
 heart to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, make 
 us friends, I will pursue the amity. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 Par. These things shall be done, sir. {To Ber, 
 haf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor ? 
 Par. Sir ? 
 
 haf. O, I know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is a 
 good workman, a very good tailor. 
 
 Ber. Is she gone to the king ? {Aside to ParolJe$.) 
 Par. She is. 
 
 Ber. Will she away to-night ? 
 Par. As you'll have her. 
 
 Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, 
 Given orders for our horses; and to-night. 
 When I shoidd take possession of (he btide, — 
 And, ere I do begin, 
 
 haf. A good traveller is something at the latter 
 end of a dinner; but one that lies three- thirds, and 
 uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with 
 should be once heard, and thrice beaten. — God save 
 you, captain. 
 
 Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord 
 and you, monsieur? 
 
196 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Par. I knov«r not how I have deserved to run into 
 jny lord's displeasure. 
 
 haf. You have made shift to rnn into't, boots and 
 spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard ; 
 and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer 
 question for your residence. 
 
 Ber, It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. 
 
 Mjaf. And shall do so ever, though 1 took him at 
 his prayers. Fare you well, my lord : and believe 
 this of me. There can be no kernel in tnis light nut ; 
 the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him not in 
 matter of heavy consequence ; I have kept of them 
 tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, monsieur : 
 I have spoken better of you, than you have or will 
 deserve at my hand ; but we must do good against 
 evil. {Exit. 
 
 Par. An idle lord, I swear. 
 
 her. I think so. 
 
 Par. Why, do you not know him ? [speech 
 Her. Yes, I do know him well; and common 
 Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 
 
 Ente.r Helena. 
 
 Uel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you. 
 Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave 
 For present parting; only he desires 
 Some private speech with you. 
 
 Ber. I shall obey his will. 
 
 Yon must not marvel, Helena, at my course. 
 Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
 The ministration and required office 
 On my particular: prepar'd 1 was not 
 For such a business ; therefore am I found 
 So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you^, 
 That presently you take your way for home ; 
 And ratlier muse, than ask, why I entreat you: 
 For ray respects are better than they seem ; 
 And my appointments have in them a need, 
 Greater tlian shews itself, at the first view. 
 To you, that know them not. This to my mother : 
 
 {Giving a letter^ 
 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so 
 I leave you to }H)ui wisdom- 
 fife/. Sir, I can nothing say, 
 But that 1 am your most obedient servant. 
 
 Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
 
 Hel. And ever shall, 
 
 With true observance, seek to eke out that, 
 Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
 To equal my great fortune. 
 
 Ber. Let that go: 
 
 My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home. 
 
 Mel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 
 
 Eer. Well, what would you say ? 
 
 Mel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ; 
 Nor dare 1 say, 'tis mine ; and yet i4, is ; 
 But, like a timorous thief, most tain would steal 
 What law does vouch mine own. 
 
 Ber. What would you have ? 
 
 Mel. Something; and scarce so much : — nothing, 
 indeed. — 
 
 I would not tell you what I would : my lord — 
 
 'faith, yes ; — 
 Strangers, and toes, do sunder, and not kiss. 
 Ber. 1 pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 
 Mel. I shall not break your bidding, good my 
 lord. 
 
 Ber. Wliere are my other men, monsieur? — 
 Farewell. {Exit Helena. 
 
 Go thou toward home ; where I will never come, 
 ^Wbilst J can shake my sword, or hear the drum : — 
 A way, and for our flight. 
 Par. Bravely, coragio ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT HI. 
 
 Scene 1. — Florence. A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 Fifmrtsh. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; 
 two French Lords, and others. 
 Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you 
 heard 
 
 The fundamental reasons of this war; 
 Whose great decision hath much blood let forffa. 
 And more thirsts after. 
 
 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 
 Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful 
 
 On the opposer. (Piancft 
 Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our consis 
 Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom 
 Against our borrowing prayers. 
 
 2 Lord. Good my lord. 
 The reasons of our state I cannot yield. 
 
 But like a common and an outward mat:. 
 That the great figure of a council frames 
 By self-unable motion : therefore dare not 
 Say what I think of it; since I have iound 
 Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
 As often as 1 guess'd. 
 
 Dv.ke. Be it his pleasure. 
 
 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature, 
 That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, 
 Come here for physic. 
 
 Duke. Welcome shall they be ; 
 
 And all the honours, that can fly I'rom us, 
 Shall on them settle. You know your places well; 
 When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
 To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 
 Palace. 
 Enter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Count. It hath happened ail as I would have had 
 it, save, that he comes not along w^lth her. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
 very melancholy man. 
 
 Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 
 
 Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; 
 mind the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing;; 
 pick his teeth, and sing : I know a man that had this 
 trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song. 
 
 Count. Let ine see what he writes, and when he 
 means to come. {Opening 3 letter.) 
 
 Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since 1 was at 
 court : our old ling and our Isbels o' the country 
 are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the 
 court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and 
 1 begin to \o\e, as an old man loves money, with no 
 
 Count. Whjit have we here? [stomach. 
 
 Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 
 
 Count. { H eads ) / have sent you a daughter-in- 
 laiv : she hath recovered the king, and undone me. 
 I have ivedded her, not bedded her ; and sworn to 
 make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run 
 away ; know it, before the report come. If there 
 be breadth enoiigh in the world, 1 will hold a long 
 distance. My duty to you. 
 
 Your unfortunate son, BERTRAia. 
 This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. 
 To fly the favours of so good a king; 
 To pluck his indignntion on thy head, 
 [ By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous 
 j For the contempt of empire. 
 
 j Re-enter Clown. 
 
 ! Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news witLin, 
 
 I between two soldiers and my young lady. 
 
 ! Count. What is the matter ? 
 
 i Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some 
 I comfort ; your son will not be killed so soon as I 
 thought he would. 
 
 Count. Why should he be kill'd ? 
 Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, a? J hens 
 he does : the danger is in standing to'f • that i« tke 
 loss of men, though it be the getting of childreiu 
 Here they come, will t*^ll you more : for my j-'urt, I 
 only hear, your son was run away. [F^it Clo^n, 
 
 Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gen. Save you, good madam. 
 
 Mel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
 
 2 Gen. Do not say so. 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 19T 
 
 Scene 4. 
 
 Count Think upon patience. — Tray yoti, gentle- 
 I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief, [naen, — 
 That the tirst face of neither, on the start, [you ? 
 Can woman me unto't. — Where is my son, 1 pray 
 
 2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of 
 Florence : 
 
 We met him tliitherward ; from thence we came. 
 And, after *ome despatch in hand at court, 
 Thith«^r We Lend again. [port 
 Uel. Look on his letter, madam ; here's my pass- 
 [lieads.) When thou canst get the ring upon my 
 finger, which never shall come off, and shew me a 
 child heg.)tten of thy body, that I am father to, 
 then call me husband : but in such a then / ivrite 
 a never. 
 
 This is a dreadful sentence. 
 
 Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, madam ; 
 And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. 
 
 Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; 
 If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine. 
 Thou robb'st nie of a moiety : He was my son ; 
 But I do wash his name out of my blood, 
 And thou art all my child. —Towards Florence is he? 
 
 2 Gent. Ay, madam. 
 
 Count. And to be a soldier? 
 
 2 Gent. Sach is his noble purpose : and, believ't, 
 The duivc wiil lay upon him all the honour 
 That good convenience claims. 
 
 Count. Return you thither ? 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of 
 speed. 
 
 llel. {Reads.) Till I have no ivife, I have no- 
 thing in France. 
 
 Count. Find you that there ? 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply. 
 Bis heart was not consenting to. [which 
 
 Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wile 1 
 There's nothing here, that is too good for him, 
 But only she ; and she deserves a lord, 
 I'hat twenty such rude bojs might tend upon. 
 And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him? 
 
 1 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman 
 Which 1 have some time known. 
 
 Count. ParoUes, was't not? 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. [ness. 
 
 Coujit. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
 My sou corrupts a well-derived nature 
 With his inducement. 
 
 1 Gent. Indeed, good lady, 
 Tlie fellow has a deal of that, too much. 
 Which holds him much to have. 
 
 Count. You are welcome, gentlemen ; 
 I will entreat you, when you see my son. 
 To tell him, that his sword can never wio 
 The honour that he loses . more I'll entreat you 
 Written to bear along. 
 
 2 Gent. We serve you, madam. 
 In that and all your worthiest aftairs. 
 
 Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 
 Will you draw near ? 
 
 [Exeunt Count, and Gentlemen. 
 Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in 
 France. 
 
 Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
 Thou shalt liave none, Rousillon, none in Fiance, 
 Then hast tliou all again. Poor lord ! is t I 
 That chase thee from thy country, and expose 
 Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
 Of the none sparing war ? and is it I, 
 Thai drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
 Wast shot at witii lair eyes, to be the mark 
 Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, 
 That ride upun the violent speed oi fire, 
 Fly witli false aim ; nune tiie still piercing air. 
 That sin^s witii piercing, do not tt)uch my lord ! 
 WhcHjver shoots at him, I set hini there ; 
 Whoever charges on his lorvvaid breast, 
 am the caitiff, that do hold hnu to t 
 
 And, though I kill him not, I am the caus« 
 
 His death was so effected : better 'twere, 
 
 I met the ravin lion when he roar'd 
 
 With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere 
 
 That all the miseries, which nature ow«^s, [sillo*% 
 
 Were mine at once : No, come thou home, Ro<i^ 
 
 Whence honour but of danger wins a scar. 
 
 As oft it loses all ; f will b'^ gone : 
 
 My being here it is, that holds thee hence . 
 
 Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although 
 
 The air of Paradise did fan the house. 
 
 And angels otfic'd all : I will be gone ; 
 
 'I'hat pitiful rumour may report my flight, 
 
 1\) consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day] 
 
 For, with the dark, poor thief. Til steal away. [ExiL 
 
 Scene III. — Florence. Before the Duke' $ Palac<s, 
 Flourish. Enter the DuKE op Florence, Ber- 
 tram, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we. 
 Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 
 Upon thy promising fortune. 
 
 Ber. Sir, it is 
 
 A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet 
 We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake. 
 To the extreme edge of hazard, 
 
 Duke. Then go thou forth ; 
 
 And fortune play upon thy prosperous l>elm. 
 As thy auspicious mistress ! 
 
 Ber. This very day, 
 
 Great Mars, I put myself into thy file : 
 Make me but like my thoughts ; and I shall pi-ove 
 A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Steward. 
 Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of 
 her ? 
 
 Might you not know, she would do as she has done. 
 By sending me a letter ? Read it again. 
 
 Stew. I am St. Jaques' pilgritn, thither gone ; 
 Ambitious love hath so in me offended. 
 That bare foot plod I the cold ground upon. 
 
 With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
 Write, write, that, from the bloody course ofwcer 
 
 My dearest master, your dear son, may hie ; 
 Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far, 
 
 His name with zealous fervour sanctify : 
 His taken labours bid him me forgive ; 
 
 I, his despiteful Juno, sent him fm'th 
 From courtly friends, with camping foes to live. 
 
 Where death and danger dog the heels of tvortk 
 He is too good and fair for death and me ; 
 TV horn I myself embrace, to set him free. 
 
 Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 
 
 words ! 
 
 Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, 
 As letting lier pass so; had I spoke with her, 
 I could have well diverted her intents, 
 Which thus she hath prevented. 
 
 Stew. Pardon me, madam : 
 
 If i had given you this at over-night. 
 She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes. 
 Pursuit would be in vain. 
 
 Count. What angel shall 
 
 Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive^, 
 Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrafh 
 Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Rinaldo, 
 To this unworthy husband of his wife ; 
 Let every word weigh heavy of her worth. 
 That he does weigh too light ; my greatest grielT, 
 Though little he do feel it, set down sharpiy. 
 Despatch the most convenient messenger : — 
 VVhen, haply, he shall hear that she is gone. 
 He will return and hope I may, that she. 
 Hearing so much, wiil speed hei foot again. 
 Led hither by pme love : which of them both 
 Js dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
 
198 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 To make distinction : — Provide this messenger : — 
 
 My heart is hf-avy, and naine age is weak ; 
 
 Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids ine speak. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene Y.— Without the Walls of Florence. 
 A tucket afar off. Enter an old f'Vidow of Flo- 
 rence, i)jA.NA, ViOLENTA, Mariana, and other 
 Citizens. 
 
 Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the 
 city, we shall lose all the sight. 
 
 l)ia. They say, the French count has done most 
 honourable service. 
 
 M^'^id. It is reported that he has taken their 
 greatest commander : and that with his own hand 
 he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our la- 
 bour : they are gone a contrary way : hark ! you 
 may know by their trumpets. 
 
 Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- 
 selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take 
 heed of this French earl ; the honour of a maid is 
 her name 5 and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 
 
 Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have 
 been solicited by a gentleman his companion. 
 
 Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Pa- 
 rolies : a tiltay officer he is in those suggestions for 
 the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana; their 
 promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these 
 engines of lust, are not the things they go under : 
 many a maid hath been seduced by them ; and the 
 misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the 
 wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all tliat dissuade 
 succession, but they are limed with the twigs that 
 threaten them. 1 hope, I need not to advise you 
 further : but, I hope, your own grace will keep you 
 where jou are, though there were no further danger 
 known, but the modesty which is so lost. 
 
 Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 
 
 Et ter Helena, in the dress of a pilgrim. 
 
 ff^id. 1 hope so. Luok, here comes a pilgrim : 
 
 I know she will lie at my house : thither they send 
 
 one another: J'll question her. — 
 
 God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound? 
 
 Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand. 
 Where do the palmers lodge, 1 do beseech you ? 
 
 Tf'id. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. 
 
 Hel. Is this the way ? 
 
 fVid. Ay, marry, is it. — Hark you ! 
 
 [^A march afar off.) 
 They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pil- 
 But till the troops come by, [grim, 
 1 will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ; 
 The rather, tor, 1 think, I know your hostess 
 As ample as myself. 
 
 Uel. Is it yourself ? 
 
 Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 
 
 Hel I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 
 
 fVid. Yon came, I think, from France i; 
 
 Hel. I did so. 
 
 Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours. 
 That has done worthy service. 
 
 Hel. His name, I pray you. 
 
 Dia. The count Rousillon : Know you such a 
 one? [him; 
 
 Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of 
 Ilis face 1 know not. 
 
 Dia. Whatsoe'er he is. 
 
 He's bravely taken. He stole from France, 
 As 'tis reported, for the king had married him 
 Against his liking : Think you it is so ? 
 
 Uel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; 1 know his lady. 
 
 Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count, 
 Reports but coarsely of her 
 
 Hel. What's his uamr> ? 
 
 Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 
 
 HeL O, I believe with him. 
 
 In argument of praise, or to the worth 
 Uf the great count himself, she is too mean 
 
 ohave her name repeated; all her deserving 
 
 Is a reserved honesty, an(? that 
 I have not heard examin'd, 
 
 Dia, Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife 
 Of a detesting lord. 
 
 If'^id. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she is. 
 Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might d« 
 A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. Ihe' 
 
 HeL How do you meaB? 
 
 May be, the amorous count sohcits her 
 In the unlawful purpose. 
 
 Wid. He does, indeed ; 
 
 And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
 Corrupt the tender honour 0? a maid : 
 But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard 
 In honestest defence. 
 
 Enter with drum and colours, a party of the Flo 
 rentine army, Bertram, and Parolles 
 
 Mar. The gods forbid else ! 
 
 fV^id. So, now they come : 
 
 That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
 That, Escalus. 
 
 Hel. Which is the Frenchman ? 
 
 Dia. He; 
 That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; 
 I would, he lov'd his wife : il he were houester. 
 He were much goodlier : — Is't not a handsome 
 
 Hsl. I like him well. [gentleman ? 
 
 Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest : — Yond's that 
 same knave. 
 
 That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 
 I'd poison that vile rascal. 
 
 Hel. ^ Which is he? 
 
 Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he 
 melancholy ? 
 
 Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle. 
 
 Par. Lose our drum ! well. 
 
 Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something : I«ook, 
 he has spied us. 
 
 Wid. Many, hang you ! 
 
 Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrie,r \ 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram, Parolles^ Officers^ 
 and Soldiers. 
 
 Wid. The troop is past : Come, pilgrim, I will 
 bring you 
 
 Where you shall host: ofenjoin'd penitents 
 There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound. 
 Already at my house. 
 
 Hel. I humbly thank you : 
 
 Please it this matron, and this gentle maid. 
 To eat with us to-night, the charge, anil thanking. 
 Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
 I will bestow some precepts on this virgin. 
 Worthy the note. 
 
 Both. We'll take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — Camp before Florence. 
 Enter Bertram, and the iivo French Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, good ray lord, put him to t ; let hiiu 
 have his way. 
 
 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding. 
 hold me no more in your respect. 
 
 1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 
 
 Ber. Do you tliink, I am so far deceived in him? 
 
 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
 knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him 
 as my kinsman, he's a most nutable coward, an it*, 
 finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker 
 the owner of no one good quality worthy your lord 
 ship's entertainment. 
 
 2 Lord. It were tit you knew hira ; lest, reposing 
 too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, 
 at some great and trusty business, in a main danger 
 fail you. Uo try him. 
 
 Ber. I would I knew in what particular action 
 2 Lord. None better than to let liim fetch off his 
 
 drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake 
 
 to do. 
 
 1 Lord. \, with a troop of Fl jrentines, will sud 
 
Scene T. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 199 
 
 denly surprise him ; such I will have, whom, I am 
 sure," he knows not from the enemy: we will bind 
 and liood wink, him so, that he shall suppose no 
 ^tuer but that he is carried into the leaguer of the 
 adversaries, when we bring him to our tents ; Be 
 hut your lordship present at his examination; if he 
 do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest 
 CDinpulsion of base If-ar, o-Ser to betray you, and 
 deliver all the intelligence m his power against you, 
 fuid that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon 
 oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. 
 
 ^ Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch 
 his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for"t: when 
 your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, 
 and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will 
 be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter- 
 tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here 
 he comes. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not 
 the humour of his design; let him fetch olf his 
 drum in any hand. 
 
 Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks 
 sortily in your disposition. 
 
 2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum. 
 Par. But a drum 1 Is t but a drum ? A drum so 
 
 lost I — There was an excellent command ! to charge 
 in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend 
 our own soldiers. 
 
 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- 
 mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war that 
 Caesar himself could not have prevei-ted, if he had 
 been there to command. 
 
 Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
 cess : some dishonour we had in the loss of that 
 irum ; but it is not to be recovered. 
 
 Par. It unght nave been recovered. 
 
 Ber, It might, but it is not now. 
 
 Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of 
 Rcrvice is seldom attributed to the true and exact 
 performer, I would have that drum or anothei*, or 
 tiic jacet. 
 
 Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, 
 if you think your m>stery in stratagem can bring 
 th s instrument of honour again into his native 
 quarter, be magnanimous in tne enterprize, and go 
 on ; 1 will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit : 
 if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak 
 of it, and extend to you what further becomes 
 his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your 
 worthiness. 
 
 Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. 
 
 Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 
 
 Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will pre- 
 sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself 
 in my certainty, put myself info my mortal prepara- 
 tion, and. by midnight, look to hear further from me. 
 
 Ber. M ly 1 be bold to acquaint his grace, you 
 gone about it? 
 
 Par, I know not what the success will be, my 
 lord ; but the attempt I vow. 
 
 Ber. 1 know, thou art valiant; and, to the pos- 
 sibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for ikee. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Par. I love no* many words. [Exii, 
 
 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is 
 not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confi- 
 dently seems to undertake this business, which he 
 knows is not to be done ; damns himself to do, and 
 
 1 dares better be damned than to do't. 
 
 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we 
 do : certain it is, that he will steal himself into a 
 man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal 
 of discoveries; but when you find hun out, you 
 have him ever after. 
 
 'Bet', Why, do you think he will make no deed 
 Bt all of this, that so seriously he does address 
 himself unto? 
 
 1 IdWrd. None in the world ; but return with an 
 
 invention, and clap upon you two or three probable 
 lies: but we have almost embossed him, )ou shall, 
 see his fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your 
 lordship's re«i)ect. 
 
 2 Lord. VVe'll make you some sport with the 
 fox, ere we case him. He was first sniokt d by tha 
 old lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, 
 tell me what a sprat you shall find him ; which yoa 
 shall see this very night. [caught, 
 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs ; he shall b* 
 Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 
 
 1 Lord. As't please your lordship : I'll leave you 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and sho 
 The lass I spoke of. [yo 
 
 2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest, 
 Ber. That's all the fault : I spoke with her but once. 
 
 And found her wondrous cold; but 1 sent to her. 
 By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind. 
 Tokens and letters, which she did re-send ; 
 And this is all I have done.: She's a fair creature j 
 Will you go see her ? 
 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 
 
 [Exeuni. 
 
 Scene VII. — Florence. A Room in the lFidow'9 
 House. 
 
 Enter Helena and Widow. 
 
 Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
 I know not how I shall assure you further. 
 But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. 
 
 Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was w^ll borxt^ 
 Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; 
 And would not put my reputation now 
 In any staining act. 
 
 Hel. Nor would I wish yon. 
 
 First, give me trust, the count he is my hushand; 
 And, what to your sworn counsel I have sj.oken^ 
 Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot. 
 By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
 Err in bestowing it. 
 
 IVid. I should believe you ; 
 
 For you have show'd me that, which well appiot 
 You are great in fortune. 
 
 Hel. Take this purse ofgoid. 
 
 And let me buy your friendly help thus far. 
 Which 1 will over-pay, and pay again. 
 When I have found it. The count he wooe« you* 
 daughter, 
 
 Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty. 
 Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent. 
 As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. 
 Now his important blood will nought deny, 
 That she'll demand : A ring the county wears 
 That downward hath succeeded in his house. 
 From son to son, some four or five descents. 
 Since the first father wore it : this ring he holds 
 In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle fire. 
 To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
 Howe'er repented after. 
 
 TVid. Now, I see 
 
 The bottom of your purpose. 
 
 Hel. You see it lawiid then : It is no more. 
 But that vour daughter, ere she seems as WOD^ 
 Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; 
 in fine, delivers me to fill the time. 
 Herself most chastely absent; after this, 
 To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns 
 To what 's past already. 
 
 fVid. I have yielded : 
 
 Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, 
 'i'hat time and place, with this deceit so lawful 
 May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
 With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
 To her anworthiness : It nothing steads us 
 To chide him from our eaves; for he persists. 
 As if his life lay on't. 
 
 Hel. Why then, to-night 
 
 Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, 
 1 Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed. 
 
200 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 And *wful raeaning in a lawful act; 
 VV^b;re botli not sin, and yet a sinful fact : 
 But let's about it. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Without the Florentine Camp. 
 Enter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in 
 ambush. 
 
 1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this 
 hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak 
 what terrible language you will; thougii you un- 
 derstand it not yourselves, no matter: tor we must 
 not seem to understand him ; unless some one among 
 MS, whom we must produce for an interpreter. 
 
 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 
 
 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows 
 he not thy v oice ? 
 
 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 
 
 I Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to 
 speak to us again ? 
 
 1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me. 
 
 1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers 
 rthe adversary's entertainment. Now he hatti a 
 smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we 
 must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to 
 know what we speak one fo another; so we seem 
 to know, is to know straight our purpose ; chough's 
 language, gabble enough, and good enough. As 
 for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. 
 But, couch, ho ! here he comes ; to beguile two 
 hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the 
 lies he forges. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill 
 l^e time enough to go home. What shall I say I 
 have done ? It must be a very plausive invention 
 that carries it : They begin to smoke me; and dis- 
 graces have of late knocked too often at my door. 
 1 find, my tongue is too fbol-h irdy ; but my heart 
 hath the tear ot Mars before it, and of his creatures, 
 not daring tfie reports of my tongue. 
 
 1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own 
 fc^ngue was guilty of. {Aside.) 
 
 Par. What the devil should move me to under- 
 take the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant 
 of the impossibility, and knowing 1 had no such 
 purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say, 
 i got them in exploit : V et slight ones will not 
 carry it : 'J'hey will say. Came you off with so little ? 
 and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore ? what's 
 the instance? Tongue, I must put you into a but- 
 ter-woman's mouth, and buy another of Bajazet's 
 mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 
 
 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he 
 is, and be what he is ? {Aside.) 
 
 Par. I would the cutting of ray garments would 
 serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish 
 «word. 
 
 I Lord. We cannot afford you so. {Aside ) 
 
 Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it 
 was in stratagem. 
 
 1 Lord, "i' would not do. {Aside.) 
 
 Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was 
 Btri| ped. 
 
 1 Lord. Hardly serve. {Aside.) 
 Par. 'I'hough 1 swore I leaped from tlie window 
 
 of the citadel 
 
 1 Lord. How deep? {Aside.) 
 Par. Thirty fathom. 
 
 1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make 
 that be believed. {Aside.) 
 
 Par. I would, [ had any drum of the enemy's ; 
 I would swear 1 had recovered it 
 
 1 Lord. You shall iiear one anon. {Aside.) 
 
 Par. X drum now of the enemy's I 
 
 {Alarum within.) 
 
 \ Lord. Throca movousus, caryo, caruo, coryo. 
 
 All. Cargo, cargo, viliianda, par coroo, caryo. 
 
 Par. 01 ransome, ransome . — Do not hide mino 
 eyes. {They seize him., and hlindj'old him.'' 
 
 1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. 
 
 Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment. 
 And I shall lose my life for want of language : 
 If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
 Italian, or French, let him speak to me, 
 I will discover that which shall undo 
 The Florentine. 
 
 1 Sold. Boshos vanvado : 
 
 I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue :— — 
 Kerelybonto : Sir, 
 
 Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
 Are at thy bosom. 
 
 Par. Oh! 
 
 I Sold. O, pray, pray, pray. ■ — 
 
 Ma7ikarevania dulche. 
 
 1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorca. 
 
 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yetj 
 And, hood wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
 To gather from thee : haply, thou may's t inform 
 Something to save thy life. 
 
 Par, O, let me live. 
 
 And all the secrets of our camp I'll snow. 
 Their force, their purposes ; nay, I'll speak that, 
 Which you will wonder at, 
 
 1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully? 
 
 Par. If I do not, damn me. 
 
 I Sold. Acer do lint a. 
 
 Come on, thou art granted space. 
 
 [Exit, with Parolles guarded, 
 
 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my 
 
 brother, [muffied. 
 We have c:iught the woodcock, and will keep him 
 Till we do liear from them. 
 
 2 Sold. Captain, I will. 
 
 1 Lord. He will betray us all uuto ourseh es r— » 
 Inlbnn 'em that. 
 
 2 Sold. So I will, sir. 
 
 I Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, ^nd safelj 
 lock'd. ^Exeunt 
 
 Scene U.— Florence. A Room in tli« Widoiv's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Bertram and Diana. 
 
 Ber. They told me, tiiat your name was Fontibell 
 
 Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 
 
 Ber. Titled goddess ; 
 
 And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul. 
 In your fine frame hath love no quality ? 
 If the quick tire of youth liglit uot your mind. 
 You are no maiden, but a inonMiiient : 
 When you are dead, you should be such a one 
 As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
 And now you should be as your mother was. 
 When your sweet self was got. 
 
 Dia. She tlien was honest. 
 
 Ber. So should you be. 
 
 D ia. No : 
 
 My mother did but duty ; such, my lord. 
 As you owe to your wife. 
 
 Ber. No more of that ! 
 
 I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows : 
 1 was compell'd to her; but I love thee 
 By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
 Do thee all rights of service. 
 
 Dia. Ay, so you serve us. 
 
 Till we serve you: but when you have our roses. 
 You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves. 
 And mock us with our bareness. 
 
 Ber. How have I sworn 
 
 Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the tru tit 
 But the plain single vow, that is vow d true. 
 What is not holy, that we swear not by, 
 But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you, 
 tell me, 
 
 If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, 
 I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths. 
 When I did lo\e you ill / tliis has no holding. 
 To swear by him whom I protest to love, 
 
Scene 3. ALL'S WELL TB 
 
 That I will work against him; therefore your oaths 
 Are words, and poor conditions; but unseal'd, 
 At least, in my opinion. 
 
 Ber. Change it, change it ; 
 
 not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
 
 nd my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, 
 Tliat you do charge men with : stand no more off. 
 But give thyself uato my sick, desires, 
 VVho then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever 
 My love, as it begins, shall so persever. 
 
 Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs, 
 That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 
 
 Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power 
 To sive it from me. 
 
 Dia. Will you not, my lord ? 
 
 Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house. 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
 Wliich were the greatest obloquy in the world 
 In me to lose. 
 
 Dia. Mine honour's such a ring : 
 
 My chastity's the jewel of our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy in the world 
 In me to lose : thus your own proper wisdom 
 Brings in the champion honour on my part. 
 Against your vain assault. 
 
 Ber. Here, take my ring: 
 
 My house, mine honour, yea, ray life be thine, 
 And I'll be bid by thee. [ber window; 
 
 Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham- 
 I'll order take, my mother shall not hear. 
 Now will I charge you in the band of truth, 
 When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, 
 Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me : 
 My reasons are most strong, and you shall know 
 thrm, 
 
 When back a^ain this ring shall be deliver'd : 
 And on jour finger, in the night, Til put 
 Another ring; that, what in time proceeds. 
 May token to the future our past deeds. 
 Adieu, till then; then, fail not: you have won 
 A wife of me, though there my hope be done. 
 
 Bar A heaven on earth 1 have won by wooing 
 thee. _ [Exit. 
 
 Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven 
 and me I 
 
 Yon m iy so in the end. 
 
 My mother told me just how he would woo. 
 As if she sat in his heart; she says, all men 
 Have the like oaths' he had sworn to marry me. 
 When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him. 
 When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, 
 Marry tiiat will, I'll live and die a maid : 
 Only in this disguise, 1 think't no sin _ 
 To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — The Florentine Camp. 
 Enter the two French Lords, and two or three 
 Soldiers. 
 
 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's 
 
 letter? 
 
 2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since : there 
 is something in't, that stings his nature; for, on the 
 reading it, he changed almost into another man. 
 
 1 Lord. He has much wortliy blame laid upon him, 
 fur shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 
 
 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlast- 
 mg displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his 
 bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a 
 thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 
 
 1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and 
 I am the grave of it. 
 
 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman 
 here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this 
 night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: 
 he hath given her bis monumental ring, and thinks 
 oimself made in the unchaste composition. 
 
 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion ; as we 
 %re ours Ives, what things are we I 
 
 2 Lji I. Merely our own traitors. And as, in the 
 
 lT ends well 
 
 common course of all treasons, we still see them 
 reveal themselves, till they attain to their aliiiorred 
 ends ; so he, that in this action contrives against his 
 own nobility, in his proper stream o'erfluws himself. 
 
 1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be 
 trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? We shall not 
 then have his comoany to-night? 
 
 Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dieted 
 to his hour. 
 
 1 Lord. That approaches apace : I would gladly 
 have him see his company anatomized ; that he 
 might take a measure of his own judgments, \vhere- 
 in so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 
 
 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him, till he 
 come ; for his presence must be the vvliip of the 
 other, [wars ? 
 
 1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these 
 
 2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 
 
 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then ? will 
 he travel higher, or return again into France ? 
 
 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
 altogetlier of his council. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I be a 
 great deal of his act. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, 
 fled irom his house ; her pretence is a pilgrimage to 
 Saint Jaqiies le grand ; which holy undertaking, with 
 most austere sanctimony, she accomplished : and, 
 there residing, the tenderness of her'nature became 
 as a prey to her grief; in tine, made a groan of her 
 last breath, and now she siof^s in heaven, 
 
 2 Lord. How is this justified ? 
 
 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own let- 
 ters ; which makes her story true, e' en to the point 
 of her death: her death itself, which could not be 
 her office to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed 
 by the rector of the place. 
 
 2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ' 
 
 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmation.s, poiut. 
 from point, to tlie full arming of tlie verity. 
 
 2 Lord. 1 am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad oi 
 this. 
 
 1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make ua 
 comforts of our losses ! 
 
 2 Lord. And how mightily, same other times, we 
 drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that his 
 valour hath here acquired for liim, shall at home be 
 encountered with a shame as ample. 
 
 1 Lord. Tlie web of our life is of a mingled yam, 
 good and ill together: our virtues would be proud, 
 if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes 
 would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our 
 virtues. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 How now? where's your master? 
 
 Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, ofwhom 
 he hath taken a solemn leave ; his lordship will 
 next morning for France. The duke hath offered 
 him letters of commendations to the king. 
 
 2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, 
 if they were more than they can commend. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 
 tartness. Here's his lordship now. — How now, my 
 lord, is't not after midnight? 
 
 Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi- 
 nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of 
 success: I have conge'd with the duke, done my 
 adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for 
 her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; en- 
 tertained my convoy; and, between these main par- 
 cels of despatch, effected many nicer needs; the last 
 was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet 
 
 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and 
 th i morning your departure hence, it requires haste 
 of your lordship. 
 
 Ber. I mean the business is not en-led, as fearing 
 
202 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 to hear of it he^. after: but shall we have this dia- 
 logue between the fool and the soldier? Come, 
 
 britjg forth this counterfeit module ; he has deceived 
 me. like a double-meaning prophesier. 
 
 2 Lord, iiring him foitli: [Exeunt Soldiers] he 
 has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 
 
 Ber. So matter; his heels have deserved it, in 
 usurping liis spurs so long. How does he carry 
 himself? 
 
 1 Lord. I have told your lordship already ; the 
 stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would 
 be understood; he weeps, like a wench that had 
 shed her milk : he hath confessf-d himself to Mor- 
 gan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time 
 of his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of 
 his setting i'the stocks : and what think you he hath 
 confessed ? 
 
 .Ber. Nothing of me, has he? 
 
 2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be 
 read to his face : if your lordship be in't, as, I be- 
 lieve, you are, you must have the patience to hear it. 
 
 Re enter Soldiers, with Parolles. 
 
 Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled 1 he can say 
 nothing of me ; hush ! husk ! 
 
 2 Lord. Hoodman cornes! Porto tartarossa. 
 
 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you 
 say without 'em? 
 
 Par. 1 will confess what I know, without con- 
 straint; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no 
 
 1 Sold. jBosko chiitmrcho. [more. 
 
 2 Lord. Boblihindo chicurmurco. 
 1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our gene- ) 
 
 ral bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a ; 
 
 note. i 
 Par. And truly, as I hope to live, I 
 1 Sold. First demand of him, how many horse j 
 
 ike duke is strong. What say you to that ? 
 
 Par. Fi\eor six thousand; but very weak and j 
 
 unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the ; 
 
 commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation j 
 
 and credit, and as I hope to live. j 
 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? | 
 Par. Do; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and 
 
 which way you will. [is this ! , 
 
 Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saying slave ' 
 
 1 Lord. You are deceived, ujy loid; this is mon- \ 
 sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist (that was his 
 own phrase), that had the whole th-eoric of war in 
 the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape 
 of his dagger. 
 
 2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keep- 
 ing his sword clean; nor believe he can have every 
 thing in him. bv wearing his apparel neatly. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will 
 ay true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak 
 uth. 
 
 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. 
 Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature 
 e delivers it. 
 
 Par. Poor rogues, I pray yon, say. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set dovyn. 
 
 Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, 
 the rogues are marvellous poor. 
 
 1 Sold. Demand of him, of what strength they 
 area-foot. What say you to that? I 
 •arr. By my truth, sir, if I were to live this pre- j 
 sent hour, 1 will tell true. Let me see: Spurio a \ 
 hundred and filty, Sebastian so many, Coranibus so ; 
 many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, i 
 and Gratii. two hundred and fifty each: mine own 
 company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred 
 and fifty each : so that the muster-file, rotten and 
 sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand 
 poll; half of which dare not shake the snow from 
 off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to ^ 
 pieces. I 
 
 Ber. WTjat shall be done to him ? | 
 
 J Lordl Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- j 
 
 mand of him my conditions, and what credit I }ia\ « 
 with the duke. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shah de- 
 mand of him, whether one captain Dumnin he 
 the camp, a Frenchman: ichat his reputation is 
 ivith the duke, ivhat his valour, honesty, and ex- 
 pertness in tears ; or whether he thinks it ibere 
 not possible, with well-weiyhi7ig suitis of gold, to 
 corrupt him to a revolt. What say you to this? 
 what do you know of it ? 
 
 Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the parti, 
 cular of the interrogatories : demand them singly. 
 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain ? 
 Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice in 
 Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the 
 sheriff's fool with child ; a dumb innocent, that could 
 not say him nay. 
 
 [Dumain lifts up his hand in anger. 
 Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; though 
 I know, his brains ar-e forfeit to the next tile that falls. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flo- 
 rence's camp? 
 
 Par. Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy 
 1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me ; we shall hear 
 of your lordship anon. 
 
 ] Sold. What is his reputation with the duke? 
 Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poo 
 officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day, t 
 turn him out o'thy band : I think, 1 have his letter 
 my pocket. 
 
 1 Sold. Marry, we'll search. 
 
 Par. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is 
 there, or it is upon a file, wth the duke's other let- 
 ters, in my tent. [to you? 
 1 Sold. Here 'tis; here's apa[)er: shall 1 r».ad it 
 Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no. 
 Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 
 1 Lord. Excellently. 
 
 1 Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and full qj 
 gold. — 
 
 Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is sji 
 adveitiseriient to a proper maid in Floience, cne 
 Diana, to take heed of the allurement of o.ne count 
 Roiisiilou, a foolish idle boy, but, for all th;it, very 
 ruttish : I pray you, sir, put it up again. 
 
 1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. 
 Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was \eiy ho. 
 nest in the behalf of the maid : for I knew the yomig 
 coutit to be a dang'='rous and lascivious boy: who 
 is a whale to virginity, and devours up all tlie fry 
 it finds. 
 
 Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue I 
 
 1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop 
 gold, and take it ; 
 
 A fter he scores he never pays the score : 
 Half tvon, is match well made ; match, and wet 
 make it; 
 
 He ne'er pays after debts, take it before ; 
 And say, a soldier. Dian, told thee this, 
 Men are to mell loith, boys are not to kiss : 
 For count qf' this, the connfs a fool. I knowity 
 f9^ho pays before, but not ivhen he does owe it. 
 Thine, as he vow' d to thee in t-hine ear, 
 
 Paroll . 
 
 Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with 
 this rhyme in his forehead. 
 
 2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the mani' 
 fold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 
 
 Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cal^ 
 and now he's a cat to me. 
 
 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, w« 
 shall be fain to hang you. 
 
 Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I an 
 afraid to die; but that, my offences being many, 1 
 would repent out the remainder of nature : let m« 
 live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or any wher^ 
 so I may live. 
 
 1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you con- 
 fess freely ; therefore, once more to this capta'i 
 Dumain : Vou have answered to his reputatioi 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 20S 
 
 SCENB 5. 
 
 with the duke, and to his valour: What is his ho- 
 nesty? 
 
 Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister ^ 
 for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He 
 professes not keeping of oaths ; in breaking them, he 
 IS stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with 
 such vol.jbility, that you would think truth were a 
 fool : drunkenness is his best virtue ; for he will be 
 swine-dnink; and in his sleep he does little harm, 
 save to his bed-clothes about him ; but they know 
 his conditions, and lay liim in straw. I have but 
 little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every 
 thing, that an honest man should not have ; what an 
 honest man should have, he has nothing. 
 
 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. 
 
 Ber. For this description of thine honesty ? A pox 
 apon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 
 
 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war? 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the 
 English tragedians, — to belie him I will not, — and 
 more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that 
 country, he had the honour to be the officer at a 
 place called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling 
 of files : I would do the man what honour I can, but 
 of this I am not certain. 
 
 1 Lord. He hath out-villained villainy so far, that 
 the rarity redeems him. 
 
 Ber. A pox on him ! he's a cat still. 
 
 1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I 
 need not ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt. 
 
 Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee- 
 simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and 
 cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual 
 succession for it per|>etually. [Dumain? 
 
 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain 
 
 2 Lord- Why does he ask him of me ? 
 1 Sofd What's he? 
 
 Par. E'en a crow of the same n?st ; not altoge- 
 ther so great as the first in goodness, but greater a 
 preat deal in evil. He excels his brother for a cow- 
 ard, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that 
 is : in a retreat, he out-runs any lackey ; marry, in 
 coming on he has the cramp. 
 
 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake 
 to betray the Florentine ? 
 
 Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rou- 
 sillon. [his pleasure. 
 
 1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know 
 
 Par. I'll no more drumming; a plague of all 
 drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to be- 
 guile the supposition of that lascivious young boy, 
 the count, have I run into this danger : yet, who 
 would have suspected an ambush where I was 
 taken ? _ {Aside.) 
 
 1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die : 
 the general says, you, that have so traitorously dis- 
 covered the secrets of your army, and made such 
 pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can 
 serve the world for no honest use ; therefore you 
 must die. — Come , headsman, off with his head. 
 
 Par. O Lord, sir: let me live, or let me see my 
 death! ' 
 
 1 Sold. That you shall, and take your leave of all 
 your friends. {TJnmuffiing him.) 
 So, look about you ; Know you any here ? 
 
 Ber. Good-morrow, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles. 
 1 Lord. God save you, noble captain, 
 
 "2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my 
 bid Lafeu ? I am for France. 
 
 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy 
 of t}»e sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the 
 count Rousillon i an I were not a very coward, I'd 
 compel it of you; but fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram, Lords, §fc. 
 
 I Sold. You are undone, captain : all but yonr 
 scarf, that has a knot on't yet. 
 
 Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 
 
 1 Sold. If you could find out a country where 
 but women were that had received so much shame. 
 
 you might begin an impudent naticm. Fiare yoa 
 well, sir; I am for France, too; we shall speak of 
 you there. [E&it 
 Par. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great 
 'T would burst at this: Captain Til be no more; 
 But 1 will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
 As captain shall : simply (he thing I am [gart 
 Stiall make me live. Who knows himself a \»rag 
 Let him fear this; for it will come to pass, 
 That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
 Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live 
 Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ! 
 There's place, and means, for every man alive. 
 I'll after them. [Exii 
 
 Scene IV. — Florence. A Room in the Widow'* 
 House, 
 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana.. 
 
 Hel. That you may well perceive I have not 
 wrong'd you. 
 One of the greatest in the Christian world 
 Simll be my surety ; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needfnl; 
 Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : 
 Time was, I did him a desired office, 
 Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
 'I'hrough flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth. 
 And answer, thanks : I <luly am inform'd. 
 His grace is at Marseilles ; to which place 
 We have convenient convoy. You must know, 
 I am supposed dead : the army breaking. 
 My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aidiu 
 And by the leave of my good lord the king. 
 We'll be, before our welcome. 
 
 Wid. Gentle madam. 
 You never had a servant, to whose trust 
 Your business was more welcome. 
 
 Hel. Nor you, mistress. 
 
 Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour 
 To recompense your love ; doubt not, but heavem 
 Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower. 
 As it hath fated her to be my motive 
 And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! 
 That can such sweet use make of what they ha&Sf 
 When saucy trusting of the cozen"d thoughts 
 Defiles the pitchy night! so lust doth play 
 With what it loaths, for that which is away : 
 
 But more of this hereafter: You, Diana, 
 
 Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
 Something in my behalf. 
 
 Dia. Let death and honesty 
 
 Go with your impositions, I am yours 
 Upon your will to suffer. 
 
 Hel. Yet, I pray you, 
 
 But with the word, the time will bring on summer. 
 When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns. 
 And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; 
 Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us: 
 Alls well that ends well: still the fine's the crown; 
 Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown, 
 Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipe- 
 taftata fellow there ; whose villainous saffron would 
 have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
 nation in his colour: your daughter- in-law had been 
 alive at this hour; and your son here at home, more 
 advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed humble- 
 bee I speak of. 
 
 Count. 1 would, I had not known him ! it was 
 the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that 
 ever nature had praise for creating: if she had par- 
 taken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groaus 
 of a mother, I could not have owed her a more 
 rooted love. 
 
 Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady ; w« 
 may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such 
 another herb. 
 
Clo. Indeed, sir, sAe was *.he sweet marjoram ot 
 the salad, or, rather the herb of grace. 
 
 Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they 
 are nose- herbs. 
 
 Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have 
 fl:t much skill in grass. 
 
 Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself; a knave, 
 or a fool ? 
 
 Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave 
 at a man's. 
 
 Laf. Your distinction? [his service. 
 
 Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do 
 Laf. So yon were a knave at his service, indeed. 
 Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, 
 to do her service. [knave and fool. 
 
 Laf. I will subscribe for thee ; thou art both 
 Clo. At your service. 
 Laf. No, no, no. 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, if 1 cannot serve you, I can serve 
 as great a prince as you are. 
 
 Laf. Who's tliat ? a Frenchman ? 
 
 Clo. Faith, sir, he has an English name ; but his 
 phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. 
 
 Laf. What prince is that? 
 
 Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of 
 darkness: the devil. 
 
 Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give thee 
 not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talk'st 
 of ; serve him still. 
 
 Clo. I an> a woodland fellow, sir, that alway 
 loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever 
 keeps a good fire. But, sure, be is the prince of 
 the world, let his nobility reuiain in his court. I 
 am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take 
 to be too little for pouip to enter: some, that humble 
 themselves, may ; but the many will be too chill and 
 tender; and they'll be for tiie flowery way, that 
 leads to the broad gate, and the great fiie. 
 
 Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee ; 
 and 1 tell thee so before, because 1 would not fall 
 out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well 
 looked to, without any tricks. 
 
 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 
 be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the 
 law of nature. [Exit. 
 
 Laf A shrewd kna\e, and an unhappy. 
 
 Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made 
 himself much sport, out of hitn ; by his authority 
 he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his 
 sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs 
 where he will, 
 
 Laf I like him well; 'tis not amiss : and I was 
 about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's 
 death, and that my lord your son was upon his re- 
 turn home, I moved the king, my master, to speak 
 ED the behalf of my daughter ; which, in the mino- 
 rity of them both, his m;ii sty, out of a self gracious 
 remembrance, did first propose: his highness hath 
 promised me to do it; and, to stop up the displea- 
 sure he hath conceived against your son, there is no 
 fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? 
 
 Count. With very m'.ich content, my lord, and I 
 wish it happily effected. 
 
 Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of 
 as able body as wh<"n he ntmibered thirty; he will 
 be here to-morrow, or I atu deceived by him that in 
 such intelligence hath seidou) failed. 
 
 Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him 
 ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here 
 to-night: 1 shall beseech your lordship, to remain 
 with me till tJiey meet together. 
 
 Laf. Mad iin, I was thinking, with what manners 
 I might safely be aduutted. 
 
 Count. You need but plead your honourable 
 privilege. 
 
 Laf. Lady, of that T have made a bold charter ; 
 'iat, I thank my God, it holds yet 
 
 Re enter Cloivn. 
 Clo. O m.idata yondt^r's my lord your son with 
 
 Act V 
 
 a patch of velvet on's face : whether there c^r a scat 
 under it, or no, the velvet knows; I at 'tis a goodiy 
 patch of velvet : his left cheek is a cheek of two 
 pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 
 
 Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
 livtry of honour ; so, belike, is that. 
 
 Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. 
 
 Laf Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long 
 to talic with the young noble soldier. 
 
 Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicat« 
 fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bo\» 
 the head, and nod at every man. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 Scene I.— Marseilles. A Street.. 
 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, u^ith two 
 Attendants. 
 
 Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, 
 Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ; 
 But. since vou have made the days and nights as 
 To wear your gentle limbs in my aiiairs, [one. 
 Be bold, you do so grow in my requital. 
 As nothing can unroot you. in happy time ; 
 
 Enter a gentle Astringer. 
 
 This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
 If he would spend his power. — (iod save you, sir. 
 Gent. And you. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 
 
 Gent. I have been sometimes there. 
 
 Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
 From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
 And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, 
 Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
 The use of your own virtues, for the which 
 I shall continue thankful. 
 
 Gent. What's your will ? 
 
 Hel. That it will please you 
 To give this poor petition to the king; 
 And aid me with that store of power you have, 
 To come into his presence. 
 
 Gent. The king's not here. 
 
 Hel. Not here, sir? 
 
 Gent. Not, indeed ; 
 
 He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
 Than is his use. 
 
 TVid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! 
 
 Hel. Alls well that ends well, yet ; 
 Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — 
 I do beseech you, whither has he gone? 
 
 Gent. Marry, as 1 take it, to Rousillou ; 
 Wliither 1 am going. 
 
 Hel. I do beseech you, sir. 
 
 Since you are like to see the king before me. 
 Commend the paper to his gracious hand ; 
 Which, I presume, shall render you no blame. 
 But rather make you thank your pains for it: 
 I will come alter you, with what good speed 
 Our means will make us means. 
 
 Gent. 'I'his I'll do for you. 
 
 Hel. And you shall find yourself to be wel, 
 thank'd, 
 
 Whate'er falls more.— We must to horse again ;— 
 Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Rousillon. The inner Court of the 
 CGuntess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Clown and Parolles. 
 Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu 
 this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known 
 to you, when I have neld familiarity with freshei 
 clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied m fortune's 
 moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong 
 displeasure. 
 
 Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
 if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will 
 henceforth eat no fish ot fortune's bu' '.ering. Pr'y thee, 
 allow the wind. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
Scene S. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 205 
 
 Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir ; I 
 0pake but by a metaphor. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
 stop my nose ; or p gainst any man's metaphor. 
 Vr'ythee, get fhee lurther. 
 
 Pxr . Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 
 
 Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand av/ay : A paper from 
 fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, 
 here he (ounes himself. — 
 
 Enter Lapeu. 
 
 Her«,> is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, 
 fbut not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into tlie unclean 
 fishpond of lier displeasiire, and, as he says, is 
 muddied withal : Prsiy you, sir, use the carp as you 
 may; for he lodks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, 
 fiDolish, rascally knave. 1 do pity his distress in 
 n»y smiles of comfort, and leave him to yoiir lord- 
 ship. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath 
 cruelly scratched. 
 
 LaJ'. And what would you have me to do? 'tis 
 too late to pare ber nails now. Wherein have you 
 played the knave with fortune, that she sliould 
 scratch you, wlio of herself is a good lady, and 
 would not have knaves thrive long under her? 
 There's a quart d'ecu for you : Let the justices 
 make you and fortime friends ; I am for other bu- 
 siness, [single word. 
 
 Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one 
 
 haf. You beg a single penny more : come, you 
 Bhall hu't; sa\ e your word. 
 
 Par. My name, niy good lord, is Parolles. 
 
 haf. You beg more than one word then. — Cox' 
 my passion! Give me your hand; ^low does your 
 drum? [found me. 
 
 Par. O my good lord, you were the first that 
 
 Laf. Was I, in sootli? and I was the first that 
 lost thee. 
 
 Par. It lies in you, my lord, ,to bring me in some 
 grace, for you did bring me out, 
 
 Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon 
 me at once both the office of God and the devil ? 
 one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee 
 out. {^Trumpets sound.) The king's coming, 1 know 
 by his tniuipets. — Su-rah, inquire further after me ; 
 I had talk of you last night : though you are a fool 
 and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. 
 
 Par. I praise God for you. [Exeu7it. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Room in the Countess's 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, 
 Qentlemen, Guards, §fc. 
 
 King. We lost a jevvel of her; and our esteem 
 Was made much poorer by it : but your son, 
 As road in fi)lly, lack'd the sense to know 
 Her estimation korae. 
 
 Count. 'Tis past, my liege : 
 
 And 1 beseech your majesty to make it 
 Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth; 
 When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
 O'erbears it, and burns on. 
 
 Kirifj. My honour'd lady, 
 
 [ have forgiven and forgotten all; 
 Thoi'gh my revenges were high bent upon him. 
 And watch'd the time to shoot. 
 
 Ltif This I must say, 
 
 r»ut first I beg my pardon, — The young lord 
 I)id to his inaje.sty, his mother, and his lady. 
 Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
 The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife, 
 W^hose beauty did astonish the survey 
 Of ricnest eVes ; whose words all ears took captive ; 
 Whose dear perfection, hearts, that scorn'd to serve. 
 Humbly caird mistress. 
 
 King, Praising what is lost. 
 
 Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him 
 
 hither; 
 
 ■ We are reconcii'd, and the first view shall kill 
 
 All repetition : — Let him not ask our pardoa ; 
 The nature of his great offence is deai. 
 And deeper than oblivion do we bury 
 The incensing relics of it : let him approach, 
 A stranger, no offender ; and inform him. 
 So 'tis our will he should. 
 
 Gent, I shall, ray liege. 
 
 [Exit Gentkmat^ 
 
 King, What says he to your daughter? buve yofl 
 spoke ? 
 
 Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highnesa 
 King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters 
 That set him high in fame. [sent me, 
 
 Enter BERTRAM. 
 
 Laf. He looks well on't. 
 
 King. I am not a day of season, 
 Fo-r thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail 
 In me at once : But to the brightest beams 
 Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth. 
 The time is fair again. 
 
 Ber. My high-repented blames. 
 
 Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 
 
 King. All is whole ; 
 
 Not one word more of the consumed time. 
 Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 Steals, ere we can effect them : You remember 
 The daiigiiter of this lord ? 
 
 Ber. Admiringly, my liege : at first 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me. 
 Which warp'd the line of every other favour; 
 Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n; 
 Extended or contracted all proportions. 
 To a most hideous object : Thence it came. 
 That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself. 
 Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 The dust that did off'end it. 
 
 King. Well excus'd : 
 
 That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away 
 From the great couipt : But love, that comes too late. 
 Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
 To the great sender turns a sour offence. 
 Crying, That's good, that's gone : our rash faults 
 Make trivi;d price of serious things we have. 
 Not knowing them, until we know their grave: 
 Oit our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
 Destroy our friends, and after weep tiieir dust : 
 Our own love waking cries to see what's done, 
 While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
 Be tliis sweet Helen's knell, and now ibrget her. 
 Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : 
 'I'he main consents are had ; and here we'll stay 
 To see our widower's second marriage-day. 
 
 Count. Which better than the first, O dear hea. 
 ven, bless! 
 
 Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease ! 
 
 Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house'* 
 name 
 
 Must be digested, give a favour from you. 
 To sparkle 'a the spirits of my daugliter. 
 That she may quickly come. — By my old beard, 
 A lid every hair that's out, Helen, that's dead. 
 Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, 
 The last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
 I saw upon her finger. 
 
 Ber. Hers it was not. 
 
 King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine ej«l^ 
 While 1 was speaking, oft was fasteu'd to't. — 
 This ring was mine; and, when 1 gave it Helen, 
 1 bade her, ii' her fortunes ever stood 
 Necessitied to help, thut by this token 
 I would relieve her : Had you that cruft, to reive ho^ 
 Of what should stead her most? 
 
 Ber. My gracious SOT ere%n 
 
 Howe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
 
206 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 The ring was never hers. 
 
 Count. Son, on my life, 
 
 I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it 
 At her life's rate. 
 
 Laf, I am snre, I saw her wear it. 
 
 JSer. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it : 
 In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
 Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
 Of her that threw il : noble she was, and thought 
 I slood engag'd : but when I had subscrib'd 
 To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, 
 I could not answer in that course of honour. 
 As slie ha<l made the overture, she ceas'd, 
 In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
 Receive the ring again. 
 
 King. Plutus himself. 
 
 That knov«'s the tinct and multiplying medicine, 
 Hath not in nature's mystery more science, 
 Thatj I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, 
 Whoever gave it you : Then, if you know. 
 That you are well acquainted with yourself, 
 Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement 
 You got it Irom her : she call'd the saints to surety. 
 That she would rjever put it from her finger. 
 Unless she ga^ e it to yourself in bed, 
 (Where you have never come,) or sent it us 
 Upon her great disaster. 
 
 Ber. She never saw it. 
 
 King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine 
 honour; 
 
 And mak'st cotijectural fears to come into me. 
 Which i would lain shut out : If it should prove 
 That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so; — 
 And yet i know not : — thou didst hate her deadly, 
 And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
 Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, 
 More than to see this ring. — Take him away. — 
 
 {Guards seize Bertram.) 
 My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall. 
 Shall tax my fears of little vanity. 
 Having vainly fear'd too little. — Away with him ; — 
 We'll sift this matter further. 
 
 Ber. If you shall prove 
 
 This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
 Prove, that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
 Where yet she never was. [Exit Bertram guarded. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 
 
 G«nt. Gracious sovereign, 
 
 Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not; 
 Here's a petition from a Florentine, 
 Who hath, for four or five removes, come short 
 To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
 Vanqiiish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
 Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, 
 Is here attending : her business looks in her 
 With an importing visage ; and she told me, . 
 In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
 Your highness with herself. 
 
 King. ( Reads. ) Upon his many protestations to 
 marry me, when his ivij'e was dead, I blush to 
 say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a 
 tvidotver ; his vows are forfeited to me, and my 
 honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, 
 taking no leave, and I follow him to Ins country 
 for justice : Grant it me, O King ; in you it best 
 lies : otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor 
 maid is undone. 
 
 Diana Capulet. 
 
 Jjaf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll 
 him : for this, I'll none of him. [Lafeu, 
 
 King. The heavens have thought well on thee. 
 To biing forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors : — 
 Go speedily, and brin^ again the count. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. 
 I am aCeard, the life of Helen, lady, 
 Was foully snatch'd, 
 
 Cwnt. Now, justice on the doers ! 
 
 Enter Bertram, guarded. 
 
 King. 1 wonder, sir, since wives are monsters 
 to you, 
 
 And that you fly them as you swear them lordship. 
 Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that ? 
 Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and Diana. 
 
 Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
 Derived from the ancient Capulet; 
 My suit, as I do understand, you know. 
 And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
 
 TT'id. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour 
 Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
 And both shall cease, without your remedy. 
 
 King. Come hither, count; Do you know these 
 women? 
 
 Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny 
 But that I know them : do they charge me further . 
 
 Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife ? 
 
 Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. 
 
 Dia. If you shall marry. 
 
 You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
 You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; 
 You give away myself, which is known mine; 
 For I by vow am so embodied yours. 
 That she, which marries you, must marry me. 
 Either both, or none. 
 
 Laf. Your reputation {to Bertram) comes too 
 short for my daughter, you are no husband for her. 
 
 Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate crea- 
 ture, [ues3 
 Who sometime I have laugh'd with : let your high- 
 Lny a more noble thought upon mine honour. 
 Than for to think that I would sink it here. 
 
 King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to 
 friend, [nour. 
 Till your d^-eds gain them : Fairer prove your ho' 
 Than in my thought it lies! 
 
 Dia. ' Good my lor d. 
 
 Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
 He had not my virginity. 
 
 King. W^hat say'st thou to her ? 
 
 Ber. She's impudent, my lord; 
 
 And was a common gamester to the camp. 
 
 Dia. He does tne wrong, my lord ; if I were so. 
 He might have bought me at a common price : 
 Do not believe him: O, behold this ring. 
 Whose high respect, and rich validity. 
 Did kick a parallel; yet, for all that, 
 He gave it to a commoner o'the camp. 
 If I be one. 
 
 Count. He blushes, and 'tis it: 
 Of six preceding ancestors, that gem 
 Couferrd by testament to the sequent issue. 
 Hath it been ow'd and worn. Tnis is his wife; 
 That ring s a tliousand proofs. 
 
 King. Methought, you said. 
 
 You saw one here in court could witness it. 
 
 Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
 So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles. 
 
 Lof. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 
 
 King. Find him, and bring him hither. 
 
 Ber. What of him? 
 
 He's quoted for a most perfidious slave. 
 With all the spots o'the world tax'H and debosh'd; 
 Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth : 
 Am 1 or that, or this, for what he'll utter. 
 That will speak any thing? 
 
 King. She hath that ring of yours. 
 
 Ber. I think, she has: certain it is, I lik'd her. 
 And boarded her i'the wanton way of youth : 
 She knew her distance, and did angle I'or me. 
 Madding my eagerness with her restraint. 
 As all impediments in fancy's course 
 Are motives of more fancy ; aad in fine. 
 Her insuit coming with her modern grace. 
 Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring; 
 And I had that which any inferior might 
 At market-price have bought. 
 
 Dia. I mu.stbe pnti«iit| 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 207 
 
 Yoa that turn'c! off a first so noble wife. 
 May justly diet me. I pray yoii yet, 
 (Since you lack virtue, 1 will lose a husband,) 
 Send for yoiir ring, I will return it home. 
 And give me mine again. 
 
 Ber. I have it not. 
 
 King. What ring was yours, I pray you ? 
 
 Dia. Sir, nuich like 
 
 The same upon your finger. 
 
 King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of 
 late. 
 
 Dia. And this was it I gave hint, being a bed. 
 King. The story then goes false, you threw it him 
 Out oi a casement. 
 Dia. I have spoke the truth. 
 
 Enter Parolles, 
 lier. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. 
 King. Yoi\ boggle shrewdly, every feather starts 
 you. — 
 
 Is this the man you speak of? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my lord. 
 
 King. Tell me, sirrah, but, teil me true, 1 charge 
 you, 
 
 Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 
 'Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,) 
 By him, and by this woman here, what know you ? 
 
 Par. So please your majesty, my master hath 
 been an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had 
 in him, which gentlemen have. 
 
 King. Come, come, to the purpose ; did he love 
 this woman ? 
 
 Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her : but how ? 
 
 King. How, I pray you? 
 
 Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves 
 
 a woman. 
 King. How is that? 
 
 Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 
 
 King. As thou art a knave and no knave: — 
 ^\hat an equivocal companion is this? 
 
 Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
 cenmiaud. [orator. 
 
 Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
 
 Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage ? 
 
 Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. 
 
 King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st ? 
 
 Par. Yes, so please your majesty ; I did go be- 
 tween them, as I said ; but more than that, he 
 lo\ed her, — for, indeed, he was mad for her, and 
 talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I 
 know not what: yet I was in that credit with them 
 at that time, that I knew of their going to bed ; and 
 of other njotions, as promising her marriage, and 
 things that would derive me ill-will to speak df, 
 therefore I will not speak what I know. 
 
 King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou 
 canst say they are married : but thou art too line in 
 tliy evidence ; therefore stand aside. — 
 This ring, you say, was yours? 
 
 ^if^' Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? 
 
 Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 
 
 King. Who lent it you ? 
 
 Dia. It was not lent me neither. 
 
 King. Where did you find it then ? 
 
 Dia. I found it not. 
 
 King. If it were yours by none of all these ways. 
 How could you give it him? 
 
 Dia. 1 never gave it him. 
 
 Caf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord ; she 
 goes off and on at pleasure. 
 
 King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. 
 
 Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for auglit I 
 know. 
 
 King. Take her awa? I do not lit,'? her now i 
 
 To prison with her : and away with him. — 
 Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this liof. 
 Thou diest within this hour. 
 
 Dia. I'll never tell jott. 
 
 King. Take her away. 
 
 Dia. I'll i-ut in bail, mj Vteg^ 
 
 King. I think thee now some common custooici. 
 Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas'you. 
 King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all i 
 while? 
 
 Dia. Because, he's guilty, and he is not guilfy; 
 He knows, I am no maid, and he'll swear to't: 
 I'll swear, I am a maid, and he knows not. 
 Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
 I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 
 
 {Pointing to Lafeu.) 
 
 King. She does abuse our ears ; to prison with her. 
 
 Dia. Good mother, fetch ray bail. — Stay, royal 
 sir; [Exit Widow, 
 
 The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for 
 And he shall surety me. But for this lord. 
 Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself!, 
 Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him; 
 He knows himself, my bed lie hath defiPd ; 
 And at that time he got his wife with child : 
 Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; 
 So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick : 
 And now beliold the meaning. 
 
 Re-enter ff^idow with Helena. 
 
 King. Is there no exorcial 
 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? 
 Is't real, that I see ? 
 
 Hel. No, my good lord ; 
 
 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see. 
 The name, and not the thing. 
 
 Ber. Both, both; O, pardoal 
 
 Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this oiaidj 
 I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring. 
 And, look you, here's your letter : this it says, 
 When from my finger you can get this ring. 
 And are by me with child, etc. — This is done : 
 Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? 
 
 Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this 
 I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly, 
 
 Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue. 
 Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — 
 O, niy dear mother, do I see you living? 
 
 Lof. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon :— 
 Good Tom Drum, [to Parolles) lend me a hand- 
 kerchief : so, I thank thee ; wait on me home, I'll 
 make sport with thee : let thy courtesies alone, they 
 are scurvy ones. 
 
 King. Jjet us from point to point this story know. 
 To make the even truth in pleasure flow :— 
 If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, 
 
 (To Diana) 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower ; 
 For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid. 
 Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.— • 
 Of that, and all the progress, more and less, 
 Resolvedly more It-isure shall express: 
 All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet. 
 The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet 
 
 {Advancing.) 
 The king^s a beggar, now the play is dene : 
 All is well ended, if the suit be won, 
 That you express content : which we will pay, 
 With strife to please you, day exceeding day: 
 Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts \ 
 Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
TAMING OF THE SHREW 
 
 Of this play the two plots are so well united, that they can hardly be called two, without injury 1o the art wilt 
 irhicb they are interwoven The attention is entertained with all the variety of a double plot, yet is not distracted 
 by unconnect. d incidents. 
 
 The part between Katharine and Petruchio is eminently sprightly and diverting. At the marriage of Bianca, the 
 RiTiTal of tlie real father, perhaps, produces more perplexity than pleasure. The whole play is very popular and 
 divertiag. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 A Lord. ^ 
 CHRISTOPHERSLY, af/r?/«A:f/i Tinker, I Persons in 
 Hostess, Page, PUtyers, Huntsmen, a?id ^ the Induction. 
 
 other Servants, attendin(i on the Lord, > 
 BAPTISTA, a rich Gentleman of Padua. 
 VINCENTIO, an old Gentleman of Pisa. 
 LTJCENTIO, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. 
 PETRCCHIO, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to 
 Katharina. 
 
 GREMIO — HORTENSIO,— S?<27ors to Bianca. 
 TRANIO,— BiONDELLO,— 5<?rl;«y^^5 to Lvcenile 
 GRUMIO,— CURTIS,— 5«rw«H<.9 to Petruchio. 
 Pedant, an old FelUno, set up to personate Vincentie 
 KATHARINA, the Shrew, 
 BIANCA, her Sister, 
 Widow. 
 
 Tailor, Haberdasher , and Servants, attending yn 
 Baptista and Petruchio. 
 
 j Daughters to Baptista. 
 
 Scene, — Sometimes in Padua ; and sometimes in Petruchio' s House in the Country. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 Scene I. — Before an Ale-house on a Heath. 
 Enter Hostess and Sly. 
 
 Sly. I'll pheese yju, in faith. 
 
 Host. A pair of stocks, yon rogue ! 
 
 Sly. Y'are a baggage ; the Slies are no rogues : 
 Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard 
 Conqueror. There lore, paucas pallabris ; let the 
 world slide . Sessa ! [burst ? 
 
 Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have 
 
 Sly. No, not a denier: go by, says Jeroniniy ; 
 Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 
 
 Host. I know my remedy, 1 must go fetch the 
 thirdboroiigh. ^ [Exit. 
 
 Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer 
 him by law : I'ii not budge an inch, boy ; let him 
 come, and kindly. 
 
 [Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep.) 
 
 Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hinting, with 
 Himtstnen and Servants. 
 Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
 hourids : 
 
 Brach Meri iinan, — the poor cur is emboss'd, 
 And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth"d brach. 
 Saw's* tliou not, boy. how Silver made it good 
 At the hedge corner, in tlie coldest fault ? 
 I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 
 
 1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; 
 He cried ui)oti it at the merest loss. 
 And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: 
 Trust me, I take hiui for the better dog. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a fool ; if Echo were as fleet, 
 1 would esteem hiin worth a dozen such. 
 But sup them well, and look unto them all ; 
 To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 
 
 1 Hun. I will, my lord. 
 
 Lord. Whaf.'j here ; one dead, or drunk ? See, 
 doth he breathe ? 
 
 2 Hun. He breathes, my lord: Were he not 
 
 warm'd with ale, 
 This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 
 Lord. O ujonstrous beast I how like a swine he 
 
 lies ! [image ! — 
 
 Grim death ! how foul and loathsome is thine 
 Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
 What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
 Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, 
 A most delicious banquet by his bed. 
 And brave attendants near him when he wakes. 
 Would not the beggar then forget himself? 
 
 1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 
 
 2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he 
 
 wak'd. [fancy. 
 Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless 
 Then take him up, and manage well the jest : — 
 
 Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, 
 And hang it round with all my wanton pictures; 
 Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters. 
 And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet* 
 Procure me music ready when he wakes. 
 To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
 And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, 
 And, with a low submissive reverence, 
 Say, — What is it your honour will command l 
 Let one attend him with a silver bason, 
 Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers; 
 Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper. 
 And say, — Wilt please your lordship cool yoM 
 hands ? 
 
 Some one be ready with a costly suit. 
 
 And ask him what apparel he will wear; 
 
 Anotlier tell him of his hounds and horse, 
 
 And that his lady mourns at his disease : 
 
 Persuade him, that he hath been lunatic; 
 
 And, when he says he i.s — , say, that he dreams, 
 
 For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
 
 'i'his do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs ; 
 
 It will be I astime passing excellent, 
 
 If it he husbanded with modesty. [part, 
 
 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, vve'll play our 
 As he shall think, by our true diligence, 
 He is no less than what we say he is. 
 
 Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him , 
 And each one to his office, when he wakes. — 
 
 {So7fie beai out Sly. A trumpet sounds.) 
 Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis tliat sounds : 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Belike some noble gentleman; that means. 
 Travelling some journey, to repose him here. — 
 
 Re-enter a Servant. 
 How now ? who is it ? 
 
 Serv. An it please your honour. 
 
 Players, that offer service to your lordship. 
 
 Lord. Bid them come near : 
 
 Enter Players. 
 Now, fellows, you are welcome 
 
 1 Play. We thank your honour. 
 
 Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 
 
 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our du 
 Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I 
 
 member. 
 
 Since once he play'd a farmer's elde.st son ; — 
 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well 
 I have I'orgot your name ; but, sure, that part 
 Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. [meana, 
 1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour 
 Lord. Tis very true; — thou didst it excelleat.- - 
 Well, you are come to me in happy time ; 
 The rather for I have some sport in hand, 
 Wherein your cunning can assist me umcll. 
 
Induction. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 209 
 
 There is a lord will hear yon pSay tcMiigJat ; 
 
 Bat I am doubtful of your modesties; 
 
 Lest, over-eying- of his odd beiiaviour, 
 
 •For yet his honour never heard a play,) 
 
 You break into some merry passion. 
 
 And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, 
 
 If you should smile, he grows impatient. [selves, 
 
 i Play. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain our- 
 Were he the veriest antic in the world. 
 
 Lord. Cro, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 
 And give them friendly welcome every one : 
 Let them want nothing, that my house affords. — 
 
 [Exeunt servant and Players. 
 Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, 
 
 {To a Servant.) 
 And see him dress d in all suits like a lady : 
 That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, 
 And call him — madam ; do him obeisance. 
 Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,) 
 He bear himself with honourable action. 
 Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies 
 Unto their lords, by them accomplished : 
 Such duty to the drunkard let him do, 
 With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy; 
 And say, — What is't your honour will command, 
 Wherein your lady, and your humble wife. 
 May show her duty, and make known her love? 
 And then — with kind embracements, tempting 
 kisses. 
 
 And with declining head into his bosom, — 
 
 Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
 
 To see her noble lord restor e! to health. 
 
 Who, for twice seven years, liath esteemed him 
 
 No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
 
 And if the boy have not a woman's gilt, 
 
 To rain a shower of ccmmanded tears, 
 
 A n onion will do well lor such a shift ; 
 
 Which in a napkin bein^ close convey'd, 
 
 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
 
 See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst; 
 
 ^non I'll give thee more instructions. — 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, 
 Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman ; 
 I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband ; 
 And how my men will stay themselves from laughter. 
 When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
 I'll in to counsel them : haply, my presence 
 May well abate the over-merry spleen, 
 Which otherwise would grow into extremes, 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. 
 Sly is discovered in a rich nirjht-goivn, with 
 
 Attendants; some ivith apparel, others with 
 
 has ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter 
 
 Lord, dressed like a servant. 
 
 Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale, [sack ? 
 
 1 &erv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of 
 
 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these 
 
 conserves? day? 
 
 3 Serv. Wiiat raiment will your honour vs^ear to- 
 Sly. I am Christophero Sly ; call not me — honour, 
 
 nor lordship: I never drank sack in my life; and if 
 you give me any conserves, give me conserves of 
 beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I 
 have no more doublets than backs, no more stock- 
 ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, 
 sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as 
 my toes look tiirough the overleather. [honour! 
 
 Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your 
 O, that a mighty man, of such descent. 
 Of such possessions, and so high esteem. 
 Should be infused witi» so foul a spirit ! 
 
 Sly. What, would you make me mad ? Am not 
 I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Bmton-heath ; 
 by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by 
 transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present pro- 
 fession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale- 
 wife of VVmcoi, if she know n:ft not- if she say I 
 
 am not fourteen pence on the scoie for sheer .^le, 
 score me up for the lyingest knave in Christerdom, 
 What, I am not bestranght: Here's 
 
 1 Serv. O, this it is, that makes your lady mourn- 
 
 2 Serv. O, this it is, that makes your servants 
 
 droop. lyour noiise,, 
 
 Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shuoi 
 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
 O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; 
 Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment. 
 And banish hence these abject lowly dreams: 
 Look how thy servants do attend on thee. 
 Each in his office ready at thy beck. 
 Wilt thou have music ? hark ! Apollo plays, 
 
 (Jllf«8>.) 
 
 And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 
 
 Or wilt thou sleep I* we'll have thee to a couch. 
 
 Softer and sweeter than the lustlul bed 
 
 On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
 
 Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground* 
 
 Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd. 
 
 Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
 
 Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar 
 
 Above the morning lark : Or wilt thou hunt? 
 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them. 
 
 And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
 
 1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds ara 
 
 as swift 
 
 As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 
 
 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures ? we vvill fetctt 
 
 thee straight 
 Adonis, painted by a running brook : 
 And Cytherea all in sedges hid ; 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 
 Lord, We'll shov? thee lo, as she was a maid ; 
 And how she was beguiled and surprLs'd, 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorty 
 
 wood ; 
 
 Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleedsi 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep. 
 So workinanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
 
 Ijord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : 
 Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
 Than any woman in this waning age. fthet>^ 
 
 1 Serv. And, till the tears, that she hath shed ioi 
 Like envious floods, o'er ran her lovely face. 
 
 She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
 And yet she is inferior to none. 
 
 Sly. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady? 
 Or do I dream ? or have I dieavn'd till now ? 
 I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak ; 
 I smell sweet savours, and I leel soft things :— 
 Upon my lil'e, 1 am a lord, indeed ; 
 And not a tinker, nor Cliristophent Sly. — ■ 
 Well, bring our lady hither to our sight : 
 And, once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 
 
 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wasfe 
 
 your hands ? 
 
 {Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin.) 
 O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd ! 
 O, that once more you knew but what you are ! 
 These filteen years you have been in a dream; 
 Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 
 
 Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap» 
 B-ut did I never speak of all tiiat time ? 
 
 1 Serv. O, yes, my lord ; but very idle words 
 For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
 Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of do-jr; 
 And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
 And say, you would present her at the leet, 
 Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts; 
 Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 
 
 Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 
 
 Serv. Why, sir, you know uo house, nor no sucb 
 maid ; 
 
 Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up, — 
 As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, 
 And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell ; 
 
 I 14 
 
210 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act L 
 
 Aiul twenty more such names and men as these, 
 VV Iiicli never were, nor iki m;u> ever saw 
 
 Sitf. Now, Lord be thanked for my goitd ^.r^ends I 
 
 A/L A(nen. 
 
 S/t/. I (hank thee ; thou shalt not lose l)y it. 
 
 Ktilcr the Pa'je, as a lady, with Allendants. 
 
 Pa;/f. How lares my no!)le h»rd ! 
 
 Sly. .Many, I lare well ; lor liere is cheer enonj;li. 
 \\ here is my wile ? 
 
 Pfuje. Here, noble lord; What is thy will with 
 lier? Ihiisband ? 
 
 •*,7y. Are yon my wife, and will not tail me — 
 My nif^n siiould call me — lord ; I an) yonr £;ood-man. 
 
 Pa<je. .My husband and my lord, ujy lord and 
 husbaiid ; 
 t am your wile in all ol)edienre. 
 
 tily. 1 know it well :— What innst I call lier ? 
 
 Lord. Madam. 
 
 Sly. .Alice madam, or Joan madam? 
 Lortl. .Madam, and nothing else; so lord.s call 
 h'uhVs. [and .slept 
 
 Sly. Madam wife, they flay that 1 have dream'd, 
 Abo\t' some fifteen year and more. 
 
 I'ri'je Ay, and the tone seems thirty nnto me, 
 IJrini; all this time abandon"d from yonr bed. 
 
 Sly. "I'is much; Servants, leave me and her 
 
 alone. 
 
 .Madam, nndres.s you, and come now to bed. 
 
 Pnije. 'I'hrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, 
 To pardon me yet for a ni^ht or two; 
 Or, if not so, initil the sun be set : 
 For your physicians have expressly charg'd. 
 In p<'rd to incur your former malady, 
 That I shoidd yet absent me from your bed : 
 I ho|)e, this reason stands for my excuse. 
 
 Sly. .Ay, it .stands so, that 1 may hardly tarry so 
 long. But I would be loath to lall into my dreams 
 ai^ain ; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh 
 and the blood. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amend- 
 ment. 
 
 Are come to play a pleasant comedy, 
 
 For so your doctors hold it very meet; 
 
 Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, 
 
 And melancholy is the nurse ofirenzy, 
 
 Tlierefore, they thought it good you hear a play. 
 
 And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 
 
 Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. 
 
 Sly. iMarry, I will; let them play it: Is not a 
 commonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick ? 
 
 Paye. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing stulf. 
 
 Sly. What, household stuti"? 
 
 Paye. It is a kind of history. 
 
 Sly. Weil, we'll see't : Come, madam wife, sit 
 by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er 
 be younger. [They sit dotvn. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Padua. A public Place. 
 Enter Lucentio and Tranio. 
 Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I had 
 To see fair Padua, nursery of art.s, — 
 I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, 
 The pleasant garden of great Italy ; 
 And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd 
 With his good will, and thy good company. 
 Most trusty servant, well aijprov'd in all ; 
 Here let us breathe, and happily institute 
 A course of learning, and ingenious studies. 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
 Gave me my being, and my father first, 
 A merchant of great traffic through the world, 
 Vincentio, come of the BentivoHi. 
 Vincentio his son, brought up in Florence, 
 It (ihall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd. 
 To deck his fortune with 'lis virtuous deeds : 
 And siiersfort, 'I'ranLo. fee the time I study. 
 
 Virtue, and (hat part of philosopby 
 Will I apply, that ti'-ats of happiness, 
 By virtue "specially to be achie fd. 
 Tell me (liy mind : for I have Pisa left, 
 -And am to Padua come ; as he that leave« 
 -A shallow plash, to pliwige him in the deep. 
 And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 
 
 7'm. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
 I am in all affected as younself ; 
 (ilad that you thus continue your resolve, 
 To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 This virtue, and this moral discipline, 
 Lets be no stoicks, nor no storks, 1 pray; 
 Or so de\ote to Aristotle's checks, 
 .As Ovid be an outcast <|uife abjur tl : 
 Talk logic with actpiaintance that you have, 
 And practise rhetoric in your common talk; 
 iM;isic and poesy use to quicken you ; 
 The mathematics, and the metaphysics, 
 Fall (o them, as yon find your stomach serves yv)U : 
 No i-rofit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en ;— 
 In brief, sir, study what you most affect 
 
 Lkc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advis«. 
 It", Biondello, thou wertcome ashore. 
 We could at once pat us in readiness ; 
 And take a lodging, tit to entertain 
 Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. 
 13t:4 stay awhile : What company is this ? 
 
 Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. 
 
 Enter Baptist.^, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, 
 and HoRTENSio. Lucentio and Tranio stand 
 aside. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no further. 
 For how I (irmly an) resolv'd you know ; 
 I'h.at is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter 
 Before I have a husband for the eider: 
 If either of you bi th love Kathaiina, 
 Because 1 know you well, and love you well. 
 Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. 
 
 Gre. To cart her rather: She's too rough far 
 me ; — 
 
 There, there, Hortonsio, will yon any wife ? 
 
 Katk. I pray you, sir, [to Bap. J is it your v'A 
 To n)ake a stale of mean)ongijt these matt s ? 
 
 Hjr. Mates, maidi how mean you that''' no 
 mates for you, 
 Unless you wei-e of gentler, milder mould 
 
 Kath. I'laith, sir, you shall never need to tear^ 
 I wis. it is not half way to her heart: 
 But, if it were, doubt not her care should be 
 To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool. 
 And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 
 
 Hor. From all suci) devils, good Loid, deliver us. 
 
 Gre. And nie too, good Lord ! 
 
 Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime 
 toward ; 
 
 That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. 
 
 Luc. But in the other's silence I do see 
 Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. 
 Peace, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. WeW said, master ; mum ! and gaze your fill, 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
 What I have said, — Bianca, get you in : 
 And let it not displease thee, good Bianca ; 
 For I will love thee ne'er th& less, my girl 
 
 Kath. A pretty peat! 'tis best 
 Put finger in the eye, — and she knew why. 
 
 Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. — 
 Sir, to your [)!easure humbly I subscribe: 
 My books, and instruments, shall be my company; 
 On them to look, and practise by myself. 
 
 Luc. Hark, Tranic ! thou may'st hear Minerva 
 speak. tAaid*.] 
 
 Hor. Signi^ir Baptista, will you be so strange? 
 Sorry am 1, that our good will etiecta 
 Biauca's griet. 
 
 Gre. Why, will you mew h®r 
 
 Signio"- Baptista, fc r this fieud of hell, 
 
 i 
 
Scene 1, 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 213 
 
 And make Vier bear the penance of her tongne ? 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, content ye ; I am resolv'd : — 
 Go in* Bianca. [Exit Bianca. 
 
 And for I know, she taketh most delight 
 In music, instruments, and poetry. 
 Schoolmasters will I keep witiiin my house. 
 Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio, 
 Or, signior Gi etr.io, you, — know any such. 
 Prefer them hither; for to cunning men 
 I will be very kind, and liberal 
 To mine own children in good brin,:^ing np: 
 And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay ; 
 For I have more to commune with Bianca. [Exit. 
 
 Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too; may I 
 not? [like. 
 What, shall I be appointed hours; as though, be- 
 I knew not what to take, and what to leave ? Ha ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Gre. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts 
 ' are so good, here is none will hold you. Their 
 love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow 
 our nails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake's 
 dough on both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the love 
 I bear my sweet Bianca, if 1 can by any means 
 light on a fit man, to teach her that wherein she de- 
 lights, I will wish him to her father. 
 
 Hor. So will I, signior Gremio : But a word, I 
 pray. Though the nature of our qiiarrel yet never 
 brook'd parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth 
 us both, — that we may yet again have access to our 
 fair mistress, and he ha[)py rivals in Bianca's love, 
 — to labour and effect one thing 'specially. 
 
 Gre. What's that, I pray ? 
 
 Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 
 Gre. A husband I a devil. 
 Hor. I say, a husband. 
 
 Gre. I say, a devil: Think'st thou, Hortensio, 
 though her father be very rich, any man is so very a 
 fool to be married to hell ? 
 
 Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience, 
 and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, 
 therf be good fellows in the world, an a man could 
 light on tnem , ' would take her with all faults, and 
 money enough. 
 
 Gre. I cannot tell; I but had as lief take her 
 dowry with this condition, — to be whipped at the 
 high cross every morning. 
 
 Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in 
 rotten apples. But, come ; since this bar in law 
 makes us Iriends, it shall be so far forth friendly 
 maintained, — till by hel^jing Baptista's eldest 
 daughter to a husband, we set his youngest free for 
 a husband, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bian- 
 ca I — Happy man be his dole ! He that runs fast- 
 est, gets the ring. How say you, signior Gremio ? 
 
 Gre. I am agreed : and 'would I iiad given him 
 the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, tiiat 
 would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, 
 and rid the house of her. Come on. 
 
 {Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. (Advanciny.) I pray, sir, tell me, — Is it 
 possible 
 
 That love should of a sudden take such hold? 
 
 hue. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
 I never thought it possible, or likely ; 
 But see ! while idly [ stood looking on, 
 [ found the eliect of love in idleness : 
 And now in plainness do confess to thi-e, — 
 That art to me as secret, and as dear. 
 As Aima to the queen of Carthage was, — 
 Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, IVanio, 
 If I achieve not this young modest girl : 
 Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst: 
 Assist me. Tranio, for I know thou vi lit. 
 
 Tra. Master, it is no time to ciiide you now ; 
 Affection is not rat»^d from heart : 
 If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — 
 Rediine te captum quam queas mininio. [tents ; 
 
 Imc. Graint-rcies, lad ; go forward : this con- 
 The rest will comfort, for thy couns^^l's souod. 
 
 Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid. 
 Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith ot all. 
 
 Luc. 0 yes, 1 saw sweet beauty in hor face. 
 Such as the daughter of Agenor had, 
 That made great Jove to humfile him to her hand. 
 When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 
 
 7Va. Saw you no more? mark you not, how hei 
 sister 
 
 Began to scold ; and raise np such a storm, 
 That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ' 
 
 Luc. Tranio, 1 saw. her coral lips to move, 
 And with her breath she did perfume the air* 
 Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 
 
 Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his traaf»t 
 I pray, awake, sir : If you love the maid, 
 Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it 
 stands : 
 
 Her elder sistf^r is so curst and shrewd. 
 That, till the father rid his hands of her 
 Master, your love must live a maid at home , 
 And therefore has he clo&ely mew'd her up. 
 Because she shall not be annoy'd with suitors. 
 
 Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he ! 
 But art thou not advis'd, he took some care 
 To get her cunning schoolmaster to instruct her? 
 
 IVa. Ay, marry, am I sir ; and now 'tis plotted. 
 
 Luc. I ha%e it, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Master, for my hand, 
 
 Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 
 
 Luc, Tell me thine first. 
 
 Tra. You will be schoolmaster, 
 
 And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
 That's your device. 
 
 Luc. It is : May it be done ? 
 
 7Va. Not possible ; For who shall bear your part. 
 And be in Pad.ja here Vincentio's son? 
 Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ; 
 ^isit his countrymen, and banquet them? 
 
 Luc. Basta; content thee ; for I have it full. 
 We have not yet been seen in any house ; 
 N("- can we be distinguished by our faces, 
 •^or man, or master: then it follows thus; — 
 Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
 Keep house, and port, and servants, as I should : 
 I will some other be : some Florentine, 
 Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. — 
 'I'is hat( h'd, and shall be so : — Tranio, at once 
 Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak : 
 When Biondello comes, he waits on thee ; 
 But T will charm him first to keep his tongue. 
 
 Tru. So had you need. [Thet/ exchange habits.) 
 In brief, then, sir, sith it your [/ieasure is. 
 And I am tied to be obedient ; 
 (For so your father charg'd me at our parting: 
 Be serviceable to my son, quoth he, 
 Althougii, I think, 'twas in another sense) 
 I am content to be Lucentio, 
 Because so well I love Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio lovea; 
 And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid, 
 Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where haye you 
 been ? [where are you ? 
 
 Bion. Where have I been ? Nay, how now. 
 Master, has my fellow I'ranio stol'n your clothes? 
 Or you stol'n his ? or both ? pray, what's the new s ? 
 
 Luc. Sirrah, comf hither, 'tis no time to jest, 
 And therefore frame your manners to the time, 
 Your fellow Tranio, here, to save my life. 
 Puts my apparel and my countenance on, 
 And I Ibr my escape have put on his ; 
 For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
 I kili'd a man, and fear I was descried. 
 Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, 
 While' I make way from hence to save my life: 
 You understand me? 
 
 Bion. I, sir? ne'er a whit 
 
 Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth ^ 
 
212 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Ttssvo is chang'c! into Lncentio. 
 
 hton. The better for him ; 'Would I were so too ! 
 Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next 
 wish after. — [dau^jhter. 
 That Lucentio nideed had Baptista's youngest 
 But, sirrah, — not foi my sake, but your master's, — 
 I advise (companies: 
 You use your manners discreetly in all kind of 
 When I am alone, why, then 1 am Tranio ; 
 lint in all plares else, your master Lucentio. 
 
 Ltic. Tranio, let's go : — 
 One thing more rests, that thyself execute ; — 
 To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me 
 why, 
 
 SftSceth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 I Serv. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the 
 play. 
 
 Shj. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good matter 
 turely ; Comes there any more of it f 
 
 Page. My lord, 'tis but hejjun. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam 
 lady ; ' Would' t were done ! 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Before Hortensio's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Grumio. 
 
 Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. 
 To see my friends in Padua; but, of all. 
 My best beloved and approved Iriend, 
 Hortensio; and, I tiov\', this is his house: — 
 Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say. 
 
 Gru. Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is 
 there a'ly man has rebused your worship? 
 
 Pet. Villain, 1 say, knock me here soundly. 
 
 Gru. Knock you here, sir? why, sir, what am 
 1, sir, that I should knock you here, sir? 
 
 Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at. tliis gate, 
 ^^Liid rap uie well, or I'll knock your knave's pate, 
 
 Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome : 1 should 
 knock you first, 
 And then I knovv after who comes by the worst. 
 
 Pet. Will it not be ? 
 'Faith, sirrah, and you'll not knock, I'll wring it; 
 I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 
 
 t' He wrings Grumio by the ears. J 
 
 Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 
 
 Pet. Now, knock when I bid you: sirrah ! vil- 
 lain ! 
 
 Enter Hortensio. 
 
 Hor. How now! what's the matter? — My. old 
 friend Grumio! and my good friend Petruchio! — 
 How do you all at Verona ? 
 
 Pet. S'ignior Hortensio, come you to part the 
 Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say. [fray ? 
 
 Hur. Alia nostra casa bene vennto, 
 Molto honurato signer mio Petruchio. 
 fiise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel. 
 
 Gru. N;iy, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges in Latin. 
 — If lliis be not a lawi'ul cause for me to leave his 
 service, — Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him, and 
 rap him soundly, sir: Well, was it fit for a servant 
 to use his master so ; being, perliaps, (lor aught I 
 see), two and thirty, — a pip out 
 Whoni, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first. 
 Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 
 
 Pet. A senseless villain ! — Good Hortensio, 
 f bade the ra&cal knock upon your gate. 
 And could not get him for my heart to do it. 
 
 Gru. Knock at the gate ? — O heavens ! 
 Spake you not these words plain, — Sirrah, knock 
 me here, [ly ? 
 
 Rap me here, knock me ivell, and knock me sound- 
 And come you now with — kuoi king at tlie gate ? 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, 1 advise you. 
 
 Ror. Petruchio, patience ; 1 am Grumio's pledge : 
 Why, this is a heavy chance 'twixt liiui and you ; 
 Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
 (kiid tell me now, swoet friend, — what happy gale 
 
 Blows you to Padua here, Trom old Yej oua ? 
 Pet. Such wind as scatters young men fhroagSt 
 the world. 
 
 To seek their fortunes further than at home. 
 Where small experience grows. But, in a few, 
 Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me 
 Antonio, my father, is deceas'd ; 
 And I have thrust myself into this maze, 
 Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may : 
 Crowns in my purse 1 have, and goods at home. 
 And so am cojie abroad to see the world. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come rounvily ti 
 thee. 
 
 And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? 
 Thoud st thank me but a little for my counsrl : 
 And yet I II promise thee she shall be rich. 
 And very rich : — but thou'rt too uuich my friend. 
 And I'll not wish thee to her. 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we, 
 Few words suffice : and, therefore, if thou know 
 One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
 (As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,) 
 Be she as Ibul as was Florentius' love, 
 As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd 
 As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse. 
 She moves not, or not remo\es, at least, 
 Afiection's edge in me ; were she as rough 
 As are the swelling Adriatic seas : 
 I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; 
 If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 
 
 Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what 
 his mind is : Why, give him gold enough, and marry 
 him to a puppet, or an aglet-baby; or an old trot 
 with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have aa 
 many diseases as two and tilty horses : why, nothing 
 comes amiss, so money comes withal. 
 
 Hor. Petiuchio, since we have stepp'd thus far 
 I will continue that I broach'd'in jest. [in, 
 I can, Petruciiin, lielp thee to a wile 
 With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous; 
 Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman: 
 Her only lault (and that is faults enough,) 
 Is, — that she is intolerably curst, 
 And shrewd, and froward ; so beyond all measure. 
 That, were my state far worser than it is, 
 I would not wed her for a mine of goid. 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, peace ; thou know'st not gold's 
 e fleet : — 
 
 Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough; 
 For I will board her, though she chide as loud 
 As thimder, when the clouds in autumn crack. 
 
 Hur. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
 An att'able and courteous gentleman: 
 Her name is Katharina Minola, 
 Renowii'd in Padua lor her scolding tongue. 
 
 Pet. I know her father, though I know not her; 
 And he knew rny deceased father well: 
 I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; 
 And therefore let i o be thus bold with you, 
 To give you over at this first encounter. 
 Unless you will accompany me thither, 
 
 Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour 
 lasts, O" my word, an she knew him as well as 1 
 do, she would think scolding would do little good 
 upon him: She may, perhaps, call him half a score 
 knaves, or so: wliy, that's notiiing; an he begio 
 once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks, I'll teli you what, 
 sir, — an she stand him but a little, he will throw a 
 figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it, that 
 she shall have no more eyes to see withal than ff 
 cat: You know him not, sir. 
 
 Hor. Tarry, Petfuchio, I must go with thee ; 
 For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: 
 He hath the jewel (»f my life in hold, 
 His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca; 
 And her withholds from me, and other more 
 Suitors to her, and rivals in my love: 
 Supposing it a thing impossible, 
 (For those defects I have before rehears'dj 
 That ever Katharina will be woo'd. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TAMING OF 
 
 THE SHREW. 
 
 213 
 
 TJierefore this order hath Baptista ta'en ; — 
 That none sitail have access unto Biatica, 
 Till Katharine the curst have got a husl)and. 
 
 Gru. Katharine the ciUotl 
 A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. 
 
 11 jr. Now shall niy friend Petiuchio do me grare, 
 And offer me, disguis"d in sober robes. 
 To old Baptista as a schuohnaster 
 Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca: 
 That so I may by this device, at least. 
 Have leave and leisure to make love to her, 
 And, unsuspected, court her by herself. 
 
 Enter CJremio ; ivil/i him LucENTiO disguised, 
 tcith books vnder his arm. 
 
 Gru. Here's uo knavery! See, to beguile the old 
 folks, how the young folks lay their heads together I 
 Master, master, look about you: Who goes there? 
 ha! 
 
 Hor. Peace, Grumio; 'tis the rival of my love : 
 ■ — Petrijchio, stand by a while. 
 
 Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous ! 
 
 [They retire.) 
 
 Gre. O, very well ; I have perus'd the note. 
 Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound: 
 Ail books oi" love, see that at any hand ; 
 And see you read no other lectures to her: 
 You understand me :~~Over and beside 
 Signior Baptista's liberality. 
 
 I'll mend it with a largess- — Take your papers too. 
 
 And let ine have them very vvell perfum'd ; 
 
 Fot -hi is sweeter thaa perfume itself. 
 
 To horn tlu^y go. W at will you read to her? 
 
 Lw:. VVhate'er 1 read to her, I'll plead for you, 
 A$ for .ny patron, (stand you so assur'd,) 
 As (irmly as yourseli" were still in place- 
 Ye.a, and (perhaps) with more successful words 
 ''^han you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 
 
 Gi-e. O this learning! what a thing it is ! 
 
 Gru 0 this woodcock I what an ass it is ! 
 
 Pei i'eace, sirrah, 
 
 Hor Grumir>, mum ! — God save you, signior 
 G'-emio! [Trow you, 
 
 (h-e. And you're well met, signior Hortensio. 
 
 hither I am going? — To Baptista Minola. 
 1 promis'd to entjuire carefully 
 About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca ; 
 And, by good i'ortune, i tiave lighted well 
 Oil tins young man; for learning and behaviour. 
 Fit for her turn; well read in poetry. 
 And other books, — good oni-s, I warrant you. 
 
 Hor. Tis well ; and I have met a gentleman. 
 Haul prouiis'd lae to help me to another, 
 A fine iHisician to instruct our mistress; 
 So .shall i no whit be behind in duty 
 To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. [prove. 
 
 Gre. Belov'd of me, — and that my deeds siiall 
 
 Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside.) 
 
 Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love : 
 t.isten to me, and if you speak me fair, 
 I'll tell you news inditl'erent good for either. 
 Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met. 
 Upon agreement i'rom us to his liking, 
 Will undertake to woo curst Katlianne ; 
 Vea. and to man y her, if her dowry please. 
 
 Gre. So said, so done, is well : — 
 Hoitensio, have you told hiin all her faults? 
 
 Pet. 1 know slie is an irksome brawling scold ; 
 If that be all, masters, 1 hear net harm. [man? 
 
 Gre. No, say'st me so, fiiend ? What country- 
 
 Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: 
 l\ly lather dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
 And 1 do hope good days, and long, to see. 
 
 Gre. O, sir, such a life, vvitli such a wife, were 
 strange ; 
 
 But, if you have a stomach, to't, o'God's name; 
 Vou shall nave me assisting you in alL 
 But will vou woo this wild cat ? 
 FeL Will I live? 
 
 Gm. Will he woo lier ? ay, or I'll haag her 
 
 {Aside) 
 
 Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent? 
 Think you a little din can daunt mine ears 1 
 Have 1 not in my time heard lions roar ? 
 Have I not heartl the sea, puif'd up with vpinils, 
 Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat? 
 Have 1 not heaid great ordnance in the lield; 
 And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? 
 Have I not in the pitched battle heard 
 Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang' 
 And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,. 
 'J'hat gives not half so great a blow to the ear^ 
 As will a chesnut in a farmer's lire ? 
 Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs. 
 
 (rru. For he tears none. [Anide^ 
 
 Gre. Hortensio, hark 1 
 This gentleman is happily arriv'd. 
 My mind presumes, for his ovvn good, and yours, 
 
 Hor. I promis'di we would be contributors. 
 And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 
 
 Gre. And so we will ; provided, that he win her 
 
 Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Enter Tranio, bravely appareWd, and Biondjsllo. 
 Tra. Cientlemcn, God save you I If 1 may be 
 
 bold, 
 
 Tell me, 1 beseech you, which is t-he readiest way 
 To the house of signior Baptista Minola ? 
 
 Gre. He that has the two fair daughters :— 
 [Aside to IVanio.) is't he you mean? 
 
 Tt-a. E\en he. Biondello I 
 
 Gre. Hark you, sii You mean not her to 
 
 Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir? What have you 
 to dt» ? 
 
 Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray 
 7V«. J love no chiders, sir: — Biondello, let's 
 away. 
 
 Ltcc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside^^ 
 Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; — 
 Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no? 
 Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any otl'ence ? 
 Gre. No ; if, without more words, you will gel 
 you hence. 
 
 Tra. VVhy, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
 For me, as lor you ? 
 
 Gre. But so is not she. 
 
 Tra. For what leason, 1 beseech you ? 
 
 Gre. For this reason, if you'll know, 
 
 That she's the choice love of signior Gremio. 
 
 Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. Sofdy, my masters! il'you be gentleniea. 
 Do niH this right, — hear me witli patience. 
 Baptista is a noble gentle n*in. 
 To whom my father is not all unknown ; 
 And, were his daughter fairer than she is. 
 She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
 Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; 
 Tiipn well one more may fair Bianca have : 
 And so she shall ; Lucentio shall make one. 
 Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. 
 
 Gre. What ! this gentleman v/ill out talk us all. 
 
 Luc. Sir, give him head; I know, he'll prove 4 
 jade. 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words I 
 
 Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you. 
 Did you ever yet see Baptista's daughter? 
 
 Tra. No, sir: but hear I do, that he hath tvfo; 
 The one as famous for a scolding tongue, 
 As is the other for beauteous modesty. 
 
 Pet. Sir, sir, the Hrst's for me ; let her gc by. 
 
 Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; 
 And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 
 
 Pet. Sir, understand you this ol' me, in &ooihi<^. 
 The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, 
 tier father keeps liom all access of suitors^ 
 And will not promi.se her to any man. 
 Until tlie elder sister first be wed : 
 The j uun^er tlsrfca is free, axid not before 
 
TxVMING OF THE SHREW 
 
 214 
 
 Tra. if it be so, sir, that you are tlie mao 
 Must stead us all, and me among the rest; 
 And if you break the ice, and do this feat, — 
 Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
 lor our access, — whose hap sliall be to have her, 
 Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate. 
 
 Hor. Sh-, you say well, and well you do conceive ; 
 And since you do profess to be a suitor, 
 Vou must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
 To whom we all rest generally beholden. 
 
 Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereof, 
 Please ye we may contrive this afternoon. 
 And quaff carouses to our mistress' health; 
 And do as adversaries do in law, — 
 Strive mighttly, but eat and drink as friends. 
 
 Gru. Bion. O excellent motion 1 Fellows, let's 
 begone. 
 
 Hor. The motion's good, indeed, and be it so ; 
 Fetruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. A Room in Baptista's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Katharina and Bianca. 
 Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong 
 yourself, 
 
 To make a bondmaid and a slave of me ; 
 That I disdain : but for these other gawds. 
 Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself. 
 Yea, all ray raiment, to my petticoat ; 
 Or, what you will command me, will I do. 
 So well I know my duty to my elders. 
 
 Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
 Whom thou lov'st best: see thou dissemble not. 
 
 Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive, 
 r never yet beheld that special face 
 Which 1 could fancy more th;\n any other. 
 
 Kath. Minion, thou liest : Is't not Hortensio ? 
 
 Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I sweai% 
 ri! plead for you myself, but you shall have him. 
 
 Kath. O tlien, belike, you fancy riches more ; 
 You will have Gremio to keep you fair. 
 
 Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so ? 
 Nay, then you jest; and now 1 weil perceive, 
 You have but jested with me all this while : 
 I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 
 
 Kath. If that be jest, then all vhe rest was so. 
 
 {Strikes her.) 
 
 Enter B.u^tista. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, dame I whence grows this 
 
 insolence ? 
 
 Bianca, stand aside ; — poor girl ! she weeps : — 
 Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. — 
 For shauje, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, 
 Why dost thou wrong her, that did ne'er wrong 
 
 thee ? 
 
 When did she cross thee with a bitter word ? 
 
 Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be re- 
 venged. [Flies after Bianca. 
 Bap. What, in my sight ? — Bianca, get thee in. 
 
 [Exit Bianca. 
 
 Kath. Will you not suffer me ? Nay, now I see, 
 She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
 I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, 
 And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. 
 Ttilk not to me ; I will go sit and weep. 
 Till 1 can find occasion of revenge. [Exit Kath. 
 
 Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as 1 '( 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 ¥mter Gremio, ivith LuCENTiq in the habit of a 
 mean man ; Fetrlchio, ivith Hortensio as a 
 musician; and' Vrxnio, with BiONDELLO, bearing 
 a lute and books. 
 
 Ore. Good -morrow, neighbour Baptista. 
 Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio : God 
 save you, gentlemen! 
 
 Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, 
 Cail'd Katharina, lair, and viituuus? 
 Bap. I have a daughter, sir, cail'd 
 Qre. You are too blunt ; go to it order 
 Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio ^ 
 leave. — 
 
 I am a gentleman of Verona, sir. 
 
 That, — hearing of her beauty, and berwily 
 
 Her affability, and bashful modesty. 
 
 Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviouTy— 
 
 Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
 
 Within your house, to make mine eye the witaecs 
 
 Of that report, which I so oft have heard. 
 
 And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
 
 I do present you with a man of mine, 
 
 {Presenting Hortenaia ] 
 Cunning in music, and the mathematics. 
 To instruct her fully in those sciences, 
 VV^hereof, I know, she is not ignorant: 
 Accept of him, or else you do me wrong ; 
 His name is Licio, born in Mantua. [sake: 
 
 Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he, for your gooH 
 But for my daughter Katharina, — this I know. 
 She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 
 
 Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her ; 
 Or else you like not of my company. 
 
 Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. 
 Whence are you, sir? what may I call your n»me ? 
 
 Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, 
 A man well known throughout all Italy. 
 
 Bap. I know him well : you are welcome foi bis 
 sake. 
 
 Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I jiray, 
 Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak t(v : 
 Baccare ! you are marvellous forward. 
 
 Pet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio; I v;ould faiiu 
 be doing. 
 
 Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse youf 
 wooing. 
 
 Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of 
 it. 'I'o express the like kindness myself, that have 
 been more kindly beholden to you than any, I fieely 
 give unto you this young scholar {presenting Ltc- 
 centio), that hath been long studying at Rhtims ; as 
 cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as 
 the other in music and mathematics: his name is 
 Cainbio; pray, accept his service. 
 
 Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio: wel- 
 come, good Cambio. — But, gentle sir, [to Tranio.) 
 m( thinks you walk like a stranger ; May 1 be so 
 bold to know the cause of your coming ? 
 
 Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own ; 
 That, being a stranger in this city here, 
 Do make myself a suitor to your daughter. 
 Unto Bianca, iair, and virtuous. 
 Nor is your firm resolve anknown to me, 
 In the preferment of the elder sister; 
 This liberty is all that I request, — 
 That, upon knowledge of my parentage, 
 I may have welcome 'mangst the rest that woo, 
 And free access and favour as the rest. 
 And toward the education of your daughters, 
 I here bestow a simple instrument, 
 And this small packet of Greek end Latin books: 
 If you accept them, then their worth is great 
 
 Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, I praj ? 
 
 Tra. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. 
 
 Bap. A mighty man of Pisa ; by report 
 I know him well : you are very welcome, sir.— 
 Take you {to Hor.) the lute, and you {to hue.) tke 
 
 set of books, 
 You shall go see your pupils presently 
 Holla, within! 
 
 Etter a Servant. 
 Sirrah, lead [both. 
 These gentlemen (to my daughters; and tell them 
 These are their tutors ; bid them use them well. 
 
 [Exit Servant, with Hortensio, Lucentio 
 Biondello. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 TAMING OF 
 
 THE SHREW. 
 
 21* 
 
 We will go walk a little in the orchard, 
 
 And theu to dinner: You are passing welcome, 
 
 And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 
 
 Pat. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, 
 Aud every day ! cannot come to woo. 
 t on knf w my father well ; and in him, me. 
 Left sjlely heir to all his lands and goods, 
 V\ hich I have better >' rather than decreas'd : 
 Then tell me, — If I gtt your daughter's love, 
 What dowry shall 1 have with her to wife ? 
 
 Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands ; 
 A-ttd, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. 
 
 Pet. And, for tiiat dowry, l"ll ass'ure her of 
 [ler widowhood, — be it that she survive me, — 
 In all my lands and leases whatsoever: 
 Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, 
 That covenants may be kept on either liand. 
 
 Bap. Ay when the special thing is well obtain'd. 
 That is, — her love ; for that is all in all. 
 
 Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, 
 ) au« as peremptory as she proud-uiin;led ; 
 And where two raging liies njeet together, 
 They do cozisume tne thuig that feeds their fury: 
 'i'hough little Hie grows great with little wind. 
 Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: 
 So I to her, and so she yields to me ; 
 For I am rougn, and woo not like a babe. 
 
 Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy 
 speed ! 
 
 But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 
 
 Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, 
 That shake not, though tliey blow perpetually. 
 
 Re. enter Hortensio, with his head broken. 
 Bap. How now, my friend ? why dost thou look 
 so pale ? 
 
 Hor. For tear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
 Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good 
 Uiusician ^ 
 
 Hot. 1 thmk, she'll sooner prove a soldier; 
 Iron ma> hold with her, but never lutes. [lute? 
 Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the 
 Hor. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. 
 I did but tell her she mistook her frets. 
 And bow'd her hand to teach her Hngering; 
 When, with a most impatient devilish spir.t, 
 Frets, call you these '/ quoth she : /// fume with 
 tketii : 
 
 And; witli tuat word, she struck me on the head. 
 
 And tlirougti the iiistrument my pate made way ; 
 
 And there I stood amazed lor a while, 
 
 As on a pillory, looking ttirough the lute: 
 
 While siie did call me,— rascal fiddler, 
 
 And — tvvangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms, 
 
 As she had studied to misuse me so. 
 
 Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; 
 I love her ten times more than e'er I did: 
 O, how I long to have some chat with her ! 
 
 Bap. VVell, go with me, and be not so discom- 
 fited : 
 
 Proceed in practice with my younger daughter ; 
 She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. — 
 Signior Fetruchio, will you go with us. 
 Or shall 1 send my daugater Kate to you ? 
 Pet. I pray you do, I will attend her here, — 
 
 [Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, and 
 Hortensio. 
 
 And woo her with some spirit, when she comes. 
 Say, tluit she rail; Why, then I'll tell her plain. 
 She siii^s as sweetly as a nightingale : 
 H iay, that she frowa ; I'll say, she looks as clear 
 "As morning roses newly wash'd with dew: 
 Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word ; 
 Then I'll commend her volubility. 
 And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
 If she do bid tne pack, I'll give her thanks. 
 As though she bid me stay by her a week; 
 If ijie deny to wed, I'll crave the day 
 Wlieu I shall ask the banns; and when be married : — 
 But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. 
 
 Enter KAiHARim. 
 
 Good-morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. 
 Kath. Well have you heard, ut something hai-ik 
 
 of hearing ; 
 
 They call me Katharine, that d^ talk of rae. 
 Pet. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plais 
 Kate, 
 
 And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the cursft; 
 But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
 Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
 For dainties are all catts: and therefore, Kate, 
 Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; — 
 Hearing thy mildness piais'd in every town. 
 Thy virtues spoke of and thy beauty sounded, 
 (Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) 
 Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. 
 
 Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him, that mov'd 
 you hither, 
 
 Remove you hence ; I knew you at the first. 
 You were a moveable. 
 
 Pet. Why, what's a moveable ? 
 
 Kath. A joint-stool. 
 
 Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, sit on rae. 
 
 Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 
 
 Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 
 
 Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. 
 
 Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee : • 
 For. knowing thee to be but young and light, — 
 
 Kath, Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; 
 And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 
 
 Pet. Should be ? should buz. 
 
 Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. 
 
 Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take 
 thec' i 
 
 Kat. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard. 
 Pet. Come, cume, you wasp; i'laith, you are too 
 angry. 
 
 Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 
 
 Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out. 
 
 Kath. Ay, if the Ibol could hiid out where it lies. 
 
 Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his 
 In his tail. [sting ? 
 
 Kath. In his tongue. 
 
 Pet. Whose tongue ? 
 
 Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so farewell. 
 
 Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail ? nay, 
 come again. 
 Good Kate ; I am a gentleman, 
 
 Kath. That I'll try (Striking him.) 
 
 Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. 
 
 Kath. So may you lose your arms : 
 If you strike me, you are no gentleman ; 
 And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. 
 
 Pet. A lierald, Kate ? O, put me in thy books. 
 
 Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? 
 
 Pet. A coinbless cock, so Kate will be my hen. 
 
 Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven. 
 
 Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not look 
 so sour. 
 
 Knth. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. 
 Pet. Why here's no crab ; and therefore look 
 Kath. There is, there is. [not sour. 
 
 Pet. Then show it me. 
 
 Kath. Had I a glass, I would. 
 
 Pet. What, you mean my face ? 
 Kat. Well aim'd of such a young one. 
 
 Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for 
 Kath. Yet you are wither'd. [y**'** 
 Pet. 'Tis with cares. 
 
 Kath. I care not 
 
 Pe^. Nay, hear you, Kate; in sooth, you 'scupa 
 not so. 
 
 Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go. 
 
 Pet. No, not a whit ; I find you passing geotle. 
 'Twas told me,. * ou were rough, and coy, and sulle^ 
 And now I fin report a very liar; 
 For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteouH \ 
 But slow in speech, yt- 1 sweet as spring-t»=a:'>e 9owe!%.^ 
 Thou canst not frown, thou canst cot lool SSa.aiJf ^ 
 
TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 b ^ the Hp, as angry wenches will ; 
 No: hast tliju pleasure to be cross in talk; 
 
 n with mildness entertain'st thy wooers. 
 With seiitle conference, soft and affable. 
 Why a.>es the world report, that Kate doth limp ? 
 
 0 slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazel-twig. 
 Is straight, and slender ; and as brown in hue 
 As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 
 O, let me see thee walk. : thou dost not halt. 
 
 Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. 
 
 Pat. Did ever Dian so become a grove. 
 As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? 
 O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
 And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful! 
 
 Kath. Where_ did you study all this goodly 
 speec'h i* 
 
 Pst. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 
 Kath. A witty mother! witless else iier son. 
 Pet. Am .1 not wise ? 
 
 Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 
 
 Pet, Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy 
 bed: 
 
 And therefore, setting all this chat aside. 
 
 Thus in plain terms : — Your father has consented. 
 
 That yoii shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on ; 
 
 And. will you, nill you, 1 will mairy you. 
 
 Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; 
 
 For, by this light, whereby 1 see thy beauty, 
 
 (Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,) 
 
 Thou must be married to no man but me: 
 
 For I am he am born to tame you, Kate; 
 
 And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate 
 
 Confounable, as other household Kates. 
 
 Here corm s your lather; never make denial, 
 
 1 must and will have Katharine to my wifa 
 
 Re-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio. 
 
 Bap. Now, 
 Signiur Petruchio : How speed you with 
 My daughter ? 
 
 Pet. How but well, sir? how but well? 
 
 It were impossible, I should speed amiss. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in 
 your dumps ? [you, 
 
 Kath. Call you me, daughter? now I promise 
 Vou have shovv'd a tender fatherly regard, 
 To wish me wed to one half lunatic ; 
 A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, 
 That tliitiks with oaths to lace the matter out. 
 
 Pet. Father, 'tis thus, — yourself and all the world, 
 That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her; 
 li slie be curst, it is for policy : 
 For she's not froward, but modest as the dove ; 
 She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
 For patience she will prove a second Grissel; 
 And Roman Lucrece for her chastity. 
 And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together. 
 That noon SuiKhty is the wedding-day. 
 
 Kath I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 
 
 Ore. Hark, Petiuchio ! she says, she'll see thee 
 haiig'd first. 
 
 Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night 
 
 our part I 
 
 Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for 
 
 myseli ; 
 
 /f she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you ? 
 
 Tis bargain d 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
 
 Tliat she sluill still be curst in company. 
 
 I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe 
 
 How much she loves me : O, the kindest Kate :— 
 
 ^he hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss 
 
 She, vied so last, protesting oath on oath, 
 
 Th^t in a tvvink she won me to her love. 
 
 O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see, 
 
 How tame, when men and women are alone, 
 
 A meacock wretch can make the cursest shrew. — 
 
 Give me tny hand, Kate : 1 vvill unto Venice, 
 
 To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day : — 
 
 Provide the feast, i'ather, and bid tiie guests; 
 
 i will be sure, my Katharine shall be tine. 
 
 Bap. I know nt what to say : but give me yosu 
 hands ; 
 
 God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. 
 
 Gre. Tra. Amen, say we ; we will be witnesses. 
 
 Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adi^u; 
 
 I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace • 
 
 We will have rings, and things, and fine array ; 
 And kiss me. Kate, we will be married o'Suiiday 
 [Exeunt Petruchio and Katharina severally, 
 
 Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly 
 
 Bap. Faith, gpntlemeu, now I play a merchant's 
 And \ enture maily on a desperate mart. ipait, 
 
 Tra. '.Twas a'commodity lay iretting by you: 
 'Twill bring yon gain, or perish ov the seas. 
 
 Bap. The gain I seek is — quiet iu the match. 
 
 Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. 
 But now, Baptisfa, to your younger daughter; — 
 Now is the day we long have looked fox ; 
 I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 
 
 Tra. And 1 am one, that love Bianca fiiore 
 Than words can witness, or your thoi-ghts can 
 "■uess. 
 
 Gre. \ oungling ! thou canst not love so d«ar as I. 
 Tra. Grey beard I thy love doth freeze. 
 Gre. ' But thine doth fry. 
 
 Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age, that nourishetii. 
 IVa. But youtii, in ladies' eyes that tlomish^th. 
 Bap. Content you, gentleuieu ; FU compouni this 
 strife : 
 
 'Tis deeds, must win the prize ; and he, of botK 
 That can assure my daughter greatest dower, 
 Shall have Bianca's love. — 
 Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her? 
 Gre. First, as you know, my house within «tVe 
 city 
 
 Is richly furnished with plate ana gold; 
 Basins, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands ; 
 My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry: 
 In ivory coffers I have stuff 'd my crowns; 
 In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints. 
 Costly apparel, tents and canopies, 
 Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl. 
 Valance of Venice, gold in needle-woi k, 
 Pewter and brass, and all things that belong' 
 To house, or housekeeping: then, at my farus, 
 I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
 Six score fat oxen sta-nding in my stalls. 
 And all things answerable to this portion. 
 Myself am struck iu years, I must confess; 
 And, if I die to-morrow, tiiis is hers, 
 If, whilst 1 live, she will be only mine. 
 
 Tra. That, only, came well in. Sir, list to aif 
 
 I am my father's heir, and only son : 
 
 If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
 
 I'll leave her houses three or four as good, 
 
 Within ricii Pisa walls, as any one 
 
 Old signior Gremio has in Padua; 
 
 Besides two thous md ducats by the year. 
 
 Of iruitl'ul land, all which sliali be her jointure.— 
 
 What, have 1 piuch'd you, signior Gremio? 
 
 Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land 
 My land amounts not to so much in all : 
 Tiiat she shall have; besides an argosy, 
 
 That now is lying iu Marseilles' road : 
 
 What, have 1 chok'd you with an argosy ? 
 
 Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less 
 Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses,. 
 And twelve tight gallies: these I will assure her. 
 And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next. 
 
 Gre. Nay, I have ofter'd all, 1 have no more ; 
 And she can have no more than all I have; — 
 If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 
 
 Tra. Why, then the maid is mine fnmi all ti.< 
 world. 
 
 By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied. 
 
 Bap. 1 must confess, your offer is the best; 
 And, let your father make her the assurance. 
 She is your own; else, you must pardon me : 
 If you should die before him, where's her dower 
 
 Tra. That's but a ca il ; be is old, 1 jouii^^. 
 
Act nr. Scene 1. 
 
 TAMING OF 
 
 THE SHREW. 
 
 217 
 
 Gre. Anfl may not young men die, as well as old V 
 
 Bap Well, gentlemen, 
 f am thus resolv'd : — On Sunday next, you know, 
 My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
 Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
 Be bride to you, if you make this assui ance ; 
 If not, to siguior Gremio: 
 
 And sol take my leave, and thank vouboth. [Exit. 
 Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. — Now I fear thee 
 not ; 
 
 Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool 
 
 To give thee all, and, in his waning age, 
 
 Set foot under thy table : tut ! a toy ! 
 
 An old Italian lox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit. 
 
 Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither* d liide I 
 Yet I have faced it with a card often. 
 'Tis in my head to do my njasLer good • — 
 I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio 
 Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio ; 
 And tliat's a wonder : fathers, commonly. 
 Do get their children ; but, in this case of wooing, 
 A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT IIL 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Baptista's House. 
 Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca.. 
 
 Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: 
 Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
 Her sister Katharine welcora'd you withal ? 
 
 Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is 
 The patroness of heavenly harmony: 
 Then give me leave to have prerogative; 
 And when in music we have spent an hour, 
 Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 
 
 Luc. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far 
 To know the cause why music was ordain'd ! 
 Was it not, to refresh the mind of man. 
 After his studies, or his usual pain ^ 
 Then give me leave to read philosophy, 
 And, while I i)ause, serve in your harmony. 
 
 Hor. Sirrali, 1 will not bear these braves of thine. 
 
 Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, 
 To strive for that, which resteth in my choice : 
 I am no breeching scholar in the schools; 
 I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times. 
 But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
 And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : — 
 Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
 His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd. 
 
 Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tnne ? 
 
 f To Bianca; Hortensio retires.) 
 
 Luc. That will oe never: — tune your instrument. 
 
 Bian. Where left we last ? 
 
 Luc. Here, madam : — 
 Hac ibat Simois ; hie est Sigeia telhis ; 
 
 Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis. 
 
 Bian. Construe them. 
 
 Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, — Simois, I 
 em Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, 
 ■ — Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love; — 
 Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a- wooing, 
 ' — Priami, is my man Tranio, — regia, hetn ii g my 
 port, — celsa senis, that we might beguile tlie ola 
 [i,antaloon. 
 
 Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. 
 
 {Returning.\ 
 
 Bian. Let's hear; — {Hortensio plays.) 
 
 0 fy ! the treble jars. 
 
 Luc. Spit in tlie hole, man, and tune figain. 
 Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hac 
 ibat Siynois, I know you not; Hie est Sigeia itllus, 
 
 1 trust you not ; — Hie steterat Priami, take heed he 
 hear us not ; — regia, presume not ; — celsa senis, 
 despair not. 
 
 Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 
 Lac. All but t ie base. 
 
 Hor. Tlie b^se is right; 'tis the base kaave, tliat 
 Hjvv hery and forward onr pedant is! [jars. 
 
 Now, for my life, the knave doth court my lo^es 
 Pedascule, 1 11 watch you better yet 
 
 Bian. In time I may helieve, yet I mistraflS. 
 
 Luc. Mistrust it not for, sure, iEac^ides 
 Was Ajax, — caird so f^om his grandfather. 
 
 Bian. I must believe my master; else, I prom,«« 
 I should be arguing still upon that doubt; [yea 
 But let it rest. — Mow, Licio, to you : — 
 Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
 That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 
 
 Hor. You may go walk, [to Lucentio) and give 
 me leave awhile ; 
 My lessons make no music in three parts. 
 
 Luc. Are you so formal, sir ? well, I must wait. 
 And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, 
 Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside,] 
 
 Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument. 
 To learn the order of my fingering, 
 I must begin with rudiments of art ; 
 To teach you gamut in a briefer sort. 
 More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, 
 Than hath been taught by any of my trade : 
 And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 
 
 Bian. Why, 1 am past my gamut long ago. 
 
 Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio, 
 
 Bian. (Reads.) Gamut / am, the grotmd of ail 
 A re, to plead Hortensio' s passion ; [accorii, 
 
 B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, 
 C faut, that loves ivith all affection : 
 
 D sol re, one cliff, tivo notes have I ; 
 
 ^ \a. mi, show pity, or I die. 
 Call you this — gamut? tut! I like it not: 
 Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice. 
 To change true rules for odd inventions. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 8erv. Mistress, your father prays you leave yonj 
 books. 
 
 And help to dress your sister's chamber up ; 
 You know, to-moruow is the wedding-day. 
 
 Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both ; I must be 
 gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant, 
 
 Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause t<s 
 stay. _ _ [Evii. 
 
 Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedaut; 
 Methinks, he looks as though he were in love : 
 Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble. 
 To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale. 
 Seize thee, that list: If once I find thee ranging, 
 Hortensio wdl be quit with thee by changing. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Before Baptista's House, 
 Enter Baptista, (Jremio, Tranio, Katharina, 
 
 Bianca, Lucentio, and Altenda?its. 
 Bap. Signior Lucentio, {to Tranio) this is the 
 'pointed day, 
 That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, 
 And yet we hear not of our son-in-law : 
 What will be said? what mockery will it be, 
 To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends 
 To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ? 
 What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ? 
 Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be 
 forc'd 
 
 To give my hand, oppos'd against my Ijeart, 
 
 Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen; 
 
 Who woo d in haste, and means to wed at leisure. 
 
 I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, 
 
 Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour: 
 
 And, to be noted for a merry man, 
 
 He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marria?ye, ^ 
 
 Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banne; 
 
 Yet never means to wed, where he hath woo d. 
 
 Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
 
 And say, — Go, there is mad Petruchio s wife, 
 
 If it would please him come and marry her. 
 
 Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and B;iptista ttK> { 
 Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, 
 Whatever fortune stays him from his word: 
 Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise § 
 
218 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Tltoiigii he be merry, yet withal he's honest. 
 Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him 
 though ! 
 
 [Exit, iveeping, followed by Bianca, and c ^urs. 
 Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now io wee[); 
 For such an injury would vex a saint, 
 Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 Bion. Master, master! news, old news, .md such 
 Sews as yon never heard of! 
 
 Ba2i. is it new and old too? how may that be ? 
 Bion. Why ! is it not news, to hear of Petrnchio's 
 Bap. Is he come ? [coming ? 
 
 Bion. Why, no, sir. 
 Bap. What then ? 
 Bion. He is coming. 
 
 Bap. When will he be here ? [there. 
 
 Bion. When hQ stands where I am, and sees you 
 
 Tra. But, say, what: — To thine old news. 
 
 Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat, 
 end an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice 
 turned ; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, 
 one buckled, anotiier laced : an old rusty sword 
 ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, 
 and chapeless ; with two broken points: his horse 
 hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no 
 kindred : besides, possessed with the glanders, and 
 like to mose in the chine ; troubled with the lanipass, 
 infected with the fashions, full of wind-galls, sped 
 with spavins, raied with ihe yellows, past cure of 
 the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnavvii 
 with the bots ; swayed in the back, and shoulder- 
 ©liotten ; ne'er-legged bet(»re, and with a hall-checked 
 bit, and a head-stalS of sheep's leather; which, being 
 reatrauied to ken^ Win\ from stumbling, hath been 
 <»ften burst, and now repaired with knots; one girt 
 six tiutts pieced, and a woman's crupper of velure, 
 which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down 
 i/i studs, and here and there pieced with pack- 
 thread. 
 
 Bap. Who comes with him ? 
 
 Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capa- 
 risoned like the horse ; with a linen stock on one leg, 
 and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a 
 red and blue list; an old hat, and The humour of 
 forty fancies pricked in't for a feather: a monster, 
 a very monster in apparel ; and not like a Christian 
 footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this 
 
 fashion ; 
 
 Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. 
 
 Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes. 
 
 Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 
 
 Bap. Diilst thou not say, he comes? 
 
 Bion. Who? that Petruchio came? 
 
 Bap. Ay. that Petruchio came. 
 
 Bion. No, sir ; I say, his horse comes with him 
 on his back. 
 
 Bap. Why, that's all one. 
 
 Bion. Nay, by St. Jamy, 1 hold you a penny, 
 A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not 
 many 
 
 Enier PETRUcmo and Grumio. 
 Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at 
 home ? 
 
 Bap. You are welcome, sir. 
 
 Pet. And yet I come not well. 
 
 Bap And yet you halt not. 
 
 Tra. Not so well apparell'd 
 
 A.S I wjsn you were. 
 
 Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus, 
 where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride? — 
 How does my father? — Gentles, methinks you 
 frown : 
 
 And wherefore gaze this goodly company; 
 As if they saw some wondrous rnonument. 
 Some comet, or unusual prodigy ? [day : 
 
 J3a/>. Why, sir, you know, this is your wedding- 
 
 First were we sad, fearing y*ju would not come j 
 Now sadder that you come «iO uuprovide !. 
 Fy ! doff this habit, shame to your esirue. 
 An eye-sore to our solemn festival. 
 
 Tra. And tell us what occasion of im jo-t 
 Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife 
 And sent you hither so unlike yourself? 
 
 Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and hardb to hear, 
 Sufficeth, I am come to keep my yvord. 
 Though in some part enforced to digress; 
 Which at more leisure I will so excuae 
 As you shall well be satisfied withal. 
 But where is Kate? I stay too long from her; 
 The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. 
 
 Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes | 
 Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. 
 
 Pet. Not I, believe me; thus 111 visit her. 
 
 Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 
 
 Pet- Good sooth, even thus; therefore have done 
 with words: 
 To me she's married, not unto wy clothes • 
 Could I repair what she will wear in me, 
 As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
 But what a fool au I, to chat with you. 
 When I should bid good-morrow to my bride. 
 And seal the title with a lovely kiss? 
 
 [Exeunt Petruchio. Grumio, and Biondello 
 
 Tra. He hath some meaning in his bad attire: 
 We will persuade him, be it possible. 
 To put on better, ere he go to church. 
 
 Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to add 
 Her i'atlier's liking : Which to bring to pass. 
 As I beibre imparted to your worship, 
 I am to get a man, — whate'er he be. 
 It skills not much ; we'll fit him to our t un, — 
 And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa ; 
 And make assurance, here in Padua, / 
 Of greater sums than I have promised. 
 So shall you quietly enjoy your hope. 
 And marry sweet Bianca with consent, 
 
 Luc. VVere it not that my fellow schoolmaster 
 Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; 
 Which once perform'd, let all the world say — no, 
 I'll keep mine own, des{)ite of all the world. 
 
 Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, 
 And watch our vantage in this business : 
 We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio; 
 The narrow-prying father, Minola ; 
 The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; ■ 
 All for my master's sake, Lucentio. — 
 
 Re-enter Gremio. 
 Sigoior Gremio! came you from the church? 
 
 Gre. As willingly as e'er I canie from school. 
 
 Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom comin*? 
 home ? [deed, 
 
 Gre. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom in. 
 A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 
 
 Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. 
 
 Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 
 
 Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's daia 
 
 Gre. Tut ! she's a Iamb, a dove, a fool to him, 
 I'll tell you. Sir Lucentio : When the priest 
 Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife. 
 Ay, by gog's-wouns, quoth he; and swore so load, 
 Tliat, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book • 
 And, as he stoop'd again to take it up. 
 The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cufF. 
 That down fell priest and book, and book and priest, 
 Now take ihetn up, quoth he, if any list. 
 
 Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again? 
 
 Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'c^ 
 and swore. 
 As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
 But after many ceren>onies done. 
 He calls for wine -.—A health, quoth he ; as if 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. TAMING OF 
 
 He had beet- dboarrl, carousing to his mates 
 
 After a storm : — Qiiaff'd ofF tlie ninscadel. 
 
 And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
 
 Havii^ no other reason, — 
 
 But that his beard grew thin amd hunsrerly, 
 
 And seem'd to ask him sops, as he was drinking. 
 
 This done, he took tlie bnde about the neck ; 
 
 And kiss'd her Hps wit!i such a chimorous smack. 
 
 That, ni the parting, all the church did echo. 
 
 I, seein*!^ this, cau>e thence for very shame ; 
 
 And after me, I know, the rout is coming: 
 
 Such a mad marridge never was before : 
 
 Hark, hark I I hear the minstrels play. {Music.) 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca, Baptista, 
 HoRTENSiO, Grumio, and Train. 
 Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your 
 pains : 
 
 I know, you think to dine with me to-day, 
 And ha\e prepar'd great store of wedding cheer; 
 But so it is, my haste doth call me hence. 
 And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 
 
 Bap. Is't possible, you will away tu-nighl ? 
 
 Pet. I must away to-day, before night come : 
 Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, 
 Vou would entreat me rather go tiian stay. 
 And, honest company, I thank, you all, 
 That have beheld me give away mysf^lf 
 To this most patient, sweet, an i \ irtuous wife : 
 Dine with iny father, drink a h^;ilth to me; 
 For I must hence, and farewell to you all. 
 
 Tra. Let us entreat you stay tili after dinner. 
 
 Pet. It may not be. 
 
 Gre. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet. It cannot be. 
 
 Kath. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet. 1 am content. 
 
 Kath. Are you cmtent to stay? 
 
 Pet. I am content you shall entre it me stay ; 
 But yet not stay, entreat Ese h w you can. 
 
 Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. 
 
 Pet. Gnimio, my horses. 
 
 Grtc. Ay, sir, th'^^y be ready; the oats have eaten 
 the horses. 
 
 Katk. Nay, tlien, 
 Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; , 
 No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
 The door is open, sir, there lies your way, 
 You may be jogging, whiles vour boots are green ; 
 For me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself : — 
 'Tis like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom. 
 That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
 
 Pet. O Kate, content thee ; pry'thee, be not 
 angry. 
 
 Kath. I will be angry : What hast thou to do ? — 
 Father be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. 
 
 Gre. Ay, marry, sir : now it begins to work. 
 
 jfiTflj^^. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: — 
 I see a woman may be made a fool. 
 If she had not a spirit to resist. 
 
 Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy com- 
 mand : 
 
 Obey the bride, you that attend on her ; 
 Go to the feast, revel and domineer. 
 Carouse full measure to her maidenhead. 
 
 Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves; 
 
 But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
 Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; 
 I will be master of what is mine own : 
 She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house. 
 My household stuff', my field, my barn, 
 My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing; 
 And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; 
 I'll bring my action on the proudest he. 
 
 That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, 
 
 Draw forth thy weapon, we're beset witli thieves ; 
 Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : — (Kate ; 
 Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, 
 I'll buckler thee against a million. 
 
 lExeuJit Pet} uchio, Katharina, and Grumio. 
 
 THE SHREW. 2I» 
 
 Bap. Nay, let them go, a coupfe of qniet ones. 
 Gre. Went they not quickly, I shiiuld <lie wi 
 
 laughing, 
 
 Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! 
 
 hue. Mistress, what's your opinion of your .sistei ? 
 
 Bian. 'I'hat being mad herself, she's madly matedi, 
 
 Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
 
 Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride aud 
 bridegroom wants, 
 For to supply the jjlaces at the table, 
 You know, there wants no jiuikets at the feast; — • 
 Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place; 
 And let Bianca take her sister's room. 
 
 Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? 
 
 Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen, 
 let's go. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT \V. 
 
 Scene I. — A Hall in Petruchio' s Cou7%try House 
 Enter Grjmio. 
 Gru. Fy, fy, on all tired jades ! on all mad 
 masters! and all foul ways! .Was ever man so 
 beaten ? was ever man so ray'd r was ever man so 
 weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they 
 are coming after to warm them. Now, were not 1 
 a little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze 
 to my teeth, ray tongue to the roof of n»y mouth, 
 my heart in my belly, ere I .slioidd come by a fire 
 to thaw me : — But, I, with blowing the fire, shall 
 warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller 
 man than I will take cold. Holla, hoa ! Curtis! 
 
 Enter Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Who is that, calls so coldly? 
 
 Gru. A piece of ice : If thou doubt it, thoa 
 may'st slide from my shoulder to my heel, with uo 
 great r a run, but my head and my neck. A fire, 
 good Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? 
 
 Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fire; 
 cast on no water. 
 
 Curt. Is she so hot a shrew, as she's reported ? 
 
 G^'u. She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but 
 thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and beast; 
 for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mis- 
 tress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Away, you three inch fool ! I am no bea.st, 
 
 Gru. Am I but three inches ? why, thy horn is a 
 foot ; and .so long am I, at the least. But wilt thou 
 make a fire, or shall 1 complain on thee to our mis- 
 tress, whose hand (she being now at hand,) thou 
 shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being s\ow 
 in thy hot office. 
 
 Curt. I pry'thee, good Grumio, tell me, Hovr 
 goes the world ? 
 
 Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but 
 thine ; and therefore, fire : Do thy duty, and have 
 thy duty ; for my master and mistress are akuost 
 frozen to death. 
 
 Curt. There's fire ready; and therefore, good 
 Gnmiio, the news ? 
 
 Gru. Why, Jack hoy ! ho boy ! and as much news 
 as thou wilt. 
 
 Curt. Come, you are so full of coney-catching :— - 
 
 Gru. Why, therefore, fire ; for I have caught ex- 
 treme cold. Where s the cook ? is sup[)er ready, 
 the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; 
 the serving- men in their new fustian, their white 
 stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? 
 Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the 
 carpets laid, and every thing in order? 
 
 Curt. Ail ready ; and therefore, I pray thee, news? 
 
 Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master 
 and mistress fallen out. 
 
 Curt. How? 
 
 Gru. Out of their saddles into the diit| Aad 
 
 thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 Curt. Let s lia't, good Grumio. 
 Gru. Lend thine ear. 
 
 1 
 
220 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Crut. Here. 
 
 iiru. 'rii*>re. [Striking him.) 
 
 Crut. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 
 
 Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale ; 
 •nd ihis cnfl'was I)ut to knock at your ear, and be- 
 »eecli listening. Now I begii» : Imprimis, we came 
 down a foul hill, my master riding behmd my mis- 
 tress : — 
 
 Curt. Hoth on one horse ? 
 
 (inc. What's that to thee? 
 
 Curt. Why, a horse. 
 
 Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou not 
 
 crossed me, thou should'st have heard how her 
 horse fell, and she under her horse ; thou should'st 
 have heard, in how miry a place ; how she was be- 
 iiioiled; how he left her with the horse upon her; 
 liow he beat me, because her horse stumbleJ ; how 
 she waded through the dirt, to pluck him oil me: 
 how he swore; how she prayed — that never pray'a 
 before; how I cried; how the horses ran away; 
 how her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper ; — 
 with many things of worthy memory ; whicli now 
 shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced 
 to thy grave. [she. 
 
 Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than 
 
 Gru. Ay; and that, thou and the proudest of you 
 all siiall find, when he comes home. But what talk 
 \ of tiiis ? — call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, 
 Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their 
 heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brushed, 
 and their garters of an indifferent knit : let them 
 curtsy with their left legs; and not presuuie to 
 touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till they kiss 
 their hands. Are they all ready ? 
 
 Curt. They are. 
 
 Gru. Call them forth. 
 
 Curl. Do you hear, ho ? yon must meet my master 
 to countenance my mistress. 
 
 Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 
 
 Curt. Wiio knows not that ? 
 
 Gru. Thou it seems; that callest for company to 
 countenance her. 
 
 Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 
 
 Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. 
 
 Enter several Servants. 
 
 Nat/i. Welcome home, Grumio. 
 P/iil. How now, Grumio? 
 Jos. What, Grumio! 
 Nich. Fellow Grumio! 
 Nat/i. How now, old lad ? 
 
 Gru. Welcome, you, — how now, you; — what, 
 you ; — fellow, you ; — and thus much for greeting. 
 Kow, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all 
 things neat : (master? 
 Natli. All things is ready ; Bow near is our 
 Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- 
 fore be not, Cock's passion, silence, 1 hear 
 
 my master. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Katkarina. 
 
 Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man at 
 door, 
 
 To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse! 
 Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? 
 
 All Serv. Here, here, sir; here, sir 
 
 Pet. Here, sir! here, sir ! her^-, .sir ! here, swl 
 You logger-headed and unpoush d grooms ! 
 VVhat, no attendance ? no rf gar""! ? no duty ? — 
 Wher« is the foolish knave I sent before ? 
 
 Gru Here, sir ; as loolish ?i.s ! was before. 
 
 Pet. You peasant swpi'-.uI /ou whoreson malt- 
 horse drudge ! 
 Did \ not bid thee meet rue in the park. 
 And brmg along these rascal knaves with thee? 
 
 Gru. Nat i^uiiel's coat, sir, was not fully made. 
 And Gabriel s pumps were all unpick'd i'lue heel ; 
 Thf'rt- was no nk to colour Peter's hat. 
 And VV alter' s dagger v^a^ oot come from sheathing : 
 
 There were cone fine, but Adam, Ralph, %Dd QfBi 
 
 gory • 
 
 1 he rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; 
 Vet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. 
 Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. 
 
 [Exeunt some of the Serianii. 
 Where is the life that lale 1 led — {Si7igs. 
 
 Where are those sit down, Kate, and welcome 
 
 Soud, soud, soud, soud ! 
 
 Re-enter Servants, with supper. 
 Why, whe-n, I say ? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be 
 merry. — 
 
 Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains; When? 
 
 It was the friar of orders y)ey, [Sings.) 
 
 As he forth walked on his way : — 
 Out, out, you rogue I you pluck my loot awry : 
 Take that, and mend the plucking olf the other. — 
 
 [Strikes him.) 
 
 Be merry, Kate ; — Some water, here ; what, ho! — 
 Where's my spaniel Troilus? — Sirrtih, get you hence. 
 And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted 
 with. — 
 
 Where are my slippers ? — Shall I have some water ? 
 
 [A basin is presented to hitn.) 
 Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily : — 
 
 [Servant lets the ewer fall.) 
 You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ? 
 
 [Strikes him.) 
 
 Kath. Patience. I pray you ; 'twas a fa(dt un- 
 willuig 
 
 Pet. A v/hortson, beetle-headed, llap-ear'd knave ! 
 Come, Kute, sit down: 1 know you have a stomach. 
 Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall 1 
 What is tliis? mutton? 
 
 1 Serv Av. 
 
 Pel. Who brought it ? 
 
 I Serv. J. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat : 
 NVhat dugs are these! — Where is the rascal cook? 
 How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser 
 And serve it thus to me, that love it not? 
 There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all : 
 
 [Throws the meal, etc. about the stage. 
 You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves ! 
 What, do you grumble ? I'll be with you .straight. 
 
 Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; 
 The meat was weil, if you were so contented. 
 
 Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away, 
 And I expressly am forbid to touch it, 
 Fur it engenders cuoler, piautetl) anger; 
 And better 'twere, tiiut both of us did fast, — 
 Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,— 
 Than feed it with such over-roasted desh. 
 Be patient; to-morrow it shall be mended, 
 And, for this night, we II fast for company : — 
 Coine, 1 will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Curtis.) 
 
 Nath. [Advancing.) Peter, didst ever see tue 
 like ? 
 
 Peter. He kills tier in her own humour.. 
 Re-enter Curtis. 
 
 Qru. Where is he ? 
 
 Curt. In her chamber, 
 Making a sermon of continency to her: 
 And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor soul. 
 Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak \ 
 And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
 -4k.way, avvay ! lor h*" is coining hither. [Exeunt* 
 
 Re-enter Petruchio. 
 Pet. Thus hare i politicly begun my reign. 
 And 'tis my hope to end successi'ully : 
 My fcilcon now is sliarp, and passing empty; 
 And, till she stoop, she must not be /ull-gorg^d. 
 For then she never looks upon her tro. 
 Another way 1 have to man my iia ^^ard. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TAMING OF 
 
 THE SHREW. 
 
 221 
 
 To make her come, an*? know her keeper's call ; 
 I'hat is, — to watch her as we watch these kites. 
 That bate, and neat, and will not be obedient. 
 She ate no meat to day, nor none shall eatj 
 Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not • 
 As witli the meat, some undeserved fault 
 I'll find about the making of the bed ; 
 And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster. 
 This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : — 
 Ay, and amid this hiirly, I intend, 
 Tiiat all is done in reverend care of her; 
 And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night : 
 And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail, and brawl, 
 And with the clamour keep iier still awake, 
 rhis is a way to kill a wife with kindness; 
 And thus 1 11 curb her mad and headstrong hu- 
 mour : 
 
 He, that knows better how to tame a shrew. 
 Now let him speak : tis charity to show. [Exit. 
 Scene II. — Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Tranio a7id Hortensio. 
 Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca 
 Doth fancy any otiier but Liicentio ? 
 tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 
 Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, 
 Stand by, and mark the manner of liis teaching. 
 
 {They stand aside.) 
 Enter Biatnca and Lucentio. 
 Imc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? 
 Bian. What master, read you? first resolve me 
 that. 
 
 Luc. I read that I profess ; the art to love. 
 Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your art ! 
 Ijuc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of 
 my heart. {They retire.) 
 
 Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell me, 
 
 \ ou that durst swear that your mistress Bianca 
 Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 
 
 Tra. O despiteful love I unconstant womankind ! — 
 I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 
 
 Ror. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
 Nor a musician, as I seem to be : 
 But one tiiat scorn to live in this disguise, 
 Vox such a one as leaves a gentleman. 
 And makes a god of such a cullion : 
 Know, sir, that I am calid — Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard 
 01' your entire affection to Bianca ; 
 And since imm eyes are witness of her lightness, 
 I will with you, — if you be so contented, — 
 Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. 
 
 Hor. See, how they kiss and court ! Signior 
 
 Lucentio, 
 
 Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow, 
 Never to woo her more ; but do forswear her. 
 As one unworthy all the former favours. 
 That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. 
 
 Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, — 
 Ne'er to marry with her, though she would entreat : 
 Fy on her ! see, how beastly she doth court him. 
 
 Hor. 'Would, all the world, but he, had quite for- 
 sworn ! 
 
 For me, — that I may surely keep mine oath 
 I will be married to a wealthy widow. 
 Ere three days pass; which hath as long lov'd me. 
 As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard : 
 And so farewell, signior Lucentio. — • 
 Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, 
 Shall win my love : — and so I take my leave. 
 In resolution as 1 swore before. 
 Exit Hortensio.— hucentio and Bianca advance. 
 
 Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace 
 As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case .' 
 Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love; 
 And have forsworn you, with Hortensio. 
 
 iSm??. Trauio, you jest : But have you both for- 
 sworn me 
 
 Tra. MistresS; -^e have. 
 
 liuc. Then we are rid of Jjiciflb! 
 
 Tra. I'faith, he 11 have a lusty widoAv now. 
 That shall be woo d and wedded in a day. 
 Bian. God give him joy! 
 Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her. 
 Bian. He says so, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Faith, he is gone unto the tamiiig-school. 
 Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there suck 
 a place ? 
 
 Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master j 
 That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, — 
 To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongnei 
 
 Enter Biondello, running 
 Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so long 
 
 That I'm dog-weary ; but at last I spied 
 
 An ancient angel coming down the hill. 
 
 Will serve the turn. 
 
 Tra. What is he, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, 
 
 I know not what; but formal in apparel, 
 
 In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
 Luc. And what of him, Tranio ^ 
 Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, 
 
 ril make him glad to seem Vnu entio; 
 
 And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 
 
 As if he were the right Vincentio. 
 
 Take in your love, and then let me alone. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucentio and Bian^^ 
 
 Enter a Pedant. 
 Ped. God save you, sir! 
 
 Tra. And you, sir! you are welcome 
 
 Travel you far on, or are you at tiie furthest? 
 
 Ped. Sir, a't the furthest for a week or two • 
 But tlien up further ; and as iar as Rome ; 
 And so to Tripoiy, if God lend me life, 
 
 Tra. What countryman, I pray ? 
 
 Ped. Of Mantua. 
 
 Tra. Of Mantua, sir ? — marry, God i'orbid ! 
 And come to Padua, careless of your life ! 
 
 Ped. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes 
 h rd. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua 
 To cume to Padua: Know you not the cause? 
 Your ships are staid at Venice ; and tiie duke 
 (For priv.ite quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,) 
 Hath publisli'd and proclaini'd it openly: 
 'Tis marvel ; but that you're but newiy come. 
 You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 
 
 Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so; 
 For 1 have bills ibr money by exchange 
 From Florence, and must here deliver them. 
 
 Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, 
 This will I do, and this will I advise you ; — 
 First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been; 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
 
 Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio? 
 
 Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him; 
 A merchant of incomparable wealth. 
 
 Tra. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say. 
 In cotintenance somewhat d<ii\\ resemble you. 
 
 Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster ati 
 all one. {Aside.) 
 
 Tra. To save your life in this extremity. 
 This favour will I do you for his sake; 
 And thmk it not the worr.t of all your fortunes, 
 That you are like to sir Vincentio. 
 His name and credit shall you undertake, 
 And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd : «- 
 Look, that you take upon you as you should; 
 You understand me, sir; — so shall you stay 
 Till you have done your business in the city; 
 If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 
 
 Ped. O, sir, I do ; and will repute yon eve? 
 The patron of my life and liberty. 
 
 Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good 
 This, by the way, I let you understand;— 
 
222 
 
 lAMINa OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act n 
 
 My father is here look'd for every day. 
 To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
 Twixt nie and one Baptista's daughter here : 
 In all these circumstances I'll instruct you : 
 Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes yon. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IH. — A room in Petruchios House. 
 
 Enter Katharina and Grumio. 
 Gru. Na, no, forsooth; I dare not, for my life. 
 Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite 
 appears : 
 
 hat, did he marry me to famish me f 
 
 ggars, that come under my fatlier's door, 
 pun entreaty, have a present alms; 
 fnot, elsewhere they meet with charity : 
 But I, —who never knew how to entreat, — 
 N(»r never needed that 1 should entreat, — 
 Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; 
 VVitii oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed : 
 And that wl>ich spites me more than all these wants, 
 He does it undername of perfect love; 
 As who should say, if 1 should sleep, or eat. 
 •Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.— 
 1 pr'ythee go, and get me some repast ! 
 [ care not what, so it be wholesome food. 
 
 Gru. V^'hat say you to a neat's foot? 
 
 Kath. 'lis passing good ; I pr'ythee let me have it. 
 
 Gru. I fear, it is too choleric a meat:— 
 How say you to a fat tripe , finely broil'd ? 
 
 Kath. 1 like it well ; good Grumio, fetch it me. 
 
 Gru. 1 cannot tell ; I fear, 'tis choleric. 
 What sav you to a piece of beet', and mustard i 
 
 Kath.'k dish, tiiat I do love to feed upon. 
 
 Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
 
 Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest. 
 
 Gru. Nay," then I will not; you shall have the 
 mustard, 
 
 Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 
 
 Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. 
 Gru. VViiy, then the mustard without the beef 
 Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding 
 s]^ve, {Baats him.) 
 
 That feed'st me with the very name ot meat: 
 
 Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you, 
 
 That triumph thus upon my misery! 
 
 Go, get thee gone, I say. 
 
 Enter Petkucuio ivith a dish of meat ; and 
 
 HORTENSIO. 
 
 Pet. How fares my Kate ? What, sweeting, all 
 
 Hor. Mistress, what cheer ? [amort i 
 
 j^aih. 'Faith, as cold as can be. 
 
 Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. 
 Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am, 
 To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee : 
 
 [Sets the dish on a table.) 
 I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
 What, not a word ? Nay, then, thou lov'st it not ; 
 And all my pains is sorted to no proof:— 
 Here, take away this dish. , -x . j 
 
 Kath. 'Pray you, let it stand. 
 
 Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks. 
 And so shall mine, before you touch the meat 
 
 Kath. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Signior Petrucliio, fy ! you are to blame: 
 Come mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. 
 
 Ptt. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me.— 
 
 [Aside.) 
 
 Much good do it unto thy gentle heart! 
 
 Kate, eat apace ;— And now, my honey lo\ e. 
 
 Will we return unto thy f.ither s house ; 
 
 And revel it as bravely as the best. 
 
 With silken coats, and caps, and go den rings, 
 
 WUh rulfs, and -uiVs, and farthmgales, and thmgs ; 
 
 With scarfs, and fans, and double change ot bravery, 
 
 ith amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
 
 Ut hast thou dined ? The tailor stays thy leisure, 
 *iiy body with his rutliing ti-easure. 
 
 Enter Tc Jor. 
 'Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 
 
 Enter Haberdasher. 
 Lay forth the gown. — What news with vou, raff? 
 Hab. Here is the cap your worship did beapefik. 
 Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer; 
 A velvet dish;— fy, f y ! 'tis lewd and filthy; 
 Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnut shell, 
 A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ; 
 Awav with it; come, let me have a bigger 
 
 Kath. I'll have no bigger: this doth fit the time, 
 And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 
 
 Pet. When you are gentle, you shall iiave one too 
 And not till then. 
 
 Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside. 
 
 Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave t 
 speak ; 
 
 And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe : 
 Your betters have eiidur'd me say my mind ; 
 And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
 My tongue will tell the anger of my heart; 
 Or else my heart, concealing it, will break : 
 And, rather than it shall, I will be free, 
 Even to the uttermost, as 1 please, in words. 
 
 Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it is a paltry cap, 
 A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie : 
 I love thee well, in that thou hk'st it not. 
 
 Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap, 
 And it 1 will have, or I will have noi'.e. 
 
 Pet. Thy gown? why, ay ;— Come, tailor, let ua 
 see't. «... 0 
 
 0 mercy, God ! what masking stuff is here i 
 What's this? a sleeve '^ 'tis like a demi-cannon : 
 What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple tart ? 
 Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash. 
 Like to a censer in a barber's shop : — 
 
 Why, what o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this : 
 Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap cor 
 
 gown. [Aside.) 
 Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, 
 
 According to tlie j'ashion, and the time. 
 
 Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remember dj 
 
 1 did not bid you mar it to the time. 
 Go, hop me over every kennel home. 
 
 For vou shall hop without my custom, sir; 
 I'll none of it ; hence, make your best of it. 
 
 Kath. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown. 
 More quaint, more pleasing, nor n.ore commendable; 
 Belike, ynu mean to make a puppet of me. 
 
 Piit. Why, true ; he means to make a puppet of 
 thee. 
 
 Tai. She says, your worship means to make a 
 puppet of her. 
 
 Pet. O monstrous arrogance! thou best, thou 
 Thou thimble, [thread, 
 Thou yard, three quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, 
 Thou flea, thou nit thou winter cricket thou :— 
 Brav'd in mine own house with a skein oi thread ! 
 Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; 
 Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard. 
 As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st ! 
 I tell thee, I, that thou hast mari'd her gown. 
 
 Tai. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is mads 
 Just as my master had direction : 
 Grumio gave order how it should be done, 
 
 Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stufi. 
 
 Tai. But how did you desire it should be made? 
 
 Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 
 
 Tai. But did you not request to have it cut? 
 ! Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 
 ' Tai. I have. 
 
 Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many men ; 
 brave not me; I will neither be faced nor braved. 
 I say unto thee,— I bid thy master cut out the 
 Po\vn : but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : eroo, 
 thou liest. [testify. 
 
 Tai Why, here is the note of the fashion to 
 
 P^;/! Read It. , , ..'^^'^'^^ 
 
 Gru. The note lies in hia throat, il h« say 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHKEW. 
 
 228 
 
 Tai Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown ; 
 
 Gru. Master, if ever 1 said loose-bodied gown, 
 sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death 
 with a bottom of brown thread: I said a gown. 
 
 Pet. Proceed. 
 
 TaL With a small compassed cape ; 
 Gru. I confess the cape. 
 
 Tai. With a trunk sleeve ; ^ 
 
 Gru I confess two sleeves. 
 Tai. The sleeves curiously cut. 
 Pet. Ay, there's the villainy. 
 
 Gru. Error i'the bill, sir; error i'the bill. I cnm- 
 manrled the sleeves should be cutout, and sewed np 
 again J aad that I'll prove upon thee, thougfe 
 little nneer be armed in a thimble. 
 
 Tai. This is true, that I say ; an I had thee in 
 \)lace w here, thou should'st know it. 
 
 Gru. 1 am ibr thee straight : take thou the bill, 
 give me thy mete-yard, and spare not tne. 
 
 Hor. God a-mercy, Grumio ! then he shall have 
 no odds. 
 
 Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 
 Gru. You are i'the right, sir ; 'tis for my mistress. 
 Pet, Go, take it np unto thy master's use. 
 Gru. Villain, not for thy life : take up my mis- 
 tress' gown for thy master's use ! 
 
 Pet. Why, sir, whafs your conceit in that ? 
 Gru. O, s:r, the conceit is deeper than you think 
 for: 
 
 Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
 O, fy, fy ! 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, say Ihou wilt see the tailor 
 paid : — [Aside.) 
 Go take it hence : begone, and say no more. 
 
 Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee lor thy gown to-morrow. 
 Take no unkindness of his hasty words: 
 Away, I say ; commend me to thy master. 
 
 [Exit Tailor. 
 
 Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your 
 father's, 
 
 eJven in these honest mean habiliments ; 
 
 Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor: 
 
 For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich : 
 
 And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
 
 So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
 
 What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
 
 Because his feathers are more beautiful 
 
 Or is the adder better than the eel. 
 
 Because his painted skin contents the eye ? 
 
 O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse 
 
 For this poor furniture, and mean array. 
 
 If thou account'st it shnme, lay it on me : 
 
 And therefore, frolic; wc will hence forthwith, 
 
 To feast and sport r,s at thy father's house. — 
 
 Go, call my men, f\nd let us straight to him ; 
 
 And bring our horses unto Long-lane end, 
 
 There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. — 
 
 Let's see ; I think, 'tis now some seven o'clock. 
 
 And well we may come there by dinner-tinie. 
 
 Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; 
 And 'twill be supper-time, ere you come there. 
 
 Pet. It shall be seve^n, ere I go to horst • 
 Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do. 
 You are still crossing it. — Sirs, let's alone : 
 I vvill not go to day ; and ere I do. 
 It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 
 
 Hor. Why, so! this gallant will command the 
 ■ sun. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Padua. Before Baptlstas House. 
 
 Enter Tranio, ard the Pedant dressed like 
 
 ViNCEN'UO. 
 
 Tra. Sir, this ig the house ; Please it you, that 
 I call ? 
 
 Ped. Ay, what slsw ? and, but I be deceived, 
 iTgnior Baptista nay remember me, 
 Pfear twenty yep/s ago, in Genoa, where 
 We were lodgers at th^- Pegasus. 
 
 Tra. Tis well : 
 
 And hold your own, n any case, with fnch 
 Austerity as 'longeth to a father. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Ped. T warrant you : but, sir, he « i comes your boy 
 'Twere good, he were school'd. 
 
 Tra. Fear you not him. — Sirrah, Biondello, 
 Now do your duty throughly, 1 advise you; 
 Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. 
 
 Bion. Tut ! fear not me. 
 
 Tra. But hast thou done thv errand to Baptista 
 Bion. I told him, that your tather was at\enice, 
 
 And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 
 Tra. Thou'rt a tall fellow; hold thee, that to drink. 
 
 Here comes Baptista: —set your countenance, sir. 
 
 Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 
 
 Signior Baptista. you are happily met: — 
 
 Sir, ^ [To the Pedant, 
 
 This is the gentleman I told you of; 
 
 I pray you, stand good father to me now. 
 
 Give me Bianca for my patriniony. 
 
 Ped. Soft, son ! — 
 Sir, by your leave ; having come to Padua 
 To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
 Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 
 Of lo\e between your dai»;hter and himself. 
 And, — for the good report I hear of you ; 
 And for the love he beareth (o your daughter. 
 And she to him, — to stay him not too lo»ig, 
 I am content, in a good lather's care. 
 To have him match'd : and, — if you pleas'd to like 
 No worse than I, sir, — upon some agreement, 
 Me shall you find most ready and ntost willing 
 With one consent to have her so bestowed ■ 
 For curious I cannot be with you, 
 Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 
 
 Bap, Sir, pardon me in what I have to J^iy • 
 Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well 
 Right true it is, your sun Lucentio he-re 
 Doth love my daughter, and she lo\ eth him. 
 Or both dissemble deeply their aft't ctions • 
 And therefore, if you say no more than this. 
 That like a lather you vvill deal with him. 
 And [)ass my daughter a sufficient dower. 
 The match is fully made, and all is done : 
 Y'oiir son shall have my daughter with consent. 
 
 Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know 
 We be affied ; and such assurance ta'en, [hesi, 
 As shall with either part's agreement stand ? 
 
 Bap. Not in my bouse, Lucentio; ior you know. 
 Pitchers have ears, and 1 have many servants : 
 Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ; 
 And, happily, we might be interrupted. 
 
 Tra, Then at my lodgini>-, an it like you, sir: 
 There doth my father lie ; and there, this night. 
 We'll pass the business privately and well: 
 Send for your daughter by your servant here. 
 My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
 The \vorst is this, — that, at so slender warning, 
 You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. 
 
 Bap. Tt likes me well :— Cambio, hie you home^ 
 And bid Bianca make her ready straight; 
 And, if you will, tell what hath happened r— - 
 Lncentio's father is arriv'd in Padua, 
 And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife 
 
 Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart 
 
 Tra. Dnlly not with the gods, biit get thee »oue 
 Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? 
 Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer: 
 Come, sir ; we'll better it in Pisa. 
 
 Bap. I follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptint.*.. 
 
 Bion. Cambio. — 
 
 Luc. What say'st thou, Biond^'Ho? 
 
 Bion. You sa\v my master wink and laugh upos» 
 L?ic. Biondello, wt'.at of that ? [you 'i' 
 
 Bion. 'Faith, noth.ng; but he has left me here 
 
 behind, to expound the meaning or moral cf hi* 
 
 signs and tokens. 
 
TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 I pray thee, moraliae them. 
 Then thus. Baplista is safe, talking with 
 iving father of a deceitful son. 
 c. And what of him ? 
 tan. His daugl)ter is to be brought by you to 
 . And then? — [the supper. 
 
 BioH- 'I he old priest at Saint Luke's church is at 
 jfour command at all hours. 
 Luc. And what of all this ? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tell; except they are busied about 
 bl counterfeit assurance : take you assurance of 
 her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum : to the 
 fhurch ; — take tlie priest, clerk, and some sufficient 
 honest witnesses : [say, 
 If this be not that you look for, I have no more to 
 But, bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. {Gomg.) 
 
 Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a wench married in 
 an atternoon as she went to the garden for parsley 
 to stutt'a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, 
 sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint 
 Luke's to bid the priest be ready to come, against 
 you come with your appendix. [Exit. 
 
 Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
 She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt ? 
 Hap what hap may, III roundly go about her; 
 It shall go hard, i( Cambio go without her. [Exit. 
 
 Scene V, — A public Road. 
 Enter Petruchio, Katharina, and Hortensio. 
 
 Pet. Come on, o'God's name ; once more toward 
 our father s. [moon ! 
 
 Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the 
 
 Kath. The mnon ! the suu ; it is not moonlight now. 
 
 Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. 
 
 Kath. \ know, it is the sun that sliines so bright. 
 
 Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, 
 It shall be. moon, or star, or wliat I list. 
 Or ere i journey to your father's house ; — 
 Go on, and fetch our horses back again. — 
 Evermore cross'd, and cross'd, nothing but cross'd! 
 
 Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 
 
 Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so 
 And be it moon, or sun, or what you please : [far, 
 And il"you please to call it a rush candle. 
 Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 
 
 Pet. 1 say, it is the moon. 
 
 Kath. I know it is. 
 
 Pet. Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun. 
 
 Kath.'Wen God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun: — 
 But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
 And the moon clianges, even as your mind. 
 What you will have it nam'd, even that it is ; 
 And so it shall be so, for Katharine. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won. 
 
 Pet. Well, forward, forward: thus the bowl 
 should run. 
 And not unluckily against the bias. — 
 But soft ; what company is coming here ? 
 
 Enter Vincentio, iti a travelling dress. 
 Good morrow, gentle mistress : where away ? — 
 
 [To Vincentio.) 
 Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, 
 Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? 
 S :oh war of white and red within her cheeks ! 
 VV iiat stars do spangle heaven with such beauty. 
 As tliose two eyes become that heavenly face ? — 
 Fair lovely maid, once more good-day to thee : — 
 8wet^t Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 
 
 Ilor. 'A wilt make the man mad, to make a 
 wo'iian of him. 
 
 Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and 
 sweet, 
 
 Whither away ; or where is thy abode ? 
 Happy the parents of so fair a child ; 
 Happier the man, whom favourable stars 
 Allot thee for his lovely bed fellow ! 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, Kaf e ! I hope thou art not 
 mad : 
 
 This is a man, old, wnnkled, faded, wither'J; 
 And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 
 
 Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes. 
 That have been so bedazzled with the sun, 
 That every thing I look on seemeth green : 
 Now ! perceive, thou art a reverend father 
 Pardon, 1 pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 
 
 Pet. Do, good old grandsire ; and withal, mak« 
 known 
 
 Which way thou travellest: if along with us, 
 W e shall be joyful of thy company. 
 
 Vin. Fair sir, — and you my merry mistress, 
 That with your strange encounter much amaz'd 
 me, — [Pisa: 
 My name is call'd — Vincentio ; my dwellhig — 
 And bound I am to Padua; there to visit 
 A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 
 
 Pet. What is his name ? 
 
 Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir. 
 
 Pet. Happily met; the happier for tliy sou. 
 And now by* taw, as well as reverend age, 
 I may entitle thee — my loving father ; 
 The sister to my w^ife, this gentlewoman. 
 Thy son by this hath married : Wonder not. 
 Nor be not griev'd ; she is of good esteem. 
 Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; 
 B-side, so qualified as may beseem 
 'i'he spouse of any noble gentleman. 
 Let me embrace with old Vincentio: 
 And wander we to see thy honest son. 
 Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 
 
 Vi7i. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure. 
 Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
 Upon the company you overtake ? 
 
 Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
 
 Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
 For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. 
 
 [Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Vinceniio- 
 
 Ilor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart. 
 Have to my widow ; and if she be forward. 
 Then hasl thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. 
 
 [Exii. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Padua. Before Lucentio s House, 
 
 Enter, on one side, Biondello, Lucentio, and 
 Bianca : Gremio walking on the other side. 
 
 Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir; for the piiest is 
 ready. 
 
 Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance to 
 need thee at home, therefore leave us; 
 
 Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o'yoiir back; 
 and tuen come hack to my master as soon as 1 can. 
 [Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello, 
 
 Ore. I marvel, Cambio comes not all this while. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house, 
 My father's bpars more toward the market place; 
 Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 
 
 Vin. You shall not choose but drink before 
 you go ; 
 
 I think, 1 shall command your welcome here. 
 And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. 
 
 {Knocks.) 
 
 Gre. They're busy within, you were best koock 
 louder. 
 
 Enter Pedant above, at a window, 
 Ped. What's he, that knocks as he would beat 
 
 down the gate ? 
 
 Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? 
 
 Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken 
 
 withal. 
 
 Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound 
 or two, to make merry withal ? 
 
 Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he 
 shall need /vone, so long as 1 live. 
 
Scene 1. TAMING OF 
 
 Pet. Nay, I tolcl yiv., your son was beloved in 
 Padua.— Do yoii hear, sir? — to leave fiivolous 
 circumstances, — I pray you, tell sij-nior Lucentio, 
 tJiat his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the 
 door to speak witli him. 
 
 Ped. Thou liest ; Ids father is come from Pisa, 
 and here looking out at the window. 
 
 Vin. Art thou iiis f.ither ? 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may be- 
 lieve her. 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, gentleman! {To Vincen.) 
 why, tliis is' flat knavery, to take upon you another 
 man's name. 
 
 Ped. Lay hands on the villain; I believe, 'a 
 means to cozen somebody in this city under my 
 countenance. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 
 Bion. I have seen them in the church to^etDPT: 
 God send 'em good shipping! — But who is here? 
 mine old master, Vincentio i now we are undone, 
 and broii.^ht to nothing. 
 
 Vin. Come hitlier, crack-hemp. 
 
 [Seeing Biondello.) 
 
 Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir. 
 
 Vin. Come liither, you rogue : What, have you 
 forgot me ? 
 
 Bion. Forgot you ? no, sir : I could not forget 
 you, for I never saw you before in all my life. 
 
 Viji. Wtiat, you notorious villain, didst thou 
 never see thy master's father, Vincentio? 
 
 Bion. Wliat, my old, worshipful old master? yes, 
 marry, sir ; see where he looks out of the window. 
 Vin. 1s t so, indeed ? {Beats Biondello.) 
 
 Bion. Help, help, help! here's a madman will 
 murder me. [Exit. 
 Ped. Help, son ! help, signior Baptista ! 
 
 [Exit from the tvindow.) 
 t Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see 
 ; the end of this controversy. {They retire.) 
 
 Re-enter Pedant below ; Bafhsta, Tranio, and 
 Servants. 
 
 \ Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my 
 servant ? 
 
 Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir? — 
 O immortal gods ! O fine villain ! A silken doublet ! 
 a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain hat ! 
 — O, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play the 
 good husband at home, my son and my servant 
 spend all at the university. 
 
 Tra. How now ! what's the matter ? 
 
 Bap. What, is the man lunatic ? 
 
 Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by 
 your habit, but your words show you a madman : 
 Why, sir, what concerns it you, if 1 wear pearl and 
 gold ? I thank my good father, I am able to main- 
 tain it. 
 
 Vin. Thy father ? O, villain ! he is a sail-maker 
 in Bergamo. 
 
 Bap. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir: Prav, 
 what do you think is his name ? 
 
 Vin, His name? as if I knew not his narjCii*: [ 
 have bronglit iiitu up ever since he was three years 
 old. and his name is — Tranio. 
 
 Ped. Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucen- 
 tio ; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of 
 me, signior Vincentio. 
 
 Vin. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his mas- 
 ter! — Lay hold on him, I charge ;ou, in the duke's 
 name : — O, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou villain, 
 where is my son Lucentio? 
 
 Tra. Call forth an olBcer : {Enter one with an 
 Officer) carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father 
 fiaptista, I charge you see, that he be forthcoming. 
 
 Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 
 
 Gre. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. 
 
 Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio ; 1 say, he shall 
 go to prison. 
 
 Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, le.st you be 
 
 THE SHREW. 225 
 
 coney-catched in this business; I da e 8wear, this 
 
 is the right Vincentio. 
 
 Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 
 Gre. Nay, 1 dare not swear It. [Lnceutio 
 Tra. Then thou wert best say, tha, I am uoi 
 Ore. Yes, 1 know thee to be, signior Lucentio. 
 Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with him. 
 Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abused :- 
 
 O monstrous villain ! 
 
 Re-enter Biondello, ivith Luceniio, and Bianca 
 
 Bion. O, we f /e spoiled, and — Yonder he isj 
 deny him, forswear him, or else we ar all undone. 
 
 Luc. Pardon, sweet father. {Kneeling^. 
 
 Vin. Ijives my sweetest son; 
 
 {Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant, run out.i 
 
 Bian. Pardon, dear fatlier. {Kneeling.) 
 
 Rap. How hast thou offended ? 
 
 Where is Lucentio? 
 
 Luc. Here's Lucentio, 
 
 Right son unto the right Vincentio; 
 That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
 While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. 
 
 Gre. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive 
 us all ! 
 
 Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, 
 That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so? 
 
 Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? 
 
 Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca'slore 
 Made me exchange niy state with Tranio, 
 While he did bear my countenance in the town; 
 And happily I have arriv'd at last 
 Unto the wished haven of my bliss : — 
 What Tranio did, myself eni'orc'd him to; 
 Then pardon hiu), sweet father, for my sake. 
 
 Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have 
 sent me to the gaol. 
 
 Bap. But do you hear, sir? {To Lucentio.) Have 
 you married my daughter without asking my good- 
 will ? [go to . 
 
 Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you. 
 But 1 will in to be revenged for this villainy. [Exit 
 
 Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knaver* 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Luc, Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father will not 
 frown. [Exeunt Luc. and Bian. 
 
 Gre. My cake is dough : But I'll in amimg the rest • 
 Out of hope of all, — but my share of the feast. [Exit. 
 
 Petruchio and Katharina advance, 
 Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the ena O 
 this ado. 
 
 Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
 Kath. What, in the midst of the street? 
 Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ? 
 Kath. No, sir; God forbid : — but ashamed to kiss. 
 Pet. Why, then let's home again : — Come, sir- 
 rah, let's away. 
 Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray 
 
 thee, love, slay. 
 Pet. Is not this well i — Come, my sweet Kate ; 
 Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene H. — A Room in Lucentio' s House. 
 A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio 
 Gremio, tkn Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, F& 
 TRUCHio, Katharina , Hortensio, and Widow. 
 I^RANio, Biondello, GrUxMio, and others at- 
 tending. 
 
 Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes 5gree . 
 And time it is, when raging war is done. 
 To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — 
 My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome. 
 While I with self-same kindness welcome tliine:— 
 Brother Petrnchio,— sister Katharina,— 
 And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,— 
 Feast with the best, and welcome to my house , 
 My banquet is to close our stomachs up. 
 After our great good cheer : Pray you, si* down ; 
 
226 
 
 TAMING OF 
 
 THE SHREW. 
 
 Act V 
 
 For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. 
 
 {They sit at table.) 
 
 Pet Nothing but sit ani sit, and eat and eat! 
 
 Bap. Padisa allbrds tliis kindness, son Petrnchio. 
 
 Pet. Padua alFords notliing- but what is kind. 
 
 Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word were 
 true. 
 
 Pet. Now, for my life, Mortensio fears his widow. 
 
 Will, 'i'iien never trust nie, if I be aleard. 
 
 Pet. Yo'.i are sensible, imd yet you miss my sense ; 
 1 mean, Hurtensio is aft ard of you. 
 
 fVid. He, that is f,nddy, thinks the world turns 
 
 Pet. Roundly replied. [round. 
 
 Knlh. Mistress, how mean yon that ? 
 
 Wid. Thus I conceive by him. fthat ? 
 
 Pet. Conceives by me I — How likes Hortensio 
 
 Hot: My widow says, thus she Conceives her tale. 
 
 Pet, Very well mended: Kiss him for that, good 
 wiaow. [round : 
 
 Kalh. He, tl»at is giddy, thinks the world turns 
 I pray you, tell me wh ':t yon meant by that. 
 
 Wid. Your luisbanc, being troubled with a shrew, 
 Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: 
 And ndw you know my meaning. 
 
 Kath. A very mean meaning. 
 
 Wid. Right, I mean you 
 
 Kat. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. 
 
 Pet. To her, Kate I 
 
 Hor. To her, widow ! 
 
 Pel. A hundj-ed marks, my Kate does put her 
 Hor. 'I'hat s my oflice. [down. 
 Pet. Spoke like an oihcer: — Ha' to thee, lad. _ 
 
 {Drinks to Hortensio.) 
 Bap. H-ow likes Gremio these quick-witted folks ? 
 Gre, Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 
 Biaii. Head, and butt ? an hasty-witted body 
 Would say, your head and butt were head and horn. 
 Viii. Ay, mistress bride, li.ith tliat a'.vaken'd you? 
 Biati. Ay, but not frighted me ; tlierefore I'll 
 sleep again. [begun. 
 Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have 
 Have at yuu for a bitter jest or two. 
 
 Bian. Am 1 your bird / 1 mean to shift my bush. 
 And then pursue me as you diaw your bow: — 
 You are welcome all. 
 
 [Exeunt Bia?ica, Kntharina nnd Widotv. 
 Pet. 8i»e hatli prevented me. — Here, signior 
 Tranio, 
 
 This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not ; 
 Therefore, a health to all, tliat siiot and miss'd. 
 Tra. O, sir, Luceutio slipp d me like his grey- 
 hound. 
 
 Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 
 
 Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis well, sir, tlial you iumted lor yourself; 
 Tis thought, your deer dot-s hold you at a bay. 
 
 Bap. O hi), Petrucliio, Tranio hits you now. 
 
 Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio, 
 
 Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here ? 
 
 Pet. 'A has a little gall'd nie, 1 confess; 
 And as the jest did glance away Ironi me, 
 ■Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 
 
 Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petrucbio, 
 I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 
 
 Pet. Well, I say — no: and therefore, for as- 
 surance, 
 
 Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
 
 And he, whose wife is most obedient 
 
 To come at first, when he doth send for her. 
 
 Shall win the wager, which we will propose. 
 
 Hor. Content : what is the wager i 
 
 Luc. Twenty crowns. 
 
 Pet. Twenty crowns ! 
 Ill venture so much on my hawk, or hound. 
 But twenty times so much upon my wife. 
 
 Luc. A hundred, then. 
 
 Hor, Content. 
 
 Pet. A match ; 'tis done. 
 
 Hor. Who shall begin ? 
 
 Luc. That will I.— Go, 
 
 Biondello, bid your mistress come to tne. 
 
 Bion. I go [Exit 
 
 Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 
 
 Luc. I'll have no halves : Pll bear it all myself. 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 How now ! what news ? 
 
 Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 
 
 That she is busy, and she cannot come. 
 
 Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come ! 
 Is that an answer ? 
 
 Ore. Ay, and a kind one too ; 
 
 Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 
 
 Pet. I hope, better. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife 
 To come to me forlhwith. [Exit Biondello,. 
 
 Pet. O, ho! entreat her! 
 
 Nay, then she must needs come. 
 
 Hor. I am afraid, sir, 
 
 Uu vvuat you can, yours will not be entreated. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 Novv, where's my wife ? [hand ; 
 
 Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in 
 She will not come : she bids you come to her. 
 
 Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come ! O 
 Intolerable, not to be endiir'd ! [vile. 
 Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; 
 Say, conmiand her come to me. [Exit Grumio, 
 
 Hor. 1 know her answer. 
 
 Pet. What? 
 
 Hor. She will not corae. 
 
 Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 
 
 Enter Katharina. 
 
 Bap. Now, by my holidan»e, here comes Katha- 
 rina ! [me ? 
 
 Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for 
 
 Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? 
 
 Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. 
 
 Pet. Go fetch them hither; if they deny to 
 come. 
 
 Swinge me them soundly forth unto their h ^sbsnds; 
 Away, I say, and bring them hither strait^ht. 
 
 [Exit Katharina, 
 
 Luc- Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 
 
 Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes. 
 
 Pet, Marry, peace it bodes, and love, aud quiet 
 An awful ruie, and right Sfii'remacy ; [litie. 
 And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. 
 
 Bap. Now fair belal thee, good Petruchio ' 
 The wager thou hast won, and I will add 
 Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; 
 Another dowry to another daughter, 
 For she is rhang'd as she had ne\er been. 
 
 Pei. Nay, I will win my w;ige_r better yet; 
 And show more sign of her obedience. 
 Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
 
 Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca atid Widow 
 See, where she comes: and brings your froward 
 wives 
 
 As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — 
 Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not; 
 Oft with that bauble, throw it under foot. 
 Katharina pulls off her cap, and throws it down, 
 
 Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh. 
 Till I be brought to such a silly pass! 
 
 Bian. Fy ! what a foolish duty call you this? 
 
 Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too: 
 The wisdom of your duty , fair Bianca, 
 Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper time 
 
 Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. 
 
 Pet. Katharine, 1 charge thee, tell these head 
 strong women, 
 What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 
 
 Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have 
 no telling. 
 
 Pet. Couie on, I say ; and first begin with her. 
 IV id. She shall not. 
 
 Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with heft 
 
Scene 2. TAMING OF 
 
 Katk. Fy, fy! unknit that threat'uing ankiud 
 brow; 
 
 And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
 
 To wound tliy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
 
 It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the ujeads ; 
 
 Confounds (hy faiiie, as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; 
 
 And in no st^iise is meet, or amiable. 
 
 A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, 
 
 Miidily, ill-seriMing-, thick, bereft of beauty ; 
 
 And, wliile it is so, noi.<e so dry or thirsty 
 
 W^ill deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. 
 
 Thy husband is tiiy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
 
 Tliy head, tliy sovereign; one that cares for thee 
 
 And for tiiy maintenance: conunits his body 
 
 To painful labour, both by sea and land; 
 
 To watcii tile night in storms, the day in cold, 
 
 While thou best warm at home, secure and safe; 
 
 And craves no other tribute at thy hands. 
 
 But love, fair looks, and true obedience; — 
 
 Too little payment for so great a debt. 
 
 Such duty as the subject owes the nrince, 
 
 Even such, a woman oweth to her hu.sband : 
 
 And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour. 
 
 And not obedient to his honest will, 
 
 U'^hat is she, but a foul contending rebel. 
 
 And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? — 
 
 ( am asham'd tliat women are so simple 
 
 To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; 
 
 Or seek for rule, su})remacy, and sway, 
 
 Where they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
 
 Wh) Are our bodies soft, aod weak, aad smooth. 
 
 THE SHREW. 32T 
 
 Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ; 
 
 Jjut that our soft conditions, and our hearts, 
 
 Should well .agree with our externa! parts 'i* 
 
 Come, come, you froward and unable worms! 
 
 My mind hath been as big as one of yours, 
 
 My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more. 
 
 To bandy word for word, and frown for iroyru: 
 
 But now, I see, our lances are but straws ; 
 
 Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,— I 
 
 That seeming to be most, which we least are. 
 
 Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot; 
 
 And place your hands below your husband's foot: 
 
 In token of which duty, if he please. 
 
 My hand is ready, may it do him ease. 
 
 Pet. Why, there's a wench ! — Con»e on, and kiss 
 me, Kate. [ha't. 
 Ltic. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou shall 
 Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are 
 toward. 
 
 Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are fro- 
 ward. 
 
 Pel. Come, Kate, we'll to bed : 
 
 We three are married, but you two are sped. 
 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white ! 
 
 1 To Liicentio 
 And, being a winner, God give you good night! 
 
 [Exeunt Pelruchio and liaih. 
 Hor Now go thy ways, thou hast tanfd a curst 
 shrew. 
 
 hue. Tis a wonder, by your Icai^e, she will be 
 tara'd 00. [Exeunt, 
 
WINTER'S TALE, 
 
 ThJa play, nj Dr. Warburton justly observes, is, witb all its absurdities, very entertaining. The clumeter »! 
 Aatolycus is naturally conceived, and strongly represented. Johtuon, 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 LEONTES. King of Sicilia. 
 M\MILLIUS, his Son. 
 CAMtLLO, ) 
 
 cleomK' C 
 
 DION, ' 
 
 Another Sicilian Lord. 
 
 KOGERO, a Sicilian Gentleman. 
 
 An Atteu'iant on the young Prince MamiUius 
 
 0.fflcer.<! of a Court of Judicature. 
 
 POLIXENES, King of Bohemia. 
 
 FLORIZEL. his Sun. 
 
 ARCHlDAiViUS, a Bohemian Lord. 
 
 A Mariner. 
 
 An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita, 
 
 Clown, his Son. 
 
 Servant to the old Shepherd. 
 
 AUTOLYCUS, a Rogue. 
 
 Time, as Chorus. 
 
 HEKMIONE, Queen to Leontes. 
 
 PERDITA, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione 
 
 PAULINA, Wife to Antigonus. 
 
 ^^f'^ker''La&, ] 
 MOPSA,— DORCAS,— Shepherdesses. 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Satyrs for a Dance, 
 Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, etc. 
 
 Scene, — Ssmetimes in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia. 
 
 Scene l.-^Sicilia. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 An Ante-chamber in Leontes^ 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 
 
 Arch. If yoH shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo- 
 hernia on the like occasion, wherein ray services are 
 now on foot, yoii shall see, as I have said, ^r.eai.«3ifc- 
 ference betwJ.xt,joujC,.Boheniia, and your 
 '^Cdm. I think, this coming summer, the king of 
 I Sicilia moans to pay Bohemia the visitation which he 
 
 • justly owes him. 
 
 Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, 
 I we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed,-p /, 
 
 • Cam. 'Jj[e se ech yo n, - (k CvM-^*?^ 
 
 Arch. Veriiy, Ispeak it in the freedom of my 
 'knowledge: we cannot with such niagoificence — 
 
 in so rare — I know not wliat to say We will 
 
 give you sleepy drinks ; that your senses, unintel- 
 ligent of our insnfficience, may, though they cannot 
 praise us, as little accuse us. [given freely. 
 
 Ca7n. You pay a great deal too dear for what's 
 Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding 
 instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utter- 
 ance. 
 
 Cam. Skilia cannot show^ Jhiinself^oyer kind to 
 Bohemia. Tlie^^jtveXfi Jrained together, jn their 
 cKricfhoods ; anj^here rootedTietwixt them then 
 saxjTi anT-TaftectioiTr which cannot choose but branch 
 now. Since their more mature dignities, and royal 
 necessities, made separation of their society, their 
 encounters, though not personal, have been royally 
 attornied, with interchange of gifts, letters, loving 
 i^. embassies; that they have seemed to be together, 
 «g though absent; shook hands, as over a vast ; and 
 efli'braced, as it were, from the ends of opposed 
 winds, 'i'he heavens continue tlieir loves! 
 
 Arch. I think, tliere is not in the world either 
 •«Cinalice, or matter, to alter it. You have an un- 
 speakable comfort of your young prince MamjiiLua.; 
 it is a gentleman of the greatest promisejTIiat ever 
 came into my note. 
 
 Cain. I very well agree with you in the hopes 
 of him ; It.is a gallant child; one that, indeed, 
 physics fhe subject, makes old hearts fresh : they, 
 that went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet 
 tJieir lil'e, to see him a man. 
 
 Arch. Would they else be content to die ? 
 
 Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse, why 
 they should desire to live. 
 
 I Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire 
 to live on crutches, till he had one. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. A Room of state in the 
 Palace, 
 
 Enter Leontes, Pouxenes, Hermione, Mamii*. 
 Lius, Camillo. and Attendants. 
 ^ ^ vvuv\ VW^ 
 Pol. ^Jine changes of the wat'ry star have been 
 The shepherd's notifrsince we have left our thron* 
 Without a burden: time as Idftg again™'"""" " 
 WbTcHd be fill'd tip, my brother, with our thanks; 
 And yet we should, for perpetnity, 
 Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher, 
 Yet standing in rich place, I multiply. 
 With one we-thank-you, many thousands more. 
 That go before it. 
 
 heon. Stay your tlianks awhile ; 
 
 And pay them, when you part. 
 
 Pol. r'^-"' *" >>Sir, that's to-morrovp—-— 
 
 I am Question'd by nikjGearStpf what may chance 
 
 Ot'SreeCiuppn^m^ absenee : That nray bio w^~^^ 
 No^neaj^^^ndslt hrnnc, to make us say, ^; j)(ir^S^-..-:3 
 Thislspurfdrth too truly ! Besides, I have stay'd « 
 To tire your royalty. 
 
 Leon. We are tougher, brother. 
 
 Than you can put us to't 
 Pol. No longer stay. /o\fie4. 
 
 Leon. One seven-night longer. - | iA}C^^ ' tT 
 Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 
 
 Leon. We'll part the time between's then : and 
 I'll no gain-saying. [in that 
 
 Pol. ^ Press me not, 'beseech you, so ; 
 There is no(tongu(^, that moves, none, none i'the w 
 
 So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now J 
 
 Were there necessity in your request, although 
 
 'Twere needful 1 denied it. M^LafijaitS 
 
 Do even dragjpaejioineward : which to hinder 
 
 We"re,"in~your love, a whip to me ; mjt-stay 
 
 To, you a charge^nd-tmuhlfe^to save both. 
 
 Fare wellTour Dither.; 
 Leon. Q^ongue^d, our queen ? speak yon 
 
 Her. I had thoHjftCs"", to have held my peace 
 until [sir 
 
 You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You 
 
 Charge him too coldly : Tejihixa, you are sure, 
 
 A4iJiU^lhemia^sjK£l : this satisfaction 
 
 Tllie by-gone°^ayproclaim'd ; say this to him. 
 
 He's beat from his best ward. 
 
 Leon. Well said, Hermione 
 
 Her. To tell he longs to see his son, were strong: 
 
 But let him say so then, and let him go ; 
 
 But let him swear so, and he shal,Lnpt stay. 
 
 We'll 4^a(iJk him hence with dJitap'. — 
 
 Yet of your royal presence Lto Polixents) 
 
 venture . 
 
T'he borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
 Vou take ray lord, I'll give him my commission, 
 ro let him there a monUi, behind the^est^'rjVujfi)eU 
 
 AVINTER'S TALE. 
 
 ontes, 
 
 No, madam. 
 I may not. 
 
 I'refix'd for's parting: yet, gooik deed, 
 I ii)ve Ihee not a^a)' o the clock, behind 
 VV^lvU lady she her lord. — You'll stay 
 PoL 
 
 'dfr. Nay, but vou will ? 
 
 ' . - , ^ 
 
 Hi-r. Verily ! _ fhOMrPCiSsly 
 
 ^fid p'i' <'tf with ^mb^ vows : But I, ' 
 Enoudi yon would seek to unsphere JtJje stars with 
 $ly3v?!e yet say, Sir, no going. Xgrilj^^ [oaths, 
 
 »f)teiit its a lord 's. VVill you go yet? 
 ^•"Stfl j>?e t>; keep yon as a prisoner, 
 ly&t Kkt- a giiest ; so you sliall pay your fees, 
 W.<7i*»4 vixn depart, and save your thanks. 
 
 -say YOU 
 
 My prisoiirr? or my guest ? by your dread^^verily'i 
 
 ~ ~' Yourjajest.thenj.jnajiaffl • 
 
 £* be your prisoner, slioulcT|rnj>ai^t offending ; , 
 W^it-K is uie less easy to commit, *^>'%^t 
 'flyijf^yoii to punish. 
 
 //t?r. Not your gaoler then, 
 
 IJuiyonr l-iind hostess. Conie, I'll question you 
 
 iny lord's tricks, and yours, when you were 
 Yoalvvere pretty, lordlin^^^ ifeoys ; 
 
 Pol. We were, fair queen, 
 
 ''i lads, that thought there was no more behind, 
 H it siich a day to-morrow as to-day, . \ yi 
 
 At)] to be boy eternal. \'mL\l3^yjiyir^^''^^ ) Jfl 
 Har. Was not my lord the ^ne^ wag o'the two ? 
 Pol. We wer^ that did frisk 
 
 i'tl^e sun, , ~- 
 And bleat the one at the othOT^\V"hat we chang'd, 
 'JQis irrnocence tor innQ^ri^f^d.kjl£W not 
 
 li lo.at any (Trd TlTaTvve^pi^^^^ that fiTeT 
 
 have jinswgr'ji 
 
 Leon. vVhy, that was, whe» 
 
 Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves 
 death, 
 
 Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, 
 And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, 
 I am yours far. ever. 
 
 Her. It is Grace, indeed. — . 
 
 Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the puipof* 
 The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; [twice. 
 The other, for some while a friend. 
 
 {Giving her hand to PoHxenes.) 
 
 Leon. 1 oo hot, too hot : {AsideX 
 
 TojTiingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. " 
 
 I "Have fi^einor c'ordigM :— my healTcTance^ ; 1 
 But not for joy^^Sot |oy.t— This enteffaimnent \ 
 May'=a^Tee'1ace paToil ; derive a liberty 
 tVom heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom. 
 And well become the agent : it.may, I grant: 
 
 But to be p,addling^.alai9^.jai^^{M£iuJQ&.fiii^^ 
 As no\v they are ; and qiakin/^ 
 A^n-a lookit)g-giaas ;— fuid^TrerTTo^ 
 
 The. 
 My 
 
 A n<l j .mT - weH»k ~ ft ftuuis ne'er 
 With stronger blood, vve 
 
 ■ been^hi 
 ou 
 
 . ""^^iea\en 
 
 Boldly, Nuft^TTty ; the imposition clear'd, 
 li-iTT Pditui'y 0111 s. " X 
 
 Her. By this we gather, ^ 
 
 Vou have tripp'd since. 
 
 Pol. O my most sacred lady, 
 
 Teptipiaiimi^ l^a ye since then been barn to hs ; for 
 In those icj^edg^days was my^wife a girl ; ^ 
 Your precioussetfhad not th^n cross'd the eyes 
 Of my young play-fellow. »• 
 
 nlr^ Grace to l^J)'^rW^*%^ 
 
 Of this make no conclusion ; Jest ypi^ gay, rf^^^^ 
 Yourq^enjm I arg,Uevils/ Yet, go on; ^ 
 |TlTeOTtences we'Kave matle^you do, we'll answer; 
 Jf you first sinn'd with us, and that with us 
 Vou did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
 With any but with us. 
 
 Leon. Is he won yet? 
 
 Her. He'll stay, ray lord. 
 
 Leon. At my request, he would not. 
 
 tlennione, my_ dea^^ never s pok'st 
 
 7 ^ Tetter purp ose. 
 
 tier. Never? 
 
 Leon. Never, but once. 
 
 Her. What ? have I twice said weir?"wKen"' Was't 
 before ? 
 
 I pr'ythee, tell me : Craini)^jia.jsdth-4>iaise, and 
 make us [less, 
 As fat as tame things : One good deed, dying tongue- 
 Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. 
 Ojtr prai ses a rR our yvRgesj You may ride US^ 
 Wi'tlT"oue~soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere 
 With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal 
 My last good was, to entreat his stay ; 
 V^aLisasuiiy, Jrst it has an^lde-ft-sigter. 
 Or I mistake you : O, would her name were Grace! 
 BTtt o»«}€ before I spoke to the purpose : Wheu? 
 Nay, let me hav't ; 1 long. 
 
 us, / Hoi 
 \ Thi 
 al ;-^ "-Wi 
 
 orfjo,flie deer; (^thatis entertainment 
 )sora[Ji^jgH:iB;^-^^ m^ffiwvs7==MaiiitHius, 
 ou my boy ? 
 
 Ay, my good lord. 
 
 I^'feck!^? 
 What, hast sfiiutch'd^. 
 
 ne. Come, capi«.»,. ^ 
 leanly, captain : 
 
 A?l 
 Mam. 
 Leon. 
 
 Why, that's my \awcock; 
 
 thy nose 
 They say, jj^sa j[;,ppy pjitj^fmin 
 We must b^"^^; notneaTTBTT 
 And yet the s?eer, the heifer, and the calf. 
 Are all call'd neat.— Slillvirg^ina! ling 
 
 {Gbserving PouxenesTtnd HermioaSr] 
 LTpon his palm ? — How now, you wanton calf, 
 
 ATrrmmny-Falf? 
 
 Mam. Yes, if you will, mv lord ^ ' 
 
 Leon. Thou want'st a rough pasb. and the shooll n it; ' v 
 that I have, ^ PtJU^ --J^^%^^- 
 
 To be full like me : — yet, they say, ^Jtgare ^^'^ A ' ' 
 
 Admost as like as eggs 
 
 I' 
 
 Jliijffi^rejyieyJ^se 
 .wind, a s waters ; Jalse^ 
 by one tHaTTixes 
 No bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true 
 To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page, 
 Look on me with your welkin eve : Sweet villain! b/ci^ * 
 Most dear'st ! niy ^TT^— Can thy dam •f—m;ij\^^^'^^.r 
 Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre : (be? 
 Thou dost uvAk£.4M]iS^ljjej thjngs not so held, ( !<^^\ 
 
 po2i/2iiaj£ai!si Jidik^Sa!^ can tEis be ?•) ^ 
 
 VVith what's iinrgsl4hou coactive art, \\^ j 
 
 And fellow'st'^ibijig : Then 'tis very q fe^?ti| , - cCediU^S/ 
 Thou may'st co-join with something ; and thou doat ; 
 (And that beyond commission ; and I find it,) 
 And that to the infection of my brainSj^,^ 
 And hardening of my brows. 
 
 Pol What means Sicilia f 
 
 Her. Hg..!si^5mfihMigjsfi.^m^ 
 Pol. ^""'""''"''"""■^TTov^ my lord ? 
 
 What chf^er ? how is't with you, best brother ? 
 
 Her. You look. 
 
 As if you held a brow of much distraction : 
 Arfc-ytUL mQ„v,.',(j, "^y ltir,d ? 
 
 Leon. ^-^JH} earnest.— 
 
 Ho w sometime s natu r ewiUpetrgytrFT^ 
 Its'tenderne'ss, and mak'e'tgenjLPast^ 
 'IV^Ttsrirn-SOTT^ the lines 
 
 Of7nVT)'6ysTacjg7 ntetli^^ | 
 T?ve~nfy-tnree years ; an d saw irTyself unj^^re g^^ ^i£x H!\|Q» 
 
 ^ '"'^liSmdbite its master, and so prove, ^ f/fjv^^^^ 
 
 Lest it 
 
 y^As ornament* oft doy too dangerous, 
 How like, methought, I then was to this ks^J^ "^'t2c4. A 
 i.s qjLia^h, this gentleman ^^Mine honesUripid. 
 
 Wliy"'y oU tak P^rprs fqf ]r^nnp y? 
 
 Mam^ jSo, my lord, l it fight. _ f 
 Leon. You will ? why, happy man be his dolej- fx 
 My broth- 
 
 Are you so fond of your young prince, as we 
 Do seem to be of ours ? 
 
 hvrr-U/t 
 
pA. ,\m^su k I ^^^^ 
 
 830 
 
 4n 4 Kje , 
 
 Pol. 1: at home, sir, 
 
 He'u all my exercise, my mirtli, my matter : 
 Now my sworn IVieixl, and then mine enemy; , 
 My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : <,/ 
 ^ July's da y sli o rtfl^ Dec e mber l I^ 
 
 JHiqii^Jits^J^aT^^ 
 
 ^Xieon. — ^ ~~~°"°'^~'"''"'S(rs?an39 this squire 
 Ollic'd with me : We two will walk, my lord, 
 A.n(l leave yon to your graver stejjs. — Hermione, 
 How tliou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome ; 
 Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap : 
 N^ext to thyself", and my young ri)yer. he's 
 ApjDarent to my heart. c\ ^iiMX^ &tJ^^ 
 
 Her. ^ If you would seeie us, 
 
 I , A We are yours i' lM""garden :';|5hall's attend vou 
 
 " — ^ "^'^^ f[jgQfi^ 'Po your own bents dispose you : you'll be 
 Be yon beneath the sky : — I am ^plin^ now." T^u' 
 Xhg "||^h you perceive nie not liow 1 give line , 
 Go to, " 
 
 goTo 
 
 {Aside. Observing^ 
 liow she holds up the 
 And aims her witli tlie 
 To her allowing husband ! Gone already 
 Inch-thick, knee-deep ; o'er head and ears ajork'd 
 one. — ' ■ 
 
 _ [Exeuvi Polixenes, Hermiotie, and Attendants. 
 ^Go, [)i:»y, hoy , ]jlaY ; — tiiy motlier plays, and I 
 
 .Ii*)ay too; but so disgraced a part, whose issue 
 
 rave ; contempt and clamour 
 Go, play, boy, play; — There 
 
 VViil hiss nie to my 
 '"'ill be my kneil.- 
 have been. 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; 
 And many a man there is, even at this present, 
 Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, 
 That little thinks she has been sinic'd . in's absence. 
 And his pond fish'd b^Jiis^ofij^^ neighbour, by 
 *7§iOE^lijS3li2|^^neT^j^ nay, there's comfort in't, 
 \'\Vhiles other" njen nave gates ; and those gates 
 ''I open'd. 
 As mine against their will : Should all despair. 
 That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
 VVould hang themselves. Physic for't there is none ; 
 _^tis.aJjamiy4ilaj3et,J^ 
 
 j Where 'tis predominant ; and 'tis powerful, think it, 
 ' FrotnleasfrWest7iS'6ilh aftd' s^ : Be it concluded. 
 No barricado for a belly ; know it ; 
 It will let in and out the enemy, 
 With bag and baggage : pany a thousand of 
 
 Have tlxg d<SfiaSfi,j and i'pi^l't not. — Htiw noWj hoy ? 
 
 Main. I am like you, they say. 
 Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — 
 
 What ! Camillo there ! 
 Cam. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leon. Go play, Mamilius; thou'rt an honest 
 man.— ^ [Exit Mamillius. 
 
 Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 
 
 Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold: 
 When you cast out, it still came home. 
 
 Leon. Didst note it ? 
 
 Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; made 
 His business more material. 
 
 Leon. Didst perceive it ? 
 
 \They're here with me already; whisperiug, round- 
 tSicilia is a so forth : 'Tis iar gone, [ing, 
 When 1 shall ^ust it last. — How came't, Camillo, 
 ,Jl.h_at he (lid stayT 
 
 Ca7n. At the good queen's entreaty. 
 
 Leon. At (he qiieen"s, be t : good should be per- 
 . Hut^so it IS, it is n(>t. Was this vaken _ [tinentj 
 
 an?''(nYdgrgrfam!tn^ P^ate but, thine? ivkiX"'" 
 For thy conceit is socikin:^, will draw in 
 More than the common blocks : — Nijt noted, is't. 
 But of the finer natures? by some severals, 
 t)f head-piece extraordinary? lower messes, 
 Perchance, are to lliis busi.iei.'s purbhiid ; say. 
 
 Cam. Biisines,s, uiy lord ? I tiuuk, most under- 
 B(»liemia stajs here longer. [stand 
 Leon. Ha? 
 
 Stays here longer 
 
 Cam. 
 
 Leon. Ay, but why ? 
 
 Cam. Tftsati.^fY Y'J!'/ hifrhnft&g^^AJiic 
 Of our m ost gracious'mistress. 
 
 "'Ueon. — — — ''■■'•'•-^^^ajl&fy. 
 
 The entreaties of your mistress?^ satisfy ?■ 
 
 Let that suffice. 1 have trusted thee, Camillo, 
 With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
 My chamber councils : wherein, priest like, thou 
 Hast cleans'd my bosom ; I from thee departed ^ , 
 Thyjgenii&atj-eform'd : but we have ht^h^t^v^^^^ 
 Decpiv'd in. thy iflt?gr.U.y^3iiej^^^ —- -p^ 
 In that which seems so. ~ 
 
 Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! 
 
 Leon. To bide upon't ; — Thou art not hwne sit : or, ^ - 
 If thou inclin'st that way, thau,...arLa^co w arcT^^ *^ lf\} 
 Which boxe s honesty behiad, restraiju'ng*^^^-'i^i^ 
 From course requir'd : Or else tiiou muk be couoteo^ 
 A servant, eaiafted in my serious trust, |> j'/^* 
 And thereinnegligent ; or else a fool, 
 TJhat seegt a game play'd homeTnTellch stake drawn, 
 And tak'st it all for jest. 
 
 Cam. My gracious lord, 
 
 olixenes and Hermione.} 
 
 ; the<^ tohim! 
 
 oldness of a'\vTfe''*cf<^r«/S4^i I may be negligent, foolish, and fearfid ; 
 
 In every one of these no man is free. 
 But that his negligence, his folly, fear. 
 Amongst the infinite doings of the world, 
 Souietimes puts forth : In your aflairs, my lord. 
 If ever I were wilful-negligent. 
 It was my folly; if industriously 
 I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
 Not weighing well the end : if ever fearful 
 To do a thing, where I the issue doubted. 
 Whereof the execution did cry out 
 Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
 Which oft afiects the wisest: these, my lord, 
 Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty 
 Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace. 
 
 Be plainer with me ; leHn^HM*»w-Jtty_.treapas8 
 
 By its own visage : iLljLheii„4en;[Jt, 
 
 Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, 
 
 (But that's past doubt: you have; or your eye- 
 
 Is thicker than a cuckold's horn ;) or heard, .j^ ^ 
 (For, to a vision so apparent, rumour f^^t^^S 
 Cannot be mute,) or thought, (lor cogitation *y'* 
 Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) 
 My wife isj sliuaf^-V If thou wilt confess, 
 XOr else be impudently negative, 
 To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say. 
 My wife's a.JjiiiiiijdmiSfLi deserves a name ^ it/iiTtlii^'^ 
 As rank as any Hax-wench, that puts to plfij^ 
 Before her troth-plight ; say it, and justify it. ' / 
 
 Cam. X.w'ould not be a stander by, to hear 
 My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
 My present vengeance taken : 'shre w my heart. 
 You never spoke what did become you less 
 Than this; which to reiterate, were sin ^'"X 
 As deep as that, though true. \ \ lj 
 
 Leon. Is whispering^nothing"? I 
 
 Is leaning cheek to cheek ? is meeting noses? / 
 Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career / 
 Of laughter with a sigh ? (a note infallible ' 
 Of breaking honesty :) horsing foot on foot ? ; ,^ 
 
 Skulkin g in corners? wishing clocks more swift? '^j^Jwfjj 
 Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eye^blin 
 With the pin and web, bu t theirs, theirs,,e«lyT 
 That would unseen be wicked? is^^ij^:^,thi4 
 Why, jyier^lie jyorljd^^^^ 
 The cbvermg sk-yis^^hini 
 My wife is^A.^inSj^JJlOT'^^ P 
 If this he.ii'6TKms^(^) 'vT'^)'''^ f^^^ti 
 
 Cam. C„.„,Ot-^ cfood my loTrf, be cur 
 Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; 
 For 'tis most dangerous. 
 Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true. V^. 
 
 Cam. No, no, my lord. — -| \ 
 Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie ; 
 
 I say. thou liest, Camillo, and 1 hate thee ; V 
 
Scene 2. K^^-:^^^ ^ ^'^^ 
 
 WINTER'S mLE. 
 
 231 
 
 Pronounce tliee a gross Jon a mindless slave ; / 
 Qr else a hovering temporizer, that 
 Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
 Inclinini! 
 
 ^ho does infect hej: 
 
 le^JiLfiJier 
 who — if I 
 
 runnii 
 
 - 
 
 Jjeon. Why^hethMjivi 
 ^UOTTHH*-B«^/BoheilTna 
 Had servants true about nie ; that bare eyes 
 To see alike mine honour as their profits. 
 Their own particular thrifts, — they would do that. 
 Which siiould undo more doing: ay, .Qild^thou, 
 His cu]j-bearer, — whom I fiwn^ecUier loT'ii^^^^ 
 lla y e bencK*cI7"a^^ "w oTsTuj/J" 'wffo""ma y 's t 
 
 Bjainly, aislreaven sees earth, and^^^^^ 
 How f ain gTHTeH^^u^^^^ a cup, 
 
 To give iriineTfreThy a lasting wink ; 
 W hich draught to me were cordial. 
 
 Cotr Sir, my lord, 
 
 I could do this ; and that with no rash potion. 
 
 But 
 
 ling'ring dram, that should not work 
 
 Malicu«n«iy like poison : but I cannot 
 Believe <.;.-s crack to be in my dread mistress. 
 So sovereignly being honourable. 
 I have lov'd thee, 
 
 Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot J( 
 
 Dost think, I am bo muddy, so unsettled, i/yyvK*i^t 
 To appoint myself inJ^s"vexation ? sully ' 
 The |Jurity and v<yT»iteness^f' my sheeTs7 
 WhicirTo^tre«erw,4s iskep ; v^hicH being spotted. 
 
 Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps ? — • • 
 
 Gi ve' 'scan4a4-to^44ie4rlt)T)d"ollie prince my"son, 
 Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine, 
 Withdut ripe moving to'k? — Would 1 do this ? 
 Could man so,y_enchV niVc4 j^t^^ - 
 
 Ca7n. 1 must believe you, sir ; 
 
 XiLo^and will fetch off Bohemia for't : 
 Pro\ i(fecr,'t!rat, when he'^s remov'd, your highness 
 Will taki; a^aii^^^jMHteen, ais yoilrs at first ; 
 Kvejv for*y«tt£._son^ s^e'pandrthereby, for sealing 
 The tiyny of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
 Known and allied to yours. 
 
 Leon. Thou dost advise me, 
 
 Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
 I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. 
 
 Ca}n. My lord, 
 Go then; and with a countenance as clear 
 As friehushijT wars^^t tgasts with Bohemia, 
 
 And with your queen : I am Ins cup bearer j'^-^v 
 Ij ^'O'n me he have wholesome beverage, -j'' 
 Accouiit3Se^^rtr3'trursei^v 
 
 Leon. " This is all: 
 
 Do't, aiid t|K)u^^ the one half of my heart ; \ 
 Do't not, tHo(i"sprirst thine own. ^ 
 
 Cam. I'll do't, my lord. 
 
 Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd 
 me. [Exii. 
 
 Cam. O miserable lady ! — But for me. 
 What case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner 
 Of food Polixenes : and ray ground to do't 
 Is tne"6Bedierice to a master; one, 
 Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
 All that are his, so too. — Tojdp this deed. 
 Promotion follows : lilX-COuId find example 
 Of thousands that havestruck anointed kings. 
 And flourish'd after, I'd not do't : but since ^ / 
 Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, btars not one, 
 Let villainy itself forswear't. I must 
 Forsake tl»e court : to do't, or no, is certain 
 To me a break- neck. Happy star, reign now! 
 Here comes Bohemia. 
 
 Enter Polixenes. 
 
 Pol. This is strange I methinks, 
 
 ily favour here begins t9^ warp. J^ot speak ? 
 
 rood day, Camillo. ^ , | 
 
 Cam. Hail, most royal sir' 
 
 Pol. What is the news i'the court? 
 
 Cam^ None rare, my lord 
 
 Pol. The king hath on him such a counteuance, 
 As he had lost some province, and a region, 
 Lov'd as he loves himsell : even now 1 met liim 
 With customary compliment; when he, 
 Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and lalling 
 A lip of much contempt, speeds Iroin me; and 
 So leaves me, to consider what is breeding, 
 That changes thus his manners. 
 
 Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 
 
 Pol. How ! dare not ? do not. Do yo9 know,- 
 and dare not 
 Be intelligent to me ? 'Tis thereabouts : 
 For to yourself, wliat you do know, you must ; 
 And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
 Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror. 
 Which shows me mine chang'd too: fur 1 must b» 
 A party in this alteration, finding 
 Myselt thus alter'd with it. 
 
 Cam. There is a sickness, 
 
 Which puts some of us in distemper; but 
 I cannot name the disease ; and it is caught 
 Of you, that yet are well. 
 
 Pol. How ! caught of me ? 
 
 Make me not sighted like the basilisk. 
 1 have look'd on tliousands, who have sped the bettei 
 
 By my regard, but kili'd none so. Camiilo, 
 
 As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto 
 
 Clerk-like, experienc'd, winch no less adorns 
 
 Our gentry, timn our parents' noble names, 
 
 In whose success we are gentle, — I beseech you, 
 
 It you know auyht which does beho\e my knowledge 
 
 Thereof to be mform'd, imprison it not 
 
 In ignorant concealment. 
 
 Cam. I may not answer. 
 
 Pol. A sickness caiigiit of me, and yet I well! 
 I must be answer'd. — Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
 I conjure thee, by all the parts of man, 
 Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof tlj 
 least 
 
 Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare 
 
 What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
 
 Is creeping toward me ; how Ikr olf, how near • 
 
 Which way to be prevented, if to be ; 
 
 If not, how best to bear it. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I'll tell you ; 
 
 Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him (sel 
 Tiiat I think honourable : therefore, mark my couB 
 VVhich must be even as swiltly ioliow'd, as 
 I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me 
 Cry, lost, and so good-night. 
 
 Pol. On, good Camillo. 
 
 Cam. I am appointed Him to murder you 
 
 Pol. By whom, Camillo / 
 
 Cain. By the king. 
 
 Pol. For what? 
 
 Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence im 
 As he had seen't, or been an instrument [swear* 
 To vice you to't, — that you have touch'd his queeiii 
 Forbiddenly, 
 
 Pol. O, then my best blood turn 
 
 To an infected jelly ; and my name 
 Be yok'd with liis, that did betray the best! 
 Turn then my freshest reputation to 
 A savour, that nlay strike the dullest nostril 
 Where 1 arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd. 
 Nay, hated too, worse than the greafst inlectioB, 
 That e'er was heard, or read ! 
 
 Cam. Swear his tht)ught ov« 
 
 By each particular star in heaven, and 
 By all their influences, you may as well 
 Forbid the sea for to obey the trtoon, 
 As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake 
 The fabric of his folly ; whose foundation 
 Is pil'd upon his faitli, and will contiuue 
 The standing oi" his body. 
 
 Pol. How should this ^ 
 
 Cam. I know not: but, I am sure, 'tis safer to 
 A\oid what's grown, than question how 'tis bmt^ 
 If therefore you dare trust my lioneslv - 
 
282 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 That lies enclosecl m this trunk, which you 
 
 Shall bear along impawn'd, — aiway to-ni'^ht. 
 
 Your iollowers I will whisper to the business ; 
 
 And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns, 
 
 (3Iear them of the city : For inyselC, I'll put 
 
 My fortunes to your service, which are here 
 
 By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; 
 
 For, by the honour of my parents, I 
 
 Have utter'd truth : which if you seek to prove, 
 
 I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer 
 
 Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth. 
 
 His execution sworn. [thereon 
 
 Pol. I do believe thee ; 
 
 I saw his heart >n his face. Give me thy hand; 
 Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
 Still neighbour mine : my sliips are ready, and 
 My people did expect my hence departure 
 Two days ago. — This jealousy 
 Is for a precious creature : as she's rare. 
 Must it be great; and, as his person's niighty. 
 Must it be violent ; and as he does conceive 
 He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
 Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
 In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me ; 
 Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
 The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
 Of his ill-ta'en suspicion ! Come, Camillo ; 
 I will respect thee as a father, if 
 Thou bear'st my life oft' hence : let us avoid. 
 
 Cam. It is in mine authority, to command 
 The keys of all the posterns : please your highness 
 To take the urgent hour: Come, sir, away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I.— The same. 
 
 Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. 
 
 Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, 
 Tis past enduring. 
 
 1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord, 
 
 Shall I be your play-fellow ? 
 
 Mam. No, I'll none of yon. 
 
 1 hadij. Why, my sweet lord ? 
 
 Mam. You'll kiss me hard ; and speak to me as if 
 I were a baby still. — 1 love you better. 
 
 2 Lady. And why so, my good lord ? 
 
 Mum. Not for because 
 
 Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say. 
 Become some women best ; so that there be not 
 Too mucii hair there, but in a semi circle, 
 Or half-moon made with a pen. 
 
 2 Lady. Who taught you this ? 
 
 Ma7n. I learn'd it out of wonien's faces. — Pray 
 What colour are your eye-brows ? [now 
 
 1 Lady. Blue, my lord. 
 Mam. Nay, that's a mock : [ have seen a lady's 
 
 nose 
 
 That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. 
 
 2 Lady. Hark ye ; 
 The queen, your mother, rounds apace : we shall 
 Present our services to a fine new prince. 
 
 One of these days: and then you'd wanton with us. 
 If we would have you. 
 
 1 Lady. She is spread of late 
 
 fnto a goodly bulk : Good time encounter her ! 
 
 Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, 
 sir, now 
 
 I am for you again : pray you, sit by us, 
 ^nd tell's a tale. 
 
 Mami-- Merry, or sad, shall't be ? 
 
 Her. As merry as you will. 
 
 Mam. A sad tale's best for winter ; 
 
 l^Jiaj.eoiQ.e of sprites and goblins. " - ■ 
 
 Her. ~~ Let's have that, sir. 
 
 Come on, sit down : — Come on, and do your best 
 To fright me with your sprites : you're powerful at 
 
 Mam. There was a man, • [it. 
 
 Her. Nay, come, sit down; then on. 
 
 Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard : — I will tell it 
 
 CT II 
 
 Yon crickets wiaH not hear it. ,s 
 
 Her. Come oo, then, 
 
 And give't me in mine ear. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and oih^a. 
 Leon. Was he met there ? his train ? Camillo with 
 him? [neve/ 
 I Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met tbew 
 Saw I men scour so on their way: 1 ey'd them 
 Even to their ships. 
 
 Leon. How bless'd am I 
 
 In my just censure ? in my true opinion 
 Alack, for lesser knowledge ! — How accurs'd, c 
 
 •yi 
 
 being so blest! — I'heie may be in the cup 
 
 \ my- 
 
 A^Xder steep'd, and one may drink ; depart. 
 And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
 Is not infected : but if one present 
 The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known 
 How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his side^ 
 With violent hel'ts : — L have drank, and seeu the 
 .spider. 
 
 Camillo was his help in this, his pander ! — 
 There is a plot against my life, niy crown; 
 All's true that is mistrusted: — that false villain. 
 Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him : 
 He has discover'd my design, and I 
 Remain a pinch'^-^hing ; yea, a very trick 
 For them to- play at wilk:— Hovv came the postern* 
 So easily oj^' \) \(LH\ 
 
 1 Lord. By hisjgreat aiUhority ; 
 
 Which often hath no less prevail'd than so. 
 On your command. 
 
 Leon. I know't too well. 
 
 Give me the boy ; I am glad, you did not nurse him . 
 Though he does bear some sign of me, yet you 
 Have too much blood in him. ^^.-^ 
 
 Her. What is this? sbnrt'? _ 
 
 Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall udf come 
 
 Away with h"im?--and let her h'eTself 
 With that she's big vvith ; for 'tis Polixenes / I { 
 Has made thee swell thus. \ fV^^ 
 
 Her. But I'd say he had not. 
 
 And, I'll be swom, you would believe my saying, 
 Howe'er you lean to the nayward. ■ 
 
 Leon. You, my lords. 
 
 Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
 j To say, she is a goodly lady, and 
 j The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 
 I ^ Tis pity she's not honest, honourable : 
 i Praise her but for this her without-door form,*" 
 (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and 
 straight 
 
 The_ shrug, the hum, or ha ; these petty brands. 
 That calumny doth use : — O, I am out. 
 That mercy does ; for calumny will sear . ; 
 
 Virtue itself: — these shrugs, these Imms, and has, 
 When you have said, she's goodly, come between, 
 Ere you can say, she's honest: But be it known 
 From him, that has most cause to grieve it should be 
 She's an adultress. 
 
 Her. Should a villain say so. 
 
 The most replenish'd villain in the world. 
 He were as much more villain : you, my lord, 
 Do but mistake. 
 
 Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 
 
 Polixenes for Leontes : O tliou thing, 
 Which I'll not call a creature of thy place. 
 Lest barbarism, making me the precedent. 
 Should a like language use to all degrees. 
 And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
 Betwixt the prince and beggar!— I have said. 
 She's an adultress ; I have said with whom : 
 More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is 
 A tederary with her; and one that knows 
 What she should shame to know herself, 
 
 j But with her most viie principal, that she's 
 
 j A bed swerver, even as bad as those 
 
 i That vulgars give bold titles ay, and privy 
 
 j To this their late escape. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TALE. 
 
 233 
 
 Her, V No, bv ray life. 
 
 Privy to none of this : How will tliis grieve yon. 
 When you shall corne to clearer knowledge, that 
 Voii thus have piiblish'd me? Gentle my lord, 
 You scarce can right me throughly iLen, to say 
 Von did mistake. 
 
 Leon. No, no ; if I mistake 
 
 In tliose fonndations which^I build upon, 
 The center is not big enough to bear 
 A school- boy's top. — Away with her to prison : 
 Re. who shall sj)eak for her, is afar otf guilty, 
 Biit that he speaks. 
 
 Her. There's some ill planet reigns : 
 
 I must be patient, till the heavens look 
 W^ith an asp:';ct more favourable. — Good my lords, 
 I ;im not prone to weeping, as our sex 
 Couimonly are; the want of which vain dew, 
 P<Mchaiice, shall dry your pities : but I have 
 VU tt honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns 
 Worse than tears drown : 'Beseech you all, my 
 lords, 
 
 With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
 Sliull best instruct you, measure me ;-^and so 
 'J'he king's will be perform'd ! 
 
 Leon. Shall I be heard ? 
 
 {To the Guards.) 
 Her. Who is't, that goes with me ? — 'Beseech 
 your highness, 
 My women may be with me; for, yoK see, 
 My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; 
 There is no cause ; when you shall know, your 
 mistress 
 
 Has deserv'd a prison, then abound in tears. 
 As I. come out: tiiis action I now go on, 
 Is for my better gTuce. — Adieu, my lord : 
 I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now, 
 
 i trust, I shall. My women, come; you have 
 
 Leon. Go, do your bidding; lience. [leave. 
 
 [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
 I Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen 
 again. 
 
 iifif. Be ceitain what you do, sir; lest your justice 
 l*tove violence : in the which three great ones suffer. 
 Yourself, your queen, your son. 
 
 1 Lord. For her, my lord, — 
 
 I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir, 
 Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
 I' the eyes of heaven, and to you ; 1 mean. 
 In this which you accuse her. 
 
 Ant. If it prove 
 
 She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
 I lodge my wife : I'll go in couples with her; 
 Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust her; 
 For every inch of woman in the world, 
 Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false. 
 It" she be. 
 Leon. Hold your peaces. 
 1 Lord. Good my lord, — 
 
 Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves : 
 You are abus'd, and by some putter-on, [lain. 
 That will be damn'd for't; 'would I knew the vil- 
 I would land-damn him : Be she honour-flaw'd, — 
 I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ; 
 The second, and the third, nine, and some five ; 
 If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine ho- 
 ' nour, 
 
 ril^[H them all; fourteen they shall not see, 
 0 dF ng false ge nerat ions : they are co-heirs; 
 And 1 had rathe^^S^ myself, than they 
 Shot! Id not prodisce fair issue. 
 * Leon, Cease ; no more. 
 
 You smell this business with a sense as cold 
 As is a dead man's nose : I see't, and feel't. 
 As you feel doing thus ; and see withal 
 The instruments that feel. 
 
 Ant. Ifitbeso, 
 We need no grave to bury honesty; 
 'J'here's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten 
 Of the wnole dungy earth. 
 
 Leon. — — "WKaTriack I credit ? 
 
 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my 
 
 . ^^^^> 
 
 Upon this ground : and more it would content me 
 To have her honour true, than your suspicion; 
 Be blam'd for't how you might. 
 
 Leon. Why, what need wa 
 
 Commune with you of this? but rather follow 
 Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative 
 Calls not your counsels: but our natural goodu*a« 
 ImparXs this : which, — if you, (or stupified. 
 Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not, 
 Relish as truth, like us; iuform yourselves, ^ 
 We need no more of your advice: the matter. 
 The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is ail 
 Properly ours. ••^ 
 
 Ant. And T wish, my liege, 
 
 You had only in your silent judgment tried it. 
 Without more overture. 
 
 Leon. How could that be ? 
 
 Either thou art most ignorant by age, 
 Or thou wert born a fool. Caniillo's flight. 
 
 Added to their familiarity, , 
 
 (Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture. 
 
 That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation 
 
 But only seeing, all other circumstances 
 
 Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding: 
 
 Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
 
 (For, in an act of this importance, 'twere 
 
 Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatch'd in post, 
 
 To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
 
 Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
 
 Of stuff'd sufEciency : Now, from the oracle 
 
 They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had. 
 
 Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well? 
 
 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. ~ \ I « 
 
 Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more 5.5^ | 
 Than what I know, yet shall the oracle I 0}'. 
 
 Give rest to the mindsof others ; such as he, ^ f-V 
 
 Whose ignorant credulity will not ^■"""^ C^f\SA^,HJik^ \ 
 
 Come up to the truth : So have we thought it good, Ps.. . . ^ .wifr^l 
 From our free person she should be confin'd ; 
 Lest that the treachery of the two, fled hence, 
 Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; 
 We are to speak in public : for this business 
 Will raise us all. 
 Ant. {Aside.) To laughter, as I take it, 
 
 If the good truth were known. 
 Scene II. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 The saine. — The outer Room of a 
 Prison. 
 
 Enter Paulina and Attendants, 
 
 Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; 
 
 [Exit an AttendanU 
 Let hi.ii have knowledge who I am.— Good lady I 
 No court in Europe is too good for thee^ 
 What dost thou then in prison ? — Now, good sir. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant with the Keeper. 
 You know me, do you not ? 
 
 Keep. For a worthy lady 
 
 And one whom I much honour. 
 
 Paul. Pray you, then. 
 
 Conduct me to the queen. 
 
 Keep. I may not, madam ; to the contrary 
 I have express commandment. 
 
 Paul. Here's ado^ 
 
 To lock up honesty and honour from 
 The access of gentle visitors I — Is it lawful, 
 Pray you, to see her women ? any of thera? 
 Emilia? 
 
 Keep. So please you, madam, to put 
 Apart these your attendants, I shall bring 
 Emilia forth. 
 
 Paid. I pray now, call her — 
 
 Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend, 
 
 Keep. And, madam, 
 
 I iiMist be present at your conference. 
 
 Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Keeper 
 Here's such ado to make no stain a stain. 
 As passes colouring. 
 
 mt. . . 
 
234: 
 
 WINTER'S Tx\LE. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Re- enter Keeper, icith Emilia. 
 Dear i;eiitle\vo:rifin, how fares our gracious lady ? 
 
 Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn. 
 May hold togetlier : on lier frights, and griefs, 
 (Whicii never fender lady hatii borne greater,) 
 She is, sonif thing before her time, deiiver'd. 
 Paul. A boy^ 
 
 Emil. A daughter; and a goodly babe, 
 
 Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives 
 Much comfort in't: says, My poor prisoner, 
 I am innocent as you. 
 
 Paul. 1 dare be sworn : 
 
 These dangerous unsafe lunes o'the king ! beshrew 
 them ! 
 
 ' ' .^'^^e must be ti^Jd nn't a pdJie shal l : the office 
 \^-. ^^ecotfie's'-a^onian best ; I'll take't upon me : 
 V^^^„„ If I prove lioney-mouth'd, let my tongue blister; 
 ■^'^ And never to my r^ d-look'd anger be 
 
 The trumpet any more: — Pray you, Emilia, 
 Commend my best obedience to the queen; 
 If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
 I'll siiow't the king, and undertake to be 
 Her advocate to tii' loudest : We d,P- n*?:t.^now 
 How he may soiVn at the sighLx)Mie child j)/ 
 The silence often of pur.e'irinocenc?^-^-!*---'''' 
 Persuiides, when spe^ilting'^ihTr^ 
 
 Emil. Most worthy madam. 
 
 Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident, 
 'J'hat your free undertaking cannot miss 
 A thriving issue ; there is no lidy living, 
 ISo meet for this great errand : Please your ladyship 
 To visit the next room, I'll presently 
 Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; 
 Who, hut to day, hammer'd of this design; 
 li'ut durst not tempt a minister of honour. 
 Lest she should be denied. 
 
 Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 
 
 I'll use that tongue I have : if wit flow from it. 
 As boldness fioiu my bosom, let it not be doubted 
 I shall do good. 
 , Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 
 
 I'll to the queen : Please you, come something 
 nearer. [babe. 
 
 Keep. Madam, ift please the queen to send the 
 I knovv not what I shall incur, to pass it. 
 Having no v\arrant. 
 
 Paul. Von need not fear it, sir: 
 The cluld was prisoner to the womb ; and is, 
 I3y law and jjrocess of great nature, thence 
 Free d and ei.li anchis'd : not a party to 
 Tlie anger of the king; nor guilty of. 
 If any be. the trespass oi the queen. 
 
 Keep. I do bei.eve it. 
 
 Paul. Do not you fear : upon 
 
 Mine honour, I will stand 'twixt you and dansrer. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 i Scene III. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 ' Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 Leon. Nor night nor day, no rest : It is but 
 
 weakness 
 
 To bear the matter thus; mere weakness, if 
 The caiise were not in being ; — gart o'the cause, 
 She, the adidtress j— for the harlot king 
 Is (inite beyond mine arm, out of tlie blank 
 An(i level of my brain, plot-proof: but she 
 i can hook to,jUi£ : Say, that she were gone. 
 Given to (he^rel, a nmjety of my rest |*OTKOTv 
 
 Might come to ffie agamT Who's there ? 
 
 1 At ten. "Sly lord ? {Aduanciny.) 
 
 Leon. How does the boy ? 
 
 1 Alien. He took good rest to-night ; 
 
 1'is ho 'd, his sickness is discharg'd. 
 
 Leon To see 
 
 H s nobleness! 
 
 Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, 
 He straigiit declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply ; 
 Fasleu'd and (ix d the shame on't in himself; 
 
 Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep. 
 
 And downright langiiish'd. — Leave me solely :— go, 
 
 See how he fares. [Exit Attend.] — Fy, fy! ne 
 
 thought of him ; — 
 The very thought of my revenges that way 
 Kecoil upon me : in himself too mighty ; 
 And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be, 
 Until a time may serve : for present vengeance. 
 Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
 Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow '. 
 They should not laugh, if I could reach them; nof 
 Shall she, within my power. 
 
 Enter Paulina, tvith a Child. 
 
 I Lord. You must not enter. 
 
 Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second tga 
 Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, [me : 
 Than the queen's lii'e ? a gracious innocent soul ; 
 More free, than he is jealous. 
 
 Ant. That's enough. 
 
 1 Attend. Madam, he hath not slept to-night, 
 commanded 
 None should come at him. 
 
 Paul. Not so hot, good sir ; 
 
 I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,—' 
 That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
 At each his needless heavings, — such as you 
 Nourish the cause of his awaking: I 
 Do come with words as med cinal as true ; 
 Honest as either ; to purge him of that humour 
 That presses him from sleep. 
 
 Xeon. What noise there, ho 
 
 Paid. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference 
 About some gossips tor your highness. 
 
 Leon. How? 
 
 Away with that audacious lady: Antigcnus, 
 
 I charg'd thee, that she should not conie about ine; 
 
 I knew, she would. 
 
 Ant. I told her so, my lord. 
 
 On your displeasure's peril, and on mine. 
 She should not visit you. 
 
 Leon. What, canst not rnle hf r ? 
 
 Paul. From all dishonesty, he can : in this, 
 (Unless he take the course that you have done. 
 Commit me, for comnutting honour), trust it. 
 He shall not rule me. 
 
 Ant. Lo yon now ; you hear ! 
 
 When she will take the rein, I let her run; 
 But she'll not stumble. 
 
 Paul. Good my liege, I come,— 
 
 And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess 
 Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 
 Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare 
 Less appear so, in comforting your evils. 
 Than such as most seem yours: — I say, I come 
 From your g'ood queen. 
 
 Leon. Good queen ! 
 
 Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say, 
 
 ?ood queen ; 
 d by combat make her goou, so were I 
 A man, the worst about you. 
 
 Leon. Force her hence. 
 
 Paid. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, 
 First hand me : on mine own accord, I'll off; 
 But, first, I'll do mine errand. — The good queen, 
 For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; 
 Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing. 
 
 {Laying down the child. 
 Leon. Out ! 
 
 A mankind witch ! Hence with her, out o'door: 
 A most intelligencing bawd ! » 
 
 Paul. _ Not so: \ I \ 
 
 I am as ignorant in that, as you \. j/ \ 
 
 In so entitling me : and no less honest jfl 
 Than you are mad ; which is enough, I'll warrant, 
 As this world goes, to pass for honest. 
 
 Leon. Traitors ! 
 
 Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard :•- 
 Thou, dotard {to Aiiligonus), thou art woman- tir'd^^ . 
 
 unroosted sJ 
 
SCKNE 3. 
 
 WINTER^S TALE. 
 
 233 
 
 By thy dame Partlet here, — take np the bastard; 
 Tak't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. 
 
 Paul. For ever 
 
 Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 
 Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 
 Which lie has put upou'tl 
 
 Leon. He dreads his wife. 
 
 Paul. So, I would, you did ; then 'twere past all 
 Y'ou d call your children yours. [doubt, 
 
 lj»'on. A nest of traitors ! 
 
 Ant. I am none, by this good light. 
 
 Paul. Nor I ; nor any. 
 
 But one, that's here; and that's himself: for he 
 The sacred honour of liinjself, his queen's, 
 His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, 
 Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will not 
 (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
 He cannot be conipell'd to't,) once remove 
 The root of his opinion, which is rotten, 
 ^4.s ever oak, or stone, was sound. 
 
 Leon. A call at, 
 
 Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her hus- 
 band, 
 
 And now baits me! — This brat is none of mine; 
 ■'It is the issue oi" Polixenes ; / 
 HeiK> with it; iind, tft^^fp tiier with the dara, / i 
 CoHU|]Xt,XhernJo t|iie fireX^ " ~ — ~. — \;^^ 
 
 Paul. Jt Jg yo„,.g . 
 
 And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge. 
 So like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords, 
 Altliougli the print be little, the whole matter 
 And copy of the father ; eye, nose, lip. 
 The trick of his frown, his forehead : nay, the valley. 
 The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; his 
 seniles ; 
 
 The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: — 
 And thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it 
 So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
 The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
 No yellow in't; lest she suspect, as he does. 
 Her children not her husband's ! 
 
 L> on. A gross hag !— 
 
 Ami, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd. 
 That wilt not stay her tongue. 
 
 Ant. Hang all the husbands, 
 
 Tbat cannot (TIo that feat, you'll leave yourself 
 Hardly one subject. 
 Leon. Once more, tike her he fee 
 
 Paul. A most unworthy and unjialural lord [/j 
 
 Can do no raore^— „.^„ ._jp^^^^^^^s>.<e*-*^ 
 
 ^ I'll have thee |)urn'dA \ 
 -€fcr< 
 
 Leon. 
 Paul. 
 
 It is an heretic that niakes the fire, 
 Not she, which burns int. I'll not call thee tyrant; 
 But this most crufl usage of your queen 
 (Not able ts produce more accusation 
 Than your own vveak-hing'd fancy,) something sa- 
 vours 
 
 or tyranny, and will ignoble make you, 
 Vea, scandalous to the world. 
 
 Leon. On your allegiance, 
 
 Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, 
 VV'iiere were her life ? she durst not call me so. 
 If she did know me one. Away with her. 
 
 Paul. 1 pray you, do not pusii me; I'll be gone. 
 Look, to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove send 
 her 
 
 A better guiding spirit! — What need these hands ? — 
 Vou, that are thus so tender o'er his follies. 
 Will never do him good, not one of you. 
 So, so: — Farewell; we are gone. [Exit. 
 
 Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. — 
 My child ? away vvith't ! — even thuu, that hast 
 A heart so tender o'er it, take it hepZ^x (r<"% 
 And see it instantly consum'd witll(fire; j \2J 
 Even thou, and none but thou. TaKtv-it-'up straight : 
 Witliiu this hour bring me word 'tis done, 
 (And tty good tesliniony,) or I'll seize thy life. 
 With wliat ttiou else cail'st thine: If thou refuse. 
 And wilt encounter witii my wrath, say so; 
 
 The bastard brains with these my {};pop^liakdt 
 Shall I dash out. Go, take it to th/fire ;|/ "A 
 For thou sett'st on thy wife. I ^/l^ 1} 
 
 Ant. I did nbtf^r r'^'' 
 
 These lords, my noble fellows, if they please. 
 Can clear me in't. 
 
 1 Lord. We can : my royal liege. 
 
 He is not guilty of her coming hither. 
 
 Leon. You are liars all. [credit ' 
 
 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us bettei 
 We have always truly serv'd you ; and beseech 
 So to esteem of us : and on our knees we beg, 
 (As recompense of our dear services, 
 Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose ; 
 Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
 Lead on to some foul issue : We all kneel. 
 
 Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows 
 Shall 1 live on, to see this bastard kneel 
 And call me father ? Better burn it now. 
 Than curse it then. But, be it ; let it live : 
 It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither ; 
 
 {To Antiyonm.) 
 You, that have been so tenderly officious 
 With lady Margery, your midwife, there. 
 To save this bastard's life : for 'tis a bastard. 
 So sure^as this beard's grey,-— what will you adven- 
 To save"tliis~BrarsTile"^7^ [ture 
 
 ~ Ant. _ -{^"y thingi^y 1^37^ 
 
 That my ability may xi'm^^F'^^fp'^'''^ — " 
 
 And nobleness impose: at least, thus mu:h; 
 I'll pawn the little blood which I have left, 
 To save the innocent : any thing possible. 
 
 Leon. It shall be possible : swear by this sword 
 Thou wilt perfornr my bidding. 
 
 ■Ant. I will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Mark, and perform it ; (see'st thou ?) for 
 Of any point in't shall not only be [the fail 
 
 Death to thyself, but to thy lewd tongu'd wife; 
 Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee. 
 As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry 
 This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
 To some retnote and desert place, quite out 
 Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it. 
 Without more mercy, to its own protection, 
 And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
 It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, — 
 On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, — 
 That thou commend it strangely to some place, 
 Where chance may nurse, or end it : Take it up. 
 
 Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
 Had been more merciful. — Come or, poor babe : 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens. 
 To be thy nurses! Wolves, and bears, they say. 
 Casting their savageness aside, have done 
 Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous 
 In more than this deed doth require ! — and blessing. 
 Against this cruelty, fight on thy side. 
 Poor thing, condemn'd to loss I 
 
 [Exit, with the Child. 
 
 Leon. No, 1*'^ not rear 
 
 Another's issue. 
 
 1 Alien. Please your highness, posts, 
 
 From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
 An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
 Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed. 
 Hasting to the court. 
 
 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 
 
 Hath been beyond account 
 
 Leon. Twenty-three days 
 
 They have been absent: 'Tis good speed ; foretels, 
 The great Apollo suddenly will have 
 The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; 
 Summon a session, that we may arraign 
 O^r-jijiast /Jisloyal lady : for, as she h;ith 
 Been publicTy" "^ccus^'^Lr'so sha 
 .AJ l'st and open trial. Whil 
 My heart will b¥ a burden tome. Leave me 
 And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt, 
 
 , " - • " • pi 
 
 > she h;ith v 
 
 I she have ^'Q^ 
 
 she lives, / 
 
236 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act ill. 
 
 ACT ITT. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. A Street in some Town. 
 Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 
 
 Cleo. The cliniale's delicate ; the air most sweet; 
 Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing 
 The common praise it bears. 
 
 Dion. T shall report, 
 
 For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
 (Methinks, T so should term then»,) and the reverence 
 O)' the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice i 
 How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
 It was i the oftering ! 
 
 Cleo. But, of all, the burst 
 
 Ai)d the ear-deafening voice o'the oracle, 
 Tvin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense, 
 'I'hat I was natliing. 
 
 Dion. Tf the event o'the journey 
 
 Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be'tsol — 
 As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy. 
 The time is worth the use on't. 
 
 Cleo. Great Apollo, 
 
 Turn all to the best! These proclamations, 
 So forcing iaults upon Hermione, 
 I little like. 
 
 Dion. The violent carriage of it 
 Will clear, or end, the business : When the oracle, 
 (Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) 
 Shall the contents discover, something rare 
 
 Even then will rush to knowledge. Go, — fresh 
 
 horses ; — 
 
 And gracious be the issue ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene TI. — The same. A Court of Justice, 
 Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properly 
 sealed. 
 
 Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- 
 nounce,) 
 
 Even pushes 'gainst our heart : The party tried. 
 The dajghter of a king; our vvife ; and one 
 Of lis too niuch belov'd. — Let us be clear'd 
 01 being tyrannous, since we so openly 
 Proceed injustice; which shall have due course. 
 
 Even to the guilt, or the purgation. 
 
 I^roduce tlie prisoners. 
 
 Ojji. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen 
 Appear in person here in court. — Silence ! 
 
 Hermione is brought in, guarded; Paulina and 
 Ladies, attending. 
 
 Leon. Read the indictment. 
 
 Offi. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, 
 king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and ar- 
 raigned of high treason, in committing adultery 
 with Polixenes. kina of Bohemia ; and conspiring 
 with Camillo to take away the life of our sove- 
 reign lord the king, thy royal husband : the pre- 
 tence whereof being by circumstances partly laid 
 open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and 
 allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and 
 aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by 
 night. 
 
 Her. Since what T am to say,lnust be but that 
 Which contradicts my accusation; and 
 The testimony on my part, no other 
 But what comes from myself; it shall scarce bootrne 
 To say. Not guilty : mine integrity 
 Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it. 
 Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine 
 Behold our human actions (as they do), 
 I doHbt not then, but innocence shall make 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny 
 Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, 
 
 iWho least will seem to do so,) my past life 
 iath been as continent, as chaste, as true. 
 As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
 Than history can pattern, though devis'd, 
 And play d, to take spectators : For behold me, — 
 A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
 A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter. 
 
 The mother to a hopeful prince,— here standing. 
 
 To prate and talk for life, and honour 'fore 
 
 Who please to come and hear. For life^ I prize it 
 
 As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honour, 
 
 'Tis a derivative from me to niine, 
 
 And only that I stand for. I appeal 
 
 To your own conscience, sir, be'i'ore Polixenes 
 
 Came to your court, how 1 was in your grace 
 
 How merited to be so ; since he came. 
 
 With what encounter so uncurrent I 
 
 Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond 
 
 The bound of honour ; or, in act, or will. 
 
 That way inclining ; harden'd be the hearts 
 
 Of all that hear me, And my near'st of kin 
 
 Cry, Fy upon my grave ! 
 
 Leon. I ne'er heard yet. 
 
 That any of these bolder vices wanted 
 Less impudence to gainsay what they did. 
 Than to perform itfiist. 
 
 Her That's true enough ; 
 
 Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. 
 
 Leon. You will not own it. 
 
 Her. More than mistress 
 
 Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
 At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
 (With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess, 
 I lov'd Iiirn, as in honour he requir'd ; 
 With such a kind of love, as might become 
 A lady like me ; with a love, even such. 
 So, and no other, as yourself commanded : 
 Which not to have done, I think, had been in me 
 Both disobedience and ingratitude [spoke. 
 To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had 
 Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely 
 That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
 I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd 
 For me to try how : all 1 know of it 
 Is, that Camillo was an honest man; 
 And, why he left your court, the gods themselves. 
 Wotting no more than I, are ignorant 
 
 Leo7i. You knew of his departure, as you know 
 What you have underta'en to do in's absence. 
 
 Her. Sir, 
 
 You speak a language, that I understand not: 
 My life stands in the level of your dreams. 
 Which I'll lay down. 
 
 Leon. Your actions are my dreams j 
 
 You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
 And I but dream'd it : — As you were past all shame, 
 (Those of your fact are so,) so past all truth 
 Which to deny, concerns more than avails: 
 For as ^ ' 
 
 'J'hy brat hath been cast out, like to itself. 
 No father owning it, (which is, indeed. 
 More criminal in thee than it,) so thou 
 Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage. 
 Look for no less than death. 
 
 Her. Sir, spare your threats; 
 
 The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. 
 To me can Iffe be no commodity : 
 The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
 I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, rj-"^ 
 But know not how it went : My second joy,% Vv 
 And first-fruits of my body, from his presence^ 
 I am barr'd, like one infectious : My third comfofV)^ 
 Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, ^ 
 The innocent milk in its most ianocent mouth, 
 Haied out to murder; Myself on every post 
 Proclaiiu'd a strumpet : with immodest hatred. 
 The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
 To women of all fashion :— Lastly, hurried 
 Here to this place, i'the open air, before ^ 
 I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege. 
 Tell me what blessings I have here alive. 
 That I should fear to die ? Therefore, proceed. 
 But yet hear this ; mistake me not : — ^o ! life, 
 I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honour, 
 (Which I would free,) if i shall be condtmn'd 
 Upon surmises ; all proofs sleeping else. 
 But what your jealousie wake j I tell you 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 Tis rigour, and nof law. — Your honours all, 
 
 I do refer nie to the oracle ; 
 
 Apollo be my judge. 
 
 1 Lord. This your request 
 
 altogether just : therefore, bring forth, 
 nd ia Apollo's uarue, his oracle. 
 
 lExeirnt certain Officers. 
 Her. The emperor of Russia was my father: 
 , that he were alive, and here beholding 
 
 His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
 
 The flatness of my misery ; yet with eyes 
 
 Of pity, not revenge ! 
 
 He-enter Oncers, with Cleomenes andDios. 
 
 Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of 
 justice, 
 
 That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have [brought 
 Been both at Df^lphos : and from thence l|iave 
 This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
 Of great Apollo's priest: and that since then, 
 You have not dar'd to break the holy seal, 
 Nor read the secrets in't. 
 
 Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. 
 
 Leon. Break up the seals, and read. 
 
 0_ffi. {Reads.) Hermione is chaste, Polixenes 
 blameless. Camillo a true subject. Leontes a jea- 
 lous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and 
 the king s/uill live without an heir, if that, which 
 is lost, be not found. 
 
 Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 
 
 Her. Praised ! 
 
 Leon. Hast thou read truth ? 
 
 Offi,. Ay, my lord; even so 
 
 As it is here set down. 
 
 Leon. There is no truth at all i'the oracle : 
 The sessions shall proceed ; this is mere falsehood. 
 
 Enter a Servant hastily. 
 
 Serv. My lord the king, the king I 
 
 Leon. What is the business? 
 
 Serv. O sir, I shiil be hated to report it: 
 The prince your s i i. with mere conceit and fear 
 Of the queen s speed, is gone. 
 
 Leon. How! gone? 
 
 Serv. Is dead. 
 
 Leon. Apollo's angry ; and the heavens them- 
 selves [now there? 
 Do strike at my injustice. {Hermione faints.) How 
 
 Paul. This news is mortal to the queen : — Look 
 down. 
 
 And see what death li doing. 
 
 Leon. Take her hence ; 
 
 Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover. — 
 [ have too much believ'd tnine own suspicion: — 
 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
 Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon 
 
 [Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm. 
 My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! — 
 I'll reconcile me to Polixenes ; 
 New woo ray queen ; recal the good Camillo; 
 Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy : 
 For, being transported by my jealousies 
 To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 
 Camillo fur the minister, to poison 
 My friend Polixenes: which had been done, 
 But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
 My switt command, though I with death, and with 
 Reward, did threaten and encourage him. 
 Not doing it. and being done : he, most humane. 
 And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 
 Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here. 
 Which you knew great; and to the certain hazard 
 Of all uncertainties himself commended. 
 No richer than his honour: — llow he glisters 
 Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
 
 oes my deeds uiake the blacker! 
 
 V61 . 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. ... / ,^ / ^ 237 
 
 I O, cut my lace ; lest my heart, craiSskrog 
 Break too ! 
 
 ] Lord. What fit is this, good lady ? 
 Paul. What studied toruients, tyrant, hast for me? 
 Wiiat wheels ? racks ? fires ? What flaying? boiliflg 
 In leads, or oils ? what old, or newer torture 
 Must I receive ; whose every word deserves 
 
 Re mter Paulina. 
 
 Paul. 
 
 Woe the while ! 
 
 To taste of thy most worst ? Thy tyranny 
 Together working with thy jealousies, — 
 Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
 For girls of nine ! — O, think, what they have doiie^ 
 And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad ! for all 
 Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices ofjt^. ,^ 
 That thou betray'dst PolixeneSi^iiwas ^thingj 
 That did but show thee*, ,!Pi-a'fool, inconstant, 
 And damnable ungrateful : nor was't much. 
 Thou would'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour, 
 To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses. 
 More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon 
 The casting forth t^ crows thy baby daughter. 
 To be or nooe, oV little ; though a devil 
 Would have shed water out of fire, ere dou't: 
 Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death 
 Of the young prince , whose honourable thoughts 
 (Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart 
 That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire 
 Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no. 
 Laid to thy answer: But the last, — O lords. 
 When I have said, cry, woe ! — the queen, the queen. 
 The sweetest, dt-arest creature's dead ; antl ven- 
 geance for't 
 Not dropp'd down yet. 
 
 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid I 
 
 Paul. I say, she's dead ; I'll swear't : if word, 
 nor oath. 
 
 Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring 
 Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye, 
 Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you 
 As I would do the gods. — But, O thou tyrant ! 
 Do not repent these things ; lor they are heavier ..^ 
 Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee 
 . 1^ noJKin g^ut^espalFi^ A thousand knees, 
 TeFTTioTTsarliS''^^ nake4,.ia^ting. 
 Upon a barren mountain, and stilfAvinteo \ 
 In storm perpetual, could not movS^tbC'gods | 
 To look that way thou wert. 
 
 Leon. Go on, go on : 
 
 Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserv'd 
 All tongues to talk their bitterest. 
 
 1 Lord. Say no more ; 
 
 Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
 I'the boldness of your .speech. 
 
 Paul. lam sorry for't ; 
 
 All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
 I do repent : Alas, I have show'd too much 
 The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd [help, 
 To the noble heart. — What's gone, and what's past 
 Should be past grief : Do not receive afliictiou 
 At my petition, I be.««eech you ; rather 
 Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
 Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege. 
 Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 
 The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool again ! — 
 I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; 
 I'll not remeujber you of my own lord. 
 Who is lost too : Take your patience to you. 
 And ril say nothing. 
 
 Leon. Thou didst speak but well. 
 
 When most the truth; which I receive much betfeg?" 
 Tliarj to be pitied of thee Pr ythee, bring me 
 To the dead bodies of my queen, and son : 
 One grave shall be for both : upon them shall 
 The causes of their death appear, unto 
 Our shame perpetual : Once a day I'll visit 
 Tlie chapel where they lie ; and tears, siied there. 
 Shall be my recreation : So long as 
 Nature will bear up witli this exercise. 
 So lorg I daily vow to use it. Come, 
 And lead me to these sorrovvis. lExevnL 
 
238 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 ScKNE III. — Bohemia. A desert Country r^ear the 
 Sea. 
 
 Bnter A N'ncoNUs, tvith the Child; and a Mariner. 
 
 Ant. Thou art perl'eet then, our ship hath touch'd 
 The deserts of lioiiemia ? [upon 
 
 Mur. Ay, my lord ; and tear 
 
 e have landed in ill time; the skies look grintly. 
 And threaten presetit bhisters. In my conscience. 
 The iiea\ ens with (hat we liave in hand are anj;ry, 
 And irowii upon us. [aboard ; 
 
 Ant. Tl\eir sacred wills be done! — go, get 
 Look fo thy hark ; I II not be long, before 
 I call n[)Oii tliee. 
 
 Mar. Make yotir best haste: and go not 
 Too iar i'lhe land; 'tis like to be loud vveatlier; 
 Besi ir'S, tliis place is famous for the creatures 
 01 prey, that keep upun t. 
 
 Ant. Go thou away ; 
 
 I'll li.llow instantly. 
 
 Mar. I am glad at heart 
 
 To be- so rid o'the business. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Come, poor babe : 
 
 I have heard, (bat not believ'd,) the spirits of the 
 dead 
 
 May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
 Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream 
 So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 
 iSomefinjes h. r head on one side, some another; 
 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow. 
 So fiird, and so beconiing : in pure white robes. 
 Like very sanctity, she did approach 
 My cabin, where I lay : thrice bow'd before me ; 
 And, gasping to begin some speech, her eye? 
 Became two spouts : the liiry spent, anon 
 Did this break iVom \wr: Good Antiyomis, 
 Since fate, ayainst thy better disposition. 
 Hath made thy person for the throioer-out 
 Of my /lOur habe, accordiny to thine oath, — 
 Places remote enouyh are in Bohemia, 
 There ivee/>, and leave it cryiny ; and, for the babe 
 Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
 I pr ythee, call t: for this unyentle business. 
 Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shall see 
 Thy wife Paulina more : — and so, wilh shrieks, 
 Siie melted into air. AtiVighted uiuch, 
 I did in time collect myself; and thoiiglit 
 This was so, and no slimiber. Dreams are toys : 
 Yet, for this once, yea, saperstitiousTy, 
 I will be sqiiar'd by tliis. I do believe, 
 Hermione hath suti^'r'd death; and that 
 ■•-X Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
 ^' \ Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid. 
 Either for lifV, or death, upon the earth 
 Of its right father. — Blossom, speed thee well! 
 
 " [hay iny doxvn the child) 
 There lie; and there thy character : there these ; 
 
 {Layiny down a bundle. 
 Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee 
 pretty, [wretch, 
 
 And still rest thine. The storm begins : — Poor 
 
 That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd 
 
 To loss, and what may follow: — Weep I cannot. 
 
 But my heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I, 
 
 To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell! 
 
 The day frowns more and more ; thou art like to have 
 
 A lullaby too rough : 1 never saw 
 
 The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour? — 
 
 Well may I get aboard I — This is the chace ; 
 
 I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a bear. 
 
 Enter an old Shepherd. 
 Sh'ep. I would, there were no age between ten 
 ^ and three-and twenty ; or that youth would sleep 
 f out the rest : for there is ,notiiin^ in the between 
 but getting wenches with cTiTld, wronging the an- 
 cientry, ste<»ling, fighting. — Hark you now I 
 
 Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and 
 wo and twenty, hunt this weather? They have 
 carel away two of my best sheep; which, I fear. 
 
 find, than the master: if i 
 
 the wolf will sooner tinu, man Uie masfer: 3l any. 
 where I ha\ e them, 'tis by the sea side, brow zing 
 on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will ! what have 
 we here? [Takiny up the child.) Mercy on's, a 
 barne ; a very pietty barne ! A boy, or a child, 1 
 wonder? A pietty one; a very pretty one : Sure, 
 some scape : though I am not bookish, yet I can 
 read waiting j;entlewuman in the scape, 'j'his has 
 been^,some staii^ork^^^siune^t^^^^^^ some be- 
 
 jiind-dooT-Vfo rk": they were warmer, that got this, . 
 tlra'flriiir'7rrn5ritung is here. I'll take it up lor pity : 
 yet I'll tarry till my son come ; he hollaed but even 
 now. Whoa, ho hoa ! 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 Clo. HiUoa, loa ! 
 
 Shep. What, art so near? If thoult see a thing 
 to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come 
 hither. What ailest thou, nmn? 
 
 Clo. I liave seen two such sights, by sea, and by 
 land ; — but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is now 
 the sky ; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot 
 thrust a bodkin's point. 
 
 Shep. Why, boy, how is it? 
 
 Clo. I woultl, you did but see how it chafes, hovr 
 it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's not 
 to the point : O, the most piteous cry of the poor 
 souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: 
 now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast: 
 and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd 
 thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the 
 land-service, — To see how the bear tore out his 
 shoulder-bone , how he cried to me for help, and 
 said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman : — But 
 to make an end of the ship: — to see how the sea 
 flap diagoned it: — but, first, how the poor souls 
 roared, and the sea mocked them ; — and how the 
 poor gentleman roared, and .thg. bear_mocked him^ 
 liQih.^aring louder than the sea, or w^aTlVerT' ' 
 
 ^A^7~Name""6rimercy,'vVhT^^^^^ this, boy? 
 
 Clo. Now, now ; I iiave not winked since I saw 
 these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, 
 nor the bear half dined on the f entlemau ; he's at it 
 now. 
 
 Shep. Would I had been by, to have hel(i« d the 
 old man ! 
 
 Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to 
 have helped her; there your charity would have 
 lacked footing. {Aside.) 
 
 Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look 
 thee here, b(^y. Now bless thyself; thou met'st 
 with things dying, I with things new born. Here's 
 a sight lor thee ; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a 
 squire's child ! Look thee here ; take up, take up, 
 boy; open t. So, let's see; It was told me, ( 
 should be rich by the fairies: this is some change- 
 ling : — open't : what's within, boy ? 
 
 Clo. You're a made old man ; if the sins of your 
 youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Groldi 
 all gold ! 
 
 Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: 
 up with it, keep it close; home, hon»e, the next 
 way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still, re- 
 quires nothing but secrecy. — Let my sheep go:— 
 Come, good boy, the next way home. 
 
 Clo. Go you the next way with your findings; 
 I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, 
 and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst, 
 but when they are hungry: if there be any ofhira 
 left, I'll bury it. 
 
 Shep. 'J'hat's a good deed : If thou may 'st discern 
 by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to 
 the sight of him. [him i'the ground. 
 
 Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put 
 
 Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we ll dy good 
 deeds on't. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Time, as Chortts. 
 Time. I, — that please some, try all ; both joy, ana 
 terror. 
 
Scene 2, " 
 
 Of go (f and bad ; that make, and unfold error, 
 tSTo w tafce upon me, in the name of Time, 
 To use my wings. Impute it not a crime, 
 fo me, or mx^s\vi?|;^assag(i, tliat I slide 
 O'er sixteen yearsTanlTTeave the growth .untried 
 Of that wide gji|j.;,-sii)iGeL.jlis iti i^iy power) - 
 J'o o'erthrow^rinv, and in one seli'"borii hour 
 fo planf and (Terwhelm custom : Let me pass 
 fhrsSme I am, ere ancient'st ol'der was. 
 Or what is now received : I witness to 
 The times that hroiight them in; so shall I do 
 To the freshest things now reigningj.,and makest|le 
 The glistering of this present, ^^^^^^^^Si^^'-T^^f^ I 
 Now seems to it. Your patience This allowing, Lll 
 I toTft^y glass ; and give my scene such grow-ng^,/f 
 Ibn you had slept between. -4«©aMl«sa,leaving 
 The effects of his fond jealousies ; §^rr§yin|7 
 That he shuts up himself ; imajfine fne",""""""* 
 Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
 fn fair Bohemia , and remember well, 
 f mentioned a son o'tlie king's, which Florlzel 
 I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
 To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
 Equal with wond'ring : whttt, pfiier ensue.|, 
 I list not prophecy ; buij^^rime^s news 3* 
 Be kn<giyvnj„s;^hen 'tis brougSt tbrthj— a is^^^Jb^^ 
 
 dciu^Tile?i'~^~~-^"-^"""'''"" 
 And what to iier adhetes, which. MlQWS^a&jj;-^'*^-^'^ 
 ^trmlLi.X)f tliis allowl T/ 
 
 / b\{.f5-/ WINTER'S TALE. LM^sti^^^J ^^239^^ 
 
 a daughter of most rare note; the report of her ts 
 extended more, than can be thought to begin from 
 such a cottage. 
 
 , Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But, 
 I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 
 shalt accompany us to the place : where v^^e will, nol 
 appearing what we are, have some question with 
 the sliepherd ; from whose sim}>licity, I think it not 
 uneasy to get the canse of my son's resort thither. 
 Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, , 
 and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. ^ 
 Cam. I willingly obey your command. \ 
 Pol. My best Camillo! — We must disguise our- 
 (Selves. [Exeunt. 
 
 ■-Scene II.- 
 
 Ts^tlie argument 
 ff ever you hat' e 
 If never yet, thr^ 
 He wishes earne? 
 
 imej worse ere now, 
 Tiin^^nself doth say, 
 
 you never may. [Exit 
 
 Scene I. — The same. A Room in the Palace 
 of Polixenes. 
 Enter Polixenes arid Camillo. 
 
 Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- 
 portunate : 'tis a sickness, denying thee any thing ; 
 a death, to grant this. 
 
 Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country : 
 thongii I have, for tiie most part, been aired abroad, 
 I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- 
 tent king, my master, hath sent for me: to whose 
 feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'er- 
 ween tu think so; which is another spur to my 
 departure. 
 
 Pol. As thou lovest nie, Camillo, wipe not out 
 the rest of thy services, by leaving me now : the 
 need I have of tliee, thine own goodness hath made; 
 better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee : 
 thou, having made me businesses, which none, with- 
 out thee, can sufficiently manage, must either stay 
 to execute them thyself, or take away with thee 
 the very services thou hast done : which, if I have 
 not enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be 
 more thankful to thee, siiall be my study ; and my 
 profit therein, the heaping I'riendships. Of that fatal 
 country Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more : whose very 
 naming putiishes me with the remembrance of that 
 penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, 
 Miy brother ; whose loss of liis most precious queen, 
 and children, are even now to be afresh lamented. 
 Say to me, wlien savv'st tliou the prince Florizel, 
 my son ^ Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not 
 bt ing gracious, than they are in losing them, when 
 they have approved their virtues. 
 
 Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince : 
 H'hat his happier ali'airs may be, are to me un own : 
 but 1 have, missingly, noted, he is of late much re- 
 tired from court; and is less frequent to his princely 
 exercises, than formerly he hatli ajjpeared. 
 
 Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo; and 
 with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my 
 services, which look u[)on his removedness : from 
 vvijom I have this inteliigence ; That he is seldom 
 from the house of a most honiely shepherd ; a man, 
 Ihey say, that from very notning, and beyond the 
 inragin«tion of his neighbours, is grown into an un- 
 speakable estate. 
 
 CoAK, J have beard, sir, of such a man who hath 
 
 The same. A Road near the Shepherd* 
 
 Cottage. 
 Enter AuTOLYCUS, singing. 
 
 PF'hen daffodils begin to peer, 
 
 TVith, heigh ! the doxy over the dale, — 
 Why, then comes in the sweet o'the year; 
 For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 
 
 The ivhite sheet bleaching on the hedge,— _ 
 With, heyl the sweet birds, 0, how they sing! — 
 \l^Doth set my piig<]ing tooth on edge ; 
 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 The lark, that tirra lirra. chants, — 
 
 fVith, hey\ with, heyl the thrush and the jay 
 Are summer songs for tne and my aunts, 
 While we lie tumbling in the hay. 
 I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore 
 three pile : but now I am out of service : 
 
 But shall 1 go mourn for that, my dear? 
 
 The pale moon shines by night : 
 And, when I wander here and there, 
 
 I then do most go right. 
 If tinkers may have leave to live 
 And bear the sow-skin budget ; 
 Then my account I tvell may give, 
 And in the stocks avouch it. 
 My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to 
 lesser linen My father named n)e, Autolycus; 
 who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was 
 likewise a suapper-up of unconsidered trifies : With 
 die, and diab, I purchased tiiis caparison; and my 
 revenue is the silly cheat: Gallows, aod knock, are 
 too iwwerful on the highway : beating, and hanging, 
 are terrors to me; for the life to come, 1 sleep out 
 the thought of it. — A prize ! a prize I 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Let me see: — Every 'leven wethei — tods; 
 every tod yields — pound and odd shilling: fiiteen 
 hundred shorn, — What comes (he wool to ? 
 
 Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. (Asid^i^ 
 
 Clo. I cannot do*t without counters. — Let me 
 see; what am I to buy for our sheep shearing feast? 
 Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants : 
 rice, — What will this sister of mine do with rice? 
 But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, 
 and she lays it on. She hath made me four-and- 
 twenty nosegays for the shearers: tliree-man sonjj- 
 men all, and very good ones ; but they are most of 
 them means and bases: but one Puritan amongat 
 them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must 
 have saffron, to colour the warden pies ; mace,— 
 dates, — none ; that's out of my note : nutmegu^ 
 seven; a race, or two, of ginger ; but tiiat 1 may 
 beg;-— /owr pound of prunes, and as many of 
 raisins othe sun. 
 
 Aut. O, that ever I was born ! 
 
 {Grovelling on the ground) 
 
 Clo. I'the name of me, 
 
 Aut. O, help me, help me ! pluck but off these 
 rags ; and tJien, death, death ! 
 
 Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more 
 rags to lay on thee, rather than have tiiese off. 
 
 Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them olTenda 
 
24:0 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 me more than the stripes I have received, which are 
 
 uu<;ia) oiic b, iiucl iiiillioMS. 
 
 tVo. Alus, jioi rrnanf a million of beating njay 
 tome to a ^reat matter. 
 
 Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money 
 and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable 
 thinu^s [Hit upon me. 
 
 Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? 
 
 Aut. A foot-man. sweet sir, a foot-man. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot man, by the gar- 
 ments he hath leit with thee : if this be a horse- 
 man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me 
 Ihy hand, I'll help thee : come, lend me thy hand. 
 
 (Helping him up.) 
 
 Aut. 01 good sir, tenderly, oh! 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor soul. 
 
 Aut. O ! good sir, softly, goo'd sir : I fear, sir, 
 my shoulder-blade is out. 
 
 Clo, How now? canst stand? 
 
 Aut. Softly, dear sir; {picks his pocket.) good 
 sir, softly ; yon ha' done me a charitable office. 
 
 Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little money 
 for thee. 
 
 A.ut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: 
 I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile 
 hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have 
 money, or any thing I want. Offer me no money, I 
 pr{w you : that kills my heart. [you? 
 Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed 
 Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about 
 with trol-my-dames : 1 knew hinj once a servant of 
 the prince ; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his 
 virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of 
 the court. 
 
 Clo. His vices, you would say ; there's no virtue 
 tvhipped out of court: they cherish it, to make it 
 stay there ; and yet it will no more but abide. 
 
 Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man 
 well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; then a 
 process-server, a bailiff'; then he compassed a mo- 
 tion of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife 
 within a mile where my land and living lies, and, 
 having flovvn over many knavish professions, he set- 
 tled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus. 
 
 Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: he 
 haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 
 
 Aut. Very true, si^r ; he, sir, he ; that's the rogue 
 that put me into this apparel. 
 
 Clo. Not a more cowardly logue in all Bohemia; 
 if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd have 
 run. 
 
 Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: 
 I am false of heart, that way; and that he knew, I 
 warrant him. 
 
 Clo. How do you now ? 
 
 Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can 
 stand, and walk : I will even take my leave of you, 
 and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 
 
 Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ? 
 
 Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir. 
 
 Clo. Tiien fare thee well ; I must go buy spices 
 for our sheep-shearing. 
 
 Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! — [Exit Clown.]— 
 Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. 
 I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too : if I 
 make not this cheat bring out another, and the 
 ■hearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my 
 name put in the book of virtue ! 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way. 
 And merrily Kent the stile a • 
 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Shepherd's Cottage. 
 Enter Florizel and Perdita. 
 Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
 Do give a iR'e : no shepherdess ; but Flora 
 eeriug in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
 i 'aa a meeting of the petty gods. 
 
 And you the queen on'4. 
 
 Per. Sir, my gracious lord. 
 
 To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me ; 
 O, pardon, that I na:ne them: your high self, 
 The gracious mark o'the land, you have obscar'd, 
 With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly maid 
 Most goddess-like prank'd up : but that our feasts' 
 In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
 Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
 To see you so attired ; sworn, I think. 
 To show myself a glass. 
 
 Flo. 1 bless the time. 
 
 When my good falcon made her fiight across 
 Thy father's ground. 
 
 Per. Now Jove afford you cause 
 
 To me, the diff'erence forges dread ; your greatuts 
 Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble 
 To think, your father, by some accident. 
 Should pass this way, as you did : O, the fates ! , 
 How would he look, to see his work, so noble. 
 Vilely bound up? V\' hat would he say? Or how 
 Should I, in these my borrow'd tlauuts, behold 
 The sternness of his presence ? 
 
 Flo. Apprehend 
 Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, ^ 
 Humbling their deities to love, have taken \^ 
 The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
 Bec^m^CSyH, and bellow'd ; the green Neptuno 
 A ram, 'ami bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, 
 Golden Apollo, a poor humblei^vfart). 
 As I seem now: Their transformations 
 Were never for a piece of beauty rarer; 
 Nor in a way so chaste : since my desires 
 Run not before mine honou^nor my lusts . 
 Burn hotter than niy faithC 
 
 Per. O but, dear sir. 
 
 Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
 Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king : 
 One of these two must be necessities. 
 Which then will speak ; that you must change this 
 
 purpose. 
 Or I my life. 
 
 Flo. Thou dearest Ferdita, 
 
 With these forc'd thoughts, I pr ythee, darken not 
 The mirth o'the feast : Or I'll be tliine, my fair 
 Or not my father's; for I cannot be 
 Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 
 I be not tliine : to this I am most constant, 
 Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle ; 
 Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing 
 l^nat you behold the while. Your guests are comiiig : 
 Liit up your countenance ; as it were the day 
 Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
 We two have sworn shall come. 
 
 Per. O lady fortune. 
 
 Stand you auspicious ! 
 
 Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo, 
 disguised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others. 
 
 Flo. See, your guests approach : 
 
 Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
 And let's be red with mirth. 
 
 Shep. Fy, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon 
 This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook; 
 Both dame and servant: welcom'd all ; serv'd all : 
 Would sing her song, and dance her turn : now 
 here, 
 
 At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle; 
 On his shoulder, and his; her face o'fire 
 With labour ; and the thing, she took to quench it, 
 She would to each one sip : You are retir'd. 
 As if you were a feasted one, and not 
 The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid 
 These unknown friends to us welcome : for it is 
 A way to make us better friends, mure kifown. 
 Come, quench your blushes; and present jrourself 
 That which you are, mistress o'the feast : Come on. 
 And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing. 
 As your good flock shall prosper. 
 Per. SIX \ {To PoUxenes. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 241 
 
 It is my father's will, I should take on me 
 
 The hostess-ship o'the day: — You're welcome, sir! 
 
 (To Lkcmillo.) 
 
 Give me those flowers t^ere, Dorcas.-^tevereiid 
 sirs, 
 
 For you there's rQia3sarX*.aildL^; these l^&Ofy- — 
 
 (Trrice, and reinemhrance, beTo you both, 
 And welcome to our shearing! 
 
 Pol, Shepherdess, 
 A fair one are you,) well you fit onr ages 
 U' ith flowers of winter. 
 
 Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 
 
 Nor yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
 Of ^trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o'the 
 season 
 
 our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, 
 W'liich some call nature's bastards: of that kind 
 Our rustic garden's barren; and 1 care not 
 I'o firet slips of them. 
 
 Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden. 
 
 Do you neglect them? 
 
 Per, For T have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art, which, in their piedne^s, shares 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Pol. Say, there be ; 
 
 Vt^t nature is made better by no mean. 
 But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, 
 W^hich, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
 A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 Uy bud of nobler race ; This is an art 
 NV'iui;.b,do£.s.meD<inat(ire, — change it rather : but 
 'J(ne art itself is n•dtu^P^ 
 
 rwr - ^ So it is. 
 
 Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, 
 A.i)d do not call them bastards. 
 
 Per. I'll not put 
 
 Fue dibble in earth to set one slip of them : 
 \,v more than, were I painted, I would wish 
 i liis youth shoiitd say, 'twere well; and only there- 
 fore 
 
 DcfiWe to breed by me. — FTere's flowers for you ; 
 Hoi lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
 Tiie mnrigoid, tliat goes to bed with the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers 
 Of middle siimmer, and, I think, they are given 
 'i'o men of middle age : You are very welcome. 
 
 Com. 1 should leave grazing, were 1 of your flock, 
 And only live Dy gazing. 
 
 Per. Out, alas ! 
 
 You'd be so lean, that blasts of January 
 Would blow you through and through. — No\v, my 
 
 fnresl friend, 
 I would I had some flowers o'the spring, that might 
 Become your time of day; and yours, and yours; 
 That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
 Your mai'ienheads growing : — O Proserpina, 
 For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall 
 From Dis's waggon ' daffodils, 
 That come before th^ swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, 
 B«it sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes. 
 Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses. 
 That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
 Bright Phoebus in liis strength, a malady 
 Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and 
 The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds. 
 The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack. 
 To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend. 
 To strew iiiui o'er and o'er. 
 
 Flo. What? like a corse? 
 
 Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ; 
 Not like a corse : or if, — not to be buried. 
 Hut quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your 
 flowers : 
 
 Methinks I/^Ta^as I have seen them do 
 
 in Whilsun' pastorals : sure, this robe of mine 
 
 Docs chan^'e my disposition. 
 
 Flo. What you do. 
 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
 I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
 I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
 Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, 
 To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish yon 
 A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do 
 Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
 No other function : Each your doing, 
 So singular in each particular. 
 Crowns what you are doing in the present deed* 
 That all your acts are queens. 
 
 Per. O Doricles, 
 
 Your praises are too large : but that your youth. 
 And tjie true blood, which fairly peeps ^liroughj^ 
 Do plainly give-^ii ouTan ulisfairru sliepher^^ 
 VVitlLSiiHomT'T^^ 
 You vvoo'd iueTl7e~ftrts'e~way. 
 
 ■p^g^ — . J think, you have 
 
 As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
 To put you to't. — But, come; our dance, I pray: 
 Your hand, my Perdita : so turtles pair, 
 That never mean to part. 
 
 Per. _ _ I'll swear for 'era. 
 
 Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever 
 Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does, or seems. 
 But smacks ol" something greater than herself ; 
 Too noble ibr this place. 
 
 Cam. He tells her something 
 That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she i& 
 The queen of curds and cream. 
 
 Clo. Come on, strike up. 
 
 Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, garlic. 
 To mend her kissing with. — 
 
 Mop. Now, in good time ! 
 
 Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our 
 manners. — 
 
 Come, strike up. [Munc, 
 Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesst.f . 
 Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what 
 Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughtei ? 
 Shep. They call him Doricles ; and he boasts 
 himself 
 
 To have a worthy feeding: but I have it 
 
 Upon his own report, and I believe it; 
 
 He looks like sooth : He says, he loves my daughter ; 
 
 I think so too ; for never gaz'd the moon 
 
 Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, 
 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, . 
 
 I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, 
 
 W^ho loves another best. 
 
 Pol. She dances featly. 
 
 She]}. So she does any thing; though 1 report it, 
 That should be silent : if young Doricles 
 Do light upon her, she shall bring him that. 
 Which he not dreams of. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at 
 the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 
 and {)ipe ; no, the bagpipe could not mo» e you : he 
 sings sevf^ral tunes, faster than you'll tell money ' h© 
 utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's 
 ears grew to his tunes. 
 
 Clo. He could never come better: he shall come 
 in : I love a ballad but even too well ; if it be doleful 
 matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing 
 indeed, and sung lamentably. 
 
 Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, cf all 
 sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
 gloves : he has the prettiest love-songs for maids ; so 
 without bawdry, wliich is strange; with such deli 
 cate burdens of dildos and fadings : jump her 
 and thump her; and where some stretch-mouth'd 
 rascal woidd, as it were, mean mischief, and break 
 a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to 
 answer, hoop, do me no harm, good man; puts 
 him ofl", slights liim, with Whoop, domenohormf 
 good man. 
 
 Pol. Tlii^ !s a brave fellow. 
 
■242 
 
 WINTER'S TALfi. 
 
 Acr 17. 
 
 do. Believe me, thou talkest of an adinirable- 
 conceiled {ellow. Has he any imhraided wares ? 
 
 Serv. We imth ribands oi all the colours i'the 
 laiubow; points, more than ail the lawyers in Ba- 
 beinia can learnedly handle, though they come to 
 nim by the gross ; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, 
 lawns : why, he sings thein over, as they were gods 
 or goddesses; you would think, a smock were a 
 ehe-ange! ; he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the 
 work about the square on't. 
 
 Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him approach 
 singing. 
 
 Pei\ Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous 
 words in liis tunes. 
 
 Clo. Yon have of these pedlers, that have more 
 10 'em than you'd think, sister. 
 
 Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to tiiink. 
 
 Enter Autolycus, singing. 
 
 Laivn, a.f white as driven snow ; 
 Cyprus, black as e'er was crow; 
 Gloves, as sweet as damask roses ; 
 Masks for faces, and for noses ; 
 Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber. 
 Perfume for a lady's chamber : 
 Golden quoifs, and stomachers. 
 For my Lads to give their dears; 
 Pins, a7td pokitig-sticks of steel, 
 }f' hat maids lack from head to heel : 
 Cotne. buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy; 
 Buy lads, or else your lasses cry ; 
 Come, buy, &c. 
 
 Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
 /hoidd'st take no money of me ; but being enthrall'd 
 as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ri- 
 bands and gloves. 
 
 Mop. I was promised them against the feast; but 
 fhey come not too late now. 
 
 V .r. He hath promised you more than that, or 
 there be liars. 
 
 Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you ; may 
 f , he has paid you more ; which will shame you to 
 give him again. 
 
 Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will 
 they wear their plackets, where they shoidd bear 
 their i'aces ? Is there not milking-time, when you are 
 going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle oti' these se- 
 crets ; but you must be tittle-tattling before all our 
 guests? .'Tis well they are whispering: Clamour 
 yoiu- tongues, and not a word more. 
 
 Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a 
 tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. 
 
 Clo. Ha\ e I not told thee, how I was cozened by 
 (he way, and lost all my money ? 
 
 Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad ; 
 wherelbre it behoves men to be wary. 
 
 Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou slialt lose nothing 
 here. 
 
 Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many 
 parcels of charge. 
 
 Clo. What hast here? ballads? 
 
 31op. Pra/ now, buy some : I love a ballad in 
 rint, a'-l,fe: fir then we are sure they are true. 
 
 Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a 
 surer's wife was brorght to bed of twenty money- 
 - ngs at a burdt n ; and how she lonj;ed to eat adder's 
 beads, and toads carbonadoed. 
 
 Mop. Is it true, think you? 
 
 Aut. Very true; and but a month old. 
 
 Dor. Bless me front marrying a usurer ! 
 
 Aut. Here's the midwife's nanie to't, one mistress 
 Tale|)orter; and tive or six honest wives' that were 
 present: Why should 1 carry lies abroad? 
 
 Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it. 
 
 Clo. Come on, lay it by : And let's fust see more 
 ballads; we'll buy the ottier thinus anon. 
 
 Aui. Here's another ballad, Of a fish that ap- 
 peared upon the coast, on Wednt-sday the fourscore 
 of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and 
 
 sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids ; 
 it was thought, she was a woman, and was turned 
 into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh 
 with one that loved her : The ballad is very pitiful, 
 and as true. 
 
 Dor. Is it true too, think you ? 
 
 Aut. Fivp justices' hands at it; and witnesses 
 more than my pack will hold 
 
 Clo. Lay it by too : Another. 
 
 Aut. This is a merry ballad ; but a very pretty one 
 
 Mop. Let's have some merry ones. 
 
 Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one ; and goea 
 to the tune of. Two maids ivooing a man : there's 
 scar*8 a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis m 
 request, I can tell you. 
 
 Mop. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part, 
 thou shalt hear ; 'tis in three parts. 
 
 Dor. We had the time on't a month ago. 
 
 Aut. I can bear my part ; you must know, 'tia 
 occupation : have at it with you. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 A. Get you hence, for I must go; 
 Where, it fits not you to knoio. 
 D. Whither ? M. 0. whither? J). Whit 
 M. It becomes thy oath full ivell 
 Thou to me thy secrets tell : 
 D. Me too, let me go thither 
 
 M, Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill: 
 D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
 
 A. Neither. D. Wkat. neither? A, Neither. 
 D. Thou hast sworn my love to be; 
 M, Thon hast sivorn it more to me : 
 
 Then, whither go'st? say, tvhither? 
 
 Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: 
 My lather and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and 
 we'll not trouble them : Come, bring awaj thy pack 
 after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both : Pedler, 
 lets have the first choice. — Foilow me, girls. 
 
 Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. (Aside.) 
 
 Will you buy any tape, 
 
 Or lace for your cype, 
 My dainty duck, my dear-al 
 
 Any silk, any thread. 
 
 Any toys for your head. 
 Of the neivst, and fin st, finest wear al 
 
 Come to the pedler; 
 
 Money's a medler. 
 That doth utter all men's ware-a. 
 
 [Exeunt Cloivn, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Mopga 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
 herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have 
 njade themselves all men of hair; they call them- 
 selves saltiers : and they have a dance which the 
 wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because 
 they are not in't; but they themselves are o'the 
 mind (if it be not too rough for some, that know little 
 but bowling,) it will please plentii'ully. 
 
 Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too 
 much humble foolery already : — I know, sir, we 
 weary you. 
 
 Pol. You weary those that refresh us : Pray, let'a 
 see these four threes of herdsmen. 
 
 Serv. One three of them, by their own report, 
 sir, hath danced before the king ; and not the worst 
 of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by 
 the squire. 
 
 Shep. Leave your prating; since these good men 
 are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. 
 Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics, habiiei 
 like Satyrs. T/iey dance, and then exeuTit, 
 Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that here- 
 after.— 
 
 Is it »ot too far gone ? — 'Tis time to part tltem. — 
 
 I, 
 
(5CENE 3. 
 
 WINTER'S 
 
 in 
 
 S TALE. 
 
 24:3 
 
 He's simple, and tells much. {Aside.) How now, 
 
 lair shejiherd ? 
 Vour heart is full of something, that does take 
 Your rijind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young, 
 And handed love, as you do, I was wont 
 Toioad my she with knacks : I would have ransack'd 
 The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
 To her acceptance ; you have let hini go. 
 And nothing marted with hin> : If your lass 
 Interpretation should abuse; and ca-ll this. 
 Your lack of love, or bounty; you were straited 
 For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
 Of happy holding her. 
 
 fYo. Old sir, I know 
 
 She prizes not such trifles as these are : 
 The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd 
 Up in tny heart; which I have given already, 
 Hut not deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my life 
 fjefore this ancient sir, who, it should seem, 
 Hath sometime lov'd : I take thy hand ; this hand, 
 As soft as dove's down, and as whitgja| it; / 
 Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'^novv^^ V/ 
 I'hat's bolted by the nortjiern blasts'Twice o'er. 
 
 PoL What tbiiows this ?^ 
 How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
 The hand, was fair befoye ! — I have put you out : — 
 But, to your protestation; let me hear 
 What you profess. 
 
 Flo. Do, and be witness to't. 
 
 PoL And this my neighbour too f 
 
 Pio. And he, and more 
 
 Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all : 
 That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, 
 T'hereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth 
 Tliat ever made eye swerve ; had force, and know- 
 ledge, 
 
 More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them, 
 \V ithout her love : for her, employ them all ; 
 OoMimend them, and condeum them, to her service, 
 Or to their own perdition. 
 
 Poi. Fairly offer'd. 
 
 Cant. This shows a sound affection. 
 
 Shep. But, my daughter, 
 
 Say yi.u the like to him ? 
 
 Per. I cannot speak 
 
 So \vell,(bothin^ so well ; no, nor mean better : 
 Cy tile pattern of mine own thoughts I cutout 
 Tlip purity of his. 
 
 Shep. Take hands, a bargain ; — 
 
 And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: 
 I give my daughter to him, and will make 
 Her portion equal his. 
 ^ Flo._ O, that must be 
 
 rthe \ii tue of your daughter : one being dead, 
 I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
 Enough then for your wonder : But, come on. 
 Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 
 
 Shep. Come, your hand ; — 
 
 And, daughter, yours. 
 
 PoL Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you ; 
 
 Flave you a father ? 
 
 Flo. I have : But what of him ? 
 
 PoL Knows he of this ? 
 
 Flo. He neither does, nor shall. 
 
 PoL Methinks, a father 
 Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
 That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ; 
 Is not your father grown incapable 
 Of reasonable alFaii s? is he not stupid 
 VVitii age, and altering rheums ? Can he speak \' hear? 
 Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? / 
 Lies he not bed-rid ? and again doe€'nothI%, 'kj.- \ 
 But what he did being childish ? / ' (j;] 
 
 Flo. No, good sir ; 
 
 He lias his health, and ampler strength, indeed, 
 Than most have of his age. 
 
 ^ PoL ^ By my white beard, 
 
 You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
 Something unfilial: Reason, my son 
 Sh'»ul,i choose himself a wife >vbut as good reason. 
 
 The father (all whose joy is nothing else 
 But fair posterity,) should hold some counsd 
 In such a business. 
 
 Flo. I yield all this ; 
 
 But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
 Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 
 My father of this business. 
 
 PoL Lttt him know'L 
 
 Flo. He shall not. 
 
 PoL Pr'ythee, let him. 
 
 Flo. No, he must not 
 
 Shep. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to grie^-B 
 At knowing of tliy choice. 
 
 Flo. Come, come, he must not :— 
 
 Mark our contract 
 
 Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, j 
 
 [Discovering himse1J\) * 
 Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
 To be acknowledg'd : Thou a sceptre's heir, 
 That thus affect'st a sheep-hook ! — Thou, old traitor, 
 I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but 
 Shorten thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece 
 Of excelle^ witchcrai|> who, of force, must know u / j 
 The royal fool tliotiTop'st with ;— ^"^Z \|( 
 
 Shep. O, my heart ! 
 
 PoL I'll have thy beauty scr^itch'd with briars 
 and made 
 
 More homely'than thy state.— For thee, fond boy,— 
 
 If 1 may ever know, thou dost but sigh, 
 
 That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never 
 
 I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession; 
 
 Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin. 
 
 Far than Deucalion off : — Mark thou my words ; 
 
 Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for this time 
 
 Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
 
 From the dread blow of it. And you, enchantment — 
 
 Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too, 
 
 That makes himself, but for our honour therein, 
 
 Unworthy thee, — if ever, henceforth, thou 
 
 These rural latches to his entrance open. 
 
 Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
 
 I will devise a death as cruel for thee, 
 
 As thou art tender to't. {Exit. 
 
 Per. Even here undone ! 
 
 I was not much afeard : for once, or twice, 
 I was about to speak ; and tell him plainly, 
 The self-same sun, that shines upon his court, 
 Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
 Looks on alike. — Will't please you, sir, be ffone? 
 
 [To Florizel.) 
 
 I told you, what would come of this : Beseech you. 
 Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, — 
 Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further. 
 But milk my ewes, and weep. 
 
 Cam. Why, how now, father r 
 
 Speak, ere thou diest. 
 
 Shep. 1 cannot speak, nor think, 
 
 Nor dare to know that which I know. — O. sir, 
 
 {To Florizel] 
 You have undone a man of fourscore three, 
 That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea, 
 To die upon the bed my father died. 
 To lie close by his honest bones : but now 
 Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay n>e 
 Where no priest shovels in dust. — O cursed wretch ! 
 
 {To Perdita.) 
 
 That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st ad' 
 venture 
 
 To mingle faith with him. — Undone ! undone! 
 
 If I might die within this hour, 1 have liv'd 
 
 To die when I desire. [Exit 
 
 Flo. Why look you so upon me? 
 
 I am but sorry, not afeard : delay'd, \ 
 But nothing alte^M : What Fwas, I am : ' .V/ 
 More straining on, for plucking back; not fallowinf 
 My leash unwillingly. 
 
 Cam. Gracious my lord, j| 
 
 You know your father's temper: at this time ■ 
 He will allow no speech,— which, I do guess 
 You do not purpose to him 
 
 -and as hardly K c 
 
244 r ItjtA'^l l : ^^'^^'^ WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : 
 Tiien, till the ftJi y of his highness settle. 
 Come not befove hitn. 
 
 Flo. I not purpose it, 
 
 I think, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Even he, my lord. 
 
 Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus ? 
 
 4cT lY 
 
 How often said, my dignity would last 
 But till 'twere known ? 
 
 F/o. It cannot fail, but by 
 
 The violation of my faith : And then 
 Let nature crush the sides o'the earth together, 
 And mar tije seeds witiiin ! — Lift up thy looks: — 
 ,From my succession wipe me, lather! I 
 
 Am heir to thy affection, 
 
 Be adv is'd. 
 
 am ; and by my, fiiicx- jf my reason 
 
 >> Cam. 
 3? Flo. I 
 
 i WjJ[lJ.Lei;eto be obedient, 1 liave reason ; 
 
 If notf niy senses, better pleas'd witli madnegSj. 
 jDcTly^^^ \L^T£o ^ 
 
 '^^TW. " This is desperate, sir. 
 
 Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow ; 
 I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, 
 Nor for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 
 Be thereat glean'd ; for all the sun sees, or 
 The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide 
 In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 
 To this my fair belov'd : Therefore, 1 f)ray you. 
 As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend 
 When he shall miss me (as, in faith, 1 mean not 
 To see him any more,) cast your good counsels 
 Upon his passion: Let myself and fortune 
 Tug for the time to come. This you may know. 
 And so deliver. I am put to sea 
 With her. whom here J cannot hold on shore ; 
 And, most opportune to our need, I have 
 A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared 
 l^'or this design. What course I mean to hold. 
 Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
 Concern me the reporting. 
 
 Cam. O, my lord, 
 
 f would your spirit were easier for advice. 
 Or stronger for your need. 
 
 Flo. Hark, Perdita. — (Takes her aside. 
 
 I'll hear you by and by. [To Camillo. 
 
 Ca7n. He's irremovable, 
 
 Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if 
 His going I could frame to serve my turn ; 
 Save him from danger, do him love and honour; 
 Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
 A.nd that unhappy king, my master, whom 
 I so much thirst to see. 
 
 Flo. Now, good Camillo, 
 
 I am so fraught with curious business, that 
 I leave out ceremony. {Going.) 
 
 Cam. Sir, I think. 
 
 You have heard of my poor services, i'the love 
 That I have borne your father ? 
 
 jF7o. Very nobly 
 
 Have you deserv'd : it is my father's music, 
 To speak your deeds: not little of his care 
 To have them recompens'd as thought on. 
 
 Cam. Well, my lord. 
 
 If you may please to think I love the king ; 
 And, th.-ough him, what is nearest to him, which is 
 V our gracious self; embrace but my direction, 
 If your more ponderous and settled project 
 
 y suft'er alteration,) on mine honour 
 ril point you where you shall have such receiving 
 h.i shall become your highness; where you may 
 kujoy your mistress ; (from the whom, 1 see. 
 There's no disjunction to be made, but by. 
 As lieavens torefend ! your ruin:) marry her; 
 And (with ray best en«Jeavours, in your absence,) 
 Vonr discontenting father strive to qualify, 
 And bring him up to liking. 
 
 Flo. How, Camillo, 
 
 May this, almost a miracle, be doae? 
 Tliat I may call thee something more than man. 
 And, after that, trust to thee. 
 
 Carnal Have you thoajfht on 
 
 A placed whereto you'll go ? ; ,irv\ 
 
 F/o.lNot^nyyet: f If ^ 
 
 But as the unthought-on accident is guilty \ ^ X\ 
 To what we wildly do; soj^e profess y h 
 
 Ourselve-s :to^he.. tfag sWes of ch ance. ao.d^fiieB v i 
 
 ¥l*en list to me : 
 
 This follows, — if yon will not change your purpurea 
 
 But undergo this flight; — make for Sicilia : " . 
 
 Aud there present yourself, and your h.ir princess, 
 
 (For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes, 
 
 She shall be habited, as it becomes 
 
 The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
 
 Leontes, opening his free arms^ 3«;d weeping 
 
 His welcomes foith : asks thee, the son, fo' givene^^ 
 
 As 'twere i'the father's person : kisses the hands 
 
 Of your fresh princess ; o'er and o'er divides 
 
 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the 
 
 He chides to hell, and bids the other grow. 
 
 Faster than thought, or time. 
 
 Flo. Worthy Camillo, 
 
 What colour for my visitation shall I 
 Hold up before him? 
 
 Cam. Sent by the king, your father. 
 
 To greet him. and to give him comforts. Sir, 
 The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
 What you, as from your father, shall deliver. 
 Things known betwixt us three, I'll write yon 
 down ; 
 
 The which shall point you forth at every sitting. 
 What you must say; that he shall not perceive. 
 But that you have your father's bosom there. 
 And speak his very heart. 
 
 Flo. 1 am bound to you . 
 
 There is some sap in this. 
 
 r^^TJUm. A course more promlsiDg 
 
 Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
 To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores ; mostcerUia 
 To miseries enough; no hope to help you; 
 But, as you shake oft" one, to take another: 
 Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who 
 Do their best office, it they can but stay you, 
 Where you'll be loath to be: Besides, you know. 
 Prosperity is the very bond of love ; 
 Whose fresh complexion and whose heart togeihei 
 Aflliction alters. 
 
 Per. One of these is true ; 
 
 I think, affliction may subdue the cheek, 
 But not take in the mind. 
 
 Cam. Yea, say you so? 4 
 
 There shall not, at your father's house, these 8e^ia.\ 
 Be born another such. [years, ) 
 
 Flo. My good Camillo, —"-^y 
 
 She is as forward of her breeding, as 
 I'the rear of birth. 
 
 Cam. 1 caniDt say, 'tis pity 
 
 She lacks instructions ; for she seems a mistress 
 To most that teach. 
 
 Per. Your pardon, sir, for this ; 
 
 ril blush you thanks. 
 
 i^/o^^yMy^ettiest Perdita. — 
 But,''6C thg4!fe Pr'(TC^ -^..g^^"^ "pon ! — Camillo, — 
 Pi^eserv e i-' oir^Tfauie r, hovTufnne ; 
 The medicine of our house ! — hovy shall we do? 
 We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son ; 
 Nor shall ap[jear in Sicily 
 
 Catn. My lord 
 
 Fear none of this : I think, you know, my fortuj^es 
 Do all lie there : it shall be so my care 
 To have you royally appointed, as if 
 The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir. 
 That you may know you shall not want, — one word. 
 
 [They talk aside.) 
 
 Enter Autolycus. 
 Aut. Ha, ha ! what a Ibol honesty is ! and trusty 
 his sworn brother^avex^t^EpIi^gen^^m^ 
 "'Sora'all W'V tnTmpel^y; not a counferfeit StOTie, no< 
 a riband, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 WINTEirS TALE. 
 
 245 
 
 liallpd, koife, tape, glove, shoe tye, bracelet, horn- 
 rng, to keep my pack from fasti n <>• : they throng 
 who ihoiihl buy first; as if mv trinkets liad beet) 
 hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer; 
 by vvliich means, 1 saw whose purse was best in 
 picture ; and, wliat I saw, to my good use, I re- 
 membered. iMy clown (who wants but something 
 to be a reasonable man,) grew so in love with the 
 wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, 
 •ill he iKid both tune and words ; which so drew 
 the rest of the herd to me, that all their other 
 senses stuck in ears : you might have pinched a 
 placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a 
 cod- piece of a ptn\se ; IvWotild Ji3xg„,(il.ei-1^ 
 
 that hung in chains : no hearing, no feeling, bufc-4tiy 
 feii^s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, 
 ■ in this time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of 
 their festi\al purses : and had not the old man come 
 in with a whoobub against his daughter and the 
 king s son, and scared my choughs Irom the chatf, 
 I had not left a purse alive in tlie whole army. 
 
 {Cam. Flo. and Per. cotne forward.) 
 Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being 
 there 
 
 So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 
 
 Flo. And those, that you'll procure from king 
 Leontes, — 
 
 Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 
 
 Per. Happy be you ! 
 
 AM, that you speak, shows fair. 
 
 Cam.. Who have we here ? 
 
 {Sj^iiiiLa Autolycus.) 
 W^e'U make an instrument of thi Ci \ 
 ^otTu ^i,. may give us aid. 
 
 Aill. l'f"-ttiey"" hlTve oveiTieard me now, — why 
 kanging. {Aside.) 
 
 Cam. How now, good fellow ? why shakest thou 
 BO / Fear not, man ; here's no harm intended to thee. 
 
 Aut. I airi a poor fellow, sir. 
 
 Cam. Why, be so still ; here's nobody will steal 
 that from thee : Yet, for the outside of thy poverty, 
 we must make an exchange : therefore, disease thee 
 instantly, (thoa must think, there's necessity in't,) 
 and change garments with this gentleman : Though 
 the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold 
 thee, there's some boot. 
 
 Aiit. 1 am a poor fellow, sir : —I know ye well 
 enough. {Aside.) 
 
 Cam. Nay, pr ythee, despatch : the gentleman 
 is half tiiiyed already. 
 
 Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? — I smell the trick 
 of it. — {Aside.) 
 
 Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Aut. Indeed, I have earnest; but I cannot with 
 conscience take it. 
 
 Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. — 
 
 {Flo. and Autol. exchange garments.) 
 Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
 Come home to you I — you must retire yourself 
 Sato some covert: take your sweetlieart's hat. 
 And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face; 
 Disma ntle you ; and as you can, ^disliken 
 Tite^ruih oTytHULjiivn^eeming ;l"l'"a't yi^ili may 
 (For 1 do fear eyes overyou,) to shipboard 
 Get iindescried. /-"""'''^^ 
 
 Per. I see, ^ play)so lies. 
 
 That I must bear a part. 
 
 Cant. No remedy. — 
 
 Have you done there ? 
 
 Flo. Should I now meet my father. 
 
 He would not call me so.n. 
 
 Cam. Nay, you shall have 
 
 No hat: — Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend. 
 
 Aut. Ad en, sir. 
 
 Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot? 
 Pray you, a word. {They converse apart.) 
 
 CatH. What i do next, shall be, to tell the king 
 , . , {Aside.) 
 
 Of thifi escape, and whither Ihey are bound ; 
 Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail. 
 
 To force him after : in whose company 
 I shall revie\\^Sicilia . for whose sight 
 
 I h.'.ve a woman's lorlgtn^. ~ " — — 
 
 ~™:;^£f."~~" ■~™™'~*~-fH5rtune speed us! — 
 
 Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. 
 
 Cam. The swifter speed, the better. 
 
 [Exeuni Florizel, Perdita, and Camill@. 
 
 Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : IVi 
 have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hind, 
 is necessary for a cut-purse , a good nose is requi- 
 site alsoy to smell out work for the at ker s'j^sesr'"! "' 
 see, ItlnslTTlTFtiTnFTtKrt' unj u s {' in an doFiribrive 
 What an exchange had this been, without boot ? 
 what a boot is here, with this exchange ? Sure, the 
 gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any 
 thing extempore. The prince himself is about a 
 piece of iniquity ; stealing away from his father, 
 with his clog at ins heels : If I thought it were no< 
 a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I 
 w^ould do't : I hold it the more knavery to conceal 
 it : and therein am I constant to my profession. 
 
 'M Enter Clown and Shepherd. 
 Aside, aside; — here is more matter for a hot brain: 
 every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
 ing, yields a careful man work. 
 
 Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! tnere 
 is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change- 
 ling, and none of your flesh and blood. 
 
 Shep. Nsiy, but hear me. 
 
 Clo, Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Shep. Go to then. 
 
 Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, 
 your flesh and blood has not offended the king : 
 and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished 
 by him. Show those things you found about her; 
 those secret things, all but what she has with her : 
 This being done, let the law go whistle ; I warrant 
 you. 
 
 Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, stid 
 his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, is no honesf 
 man neither to his lather, nor to me, to go about u 
 make me the king's brother in-law. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off 
 you could have been to him; and then your blood had 
 been the dearer, by I know how much an oance. 
 
 Atit. Very wisely; puppies ! [Aside. 
 
 Shep. Well; let us to the king; there is that in 
 this fardel, will make him scratch his beard. 
 
 Aut. I know not what impediment this complaint 
 may be to the flight of my master. 
 
 Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. 
 
 Aut. Though I ant not natural ly hone st, I am so 
 sometimes by cha iiice'p^erine pock'^it tip'liTry ped- 
 ier's excrement. {Takes off his false heard.) How 
 now, rustics ? whither are you bound ? 
 
 Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 
 
 Aut. Your artairs there ? what ? with whom ? the 
 condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
 your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, 
 and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. 
 
 Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 
 
 Aut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy : Let me 
 have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and 
 they often give us soldiers the lie : but we [)ay thera 
 for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel : there- 
 fore they do not give us the lie. 
 
 Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, 
 if you had not taken yourself with the mai.ner. 
 
 Shep. Are you a courtier, an"t like you, sir? 
 
 Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. 
 See'st thou not the air of the court, in these enfold- 
 ings ? hath not my gait in it, the meisure of the 
 court ? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? 
 reflect I not on thy baseness court contempt? 
 Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze f rom thee 
 thy business, I am therefore no com tier ? I aia 
 courtier, cap-a-pe; and one tiiat will either push 
 on, or pluck back thy business there : whereupon I 
 comnian'i thee to open thy a2"a«r. 
 
246 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Skep. My business, sir, is to the king. 
 
 Aut. What atlvocate hast thou to him? 
 
 SAep. 1 know not, an't like you. 
 
 Clo. Advocate's the court- word for a pheasant; 
 •ay, you bave none. [hen. 
 
 Shep. ISone, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor 
 ^ Ant. How V>less'd are we, that are not simple men ! 
 Vet nature might have made me as Uiese are, 
 Tlierefore Til ni t disdain. 
 
 Clo. This catj.iot be but a great courtier. 
 
 Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them 
 feul ha.'^kdsomely. 
 
 Clo. He see 'US to be the more noble in being fan- 
 taslical ; a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by the 
 picking on's teeth. 
 
 Aut. The fardel there? what's i'the fardel? 
 Wliereft).-e that box ? 
 
 Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel, 
 and box, which none must know but the king; and 
 wliich he shall know within this hour, if 1 may 
 come to the speech of hitn. 
 
 Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 
 
 Shep. VVhy, sir? 
 
 Aut. The k'u\g is not at the palace ; he is gone 
 aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air 
 himself : For, if thou be'st capable of things se- 
 rious, thou must know the king is fidl of griei". 
 
 Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should 
 have married a shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand fast, let 
 him fly ; the curses lie shall have, the tortures he 
 shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of 
 
 Clo. Think you so, sir ? [monster. 
 
 Aut. Not he alone sliall suffer what wit can make 
 heavy, and ve geance bitter; but those, that are 
 germane to him, though removed filty times, shall 
 all come under the hangman : which tliough it be 
 great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep- 
 whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to otfer to ha\e his 
 daughter come into grace ! Some say, he shall be 
 stoned ; but that death is too soft for him, say I : 
 Draw our throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are too 
 few, the sharpest too easy. 
 
 Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, 
 an't like you, sir? 
 
 Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; 
 then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of 
 a wasp's nt st; then stand, till he be three quarters 
 and a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua- 
 vitae, or some otiier hot infusion; then, raw as he 
 is, Hiid in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, 
 shall he be set against a brick-wall, the sun-looking 
 witij a southward eye upon him ; where he is to 
 behold him with flies blown to death. But what 
 talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries 
 are to be smiled at, their oftences being so capital ? 
 Tell nje, (for you seein to be honest plain men,) 
 what have you to the king : being something gerjtly 
 considered, I'll bring you where he is aboard, ten- 
 der your persons to his presence, whisper him in 
 your J^ehalfs; and, if it be in man, besides the king, 
 to ertect your suits, here is man shall do it. 
 
 Clo. He seems to be of great authority; close 
 with liim, give him gold ; and though authority be 
 a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with 
 gold : show the inside of your purse to the outside 
 'iSfifjV hand, and no more ado: Remember stoned, 
 and flayed alive. 
 
 Skep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the 
 business for us, here is that gold 1 have : I'll make 
 it as much mcr»! ; and leave this young man in pawn 
 .till I bring it you. 
 
 Aut. Alter I have done what I promised? 
 Shep. Ay, sir. 
 
 Aui. Well, give me the moiety: — Are you a 
 party in this business " 
 
 Clo. In some sort, sir: but though my case 
 bp a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flaved out 
 of it. 
 
 Ant. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: — 
 
 Hang him, he'll be made an example. 
 
 Clo. Comfort : good comfort • we must to tho 
 king, and show our strange sights: he must know 
 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are 
 gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old 
 man does, when the business is petfformed ; and 
 remain, as he says, your pawn, till il be broughl 
 you. 
 
 Aut. I will trust yon. Walk before toward th 
 sea-side ; go on the right hand ; I will but look 
 upon the hedge, and follow you. 
 
 Clo. We are blessed in this man, as J may saj 
 even blessed. 
 
 Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was pro- 
 vided to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clowri^, 
 
 ^uL If I had a mind to be honest, I see, 
 tunje^ould not sufler me ; she drops booties in my 
 tnotith. I am courted now with a double occasion ; 
 gold, and a means to do the prince my master 
 good : which, who knows how that may turn back 
 fo my advancement? I will bring these two moles, 
 these bhnd ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to 
 shore them again, and that the complaint they have 
 to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me, 
 rogue, for being so far otKcious ; for I am proof 
 against that title, and what shame else belongs to't : 
 to him will I present them, there may be matter 
 in it. [Exit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene 1. — Sicilia. A Room in the Palatf of 
 Leontes. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, and 
 others. 
 
 Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per- 
 form'd 
 
 A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make, 
 Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed, paid down 
 More penitence, than done trespass; at the last. 
 Do, as the heavens have done ; lt)rget your evil ; 
 Witli them, forgive yourself. 
 
 Leott. Whilst I remember 
 
 Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
 My blemishes in them ; and so still think of 
 The wrong I did myself: which was so much, 
 That heirless it hath made my kingdom; and 
 Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man 
 Bred iiis hopes out of. 
 
 Paul. True, too true, my lord . 
 
 If, one by one, you wedded all the world. 
 Or from the ail, that are, took something good, 
 To make a perfect woman ; she, you kilt'd. 
 Would be uaparallefd. 
 
 Leon. 1 think so. Kill'd ! 
 
 She J kill'd ? I did so: but thou strik'st me 
 Sorely, to say I did ; it is as bitter 
 Upontiiy tongue, as in my thought: now, good now 
 Say so but seldom. - '^ 
 
 Cleo. Not at all, good lady. 
 
 You might have spoken a thousand things, ihsi 
 would 
 
 Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd 
 Your kindness better. 
 
 Paul. You are one of those, A 
 
 Would have him wed again. 
 
 Dion. If you would not so. 
 
 You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
 Of his most sovereign dame ; consider little. 
 What dangers, by his highness' fad of issue. 
 May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
 Incertain lookers on. What were more holy 
 Than to rejoice, the former queen is well? 
 What holier, than, — for royalty's repair. 
 For present comfort and lor future good,,— 
 To bless the bed of majesty again 
 With a sweet fellow to't ? 
 
 Paid. There is none wort&y, 
 
 Respecting her, that's gone. Besides, the gods 
 Will have their secret purposes: 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 247 
 
 For has not the divine Apollo said, 
 
 is't not tlie tenor of his oracle. 
 
 That king Leontes shall not have an heir. 
 
 Till his lost child he IVmnd ? which, that it shall. 
 
 Is all as monstrous to our human reason, 
 
 As my Antigouus to break, his grave. 
 
 And come again to me; who, on my life. 
 
 Did perish witli (lie infant. "Tis your counsel, 
 
 My lord should to the heavens be contrary. 
 
 Oppose agamst their wills. — Care not for issue ; 
 
 ( To Leontes.) 
 The crown will find an heir: Great Alexander 
 Left his to the worthiest^ so his successor 
 Was like to be the best. 
 
 Leon. Good Paulina, — 
 
 VVho hast the memory of Hermione, 
 I know, in honour, — O, that ever I 
 Had squar'd me to thy counsel! — then, even now, 
 1 inigiit have look'd upon my queen's full eyes ; 
 I!a\'e taken treasure ironi her lips, — 
 
 Paul. And left them 
 
 M )re rich, for what they yielded. 
 
 Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 
 
 No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one worse. 
 And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
 Again possess her corpse : and, on this stage, 
 f Where we offenders now appear,) soul vex'd, 
 uegiti, And why to me? 
 
 Paid. Had she such power, 
 
 Bhe liad just cau^e. 
 
 Lean. She had ; and would incense me 
 
 To murder her I married. 
 
 Paul. I should so : 
 
 \Vf re I the ghost that walk\i, I'd bid you mark 
 Her eye ; and tell me, lor wliat dull part in t 
 Voa chose her: then I'd shriek, that even your 
 ears 
 
 Should riff to hear me; and the words, that follow'd, 
 S.'ioiiid be. Rememberntine. 
 
 Leon. Stars, very stars, 
 
 A .id all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife, 
 I'll i'.ave no wife, Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Will you swear 
 
 Never to marry, but by my free leave ? 
 
 Laon. Never, Paulina; so be bless'd my spirit I 
 
 Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his 
 
 Cleo. You tempt him over much. [oath. 
 
 Paul. Unless another, 
 
 s like Hermione as is her picture, 
 
 iTront his eye. 
 
 Cleo. Good madam, — 
 
 Paul. I have done. 
 
 Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir, * 
 No remedy, but you will; give me the office 
 To choose you a queen : she shall not be so young 
 As was your former; but she shall be such, 
 As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take 
 To see her in your arms. [joy 
 
 Leon. My true Paulina, 
 
 VV^^ shall not marry, till thou liidd'st us. 
 
 Paul. That 
 Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath; 
 Never till then. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. One, that gives or.t himself prince Florizel, 
 Sou of i*olixenes, with his princess, (she 
 'l',,e lairest 1 have yet beheld,) desu'es access 
 To your higii presence. 
 
 Leon. What with him? he comes not 
 
 Like to his father's greatness: his approachj 
 So out i/f circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 
 "Tis not a visitation i'r.un'd, but fore d 
 liy need, and accident. What train ? 
 
 Ge7it. But few, 
 
 And those but mean. 
 
 Leon. His princess, say you, with him? 
 
 Ge?ii. Ay; the nu»st peerless piece of earth, I 
 That e er tiie sun shone biight on, [think, 
 
 Paul. O Hermione, 
 
 As every present lime doth boast itself 
 Above a better, gone; so must thy grave 
 Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself 
 Have said, and writ so, (but your wri-ting now 
 Is colder than that theme.) she had not been , 
 Nor was not to be equall'd; — thus your verse 
 Flow'd with her beauty once ; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, 
 To say, you have seen a better. 
 
 Gent. Pardon, madam 
 
 The one I have almost forgot; (your pardon,) 
 The other, when she has obtain'd your eye. 
 Will have your tongue too. This is such a creatur© 
 Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
 Of all professors else ; make proselytes 
 Of who she but bid follow. 
 
 Paul. How ? not women ? 
 
 Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman 
 More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
 The rarest of all women. 
 
 Leon. Go, Cleomenes ; 
 
 Yourself, assisted with your honour d Irieuds, 
 Bring them to our embracement. — Still 'tis strange, 
 
 [Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman. 
 He thus should steal upon us. 
 
 Paid. Had our princo; 
 
 (Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd s 
 Well with this lord; there vv;as not full a month l 
 Between their births. 
 
 Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou knovv'st, 
 
 He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure. 
 When I shall see this gentleman, thy sj)eeches 
 Will bring me to consider that, which may 
 Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. — - 
 
 Re-enter Cleomenes, with Florizel, PfiRDiXAj, 
 
 and Attendants. 
 Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ; 
 For she did print your royal father olf. 
 Conceiving you: were J but twenty-one. 
 Your father's image is so hit in you, 
 His very air, that 1 should call you brother. 
 As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly 
 By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
 And y^jur fair princess, godde.ss: — O, alas! 
 I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
 Might thus nave stood, begetting wonder, as 
 You, gracious couple, do! and then I lost 
 (All mine own folly,) the society. 
 Amity too, of your brave father; whom, 
 Tliough bearing misery, I desire my lii'e 
 Once more to look upon. 
 
 Flo. By his command 
 
 Have I here touched Sicilia ; and from him 
 Give you all greetings, that a king, a friend. 
 Can send his brother : and, but infirmity 
 (Which waits upon worn times.) hath somethic* 
 His wish'd abilitv, he had himself [seized 
 The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
 Measur'd, to look upon you ; whom he loves 
 (He bade me say so,) more than all the sceptres. 
 And those that bear them, living 
 
 Leon. O, my brother, 
 
 (Good gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee, 
 stir 
 
 Afresh within me ; and these thy offices. 
 So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
 Of my behind-hand slackness! — Welcome hither. 
 As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
 Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage 
 (At least, ungentle,) of the dreadful Neptune, 
 'J'o greet a man not worth her pains; much less 
 The adventure of her person ? 
 
 Flo. Good my lord, 
 
 Siie came from Libya. 
 
 Leon. Where the warlike Siralua 
 
 That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ? 
 
 Flo. Most royal sir, from thence; from him 
 whose daughter 
 His tears prociaim'd his, parting with her: thence 
 (A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have nross'd 
 
248 
 
 To cseru ? the charge my father gave me. 
 For \ isW!u<> your liiyiiness : my best train 
 I have I'.oii. your Sicilian shores disiniss'd ; 
 Who lor lioiiemia bend, to signify 
 Not only my success in Libya, sir. 
 But my arrival, and my wile's, in safety 
 He'-e, where we are. 
 
 Leon. The blessed gods 
 
 Purge all ififection from our air, wiiilst you 
 Do climate here ! You have a holy fatiier, 
 A graceltii gentleman: against whose person, 
 So sacred as it is, I have done sin : 
 For which tiie neavens, takiug angry note. 
 Have left me issueless; and your lather's bless'd 
 [As he from heaven merits it,) with you. 
 Worthy his goodness. What might 1 have been, 
 Might i a son and daughter now have look'd on. 
 Such goodly things as you ? 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. Most noble sir, 
 
 That, which I shall report, will bear no credit, 
 Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
 Bohemia greets you from himself, by me : 
 "Desires you to attach his son ; wiio has 
 iHis dignity and duty both cast oft",) 
 Fled from his father, liom liis hopes, and with 
 A shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak. 
 
 Lord. Here in the city; I now came from him: 
 I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
 My marvel, and my message. To your court 
 Whiles he was hast'ning, (in the chase, it seems. 
 Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way 
 The father of tliis seeming lady, and 
 Her brother, liaving both their country quitted 
 With this young prmce. 
 
 Flo. Camillo has befray'd me ; 
 
 Whose honour, and whose honesty, till nov\', 
 Endur'd all weathers. 
 
 Lord. Lay't so to his charge ; 
 
 He's with the king your lather. 
 
 Leon. Who ? Camillo ? 
 
 Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; wlio now 
 Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
 Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earth ; 
 Forswear themselves as often as they speak; 
 Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
 With divers deaths in death. 
 
 Per. O, my poor father ! — 
 
 The heavens set spies upon us, will not have 
 Our contract celebrated. 
 
 Leon. You are married? 
 
 Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
 The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first : 
 The odds for high and low's alike. 
 
 Leon. My lord. 
 
 Is this the daughter of a king? 
 
 Flo. She is. 
 
 When once she is my wife. [speed, 
 
 Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's 
 Will come on very slowly. I am sorry. 
 Most sorry, you have broken from his liking. 
 Where you were tied in duty : and as sorry, 
 Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty. 
 That you might well enjoy her. 
 
 Flo. Dear, look up : 
 
 Though fortune, visible an enemy. 
 Should chase us, with ray father; power no jot 
 Hath she to change our loves. — "Beseech you, sir. 
 Remember since you ow'd no more to tinie 
 Than 1 do now : with thought of such ati"ections. 
 Step forth mine advocate ; at your request. 
 My lather will grant precious things, as trifles. 
 
 Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious 
 Which he counts but a trifle. [mistress, 
 
 Paul. Sir, my liege. 
 
 Your eye hath too much youth in't : not a month 
 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such 
 I'han what you look on now. (gazes 
 
 Act V 
 
 Leon. I tliought of her, 
 
 Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 
 
 {To FloritelJ^ 
 Is yet unanswer'd : I will to your father; 
 Your honour not o'erthrown by ymir desires, 
 I am a friend to them, and you : u^jon which eiTand 
 1 now go toward him ; therefore, follow me. 
 And mark what way 1 make : Come, good my lord 
 
 [ExeunL 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter AuTOLYCUS and a Gentleman. 
 Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this 
 relation ? 
 
 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, 
 heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he 
 found it : whereupon, alter a little amazedness, we 
 were all commanded outof tiie chamber; only this, 
 methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the 
 child. 
 
 Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it 
 
 1 Gent. I make a broken deli\ery of the busi- 
 ness: — But the changes I percei\ed in the king^ 
 and Camillo, were very noles of admij ation : they 
 seemed almost, witli staring on one another, to tear 
 the cases of their eyes ; tiiere was speech in their 
 dumbness, language in their very gesture: they 
 looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or 
 one destroyed : A notable passion ol wonder ap- 
 peared in them ; but the wisest beiiolder, that knew 
 no more but seeing, could not say, if the import- 
 ance were joy, or sorrow : but in tiie extremity oi 
 the one, it must needs be. 
 
 Fatter another Gentleman. 
 Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows 
 more: The news, llogeroi* 
 
 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires : The oracle is 
 fulfilled; the king's daughter is found ; such a deal 
 of wonder has broken out within this hour, that bal- 
 lad-makers cannot be able to express it. 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 Here comes the lady Paulina's steward ; he can 
 deliver you more. — How goes it now , sir i this 
 news, which is called true, is so like an old tale, 
 that the verity of it is in strong suspicion : Has the 
 king found his heir ? 
 
 3 Gent. Most true ; if ever truth were pregnant 
 by circumstance : that, which you hear, you'll swear 
 you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The 
 mantle of queen Hermione : her jewel about the 
 neck 'of it : — the letters of Antigonus, found with 
 it, which they know to be his character : — the ma- 
 jesty ol the creature, in resemblance ol the mother; 
 — the aft"ection of nobleness, which nature shows 
 above her breeding, and many other evidences, 
 proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the king's 
 daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two 
 
 2Gent.^o. [kings? 
 
 3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was 
 to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you 
 have beheld one joy crown anothei ; so, and in such 
 manner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave 
 of them ; for their joy waded in tears. There was 
 casting up of eyes, holding up of hands ; with 
 countenance of such distraction, that, they were to 
 be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, 
 being ready to leap out of himseli for joy of his 
 found daughter, as if that joy were now become a 
 loss, cries, 0, thy mother, thy mother \ then asks 
 Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-ia 
 law; then again worries he his daughter, with clip- 
 ping her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which 
 stands by, like a weather bitten conduit of many 
 kings' reigns. I never heaid of such another ea- 
 counter, which lames report to follow it, and uo« 
 does description to do it. 
 
 2 Gent. What, pray you, became of AotigODOa* 
 that carried hence tiie cluld i 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
Scene 8. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 249 
 
 3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have 
 ni itter to jehearse, thotig-h credit' be asleep, and not 
 an ear open: He was torn to pieces with a bear: 
 this avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only 
 his innocence (which seems much,) to justify him, 
 but a handkerchiel, and rings, of his, that Paulina 
 knows. [lowers ? 
 
 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his fol- 
 
 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their 
 master's death; and in the view of the shepherd : 
 80 that all the instruments, which aided to expose 
 tiie child, were even then lost, whbn it was found. 
 But, O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sor- 
 row, was fought in Paulina ! She had one eye de- 
 clined for the loss of her husband ; another elevated, 
 that the oracle was iulfilled : She lifted the princess 
 from the earth; and so locks her in embracing, as 
 if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no 
 more be in danger of losing. 
 
 1 Gent. Tiie dignity ot this act was worth the 
 audience of kings and princes; for by such was it 
 acted. 
 
 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and 
 that which angled fur mine eyes, (caught the water, 
 though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of 
 the queen's death, with the manner how she canie 
 fo it, (bravely confessed and lamented by the king,) 
 how attentiveness wounded his daughter : tdl, from 
 one s gn of dolour to another, she did, with an 
 alas! 1 would fain say, bleed tears ; for, I am sure, 
 my heart vvept blood. Who was most marble 
 there, changed colour ; some swooned, all .sorrow- 
 ed : if all the world could have seen it, the woe had 
 been universal. 
 
 1 Gent. Ave they returned to the court? 
 
 3 Gent. No : tue princess, hearing of her mo- 
 ther's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — 
 apiece many yea.-s in doing, and now newly per- 
 formed by that r.ire Italian master, Julio Romano; 
 who, had' he liimself eternity, and could put breath 
 into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, 
 BO perfectly he is iier ape : he so near to Hermione 
 hath done liermione, that, they say, one would 
 speak to her, and stand in hope of answer : thither, 
 with all greediness of affection, are they gone; and 
 there they intend to sup. 
 
 I' Gent. I thought, she had some great matter 
 there in hand ; for she hath privately, twice or thrice 
 a day, e\er since the death of Hermione, visited 
 that removed house Shall we thither, and with 
 our company piece the rejoicing? 
 
 3 Gent. VVho would be thence, that has the 
 benefit of access ? every wink of an eye, some 
 new grace will be born : our absence makes us 
 unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentlemen. 
 i Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my ibrmer 
 \ life in me. would preferment drop on my head. I 
 brought the old man and his son aboard the prince ; 
 told him, I iieard him talk of a fardel, and 1 
 know not vvliat: but he at that time, overfond of 
 the shepherd's daugliter, (so he then took her to be,) 
 who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little 
 better, extremity of weather continuing, this mys- 
 tery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me : 
 for had i been the finder-out of this secret, it 
 would not have relished among my other discredits. 
 
 Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
 Here come those I have done good to against my 
 will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their 
 fortinie. 
 
 Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children; but 
 thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 
 
 Clo. You are well met, sir : You denied to fight 
 with me this other day, because I was no gentleman 
 born : See you these clothes ? say, you see them 
 not, and think me still no gentleman born : you 
 were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born. 
 Give me the lie; do; and try whether I am not 
 ■{ ow a gentle rnau born. 
 
 Aut. T know, yon are now, sir, a gentlomaiJ boru. 
 
 Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four 
 
 Shep. And so have I, boy. [hours. 
 
 Clo. So you have : — but I was a gentleman boru 
 before my father : for the king's son took me by 
 the hand, and called me, brother ; aiid then the 
 two kings called my father, brother: and then the 
 prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, 
 called my father, father; and so we wept; aud 'i 
 there was the first gentleman like tears that ever i 
 we shed. 
 
 Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 
 
 Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so 
 preposterous estate as we are. 
 
 Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me 
 all the faults I have committed to your worship, 
 and to give me your good report to the prince my 
 master. 
 
 Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle, 
 now we are gentlemen. 
 
 Clo. I'hou wilt amend thy life? 
 
 Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the 
 prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is io 
 Bohemia. 
 
 Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 
 
 Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman ? Let 
 boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it, 
 
 Shep. How if it be false, son? 
 
 Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman 
 may swear it in the behalf of his friend : — And I'll 
 swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy 
 hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I 
 know, thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that 
 thou wilt be drunk; but I'll swear it: and I 
 would, thou would'sL be a tall fellow of thy hands. 
 
 Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 
 
 Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: 
 If I do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be 
 drunk, not being a tall I'ellow, trust me not.— 
 Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are 
 going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow ns: 
 we'll be thy good masters. [ExeunL 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Room in Paulina'* 
 House. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Flokizel, Perdita, 
 CA3ULL0, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 
 Leon. O, grave and good Paulina, the great 
 That f have had of thee ! [comfort 
 
 Paul. What, sovereign sir, 
 
 I did not well, I meant well : All my services. 
 You have paid home : but that you have vouchsard. 
 With your crown'd brother, and these your con« 
 tracted 
 
 Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit. 
 It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
 My life may last to answer. 
 
 Leon. O Paulina, 
 
 We honour you with trouble : But we came 
 To see the statue of our queen ; your gallery 
 Have we pass'd through, not without much contest 
 In many singularities ; but we saw not 
 That which my daughter came to look upon. 
 The statue of her mother. 
 
 Paul. As she liv'd peerlear. 
 
 So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
 Excels whatever yet you look'd upon. 
 Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
 Lonely apart : But here.it is : prepare 
 To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever 
 Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say, 'tis well 
 
 [Paulina undratvs a curtain, and discovers a 
 I like your silence, it the more shows oft' [statue.) 
 Your wonder : But yet speak: — first, you, my liege, 
 Comes it not somethmg near ? 
 
 Leon. Her natural posture ! 
 
 Chide me, dear stone ; that I niay say, indeed. 
 Thou art Herreione : or rather, thou art she. 
 In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender. 
 
15,250 I V WW\ WINTEK'S TALE. u^..^ ' i) Act V. ^ 
 
 ^ ^tt^«vv^-, t>>^«ie^' 
 
 6^t^<A^h^t you can make her dc* 
 
 As itttanc y, and gracey -Biit yet, Paulina, 
 Kcxa»i««e*''^i^as"iiot so much wrinkled ; nothing 
 So aged, as this seems. 
 
 Pol. 0, not by much. 
 
 Paid. So much the more our carver's excellence ; 
 Wiiich lets ^o by some sixteen years, and makes her 
 As she liv'd now. 
 
 Leon. As now she might have done, 
 
 S(» much to my good comfort, as it is 
 Now piercing to my soul. 0, thus she stood. 
 Even with such lil'e of inajesty, (warm life, 
 As now it cohlly stands,) when first i woo'd her! 
 1 am ashamed : Does not the stone rebuke me. 
 For being more stone tlian it?— O, royal piece. 
 There's tnagic in tliy majesty ; which has 
 My evils conjiir d to remembrance; and 
 From tfiy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 Standing like stone with thee! 
 
 Per. And give me leave ; 
 
 And do not say, 'tis superstition, that 
 I kneel, and tlien implore her blessing. — Lady, 
 Dear queen, that ended when I but began. 
 Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. 
 
 Paul. O patience ; 
 
 The statue is but newly tix'd, the colour's 
 I* ot dry. 
 
 Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on ; 
 Which sixte en wi nters cannot blow away. 
 
 carce any joy 
 no sorrow, 
 But kill'd itself much sooner. 
 
 Pol. Dear my brother, 
 
 Let him that was the cause of this have power 
 To take oil' so much grief from you, as he 
 Will piece up in hiujself. 
 
 PauL Indeed, my lord, 
 
 If { had thought the sight ol my poor image 
 Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is 
 I'd not have show'd it. [mine,) 
 Leon. Do not draw t!ie curtain. 
 
 Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest your 
 .Vi ay tiiink anon, it moves. [fancy 
 
 Leon. Let be, let be. 
 
 Would I were dead, but (hat, methinks, already — 
 What was lie that did make it ? — See, my lord. 
 Would you not deem, it breath'd ? and that those 
 Diiie^rilj^bear blood? ^cXV [veins 
 
 l^oT^ ^ ^'""X ^Masterly done: 
 The very life seems warm upon her lip. 
 
 Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't. 
 As we are mock'd with art. 
 ^ Paul. I'll draw the curtain ; 
 
 J|v' AjVly lord's almost so far transported, that 
 He'll think anon, it lives. 
 
 Leoji. O sweet Paulina, 
 
 Make me to think so twenty years together; 
 No settled senses of the world can match 
 
 id ever so long ITveT 
 
 Left alone, 
 have thus far stirr'd 
 
 lleasure o: 
 PcacL I am 
 
 you : but 
 I could alflict you further. 
 
 Leo7t. Do, Paulina; 
 
 For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
 As any cordial comibrt. — Still, methinks, 
 Tliere is an air comes from her: what fine chisel 
 Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me, 
 Eur, .LwiU-k-iss- herr 
 
 Paul. Good, my lord, forbear: 
 
 The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; 
 Y ou'll mar it, if you kiss it ; stain your own 
 With oily painting: shall I draw the curtain? 
 Leon. No, not these twenty years. 
 /^er. So long could 1 
 
 Stand by, a looker on. 
 
 Paul. Either forbear. 
 
 Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you 
 For more amazement: if you can behold it, 
 I'll make the statue move indeed; descend, 
 And take you by the hand : but then you'll think, 
 ^(Which I protest against ' I am assisted 
 By wicked powers. — 
 
 Leon. 
 
 I au) content to look on : what to speak, 
 I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy 
 To make her speak, as move. 
 
 Paul, It is requir'd, 
 
 You do awake your faith: then, all stand still; 
 Or those, that think it is unlawful business 
 I am about, let them depart. 
 
 Leon. Proceed ; 
 
 No foot shall stir. 
 
 Patil. Music ; awake her ; strike.— 
 
 (Musie.) 
 
 'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more; approach; 
 Strike all that look iipon with marvel. Come ; 
 I'll fill your gr ave up : stir ; nay, come away ; 
 Uequeath to'llt'JiUl ynw numbness, for from him 
 Dear lii'e ^tl eepi^ ypn -^V"" perceive, she stirs: 
 
 ( Hei-mme coin es doivn from the pedestal.) 
 Start not: her actions shall be holy, as. 
 You hear, my spell is lawful : do not shun her. 
 Until you see her die again; for then 
 You kill her double : Nay, present your hand : 
 When she was young, you woo'd her; novv, in age. 
 Is she become the suitor. 
 
 Leon. O, she's warm ! {Embracing her,) 
 
 If this be magic, let it be an art 
 Lawful as eating. 
 
 Pol. She embraces him. 
 
 Cam. She hangs about his neck ; 
 If she pertain to life, let her sp^ak too. 
 
 Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd, 
 how stol'n from the dead ? 
 
 That she is living, 
 Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
 Like an old tale; but it appears, she live?. 
 Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. — 
 Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel, ; 
 And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good lady 
 Our Perdita is found. \, 
 {Presenting Perdita, ivho kneels to llermionWX 
 Her. You gods, look down. 
 
 And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
 Upon my daughter's head! — Tell me, mine own, 
 
 O 
 
 Paul. 
 
 Where hast thou been preserv'd ? where 
 how lound 
 
 Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, — 
 Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle 
 Gave Mbpe thou wast in being, — have preserv'd 
 Myself to see the issue. 
 
 Paul. There's time enough for that. 
 
 Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble * 
 Your joys with like relation. — Go together, 
 You precious dinners all; your exultation 
 Partake to every one. I, an old turtle. 
 Will wing me to some wither'd bough ; and thei* 
 My mate, that's never to be found again. 
 Lament, till I am lost. 
 
 Leon. O peace, Pa\diria : 
 
 Thou should'st a husband take by my consent. 
 As I by thine, a wife : this is a match. 
 And made between's by vows. Tiiou hast louifed 
 mine ; 
 
 But how, is to be question'd : for I saw her, 
 As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said manf 
 A prayer upon her grave : I'll not seek far 
 (For him, I paitly Itnow his mind,) to find thcc 
 An honourable husband : — Come, Camillo, V 
 And take her by the hand : whose worth and ho- 
 ls richly noted ; and here justified [newy 
 By us, a pair of kings. — Let's f rom this ])lace 
 What?— Look upon my brother ;— both your pa*. 
 
 dons, ^ aI/c ^' 
 
 That e'er I put between your holy looks 1 V^' 
 My ill suspicion.— This your son-in-law, V 
 And son unto thej^ng, (whom heavens directing,) ^ h 
 Is troth-plight to< gu> dau^l^ .— Good Paulina, j^^f^ 
 Lead us fr-om hencT; where may leisurely W 
 Each one demaud. and answer to his part '"^ V^. ^ 
 Perforin'd in this vviile gap «^Trme, since first V^X^^ 
 We were dissever'd: HastilV+etftl away. [iilxeuiUt \ » 
 
 ■v 
 
 / 
 
 A 
 
COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 w« a ca Dful revision of the following scenes, I do not hesilate to pronounce them the coraposiHp \ of tsf» 
 «ne«|ual writers, Shakspeare had luidoubtecHy a share in lliem ; but that the eniire play was no work o' pis, is 
 oitiuKiti which (as Benedict says) " lire cannot melt out of me ; 1 will die in it at the stake." Thus, we arfl 
 Informed by Aulas Gellius, lib. iii. cap. 3, some plays were absolutely ascribed to Flautus, which in trtJth lad only 
 been (rtlracia/ce eC txpolitce) retouched and polished by him. 
 
 In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinction of character; and our attention is less forciblT 
 engaged, because we can guess in great measure how the denouement will be brought about. Yet AS»e subject 
 Appears to l ave been reluctantly dismissed, even in this last and unnecessary scene; where the same rabtakes ats 
 continued, till the power of atiordiug entertainment is entirely lost. StMveits. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 so LINUS, Duke of Ephesus. 
 V!-:G£0N, a Merchant of Syracuse. 
 
 ( twin Brothers, and Sotis 
 ATSTIPIWLVS, of Ep/iest/s, \ to JEf/eon atid u^milia, 
 ANTIPHOLUS, 0/ Syracuse,) but unknown to each 
 
 ^ other. 
 
 DROMIO of Ephesus, ) trvin Brothers, and Attendants 
 DROMIO of Syracuse, i on the two Antipholus's. 
 BAJ.THAZA11, a Merchant. 
 
 Scene, — Ephesus. 
 
 ANGELO, a Goldsmith. 
 
 A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 PINCH, a Schoolmaster and a Conjurer. 
 EMILIA, Wile to JEaeon, an Abbess at EpAtsuSm 
 ADHIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. 
 LUCIANA, her Sister. 
 LLCE, her Servant. 
 A Courtezan. 
 
 Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A Hall in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Duke, iEcEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 jEge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall. 
 And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. 
 
 Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more; 
 I am not l artial to infringe our laws : 
 The enmity and discord, which of late 
 Sp ung: from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
 'J'o merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, — 
 Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, 
 Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods, — 
 Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. 
 For, since the mortal . ' ' -testine jars 
 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us. 
 It hath in solemn synods been decreed. 
 Both by the Syracusans and ourselves. 
 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : 
 Nay, more. 
 
 If an.y, boi u at Ephesus, be seen 
 
 At any Syracusan marts and fairs ; 
 
 Again, if any Syracusan born 
 
 Coine to tlie bny of Ephesus, he dies. 
 
 His goods confiscate to the duke's dispo.se 
 
 Unle.ss a thousand marks be levied, , 
 
 To quit the penalty, and to ransom him. 
 
 Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
 
 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; 
 
 Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die. 
 
 ^Ef/e. Yet this my comfort; when your words 
 are done, 
 
 My woes end likewise with the evening sun. 
 
 Duke. Well, Syracusari, say, in brief, the cause 
 W^hy thou depaitedst from thy native home; 
 And tor what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. 
 
 .^fje. A lieavier task could not have been irapos'd. 
 Than I t« sjieak my griefs unspeakable: 
 Vet that the world may witness, that my end 
 Was wrought by nature, not by \ile offence, 
 I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
 Ill Syracusa was I born ; and wed f 
 Unti) a woman, hapi y but for nje. 
 And by me too, had not our hap been bad. 
 With her 1 liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd, 
 Bj prosperous voyages I olten made 
 To Epidamnuuj, till my factor's death; 
 And he (great care of goods at random left) 
 Drew me trora kind embraceujents of my spouse ; 
 from whom my absence was not six nmnths old. 
 Before herself (almost at fainting under 
 The pleasing punishment that women bear.y 
 Had made provision for her following me. 
 
 And soon, and safe, arrived where I waS. 
 
 There she had not been long, but she became 
 
 A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 
 
 And which was strange, the one so like the ot.e 
 
 As could not be distinguished but by names. 
 
 That very hour, and in the self same inn, 
 
 A poor mean woman was delivered 
 
 Of such a burden, male twins, both alike : 
 
 Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 
 
 I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 
 
 My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys. 
 
 Made daily motions for our home return: 
 
 Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soor. 
 
 We came aboard : 
 
 A league lVon> Epidamnum had we sail'd, 
 
 Before the always wind obeying deep 
 
 Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 
 
 But longer did we not retain much hoye , 
 
 For what obscured light the heavens did graat 
 
 Did but convey unto our fearful minds 
 
 A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 
 
 Which, though myself would gladly have embrat A 
 
 Yet the ince.ssant weepings of my wife, 
 
 Weeping before for what she saw must come. 
 
 And piteous plainings of the pretty babes. 
 
 That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 
 
 Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. 
 
 And this it was, — for other means was none.— 
 
 The sailors sought for safety by our boat. 
 
 And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us • 
 
 My wife, more careful for the latter-born. 
 
 Had lasten'd him unto a small spare niast. 
 
 Such as sea-faring men provide for storms ; 
 
 To him one of the other twins was bound. 
 
 Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 
 
 The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, 
 
 Fixing our eyes o« whom our care was fut'd, 
 
 Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast; 
 
 And floating straight, obedient to the stream. 
 
 Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought 
 
 At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
 
 Dispers'd those vapours that offended us; 
 
 And, by the benefit of his wish'd light, 
 
 The seas wax'd calm, and wo discovered 
 
 Two ships from far making amain to us. 
 
 Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 
 
 But ere they came, — O, let me say no more ! 
 
 Gather the sequel by that went before. f«o: 
 
 Duke. Nay, forvvard, old wan, do not break oil 
 For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 
 
 j!Ege. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
 Worthily term'd them me rciless to us! 
 For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leaga 
 We were encounter'd by a mighty rjck; 
 
252 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Which being violently borne npon. 
 Our lielpful ship was si)iitted in the midst, 
 So that, in this unjust divorce ot" us, 
 FoitsMie had ieil to both of us alike 
 What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
 Her part, poor soul ! seeming' as burdened 
 With lesser weight; but net with lesser woe. 
 Was carried with more speed before the wind; 
 And in oiir sight they three were taken up 
 lly fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
 A t length, another sliip had seiz'd on us ; 
 Arjd, knowing whom it was their hap to save, 
 (3ave helpful welcome to their shii)vvreck'd guests; 
 Antt would have reft the fishers of their prey, 
 Had not tiieir bark been very slow of sail. 
 And therefore homeward did they bend their 
 course. — 
 
 Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss; 
 
 That by niisfortunes was my life prolong'd. 
 
 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. [for, 
 
 Duke, And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest 
 Do me the favour to dilate at full 
 What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. 
 
 ^ge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 
 At eighteen years became inquisitive 
 After his brother : and iniportun'd me, 
 That his attt^ndant, (for his case was like. 
 Reft of his brother, but retained his name,) 
 Might bear hin> company in the quest of him . 
 Whom whilst 1 labiur'd of a love to see, 
 1 hazarded the los » of whom I lov'd. 
 Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, 
 Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, 
 And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ; 
 Hopeless to find, yet loatii to leave unsought. 
 Or that^ or any place that harbours men. 
 But here must end tlie story of my life ; 
 And happy were I in my timely death, 
 Could all my travels warrant me they live. 
 
 DuKe. Hapless ^geon, whom the fates have 
 niark'd 
 
 To bear the extremity of dire mishap! 
 NoW; trust me, were it not against our laws. 
 Against my crown, my oath, my dignity. 
 Which princes, would they, may not disannul, 
 My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
 But though thou art ailjudged to the death. 
 And passed sentence may not be recall'd, 
 But to our honour's great disparagement. 
 Yet will I favour thee in what 1 can : 
 Therefore, merch;mt, I'll limit thee this day. 
 To seek tiiy help by beneficial help: 
 Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; 
 Beg thou, or borrow to make up the sum. 
 And live ; if not, tiien thou art doorn'd to die : — 
 Gaoler, fake him to thy custody. 
 Gaol. I will, my lord. 
 
 yEf/e. Hopeless, and helpless, doth iEgeon wend. 
 But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene H. — A Public Place. 
 
 Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and 
 a Merchant. 
 
 Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum, 
 Lest that your g(>ods too soon be confiscate. 
 This very day, a Syracusan merchant 
 \s apprehended for arrival here ; 
 And not beiu-i able to buy out his life. 
 According to the statute of the town, 
 X>ies ere tlie weary sun set in the west. 
 
 Jiere is your money that 1 had to keep. 
 
 Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host. 
 And stay tb»^re, Dromio, till I come to thee. 
 Within this hour it will be dinner-time: 
 Till that, rii view the manners of the town, 
 Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, 
 A nd then ret irn, and sle< p within mine inn ; 
 For with long travel I am stilf and weary. 
 G;t thee away. 
 
 I Dro. S. Many a man would take yoo at jou» 
 [ word, 
 And go indeed, having so good a mean. lExit< 
 
 Ant. S A trusty villain, sir; that very oft. 
 When I am dull with care and melancholy. 
 Lightens my humour with his merry jests. 
 What, will you walk with me about the town, 
 And then go to my inn, and dine with me ? 
 
 Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants. 
 Of whom 1 hope to make much benefit : 
 I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock, 
 Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart. 
 And afterwards consort you till bed-time ; 
 My present business calls me from you now. 
 
 Ant. S. Farewell till then : I will go lose myself, 
 And wander up and down, to view the city. 
 Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Ant. S. He, that commends me to mine own 
 Commends me to the thing I cannot get. [content, 
 I to the world am like a drop of water. 
 That in the ocean seeks another drop ; 
 Who, falling there to find his fellow forth. 
 Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: 
 So I, to find a mother, and a brother, 
 lu quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
 Here comes the almanack of my true date. — 
 What now ? How chance, thou art return'd so sooa? 
 Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'*! 
 too late : 
 
 The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; 
 The clock has strucken twelve upon the bell. 
 My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 
 She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; 
 The meat is cold, because you come not home; 
 You come not home, because you have no storaach; 
 You have no stomach, having broke your fast; 
 But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray. 
 Are penitent for your default to-day. 
 
 Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir ; tell me this, I praj 
 Where have you left the money that I gave you ? 
 Dro. E. O, — sixpence, that 1 had o' Wednesday 
 last. 
 
 To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper? — 
 The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. 
 
 Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now: 
 Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? 
 We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust 
 So great a charge from thine own custody ? 
 
 Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner : 
 I from my mistress come to you in post; 
 If I return, I shall be post indeed ; 
 For she will score your fault upon my pate 
 Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your 
 clock, 
 
 And strike you home without a messenger. 
 
 Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out 
 of season ; 
 
 Reserve them till a merrier hour than this: 
 Where is the gold 1 gave in charge to thee ? 
 
 Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to 
 me. [foolishneas. 
 Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your 
 And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 
 Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from 
 the mart 
 
 Home to your house, the Phuenix, sir, to dinner; 
 My mistress, and her sister, stay lor you. 
 
 Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me. 
 In what safe place you have bestow'd my moEey i 
 Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours. 
 That stands on tricks, when I am undispos'd: 
 Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? 
 
 Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate 
 Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders. 
 But not a thousand marks between you both.— 
 If I should pay your worship those again. 
 Perchance, you will not bear them patiently 
 
Act TI. Scene 2. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 25S 
 
 Ant. 'S. Thy mistress' marks ! what mistress. 
 
 slave, liast thou ? ^ [Phoenix; 
 
 Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
 She that doth fast, till yon come home to dinner, 
 And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. 
 Ant. S. What, wilt thou tiout me thus unto my 
 face, 
 
 Beiti^ forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. 
 
 Dr*i. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, 
 hold your hands ; 
 Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other. 
 The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
 They say, this town is full of cozenage ; 
 As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, 
 Dark-worlving sorcerers, that change the mind. 
 Soul-killing witches, that deform the body; 
 Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
 And many such like liberties of sin: 
 If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner, 
 ni to the Centaur, to go seek this slave ; 
 I greatly fear, my money is not safe. [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A public Place. 
 Enter Adriana oiwc/Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd, 
 That in such haste 1 sent to seek his master ! 
 Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 
 
 Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him. 
 And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. 
 Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: 
 A man is master of his liberty: 
 Time is their master; and, when they see time. 
 They'll go, or come: if so, be patient, sister. 
 
 Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more? 
 
 Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door. 
 
 Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 
 
 Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will. 
 
 Adr. There's none, but asses, will be bridled so. 
 
 Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lasli'd with woe. 
 There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye, 
 But hath its bound, in earth, in sea, in sky : 
 'J'he beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls. 
 Are their malt-s' subject, and at their controls: 
 Men, more divine, the masters of all these. 
 Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, 
 Indued with intellectual sense and souls. 
 Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls. 
 Are masters to their females, and their lords : 
 Then let your will attend on their accords. 
 
 Adr. 'V\i\=i servitude makes you to keep unwed. 
 
 Luc. Not this, but trembles of the marriage-bed. 
 
 Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear 
 some sway. 
 
 Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. 
 
 Adr. How if your husband start some other where? 
 
 Luc. 'i'ill he come home again, I would forbear. 
 
 Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she 
 pause ; 
 
 They can be meek, that have no other cause. 
 A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity. 
 We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry; 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain. 
 As much, or more, we should ourselves complain : 
 So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. 
 With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me: 
 But, if thou live to see like right bereft. 
 This tbol-begg'd patience in thee will be left. 
 
 Luc. Well, i will marry one day, but to try ; — 
 Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
 Adr. Say, is your tardy muster now at hand? 
 Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and 
 Jhat my two ears can witness. 
 
 Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ? know'st 
 
 thou his mind ? 
 ./^**{». E Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear: 
 
 Beshrew his hand, I scarce c( uld understand it. 
 
 Luc. Spake he so daubtluliy, thou couldst not 
 feel his meaning? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he struck sn plainly, I could too 
 well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that 
 I could scarce understand them. 
 
 Adr. But say, 1 pr'ythee, is he coming home? 
 It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn* 
 mad ! 
 
 Adr. Horn-mad, thon villain ? [stark mad : 
 
 Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; but, sure, he'i 
 When I desir'd him to come home to dinner, 
 He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
 'Tis dinner-time, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
 1^ our meat doth burn, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he: 
 Will you come home ! quoth I ; My gold., quoth he : 
 Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain? 
 The pig, quoth I, is burnd; My gold, quoth he: 
 My mistress, sir, q\uA\\ I ; Rang up thy mistresB f 
 1 know not thy mistress ; out on thy mistress ! 
 
 Luc. Quoth who? 
 
 Dro. E. Quoth my master: 
 / know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no 7nistres8 
 So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
 I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; 
 For, in conclusion, he did br at me there. 
 
 Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him 
 home. 
 
 Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? 
 For God's sake, send some other messenger. 
 
 Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy head across, 
 Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other 
 beating : 
 
 Between you I shall have a holy head. [home. 
 Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master 
 Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me. 
 
 That like a football you do spurn me thus? 
 
 You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither : 
 
 If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Luc. Fy, how impatience lowereth in your face ' 
 Adr. His company must do his minions grace, 
 Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
 Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
 From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it : 
 Are my discourses dull? barren my wit? 
 If voluble and sharp discourse be marrd, 
 Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. 
 Do tiieir gay vestments his ati'ections bait? 
 That's not my fault, he's master of my state ; ' 
 What ruins are in me, that can be found 
 By him not ruin'd ? then is he the ground 
 Ol'my defeatures : My decayed fair 
 A sunny look of his would soon repair: 
 But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, 
 And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 
 Luc. Self-harming jealousy ! — fy, beat it hencft 
 Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dl^ 
 pense. 
 
 I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; 
 Or else, what lets it but he would be here? 
 Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain ;— 
 Would that alone alone he would detain. 
 So he would keep fair quarter with his bed I 
 I see, the jewel, best enamelled. 
 Will lose his beauty ; and though ^o\d 'bides still 
 That others touch, yet often touching will 
 Wear gold : and so no man, that hath a name. 
 But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
 Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, | 
 I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. > 
 Luc. How many fond fools serve n)ad jealousy !| 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — The. same. 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dnnnio, is laid up 
 Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave 
 Is wander'd I'orth, in care to seek me out 
 
254 
 
 By computation, and mine host's report, 
 
 I couifi not speak wilh Droinio, sirire at first 
 
 f sent him irom the mart : See, here he conies. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
 How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd? 
 A.S yoti iove stro-kes, so jest with me aj^ain. 
 Vo l know no Centaur? yon receiv'd no gold ? 
 Vvir mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
 My ho'.ise was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad. 
 That tluis so madly thou didst answer me ? 
 Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I snch 
 a word? [since. 
 Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an iionr 
 I^ro. S. I did not see yon since you sent me lience, 
 Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's re- 
 ceipt; 
 
 And told'.st me of a mistress, and a dinner; 
 For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. 
 
 Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein : 
 W liat means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. 
 
 Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the 
 teeth ? 
 
 Think'st th(»u, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and 
 that. {Beating him.) 
 
 Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake : now your jest 
 is earnest : 
 Upon v.'hat bargain do yon j^ive it me? 
 
 Ant. S. Because tliat I familiarly sometime 
 Do use you for my fool, and chat with you. 
 Your sauciness will jest upon my love. 
 And make a comtnon of my serious hours. 
 When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport, 
 But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams. 
 If you will j(;st with me, knovv my aspect. 
 And fashion your demeanour to my looks, 
 Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 
 
 Dro. S. Sconce, call you it ; so you would leave 
 battering, I had rather have it a head ; an you nse 
 Ihesft blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, 
 and ensconce it too ; or else 1 shall seek my wit in 
 |niy shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten? 
 
 At.it. S. Dost thou not know? 
 
 Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that 1 am beaten. 
 
 Aiit. S. Shall I tell you why? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, 
 every why hath a wherefore. 
 
 A.nt. S. Why, first — for flouting me; and then, 
 wherefore, — 
 For urging it the second time to me. 
 
 Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out 
 of season ? 
 
 When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither 
 
 rhyme nor reason ? 
 Well, sir, 1 thank you. 
 
 Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something, that you 
 gave me for nothing. 
 
 Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you 
 nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner 
 t/me? [have. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir; 1 think, the meat wants that I 
 
 Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that? 
 
 Dro. S. Basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 
 
 Dro. S. if it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. 
 
 Ant. S. Your reason? 
 
 Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase 
 me another dry basting. 
 
 A7it. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; 
 There's a time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S I durst have denied that, before you were 
 ■o cho!e'--v. 
 
 Avt. S. By what rule, sir? 
 
 Dro S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
 bald pate of father Time himself. 
 Ant. S. Let's hear it. 
 
 Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his 
 hair, mat grows bald by nature. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 
 
 Dro. S, Yes, to pay a fine for his peruke, aad 
 recover the lost hair of another man. 
 
 Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, b©« 
 ing, as it is, so plentiful an excreinett? 
 
 Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he hestowf 
 on beasts : and what he hath scanted men in hair, 
 he hath given them in wit. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more 
 hair than wit. [to lose his hair. 
 
 Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit 
 
 Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy mec t-laiu 
 dealers without wit. 
 
 Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yfi 
 he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 
 
 Ant. S. For what reason? 
 
 Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 
 
 Dro. S. Sure ones, then. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing, 
 
 Dro. S. Certain ones, then. 
 
 Ant. S. Name them. 
 
 Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends 
 in tiring : the other, that at dinner they should not 
 drop in his porridge. 
 
 Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, 
 there is no time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to 
 recover hair lost by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why 
 there is no time to recover. 
 
 Dro. S. Thus 1 mend it : Time himself is bald, 
 and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald fol- 
 lowers. 
 
 Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion : 
 But soft! who wafts us yonder? 
 
 Enter Adriana and Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frovm; 
 Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, 
 I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. 
 The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldstTW, 
 That never words were music to thine ear, 
 That never object pleasing in thine eye. 
 That never touch well-welcome to thy hand. 
 That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, 
 Unle.ss I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. 
 How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes 
 That thou art then estranged from thyself: 
 Tliyself T call it, being strange to ine. 
 That, undividable, incorporate. 
 Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
 Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; 
 For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall 
 A drop of water in the breaking gulph. 
 And take unmingled thence that drop again. 
 Without addition, or diminishing. 
 As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
 How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, 
 Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious? 
 And that this body, consecrate to thee. 
 By ruft^ian lust should be contaminate? 
 Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me. 
 And hurl the name of husband in my face. 
 And tear the stain'd skin oft' my harlot brow. 
 And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring. 
 And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? 
 I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do iL 
 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; 
 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 
 For, if we two be one, and tliou play false, 
 I do digest the poison of thy flesh. 
 Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 
 Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; 
 1 live dis-stain'd, thou undishononred. 
 
 Ant. S. Plead you to me, lair dame ? I know yon 
 In E()hesus I am but two hours old, [not ; 
 
 As strange unto your town, as to your talk; 
 Who, every word by all my wit being stann d, 
 Want wit in all one word to understand. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 Luc. Fy, brother! how the world is chaiig'd with 
 you I 
 
 When were yon wont to use my sister thus? 
 She sent for yoi! by Dromio home to dinner. 
 Ant. S. By Dromio? 
 
 Dro. S. By me? [him,— 
 Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return from 
 That iip did buffet thee, and, in his blows. 
 Denied my house for his, me for his wife. 
 Ani. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- 
 woman ? 
 
 What is the course and drift of your compact? 
 
 Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou best; for even her very words 
 Didst tliou deliver to me on the mart. 
 
 Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. 
 
 A7it. S. How can she thus then call us by our 
 names. 
 
 Unless it be by inspiration? 
 
 Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity. 
 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, I 
 Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ? 
 Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt. 
 But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 
 Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine : 
 Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine; 
 Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state. 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
 If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 
 Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; 
 Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
 Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. 
 
 Ani. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me for her 
 theme : 
 
 What, was I married to her in my dream ? 
 Or sleep I now, and think I hear all tliis ? 
 What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? 
 Uhtil I know this sure uncertainty. 
 Ml entertain the oflVr'd fallacy. 
 
 Luc. Diomio, go bid the servants spread for 
 dinner. 
 
 Drc. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a 
 sinner. 
 
 This is the fairy land ; — O, spite of spiles ! — 
 We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; 
 If we obey them not, this will ensue. 
 They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 
 
 Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st 
 not'? [sot? 
 Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou sing, thou 
 
 Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I ? 
 
 Ant. S. I tliink, thou art, in mind, and so am I. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my 
 shape. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 
 Dro. S. No, I am an ape. 
 
 Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass. 
 Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I long for 
 grass. 
 
 "Tis so, 1 am an ass; else it could never be, 
 But I should know her, as well as she knows me. 
 
 Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool. 
 To put the finger in the eye and weep, 
 Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn. — 
 Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate : — 
 Husband, Til dine above with you to day. 
 And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks : — 
 Sirrah, il any ask you for your master. 
 Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. — 
 Come, sister: — Drouiio, play the porter well. 
 
 Ant. S. Am 1 in earth, in heaven, or in hell? 
 Sleeping or waking ? mad, or well-advis'd ? 
 Known unto these, and to myself disgui.s'd ! 
 ril say as they say, and pers^ver so. 
 And in this mist at all adventures go. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? 
 
 Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your 
 pate. 
 
 Luc. Come, come, Antipholug, we dine too late. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 255 
 
 ACT III. 
 Scene I. — The smnc 
 'Enter Antipholus ofEphesus, DnoMio of Ephesm, 
 Angelo, and Balthazar. 
 Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must xcutc 
 us all ; 
 
 My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours • 
 Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop. 
 To see the making of her carkanet, 
 Apd that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
 But here's a villain that would face me down; 
 He met me on the mart: and that I beat liim, 
 And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold{ 
 And that I did deny my wife and house : 
 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by 
 this? [I know; 
 
 Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what 
 That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to 
 show : [Rave were ink, 
 
 If the skin were parchment, and the blows you 
 Your own hand-writing would tell you what 1 think. 
 
 Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. 
 
 Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 
 
 By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. 
 I should kick, being kick'd ; and being at that pass, 
 You would keep from my heels, and beware of an 
 ass. 
 
 Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar : 'Pray 
 God, our cheer [here. 
 May answer my good will, and your good welcome 
 Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your 
 welcome dear. [fish, 
 A?it. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or 
 A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. 
 Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every 
 
 churl affords. 
 Ant. E. And welcome more common ; for that's 
 
 nothing but words. 
 Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes 
 
 merry feast. [ing guer' . 
 
 Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more spar- 
 But though ray cates be mean, take them in good 
 part; [heart. 
 Better cheer may you have, but not with better 
 But, soft; my door is lock'd; Go bid them let us 
 in. [Jenl 
 Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian , 
 Dro. S. ( V/ilhin.) Mome, malt-horse, capon, 
 coxcomb, idiot, patch! 
 Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the 
 hatch : [such store. 
 
 Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for 
 When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from 
 the door. 
 
 Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My 
 
 master stays in the street. 
 Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest 
 
 he catch cold on's feet. 
 Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door. 
 Dta. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll 
 
 tell me wherefore. 
 Ant. iJ. Wherefore? for my dinner? I haienot 
 
 din'd to-day. 
 Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come 
 
 again, when you may. 
 Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st iiie out from 
 
 the house I owe ? 
 Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and lay 
 
 name is Dromio, 
 Dro. E. O villain, ihon hast stolen hcth mine 
 
 office and my name ; [blame. 
 The one ne'er got me credit, the other niickle 
 If thou hadst been Dromio to- day in my place. 
 Thou wouidst have chang'd thy tace for a name, or 
 
 thy name for an ass. 
 Luce. {Wit/mi.) What a coil is there ! Dromio, 
 
 who are those at the gate ? 
 Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. 
 Luce. Faith no ; he cornea too latc- 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
255 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act in. 
 
 And so tell your master. 
 
 Dra. E. O lord, I must laugh : — 
 
 Have at yon with a proverb. — Shall 1 set in my 
 
 staff? [can yon tell? 
 
 Luce. Have at yon with another: that's, — When ? 
 Dro, S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou 
 
 hast answer d him well. 
 Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion ? you'll let us 
 
 in, I hope ? 
 Luce. I thought to have ask'd yon. 
 Dro. S. And you said no. 
 
 Dro. E. So, come, help ; weSl struck ; there was 
 
 blow for blow. 
 Ant. E. Tliou baggage, let me in. 
 ljucf. Can you tell for whose sake? 
 
 Dro. E. Master, knock the (ioiir hard. 
 Luct. Let hirtj knock till it ache. 
 
 A?it. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the 
 
 door down. 
 
 Luc€. What needs all this, and a pair of stocks 
 ^ in the town ? 
 
 * Adr, iTVith'm.) Who is that at the door, that 
 keeps uli this noise ? (unruly boys. 
 
 Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with 
 Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might have 
 come before. [door. 
 Adr. Your vvife, sir knave ! go, get you from the 
 Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave 
 
 would go sore. 
 Ang Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome ; 
 
 we would fain have either. 
 Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part 
 
 with neither, 
 Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid 
 
 them welcome hither. 
 Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we 
 
 cannot get in. 
 Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar- 
 ments were thin. 
 Vour Crtke here is warm within; you stand here in 
 the cold : [and sold, 
 
 ll would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought 
 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope 
 the gate. [your knave's pate. 
 
 Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break 
 Dro. E. A man may break a word with yo , sir ; 
 and words are but wind; [behind. 
 A y, and break it in your face, so he break it not 
 Dro. S. It seems thou wantest breaking : Out 
 
 upon thee, hind ! 
 Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee ! I pray 
 
 thee, let me in. 
 Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and 
 fish have no tin. [crow. 
 Ant. E. W ell, I'll break in : Go, borrow me a 
 Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean 
 you so ? [feather: 
 For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a 
 If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow to- 
 gether, icrow. 
 Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron 
 Bal. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so; 
 Herein you war against your reputation, 
 And draw within the compass of suspect 
 The unviolated honour of your wife. 
 Once this, — Your long experience of her wisdom. 
 Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 
 Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
 And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
 Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
 Be rul'd by me; depart in patience, 
 
 nd let us to the Tiger all to dinner: 
 And, about evening, come yourself alone. 
 To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
 If by strong hard you ofler to break in. 
 Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
 A vulg-ar comment will be made ou it; 
 And that supposed by the common rout 
 ^ Against your yet ungalled estimation, 
 V That may with foul intrusion enter in. 
 
 And dwell upon your grave when you are dead : 
 For slander lives upon succession ; 
 For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. 
 Ant. E. You have prevail'd ; 1 will depart ia 
 qniet, 
 
 And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
 I know a wench of excellent discourse, — 
 Pretty and witty; wild and yet, too, gentle;— 
 There will we dine : this woman that I meau 
 My wife (but 1 protest, without desert,) 
 Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal ; 
 To her will we to dinner. — Get you home. 
 And fetch the chain ; by this, I know, 'tis mad«: 
 Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ; 
 For there's the house ; that chain will 1 bestow 
 (Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,) 
 Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste : 
 Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
 I II knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. 
 Any. I'll meet you at that place, some honr 
 hence. 
 
 Ant. E. Do so ; this jest shall cost me some 
 expense. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene U.—T/ie same. 
 Enter Luciana Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 Luc. And may it be, that you have quite forgot 
 A husbat)d's office ? shall, Antipholus, hate, 
 Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? 
 
 SliaJl love, in building, grow so ruinate ? 
 If you did wed my sister for her wealtii, 
 
 Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with mere 
 kindness : 
 
 Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; 
 Muffle your false love with some show of blind- 
 ness : 
 
 Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 
 
 Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; 
 Look sweet, speak lair, become disloyalty ; 
 
 Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: 
 Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ; 
 
 Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; 
 Be secret-false : What need she be acquainted ? 
 
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 
 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed. 
 
 And let her read it in thy looks at board : 
 Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 
 
 III deeds are doubled with an evil word. 
 Alas, j;oor women ! make us but believe. 
 
 Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
 Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ; 
 
 We in your motion turn, and you may move us. 
 Then, gentle brother, get you in a-gain ; 
 
 Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife ; 
 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain. 
 
 When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
 Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, 
 I know not, 
 
 Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) 
 Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, yo« 
 show not. 
 
 Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth divine. 
 Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ; 
 
 Lay open to my earthly gross conceit, 
 Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak. 
 
 The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
 Against my soul's pure truth why labour you, 
 
 To make it wander in an unknown field ? 
 Are you a god ? would you create me new? 
 
 Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield 
 But if that I am I, then well I knovy. 
 
 Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 
 Nor to her bed no homage do I owe ; ^ 
 
 Far more, far more, to you do 1 decline. 
 O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note. 
 
 To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; 
 Sing, siren, for thyself, and I vvill dcte : 
 
 Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden haira. 
 And as a bed I'W take t.\ee, and there lift; 
 
 And. m that glorious supposition, think 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 25T 
 
 He gains by death, that h-th such means to die : — 
 Let love, being light, be (iiowned il'she sinit! 
 Luc. VVhat, are you mad, that you do reason so2 
 Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not 
 know. 
 
 Luc. It is a fault, that springeth from your eye. 
 Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, lair sun, 
 
 being by. [your siglit. 
 
 Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear 
 Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on 
 
 roglit. 
 
 Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sister so. 
 
 Ant. S. Tijy sister's sister. 
 
 Lug. That's my sister. 
 
 Ant. S. • No ; 
 
 It IS thyself, mine own selfs better part; 
 Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; 
 My food, my iortune, and my sweet hope's aim, 
 My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. 
 
 Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 
 
 Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for 1 aio. thee: 
 I'liee will I love, and with thee lead my life; 
 Tliou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife : 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still ; 
 
 I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Ex\.\ 
 
 Enter, from the house of A ntipholus of Ephesus, 
 Dromio of kiyracu.se. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio ? where run'st 
 thou so fast ? 
 
 Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? 
 ajn I your man ? am I myself? 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
 art thyself 
 
 Dry. S. I am an ass, 1 am a woman's man, and 
 besides myself. [thyself? 
 
 Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to 
 8 woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me, 
 one that will have ine. 
 
 Ant. S. VVhat claim lays she to thee ? 
 
 Ore. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay 
 i-T your horse ; and she would have me as a beast : 
 not that, I being a beast, she would have me ; but 
 tl'.at she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim 
 
 A?it. S. What is she ? [to me. 
 
 Dro. S. A very reverent body ; ay, such a one 
 as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir- 
 reverence : I have but lean luck in the match, and 
 yet is she a wondrous fat marriage ? 
 
 Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and 
 all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, 
 but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by 
 her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow 
 in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives 
 till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the 
 whole world. 
 
 Ant. S. What complexion is she of? 
 
 Dro. S. Swa'-t, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
 like so clean kept; For why, she sweats, a man may 
 gi) over shoes in the grime of it. 
 
 Ant. S. That's a fault, that water will mend. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood could 
 
 Ant. S. What's her name ? [not do it. 
 
 Dro. S. Nell, sir; — but her name and three 
 quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not 
 measure her from hip to hip. 
 
 Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ? 
 
 Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from 
 hip to hip - she is spherical, like a globe; I could 
 find out ciuntries in her. 
 
 Afit. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks ; I found it 
 out by the bogs. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Scotland ? 
 
 Dro. S. I found it by the barrenneas ; hard, in the 
 palm of the hand. 
 Ant. S. Where France ? 
 
 Dro. S. In her forehead ; armed and reverted, 
 
 making war against her hair. 
 Ant. S. Where England ? 
 
 Dro. S. I looked for the cha cliffs, b«it I cortld 
 find no whiteness in them; but 1 guess, it stood ia 
 her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
 and it. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Spain? [her breath. 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot ia 
 
 Ant. S. Where America, the India's? 
 
 Dro. S. Of sir, upon her nose, all o'er embel 
 lished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining; 
 their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain ; who sent 
 whole armadas of carracks, to be ballast to her nose 
 
 AnS. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netheilands? 
 
 Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To con- 
 clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; 
 called me Dromio; swore, I was assured to her; 
 told me what privy marks I had about me, as the 
 mark on my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the 
 great wart on my lei't arm, that I, amazed, ran 
 from her as a witcl* . and, I think, if my breast 
 had not been made of faifh, and my heart of steel, 
 she had transfGrn>vd me to a curtail-dog, and made 
 me turn i'the wheel. 
 
 Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road ; 
 And if the wind bl' vv any way from shore, 
 I will not harbour in this town to-night. 
 If any bark put forth, come to the mart. 
 Where I will walk till thou retu'"a to me. 
 M' every one know us- and we know none, 
 'Tis time, I think, ti' trudge, pack, and be gone. 
 
 Dro. S. As from ct bear a man would run for life, 
 Sc fly I from her, that would be my wife. [Emi. 
 
 Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here ; 
 And therefore 'tis high time that I were he.:5ce. 
 She, that doth call me husband, even my sou 
 Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister, 
 Possess'd with sufh a gentle sovereign grace. 
 Of such enchanting presence and discourse. 
 Hath almost made me traitor to myself: 
 But, lest myself b** guilty to self-wrong, 
 I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 
 
 E7iter Angelo. 
 
 Ang. Master Antipholus ? 
 
 Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. 
 
 Ang. I know it well, sir ; Lo, here is the chain : 
 I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine : 
 The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 
 
 Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do wi<h 
 this ^ [for you. 
 
 Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have made it 
 
 Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. 
 
 Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you 
 have : 
 
 Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; 
 And soon at supper-time FU visit you. 
 And then receive my money for the chain. 
 
 A7it. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now. 
 For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. 
 
 Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. What I should think of this I cannot 
 But this I think, there's no man is so vain, [tell-. 
 That would refuse so fair an oiFer'd chain. 
 I see, a man here needs not live by shifts. 
 When in the streets he meets such golden gifl^. 
 I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ; 
 If any ship put out, then straight away. [EatU 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The same 
 Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officsv, 
 Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due, 
 And since I have not much importun'd you ; 
 Nor now I had not, but that I am bound 
 To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage: 
 Therefore make present satisfaction, 
 17 
 
758 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Or I'll attach you by this ofBcer. 
 
 Ang. Even jnst tlie sum, that I do owe to yon, 
 
 growing to me by Antipiiolus : 
 And ill t.'ie instant, that I met with you. 
 He had of me a chain ; at five o'clooii, 
 I shall receive the nM)ney for the same: 
 Pleasetli you walk with me down to his house, 
 i will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Ep/iesus, and Dromio of 
 Ephesus. 
 
 Off. That labour may you save ; see where he 
 comes. [thou 
 Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go 
 And buy a rope's end ; th^tt will I bestow 
 Among my wife and her confederates. 
 For locking me out of my doors by day. — 
 But soft, 1 see the goldsmith : — get thee gone ; 
 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 
 Vro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I buy 
 a rope ! [Exit Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to 
 you : 
 
 I promised your presence, and the chain ; 
 But neither ciiain, nor goldsmith, came to me: 
 Belike, you thought our love would last too long, 
 If it were chaiu'd together; and therefore came 
 not. 
 
 Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note, 
 How^ much yourchuin weighs to the utmost carat; 
 The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion ; 
 VVMiich doth amount to three odd ducats more 
 Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 
 1 pray you, see him presently diseharg"d. 
 For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. 
 
 Anf. E. I ain not furnish'd with the present 
 money ; 
 
 Besides, I have some business in the town : 
 (iood signior, take the stranger to my house, 
 And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
 Disburse tlie sum on the receipt thereof; 
 Perchance^ I will be there as soon as you. 
 Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her your- 
 self? [time enough. 
 Ant. E. No ; bear it with yon, lest I come not 
 Ang. Well, sir, I will: have you the chain 
 about you ? 
 
 Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have ; 
 Dr else you may return without your money. 
 Ang. JNay, come, 1 pray you, sir, give rae the 
 chain ; 
 
 Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman. 
 And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
 Ant. E. (Jood lord, you •\se this dalliance, to 
 
 excuse 
 
 Your breacli of promise to the Porcupine : 
 1 should have chid you for not bringing it, 
 But. like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 
 
 Mer. The hoar steals on : I pray yon, sir, de- 
 spatch, [chain — 
 Ang. You hear how he importunes me; the 
 Ant. E. VVhy, give it to my wife, and fetch 
 your njoney. [now ; 
 Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it yon even 
 E ther send the ch iin, or send me by some token. 
 Ant. E. Fy ! now you run this humour out of 
 breath : [it. 
 Come, where's the chain? I pray you. let me see 
 
 Met My business cannot brook this dalliance : 
 Good ffir, say, wlie'r you'll answer me, or no ; 
 li' not, 1 I! leave him to the officer. 
 Ant. E. I answer you ! What should I answer 
 you ? 
 
 Ang The money, that you owe me for the chain. 
 Ant E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. 
 Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour 
 since. 
 
 Ant. E. You gave me none ; you wrong me 
 
 much to say so. 
 Ang You ^roug uie more, isir, in denying it; 
 
 Consider, how it stands upon my credi*i. 
 
 Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit 
 
 Off. I do; and charge you, in the duke's nam* 
 to obey me. 
 
 Ang. This touches me in reputation : — 
 Either consent to pay this sum for me, 
 Or I attach you by this oliicer. 
 
 Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had ! 
 Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer: 
 I would not spare niy brother in this case. 
 If he should scorn me so apparently. 
 
 Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit. 
 
 Ant. E. I do .obey thee, till I give tlu e bail :— • 
 But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 
 As all the metal in your shop will answer. 
 
 Ang. Sir, sir, 1 shall have law in Ephesus, 
 To your notorious shame, 1 doubt it not. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, 
 That stays but till her owner conies aboard. 
 And then, sir, bears away : our IVaiightage, sir, 
 I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought 
 The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-\ itap. 
 The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind 
 Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at aU, 
 But for their owner, master, and yourself. 
 
 Ant. E. How now! a madman? Why, thou 
 peevish sheep. 
 What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ? 
 
 Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee lor a 
 rope ; 
 
 And told thee to what purpose, and what end. 
 
 Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope s end as soon: 
 You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bai k. 
 
 Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leis'..je. 
 And teach your ears to listen with more lieed. 
 To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight , 
 Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
 That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry. 
 There is a f)urse of ducats ; let her send it; 
 Tell her I am arrested in the street, 
 And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave; be gone. 
 On, officer, to [)rison, till it come. 
 
 [Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and Ant.E 
 
 Dro. S. 'i'o Adriana! that is wiiere we din'd, 
 Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband ; 
 She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
 Thither I must, although against my will. 
 For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. 
 
 Scene U.— The same. / 
 Enter Adriana and Luciana. 
 Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? 
 Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye. 
 That he did plead in earnest, yea or no ? 
 
 Look'd he or red, or pale ; or sad, or merrily ? 
 What observation mad'st thou in this case. 
 Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face ? 
 
 Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right 
 Adr. He m.eant, he did me none ; the more my 
 spite. 
 
 Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. 
 Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he 
 Luc. Then pleaded 1 for you. [were. 
 Adr. And what said he ? 
 
 Luc. That love, I begg'd for you, he begg'd oi 
 me. 
 
 Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy 
 love ? [move. 
 
 Luc. With words, that in an honest ^-nit might 
 First, he did praise my beauty ; then, my speech. 
 
 Adr. Did'st speak him fair? 
 
 Li/c. Have patience, I beseech 
 
 Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still ; 
 M) tongue, though not my heart, shall have hil 
 He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, [will, 
 lll-fac'd, worse-bouied, shapeless every wher" 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 259 
 
 Vicious, an^entle, foolish, blont, nukind ; 
 Stiemaiical in niakinpf, worse in mind. 
 
 Luc. VVfao would be jealous then of such a one ? 
 No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 
 Adr. All ! but I tiii-nk. him better than I say. 
 And yet would herein others' eyes were worse: 
 Far from her nest the lapwing cries away ; 
 
 My heart prays for him, though my tongue do 
 curse. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
 
 Dro. S. Here, go ; the desk, the purse ; sweet 
 now, make haste. 
 
 Luc. Flow hast thou lost thy breath? 
 
 Dro. S. By running fast. 
 
 Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? 
 
 l)ro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell: 
 A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, 
 One, whose hard iieart is button'd up with steel ; 
 A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough ; 
 A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; 
 A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun- 
 termands 
 
 The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; 
 A hound, that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot 
 well ; . [hell. 
 
 One (hat, before the judgment, carries poor souls to 
 Aiir. Why, man, what is the matter? 
 Dro. S. I do not know the matter ; he is 'rested 
 on the case. [suit. 
 Adr. What, is he arrested ? tell me, at whose 
 Dro. S. I know not at wliose suit he is arrested, 
 well ; [can I tell : 
 
 But he's in a suit of bulT, which 'rested him, that 
 Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money 
 in the desk J 
 Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This I wonder at. 
 
 [Exit Luc'tana. 
 That he, unknown to me, should be in debt : — 
 Tell uie, was he arrested on a band? 
 
 Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; 
 A chain, a cliain; do you not hear it ring? 
 Adr. What, the chain ? [gone. 
 Dro. S No, no, the bell : 'tis time, that I were 
 It was two ere I left him, and now the clock st. ikes 
 one. [hear. 
 Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never 
 Dto.S. O, yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, a 
 
 'turns back for very fear. 
 Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost 
 
 thou reason ? 
 Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more 
 than he's worth, to season. 
 Nay, he's a tliief too: have you not heard men say, 
 That time comes steaHng on by night and day ? 
 W he be in debt, an<l theft, and a sergeant in the way. 
 Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day ? 
 
 Enter Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it 
 straight ; 
 
 And bring thy master home immediately.— 
 Come, sister; 1 am press'd down with conceit ; 
 Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III.— The same. 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 Ant. S. There's not a man I meet, but doth 
 salute me 
 
 As if I were their well-acquainted friend; 
 And every one doth call me by my name. 
 Soiui- lender money to me, some invite me ; 
 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
 Some olfer me couunodities to buy: 
 Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, 
 And show'd n»e silks that he had bought for me 
 And, therewithal, took measure of my body. 
 Sure these are but imaginary wiles, 
 And Lapiaud sorcerers inhabit here 
 
 Enter DroMIO of Syracuse. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for: 
 What, have you got the picture of old Adam new 
 apparell'd? [thou mean? 
 
 Ant. S. What gold is this ? What Adam dod 
 
 Dro. S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradiw 
 but that Adam, that keeps the prison : he, that go 
 in the calf's-skin, that was killed for the prodign 
 he, that came beJiind you, sir, like an evil ang 
 and bid you forsake your liberty 
 
 Ant. S. I understand thee not. 
 
 Dro. S. No ? why, 'tis a plain case : he that went 
 like a base-viol, in a case of leather ; the man, sir, 
 that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, 
 and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed 
 men, and gives them suits of durance ; he, that sets 
 up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than 
 a morris-pike. 
 
 Ant. S. What! thoa mean'st an olBcer? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; be 
 that brings any man to answer it, that breaks hia 
 band ; one, that thinks a man always going to bed, 
 and says, God give you good rest ! 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is 
 there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be 
 gone ? 
 
 Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour 
 since, that the bark, Expedition, put forth to night ; 
 and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry 
 for the hoy, Delay : Here are the angels that yoa 
 sent for, to deliver you. 
 
 Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I; 
 And here we wander in illusions ; 
 Some blessed power deliver us from hence! 
 
 Enter a Courtezan. 
 
 Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholiis. 
 I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
 Is that the chain you promis'd me to-day ? 
 
 Ant. S. Sntan, avoid ! I charge thee tempt me not! 
 
 Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan ? 
 
 Ant. S. It is the devil. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; 
 and here she comes in the habit of a light wench ; 
 and thereof comes that the wenches say, Goa 
 damn me, that's as much as to say, God make 
 me a liyhi ivench. It is written, they appear to men 
 like angels of light : light is an eftect of fire, and fire 
 will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn ; Come not 
 near her. [sir. 
 
 Cour. Your man and you are marvellous meiry, 
 Will you go with me ? We'll mend our dinner here 
 
 Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or 
 bespeak a long spoon. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, Dromio? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spocn, that 
 must eat with the devil. 
 
 Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me 
 of supping? 
 Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress: 
 I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. 
 
 Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner* 
 Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd ; 
 And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring of oa©*« 
 nail, 
 
 A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 
 A nut, a cherry-stone ; but she, more covetous. 
 
 Would have a chain. 
 
 Muster, be wise ; an' if you give it he , 
 
 The devTl will shake her chain, and fright us with H» 
 
 Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; 
 I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so. 
 
 Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, le» 
 us go. 
 
 Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress, 
 that you know. 
 
 [Exeunt Ani. S. and Dro. & 
 Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad. 
 
260 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act it 
 
 Else would he never so demean himself: 
 A ring- he hath oS" mine worth forty ducats, 
 And tor the same he promis'd me a chain ; 
 
 oth one, and other, he denies me now. 
 The reason tiiat I gather he is mad, 
 
 1 Besides this present instance of his rage,) 
 s a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner. 
 Of ijis own doors being shut against his entrance. 
 IJplike, his wile, acquainted with his fits, 
 On purpose shut the door against his way. 
 My way is now, to hie home to his house, 
 knd tell iiis wife, that, being lunatic. 
 He rush d into my house, and took perforce 
 My risig away : This course 1 fittest choose ; 
 For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. 
 Enter ANTirnoLUS of Ephesus, and an Officer-. 
 Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away ; 
 II give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money 
 
 To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
 
 My wife is in a wayward mood to day ; 
 
 And will not lightly trust the messenger, 
 
 That I should be attach'd in Ephesiis : 
 
 1 tell you, 'tvvill sound harshly in her ears. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Ephesus, with a rope's end. 
 Here comes my man ; I think, he brings the money. 
 How now, sir ? have you that I sent you for ? 
 
 Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them 
 all. 
 
 Ant. E. But where's the money? 
 Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. 
 Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, viilam, for a rope? 
 Dro. E I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. 
 Ant. E, Tc what end did I bid thee hie thee home ? 
 Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that end am 
 I return'd. 
 
 Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome 
 you. {Beating him.) 
 
 Off". Good sir, be patient. [adversity. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for ine to be patient; I am in 
 
 Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. [hands. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his 
 
 Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! 
 
 Dro. E. I would 1 were senseless, sir, that I might 
 not feel your blov\s. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou art s.enslble in nothing but blows, 
 and so is an ass. 
 
 Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may prove it 
 by my long ears. I have served him from the hour 
 of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at 
 hw hands for my service but blows : When 1 am 
 cold, he heats me with beating : when I am warm, 
 he cools me with beating. I am waked with it, when 
 I sleep; raised with it, when 1 sit; driven out of 
 doors with it, when I go from home ; welcomed 
 home with it, when I return : Nay, 1 bear it on my 
 ghoulders, as a beggar wont her brat; and, I think, 
 ivhen he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from 
 door to door. 
 
 Eraser Adriana, Luciana, and the Courtezan, 
 with Pinch, and others. 
 Ant. E. Come, go along ; my wife is coming 
 yonder. 
 
 Dro. E. Mistress, respice finem, respect your 
 pnd ; or rather the prophecy, like the parrot. Beware 
 the rope's end. 
 
 Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? {Beats him.) 
 
 Cour. How say you now? is not your husband mad ? 
 
 Adr. His incivility confirms no less. — 
 Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; 
 Establish him in his true sense again. 
 And I will please you what you will demand. 
 
 Iiuc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! 
 
 Cour Mark, how he trembles iu his ecstacy! 
 
 Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me leei your 
 pulse. 
 
 Ant. M. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. 
 
 Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within xhy^ 
 man. 
 
 To yield possession to my holy prayers. 
 
 And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight; 
 
 1 conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. 
 
 Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ; I am not 
 mad. 
 
 Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed oonP 
 Ant. E. You, minion, you, are these your cus. 
 tomers ? 
 
 Did this companion with the saffron face 
 Revel and feast it at my house to day, 
 Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, 
 And 1 denied to enter in my house ? 
 Adr. O husband, God doth know, you din'd at 
 home, 
 
 Where 'would you had remain'd until this time. 
 Free from these slanders, and this open shame ! 
 
 Ant. E. I din'd at home ! Thou villain, what 
 say st thou ? [home. 
 
 Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at 
 
 Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut 
 out ? [shut out 
 
 Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were lock'd, and you 
 
 Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there? 
 
 Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. 
 
 Ard. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and 
 scorn me ? [you. 
 
 Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen- vestal scorn'd 
 
 Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence? 
 
 Dro. E. In verity you did; — my bones bear wit- 
 ness. 
 
 That since have felt the vigour of his rage. 
 
 Adr. Is't good to sooth him in these contraries? 
 
 Pinch. It is no shame ; the fellow finds his vein. 
 And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to 
 arrest me. 
 
 Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you. 
 By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 
 Dro. E. Money by me ? heart and good-will you 
 might, 
 
 But, sureh', master, not a rag of money. 
 Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of 
 ducats ? 
 
 Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. 
 
 Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did. 
 
 Dro. E. God and the rope-maker, bear me wit- 
 That I was sent for nothing but a rope ! [ness. 
 
 Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is possess'd ; 
 I know it by their pale and deadly looks : 
 They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 
 
 Ant. E. Say^ wherefore didst thou lock me forth 
 to-day ; 
 
 And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? 
 
 Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 
 
 Dro. E, And, gentle master, I rcceiv'd no gold; 
 But 1 confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 
 
 Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in 
 both. 
 
 Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all; 
 And art confederate with a damned pack, 
 To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : 
 But with these nails Til pluck out these false eyes. 
 That would behold me in this shameful sport. 
 
 [Pinch and his Assistants bind Ant. E. and 
 Dro. E. 
 
 Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come 
 near me. [wi(hit» him. 
 
 Pinch. More company ; — the fiend is strong 
 
 Luc. A h me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks! 
 
 Ant. E. What, wilt thou murder me? Thou 
 gaoler, thou, 
 I am thy prisoner; wilt thou sufTer them 
 To mak^ a rescue ? 
 
 Off. Masters, let him go : 
 
 He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
 
 Pinch. Go, bind this man, foi he is frantic too. 
 
 Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? 
 Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
 
^CT V. Scene 1. COMEDY C 
 
 Do outrage and displeasure to himself ? 
 
 Off', tie is my prisoner; if I let him go, 
 The debt he owes v\ill be reijuir'd of me. 
 
 Adr. 1 will discharge thee, ere I go from thee ; 
 Sear mc forthwitl) unto his creditor. 
 Lad, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
 (rood master doctor, see him. safe convey'd 
 Home to my house. — O most unhappy day ! 
 
 Ant. E. b most uiiluippy strumpet! 
 
 Dro. E. Master, i am iiere enter'd in bond for you. 
 
 AnL E. Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou 
 mail me V 
 
 Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing ? be mad, 
 Good mast(-r; cry, the devil. — 
 
 Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk ! 
 Adr. Go, bear him hence. — Sister, go you with 
 me. — 
 
 [Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, tcith Ant. E. 
 and Dro. E. 
 Sf)y now, whose suit is he arrested at? 
 
 Off^. One Anf elo, a goldsmith : Do yon know him ? 
 Adr. 1 know the man : What is the sum he owes ? 
 Off". Two hundred ducats. 
 
 Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 
 
 OJjT. Due for a chain, your husband liad of him. 
 
 Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. 
 
 Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day 
 Came to my house, and took away my ring, 
 fThe ring I saw upon his finger now,) 
 Straight after, did I meet hini with a chain, 
 
 Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it : — 
 Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is, 
 I long to know tae truth hereof at large. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, with his rapier 
 drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse. 
 
 Lite. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. 
 
 Adr. And come with naked swords; let's call 
 more help, 
 To have them bound again. 
 
 Ojf. Away, they'll kill us. 
 
 [Exeunt Officer, Adr. and hue. 
 
 Ant. S. I see, these witches are ati aid of swords. 
 
 Dro, S. She, tiiat would be your wife, now ran 
 from you. [I'rom thence : 
 
 Ant. S. Ci>n»e to the Centaur; fetch our stutF 
 i 1 >ng, that we were sale and sound aboard. 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they will 
 Burely do us no harm ; you saw, they speak us lair, 
 give us gold : metliinks, they are such a gentle 
 oation, that but for the mountain of mad tlesh that 
 claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to 
 Uay here still, and turn witch. 
 
 Ant. S. 1 will not stay to-night for all the town ; 
 Therefore away, to get our stuli" aboard. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. 
 Enter Merchant and Anoelo. 
 
 Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you; 
 Gut, I protest, he had the chain of me. 
 Though rnost dishonestly he doth deny it. 
 
 Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the city? 
 
 Ang. Of very reverent reputation, sir. 
 Of credit inlinite, higlily belov'd. 
 Second to none that Ti\es here in the city; 
 His word nught bear my wealth at any tune. 
 
 Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he walks. 
 
 Enter A ntipholus and Dromio of Syracuse. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck. 
 Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. 
 Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. — 
 Signior Antipholus, I wonder much. 
 That you wtjuld put me to this shame and trouble ; 
 And not without some scandal to yourself, 
 With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny 
 This chain, which now you wear so openly ; 
 Besides the <:harge, the shauje, iniprisooujent. 
 
 ^ ERRORS. 261 
 
 Yon have done wrong to this my honest friendj 
 Who, but for staying on our controversy. 
 Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day : 
 This chain you had of me, can you deny it? 
 
 Ant. E. 1 think 1 had ; 1 never did deny it 
 
 Mer. Yes, that yon did, sir ; and forswore it too. 
 
 A?ii. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it? 
 
 Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did heai 
 thee ; 
 
 Fy on thee, wretch! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st 
 To walk, where any honest men resort. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art a villain, to impeach me thus : 
 I'll prove mine honour and niine honesty 
 Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. 
 
 Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain, 
 
 {They draw 
 
 Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, and oihere. 
 Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake ; he is 
 mad ; — 
 
 Some get within him, take his sword away: 
 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
 Dro. S. Run, master, run; for God's sake, take 
 a house. 
 
 This is some priory : — In, or w^e are spoil'd. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro S. to the Pricr^. 
 
 Enter the Abbess. 
 Abb. Be quiet, people : Wherefore throng yoo 
 hither? 
 
 Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence: 
 Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, 
 And bear him home for his recovery. 
 
 Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits. 
 
 Mer. 1 am sorry now, that I did draw on him. 
 
 Abb. How long hath this possession held the n>an ? 
 
 Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, saci. 
 And nmch, much dilferent from the man he was; 
 But, till this afternoon, his passion 
 Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 
 
 Abb. Hath be not lost much wealth by wreck at 
 sea ? 
 
 Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his tyt! 
 Stray'd his affection in unlawful love? 
 A sin, prevailing much in youthful men, 
 Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
 Which of these sorrows is he subject to? 
 
 Adr. To none of these, except it be the last ; 
 Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. 
 
 Abb. You should for that have reprehended hina. 
 
 Adr. Why, so I did. 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 
 
 Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. 
 Abb. Haply, in private, 
 
 Adr. And in assemblies toa 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not enough. 
 
 Adr. It was the copy oi'our conference: 
 In bed, he slept not for my urging it; 
 At board, he ted not for my urging it ; 
 Alone, it was the subject of my theme | 
 In company, I often glanced it: 
 Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 
 
 Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was maJl 
 The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
 Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
 It seems, his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing: 
 And therefore comes it, that his head is light. 
 Thou say'st, his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraid- 
 Unquiet meals make ill digestions, [mg»: 
 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
 And what's a fever but a fit of madness ? 
 'I'hou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy k)ra.wiAl 
 Sweet recreation barr'd. what doth ecsue. 
 But moody and dull melancholy, 
 (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair;) 
 And, at her heels, a huge infeclious troop 
 Of pale distemi eratures, and foes to life? 
 Iniood. in sport, aud lile-preserving rest 
 To be disturb d, would mnd or man er beast! 
 The consequence is then, thy jealous fits 
 
2G2 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act 7 
 
 Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. 
 hue. She nnver reprehentJed him but mildly, 
 hen he dernean'd hiinselt' rough, rude and Wildly. — 
 Why bear you these rebukes, aod answer not? 
 
 Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. — 
 Ooiid peoole, enter, and lay hold on him. 
 Abb No, nut a creature enters in my house. 
 Adr Then, let your servants bring my husband 
 forth. 
 
 Abb. Neither ; he took tliis place for sanctuary, 
 And it shall privilege him from your hands. 
 Till I have brought liim to his wits again, 
 , Or lose my labour in assaying it. 
 
 Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse. 
 Diet iiis sickness, lor it is my olfice. 
 And will iiave no atton.fy but njyself; 
 And tliereiore let me ha* e him home w ith me. 
 
 Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir. 
 Till 1 have used the approved means 1 have, 
 VVitIi w!u)lesume syrups, drugs, and holy prayers. 
 To make of hiui a formal man again: 
 It is a brnnch and parcel of mine oath, 
 A charitable duty uf my order; 
 Therelbre depart, and leave him here with me. 
 
 Adr. 1 will not hence, and leave my husband here; 
 And ill it doth bese<^m your holiness. 
 To separate the husband and the wife. 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, and depart, thou shalt not have 
 him. [^Exit Abbess. 
 
 Luc. Coniplain unto the duke of this indignity. 
 
 Adr. Come, go; I will fall prostrate at his feet. 
 And never rise until my tears and prayers 
 Have won liis grace to come in person hither, 
 And tijke perlorce husband from the abbess. 
 
 Mer. By tiiis, 1 think, the dial points at five : 
 Anuii, 1 am sure, tiie duke himself in person 
 Couies tliis way to the melancholy vale ; 
 The place of death and sorry execution, 
 Behind the ditches uf the abbey here. 
 
 Any. Upon what c.iuse ? 
 
 Mer. '1 o see a reverend Syracusan merchant, 
 VV^Iu) put unluckily into this bay, 
 Against (he laws and statutes of this town, 
 Beheaded publicly lor his offence. 
 
 Any, Sre, where they conie ; we will behold his 
 death. 
 
 Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey. 
 
 Enter DuKE, attended; iEcEON, bare-headed ; 
 with the Headsman and other Ojficers. 
 Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, 
 [f any trieiid will pay tiie sum for him, 
 He shall not die, so much we tender him. 
 Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the 
 abbess ! 
 
 Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady; 
 It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. 
 
 Adr. May il please your grace, Antipholus, my 
 husband, — 
 Whom I made lord of me and all 1 had. 
 At your important letters, — this ill day 
 A most outrugtovis fit of madness took him ; 
 That de.spcrately he hurried through the street, 
 IV^'^'th hnn his bondman all as mad as he,) 
 Doing displeasure to the citizens. 
 By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
 Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
 Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, 
 Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, 
 f hat here and there his fury had committed. 
 Ajjon, I vslH not by what strong escape. 
 He broke from those that had the guard of him ; 
 And, with his mad attendant and himself. 
 Each one with ireiul passion, with drawn swoids. 
 Met us again, and, midly bent on us, 
 Chaned us away ; till, raising of more aid, 
 We came again to bind them: then Uiey fled 
 Into thi» abbey, whither we pursur-d them ; 
 And here the tibbesH shuts the gates on us, 
 Aod will not au^fer us to fetch hint out, 
 
 Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. 
 Therelbre, most gracious duke, with thy coiiunand. 
 Let him be brougiit forth, and borne hence for help 
 Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd me in my 
 v\ ars ; 
 
 And I to thee engag'd a prince's word, 
 VV^hen thou didst make hina njaster of thy bed. 
 To do him all the gracf and good 1 could.— 
 Go some of you, knock at the abbey-gate. 
 And bid the lady abbess come to me; 
 f will determine th;s belbre 1 stir. 
 
 Etiter a Servant. 
 Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift aud save Your- 
 self! 
 
 My master and his man are both broke loose. 
 Beaten the m lids a-row, and bound the doctor. 
 Whose beard they have singed olf with brands of 6re; 
 And ever as it blaz'd, they threw on him 
 Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair: 
 My master preaches patience to him, while 
 His man with scissors nicks him like a tool . 
 And, sure, unless you send some [)resent help, 
 Between them they will kill the conjurer. 
 
 Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here ; 
 And that is false thou dost report to us. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true: 
 I have not breath'd almost, since I did see it. 
 He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you. 
 To scorch yo'Jr face, and to disfigure yo" : 
 
 (Cry tvithtn.) 
 Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress ; fly, be gone. 
 
 Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing : Guard 
 with halberds. 
 
 Adr. Ah me, it is my husband! Witness you. 
 That he is borne about invisible : 
 Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here ; 
 Aud now he's tliere, past th«jught of Iwiman rea.son. 
 
 Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant 
 me justice ! 
 
 E^ en for the service that long since I did thee, 
 When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took 
 Deep soars to save thy life : even for the blood 
 That then 1 lost for thee, now grant me justice. 
 
 JEge. Unless flie fear of death doth make me dote, 
 I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that wo- 
 man there. 
 
 She, whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ; 
 
 That ha!h abused and dish>jnoiir'd me. 
 
 Even in the strength and heiglit of injury! 
 
 Beyond imagination is tl.<^ wrong, 
 
 That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 
 
 Duke. Discover how, and thou siialt find me just. 
 
 Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doora 
 upon me. 
 
 While she, with harlots, feasted in my house. 
 
 Duke. A grievous fault : Say, woman, didst 
 thou so. [sister, 
 
 Adr. No, my good lord: — myself, he, and my 
 To-day did dine together: so befal my soul. 
 As this is false, he burdens me Withal I 
 
 Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, 
 But she tells to your highness simple trstth ! 
 
 Any. O perjur'd woman ! they are both forsworn 
 In this the madman justly chargeth them. 
 
 Ant. E My liege, I am advised what I say; 
 Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine. 
 Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire. 
 Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
 This woman lock'd me out this d;iy from dipner: 
 That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with hey 
 Coidd witness it, for he was with n»e then ; 
 Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, 
 Promising to britig it to the Por«:upine, 
 Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
 Our dinner done, and he not coming lhilh<»r, 
 I went to seek him : ua the street i met h'<B; 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 263 
 
 And in his company, that gentleman. 
 There did this perjiir'd goldsmith swear me down, 
 That I this day of iiim receiv'd the chain, 
 VVhich, God he knows, I saw not : for the which. 
 He did arrest me with an officer. 
 I did obey, and sent my peasant home 
 For certain ducats : he with none return'd. 
 Then fai'^y I bespoke the officer, 
 To go in person with me to my house. 
 By the way we met 
 My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
 Of vile confederates; along- with them 
 They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd vil- 
 A raeer anatomy, a mountebank, [lain, 
 A thread-bare juggler, and a Ibrtune-teller ; 
 A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 
 A living dead man : this pernicious slave. 
 Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer; 
 And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse. 
 And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me. 
 Cries out, I was possess'd : then altogether 
 They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ; 
 And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
 There left me and my man, both bound together; 
 Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
 I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 
 Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseech 
 To give nie ample satisfaction 
 For these deep shames and great indignities. 
 Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with 
 him. 
 
 That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
 
 Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no? 
 
 Ang. lie had, my lord : and when he ran in here. 
 These people saw the chain about his neck. 
 
 Mer. Bf sides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine 
 Heard you confess you had the chain of him. 
 After you first i'orswore it on tiie mart, 
 And thereupon I drew my sword on you; 
 And then you lied into this abbey here. 
 From whence, 1 think, you are come by miracle. 
 
 Ant. E. 1 never came within these abbey walls. 
 Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me : 
 I never saw the chain, so help me heaven ! 
 And this is false, you burden me withal. 
 
 Duke. What an intricate impeav^h is this ! 
 I think, you all have diank of Circe's cup. 
 If here you hous'd him, liere he would have been ; 
 If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly; — 
 Vou say, he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
 Denies that saying : — Sirraii. what say you ? 
 
 Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the 
 Porcupine. 
 
 Cour. He did, and from ray finger snatch'd that 
 
 Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of 
 her. 
 
 Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? 
 Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. 
 Duke. VViiy, this is strange : — Go call the abbess 
 hither ; 
 
 1 think, you are all mated, or stark mad. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 jEge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a 
 word : 
 
 Haply, I see a fiiend will save my life. 
 And pay the sum tliat may deliver me. 
 
 Duke. Speak Ireeiy, Syracusan, what thou wilt. 
 
 JEge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus ? 
 And is not that your bondman, Dromio ? [sir, 
 
 Dro. E. Within this liour I was his bondman, 
 Hut he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords ; 
 Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. 
 
 ^ge, I am sure, you both of you remember me. 
 
 Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you ; 
 For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
 V'ou are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? 
 
 Aige. Why look you strange on me? you know 
 nie well. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw you in ray life till now. 
 
 JEge. Oh ! grief hath chang'd me s»nce you saw 
 
 me last ; 
 
 And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand, 
 Have written strange defeatures in my face : 
 But tell me vet, dost thou not know my voice 7 
 Ant. E. Neither. 
 
 JEge. Dromio, nor thou ? 
 
 Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 
 
 jEge. I am sure, thou doat 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, sir ? but I am sure, I do not ; an<5 
 whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound t<? 
 believe him. 
 
 jEge. Not know my voice! O, time's exttemity 
 Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue. 
 In seven short years, that here my only son 
 Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? 
 Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
 In sap consuming winter's drizzled snow. 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up ; 
 Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
 My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left. 
 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
 All these old witnesses ( I cannot err, ) 
 'J'ell me. thou art my son Antipholus. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 
 
 jEge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy 
 Thou know'st, we parted ; but, perhaps, my son. 
 Thou sham'stto acknowledge me in misery. 
 
 Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in tii6 
 city. 
 
 Can witness with me that it is not so ; 
 I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 
 
 Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years 
 Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa: 
 I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. 
 
 Re-enter the Ahbess,tvith k^n^iioiMS, Syracusan, 
 and Dromio, Syracusan. 
 Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man rnuch 
 wrong'd. f All gather to see him.) 
 
 Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive 
 me. 
 
 Duke. One of these men is genius to the other; 
 And so of these : Which is the natural man. 
 And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? 
 
 Dro. S, I, sir, am Dromio; command hiuj away. 
 
 Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio: pray, let me slay. 
 
 Ant. S. Mgeon, art thou not? or else hiigiiost^ 
 
 Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound hina 
 here r 
 
 Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose hisboodf 
 And gain a husband by his liberty: — 
 Speak, old iEgeon, if thou be'st the man, 
 That had'st a wife once called Emilia, 
 That bore thee at a burden two fair sons; 
 
 0, if thou be'st the same ^geon, speak, 
 And speak unto the same Emilia ! 
 
 jEge. If I dream not, thou art iEmilia; 
 If thou art she, tell me, wliere is that son„ 
 That floated with thee on the fatal raft? 
 
 Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, 
 And the twin Dromio, all were taken up ; 
 But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corin'^h 
 By force took Dromio and my son from tl^^tiv. 
 And me they left with those of Epidam juai. 
 What then became of them, I cannolteil; 
 
 1, to this fortune that you see me io. 
 
 Duke. Why, here begins this mon>ing story rig^ j 
 These two Antipholus's, these twa eo like, 
 And these two Dromio's, one in semb'ance,— 
 Besides her urging of her wreck at se'-u— 
 These are the parents to these child r 
 VVhich accidentally are met together 
 Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth st 
 
 Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came frori Syracuse. 
 
 Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know aot wbich H 
 which. 
 
 Ant. E. I came from Corinth, ray 
 Dro. E And I with him. 
 
COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Ant. ought to lliis towa by that most fa- 
 
 mous warrior, 
 Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 
 Adr. VVhich of you two did dine with me to-day ? 
 Ani. S. I, gentle mistress. 
 
 Adr. And are not you my husband ? 
 
 Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. 
 
 Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so; 
 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
 Did call me brother: — What I told you then, 
 1 hope, I shall have leisure to make good; 
 if this be not a dream, I see, and hear. 
 
 Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 
 
 Ant. S. 1 thiuk it be, sir ; I deny it not. 
 
 Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. 
 
 Ang. 1 thinit i did, sir; I deny it not. 
 
 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail. 
 By Dromio ; but I think, he brought it not. 
 
 Dro. E. No, none by me. 
 
 AnS. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you. 
 And Dromio my man did bring them me : 
 1 see, we still did meet each other's man, 
 And I was ta'en for him, and he for me, 
 And thereupon these Errors are arose. . 
 
 Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 
 
 Duke. It shall not need, thy lather hath his life. 
 
 Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 
 
 Ant. E. There, take it: and much thanks for ray 
 good cheer. 
 
 Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains 
 To go with tis into the abbey here. 
 And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes: — 
 And ail that are assembled in this place, 
 'i'hat by this s7^JJ)^tluzed cue day's error 
 Have siit^c-'d ^vont', go, keep us company, 
 Aod vre «hHil make iiili satisfactiou. — 
 
 Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail 
 Of you, my sons ; nor, till this present hour. 
 My heavy burdens are delivered : — 
 lYie duke, my husband, and my children both. 
 And you the calendars of their nativity, 
 Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ; 
 Alter so long grief, such nativity ! 
 
 Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast 
 [Exeunt Duke, Abbess, jEgeon, Courtezan, Mer- 
 chant, Angela, and Attendants. 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I ietch your stuff from 
 shipboard ! [einbark'd ? 
 
 Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou 
 Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the 
 Centaur. [Dromio : 
 
 Ant. S. He speaks to me : I am your master. 
 Come, go with us ; we'll look to that anon : 
 Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. 
 
 [Exeunt Antipholus S. and E., Adr., andLuc.^ 
 Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's 
 house, 
 
 That kitchen'd me for you to day at dinner ; 
 She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass^ aud not 
 my brother : 
 I see by you, I am a sweet- faced youth. 
 Will you walk in to see their gossij^ing? 
 
 Dro. S. Not I, sir, you are iny elder. 
 
 Dro. E. That's a question : How shall we try it » 
 
 Dro. S. We will draw cuts lor the senior: till 
 then, lead thou first. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, then thus: 
 We came into the world, like brother and brother j 
 And now let's go hand in hand, not one before 
 ODother. [Exeunt 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 This plaT is dcservpdly celebrated for the propri- ty of its fiction, and so temnity. grandeur, and varietj- of its action ; 
 but T has o< nic^ dis^^^ of character ; the events are too great to admit the luflueuce of particular dispo - 
 
 and t e c( I rse the action necessarily determines the conduct of the aputs . ^ ^ 
 
 TKanLer ?f a.S^ described; and I know not whether it may not be said in defence of some parts 
 
 which now seem illlprobAble, that in Shakspeare's time it was necessary to warn credulity against vain and illusive 
 
 ^ Th^pas^simis are directed to their true end. Lad^ Macbeth is merely detested; and though the courage of Mae- 
 beth ©reserves some esteem, yet every reader rejoices at his fall. Ju/insoH. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 of Scotland, 
 kis Sons. 
 
 DUNCA.N, King 
 MALCOLM, ( 
 DON ALB A IN, I 
 MACBETH, \ 
 BANQUO. ( 
 H AC DUFF, 1 
 LENOX, / 
 ROSSE, \ 
 MENTliTH, { 
 ANGUS, \ 
 CATHNESS, ; 
 
 FLEANCii. Son to Banquo. _ . , , 
 
 ^IWAilD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the 
 English Forces. 
 
 Generals of the King's Army. 
 
 Noblemen of Scotlaiid. 
 
 Young SI WARD, his Son. 
 
 SEYtON, an Officer attending on Macbeth 
 
 Son to Macduff. i 
 
 An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. 
 
 A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. 
 
 LADY MACBETH. 
 LADY MACDUFF. 
 
 Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 
 HECATE, and three Witches. 
 
 Lords, Gsnilemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderet^, 
 Attendants, and Messengers, 
 
 The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Apparition*. 
 
 Scene, — in the end of the Fourth Act, lies in England; through the rest of the Play, in Scotland f 
 and, chiefly, at Macbeth's Castle. 
 
 \ 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Scene I. — An open Place. Thunder and 
 Lightning. 
 
 Enter three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. VVlien shall we tliree meet again 
 In thunder, li-'litning, or in rain? 
 
 2 Witch. VViien the hiirlybnrly's done, i 
 When tlie battle's lost a7i3"won 
 
 3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 
 
 1 Witch. Where the place ? \ 
 
 2 Witch. Upon the heath ; 
 
 3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
 1 Witch. I come, G ymalkin ! , 
 j^-ZL-^ldock calls :— Atoh. — 
 
 Cj^aira&-fQ2i»^i»d io"' is fair : 
 ver through the fog and fil 
 
 ETover 
 
 filthy air 
 
 ( Witches vanish.) 
 
 Scene II. — A Camp near Fores. Alarum within. 
 
 Enter King DuNC.\N, Malcolm, Donalbain, VjE,- 
 VO^,with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier. 
 
 Dun. Wlmt-t^Wdy man is that? He can report, 
 As .seemeth by his plight, oftherevolt 
 The newest state. — ■ — 
 
 Mai. This is the sergeant, 
 
 Who, like a good and hanly soldier, fought 
 'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave friend I 
 Say to the king the knowledge of the broil. 
 As thou didst leave it. 
 
 Sold. Doubtfully it stood ; 
 
 As two spent swimmers, that do cling together. 
 And choke their art. Tlie-wemless Macdonvval d 
 fWorlhy to be a rpbel ; for, to that, 
 The multiplying villanies of nature 
 Do swarm upon iuni,) from the western isles 
 X Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied ; 
 And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, 
 Show'd like a rei)ers whore : But all's too weak ; 
 For brave Mai beth, (well he deserves that name,) 
 Disdaiuing fortune, with his brandi.shLd_steel, 
 Which sraok'd Wi»h bloody execution, ~~ 
 Like valour's minion, 
 
 CJar^y out his pa.'^sage, till he fac'd the slave : 
 And ne^rslvodk hands, nor bade farewell to him. 
 Till he unseam'd him from the nave to th' chaps. 
 And fii'd his head upon our battlements. 
 
 Dun. O, valiant cousm ! worthy gentleman ! 
 
 S/)ld. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 
 
 Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break; 
 So from that spring, wlience comfort seem'd to come. 
 Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: 
 No .sooner justice had, with valour arni'd. 
 Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heelf} 
 But the Norvveyau lord, surveying vantage, 
 With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men. 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 
 Dun. Dismay'd not this 
 
 Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? 
 
 Sold. Yes ; 
 
 Asjsparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion. 
 If I say .sooth, I must report they were 
 As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks; 
 So they 
 
 Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : 
 Except they meant to bathe in reeking A^oimds, 
 Or memorize another Golgotha, 
 I cannot tell: — 
 
 But I am faint, my gashes cry for hel|: 
 Dun. So well thy words become Jiee, as thy 
 wounds ; 
 
 They smack of honour both : — Go, get him surgeons. 
 
 [Exit Soldier, attended. 
 
 Enter Roses. 
 
 Who comes here ? 
 Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 
 
 Len. What haste looks through his eyes ! So 
 should he look. 
 That seems to speak things strange. 
 Rosse. God save the king I 
 
 Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ? 
 Rosse. From Fife, great king, 
 
 Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky. 
 And fan our people cold. 
 Norway himself, with terrible nnmbers. 
 Assisted by that most dislojal traitor 
 The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict: 
 Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proo^ 
 Confronted him with sell-comparisons, 
 Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm. 
 Curbing his lavish spirit : And, to conclude. 
 
 The victory fejl on us \ 
 
 Dun. Great happiness. 
 
 Rosse. That now 
 Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;^ 
 Nor would we deign him burial of his men. 
 Till he disbursed, a+ Saint Colmes' inch, ^ 
 
 Ten thousand dollar.<» to our genera' use. 
 
266 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act I, 
 
 Pun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
 Our bosom interest :— Go, pronounce his death. 
 And with his former title greet Alacbeth.- 
 
 Rosse. I'll see it done. 
 
 Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II I. — A Heath. 
 Thunder. Enter three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 
 
 2 JVitch. Killing swine. 
 
 3 Witch. Sister, where thou ' 
 
 1 J Fitch. A sailor's wile had cnesnuts in her lap, 
 And tnouncli'd, ain^. mounch'd, and niounch'd : — 
 
 Give me, quoth I : 
 
 Aroint thee, witch I the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
 
 tier husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger: 
 ^ But in a sieve I'll thither sail, ^ 
 ' And, like a rat without a tail, 
 
 S'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 
 
 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
 1 Witch. Thou art kind. 
 
 3 Witch. And 1 another. 
 
 1 Witch. I myself have all the other: 
 And the very ports they blow, 
 
 All the quarters that they know 
 I'the shipman's card. 
 I will drain him dry as hay: 
 Sleep shall, neither uight nor day. 
 Hang upon his pent-house lid; 
 He shall live a nian Ibrbid: 
 Weary sev'n nights, nine times nine. 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine; 
 Though his bark cannot be lost. 
 Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
 Look what 1 have. 
 
 2 fVitch. Siiow me, show me. 
 
 1 PVitch. Here 1 have a pilot's thumb, 
 Wreck'd, as homeward he did come. [Drum tvithin.) 
 
 3 Witch. A drum, a drum; 
 IVIacbeth doth come. 
 
 All. The weird sisters, hand in hand. 
 Posters of the sea and land, 
 Thus do go about, about ; 
 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine. 
 And thrice again, to make up nine: 
 Peace ! — The charm's wound up. 
 
 EiiterJIh^BKni and Banquo. 
 Macb.^ ^^^A arid.jki j:-^-d^yXhav.e.,t)jpt seen. 
 Ban. How Tar is' t call'd to Fores V — What are 
 these. 
 
 So wither d, and so wild in their attire; 
 That look not like the inhabitants o"the earth, 
 And yet are ou't ? Live you ? or are you aught 
 That man may question ? You seem to understand 
 me. 
 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skitmy lips : — You should be women. 
 And yet your beards forbid ine to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 
 Macb. Speak, if you can What are you ? 
 
 1 fVitch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane 
 
 of Glamis ! [of Cawdor ! 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane 
 
 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king 
 
 hereafter. [fear 
 Ban. Good sir, why do you start; and seem to 
 Things that do sound so fair? — I'the name of truth, 
 Are ye fantastical, or that indeed, 
 Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner 
 Ye greet with present grace, and great prediction 
 Of noble having, and of royal hope, 
 That he seems rapt withal; tg„ me yoir speak not : 
 If you can look into tiie seeds ol lime. 
 And say, which grain will grow, and which will not ; 
 Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, 
 lour favours, nor your hat !. 
 
 1 ffilch. Hail I 
 
 2 Witch. Hail! 
 
 3 Witch. Hail .' 
 
 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much Imppier. 
 
 3 Witch. Tliou shalt get kings, though thou be 
 
 none : 
 
 So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo ! 
 
 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail ! 
 
 Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell tne moie I 
 By Sinel's death, 1 know, 1 anr thane of Glamis; 
 But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman; and, to be king. 
 Stands not within the prospect of bt lief, 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
 You owe this strange intelligence or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting? — Speak, I charge 
 you. {JVitches vanish.) 
 
 Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as tlie water has, 
 And these are of them : — Whither are they vanish'd? 
 
 Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal, 
 melted 
 
 As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid! 
 
 Ban.Were such things here, as we do speak about? 
 Or have we eaten of the insane root. 
 That takes the reason prisoner? X 
 
 Macb. Your children shall be kings. 
 
 Ban. You shall be king. 
 
 Macb. And thane of Cawdor too ; went it not so? 
 
 Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's 
 here ? 
 
 Enter RossE and Angus. 
 The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
 The news of thy success: and when he reads 
 Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonders and his praises do contend, 
 Which should be thine, or his; Silenc'd with that. 
 In viewing o'er the rest o'the seir-same day, 
 He finds thee in the stout Norweyau ranks. 
 Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make. 
 Strange images of death. As thick as tale. 
 Came post with post; and every one did bear 
 Tliy praises in his kingdom's great defence. 
 And pour'd them down before him. 
 
 An(j. ' We are sent. 
 
 To give thee, from our royal master, thanks^ 
 To herald tli^ee into his sight, not pay thee. 
 
 Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater h<TOonr, 
 He bade me, from him, call thee thane tjf Cawdor 
 In which addition, haii,^iJjost worthy thane ! 
 For it is thine. . -C^ ^ 
 
 Ban. What, can the deVil_speak true ? 
 
 Macb. The tharm-et Cawdor livesHVhy do yoo" 
 In borrow'd robes ? [dress rn« 
 
 Ang. Who was the thane, lives. yet; 
 
 But under heavy judgment bears that life. 
 Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
 Combiu'd with Norway; or did line the rebel 
 With hidden help and'vantage; or that with both 
 He labour'd in his counuy s wreck, I know not; 
 But treasons capital, contess'd, and prdv d. 
 Have overthrown him. 
 
 Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: 
 
 The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains. — 
 Do you not hope your children shall be kings. 
 When those, that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
 Promis'd no less to them ? 
 
 Ban. That, trusted home^ 
 
 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, 
 Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : 
 And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, , 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; 
 Win us w ith honest trifles, to hjitray an 
 In deepest consequence. — 
 Coiifiiis, a word, I pray you. 
 
 Macb. Two truths are told. 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen 
 This supernatural soliciting 
 Cannot be ill; cannot be good:— If ill, 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 267 
 
 Why bith it ^ven me earnest cf success, 
 Coaimencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : 
 If i^ood, wliy do I yield to that suggestion, 
 WhobC horrid iiii,ige doth unfix niy hair 
 And make my seated heart knock, at ray ribs. 
 Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
 Are less; than horrible imaginings:" 
 My tliuught, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 Siiakes so my single state of man, that function 
 Is siiiOther'd in surmise ; and nothing is, 
 Uut what is nut. 
 
 Ba?i. Look, how our partner's rapt,^,^ 
 
 Macb. If chance will have me king, why, q^wnpte 
 Without my stir, [may crown me, 
 
 Bun. New honours come upon him 
 
 Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their mould. 
 But with the aid of use. 
 
 Macb. Come what come may: 
 
 Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 
 
 Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 
 
 Macb. Cive me your favour: — my dull brain was 
 wrought 
 
 With things furgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
 
 Are register'd where every day I turn 
 
 The leaf to read them. — L^et us toward the king.— 
 
 Think upon what hath chanc'd ; and, at more time. 
 
 The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
 
 Our free iiearts each to other. 
 
 Ban. Very gladly. 
 
 Macb. '\"\\\ then, enough. — Come, friends. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Fores. A Room in the Palace. 
 Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, 
 Lenox, and Attendants. 
 
 Dun Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not 
 Those in commission yet return'd ? 
 
 Mai. My liege. 
 
 They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
 Witli one that saw him die : who did report. 
 That very frankly he confess'd his treasons; 
 Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth 
 A. deep repentance : nothing in his life 
 Became him like the leaving it: he died 
 As one that had been studied in his death. 
 To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd. 
 As 'twere a careless trifle. 
 
 Dun. There's no art. 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face : 
 He 5yas a gentleman, on whom I built 
 An absolute trust. — O worthiest cousin! 
 
 Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. 
 The sin of my ingratitude even now / 
 V^as heavy on me : Thou art so far before. 
 That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
 To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd ; 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
 More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
 
 "Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe. 
 In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
 Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
 Are to your throne and state, children, and servants ; 
 Which do but what they should, by doing every thing 
 Safe toward your love and honour. 
 
 Dun. Welcome hither : 
 
 I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
 To make thee full of growing. — Noble Banquo, 
 That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known 
 No less to have done so, let me infold thee. 
 And hold thee to my heart. 
 
 Ban. There if I grow. 
 
 The harvest is your own. 
 
 Dun. My plenteous joys. 
 
 Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
 In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes. 
 And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
 
 e will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter, 
 K The prince of Cumberland : which honour must 
 
 Not, unaccompanied, invest him cnly, ^ 
 ^ut signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shind 
 On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, 
 And bind us further to you. 
 
 Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for j -jr 
 I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
 The hearing of my wife witli your approach; 
 So, humbly take my leave. 
 
 Dun. My worthy Cawdor! 
 
 Macb. The prince of Cumberland ! — That is u 
 step. 
 
 On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, 
 
 [Aside 
 
 For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ! I 
 
 Let not light see my black and deep desires : 
 
 'I he eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be, 
 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Exit. 
 
 Dun. True, worlliy Banquo; he is full so valiant; 
 And in his commendations 1 am fed : 
 It is a banquet to me. Let us after uim, 
 Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
 It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt, 
 
 Scene V. — Inverness. A Room in MacbetUs 
 Castle. Enter Lady Maceeth, readiny a letter. 
 Lady M. They met me in the day of success ; 
 and I have learned by the perfectest report, they 
 have more in them than 7nortal knowledye. When 
 I burned i?i desire to question them further, they 
 made themselves — air, into ivhich they vanished. 
 TVhiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came 
 missives from the king, who all-hailed me. Thane 
 of Cawdor; by which title, before, these weird 
 sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming 
 on of time, tvith. Hail, king that shalt be! This 
 have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest 
 partner of greatness ; that thou mightest not lose 
 the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what 
 greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, 
 and farewell. 
 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be 
 'What thou art promis'd : — Yet do I fear thy nature; 
 It is too full o'the milk of human kindness, 
 To catch the nearest way : thou would'st be great; 
 Art not without ambition ; but without 
 The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst 
 highly. 
 
 That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false, 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win : thoudst have, great 
 Glamis, 
 
 That which cries, T/«/s thou must do, if thou have It; 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do. 
 Than ivishest should be undone. Hie thee hither. 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; 
 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round. 
 Which fate and meta[»hysicai aid doth seem 
 
 To have thee crown'd withal. What is your 
 
 tidings t 
 
 Enter an Attendant. ,^ 
 Atten. The king comes here to-niglit."'*" 
 Lady M. "^IMiou'rt mad say it 
 
 Is not thy master with him ? who, wer't so, 
 Would have inform'd for preparation. 
 Atten. So please you, it is true ; our thane i 
 coming: 
 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him ; 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 
 Lady M. Give him tending, 
 
 He brings great news. The ..raven himself is hoarse, 
 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; 
 
268 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 T^a^ compunctious visitin2;s of n^tnre 
 Shake my tell piirjHise, nor keep peace between 
 The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts. 
 And take my milk for gall, yon murd'ring ministers, 
 Wherever in yuiir sigiitiess siibstancea 
 You wait on nature's miscliiel"! Come, thic^ night, 
 And pall thee in thf; diumest smtjke y' iie lJLi> // 
 That my keen knife see not the wouncnfmakes 
 
 Nor heaven peep throngh the blanket of the dark, ^,.»~----==«.Itw£Cfiji^ 
 
 To cry, Hold, hold! Great Glamis I wofth\<4-J j-^:''e done qm i^krfe: If 
 
 Cawdor ! 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Grealprlhan both, by the all-hail hereafter! 
 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 This ignorant present, and 1 feel now 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macb. My dearest love, 
 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. And when goes hence ? 
 
 Mach. 'i'o-morrow, — as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. O, never 
 
 Shall sun that morrow see! 
 Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
 May read strange matters : — To beguile the time, 
 -Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye. 
 Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent 
 ticnjfj&Fj"^ ,^ 
 
 But be theiS e rpe nt^ u nder it. He that's coming 
 Must be pmmled ifor : and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch ; 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and niasterdom. 
 \ Macb. We will sp^ak-imliiej. 
 
 Lady Jfr Only look up clear ; 
 
 To alter Cavonr ever is to fear: 
 l^eave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — T/ie same. Before the Castle. 
 Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. 
 Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, 
 Lenox, Macduff, Kosse, Angus, and Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 Dun. Thio casile hath a^pleasant seat ; the air 
 ^iimbl^ljiud sweetly recoinnrenHs^selt^ 
 Unto our g'gTjtle senses. 
 
 Ban. This guest of summer, 
 
 The temple-haunting martlet, does approve. 
 By his lov'd mansionry, that tlie heaven's breath 
 Smells vvooingly here: nojutly, frieze, buttress. 
 Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made 
 His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : where they 
 Most breed and haunt, 1 have observ'd, the air 
 Is delicate. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbetil 
 
 Dun. See, see ! our honour'd hostess ! 
 The love that follows us, sometime is our trouble. 
 Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you. 
 How you shall bid God \ield us for your pains, 
 And thank us lor your trouble. 
 
 Lady M. All our service 
 
 In eveiy point twice done, and then done double, 
 Were poor and single business, to contend 
 Against ttiose honours deep and broad, wherewith 
 Yonr tnajesly li.ads our house : for those of old, 
 And tilt' late dignities heap'd up to them. 
 We rest your hermits. 
 
 .Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor? 
 
 We conrs'^l him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 To be his ijiirveyor: bi t he rides well; 
 And his great love, sharp as iiis spur, hath holp him 
 To his home befoie us : fair and noble hostess, 
 We are vi>iir guest to-night. 
 
 Ladt/ M Your servants ever 
 
 Have thrirs them.i 1 ves, and what is theirs, in compt. 
 To make thi ir audit at your highness' pleasure. 
 Still to return your own. 
 
 Dun. Give me j'our hand : 
 
 Conduct me tv mine bust; we love him highly. 
 
 By your leave, hostess. 
 Scene VII. — The same. 
 
 And shall continue our graces towards him. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 A Room in the Castle. 
 Hautboys and torches. Enter and pass over the 
 stage, a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishea 
 and service. Then enter Macbeth. 
 Mucb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 
 
 the assassination 
 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch. 
 With this surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might b,e the be-all and the end all^r?> ^ 
 But{Ker^; upon this bank and shoal oTtiine, — 
 
 We'djiimp the life to come. — But, in these cases, t i ^ 
 We still have judgmen^^^ ; that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, whicTiTneing taught, return 
 To plague the inventor: This evea-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips. He's here in double trust! 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
 Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
 Who should against his murderer shut tiie door. 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongu'd, agains^ 
 The deep damnation of his talyjjg otf : -.^ 
 And pity, l ike a nakeA^fi^^^^ori^njabe,' 3 
 Striding th^ 1 a^, '6 1' Ilea v eiVs ctieT iTBTn, hors'd 
 Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye. 
 That tears shall drown the wind. — i have no spur 
 To pfick.^ie sides of my intent, but only 
 V'^aultin/^^jgjJjitiQja, iwhich o'er-leaps itself. 
 And falls oh tli^ other. — How now, what news? 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. He has almost supp'd : Why have yo« 
 left the chamber? 
 
 Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ? 
 
 Lady M. Know you not, he has ? 
 
 Macb.We will proceed no further in this buaness : 
 He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
 Which wouTd'be worn now in their newest gloss. 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 Lady M. Was the hope drunk. 
 
 Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely ? From this time. 
 Such X account thy love. Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour. 
 As thou art in desire V Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem; 
 Letting / dare not wait upon / would, 
 Like the poor cat i'the adage i 
 
 Macb. Pr'ythee, peace : 
 
 t dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who dares do more, is none. 
 
 Lady M. What beast was it then» 
 
 That made you break this enterprise to me ? / 
 Wben v ou durst do it^ t.ht.n you wace^a-man^j , / 
 AttdTttrBTe more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place. 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: 
 They have made themselves, and that their iitoeta 
 now 
 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck ; and know 
 How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me : 
 1 would, while it was smiling in my face, 
 Have plnck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, / 
 And dash'd the brams out, had I so swor j, as yon 
 Have done to this. 
 
 Macb. If we should fail, 
 
 LadyM. . WefaUl 
 
 But screw your courage to the sticking- place. 
 And we'll not fail. VV hen Duncan is asleep, 
 (Whereto ttie father shall his day s hard jcurney 
 
ACT II. Scene 2. 
 
 MACBETH. ' ' '^O d 269 
 
 " Soundly invife him,) his two chamberlains 
 Will i wiUi wiiie iind WcISkhI so convince, 
 That rneiuui y , Uie warder of the brain, 
 Shall he a tuuie, and tiie receipt ot reason 
 ^ AJjS jecky^ tily : Wlien in swinish sleep 
 'ilieircfreiTclied n^itilres lie, us in a death, 
 VVTiat cannot you and I perlonn upon 
 The ungnurded biincan ? wiiat not put upon 
 iJls Sjiongy ollicers; wiio shall bear the guilt 
 or our great quell ? 
 
 Macb. Bring forth men-cbildren only ! 
 
 For my undaimted metal should compose 
 Nothing but males. Will i^ not be receiv'd, 
 W^heii we iiave mark'd vviti/ blood those sleepy two 
 Oi'his own cliamber, and us'd their very daggers. 
 That they iiave done't ^ 
 
 Lady ill. Who dares receive it other, 
 
 As we sliull make our griels and clamour rear 
 Upon his death i 
 
 Macb. I am settled, and bend up 
 
 Each cor})oral agent to this terrible feat. 
 Away, and mock tiie time with lairest show: 
 False face must hide what the false heart doth 
 " know. ' [Exeunt. 
 
 — ACT II. 
 
 Scene L —T/ic same. Court within the Castle. 
 Enter Banquo and Fleance, and a Servant with 
 a torch bffore them. 
 
 Ban. How goes the night, boy? 
 
 Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the 
 clock. 
 
 Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
 Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. 
 
 Ban. Hold, take my sword : — There's husbandry 
 in heaven, 
 
 Tiieir candles are all out. — Take thee that too. 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me. 
 And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers! 
 Restrain iu me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
 Gives way to iii repose ! — Give me my sword ; — 
 
 Enter Macbeth, atid a Servant with a torch. 
 
 Who's there ? 
 
 Macb. A friend. [a bed : 
 
 BaJi. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 Sent forth great largess to yoirr offices : 
 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
 By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up 
 In measureless content. 
 
 Macb. Being unprepar'd. 
 
 Our will became the servant to defect; 
 W^hieh else slujuld Iree have wrought 
 
 Ban. All's well. 
 
 I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 
 To you they have shovv'd some truth. 
 
 Macb. I think not of them : 
 
 Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
 vVould spend it in some words upon that business. 
 If vou would grant the time.' 
 
 han. At your kind'st leisure. 
 
 Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 
 It shall make honour for you. ['tis, 
 
 Ban. So I lose none, 
 
 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
 My bosom francliis'd, and allegiance clear, 
 \ shall be counsell'd. 
 
 Macb. Good repose, the while ! 
 
 Ban. Thanks, sir; the like to you! 
 
 [Exit Banquo. 
 
 Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink, is 
 ready. 
 
 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. — 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Is thiaA- dagger, which I see before me. 
 The handle toward my hand ? Corae, let me clutch 
 
 thee: 
 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee stilL 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 
 To feeling, as to sight? or art tinu but 
 A dagger of the niiiid ; a false creation, 
 .^Proceeding from tlieTieat-oppressed brain ? 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 As this which now I draw. 
 Thou marshall'st me the way that I was goinjf ; 
 And such an instrument 1 was to use. 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o'the other senses. 
 Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 
 And on thy blade and dudi^gsn, gouts of blood, 
 Which was not so beiore. — Tiiere's no such things 
 It is the bloody business, which informs 
 Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 "TfTB CDi'tiiiii'^T Sileep';"'rinvv witchcralt celebrates 
 Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither"d murder, 
 Alarum'd by his centinel, the wolf. 
 Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy 
 
 pace, [siga 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his de- 
 Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set 
 
 earth. 
 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
 The very stones prate of my where-about. 
 
 ha 
 
 And take the present horror from the time. 
 Which now suits with it.— Whiles I threat 
 lives ; 
 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 [A bell rings, 
 I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
 Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
 That sumc»ons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit 
 
 Scene II. — The same. 
 Epier Lady Macbeth. 
 Lady M. That which hath made them drank« 
 hath made me bold : 
 What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire : 
 
 Hark !— Peace ! 
 It was ^e owT^at shriek'd ; the fatal bellman. 
 Which gtre^the stern'st good-night. He is about it 
 The doors are open ; and the suri'eited grooms 
 Do mock their charge with snores : 1 have drugg'd 
 
 their possets, 
 That death and nature do contend about them, 
 Whether they live, or die. 
 Macb. {IJ ithin.) Who's there ?— what, hoi 
 Lady M. Alack I I am afraid they h;ive awaked. 
 And 'tis not done: — the attempt, and not the deed. 
 Confounds us : — Hark I — I laid their daggers ready. 
 He could not miss them — Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, I had done"t — My husband ? 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. I have done the deed: — Didst tiiou not 
 
 hear a noise ? ^ 
 Lady M. I heard theVQvi;l__|cream, 
 ;Gj^iQ^^^t^_^c ry ''"*'"*'"""^'*"'™™'^-"*''^"''"'"'' . ■ 
 Did not you speak F 
 Macb. When? 
 Lady M. Now. . C/Tr- 
 
 Macb, As I descended C 
 
 Lady M. Ay 
 Macb. Hark!— 
 Who lies i'the second chamber? 
 Lady M. Donalbain. 
 Macb. This is sorry sight, 
 
 {Looking on his \ando,l 
 Lady M. A foolish thought, to say sorry sight 
 Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and 
 one cried murder! [them: 
 That they did wake each other; I stood ard heard 
 But they did say their prayers, and afldresjj'd theia 
 Again to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. , 
 
 Macb. One cried, God bless us ! anc'. Amen, th« 
 other ; 
 
 As they had seen me with these hangmar's hands 
 Listening their fear, I could not say, amen. 
 When they did say, God bless us. 
 
 and tha 
 
 A 
 
^ iXJL.f' MACBETH. I -fei^lei j Act I' 
 
 S70 
 
 httdy M.. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macb. lint wherefore could not I pronounce, 
 I had most need of blessing, and amen [amen ? 
 Stuck ill my throat. 
 
 Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 
 
 After tliese ways so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Macb. Methoufjlit, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no 
 mure! 
 
 Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; 
 *^i^^'^i^JA^ ^'WiVi- up the raveirdjilsjS^p^e qf care^ _ 
 'I'Tit'SeaTfn^'-Ta^^ sure labour's Bath, 
 
 BTdm-oj'frm'trvrf mi ' s . iji ' K ati TaKifFs secofi d course, 
 CMsfrwurisher in life's feast ; — 
 
 Lady M. VVIiat do you mean? 
 
 Macb. Sdll it cried, Sleep no more! to all the 
 house : [Cawdor 
 Glamis hath murder" d sleep; and therefore 
 Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no fnore! 
 
 Lady M. VVlio was it tliat thus cried? Why, 
 worthy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brainsickly of things :— Go, get some water, 
 And wash tiiis Hltiiy witness liom your hand. — 
 Why did yon br:n^ thest- daggers from the place ? 
 They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear 
 The sleepy grooins witli blood. 
 
 Macb. I'll go no more : 
 
 I am ai'raid to think what T have done; 
 Look on't again, I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 
 
 Give tue tiie daggers: The sleeping, and the <lead, 
 Are but as picliires: tis the eye ol' childhood. 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I'll gild the l;!ces of the grooms withal, 
 For it nnist seem their guilt. 
 
 [Exit. KnocTcing tvithin. 
 
 Macb. Whence is that knocking ? 
 
 How is't with me, when every noisje. appals me i ^ 
 What hands are here ? Ha ! they pluck out mine 
 eyes ! 
 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hand ? No; this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnardine. 
 Making the green — one red. 
 
 ■ Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but I 
 
 shame [ing 
 To wear a heart so white. [Knock.) I hear a knock - 
 At the soutli entry : — retire we to our chamber; 
 A little water clears us of this deed^ 
 How easy is it then ? Yoim* constancy 
 Hath lelt you unattended. — {Knocking.) Hark ! 
 
 nuire knocking : 
 Get on yiiiir nightgown, lest occasion call us, 
 And show us to be watciiers : — Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 Macb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know 
 
 myself. (Knock.) 
 W^ke Duncan with thy knocking ] ,Ayi„'wpirld thou 
 ^ couldst! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — The same. 
 Eater a Porter. [Knocking within.) 
 Port. Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man were 
 
 Eorter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the 
 ey. [Knocking.) Knock, knock, knock: Who's 
 there, i'tue name of Belzebub? Here's a farmer, 
 that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty : 
 Come in time; have na[)kins enough about you; 
 here you ll sweat for't. [Kiucking.) Knock, knock: 
 Who's there, ithe other devil's name? 'Faith, 
 here's an eqnivocator, that could swear in both the 
 scales against either scale ; who committed treason 
 enough lor God s sake, yet could not equivocate 
 to heaven : O. come in, eqnivocator. [Knocking.) 
 Knock, knock, knock: Who's there? 'F;»ith, here s 
 %\\ Euglisii tailor come liither, ibr stealing out of a 
 French Ixise : Come in, tailor; here you may roast 
 your jjvose. Knocking.) K'ny U, knock: Keve*- at 
 
 quiet! What are you? — But this t')lace is t»m co,^ 
 for hell. I'll devil-porter it no f urther : I h.ul 
 thought to have let in some of all. professions, that 
 go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. 
 [Knocking.) Anon, anon; I pray you, remembei 
 the porter. [Opens the gajte.) 
 
 Enter Macduff and Lenox. 
 
 Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bev 
 That you do lie so late ? 
 
 Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the 
 second cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker ol 
 three things. 
 
 Macd. What three things does drink especially 
 provoke ? 
 
 Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. 
 Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes : it._pr0i 
 vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance : 
 Therefore, much drink may be said to be an eqni- 
 vocator with lechery : it makes him, and it mars 
 him; it sets him on, and it takes him oil"; it per- 
 suades him, and disheartens him; makes \\\m stand 
 to, and not stand to : in conclusion, equivocates him 
 in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 
 
 Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last 
 night. 
 
 Port. That it did, sir, i'the very throat o'me : 
 But I requited him for his lie ; and, I think, being 
 too strong for him, though he took up my legs 
 soflietime, yet I made a shift to cast him. 
 
 Macd. Is thy master stirring? — 
 Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. 
 
 Enter jMacbeth. 
 
 Lcn. Good-morrow, noble sir! 
 
 Macb. Good-morrow, both. 
 
 Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 
 
 Macb. Not yet 
 
 Macd. He did command me to call timely on uim; 
 I have almost shpp'd the hour. 
 
 Macb. I'll bring you to hirei, 
 
 Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
 But yet, 'tis one. 
 
 Macb, The labour we delight in, physics pain. 
 This is the door. 
 
 Macd. I'll make so bold to call, 
 
 For 'tis my limited service. [Exit Macduff. 
 
 Len. Goes the king 
 
 From hence to-day ? 
 
 Macb. He does : — he did appoint it so. 
 
 Len. The night has been unruly: VVhere we Iay« 
 Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, 
 Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of 
 death; 
 
 Aj3il4iri)4)hecying, with accents terrible, 
 
 Of dire combustibn, and confus'd events. 
 
 New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird 
 
 Clamour'd the live long night, some say, the earth 
 
 Was feverous, and did shake. 
 
 Macb. 'Twas a rough night. 
 
 Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
 A fellow to it. 
 
 Re-enter Macdlw. 
 
 Macd. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor 
 Cannot conceive, nor name thee ! [heart, 
 
 Macb. Len. What's the n)atter ? 
 
 Macd. Confusion now hath made his master-piece! 
 Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence! 
 The life of the building. 
 
 Macb. What is't you say ? the life ? 
 
 Len. Mean you his majesty? [sight 
 
 Macd. Approach the chamber, end destroy your 
 With a new Gorgon :— Do not bi.^ me speak ; 
 See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! Awake J 
 [Exeunt Macbeth and Lencx, 
 Ring the alamm-bell : — Murder! and treason! 
 Hanquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm ! A wake ! 
 Shake oti this downy sleep, death's counterfeit* 
 
Scene i. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 271 
 
 And look on tleath itself! — up, np, and see 
 IVIhIcoIiii 
 
 The great doom's ini^ge 
 
 Banquo! 
 
 As from yoiir graves rise up, and walk like sprights, 
 To counlenance this horror ! {Bell I'inys.) 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. What's the business, 
 That siicli a hideous trumpet calls to [)arley 
 The sleefjers of the house? speak, speak, 
 
 Macd. O, gentle lady, 
 
 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak : 
 The repetition, in a woman's ear, 
 Would murder as it fell. Banquo ! Banquo ! 
 
 Enter Banquo. 
 Our royal master's murder'd ! 
 
 Lady M. Woe, alas ! 
 
 What, in our house ? 
 
 Ban. Too cruel, any where. 
 
 Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself. 
 And say, it is tiot so. 
 
 Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. 
 Mach. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
 I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant. 
 There's nothing serious in mortality : 
 All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Is left this vault to brag of. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 
 Don. What is amiss? 
 
 Macb. Yon are, and do not know it : 
 
 The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
 [s stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
 
 Macd, Your royal father's murder'd. 
 
 Mai. O, by whom ? 
 
 Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had 
 done't : 
 
 Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood. 
 So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found 
 Upon their pillows : 
 
 They star'd, and were distracted; no man's life 
 Was to be trusted with them. 
 
 Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury. 
 That I did kill them. 
 
 Macd. Wherefore did yon so ? 
 
 Macb. WTio can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and 
 furious, 
 
 '-iiOyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: 
 
 ; The expedition nf my violent love 
 
 , Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Dimcan, 
 His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ; 
 And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
 For ruin]s wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
 Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers 
 Unmannerly breech'd with gore : Who could refrain. 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 Courage, to make his love known ? 
 Lady M. Help me hence, ho ! 
 
 Macd. Look to the lady. 
 
 Mai. Why do we hold our tongues. 
 
 That most may claim this argument for ours ? 
 
 Don. What should be spoken here. 
 Where our fate, hid within an auger-hole. 
 May rush, and seize us ? Let's away ; our tears 
 Are not yet brew'd. 
 
 Mai. Nor our strong sorrow on 
 
 The foot of motion. 
 
 Ban. Look to the lady : — 
 
 {Lady Macbeth is carried out.) 
 And when we have our naked frailties hid, 
 That suffer in exposure, let us meet, 
 Acid question this most bloody piece of work. 
 To know it further. F'ears and scruples shake us : 
 In the great hand of God I stand; and, thence, 
 Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
 'Jf treasonous malice. 
 
 Macb. And so do I. 
 
 All. So all, 
 
 Macb Let's briefly put on manly readiness. 
 
 And meet i'the hall together. 
 
 All. Well contented. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Mai. and Don, 
 
 Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort witk 
 To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office [them : 
 
 Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. 
 
 Don. To Ireland I ; our separate fortune 
 Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
 There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in biof" 
 The nearer bloody. 
 
 Mai. This murderous shaft that's shjh 
 
 Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
 Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse ; 
 And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
 But shift asvay : There's warrant in that theft. 
 Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV.— Without the Castle. 
 Enter Rosse and an old Man. 
 Old M. Threescore and ten I can ren)ember well : 
 Within the volun)e of which time, I have seen 
 Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore 
 Hath trifled former knowings. [night 
 
 Rosse. Ah, g<iod father. 
 
 Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubled with man's 
 act. 
 
 Threaten his bloody stage ; by the clock 'tis day. 
 And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: 
 Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame. 
 That darkness does the face of earth intomb. 
 When living light should kiss it? 
 
 Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 
 
 Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, 
 A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place. 
 Was by a mousing owl hawk d at, and kili'd. 
 
 Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing roost 
 strange and certain,) 
 Beauteous and swift, the minions of (heir race, 
 Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung' out, 
 Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would ntake 
 War with mankind. 
 
 Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other. 
 
 Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of min» 
 eyes, [doft\-— 
 That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Mac- 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 How goes the world, sir, now ? 
 Macd. Why, see you not? 
 
 Rosse. Is't known, who did this more than bloody 
 deed? 
 
 Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. ^ 
 
 Rosse. Alas, the day I 
 
 What good could they pretend ? 
 
 Macd. They were suborn'd: 
 
 Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king s two sons. 
 Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
 Suspicion of the deed. 
 
 Rosse. Gainst nature still : 
 
 Thriftless ambition, tl>at vvilt raven up 
 Thine own life's means ! — Then, 'tis most like. 
 The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 
 
 Wacd. He \s already nani'd ; and gone to Scone, 
 To be invested. 
 
 Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ? 
 
 Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill ; X 
 The sacred storehouse of his predecessors. 
 And guardian of their bones. 
 
 Rosse. Will you to Scoir' 
 
 Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife, 
 
 Rosse. Well, I will thithe 
 
 Macd. Well, may you see things well done tk 
 
 — adieu I 
 
 Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 
 
 Rosse. Father, farewell. 
 
 Old M. God's benison go with yoo ; and with 
 those 
 
 That would make good of bad, and friends of foes ! 
 
 Uxeunt^ 
 
272 
 
 MACBEin. 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 A( T TIT. 
 
 SoENE \.~Fore.s. A Room in the Palace. 
 'Enter Banquo. 
 
 Ban, Thou hast it noW;, King, Cawdor, Glamis, 
 As the weird woineii proinis'd ; and, I fear, [all. 
 Thou play'dst most foully for"t: yet it was said. 
 It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
 But that myself should be tlie root, and father 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) 
 why, by the verities on thee made good. 
 May they not be my oracles as well. 
 And set me up in hope ? But, hush ; no more. 
 8enet sounded. 'Enter Macbeth, as King ; Lady 
 
 Macbeth, as Queen; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, 
 
 Ladies, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Here's our chief guest. 
 
 Lady M. If he had been forgotten, 
 
 [t had been as a gap in our great feast. 
 And all things unbecoming. 
 
 Macb. To night we hold a solemn supper, sir. 
 And I'll request your presence. 
 
 Ban. Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me ; to the which, my duties 
 Are with a most indissoluble tie 
 For ever knit. 
 
 Macb. Ride you this afteruoon ? 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 ^. Macb. We should have else desir'd yo«r good 
 advice 
 
 fWhich still hath been both grave and prosperwis,) 
 In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow. 
 Is't far you ride ? 
 
 Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
 Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, 
 I must become a borrower of the night, 
 For a dark hour, or twain. 
 
 Macb. Fail not our feast. 
 
 Ban. My lord, I will not. 
 
 Macb. We .heBr^-.o'if bloody cousins are bestov/d 
 \n England, and in Ireland ^ not confessing 
 Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
 With strange invention : But of that to morrow ; 
 When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state. 
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: Adieu, 
 'i'ill you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon us. 
 
 Macb. 1 wish your horses swift, and sure of foot ; 
 And so I do commend you to their backs. 
 Farewell. — _ [Exit Banquo. 
 
 Let every man be master of his time 
 Till seven at night; to make society 
 riie sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself | 
 Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, ^c. 
 Sirrah, a word : Attend those men our pleasure V 
 
 Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace 
 gate. 
 
 Macb. Bring them before us. — [Exit Attendant. 
 To be thus, is nothing ; 
 fJut to be sal'ely thus: — Our lears in Banquo 
 Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature 
 Keighs that, which would be fear'd : Tis much he 
 
 dares; ^ 
 And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
 He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
 To act in safety. I'here is none, but he, 
 Whose being I do fear : and, under him, 
 M f genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said, 
 Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters. 
 When first they put the name of King upon me. 
 And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet-like. 
 They hail'd him father to a line of kings : 
 Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown. 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe. 
 Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand. 
 No son of mine succeeding. If it be so. 
 For Banquo'a issue have 1 fil'd my mind ; 
 For thefn the gracious Dunjaji have I murder'd ; 
 
 Pnt rancours In the vessel of my peace 
 
 Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel 
 
 Given to the common enemy of man, 
 
 To make thenj kings, the seed of IJanquo kiugs! 
 
 Rather than so, come, fate, into the list. 
 
 And champion me to the utterance ! — W^ho's there? 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with two^/Uirder^^^ 
 Now to the door, and stay there till we call. 
 
 [Exit Attendant 
 Was it nol^yesterday me sppke^iogether ? 
 1 Mur. It was, so please your highness. 
 Macb. Well then, now 
 
 Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know, 
 That it was he, in the tTrhes past, which held you 
 So under fortune ; which, you thought, had been 
 Our innocent self : this I made good to you 
 In our last conference ; pass'd in probation with yon, 
 How you were borne in hand ; how cross'd ; the in- 
 struments; 
 
 Who wrought with them; and all things else, that 
 To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, [might. 
 Say, ThjisjiidJBan£UO. 
 
 ] Mur. You made it known to us. 
 
 Macb. I did so; and went further, which is now 
 Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature, 
 That you can let this go ? Are you so gospell'd, 
 To pray for this good man, and for his issue. 
 Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave. 
 And beggar d yours for ever ? 
 
 1 Mur. We are men, rny \\eg«^} 
 
 Macb. Ay, ialhe. catalogue ye go lor men ; 
 As hounds, aisd greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, ours, 
 Shoughs, water-rugs, and deini-wolves, are cl<^pe() 
 All by the name of dogs: the valued file 
 Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
 The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 
 According to the gift which bounteous nature 
 Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive 
 Particular addition, from the bill 
 That writes them all alike : and so of men. 
 Now, if you have a station in the file. 
 And not in the worst rank of manhood, say il; 
 And I will put that business in your bosoms, 
 Wiiose execution takes your enemy ail'; 
 Grapples you to the heart and love of us, 
 Who wear our health but sickly in his life. 
 Which in his death were perfect. 
 
 2 Mur. I am one, my liege, 
 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the wcM-ld 
 Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what 
 I do, to spite the world. 
 
 1 Mur. And I another. 
 
 So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune. 
 That I would set my life on any chance. 
 To mend it, or be rid on't. 
 
 Macb. Both of you 
 
 Know, Banquo was your enemy. 
 
 2 Mur. True, my lord. 
 Macb. Sa is he mine : and in such bloody distance, 
 
 That every miiiute of his being thrusts 
 Against my near'st of life: And though I could 
 With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight. 
 And bid my will avouch it ; yet I must not. 
 For certain friends that are both his and mine, 
 Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
 Whom I myself struck down: and thence it is. 
 That I to your assistance do make love; 
 Masking the business from the common eye, 
 For sundry weighty reasons. 
 
 2 Mur. We shal'l, my lord 
 
 Perform what you command us. 
 
 I Mur. Though our lives— 
 
 Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within 
 this hour, at most, 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves. 
 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'the tinie. 
 The moment on't; for't must be done to-night. 
 And something from the palace ; always thought. 
 
SCENR 4. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 273 
 
 That I require a clearness : And with him, 
 (To' leave no rubs, nor botches, in tfTe work,) 
 Finance his son, that keeps him company, 
 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 l)l"tliat dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart; 
 Di come to vou anon. 
 
 2 Mur We are resolv'd, my lord. 
 
 Macb. ril call upon you straiglit ; abide within. 
 
 If is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight, 
 
 li i* find heaven, mufit iTnd it out to-night. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 11. — The same. Another Room. 
 Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. 
 
 Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court? 
 
 Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 
 
 Lady M. Say to the king, 1 would attend his 
 For a few words. [leisure 
 
 Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, 
 
 NVhere our desire is got without content : 
 "I'is safer to be that which we destroy, 
 'f'tiau, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Hi)W now, niy lord ? why do you keep alone. 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making ? 
 Using those tlmughts, wiiich should indeed have died 
 With tliem they think on? Things without remedy, 
 Sliould be without regard : what's done, is done. > 
 
 Macb. We have scotcli'd tlie^snake.,. ftQtJ^il^^^^^ 
 She'll cl )se, ancflje herself; whilst our poor malice 
 Rrmains in danger of her former tooth. 
 But let 
 
 The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, 
 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep * 
 
 In the affliction of these terrible 4reams, 
 
 Thnt shake us nightly: beiter be with the dead, 
 
 VVhonj we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 
 
 rhi\a on the torture of the mind to lie 
 
 I ') restless ecstacy. Duncan is in his grave ; 
 
 A ktr life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; 
 
 Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison. 
 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing. 
 
 Can toucli him further ! 
 
 Lady M. Come on ; 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
 Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 
 
 Macb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be you : 
 Lrt your remembrance apj>ly to Banquo ; 
 Piesent him eminence, botff with eye and tongue. 
 Unsafe the while, that we 
 
 Must lave our honours in these flattering streams ; 
 And make our faces vizards t-o our hearts. 
 Disguising what they are. 
 
 Lady M. , You must leave this. 
 
 Macb. 0,jfull of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! 
 Thou know'k that Banquo, and his Fleance, live. 
 
 Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 
 
 Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable ; 
 Then be thou jocund : ere the bat hath flown 
 His cloister'd flight; ere, to^black Hecate's sum- 
 mons, - 
 The shard^Borne beetle, with his drowsy hums. 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 
 Lady M. What's to be done ? 
 
 Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 
 chuck. 
 
 Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
 Skarf np the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
 And, with thy bHody and invisible hand, 
 Cancel, and teai to pieces, that great bond 
 Which keeps m? pale! — Light thickens; and the 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood : [crow 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
 VVhiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
 Tlio-i marvell'st at my words : but bold thee still , 
 
 Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill 
 So, pr ythee, go with me. | Exeunt, 
 
 Scene HI. — The same. A Park or Lawn, with 
 
 a Gate leading to the Palace. 
 Enter Three Murderers. 
 
 1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? 
 
 3 Mur. Macbeth. 
 
 2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust : siucti he de- 
 Our offices, and what we have to do, [livers 
 To the direction just. 
 
 1 Mur. Then stand with us. 
 
 The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day * 
 Now spurs the lated traveller apace. 
 To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches 
 The subject of our watch. 
 
 3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horse«. 
 Baji. ( Within.) Give us a light there, ho! 
 
 ^ 2 Mur. Then it is he ; the rost 
 
 That are within the note of expectation, 
 Already are i'the court. 
 
 1 Mur. His horses go about. 
 
 3 Mur. Almost a mile : but he does usually. 
 So ail men do, from hence to the palace gate 
 Make it their walk. 
 
 Enter Banquo and Fleance, a Servant with • 
 torch preceding them. 
 
 2 Mur. A light, a light ! 
 
 3 Mur. Tis he.— 
 1 Mur. Stand to't. 
 
 Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
 
 X^Mur. Let it come down. 
 
 {Assaults Banquo.) 
 Bari. O, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly^, fly, fly ; 
 Thou may'st revenge. — O slave! 
 
 IDies. Fleance and Servant escapt^, 
 Mur. Who did strike out the light? 
 
 Was't not the wind r 
 
 Ml 
 
 Mur. There's but one down ; the sou is fled. 
 Mur. VV^Jiaye lost best half of our att'air. 
 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how nmch in 
 done. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV.- 
 
 -A Room of State in the Palace. 
 Banquet prepared. 
 
 Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, 
 Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down . 
 And last, the hearty welcome. [at first 
 
 Lords. Thanks to your majesty 
 
 Macb. Ourself will mingle with society. 
 And play the humble host. 
 Our hostess keeps hep state ; but, in best time. 
 We will require her welcome. [friends , 
 
 Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our 
 For my heart speaks, they are welcome. 
 
 Enter first Murderer, Co the door. 
 Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' 
 
 thanks : 
 
 Both sides are even : Here I'll sit i'the midst : 
 Be large in mirth ; anon, we'll drink a measure 
 The table round. — There's blood upon thy face. 
 Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 
 
 Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. 
 Is he despatch'd ? 
 
 Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that 1 did for 
 him. [he's good, 
 
 Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut-thuoats : Yet 
 That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it. 
 Thou art the nonpareil. 
 
 Mur. Most royal sir, 
 
 Fleance is 'scap'd. [perfect | 
 
 Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else been 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
 As broad, and general, as the casing air: 
 But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound ia 
 To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ? 
 
 Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bidei, 
 18 
 
274 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act ni. 
 
 Will) (wenty trencned gashes on his head; 
 The least a death to nuture. 
 
 Macb Thanks for that 
 
 There the growu serpent lies; the worm, that's lied, 
 flath iiatir'5 that in time will venom breed, 
 No teerh tor the [yresent. — Get thee gone ; to-morrow 
 We 11 hear, ourselves again. 
 
 \Exii Murderer, 
 hadtf M. My royal lord, 
 
 You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold, 
 That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
 Tis jjivcn with welcome : To feed, were best at 
 home ; 
 
 lom thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony; 
 Meeting vvere bare without it. 
 
 Mach. Sweet remembrancer ! 
 
 Now, jjood digestion wait on appetite, 
 And heaith on both ! 
 
 Jben. May it please your highness sit? 
 
 {The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in 
 Macbeth s place.) 
 Macb. Here had we now our country's hononr 
 rout '<!, 
 
 Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present; 
 Who may 1 rather challenge for unkindness, 
 'J'han pity for mischance i 
 
 Rosse. His absence, sir, 
 
 Lqys blame upon his promise. Please it your high- 
 To grace us with your royal company? [ness 
 
 Macb. The table's full. 
 
 Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir. 
 
 Macb. Where? 
 
 Len. Here, my lord. What is't that 
 
 moves your highness ? 
 
 Macb, Which of you have done this? 
 
 Lords. What, my good lord ? 
 
 Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake 
 .IJiv gory locks at me. 
 
 Mosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. 
 
 Lady M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is often 
 thus, [seat ; 
 
 And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep 
 The lit is momentary ; upon a thought 
 ^ will again be well ; If much yuu note him, 
 Y'oii shall otfend him, and extend his passion ; 
 Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man? 
 
 Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lady M. O proper stuff! 
 
 This is. tlie very painting of your I'ear : 
 This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, 
 Lt'd you to Duncan, O, tliese Haws, and starts, 
 Jmpostors lo true fear,) woiiid well become 
 A woman's story, at a winter's fire, 
 Authoriz d by her grandara. Shame itself! 
 Why do you make such faces ? When all's done, 
 You look but on a stool. 
 
 Macb. Pr ythee, see there ! behold ! look ! lo ! 
 
 how say you ? 
 
 Why, what care 1 ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — 
 If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
 Those tiiat we bury, back, our monuments 
 Shall be the maws of kites. {Ghost disappears ^ 
 
 Lady M. What! quite unmann'd la folly r 
 
 Macb. If I stand here, 1 saw him. 
 
 Lady M. Fy, for shame ! 
 
 Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden 
 
 ktime, 
 re human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; 
 Ay, a.id since too, murders have been perforra'd 
 Too tenible for the ear : the times have been. 
 That when the brains were out, the man would die, 
 
 od there an end : but now, they rise again. 
 With twenty mortal murders on tlieir crowns, 
 And push us from our stools : 'I'his is more strange 
 Than such a murder is. 
 
 Lady M. My wortliy lord. 
 
 Your noble friends do lack you. 
 
 Macb. I do forget : — 
 
 Do uut rause at me my most worthy friends ; 
 
 I have ajstrange iofirjroUy^, v^^^ is noihing 
 
 To those -that know me. Coine, love and heal(It to 
 
 all ; [full : 
 
 Then I'll sit down : Give me some wiae, 6U 
 
 I drink to the general |ay of the. whole table. 
 
 Ghost rises. 
 And to our -dear friend Banquo, whoa we miaa; 
 Would he were here ! to ail, and hirt, we thiroi^ 
 And all to aU. 
 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 
 
 Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the eartk 
 hide thee ! 
 
 Thy bones a>e marrowless, thy blood is cold; 
 Thou hast no speculation iu those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with ! 
 
 Lady M. Thijik.of this, . goad peers. 
 
 But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other; 
 Only it spoils the pleasure ol' the time. 
 
 Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear. 
 The arnk'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, 
 l\ike any shape but that., and my firm^nerves 
 Shalt cjever tremble : Or, lie alive again, 
 And dare me to the desert wltli thy sword ; 
 If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! 
 
 {iihost disappear*. ' 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why, so ; — being gone, 
 I am a man again. — Pray you,, sit still. ^ 
 
 Lady M. 'Yon have displac'd the mirth, broke 
 the good mpeting. 
 With most admir'd disorder. 
 
 Macb. Can such things be. 
 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud. 
 Without our special wonder? You make roe strange 
 Even to the disposition that I owe, 
 When now I think you can behold such sights. 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
 When mine are blunch'd with fear. 
 
 Rosse. What sights, my lord ? 
 
 Lady M. I pray you, speak not;' he gfOWS'WOiss | 
 and worse ; ^ | 
 
 Question enrages him: at once, good night: — ^ 
 Stand not upon the order of your going. 
 But go at once. 
 
 Len. Good night, and better health 
 
 Attend his majesty! 
 
 Lady M, A kind good night to all ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood will 
 have biood : [speak ; 
 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to 
 Augurs, and understood relations, have - 
 By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought 
 
 forth ' 
 The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night? 
 
 Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which 
 which. 
 
 Macb. How say'st thou, that Macdulf denies 
 person. 
 At our great bidding ? 
 
 Lady M. Did you send to him, sir 
 
 Macb. 1 hear it by the way'; but 1 will send; 
 There's not a one of them, but in his house 
 I keep a servant fee'd. 1 will to-morrow, 
 (Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters : 
 More shall they speak; for now 1 am bent to tnow. 
 By the worst means, the worst : for mine owu 
 good. 
 
 All causes shall give way; I~am in blood 
 $tept in so for, that, should I wa^eloo more. 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er: 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; 
 Which must be acted, ere they may be srann'd. 
 Lady M. You lack the season of all natureiB, 
 sleep. 
 
 Macb. Come, we'll to sleep : My strange and 
 
 self abuse 
 
 Is the initiate i'ear, that wants hard use • — 
 
 W e are yet but young in deed. LExeunt. 
 
Scene G, 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 2'r5 
 
 Scene ^ .—The Heath. Thunder. 
 Enter Hecave, meeting the three Witches. 
 I Witch Why, how now, Hecate? you look 
 angerly. 
 
 Hec. Have 1 not reason, beldams, as you are. 
 Saucy, and overbold ? How dul you dare.^^ 
 To trade and tri^ffic with Macbeth, 
 fu liddles, and all'ciirs of death; 
 And [, the mistress of your charms. 
 The close contriver of all harms, 
 Was ne\ er cali'd to bear my part, 
 Or show the gloi y of our ai t ? 
 And, which is worse, all yon have done 
 Hath been hut for a wayward son, 
 V .Spi^^t'^'^'j '^fi*^^ wrathful; who, as others do. 
 Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
 JBtit make amends now : Get you gone, 
 VAnd at the pit of Aciieron 
 
 Meet me i'the morning ; thither he 
 
 Will come to know his destiny. 
 
 Vbar vessels, and your spells, provide, 
 
 Vour charnis, and every thing Beside • 
 
 f am for the air ; this night I'll spend 
 
 Unto a dismal- fatal end. 
 
 Great business must be wrought ere noon ■ 
 
 Upon the corner of the moon 
 
 Tiiere hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 
 
 fill catch it ere it come to ground : 
 
 And that, distill'd by magic slights, 
 
 Shall raise such artificial sprights, 
 
 As, by the strength of then- illusion. 
 
 Shall draw hiuj on to his confusion : 
 
 fle shall spurn fate, sc<srn death, and bear 
 
 His hopes "bove wisdom, grace, and fear : 
 
 And you all know, security 
 
 Is moitals' chiefest enemy. 
 
 Song [Tfithin.) Come away, come away,§fc. 
 Hark, I am called ; my little spirit, see, 
 8its in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 
 
 1 Witch. Come, let's make haste ; she'll soon be 
 back again. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene Nl.— Fores. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter IiENOX and another Lord. 
 Len. My former speeches have but hit your 
 thoughts. 
 
 Which can interpret further: only, I say, 
 l^ngs have been strangely borne: The gracious 
 Duncan 
 
 Was pitied of Macbeth : — marry, he was dead : — 
 And the rigiit-valiant Batiquo walk d too late ; 
 Whom, you may say, it it please you, Fleance 
 kiird. 
 
 For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. 
 Who cannot want the thought, lu)W monstrous 
 It wr'is for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, 
 To kill their gracious father ? damned fact! 
 Hovy it did grie\ e Macbeth ! did he not straight. 
 In pious rage, the two delinquents tear. 
 That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep? 
 Was not that nobly dune ? Ay, and wisely too; 
 For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive. 
 To hear the men deny it. So that, I say, 
 He has borne all things well : and I do think. 
 That, had he Duncan's sons under his key, 
 tAs, an't please heaven, he shall not,) they should 
 find 
 
 W^fat 'twere to kill a father: so should Fleance. 
 But, i)eace ! — for from broad words, and 'cause he 
 fail'd 
 
 Hia presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, 
 Macdulf lives in disgrace : Sir, can you tell 
 Where he bestows himself? 
 
 Lord. The son of Duncan, 
 
 From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
 Li"es in the English court; and is receiv'd 
 Of the most pious Edward with such grace, 
 Vhat the malevolence of fortune nothing 
 
 Takes from his high respect : Thither Macduff 
 
 Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid 
 
 Tp wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward . 
 
 That, by the help of these, (with Him above 
 
 To ratily the work,) we may again 
 
 Give to our tables meat, sleej; to our nights ; 
 
 Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives J 
 
 Do faithful homage, and receive Iree honours. 
 
 All which we pine for now : And this report 
 
 Hath so exasperate tite king, that he 
 
 Prepares for some attempt of war. 
 
 Len. Sent he to Macduff ? 
 
 Lord. He did : and with an absolute. Sir, not /, 
 The cloudy messenger turns me his back. 
 And hums; as who should say, You'll rue the time 
 That clogs me with this ansiver. 
 
 Len. And that vvell mighl 
 
 Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
 His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
 Fly to the court of England, aiid unfold 
 His message ere he come ; that a swift blessing 
 May soon return to this our suffering country 
 Under a hand accurs'd ! 
 
 Lord. My prayers with him ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A dark Cave. In the middle, a Caul' 
 dron boiling. Thunder. 
 
 Enter the three Witches. }k. 
 
 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig vvhin il, 
 
 3 Witch. Harper cries : — 'Tis time, 'tis time. 
 
 1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go ; 
 In the poison'd entrails throw. 
 
 Toad, that under coldest stone, 
 Days and nights hast thirty-one 
 Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
 Boil thou first i'the charmed pot ! 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2 itch. Fillet of a fenny snake. 
 In the cauldron boil and bake: 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog. 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting. 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
 
 For a charm of powerful trouble. 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire, burn ; ajid, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf* 
 Witches' nuimmy; maw, and gulf. 
 
 Of the ravio'd salt-sea shark; 
 
 Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark ; / 
 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
 
 Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse ; 
 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; 
 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe, 
 
 Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, 
 
 Make the gruel thick and slab : " 
 
 Add thereto a tiger's chawdron, 
 
 For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 
 Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood. 
 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 1* 
 Enter Hecate, and the other thue Wiifikaf, 
 Hec. O, vvell done ! I commend your paioa; 
 
 And every one shall share i"the guins. 
 
 And now about the cauldron sing. 
 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring. 
 
 Enchanting all that you put in. 
 
 SONG. 
 Black spirits and white, 
 Red spirits and grey ; 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle. 
 You that mingle ^^^4^f. 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 Act 17. 
 
 3 Witch. By the pricking of niy thanibs, 
 
 Something wicked this way comes: — 
 Open, locks, whoever knocks. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Mach. How now, you secret, black, and mid- 
 Wbat is't you do? [night hags? 
 
 A 11. A deed without a name. 
 
 Mach. I conjure yon, by that which you profess, 
 (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : 
 rhougii you untie the winds, and let them tight 
 Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up; 
 Thougli Uladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown 
 down ; 
 
 '^fhoiigh castles topple on their warders' heads ; 
 
 'riiough palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 
 Their heads to their foundations : though the treasure 
 
 Ol' nature's germins tumble all together, 
 
 liven till destruction sicken, answer me 
 
 'i'o what I ask you, 
 
 1 mtch. Speak. 
 
 2 IVitch. Demand. 
 
 3 J f itch. We'll answer. 
 
 1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our 
 Or {l oni our masters' ? [mouths, 
 Mach. Call them, let me see them. 
 
 1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 Her nine farrow; grease, that's sweaten 
 From the murderer s gibbet, throw 
 Into the flame. 
 All. Come, high, or low ; 
 
 Thyself, and office, deftly show. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head 
 rises. 
 
 Mach. Tell xsa, tlvja unknown power, 
 
 1 Witch. He knows thy thought ; 
 
 Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 
 
 A'pp. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware 
 Macduff; 
 
 Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me : — Enough. 
 
 {Descends.) 
 
 Mach. VVhate'er thon art, for thy good caution, 
 thanks ; [more : — 
 
 'I'hou hast harp'd my fear aright: — But one word 
 
 1 U itch. He will not be commanded : Here's 
 More potent than the tirst. [another. 
 
 Thunder, An Apparition of a Moody Child rises. 
 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!— 
 
 Mach. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. 
 App. Be bloody, bold, 
 
 And resolute; laugh to scorn the power of man," 
 For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth. 
 
 [Descends.) 
 
 Mach. Then live, Macduff : What need I fear 
 of thee ? 
 
 But yet rU make assurance double sure, 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies. 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, 
 with a tree in his hand, rises. 
 
 ^I^at rises like the issue of a king ; 
 And wears upon his baby brow the round 
 And top of sovereignty ? 
 
 All. Listen, but speak not. 
 
 App. Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
 IVI.acbeth shall never vanqnish'd be, until 
 Great Biroam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against hira. (Descends.) 
 
 Macb. That will never be ; 
 
 Who can impress the forest? bid the tree 
 Unfrx his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements ! good ! 
 
 Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood 
 Of Birnam rise, and our high-i)la'.;'d Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 To time, and mortal custom. — Yot my heart 
 Throbs to know one thing ; tell me, (if your art 
 Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ? 
 
 All. Seek to know no more. 
 
 Mach. I will be satisfied ; deny me this. 
 And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let uje know '-^ 
 Why sinks that cauldron ? and what noise is this' 
 
 (Haulhoy».\ 
 
 itch. Show! 3 Witch. Show! 
 
 1 Witch. Sh()w ! 2 Witch 
 All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 
 Come like shadows, so depart. 
 
 Eight Kings appear, and pass over the Stage in 
 order; the last with a glass in his hand; 
 Banquo folloiving. 
 
 Mach. Thou art too like the spirit of Banqno, 
 down I [h-air. 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : — And thy 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first : — 
 A third is like the former: — Filthy hags! 
 Why do you show me this ? — A fourth ? — Start, 
 eyes! [doom? 
 What! will the line stretch out to the crack of 
 Another yet? — A seventh? — I'll see no more :— 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, 
 Which shows me many more ; and some I see. 
 That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry: 
 Horrible sight! — Ay, now, I see, 'tis true; 
 For'the blood bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me. 
 And points at them for his — What, is this so ? 
 
 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : — But why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? — 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights. 
 And show the best of our delights ; 
 I'll charm the air to give a sound. 
 While you perform your antique round 
 That this great king may kindly say, 
 Our duties did his welcome pay 
 
 {Music. The Witches dance, and vani$h.) 
 
 Mach. Where are they ? Gone ? — Let this per- 
 nicious hour 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar! — 
 Come in, without there 1 
 
 Enter Lenox. 
 
 Len. What's your grace's will ? 
 
 Mach. Saw you the weird sisters ? 
 
 Len. No, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Came they not by you ? 
 
 Len. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Mach. Infected be the air whereon they ride ;> 
 And damn'd all those that trust them ! — I did hear 
 The galloping of horse : Who was't came by ? 
 
 Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you 
 Macduff is fled to England. [word, 
 
 Macb. Fled to England V 
 
 Len. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: 
 The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, 
 Unless the deed go with it: From this moment* 
 The very 4ESjyi"SS,S^ heart shall be 
 The 4j;^Uj^^? my hand. An.d even now, 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought an 
 
 done : ^ 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; i | 
 Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o'the sword 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 That trace his line. No boasting like a fool ; 
 This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool : 
 But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen ? 
 Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt, 
 
 ScENK M.—Fife. A Room in Macduff s Castle, 
 Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and RossE. 
 Lady Macd. What had he done, to make him fly 
 the land ? 
 
Sf^EXE 3. 
 
 Hosse. You must have patience, maclam. 
 
 L. Macd. He had none : 
 
 His rti^ht was iTKidiiess : When onr actions do not, 
 Our JVarsjio make us traitors. 
 
 Hosse'. Yon know not, 
 
 VVhtrther it was his wisdom, or his fear. 
 
 L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave 
 his Itabes, 
 His mansion, and his titles, in a place 
 From whence himself does fly ? He loves ns not; 
 He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren, 
 The most diniinntive of birds, will fight, 
 Her yonn^' ont'S in her nest, against the owl. 
 All is the fear, and nothing is the lo\ e ; 
 As little is the wisdom, where tine flight 
 So runs against all reason. 
 
 Kosse. My dearest coz', 
 
 i pray yon, school yourself : bat, for your husband, 
 He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
 'I'iie fits o'tlie season. I dare not speak much further : 
 lint cruel are the times, when we are traitors. 
 And do not know ourselves ; when we hold rumour 
 From what we fear, yet know not what we fear ; 
 But Hoal upon a wild and violent sea, 
 Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you : 
 Shall not he long but I'll be here again : 
 'IMiings at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
 To what liiey were before. — My pretty cousin, 
 BleVging upon you ! 
 
 L. Macd. tather'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. 
 
 Ross^'. I ajn so much a fool, should I slay longer. 
 It would be niy disgrace, and your discomfort : 
 I take my leave at once. {Exit Rosse, 
 
 I L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ; 
 And what will you do now? How will you live? 
 
 Son. As buds do, mother. 
 
 L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? 
 
 i^'on. VVitii what I get, 1 mean," and so do they. 
 L Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, 
 Tne pit-fall, nor the gin. [nor lime, 
 
 Son. Why shouid I, mother? Poor birds they 
 are not set for. 
 My fathfir is not dead, for all your saying. 
 
 L. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; how wilt thou do for 
 a rather ? 
 
 Snn. Nay, how will you do for a husband? 
 L. Macd. \Vhy, I can buy me twenty at any 
 market. 
 
 Son. Then you'll buy "eni to sell again. 
 
 L. Macd. 'I'hou speak'st with all thy wit; and 
 yet i'faitii. 
 With wit enough for thee. 
 V~ Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 
 \ L. Macd. Ay, that lie Was. 
 
 Son. What is a traitor? 
 ! L. Macd. Why, o»>e that swears and lies.- / 
 "^on. And be all traitors, that do so? 
 
 L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, 
 and must be hanged. [and lie ? 
 
 Son. And nmst they all be hanged, that swear 
 
 L. Macd. Every one. 
 
 Son. Who must hang them ? 
 ,X. Macd'.'yVliy^iUe honest men. 
 
 Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for 
 there are liaw and swearers enough to beat the 
 honest men, and hang up them. 
 
 L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey ! 
 But how wilt thoii do for a lather? 
 
 Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him : if you 
 woidd not, it were a good sign that I should quickly 
 have a new father. 
 
 L. Macd. Poor prattler! bow thou talk'st ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 
 Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I ara not to you 
 known, 
 
 Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
 I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly: 
 If you wilt take a homely man's advice, 
 ^ Be oot found here ' i^euce with ioiir little ones. 
 
 277 
 
 To fright yon tlnis, methiiks, T am too savage; 
 To do worse to you, were fell cruelty, [yoU 
 Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve 
 I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 L. Macd. ' Whither should I ily? 
 
 I have done no harm. But I remesnber now 
 1 am in this earthly world; where, to do harm, 
 is often laudable ; to do good, sometime. 
 Accounted dangerous folly : VV^hy then, aias ! 
 Do I put up that womanly defence. 
 
 To say, I have done no harm ? What are the»« 
 
 faces ? 
 
 Enter Murderers. 
 Mur. Where is your husband ? 
 L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, 
 Where such as thou raay'st fir>d him. 
 Miir. He's a traitor. 
 
 Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain. 
 Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him.) 
 
 Young fry of treachery ? 
 
 Son. He has killed me, mother : 
 
 Run away, I pray you. [Dies.] 
 \_Exit hady Macduff, crying murder, 
 and pursued by t he Murderers. 
 
 Scene III. — England. A room in the King s 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 
 
 Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty. {ther« 
 
 Macd. Let us rather 
 
 Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men, 
 Bestride our down-faU'n birthdom : Each new moro. 
 New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows 
 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
 As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
 Like syllable of dolour. 
 
 Mai. What I believe, I'll wail 
 
 What know, believe; and, what I can redress. 
 As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
 What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 
 This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues. 
 Was once thought honest : you have lov'd him well ; 
 He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young ; hot 
 something 
 
 You may deserve of him through me ; and wisdom 
 To offer up a weak, poor, iimocent lamb. 
 To appease an angry god, 
 
 Macd. I am not treacherous. 
 
 Mai. But Macbeth is. 
 
 A good and virtuous nature may recoil, 
 In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon : 
 That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose: 
 Angels are bright still, though the brightest leli : 
 Though all things foul would wear the brows ol 
 Yet grace nmst still look so. [grace, 
 
 Macd. 1 have lost my hopes. 
 
 Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my 
 doubts. 
 
 Why in that rawness left yoa wife, and child, 
 
 (Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) 
 
 Without leave-taking? — I pray you. 
 
 Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, 
 
 But mine own safeties : — You may be rightly just. 
 
 Whatever I shall think. 
 
 Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country . 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy bas^is sure. 
 For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thoa tb| 
 wrongs. 
 
 Thy title is afleei-'d !— Fare thee well, lord : 
 I would not be the villain that thou think'st , 
 For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp. 
 And the rich East to boot. 
 
 Mai. Be not ofi'ended : 
 
 I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
 I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke 4 
 It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day " '>*'^a 
 I Is added to her wounds : I think, witlial, 
 • Tiiere would be liands u^lilted in mi 'K^ht' 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
278 MACBETH. 
 
 And here, from _q;racious England, have I offer 
 Ol gooilly tljousands : lint, ior all this. 
 When I shall trend upon the tyrant's head, 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
 SJiall have more \ices than it had before; 
 More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 
 liv that shall succeed. 
 
 Macd. What should he be? 
 
 MaL It is myself I mean : in whom 1 know 
 All the particulars of vice so grafted, 
 ^'hat, wiien they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
 WiU seetn as pore as snow ; and the poor state 
 Esteeni him as a lamb, being compar'd 
 With my confineless harms. 
 
 Macd. Not in the legions 
 
 Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd 
 In evils, to top Macbeth. 
 
 Mai. I grant him bloody, 
 
 Luxnrions, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
 Sudden, malicious, smacking oi' every sin 
 That has a name : But there's no bottom, none. 
 In my voluptuousness : your wives, yo;n- daughters, 
 Vour matrons, and your nmids, could not fill up 
 The cistern of my Inst; and my desire 
 All continent impediments would o ei bear, 
 That did oppose my will : Better Macbeth, 
 Than such a one to reign. 
 
 Macd. Boundless intemperance 
 
 In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been 
 The untimely emptying of the happy throne, 
 And fall of many kir)gs. But fear not yet 
 'i o take upon you wiiat is yours : you may 
 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty. 
 And yet seem cold, the tiuie you n»ay so hood-wink. 
 We i»a»e wdling dames enough ; there cannot be 
 That vulture in you, to devour so many 
 A3 will to greatness dedicate themselves. 
 Finding it so inclin'd. 
 
 Mai. With this, there grows, 
 
 fn my most ill-compos'd atfection, such 
 A stau'jhless avarice, that, were I kuig,' 
 1 should cutoif tlie nobles for their lauds; 
 Desire liis jewels, and this other's house: 
 And my mort -having wutdd be a.s u sauce 
 To make me hunf;er more; that 1 shoidd forge 
 Quarrels unjust aguinst the good, and loyal. 
 Destroying lliem tor wealth. 
 
 Macd. This avarice 
 
 Sticks deeper ; grows with more pei nicious root 
 Than suinuser-seedmg lust: and it hith been 
 The sword ol'our shtin kings : Yet do not fear ; 
 Scotland hath foysons to till up your wi]l, 
 Ofyourniere own: All these are portable. 
 With other graces weigii'd. ^ 
 
 Mai. But I have none,: The king-becoming graces. 
 As justice, verity, temperance, stableness. 
 Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lovvlmess, 
 Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
 1 have no relish of them; but abound 
 In the division of each several crime. 
 Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
 Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell. 
 Uproar the imiversal peace, confound 
 All unity on earth. 
 
 Macd. O Scotland! Scotland! 
 
 Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak : 
 I am as i have spo;s.en. 
 
 Macd. Fit to govern ! 
 
 No, not to live. — O nation miserable. 
 With an urititled tyrant bloody-scepter'd. 
 When shall thuu see thy wholesome days again? 
 Siace that the truest issue of thy throne 
 By his own interdiction stands accurs'd. 
 And does blaspheme his breed ? — Thy royal father 
 Was a most sainted king ; the queen tiiat bore thee, 
 QlVner upon her knees than on her feet. 
 Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well ! 
 These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself, 
 Have banish'd me from Scotland. — -O, my brea:* 
 Vhy hope ends here! 
 
 Ac'^ IV 
 
 Mai. Macduff, tnis nobte paatiio? 
 
 Child of integrity, hatb from my soul 
 Wip'd the black scrup.es, reconcii'd my thong.' 
 To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbr*h 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks UM 
 From over-credulous haste : But God above 
 Deal between thee and me I I'olr even now 
 I put myself to thy directiotj, and 
 Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
 The taints and blames I laid upon myself. 
 For strangers to my nature. 1 am yet 
 Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; 
 Scarcely have coveted what was mine, own; 
 At no time broke my faith ; vi onld not betray 
 The devil to his i'ellovv ; and delight 
 No less in truth, than life : my first false speakiuf 
 Was this upon myself: What 1 am truly. 
 Is thine, and my poor country's to conmiand ; 
 Whither, indeed, before thy liere-a|)proach. 
 Old Sivvard, with ten thousand warlike men. 
 All reatly at a point, was setting fortli : 
 Now we'll together; And tlie chance, of goodness. 
 Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silenl * 
 
 Macd. Such welcon»e and unwelcome things H 
 'Tis hard to reconcile. [onco, 
 
 Enter a Doctor. 
 
 Mai. Well ; more anon. — Comes the king forth , 
 1 pray you ? 
 
 Doct. Ay, sir : there are a crew of wretched soull 
 That stay his cure : their nudady convinces 
 The great assay of art; but, at his touch, 
 Sucli sanctity hath heaven given his hand, 
 I They presently amend 
 
 Mai. I thank you, doctor, 
 
 [ Exit Doctor 
 
 Macd. What's the disease he means ? 
 
 Mai. 'Tis caird the evils 
 
 A most miraculous work in this good king ; 
 Which ol'ten, since my hei e-remain in England, 
 I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven. 
 Himself best knows : but stran^',ely-visited people, 
 All swoln and ulcerous, pitii'ul to the eye. 
 The mere despair of surgery, he cures; 
 Hanging a golden stamp about their trecks, 
 Put on with iioly prayers : and 'tis spoken. 
 To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
 The healin<^ benediction. With this strange virtue. 
 He liHtli a heavenly gift of prophecy; 
 And sundry blessings hang about his throne. 
 That speak him full of grace. 
 
 Enter RossE. 
 Macd. See, who comes here ? 
 
 Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 
 Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
 Mai. I know him now : Good God, betimes re- 
 move 
 
 The means that make us strangers ! 
 
 Rosse. Sir, Amen. 
 
 Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 
 
 Rosse. Alas, poor country ; 
 
 Almost afraid to know itself I It canndr^^^^ " " 
 Be call'd our mother, but our grave : wiiere nothing^ 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; 
 Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent tht 
 air, 
 
 Are made, not mark'd ; where \ iolonl sorrow seem 
 
 A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell 
 
 Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's llve« 
 
 Expire before the flowers in their cap.<J, 
 
 Dying, or ere they sicken. 
 
 Macd. O, relation. 
 
 Too nice, and yet too true ! 
 
 Mai, What is the newe.«!|t grief? 
 
 iioi'se.That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker 
 Each minute teems a new one. 
 
 Macd. How does my wrife? 
 
 Rosse. Why, well. 
 
Act y. Scene 1. 
 
 Macd. And all my children 
 
 BoBse. Well too. 
 
 Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? 
 
 No; they were well at peace, when 1 did 
 
 leave them. 
 
 Macd. Be not a niggard of vonr speech ; How 
 goes it? [tidings, 
 
 Rosse. When I came hither to transport the 
 Which 1 nave heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
 Of many worthy fellows that were out-; 
 Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
 For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot: 
 Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
 Would create soldiers, make our women fight. 
 To doff their dire distresses. 
 
 J)/«/. Be it their comfort. 
 
 We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
 Lent us good Siward, and ten tiiousand nien; 
 An older, and a better soldier, none 
 That Christendom gives out. 
 
 Rosse. Would I could answer 
 
 Tliis comfort with the like ! But I have words, 
 Tluit would be howl'd out in the desert air. 
 Where hearing should not latch them. 
 
 Macd. What concern they ? 
 
 Tiie general cause ? or is it a fee-grief, 
 Due to some single breast ? 
 
 Rosse. No mind, that's honest, 
 
 Rut in it shares some woe; though the main part 
 Ft-rtMins to you alone. 
 
 Macd. If it be mine, 
 
 K» it not fiOin me, quickly let me have it. 
 
 Russe. Let not your ears despise my tongue for 
 ever. 
 
 Which shall jjossess them with the heaviest sound, 
 T\vr\l ev^-r yet tliey hearil. 
 
 M icd. Humph ! I guess at it. 
 
 Rosse. Ydur castle is surpris'd ; your wife, and 
 
 ; babes, 
 
 S u avely sjaiighter'd t to relate the manner, 
 ;VV*N e, on the qiiany oi" these nmrder'd deer, 
 Ti» lulrj the death of you. 
 
 Mai. Merciful heaven ! — 
 
 Wliat, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows : 
 Give sorrow words : the grief, that does not speak, 
 Whispers tlie o'er -fraught heart, and bids it break. 
 
 .Macd. My ciiildreu too ? 
 
 Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 
 
 Thnt r.oidd be found, 
 
 Macd. And I must be from thence ! 
 
 My wife kili'd too ? 
 
 Rosse. I have said. 
 
 Mai. Be comforted : 
 
 Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge. 
 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones ? 
 Did you say, all ?— O, hell-kite !— All ^ 
 What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam. 
 At one fell swoop? 
 
 Mai. Dispute it like a man. 
 
 Macd. I shall do so ; 
 
 But I nuist also feel it as a man ; 
 I cannot but remember such things were, [on. 
 That were most precious to me,— Did heaven look 
 And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, 
 They vvre all struck for thee ! naught that I am, 
 Not lor their own demerits, but for/mine, 
 i'Vll slaughter on their souls: lifeaven rest them 
 now ! [grief 
 
 Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let 
 Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it 
 
 Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine 
 eyes, [heaven. 
 And braggart with my tongue ! -; — But, gentle 
 Cnt short all intermission; front to front. 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself ; 
 Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape. 
 Heaven forgive \nm too ! 
 
 Mai, This tune goes manly. 
 
 Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ; 
 
 279 
 
 Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
 is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
 Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer yon 
 may ; 
 
 The night is long, that never finds the day. 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene L — Dunsincme. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Genth* 
 ivoman. 
 
 Doct. I have two nights watched with you, hat 
 can perceive no truth in your report. When was it 
 she last walked ? 
 
 Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I 
 have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night- 
 gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, 
 fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, aud 
 again return to bed : yot ail this while in a most fast 
 sleep. 
 
 Doct. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive 
 at once the benefit of sleep, and do the elFects of 
 watching. — In this slunibry agitation, besides her 
 walking, and other actual .performances, what, at 
 any time, have you heard her say ? 
 
 Gent. That, sir, which 1 will not report after her. 
 
 Doct. You may, to me ; and 'tis most meet you 
 .should. 
 
 Gent. Neither to you, nor any one ; having uo 
 witness to confirm my speech. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, ivith a taper. 
 Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise: 
 and, upon njy life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand 
 
 Doct. How came she by that light ? [close. 
 
 Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her 
 continually ; 'tis her command. 
 
 Doct. Vou see, her eyes are open. 
 
 Gent. Ay, but their sen!3e is shut. 
 
 Doct. What is it she does now ? Look, how she 
 rnhsjier hands. 
 
 X)ent. It is an accustomed action with her, to 
 seem thus washing her hands ; I have known her 
 continue in this a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Lady M. Yet here's a spot. 
 
 Doct. Hark, she speaks : I will set down what 
 comes from her, lo satisfy my remembrance the 
 more strongly. 
 
 Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say ! — One; 
 
 Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is 
 
 murky! — Fy, my lord, fy! a soldier, and afeard? 
 What need we fear who knows it, when none can 
 call our power to account? — Yet who would have 
 thought the old man to have had so much blood la 
 
 Doct. Do you mark that ? [him ? 
 
 Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; Where 
 
 is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be 
 
 clean? — No more o'that, my iord, no more o'that* 
 you mar all with this starting. [slioidd not. 
 
 Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you 
 
 Gent. She has spoke vi'hat she should not, 1 am 
 sure of that: heaven knows what she has known. 
 
 Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all 
 the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
 hand. Oh ! oh ! oh ! [charged. 
 
 Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely 
 
 Gent. I would not have such a heart im mf 
 bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. 
 
 Doct. Wj$\\, well, well,— 
 
 Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. 1 
 
 Z?«c^., This disease i& beyond my practice: Yel 
 have known'those which have walked in their sleep 
 who have died holily in their beds. 
 
 Lady M. Wash your hands, out on your night- 
 gown ; look not so pale : — I tell you yet again, 
 Banquo's buried ; he cannot come out of liis grave 
 
 Doct. Even so ? 
 
 Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at 
 the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me jom 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
280 
 
 iaml ; Wliat's done, cannot be rjndone : To bed, 
 to bed, to bed. [Ex a. 
 
 Doct. Will she go now to bed? 
 
 Gent. Directly. [deeds 
 
 Doct. Foul vvhisj/eiings are abroad: Unnatural 
 |>o breed unnatural t/*^ jbles: infected minds 
 To their deaf pillows ;vill discharge their secrets. 
 More needs she the divine, than the physician. — 
 Qod, God, forgi\e us all! Look alter her; 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance. 
 And still keep eyes upon her : — So, good night : 
 My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight: 
 I think, but dare not speak. 
 
 Gent, Good night, good doctor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The Country near Dunsmane. 
 Enter, tvith drum and colours, Menteth, Cath- 
 NEss, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers. 
 Ment. The English power is near, led on by 
 Malcolm, 
 
 His uncle Siward, and the good MacdufF. 
 Revenges burn i.Ti them : for their dear causes 
 Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm, 
 Excite the mortified man. 
 
 Ang. Near Birnam wood 
 
 Shall we well meet them ; that way are they coming. 
 
 Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his 
 brother ? 
 
 Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file 
 Of all the gentry ; there is Siward's son. 
 And many unrough youths, that even now 
 Protest their first of manhood. 
 
 Ment. What does the tyrant? 
 
 Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies : 
 Some say, he's mad ; others, that lesser hate him. 
 Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, 
 lie cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 
 Within the belt of rule. 
 
 Any. Now does he feel 
 
 His secret murders sticking on his hands; 
 Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach ; 
 Those he commands, move only in command, 
 Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 
 Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
 Upon a dwarfish thief. 
 
 Ment. Who then shall blame 
 
 His pester'd B«no«a in necoil, and start. 
 When an mat is within him does condemn 
 Itself, for being there ? 
 
 Cath. Well, march we on. 
 
 To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd : 
 Meet we the medecin of the sickly weal ; 
 And with him pour we, in our country's purge. 
 Each drop of us. 
 
 hen. Or so much as it needs. 
 
 To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 
 Make we our march towards Birnam. 
 
 [Exeunt, marching. 
 
 Scene III. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 
 Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let tliem fly all ; 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
 I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm ? 
 Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know 
 All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus : 
 Pear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, 
 Shall e'er have power on thee. — 'i'hen fly, false 
 And mingle wiih tlie English ei)icures :^ [thanes, 
 The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, 
 Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon ! 
 ^\Tiere got'st thou that goose look ? 
 
 Serv. Thet^ is ten thousand 
 
 Mach. Geese, villain? 
 
 Serv. Soldiers, sir. 
 
 Macb Go, prick thy face, and ovf*»--red thy fear. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? 
 Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine 
 Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face 1 
 
 Serv. The English Ibrce, so please you. 
 
 Macb. Take thy face hence.— Sey ton ! — i an 
 sick at heart, 
 When I behold— Seyton, I say !— This push 
 Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now, 
 I have liv'd long enough: my way of life * 
 Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf: 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have ; but, in their stead. 
 Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not 
 Seyton I — — 
 
 Enter Seyton. 
 
 Sey. What is your gracious pleasure ? 
 Macb. What news more? 
 
 Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re- 
 ported. 
 
 Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh b© 
 Give me my armour. [hack'd. 
 
 Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 
 
 Macb. I ll put it on. 
 Send out more horses, skii r the country round ; 
 Hang those that talk of fear. — Gi»e me mine ar- 
 How does your patient, doctor? [mour — 
 
 Doct. Not so siclf, my lord. 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies. 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Macb. Cure her of that: 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Haze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
 And, with some sweet oblivious antidote. 
 Cleanse the stufl'd boson) of that perilous stuff* 
 Which weighs upon the heart? 
 
 Doct. Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister to himself. 
 
 Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.-* 
 Cotne, put mine arn»our on; give n»e uiy stafl': — 
 Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from 
 me : — 
 
 Come, sir, despatch: — If thou couldst, doctor, cast 
 Tiie water of my land, find her disease, 
 And purge it to a sound and pristine iieallh, 
 I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
 That should applaud again. — Pull't oil", I say. — 
 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug. 
 Would scour these English hence V — Hei-irest thou 
 of them ? 
 
 Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal preparation 
 Makes us hear something. \ 
 
 Macb. Bring it after me. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 
 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit. 
 
 Doct. Were I from Diu)sinaue away and clear. 
 Profit agam should hardly draw me here. [Exit. 
 
 Sce-ne IV. — Country near Dunsinane : A Wood 
 in vietv. 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old 
 SiWARD and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, 
 Cath.ness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, 
 marching. 
 
 Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand. 
 That chambers will be sale. 
 
 Ment. We doubt it nothing. 
 
 Siw. What wood is this before us 
 
 Ment. The wood of Birnani. 
 
 Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough. 
 And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow 
 The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
 Err in report of us. 
 
 Sold. It shall be done. 
 
 Siw. Wb learn no other, but the confident tyrant. 
 Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
Scene 7. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 28J 
 
 Our seftiug down before't. 
 
 j^al. "Tts his main hope : 
 
 For where there is advantage to be given, 
 Both more and less hath given him the re^volt ; 
 And none-serve with liim, but constrained tbhiga, 
 Whose hearts are absent too, 
 
 Macd. Ltt our just cetsures 
 
 Attend the true event, and put we oi 
 Industrious soldiership. 
 
 Siw. The time approa<«he8. 
 
 That will with due decision make ns knew 
 What we shall say we have, and wbat Wfc owe. 
 Thoughts speculative their unsure hope-j relate ; 
 But certain issue strokes meat arbitrate: 
 Towards which, advance the wm: 
 
 lExeunt, marching. 
 
 Scene Y.-^Dunsina'^. Pfithin the Castle. 
 Enter, tcith drums and colours, Macbeth, 
 
 Setj^S, and Soldiers. 
 Macb. Hang ort our banners on the outward walls; 
 The cry is stJl, They come: Our castle's strength 
 Will laugh A si-ge to scorn: here let them lie. 
 Till famine aEid the ague, eat them up : 
 VV^ere they not forc'd with those that should be ours. 
 We mir^Sit have met them dareful, beard to beard, 
 And beat them backward home. What is that 
 noise ? {A cry within, of women.) 
 
 8ey. It in the cry of women, my good lord. 
 sj -^^Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
 The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
 to hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair 
 tVouId at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
 (\.s life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors; 
 Direness, familiar to n»y slaught'rous thoughts, 
 Bannot once start me.— Wherefore was that cry ? 
 0' Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 
 \ Much. She should have died hereafter ; 
 
 There would have been a time for such a word.— 
 To -morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day. 
 To the last syllable of recorded time; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ' 
 Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player. 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. 
 And then is heard no more: it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Thon ccm'st to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly. 
 
 Mess. Gracious my lord, 
 I shall report that which I say I saw. 
 But know not how to do it. 
 
 Macb, Well, say, sir. 
 
 Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
 Vhe wood began to move. 
 
 Macb. Liar, and slave ! 
 
 [Striking him.) 
 
 Mess. Let me endure your wrath, iff be not so: 
 Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 
 I say, a moving grove. 
 i- Macb. If thou speak'st false, 
 
 A Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
 1^ Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
 Sp I care not if thou dost for me as much. — 
 r r pull in resolution; and begin 
 
 To doubt the equivocafTon of the fiend, 
 That lies like truth : Fear not, till Birnam wood 
 Do come to Dunsinane : — and now a wood 
 Comes toward Dunsinane.— Arm, arm, and out! — 
 If this, which he avouches, does appear. 
 There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. 
 I 'gin to be a- weary of the sun. 
 And wish the estate o the world were now undone. — 
 Ring t^e alarum bell :— Blow, wind ! come, wrack ! 
 At least we'll die with harness on our back, 
 
 I Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI.—The same. A Plain before the Castle. 
 
 Enter, with drums and colours » Malcolm, ola 
 SiWARD, Macduff, §fc. and their Army, with 
 boughs. 
 
 Mai. Now near enough ; your leavy screnu 
 
 throw down. 
 
 And show like those you are : — You, worthy uncle, 
 Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son. 
 Lead our first battle : worthy Macdufl', and we. 
 Shall take upon us what else remains to do. 
 According to our order. 
 
 Siw. Fare you well. 
 
 Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, 
 Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight [all breath, 
 
 Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give them 
 Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarums corUinued. 
 
 Scene VII. — The sams. Another part of the Plain. 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly. 
 But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What's he. 
 That was not born of woman ? Such a one 
 Am I to fear, or none. 
 
 Enter young SiWARD. 
 
 Yo. Siw. What is tky name ? 
 
 Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it 
 
 Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter 
 Than any is in hell. [name 
 
 Macb. My name's Macbeth. 
 
 Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce 
 More hateful to mine ear. [a title 
 
 Macb. No, nor more fearful. 
 
 Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with ray 
 I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [sword 
 {They fight, and young Siward is slain.) 
 
 Macb. Thou wast born of woman.— 
 
 But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
 Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Macdufp. 
 Macd. That way the noise is : — Tyrant, show thy 
 face : 
 
 If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine. 
 
 My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
 
 I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms 
 
 Are hir'd to bear their staves ; either thou, Macbeth, 
 
 Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
 
 I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be ; 
 
 By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
 
 Seems bruited : Let me find him, fortune ! 
 
 And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum 
 
 Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 
 Siw. This way, my lord ; — the castle's gently req 
 The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ; [der'd : 
 The noble thanes do bravely in the war; 
 The day almost itself professes yours. 
 And little is to do. 
 
 Mai. We have met with foes 
 
 That strike beside us. 
 
 Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarums. 
 Re-enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and 
 die 
 
 On mine own sword ? whiles I see lives, the gashei 
 Do better upon them. 
 
 Re-enter Macdufp. 
 
 Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. 
 
 Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee . 
 But get thee back, ray soul is too much charg'd 
 W th blood of thine already. 
 
 Macd. I have no words. 
 
 My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodier villain 
 Than terms can give thee out ! {They fight,) 
 
 Macb. Thou losest lalbour ; 
 
282 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 As easy may st thoa the intrenchant air 
 
 With tliy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: 
 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
 
 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 
 To one of woman born. 
 
 Macd. Despair ihy charm ; 
 
 And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd. 
 Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
 Untimely ripp'd. 
 
 MacB. Accurpo^? be that tongue that tells me so^ 
 For it hath cow'(? u^y better part ol man ! 
 And be these jiifjgling fiends no more believ'd. 
 That palter with us in a double sense ; 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
 And break it to our hope. — I'll not fight with thee. 
 
 Macd. Then yield thee, coward, 
 And lit e to be the show and gaze o'the time. 
 We'll have tiiee, as our rarer monsters are. 
 Painted upon a pole ; and underwrit. 
 Here may you see the tyrant. 
 
 Macb. I'll not yield, 
 
 To kiss the ground before yo'ing Malcolm's feet. 
 And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunslnane, 
 And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born. 
 Yet I will try the last : Before my body 
 [ thiow my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff; 
 And damn'd be him tliat first cries. Hold, enough. 
 
 [Exeunt, fighting. 
 
 Retreat. Flourish. Re enter, with drum and 
 colours, Malcolm, old Si ward, Rosse, Lenox, 
 Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers. 
 Mai. I would, the friends we miss were safe 
 arriv'd. 
 
 Siiv. Some must go o(f : and yet, by these I see, 
 £5o great a day as this is cheaply bought. 
 
 Mai Macduff is nrissir.g, and your noble son. 
 
 Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's 
 He only liv'd but till he was a man ; [<lebt: 
 The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd 
 In the iinKhrinking station where he fought. 
 But like a tuan he died. 
 
 Siw. Then he is dead ? 
 
 Roeae. Ay, and brought oft' the fkcld lonr CAOft 
 
 of sorrow 
 
 Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
 It Itath uo end. 
 
 Siw, Had he his hurts before ? 
 
 Itoss'e. Ay, on the front. 
 
 iSitO. Why then, God's soldier be be 
 
 Had I as many sons as 1 have hairs, 
 I would not wish them to a fairer death : 
 And so his knell is knoll'd. 
 
 Mai. He's worth more sorrow 
 
 And that I'll spend for him. 
 
 Siw. He's worth no more 
 
 They say, he parted well, and paid his score : 
 So, God be with him ! — Here comes newer comfort. 
 
 Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth' s head on a pole, 
 Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art : Behold where 
 stands 
 
 The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : 
 I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's peail. 
 That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
 Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, — 
 Hail, king of Scotland ! 
 
 All. King of Scotland, hail i 
 
 {FlourUh. 
 
 Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time, 
 Before we reckon with your several loves, [men. 
 And make us even with you. My thanes and kins-„. 
 Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland )f 
 In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do. 
 Which would be planted newly with the time, — 
 As calling home our exil'd frieiids abroad, 
 That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; 
 Prod'icing forth the cruel ministers ^. 
 Of this dead butcher, and his fiend like gueen ; ,/ 
 Who, as 'tis thought, by sell' and violent hands *' 
 Took v^ff her life; — This, and what needful els* 
 That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
 We will perform in measiu-e, time, and flace: 
 So thanks to all at once and to each one, 
 Whom we invite to se us crown'd at Scone. 
 
 [F/ou rtsh. ExetaU 
 
KING JOHN, 
 
 The trafedy of King John, though not written with the utmost power of Shakspeare, is varied with a very pleesiM 
 lotercfvai.Ke of incidents and characters. The lady's grief is very affcciing ,- and the character of the Bastard coatsiii* 
 lhai miiture ot greatness and levity, which this author delighted to exJiibit. Jvhnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 AiNG JOHN. 
 
 PKINCE HENRY, hisSott; afterwards King Henry III. 
 
 ARTHUH, Duke of Bretagne, Son of Geffrey, late Duke 
 uf Brftagne, the elder Brother of King John. 
 
 WILLIAM MAHESHALL, Earl of Pembroke: 
 
 GEFFREY FITZ I'ETER, Earl of Essex, Chief Justici- 
 ary of Knnland. 
 
 WILLIAM LONOsWORD, Earl of Salisbury. 
 
 ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk. 
 
 HUBERT DE BUR(JH, Chamberlain to the King. 
 
 ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, Son of Sir Robert Faul- 
 conhridae. 
 
 PHILIP FAULCONBRIDGE, his Half-brother, bastard 
 
 Son to King Richard the First. 
 JAMES GURNEY, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 
 PETER of Pomfret, a Prophet. 
 
 PHILIP, King of France, 
 
 LMVIS, the Dauphin. 
 
 ARCHDUKE OF AUSTRIA. 
 
 CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's Legate. 
 
 MELUN, a French Lord. 
 
 CHATILLON, Ambassador from France to King John. 
 ELINOR, the Widow of King Henry II, and Mother 
 
 of King John. 
 CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur. 
 
 BLANCH, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and 
 
 Niece to King John. 
 LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, Mother to the Bastard and 
 
 Robert Faulcvnhridye. 
 Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, 
 Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 ^CENE I. — Northampton. A Room of State in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter King JoHN, Queen Elinop, I^embroke, 
 Essex, Salisbury, and others, with Chatilloh. 
 Ki7ig John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would 
 
 Fi ance with us V 
 Chat, Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of 
 Fiance, 
 
 In my behaviour, to the majesty, 
 
 The hoi row'd majesty of England here. 
 
 E/f. A strange beginning; — bonow'd majesty ! 
 
 K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. 
 
 Chat. Philip of Fi ance, in right and true behalf 
 Of thy deceased brother GefTrey's son, 
 Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
 To this fair island, and the territories; 
 To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine: 
 Desiring thee to lay aside the sword, 
 Which sways usiirpingly these several titles; 
 And pnt the same into young Arthur's hand. 
 Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign. 
 
 K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this? 
 
 Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody war. 
 To enforce these rights, so forcibly withheld. 
 
 K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood 
 for blood, 
 
 Controlment for controlment : so answer France. 
 
 Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my 
 The furthest limit of my embassy. [mouth, 
 
 K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in 
 
 peace : 
 
 Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
 For ere thou canst report I will be there, 
 The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: 
 So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath. 
 And sullen presage of your own decay. — 
 An honourable conduct let him have : 
 Pembroke, look to't: Farewell, Chatillon. 
 
 [Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke. 
 Eli. What now, my son i have I not ever said 
 How that ambitious Constance would not cease, 
 Till she had kindled France, and all the world. 
 Upon the right and party of her son ? 
 This might havia been prevented, and made whole. 
 With very easy arguments of love ; 
 Which now the manage of two kingdoms must 
 W ith fearful bloody issue arbitrate. [for as. 
 
 K. John. Our strong possession, and our right, 
 Eli. Your strong possession, much more ihaa 
 your right ; 
 
 Or else it must go wrong with you, and me : 
 
 Sl) much my conscience whispers in your ear; 
 Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hea . 
 Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, w)io 
 whispers Essex. 
 
 Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controyersy. 
 Come from the country to be jiidg'd by you. 
 That e'er 1 heard : shall i produce the men? 
 
 K. John. Let them approach. — [Exit Sheriff, 
 Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay 
 Re enter Sheriff, with Robert Faulconhridgb, 
 
 and Philip, his bastard Broi her. 
 Tiiis expedition's charge. — What men are you? 
 
 Bast. Your faithlul subject 1, a gentleman, 
 Born in Northamptonshire^ and eldest son. 
 As 1 suppose, to Robert J' aiilconbridge ; 
 A soldier, by the honour-givmg hand 
 Of Coeur-de-lion knigiited in the field. 
 
 K.John. What art thou? [brid^,.. 
 
 Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulcon- 
 
 K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? 
 You came not of one mother then, it seems. 
 
 Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king. 
 That is well known ; and, as 1 think, one father: 
 But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
 I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother : 
 Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 
 
 Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame 
 thy mother. 
 And wound her honour with this diffidence. 
 
 Bast. I, madam ? no, 1 have no reason for it; 
 That is my brother's plea, and none of mine ; 
 The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
 At least from fair five hundred pounds a-year: 
 Heaven guard my mother's honour, and »ny land I 
 
 K. John. A good blunt fellow :— -Why, being 
 younger born, 
 Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? 
 
 Bast. I know not why, except to get (he land. 
 But once he slander'd me with bastardy : 
 But whe'r I be as true begot, or no, 
 That still I lay upon my mother's head; 
 But that I am as well begot, my liege, 
 (Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!) 
 Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. 
 If old sir Robert did beget us both, 
 And were our father, and this son like him;— 
 
 0 old sir Robert, father, on my knee 
 
 1 give heaven thanks, 1 was not like to thee. 
 
 K. John. Why, what a madcap bath heaven leol 
 us here ! 
 
 Eli. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face. 
 The accent of his tongue aUecteth him ; 
 
nU KING 
 
 Dt» foil not read sorie tokens of mj son 
 In the large composition of tliis man ? 
 
 K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts. 
 
 And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, 
 
 What doth move you to claim your brother's land ? 
 
 Bast. Because he hath a half-lace, like my father; 
 With that half-face would he have all my land : 
 A half-fac'd groat five hundred pounds a-year! 
 
 Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, 
 Vour brother did employ my father much ; — 
 
 Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land ; 
 Your tale must be, how he employed my mother. 
 
 Rob. And once despatched him in an embassy 
 To Germany, there, with the emperor, 
 To treat of high atlairs touching that time : 
 The advantage of his absence took the king, 
 And in the ujean time sojourn'd at my father's; 
 Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak : 
 But truth is truth ; large lengths of seas and shores 
 Between niy lather and my mother lay, 
 (As I have lieard my father speak himself,) 
 When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
 Upon his death-bed he by will beyieath'd 
 His lands to me ; anrl took it, on his death. 
 That this, my mother's son, was none of his; 
 And, if he were, he came into the world 
 Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
 Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
 My father's land, as was my father's will. 
 
 K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; 
 Your father's wife did alter wedlock bear him : 
 And, if she did play false, tlie iault was hers; 
 Whicii fault lies on the hazards of all husbands. 
 That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother. 
 Who, as you say, took pains to get this son. 
 Had of your lather claim'd this son for his '! 
 \& sooth good friend, your father might have kept 
 ; This call, bred from his cow, from all the world ; 
 
 In sooth, he4iiight: then, if lie were my brother's, 
 i My brother might not claim him ; nor your father. 
 Being no«e of his, refuse liim : Tiiis concludes, — 
 • My mother's son did get your father's heir; 
 \ Your father's heir must have your father's land. 
 ' Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force. 
 To dispossess that cliild, which is not his? 
 
 Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
 Than was his will to get me, as 1 think. [bridge, 
 
 Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon- 
 And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ; 
 Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, 
 Lord of thy presence, and no land beside ? 
 
 Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape. 
 And I had his, sir Robert his, like him : 
 And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 
 My arms such eel-skins stuff d ; my face so thin, 
 That in mine ear 1 durst not stick a rose, [goes. 
 Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings 
 And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
 *Would I might never stir from off this place, 
 I'd give it every foflt to have this face ; 
 I would not be sir Nob in any case. [fortune, 
 
 Eli I like thee well; Wilt thou forsake thy 
 Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ? 
 i am a soldier, and now bound to France. 
 
 Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my 
 chance : 
 
 Your face hath got five hundred pounds a-year; 
 Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear. — 
 Madam, i ll follow you unto the death. 
 I Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thitlier. 
 I Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. 
 ' K. John. What is thy name ? 
 
 Bast. I'hilip, my liege ; so is my name begun; 
 Piiilip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 
 K.. John. From henceforth bear his name whose 
 form thtju bear'st : 
 Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great; 
 A-rise sir Richard, and Plantagenet. [hand ; 
 
 Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your 
 y r gave me Uonour, yours ga^e land :— 
 
 JOHN. Act 1 
 
 Now blessed be the hour, by night or day. 
 When 1 was got, sir Robert was away. 
 
 Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet! — 
 I am thy grandame, Richard ; call me so. 
 
 Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth 1 
 What though ? 
 Something about, a little from the right. 
 
 In at the window, or else o'er the hatch : 
 Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night; 
 
 And have is have, however men do catch : 
 Near or far off, well won is still well shot ; 
 And I am I, howe'er I was begot. [desire, 
 
 K. John. Go, Faulconbridge ; now hast thou thy 
 A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. — 
 Come, madam, and come, Richard ; we must speed 
 For France, for France ; for it is more than need. 
 
 Bast. Brother, adieu ; Good fortune come to theo J 
 For thou wast got i'the way of honesty. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Bastard. 
 A foot of honour better than I was ; 
 But many a many foot of land the worse. 
 
 Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : 
 
 Good den, sir Richard, — God-a-inercy, fellow;— • 
 And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter: 
 For new-made honour dotii forget men's names ; 
 'Tis too respective, and too sociable. 
 For your conversion. Now your traveller, — ■ 
 He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess; 
 And when my knightly stomach is sutJic'd, 
 Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise 
 
 My picked man of countries: My dear gir, 
 
 (Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,) 
 / shall beseech you — That is question now ; 
 And, then comes answer like an ABC-book ; — 
 0, sir, says answer, at your best cuimiiand; 
 
 At your employ merit ; at your service, sir : 
 
 No, sir, says question, i, siueet sir, at yuurs : 
 
 And so, ere answer knows what qut stion \\iniid, 
 
 (Saving in dialogue of" compliiiif nt ; 
 
 And talking of the Alps, and Aj^penines, 
 
 Tiie Pyrenean, and the river Po,) 
 
 It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 
 
 But this is worshipful society. 
 
 And fits the mounting spirit, like myself: 
 
 For he is but a bastard to the time, 
 
 Tliat doth not smack of observation ; 
 
 (And so am I, whether 1 smack, or no; ) ^' 
 
 And not alone in habit and devict 
 
 Exterior form, outward accoutrement; * 
 
 But from the inward motion to deliver 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet poison f )r the a^e's tooth : 
 
 Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 
 
 Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; 
 
 For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.— 
 
 But who comes in such haste, in riding robes 
 
 What woman-post is this ? hatii she no husband, 
 
 That will take pains to blow a horn before lier ? 
 
 Enter Lady Faulconbridge, and James Gurney. 
 
 O me ! it is my mother: — How now, good lady? 
 What brings you here to court so hastily ? [is he ? 
 
 Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother ? w here 
 That holds in chase mine honour up and down? 
 
 Bast. My brother Robert ? old sir Robert's son ? 
 Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man ? 
 Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so ? .'boy. 
 
 Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou unreveren--' 
 Sir Robert's son : Why scorn'st thou at sir Rob'-i t 
 He is sir Robert's son ; and so art thou ? hvliiie 
 
 Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give ns ief,ve / 
 
 Gur. Good leave, good Philip. 
 
 Bast. Philip ? — sparrow ! — Jmiu-.t 
 
 There's toys abroad : anon I'll tell thee more. 
 
 [Exit Gurney 
 Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son ; 
 Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
 Upon Good-friday., and ne'er broke his fast : 
 Sir Robert could do well ; Marry, (to confes»!) 
 Could he get me ? Sir Robert could not do it 
 
Act II. Scene 1. KING 
 
 We know bis handywork : — Therefore, good mo- 
 ther. 
 
 To whom am I beholden for these limbs? 
 Sir Robert nf;ver holp to make this leg. 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, 
 That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine ho- 
 nour ? 
 
 What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave ? 
 Bast. Knight, knight, good mother Basilisco- 
 hke : 
 
 What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. 
 But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; 
 I have disclaimed sir Robert, and my land; 
 Legitimation, name, and all is gone : 
 Then, good iny mother, let me know my father; 
 Some proper man, J hope : Who was it, matlier? 
 Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulcon- 
 h ridge i 
 
 Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. [ther; 
 
 Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy fa- 
 My long and veliement suit I was seduc'd 
 
 To make room for him in my husband's bed : 
 
 Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! — 
 
 Tliou art the issue of my dear offence. 
 
 Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. 
 
 Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again. 
 Madam, I would not vvisli a better father. 
 Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
 And so doth yours ; your fault was not your folly : 
 Needs nuist you lay your heart at his dispose, — 
 Subjected tribute to commanding love, — 
 Against whose fury and unmatched force 
 The awless lion could not wage the fight. 
 Nor keep his princely heart Irom Richard's hand. 
 He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts. 
 May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother. 
 With all my heart 1 thank thee tor my father ! 
 W^ho lives and dares but say, thou didst not well 
 When 1 was got, I'll send his soul to hell. 
 Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin ; 
 
 And they shall say, when Richard me begot, 
 If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : 
 
 Who says it was, he lies; I say, 'twas not. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT TI. 
 
 Scene I. — France. Before the Walls of Angiers. 
 
 Enter, on one side, the Archduke op Austria, 
 and Forces ; on the other, Philip, King of 
 France, and Forces; Lewis, Constance, Ar. 
 THUR, and Attendants. 
 
 Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. — 
 Aitliur, that great fore-runner of thy blood, 
 Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart. 
 And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
 By this brave duke came early to his grave : 
 A lid, for amends to his posterity. 
 At our importance, hither is he come. 
 To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; 
 And to rebuke the usurpation 
 Of thy unnatural uncle, English John : 
 Kmbrace him, love him, give him welcome hitner. 
 
 Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death. 
 Tile lather, that you give his offspring life. 
 Shadowing their right under your wings of war: 
 I give you welcome with a powerless hand. 
 But with a heart full of unstained love : 
 Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. 
 
 Lew. A noble boy ! Who would not do thee right? 
 
 Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, 
 As seal to this indenture of my love ; 
 That to my home I will no more return, 
 Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, 
 Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, 
 Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, 
 And coops from other lands her islanders, 
 Kventili that England, hedg'd in with the main, 
 That water walled bulwark, still secure 
 4nd coutident from foreign purposes. 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 Even till that utmost corner of tlie went ' ' 
 
 Salute thee for her king: till tlien, fair boj 
 Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 
 Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a 
 thanks. 
 
 Till your strong hand shall help to give hiin dtrength. 
 To make a more reijuital to your love. [swordi 
 
 Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their 
 In such a just and charitable war. [be bent 
 
 K. Phi. Well then, to work; our cannoa shall 
 
 Against the brows of this resisting town. 
 
 Call lor our chiefest men of discipline. 
 To cull the plots of best advantages : 
 We'll lay before this town our royal bones, 
 Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood. 
 But we will make it subject to this boy. 
 
 Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 
 Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood: 
 My lord Chatillon may from England bring 
 That right in peace, which here we urge in war; 
 And then we shall repent each drop of blood. 
 That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 
 
 Enter Chatillon. 
 
 K. Phi. A wonder, lady ! — lo, upon thy wish, 
 Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. — 
 What England says, say briefly, gentle lord. 
 We coldly pause for thee , Chatillon, speak. 
 
 Chat. 'I'hen turn your forces from this paltry siege^ 
 And stir them up against a mightier task. 
 England, impatient of your just demands, 
 Hath put himself in arms ; the adverse winds, 
 Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time 
 To land his legions all as soon as 1 : 
 His marches are expedient to this town. 
 His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
 With him is come along the mother-queen. 
 An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ; 
 With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; 
 With them a bastard of the king deceas'd : 
 And all the unsettled humours of the land, — 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
 With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, — 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes. 
 Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs. 
 To make a hazard of new ibrtunes here. 
 In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er. 
 Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
 To do offence and scath in Christendom. 
 The interruption of their churlish drums 
 
 {Drums beat.) 
 Cuts off more circumstance : they ar.e at hand, 
 To parley, or to fight; therefore, prepare. (tion 
 
 K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this exued 
 
 Aust. By how much unexjiected, by so much 
 We must awake endeavour for defence; 
 For courage mounteth with occasion : 
 Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. 
 
 Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastardy 
 Pembroke, and Forces. 
 K. John. Peace be to France ; if France in peace 
 permit 
 
 Our just and linsal entrance to our own ! 
 If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven! 
 Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
 Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. 
 
 K. Phi. Peace be to England ; if that war retur* 
 From France to England, there to live in peace! 
 England we love ; and, for that England's sake. 
 With burden of our armour here we sweat : 
 This toil of ours should be a work of thine; 
 But thou from loving England art so far. 
 That thou hast under- wrought his lawful king. 
 Cut "»ff the sequence ^^f posterity. 
 Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
 Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
 Li-jk. here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ,— 
 These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of bis' 
 
286 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 This little abstract dotli coiitala that large, 
 W liicli <iled in GellVey ; ?"d the hand of time 
 Shall draw this brief into as Imge a volume. 
 That GellVey was tliy eider brother !>orn, 
 And tliis his son; England was Geffrey's right, 
 A.Md this is GeliVey's : in (he name of God, _ 
 How comes it then, tliat thou art called a king. 
 When living blood doth in these temples beat, 
 VVliich owe tlie crown that thou o'ermasterest? 
 
 K. John. From w horn hast thou this great com- 
 !Missii>n, France, 
 I To draw my answer from thy articles? 
 
 K. Phi, From that supernal judge, that stirs good 
 thoughts 
 In any breast of strong authority, 
 To look intcj the blots and stains of right. 
 That ju<lge hath made me guardian to this boy: 
 Under wliose warrant, I imjieach thy wrong; 
 And, by wiiose help, I mean to chastise it. 
 
 K. John, Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Excuse : it is to beat usurping down. 
 
 Eli. VVlio is it, thou dost call usurper, France? 
 
 Const. Let me make answer; — thy usurping son. 
 
 Eli. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king; 
 That thou inay'st be a queen, and check the world ! 
 
 Conat. My bed was ever to thy son as true. 
 As thine was to thy husband : and this boy 
 Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, 
 Than thou and John in manners ; being as like. 
 As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
 My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think. 
 His lather never was so tiue begot; 
 It cannot be, an' if thou wert his mother. 
 
 Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy 
 father. 
 
 Const. 'I'ljeie's a good graodam, boy, that would 
 
 Aust. Peace 1 [blot thee. 
 
 Bast. Hear the crier. 
 
 Aust. What the devil art thou ? 
 
 Bast. One, th.at will play tiie devil, sir, with you, 
 A IS 'a may catch your hide and you alone. 
 You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, 
 Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; 
 I'll wnoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right; 
 Sirrati, look to't; i'faith, I will, i'faith. 
 
 Bltnch. O, well did he become that lion's robe. 
 That did di irobe the lion of that robe ! 
 
 Bast. It lies as vsi^htly on the back of him. 
 As great Alcid-s' shoes upon an ass: — 
 But, ass, I'll take that burden Irom your back ; 
 Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. 
 
 Aust. VVliat cracker is this same, that deafs our 
 VVitli tiiis ah'Mulance of superfluous breath ? [ears 
 
 K. Phi. Lewis, deterLiine what we shall do 
 straight. [encc. 
 
 Levj. Women and fools, break off your confer- 
 King John, tiiis is the very sum of all, — 
 England, r),nd Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
 In right of Arthur do I claim of thee : 
 Wilt thou resign (hem, and lay down thy arms? 
 
 K. John. My life as soon : — I do defy thee, France. 
 Arthur ol' Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; 
 And, out of my dear love, I II give thee more 
 Than e'er the coward hand of France can win; 
 Submit thee, boy. 
 
 Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 
 
 Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child ; 
 Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will 
 Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig : 
 There's a good grandam. 
 
 Arlh. Good my mother, peace ! 
 
 [ would, that I were low laid in my grave; 
 1 am not worth this coil that's made for me. 
 
 Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. 
 
 Const. Now shame upon you, whe'rshe does, or no ! 
 His grandam s wrongs, and not his mother's shames. 
 Draw thcie heaven-mo\ ing pearls from his poor eyes. 
 Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; 
 iy, with these crystal beads heav'n shall be br b'd 
 *i do hiia justice, and revenge on you. 
 
 Eli. Thou monstroua slaiidereE* of heaven au^ 
 earth ! t<^arth 
 
 Const. Thou monstrous iojnrer of heaven aad 
 Call not me slanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights, 
 Of this oppressed boy : This is thy e'dest son's 80D« 
 Intbrtunate in nothing but in thee : 
 Thy sins are visited in this poor cnild ; 
 The canon of the law is laid on him, 
 Being but the second generation 
 Removed from thy siivconceiving womb. 
 
 K. John. Bedlam, have done. 
 
 Const. I hMve but this to say,—« 
 
 That he's not only plagued for her sin, 
 But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
 On this removed issue, plagu'd for her. 
 And with her plague, her sin; his injury 
 Her injury, — the beadle to her sin; 
 All punish'd in the person of this child. 
 And all for her; A plague upon her! 
 
 Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
 A will, that bars the title of thy son. 
 
 Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will ! a wicked will; 
 A wiiman'g will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! 
 
 K. Phi. Peace, lady ; pause, or be more temperate ; 
 It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim 
 To these ill-tuned repetitions. — 
 Some trumpet summon hitherto the vvalls 
 These men of Anglers ; let us hear them speak, 
 Whose title they admit, Arthur's or Jo'.in's. 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walls. 
 
 I Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls i 
 
 K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. 
 
 K. John. England, for itself i 
 
 You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects, — 
 
 K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's 
 subjects. 
 
 Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. 
 
 K. John. For our advantage : — Therefore, hear 
 
 us, first. 
 
 These flags of France, that are advanced here 
 
 Before the ey© and prospect of your town, 
 
 Hh\ e hither march'd to your eniiainagement : 
 
 The cannons have their bowels full ol' wrath; 
 
 And ready mounted are they, to spit forth 
 
 Their iron indignation "gainst yout walls : 
 
 All preparations for a bloody ssege, 
 
 And merciless proceeding by liiese French, 
 
 Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ; 
 
 And, but I'orour approach, these sleeping stom-s, 
 
 That as a waist do girdle you about 
 
 By the compulsion of tlieir ordnance 
 
 By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
 
 Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
 
 For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 
 
 But, on the sight of us, your lawful king, — 
 
 Who painfully, with much expedient march, 
 
 Have brought a countercheck before your gates. 
 
 To save unscratch'd your city's thrcaten'd cheeks,— 
 
 Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle : 
 
 And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire. 
 
 To make a shaking fever in your walls. 
 
 They shoot but calm words, folded up in sraok , 
 
 To make a faithless error in your ears : 
 
 Which trust accordingly, kind citizens. 
 
 And let us in, your king; whose laboiir'd spirits, 
 
 Forwearied in this action of swift speed. 
 
 Crave harbourage within your city walls. 
 
 K. Philip. When 1 have said, make answe to 
 us both. 
 
 Lo, in this right hand, whose protection 
 
 Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
 
 Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet; 
 
 Son to the elder brother of this man. 
 
 And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys : 
 
 For this down-trodden equity, we tread 
 
 In warlike march these greens before yoar town; 
 
 Being no further enemy to you, 
 
 Tiian the constraint of hospitable zeal, 
 
 In the relief of this oppressed child. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 287 
 
 Religiously provokes. Be pleased, then, 
 To pay tliat duty, which you truly owe. 
 To him that owes it; namely, this young prince: 
 And 'hen our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
 Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd upj 
 Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
 'Against the invuliu'irable clouds of heaven; 
 And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire. 
 With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd. 
 We will bear home that lusty blood again, 
 Which here we came to spout against your town. 
 And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. 
 But if you tondiy pass our prott'er'd offer, 
 Tis not tlie roundure of your old-fac'd walls 
 Can hide you Irom our messengers of war; 
 Though all these English, and their discipline, 
 Were harbour'd in their rude circumference, 
 'i'hen, tell us, shall your city call us lord, 
 fii tliat behalf which we have challenged it? 
 Or shall we give the signal to our rage, 
 And stalk in blood to our possession ? 
 1 at. In brief, we are the king of England's 
 subjects ; 
 
 Foy him, and in his right, we hold this town. 
 K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me 
 in. [k-ing, 
 ] Cii. That can we not i but he, that proves tlie 
 r.i him will we prove loyal: till that time, 
 il ; \e we ramui'd up our gates against the world. 
 K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove 
 the king? 
 
 And, ifnotthtt, I bring you witnesses, 
 
 T vice fifteen tl^usand hearts of England s breed,— 
 
 Bffst. Bastards, ;ind else. 
 
 A John. To verify our title with their lives. 
 
 A', l^hi many, and as well-born bloods as 
 
 Bfi>, t. S >!ne b istiirds too. [those, 
 
 f\ . l-*hi. Stand in his face, to contradict his claim. 
 
 1 C'U. Till you compound wliose right is worthiest, 
 \\ lor tlie worthiest, hold the right Irom both. 
 
 K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those 
 MiHt to their everlHsliug residence, [souls, 
 li (op.- the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, 
 1,1 (he;idful trial of our kingdom's king! 
 
 A. Phi. Amen, Ameu !— Mount, chevaliers ! to 
 aruis ! [e'er since, 
 
 ^nat. St. George, — that swing'd the dragon, and 
 Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, 
 IVach us some i'ence ! — Sirrah, were 1 at home, 
 At yt>ur den, sirrah, {to Austria) with your liouess, 
 I'd set. an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
 And m ike a monster of you. 
 
 Atist. Peace ; no more. 
 
 Bast. O, tremble ; for you hear the lion roar. 
 
 K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where we'll set 
 
 best appointment, all our regiments. [forth, 
 
 Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. 
 
 K. Phi. It shall be so ; — {to Lewis) and at the 
 other hill 
 
 Command the rest to stand. God, and our right I 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IT. — The same. 
 Alarums and Excursions ; then a Retreat. Enter 
 a French Herald, with trumpets, to the gates. 
 F. Her. Yon menof Angiers, open wide yourgatef , 
 And let young Arthur, duke of Brelagne, in; 
 Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made 
 Much work for tears in many an English motherj 
 Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding p'vouncf 
 any a widow's husband groveling lie? 
 Idly embracing the discolour'd earth; 
 nd victory, with little loss, doth play 
 oon fhe dancing banners of the Frencli; 
 ht> are at hand, triumphantly display'dj 
 enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
 fthur of Bretagne, England's king, and y»>,. >. 
 
 Enter an English Herald, with tru7npets. 
 E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your 
 behs; 
 
 King John, your king and England's, doth approach. 
 Commander of this hot malicious day I 
 Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-krijfh^ 
 Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; 
 There stuck no plume in any English crest. 
 That is removed by a staff' of France ; 
 Our colours do return in those same hands. 
 That did display them when first march'd forth ; 
 And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
 Our lusty English, all with purpled hands. 
 Died in the dying slai ghter of their foes : 
 Open your gates, and give the victors way. 
 
 Cit. Heralds, irom ott'our towers we might beholdp 
 From first to last, the onset and retire 
 Of both your armies ; whose equality 
 By our best eyes cannot be censured : 
 Blood hath bongbt blood, and blows have answei^d 
 blows ; [fronted power : 
 
 Strength niatch'd with strength, and power con- 
 Both are alike ; and both alike we like. 
 One must prove greatest : while they weigh so even. 
 We hold our tovvn for neither; yet for both. 
 
 Enter, at one side, King John, ivith his power; 
 Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard; at the other » 
 King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces. 
 K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to 
 cast away ? 
 Say, shall the current of our right run on? 
 Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, 
 Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-sweP 
 With course dislurb'd even thy confining shores; 
 Unless thou let his silver water keep 
 A peaceful "progress to the ocean. [of blood, 
 
 K. Phi. i /ngland, thou hast not sav'd one drop 
 In this hot trial, more than we of France; 
 Rather, lost more : And by this hand I swear, 
 'J'hat sways the earth this climate overlooks, — 
 Before we will lay down our just-borne arms. 
 We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms wo 
 Or add a royal number to the dead ] [bear. 
 Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss. 
 With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 
 
 Bast. Ha, majesJyl how high thy glory towers. 
 When the rich Itlood of kings is set on fire ! 
 O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel, 
 The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; 
 An.d now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men 
 In undeterinin'd differences of kings. — 
 Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? 
 Cry havoc, kings ! back to t!ie stained field. 
 You equal potents, fiery-kindled si)irits! 
 Then let confusion of one part confirm 
 The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and 
 death! [mit? 
 K. John. W hose party do the townsmen yet ad 
 K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England ; who's youi 
 king? [king 
 1 Cit. Tiie king of England, when we know the 
 K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up hia 
 right. 
 
 K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy 
 And bear possession of our person here ; 
 Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 
 
 I Cit. A greater power than we, denies all thi« 
 And, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
 Our former scru[)le in our strong barr'd gates: 
 King'd of our fears; until our fears, resolv'd. 
 Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 
 
 Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angie)3 fiool 
 you, kings ; 
 And stand securely on their battlements, 
 As in a theatre, whence they gape and point 
 At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
 Your royal presences be rul'd by me; 
 Do like the mutines of Jctusalem, 
 Be friends a while, and both conjointly brmd 
 Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town; 
 By east and west let France and England moaot 
 Ttieir battering cannon, charged to the mouths; 
 
288 KING 
 
 Ti!i their eoisl-fearing clamours have brawl'd down 
 
 The fliuU* ribs of this contemptuous city : 
 
 I'd j>lay incessantly upon these jades, 
 
 Even till unfep.ced desolation 
 
 Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
 
 That done, dissever your united strengths 
 
 And part your mingled colours once again ; 
 
 Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: 
 
 'I'hen, in a moment, fortune sliall cull forth 
 
 Out of one side her happy minion ; 
 
 To whom in favour she shall give the day. 
 
 And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
 
 How like you this wild counsel, mighty states ? 
 
 Sinacks it not something of the policy ? ' [heads, 
 
 K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our 
 { like it well ; — France, shall we knit our powers. 
 And lay this Angiers even with the ground; 
 'i'hen, after, fight who shall be king of it ? 
 
 Bast. And, if thou hast the mettle of a king,— 
 Being wrong'il, as we are, by this peevish town, — 
 Turn tliou the month of thy artillery. 
 As we will ours, against these saucy walls: 
 And when that we Imve dash'd them to the ground, 
 Why, then defy each other ; and, pell-mell, 
 M;)ke vv(i-.k upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. 
 
 K. Phi Let it be so: — Say, where will you 
 assault ? 
 
 K. John. VVe from the west will send destruction 
 Into this city's bosom. 
 Aiist. I Irom tlie north. 
 
 K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, 
 
 Sh;ili rain their drift of bullets on this town. 
 
 Bast. 0 [)rudent discipline 1 From north to south ; 
 Austria and France shoot in each other's month : 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 I'll stir then) to it: — Come, away, away I 
 
 I Cit. Hear us, great kings : vouchsafe a while 
 to stay, 
 
 Atifl [ shall show you peace, and fair-faced league ; 
 VV 'u you this city without stroke, or wound ; 
 Hescue those oreauiing lives to die in beds, 
 Slijit here come sacrifices for the field : 
 I'ers ver not, but liear me, mighty kings. 
 
 fi. John. Speak on, with favour ; we are bent to 
 hear. [Blanch, 
 
 1 Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady 
 Is near to England ; Look upon the years 
 Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid : 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? 
 If zealous love should go in search of virtue. 
 Where .should he find it purer than in Blanch? 
 if love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? 
 Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth. 
 Is the young Dauphin every way complete: 
 If not complete, O say, he is not she: 
 And she again wants nothing, to name want. 
 If want it be not, that she is not he : 
 He is the h;iif part of a blessed man. 
 Left to be finished by such a she. ; 
 And she a fair divided excellence. 
 Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
 O, two such silver currents, when they join. 
 Do glorify the banks that bound them in: 
 And two such shores to two such streams made one. 
 Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings. 
 To these two princes, if you marry them. 
 This union shall do more than battery can. 
 To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match. 
 With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
 I he mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope. 
 And give you entrance ; but, without this match. 
 The sea enraged is not half so deaf, 
 Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
 More free from motion ; no, not death himself 
 In mortal fury half so peremptory. 
 As we to keep this city. 
 
 Bast. Here's a stay. 
 
 That shakes the rotten carcase of old death 
 
 JOHN. Act II. 
 
 Out of his rags ! Here's a large mouth, indeed, 
 That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and 
 Talks a-s familiarly of roaring lions, [seas ; 
 
 As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs ! 
 What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ? 
 He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke. zdA 
 bounce ; 
 
 He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; 
 Our ears are cudgel'd ; not a word of his, 
 But bulfets better than a fist of France : 
 Zounds ! I was never so bethunip'd with worda^ 
 Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad. 
 
 Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make thi* 
 match ; 
 
 Give with our niece a dowry large enough: 
 
 For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 
 
 Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown. 
 
 That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
 
 The bloom, that promiseth a mighty fruit 
 
 I see a yielding in the looks of France ; 
 
 Mark, how they whisper: urge them, while then 
 
 Are caj)able of this ambition : ' soula 
 
 Lest zeal, now nielted, by the windy breath 
 
 Of soft petitions, pity, ana remorse. 
 
 Cool and congeal again to what it was. 
 
 I Cit. Why answer not the double majesties 
 This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? 
 
 K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for- 
 ward first 
 
 To Speak unto this city : What say you ? [son, 
 K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely 
 Can in this book of beauty read, I love. 
 Her dowry shaH weigh equal with a queen : 
 For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiera, 
 And all that we upon this side the sea 
 (Except this city now by us besieg'd,) 
 Find liable to our crown and dignity. 
 Shall gild her bridal bed ; and make her rich 
 In titles, honours, and proujotions. 
 As she in beauty, education, blood, 
 Holds hand with any princess of the world. 
 
 K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy ? look in the lady's 
 Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find [fac« 
 A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, 
 The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ; 
 Which, being but the shadow of your son, 
 Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow : 
 I do protest, 1 never lov'd myself. 
 Till now infixed 1 beheld myself. 
 Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. 
 
 {Whispers with Blanch.* 
 
 Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye !— 
 Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow ! — 
 And quarter'd in her heart I — he doth espy 
 
 Himself love's traitor: This is pity now. 
 That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should 
 In such a love, so »'ile a lout as he. Cbe, 
 
 Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine i 
 If he see aught in you, that makes him like. 
 That any thing he sees, which moves his likmg, 
 I can with ease translate it to my will ; 
 Or, if yon will, (to speak more properly,) 
 I will enforce it easily to my love. 
 Further I will not flatter you, my lord. 
 That all I see in you is worthy love. 
 Than this, — that nothing do I see in you, 
 (Though churlish thoughts themselves should be 
 
 your judge,) 
 That I can find should merit any hate. 
 
 K. John. What say these young ones ? What 
 say you, my niece ? 
 
 Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do 
 What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. 
 
 K.John. Speak then, prince Dauphin ; can yoa 
 love this lady ? 
 
 Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from 1 
 For 1 do love her most unfeignedly. fMaioft 
 
 K. John. Then do 1 give Yolquessen, Tou/aiu^ 
 Poictiers and Anjon, these five provinces. 
 With her to thee ; and this addition more, 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 28a 
 
 Full tliirly thousand marks of English coin. — 
 Philip of France, if thou be pleas'tl withal, 
 ^oinnand thy soa and daughter tojoii. hands. 
 K. Phi. it likes us well: — Young ^irioces, close 
 your hands. 
 
 Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd, 
 That I did so, when I was first assur'd, 
 
 K.Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, 
 Lt^t in that amity, which you have i»iade ; 
 For at saint Mary's chapel, presently, 
 Tiie rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. — 
 Is not the lady Constance in this troop ? 
 1 know, she is not; for this match, made up. 
 Her presence would have interrupted much : 
 W^here is she and her son? tell me, who knows. 
 
 Leiv. She is sad and passionate at your high- 
 ness' tent. [have made, 
 
 K. Phi. And, by my faiih, this league, that we 
 Will give her sadness very little cure. — 
 Brother of England, how may we content 
 Tliis widow lady? In her right we came; 
 Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
 To onr own vantage. 
 
 K. John. We will heal up all. 
 
 For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, 
 And earl^of Rienmond ; and this rich fair town 
 VV^e make him lord of. — Call the lady Constance ; 
 Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
 To our solemnity : — I trust we shall, 
 If not fill up the measure of her will, 
 Yet in some measure satisfy her so, 
 Tliat we shall stop her exclamation. 
 Go we, as well as haste will suffer us. 
 To this unlook'd for unprepared pomj). 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Bastard. — The Citizens 
 retire from the walls. 
 
 Bast. Mad vv^orld ! mad kings ! niad composition ! 
 Jolui, to stop Arthurs title in the whole. 
 Hath willingly departed with a part: [on : 
 
 And France, (whose armo-r conscience buckletl 
 Whom zeal and charity brought to the field. 
 As God's own soldier,) rounded in the ear 
 With that same |jurpose- changer, that sly devil; 
 That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith ; 
 That daily break-vow: he, that wins of all. 
 Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids ;— 
 Who having no external thing to lose 
 But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of tha^; 
 That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity, — 
 Commodity, the bias of the world; 
 The world, who of itself is peised well, 
 Made to run even, upon even ground ; 
 Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, 
 This sway of motion, this commodity. 
 Make it take head from all indifferency. 
 From all direction, purpose, course, intent: 
 And this same bias, this commodity. 
 This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
 Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
 flath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, 
 From a resolv'd and honourable war. 
 To a most base and vile-concluded peace. — 
 And why rail I on this commodity ? 
 But for because he hath not woo'd me yet : 
 Not that I have the power to clutch my hand. 
 When his fair angels would salute my palm : 
 But for ray hand, as unattempted yet. 
 Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
 Well, whiles I am beggar, I will rail, 
 And say, there is no sin, but to be rich ; 
 And being rich, my virtue then shall be. 
 To say, — there is no vice, but beggary : 
 Since kings break faith upon commodity. 
 Gain, be my lord ! for I will worship thee ! [Exit,] 
 
 ACT m. 
 
 Scene I.— The same. The French King's Tent. 
 
 Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 
 
 Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace! 
 False blood to false blood joio'd ! gone to be fraends ! 
 
 Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those iftor 
 
 viuces ? 
 
 It is not so ; thou hast mis-«poke, mis heard , 
 
 Be well advis"d, tell o'er thy tale again : 
 
 It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so : 
 
 I trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
 
 Is but the vain breath of a common man: 
 
 Believe me, I do not believe thee, man; 
 
 I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
 
 Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting nie^. 
 
 For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
 
 Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full ol fears; 
 
 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; 
 
 A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
 
 And though thou now confess thou didst but jest, 
 
 With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce. 
 
 But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
 
 What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? 
 
 W^hy dost thou look so sadly on my son? 
 
 What means that hand upon that breast of thine ? 
 
 Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
 
 Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds ? 
 
 Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ? 
 
 Then speak again ; not all thy former tale. 
 
 But this one word, whether thy tile be true. 
 
 Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false^ 
 That give you cause to prove my saying true. 
 
 Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow* 
 Teach thou this sorrow, how to make me die ; 
 And let belief and life encounter so. 
 As doth the fury of two desperate men. 
 Which, in the very meeting, fall and die. — 
 Lewis marry Blanch ! O, boy, then where art thoM ? 
 France friend with England ! what becomes of lae? - 
 Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight; 
 ITiis news hath made thee a most ugly man. 
 
 Sal. What other harm have 1, good lady, d->ne 
 But spoke the harm, that is by others done ? 
 
 Const. Which harm within itself so ht luons /s. 
 As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 
 
 Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 
 
 Const. If thoti,that bid'st me be content,wert griia, 
 Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb. 
 Full of impleasing blots, and sightless stains. 
 Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, 
 Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-otiending marks, 
 I would not care , I then would be content; 
 For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
 Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
 But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy. 
 Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great: 
 Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast. 
 And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, O! 
 She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thte; 
 She adulterates hourly with thine uncle Joh.T: 
 And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
 To tread down lair respect of sovereignty. 
 And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
 France is a bawd to fortune, and king Joim; 
 That strumpet fortune, that usurping John : — 
 Tell me, thoa fellow, is not France forsworn? 
 Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone. 
 And leave those woes alone, which I alone 
 Am bound to under-bear. 
 
 Sal. Pardon me, raadanc 
 
 I may not go without you to the kings. 
 
 Con»t. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go wit«) 
 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; liLi»i6: 
 For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoat. 
 To me, and to the state of my great grief. 
 Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great. 
 That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
 Can hold it up : here I and sorrows sit; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it* 
 
 t She throws herself on the grotatd.) 
 
 Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, 
 Elinor, Bastard, Austria, and Attendantr. 
 K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed* 
 
290 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act la 
 
 Ever in France shall be kept festival • 
 To solemnize tliis day, tiie gbnons snn 
 fSlHyS in his course, and plays the alchynist; 
 Tin ning, with rplendor of Ins precious eye, 
 The meagre cU)ddy earth to glittering gold : 
 The yearly course, that brii.gs this day about, 
 Shnjl never see it but a holyday. 
 
 v'onst. A wicked day, and not a holyday! — 
 
 (Rising.) 
 
 What hath this daydeserv'd? what hath it done; 
 lliat it in golden letters should be set, 
 A.i.wi.g the high tides, in the kalendar? 
 Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; 
 This day of shame, oppression, perjury: 
 Or, it \t must stand still, let wives with child 
 Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, 
 Lest that their hopes pro(hgiously be cross'd : 
 But on this day, let seamen tear no wreck ; 
 No bargains break, that are not this day made : 
 This day, all things begun come to ill end; 
 Yea, faidi itself to hollow falsehood change ! 
 
 K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
 To curse tiie fair | roceedings of this day: 
 Have \ r.ot pawn'd to you iny majesty i 
 
 Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, 
 Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and 
 tried, 
 
 Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn : 
 You came in arms to spill mine enenniies' blood. 
 But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: 
 Tlie grappling vigour and rough frown of war 
 Is cold in amity and painted peace, _ 
 And our oppression hath made up this league :— 
 Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd 
 kings I 
 
 A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
 Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
 Wear out the dav in peace ; but, ere sunset, 
 Ket armed discord "twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
 liear me, O, hear me ! 
 
 Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 
 
 Const. War! war! uo peace ! peace is to me a 
 war. 
 
 O Lymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame 
 That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou 
 coward ; 
 
 Thou little valiant, great in villainy ! 
 Thou ever strong upon the stronger s:de 1 
 Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
 But when her humorous ladyship is by 
 To teach thee safety! thou art i-erjur'd too. 
 And sooth'st up greatness. What a lool art thou, 
 A ramping fool ; to brag, and stamp, and swear, 
 Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave. 
 Mast thou n'lt spoke like thunder on my side i • 
 Been sworn my soldier ? bidding u)e depend 
 Uin)n thv stars, thy fortune, and thy strength 
 And dost thou now fall over to my loes? 
 Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame. 
 And hang a calfs skin on those recreant limbs. 
 Aust. O, that a man sluiuld speak these words to 
 me ! 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant 
 Aicst. 'I'hoi- dar'st not say so. villain, lor thy hie. 
 Bast. And nang a chw's-skin on those recreant 
 limbs. [sell. 
 fs John. We Hk« not this ; thou dost forget thy- 
 
 , EnU;r Pandulph. 
 
 K. Phi. Here conies the holy legate of the pope. 
 
 Pand. Mail, you anointed deputies of heaven ! — 
 1\) thee, kiuii John, my holy errand is 
 I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, 
 And from i)ope Innocent the legate here, 
 Do in his name, religiously demand, 
 Why thou against the church, our holy mother. 
 So wilfully dost spurn? and, force perforce. 
 Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
 0( Canterbury, from that holy see? 
 This, iu our 'toresaid holy faiher's name 
 
 Pope Innocect, I do demand of Ibee. 
 
 K. John. What earthly name to interrogatonc^ 
 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
 
 Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
 
 So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous. 
 
 To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
 
 Tell him this tale; and from the mouth (»f EnglattSi, 
 
 Add thus much more,- 'I'hat no Italian palest 
 
 Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; 
 
 But as we under heaven are supreme head. 
 
 So, under him, that great supremacy, 
 
 Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
 
 Witliout the assistance of a mortal hand : 
 
 So tell the pope ; all reverence set apirt, 
 
 To him. and his usurp'd authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Brother of England, you blasphemy ISS 
 (^his. [Chiistendom, 
 K. John. Though you, and all the kings oj 
 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest. 
 Dreading the curse, that money may buy out; 
 And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust. 
 Purchase corrupted pardon of a man. 
 Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself: 
 Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led, 
 This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; 
 Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose ^ 
 Against the pope, and count liis friends my foes. 
 
 Pand. Then, by the lawful power that 1 have. 
 Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate- 
 And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt 
 From his allegiance to an heretic; 
 And meritorious shall that hand be caU'd, 
 Canonized, and worship'd as a saint. 
 That takes away, by any secret course, 
 Thv hateful life. 
 
 CoTist. O, lawful let it be, 
 
 That I have room with Rome to curse a while I " 
 Good lather cardinal, cry thou, a-nen. 
 To wiy keen curses : for, without my wrong, _ 
 There is no tongue hath power to curse him right 
 Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for 
 
 curse. '"gbta 
 Const. And for mine too ; when law can do n© 
 Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong : 
 Law cannot give my child his kingdom here; 
 For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law : 
 'J'herefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
 kow can the law forbid my tongEe to curse, 
 
 Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse. 
 Let oo the hand of that arch-heretic ; 
 And raise the power of France upon his head. 
 Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 
 *Eli. Look'st thou pale, France i do not let go 
 thy hand. ^ fpen^> 
 
 Const. Look to that, devil ! lest that France re. 
 And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. 
 Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 
 Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreanl 
 limbs. [wrongs 
 Anst. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these 
 
 Bemuse , 
 
 Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 
 K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the carmnal? 
 Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal f 
 Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference 
 Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
 Or the light loss of England lor a Iriend : 
 Fori^go the easier. 
 
 Blanch. That's the curse «f Ronie, 
 
 Co7ist. O Lewis, stand fast; the devii tempU 
 thee here, i . -j 
 
 In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. 
 
 Blanch. 'IV.e lady Constance speaks not fi ora hei 
 But from her need. , 
 Const. O. if thou grant my need. 
 
 Which only lives but by the death oi faith, 
 That need must needs infer this principle,-— 
 That faith would live again by deatli ot need : 
 O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts Hf 
 Keep n'ly need up, and faith is trodden dowr» 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 S91 
 
 K. John, Tl^e king is mov'd, and answers not to 
 this. 
 
 Const. O, be remov'd from hirn, and answer well. 
 Auoi. Do ;30, king Philip; hang- no more in 
 
 dotibt. [lout. 
 Bast. Hang nothing but a calfs-skin, most sweet 
 K. Phi. I am perpleK'd, and know not what to say. 
 Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex 
 
 (hee more, 
 If tbon stnnd excommnnicafe, and curs'd? 
 
 K . Phi Good reverend father, make my person 
 
 yours, 
 
 And tell ine, how you would bestow yourself. 
 
 riiis royal hand and mine are newly knit ; 
 
 A.nd the conjuncfioi) of our inward souls, 
 
 Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
 
 With all religious strength of sacred vows; 
 
 The latest breath that gave the sound of words, 
 
 Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love. 
 
 Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ; 
 
 And even before this truce, but new before, — 
 
 No longer than we well could wash our hands. 
 
 To clap this royal bargain up of peace, — 
 
 Heaven knovvs,they were besmear'd and overstain'd 
 
 With slaugliter's pencil ; where revenge did paint 
 
 The fearful dilFerence of incensed kings : 
 
 And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood. 
 
 So newly joln'd in love, so strong in both. 
 
 Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet? 
 
 Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven. 
 
 Make such unconstant children of ourselves. 
 
 As now ag.iin to snatch our palm from palm ; 
 
 Unswear laith sworn; and on the marriage bed 
 
 Of smihng peace to march a bloody host. 
 
 And make a riot on the gentle brow 
 
 Of true sincerity ? O holy sir, 
 
 My reverend fatlirir, let it not be so: 
 
 Out of yoar grace, devise, ordain, impose 
 
 Soue gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd 
 
 To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 
 
 Pand. All Ibrm is formless, order orderless, 
 Save what is opposite to England's love. 
 Therefore, to arms: be champion of our church! 
 Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 
 A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
 France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue, 
 A cased lion by the mortal paw, 
 A fasting tiger safer by the tooth. 
 Than keep in peace that hand, which thou dost hold. 
 
 K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. 
 
 Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith ; 
 And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath, 
 Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow. 
 First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ; 
 That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
 What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself, 
 And may not be performed by thyself: 
 For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, 
 Is not amiss, when it is truly done ; 
 And being not done, where doing tends to ill. 
 The truth is then most done not doing it: 
 The better act of purposes mistook 
 Is, to mistake again ; tiiough indirect. 
 Vet indirection thereby grows direct, 
 A'ld falsehood falsehood cures : as fire cools fire. 
 Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. 
 It is religion, that doth make vows kept; 
 Biittliou liast sworn against religion; 
 liy what thou swear'st, against the thing thou 
 swt-ar'st ; 
 
 \nd mak'st an oath the surety for triy truth 
 AK'iinst an oath : The truth thou art unsure 
 T.) swear, swear only not to he forsworn ; 
 Elae, what a mockery should it he to swear? 
 B;it thou dost swear only to be l'oi-s\vora ; 
 Ami most firsworn, to kc-ep what tliou dost swear. 
 Tlie)'"f.»rt, thy latter vows, against thy first. 
 Is in ttiysclf rebellion to thys<'lf : 
 4,D(J bt'ttcr couqu.-st never casi'st thou make, 
 au arui thy constant a:id thy nobler oarts 
 
 Against those giddy loose suggestions; 
 
 Up«n which better part our prayers come in. 
 
 If thou vouchsafe them : but, if not, then kuow^, 
 
 The peril of our curses light on the** ; 
 
 So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off. 
 
 But in despair, die under their black weight, 
 
 Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion! 
 
 Bast. Will't. not be t 
 
 Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? 
 
 Letv. Father, to arms I 
 
 Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? 
 
 Against the blood that thou hast married ? 
 What, shall our feast be kept with slaiighter'd men? 
 Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish druos, — ^ 
 Clamoui s of hell, — be measures to our pomp ? 
 
 0 husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new 
 
 Is husband in my mouth!— even tor that name. 
 Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce. 
 Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
 Against mine uncle. 
 
 Const. O, upon my knee. 
 
 Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 
 'i'hou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
 Forethought by heaven. [may 
 
 Blanch. Now shall I see thy love ; What motive 
 Be stronger with thee than the name of wife i 
 
 Const. That, which upholdeth him, that thee 
 upholds. 
 
 His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour! 
 
 Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold. 
 When such profound respects do pull you on. 
 
 Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 
 
 K. Phi. Thou shall not need : — England, I'll fall 
 from thee. 
 
 Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty . 
 Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 
 K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within 
 
 this hour. *[(i!KB, 
 Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexten 
 Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. 
 Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood : Fair day, 
 
 adieu ! 
 
 Which is the side, that I must go withal ? 
 
 1 am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
 And, in their rage, I having hold of both, 
 They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 
 Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win j 
 Uncle, I needs must pray, that thou may'st lose ; 
 Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; 
 Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive: 
 Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
 Assured loss, before the match be play'd. 
 
 Leiv. Lady, with me ; with me thy ibrtune lies. 
 Blanch. 'I'here where my fortune lives, there noy 
 life dies. 
 
 K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance toge- 
 ther. — [Exit Bastard, 
 France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; 
 A rage, whose heat hath this condition. 
 That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, 
 The blood, and dearest valu'd blood, of France. 
 K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, aid tho« 
 shalt turn 
 
 To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
 Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 
 
 K. John. No more than he that threats. — To arni« 
 let's hie ! [ExeunL 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Plains near AngierS'. 
 Alarums; Excursions. Enter the Bsistard with 
 Austria's head. 
 
 Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrorae 
 Some airy devil hovers in the sky, [hot J 
 
 And pours down mi chief. Austria's head lie lhata : 
 While Philip breathes. 
 
 Enter King John, Arthur, and Hi/BEax 
 K. John. Hubert, keep this hoy :— Philip, make 
 up • 
 
 My mother is assailed in our tent. 
 
293 
 
 KING JOHX. 
 
 Act III 
 
 knd ta'en, I fear. 
 
 Bast My loifl, I rescn'd her; 
 
 Her hitfiiness is in sa/ety, Tear you not: 
 But on, niy liege ; for very little pains 
 Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The some. 
 Alatu/ns; Excursions ; Retreat Enter King 
 ioiiN, EuNOK, ARfHUB, t/ie Bastard, Hubert, 
 and Lords. 
 
 K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay 
 behind, {To Elinor.) 
 
 S<» stronglj! guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : 
 
 {To Arthur.) 
 Tliy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will 
 As denr be to thee as thy father was. 
 
 Arth. (), this will make my mother die with grief. 
 K. John. Cousin, {to tUe Bastard) away for 
 England; haste before : 
 And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
 Ol' hoarding abbots ,• angels imprison'd 
 Set thou at liberty : the tat ribs of peace 
 Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 
 Use our conmnssion in his utmost force. 
 Bast. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me 
 back, 
 
 When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
 I leave your highriess : — Grandam, I will pray 
 '.if ever I remember to be holy,) 
 For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand. 
 
 Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. 
 
 K.John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. 
 
 EH. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. 
 
 {She takes Arthur aside.) 
 
 K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle 
 H ubert. 
 
 We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh 
 'lliere is a soul, counts thee her creditor. 
 And witii advantage means to pay thy love : 
 And, my good friend, thy voluiitary oath 
 Liv('s in tins bosotn, dearly cherished, 
 (live me (hy hand, I had a thing to say, — 
 |j it 1 will St it with some better time, 
 f^y heaven, Hubert, I am almost asliam'd 
 To say what good respect 1 have of thee. 
 
 itlz<6>. I am much bounden to your majesty. 
 
 K. John. Good triend, thou hast no cause to say 
 so yet : 
 
 i3;it tliou shalt have ; and creep time ne'er so slow 
 V et it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
 1 had a thing to say, — But let it go : 
 Ti»e sun is in the heaven, and the proud day. 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world. 
 Is all too wanton, and too lull ol gawds, 
 To gi\ e me audience : — If the midnight bell 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 So(md one unto the drowsy race of night ; 
 If this same were a church-yard where we stand. 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 
 Or if that surly spirit, melancholy. 
 Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; 
 fWhich, else, runs tickling up and down the veins. 
 Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes. 
 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
 A pcission '^.iteful to my purposes;) 
 Or if tha. ctiou couldst see me without eyes, 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 Without a tongue, using conceit alone. 
 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
 Then, io despite of brooded watchful day, 
 I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts ; 
 But ah, I will not : — Yet I love thee well : 
 And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. 
 
 Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake. 
 Though that my death were adjunct to my act. 
 By heaven, I'd do't 
 
 K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst? 
 
 Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
 On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, niy friend, 
 Be is a very serpent in my way ; 
 
 And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine dofh tread. 
 He lies before me : Dost thou understand ms r 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 Hub. And I will keep him sO, 
 
 That he shall not offend your majesty, 
 K.John. Death. 
 Hub. My lord ? 
 
 K. John. A grave. 
 
 Hub. He shall cot live. 
 
 K. John. Enuagll 
 I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee ; 
 Weil, I'll njt say what I intend for thee : 
 
 Kemember Madam, fare you well : 
 
 I'll .send those powers o'er to your majesty. 
 Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 
 K. John. For England, cousin* 
 
 Hubert shall be your man, attena on you 
 With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene lY.— The same. The French King's Tent 
 Enter liiiiy Philip, Lewis, Pandulpk, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
 A whole armado of convicted sail 
 Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. 
 
 Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go 
 well. [ill? 
 K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so 
 Are we not beaten? Is not Anglers lostV 
 Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? 
 And bloody England into England gone, 
 O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? 
 
 Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified : 
 So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd. 
 Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 
 Doth want example : Who hath read, or heard. 
 Of any kindred action like to this ? [praise, 
 K. Phi. Well could I bear, that England had thij 
 So we could find some pattern of our shame. 
 
 Enter Constance. 
 Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
 Holding the eternal spirit, against her will. 
 In the vile prison of afflicted breath : 
 I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 
 
 Const, ho, no w ! now see the issue of your peace ! 
 K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, geutla 
 Constance ! 
 
 , Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, 
 But that, which ends all counsel, true redress. 
 Death, death : — O amiable lovely death ! 
 Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
 Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, 
 'i'hou hate and terror to prosperity. 
 And I will kiss tliy detestable bones; 
 And put my eye -balls in thy vaulted brows; 
 And ring these fingers with thy household wonms; 
 And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust. 
 And be a carrion monster like thyself : 
 Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil'st, 
 And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
 O, come to me ! 
 K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. 
 
 Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry 
 O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth J 
 Then with a passion would I shake the world ; 
 And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, 
 Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice. 
 Which scorns a modern invocation. 
 Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not soirom 
 Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; 
 I am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine : 
 My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
 I am not mad ; — I would to heaven, I werel 
 For then, 'tis like I should forget myself : 
 O, ifl could, what grief should I forget!— 
 Preach some philosophy to make me mad^ 
 
 [And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal; 
 For being not mad, but sensible of grief. 
 
Act IY. Scene 1. KING 
 
 \ly reasonable nart produces reason 
 
 How [ tiiay be deliver'd ot these woes, 
 
 And teaches nie to kill or liang myself: 
 
 It" I were mad, I should forget ruy son; 
 
 Or madly think a Ijabe oi'clouts were he ; 
 
 I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
 
 The different plague of each calamity. [note 
 
 K.FhL Bind lip those tresses: O, what love I 
 \n flie fair multitude of those her hairs I 
 Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, 
 Even to lhat drop ten thousand wiry friends 
 Do glew themselves in sociable grief; 
 Like true, inseparable, faithful lovSB, 
 Sticking together in calamity. 
 
 Const. To England, if you will. 
 
 /v. Phi. * Bind up your hairs. 
 
 ConstYea, that I will ; And wherefore will I do it ? 
 ( tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud, 
 
 0 tJuxt these hands could so redeem my son, 
 As they have given these hairs their liberty ! 
 But now I envy at their liberty. 
 
 And will again commit them to their bonds. 
 
 Because my poor child is a prisoner. 
 
 And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, 
 
 That we shall see and know our friends in heaven : 
 
 If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 
 
 For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child. 
 
 To him that did but yesterday suspire. 
 
 There was not such a gracious creature born. 
 
 But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. 
 
 And chase the native beauty from his cheek. 
 
 And he will look as hollow as a ghost ; 
 
 As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; 
 
 And so he'll die ; and, rising so again. 
 
 When 1 shall meet him in the court of heaven 
 
 ! shall not know him : therefore never, never 
 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 
 
 Fund. Vou hold too heinous a respect of grief. 
 
 Corfjst. He talks to me, that never had a sou, 
 
 K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 
 
 Cc^t Grief fills the room up of my absent child. 
 Lies in hi; bed, walks up and down with me; 
 Puts on hi^ pretty looks, repeats his words. 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 Stulfs out his \ acant garments with his form ; 
 Then, have i reason to be fond of grief. 
 Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
 
 1 could give better comfort than you do. — 
 I will not keep this form upon niy head, 
 
 ( Tearing off her head-dress.) 
 When there is such disorder in my wit. 
 O lord ! my boy, niy Arthur, my lair son ! 
 My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
 My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cire. [Exit. 
 K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lew. There's nothing in this world, can make me 
 Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, [joy : 
 
 Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; 
 And bitter shame hath spoil d the sweet world's taste, 
 That it yields nought, but shame and bitterness. 
 
 Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease. 
 Even in the instant of repair and health. 
 The fit is strongest ; evils, that take leave, 
 On their departure most of all show evil : 
 What have you lost by losing of this day? 
 
 hew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 
 
 Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had. 
 No, no: when fortune nieans to men most good. 
 She looks upon them with a threatenitig eye. 
 "Fis strange, to think how much king John hath lost 
 In this, which he accounts so clearly won : 
 Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner? 
 
 Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him, 
 
 Pand. Your mind is all as youthf ul as your blood. 
 Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit; 
 For even the breath of what I mean to s{)eak 
 Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub. 
 Out of thd path, which shall directly lead 
 Thv loot nglaud"^ tiTune; and, therefore, mark. 
 
 JOHN. 29.^ 
 
 John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be, 
 
 That, whiles warm life plays ia that infant's veifiH^ 
 
 The misplac'd John should entertain an hour. 
 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: 
 
 A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand, 
 
 Must be as boisteromsly maintain'd as gain'd. 
 
 And he, that stands upon a slippery place. 
 
 Makes nice of no vile hold to stay \\\m up : 
 
 I'hat John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; 
 
 So be it, for it cannot be but so. [fall 1 
 
 Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur! 
 
 Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife. 
 May then make all the claim lhat Arthur did. 
 
 Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 
 
 Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old 
 world ! 
 
 John lays you plots : the times conspire with yon: 
 For he that steeps his safety in true blood. 
 Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. 
 This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts 
 Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal; 
 That none so small advantage shall step forth. 
 To check his reign, but they will cherish it. 
 No natural exhalation in the sky, 
 No scape of nature, no distemper'd day. 
 No common wind, no customed event. 
 But they will pluck away his natural cause. 
 And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs. 
 Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven. 
 Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 
 Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthnr*8 
 life. 
 
 But hold himself safe in his piisonment, 
 
 Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of yourapproacll. 
 If that young Arthur be not gone already. 
 Even at that news he dies : and then the hearts 
 Of all his people shall revolt from him. 
 And kiss the lips of unacquainted change; 
 And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath. 
 Out of the bloody fingers'-ends of John. 
 Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot; 
 And, O, what better matter breeds for you. 
 Than I have nam'd ! — The bastard Faulconbridg* 
 Is now in England, ransacking the church. 
 Offending charity If but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
 To train ten thousand English to their side; 
 Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, 
 Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Daaphin, 
 Oo with me to the king : 'Tis wonderful, 
 What may be wrought out of their discontent: 
 Now that their souls are topfull of oftence. 
 For England go; I will whet on the king. 
 Lew. Strong reasons make stiong actions: let 
 us go : 
 
 If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt, 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Hubert and Two Attendants. 
 Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thosi 
 stand 
 
 Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth 
 And bind the boy, which you shall find with mt. 
 Fast to the chair: be heedful : hence, and watch, 
 1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will b*'ar out the 
 deed. 
 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! fear not you . look 
 to't. — [Exeunt Attendants 
 
 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say witli you. 
 Enter Arthur. 
 Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 
 Hub. Good morrow, little priace, 
 
 Arth. As little prince (having so gieat a title 
 To be more prince,) as may be. — Vou are sad. 
 Hub. Indeed, I nave been merrier. 
 Arth. Mercj' on mei 
 
 I Methinks, nobody should b*" sad but i^; 
 
204 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act it. 
 
 Vet. 1 re»iemher, when 1 was in France, 
 'Y 'WiijT jjentlenjen would be as sad as niglit, 
 Only tor vvantonness. By my cliristendoni, 
 >S() I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 I siionld be as merr) as the day is long : 
 And so 1 woidd be here, but that 1 doubt 
 My uncle practises more harm to me ; 
 lie i.^ aiVaid iA' me, and I of him : 
 i-j it my f iult, that I was Geffrey's son ? 
 No, iisdred, is't not; and I would to heaven, 
 Twf re your son, so you would iuve me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Is i talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 He will awctke my mercy, which lies dead : 
 I'herelbre I will be sudden, and despatch. (Aside.) 
 
 Art/i. Are you sick, Hubert ? yon look pale to-day : 
 In sooth, i would you were a little sick; 
 That i might sit all night, and watch with you : 
 I warr.int, I love yon niore than you do me. 
 
 Hub. Hi? words do take possession of my bosom. — 
 iHead here, young Avthnr. {S/wiving a paper.) How 
 now, ibolish rheum ! (Aside.) 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door! 
 I must be brief; lest resolution drop 
 
 Out at irjne eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
 
 Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 
 
 Arth. 'I'oo fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 
 
 Muh. Young boy, 1 must. 
 
 Artli. And will yon ? 
 
 Rub. And I will. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did 
 but ake, 
 
 I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
 
 (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
 
 And I did never ask it you again : 
 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head; 
 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour. 
 
 Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
 
 Sayitg, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief? 
 
 Or, What good love may 1 })erform for you? 
 
 Many a poor man's son woidd have lain still, 
 
 And j;e"er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 
 Hut you at your sick service had a prince. 
 
 Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love. 
 
 And call it, cunning; Do, an if you will: 
 
 If heaven be pleas'd, that yon must use me ill, 
 
 Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes? 
 
 These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. 
 
 So nine!) as iVown on you? 
 
 Huh. I ha\e sworn to do it; 
 
 And wiLl) hot irons must J burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ail, none, but in this iron age, would doit! 
 The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench his fiery indignation. 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
 But for containing (ire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than haminer'd iron? 
 An if an angei sho-.ild have come to me. 
 And l(^ld me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 1 wouhl not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. 
 
 Hub. Come ibrth. (Stamps.) 
 
 He-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, &c. 
 Do as I bid you do. 
 Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are 
 out, 
 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, aiul bind him here. 
 
 Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisf rous-rongh? 
 ? will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heavens sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away. 
 And 1 will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look u[)on the iron angerly : 
 Thm'jt but these men away, and I'll forgive yon. 
 Whatever torment you do put vne to. 
 
 kiu6. Go, stand within, let me alone with him. 
 
 1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such 
 deed. [Eteunt Attend r' 
 
 Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away myfrieudj 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart; — 
 Let h im cnme hack, that his coinpaasion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself! 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy? 
 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eye% 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — tliat there were but a mote la 
 yours, 
 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair. 
 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense I 
 
 Then, feeling wiiat small things are boist'rous there. 
 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance ol a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
 Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
 So I may keep mine eyes ; O, Spare mine eyes ; 
 Though to no use, but still to look on you! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
 And woultl not harm me. 
 
 Hub. 1 can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. ISo, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with gviei^ 
 Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
 In undeservVl extremes: See else yourself; 
 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out. 
 And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath J can revive it, boy, 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush. 
 And glow with shame ol your proceedings, Huberts 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; 
 And, like a dog, that is compell'd to Rj,ht, 
 Snatch at his master, that doth tarre him on. 
 All things, that you should use to do me wrong. 
 Deny their otiice : only yon do lack 
 That mercy, which fierce lire, and iron, extends. 
 Creatures of note, fur mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub.WcW, see to live ; I will n(jt touch thine eyea 
 For all the treasure th;it thine uncle owes: 
 \ et am 1 .sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. 0,now you look like Hubert! 911 thiswhila 
 Yon were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; 
 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead: 
 I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. 
 Will not oiiend thee. 
 
 Arth. O heaven! — I thank yon, Hubert 
 
 Hub. Silence : no more : Go closely in with me : 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene l\. — The same. A Room of State in tk» 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter King JoHN crowned; Pkmrroke, Salis 
 BURY, and other Lords. The King tu'ices ki^ 
 State. 
 
 K. John. Here once again we sit, once cgaia 
 crownd, 
 
 And look d upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 
 
 Pe7n. This once again, but that your highness 
 pleas'd, 
 
 Was once superfluous: you were crown'd beforgj, 
 And that high royalty was ne'er pliick'd oiY; 
 The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
 Fresh exitectation troubled not the land. 
 With any long'd-i'or change, or better state. 
 
 Therelore, to be possess'd with double pum^ 
 To guard a title that was rich befor<>, 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper light 
 To ses^k the beauteous eye of heaven to garms^ 
 Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 
 
Scene 2. KING 
 
 Pern. B^Jt that your royal pleasure must be done, 
 Tbis act !3 as an ancient tale new told: 
 And, in the last repeating, troublesome, 
 Bein<f ur;.^ed at a time unseasonable. 
 
 Sai In tiii.s, the antique and well-noted face 
 Of plain old form is rnuch disfigured; 
 And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, 
 It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about; 
 Startles and frights consideration ; 
 Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
 For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 
 
 Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well, 
 They do confound their skill in covetousness : 
 And, oltentimes, excusing of a fault. 
 Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; 
 As patches, set upon a little breach. 
 Discredit more, in hiding of the fault, 
 I'han did the fault before it was so patch'd. 
 
 Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd. 
 We breath'd our counsel:' but it pleas'd your 
 highness 
 
 To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd; 
 Since all and every part of what we would, 
 Doth make a stand at what your highness will. _ 
 
 K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
 I have possess'd you with, and think them strong, 
 And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) 
 I shall endue you with: Mean time, but ask 
 What you would have relbrm'd, that is not well; 
 And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
 I will both hear and grant you your requests. 
 
 Petn. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these, 
 To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) 
 Both i(>r myself and them, (but, chief of all. 
 Your safety, for the which myself and them 
 Bend their best studies,) heartily request 
 The ont'ranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint 
 Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
 To break into this dangerous argument, — 
 If, what in rest you have, in right you hold, 
 VVhy then your fears, (which, as they say, attend 
 'I'lie steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up 
 Yoiii tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
 With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
 The rich advantage ol"good exercise? 
 Tha the time's enemies may not have this 
 To grace occasions, let it be our suit. 
 That you have bid us ask his liberty; 
 Which for our goods we do no further ask, 
 Than wliereupon our weal, on you depending. 
 Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 
 
 K. John. Let it be so ; I do commit his youth 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 To your direction. — 'Hubert, what news with you? 
 
 Pern. Th;s is the man should do the bkody deed ; 
 He shovv'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
 Fiie iniage ol a vvickeu heinous lault 
 Li\es in his eye : that close asjiect of his 
 Does show ti»e mood of a much troubled breast: 
 And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done. 
 What we so i'ear'd he had a charge to do. 
 
 Sal. The colour ot the king dotli come and go, 
 Between tils purpose and his conscience. 
 Like heralds, 'twixt two dreadl'ul battles set; 
 His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 
 
 Pern. And, when it breaks, 1 fear, will issue thence 
 The I'oul corruption of a sweet child's death. 
 
 H. John.We cannot hold mortality's strong hand: — 
 Good Lords, altlioiigli uiy will to give is living, 
 The suit whicli you demand is gone and dead : 
 He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. 
 
 Sal. Indeed, we iear'd his sickness was past cure. 
 
 Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was, 
 Before the child hi*iseit felt he was sick: 
 This must be ;uiswer"d either here, or hence. 
 
 K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows 
 on me ? 
 
 Thiok you, i hear tht- shears of destiny? 
 Have I CO imrauduieut on the pulse ol' life ? 
 
 JOHN. sug 
 
 Sal. It is apparent foul -play ; and 'tis r^hame, 
 That greatness should so grossly ofler it : 
 So thrive it in your {fame ! and so iarewell. 
 
 Pern. Stay yet, lord Salisbury : I'l! go with ihet^ 
 And tind the inheritance ol'this poor child. 
 His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
 That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle. 
 Three foot of it doth hold ; Bad world the while ! 
 This must not be thus borne : this will break 
 To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. 
 
 [Exiunt Lord* 
 
 K. John. They burn in indignation; I repent 
 There is no sure foundation set in blood.' 
 No certain life achiev'd by others' death 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 A fearful eye thou hast : Where is that blood. 
 That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ? 
 So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
 Pour down thy weather: — How goes all in Fran\-e? 
 
 Mess. From France to England, — Never such a 
 For any foreign preparation, [power 
 Was levied in the body of a land ! 
 The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ; 
 For, when you should be told they do prepare. 
 The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd. 
 
 K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been 
 drunk? 
 
 Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care f 
 That such an army could be drawn in France,, 
 And she not hear of it? 
 
 Mess. My liege, her ear 
 
 Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died 
 Y our noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord, 
 The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
 Three days before : but this Irom rumour's tongue 
 I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not. 
 
 K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful cccagioal 
 O, make a league with me, till 1 have plea.s'd 
 My discontented peers ! — What! mother dead? 
 How wildly then walks my estate in France ! — 
 Under whose conduct came those powfers of France^ 
 That thou lor truth giv'st out, are landed here ? 
 
 Mess. Under the Dauphin. 
 
 E7iter the Bastard, and Peter of Pitmfret. 
 
 K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 
 
 With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world 
 To your proceedings ? do not seek to stiilf 
 My head with more ill news, for it is full. 
 
 Bast. But if you be afeard to hear the worst, 
 Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 
 
 K. John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amaa I 
 Under the tide : but now 1 breathe again 
 Aloft the flood ; and can give audience 
 To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 
 
 Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, 
 The sums I have collected shall express. 
 But, as I. travelled hither through the land, 
 I find the people strangely lantasied ; 
 Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams; 
 Not knowing what they fear, but full oi' fear : 
 And here's a prophet, that 1 brought with me 
 From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I i'oimd 
 With many hundreds treading on his heels; 
 To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
 That, ere the next Ascension-day, at noon, 
 Your highness should deliver up your crown. 
 
 K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didai 
 thou so? 
 
 Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out sa. 
 
 K.John. Hubert, away with him; imprison himj 
 And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, 
 I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd • 
 Deliver him to safety, and return. 
 For I must use thee. — O my gentle cousin, 
 
 [Exit Hubert with Peter, 
 Hear'stthou the news abroad, who are arrived? 
 
 Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths ar« 
 full of it : 
 
206 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 Act TY 
 
 BesMeS; J met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, 
 fWitti eyes as red as new-enkiiidled lire,) 
 And otiiers more, going to seek tlie grave 
 Of ArtlMjr, who, they suy, is kilKd to night 
 On jour suggestion. 
 
 K, John. Gentle kinsman, go. 
 
 And tiirnst thyself" into their companies . 
 I iiave a way to win their loves again; 
 Hring thenj before me. 
 
 Bast. I will seek them out. 
 
 K. John. Nay, but make haste : the better foot 
 
 before. 
 
 O, let me have no subject enemies, 
 When adverse foreigners atfright my towns 
 VVithdreadful pomp of stout invasion! — 
 Be Merc'iry, set feathers to tliy heels ; 
 And fly, like thought, from tliem to me again. 
 
 Basi. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentleman. — 
 Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need 
 Some messenger betwixt me and the pe ers ; 
 And be thou he. 
 
 Mess. With all my heart, ray liege. [Exit. 
 
 K. John. My mother dead ! 
 
 Re-enter Hubert. 
 Hub. My lord, they say, live moons were seen 
 to-night : 
 
 Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
 The other four, in wond'rou.s motion. 
 K. John. Five moons ? 
 
 Huh. Old men, and beldams, in the streets 
 
 Do prophecy upon it dangerously : 
 V'oung Arthur's deatli is common in iheir mouths : 
 And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
 And whisper one another in the ear; 
 And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist; 
 Whilst he, that hears, makes feari'id action, 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes, 
 i suvv a smith stand with his hammer, thus. 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool. 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; 
 Who, with his shears and measure in liis hand, 
 Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
 That were embatteled and rank d in Kent : 
 Another lean unwash'd artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 
 K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with 
 these fears ? 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 
 Thy hand hath murder'd him : 1 had mighty cause 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
 
 Huh. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not pro- 
 voke me ? 
 
 K. Jy^hn. it is the curse of kings, to be attended 
 By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life : 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 To understand a law; to know the meaning 
 Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
 Move upon humour than advis'd respect. 
 
 Huh. Here is your hand and seal ior what I did. 
 
 K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven 
 and earth 
 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 
 Witness against us to damnation! 
 
 How oft the sigfjt of means to do ill deeds. 
 
 Makes deeds ill done ! fladst not thou been by, 
 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
 
 Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame. 
 
 This murder had not come into my mind: 
 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect. 
 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villainy. 
 
 Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, 
 
 1 faintly broke with tiiee of Arihur's death ; 
 
 Ard thou, to be emieared to a king, 
 
 Madt^ it no conscience to destroy a prince 
 
 Huh. My lord, 
 
 K. John. Hadst thou but shook thj head, 01 
 made a pause. 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed; 
 Or lurn'd an eye of doubt upon my face 
 As bid me tell my tale in express wordis ; 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break 
 And those thy fears n>ight have wrought fears i;i nafcj 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 And didst in signs again parley with siti ; 
 Yea, without stop, didst, let thy heart consent. 
 And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to naittC' 
 Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
 My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd, 
 Even at my gates, witli ranks of iorei^^n powers; 
 Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
 Tnis kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
 Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
 Between my conscience, and my cousin's deatL 
 
 Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
 I'll make a peace between your soul and you. 
 Young Arthur is alive : This hand of mine 
 Is yet a nmiden and an innocent hand, 
 Not painted with the crimson spots of blood 
 Within this bosom never enter'd yet 
 The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, 
 And you have slander'd nature in my form; 
 Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, 
 Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
 
 K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to th« 
 peers, 
 
 Throw this re()orton their incensed rage. 
 
 And make them tame to their obedience ! 
 
 Forgi\e the comment, that my passion made 
 
 Upon thy feature; ibr my rage was blind. 
 
 And ibul imaginary eyes of blood 
 
 Presented thee moie hideous than thou art 
 
 O. answer not; but to my closet bring 
 
 I'iie angry lords, with all expedient haste: 
 
 1 conjure thee but slowly; nm more fast. [Exeunl- 
 
 Scene III. — The same. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter Arthur on the ivalls. 
 Arth. Th« wall is high ; and yet will I leap down: 
 Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ; — 
 There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, 
 This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. 
 I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
 If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
 I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 
 As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. 
 
 {Leaps down.) 
 O me ! my uncle's s; irit is in these stones: — 
 Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! 
 
 {Dies.) 
 
 Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
 
 Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund'»- 
 Bury; 
 
 It is our safety, and we must embrace 
 This gentle offer of the perilous time. 
 
 Pern. Who b»)ught that letter from the cardinal? 
 
 Sal. The count iVlelun, a noble lord of France; 
 Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love. 
 Is much more general than these lines import. 
 
 Big. Tomorrow morning let us meet him then. 
 
 Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 'twill be 
 Two long clays' journey, lords, or ere we meet. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'^ 
 lords ! 
 
 The king, by me, requests your presence straight 
 
 Sal. 'I'he king hath dispossess'd himself of us; 
 We will not line ins thin bestained cloak 
 With our pure honours, nor attend tlie foot, 
 That leaves the print of blood vvhere-e'er it walka: 
 Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 297 
 
 Hast, Whato*er yon thir.k, good words, 1 think, 
 
 were best. 
 
 Sal, Oni griefs, and not our mannerS; reason now. 
 liasl. But there is little reason in your grief; 
 "Hieref >re, 'twere reason yon had manners now. 
 Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hatli iiis privilege. 
 Beat. "Tis true ; to Imrt his master, no man else. 
 •W. This is the prison: Wliatis he lies here? 
 
 {Seeing Arthur.) 
 J'em. O death, made proud with pure and piinr .^ly 
 beauty I 
 
 The earth iiath not a hole to hide this deed. 
 
 Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
 Doth lay it 0[;en, to urge on revenge. 
 
 Biy. Or, when he doom d this beauty to a grave, 
 Found it too precious-princely lor a grave. 
 
 Sal. Sn- Richard, what think yon? Have you 
 belield, 
 
 Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think? 
 Or do you almost think, although you see. 
 That you do see ? could thought, without this object. 
 Form such another? This is the very top. 
 The iieight, the crest, or crest unto the crest. 
 Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame. 
 The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke. 
 That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage. 
 Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 
 
 Pent. All nuirders past do stand excus'd in this : 
 And this, so sole, and so unmatciiable, 
 Shall give a holiness, a purity, 
 To the yet uubegntteu sin of time ; 
 And pro\ e a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
 Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 
 
 Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work; 
 The graceless action of a heavy hand. 
 If that it be the work of any hand. 
 
 Sal. 11 that it be the work of any hand? — 
 We had a kind of light, what would ensue : 
 Ft is the shitmeful work of Hubert's hand ; 
 The practice, and the purpose, of the king : — 
 Frona vvliKse obedience I forbid my soul, 
 Kneeling bf Core this nun of sweet lil'e. 
 And breatliiug to his breathless excellence 
 The incense of a vow, a holy \ ow; 
 Ne\ er to t iste the pleasures of the world, 
 Ne\ er to be infected with delight, 
 No> conversant with ease and idleness. 
 Till 1 have set a glory to this hand. 
 By giving it the worship of revenge. 
 
 Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste iu seeking you. 
 Arthur dt;th live; the king hath sent for you. 
 
 Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — 
 Avaunt, tnou hateful villain, get thee gone! 
 
 Hub. I am no villain. 
 
 Sal. Must I rob the law ? 
 
 {Drawing his sword.) 
 
 Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. 
 
 Sa!. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. 
 
 Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say; 
 By heaven, 1 think, my sword's as sharp as yours : 
 [ would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
 Nor teuip< the danger of my true defence ; 
 Lf'st \, by marking of your rage, forget 
 \ ot\r worili, your greatness, and nobility. 
 
 Big. Out, dimghill ! dars'tthou brave a nobleman ? 
 
 Hub. Not lor my life : but yet I dare defend 
 RIy innocent life against an emperor. 
 
 Sal. Thou art a murderer. 
 
 Hub. Do not prove me so ; 
 
 Yet, I am none : Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
 Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 
 
 Pern. Cut him to pieces. 
 
 Bofi. Keep the peace, T say. 
 
 Sal Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 
 
 Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury: 
 If thou but irovvti on me, or stir thy foot, 
 Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame. 
 
 I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
 
 Or 1 11 *o maul you and your toasting-iron, 
 Tiiat you shall tiiink the devil is come Irom hell. 
 
 Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcoiibridg 
 Second a villain, and a murderer ? 
 
 Hub. Lord Bigot, 1 am none. 
 
 Big. Who kill'd this prince T 
 
 Hub. 'Tis not an hour since 1 lelt him well ; 
 I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep 
 My date of liic out, for his sweet life's loss. 
 
 Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes. 
 For villainy is not without such rheum ; 
 And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
 Like rivers of remorse and innocenev. 
 Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor 
 'i'he uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ; 
 F^'or I am stifled with this smell of sin. 
 
 Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there! 
 
 Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 Bast. Here's a good world ! — Knew you of this 
 fair work ? 
 Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
 Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of dealh, 
 Art thou danui'd, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 
 
 Bast. Ha ! I'll tell thee what ; 
 Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so black; 
 Thou art more deep danm'd than prince Lucifer: 
 Thei e is tot yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
 As thou shalt be, if thou didst kUl this child. 
 
 Hub. Upon my soul, 
 
 Bast. If thou didst but consent 
 
 To this most cruel act, do but despair, 
 And, if thou want'st a cord, the snuallest thread 
 That ever spider twisted from her womb. 
 Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be 
 A beam to hang thee on ; or, vvouldttt thou drowl 
 Put but a little water in a spoon, [thyself. 
 And it shall be as all the ocean. 
 Enough to stifle such a villain up. — 
 I do suspect thee very grievously. 
 
 Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought. 
 Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath. 
 Which was embounded in this beauteous clay. 
 Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! 
 I left him well. 
 
 Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. 
 
 I am amaz'd, niethinks ; and lose my way 
 Among the thorns and dangers of this worId.~ 
 How easy dost thou take all England np I 
 From forth this morsel of dead royalty. 
 The life, the right, and truth of all this realm 
 Is fled to heaven ; and England now is left 
 To tug and scramble, and to part by th' teeth 
 The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. 
 Now, for thf bare-pick'd bone of majesty, 
 Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest. 
 And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace ; 
 Now powers from home, and discontents at home, 
 Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits 
 (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,) 
 The imminent decay of wrested j)om|). 
 Now hap{)y he, whose cloak and cincture can 
 Hold out tills tempest. Bear away that child. 
 And follow me with speed ; I'll to the king: 
 A thousand businesses are brief in hand, 
 And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. 
 
 [Exeuift 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Scene I.— The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Jokn. Pandulph with the cvown, ana 
 Attendants. 
 K. John. Thus have I yielded up into youi hand 
 The circle of my glory. 
 
 Pand. Take again 
 
 {Giving John the crotim.^ 
 From this my hand, as holding of the pope. 
 Your sovereign greatness and authority. 
 
29b 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 Act Y 
 
 K. Jo^. Now keep your holy word : go meet ihe 
 
 French ; 
 
 A,iid from liis holiness use all your power 
 To stop tlieit marciies, 'fore we are inflam'd. 
 Our discontented counties do revolt; 
 Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
 Swearipg allegiance, and the love of soul. 
 To stranger Idood, to i'oi eign royalty. 
 This inundation of luistemper'd humour 
 iJests by you only to be qualified, 
 'i^heti pause not; for the present time's so sick, 
 * '^I'hat present medicine n)ust be minister'd, 
 Or overthrow incurable ensues. 
 
 Panel. It was my breath that blew this temj)est 
 Upon your stubborn usage of the pope: [up, 
 But, since you are a gentle convertite, 
 My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, 
 And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
 On this Ascension-day, remember well. 
 Upon your oath of service to the pope, 
 Go 1 to make the French lay down their arms. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the pro- 
 Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, [phet 
 My crown I should give off ? Even so I have : 
 I did suppose, it should be on constraint; 
 But. heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds 
 But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd, [out. 
 Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers : 
 Y our nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
 To ofier service to your enemy : 
 And wild amnzernent hurries up and down 
 The little number of your doubtful friends. 
 
 K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, 
 
 fter they heard young Arthur was alive ? 
 
 Bast. They found iiim dead, and cast into the 
 A n empty casket, where the jewel of life [streets ; 
 By some danm'd hand was robb'd and ta'eo away. 
 
 K. John. That villain Hubert told me, he did live. 
 
 Bast. So, on nry soul, he did, for aught he knew, 
 But wheretbre do you droop? why look you sad ? 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought: 
 Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust. 
 Govern the m otion of a kingly eye : 
 Be stirring as (he time ; be tire with fire ; 
 Threaten tlie threat'ner, and outface the brow 
 Oi bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes. 
 That borrow their behaviours from the great. 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
 Away; and glister like the god of war, 
 VVlien he intendeth to'become the field : 
 Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. 
 What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 
 And fright him there ? and make him tremble there ? 
 0, let it not be said ! — Forage, and run 
 To Hieet displeasure further from the doors: 
 And grapple with him, ere he comes so nign. 
 
 K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with me. 
 And [ have made a happy peace with him; 
 And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers, 
 Led by the Dauphin. 
 
 Bast. O inglorious league .' 
 
 Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
 Send fiir-play orders, and make compromise. 
 Insinuation, parley, and base truce. 
 To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy, 
 A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields, 
 And fesh his spirit in a warlike soil, 
 JNlockbg the air with colours idly spread. 
 And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms: 
 Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace ; 
 Or if he do, let it at least be said. 
 They saw we had a pnqjose of defence. [time. 
 h.Jo'm. Have thou the ordering of this present 
 Bast. Away then, with good courage; yet, I 
 know. 
 
 Our party may well meet a prouder foe [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — A Plain near St. Edmund' s-Bury. 
 Enter in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pem 
 BROKE, Bigot, and Soldiers. 
 
 Letv. My lord Melun, let this be copied out, 
 And keep it safe for our rememurance : 
 Return the precedent to these 'ords again: 
 That, having our fair order wriiien down, 
 Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes. 
 May know wherefore we look the sacrament, 
 And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 
 
 Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
 And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
 A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith. 
 To your proceedings ; yet, believe me, prince, 
 I am not glad, that such a sore of time 
 Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt. 
 And heal the inv eterate canker of one wound. 
 By making many: O, it grieves my soul, 
 That I must draw this metal from my side 
 To be a widow-maker: O, and there, 
 Where honourable rescue, and defence. 
 Cries out upon the name of Salisbury : 
 But such is the infection of the time. 
 That, for the health and physic of our right. 
 We cannot deal but with the very hand 
 Of stern injustice and confused wrong. — 
 And is't not pity, O my grieved friends ! 
 That we, the sons and children of this isle 
 Were born to see so sad an hour as this ; 
 Wherein we step after a stranger march 
 Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
 Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep 
 Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) 
 To grace the gentry of a land remote, 
 And follow unacquainted colou.'-s here? 
 What, here ? — O nation, that thou couldst vemoTBt 
 That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, 
 Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself. 
 And grapple thee unto a Pagan shore ; 
 Where these two Christian armies might combiae 
 The blood of malice in a vein of league. 
 And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 
 
 Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; 
 And great aftections, wrestling in thy bosom. 
 Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
 O, M'hat a noble combat hast thou fought. 
 Between compulsion and a brave respect ' 
 Let me wipe oti' this honourable dew. 
 That silveriy doth progress on thy cheeks ; 
 My heart hath melted at a lady's tears. 
 Being an ordinary inundation; 
 But this effusion of such manly drops, 
 This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 
 Startles mine eyes, and makes me more a^naa't^ 
 Than had 1 seen the vanity top of heaven 
 Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. 
 Lift up ttiy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
 And with a great heart heave away this storm; 
 Commend these waters to those baby eyes. 
 That never saw the giant world enrag'd; 
 Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, 
 Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gcssipijjg. 
 Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand aa deep 
 Into the purse of rich prosperity. 
 As Lewis himself : — so, nobles, shall you all. 
 That knit your sinews to the strength of mine* 
 
 Enter Pandulph, attended. 
 And even there, methinks, an angel spake : 
 Look, where the holy legate comes apace. 
 To give us warrant from the iiand of heaven; 
 And on our actions set the name of right. 
 With holy breath. 
 
 Pand. Hail, noble prince of FraQC« I 
 
 The next is this, — king John hath recoacii'd 
 Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, 
 That so stood out against the holy church. 
 The great metropolis and see of Rome i 
 
Scene 8. KING JOHN. 
 
 Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, 
 Atui taine the savage spirit of wild war; 
 7 'iiat, like a (ion foster d up at hand, 
 ft may lie gently attiie foot of peace, 
 And be no further liarrrdul than in show. 
 
 Lew.. Your grace shall pardon me, 1 will not back; 
 I a 111 t'jo highborn to be propertied, 
 'J'o be a secondary at control, 
 Or (Ireful serving man, and instrument, 
 'J\j ai/ j sovereign state throiij^hout the world, 
 'i'odr breath tinst kindled the dead coal of wars 
 Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself, 
 kiKi l)roiight in matter, that shoidd feed ihii fire ; 
 And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
 Wilii that same weak wind, which enkindled it. 
 Yon bui^'Jit me how to know the face of right, 
 Acqiiaiii:ed me with interest to this land. 
 Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; 
 And come yon now to tell me, John hath made 
 His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to me ? 
 1, by the honour of my marriage-bed, 
 Afler young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 
 And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back, 
 Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? 
 Am I Rome's slave V What penny hath Rome borne. 
 What men provided, what munition sent. 
 To underprop this action? is't not J, 
 That undergo this charge ? who else but I, 
 And such as to my claim are liable. 
 Sweat in this business, and maintain this war ? 
 Have 1 not heard these islanders shout out, 
 Vive le Roy ! as I have bank'd their towns ? 
 Have I not here the best cards for the game. 
 To win this easy match, play'd for a crown? 
 And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 
 No, on viiy soul, it never shall be said. 
 
 Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 
 
 Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return. 
 Till my attempt so much be glorified 
 As to my ample hope was promised, 
 Before I drew this gallant head of war. 
 And cuU'd these fiery spirits from the world. 
 To outlook couquest, and to win renown 
 Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — 
 
 {Trumpet sounds.) 
 What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? 
 
 Enter Bastard, attended. 
 
 Bast. According to the fair play of the world. 
 Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak : — 
 My holy lord of Milan, from the king' 
 1 tfome, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
 And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
 And warrant limited unto my tongue. 
 
 Pan. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite. 
 And will not temporize with my entreaties ; 
 He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms. 
 
 Bast By all the blood, that ever fury breath'd, 
 The youth says well : — ^Now hear our English king; 
 For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
 He is prepar'd ; and reason too, he should : 
 This apish and unmannerly approach. 
 This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel. 
 This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, 
 1 he king doth smile at ; and is well prepar'd 
 To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms. 
 From out the circle of his tfrritories. 
 That hand, which had the strength, even at your door. 
 To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch; 
 To dive like buckets, in concealed wells; 
 To crouch in litter of your stable planks: 
 To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks ; 
 To hufT with swine ; to seek sweet safety out 
 In vaults and prisons j and to thrill, and shake. 
 Even at the crying ol your nation's crow, 
 Tliinking his voice an armed Englishman ; — 
 Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, 
 That iu your chambers gave you chastisement? 
 No: Know, the gallant monarch is in arms; 
 Aud Uie an eagle o'er his airy towers. 
 
 To souse annoyance , that comes near his nesi— 
 
 And you degeiieratt, you ingrale reAolts, 
 
 You bloody Neroes, rippin.a: up the womb 
 
 Of your dear mother England, blush fcr sham®; 
 
 For your own ladies, and pale-visag''' maids. 
 
 Like Amazons, come tripping after drums ; 
 
 Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change. 
 
 Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts 
 
 To fierce and bloody inclination. [peace, 
 
 heiv. There end thy brave, and turn thy face ia 
 W^e grant, thou canst outscold us : fare thee well 
 We hold our time too precious to be spent 
 With such abrabbler. 
 
 Pand. Give me leave to speak,. 
 
 Bast. No, I will speak. 
 
 Lew. We will attend to neither:-— 
 
 Strike up the drums ; and let the tougue of war 
 Plead for our interest, and our being here. [onfc; 
 
 Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will CTj 
 And so shall you, being beaten : Do but start 
 And echo with the clamour of thy drum. 
 And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd. 
 That shall reverberate all as loud as thine ; 
 Sound but another, and another shall. 
 As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, 
 And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder : for at hand 
 (Not trusting to tliis halting legate here, 
 Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) 
 Ls warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
 A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
 To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
 
 Leiv. Strike upon our drums, to find this danger 
 out. 
 
 Bast. And thou shalt find it. Dauphin, do not 
 doubt. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene m.—The same. A Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums. Enter King John and Hueert.j 
 K. John. How goes the day with us ? O, tell mej 
 Hubert. 
 
 Huh. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? 
 K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so 
 Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick I [long. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcoiv- 
 Desires your majesty to leave the field ; [bridge. 
 And send him word by me, which way you go. 
 
 K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to iha 
 abbey there. 
 
 Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply. 
 That was expected by the Dauphin here. 
 Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin's sands. 
 This news was brought to Richard but even now: 
 The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. 
 
 K. John. Ah me ! this tyrant fever burns ine np^ 
 
 And will not let me welcome this good news. 
 
 Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight ; 
 Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. Another part of the same. 
 Enter Salisbury. Pembroke, Bigot, and others. 
 
 Sal. I did not think the king so stor d with friends. 
 
 Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French; 
 If they miscarry, we raiscarr5r too. 
 
 Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
 In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 
 
 Pem. Thev say, king John, sore sick, hath left 
 the field. 
 
 Enter Melun wounded, and led hy Soldiers, 
 Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England herCc 
 Sal. When we were happy, we had other name*, 
 Pem. It is the count Melun. 
 Sal. Wounded to death. 
 
 Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold" 
 
 Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, 
 
 And welcome home again discarded faith. 
 
 Seek out king John, aud fall before his feet; 
 
 For, if the French be lords of this loud day. 
 
soo 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 Act V 
 
 He means to recompense the pains you take, 
 By ciittin?; off your heads : Thus hath he sworn, 
 And I with him, and many more with me. 
 Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-iJury ; 
 Bven on that altar, where we swore to you 
 Dear amity and everlasting love. 
 
 Sal May this be possible ? may this be true ? 
 
 MeL Have I not hideous death within my view, 
 
 ^ aining but a quantity of life : 
 Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
 Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire ? 
 ^y^hat in the world should make me now deceive, 
 Since I must lose the use of all deceit''' 
 Why should I tlien be false ; since it is true, 
 That I must die ht-re, and live hence by truth? 
 I say again, if Lewis do win the day, 
 He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
 Oehold another day break in the east : 
 But even this night, — whose black contagious 
 breath 
 
 Already smokes about the burning crest 
 Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, — 
 Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire ; 
 Paying the fine of rated treachery, 
 Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives. 
 If Lewis by your assistance win the day. 
 Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; 
 The love of him, — and this respect besides. 
 For that my grandsire was an Englishman, — 
 Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
 In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
 From forth the noise and rumour of the field : 
 Wiiere I mny think the remnant of my thoughts 
 In peace, and part this body and my soul 
 With contemplation and devout desires. 
 
 Sal. We do believe thee, — And beshrew my soul 
 But 1 do love the favour and the form 
 Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
 We will untread the steps of damned flight ; 
 And, tike a bated and retired flood. 
 Leaving our rankness and irregidar course. 
 Stoop l(»w within those bounds we have o'erlook'd. 
 And calmly run on in obedience, 
 
 Even f:o our ocean, to our great king John. 
 
 My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 
 For I flo see the cruel pangs of death 
 Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends ! New flight; 
 And happy newness, that intends old right. 
 
 I Exeunt, leading off Melun. 
 
 Scene V,—The same. The French Camp. 
 
 Enter Lewis and his Train. 
 
 Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath 
 to set ; 
 
 But slay'd, and made the western welkin blush. 
 When the English measurd backward their own 
 In iaint retire: O, bravely came we oft', [ground. 
 When with a volley of our needless shot, 
 After such bloody toil, we bid good night; 
 And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up. 
 Last in the field, and almost lords of it; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin ? 
 hew. ^ Here :~ What news ? 
 
 Mess The count Melun is slain ; the English 
 lords, 
 
 By his persuasion, are again fall'n off; 
 
 And your supply, which you have wish'd so long. 
 
 Are cast avviy, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. 
 
 hew. Ah, fold shrewd news I — Beshrew thy very 
 I did not thivik to be so sad to-night, [heart! 
 As this hath mads me. — Who was lie, that said. 
 King John dii fly, an h ur or two befoie 
 The stumbling night did part our weary powers ? 
 
 Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 
 
 hew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care 
 Tlie day shall not be up so soon as 1. [to-night; 
 lb try the f lir adventure of to-morrow. \Exeimt. 
 
 Scene Yl.— Aji open Place in the neighbourhood 
 
 of Swinstead' Abbey. 
 
 Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. 
 Hub. Who's there ? speak, ho ! speak quickly 
 
 or 1 shoot. 
 Bast. A friend :— What art thou ? 
 Hub. ^ Of the part of England. 
 
 Bast. Whither dost thou go ? [mand 
 Hub. What's that to thee ? Why may I not d& 
 Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? 
 Bast. Hubert, I think. 
 
 H?ib. Thou hast a perfect thought; 
 
 I will, upon all hazards, well believe 
 Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well: 
 Who art thou ? 
 
 Bast. Who thou wilt : an' thon please. 
 
 Thou niay'st befriend me so much, as: to think, 
 I come one way of the Plantagenets. [night. 
 
 Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless 
 Have done me shame : — Brave soldier, pardon me, 
 That any accent, breaking from thy tongue. 
 Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 
 
 Bast. Come, come ; sans compliment, what news 
 abroad ? [night. 
 
 Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of 
 To find you out. 
 
 Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news ? 
 
 Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night. 
 Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 
 
 Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; 
 I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. 
 
 Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
 I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
 To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might 
 The better arm you to the sudden time, 
 Than if you had at leisure known of this. 
 
 Bast. How did he take it ? who did taste to him ? 
 
 Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain. 
 Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 
 Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. 
 
 Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ? 
 
 Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all 
 come back, 
 And brought prince Henry in their company ; 
 At whose request the king hath pardon'd thera. 
 And they are all about his majesty. 
 
 Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven. 
 And tempt us not to bear above our power !— — 
 I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night. 
 Passing these flats, are taken by the tide. 
 These Lincoln washes have devoured them ; 
 Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. 
 Away, before I conduct me to the king ; 
 I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
 
 P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood 
 Is touch'd corruptibly: and his pure brain 
 (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling 
 house,) 
 
 Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
 Foretell the ending of ir«rtality. 
 
 Enter Pembroke. 
 
 Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and hokis 
 That, being brought into the open air, [belief 
 It would allay the burning quality 
 Of that fell poison which assaileth him. [here. — 
 
 P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard 
 Doth he still rage ? [Exit Bigot. 
 
 Pern. He is more patient 
 
 Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 
 
 P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extreme* 
 In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
 Death, having preyVl upon the outward parts. 
 Leaves theiu insensible ; and his sie^e is now 
 Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
 VVith many legions of strange fantasies ; 
 
Scene 7 
 
 KING 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 801 
 
 Winch, in their tbrofli and press to that last hold, 
 Con!ouLid thernselvea. Tis strange, that death 
 
 should sing- - 
 I run <he cygnet to th-s pale faint swan, 
 W'lio chants a doleful hymn to his own death; 
 And, from the organ-pipe of i'railty, sings 
 His soul and body to their lasting rest. 
 
 b'al. Ue of good comfort, prince: for you are born 
 I'o set a l"orii\ npon that indigest. 
 Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 
 
 Re enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in 
 King John in a chair. 
 
 K. John. Ay, marry, now niy soul hath elbow- 
 l(. would not oMt at windows, nor at doors, [room ; 
 'I'liere is so hot a summer in my bosom. 
 That all my bowels crumble up to dust: 
 I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
 Upon a parchment; and against this fire 
 Do 1 shrink up. 
 
 P. Hen. How fares your majesty? foflT: 
 
 K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare; — dead, forsook, cast 
 A nd none ol' you will bid the winter come. 
 To thrust hi^ icy fingers in my maw; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
 Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
 To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 
 A nd comfort me with cold : — I do not ask yon much, 
 f beg cold comfort; and you are so strait. 
 And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 
 
 P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my 
 That might relieve you ! [tears, 
 
 K. John. The salt in them is hot. — 
 
 IVithin me is a hell : and there the poison 
 Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize 
 On unreprievable condemned blood. 
 
 Enter ihe Bastard. 
 
 Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion. 
 And spleen of speed to see your majesty. [eye : 
 
 K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine 
 The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
 And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail, 
 Are turned to one thread, one little hair: 
 My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
 Which holds but till thy news be uttered; 
 And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod, 
 Aod module of confounded royalty. 
 
 Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward ; 
 Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him: 
 For, in a night, the best part of my power, 
 As I upon advantage did remove, 
 W ere in the washes, all unwarily, 
 Deyoured by the unexpected flood. {The King dies.) 
 
 Hal You breathe these dead news in as dead an 
 ear 
 
 My liege ! my lord ! — Ea bow a king — now tlin«, 
 
 P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so atop. 
 What surety of tlie world, wlat hope, what stay. 
 When this was now a king, and now is clay ! 
 
 Bast. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind. 
 To do the office for thee of revenge ; 
 And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven. 
 
 As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 
 
 Now, now, yon stars, that move in your right 
 spheres, [faiths: 
 Where be your powers? Show now your mendea 
 And instantly return with me again. 
 To push destruction, and perpetual shame, 
 Out of the weak door of our fainting land 
 Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; 
 The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 
 
 Sai. It seems, you know not then so much as we: 
 The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, 
 Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin; 
 And brings from him such oflfers of our peace 
 As we with honour and respect may take. 
 With purpose presently to leave this war. 
 
 Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
 Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 
 
 Sal Nay, it is in a manner done already; 
 For many carriages he hath despatch'd 
 To the sea side, and put his cause and quarrel 
 To tlie disposing of the cardinal: 
 With whom yourself, myself, and other lords. 
 If you think meet, this af ternoon will post 
 To consummate this business happily. 
 
 Bast. Let it be so : — And you, my noble prince^ 
 With other princes that may best be spar'd, 
 Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 
 
 P. Hen. At Worcester nmst his btidy be interr'd ? 
 For so he will'd it. 
 
 Bast. Thither shall it then. 
 
 And happily may your sweet self pul on 
 The lineal state and glory of the land I 
 To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
 ] do bequeath my faithful services 
 And true subjection everlastingly. 
 
 Sal. And the like tender of our love we make. 
 To rest without a spot for evermore. [thanks, 
 
 P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give yoa 
 And knows not how to do it, but with tears. 
 
 Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe. 
 Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — 
 Tiiis Enghind never did, (nor never shall,) 
 Jjie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
 But when it (irst did help to wound itself. 
 Now tliese her princes are come home again, 
 Come the three corners ol'the world in arras, [r«e. 
 And we sliall shock then» : Nought shall make ua 
 if England to itself do rest but true. ^Exeunt, 
 
KING RICHARD 11. 
 
 This play Is one of those which Shakspeare has apparently revised; but as success in works of inVetition is not 
 «4W*F''' Iif"P*""tionate to labour, it is not finished at last with the happy force of some other of his tragedies, not 
 -ail itn said much to affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding. Johnson^ 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 KING RICHARD THE SECOND. 
 
 EDMUND OF hM^GhEY , Ditke of York,) Uncles tothe 
 iOii]^ OF GAU'NT, Di^ke of Lauraster, ( Ki,ig. 
 HliNllY, s/(rMame</ BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, 
 
 So/i to Jo//N Gaunt; ofterionrds King Henry IV. 
 DXjKE of AUMERLli, Son to the Duke of York. 
 MOVVHRAY, Diine uf Norfolk. 
 DUKE OF SURFEY. 
 EAKL OF SALISBURY. 
 EARL BEUKELETY. 
 BUSHY, / 
 
 BAGOT, > Creatures to King Richard. 
 GREEN, S 
 
 CARL F NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 HENRY PEilCY, his Son. 
 
 LORD ROSS. 
 
 LO. D W(LLOUGHBY. 
 
 LORD FITZWATEK. 
 
 BISHOP OF CARLISLE. 
 
 ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER. 
 
 Lord Marshal; and another Lord, 
 
 SIR PIERCE OF EXTON. 
 
 SIR STEPHEN SCROOP. 
 
 Captain uf a Band of Welshmen* 
 
 QUEEN to Kino Richard. 
 
 DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. 
 
 DUCHESS OF YORK. 
 
 J.ady attending on the Queen. 
 
 Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two GardeKers 
 Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — Dispersedly in England and Wales. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Richard, attended ; John of Gaunt, 
 and other Nobles with him. 
 K. B.i ^,h. Old John of Gaiint, time honour'd 
 Lancaster, 
 
 Hast thon, according to thy oath and band. 
 Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son; 
 Here to niaice good the boisterous late appeal. 
 Which tiien our leisure would not let us hear. 
 Against tlie duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 
 Uamii. I have, niy liege. 
 
 K. Rich. Tell ine moreover, hast thou sounded 
 [f he ap|jea! the duke on ancient malice ; [him. 
 Or WO! thily, as a good subject should. 
 On some known ground of treachery in him ? 
 
 Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu- 
 Oii some apparent danger seen in him, [ment, — 
 i.Airn'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. 
 
 K. Rich. Then call them to our presence ; face 
 to face, 
 
 kndi frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
 The accuser, and the accused, freely speak: — 
 
 [Exeunt some Attendants. 
 High-sfomach'd are they both, and full of ire, 
 fn rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with Bolinobroke and 
 Norfolk. 
 
 Boliriff. Many years of happy days befal 
 My gracious sovereign, my niost loving liege! 
 
 N)r. Eacli day stiil better otht-r's happiness; 
 Until (lie heavens, envying eaith's good hap, 
 Add an immortal title to your crown! 
 
 K. Rich. VVe thank you both ; yet one but flatters 
 As well appeareth by the cause you come ; [us. 
 Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. — 
 Cousin o'l Hereford, what dost thou object 
 Ag^iHist (he diike of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? 
 
 Holing. First, (heaven be the record to my 
 In the devotion of a subject's love, [speech !) 
 
 Tendi^ritig the precious safety of my prince, 
 And free fi'Om other misbego(ten hate, 
 Coiue I appellant to this princely presence. — 
 N'.'vv, Tliomas ?,l<>whray, do I turn to thee, 
 Aiid mark my greeting well; for what I speak- 
 My hoily *>hail make good upon this eartli. 
 Or ;ny divine' soul answer it in heaven. 
 'I'lic, .1 art a traitor, and a miscreant; 
 Foe 7<v»d to he so. and too bid to live; 
 Sin; ihe more fair and crystal is the sky, 
 The /jiiier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
 
 Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
 With a foul traitor's name stulf I thy throat ; 
 And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move. 
 What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn word 
 may prove. 
 
 Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal : 
 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war. 
 The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, 
 Can arbitrate this cause betwixt ns twain: 
 The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this, 
 Yet can I not of such tame patience boast. 
 As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: 
 First, the fair reverence of your highness cubs me 
 Fron> giving reins and spurs to my free speech 
 Which else would post, until it had retunVd 
 These terms of treason doubled down his throat. 
 Settit)g aside his high blood's royalty, 
 And let hun be no kinsman to my liege, 
 
 I do del'y him, and I spit at him ; 
 
 Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain: 
 Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; 
 And meet him, were I tied to run a- loot 
 Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
 Or any other ground inhabitable, 
 Where ever Englishman dare set his foot. 
 Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — 
 By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 
 
 Baling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw 
 my gage. 
 
 Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; 
 And lay aside my high blood's royalty. 
 Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except; 
 If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength. 
 As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop ; 
 By that, and all the rites of knighthood el.se. 
 Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, 
 What ( have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 
 
 AW. I take it up; and by that sword I swear. 
 Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shouldefj 
 I'll answer tliee in any fair degree, 
 Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : 
 And, when I mount, alive may 1 not light, 
 
 II I b>' traitor, or unjustly fight i 
 
 /v. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbrcy' 
 It must t.e great, that can inherit us [charge? 
 So tnncli as of a thought of ill in him. 
 
 Buling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove 
 ' it true ;— 
 
 That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, 
 In name ol lendings for your highness soldiers; 
 Tlip wiiich i\r hatii detain'd for lewd ^mploymeuts, 
 Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. 
 Besides I say, and will in battle prove, — 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 303 
 
 Or Here, or eleewh sre, to the furthest verge. 
 
 That ever was survey'd by English eye,— 
 
 That all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
 
 Com plotted and contrived in this iand. 
 
 Fetch frotn false Mowbray their first head and spring. 
 
 Further I say,— and further will maintain 
 
 Upon his bad life, to make all this good, — 
 
 That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ; 
 
 Suggest his soon-believing adversaries; 
 
 And, consequently, like a traitor coward, 
 
 Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of 
 
 Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, [blood: 
 
 Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
 
 To me for justice, and rough chastisement; 
 
 And, by the glorious worth of my descent. 
 
 This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 
 
 K. Rich, How high a pitch his resolution soars! — 
 Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? 
 
 Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face. 
 And hid his ears a little while be deaf, 
 Till 1 have told this slander of his blood. 
 How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar, [ears: 
 K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and 
 
 Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
 ,As he is but my father's brother's son,) 
 Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow. 
 Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood 
 
 Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
 
 The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. 
 
 He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; 
 
 Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. 
 
 Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as lovv as to thy heart. 
 Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest . 
 
 Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, 
 
 Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; 
 
 The other part reserv'd I by consent ; 
 
 For that my sovereign liege was in my debt. 
 
 Upon remainder of a dear account. 
 
 Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 
 
 Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's 
 
 death, 
 
 [ slew him not; but, to my own disgrace. 
 
 Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — 
 
 For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 
 
 The honourable father to my foe. 
 
 Once did 1 lay in ambush for your life, 
 
 A trespas^j, that doth vex my grieved soul : 
 
 But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 
 
 [ did confess it ; and exactly begg'd 
 
 Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. 
 
 This is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd. 
 
 It issues from the rancour of a villain, 
 
 A recreant and most degenerate traitor: 
 
 Which in myself I boldly will defend; 
 
 And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
 
 Upon this overweening traitor's foot, 
 
 To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
 
 Even in the best blood chamber d in his bosom : 
 
 In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 
 
 Your highness to assign our trial day. [me ; 
 
 K.Rich. Wra-h kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by 
 
 Let's purge this c holer without letting blood : 
 
 This we prescribe, though no physician; 
 
 Deep malice makes too deep incision : 
 
 Forget, forgive ; conclude, and be agreed ; 
 
 Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. — 
 
 Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
 
 We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 
 Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become ray 
 age :— 
 
 Tlirow down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. 
 
 K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 
 
 Gaunt. When, Harry ? when? 
 
 Obedience bids, I should not bid again. 
 
 K, Rich. Norfolk, throw down ; we bid ; there 
 is no boot. [foot ; 
 
 Nor. Myself I throw, dead sovereign, at thy 
 My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
 Th^ one ray duty owes; but my fair name, 
 (Di^spite death, that lives upon my grave,) 
 
 To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not hm 
 I am disgrac'd, impeacn'd, and baffled heff«; 
 Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd 
 The which no balm can cure, but his heart* 
 Which breath'd this poison. 
 
 K. Rich. Rage must be withstood; 
 
 Give me his gage : — Lions n»ake leopards tame. 
 
 Nor. Yea, but not change their spots : take ba 
 my shame. 
 
 And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, 
 The purest treasure mortal times afford. 
 Is — spotless reputation ; that away, 
 Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay 
 A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
 Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breasft. 
 Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; 
 Take honour from me, and niy life is dons : 
 Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; 
 In that I live, and for that will I die. 
 
 K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; d« 
 you begin. [sin ; 
 
 Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul 
 Shall 1 seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? 
 Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height 
 Before this out-dar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue 
 Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong. 
 Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
 'fhe slavish niotive of recanting fear ; 
 And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
 Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's 
 face. [Exit Gaim\\ 
 
 K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to crm- 
 mand : 
 
 Which since we cannot do to make you ftiends. 
 
 Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, 
 
 At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day ; 
 
 There shall your swords and lances arbitrace 
 
 The swelling difference of your settled hate; 
 
 Since we cannot atone yon, we shall see 
 
 Justice design the victor's chivalry. — 
 
 Marshal, command our officer at arms 
 
 Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exgnfti. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. A Room in the Duke of 
 Lancaster's Palace. 
 Filter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster. 
 
 Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood 
 Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, 
 To stir against the butchers of his life. 
 But since correction lieth in those hands. 
 Which made the fault, that we cannot correct, 
 Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
 Who, when he sees theliours ripe on earth, 
 Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 
 
 Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper sp 
 Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ? 
 Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself" art one. 
 Were as seven phials of his sacred blood. 
 Or seven fair branches Sjiringing from one root: 
 Some of those seven are dried by nature's course. 
 Some of those branches by the destinies cut ! 
 But Thomas, my dear loid, my life, my Gloster.-* 
 One phial full of Edward's sacred blood- 
 Oae flourishing branch of his most royal root, — 
 Is crack'd, and all the |)recious liquor sjiilt; 
 Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, 
 By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
 Ah, Gaunt ! his blood was tliine ; that bed, .'iial 
 womb, 
 
 That mettle, that self mould, that fashion'd thf e, 
 Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, an4 
 breath'st. 
 
 Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent. 
 In some large measure, to (hy father's death, 
 in that thou seest thy wretched bi other die. 
 Who was (he model of thy father's life. 
 Call it not patience. Gaunt, it is despair* 
 In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughti^r'd, ♦ 
 Thou show'st the naked pathway to tliy life. 
 Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: 
 
S04: 
 
 KING RICHARD II 
 
 Act L 
 
 That, wlii,ch in tirpan men we entitle — patience, 
 Is \>i\\e coid cowardice in noble breasts. 
 VVliat siiall I say ? to safeguard thine own life, 
 The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. 
 
 Gaunt. Heaven's is the qtiarrel ; for heaven's 
 Hia deputy anointed in his sight, [substitute, 
 Hath caus'd liis death : the which, if wrongfully. 
 Let heaven levenge ; for 1 may never lift 
 An angry arm against his minister. 
 
 Duck. Where then, alas ! may I complain my- 
 self? [defence. 
 
 Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and 
 
 Duck. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 
 Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
 Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : 
 O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, 
 That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! 
 Or, if misfortune miss the first career. 
 Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom. 
 That they may break his Ibaming courser's back. 
 And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
 A caitirt" recreant to my cousin Hereford ! 
 Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometime brother's wife. 
 With her companion grief must end her life. 
 
 Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry : 
 As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 
 
 Duch. Yet one word more ; — Grief boundeth 
 where it falls. 
 Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: 
 I take my leave belbre 1 have begun ; 
 For sorrow ends not, when it seeineth done. 
 Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
 Lo, this is all : — Nay, yet depart not so: 
 Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 
 I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what? 
 With all good speed at Flashy visit me. 
 Alack, and what shall good old York there see. 
 But empty lodgings and nnfurnish'd walls. 
 Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? 
 And what cheer there for welcome but my groans ? 
 Therefore commend me; let him not come there, 
 ro seek out sorrow, that dwells every where : 
 Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ; 
 The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists 
 set out, and a Throne ; Heralds, §fc. attending. 
 Enter the Lord Marshal, awe? Aumerle. 
 Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford 
 arm'd ? 
 
 Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter in. 
 
 Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprighti ully and bold. 
 Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 
 
 Aum. W hy then, the champions are prepar'd, and 
 For nothing ln't his majesty's approach. [stay 
 
 F/oi/r/sh of trumpets. Enter King RiCHARD, ivho 
 takes his seat on his throne; Gaunt, and several 
 Noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is 
 sounded, and answered by another trumpet 
 within. Then enter Norfolk in armour, pre- 
 ceded by a Herald. 
 
 K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
 The cause of his arrival here in arms: 
 Ask him iiis name; and orderly proceed 
 To swear him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. in God's name, and the king's, say who 
 thou art, 
 
 And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms: 
 Against vvlmt man thou com'st, and what thy quar- 
 rel : 
 
 Speak trulv, on thy knighthood, and thv oath; 
 And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour ! 
 
 Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of 
 Noriolk ; 
 
 Who hither come engaged by my oath, 
 
 fVV'hich heaven defend a knight should violate!) 
 
 Both to defend my loyalty and ti iitii. 
 
 , my king, and my succeeding issue. 
 
 Against the duke of Hereford, that appeals me; 
 And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm. 
 To prove him, in defending of myself, 
 A traitor to my God, my king, and me : 
 And, as I truly fight, detend me heaven ! 
 
 {He takes his $eat^ 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke in armour 
 preceded by a Herald. 
 K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms. 
 Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
 Thus plated in habiliments of war; 
 And formally, according to our law. 
 Depose him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. What is thy name ? and wherefore com'st 
 thou hither. 
 
 Before king Richard, in his royal lists ? [rel ? 
 
 Against whom comest thou ? and what's thy qnar. 
 Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven I 
 
 Boling. Harrv of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby 
 Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, 
 To prove, by heaven'? grace, and my body's valnBsr 
 In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, 
 That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous. 
 To God of heaven, king Richard> and to me; 
 And, as 1 truly fight, defend me heaven! 
 
 Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold. 
 Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists ; 
 Except the marshal, and such officers 
 Appointed to direct these fair designs. 
 
 Boling. J^ord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
 And bow my knee before his majesty; [hand 
 For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men, 
 That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; 
 Then let us take a ceremonious leave, 
 And loving farewell of our several friends. 
 
 Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your ki(;h- 
 ness. 
 
 And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave 
 
 K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in ucn 
 Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, [buxda. 
 So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
 Farewell, my blood ; which if it to-day thou ghed. 
 Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 
 
 Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
 For me, if 1 be gor d with Mowbray's spear ; 
 As confident, as is the falcon's flight 
 Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.— 
 My loving lord, {to Lord Marshal) I take my leave 
 of yon ; — 
 
 Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle t — 
 Nor sick, although I have to do with death ; 
 But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. — 
 Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
 The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet : 
 O thou, the earthly author of my blood, — 
 
 (To Gaunt., 
 Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 
 Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up 
 To reach at victory above ray head, — 
 Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers 
 And with thy blessings steel niy lance's point. 
 That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, 
 And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, 
 Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. 
 
 Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make tliee 
 pros|)erous ! 
 Be swift like lightning in the execution; 
 And let thy blows, doubly redoubled. 
 Fall like amazing thunder on the ca.sqne 
 Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : 
 Rouse up tiiy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. 
 
 Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint Georjie to 
 thrive ! {He take^ his seat. 
 
 Nor. {Rising.) However heaven, or foirtune, cast 
 my lot. 
 
 There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, 
 
 A loyal, just, and upright gentleman : 
 
 Never did captive with a freer heart 
 
 Cast olf his chains of bondage, and eatbiaoe 
 
Scene 8. 
 
 KING RICHARD 11. 
 
 305 
 
 His golden nncontroll'd enfranchisement, 
 More than my daucinj? soul doth celebrate 
 This feast of l»Mttle with mine adversary. — 
 jMost mighty liege, — and tny companion peers, — 
 Take from my month the wish of happy years: 
 As gentle and as jocund, as to jest. 
 Go I to fight • Truth hatli a quiet breast. 
 
 K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy 
 \'i fue with valour couched in thine eye. — 
 Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 
 
 ( The King and the Lords return to their seats.) 
 
 Mar. Harry of Herefoid, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 liereive thy lance; and God deiend the rioht ! 
 
 Boling. [Rising.) Strong as a tower in hope, I 
 cry — Amen. 
 
 Mar. Go bear this lance [to an Officer) to Tho- 
 mas, duke of Norfolk. 
 
 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, 
 
 On pain to be found false and recreant, 
 
 To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
 
 A traitor to his God, his kin;;, an<] him, 
 
 And dares him to set forward to the fight. 
 
 2 Her. Here sfandeth Thomas Mowbray, duke 
 
 of Norfolk, 
 On pain to be found false aiid recreant, 
 '--^th to defend himself, and to ai prove 
 Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 To Goil, his sovereign, and to hnu, disloyal ; 
 Courageously, aii(i with a free desire, 
 Attending but the signal to begin. 
 
 Mar. feound, trumpets ; and set forward, com- 
 batants. {A charge sounded.) 
 ^ay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 
 K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
 spears. 
 
 And both return back to their chairs again : — 
 W^ithdraw with us: — and let the trumpets sound, 
 "Wh'le we return these dukes what we decree. — 
 ■f [A long flourish.) 
 
 I'raw near, {To the Combatants.) 
 
 i n:i list what with our council we have done, 
 '^or that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
 With that dear blood, wliich it hath fostered ; 
 And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
 Of civil wounds, ploiigh'd up with neighbours' 
 swords ; 
 
 And for we tbink the eagle- winged pride 
 Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts. 
 With rival-hating envy, set you on 
 'J o wake our peace, whi(;h in our country's cradle 
 Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; 
 Which, so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums. 
 With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray. 
 And grating shock of wrathfid iron arms, 
 Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, 
 And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ; — 
 Therefore, we banish you our territories : 
 You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death. 
 Till twice five snmuiers have enrich'd our fields 
 Shall not regreet our fair dominions. 
 But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 
 Boling. Your will be done : This must my com- 
 fort be, — 
 
 That sun, that warms you here, shall shine an me; 
 .And those his golden beams, to you here lent. 
 Shall point on n»e, and gild my banishment. 
 
 K. Rich. Noifolk, for thee remains a heavier 
 doom. 
 
 Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: 
 The 6 y slow hours shall not determinate 
 The dateless limit of thy dear exile;— 
 The hopeless word of — never to return 
 Breathe 1 against tnee, upon pain of life. 
 
 Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege. 
 And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth; 
 A dearer mt- rit, not so deep a maim^ 
 As to be cast forth in the common air, 
 Have I deserved at your highness' hand. 
 The language I have learu d these furty years. 
 
 My native English, now I must forego. 
 
 And now my tongue's use is to nje no mott. 
 
 Than an imstringed viol or a harp; 
 
 Or, like a cunning instrument cas'd up 
 
 Or, being open, put into his hands 
 
 'J'hat knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
 
 Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tougl£*j 
 
 Doubly portcullis'cl, with my teeth, and lips; 
 
 And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
 
 Is laade my gaoler, to attend on me. 
 
 I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 
 
 I'oo far in years to be a pupil now ; 
 
 What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, 
 
 Which robs my tongue from breathmg native breatliT 
 
 K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate 
 After our sentence, plaining comes too late. 
 
 Nor. Then thus 1 turn me f rom my country's light 
 To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 
 
 {Retiring. 
 
 K. Return again, and take an oath with th*-.e 
 
 Lay on our royal sword your banish d hands ; 
 Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, 
 (Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) 
 'I'o keep the oath tijat we administer: — 
 You never shall (so help you truth and heaven !) 
 Embrace each other's love in banishment ; 
 Nor never look upon each other's face ; 
 Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
 This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate, 
 Nor ne\er by advised purpose meet, 
 To plot, contrive, or cosnplot any ill, 
 "Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 
 
 Boli?ig. I swear. 
 
 ISor. And I, to keep all this. 
 
 Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ;~* 
 By this time, had the king permitted us. 
 One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
 Ranish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh. 
 As now our flesh is banish'd from this laud: 
 Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm; 
 Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
 The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 
 
 Nor. No, Bolingbroke ; if ever 1 were traitoi- 
 My iiame be blotted from the book of life. 
 And I from heaven banisli'd, as f rom hence I 
 But what thoii art, heaven, thou, and J do know 
 And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. — 
 Farewell, my liege : — Now no way can I stray; 
 Save back to England, all the world's my way. 
 
 K.Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyei 
 I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect 
 Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
 Pluck'd four away : — S;x frozen winters spent, 
 Return {to Bolinghroke) with welcome home from 
 banishment. 
 
 Boling. flow long a time iies in one little word I 
 Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs. 
 End in a word : Such is the breath of kings. 
 
 Gaunt. I thank n»y liege, that, in regard of me, 
 He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
 But little vantage shall I reap thereby ; 
 For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, 
 Can change their moons, and bring their times about, 
 My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light. 
 Shall be extinct with age, and endless night; 
 My inch of ta(-er will be burnt and done. 
 And blindfold death not let me see my son. 
 
 K. Ric h. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 
 
 Gaunt. But not a nnuute, king, that thou caust 
 give : 
 
 Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow. 
 And pluck nights f rom me, but not lend a morrow » 
 Thou canst help tinie to furrow me with age. 
 But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage : 
 '^rhy word is current with him for my death ; 
 But. dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 
 
 K. Rich. Thy sou is banish'd upon good advfce, 
 Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave; 
 Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower? 
 
 20 
 
306 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act L 
 
 Geutni. Things sweet to taste, prove iu digestion 
 soar. 
 
 Yo{\ urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather, 
 
 Vou would have bid me argue like a father : — 
 
 O, had it been a stranger, not my child. 
 
 To smooth his fault I should have been more mild : 
 
 A partial slander sought I to avoid, 
 
 And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
 
 •Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, 
 
 I was too strict, to make mine own away ; 
 
 But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue. 
 
 Against, my will, to do myself this wrong. [so; 
 
 K. Rich. Cousin, farewell : — and, uncle, bid him 
 Sij years we banish him, and he shall go. 
 
 iFlourisJu Exeunt K. Richard and Train. 
 
 ' Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must not 
 know, 
 
 From where you do remain, let paper show. 
 
 Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride. 
 As far as land will let me, by your side. [words. 
 
 Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
 That thou return'st no greeti-ng to thy friends? 
 
 Baling. I have too few to take my leave of you. 
 When tne tongue's office should be prodigal 
 To breathe the abiu)dant dolour of the heart. 
 
 Gatmt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 
 
 Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 
 
 Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quickly 
 gone. [ten, 
 
 Boling. To men in joy ; but grief makes one hour 
 
 Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak'st for plea- 
 sure. 
 
 Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so. 
 Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 
 
 Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
 Esteeui a fod, wherein thou art to set 
 The precious jewel of thy home-return. 
 
 Baling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
 Will but remember me, what a deal of world 
 ) wander from the jewels that I love. 
 Must I fiot serve a long ai)prenticehood 
 To fore!j;n passages; and in the end, 
 Ha\ ing my freedom, boast of nothing else. 
 Hilt that I wa& a journeyman to grief ? 
 
 Gaunt. All places, that the eye of heaven visits, 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens : 
 Teach (hy necessity to reason thus; 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 Think not, the king did banish thee; 
 B;it thou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit. 
 Where it perceiies it is but faintly borne. 
 Go, s ly — 1 sent thee forth to purchase honour. 
 And not — the king exil'd thee : or suppose. 
 Devouring pestilence hangs in our air. 
 And thou art flying to a fresher clime. 
 Look, what thy soul holds dear, iniagine it 
 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st : 
 Suppose the singing birds, musicians; [strew'd ; 
 The grass, whereon thou tread'st, the presence 
 l^he flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps, no more 
 Than a delightful measure, or a dance : 
 For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
 The man th it mocks at it, and sets it light. 
 
 Baling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand. 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite. 
 By bare imagination of a feast ? 
 Or wallow naked in December snow, 
 Bj thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 
 O, no ! the apprehension of the good. 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
 Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more. 
 Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 
 
 <r<*uKf. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on 
 .ny way : 
 
 H,«d I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. 
 Boling. Then, England's grour d, farewell; sweet 
 soil, adieu ; 
 
 ftfj mother, and ry nurse, tha bears me yet! 
 
 Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, — 
 Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. 
 
 [Exeumt 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Room tn the King** 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green ; 
 
 AuMERLE folloiving. 
 K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle, 
 How far brought you high Hereford on his way? 
 
 Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so 
 But to the next highway, and there I lelt him. 
 K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tean 
 were shed ? [wind, 
 Aum. 'Faith, none by me : except the north-east 
 Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
 Awak'd the sleeping rheum; and so, by chance. 
 Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 
 K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted 
 
 with him ? 
 Aum. Farewell : 
 And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
 Should so profane the word, (hat taught me craft 
 To counterfeit oppression of such grief. 
 That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
 Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd 
 hours. 
 
 And added years to his short banishment. 
 He should have had a volume of farewells; 
 But, since it would not, he had none of me. 
 
 K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis douH. 
 When time shall call him home from banishment. 
 Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
 Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
 Observ'd his courtship to the common people :— - 
 How he did seem to dive into their hearts. 
 With humble and familiar courtesy; 
 What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; 
 Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles. 
 And patient underbearing of his fortune, 
 As 'twere, to banish their aftects with him. 
 OtFgoes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; 
 A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, 
 And had the tribute of his supple knee, [friends;^ 
 With — Thanks, my countrymen, my loving 
 As were our England in reversion his. 
 And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 
 
 Green. Well, he is gone ; and with him go thesft 
 thougiits. 
 
 Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ; — 
 Expedient manage must be made, my liege; 
 Ere further leisure yield them further means 
 For their advantage, and your highness' loss. 
 
 K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war 
 And, for our coffers — with too great a court. 
 And liberal largess, — are grown somewhat light. 
 We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ; 
 The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
 For our affairs in hand : If that come short. 
 Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters: 
 Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, 
 They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold. 
 And send them after to supply our watjts ; 
 For we will make for Ireland presently. 
 
 Enter Bushy. 
 
 Bushy, what news? _ [lord; 
 
 Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my 
 Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste, 
 To entreat your ^najesty to visit him. 
 
 K. Rich. Where lies he ? 
 
 Bushy. At Ely-house. [mine', 
 K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physiriao s 
 To help him to his grave immediately! 
 The lining of his colters shall make coats 
 To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.-»- 
 Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him : 
 Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late I 
 
ArT II. Scene 1. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 307 
 
 ACT n. 
 
 iScENE I. — London. A Room in Ely house. 
 
 (Jaunt on a couch ; the Duhe of York, and others 
 standing by him. 
 
 Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe 
 my last 
 
 Id vyholesonie coniisel to his nnstain'd youth. 
 
 York. Vex not vourself, nor strive not with your 
 breath; 
 
 For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 
 
 Gaunt. O, but tliey say, the tongues of dying men 
 Enforce attention like deep harmony : 
 VVltieie words are scarce, they are seldom spent in 
 vain ; [pain. 
 For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in 
 Ke. that no more must say, is listen'd more 
 Than they, whom youth and ease have taught to 
 glose; 
 
 Vlore are men's ends niark'd, than their lives before : 
 
 The setting sun, and music at the close, 
 •^s the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; 
 V\'rit MJ rcriienibrance, more tha.i things long past: 
 Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, 
 ■Vl.y de^ith's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 
 
 Yorh. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering 
 sounds. 
 
 As, praises of his state : then there are found 
 Lascivious metres ; to whose venom sound 
 Tht- 0|)en ear of youth doth always listen : 
 Report of fashions in proud Italy ; 
 Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
 Limps aOer, in base imitation. 
 Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
 [So it be new, there's nc; respect how vile,) 
 That \a not quickly buzz'd into his ears ? 
 Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, 
 VV'bere w»Il doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
 Direct not him, whose way himself will choose ; 
 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou 
 lose. 
 
 daunt. iMethinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd; 
 And thu.s, expiring, do foretell of him : 
 His rash fierce blaae of riot cannot last; 
 For violent fires soon burn out thenjselves : 
 Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; 
 He tiros betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; 
 With .^age-- feeding, food doth choke the feeder: 
 L)jitu "anity, insatiate cormorant, 
 (^onsummg means, soon preys upon itself. 
 This, royt.l throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, 
 I'his earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
 This fortress, built by nature for herself. 
 Against infection, and the hand of war; 
 This happy breed of men, this little world; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea. 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 Or as a moat dei'ensive to a house. 
 Against the envy of less happier lands; 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
 This n'lrse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
 Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, 
 Reno\A'ned for their deeds as far from home, 
 {For Christian service, and true chivalry,) 
 As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, 
 Hear lor her reputation through the world, 
 Is I ow leas'd out (I die pronouncing it) 
 Lik^ to a tenement, or pelting farm : 
 England, bound in wilt) the triumphant sea, 
 Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame. 
 With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ; 
 That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
 Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 
 O, would the scandal vanish with my life, 
 How happy then wert my ensuing death! 
 
 Enter King RiCHARn, and QuHEN; Aumerlk 
 Bushy, Grebn, Bagot, Ross, and Wil- 
 
 LOUGHBY. 
 
 liork. The king is come : deal mildly with 
 youth ; 
 
 For young hot colts, being rag' si, do rage the more. 
 Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? 
 K. Rich. What comfort, mat ? Howis't with aged 
 Gaunt? 
 
 Gaunt. O, how that name befits my com positiorij' 
 Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old : 
 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ; 
 And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? 
 For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; 
 Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt r 
 The pleasure, that some fathers feed uporj, 
 Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks; 
 And, therein fasting, h;ist thou made me gaunt: 
 Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave. 
 Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones, 
 
 K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
 names ? 
 
 Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself; 
 Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
 1 mock my name, great king, to flatter thee, [live? 
 
 K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that 
 
 Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st — thou flat- 
 ter'st me. " fbe. 
 
 Gaunt. Oh ! no ; thou diest. though I the sicker 
 
 K. Rich. 1 am in health, 1 breathe, and see thee 
 ill. [thee ill ; 
 
 Gaunt. Now, He, that made me, knows I see 
 111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
 Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land. 
 Wherein thou liest in reputation sick : 
 And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
 Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure 
 Of those physicians, that first wounded thee : 
 A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,, 
 Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; 
 And yet, incaged in so small a verge. 
 The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
 O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye. 
 Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons. 
 From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shawe ; 
 Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, 
 Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
 Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world 
 It were a shame, to let this land by lease : 
 But, for thy world, enjoying but this land. 
 Is it not more than shame, to shame it so? 
 Landlord of England art thou now, not king: 
 Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; 
 And thou 
 
 K. Rich. a lunatic, lean-witted fooL 
 
 Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
 
 Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
 
 Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood, 
 
 With fury, from his native residence. 
 
 Now by my seat's right royal majesty, 
 
 Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son. 
 
 This tongue, that runs so roundly in thy head. 
 
 Should run thy head from thy ui»reverend shouldera. 
 
 Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward s son^ 
 For that I was his father Edward's son ; 
 That blood already, like the pelican, 
 Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd: 
 My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, 
 (Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls !) 
 May be a precedent and witness good. 
 That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: 
 Join with the present sickness that I have; 
 A nd thy unkindness be like crooked age. 
 To crop at once a too-long wither d flower. 
 Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!<«» 
 These words hereafter thy tormentors be.' — 
 Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: 
 Love they to live, that love and honour h.'-ve. 
 
 [Exit, borne out by his AUendanttt 
 
SOS 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens 
 
 have ; 
 
 For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 
 
 Yark. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words 
 To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
 He !oie>i you, on my life, and iiolds you dear 
 iSfl iiarry duke of Jlereford, were he here. 
 
 K, Rich. Kight; you say true: as Hereford's 
 lov*^, so his ; 
 A s tiieirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. 
 
 Enter Northumberland, 
 
 North. My iieg>i, old Gaunt commends him to 
 your majesty. 
 
 A'. Rich. What says he now ? 
 
 North. Nay, nothing ; all is said : 
 
 His tongue is now a stringless instrument; 
 W ords, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 
 
 York. Be Y'ovk tlie next that must be bankrupt so ! 
 Tliouf^li death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. [he ; 
 
 K. Rich. 'I'he ripest frni* irst falls, and so doth 
 l]\s time is spent, our pilgrimage nmst be : 
 
 So much lor that. Now for our Irish wars: 
 
 We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns; 
 
 U'hich live like venom, where no venom else. 
 
 But only they, hath privilege to li\e. 
 
 And ibr these great affairs do ask sotne charge, 
 
 Towards our assistance, we do seize to us 
 
 The j)!ate, coin, revenues, and moveables, 
 
 Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 
 
 York. How long shall 1 be patient? Ah, how long 
 Shall tender duty make me sutfer wrong? 
 Not Gloster's death, nor Herelbrd's banishment, 
 Not Gaimt's rebukes, nor Edward's private wrongs. 
 Nor tlie prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
 About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, 
 iiave ever made lue sour my patient cheek, 
 Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's fiice. — 
 I am (he last of noble Edward's sons. 
 Of whom thy lather, prince of VVales, was first ; 
 io war was never lion rag'd more fierce, 
 III peace vvas never j^entle lamb more mild, 
 Than was that young and princely gentleman: 
 His face tiiou liast, for even so look'd he, 
 Accoinplisird with the number ol' thy hours ; 
 Eut, v»'hen he frown'd, it was against the French, 
 And not against his friends ; his noble hand 
 \M win what he did spend, and spent not that 
 Which his triumphant father's hand had won: 
 His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, 
 iJut bloody with the enemies of his ki n. 
 O, Richard 1 York is too far gone with grief. 
 Or else he never would compare between. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ? 
 
 York. O, my liege, 
 
 Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, pleas'd 
 Not to be pardun'd, am content withal. 
 Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, 
 The royalties and ri^^hts of banish'd Herelbrd ? 
 Is not Uaiint dead ? and doth not Hereford live ? 
 Was not Gaunt just ? and is not Harry true ? 
 Did not the one deserve to have an heir ? 
 Is not his heir a well-deserving son ? 
 Take Hereford's right away, and take from time 
 His charters, and his customary rights ; 
 Let not to-^morrow then ensue to day 
 Be not thyself, for how art thou a ktn^, 
 But by fair sequence and successi.m " 
 Now, afore God (God forbid I say true !) 
 if you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 
 Call in the letters patent that he hath 
 lly his attornies-general to sue 
 His livery, and deny his oifer'd homage, 
 You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 
 If ou lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, 
 And prick my tender patience to those thoughtSj 
 Whicli honour and allegiance cannot think. 
 
 K. Rich. Tliink what you will ; we seize into unT 
 hands 
 
 His plate, ins goods, his money, and his lands. 
 
 York. I'll not be by, the while My liege, fare- 
 well : 
 
 What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell ; 
 But by bad courses may be understood, 
 That their events can never fall out good. [ExU 
 K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to tfce earl of Wiltshiin 
 Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, [stra^^ht 
 To see this b'lsiness : To morrow next 
 We will ior '/reland ; and 'tis time, 1 trow; 
 And we create, in absence of ourself. 
 Our uncle York lord governor of Englandj 
 For he is jus-t, and always lov'd us well.— — 
 Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; 
 Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle, 
 Green, and Bagot. 
 
 No7'th. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is 
 dead. 
 
 Rcfs. And living too ; for now his son is duke. 
 Tf'illo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 
 North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 
 Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break with 
 silence, 
 
 Ere't be disbnrden d with a liberal tongue. 
 
 North. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er 
 speak more. 
 That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm ! 
 
 Willo. Tends that, thou'dst speak, to the duke 
 of Hereford ? 
 If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; 
 Quick is my ear to hear of good towards him; 
 
 Ross. No good at all, that 1 can do for him. 
 Unless you call it good, to pity hira. 
 Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 
 
 North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame sach 
 wrongs are borne, 
 In him a royal prince, and many more 
 Of noble blood in this declining land. 
 The king is not himself, but basely led 
 By flatterers ; and what they will inform. 
 Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all. 
 That will the king severely prosecute 
 Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 
 
 Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous 
 taxes, 
 
 And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd 
 For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 
 
 Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd; 
 As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: 
 But what, o' (jod"s name, doth become of this ? 
 
 North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he 
 hath not, 
 
 But basely yielded upon eom^iromise 
 Tliat, which his ancestors achiev'd with blows : 
 More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. 
 Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in 
 farm. [man. 
 Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken 
 North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over 
 him. 
 
 Ross. He hath not money for these Irish ways. 
 His burdeoous taxations notwithstanding. 
 But by the robbirsg of the banish'd duke. 
 
 North. His noble kinsman : most degenerate king I 
 But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing. 
 Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm ; 
 We see the wind sit sore upon our sails. 
 And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 
 
 Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer } 
 And una^oided is the danger now, 
 For sufiisring so the causes of our wreck. 
 
 North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes J 
 I spy life peering: but I dare not say [aeatOj 
 How near the tidings of our comfort is. 
 
 Willo. Nay, let us share tiiy thoughts, as .hoa 
 dost ours. 
 
 Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: 
 We three are but thyself; and, speaking so. 
 Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold* 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 805 
 
 North. Then thus; — I have from Port le Binnc, 
 In Brittany, receiv'd intelligpnce, [a bay 
 
 That Harry Bereford, Regiiiold lord Cobhani, 
 'The sou of Richard earl of Arundel) 
 That late broke from the duke of Exeter, 
 His brother, archbishop late of Canterbtny, 
 Sir Thomas Erpingliam, sir Jolin Ramston, 
 Sir Juhn Noihery, sir Robert VVaterton, and Francis 
 Quoint, — 
 
 All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, 
 With eight tall ships, three tiioiisand men of war, 
 A.re making hither with all due expedience, 
 And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: 
 Perhaps they h;id ere this, but tiiat they stay 
 The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
 If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke. 
 Imp out our drooping country's broken wing. 
 Redeem fiom broking pawn the blemish'd crown. 
 Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt. 
 And make high majesty look like itself, 
 Away, with me, in post to Ra\enspurg : 
 Biitj if you faint, as fearing to do so. 
 Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. [fear. 
 Ross. To horse, to horsr ! urge doubts to them that 
 // illo. Hold out, my horse, and I will (irst be 
 there. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The sajne. A Roorn in the Palace. 
 Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 
 
 Busily. Madam, your majesty is too much sad : 
 Yon promis'd, when you parted with the king. 
 To lay aside life-harming lieaviness. 
 And entertain a cheerful disposition. [self, 
 
 Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please my- 
 I caniiot do it; yet [ know no cause 
 Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, 
 S?s -s bidding larewell to so sweet a guest 
 As nr.y s veet Richard : Yet, again, methinks, 
 Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb. 
 Is coming towards me; and my inward soul 
 W^itli noiliing trembles : at something it grieves. 
 More than with parting from my lord the king. 
 
 Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty 
 shadows, 
 
 W'hich show like grief itself, but are not so: 
 For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears. 
 Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
 Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, 
 Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry, 
 Distingnisii form: so your sweet majesty, 
 Looking awry upon your lord's departure, 
 Finds shap,-s of griefs, more than himseli', to wail: 
 Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows 
 Of what is not. Then, thrice gracious queen, 
 More than your lord's departure weep not; more's 
 uot seen : 
 
 Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, 
 Which for tlungs true, weeps things imaginary. 
 
 Queen. It niay be so ; but yet my inward soul 
 Persuades me, it is otherwise : Hovve'er it be, 
 I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad, 
 As,~tliough, in thinking, on no thought I think, — 
 Aiakes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink 
 Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. 
 Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd 
 From some fore-father grief; mine is not so; 
 For nothing hath begot my sometliiug grief: 
 Or sometiiiug hath the nothing, that I grieve: 
 Tis iu reversion, that I do possess; 
 But what it is, that is not yet known : what 
 i cannot name : 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 
 
 Ertter Green. 
 
 Crreen. God save your m;ijesty I — and well met 
 gentierneti : — 
 I hope the king is not yet sliipp'd for Ireland. 
 
 Queen. Why hop".st thou so ^ tis better hope, he is ; 
 {''or his designs crave haste, liis haste good hoj)e ; 
 Thei wliM-etore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd ? 
 
 Green. That he, our hope, might ha^e retird his 
 
 power. 
 
 And driven into despair an enemy's hope. 
 Who strongly hath set footing in this land ; 
 The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself. 
 And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 
 At Ravens[>urg, 
 
 Queen. Now God iw heaven forbid! 
 
 Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that is 
 worse, — [Percy, 
 The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry 
 The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
 With all their powerful friends, are tied to him. 
 
 Bushy. Why have you not proclaimed NTorthuin- 
 berland, 
 
 And all the rest of the revolting faction, 
 Traitors? 
 
 Green. We have : whereon the earl of Worcester 
 Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, 
 And all the household servants fled with him 
 To Bolingbroke. [woe, 
 
 Queen, So, Green, thou art the midwife to ray 
 And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: 
 Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy ; 
 And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother. 
 Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 
 
 Bushy. Despair not, madam. 
 
 Queen. Who shall hinder me ? 
 
 I will despair, and be at enmity 
 With cozening hope ; he is a flatterer, 
 A parasite, a keeper- back of death, 
 Who gently would dissolve the bands of life. 
 Which false hope lingers in extremity. 
 
 Enter York. 
 
 Green. Here comes the duke of York. 
 
 Queen. With signs of war about his aged neckf 
 
 O, full of careful business are his looks ! 
 
 Uncle, 
 
 For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. 
 
 Yorlc. Should I do so, I .should belie my thoughfa; 
 Comibrt's in heaven ; and we are on the earth, 
 Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grie£. 
 Your husband he is gone to save far off". 
 Whilst others come to make him lose at hornet 
 Here am I left to underprop his land ; 
 Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:—— 
 Now conies the sick hour, that his surfeit made ; 
 Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. 
 York. He was r — why, so ! — go all which way 
 it will !— 
 
 The nobles they are fled, the conmions cold. 
 And will, I fear, revolt ou Hereford's side. — 
 Sirrah, 
 
 Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; 
 Bid her send me uresently a thousand pound ; 
 Hold, take my ring. 
 
 Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship. 
 To-day, as I came by, I called there ; — 
 But I shall grieve you to report the rest 
 
 York. What is it, knave ? 
 
 Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died 
 York. God for his mercy i what a tide of woea 
 Comes rusiiing on this woeful land at once I 
 1 know not what to do: — I would to God, 
 (So my imtruth had not provok'd him to it,) 
 The king had cut off my head with my brothers.— 
 What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland?— 
 How shall we do for money for these wars ? — 
 Come, sister, — cousin, I would say : pray, pardoa 
 me. — [some carts, 
 
 Go, fellow, fto the Servant) get thee home, provide 
 And bring away the armour that is there. — 
 
 [Exit ServaxL 
 Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know 
 How. or which way, to older these affairs, 
 Thus thru.st disorderly into my hands. 
 
KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act fl. 
 
 Ne yer believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;— 
 
 The 0 le's my sovereign, wiiom both my oath 
 
 And duty huh defend ; the odier, again. 
 
 Is my kinsmai., whom the king hath wrong'd : 
 
 Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
 
 Well somewhat wc must do. — Come, cousin, I'll 
 
 Dispose of you : — Go muster up your men, 
 
 And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. 
 
 i should lo Flashy too; — 
 
 But time will not permit: — All is uneven. 
 
 And every thing is left at six and seven. 
 
 [Exeunt York and Queen. 
 Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ire- 
 land, 
 
 Biit none returns. For us to levy power. 
 Proportionable to the enemy. 
 Is all impossible. 
 
 Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, 
 [s near the hate of those love not the king. 
 
 Bagoi. And that's the wavering commons ; for 
 their love 
 
 Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them. 
 By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 
 Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
 demned. 
 
 BagoL if judgment lie in them, then so do we. 
 Because we ever have been near the king. 
 
 Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol- 
 The earl of Wiltshire is already there. [castle; 
 
 Bushy. Thither will I with you : for little office 
 The hateful commons will peri'orm us ; 
 Except like curs to tear us all in pieces. — 
 Will yon go along with us ? 
 
 Bagoi. No ; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. 
 Farewell; if heart's presages be not vain. 
 We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. 
 
 Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bo- 
 lingbroke. 
 
 Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he undertakes, 
 is — numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry : 
 Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
 
 Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and 
 
 Green. Well, we may meet again, [ever. 
 
 Bagot. 1 fear me, never 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The TVilds in Glostershire. 
 
 Enter BoLiNGBiioKE and Northumberland, 
 with Forces. 
 
 Baling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now ? 
 
 North. Believe me, noble lord, 
 I am a stranger here in Glostershire. 
 Tiiese high wild hills, and rough uneven ways. 
 Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome ; 
 And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar. 
 Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
 But, I bethink me, what a weary way 
 From Ravenspnrg to Cotsvvold, will be found 
 in Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company : 
 Which, I protest, hath very nmch beguil'd 
 The tediousness and process of my travel: 
 But theirs is svveeten'd with the hope to have 
 'J'he present benefit, which I possess : 
 And hope to joy, is little less in joy, 
 'J'han hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords 
 Shaii make their way seem short ; as mine hath done 
 By si.'vht of what I have, your noble company. 
 
 Boling. Of much less value is my company, 
 Tlian your good words. But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Harry Percy. 
 
 North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
 8»;nt trom my brother Worcester, whencesoever. — 
 Harry, how fares your uncle ? 
 
 Percy. I had thought, ray lord , to have learn'd 
 his health of you. 
 
 North. Why, is he not with the queen ? 
 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the 
 Brnkea his staff of office, and dispftrs'd [court, 
 1'h« Qouv'hold of the king. 
 
 North. Wha. was his reason ? 
 
 He was not so resolv'd, when last we spaks togetlier. 
 
 Percy. Because your lordship was proclaim'd 
 But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, [traitor. 
 To offer service to the duke of Hereford : 
 And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover 
 What power the duke of York had levied there; 
 Then with direction to repair to Ravenspnrg. 
 
 North. Have you forgot the duke o^ Hereford, 
 boy ? 
 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot, 
 Which ne'er I did remember : to ray knowledge, 
 I never in my life did look on him. [duke, 
 
 No7-th. Then learn to know him now ; this is the 
 
 Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service. 
 Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; 
 Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm 
 To more approved iservice and desert. 
 
 Baling. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure, 
 I count myself in nothing else so happy, 
 As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends* 
 And, as my fortunes ripen with thy love. 
 It shall be still thy true love's recompense : 
 My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it 
 
 North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir 
 Keeps good old York there, with his men of war ? 
 
 Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of 
 trees, 
 
 Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard : 
 And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey- 
 None else of name, and noble estimate. [raour ; 
 Enter Ross and Willoughby. 
 North. Here comes the lords of Ross and Wil- 
 loughby, 
 
 Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 
 
 Baling. Welcome, my lords : I wot, your love 
 A banish'd traitor ; all my treasury [pursues 
 Is yet but nnfelt thanks, which, more er>rich d. 
 Shall be your love and labour's recomp<n.se. 
 
 Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble 
 lord. 
 
 Willa. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 
 Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the 
 poor ; 
 
 Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, 
 Stands for my bounty. But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Berkley. 
 
 North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 
 
 Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you 
 
 Baling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster; 
 And I am come to seek that name in England : 
 And 1 must find that title in your tongue, 
 Before I make reply to aught you say. [ing. 
 
 Berk. Mistake me not, my lord : 'tis not my meas 
 To raze one title of your honour out : — 
 To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,) 
 From the most glorious regent of this land, 
 The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you oa 
 To take advantage of the absent time. 
 And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 
 Enter York, attended. 
 
 Baling. T shall not need transport my words by you. 
 Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle ! 
 
 (Kneels.) 
 
 York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy 
 Whose duty is deceivable and false. [knee 
 
 Baling. My gracious uncle I 
 
 York. Tut, tut ! 
 Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle • 
 I am no traitor's uncle : and that word — ^grace. 
 In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
 Why have these banish'd and forbidder legs 
 Dar d once to touch a dust of England's ground ? 
 
 But then more why; Why have they dar'd to 
 
 So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ; [niarcll 
 
 Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war ; 
 
 And ostentation of despised arms? 
 
 Cum'st thou, because the anointed king is hence ? 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 31J 
 
 Why. foolish boy, the king is left behind. 
 And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
 Were 1 but now the lord of such liot youth. 
 As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself. 
 Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, 
 From forth the ranks of niany thousand French ; 
 O, tlien, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
 Now pri'oner to the palsy, chastise thee, 
 And minister correction to thy fault ! 
 
 Bolmg. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault 
 On what condition stands it, and wherein ? 
 
 York. Even in condition of the worst degree, — 
 In gross rebellion, and detested treason: 
 Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come. 
 Before the expiration of thy time, 
 In braving arms against thy sovereign. 
 
 Buting. As I was banish'd,! was banish'd Here- 
 ford ; 
 
 But as 1 come, I come for Lancaster. 
 And, noble uncle, 1 beseech your grace, 
 Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye : 
 You are my father, for, methinks, in you 
 I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father! 
 Will yon permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
 A wand'ring vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
 Pluck'd from my arms t)ertbrce, and given avyay 
 To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ? 
 If that my cousin king be king of England, 
 It must be granted, I am the duke ot Lancaster. 
 Yoii have a son, Aunierle, my noble kinsman: 
 Had you first died, and lie been thus trod down. 
 He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. 
 To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. 
 I am denied to sue my livery here. 
 And yet my letters patent give rne leave : 
 My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold ; 
 Aiid these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
 What wjuld you have me do ? I am a subject. 
 And challenge law : Attorneys are denied me ; 
 4nd therefore personally I lay my claim 
 To rny inheritance of free descent. 
 
 North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. 
 
 Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. 
 
 PVillo. Base men by his endowments are made 
 gr at. 
 
 Yor^c. My lords of England, let me tell you this, 
 I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, 
 And labour d all I could to do him right: 
 But in this kind to come, in braving arms. 
 Be his own carver, and cut out his way, 
 To find out right with wrong, — it may not be ; 
 And you, that do abet him in this kind. 
 Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 
 
 North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is 
 But for his own : and, for the right of that. 
 We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ; 
 And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. 
 
 York. Well, well, I see the issue oi' these arms; 
 I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
 Because my power is weak, and all ill left: 
 But, if I could, by Him that gave me life, 
 I would attach you all, and make you stoop 
 Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ; 
 But, since I cannot, be it known to you, 
 I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ;— 
 Vnlessyou please to enter in the castle. 
 And there repose you for this night. 
 
 Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 
 B it we must win your grace, to go with us 
 To Bristol-castle ; which they say is held 
 By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, 
 The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
 Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. 
 
 Ya k. It may be, I will go with you : — but yet 
 I'll pause ; 
 
 For I am loath to break oar country's laws. 
 Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
 Things past redress, are now with me past rare. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene iV.— ^ Camp in Waies. 
 Enter Salisbury and a Captain. 
 
 Cap My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten day^ 
 And hardly kept our countrymen together. 
 And yet we hear no tidings from the king; 
 Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell. 
 
 Sal. Stay yet another d ay, thou trusty Welshman ; 
 The king reposeth all his confidence 
 In thee. [stay. 
 
 Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead : we will not 
 The bay-trees in our country are wither'd, 
 And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
 The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, 
 And lean look'd prophets whisper fearlul change ; 
 Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,— 
 The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy. 
 The other, to enjoy by rage and war; 
 These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. — 
 Farewell ; our countrymen are gone and tied. 
 As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Exit, 
 
 Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind. 
 I see thy glory, like a shooting star, 
 Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! 
 Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
 Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: 
 Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; 
 And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit, 
 
 ACT IIL 
 
 Scene 1. — Bolinghroke's Camp at Bristol. 
 
 Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, 
 Percy, Willoughby, Ross : Officers behindt 
 with Bushy and Green, prisoners. 
 
 Boling. Bring forth these men. — 
 Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls 
 (Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) 
 With too much urging your pernicious lives, 
 For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your bloo* 
 From off my hands, here, in the view of men, 
 I will unfold some causes of your death. 
 You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
 A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments. 
 By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. 
 You have, in manner, with your sinful hours. 
 Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; 
 Broke the possession of a royal bed. 
 And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
 With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs* 
 Myself — a prince, by fortune of iny birth ; 
 Near to the king in blood ; and near in love. 
 Till yon did make him misinterpret me, — 
 Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, 
 And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment: 
 Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods 
 From my own windows torn my household coat, 
 Raz'd out my im ress, leaving me no sign, — 
 Save men's opinions, and my living blood, — 
 To show the world I am a gentleman. 
 This, and much more, much more than twice all this, 
 Condemns you to the death : — See them deliver'd 
 To execution and the hand of death. [over 
 
 Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me. 
 Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell. 
 
 Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take our 
 souls, 
 
 And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 
 
 Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them 
 despatch'd. 
 
 [Exeunt Northumberland and othtra, with 
 
 Prisoners. 
 Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house ; 
 For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: 
 Tell her, I send to her my kind commends: 
 Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 
 
 York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd 
 With letters of your love to her at large. 
 
•^2 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act III 
 
 BoImg.Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords, away; 
 1 o fight -vitli Glendower and his complices ; 
 Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene [I — The Coast of f Vales. A Castle in View. 
 Flourish : Drums and Trumpets. Enter King 
 
 H1CH4UU, Bishop of Carlisle, Acmerle, and 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 K. Rich. I}arkloughly castle call you this at hand ? 
 Aum. Yes, my lord : How brocks your grace the 
 air, 
 
 After late tossing on the breaking seas ? [joy, 
 K. Rich. Needs nuist I like it well ; I weep lor 
 To stand upon my kingdom once again. — 
 Dear earth, 1 do salute thee with my hand, 
 Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : 
 As a long parted niother with her child 
 Plays fondly witli her tears, and smiles in meeting; 
 So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 
 And do thee favour with my royal hands. 
 Feed not thy sovereign s foe, my gentle earth. 
 Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense . 
 But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 
 And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way ; 
 Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet. 
 Which with usurping ste[)s do trample thee, 
 i'ii'ld stinging nettles to mine enemies: 
 And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, 
 Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder ; 
 Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
 Throw deatii upon thy sovereign's enemies. — 
 M<ick not my senseless conjuration, lords ; 
 This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 
 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
 Shall falter under foid rebellious arms. 
 
 jy/'op. Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that 
 made you king, 
 llath power to keep you king, in spite of all. 
 The m'?ans, that heaven yields, must be embrac'd. 
 And net neglected ; else, ifheaven woidd. 
 And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse^ 
 Tne proffcr'd means of succour and redress. 
 
 Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss ; 
 Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, 
 Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. 
 K Rich. Discoinfortable cousin ! know'st thou 
 not, 
 
 That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
 
 Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, 
 
 'J'hen thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, 
 
 In min ders, and in outrage, bloody here ; 
 
 But wiien, (i-om under this terrestrial ball. 
 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. 
 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole. 
 
 Then murdeis, treasons, and detested sins. 
 
 The cloak of night being pluck'd from off tiieir backs, 
 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themseh es ? 
 
 So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — 
 
 Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, 
 
 Whilst we were wand'riiig with the antipodes, — 
 
 Shall see us rising in our throne the east. 
 
 His treasons will sit blushing in his face. 
 
 Not able to endm-e the sight of day. 
 
 But, self aifriglited, tremble at his sin. 
 
 Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
 
 Can wash the balm from an anointed king : 
 
 The breath of W(»rldly men cannot depose 
 
 'i'lie deputy elected by the Lord : 
 
 For every man, that Bolingbroke hath press'd. 
 
 To lilt shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
 
 God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 
 
 A glorious angel ; then, if angels fight, [right. 
 
 Wfjakmeo must fall; for heaven still guards the 
 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 W^iicorae, my lord ; How far off lies your power? 
 
 Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, 
 ThtJD this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tong», 
 And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
 One day too late, I fear, my nobie lord 
 
 Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: 
 O, call back yesterday, bid time return, 
 And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting mea i 
 To-day, to day, unhappy day, too late, 
 O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy slate ; 
 For all the Welshmen, hearing thou vvert dead, 
 i Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. 
 
 Aum. Comibrt, my liege : why looks your grace 
 _ so {)ale ? [men 
 
 K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thonsand 
 Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
 
 And, till so much blood thither come again. 
 Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? 
 All souls, that will be safe, fly from tny side ; 
 For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 
 
 Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are. 
 
 K.Rich. I had forgot myself : Ami not king? 
 I Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. 
 Is not the king's name forty thousand names? 
 Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes 
 At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground, 
 Ye favourites of a king; Are we not high ? 
 High be our thoughts : I know, my uncle York 
 Hath power eaough to serve our turn. But who 
 Comes here? 
 
 Ejiter Scroop. 
 Scroop. More health and happiness betide my 
 liege. 
 
 Than ran my rare tun'd tongue deliver him. 
 
 K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd; 
 The worst is worl lly loss thou canst unfold. 
 Say. is my kingdo ri lost ? why, 'twas my care; 
 And what loss is it, to be rid of care ? 
 Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ? 
 Greater he shall nut be : il he serve God, 
 I We'll serve him too, and be hia fellow so: 
 Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend ; 
 They break their faith to God, as well as us : 
 Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ; 
 The worst is — death, and death will have his day. 
 
 Scroop. Glad am I, that your highne.'ss is so ann'ii 
 To bear the tidings of calamity. 
 Like an imseasonable stormy day. 
 Which makes the silver rivers drown their shorea. 
 As if the world were all dissolv d to tears; 
 So high above his limits swells the rage 
 Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
 With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 
 White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless 
 scalps 
 
 Against tiiy majesty; boys, with woreen's voices. 
 Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 
 In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crowa : 
 Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
 Of double-fatal yew against thy state; 
 Yea, distatf-women manage rusty bills 
 Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, 
 And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 
 K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale 
 so ill. 
 
 Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? 
 What is become of Bushy ? where is Green r 
 That they have let the dangerous enemy 
 Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 
 If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
 I warrant, they have neade peace with Bolingbroke. 
 
 Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, 
 my lord. ' [demption ! 
 
 K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
 Dogs, easily vvon to fawn on any man ! [Iieart! 
 Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my 
 Three Jiidasses, each one thrice worse than Judas I 
 Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war 
 Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 
 
 Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, 
 Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : — 
 Auain uncurse their souls ; their peace is made 
 With heads, and not with hands : those, whom yoB 
 curse. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 813 
 
 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound. 
 And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. 
 
 Aunt. Is ^ Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wilt- 
 shire, dead ? [heads. 
 
 Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their 
 
 Aum. Where is the duke my father with his 
 power ? [speak : 
 
 K. liich. No matter where ; of comfort no man 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
 Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : 
 A.nd yet not so, — for what can we bequeath. 
 Save onr de[;osed bodies to the ground ^ 
 Oi!< lands, our lives, and »!! are Bolingbroke's, 
 And nothing can we call our own, but death: 
 A nd that small model of the barren earth, 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground. 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings: — 
 How some have been depos'd, sortie slain in war; 
 Some haimted by the ghosts they iiave depos'd ; 
 Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; 
 All murder'd : — For within the hollow crown, 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
 Keeps death his court: and there the antic sits. 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his j>omp ; 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
 To nionarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
 Were brass impregnable; and, humourd thus. 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell, king I 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
 With soieuin reverence; throw away respect, 
 Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 
 For you have but mistook n»e ail this while; 
 I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
 Need friends: — Subjected thus. 
 How can you say to me— i am a king? [woes. 
 
 Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their preseiit 
 But presently prevent the ways to wail. 
 To fear the toe, since fear oppresseth strength. 
 Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe. 
 And so your follies fight against yourself 
 Fear, and he slain ; no worse can come, to fight; 
 And fight and die, is death destroying death ; 
 Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. 
 
 Aum, My father hath a power, enquire of him; 
 And learn to make a body of a limb. 
 
 K. Rick. Thou chid'st me well:— Proud Boling- 
 broke, I come 
 To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
 This ague-fit of fear is over- blown ; 
 An easy task it is, to win our own. — 
 Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? 
 Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 
 
 Scroop. Men jud^e by the complexion of the sky 
 Tlie state and inclination of the day: 
 
 So may you by my dull and heavy eye. 
 My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
 I play the torturer, by small and small, 
 To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : — 
 Your uncle York hath join'd vvith Bolingbroke; 
 And all your northern castles yielded up. 
 And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
 Upon his party. 
 
 K. Ri h. Thou hast said enough. — 
 
 Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth 
 
 {To Aumerle.) 
 Of that sw ?et way I was in to despair ! 
 What say you now? What comfort have we now? 
 By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly. 
 That bids me be of comfort any more. 
 Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away: 
 A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
 That power, I have, discharge ; and let them go 
 To ear the land, that hath some hop'^ to grow, 
 Fur 1 have ooae : — Le* man speak again 
 
 I To alter this, for counse. is but vain. 
 
 I Azan. My liege, one word. 
 
 K. Rich. He does me double wrongs 
 
 That wounds me with the flatteries of his tonjfue. 
 Discharge my followers, let them hence ; — Away, 
 From iiichard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. 
 
 1 Scene Wales. Before Flint Castle. 
 \ Enter, with drum and colours, BoLlNGBROKK anh 
 
 Forces; York, Northumbeklamd, awe/ o<Aer» 
 I Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, 
 j The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury- 
 Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed. 
 With some few private friends, upon this coast. 
 
 North. The news is very fair and good, my lord, 
 Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. 
 
 York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
 To say — king Richard : — Alack the heavy day. 
 When such a sacred king should hide his head ! 
 
 North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be biief. 
 Left J his title out. 
 
 York. The time hath been. 
 
 Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
 Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
 For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 
 Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than yovi 
 should. [should, 
 York. Take not, good cousin, further than yo« 
 Lest you mis-take : The heavens are o'er your head 
 
 Boling. I know it, uncle ; and oppose not 
 Myself against their will. — But who comes her© ? 
 
 Enter Percy. 
 
 Well, Harry ; what, will no< this castle yield ? 
 
 Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord. 
 Against thy entrance. 
 
 Boling. Royally ' 
 Wiiy, it contains no king? 
 
 Percy. Yes, my good lo/d. 
 
 It doth contain a king : king Richard lies 
 Within the limits of yon lime and stone : 
 And vvith him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury* 
 Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman 
 Of holy reverence : who, I cannot learn. 
 
 North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. 
 
 Boling. Noble lord, (To North.) 
 
 Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
 Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
 Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver. 
 Harry Bolingbroke 
 
 On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand; 
 And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart. 
 To his most royal person : hither come 
 Even at his feet to lay my arms and power; 
 Provided that, my banishment repeal'd. 
 And lands restor'd again, be freely granted: 
 If not, I'll use the advantage of my power. 
 And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
 Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: 
 The which, how faroft'lrom the mind of Bolingbroka 
 It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
 The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land. 
 My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 
 Go, signify as much ; while here we march 
 Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 
 
 {Northumberland advances to the easily 
 ivith a trumpet.) 
 Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum. 
 That from the castle's totter'd battlements 
 Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 
 Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
 With no less terror than the elements 
 Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 
 At meeting tears the cloudy chet-ks of heaven. 
 Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water; 
 The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
 My waters ; on the earth, and not on liiin. 
 March on. and mark king Riohcird he. he looks. 
 
51^ 
 
 KING RICHAED IT. 
 
 Act in. 
 
 d park sounded, and answered hy another trum- 
 pet within. Flourish. Enter on the walls 
 King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Au- 
 MiiKLE, Scroop, and Salisbury. 
 York: See, see, kin^ Richard doth himself appear, 
 A& doth the blushing discontented sun 
 From out the fiery portal of the east ; 
 When lie perceives the envious clouds are bent 
 To dim his glory, and to stair the track. 
 Oi' his blight passage to the Occident. 
 Vet looks he like a king ; behold his eye. 
 As brip-ht as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
 Controlling majesty ; Alack, alack, for woe. 
 That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
 
 K. Rioh. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have 
 we stood 
 
 To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 
 
 (To Northumberland.) 
 Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 
 And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
 To pay their awful duty to our presence? 
 If we be not, show us the hand of God 
 That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship : 
 For well we know, no 'land of blood and bone 
 Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre. 
 Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
 And though you think, that all, as you have done, 
 Have torn their souls, by turning them from us, 
 And we are barren, and bereft of friends ; — 
 Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent. 
 Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf, 
 Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike 
 Your children yet unborn, and unbegot. 
 That lift your vassal hands against niy head. 
 And threat the glory of my precious crown. 
 Tell liolingbroke, (lor yoiid', methinks, he is,) 
 That every stride he makes upon tny land, 
 !s dangerous treason: He is come to ope 
 The purple testament of bleeding war; 
 But ere the crown he looks for live in peace. 
 Ten thousarid bloody crowns of mother's sous 
 Shall ill become the flower of England's face ; 
 Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
 To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
 Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 
 
 North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the 
 Should so with civil and uncivil arms [king 
 Be lush'd upon ! Thy thrice noble cousin, 
 Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; 
 And by the honourable tomb he swears, 
 That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones , 
 And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
 Currents, that spring from one most gracious head ; 
 And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt ; 
 And by the worth and honour of himself, 
 Comprising all that may be sworn or said, — 
 His coming hither hath no further scope. 
 Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
 Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: 
 Which on thy royal party granted once, 
 £lis glittering arms he will commend to rust. 
 His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
 To faithful service of your majesty. 
 This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; 
 And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 
 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the kiof 
 returns ; — 
 His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; 
 Aui all the number of his fair demands 
 fcihall be accomplish'd without contradiction : 
 W'\i\\ all the gracious utterance thou hast. 
 Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — 
 We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, 
 
 (To Aumerle.J 
 To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ? 
 Shall we call ba:;k Northumberland, and send 
 defiance to the traitor, and so die ? 
 
 Attm. No, good my lord ; let's fight with gentle 
 words. 
 
 Fill time \end friends, and friends their helpM 
 swords. [of mine, 
 
 K. Rich. O God ! O God ! that e'er this t<^agu« 
 That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
 On yon proud man, should take it oft" again 
 Witli words of sooth ! O, that I were as great 
 As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 
 Or that I could forget what I ha^e been ! 
 Or not remember what I must be now I 
 Svvell'st thou, proud heart ? I'll give thee scope to 
 beat. 
 
 Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 
 Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling- 
 broke. [he submit? 
 ^ K. Rich. What must the king do now ? Mast 
 The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd 
 The king shall be contented. Must he lose 
 The name of king? o'God's name, let it go 
 I'll give my jewels, for a set of beads ; 
 My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage ; 
 My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown ; 
 My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood ; 
 My sceptre, for a palmer's walking-staff; 
 My subjects, for a pair of carved saints ; 
 And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
 A little little grave, an obscure grave : — 
 Or I'll be buried in the king's highway. 
 Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
 May hourly trample on their sovereign's head: 
 For on my heart they tread, now whilst 1 live ; 
 And, buried once, why not upon my head ? — 
 Aumerle, thou weep'st; My tender-hearted con- 
 sin !— 
 
 We'll make foul weather with despised tears ; 
 Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn. 
 And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
 Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, 
 And make some pretty match with shedding teais ? 
 As thus; — To drop them still upon one place, 
 T\]\ they iiave fretted us a pair of graves 
 Within the earth: and, therein laid, — There lies 
 Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with utepinQ 
 eyes ? 
 
 Would not this ill do well? — Well, well, I see 
 I talk but idly, and you mock at me. — 
 Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, 
 What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty 
 Give Richard leave to live, till Richard die ? 
 You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says — ay. 
 
 North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend 
 To speak with you ; may't please you to come down? 
 
 K. Rich. Down, down, I come : like glistering 
 Phaeton, 
 
 Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 
 
 (North, retires to Boling.J 
 In the base court? Base court, where kings grow 
 base. 
 
 To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
 In the base court ? Come down ? Down court ! 
 down king ! 
 
 For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should 
 sing. [Exeunt, from above. 
 
 Bolina. What says his majesty ? 
 
 North. Sorrow and grief of heart 
 
 Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man: 
 Yet he is come. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and his Attendants below. 
 
 Boling. Stand all apart. 
 And show fair duty to his majesty. — 
 My gracious lord,— (Kneeling.) 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely 
 knee. 
 
 To make the base earth proud with kissing it: 
 Me rather had, my heart might feel your love. 
 Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
 Up, cousin, up ; your heart is up, I know, 
 Thus high at \e{ist,{touching his own head,)d\ihough 
 your knee be low. 
 Bolina. My gracious lord, I come but for mine 0¥m 
 
Act IV Scene 1. 
 
 KING mCIIARD XL 
 
 815 
 
 /T, Ri h. Your own is yours, and I am years, 
 and all, 
 
 Soling. So lar be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
 As my true service shall deserve your love. 
 K. Rich. Well you deserve : — They well deserve 
 to iia\ e. 
 
 That know the strong'st and surest way to get.— 
 Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes. 
 Tears show the'ir hne, but want their remedies. — 
 Cousin, I am too young to be your father. 
 Though you ar(. old enough to be my heir. 
 What you will have, I'll give, and willing too ; 
 For do we nuist, what force will have us do. — 
 Set on towards London : — Cousin, is it so ? 
 
 Baling. Yea, my good lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Then I must not say, no. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene I W.—Langley. The Duke of York's Garden. 
 Enter the Queen, and two ladies. 
 Q^<ee7«. What sport shall we devise here in this 
 garden, 
 
 To drive away the heavy thougnt of care? 
 
 J Lady. Madam, we'll i)lay at bowls. 
 
 Queen. 'Twill make me think, 
 
 The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune 
 Runs 'gainst the bias. 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. 
 
 Queen. M> legs can keep no measure in delight. 
 When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
 Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. 
 
 Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy ? 
 
 1 Lady Of either, madam. 
 
 Queen. Of neither, girl : 
 
 For if of joy, being altogether wanting. 
 It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
 Or if of grief, being altogether had, 
 li adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
 For what I have, 1 need not to repeat; 
 And what I want, it boots not to complain. 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ; 
 
 But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou 
 weep. [good. 
 1 Lady. 1 could weep; madam, would it do yon 
 Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me 
 
 And never borrow any tear of thee. [good. 
 
 But stay, here come the gardeners : 
 
 Let's step into the shadow of these trees. — 
 
 Enter a Gardener, and two Servants. 
 My wretchedness unto a row of pins, 
 They'll talk of state • for every one doth so 
 Against a change: Woe is forerun with vvoe. 
 
 {Queen and Ladies retire.) 
 
 Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks. 
 Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
 Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: 
 Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — 
 Go th.ou, and, like an executioner. 
 Cut off the beads of too-fast-growing sprays. 
 That look too lofty in the commonwealth : 
 All uuist be even in our government. — 
 You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
 The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
 The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 
 
 1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, 
 Keep law, and form, and due proportion. 
 Showing, as in a model, our firm estate ? 
 When our sea-walled garden, the whole land. 
 Is full of weeds ; her fairest flowers chok'd up, 
 Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, 
 Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
 Swarming with caterpillars? 
 
 Gard. Hold thy peace: — 
 
 He, that hath sutfer'd this disorder'd spring. 
 Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf : 
 The weeds, that his broad spreading leaves did 
 shelter. 
 
 That seem'd in eating him to hold him np, 
 Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbrokej 
 1 mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 
 
 1 Serv. What, are they dead ? 
 
 Gard. They are ; and Boliugbiroka 
 
 Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.~Oh ! what pity is 
 That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his laadj 
 As we this garden ! We at time of year 
 Do wound the bark, thif skin of our fruit-trees; 
 Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood. 
 With too much riches it confound itself : 
 Had he done so to great and growing men. 
 They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
 Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches 
 We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : 
 Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, 
 Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down, 
 
 1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall b*. 
 depos'd ? 
 
 Gard. Depress'd he is already ; and depos'd, 
 'Tis doubt, he will be : Letters came last night 
 To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, 
 That tell black tidings. 
 
 Queen. O, I am press'd to death. 
 
 Through want of speaking ! — Thou, old Adam's 
 likeness, {Coming fro/n her concealment.) 
 Set to dress this garden, how dares 
 Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? 
 What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested tnee 
 To make a second fall of cursed man? 
 Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd? 
 Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth. 
 Divine his downfall ? Say, where, when, and hovr, 
 Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings ? speak, thou wretch, 
 
 Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I, 
 To breathe this news; yet, what I say, is true. 
 King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
 Of Bolingbroke ; their fortunes both are weigh'd ; 
 In your lord's scale is nothing but himself. 
 And some few vanities, that make him light j 
 But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
 Besides himself, are all the English peers, 
 And with that odds he weighs king Richard down^ 
 Post you to London, and you'll find it so ; 
 I speak no more than every one doth know. 
 
 Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foslj 
 Doth not tliy embassage belong to me, 
 And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st 
 To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
 Thy sorroA' in my breast. — Come, ladies, go, 
 To meet at London London's king in woe.— 
 What, was I born to this ! that my sad look 
 Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
 Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, 
 1 would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow. 
 
 [Exeunt Queen and Ladies 
 
 Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no 
 worse, 
 
 I would, my skill were subject to thy curse. — 
 Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place, 
 I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
 Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
 In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. —London. Westminster Hall. The Lifrds 
 spiritual on the right of the throne ; the Lorda 
 temporal on the left ; the Commons bdotv. 
 
 Ikiter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey, North- 
 umberland, Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, 
 Bishop of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster^ 
 and Attendants. Officers behind with Bagot. 
 
 Boling. Call forth Bagot:— 
 Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ; 
 What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
 Who vvrouglit it with the king, and who perform'd 
 The bloody office of his timeless end. 
 
 Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Autnerlfik 
 
316 
 
 KING RICHARD IL 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 EoUng. Cousin, jtand forth, and look upon that 
 man. [tongue 
 
 Bxgot My lord Aumerle, I know your daring 
 Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
 In that dead time, when Gloster's death was plotted, 
 I iieard you say, — Is not my arm of length, 
 That reacheth from the restful English court 
 As far as Calais, to my uncle s head? 
 Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
 i heard you say, that you had rather refuse 
 The oJer of an hundred thousand crowns, 
 1'han Bolinghroke's return to England ; 
 Adding withai, how blest this land would be, 
 In this your cousin's death. 
 
 Aum. Princes, and noble lords, 
 
 What answer shall I make to this base man? 
 Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, 
 Gn equal terms to give him chastisement? 
 Either I must, or have mii>e honour soil'd 
 With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. — 
 There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 
 Thai marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest. 
 And will maintain what thou hast said is false. 
 In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
 To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 
 
 Baling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. 
 
 Aiim. Excepting one, I would he were the best 
 In all this presence, that hath mov d me so. 
 
 Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies, 
 There is my gage, Aiiraerlo, in gage to thine : 
 By that fai.'sun, that shows me where thou stand'st, 
 I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak stit. 
 That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
 If th :)u deuy'st it, twenty times thou liest; 
 And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart. 
 Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 
 
 Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. 
 
 Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. 
 
 Aum, Fitzvvater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. 
 
 Perci. Aumerle, thou liest; his iionour is as true. 
 In this ajjpeal, as thou art all unjust; 
 And, thf-.t thou art so, there I throw my gage, 
 To prove it on thee, to the extremest point 
 Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off. 
 And never brandish more revengelul steel 
 Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! [Aumerle : 
 
 Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn 
 Aid spur thee on with full as many lies 
 As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
 Prom sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. [at all : 
 
 Auiu. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'U throw 
 I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
 To answer twenty thousand such as you. 
 
 Surrey. My lord Fitz water, I do remember well 
 The very time Aumerle and you did talk. [then; 
 
 Fitz. My lord, 'tis true : you were in presence 
 And you can witness with me this is true. [true. 
 
 Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is 
 
 Fitz. Surrey, thou best. 
 
 Surrey. Dishonourable boy I 
 
 That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, 
 That it shall render vengeance and revenge, 
 fill thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie 
 In earth as quiet as thy father's scull. 
 In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; 
 Bngage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 F^tz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! 
 dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
 1 dare meet Surrey in a wilderness. 
 And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies, 
 And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith. 
 To tie thee to my strong correction. — 
 As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
 Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
 Besides, 1 ht^ard the banish'd Norfolk say. 
 That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
 To execute the noble duke at Calais. 
 
 Aum. Soma honest Curistiaa trust nie with a gage. 
 
 That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this. 
 
 If he may be repeal'd to try his lionour. '' 
 
 Boling. These differences shall all rest undef 
 Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be. 
 And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
 'To all his land and signories-; when he's retu/n'd, 
 Against Aumerle we will enforce this trial. 
 
 Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seea.— 
 Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
 For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field 
 Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
 Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens: 
 And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
 To Italy; and tiiere, at Venic , gave 
 His body to that pleasant country's earth. 
 And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ, 
 UndiM- whose colours he had fought so long. 
 
 Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ? 
 
 Car, As sure as I live, my lord. [bosom 
 
 Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the 
 Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants. 
 Your diflisrences shall all rest under gage 
 Till we assign you to your days of trial. 
 
 Enter York, attended. 
 
 York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
 From plume-plurk'd Richard ; who with willing soul 
 Adopts tiiee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
 To the possession of thy royal hand : 
 Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — 
 And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! 
 
 Boling. In Goil's name, I'll ascend the regal 
 
 Car. Marry, God forbid I — [throne. 
 Worst in this royal presence may I speak. 
 Yet best beseemitig me to speak the truth. 
 Weiild God, that any in this noble presence 
 Were enough noble to be upright judge 
 Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would 
 Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
 What subject can give sentence on his kiui? ? 
 And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? 
 Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear. 
 Although apparent guilt be seen in them. 
 And shall the figure of God's majesty. 
 His captain, steward, deputy elect. 
 Anointed, crowned, planted many years. 
 Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath. 
 And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God, 
 That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd 
 Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! 
 I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
 Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. 
 My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. 
 Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : 
 And if you crown him, let me prophesy, — 
 The blood of English shall manure the ground^ 
 And future ages groan for this foul act; 
 Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels. 
 And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars 
 Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound; 
 Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, 
 Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
 The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls. 
 O, if you rear this house against this house. 
 It will the woefuUest division prove. 
 That ever fell upon this cursed earth : 
 Prevent, resist it, let it not be so. 
 Lest child, child's children, cry against you— woe ! 
 
 North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for youf 
 pains. 
 
 Of capital treason we arrest you here : — 
 
 My lord of Westu)inster, be it your charge 
 
 To keep him safely tdl his day of trial. — 
 
 May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' sait? 
 Boling.'Fetch hither Richard, that in common view 
 
 He may surrender; so we shall proceed 
 
 Without suspicion. 
 
 York. I will be his conduct. [Exit, 
 
 Baling. Lords, you that are he. • under our arresl^ 
 
 Procure your sureties for your day of answer : — 
 
kSCENE 1. 
 
 KING RICHARD XL 
 
 317 
 
 Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle.) 
 And little look'd for at your helping hands. 
 
 fie enter York, tvii/i Kir.g Richard, and OJJicers 
 bearing the crown, §fc. 
 K. Rich. Ahick, why ani 1 sent for to a king. 
 Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
 Wijerew.th 1 rei^n'd ? I hardly yet have learn'd 
 To insinuate, llatter, bow, and bend my knee : — 
 Ui\e siwrovv leave a while to tutor me 
 To this submission. Yet I well remember 
 The ia'.oiirs of these men : Were they not miue? 
 Did they not sometime cry, all hail! tome? 
 Sc Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve. 
 Found truth in all, but one; I, in twelve thousand, 
 none. 
 
 God save the king! — Will no man sayamen ? 
 Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 
 God save the king! although I be not he ; 
 And yet, amen, if hcai'en do think him me. — 
 To do what service am 1 sent lor Slither? 
 
 Yor}. To do that office, ol' thine own good will, 
 Whicli tired majesty did make tliee otfer, — 
 The resignation of thy state and crown 
 Tu Henry Bolingbroke. [seize the crown ; 
 
 K. Rich. Give n)e the crown : — Here, cousin, 
 Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. 
 New is this golden crown like a deep well, 
 That owes two buckets filling one another; 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
 'l''he other down, unseen, and full of water: 
 The bucket down, and fidl of tears, am. I, 
 Drinking itiy griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
 
 Baling. 1 tliought yon had been willing to resign. 
 
 K. Rich. My crown 1 am; but still my griefs are 
 You may my glories and my state depose, [mine : 
 But not my griefs; still am I king of those. 
 
 Billing. Part of your cares you give me with your 
 crown. [down. 
 
 K. Rich. Your cares, set up, do not pluck my cares 
 Rly care is- — loss of care, by old care done ; 
 Yi)iir care is — gain of care, by new care won : 
 Tbe c^jres I give, 1 have, though given away; 
 They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 
 
 BoJiny. Are you contented to resign the crown? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, no; — no, ay: — for I must notinng 
 Therefore no no, for 1 resign to thee. [be; 
 Now mark me how 1 will undo myself: — 
 I give this heavy weight from off my liead. 
 And this uuw.eidy sceptre from my hand, 
 The pride oi" kingly sway from out my heart; 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balm. 
 With mine own hands 1 gi\e away my crown. 
 With mine own tongue deny my sacred state. 
 With mine own breath release all duteous oaths : 
 All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 
 My manors, rents, and revenues, I forego; 
 IMy acts, decrees, and statutes, 1 deny : 
 God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me ! 
 God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee! 
 Make me, that nothing have, with nothing gricv'd ; 
 And i\\o\\ vvith all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd! 
 Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit, 
 And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit! 
 God save king Henry, unking'd Kichrird says, 
 And send him many years of sunsliine days! 
 What more remains? 
 
 North. No more, but that you read 
 
 {Offering a paper.) 
 These accusations, and these grievous crimes. 
 Committed by your person, and your followers. 
 Against the state and profit of this land ; 
 That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
 May deem that you are wort-liily depos'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel ant 
 My weav'd up tollies? Gentle Northumberland, 
 If thy offences were upon record, 
 Would it not shame tliee, in so fair a troop. 
 To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst, 
 Tbere shouidst thou find one heinous article, — 
 
 Containing the deposing of a king, 
 And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,— 
 Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:— 
 Nay, all of you, that stand and look npon me. 
 Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myseif. 
 Though some of you, vvith Pilate, wash your haadSf 
 Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 
 Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross. 
 And water cannot wash away your sin. 
 
 North. My lord, despatch ; read o'er these articlea, 
 
 K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, T cannot •fe" 
 And yet salt water blinds them not so much. 
 But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
 Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
 I find myself a traitor with the rest: 
 For I have given here my soul's consent. 
 To undeck the pompous body of a king; 
 Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave; 
 Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant. 
 
 North. My lord, — [man, 
 
 K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting 
 Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, — 
 No, not that name was given me at the font,- 
 But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day, 
 That I have worn so many winters out. 
 And know not now what name to call myself! 
 O, that I were a mockery king of snow. 
 Standing beibre the sun of Bolingbroke, 
 To melt myself away in water-drops ! — ['good,) 
 Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatlv 
 An if my word be sterling yet in England, 
 Let it cominnnd a mirror hither straight; 
 That it may show me what a face 1 have. 
 Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
 
 Baling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking- 
 glass. [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass d ith 
 come. [to ht-11. 
 
 K. Rich Fiend ! thou torraent'st me ere I couie 
 
 Baling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. 
 
 North. The commons will not then be satisfi- d. 
 
 K. Rich. They shall be satisfied ; I'll read enough, 
 Wlien I do see tlie very book indeed 
 Where all my sins are writ, and that's — myself- 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. 
 Give me that glass, and therein will I read. — 
 No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck 
 So many blows upon this face of mine. 
 And made no deeper wounds? — O, flattering glass 
 Like to my followers in prosperity, 
 Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face 
 Thnt every day under his household roof 
 Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face, 
 That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ? 
 Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies. 
 And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? 
 A brittle glory shineth in this face: 
 As brittle as the glory is the face : 
 
 [Dashes the glass against the ground. 
 For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.— 
 Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, — 
 How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 
 
 Baling. Tiie shadow of your sorrow hath destroy' ^^ 
 The shadow of your face. 
 
 K. Rich. Say that again. 
 
 The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha ! let's see : — 
 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ; 
 And these external manners of lament 
 Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, 
 That swells with silence in the tortur'd sotd , 
 There lies the substance: and F thank thee, king, 
 For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
 Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
 How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon. 
 And then be gone, and trouble you no more. 
 Shall I obtain it? 
 
 Baling. Name it, fair cousin. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater tbsE 
 a king : 
 
118 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 For, when I was a king, my flatterers 
 
 \Vere then but subjects; being now a subject, 
 
 I have a king here to my flatterer. 
 
 Being so great, I have no need to beg. 
 
 Boling. Y et ask. 
 
 K. Rick. And shall I have ? 
 
 Boling. You shall. 
 
 >' . Rick. Then give me leave to go. 
 
 Boling. Whither? ^ [s^g^^ts, 
 
 K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your 
 
 Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the 
 Tower. tyo" a''> 
 
 K. Rick. O, good ! Convey ?— Conveyers are 
 That rise thus nimbly by a true king's lall. 
 {.Exeunt K. Richard, some Lords, andaGtiard. 
 
 Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set 
 down 
 
 Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, 
 
 and Aumerle. 
 Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 
 Car. The woe s to come ; the children yet un- 
 born 
 
 Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 
 
 Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
 To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ^ 
 
 Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, 
 You shall not only take the sacrament 
 To bury mine intents, but to eff'ect 
 Whatever I shall happen to devise:— 
 1 see your brows are full of discontent, 
 Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ; 
 Come home with me to supper ; 1 will lay 
 A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — London. A Street leading to 
 Enter Queen and Ladies. 
 Queen. This way the king will come 
 
 Good 
 
 Act V. 
 
 queen, prepare thee hence for 
 
 he Tower. 
 
 this is the 
 [way 
 
 To Julius C ysar's ill-erected tower, 
 To whose fluit bosom my condemned lord 
 Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : 
 Here let -is rest, if this rebellious earth 
 Have any resting for her true king's queen. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and Guards. 
 But soft, but see, or rather do not see, 
 My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold ; 
 That you in pity may dissolve to dew. 
 And wash him iresh again with true-love tears.— 
 Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ; 
 Thou map of honour ; thou king Richard's tomb, 
 And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous mn. 
 Why should hard favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, 
 When triumph is become an alehouse guest i 
 
 K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do 
 not so. 
 
 To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul. 
 To think our former state a happy dream ; 
 From which awak'd, the truth of what we are 
 Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, 
 To grim necessity ; and he and I 
 Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, 
 And cloister thee in some religious house : 
 Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, 
 Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 
 Queen. VVhat, is my Richard both in shape and 
 mind 
 
 Transform'd, and weaken'd ? Hath Bolingbroke 
 Depos'd thine intellect ? Hath he been in thy heart? 
 The lioa, dying, thrusteth forth his paw. 
 And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
 To he o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, puj il-like. 
 Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod ; 
 And fawQ on rage with l)use humility, 
 Which art a lion, and a king of beasts? 
 
 A Rich A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but 
 I had bctu still a happy king of men. [beasts. 
 
 sometime 
 France . 
 
 Think, I am dead; and that e\ en here thou tak 1^ 
 
 As from my death bed, my last /iving leave. 
 
 In winter's tedious uights sit by the fire 
 
 With good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales 
 
 Of woeful ages, long ago betid : 
 
 And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, 
 
 Tell thou the lamentable fall of me. 
 
 And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
 
 For why, the senseless brands will sympatiuae 
 
 The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. 
 
 And, in compassion, weep the fire out: 
 
 And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-blacK, 
 
 For the deposing of a rightful king. 
 
 Enter Northumberland, attended. 
 
 North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke ifl 
 chang'd ; 
 
 You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.-- 
 And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ; 
 With all swift speed you must away to France. 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder, where- 
 vvithal 
 
 The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, 
 The time shall not be many hours of age 
 More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think. 
 Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, 
 It is too little, helping him to all ; 
 And he shall think, that tUu, which knowst the 
 To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, [way 
 Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 
 To pluck him headlong from the usurp'd throne. 
 The love of wicked friends converts to tear; 
 That tear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both. 
 To worthy danger, ai d deserved death. 
 
 North. Mv guilt be on my head, and there an eud. 
 Take leave,' and part; for you must part lortb. 
 with . 
 K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd?— Bad men, ye violate 
 A twoi'old marriage ; 'twixt my crown and me ; 
 And then, betwi-xt me and my married wife.— 
 Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; 
 And vet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.— 
 Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north, 
 Where shivering cold and sickness pines the chme • 
 My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomy, 
 She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
 Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st ot day. 
 
 Queen. And must we be divided? most we part? 
 K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and 
 heart from neart. l^}^- 
 Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with 
 North. That were some love, but little pohay. 
 Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 
 K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one 
 woe. 
 
 Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
 Better far off, than— near, be ne'er the near'. 
 Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans. 
 Queen. So longest way shall have the longest 
 moans. [being short, 
 
 K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way 
 And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
 Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief. 
 Since, wedding it, there is such length m grief. 
 One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; 
 Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. ^ 
 ^ {They mi.) 
 
 Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good 
 
 To take on m'e to keep, and kill thy heart. _ 
 
 {Kiss again.) 
 So, now I have mine own again, begone. 
 That I may strive to kill it with a groan [delay, 
 K Rich. We make woe wanton with this torn 
 Once more' adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. 
 
 [Exeum 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 Scene 1 1.— The same. A Room in the Duke of 
 York's Palace. 
 Enter York, and his Duchess. 
 Duch. My lord, you told ine, yon would tell the 
 rest, 
 
 When weeping made you break the story off 
 Of our two cousins coming into London. 
 York. Where did [ leave ? 
 Duch. At that sad stop, my lord. 
 
 Where rude Eiisgovern'd hands, from windows' 
 tops, 
 
 Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. 
 York. Then, as I saidj, the duke, great Boling- 
 brnke, — 
 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed. 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
 With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, 
 While all tongues cried— God save thee, lioling- 
 broke ! 
 
 You would have thought the very windows spake, 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 Upon his visage ; and that all the walls, 
 VVith painted imag'ry, had said at once, — 
 Jesu preserve thee \ welcome, Bolingbroke ! 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning. 
 Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck ; 
 Bespake them thus, — 1 thank you, countrymen : 
 And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
 
 Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the 
 while ? 
 
 York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
 A^fter a well grac'd actor leaves the stage, 
 A.re idly bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 
 Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
 Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save 
 him ; 
 
 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: 
 But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 
 Which with such gentle sorrow he shook olF, — 
 His face still combating with tears and smiles. 
 The badges of his grief and patience, — 
 That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
 The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
 And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
 But heaven hath a hand in these events ; 
 To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
 To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, 
 Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 
 
 Enter Aumerle. 
 
 Duch, Here comes my son Aumerle. 
 
 York. Aumerle that was ; 
 
 But that is lost, for being Richard's friend. 
 And, madam, you must call him Rutland now; 
 r am in parliament pledge for his truth. 
 And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 
 
 Duch. Welcome, my son : Who are the violets 
 now. 
 
 That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? 
 
 Aum. Madam, 1 know not, nor I greatly care not : 
 God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. 
 
 York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of 
 time, 
 
 Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
 What news from Oxford? hold those justs and 
 triumphs ? 
 
 Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
 York. You will be there, I know. 
 Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so. 
 York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy 
 bosom ? 
 
 Vea, look'st th)u pale ? let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. My 1 )rd, 'tis nothing. 
 
 York. No matter then who sees it: 
 
 [ will be satisfied, let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. 1 do beseech your grace tti pardon me; 
 It is a matter of small consequence. 
 Which for some reasons 1 would not have seen. 
 
 York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see 
 I fear, 1 fear, — 
 
 Duch. What should you fear? 
 
 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into 
 For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. 
 
 York. Bound to himself? what doth be with % 
 bond 
 
 That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool l/).--. 
 Boy, let me see the writing. [gi<ow it 
 
 Aunt. I do beseech you, pardon rac ; 1 may n(»)l 
 York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say 
 {Snatches it, and reacit, ) 
 Treason! foid treason! — villain! traitor! slave! 
 Duch. What is the matter, niy lord J" 
 York, ilo! who is within there? {Enter a Ser* 
 vant.) Saddle my horse. 
 God for his mercy ! what treachery is iiere ! 
 Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? 
 York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my 
 horse : — 
 
 For by mine honour, by my life, my troth, 
 
 I will impeach the villain. [Exit Servant, 
 
 Duch. Wha-t's the matter? 
 
 York. Peace, foolish woman. [son? 
 
 Duch. I will not peace : — What is the matter, 
 
 Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more 
 Than my poor liie must answer. 
 
 Duch. Thy life answer ! 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with boots. 
 
 York. Bring me my boots, 1 will unto the king. 
 
 Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou 
 art amaz'd : — 
 Hence, villain ; never more come in my sight— 
 
 {To the Servami) 
 
 Y'ork. Give me my boots, I say. 
 
 Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 
 Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? 
 Have we more sons? or are we like to have ? 
 Is not my teeming date drunk up with time ? 
 And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine ag®. 
 And rob me of a happy mother's name? 
 Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? 
 
 Y'ork. Thou fond mad woman. 
 Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? 
 A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacfament) 
 And interchangeably set down thsir hands, 
 To kill the king at Oxford. 
 
 Duch. He shall be none; 
 
 We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him? 
 
 York. Away, 
 Fond woman ! were he twenty times my son, 
 I would appeach him. 
 
 Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him. 
 
 As I have done, thou'dst be more pitifid. 
 But now I know thy mind : thou dost suspect. 
 That I have been disloyal to thy bed. 
 And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
 Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind 
 He is as like thee as a man may be. 
 Not like to me, or any of my kin, 
 And yet I love him. 
 
 York Make way, unruly woman. 
 
 [Extt 
 
 Duch. After, Aumerle ; mount thee upon hif 
 horse ; 
 
 Spur, post ; and get before him to the king, 
 
 And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 
 
 I'll not be long behind ; though I be old, 
 
 I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 
 
 And never will I rise up from the ground, 
 
 Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd t\iee : Avrayj 
 
 Begone. [ ISxeunt, 
 
 Scene III.— Windsor. A Ro(m in the Castle. 
 Enter Bolingbroke as K mj ; Percy, and other 
 Lords. 
 
 Doling. Can no man tell of my unthriftj; son? 
 'Tis full three months, since 1 did see him last:^ 
 M any plague hang over us, 'tis he 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
820 
 
 I would to Oodj my lords, he might be found : 
 iDquire at London, 'mongst the taverns tliere. 
 For thci^e, they say, he daily doth frequent. 
 With unresl ained loose companions; 
 Evf-n such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
 And beat our watch, and rob our j/assengers ; 
 While he, yoiicg, wanton, and elfeaiinate boy. 
 Takes on the point of honour, to support 
 So dissolute a crew. 
 
 Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the 
 prince; 
 
 ^nd told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 
 BoUng. And what said the gallant ? 
 Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the 
 
 stews ; 
 
 Vnd fron) the conimon'st creature pluck a glove. 
 And wear it as a favour; and with that 
 Pie would unhoi se the lustiest challenger. 
 
 Baling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet, through 
 I see some sparklt-s of a better hope, [both. 
 Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
 But who conies liere V 
 
 Enter Aumerle, hastily. 
 Aum. Where is the king ? 
 
 Boling. What means 
 
 Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly ? 
 Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your 
 majesty. 
 
 To have some conference with your grace alone. 
 Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
 alone. — [Exeunt Percy and Lords. 
 
 What is the matter with our cousin now ? 
 
 Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, 
 
 {Kneels.) 
 
 My tongue cleave to my roof within my nicuth, 
 U;iless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. 
 
 Boling. Intended, or conur.itted was this fault ? 
 If but the first, how heinous ere it be. 
 To win fhy after-love, I pardon thee. [l^ey, 
 
 Aum. Then give me leave, that I may turn the 
 That no man enter till my tale be done. 
 
 Boling. Hh ve tliy desire. [Aumerle locks the door.) 
 
 York. ( Within. ) My liege, beware ; look to thy- 
 self- 
 
 Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 
 
 Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.) 
 Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; 
 Thou hast no cause to lear. 
 
 York. [ W^ithin. ) Open the door, secure, fool- 
 hardy king : 
 Shall 1, for love, speak treason to thy face? 
 Open the door or I will break it open. 
 
 ( Bolingbroke opens the door. ) 
 
 Enter York. 
 Boling. What is the matter, uncle ? speak ; 
 Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger. 
 That we may arm us to encounter it. [know 
 York. Peruse this writing liere, and thou shalt 
 The treason that my haste forbids me show. 
 Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise 
 past : 
 
 I do repent me ; read not my name there, 
 My heart is not confederate with my hand. 
 
 York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it 
 down. — 
 
 [ tore J from the traitor's bosom, king; 
 Fear, and not love, begets his penitence ; 
 Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
 A seioent, that will sting thee to the heart. 
 
 Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy ! — 
 O loyal lather of a treacherous son I 
 Thou sheer, iiiirnacuiate, and nilver fountain. 
 From whence this stream, throui;h muddy passages. 
 Hath held his current, and defifd himself I 
 Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; 
 And thy abnr^ant jroodness shall excuse 
 This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 
 
 York. So shall my virtue be his •, ce's bawd; 
 
 Act V 
 
 And he shall spend mine honour with his shame 
 As tliriftless sons their scraping father's gold. 
 Mine honour lives, when his dishonour dies. 
 Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : 
 Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath. 
 The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 
 
 Duch. [ff'ithin.)Wh-At ho, my liege! for God's 
 sake let me in. 
 
 Boling. What slirill-voic'd suppliant makes thia 
 eager cry ? 
 
 Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ; 'Hi, I 
 Speak with me, pity me, open the door ; 
 A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. 
 
 Boling. Our scene is alter'd, — irom a seiioua 
 thing. 
 
 And now ciiang'd to The Beggar and the King.--- 
 My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; 
 I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin. 
 
 York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray. 
 More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
 This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound • 
 This, let alone, with all the rest confound. 
 
 Enter Duchess. 
 Duch. O king, believe not tliis hard-hearted man , 
 Love, loving not itself, none other can. 
 
 York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make 
 here ? 
 
 Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? 
 
 Duch. Sweet York, be patient; Hear me, gentle 
 liege. ( Kneels. ) 
 
 Boling. Rise up, good aunt. 
 
 Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: 
 
 For ever will I kneel upon my knees. 
 And never see day, that the hiivppy sees, 
 Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, 
 By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 
 
 Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my 
 knee. ( Kneels. ) 
 
 York. Against them both, my true joints bendfd 
 be. ( Kneels^ 
 
 111 may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any giace! 
 
 Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face 
 His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ; 
 His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast 
 He prays hut taintly, and would be denied; 
 We pray with heart and soui, and all beside : 
 His weary joints would gladly rise, I kuo.w ; 
 Our knees shall kneel, till to the ground they grow; 
 His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; 
 Ours, of true zeal, and deep integrity. 
 Our prayers do out pray his ; then let them have. 
 Tliat mercj% vvhich true prayers ouglit to have 
 
 Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duch. Nay, do not say — stand ap , 
 
 But pardon, first; and afterwards stand up. 
 An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
 Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. 
 1 never long d to hear a word till now ; 
 Say — pardon, king; let pity teach thee how; 
 T'he word is short, but not so short as sweet; 
 No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 
 
 York. Speak it iu French, king ; say, /><2r(ioa*2e* 
 moy. 
 
 Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destfajr* 
 Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord. 
 That sett'st the word itself against the word !— > 
 Speak, pardon, as 'tis cu.Tent in our land ; 
 The chopping French we do not understand. 
 Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there* 
 Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear: 
 That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
 Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. 
 
 Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duch. I do not sue to i3ta]K\ 
 
 Parrion is all the suit 1 have in hand. 
 
 Bohng. 1 pardon him, as God shall pardon mft. 
 
 Ducli. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! 
 Yet am 1 sick ior fear : speak it ajjain ; 
 Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twaioj 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 KING ETCHARD IT. 
 
 321 
 
 But makes one pardou strong. 
 
 Boling. With all inv heart 
 
 [ pardon him. 
 
 Duck. A god on earth thou art. 
 
 Boling. But for our trusty brother in-law, — and 
 the abbot, 
 
 With all the rest ol'that consorted crew, — 
 Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
 Crood nncie. help to order several powers 
 'J'o OxCord, or where'er these traitors are : 
 They sliall not live witliin this world, I swear, 
 But I will have them, if I once know where. 
 Uncle, ftirewell, — and cousin too, adieu : 
 Vour mother well hath pra}^'d, and prove you true. 
 Durh. Come, my old sou pray God make 
 thee new. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScExXE iV. 
 
 Enter ExTON, and a Servant. 
 
 Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words 
 he spake ? 
 
 Have J no friend luill rid me of this living fear ? 
 Was it not s-j ? 
 
 Serv. Those were his very words. 
 
 ton. Have I no friend I quoth he : he spake 
 it twice. 
 
 And urg'd if twice together; did he not? 
 
 Se.rv. He did, [me ; 
 
 Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on 
 As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man, 
 That would divorce this terror from my heart; 
 Meaning the king at Fomfret. Come, let's go : 
 I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Powfret. The Dungeon of the castle 
 Enter King Richard. 
 K. Rich. I have been studying how I may com 
 pare 
 
 This prison where I live, unto the world : 
 And, for because the world is populous, 
 And here is not a creature but myself, 
 I cannot do it ; — Yet I'll hammer it out. 
 My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; 
 My soul, the father: and these two beget 
 A generation ol' still-breeding thoughts, 
 And these same thoughts people this little world; 
 In humours, like the people ol'this v,'orld ; 
 For no thduglit is contented. The better sort, — 
 As tlioughts of things divine, — are ijitermix'd 
 With scruples, and do set the word itself 
 Against th<- word . 
 
 As thus, — Come, little ones ; and then again, — 
 It ts as hard to come, as for a camel 
 To thread the postern of a needle's eye. 
 Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
 Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails 
 May teai a passage through the flinty ribs 
 Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; 
 And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
 Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, — 
 That they are not the first of fortune's slaves. 
 Nor shall n(it be the last; like silly beggars. 
 Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, — 
 That many have, and others must sit there : 
 And in this thought they find a kind of ease. 
 Bearing their own mislortune on the back 
 Of such as have before endnr d the like. 
 Th is play I, in one person, many people. 
 And none contented : Sometimes am I king; 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, 
 And so T am : Then crushing penury 
 Persuades me, I was bf 'ter when a king; 
 Then am 1 king'd again and, by and by. 
 Think, that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
 And straight am nothing : But, whate'er 1 am, 
 Nor I, nor any man, that but man is. 
 With nothing shall be > leas'd, till he be ?as'd 
 With being nothing,— Music do I hear ? ( Music. 
 Ha. ha! keep time : — How sour sweet music is, 
 
 When time is broke, and no proportion kept. 
 So is it in the nuisic of men's lives. 
 And here have J the daintiness of ear. 
 To check time broke in a disordered string; 
 But, for the concord of my state and time. 
 Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
 I wasted time^ and now doth time waste rae. 
 For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock; 
 My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar 
 Their watches on to mine eves, the outward watch, 
 Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, 
 Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
 Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is. 
 Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my lieai-t. 
 Which is the bell • So sighs, and tears, and groans, 
 Show mmutes, tinr.es, and hours!— but my time 
 Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy. 
 While 1 stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clocL 
 This music mads me, let it sound no more ; 
 For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits, 
 In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. 
 Yet blessing on his heart, that gives it me ! 
 For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard 
 Is a strange brooch in thia all-hating v/orld. 
 
 Enter Groom, 
 Grootn Hail ! royal prince ! 
 K. Rich. Thanks, noble pesr 
 
 The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
 What art thou ? and how comest thou hitlier. 
 Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog' 
 That brings me food, to make misfortune live ? 
 
 G'^oowz. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king. 
 When thou wert king; who, travelling towards Y'ork, 
 With much ado, at length have gotten leave 
 To look upon my sometimes master's face. 
 O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld 
 In London streets that coronation day, 
 When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! 
 That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid ; 
 That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd I 
 
 K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ! Tell me, genti« 
 How weK't he under him ? [friend. 
 Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the gromid. 
 K. Rich. So proud, that Bolingbroke was on hit 
 back ! 
 
 That jade hath eat brertd from my royal Innd ; 
 This hand hath made Lim proud with clapping him. 
 Would he not stumble ? Would he not fall down, 
 (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
 Of that proud man, that did usurp his back? 
 Forgiveness, horse I why do I rail on thee. 
 Since tliou, created to be aw'd by man. 
 Wast born to bear? I was not made a horge , 
 And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
 Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. 
 
 Enter Keeper tvith a dish. 
 Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer slay. 
 
 [To the Groom.) 
 K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert 
 away. 
 
 Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart 
 shall say. [ Exit. 
 
 Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ? 
 K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 
 Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Extoo, 
 who 
 
 Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. 
 K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and 
 thee ! 
 
 Patience is stale, and 1 am weaiy of it. 
 
 (Beats the Keeper.) 
 
 Keep. Help, help, help! 
 
 Enter Exton and Servants, armed. 
 K. Rich. How now ? what means death in this nidi 
 
 assault? 
 
 ) Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument 
 (Snatching a weapon, and killing one.j 
 i 21 
 
S22 
 
 KING RTCHARD II. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Hath witSe ku.g's blood stain'd the king's own 
 MountTTnoant, my soul ! thy is np on h gh 
 Whilst mv gross flesh sinks downward here to^me.^ 
 
 Fxtnn As full of valour, as of royal blood : 
 BoUrlT;el spilt; O, would the dee^ were good : 
 For now the devil, that told "^^-^-XlT 
 Says, that this ^ieed is chromcled ,n hell _ 
 This dead king to the living king I »ear , 
 TakeSce tlfe rest, and give them bunal here.^^^_ 
 
 Scene W.-Windsor. A room tn the castle 
 Flourish. Enter Bolingbkoke and York, n,Uh 
 Lords and Attendants. 
 
 BoUnq. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear 
 Is—that the rebels have consum d with fire 
 Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; 
 But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. 
 
 Enter Northumberland. 
 Welcome, my lord: What is the news? 
 
 S First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap- 
 
 Tl.P T.ext^uews is,— I have to London sent 
 The Jeads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: 
 The manner of their taking may appear 
 At lari^e discoursed in this paper here. 
 At iarf,e ui;»cu (Presenting a paper.) 
 
 Baling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thv 
 
 And to th^wor'th will add right worthy gains. 
 Enter Fitzwater. 
 My Lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
 The heads of Brocas, and Rennet beely, 
 l\v()of the dangerous consorted traitx)r3 
 n.at sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow 
 
 Bohng. Thy pains, Fitzwalter, shall ncl be lorgot , 
 
 Rigiit uoble is tuy merit, well I wot. 
 
 Enter Percy, with the Bishop Cahmsi* 
 Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West- 
 
 With clog oTconscience, and sour melancholy. 
 Hath yielded up his body to the_grave; 
 , But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
 Thy kingly doom, and sentence ot his pride. 
 
 Bnlina Carlisle, this is your doom 
 Chtt^o'ut some secret place some reverend room 
 More than thou hast, and with J^^^^ y . 
 So, as thou liv'st in peace, die J^^J™' 
 For though mine enemy thou hast ever been. 
 High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 
 Enter ExTON, with attendants hearing a coffin, 
 
 Exton. Great king,.vvithin this coffin I present 
 Thv buried fear; herein all breathless lies 
 The mightiest of thy greatest enemies 
 R,chard of Bourdeaux by ™f Either brought 
 
 Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thoubaat 
 wrought , , r i 1 I 1 
 A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand. 
 Upon my head, and all this famous land. 
 ^ExS. From your own mouth, my lord, did I 
 
 Eo/iw/.^ThtTh)Ve not poison, that do poison ueed. 
 Nor do 1 thee ; though I did wish hnn dead, 
 I hate the murderer, bve him murdered. 
 TheluUt o7 conscience take thou.ior hy labour. 
 Bat Ser my good word, nor prmcely favour : 
 W frCain go wander through the shade of mght, 
 Ti^never'show thy head day nor light.- 
 \ ords I urotest, my soul is lull ot woe, 
 K blooTslould Jprinkle -e to make m^^^^^^^^ : 
 Come, mourn with me for what 1 do lament. 
 And put on sullen black inconanent ; 
 I'll make a voyage to the Holy Lanrt, 
 To wash this blood off from my gmlty hand ;- 
 March ,sadly after ; grace n.y n.mnrmngs bere, 
 la weepiug after this untimely bu r. [Kxeunt 
 
KING HENRY IV 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 I fancy «very reader, when he ends this play, cries out with Desdemona, " 0 most lame and impotent conclusion! 
 As this play was not, to our knowledge, divided into acts by the author, I could be content to conclude it with 
 the death of Henry the Fourth : 
 
 « In (hat Jerusalem shall Harry die. 
 
 These scenes which now make the tifth act of Henry the Fourth, might then be the first of Henry the Fifth: b«t " 
 the truth is, they do not unite very commodiously to either play. When these plays were represented, 1 believe 
 they ended as tiiey are now ended in the books; but Shakspeare seems to have designed that the whole series ov 
 action, from the beginning of Richard the Second, to the end of Henry the Fifth, sh uld be considered by the 
 reader' as one work, upon one plan, only broken into parts by the ncces>3ity of exhibition. 
 
 None of Shakspeare's plays are more read ihan the First and Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. Perhaps no 
 author has ever, in two plays, alforded so much delight. The great events are interesting, for the fate of kingdomss 
 depend upon tlieni ; the slighter occurrences are diverting, and, except one or two, sulKciently probable; the incidents 
 are multiplied with wonderful fertility of invention; and the characters diversified with the utmost nicety of discern- 
 ment, and the urofoundcst skill in tlie nature of man. _ 
 
 The prince, wiio is the hero both of the comic and tragic part, is a young man of great abilities, and violent 
 passioii.s whose sfntinients are right, though his actions are wrong; whose virtues are obscured by negligence, 
 anil whose understanding is dis.sipated by levity. In his idle hours he is rather loose than wicked; and when the 
 occasion forces out his latent qualities, he is great without effort, and brave without tumult. The trifler is roused 
 into a hero, and the hero again reposes in (he trifler. The character is great, original, and Just. 
 
 if*ercy is a riigxed soldier, choleric and quarrelsome, and has only the soldier's virtues, generosity and co'.ira.ge. 
 
 But Falstaff! nniaiitated. unimitable Falstaff! how shall I descrioe thee? thou comoound of sense and vice; of 
 sense which may be admired, but not esteemed; of vice w^iich may be de.spi.sed, but hardly detested. Falstaff is a 
 character loadeii" with faults, and with those faults which naturallj produce contempt. He is ?. thief and a glutton, 
 a coward anil a boaster; always ready to cheat the weak, and prey upon the poor; to terrify the timorous, and 
 insult the defenceless. At once obsequious and malignant, he satirizes in their absence those whom he lives by 
 flattering. He is f'<?rni!iar with the prince only as an agent of vice; but of this familiarity he is so proud, as not 
 only to be supercilious and haughty with oonnuon men, but to think his interest of importance to the duke oi 
 Lancaster. Yet the man thus corrupt, thus despicable, makes himself necessary to the prince that despises him, 
 by the most pleasing of all qualities, perpetual gaiety : by an unfailing power of exciting laughter, which is the more 
 freely indulged, as his wit is not of the splendid or ambitious kind, but consists in easy scapes and sallies of levity, 
 whicli make sport, but raise no envy. It must be observed, that he is stained with no enormous or santrwiniinr 
 crimes, so that his licentiousness is not so offensive but tbaf it may be borne for his mirth. 
 
 The moral to be drawn from this representation is, that no man is more dangerous than he that, with a will to 
 corrupt, hath the power to please; and that neither wit nor honesty ought to think themselves safe with such a 
 companion, when they see Henry seduced bsf Falstaflf. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 iING HENRY THE FOURTH. 
 
 &?^vTnTv r^H'^f fr \ Sons to the King. 
 
 ¥]U^CK JOHN of Lancaster, \ 
 
 EARL OF VVESTMOREi.AND, \ Vripuds to the Kina 
 SIR WALTER BLUNT, \ t fiends to the King . 
 
 THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Wtrcester. 
 HEiNKY PERCY, Enrl of Northumberland. 
 HKNRY PERCY, siirna?ned HOTSPUR, his Son. 
 EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March. 
 SCROOP. A' ckhishop of York. 
 ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas. 
 OWEN GLENDOWER. 
 SIR RICHARD VERNON. 
 
 ! SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. 
 
 I POINS. 
 
 ! GADSHILL. 
 
 i PETO. 
 
 I BARDOLPH. 
 
 j LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur, and Sistet U M&T 
 
 I timer. 
 
 i LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to Glendower, and Wi 
 i to Mortimer. 
 
 j MRS QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap. 
 
 I Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vititner, Chamberlain, Dravsev% 
 I Tu!o Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. 
 
 ScKNE,— England. 
 
 Scene 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 ■London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry , Westmoreland, Sir Walter 
 Blunt, and others. 
 K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
 Find we a time for frighted peace to pant. 
 And breathe .short winded accents of new broils 
 To be coiniaenc'd in .stronds alar remote. 
 No more the thirsty Erinnys of this soil 
 Shall daub her lips witli her own children's blood ; 
 No more shall trenching war channel her fields. 
 Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs 
 Oi hostile paces : those opposed eyes, 
 Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven. 
 All of one nature, of one substance bred, — 
 Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
 And furious close of civil butchery, 
 Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, 
 March all one way ; and be no more oppos'd 
 Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
 The edge oi war, like an ill sheathed knife, 
 No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, 
 As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
 (Whose soldier n(»w, nnder whose blessed cross 
 VVe are impressed and engaged to fight,) 
 Forthwith a power of E;)-;liyh shall we levy; 
 Wliose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb. 
 
 To chase these pagans, in those holy fields. 
 Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet. 
 Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd 
 For otir advantage on the bitter cross. 
 But this our purpose is a twelve-month old. 
 And bootless 'tis to tell you — we will gc ; 
 Therefore we meet not now : — Then let me heaff 
 Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
 What yesternight our council did decree. 
 In forwarding this dear expedience. 
 
 West. My liege, this haste was hot in question. 
 And many limits of the charge set down 
 But yesternight : when, all athwart, there came 
 A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news; 
 Whose worst was, — that the noble Mortimer, 
 Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
 Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
 Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken. 
 And a thousand of his people butchered : 
 Upon whose dead corpse there was such misase. 
 Such beastly, shameless transformation. 
 By those Welshwomen done, as may not be. 
 Without much shame, re-told or spoken of. 
 K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this 
 broil 
 
 Brake ofl'our business for the Holy Land. 
 
 West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious 
 lord : 
 
S24 
 
 PART FIRST OF 
 
 Act T. 
 
 «r more nmveu and nnwelcome news 
 Came froKi tne north, aad thus it did import 
 On tioly-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, i 
 V ouiig Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, 
 T hat ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
 At llohuedon met, 
 
 ^V^'1c're tliey did spend a sad and bloody hour; 
 Ah hy discharge of their artillery. 
 Anil shupe of" likelihood, the news was told ; 
 !' or he, that brought them, in the very heat 
 A !!d pride of their contention did take horse. 
 Uncertain of the issue any way. 
 
 K. Hen. Here 's a dear and true-industrious friend, 
 8ir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
 8tainVl with the variation of each soil 
 Betuixt ttiat Holmedon and this seat of ours; 
 And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. 
 Tiie c?arl of Douglas is discomfited ; 
 'i'en thousand bold Scots, two and-twenty knights, 
 B ilk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see 
 Oa iiulinedon's plains: 01" prisoners, Hijtspur took 
 Mordake tiie earl of File, and eldest son 
 'i'o beaten Douglas ; and the earls of Athol, 
 01" Murray, Angus, and Menteith. 
 And js not tliis an honourable spoil ^ 
 A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not? 
 
 n'est. In laith, 
 It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 
 K, Hen. Yea, there thou nmk'st me sad, and 
 tiiak'«t rae sin 
 ].t envy, that my lord Northumberland 
 Shv^uld be the f ather of so blest a son : 
 A son, who I the theme of honour's tongue ; 
 Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; 
 Who IS sweet fortune's minion, and her pride : 
 Whilst J, by looking on the praise of him. 
 See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
 Of toy young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd. 
 That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
 In cradle-clotiies our children, where they lay, 
 And call d mine — Percy, his— Piantagenet I 
 riien would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
 Bat let him I'rom my thoughts: — What think you, 
 coz, 
 
 Ofthis young Percy's pride? the prisoners, < ' 
 Which he in this adventure hath surprised, 
 To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
 I snail have none but Alordake earl of Fife. 
 
 Wetit. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor- 
 cester, 
 
 Malevolent to you in all aspects; 
 Which makes him prune lutnself, and bristle up 
 I'he crest of youth against your dignity. 
 
 K. Hen. But I have sent tor him to answer this : 
 And, lur this cause, awhile we must neglect 
 O.u- holy purpose to Jerusalem, 
 (lousin, on VVedufsday next our council we 
 Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords : 
 But couie yourself with speed to us again ; 
 For mere is to be said, and to be done, 
 Than out ol" anger can be uttered. 
 
 West. 1 will, my liege. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scenic II. — The same. Another Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enfef 11 EisiRY Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. 
 
 f'al. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? 
 
 P. Hen. 'fhou art so fat-witted with drinking of 
 old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and 
 -bleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast 
 V)rg<>lten to demand that truly, which thou wouldst 
 truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the 
 time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, 
 and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, 
 end dials the signs of leaping houses, and the bless- 
 ed sun himseli' a fair hot wench in fiame-colour'd 
 taffeta ; I see no reason why thou shouldst be so 
 supei tluous to demand the time of the day. . 
 
 Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal : for 
 • e, that take purses, go by the nnoon and seven stars ; 
 
 and not by Phoebus, — ke, that tvandertng knight 
 so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, whtn thou 
 art king, — as, God save thy grace, (majesty, I should 
 
 say ; for grace thou wilt have none,} 
 
 P. Hen. What ! none ? 
 
 Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as wiL »8rv« 
 to be prologue to an egg and butter. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, how then ? come, roundly, roundly. 
 Fal. Marry, then, sweet w.ig, when thou art king, 
 let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be 
 called thieves of the day's beauty ; let us be — Diana'« 
 foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the 
 , moon : And let men say, we be men of good govere- 
 meiit; being go\ erned as the sea is, by our noble and 
 chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance 
 we — steal. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too: 
 for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth 
 ebb and flow like the sea ; being governed as the sea 
 is, by the moon. As, for proof, now : A purse ol 
 gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and 
 most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with 
 swearing — lay by ; and spent with crying — bring in : 
 now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and 
 by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the 
 gallows. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And ia 
 not my hostess of" the tavern a most sweet wench? 
 
 P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad ol 
 the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most Bwee< 
 robe of durance ? 
 
 Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy 
 quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague ha\e I to 
 do with a buff jt-rkin? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do vrith my 
 hostess of the tavern ? 
 
 Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a retkoning, 
 many a time and oft. 
 
 P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part ? 
 Fal. No : I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all 
 there. 
 
 P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
 would stretch ; and, where it would not, I have used 
 my credit. 
 
 Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here ap' 
 parent that thou art heir apparent, — But, I pr'ythee, 
 sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in Eng- 
 land when thou wrt king? and resolution thus fobbed 
 as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antic the 
 law ? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief 
 P. Hen. No ; thou shalt. 
 
 Fal. Shall 1 ? O rare ! By the Lord, I'll be a 
 brave judge. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou judgest false already ; I mean, thou 
 shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so becou>e 
 a rare hangman. 
 
 Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps 
 with my humour, as well as waiting m the court, 1 
 can tell you. 
 
 P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? 
 Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits : whereof the 
 hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am a '■ 
 melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear, it^rtc. 
 P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute. 
 Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. 
 P. Hen. What say'st thou^to a hare, or the me- 
 lancholy of Moor-ditch ? 
 
 Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury sinrdles ; and 
 art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — 
 sweet young prince, — But. Hal, I pr'ythee, tio ubie 
 me no more with vanity. I would to God, tho j and 
 I knew where a conmiodity of good names were to 
 be borjght : An old lord of the council rated me the 
 other day in the street about you, sir ; but I marked 
 him not : and yet he talked very wisely ; but I re- 
 garded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in 
 the street too. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou did'st well ; for wisdom cries oat 
 in the streets, and no man regards it. 
 
 Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration; and art, in- 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 825 
 
 deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much 
 harm iiuon me, Hal, — God forgive thee for it ! Be- 
 fore 1 knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now 
 am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than 
 (ine of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I 
 will give it over ; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a 
 villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son in 
 Christendom. 
 
 P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow. 
 Jack e 
 
 Fal. Where thou wilt, lad. I'll make one; an I do 
 not, call me villain, and baffle me. 
 
 P. Hen. I .s< e a good amendment of life in thee; 
 from praying, to purse-taking. 
 
 Enter PoiNS, at a distance. 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, '(is my vocation, Hal ; 'tis no 
 sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins ! — 
 Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. 
 O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in 
 hell were hot enough for him ? This is the most 
 omnipotent villain, that ever cried. Stand, to a true 
 
 P. Hen. (rood- morrow, Ned. [man. 
 
 Poins. Good-morrow, sweet Hal. — What says 
 monsieur Remorse ? Wliat says sir John Sack-and- 
 Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about 
 thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, 
 for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg ? 
 
 P. Hen. Sir Jo'm stands to his word, the devil 
 shall have his bargain ; for he was never yet a break- 
 er o*" proverbs, he will give the devil his due. 
 
 Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy 
 Word with the devil. [the devil. 
 
 P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening 
 
 Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, 
 by four o'clock, early at Gadshill : There are pil- 
 grims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and 
 traders riding to London with fat purses : I have 
 visois for you all, you have horses for yourselves ; 
 Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke 
 supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we may doit 
 as secure as sleep : If you will go, I will stuff your 
 purses full of crowns ; if you will not, tarry at home, 
 and be hanged. 
 
 Fal. Hear me, Yedward, if I tarry at home, and 
 go not,, I'll hang you for going. 
 
 Poins. You will, chaps ? 
 
 Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? 
 
 P. Hen. Wno, I rob ? I a thief? not I, by my 
 faith. 
 
 Fal. Tliere's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
 fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood 
 roval, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a 
 
 Fal Why, that's well said. [mad-cap. 
 
 P. He?i. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, wlien 
 thou ait king. 
 
 P. Hen. 1 care not. 
 
 Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and 
 me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for this 
 fadveuture, that lie shall go. 
 
 Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persna- 
 fiion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou 
 speakest may move, and what he hears may be be- 
 heved, that the true prince may (ibr recreation sake,) 
 prove a false thief ; lor the poor abuses of the time 
 want countenance. Farewell : You shali find me 
 in Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring I Farewell 
 Ali-hallown summer 1 . , : [Exit Falstajf. 
 
 Poins. Now, my good sweet honey l(;rd, ride 
 with us to-morrow ; 1 liave a jest to execute, that I 
 cannot manage alone. Falstati", Bardolph, Peto, and 
 GJadsliill, shall rob those men that we have already 
 way-i./id ; yourself, ana I, will not be there : and 
 when Liity have the booty, if you anil I do not .ob 
 them, cut this h-ad from my sheuld-rs. 
 
 P. Hen. But liow sliall pan Wita th m ins:. t- 
 fciisg furiii ^ 
 
 Poins. Why, we will set fo.th before or aftet 
 them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherev; 
 it is at our pleasure to fail ; and then will they aci 
 venture upon the exploit thenisehes: whicli thef 
 shall have no sooner achieved, but -we'll set upol 
 them. 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, 
 by our horses, by our hahits, and by every othet 
 appointment, to be ourselves. 
 
 Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not s/!e, I'll 
 tie them in the wood; our visors we will change after 
 we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckraui 
 for the nonce, to immask our noted outward gai- 
 ments. 
 
 P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for ua. 
 
 Poins. Well, lor two of them, I know them to be 
 as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for 
 the third, if he fig iit longer than he sees reason, I'ii 
 forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, tiie 
 incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will 
 tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at 
 least, he fought with ; what wards, what blows, what 
 extremities he endured; and, in the reproof of this, 
 lies the jest. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee ; provide us all 
 things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in 
 Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. 
 
 Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins, 
 
 P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold 
 Tlie unyok'd humour of your idleness; 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun ; 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world. 
 That, when he pl-^ase again to be himself, 
 Being wanted, he may be more wouder'd at. 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. 
 If all the year were playing holydays, 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; I i 
 But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come 
 And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
 So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, 
 And pay the debt I never promised. 
 By how much better than my word I am. 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
 And, like bright metal on a sullen ground. 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault. 
 Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes. 
 Than that, which hath no foil to set it off. 
 I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; 
 Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit ^ 
 
 Scene III. — The same. Another Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Wor- 
 cester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and 
 others. 
 
 K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem- 
 perate. 
 
 Unapt to stir at these indignities. 
 And you have found me ; for, accordingly, 
 You tread upon my patience ; but, be sure, 
 I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
 Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition; 
 Wliich hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down. 
 And therefore lost that title of respect, 
 Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. 
 Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little de^ 
 serves 
 
 The scourge of greatness to be used on it; 
 
 And that same greatness too, which our oWn bidiids 
 
 Have holp to make so portly. 
 
 North. My lord,— [danger 
 K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I sea 
 
 And disobedience in thine eye : O si"-- 
 
 Y^)ur presence is too bold and peremptory. 
 
 And majesty might never yet endure 
 
 Tiu- uujf^ Iv frontier of a servant brow. 
 
 Y.ai !i,i\e good leave to leave us; when we neo« 
 
825 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act I 
 
 \o\\T use and counsel, we shall send for yon. — 
 
 [Exit Pf^orcester. 
 Veil wero about to speak. (To North.) 
 
 North. Yea, my good lord. 
 
 Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 
 Whici) Harry Percy here at iJolmedon took. 
 VVere, as he says, not with such strength denied. 
 As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
 Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
 !s guilty of this fault, and not my son. 
 
 Hoi. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
 l>iit, I remember, when the fight was done. 
 When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil. 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd. 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, 
 Shovv'd like a .stubble-land at harvest-home : 
 He was perfinned like a milliner ; 
 , Aiid 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
 
 He gave liis nose, and took't away again ; 
 
 Who, therewith angry, wlien it next came there. 
 Took it in snuff; — and still he smil'd, and talk'd; 
 And, as the S(jldiers bore dead bodies by. 
 He call d them — imtaiight knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holyday and lady terms 
 He qiiestion'd me ; among the rest, demanded 
 My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
 I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold. 
 To be so pester d with a popinjay. 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 Answer'd negligently, 1 know not what ; 
 He should, or should not; — for he made me mad. 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman. 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the 
 mark !) 
 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 iVas parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, 
 That villainous saltpetre should be digg'd 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
 Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
 So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns. 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 This bald disjointed chat of his, my lord, 
 I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
 And, I beseech you, let not his report 
 Ccme current for an accusation. 
 Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
 
 Blu7it. '\ he circumstance consider'd, good ray lord, 
 Whatever liarry Percy then had said, 
 To such a person, and in such a place. 
 At such a time, with all the rest re-told. 
 May reasonably die, and never rise 
 To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
 What then he said, so he unsay it now. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; 
 But with proviso, and exception, — 
 That we, at our own charge, shall ransonie straight 
 His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 
 Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
 The li\es of those, that he did lead to fight 
 Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower; 
 Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March 
 Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 
 Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home ? 
 Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears. 
 When tliey have lost and forfeited themselves ? 
 
 on the barr?n mountains let him starve; 
 For I shall never hold that man my friend, 
 Whose tongue shall ask me for one i)enny cost 
 To ransome home revolted Mortimer ! 
 
 /io/. Revolted Mortimer! 
 lis never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
 
 liy the chance of war : — To prove that true, 
 ?i?eeds DO more but one tongue for all tho.se wounds, 
 mouthed wotmds, which valiantly he took, 
 
 When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 
 In single opposition, hand to hand. 
 He did confound the best part of an hour 
 In changing hardiment with great Glendower: 
 Three times they breath'd, and three times did they 
 drink, 
 
 Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
 Who, then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
 Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, 
 And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank. 
 Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
 Never did bare and rotten pohcy 
 Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 
 Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
 Receive so many, and all willingly: 
 Then let him not be slander'd with revolt 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost belie hira, Percy, thou dost 
 belie him. 
 
 He never did encounter with Glendower ; 
 I tell thee. 
 
 He durst as well have met the devil alone, 
 
 As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
 
 Art not asham'd ? But, sirrah, henceforth 
 
 Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : 
 
 Send me your prisoners with the speediest means. 
 
 Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
 
 As will displease you, — My lord Northumberland, 
 
 We license your departure with your son- — 
 
 Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it, 
 
 [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. 
 
 Hot. And if tlie devil come and roar for them, 
 I will not send them : — I will after straight. 
 And tell him so; for J will ease my heart, 
 Although it be with hazard of my head. 
 
 North. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and 
 pause awhile ; 
 Here comes your uncle. 
 
 Re-enter Worcester, 
 Hot. Speak of Mortimer .' 
 
 Zoundsj I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
 Want mercy, if 1 do not join with him: 
 Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins. 
 And shed my dear blood drop by drop i'the dust, 
 But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
 As high i'the air as this unthankful king., 
 As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 
 
 North. Brother, the king hath made your ne{)hew 
 mad. [To PVorcester.] 
 
 Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone ? 
 J Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; 
 And when I urg'd the ransome once again 
 Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale ; 
 And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
 Trembling even at the name oi Mortimer, 
 
 Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not pro- 
 claim'd. 
 
 By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood ? 
 
 North, lie was ; 1 heard the proclamation : 
 And then it was, when the unhappy king 
 (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth 
 Upon his Irish expedition; 
 From whence he, intercepted, did return 
 To be depos'd, and shortly, murder'd. 
 
 Wor. And for whose death, we in the world"s 
 wide mouth 
 Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. 
 
 Hut. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Ricbaid Ihcc 
 Proclaim my brother Ec^raund Mortimer 
 Heir to the crown ? '^'^"^ ' 
 
 North. He did ; myself did hear it 
 
 Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, 
 That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv U. 
 But shall it be, that you,— that set the crown 
 Upon the head ol'this forgetful man : 
 And for his sake, wear the detested blot 
 Of murd'rous siibornation, — shall it be, 
 That you a world of curses undergo ; 
 Being the agents, or base second means, 
 'i'he cords, the ladder, or the hangman ratiier ? 
 
Scene 3. KING 
 
 O, pardon me, that I descend so low, 
 To show the line, and the predicament, 
 Wherein you ran^e under this subtle king:. 
 
 hall it, for shame, be spoken in these days. 
 Or fill U[) chronicles in time to come, 
 That men of your nobility and power 
 Did 'gage them both in an unjust belialf, — 
 As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — 
 *lsj put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
 And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? 
 And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, 
 That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off' 
 By him, for whom these shames ye underwent? 
 N';; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
 Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves 
 Into the good thoughts of the world again : 
 Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt 
 Of this proud king; who studies, day and night, 
 Yo answer all the debt he owes to you. 
 Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. 
 Therefore, I say, — 
 
 f9^or. Peace, cousin, say no more : 
 
 And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
 And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
 ni read you matter deep and dangerous : 
 As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
 As to o'er walk a current, roaring loud. 
 On tlie unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 Hot. If he fall in, good night : — or sink or swim : — 
 Send danger from the east unto the west. 
 So honour cross it from the north to south. 
 And let them grapple ; — O ! the blood more stirs, 
 To rouse a lion, than to sfart a hare. 
 
 Norfh. Imagination of some great exploit 
 Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 
 
 Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, 
 To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon : 
 Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
 Where fathom-line could never touch the gnrind. 
 And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; 
 So_ he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, 
 Without corrival, uU her dignities: 
 But out upon this iialf-fac'd fellowship ! 
 
 ff^or. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
 But not the form of what he should attend. — 
 Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 
 
 Hot. I cry you mercy 
 
 IV or. Tiiose same noble Scots, 
 
 That are your prisoners, — 
 
 Hot. I'll keep them all ; 
 
 By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
 No. if a Scot woidd save his soul, he shall not : 
 I'll keep them, by this hand. 
 
 War. You start away, 
 
 And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
 Those prisoners you shall keep. 
 
 Hot. Nay, I will, that's flat :— 
 
 He said, he would net ransome Mortimer ; 
 Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer 
 But I will find him, when he lies asleep. 
 And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer ! 
 Nay, 
 
 I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak » 
 Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him. 
 To keep his anger still in motion. 
 ^ or. Hear you. 
 
 Cousin ; a ward. 
 
 Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy. 
 Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : ^^'i 
 And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales— 
 But that I think his father loves him not. 
 And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
 I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 
 
 Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you, 
 When you are better temper'd to attend. 
 
 North. Why, what a wasp stung and impatient 
 Art thou, to break into this woman's mood ; [fool 
 Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ? 
 
 Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd 
 with rods. 
 
 HENRY IV. 827 
 
 Nettled, and stung mth pismires, whei I heftr 
 Of (his vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
 In Richard's time,— What do you call the place 
 A pi tgue upon 't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; — 
 'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept; 
 His uncle York : — where I first bow'd my knee 
 Unto this-king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
 When you and he came back from llavenspurg. 
 North. At Berkley castle. 
 Hot. You say true : 
 Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
 This fawning greyhound then did proffer lue ' 
 Look, — when his infant- fortune came to age, 
 And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and, kind cousin, 
 O, the devil take such cozeners I — God forgive 
 me ! — 
 
 Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 
 
 TVor. Nay, if you have not, to't ag liu ; 
 We'll stay your leisure. 
 
 Hot. I have done, i faith. 
 
 Wor. Then once more to your Scottish pri- 
 soners. 
 
 Deliver them up without their ransome straight, 
 And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
 For powers in Scotland; which, — for divers reasons, 
 Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd. 
 Will easily be granted. — You, my lord, — 
 
 (To Northumberland.) 
 Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, 
 Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
 Of that same noble prelate well belov'd, 
 The archbishop. 
 
 Hot. Of York, is't not ? 
 ff^or. True ; who bears hard 
 His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. 
 I speak !iot this in estimation. 
 
 As what I think might be, but what I know ' 
 I Is ruminated, plotted, and set down: 
 And only stays but to behold the face 
 Of that occasion, that shall bring it on. 
 
 Hot I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. 
 North. Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'sl 
 slip. [plot :— 
 
 Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble 
 And then the power of Scotland, and of York, — 
 To join with Mortimer, ha? 
 
 TV or. And so they shall. 
 
 Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 
 Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
 To save our heads by raising of a head : 
 For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
 Tiie king will always think him in our debt; 
 And think we think ourselves unsatisfied. 
 Till he hath found a time to pay us home. 
 And see already, how he doth begin 
 To make us strangers to his looks of love. 
 Hot. He does, he does ; we'll be reveng'd oa 
 him. 
 
 Wor. Cousin, farewell : — No further go in this, 
 Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
 When time is ripe (which will be suddenly)^ 
 I'll steal to Glendovver, and lord Mortimer; 
 Where you and Douglas, and oui powers at once, 
 (As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, 
 To bear our fortunes in ourowD strong arms. 
 Whic h now we hoid at much uncertainty. 
 North. Farewell, good brother : we shall thrive, 
 I trust. 
 
 Hot. Uncle, adieu : — O, let the hours be short. 
 Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Rochester. An Inn 
 Enter a Carrier, with a lantern in hts nand. 
 1 Car. Heigh ho ! An't be not four oy the da 
 I'll be hanged : Charles' wain is oev 
 ney, and yet our horse not packed. hat, o 
 Ost. ( Within.) Anon, anon. 
 
328 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act II. 
 
 « Cur. I prythee, Tom, beat Cut's sa(^dle, put a 
 few flocks in the jpoint ; the poor jade is wrung in the 
 withers out of all cess. | .. i 
 
 Enter another Carrier. 
 2 Car, Peas and beans are as dank here as a 
 tlog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the 
 bot» : tiiis house is turned upside down, since Robin 
 ostler died. 
 
 1 Cozr. Poor fellow ! never joyed, since the price 
 uf oats ruse ; it was tlie death of him. 
 
 2 Car. I think, this be tlie most villainous house 
 in ivA Loudon road for fleas : I am stung like a 
 tench. 
 
 1 Car. Like a tench ? by the mass, there is ne'er 
 a king in Christendom could be better bit than 1 iiave 
 
 een since the first cock. 
 
 2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, 
 and then we leak in your chimney ; and your cham- 
 Der lie breeds fleas like a loach. 
 
 1 Car. What, ostler ! come away and be hanged, 
 come away. 
 
 '2 Car. 1 have a gammon of bacon and two razes 
 of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. 
 
 1 Car. Odsbodyl the turkeys in my pannier are 
 quite starved. — Vvhat, ostler! — ^A plague on thee! 
 hast tiiou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? 
 An 'twere not as good a deed as drmk, to break the 
 pate of tiiee, I am a very villain. — Come, and be 
 hanged : — Hast no faith in thee ? 
 
 Enter Gadshill. 
 Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock ? 
 1 Car I think it be two o'clock. 
 Gads. I prythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
 gelding in the stable. 
 
 1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye : I know a trick worth 
 two of that, i'faith. 
 
 Gads. I pr ythee, lend me thine. 
 
 2 (Jar. Ay, when ? canst tell ? — Lend me thy lan- 
 tern, (itioth a ? — marry, I'll see thee hanged first. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah, carrier, vvhat time do you mean to 
 come to London ? 
 
 2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, 
 I warrant thee. — Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call 
 up the gentlemen ; they will along with company, 
 for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers. 
 
 Gads. What, ho ! rliainberlain ! 
 
 Cham. {Within.) At hand, quuth pick-purse. 
 
 Gads. I'hat's even as fair as — at liand, quoth the 
 chamberlain; for tiiou variest no more from picking 
 of {)iirses, than giving direction doth from labouring ; 
 thou lay'st the plot how. 
 
 Enter Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds 
 current, that I told you yesternight: There's a 
 franklin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three 
 hundred marks with him in gold : I heard him tell 
 it to one of his company, last night at supper; a 
 kind of auditor; one, that hath abundance of charge 
 too, God knows what. They are up already, and 
 call for eggs and butter: they will away presently. 
 
 Gads. iSirrah, if they meet not with saint Ni- 
 cholas' clerks, Til give thee this neck, 
 
 Cham. No, 111 none of it: I [ r'ythee, keep that 
 for the hangman; lor, I know, thou worsliip'st saint 
 Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. 
 
 Gadd. What Lalkest thou to me of the hangman? 
 if 1 hang, rU make a fat pair of gallows : for, if 
 I hang, old sir John hangs with me; and, thou 
 knowest, he's no starveling. Tut ! there are other 
 Trojans that thou dreamest uot of, the which, for 
 sport sake, are content to do the profession some 
 trace, that would, if matters should be looked into, 
 for their ovvn credit sake, make all whole. 1 am 
 joined wiUi no tbot land-rakers, no loug-stiifi", six- 
 penny strikers ; none of these nuid, musLachio pur- 
 pie hued malt-worms: but with nobility, and tran- 
 quillity i burgomasters, and great oneyers ; such as 
 
 can hold in , such as will strike sooner than speak, 
 and speak so»ner than drink, and drink sooner tha 
 pray : And yet 1 lie ; for they pray contirjiial'iy t 
 their saint, the commonwealth ; or, rather, not pr 
 to her, but prey on her; for they ride up and dowD 
 on her, and make her their boots. 
 
 Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? 
 will she hold out water in foul way? 
 
 Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored 
 her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have 
 the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 
 
 Cham. Nay, by my faith ; I think you are more 
 beholden to the night, than to fern-seed, fcr your 
 walking invisible. 
 
 Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a share 
 in our purchase, as I am a true man. 
 
 Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as yoo are a 
 false thief 
 
 Gads. Go to ; Homo is a common name to all 
 men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the 
 stable. Farewell, you muddy knave- [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene \l.—The Road by Gadshill. // :? ' ' 
 Enter Prince Henry, and Poms ; Bardolph and 
 Peto, at some distance. 
 Pains, Come, shelter, shelter; I have removed 
 Fa'stati's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet, 
 P. Hen. Stand close. 
 
 Enter Falstaft. 
 Fal. Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins ! 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal ; What a 
 brawling dost thou keep ? 
 Fal. Where's Poins, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill; 
 I'll go seek him. {Pretends to seek Poins.) 
 
 Pal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's com- 
 pany: the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied 
 him T know not where. If I i,ra\ el b;it four foot by 
 the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind. 
 Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, 
 if I 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. 1 have 
 forsworn his company hourly any tune this two- 
 and twenty years ; and yet I am bewitched with the 
 rogue's company. If the rascal have not gixen me 
 medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged : 
 it could not be else ; I have drunk medicines.- 
 Poins ! — Ha!— a plague upon you hotii ! — Bar- 
 dolph! — Peto I —I'll starve, ere I'll rob afoot fur- 
 ther. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to tur 
 true man, and liave these rogues, I am the veriest 
 varlet that ever chewed w'th a tootii. Eight yards 
 of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles afoot 
 with me ; and the stony-hearted villains know it 
 well enough : A plague upon't, when thieves can- 
 not be true to one another! {They whistle.) Whewl 
 — A plague upon you all ! Give me my horse, you 
 rogues, give me my horse, and be iianged. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat guts ! iie down; lay thine 
 ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear 
 the tread of travellers. 
 
 Pal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, be- 
 ing*down ? 'Sblood, I'll not bear «iine own flesh so 
 far afoot again, for all the coin >n thy lather's ex- 
 chequer. What a plague mean ye to colt rae 
 thus ? 
 
 P. Hen, Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art 
 uncolted. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to mj 
 horse ; good king's son. 
 
 P. Hen. Out, you rognc. shall I be your ostler ! 
 
 Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own lieir-apparent 
 garters ! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An 1 
 have not ballads made on you all, &nd sung to filthy 
 tunes, let a cup of sack be poison: When a 
 jest IS so forward, and afo ;t too,- »-l hate it. 
 Enter Gadshill. 
 
 Gad.s. Stand! 
 
 Fal. So 1 do, against my will. 
 
 Poms. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voico* 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 82? 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 Bard. What news? 
 
 Gads. Case ye, case ye, on with your visors; 
 (here's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 
 'tis going to the king's exchequer. [tavern. 
 
 Fal. Vou lie, you rogue ; tis going to the knig's 
 
 Gads. There's enough to make us all. 
 
 Fal. To be hanged, 
 
 P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the 
 narrow lane ; Ned Poins and I will walk lower : if 
 they 'scape from your encounter, then they light 
 on us. 
 
 Peto. How many be there of them ? 
 
 Gads. Some eight, or ten. 
 
 Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us? 
 
 P. Hen. Wliat, a coward, sir John Paunch? 
 
 Fal. Ind. ed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- 
 father : but yet no coward, Hal. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 
 
 Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
 hedi^e ; wiien thou need'st him, there thou shalt 
 find hitu. Farewell, and stand fast. 
 
 Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be 
 hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises? 
 Pains. Here, hard by ; stand close. 
 
 [Exeunt P. Henry and Poins. 
 Fal. Now, my musters, liappy man be his dole, 
 say I ; every man to his business. 
 
 Enter Travellers. 
 
 1 Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our 
 horses down the hih : we'll walk afoot awhile, and 
 e«se our legs. 
 
 Thieves. Stand ! 
 
 Trav. Jesu bless us ! 
 
 Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' 
 throats: Ah' whoreson caterpillars! bacon fed 
 knaves ! they hate us youth : down with them ; 
 fleece tliem. [for ever. 
 
 1 Trav. O, we are imdone, both we and ours, 
 Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves; Are ye un- 
 done ? No, ye fat chuffs ; I would, your store were 
 here! On. bacons, on! Wh^^ ye knaves? young 
 men must live : You are grand-jurors, are ye ? We'll 
 iure ye, i'faith. 
 
 [Exeunt Fals. etc. driving the Travellers out. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. 'i'he thieves have bound the true men : 
 Now could tiiou and 1 rob the thieves, and go mer- 
 Tily to London, it would be argument Ibr a week, 
 ^ughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. 
 
 Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming. 
 Re-enter Thieves. 
 
 Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then 
 to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be 
 not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: 
 there's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild 
 duck, 
 
 p. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out upon them.) 
 Poins. Villains ! 
 
 [As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set 
 upon them. Falstaff, after a blow or two, 
 and the rest, run away, leaving their booty 
 behind them.) 
 
 P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to 
 horse : 
 
 The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
 So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; 
 Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
 Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death. 
 And lards the lean earth as he walks along: 
 VVer't not for laughing, I shortld pity him. 
 
 Poins. How t!ie rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene lU.— Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Hotspur, reading a letter. 
 - — But, fur mine oivn part, my lord, I could be 
 
 well contented to be there, in respe< I of the love I 
 bear your house. — He cotdd be contented, — VVliy 
 is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our 
 house : — he shows in this, he loves his own bam 
 better than he loves our house. Let me see soma 
 more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous; - 
 Why, that's certain ; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, 
 to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out 
 of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 
 The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; the 
 friendsyou have named, uncertain; the time itself, 
 unsurted; and your whole plot too light, for the 
 counterpoise of so great an o}>position. — Say you 
 so, say you so ? 1 say unto you again, you are a 
 shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. VVhat a lack- 
 brain is this ! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as 
 ever was laid ; our friends true and constant: a good 
 plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an 
 excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty- 
 spirited rogue is this ! Why, my lord of York 
 commends the plot, and the general course of the 
 action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I 
 could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my 
 father, my uncle, and myselfr lord Edmund Mortimer, 
 my lord of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is there 
 not, beside, the Douglas ? Have I not all their letters, 
 to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month ? 
 and are they not, some of them, set forward already? 
 What a pagan rascal is this ! an infidel ! Ha ! you 
 shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold 
 heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our pro- 
 ceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to 
 buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk 
 with so lionourabie an action! Hang him I Let him 
 tell the king. We are prepared : I will set forward 
 to-night. 
 
 Enter Lady Percy. 
 
 How now, Kate ? I must leave you within these iwe 
 hours. 
 
 Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone? 
 For what offence have I, this fortnight, been 
 A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ? 
 Tell me, sweet lord, what is't, that takes from thee 
 Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 
 Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; 
 And start so often, when thou sit'st alone ? 
 Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; 
 And given my treasures, and my rights of thee. 
 To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy? 
 In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd. 
 And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars : 
 Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; 
 Cry, Courage ! — to the field! And thou hast talk'd 
 Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents. 
 Of palisadoes, froniiers, parapets; 
 Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ; 
 Of prisoners, ransome, and of soldiers slain. 
 And all the 'currents of a heady fight. 
 Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war. 
 And thus hath so Destirr'd thee in thy sleep. 
 That beads of sweat hath stood upon thy brow. 
 Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream : 
 And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, 
 Such as we see, when men restrain their breath 
 On some great sudden haste. O, what portents ara 
 these ? 
 
 Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
 And I must know it, else he loves me not. [gone? 
 Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packeJ 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. 
 Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from tb* 
 sheriff? 
 
 Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. 
 Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 
 Serv. It is, my lord. 
 
 Hot. That roan shall be ray throne 
 
 Well, I will back him straight : 0 esperancal 
 
S30 
 
 FIRST PART 0^ 
 
 Act 
 
 Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 hady. But hear you, my lord. 
 
 Hot. What say'st, my lady ? 
 
 Isady. What is it carries you away i* 
 
 Hot. My horse, 
 
 My love, my horse. 
 
 Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape ! 
 
 A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, 
 As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
 I'll know' your business, Harry, that I will. 
 1 fear, niy brother Mortimer cloth stir 
 About his title ; and hath sent for you. 
 To line his enterprize : But if you go — 
 
 Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 
 
 Jjady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
 Directly to this question that I ask. 
 In faith, I'll br?ak thy little finger, Harry, 
 An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 
 
 Hot. Away, 
 Away, you triller! — Love? — I love thee not, 
 I care not Ibr thee, Kate : this is no world. 
 To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips : 
 We must have bloody noses, aivd crack'd crowns. 
 And pass them current too. — Gods me, my hoi se ! — 
 What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have 
 with me ? 
 
 hady. Do you not love me ? do yon not, indeed ? 
 Well, do not then ; for, since you love me not, 
 I will not love myself Do you not love me? 
 Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no. 
 
 Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 
 And when I am a horse back, I will swear 
 \ love tliee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; 
 1 must not have you henceforth question me 
 Wliitlier I go, nor reason whereabout : 
 Whither I must, I must; and to conclude. 
 This evenirg must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
 I know you wise; but yet no further wise, 
 
 iThan Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 
 But yet a woman : and for secrecy. 
 No lady closer; for I well believe, 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 
 / And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate ! 
 hady. How! so far? 
 
 Hot. Not an inch farther. But hark you, Kate ! 
 Whither I go, thither shall you go too; 
 To-day will I set furth, to morrow you. — 
 Will this content you, Kate ? 
 
 hady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's 
 Head Tavern. 
 Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, 
 and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 
 
 Poins. Where hast been, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst 
 three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the 
 very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn 
 brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them 
 a) I by their christian names, as, — Tom, Dick, and 
 I <ancis. They take it already upon their salvation, 
 that, thougli I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the 
 king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud 
 Jack, like FalstalF; but a Corinthian, a lad of met- 
 tle, a good boy,— by the Lord, so they call me ; 
 and when I am king of England, I shall command 
 all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call — drink- 
 t\ig deep, dying scarlet : and when you breathe in 
 y jur watering, they cry — hem ! and bid you play 
 it off. — To conclude, 1 am so good a proficient in 
 one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any 
 tinker in his own language during my life. I tell 
 thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou 
 wert not with me in this actioa. But, sweet Ned, 
 ~t() sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this 
 pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now in my hand 
 an under flkinker ; one that never spake other 
 
 giish in nis life, than — Eight shillings and six- 
 
 pence, and — Yoii are welcqme ; with this shrill ad- 
 dition, — Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard 
 in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away 
 the time till Falstaif cowie, 1 pr'ythee, do tliou stand 
 in some by-room, while I question my puny diaAver, 
 to what end he gave me the sug^r; and do thou 
 never leave calling — Francis, that his tale to mo may 
 be nothing but — anon. Step aside, and I'll show 
 thee a precedent. 
 
 Poins. Francis ! 
 
 P. Henry. Thou art perfect. 
 
 Poins. Francis ! [Exit Poins. 
 
 Enter Francis. 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the 
 Pomegranate, Ralph, i' *:^ ^ 
 P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 
 Fran. My lord. 
 
 P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? 
 Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to — 
 Poins. {Withi7i.) Francis! 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Five years ! by'rlady, a long lease for 
 the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou 
 be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy inden- 
 ture, and to show it a fair pair of heels, and run 
 from it-* 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir! I'll be sworn upon all the 
 books in England, I could find in my heart— 
 
 Poins. ( Within.) Francis ! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis ? 
 
 Fran. Let me see, — About ]\Iichae!mas next I 
 shall be — 
 
 Poins. [Within.) Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my 
 lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the 
 sugar thou gavest me, — 'twas a pennyworth, was't 
 not ? 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir! I would, it had been two. 
 P. Hen. 1 will give thee for it a thousand pound: 
 ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it 
 Poins. ( Within.) Francis ! 
 Fran. Anon, anon. 
 
 P. Hen. Anon, F'rancis ? No, Francis : but to- 
 morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or^ 
 indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,— 
 
 Fran. My lord ? 
 
 P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crys- 
 tal button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, 
 caddis-garter, smooth- tongue, Spanish-pouch, — 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean? 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard is your 
 only drink : for, look you, Francis, your white can 
 vas doublet will sully : in Barbary, sir, it cannot 
 come to so much. 
 
 Fra.n. What, sir? 
 
 Poins. ( Within.) Francis ! 
 
 P. Hen. Away, you rogue : Dost thou not hea» 
 them call ? [Here they both call him ; the Drawer 
 stands amazed., not knowing which way to go. 
 
 Enter Vintner. 
 
 Vint. What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such 
 a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] 
 My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are 
 at the door ; shall I let them in ? 
 
 P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then opep 
 the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 
 
 Re-enter Poins. 
 Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff, and the rest of th« 
 
 thieves, are at the door; Shall we be merry? 
 
 Poins. As merry as crickets, ray lad. But hark 
 ye; What cunning match have you made with this 
 jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue? 
 
 P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have 
 showed themselves humours, since the old days of 
 
f5CENE 4. 
 
 KING HENRY IT. 
 
 S31 
 
 goodnaan Adam to the pupil age of this present 
 e o'clxrk. at midnight. 
 
 Re-enter Francis, with wine, 
 What's o'clock, Francis ? 
 Fran. Aiion, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen, That ever tliis fellow shoidd have fewer 
 words than a pariot, and yet the son of a woman ! 
 —His industry is — up stairs, and down stairs ; his 
 eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet 
 of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he, that 
 kills nie some six or seven dozen of Scots at a break- 
 fast, washes his hands, and skvs to his wife, — Fy 
 upon this quiet life ! I ivani work. 0 my sweet 
 Marry, says she, how many hast thou killed to- 
 day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he; 
 and answers, Some fourteen, an hour ai"ter ; a trifle, 
 a trifle. 1 pr ythee, call in Falstaft" : I'll play Percy, 
 and that damned brawn shall play dame Mortimer 
 his wife. Rivo, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, 
 call in tallow. 
 
 Enter Fai.staff, Gadshill, Bakdolph, and 
 Peto. 
 
 P(jzW. Welcome, Jack. Where hast ihou been ? 
 
 Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven- 
 geance too! marry, and amen! — Give me a cup of 
 sack, boy. — Ere I lead this life long, Pll sew nether- 
 stocks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague 
 of all cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is 
 tiiere no virtue extant? (He drinks.) 
 
 P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish 
 of buiter ? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the 
 sweet tale of the sun ? if thou didst, then behold 
 that compound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, here's I;me in this sack too: 
 There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous 
 man : yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with 
 Lime in it; a villainous coward. — Go thy ways, old 
 Jack ; die when thou wilt; if manhood, good man- 
 hood, be n.-)t forgot upon the face of the earth, then 
 am I a shotteii herring. There live not three good 
 men unhanged in England ; and one of them is fat 
 aad grows old : God help the while! a bad world, 
 I say! 1 would I were a weaver; I could sing 
 psalms or any thing : A plague of all cowards, I say 
 still. 
 
 P. Hen, How now, wool-sack? what mutter you? 
 
 Fal. A king's son I If I do not beat thee out of 
 thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all 
 thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, 
 I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince 
 of Wales! [the matter? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round »nan! what's 
 
 Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that; 
 and Poins there ? 
 
 Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me 
 coward, I'll stab thee. 
 
 Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned 
 ere I call thee coward : but I would give a thousand 
 pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You are 
 straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who 
 
 es your back : Call you that backing of your 
 
 ends ? A plague upon such backing ! give me them 
 that will face me. — Give me a cup of .sack : — I am a 
 o e, if I drunk to-day. 
 
 . Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since 
 4liou drunk'st last. 
 
 Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, 
 Bllll sav I. {lie drinks.) 
 
 P. Hen What's tlie matter? 
 
 Fal. What's the matter ? there be four of us here 
 have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. 
 
 P. Hen. Where is it, J;ick? where is it? 
 
 Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is : a hundred 
 upon four of us. 
 
 P. Hen. What, a hundred, man ? 
 Fal, I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword 
 wiiii a dozen of them two hours together. 1 have 
 i»;ap'd by mif icle. I am eight times thrust through 
 
 the doublet; four, through the hose; my br.cklef 
 cut through and through ; my sword hacked like a 
 hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better sinca 
 I was a man : all would not do. A plague of all 
 cowards! — Let them speak : if they speak more or 
 less than truth, they are villains, and the sons ot 
 darkness. 
 
 P. Hen. SpeaK, sirs; How was it? 
 
 Gads. We four set upon some doaen,—- 
 
 Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 
 
 Gads. And bound them. 
 
 Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every mane 
 them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 
 
 Gads, As we were sharing, some six or seveo 
 fresh men set upon us, [the other, 
 
 Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in 
 
 P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all? 
 
 Fal. All? I know not what ye call, all; but if I 
 foug!»t not with fifty of thent, I am a bunch of 
 radish : if there were not two or three and fifty 
 upon poor old Jack, then am 1 no two-leggea 
 creature. [of them. 
 
 Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some 
 
 Fal, Nay, that's past praying for : for I have 
 peppered two of them : two, I am sure, I have paid; 
 two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, 
 Hal, — it' I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me 
 horse. Thou knowest my old ward; — here I lay, 
 and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram 
 let drive at me, [now. 
 
 P. Hen. VVhat, four? thou said'st but two, even 
 
 Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 
 
 Poijis. Ay, ay, he said four. 
 
 Fal. These iour came all a-front, and mainlf 
 thrust at me. 1 made me no more ado, but took all 
 tlieir seven points in my target, thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Sevea? why, there were but four, even 
 
 Fal. In buckram. [now. 
 
 Poins, Ay, four, in buckram suits. 
 
 Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a viUarn else. 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone ; we shall have 
 more anon. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, .Tack. 
 
 Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening toi> 
 These nine in buckram, that I told thee of,-— — 
 
 P. Hen. So, two more already. 
 
 Fal. Their points being broken, — — 
 
 Poins. Down fell their hose. 
 
 Fal. Began to give me ground : But I followed 
 me close, came in foot and hand ; and, with a 
 thoii<iht, seven of the eleven I paid. 
 
 P, Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown 
 out of two ! 
 
 Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 
 begotten knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, 
 and let drive at me ; — for it was so dark, Hal, that 
 thou couldst not see ihy hand. 
 
 P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
 them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, 
 thou clay brained guts ; thou knotty-pated fool | 
 thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-keech, — 
 
 Fal, What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not 
 the truth, the truth! 
 
 P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these 
 men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thoa 
 couldst not see thy hand ? come, tell us your rea- 
 son ; What sayest thou to this ? 
 
 Poins. Come, your reason, Jtck, your reason. 
 ^■^al. What, upon compulsion? Ko ; were I ftt 
 tlie' strappado, or all the racks in the world, I 
 would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a 
 reason on compulsion I if reasons were as plenty as 
 blackberries, 1 would give no man a reason upoo 
 compulsion, I. 
 
 P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; ibis 
 sanguine cov/ard, this bed-presser this horse-back 
 breaker, this huge hill of flesh ; — 
 
 Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you 
 
832 
 
 dried nc&f s-tongue.. bull's-pizale, you stock-fish, 
 — p, fur breath to utter what is like thee! — you 
 tiilor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile 
 standine: tuck ; 
 
 P. Hen. Well, breathe a while, and then to it 
 again : and when thou hast tired thyself in base 
 comparisons, hear me speak but this, 
 
 Poins. Mark, Jack. 
 
 P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; yon 
 bound tiiem, and were masters of their wealth. — 
 Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down. — 
 l^hen did v/e two set on you four : and, witli a 
 word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it ; 
 yea, and can show it you here in tlie house :— and; 
 Falstail", you carried your guts away as nimbly, 
 with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and 
 still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. 
 What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou 
 hast done ; and then say, it was in fight ! What 
 trick, what de\ice, what starting-hole, canst thou 
 now find out, to hide thee from this open and ap- 
 parent shame ? [thou now ? 
 Poins. Come, let's hear. Jack : What trick hast 
 Fai. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that 
 made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : Was it for 
 me to kill the heir apparent?* Should I turn upon 
 the true prince? \vhy, thou knowest, I am as 
 valiant as Hercules: but beware instinct ; the lion 
 will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great 
 matter ; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think 
 the better of myself and thee, during my life ; I, 
 for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, 
 by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. 
 
 Hostess, clap to the doors ; watch to-night, 
 
 pray to-morrow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of 
 eold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you ! 
 What, shall v^'e be merry? shall we have a play 
 extempore ? 
 
 P. Hen. Content; — and the argument shall be 
 thy running away. [me. 
 Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 Host. My lord the prince, 
 
 P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess? what 
 say'st thou to me ? 
 
 Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the 
 court at door, would speak with you : he says he 
 comes froui your father. 
 
 P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a 
 roy;W man, and send him back again to my mother. 
 
 Fal. What manner of man is he ? 
 
 Host. An old man. 
 
 Fal. Wiiat doth gravity out of his bed at njid- 
 (aight ? — Sh;ill I give him his answer? 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do. Jack. 
 
 Fal 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Exit. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, sirs; by'r lady, you fought fair; 
 — so did you, Peto ; — so did you, Bardolph : you 
 %re lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will 
 dot touch the true prince ; no, fy ! 
 
 Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 
 
 P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest. How came Fal- 
 gtafFs sword so hacktd ? 
 
 Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; and 
 said, he would swear truth out of England, but he 
 would make you believe it was done in fight; and 
 persuaded us to do the like. 
 
 Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
 grass, to make them bleed ; and then to beslubber 
 our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood 
 » true men. I did that I did not this seven years 
 beffire, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack 
 eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, 
 and ever since thou hast blushed extempore: Thou 
 Had?it fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou 
 ran' tit away ; What iiistinct hadst thou for it? 
 
 Mard. My lord, do you see these meto^rs^ do 
 |?ou behoid these exhalations ? 
 
 Act n 
 P. Hen. 1 do. 
 
 Bard. What think you they portend ? 
 P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 
 Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
 P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. 
 
 Re-enter Fal staff. 
 Here comes lean Jack, here ^comes bs^is-booe 
 How now, my sweet creature of bombast ? How 
 long is't ago. Jack, since thou sawest thine own 
 knee ? 
 
 Fal. My own knee ? when I was about thy years. 
 Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I 
 could have cre})t into any alderman's thumb-ring: 
 A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up 
 like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad* 
 here was sir John Bracy from your father; you 
 must to the court in the morning. That same mad 
 fellow of the North, Percy; and he of Wales, that 
 gave Amaimon the bastinado, and made Lucifer 
 cuckold, and swore the devil Jws true liegeman 
 upon the cross of a Welsh hoof ^^Vhat, a plague, 
 call you him ? iu ' 
 
 Poins. O, Glendower. 
 
 Fal. Owen, Owen ; the same ; — and his son-in- 
 law, Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and 
 that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas^ that runs 
 o'horseback up a hill perpendicular. 
 
 P. Hen. He, that rides at high speed, and with 
 his pistol kills a sparrow flying. 
 
 Fal. You have hit it. 
 
 P. Hen. So did he never tlie sparrow. 
 
 Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in liim* 
 he will not run. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, tO 
 praise him so for running ? 
 
 Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo 1 but, afoot, he 
 will not budge a foot. 
 
 P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct 
 
 Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he ia 
 there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue- 
 caps more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; 
 thy father's beard is turned white with the news ; 
 you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack- 
 erel. 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot 
 June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy 
 maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hun- 
 dreds, 
 
 Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is 
 like, we shall have good trading that way.— But, 
 tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou 
 being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out 
 three such enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, 
 that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art 
 thou not horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill 
 at it ? [instinct. 
 
 P. Hen. Not a whit, i'faith ; I lack some of thy 
 
 Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-mor- 
 row, when thou conxest to thy father : if thou love 
 me, practise an answer. 
 
 P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and ex- 
 amine me upon the particulars of my life. 
 
 Fal. Shall I? content:— This chair shall be my 
 state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my 
 crown. 
 
 P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy 
 golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and <hy pre- 
 cious rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown! 
 
 Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite cut 
 of thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup 
 of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it majr be 
 thought I have wept; for J must speak in passion, 
 and I will do it in king Cambyses' vein. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 
 
 Fal. And here is my speech -—Stand aside, do> 
 bility. 
 
 Host This is excellent Kport, i'faith. 
 Fal Weep not, swee queen, ^^r trickling t 
 are vain. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
Scene 4, 
 
 KING HENRY IT. 
 
 33g 
 
 Host. 0, the father, how he holds his counte- 
 nauioe ! [queeu, 
 
 fal. For God's sake, lords, ronvej' my tristful 
 For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 
 
 Host. O rare I he doth it as like one of these 
 harlotry players, as I ever see. 
 
 FaL Peace, good pint-pot ; peaco, good tickle- 
 brain.— Harry, I do not only marvel where thou 
 speiidest thy time, but, also how thou art accom- 
 panied : for thongh the camonnle, the more it is 
 trodden on. the faster it grows, yet youth, the more 
 it is wajted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my 
 son, I have partly thy mother's word partly my own 
 opinion; but cliiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye, 
 and a foolish h^ini^ing of thy nether lip, that doth 
 warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies 
 the point: — Why, being son to me, art thou so 
 pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove 
 a micher, and eat blackberries ? a <iuestion not to be 
 asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and 
 take purses? a question to be asked. There is a 
 thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it 
 is known to many in our land by the name of [)itch : 
 this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; 
 so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now 
 I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not 
 in pleasure, but in passion ; not in words only, but 
 in woes also: — And yet there is a virtuous man, 
 whom I have often noted in thy company, but I 
 know not his name. 
 
 jP. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your 
 majesty ? 
 
 Pal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; 
 of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble 
 carnage ; and as I tliink, his age some fitty, or, by'r 
 lady, inclining to threescore ; and now I remember 
 me, his name is FalstafF: if that man sho!ild be 
 lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I_^see 
 virt-Lie in l-.is looks. If then the tree may be known by 
 the i'ruit, as tlie fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily 
 I speak it, then is virtue in that FalstafF: him keep 
 with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou 
 naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this 
 
 onth ? 
 
 P Hen. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do thou 
 Btund for me, and I'll play my father. 
 
 Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, 
 so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me 
 UD by tlie heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poulter's 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here I am set. [hare. 
 
 Fal. And here I stand : — judge, my masters. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, Harry! whence come you? 
 
 Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are griev- 
 ous. ^ 
 
 Fal. 'Shlood, my lord, they are false: — nay, I'll 
 tickle ye for a yotmg prince, i'faith. 
 
 P. Hen. Svvearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
 forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried 
 away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in 
 the likeness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy 
 companion. Why dost thou converse with that 
 trunk of humours, that bolti^;g-hutcii of beastliness, 
 that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of 
 / Back, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted 
 Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, tnat 
 reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, 
 tliat vanity in rears? Wherein is he good, but to 
 taste sack and drink it? w^ierein neat and cleanly, 
 l>ut to carve a capon and eat it? wiierein cuiming, 
 but in craft ? wherein crafty, but in villainy? where- 
 in villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, 
 but in nothing ? 
 
 Frt/. I would,, your grace would take me with 
 yon ; \\ hotn means your grace ? 
 
 P. Hen. That villa' inons abominable misleader of 
 youth, Falstaff, that ojd white-bearded Satan. 
 
 ral. My lord, the man I know. 
 
 P Hen I know, thou dost. 
 
 Fal. Hut to say, I know more harm in him than 
 
 in myself, were to siy more than I know. That be 
 is old, (the more the pity,) his white hairs do witueas 
 it: but that he is (saving your reverence,) a whoi-e- 
 master, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be 
 a fault, God help the wicked ! If to be old and 
 merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know, 
 IS damned : if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 
 lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ; ba- 
 nish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins : but for 
 sweet Jack Falsfafl", kind Jack Falstaflf, true Jack 
 FalstafF, valiant Jack FalstafF, and therefore more 
 valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaft", banish not 
 him thy Harry's company ; banish plump Jack, aud 
 banish all the world. 
 
 P. Hen. I do, I will. {A hnoching heard.) 
 
 [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph, 
 Re-enter Bardolph, running. 
 
 Bard. O, my lord, my lord ; the sherift', with a 
 most monstrous watch, is at the door. 
 
 Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I ha^e 
 much to say in the behalf of that Falstali". 
 
 Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord ! — 
 
 Fal. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a fiddle- 
 stick: What's the matter? 
 
 Host. The sherilF and all the watch are at the 
 door : they are come to search the house : Shall I let 
 them in ? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a true piece 
 of gold a counterfeit : thou art essentially mad, with- 
 out seeming so. [instinct. 
 
 P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without 
 
 Fal. 1 deny your major: if you will deny the 
 sheriff, so ; if not, let hiui enter : if 1 become not a 
 cart as well as another man, a plague on my bring- 
 ing up 1 I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a 
 halter, as another. /] , „ 
 
 P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras ;— the rtsi 
 walk u|> above. Now, my masters, fbi a true face, 
 and good conscience. 
 
 Fal. Both which I haA e had : but their date is out, 
 and therefore I'll hide me. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Prince and Point, 
 
 P. Hen. Call in the shenfi".— 
 
 Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
 Now, master sheriff; what's your will with me . 
 
 Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
 Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. 
 
 P. What men ? [lord: 
 
 Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious 
 A gross fat man. 
 
 Car. As fat as butter, 
 
 P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here; 
 For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
 And, sherifl', I will engage my word to thee 
 That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
 Sent! him to answer thee, or any man, 
 For any thing he shall be charg d withal. 
 And so let me entreat you leave the house. 
 
 Sher. I will, my lord: There are two gentlemen 
 Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 
 
 P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these 
 He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell. [men, 
 
 Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; is it not? 
 
 Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock 
 [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier, 
 
 P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as 
 Paul's. Go, call him forth. 
 
 Poins. FalstafF! fast asleep behind the arras 
 and snorting like a horse. 
 
 P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath :; 
 Search his pockets. {Poins searches.) What hast 
 thou fomid ? 
 
 Poins. Nothing but papers, njy lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Let's see what they be : read thera. 
 
 Poiiis. Item, a capon, 2s. 2d. 
 Item, Sauce, 4d. 
 
S34 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 ftein, Sack, (wo gallons, 5^. 8d. 
 
 item, Anchovies and sack after sapper, 2s. 6cl. 
 
 Item, Bread, a halfpenny. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth 
 ©f bread to this intolerable deal of sack : — What 
 there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more 
 advantage : there let him sleep till day. 111 to the 
 court in the morning: we must all to the A^ars, and 
 thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this 
 fat rogue a charge oi foot: and, I know, his death 
 will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall 
 be paid back again with advantage. Be with me 
 betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, 
 Poins. 
 
 Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt. 
 ACT III. 
 
 ScENfl I. — Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's 
 House. 
 
 Enter H0T8PUK, Worcester, Mortimer, and 
 Glendower. 
 
 Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
 And our induction, full of prosperous hope. 
 
 Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower, — 
 
 Will you sit down? 
 
 And, uncle Worcester: — A plague upon it! 
 I have forgot the map. 
 
 Glen. No, here it is. 
 
 Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur: 
 For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
 Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale ; and with 
 A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 
 
 Hot. And you in hell, as often as he bears 
 Owen Glendower sijoke of. 
 
 Ghnd. 1 cannot blame him: at my nativity. 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
 Of burning crescents ; and, at my birth, 
 Tlie frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shak'd like a coward. 
 
 Hot. Wliy, so it would have done 
 
 At the same season, if your mother's cat had 
 But kitten d, though yourself had ne'er been born. 
 
 Glend. I say, the earth did shake, when I was 
 born. 
 
 Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind. 
 If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 
 
 Glend. The heavens were all on tire, the earth did 
 tremble. [on fire. 
 
 Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens 
 And not in fear of your nativity. 
 Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange irruptions: oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vex'd 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
 Within her woir.b ; which for enlargement striving, 
 Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
 Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth. 
 Our grandam earth, having this distemperature. 
 In passion shook. 
 
 Glend, Cousin, of many men 
 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell you once again, — that at my birth. 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
 The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
 Were stransjely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
 These sigfjg have niaik'd me extraordinary; 
 A;«d all the courses of my life do show, 
 I cun not in the roll of common men. 
 Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea 
 Tbat chides the banks of England, Scotland, 
 Wales, — 
 
 Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? 
 And bring him out, that is but woman's son. 
 Can trace me in the tedious ways of art. 
 And hold me pace in deep experiments. 
 
 Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better 
 
 Welsh : 
 
 1 VJill to dinner. [mad. 
 
 Mort. Pe»ce, cousin Percy ; you will make him 
 
 Glend. I can call spA<* fix^m the vasty t^fepi | 
 
 Hot. Why, so can I: <sx so can any man : \ 
 But v/ill they come, when v«.'ii do call for them.'' 
 
 Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to coin 
 The devil. [mnnd 
 
 Hot. And T can teach thee, coz, to shame tha 
 devil. 
 
 By telling truth ; Tell truth and shatne the devil. — | 
 If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
 And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him 
 hence. 
 
 0, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil.— 
 
 Mort. Come, come, 
 No more of this unpr()fita})le chat. 
 
 Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke 
 made head 
 
 Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wye, 
 And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him. 
 Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. [tfij ! 
 
 Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather 
 How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ? 
 
 Glend. Come, here's the map ; Shall we divifil© 
 our righi. 
 
 According to onr three-fold order ta'en ? 
 
 Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
 Into three limits, very equally : 
 England, from Trent and Severn hitherto. 
 By south and east, is to my part assign'd : 
 All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore. 
 And all the fertile land within that bound. 
 To Owen Glendower :— and, dear coz, to yo?|^ 
 I'he remnant northward, lying oil' from Trent. 
 And our indentures tripartite are drawn : 
 Which being sealed interchangeably, 
 (A business that this night may execute,) 
 To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
 And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth. 
 To meet your father, and the Scottish power. 
 As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
 My father Glendower is not ready yet, 
 Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days :— 
 Within that space, (to Glend.J you may have drawJl 
 together. 
 
 Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. 
 
 Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lordS; 
 And in my conduct shall your ladies come : 
 From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; 
 For there will be a world of vvp.ter shed. 
 Upon the parting of your wives and you. [here. 
 
 Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton 
 In quantity equals not one of yours . 
 See, how this river comes me cranking in. 
 And cuts me, from the best of all niy land, 
 A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle out. 
 I'll have the current in this place damm'd up: 
 And here the smug and silver Trent shall run. 
 In a new channel, fair and evenly. 
 It shall not wind with such a deep indent. 
 To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 
 
 Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you seeii 
 
 M&rt. Yea, [doth 
 But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up 
 With like advantage on the other side ; 
 Gelding the opposed continent as much. 
 As on the other side it takes from you, [here 
 
 Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him 
 And on this north side win this cape of land ; 
 And then he runs straight and even. 
 
 Hot. I'll have it so,; a little charge will do it. 
 
 Glend. I will not have it alter'd. 
 
 Hot. ' Will not you . 
 
 Glend. No, nor you shall not. 
 
 Hot. Who shall say me nay ? 
 
 Glend. Why, that will 1. 
 
 Hot. Let me not understand you then 
 
 Speak it in Welsh. 
 
 Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as yM; 
 For I was train'd up in the English court : 
 Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
 Many an English ditty, lovely well. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY lY. 
 
 33d 
 
 And gave the tongue a helpful oniarneot ; 
 A virtue, that was never seen in you. 
 
 Hot. Marry ; and I'm glad of it with all my heart ; 
 1 had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew. 
 Than one of these sam"^ metre ballad-mongers; 
 I had rather hear a brazen canstick. tnrn'd, 
 Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; 
 And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
 Nothing so much as mincing poetry; 
 Tis like the forj'd gait of a shufiling nag. 
 
 Glend. Corje, you shall have Trent turn'd. 
 
 Hot. I dy not care : I'll give thrice as much land 
 To any we' ( deserving friend ; 
 But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
 I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
 Are the indentures drawn ? sliall we be gone ? 
 
 GUnd. The moon shiiies fair, you may away by 
 IT. haste the writer, and, withal, [night : 
 
 Break with your wives of your departure hence : 
 I am afraid, my daughter will run mad. 
 So much she doateth on her Mortimer. [Exit. 
 
 Mori. Fy, cousin Percy ! how you cross my father ! 
 
 Hot. I cannot choose • sometimes he angers me, 
 V\ ith telling me of the moldwarp and the ant. 
 Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies; 
 •And of .1 dragon and a finless fish, 
 A clip-wing'd grilfin, and a moulten raven, 
 A couching lion, and a ramping cat. 
 Arid such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
 As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, — 
 He held me but last night, at least nine hours, 
 In reckoning up the several devils' nau)es, 
 riiat were his lackeys : I cried, humph, — and, v^ell, 
 —go to,— 
 
 But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious 
 As a tired horse, a railing wife; 
 Worse thin a smoky house : — I had rather live 
 With cheese and garlic, in a windmill, far. 
 Than i'eed on cates, and have him talk to me. 
 In Rny summer-house in Christendom. 
 
 Mart. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman ; 
 Exceedingly well read, and profited 
 in strange concealments; valiant as a lion, 
 And wond'rous afi'able ; and as bountiful 
 As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin ? 
 He holds your temper in a high respect. 
 And curbs himselfeven of his natural scope. 
 When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does: 
 1 warrant you, that man is not alive, 
 Might so have tempted him as you have done. 
 Without the taste of danger or reproof; 
 And do not use it oft, let me entreat yon. 
 
 Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame ; 
 And since your coming hither have done enough 
 Fo put hiui quite beside his patience. 
 You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault : 
 Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, 
 blood, 
 
 (And that's the dearest grace it renders you,) 
 Yet ottentimes it doth present harsh rage. 
 Defect of manners, want of government, 
 Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain : 
 The least oi' which, haunting a nobleman, 
 Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a stain 
 Upon the beauty of all parts besides. 
 Beguiling theni of connuendation. [speed! 
 
 Hot. W'eil, I am school'd ; gocd nianners be your 
 Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. 
 
 Re enter Glendower, witA the Ladies. 
 Mori. This is the deadly spite that angers me, — 
 My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 
 
 Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part 
 witii you. 
 
 She'll be a soldier too. she'll to the wars. 
 
 Atort. Udod fallu r, tell her, — that she, and my 
 aunt Ft rry. 
 FhaW follow in your condiirt speedily. 
 
 (Giendowi'r ajM'aks lo liis dnmjhter in Welsh, 
 and she an.sivers him in the same.) 
 
 Glend. She's desperate here : a peevish se!f- 
 will'd harlotry, 
 One no persuasion can do good upon. 
 
 (Lady M. speaks to Mort. tn W^lsk.J 
 
 Mart. I understand thy looks : that pretty Welsh 
 Which thou pourest down from these swcliiii hea- 
 I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, [yen 
 In such a parley would I answer thee. 
 
 (Lady M. speuks.j 
 I understand thy kisses, and thou mine 
 And that's a feeling disputation . 
 But I will never be a truant, love. 
 Till I have learn'd thy language ; for thy tongue 
 Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penu'd. 
 Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bowf.i . 
 With ravishing division to her lute. 
 
 Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 
 
 (Lady M. speaks again.) 
 
 Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this 
 
 Glend. She bids you. 
 Upon the wanton rushes lay you down. 
 And rest your gentle head upon her lap, 
 And she will sing the song tliat pleaseth yon. 
 And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep. 
 Charming your b!ood with |)leasing heaviness ; 
 Making such difierence 'twixt w^ke and sleep 
 As is the difference betwixt day and night, 
 The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
 Begins his golden progress in the east. [sing: 
 
 Mort. With all my heart I'il sit, and heaar her 
 By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 
 
 Glend. Do so ; 
 And those musicians, that shall play to yo , 
 Hang in the air a thousand leagues from lieLct ; 
 Yet straight they shall be here : .sit, and attend. 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down 
 Co.ne, quick, quick ; that I may lay my head in 
 
 Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. [thy lap, 
 
 (Glendoiver speaks some Welsh words, and then 
 the music plays.) 
 
 Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands 
 Welsh; 
 
 And 'tis no marvel, he's so humourous. 
 By'r lady, he's a good musician. 
 
 Lady P. Then should you be nothing but musi- 
 cal : for you are altogether governed by humours 
 Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. 
 
 Hot. 1 had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in 
 Irish, 
 
 Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head brokeo: 
 Hot. No 
 
 Lady P. Then be still. 
 
 Hot. Neither ; 'tis a woman's fault. 
 
 Lady P. Now God help thee ! 
 
 Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 
 
 Lady P. What's that? 
 
 Hot. Peace ! she sings. 
 
 (A Welsh Song, sung hy Lad} M.) 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. 
 
 Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 
 
 Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! 'Heart, you swear 
 like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth 
 and, As true as I live; and, As God shall mer J 
 me ; and, As sure as day : 
 And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, 
 As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury,' 
 Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, 
 A good mouth-filling oath; and leave iu sooth. 
 And such protest of pep[)er-gingerl)read, 
 I'o velvet guards, and Sunday-citizens. 
 Come, sing. 
 
 Lady P. I will not sing. 
 
 Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
 breast teacher. An the indentures l^e drawn. Hi 
 away within these two hours; and so ;ome in v\;hen 
 you will. [Exit.] [slow 
 
 Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are a4 
 As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. 
 
336 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act in. 
 
 By this our book's drawn ; we'll but seal, and then 
 To horse immediately. 
 
 Mori. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScKNE II. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. 
 
 K. Hen. Lords, give us leave ; the Prinoe of 
 Wales and I, 
 Must have some conference : But be near at hand. 
 For we shall presently have need of you. — 
 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 I know not whether God will have it so. 
 For some displeasing service I have done. 
 That in his secret doom, out of my blood 
 Ke'il breed revengement and a scourge for me ; 
 But thou dost, in thy passages of life, 
 Make me believe,— that thou art only mark'd 
 For the hot \ engeance and the rod of heaven, 
 To jujnish my mis-treadings. Tell me else, 
 Coutd such inordinate, and low desires, 
 Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean at- 
 tempts, 
 
 Sucli barren pleasures, rude society. 
 As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to. 
 Accompany the greatness of thy blood. 
 And hold their level with thy princely heart? 
 
 P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could 
 Quit all offences with as clear exctise. 
 As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
 Myself of many I am charg'd withal : 
 Yet such extenuation let me beg. 
 As, in leproof of many tales devis'd, — 
 Which oft tlie ear of greatness needs niust hear, — 
 I{y smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, 
 I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
 Hath faulty wander'd and irregular. 
 Find purdon on my true submission. [Harry, 
 K. Hen. God pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder. 
 At tl y adections, which do hold a wing 
 Quito: Irom the flight of all thy ancestors. 
 I'hy i>P.ace in council thou hast rudely lost, 
 Which by thy younger brother is supplied: 
 And art almost an alien to the hearts 
 Of all ihe court and princes of my blood: 
 The hop(> and expectation of thy time 
 Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
 Propliei'ically does lore-think, thy fall. 
 Harl I 30 lavish of my presence been. 
 So comiuon-hackney'd in the eyes of men 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company; 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
 Had still kept loyal to possession ; 
 And left me in reputeless banishment, 
 A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
 By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
 But, like a comet, 1 was wonder'd at : 
 Thai meij would tell their children, This is he; 
 Others v\ould say, — TV here? ffhich is Boling- 
 Aud then I stole all courtesy from heaven, [broke / 
 And dres#'d myself in such tuuniiity, 
 That 1 did pluck allegiance from men"s hearts, 
 Loud shouts and salutations IVom their mouths, 
 EveEi in the presence of the crowned king. 
 Thusi did I keep my person fresh, and new; 
 My j)reseuce, like a robe pontifical, 
 Ne'tr seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state, 
 Bei(l)m, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; 
 And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
 The skipping king, he ambled up and d(nvn 
 With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits. 
 Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : carded his state ; 
 Min^ led his royalty with capering fools ; 
 liiA his great name profaned with their scorns ; 
 And gave his countenance, against his name. 
 To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 
 Of every beardless vain comparative : 
 Urew a companion to the common streets, 
 Enfe ttJF'd himself to popularity : 
 hal being daily shallow'd by men's eyes, 
 
 They surfeited with honey ; and began 
 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness, wliereof a ' 
 
 More than a little is by much too much 
 
 So, wherj he had occasion to be seen. 
 
 Hp was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
 
 Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyea^ 
 
 As, sick and blunted with community. 
 
 Afford no extraordinary gaze 
 
 Such as is bent on sun-like majesty. 
 
 When it shines seldom in admiring eyes : 
 
 But rather drowzVl, and hung their eye-lids doiV]^ 
 
 Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect 
 
 As cloudy men use to their adversaries ; 
 
 Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and fall. 
 
 And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou ; 
 
 For thou hast lost thy princely privilege. 
 
 With vile participation ; not an eye 
 
 But is a-weary of thy common sight. 
 
 Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more ; 
 
 Which now doth that I would not have it do. 
 
 Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracioa» 
 Be more myself. [lord, 
 
 K. Hen. For all the world. 
 
 As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
 When 1 from France set foot at Ravenspurg; 
 And even as I was then is Percy now. 
 Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot. 
 He hath more worthy interest to the state, 
 Than thou, the shadow of succession : 
 For, of no right, nor colour like to right, 
 fie doth fill fields with hfirness in the realm ; 
 Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ; 
 And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 
 Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on. 
 To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
 Wliat never-dying honour hath he got 
 Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds 
 Whose hot incursions, and great name in arras 
 Holds from all soldiers chief majority. 
 And military title capital. 
 
 Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ? 
 
 Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothee. 
 
 This infant warrior, in his enterprises 
 
 Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once. 
 
 Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, 
 
 To fill the mouth of deep defiance up. 
 
 And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
 
 And whut say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland, 
 
 The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Morti- 
 
 Capitulate against us, and aie up. [mer. 
 
 But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? 
 
 Wliy, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. 
 
 Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 
 
 Tliou that art like euo"gh, — through vassal fear. 
 
 Base inclination, and the start of spleen, 
 
 To fif^ht against tne under Percy's pay. 
 
 To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. 
 
 To sliow how much degenerate thou art, 
 
 M. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so 
 Ami God forgive them that have so much sway'd 
 Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! 
 I will redeem all this on Percy's head. 
 And, in the closing of some glorious day^ • 
 Be bold to tell you, that I auj your son; 
 When I will wear a garment ail of blood 
 And stain my favours in a bloody mask. 
 Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it 
 And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights 
 That this same child of honour and renown, 
 This gallant Hotspur, this all praised knight. 
 And your unthoiight of Harry, chance to meet: 
 For every honour sitting on his helm, 
 'Would they were nuiltitudes ; and on my head 
 Mv sliames redoubled! for the time will come, 
 That I shall make this northern youth exchawge 
 His j' lorious deeds for my indignities. 
 Percy is but my factor, good my lord, 
 'J'o engross up glorious deeds on my belialf ; ^ 
 And I will call him to so strict account. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 That lie shall render every glory np, 
 Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 
 Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
 This. ID the name of God, I promise liere : 
 The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, 
 I do beseech your majesty, may salve 
 The long-grown wounds of my intemperance : 
 If not, the end of life cancels ail bands ; 
 And I will die a hundred thousand deaths. 
 Ere break the sm^dlest parcel of this vow. 
 
 K, Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this :— 
 Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust herein. 
 
 E?iter 1]lunt. 
 How now, good IJlunt? thy looks are full of speed. 
 
 Blunt, iio hath the business that I come to speak of. 
 Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, — 
 That Douglas, and the English rebels, met, 
 The eleventh of this mon(h, at Shrewsbury 
 A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
 If promises be kept on every hand, 
 As ever olfer'd foul play in a state. [day; 
 
 K. Hen. The earl oi' Westmoreland set forth to- 
 With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; 
 For this advertisement is five days old : — 
 On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set 
 Forward ; on Tliursday, we ourselves will march : 
 Our meeting is Bridgnorth : and, Harry, you 
 Shall march through Glostershire ; by which ac- 
 count, 
 
 Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
 Our general forces at Biidgnorlh shall meet. 
 Our hands are full ol' business ; let's away; 
 Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt. 
 Scene Ul.—Eastcheap. A Boom m the Boars 
 Head Tavern. 
 Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
 th[s last action ? do I not bate ? do I not dwindle ? 
 Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's 
 loose gown ; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. 
 Well Ml repent, and that suddenly, while I am in 
 some Jiking ; 1 shall be out of heart shortly, and 
 then I shall have no strength to repent. An 1 have 
 not fb_ gotten what the inside of a church is made 
 of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse : the inside 
 of a church! Company, villainous company, hath 
 been the spoil of me. [live long. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot 
 
 Fal. Why, there is it:— come, sing me a bawdy 
 soot; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, 
 as a gentleman need to be ; virtuous enough; swore 
 little; diced not above seven times a week: went 
 to a bawdy house, not above once in a quarter— of 
 an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four 
 times; lived xjt'ell, and in good compass: and now 
 i live out of all order, out of all compass. 
 
 Bard. Why, you are so iat, sir John, that you 
 must needs be out of all compass : out of all rea- 
 sonable compass, sir John. 
 
 amend thy face, and I'll amend 
 my lite: J hou art our admiral, thou bearest the 
 lantern in the poop,— but 'tis in the nose of thee • 
 thou art the knight of the burning lamp. 
 
 Bard. W\\Y, sir John, my face does you no harm. 
 ^ l^al. No, I'll be sworn : I make as good use of 
 \i as many a man doth of a death's-head, or a 
 memento fnon: I never see thy face, but 1 think 
 on hell-fire and Dives that lived in purple; for 
 there he is in his robes, burning., burning.' If 
 [hou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear 
 by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but 
 Ihou yrf. altogether given over; and wert indeed, 
 but lor u.c light in thv f^ce, the sou of utter dark- 
 ness. When tliou ran'st up Oads-hill in the night 
 to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst 
 been an lynis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's 
 no f>urchase ui money. O, (hou tirt a perpetual 
 tnuinph. an everlasting b :)nfire-lighS ! Thou hast 
 
 saved me a thousand marks in links and torches 
 walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and 
 tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me. 
 would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the 
 dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained 
 that salamander of yours with fire, any time this 
 two ami thi^rty years; Heaven reward me for it! 
 
 Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your 
 ^"^h] ,^ , [heart-burned. 
 
 I'al. Uod-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to b« 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 How now, dame Partlet the hen ? have you inquirej 
 yet, who picked my pocket ? 
 
 Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir 
 John i Do you think I keep thieves in my house ? 
 1 have searched, I have inquired, so has' my hus- 
 band, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: 
 the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house 
 before. 
 
 Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardoph was shaved, and 
 lost inany a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was 
 picked : Go to, you are woman, go. 
 
 Host. Who I ? I defy thee : I was never called 
 so in mine own house before. 
 
 Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 
 
 Host No, sir John; you do not know me, sir 
 John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, 
 Jo.in, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me 
 , i'""Sl>t you a dozen of shirts to your back. 
 
 Pal. Dowlas, filthy uowlas: I have given them 
 away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters 
 of them. 
 
 ^«sf Now, as I am a true woman, holland o« 
 eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, 
 sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and mo- 
 ney lent you, four and twenty pound. 
 
 Fal. He had his part of it : let him pay. 
 
 Host. He ? alas, he is poor ; he hath notliing. 
 
 Pal. How ! poor? look upon his face ; What call 
 you rich let them coin his nose, let them coin 
 his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What will yoc 
 make a younker of me? shall I not take min« ease ' 
 in mine inn, but 1 shall have my nocket picked ? 
 I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth 
 forty mark. 
 
 Host. O Jesu ! I have heard the prince tell hira, 
 1 know not how oft, that that ring was copper. 
 
 Fal How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; 
 and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, 
 if he would say so 
 
 Enter Prince Henry and PoiNs, marching. Fal- 
 staff meets the Prince^ playing on his trun - 
 cheon like a Jife. 
 
 Fal How now, lad ? i,s the wind in that door 
 I'faith ? must we all march? 
 
 Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. 
 
 Host. My \o\ di, I pray you, hear me. 
 
 P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly ? 
 How does thy husband ? I love him well, he is an 
 honest man. 
 
 Host. Good my lord, hear me. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. 
 
 P. Hen. Whatsay'st thou, Jack? 
 
 Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the 
 arras, and had my pocket picked : tliis house is turned 
 bawdy-house, they pick pockets, 
 
 P. Hen^ Whrt-t didst thou lose, Jack ? 
 
 Fal. W\\t thou believe me, Hal ? three cr foui 
 bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my 
 grandfather's. 
 
 P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 
 
 Host. So I told I'im, my lord ; and I said, I heard 
 yoiir grace say so : And, my lord, he speaks most 
 vilely of you, like a foui-mouthed man as he is; and 
 said, he would cudgel you. 
 
 P. Hen. What! he did not? 
 
 Hoit. 'I'here's neither faith, truth, nor woniaQhood 
 lu me f'lse. 
 
 22 
 
538 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act IY. 
 
 Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a 
 slewed prune ; nor no more truth in thee, than m a 
 rdrawr. fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may 
 be (he deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you 
 thing, ^0. 
 
 Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 
 
 Fal. What thing? why, a thing tr thanV God on. 
 
 Host. 1 am no thkig to thank God on I would 
 thou should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife : 
 Rnd, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave 
 to call me so. , , . , x, 
 
 Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a 
 beast to say otherwise. 
 
 Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? 
 
 Fal. What beast ? why an otter. 
 
 P. Hi 1. An otter, sir John? why an otter? 
 
 Fal. ^^'hy? she's neither fish, nor flesh; a man 
 knows not where to have lier. 
 
 Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so ; thou 
 or any man knows where to have me, thou knave 
 thou ! T , 1 
 
 P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slan- 
 ders thee most grossly. .J ,. 
 
 Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this 
 otfier (h\y, yon ought him a thousand pound. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a tiiousand pound ? 
 
 Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million : thy love 
 is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. 
 
 Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and 
 Bairl. he would cud^'^i vou, 
 
 Fal. Did I. Bardalph? 
 
 Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 
 
 Fal. Yea : if lie said my ring was copper. 
 
 P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper : Darest thou be as good 
 as thy woi d now ? 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but 
 man, I dare ; but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as 
 I fV-ar the roaring of the lion's whelp. 
 
 P. Hen. And why not, as the lion ? 
 
 Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the 
 lion : Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy 
 father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break! 
 
 P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
 about tlrjr knees ! But, sirrah, there's no room Ibr 
 faith, tr-.ith, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine ,; 
 it is filled up with guts, and midriti'. Charge m 
 honest woman with picking thy uocket ! Why, 
 thou whoresr.n. impudent, embossed rascal, if there 
 were any tiling in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, 
 ine-moiandums of bawdy -houses, and one poor penny- 
 wort!', of sugar-candy to make thee long wind' d; if 
 thy porket were enriched with any other injuries 
 but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand 
 to it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not 
 ashamed ? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the 
 state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should 
 poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? thou 
 seesf.. I have more flesh than another man; and 
 
 therf^fore more frailty. 'You confess then, you 
 
 picked my pocket? 
 
 P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 
 
 Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : Go, make ready 
 breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
 cherish thy guests : thou shalt find me tractable to 
 any honest reason : thou seest, I am f)acified. — Still? 
 — Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, 
 lial, to the news at court : for the robbery, lad, — 
 How is that answered? 
 
 P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
 atiTel to thee : — The money is paid back again. 
 
 Fal. O, T d > not like that paying back, 'tis a 
 d(uible labour. 
 
 P Hi'.n. I am good friends with my father, and 
 niav do any thing. 
 
 PuL lloh me the exchequer the first thing thou 
 iocst, and do it with uf^washed hands too. 
 
 Bard. Do, my lord. [foot. 
 
 P. Hen. I lia''e procured thee. Jack, a charge of 
 
 fai. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall 
 
 I find one that can steal well ? O for a fine thwf. of 
 the age of two ami twenty, or thereabouts! I *in 
 heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for 
 these rebels, they oflfend none but the virtuous J 
 laud them, I praise them. 
 
 P. Hen. Bardolph— 
 
 Bard. My lord V 
 
 P. Hen. i>ear this letter to lord John <^f Lan 
 caster, [land.— 
 My brothe. John; this to my lord of Westinor*- 
 Go, Poins, to horse, to nurse; for thoj, and I, 
 
 Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. 
 
 Jack, 
 
 Meet me to-morrow i' the Temple-hall 
 
 At two o'clock i'the afternoon : 
 
 There shalt thou know thy charge ; and there receiv* 
 
 Money, and order for their furniture. 
 
 The land is burning; Percy stands on high; 
 
 And either they, or we, must lower lie. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph, 
 
 Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my 
 
 breakfast; come: — , 
 O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Exti. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I.— The rebel Ca?np near Shrewsbury. 
 Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 
 
 Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : If speaking truth 
 In this fine age, were not thought flattery. 
 Such attribution should the Douglas have. 
 As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
 Should go so general current through the world. 
 By heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy 
 'i'iie tongues of soothers; but a braver place 
 In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: 
 Nay, task me to the word; approve rne, lord. 
 
 Duuy. Thou art the king of honour : 
 No man so potent breathes upon the ground, 
 But I will beard him. 
 
 Hot. Do so, and 'tis wtil :-~ 
 
 Enter a Messenger, wiih letters. 
 What letters hast thou there ?— I can hut thank yoa. 
 Mess. Ttiese letters come from your father, — ^ 
 Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not him- 
 self? 
 
 Mess. He cannot come, niy lord; he's grievoos 
 sick. 
 
 Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick. 
 In such a justling time? Who leads his power? 
 Under whose government come they along? 
 
 Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 
 
 Hot. 1 pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? 
 
 Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; 
 And at the time of my dej>arture thence, 
 He was much fear'd by his physicians. 
 
 Wor. I would, the state of time had first been 
 whole, 
 
 Ere he by sickness had been visited; 
 
 His health was never better worth than now. 
 
 Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth 
 The very life-blood of our enterprise; [iufedt 
 '1 is catching hither, even to our camp.-- 
 He writes me here, — that inward sickness — 
 And that his friends by deputation could not 
 So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet. 
 To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
 On any soul remov'd . but on his own. 
 Yet doth he giv.-^ us >old advertisement,— 
 That with our suiall cnj unction, we should OD, 
 To see how fortune is dispos'd to us : 
 For, as he writes, there is no quailing now; 
 Because the king is certainly possess'd 
 Of all our purposes. What say you to it ? 
 Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to n& 
 Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: 
 And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want 
 Seems more than we shall find it : — Were it gOM| 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY lY. 
 
 n set the exart wealth of all our states 
 All at one cast? to set so rich a main 
 On the nice hazard of one doublfui hour? 
 It were not good : for therein should we read 
 l^he very bo'.tom and the soid of hope ; 
 The very list;, the very utmost bound 
 Of all our fortunes. 
 
 Doug. 'Faith, and so we should ; 
 
 Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
 We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
 fs to come in : 
 
 A comfort of retirement lives in this. 
 
 Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, 
 f that the devil and mischance look big 
 Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 
 
 Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here, 
 f he quality and hair of our attempt 
 Brooks no division : It will be thought 
 By some, that know not why he is away, 
 1'hat wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
 Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence; 
 And tliink, how such an apprehension 
 May turn the tide of fearful faction, 
 And breed a kind of question in oiir cause : 
 For, well you kno»v, we of the offering side 
 Must keep aloof froni strict arbitrernent ; 
 And stop all sight holes, every loop, from whence 
 The eye of reason may pry in upon us : 
 This absence of your tather s draws a curtain. 
 That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
 Before not dreamt of 
 
 Hot You strain too far. 
 
 I, rather, of his absence make this use; — 
 It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, 
 A larger dare to our gre it enterprise, 
 Than if I he earl were here : f or men must think, 
 if wc, without his help, can make a head 
 To push against the kingdom ; with his help. 
 We shall o'erturn it topsy turvy down. — 
 Vet all goes well, yet all onr joints are whole. 
 
 Dou(j. As heart can think : there is not such a 
 word 
 
 Spok e of in Scotland, as this term of fear. 
 
 Elder Sir Richard Vernon. 
 Hot. My cousin Vernou ! welcome, by my soul. 
 Yer. Frav God, n\y news be worth a welcome, 
 
 lord.^ 
 
 The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, 
 Is inarching hitherv\ ards ; v/ith him, prince John. 
 
 Hot. No haruj : What more? 
 
 Vtr. And further, I have learn'd, — 
 
 The king himself in person is set forth. 
 Or iiitherwards intended speedily, 
 vVith strong ;uid mighty preparation. 
 
 Hot. He shali be welcome too. Where is his son 
 'I'lie niiiihle ftoted mad cap prince of Wales, 
 And his comrades, that daff d the world aside. 
 And bid it pass? 
 
 Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms. 
 
 All plnm'd like estridges that wing the wind; 
 Batf'd like eagles having lately bath'd ; 
 Glitte inj; in golden coats, like images; 
 As fu" ol'spii it as tlie month of May, 
 And f'orgeoii;? as the sim at midsummer; 
 VVaftton as youthful goats, wild as yoring bulls. 
 
 w young Mat ry, — with his bea\ er on. 
 His < uiiies on his thighs, gJtllantly arm'd,— 
 Kise I'rom the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
 And aulte(» .vith such ease into liis seat, 
 As if fin angel dropp'd down from the clouds. 
 To li rn and witid a fiery Pegasus, 
 And jvitch the world with noble horsemanship. 
 
 Ht t. No more, no more ; worse than the sun in 
 M;Mch, 
 
 This praise doth nourish agues. Let Ihein come; 
 The-;; come like sacrifices in their trim. 
 Am' to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war, 
 AMlxit, and bleeding, will we offer tliemr 
 I Ibe (UHiied Mars shall on his altar sit, 
 
 Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire 
 
 To hear this rich reprisal is so nigli, 
 
 And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my hone^ 
 
 Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt. 
 
 Against the bosom of the prince of Wales ; 
 
 Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse. 
 
 Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a caraci 
 
 O, that Glendower were come ! 
 
 Ver. There is more nowf » 
 
 I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, 
 He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
 
 Doug. Thats the worst tidings that I hear of yet 
 
 Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sounii. 
 
 Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto? 
 
 Ver. To thirty thousand. 
 
 Hot. Forty let it be ; 
 
 My father and Glendower being both away. 
 The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
 Come, let us make a muster speedily : 
 Doomsday is near ; die all, die merrily. 
 
 Doug. Talk not of dying : I am out of fear 
 Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene TI. — A public Road near Coventry. 
 Enter Falstafp and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry ; fill me 
 a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through 
 we'll to Sutton Colfield to-night. 
 
 Bard. Will you give me money, captain? 
 
 Fal. Lay out, lay out. 
 
 Bard. 'V\\\s bottle makes an angel. 
 
 Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it 
 make twenty, take them all, I II answer (I'l3 coin- 
 age. Bid my lieutenant Peto nieet me at the town' 
 end. 
 
 Bard. 1 will, captain : farewell. ^Exit 
 Fal. If 1 be not ashamed of my soldiers, 1 ana 
 a soused gurnet. I have misused the king's press 
 (laninably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and 
 fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I 
 press me none but good householders, ye<imerf 
 sons : inquire me out contracted bachelors, such 
 had been asked twice on the bans; sui;h a coriimo 
 dity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil q 
 a drum ; such as fear the report of a caliver, wora 
 than a struck ftvvl, or a hurt wild-duck. I presse 
 me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts i 
 their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and the 
 have bought out their services; and now my whol 
 cliarge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenant 
 l^entlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Laza 
 rus in the painted cloth, whete tlie glutton's dog 
 licked his sores and such as, indeed, were never 
 soldiers; but discarded unj:ist ser\ ing-uien, youngei 
 sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and 
 osders trade fallen ; the cankers of a calm world, and 
 a long peace ; ten times more dishonourable ragged 
 than an old-fai ed ancient: and such have I, to fiil up 
 the rooms of them that have bought out their ser- 
 vices, that you would think, that 1 had a hund.ed 
 and fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from swine 
 keeping, from eating diaffand husks. A mad fellow 
 met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded 
 all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No 
 eve iiath seen such scare-crows. 1 11 not march 
 through Coventry with them, that's flat : Nay, and 
 the vdlains march wide betwixt the legs as if* they 
 had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the m./at of the m 
 out of' prison. There's but a shiit ar?d a half in a| 
 my company ; and the half shirt is two napkins, 
 tacked together, and thrown over the shoulders, like 
 a herald's coat without sleeves ; and the shirt, to say 
 tlie truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or 
 tlie red-nose innkeeper of Daintry. But that's all 
 ',>ne ; they'll find linen enough on every hedge. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry awe? Westmoreland. 
 
 P. Hen. How now. blown Jack ? how now quilt 1 
 
FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act rV". 
 
 Fal. What, Hall ? How now, mad wag ! what a 
 de\ il dost thou in Warwickshire ? — My good lord of 
 Westmoreland, I cry you mercy ; I thought your 
 honour liad ah-eady been at Shrewsbury. 
 
 West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I 
 wt-re there, and you too; but my powers are there 
 ah eady : The \Cn\^, I can tell you, looks for us all ; 
 we must avvay all night. 
 
 Fal. Tut, never fear me : I am as vigilant as a 
 cnl to steal cream. 
 
 P. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed ; for thy 
 theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me, 
 Jack ; whose fellows are these that come after? 
 
 Fal. Mine, Hal. mine. 
 
 P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 
 
 Fal. 'J'ut, tut ; good enough to toss; food for 
 powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well 
 as better, tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 
 
 West. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are ex- 
 ceeding poor and bare ; too beggarly. 
 
 Fal. Faith, lor their poverty, — I know not where 
 they iiad that : and fur their bareness, — I am sure, 
 they npver learned that of me. 
 
 P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn : unless you call three 
 fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste : 
 Percy is already in tiie field, 
 
 Fal. What, is the king encamped? 
 
 TVest. He is, sir John ; I fear, we shall stay too 
 
 Fal. Well, (long. 
 To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a 
 feast, 
 
 Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 
 Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, aiid 
 
 Vernon. 
 Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 
 fVor. It may not be. 
 
 Doucj. You give bin) then advantage. 
 Ver. Not a wit. 
 
 Hot. Why say you so ? louks he not for supply ? 
 Ver. So do we. 
 
 Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 
 
 Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd: stir not to-night. 
 Yer. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Dou(j. You do not counsel well ; 
 
 You sueak it out of fear, and cold lieart. 
 
 Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life, 
 (And I dare well maintain it with ujy life,) 
 It" weli-respected honour bid me on. 
 \ hold as little counsel with weak fear. 
 As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives : 
 Let it be seen to-morrow in tiie battle, 
 Wiiich ol' us fears. 
 
 Douy. Yea, or to-night, 
 
 Ver. Content. 
 
 Hot. To-night, say I. 
 
 Ver. Come, come, it may not be. 
 
 J wonder much, being men of such great blading, 
 Thtt you Ibrsee not what impediments 
 Drag back our expedition : Cet'tain horse 
 Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: 
 Your uncle VVorcester's horse came but to day: 
 And now tluir pride and mettle is asleep, 
 7^heir courage vvitii hard labour tame and dull, 
 ¥hni not a liorse is half the half himself. 
 
 Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
 In general, journey-bated, and brougtit low; 
 The better part of ours is full of rest. 
 
 Wor. Tiie number of the king exceedeth ours : 
 For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 
 
 {The trumpet sounds a. parley.) 
 
 Enter Sir Walter Blunt. 
 
 Blunt. 1 cojiie with gracious offers from the king, 
 If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect. 
 
 iiot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would to 
 You were of our fletermination ! [God, 
 Some of us love you well; and even those some 
 
 Envy your great deserving, and good Dain6 ; 
 Because you are not of our quality. 
 But stand against us like an enemy. 
 
 Blunt. And God defend, but still I should etaod so 
 So long as, out of limit, and true rule, 
 You stand against anointed majesty! 
 But to my charge. — The king hath sent to know 
 The nature of' your griefs ; and whereupon 
 You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
 Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
 Audacious cruelty: If that the king 
 Have any way your good deserts forgot, — 
 Which he confesseth to be manifold, — 
 He bids you name your griefs ; and, with all speed. 
 You shall have your desires, with interest; 
 And pardon absolute for yourself and these, 
 Herein misled by your suggestion. 
 
 Hot.The. king is kind ; and, well we know, the king 
 Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
 My father, and my uncle, and myself, 
 Did give him that same royalty he wears : 
 And, — when he was not six and twenty strong. 
 Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
 A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, — 
 My father gave him welcome to the shore 
 And, — when he heard him swear, and vow to Ood, 
 He came but to be duke of Lancaster, 
 To sue his livery, and beg his f)eace ; 
 With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal,— 
 My fatlier, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
 Swore him assistance, and pertbrm'd it too. 
 Now, when the lords and barons of the realm 
 Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, 
 'i'he more and less came in with cap and knee; 
 Met him in boroughs, cities, villages ; 
 Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 
 Laid gif ts before him, prolFer'd him their oaths. 
 Gave him their heirs ; as pages follow'd him. 
 Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. 
 He presently, — as greatness knows itself, — 
 Steps me a little higher than his vow 
 Made to my father, while his blood was poor. 
 Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg ; 
 And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
 Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees, 
 That lie too heavy on the commowealth ; 
 Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
 Over his country's wrongs ; and. hy this face. 
 This seeming brow of justice, did lie win 
 The hearts of all that he did angle for. 
 Proceeded further; cut me off the heads 
 or all the favourites, that the aljsent king 
 In deputation lelt behind him here, 
 Wiien he was personal in the Irish war. 
 
 Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear tliis. 
 
 Hot. Then, to the pointr** 
 
 In short time after, he depos'd the king ; 
 Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life; 
 And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state: 
 To ma'iie that worse, sufi'er'd his kinsman March 
 (Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, 
 Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales, 
 Inhere without ransom to lie forfeited : 
 Disgrac'd me in my happy victories; 
 Sought to entrap me by intelligence ; 
 Rated my uncle from the council-board ; 
 In rage dismiss'd my father from the court; 
 Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wroqg. 
 And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
 This head of safety ;and, withal, to pry 
 Into his title, the which we find 
 i'oo int-lirect for long continuance. 
 
 Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the King? 
 
 Hot. Not so, sir Walter ; we ll withdraw awhiiflb 
 Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd 
 Some surety for a safe return again. 
 And in the morning early shall mine uncle 
 Bring him our purposes : and so fareweli CloVB 
 
 Blunt. I would, you would accept ofgrttca and 
 
 Hut. And, may be, so we shall. 
 
A.CT V. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY IT. 
 
 341 
 
 Blunt. Pray heaven, you do ; 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENB IV.— York. A Room in the Archbishop's 
 House. 
 
 Mnter the Archbishop of York, and a Gentleman. 
 Arch. Hie, good sir Michael; bear this sealed 
 brief, 
 
 With winged haste, to the lord mareschal ; 
 
 This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest 
 
 To whom tliey are directed: If you knew 
 
 How much they do import, you would make haste. 
 
 Gent. My good lord, 
 I guess their tenor. 
 
 Arch. Like enough, you do. 
 
 To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day, 
 Wherein the fortune of ten thousand »nen 
 Must 'bide the touch: For, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
 As 1 am truly given to understand. 
 The king, with mighty and quick raised power, 
 Meets with lord Harry: and I fear, sir Michael, — 
 (What with the sickness of Northuniberland, 
 Whose power was in the first proportion,) 
 And what with Owen Gleiidovver's absence, thence, 
 (Who with them was a rated sinew too, 
 And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies,) — • 
 I fear the power of Percy is too weak 
 To WA^e an instant trial with the king. 
 
 Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear; 
 there's Douglas, 
 And Mortimer. 
 
 Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. 
 
 Gent. But there is MorUake, Vernon, lord Harry 
 Percy, 
 
 And there's my lord of Worcester, and a head 
 Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 
 Arch. And so there is: but yet the king hath 
 drawa 
 
 The special head of all the land together ; — 
 The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, 
 Tlie noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt j 
 Ai»d many more cor-rivals, and dear men 
 Of ostimation and command in arms. 
 Gent. Doubt not. my, lord, they shall be well 
 oppos'd. 
 
 Arch. I hope no less, ytt needful 'tis to fear; 
 And, to prexent the worst, sir Michael, speed: 
 For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
 Dismi.ss his power, he means to visit us, — 
 For he hath heard of our confederacy, — 
 And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him ; 
 Therefore, make haste : I must go write again 
 To other friends} and so farewell, sir Michael. 
 
 '^Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I, — The King^s Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 Enter Kiny Henky, Prince Henry, Prince John 
 of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John 
 Falstafp. 
 
 K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
 Ab«ve yon husky hill ! the day looks pale 
 At his distemperature. 
 
 P. Hen. The southern wind 
 
 Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ; 
 And, i»y his hollow whistling in the leaves, 
 Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day. 
 
 K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize; 
 1 )r nttliing can seem foul to those that win. 
 
 ' Trumpet.'^ Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
 II ow now, my lord of Worcester? 'tis not well, 
 That you and I should meet upon such terms 
 As now we meet: You have deceiv'd our trust: 
 \.nd made us doff our easy robes of peace. 
 To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: 
 This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
 What Hay you to't? will you again unknit 
 TU« ciiuilish knot of all-abhorred war? 
 
 And move in Inat oDedient orb agahi. 
 
 Where you did give a fair and natural light ; 
 
 And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 
 
 A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
 
 Of breached mischief to the unborn times? 
 
 Wor. Hear me, my liege : 
 For mice own part, I could be well content 
 To entertain the lag-end of my life 
 With quiet hours ; for, 1 do protest, 
 I have not sought the day of this dislike. 
 
 K, Hen, You have not sought for itl how eonse* 
 it then? 
 
 Fal. Rebellion lay in his way and he found it. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace. 
 
 Wor. It pleas'd your majesty to turn yoar locka 
 Of favour, from myself, and all our house; 
 And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
 We were the first and dearest of your friends 
 For you, my staft' of office did I break / 
 In Richard's time ; and posted day and night 
 To meet you on the way, and kiss your band, 
 \yhen yet you were in place and in account 
 Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
 It was myself, my brother, and his son, ' 
 That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
 The dangers of the time : You swore to us, — 
 And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, — 
 That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ; 
 Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right. 
 The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 
 To this we swore our aid. But, in short space. 
 It rain'd down fortune showering on your head; 
 And such a flood of greatness feH on you, — 
 What with our help ; what with the absent kkf; 
 What with injuries of a wanton time ; 
 The seeming sufferances, that you had borne ; 
 And the contrarious winds, that held the king 
 So long in his unlucky Irish wars. 
 That all in England did re{)ute him dead. 
 And, from this swarm of fair advantages. 
 You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
 To gripe the general sway into your hand , 
 Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ; ' 
 And being fed by us, you us'd us so 
 As that ungentle gall, the cuckoo's bird, 
 Useth the sparrow : did oppress our ntat ; 
 Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, 
 That even our love durst not come near your sight. 
 For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble win^ 
 We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly 
 Out of your sight, and raise this present head : 
 Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
 As you yourself have forg'd against yourself; 
 By unkind usage, dangerous countenance. 
 And violation of all faith and troth 
 Swoin to us in your younger enterprise. 
 
 K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have arti- 
 culated, 
 
 Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches; 
 
 To face the garment of rebellion 
 
 With some fine colour, that may please the eye 
 
 Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents, 
 
 Which gape and rub the elbow, at the news 
 
 Of hurlyburly innovation: 
 
 And never yet did insurrection want 
 
 Such water-colours, to impaint his cause; 
 
 Nor moody beggars, star\ing for a time 
 
 Of pell-mell havock and confusion. 
 
 P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many ». sodk 
 Shall pay full dearly for this encounter. 
 If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew. 
 The prince of Wales doth join with all the wsrlij 
 In praise of Henry Percy: By my hopes, — 
 This present enterprise set off his head,— 
 I do not think, a braver gentleman, 
 More active- valiant, or more valiant-young 
 More daring, or more bold, is now alive. 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeda. 
 For aiy |,art, I may speak it to my sh«me, 
 I have a truant been to chivalry ; 
 
842 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act V. 
 
 And so, I hearj he doth account me too : 
 Yet this before my father's majesty, — 
 1 am content, that he sLail take the odds 
 Of his great name and estimation ; 
 And will, to save the blood on eithe.r side. 
 Try fortune with him in a single fight, 
 
 K. Hen. And prince of Wales, so dare we ven- 
 Albeit, considerations infinite [turn thee. 
 
 Do make against it: — No, good Worcester, no. 
 We love our people well; even those we love, 
 That are misled upon your cousin's part; 
 And, will they take the otfer of our grace. 
 Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man 
 Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his. 
 So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
 What he will do: — But if he will not yield, 
 Rebuke and dread correction wait on ns, 
 And they shall do their office. So, be gone; 
 We will not now be troubled with reply : 
 We offer fair, take it advisedly. 
 
 [Exeunt Worcester and Vernon. 
 
 P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life : 
 T\ie Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
 Are confident against the world in arms. 
 
 K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his 
 charge ; 
 
 For, on their answer, will we set on them : 
 And God befriend as, as our cause is just! 
 
 [Exeunt King, Blunt, and Prince John. 
 
 Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and 
 bestride me, so ; 'tis a point of friendship. 
 
 p. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
 friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 
 
 Fal. 1 would it were bed time, Hal, and all well. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay 
 bim bef(jre his day. Wliat need I be so forward 
 with him that calls not on me ? Well, 'tis no matter; 
 Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour 
 prick me off' when I come on i how then ? Can 
 honour set to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or 
 juke away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour 
 hath no skill in surgery tiien ? No. What is honour ? 
 A word. What is in that word, honour? What 
 is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning! — Who 
 hath it ? He that died o" Wednesday. Doth he feel 
 it? No. Doth he hear it ? No, Is it insensible 
 then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with 
 the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer 
 it: — therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere 
 scutcheon, and so ends \\\y catechism. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — The Rebel Camp. 
 Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
 Wor. O, no, niv nephew must not know, sir 
 The liberal kind offe-r of the king. [Richard, 
 Ver. ''l\vere best, he did. 
 
 TV ar. Then are we all undone. 
 
 It is not possible, it cannot be, 
 Tlie king should keep his word in loving us; 
 He will suspect ns still, and find a time 
 To punish this olFeuce in other faults: 
 Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes : 
 For treason is but trusted like the fox ; 
 Who, ne'er so taiue, so cherish'd, and lock'd up. 
 Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
 Look how we can, or sad, or merrily, 
 Ititerpretation will misquote our looks ; 
 And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, 
 The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 
 My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, 
 It \vaI\\ the excuse of youth, and heat of blood; 
 And an adopted name of privilege, — 
 A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen: 
 All his off'ences live upon my head. 
 And on his fatiier's ; — we did train him on ; 
 And. his corruption being ta'en from us, 
 We, as, the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
 Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know 
 In any case, the offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. Deliver what yoa will, I'll say, 'tis so. 
 Here comes your cousin. 
 
 Enttr Hotspur atrarf Douglas ; and Officers and 
 Soldiers, behind. 
 Hot. My uncle is returad : — Deliver up 
 My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, wh&t news? 
 PF or. The king will bid you battle presently. 
 Dorug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. 
 Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell \\\r.\ m. 
 Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. 
 
 [Exii 
 
 Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 
 
 Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 
 
 Pf^or. I told him gently of our grievances, 
 Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus.— 
 By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 
 He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge 
 With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
 
 Re-enter Douglas. 
 Doug. Arm, gentlemen ; to arms ! for I havt 
 thrown 
 
 A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth. 
 And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it; 
 Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 
 Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth before 
 the king. 
 
 And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. 
 
 Hot. O, 'would the (juarrel lay upon our heads, 
 And that no man might draw short breath to- 
 day. 
 
 But I, and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me. 
 How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt? 
 
 Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in ni> life 
 Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly. 
 Unless a brother should a brother dare 
 To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
 He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
 Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue; 
 Spoke your dieservings like a chronicle ; 
 Making you ever better than his praise, 
 By still dispraising praise, valued with you : 
 And, which became him like a prince indeed, 
 He made a blushing cital of himself ; 
 And chid his truant youth with such a grace, 
 As if he master'd there a double spirit. 
 Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. 
 There did he pause : But let me tell'the world,— 
 If he outlive the envy of this day, 
 England did never owe so sweet a hope, 
 So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 
 
 Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured 
 Upon his follies ; never did I hear 
 Of any prince, so wild, at liberty : — 
 But, be he as he will, yet once ere night 
 I will embrace him with a soldier's arm. 
 That he shall shrink under my courtesy. — 
 Arm, arm, with speed :— And, fellows, soldiers, 
 friends. 
 
 Better consider what you have to do, 
 Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue. 
 Can lift your SJood up with persuasion. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 
 
 Hot. I cannot read them now. — 
 O gentlemen, the time of life is short ; f 
 To spend that shortness basely, were too loDg, ' 
 If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
 Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
 An if we Hve, we live to tread on kings; 
 If die, brave death, when princes die withns! 
 Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair. 
 When the intent of bearing them is just 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes (W 
 apace. 
 
 Ho/. T thank him that he cuts me from my tale. 
 
Scene 4. , 
 
 For I profess not talking, only this — 
 Let each man do his best : and here draw I 
 A sword, whose temper I intend to stain 
 With the best blood that I can meet withal 
 [n the adventure of this perihms day. 
 Now, — Es|)erance ! — Percy! and set on. — 
 Sound all tlie lofty instruments of war, 
 Au<i by that music let us all em})race : 
 For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
 A sec<»nd time do such a courtesy. 
 
 [^The trumpets sound. They embrace, and 
 exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Plain near Shrewsbury. 
 Excursions, and parties fighting. Alarum to the 
 bailie. Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting. 
 Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
 Thou Grossest me ? What honour dost thou seek 
 Upon my head ? 
 
 Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ; 
 
 And 1 do haunt thee in the battle thus, 
 Because some tell me, that thoii art a king. 
 Blunt. They tell thee true. 
 Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath 
 bought 
 
 Thy likeness ; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
 This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee. 
 Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 
 
 Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot ; 
 And thou shaltfind a king, that will revenge 
 Lord Stafford's death. 
 
 {They fight, and Blunt is slain.) 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon 
 I never had trinmph'd upon a Scot. [thus, 
 Doug, All's Hone, all's won ; here breathless lies 
 Hut. Where ? [the kir.g. 
 
 Doug. Here. 
 
 Hot. This, Douglas? no, I know this face full well : 
 A griflant kiiiglit lie was, his name was Blunt; 
 Senjblably furnish' d like the king himself 
 
 Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes ! 
 A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. 
 Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? 
 
 Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. 
 
 Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; 
 I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by pitce. 
 Until I meet the king. 
 
 Hot. Up, and away ; 
 
 Our soldiers stand full fairly lor the day. [Exeunt. 
 
 Other Alarums. Enter Falstafp. 
 Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, 
 I fear the shot here ; here's no scoring, but upon the 
 pate. — Soft! who art thou? Sir VValter Blunt; — 
 there's honour for you : Here's no vanity ! — I am as 
 hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep 
 lead out of me ! I need no more weight than mine 
 t>wn bowels. — I have led my ragamuffins where 
 they are peppered: there's but three of my hundred 
 and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, 
 to beg during life. But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Prince Henry. 
 P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me 
 thy sword : 
 Many a noi)h tnnn lies stark and stiff 
 Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, 
 Wfiose deaths are unreveng'd : Pr'ythee, lend thy 
 sword. 
 
 Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe 
 awhile. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in 
 anus, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, 
 I have made him sure. 
 
 P. Hen. He is, indeed , and living to kill thee. 
 Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy he alive, 
 Uw)u get'sl not my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou 
 wilt 
 
 343 
 
 P. Hen. Give it me ; What, is it in the case? 
 
 Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ; there's that will 
 sack a city. (The Prince draws oul a bottle qf 
 sack.) 
 
 P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now? 
 
 [Throws it at him, and exit 
 Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. 
 he do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I coma 
 in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado cf m«. 
 I like not such grinning honour as sir Walter hatht 
 Give me life : which if I can save, so ; if not, 
 honour comes unlocked for, and there's an end. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Scene iY.— Another part of tht Field. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince 
 
 Henry, Prince John, and Westmoreland. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 
 Harry, withdraw thyself ; thou bleed'st too much : — ■ 
 Lord John of Lancaster, go you with hini. 
 
 P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 
 
 P. Hen. 1 do beseech your majesty, make up. 
 Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 
 
 K. Hen. I will do so: — 
 My lord of W estmoreland, lead him to his tent. 
 [Vest. Come, my lord, 1 will lead you to your 
 tent. [help : 
 
 P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? 1 do not need your 
 And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should 
 drive 
 
 The prince of Wales from such a field as this ; 
 Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on. 
 And rebels' arms triumph in massacres! 
 
 P. John. We breathe too long : — Come, cousin 
 Westmoreland, 
 Our duty this way lies ; for God's sake, come. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland- 
 
 P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceived m*> 
 Lancaster, 
 I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
 Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; 
 But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 
 
 K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point, 
 With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
 Of such an ungrown warrior. 
 
 P. Hen. O, this boy 
 
 Lends mettle to us all [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Douglas. 
 Doug. Another King ! they grow like Hydra's 
 1 am the Douglas, fatal to all those [heads : 
 
 That wear those colours on them. — What art thoa. 
 That counterfeit'st the person of a king ? 
 
 K. Hen. The king himself: who, Douglas, grieves 
 at heart. 
 
 So many of his shadows thou hast met. 
 And not the very king. 1 have two boys. 
 Seek Percy and thyself, about the field : 
 But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
 1 will assay thee : so defend thyself 
 
 Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit; 
 And yet , in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: 
 But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be. 
 And thus 1 win thee. 
 
 (They fight ; the King being in danger, entet 
 Prince Henry.) 
 
 P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art 
 Never to hold it up again ! the spirits [like 
 Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : 
 It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee ; 
 Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. — 
 
 (They fight; Douyias flie».) 
 Cheerly, my lord ; How fares your grace ? — 
 Sir Nicholas Gawsay hath for succour sent. 
 And so hath Clifton: 1 11 to Clifton straight. 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while: — 
 Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; 
 And show djthou mak'st some tender of my li/e. 
 In tliis fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
p. Hen. O heaven! they did me too much injury, 
 That ever said, I hearken'd for your death 
 If it were so, I might have let alone 
 The insulting hand of Douglas over you ; 
 Which would have been as speedy in your end, 
 As all the poisonous potions in the world. 
 And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 
 
 A. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to Sir Nicholas 
 Gawsey. [Exit King Henri/. 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 
 P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my 
 name. 
 
 Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, then I see 
 
 A very valiant rebel of the name. 
 I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
 To share with me in glorj' any more : 
 Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
 Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
 Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. 
 
 Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
 To end the one of us ; And would to God, 
 Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 
 
 P Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from 
 thee ; 
 
 And all the budding honours on thy crest 
 I'll crop, to make a garland lor my head. 
 Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 
 
 {They fight.) 
 
 Enter Fa.».staff. 
 
 Fal. Well said, Hal! to it Hal !— Nay, you 
 ^all find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 
 
 Enter Douglas ; he fights tvitl. Fch tafif, ivho falls 
 down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. 
 Hotspur is wounded, and falls. 
 Hot. O Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth : 
 
 I better brook the loss of brittle life, 
 
 ThaQ those proud titles thou hast won of me ; 
 
 They wound mv thoughts, worse than thy sword 
 my Hesh : — 
 
 But thoughts the slave of life, and life time's fool ; 
 And time that takes survey of all the world. 
 Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, 
 But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
 Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust. 
 And food i'or — {Hies.) 
 
 P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy : Fare thee wel^; 
 great heart! — 
 lll-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
 When that tiiis body did contain a spirit, 
 A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; 
 But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
 Is room enough : — This earth, that bears thee dead, 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
 If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
 I should not make so dear a show of zeal:— 
 But let my favours hide thy mangled face ! 
 And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
 For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
 Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! 
 Thy ignomiry sleep with thee in the grave, 
 But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! — 
 
 [He sees Falstaff on the ground.) 
 What ! old acquamtance ! could not all this flesh 
 Keep in a little life V Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 1 could have better spar'd a better man. 
 O, 1 should have a heavy niiss of thee, 
 If I weift much in love with vanity. 
 Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
 Tfhough many dearer, in this bloody fray : — 
 Embowell'd will 1 see thee by and by: 
 Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. (Rising slowly.) Embowell'd ! if thou em- 
 bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder me, 
 Ued eat me too, tomorrow. 'Sblood, 'twas tiii»e 
 to coBBfterleit, oi that hot termagant Scot had paid 
 
 Act V 
 
 me scot anJ lot t"o. Counterfeit? 1 He, 1 'am no 
 counterfeit : To die, is io be a counterfe.'.t ; for he is 
 but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life 
 of a man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man 
 thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true 
 and perfect image of life indeed. The better part p 
 of valour is — discretion : in the which better part, \ 
 1 have saved my life. Zounds, I am afraid of the ' \ 
 gunpowder Percy, though he be^dead : How, if lie 
 should counterfeit too, and rise V I am afraid, he 
 would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll 
 make him sure : yea, and I'll swear I killed him. 
 Why may not he rise, as well as I ? Nothing con- 
 futes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Tiierefore, 
 sirrah, {Stabbing him,) with a new wound in your 
 thigh, come you along with me. 
 
 {Takes Hotspur on his back,) 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. 
 
 P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hail 
 thou flesh'd 
 Thy maiden sword. 
 
 P. John. But, soft! whom have we here ? 
 
 Did you not tell me, this fat man was Jead ? 
 
 P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless and 
 Upon the ground. — [bleeding, 
 Art thou alive ? or is it phantasy 
 That plays upon our eyesight ? I pr'ythee, speak; 
 We will not trust our eyes, without our ears : — 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st. 
 
 Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not a double man: 
 but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. 
 There is Percy, {Throwing the body down,) if youi 
 father will do me any honour, so ; il not, let him 
 kill the next Percy himselil i look to be eithei eaij 
 or duke, I can assure you. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw 
 tijee dead. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou? — Lord! Lord: how this world 
 is given to lying !— I grant you, I was down, aiid 
 out of breath; and so was iie : but we rose both a 
 an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbrr| 
 clock, if 1 may be believed, so; let them, Uia< 
 should reward valour, bear the sin upon their owi 
 heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him thi* 
 wound in the thigh : if the man were ali\e, aid 
 would deny it, 1 would make him eat a piece of my 
 sword. [heard. 
 P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er ] 
 P. Hen. Tiiis is the strangest fellow, brothei 
 John.— 
 
 Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: 
 For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
 ri{ gild It with the happiest terms I have. 
 
 (.4 retreat is sounded. \ 
 The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. 
 Come, brother, let's to the higliest ol tlie field, 
 To see what friends are living, who are dead. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John, 
 Fal. i ll fciiuw, as they say, tor reward. He that 
 rewards me, God reward him ! If i do grow great 
 I'll grow less ; for I 11 purge, and leave sack, ana 
 live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 
 
 [Exit, bearing off the body- 
 
 Scene Y.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 The trumpets sound. Enter King Henky, Prwic 
 Henhy, Prince John, Westmoreland, aM 
 others, Wokcester and Vernon , />r^A7;7/^'ry 
 
 K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find refmke^ - 
 III-8|jirited Worcester I did we not send gnjce, 
 Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? 
 And would'st thou turn our ofi'ers contrarj'f 
 Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust? 
 Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
 A noble earl, and many a creature else, 
 Had been alive this hour, 
 if, like a cliristian, thou hadst truly borne 
 Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 
 
 FIRST PART OP 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 845 
 
 Wor. What I have done, my safety urgd me to; 
 And I embrace this fortune patiently, 
 Since not to be avoided it falls c.i me. [too : 
 
 K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon 
 Other otFenders we will pause upon. — 
 
 [Exeunt Worcester aad Vernon, guarded- 
 
 How p:oes th( field ? I^saw 
 P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, whca he 
 
 The fortune of tlie day quite turned from him, 
 
 The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
 
 Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest; 
 nd, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, 
 
 Thci' the pursuers took him. At my tent 
 
 The {>oiigia> is; and I beseech your grace, 
 
 1 may dispose of Jiiiu. 
 
 K. Htn. With all my heart 
 
 J*. Heti. Theri. brother John of Lancaster, to you 
 
 Phis honoararble bounty shall belong: 
 Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
 Up to his pleasure, ransomeles3, and free : 
 Bis valour, shown upon our crests to-day, 
 Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds. 
 Even in the bosom of our adversaries, [power.— 
 K. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our 
 You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
 Towards York shall bend you, with your deareat 
 speed. 
 
 To meet Northumberland, and the prelnte Scroop, 
 
 Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : 
 
 Myself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards Wales, 
 
 To fight with Glendower, and Uie earl of March. 
 
 Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 
 
 Meeting the check of such anotiier day ; 
 
 And since this business so fair is done. 
 
 Let us not leave till ail our own be woo. [JSxsmslit 
 
KING HENRY IV. 
 
 PART XI. 
 
 tNO HENHY THE FOURTH. 
 ENKY, I'rmce of Wales, afterwards King 
 il<^,ify v., \ 
 TH(^MAS, DvU of Clarence, , ' r- r. 
 
 PW.IJSCE JOHN of LaticaUer, afterwards s his Sons 
 
 (2 Hniry V.) Duke of Bedford, I 
 PIUINCE mimVHREYofGlostcr, afterwards \ 
 (•> Hcnrv V ) Duke of Gloster, / 
 EARL OF WARWICK, / 
 
 EAU:, OF WESTMORELAND, > of the Kmg^s Party. 
 GOWER-HARCOURT, ) 
 LOUD CtflEF JUSTICE of the King's Bench. 
 A Cientleman attendiug on the Chief Justice. 
 EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND, x 
 SCROOP, A'-chhishop of York, | „ . 
 LORD MOWBRAY, f Einenites to the 
 
 LORD HASTINGS, ( King. 
 
 LORD BAHDOLI H, I 
 SIR JOHN COLEVILLE. 1 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 TRAVERS and MORTON, Domettict ^fNorlhumher- 
 
 land. _ 
 FAI.STAFF, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Page. 
 POINS and PETO, Attendants on Prince Henry. 
 SHALLOW and SILENCE, Country Justices. 
 DAV\, Servant to Shallow. 
 
 MOLLDY. SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, and BULIf> 
 
 CALF, Recruits. 
 FANG arid SNARE, Sheriff's Off.cer». 
 Rumour. 
 A rtr't-r. 
 
 A Dancer, Speaker of tnc £piiogue. 
 LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 LADY PERCY. 
 Hostess QUICKLY. 
 DOLL TEAR SHEET, 
 
 Lords and other Attendants ; Officers, Soldiers, Mftm' 
 ger. Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, etc. 
 
 Scene, — England. 
 
 Warhworth. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 Before Northumberland's Castle. 
 
 Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 
 Bum. Open vour ears; For whichof yoii will stop 
 The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks? 
 I, from the orient to the drooping west, 
 Making the wind my post horse, still unfold 
 The acts commenced on this ball of earth : 
 Upon niy tongues continual slanders ride ; 
 The wliich in every language I pronounce, 
 Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
 I speak of peace, while covert enmity. 
 Under the sn>iie of safety, wounds the world: 
 And who bnl Riunour, who but only I, 
 Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ; 
 Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief. 
 Is thou£?ht with child by the stern tyrant war, 
 And no such matter ; Rumour is a pipe 
 Blov/n by surmises, jealousies, conjectures; 
 And of so easy and so plain a stop, 
 That the blunt monster with uncounted heads. 
 The still-discordant wavering multitude, 
 Can play upon it. But what need I thus 
 My well-known body to anatomize 
 Among my household ? Why is Rumour here ? 
 I run before king Harry's victory ; 
 Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, 
 Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, 
 Quenching the flnme of bold rebellion 
 Even with the rebels' blood. Bat what mean 1 . 
 To speak so true at first? my office is 
 To noise abroad,— that Harry Monmouth fell 
 Under the wrath of noble Hotspurs sword ; 
 And that the king before the Douglas' rage 
 Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 
 This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns 
 Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
 And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, 
 Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 
 Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on. 
 And not a man of them brings other news 
 Thaa they have learn'd of me : From Rumour's 
 tongues 
 
 Tbej bring smooth comforts false, worse than tnie 
 wrings. [Exit. 
 ACT I. 
 Scene I. — The same. 
 The Porter before the Gate. Enter xiord 
 Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho?- Where 
 is the earl ? 
 
 Port. What shall 1 say you are ? 
 Bard. Tell thou the earl. 
 
 That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
 Port. His lordship is walk'd foiih into the or- 
 chard ; 
 
 Please it your honour, knock but at the gate. 
 And he himself will answer. 
 
 Enter Northumberland. 
 Bard. Here comes tlie earl. ^ 
 
 North. What news, lord Bardolph? every mi- 
 nute now 
 
 Should be the father of some stratagem : 
 The times are wild ; contention, like a horse 
 Full of high feeding, madly hath bn)ke loose. 
 And bears down all before him. 
 
 Bard. Noble earl, 
 
 I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 
 
 North. Good, an heaven will ! 
 
 Bard. As good as heart can wish 
 
 The king is almost wounded to the death; 
 And, in the fortune of my lord your son, 
 Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts 
 Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young prince John., 
 And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field ; 
 And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, 
 Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day, 
 So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won. 
 Came not, till now, to dignify the times. 
 Since Caesar's fortunes ! 
 
 North. How is this deriv'd ? 
 
 Saw you the field ? came you from Slirewsbury ? 
 
 Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from 
 thence, 
 
 A gentleman well bred, and of go(Kl name. 
 That freely render'd me these news for true. 
 
 North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom 
 On Tuesday last to listen after news. [I sent 
 
 Bard. My lord, I over rode him on the way; 
 And he is furnish'd with no certainties. 
 More than he haply may retail from me. 
 
 Enter Travers. 
 North. Now, Travers, what good tidings comt 
 with vou ? 
 
 Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back 
 With joyftd tidings ; and, being better liors'd, 
 Out-rode me. After him, came, spmrnng hard, 
 A gentlenfan almost forespent with speed. 
 That stop>>'d by me to breathe his bloodied horse 
 He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him 
 I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. 
 He told me, that rebellion had bad luck. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY TV. 
 
 847 
 
 And that young Harry Percy's spur was cola : 
 With that, he gave his able horse the head, 
 And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
 Against the panting siaes of his poor jade 
 Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so, 
 He seeiu'd in rr.nning to devour the way, 
 Staving no longer question. 
 
 A>rM. Ha !— Again. 
 
 Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? 
 Of HotspiAr, coldspur? that rebellion 
 Had met ill luck! 
 
 Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what 
 
 If my young lord your son have not the day. 
 Upon mine honour, for a silken point 
 I'll give my barony: never talk of it. 
 
 Nori/t. Why should the gentleman, that rode by 
 Give then such instances of loss ? [Travers, 
 
 Bard. Who, he ? 
 
 He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n 
 The horse lie rode on : and, upon my life. 
 Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. 
 
 Enter Morton. 
 
 NortL Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf. 
 Foretells the nature of a tragic volume : 
 So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood 
 Hath left a witness'd usurpation. — 
 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? 
 
 iU jr I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord? 
 Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask. 
 To fright our party. 
 
 North. How doth my son, and brother? 
 
 Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 Even sush a man, so faint, so spiritless. 
 So dull, fio dead in look, so woe-begone, 
 Drew Priaia's curtain in the dead of night, 
 A ud would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd : 
 D it Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue. 
 And i my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. 
 This thou would'st say, — Your son did thus, and 
 thus ; 
 
 Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; 
 Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds : 
 But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed. 
 Thou hast a sigli to blow away this praise. 
 Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead. 
 . Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: 
 But. ibr my lord your son, — 
 
 North. Why, he is dead. 
 
 See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
 He, that but fears the thing he would not know. 
 Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes. 
 That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; 
 Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies ; 
 And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, 
 And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 
 
 Mor. Vou are too great to be by me gainsaid : 
 Vour spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 
 
 North. Yet, for all this, say not, that Percy's 
 I see a strange confession in thine eye : [dead. 
 Tbou shak'st thy head; and hold'stit fear, or sin. 
 To speak a truth. If he be slain, say .so; 
 The tongue ofifends not, that reports his death : 
 And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead ; 
 Not hv"^, which says the dead is not alive. 
 Ye4 the fi. st bringer of unwelcouie news 
 Hath hut a losing office ; and his tongue 
 Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
 Reuieuiber'd knolliug a departing friend. 
 
 Bard. I cannot tfnnk, my lord, your son is dead. 
 
 Mor. I am sorry, I sliould force you to believe 
 That, M'hich 1 would to heaven I had not seen: 
 But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
 Rend' ring f tint q iittance, wearied and out-breath'd. 
 To Harry Mouuioutli ; whose swift wrath beat down 
 The never dauut.-d Percy to the earth. 
 Prom whence witii life lie never mi)re spmng up. 
 In few, his death (whose spirit leut a fire 
 Bven to the dullest peasant in his camp,) 
 
 Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
 From the best temper'd courage in his troops: 
 For from his metal was his party steel'd ; 
 Which once in him abated, all the rest 
 Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy ^ead. 
 And as the thing, that's heavy in itself. 
 Upon enforcement, flies with greatest .speed ; 
 So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss. 
 Lend to this w eight sueh lightness with their fea^, 
 That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim. 
 Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety. 
 Fly from the field : Then was that noble WorccsteJ 
 Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, 
 The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword 
 Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
 'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame 
 Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in Lis flight. 
 Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
 Is, — that the king hath won ; and hath sent out 
 A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord. 
 Under the conduct of young Lancaster, 
 And Westmoreland : this is the news at full. 
 
 North. For this I shall have time enough to 
 mourn. 
 
 In poison there is physic ; and these news. 
 Having been well, that would have made me sick. 
 Being sick, have in some measure made me well: 
 And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, 
 Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life. 
 Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
 Out of his keeper's arms ; even so my limbs, 
 Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief. 
 Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou oice 
 crutch ; 
 
 A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel. 
 
 Must glove this hand: and henee, thou sickly quoif| 
 
 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, 
 
 Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
 
 Now bind my brows with iron ; and approac! 
 
 The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring. 
 
 To frown upon the enrag'd Northumbeiland ! 
 
 Let heav'n kiss earth ! Now let not nature's hand 
 
 Keep the wild flood confin'd ! let order die ! 
 
 And let this world no longer be a stage. 
 
 To feed contention in a lingering act; 
 
 But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
 
 Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
 
 On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
 
 And darkness be the burier of the dead ! 
 
 Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, ray 
 lord, [hononr. 
 Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your 
 Mar. The lives of all your loving complices 
 Lean on your health ; the which, il you give o'er 
 To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
 You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 
 And snmm'd the account of chance, before yea 
 said, — 
 
 Let us make head. It was your presurmi.se. 
 That in the dole of blows your son might drop: 
 You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, 
 Moie likely to fall in, than to get o'er: 
 You were advis'd, his flesh was capable 
 Of wounds and scars; and that his forward spirit 
 Would lilt him where most trade of danger rang'd ; 
 Yet did you say, — Go forth ; and none of this, 
 Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
 The stifl-borne action : What hath then befdlen 
 Or what hath this bold enterprize brought foith. 
 More than that being, which was like to be ? 
 
 Bard. We all, that are engaged to this losa, 
 Knew, that we ventur'd on such dangerous sea 
 That, if we wrought out li'fe, 'twas ten to one ; 
 And yet we ventur'd, for the gain projxjs'd 
 Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; 
 And, since we are o'erset, venture again. 
 Come, W3 will all put forth ; body, and gootta. 
 
 Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most pdki« 
 lord, 
 
 I hear foi certain, and do sueak the tr ith,-~ 
 
S4:« SECOND 
 
 The gentle archbishop of York is up. 
 With well a[»{)ointed powers ; he is a man. 
 Who with a double surety binds his followers. 
 My lord your i had only but the corps, 
 Dut siiadows, and the shows of men to fight; 
 For that same word, rebellion, did dixide 
 The action of tlieir bodies from tlieir souls ; 
 And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd, 
 As men drink potions; that their weapons only 
 Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls, 
 This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, 
 As fish are in a pond : But now the bishop 
 Turns insurrection to religion : 
 Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, 
 He's i()llovv"d both with budy and with mind; 
 And doth enlarge his rising witli the blood 
 Of fair king IlicTiard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones : 
 Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause ; 
 Tells them, he dotii bestride a bleeding land, 
 Gas[)ing for lile under great Bolingbroke ; 
 And more, and ess, do flock to follow him. 
 
 North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak truth. 
 This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. 
 Go in witli me ; and counsel every man 
 The aptest way lor safety, and revenge : 
 Get posts, and letters, and niake friends M'ith speed ; 
 Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — London. A Street. 
 
 Enter Sir John Falstaff, ivith his Page, bearing 
 his sword and buckler. 
 Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my 
 water ? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
 healthy water: but, for the party that owed it, he 
 might have more diseases than he knew for. 
 
 Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : 
 Tht! brain of this foolish -compounded clay, man, is 
 not able to vent any thing, that tends to laughter, 
 more than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not 
 only witty in mystdf, but the cause that wit is in 
 other men. 1 do here walk before thee, like a sow, 
 that hatli overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the 
 prince put thee into my service for any other reason 
 than to set me off', why then I have no judgment. 
 Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn 
 in my cap, tiian to wait at my heels. I was never 
 manned with an agate till now: but I will set you 
 neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and 
 send you back again to your master, for a jewel; 
 the juvenal,the prince your master, whose chin is 
 not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in 
 the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his 
 cheek ; and yet he will not stick to say, his face is a 
 face-royal : God may finish it when he will, it is not 
 a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face 
 royal, for a barber shall ne\er earn sixpence out of 
 it; aud yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ 
 Hiaa ever since his father was a bachelor. He may 
 keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, 
 } can assure him. — What said master Dumbletoa 
 about the satin for my short cloak, and slops ? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
 assurance than Bardolph : he would not take his 
 bond and yours; he liked not the security. 
 
 Fal. Let him be damned like the glutton ! may his 
 iongue be hotter! — A whoreson Achitophel! a ras- 
 cally yea-lbrsooth knave ! to bear a gentlf^nan in 
 hand, and then stand upon security ! — The whoreson 
 Buiooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, 
 aud bunches of keys at their girdles ; and if a man is 
 thorough with them in honest taking up, then they 
 must stand upcn — security. I had as lief they would 
 ut ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with 
 •jecurity. I looked he should have sent me two and 
 twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he 
 sends me security Well, he uiay sleep in security, 
 for he hath the horn of abundance, aud the lightness 
 of bis wife shines through it : and ^ei cannot he 
 
 PART OF Act L 
 
 see, though he have his own lantern to light hiiii.~« 
 
 Where's Bardolph ! 
 
 Page. He's gone into Smiihfield, to buy youf 
 worship a horse. 
 
 FaL I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a 
 horse in Smitiifield ; and I could get me but a wile ia 
 the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant. 
 
 Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that com 
 ; mitted the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. 
 
 Ch. Just. What's he that goes there ? 
 
 Atten. Falstaff, an"t j)Iease your lordship. 
 
 Ch. Just. He that was in question for tlie robbery ? 
 
 Atten. He, my lord : but he hath since done good 
 service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, is now going 
 with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster. 
 
 Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again 
 
 Atten. Sir John Falstaff* ! 
 
 Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. [deaf. 
 
 Page. You must speak louder, my master is 
 
 Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any 
 thing good. — Go, pluck him by the elbow ; I must 
 S'^f^k with him. 
 
 Atten. Sir John,— 
 
 Fal. What ! a young knave, and beg ! Is there 
 not wars? is there not employment ? Doth not the 
 king lack subjects ? do not the rebels need soldiers ? 
 Though it be shame to be on any side but one, it is 
 worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, 
 were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell 
 how to make it. 
 
 Atten. You mistake me, sir. 
 
 Fal. Why, sir, did 1 say you were an honest 
 man ? setting my knighthood and my soldiership 
 aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had said so. 
 
 Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood 
 and your soldiership aside : and give me leave to teU 
 you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other 
 than an honest man. 
 
 Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside 
 that which grows to me ! If thou get'st any leave of 
 me, hang me ; if thou takest leave, thou wert better 
 be hanged : You hunt-counter, hence ! avaunt! 
 
 Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 
 
 Fal. My good lord! — God give your lordship 
 good time of day. I am q:lad to see your lordship 
 abroad : I heard say, your iorJship was sick : I hope, 
 your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lord- 
 ship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet 
 some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness 
 of time; and I most humbly beseech your lordship, 
 to have a reverend care of your health. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your 
 expedition to Shrewsbury. 
 
 Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty 
 is relumed with some discomfort from Wales. 
 
 Ch. Just. 1 talk not of his majesty: — You wouW 
 not come when I sent tor you. 
 
 Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallea 
 into this same whoreson apoplexy. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him ! I pray, let me 
 speak with you. 
 
 Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind ol 
 lethargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind of sleep- 
 ingin the blood, a whoreson tingling. 
 
 Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as it is. 
 
 Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from 
 study, and perturbation of the brain : I ha\e read 
 the cause of his effects in Galen ; it is a kind ol 
 deafness. 
 
 Ch. Just. I think, you are fallen into the disease ; 
 for you hear not wliat I say to you. 
 
 Fal. Vety well, my lord, very v^ell: rather an't. 
 please yoti, it is the disease of not listenin;^, the ma 
 lady of iiot marking, that I am troubled with. 
 
 Ch. Just. To puuisii you by the heels, would 
 
Scene S. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 349 
 
 amend the attention of yonr ears ; and I care not if 1 
 do became your pliysician. 
 
 Fal. I a',n as j>oor as Job, my lord ; but not so 
 patient : your lordaliip may minister tlie potion of 
 punishment to me, in respect of poverty ; but how I 
 should be your patient to follow your prescriptions., 
 the wise may inalce some dram of a scruple, or, 
 iiidred. a scruple itsejf. 
 
 Ck. Just. I sent for you, when there were mat- 
 ters ag-aiiist you for your life, to come speak, with 
 ine. 
 
 Fal. As I was then advised by my learned coun- 
 sel ill t'ne laws of this land-service, i did not come. 
 
 CA. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in 
 gre;tt infamy. 
 
 Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cnnnotlive 
 in less. [waste is great. 
 
 Ck.Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
 
 Fal. 1 would it were otherwise ; 1 would my means 
 weie greater, and my waist slenderer. 
 
 Ch. Just. Yon have misled the youthful prince. 
 
 Fal. Ttie young prince hath misled me: 1 am the 
 fellow wi;h the great belly, and he my dog. 
 
 Ch. Just. VV ell, I am loath to gull a new-healed 
 WLMind ; your day's service at Siirewsbury hath a 
 litt'e gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-Hill : 
 you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet 
 o'erposting that action. 
 
 Fal. iVly lord ? [not a sleeping wolf 
 
 Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : wake 
 
 Fal. fo wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox. 
 
 Ch. Just. What ! you are as candle, the better 
 part burnt out. 
 
 Fal. A vvassel candle, my lord ; all tallow: if 
 ( did say of wax, my growth would approve the 
 tiuth. 
 
 C'/<. Just. There is not a white hair on your face 
 b'lt should have his effect of gravity. 
 
 Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 
 
 Ch. Just. Y(Hi follow the young prince up and 
 down, like his ill angel. 
 
 Fal. N. t so, my lord ; your ill angel is light; but, 
 [ hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without 
 weighing: and yet, in some respects, I g'ant, I can-, 
 not go, 1 cannot tell : virtue is of so little regard in 
 those coster monger times, that true valour is turned 
 bear-herd : Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hatfi 
 his quick wit wasted in giving reck(Mjings : all the 
 other gilts, appertinent to man, as tlie malice of this 
 age shapes tliem, are not worth a gooseberry. You, 
 tnat are old, consider not the capacities of us tliat 
 are young: you measure the heat of our livers with 
 the bitterness of your galls : and we, that are in the 
 vaw-ird of our youth, 1 must confess, are wags too. 
 
 Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll 
 of youth, that are written down old with all the 
 characters of age ? Ha^ e you not a moist eye ^ a dry 
 hand ? a yellovv cheek ? a white beard ? a decreasing 
 leg? an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken ? 
 your wind short ? your chin double ? your wit single ? 
 and every [)art about you blasted with antiquity ? 
 and will you yet call yourself young? Fy. fy, ly, sir 
 John ? 
 
 Fal. My lord, 1 was born about three of the clock 
 in the atteruoon, with a white head, and something a 
 round belly. For my voice, — 1 have lost it with 
 hollaing, aiifl singing of anthems. To approve my 
 youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old 
 in judgment and understanding; and he that will 
 Daper witii me for a thousand marks, let him lend me 
 the money, and have at him. F'o. the box o the ear 
 that the prince gave yon, — lie gave it like a rude 
 princ(%and you took it like a sensible lord. I h;ive 
 rhecked hiui ioi" it; and the young lion repents : 
 mairy, not in ash-^ts. and sack-cbth; but in new silk, 
 and old sack. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better 
 coKipanioa ! 
 
 Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince ! 
 [ cannot rid iny hands of him. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the lint hath severe:! yon and 
 prince Harry : I hear, you are going with lord John 
 of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the ejirl of 
 Northumberlaiid. 
 
 FaL Yea ; 1 thank your pretty sweet wit for it 
 But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace 
 at home, that our armies join not in a hot day*! for 
 by the Lord, 1 take but two shirts out with me, and 
 I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot 
 day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would 
 I might never spit white again. There is not a 
 dangerous action can peep out his liead, but I am 
 thrust upon it : Well, I cannot last ever : But it was 
 always yet the trick of our English nation, if they 
 have a good thing, to make it too common. If you 
 will needs say, 1 am an old man, you shoald give 
 me rest. I would to God, my name were not so ter 
 rible to the enemy as it is. 1 were better to be eaten 
 to death with rust, than to be scoured to nothing with 
 perpetual motion. 
 
 Ch.'Just. Well, be honest, be honest; And God 
 bless your expedition ! 
 
 Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand 
 pound, to furnish me forth? 
 
 Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; you are too 
 impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well : Commend 
 me to your cousin Westmoreland. 
 
 I Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant. 
 
 Hal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man i)eetle. — ■ 
 A man can no more separate age and covetousness, 
 than he can part young limbs and lecliery ; but the 
 gout calls the one, and the pox pinches the other; 
 and so both the degrees prevent my curses. — Boy ! — 
 
 Page. Sir ? 
 
 Fal. What money is in my pnrse 
 
 Page. Seven groats and two-pence. 
 
 Fal. I can get no remedy against this consump- 
 tion of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers 
 it out, but the disease is incurable. — Go bear thia 
 letter to my lord of Lancaster ; this to the prince : 
 this to the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to cla 
 mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to 
 marry since I perceived the first white hair on my 
 chin: About it ; you know where to find me. [Exit 
 Page.] A pox of this gout! or a gout of this pox I 
 for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with my 
 great toe. It is no matter, if 1 do halt ; 1 have the 
 wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the 
 more reasonable : A good wit will make use of ;iny 
 thing ; 1 will turn diseases to commodity. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — York. A Room in the Archbishop't 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of Y'oRK, the Lords 
 Hastings, Mowbray, and Bardolph. 
 
 Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and know , 
 our means : 
 And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
 Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes :-— 
 And first, lord marshal, what say you to it ? 
 
 Mowb. I will cdlovv the occasion of our arms ; 
 But gladly would be better satisfied, 
 How, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
 To look with forehead bold and big enough 
 Upon the power and puissance of the king. 
 
 Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
 To five and twenty thousand men of choice; 
 And our supplies live largely in the hope 
 Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
 With an incensed fire of injuries. 
 
 Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, stand«(^ 
 thus ; 
 
 Whether our present five and twenty thousanil 
 May hold up head without Northuniberland. 
 liast. With him, we may. 
 
 Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point 
 
 But if without him we be thought too 5peble, 
 My judgment is, we should not step too far 
 Till we had his assistance by the hand : 
 For, in a theme ?n bloody fac d -is thia, 
 
850 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act H 
 
 Cortjectiire, expectation, and surmise 
 Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. 
 
 Arck. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, 
 It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 
 
 Bard. It was, my lord ; who lim'd himself witl; 
 Eatmg the air on prouiise of supply, [hope. 
 Flattering himself with pr(;je(;t of a power 
 ]VIucli smaller than tlie smallest of his thoughts : 
 And so, with great imagination, 
 Proper to madmen, led nis powers to death, 
 And, winking, Itap d into destruction. 
 
 Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt. 
 To lay down likeliiioods, and forms of liope. 
 
 Bard. Yes, in the present quality of war : — 
 ladeed the insLant action, (a cause on foot,) 
 Lives so in hope, as in an early spring 
 We see the appearing buds ; which to prove fruit, 
 Hope gives I ot so much warrant, as desj-air, 
 Tiiat tiost will bite them. VVhen we mean to build. 
 We first survey the phjt, then diaw the model; 
 And wiien we see the figure of the house. 
 Then must we rate tlie cost of the erection; 
 Which if we fin« outweighs ability. 
 What do we then, but d.aw anew the model 
 In lewer offices; or, at least, desist 
 To build at all ? iViuch more, in this great work, 
 (Which is, almost, to jiluck a kingdom down. 
 And set another up,) slioidd we survey 
 The plot of situation, and the model; 
 Consent upon a sure j'oundation ; 
 Question surveyors; know our own estate. 
 How able such » work to undergo. 
 To weigh against his opposite ; or else. 
 We foitify in paper, and in figures. 
 Using the names of men, inst'-ad of men : 
 Like fuie tiiat draws the model of a house 
 Beyond his power to build it; who, half through. 
 Gives o'er, and leaves his part created cost 
 A aaked subject to the weeping CiOuds, 
 And waste for chuilish winter's tyranny. [birth,) 
 Hast. Grant that our hopes (yet likely of fair 
 Should be still- born, and that we now possess'd 
 The utmost man of expectation ; 
 I liiiuk, vve are a body strong enough. 
 Even as we are, to equal with the Iving. 
 
 Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty 
 thousand? [Bardolph. 
 Hast. To us no more ; nay, not so much, lord 
 For his divisions, as the times do brawl, 
 Are in three heads : one power against the French, 
 And one against Glenduvver; perforce, a third 
 Must take up us : So is the infirm king 
 In three divided : and his colfers sound 
 Witii hollow poverty and emptiness. [together. 
 Arch. That he should draw his several strengths 
 And come against us in lull puissance, 
 Need not be dreaded. 
 
 Hast. If he should do so, 
 
 He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh 
 Baying him at his heels : never fear that, [hither? 
 Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces 
 Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and W^estinoreland : 
 Against tlie Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: 
 But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
 I have no certain notice. 
 
 Arch. Let us on : 
 
 A nd publish the occasion of our arms. 
 The commonwealth is sick of their own choice. 
 Their over-greedy love hath surleited : — 
 Ac habitation giddy and unsure 
 Htth he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
 O thou fond many ! with what loud applause 
 Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
 Before lie was what tiiou wouldst have him be ? 
 And being now trimmed in thine own desires. 
 Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
 That thou provuk'st thyself to cast him up. 
 So, so. thou co!iiiiion dog, didst thou disgorge 
 Tby glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; 
 
 now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up. 
 
 And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? 
 'J'hey that, when Richard liv'd would have bim die. 
 Are now become enamoured on his grave : 
 Thou, that threw'st dust on his goodly hevid. 
 When through proud London he came sighing on 
 After the admir'd heels of Bolingbroke, 
 Cry'st now, 0 earth, yield us that king again. 
 And take thou this! O thouglits of men accurst! 
 Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst 
 Moivb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on i 
 Hast. VVe are time's subjects, and time bids be 
 go'^e. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT H. 
 Scene I.— London. A Street. 
 Enter Hostess; Fang, and his Boy, tvith her; and 
 Snare following. 
 Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action ? 
 Fang. It is entered. 
 
 Host. Where is your yeoman ? Is it a lusty 
 
 yeoman? will a' stand to't? 
 Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare ? 
 Host. O Lord, ay : good master Snare. 
 Snare. Here, here. 
 
 Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Palstalf. 
 Host. Yea, good master Snare ; I have entered 
 him and all. [tbr he will stab. 
 
 Snare. It may chance cost some of us our Ines, 
 Host. Alas the day I take heed of him ; he stab 
 bed me in mine own house, and that most beastly : 
 in good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if 
 his weapons be out : he will foin like any devil; he 
 will spare neither man, womar , nor child. 
 
 Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his 
 thrust. 
 
 Host. No, nor 1 neither: I'll be at your elbow. 
 Fang. An I but fist him once : an a' come but 
 within my vice ; — 
 
 Host. I am undone by his going ; 1 warrant you, 
 he's an infinite thing upon my score : — Good mastej 
 Fang, hold him sure ; — good master Snare, let him 
 not 'scape. He comes continually to Pie -corner, 
 {saving your manhoods,) to b\:y a saddle ; and he's 
 I indited to dinner to the lubber's head in Lombard- 
 ' steet, to master Smooth's, the silkman: I pray ye, 
 since my exion is entered, and my case so openly 
 known to the world, let him be brought in to his 
 answer. A hundred mark is a long loan for a poor 
 lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, 
 and borne ; and have been lubbed off, and fubbed 
 otf, and fubbed off', from this day to that day, that it 
 is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in 
 such dealing; unless a woman should be made an 
 ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. 
 
 Enter Sir iomYxh&TXFF, Page, and Bardolph. 
 
 Yonder he comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose 
 knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do youi 
 offices, master Fang, and master Snare : do me, do 
 nie, do ine your offices. 
 
 Fal. How now ? whose mare's dead ? what's the 
 matter? [tress Quickly. 
 
 Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mis- 
 Fal. Away, varlets ! — Draw, Bardolph; cut me 
 off the villain's head ; throw the quean in the channel. 
 
 Host. Throw me in the channel? Ill throw thea 
 in the channel. Wilt thou ? wilt thou ? thou bas- 
 tardly rogue ! — Murder, murder ! O thou honey 
 suckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers, and the 
 king's? O thou honey-seed rogue ! thou art a bonej 
 seed; a man queller, and a woman-queller. 
 Fal. Keep them oti", Bardolph. 
 Fang. A rescue ! a rescue! 
 Host. Good people, bring a rescue or iwo.~ 
 Thou w o t, wo't thou ? thou wo't, wo't thou do, do 
 thou rogue i do, thou hemp-set- d ! 
 
 Fal. Away, you scullion! you rami'dlian' yo 
 fusiilarian ! 1 11 tickle your catastro^ihe. 
 
Scene 1, 
 
 KING HENRY lY. 
 
 851 
 
 Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended. 
 
 Ch. Just. What's the matter ? keep the peace 
 Jtere ho ! [you, stand to me ! 
 
 Host. Good my lord, be good ""to me ! I beseech 
 Ch. Just. How now, sir John ? what, are you 
 brawling here? 
 Doth tliis become your place, your time, and busi- 
 ness ? 
 
 You should have been well on your way to York.— 
 Stand from him, fellow 1 Wherefore hang'st thou 
 on him ? 
 
 Host. O, my most worshipful lord, an't please 
 vour grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and 
 he is arrested at my suit. 
 
 Ck. Just. For what sum ? 
 
 Host. It is more than for some, my lord ; it is for 
 all, all I have : he hath eaten me out of house and 
 home ; he hath put all my substance into that fat 
 belly of his :— but I will have some of it out again, 
 or ril ride thee o'nights, like the mare. 
 
 Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
 have anv vantage of ground to get up. 
 
 Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John ? Fy ! what 
 man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
 exclamation ? Are yoii not ashamed, to enforce a 
 poor widow to so rough a course to come by her 
 own ? 
 
 Fal. What is the gross sura that I owe thee ? 
 Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy- 
 self and thy money too. Thou didst swear to me 
 iiipon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin- 
 chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal tire, upon 
 Wednesday in Wliitsun-week, when the prince 
 broke thy head for liking his father to a singing- 
 man of Windsor : thou didst swear to me then, as 
 1 was washing thy wound, to marry me, and mrike 
 me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it ? Did not 
 Ifoodwiie Speech, the butcher's wife, come in then, 
 ©nd call me gossip Quickly ! coming in to borrow a 
 mess of vinegar; telling as, she had a good dish of 
 prawns: whereby thou didst desire to eat some; 
 whereby I told thee, they were ill for a green wound >. 
 And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, 
 desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor 
 people ; saying, that ere long they should call me 
 madam ? And didst thou not kiss me, and bid nie 
 fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy 
 book-oath ; deny it, if thou canst. 
 
 Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul ; and she 
 says, up aad down the town, that her eldest son is 
 like you: she hath been in good case, and, the 
 truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these 
 foolish officers, I beseech you, I may have redress 
 against them. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 
 with your manner of wrenching the true cause the 
 false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the thiong 
 of words, that come with such more than itnpudeiit 
 sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level con 
 sideration : you have, as it appears to me, practised 
 upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and 
 made her serve your uses both in pur?e and person. 
 
 Rost. Yea, in troth, my lord. 
 
 Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace : — Pay her the debt you 
 owe her, and unpay the villainy you have done witii 
 her ; the one you may do with sterling money, and 
 the other with current repentance. 
 
 Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap with- 
 out reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent 
 sauciness if a man will make CDurt'sy, and say 
 nothing, k e is virtuous ; No, my lord, my humbie 
 duty reme^nbered, I will not be your suitor; I say to 
 you, I do desire deliverance I'roiu these officers, be- 
 lug upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. 
 
 Ch. Jusi. You speak as having power to do 
 wrong : but answer in the etiect of your reputatio i, 
 tud satisfy the poor woman. 
 
 Fal. Come liither, hostess {Taking her aside. J 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Ch.Just. Now, master Gower ; W^hatnewB? 
 Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of 
 
 Wales 
 
 Are near at hand : the rest the paper tells. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman 
 
 Host. Nay, you said so before. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman ; Come, no more 
 
 words of it. 
 
 Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, T must 
 be tain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry ot 
 my dining-chambers. 
 
 Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking : and 
 for thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the story 
 of the prodigal, or the German hunting in water- 
 work, is worth a thousand of these bed hangings, 
 and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, 
 if thou canst. Come, an it were not for thy humours, 
 there is not a better wench in England. Go, 
 wash thy face, and 'draw thy action : Come, thou 
 must not be in this humour with me ; dost not 
 know me ? Come, come, 1 know thou wast set on 
 to this. 
 
 Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty 
 nobles; I'faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good 
 earnest, la. [be a fool still. 
 
 Fal. Let it alone; Dl make other shift : you'll 
 
 Host. Well, you shall have it, though I j^awn 
 my gown. I hope, you'll come to supper : Y ou'll 
 pay me all together 'i 
 
 Fal. VV ill I live ?— Go, with her, with her ; {to 
 Bardolph) hook on, book on. [at supi;er ? 
 
 Host. Will you have Doll Tear sheet meet yoa 
 
 Fal. No more words : let's have her. 
 
 [Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Ojffictra 
 and Paye. 
 
 Ch. Just. I have heard better news, 
 
 Fal. What s the news, my good lord ? 
 
 Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night i* 
 
 Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 
 
 Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well : What's the 
 news, my lord ? 
 
 Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? Ihorse, 
 
 Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five bmidred 
 Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
 Against Northumberland and the archbishop. 
 
 Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my nobl« 
 lord ? 
 
 Ch. Just. Yon shall have letters of me presently: 
 Come, go along with me, good master Gower. 
 Fal. My lord ! 
 
 Ch.Just. What's the matter? [to dinner? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me 
 
 Goiv. I must wait upon my good lord here: I 
 thank you, good s^r John. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, he^. 
 ing you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go, 
 
 Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower ? 
 
 Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these 
 manners, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he 
 was a fool that taught them me. — This is the right 
 fencing grace, my lord : tap for tap, and so part fair. 
 
 Ch. Jusi. Now the Lord lighten thee ! tliou art a 
 great fool. [ Exeunt, 
 
 ScEj«,e II. — The same. Another Street. 
 Enter Prince Henry and FoiMfia 
 
 P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary* 
 
 Poins. Is it come to Lhat ? i nad tno iglit, weari- 
 ness durst not have attached one of so Jiigli blood 
 
 P. Hen. 'Faith, it does me ; tiiough it discolours 
 the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it 
 Doth it not show vilely in me, to desire small beer ? 
 
 Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
 studi.ed, as to remenibf r so weak a composition. 
 
 P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not princely 
 gut ; lor, by my troth, 1 do now remember the poor 
 creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble 
 
852 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act xi 
 
 conaicle rations Tnake me out of love with my great- 
 ness. VVhat a disgrace is it to me to remember thy 
 nanse? or to know thy face to-morrow ? or to take 
 note how many pair of silk stockings thou liast; viz. 
 these, and tliose that were the peach-colour'd ones? 
 or to hear tlie in\'entory of thy shirts ; as., one for 
 supertlaity, and one other for use ? — but that, the 
 tennis-court keeper knows better than I; for it is a 
 low ebb of linen with thee, when tliou keepest not 
 racket there ; as thou hast not done a great while, 
 because the rest of thy low-countries have made a 
 shii't to eat up thy holland : and God knows, whe- 
 tiier those that bawl out the ruins of tliy linen, shall 
 ■ inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say, the 
 children are not in the fault; whereupon the world 
 increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. 
 
 Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured 
 so iiard, you should talk so idly "/ Tell me, how 
 many good young princes would do so, their tathers 
 being so sick as yours at this time is? 
 
 P. Hen. Shall 1 tell thee one thing, Poins? 
 
 Pains. Yes ; and let it be an excellent good thing. 
 
 P. Hen. It shall ser\e among wits of no higlier 
 breeding than thine. [that you will tell. 
 
 Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing 
 
 P. Hen. Why, I tell thee, — it is not tneet, that I 
 should be sad, now my father is sick : albeit I could 
 tell to thee, fas to one it pleases me, for fault of a 
 better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad 
 indeed too, 
 
 Poins. Very hardly, upon such a subject. 
 
 P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in 
 the devil's book as thou, and Falstali", for obduracy 
 and persistency : let the end try the man. But 1 
 tell thee, — my heart bleeds inwardly, that my lather 
 is so sick: and keeping such vile company as thou 
 rt, hath in reanon taken from me all ostentation of 
 
 Poins. The reascn / [sorrow. 
 
 P. Hen. VVhat wouki'st thou think of me, if I 
 hould weep ? [crite. 
 
 Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo- 
 
 P Hen. It would be every man's thought: and 
 thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man 
 thinks; never a man's thought in the world keeps 
 the road-way better than thine : every man would 
 think me an l\ypocrite indeed. And what accites 
 your most wxrsuipiul thought, to tiiink so ? 
 
 Poins. \V liy, because you have been so lewd, 
 and so much engrafted to Falstatl'. 
 
 P. Hen. And to thee. 
 
 Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can- 
 hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can 
 say of me is. that 1 am a second brother, and that 
 1 am a proi>er fellow of my hands; and those two 
 things, 1 coiitess, I cannot help. By the nmss, here 
 comes Bar lolph. 
 
 P. Hen. And the I oy that I gave Falstalf : he had 
 him from i ie christi vn ; and look, if the fat villain 
 have not transformed him ape. 
 
 Enter Ba rdolph and Page. 
 
 i ard. 'Save your grace ! 
 
 P, Hen. And youis, most noble Bardolph ! 
 
 Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [to the Page) 
 vou bashful iool, must you be blushing ? whereiore 
 bhish you ninv ? VVhat a maidenly man at arms are 
 you become ? Is it such a matter, to get a pottle- 
 pot's maidenhead ? 
 
 Page. He called me even now, my lord, through 
 a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
 from the window : at last, I spied liis eyes; and, 
 n>ethought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's 
 new pettiooafs, and peeped through. 
 
 P. Hen. Hath not tlie boy profited ? 
 
 Bard. Away, you wiioreson upright rabbit, away ! 
 
 Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away ! 
 
 P. Hen. Instruct us, boy : What dream, boy ? 
 
 Fage. Marry, my lord, Althea dreanjed she was 
 delivered of a hre-brand; and therefore [ call him 
 her dreara. 
 
 P. Hen. A crown's worth of good mterpretatioa 
 — There it is, boy. {Gives Mm money.) 
 
 Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kepi 
 from cankers! — Well, there is sixpence to pre«er?e 
 thee. 
 
 Bard. An you do not make him be hanged aAnong 
 you, the gallows shall have wrong. 
 
 P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? 
 
 Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's 
 coming to town; there's a letter for you. 
 
 Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how 
 doth the martlemas, your master? 
 
 Bard. In bodily health, sir. 
 
 Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physi 
 cian: but that moves not \\\m ; though that be sick 
 it dies not. 
 
 P. Hen. I do allow this v en to be as familiar 
 
 with me as my dog : and he holds his place ; for 
 look you, how he writes. 
 
 Poins. {Reads.) John Falstaff, knight, — Every 
 man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to 
 name himself Even like those, that are kin to the 
 king; for they never prick their finger, but they say 
 There is some of the king's blood spilt : H014, 
 comes that / says he, that takes upon him not to 
 conceive: the answer is as ready as a borrower's 
 cap ; / am the kings poor cousin, sir. 
 
 P. Hefi. Nay, they will be king to us, or they will 
 fetch it from Japhet. But the letter: — 
 
 Poins. Sir John Falstalf, knight, to the son oj 
 the king, nearest his father, Harry prince of 
 Wales, greeting. — Why, this is a certilicate. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace \ 
 
 Poins. I 'Will imitcte the honourable Roman in 
 brevity: — he sure means brevity in breath ; short- 
 winded. — / commend me to thee, I commend thee, 
 and I leave thee. Be not too familiar ivith Poins; 
 for he misuses thy favours so much, that he 
 sivears, thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repeni 
 at idle times as thou may'st, and so faretvell. 
 
 Thine, by yea and no, [ichich is a» 
 
 inucJios to say, as thou t/sest him,) 
 
 Jack Fal staff, ivith my familiars ; 
 
 John, ivith my brothers andsisters ; 
 
 and sir John, with all Europe. 
 My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make 
 him eat it. 
 
 P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his 
 words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must 1 
 niarry your sister? [but I never said so, 
 
 Poins. May the wench have no worse fortime ! 
 
 P. Hen. VVell, thus we play the fools with the 
 time; and the spirits of the wise sit in tlie clouds, 
 and mock us. — Is your master here in London? 
 
 Bard. Yes, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen, Where sups he ? doth the old boar feed 
 in the old frank ? 
 
 Bard. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. What company ? 
 
 Page. Ephesians, my lord ; of the old churrh. 
 
 P. Hen. Sup any women with him ? 
 
 Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, 
 and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 P. Hen. W hat pagan may that be ? 
 
 Page. A [jroper gentlewoman, .sir, and a kias- 
 woman of my master's. 
 
 P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers ar« 
 to the town bull. — Shall we steal upon them, Ned 
 at supper? [you. 
 
 Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — no 
 word to your master, that I am yet come to townt 
 There's ibr y«)ur silence. 
 
 Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 
 
 Page. And for mine, sir, — I vvill govern it. 
 
 P. Hen. Fare ye well ; go. [Exeunt Bardolpk 
 and Page.'] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some 
 road. 
 
 Poins. I warrant yon, as common as the waj 
 betvveeu St. Albap' and L ndon. 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 KINQ HENRY IV. 
 
 353 
 
 P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow him- 
 self to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves 
 be seen ? 
 
 Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, 
 and wait upon him at his table as drawers, 
 
 P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy descen- 
 sioii' it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren- 
 tice ? a low transformation ! that shall be mine : 
 f.-)r, in every thing, the purpose must weigh wi h 
 the folly. Follow me, Ned. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene ill.—Warhivurth. Before the Castle. 
 Enter Nohtoumberland, Lady Ncrthumder- 
 LAND, and Lady Percy, 
 
 North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daugh- 
 Give even way unto my rough atfairs : [ter. 
 Put not you on the visage ol the times. 
 And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 
 
 Lady N. I have given over, I will speak ho more : 
 Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 
 
 North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn ; 
 And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 
 Lady P. (), yet, for God's sake go not to these 
 wars ! 
 
 The time was, father, that you broke your word. 
 When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 
 When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, 
 Threw many a northward look, to see his father 
 Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. 
 Who then persuaded you to stay at home ? 
 There were two honours lost ; yours, and your son's. 
 For yours,— may heavenly glory brighten it ! 
 For his, — it stuck upon him, as the sun 
 In the grey vault of heaven : and, by his light. 
 Did all the chivalry of England move 
 To do brave acts ; he was, indeed, the glass 
 Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. 
 He had no legs, that practised not his gait: 
 Aai rpeaking thick, which nature made his blemish. 
 Became the accents of the valiant ; 
 For those, that could speak low, and tardily. 
 Would turn their own perfection to abuse, 
 
 seem like him : So that, in speech, in gait, 
 In diet, in affections of delight. 
 In military rules, humours of blood. 
 He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 
 
 That fashion'd others. And him, — O wondrous him ! 
 
 O miracle of men ! — him did you leave, 
 
 ^Second to none, unseeonded by you,) 
 fo look upon the hideous god of war 
 
 In disadvantage, to abide a field, 
 
 Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
 
 Did seem defensible :— so you left him : 
 
 Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong. 
 
 To hold your honour more precise and nice 
 
 With others, than with him ; let them alone ; 
 
 The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong': 
 
 And my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, 
 lo-day might I. hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
 
 have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 
 North. Beshrew your heart, 
 
 f ^ir daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me. 
 
 With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
 
 But I must go, and meet with danger there ; 
 
 Or it will seek me in another place, 
 
 And find me worse provided. 
 
 TltS^^f^- Ki 4.1 O, fly to Scotland, 
 lill that the nobles, and the armed commons. 
 Have of their puissance made a little taste. 
 
 Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the 
 
 king. 
 
 Then join you with them, like a rib of steel 
 lo make strength stronger; but, for all our 'loves 
 rirst let them try themselves : So did your son • ' 
 He was so suffer'd ; so came T a widow ; 
 And never shall have length of life enough, 
 lo rain upon remembrance with mint 
 
 le eyes. 
 
 ^ hat It may grow and sprout as high as'heaven, 
 ^j"/«-o>'dation to my noble husband. 
 Aorth. Come, come, go in with me 
 
 For 
 
 [mind, 
 'tis with my 
 
 As with the tide swell'd up unto its height. 
 That makes a still-stand, running neither w'av. 
 Fain would I go to meet the archbisiiop, 
 But many thousand reasons hold me back • 
 I will resolve for Scotland : there am I 
 1'ill time and vantage crave my company. [E.rcunt 
 
 Scene IV.— London. A Room in the Boar's 
 Head Tavern, in Eastcheap. 
 Enter Two Drawers. 
 
 1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there ? 
 apple-Johns i* thou know'st, sir John cannot endure 
 an apple-John, 
 
 2 Dratv. Mass, thou sayest true : The brince onoe 
 set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, 
 there were five more sir Johns : and, putting off his 
 hat, s-aid, / ivill now take my leave of these six dry, 
 round, old, withered knights. It angered him to the! 
 heart ; but he hath forgot that. 
 
 1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down: 
 And see if thou canst rind out Sneak's noise ; mistress 
 'J'ear-sheet would fain hear some music. Despatch : 
 —The room where they supped, is too hot : they'll 
 come in straight. 
 
 2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and 
 master Poms anon : and they will put on two of'our 
 jerkms, and aprons ; and sir John must not know 
 of it: Bardolph hath brought word. 
 
 1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis : It 
 will be an excellent stratagem, 
 2. Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. [Ejni. 
 
 Enter Hostess and BohL Tear sheet. 
 Host. I'faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are 
 in an excellent good temperality : your pulsidge 
 beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire ; and 
 your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose : 
 But, i'faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and 
 that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes 
 the blood ere one can say,— What's this ? How do 
 you now 
 
 Doll. Better than I was. tfem. 
 Host. Why, that's well said : a good heart's worth 
 gold. Look, here comes sir John. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, singing. 
 ^ Fal. When Arthur first in court— Em^ty the 
 Jordan. — And loas a worthy king : [Exit Drawer.] 
 How now, mistress Doll ? 
 
 Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. 
 Fal. So is all her sect ; an they be once in a calm 
 
 il ^7? ^l""^' , g^ve me ? 
 
 Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort 
 Fal You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 
 Doll. I make them ! gluttony and diseases make 
 them : I make them not. 
 
 Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, yoa 
 help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch of you, 
 Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my poor virtue' 
 grant that. 
 
 Doll. Ay, marry ; our chains and our jewels. 
 Fal. 'Your brooches, pearls and owches ; — for to 
 serve bravely, is to come halting off, vou know : 
 To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, 
 and to surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charge' 
 charnbers bravely : — [yourself! 
 
 hang 
 
 Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, 
 Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; you 
 two never meet, but you fall to some discord ; you 
 are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as tv/.o dry 
 toasts , you cannot one bear with another's confirm- 
 ities. Wiiat the good-year! one must bear, and that 
 must be you : [to Doll) you are the weaker vesseJ, 
 as they say, the emptier vessel. 
 
 Doll. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
 full hogshead ? tliere's a whole merchant's venture 
 of Bordeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a hulk 
 better stuffed in the hold.— Come, Til be mends 
 with thee. Jack: thou art going to the wars: and 
 
 23 
 
854 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act n. 
 
 wViether I shufl ever see thee again, or no, there is 
 nobody cares. 
 
 Re-enter Drawer. 
 
 Draw. Sir, anc ;nt Pistol's below, and would 
 epeak with yon. 
 
 Doll. Hang him swaggering rascal ! let him not 
 come hither: it is the foul mouth'dst rogue in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Host. If he .swagger, let him not come here : no, 
 by my faith ; I must live amongst my neighbours ; 
 J '11 no swaggerers: 1 am in good name and fame 
 with the very best — Shut the door;— there comes 
 uo swaggerers here ; I have not lived all this while, 
 to have swaggering now : — ^sliut the door, I pray you. 
 
 Fal. l)ost thou hear, hostess ? — 
 
 Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John; there 
 comes no swaggerers here. 
 
 Fal. Dost tiiou hear ! it is mine ancient. 
 
 Host. Tilly fally, sir John, never tell me; your 
 ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was 
 before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day ; 
 and, as he said to me, — it was no kmger ago. than 
 Wednesday last, — Nei^/tbour Quickly, says he ; — 
 master Dumb, our minister, was by then; — Neigh- 
 bour Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil; 
 for, saith he, you are in an ill name ; — now he said 
 so, I can tell whereupon ; for, says he. you are an 
 honest woman and well thought on; therefore take 
 heed what guestsyou receive : Receive, says he, no 
 swaggering companions. — Theae come none here; — 
 you would bless you to hear what he said : — no, I'll 
 no swaggerers. 
 
 Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame cheater, 
 he ; yoa may stroke him as gently as a puppy grey- 
 hound : he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if 
 her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. — 
 Call him up, drawer. 
 
 Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no ho- 
 nest man my house, nor no cheater: But 1 do nut 
 love swaggering: by my troth, I am the worse, 
 when one says — swagger: feel, masters, how I 
 shake ; look you, I warrant you. 
 
 Doll. So you do, hostess. 
 
 Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere 
 an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 
 
 Enter Pistol, Barj?olph, and Page. 
 Pist. 'Save you, sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol,! 
 charge you with a cup of sack : do you discharge 
 upon mine hostess. 
 
 Pist. I vvill discharge upon her, sir John, with 
 two bullets. [olfend her. 
 
 Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir ; you shall hardly 
 
 Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets: 
 I'll drink no more than will do me good for uo 
 man's pleasure, I. [charge you. 
 
 Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorotiiy ; J will 
 
 Doll. Charge me ? I scorn you, scurvy companion. 
 What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack- 
 inen mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! lam 
 meat for your master. 
 
 Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 
 
 Doll. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy 
 bung, away ! by this wine, I'll thrust my kuii'e in 
 your mouldy chaps, an you pbiy the saucy cuttle 
 with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal I you basket- 
 hir. stale jiiggler, you ! — Since when, 1 pray you, 
 sir ? — What, with two points on your shoulder ? 
 oiuch ! 
 
 Pist. I will murder your ruff for this. 
 
 Fal. No more. Pistol ; I would not have you go 
 olFhere*. discharge yourself of our company. Pistol. 
 
 H0>ft. N."*, good captaiii Pistol : not here, sweet 
 captain. 
 
 Doll. Captain I thou abominable damned ( heater, 
 art thou not ashamed to be called — captain ? If cap- 
 'aiu« were of my mind, they would truncheon you 
 out, for taking tueir names upon you before you 
 
 have earned them. You a captain, you slave! 
 what ? { jr tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy 
 house —He a captain ! Hang him, rogue ! He Uvea 
 upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A 
 captain i these villains will make the word captaiu 
 as odious as the word occupy : which was an ex- 
 \^ellent good word before it was ill sorted : there- 
 fore captains had need look to it. 
 
 Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 
 
 Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 
 
 Pist. Not I : tell thee what, corporal Bardolph ;~- 
 I could tear her : — I'll be revenged on het. 
 
 Page. Pray thee, go down. 
 
 Pist. I'll see her damned first; — tu Pluto's 
 damned lake, to the infernal deep, With Erebus and 
 tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say 1. 
 Down! down, dogs! down faitors! Have we not 
 Hiren here ? 
 
 Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet ; it is very 
 late,i'faith: I beseekyou now, aggravate your choler. 
 
 Pist. These be good humours, indeed ! Shall 
 And hollow paraper'd jades of Asia, [pack-horses, 
 Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, 
 Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, 
 And Trojan Greeks ? nay, rather damn them with 
 King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
 Shall we fall foul for toys ? 
 
 Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter 
 words. [a brawl anon. 
 
 Bard. Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to 
 Pist. Die men, like dogs ; give crowns like pins , 
 Have we not Hiren here ? 
 
 Host. O' my word, captain, there's none suciv 
 here. What the good year ! do you tiiink, I would 
 deny her? For God's sake, be quiet. 
 
 Pist. Then, feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis: 
 Come, give's some sack. 
 
 Sifortuna me tormenta, s-pernto me contenta. — 
 Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend gi\e lire : 
 Give me some sack ; — and, sweeth.eart, lie thou 
 there. ( haying doion his sword ) 
 
 Come we to full points here ; and are et ceteras 
 nothing ? 
 Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 
 Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: What! we 
 have seen the seven stars. 
 
 Doll. Thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure 
 such a fustian rascal. 
 
 Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not Gal- 
 loway nags i 
 
 Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove- 
 groat shilling : nay, if he do nothing but speak no- 
 thing, he shall be nothing here. 
 
 Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 
 Pist. What! shall we have incision ? shall we 
 imbrue ? — {Snatching up his sword.^ 
 Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doletui day ! 
 Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
 Untwine the sisters three ! Come, Atropos, I say ! 
 Host. Here's goodly stulf toward ! 
 Fal. Give me my rapier, hoy. 
 Doll. I pray thee. Jack, I pray thee, do not draw 
 Fal. Get you down stairs. 
 
 {Draiviny and driving Pirtolotlt.) 
 Host. Here's a goodiy tumult! ill f( rawear 
 keepmg house, afore I'll be in these tirnts and 
 frights. So; murder, I warrant now. — Alas, alas! 
 put up your naked weapons, put up your naked 
 weapons. [Exeunt Pistol and B irdolph 
 
 Doll. I pray thee. Jack, be qiuetithe rascal i« 
 gone. Ah, you whoreson little \aiiant villain, you. 
 
 Host. Are you not hurt i the groin? incthought, 
 he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph. 
 Fal. Have you turned him out of doors ? 
 Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk ; yoo baw 
 hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. 
 Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! 
 I Doll. Ah, you sweet little ro<?ue, yoa I Alas 
 
KliSG HENRY TV. 
 
 S55 
 
 poor ape, how thou sweat'st ! Come, let me wipe 
 tliy face; — com" on, you wlioreson chaps; — Ah, 
 rogue ! i'failh, I 'ove thee. Tlioii art as valorous 
 as tiector i4 Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and 
 ten times better tlian the nine worthies. Ah, villain ! 
 
 FuL A rasca.ly slave ! I will toss the rogue in a 
 blanket. 
 
 Dol/. Do, if thou darest for thy heart : if thou 
 dost, I'll canms thee between a pair of sheets. 
 
 Enter Music, 
 Png«. The music is come, sir 
 Pal. Let tliei- i>lay; — Play, sirs. — Sit on my 
 knee, Doll. A rascal Ijragging slave ! the rogue 
 fled from me likrt quicksilver. 
 
 Doll. I laith, and thou followedst him like a 
 , church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew 
 ■ ^ boar-|jig, when wilt thou leave fighting o'days, and 
 foining o'nights, and begin to patch up thine old 
 body for heaven? 
 
 Ente»- be/and, Prince Henry and Poins, disguised 
 like Drawers. 
 Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a death's 
 ead : do not bid me remember mnie end. 
 Doll. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of"? 
 Fal. A good shallow young fellow : he would 
 have made a good pantler, he would have chipped 
 bread well. 
 Doll. They say, Poins has a good wit. 
 Fal. He a good wit ? hang him, baboon ! his wit 
 is as thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is no more 
 conceit in him, than is in a mallet 
 Doll. Why does the prince love him so then ? 
 Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness : 
 and hs plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and 
 fennel ; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dra- 
 gons ; and rides the wild mare with the boys ; and 
 jumps upon joint stools and swears with a good 
 firace ; and wears his boot very smooth, like unto 
 tiip sign of the leg ; and breeds no bate with telling 
 of" discreet stories, and such other gambol faculties 
 lif liHth, that show a weak mind and an able body, 
 for the which the prince admits him : for the prince 
 himself is such another; the weight of a hair will 
 turn the scales between their avoirdupois. 
 
 P. Hen. Would not this knave of a wheel have 
 bis ears cut off? 
 Pains. L-t's beat him before his whore. 
 P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his 
 poll clawed like a parrot, 
 
 Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so 
 many years outlive performance ? 
 Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 
 
 P. Hen, Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
 tion I what says the almanack to that? 
 
 Pains. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his 
 man, be not lisping to his master's old tables ; his 
 note book, his counsel-keeper. 
 
 Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 
 
 Doll. Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most con- 
 stant heart. 
 
 Fal. I am old, I am old. 
 
 Doll. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy 
 yoimg bov of them all. 
 
 Fal. VVhat stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall 
 receive money on Thursday ; thoii shalt have a cap 
 to-morrow. A merry song, come ; it grows late, 
 we'll to bnd. 'I'hou'lt forget me, when I am gone. 
 
 Doll. By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an 
 thou sayest so: prove that ever I dress myself 
 haiidsiim-- till thy return. — Well, hearken the end. 
 
 Fal. Some sack, Francis. 
 
 P. Hen. Pains. Anon, anon, sir. {Advancing.) 
 
 Fal \ln ! ii bastard son of the king's ? — And art 
 Dot tliou Poins his brotuv'r ? 
 
 P. Hen. Wliy, llioii ulobe of sinful continents, 
 what a lile d..st"tliou 't-ad ? 
 
 Fai. A better tuau thou; I am a gentleman, thou 
 Aft » drawer 
 
 P. Hen. Very true, sir; and I come to draw you 
 out by tlie ears. 
 
 Host. O, the lord preserve (hy good grace ! by 
 Hiy troth, welcome to London. — ^Now the Lord 
 bless that sweet face of thine ! O Jesu, are you 
 come from Wales? 
 
 Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, 
 — by this light flesh and corrupt blocd, thou ar^ 
 welcome. {Leaning his hand upon Doll.) 
 
 Doll. How J you fat fool, I scorn you. 
 
 Pains. My lord, he will drive you out of your 
 revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you teke 
 not the heat. 
 
 P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how 
 vilely did you speak of me even now, before thia 
 honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman ? 
 
 Host. 'Blessing o'your good heart ! and so she is, 
 by my troth. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou hear me ? 
 
 P. Hen. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did when 
 you ran away by Gads-hill: you knew, I was at your 
 back ; and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience. 
 
 Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think, thou 
 wast within hearing. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the 
 wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you. 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour, no abuse. 
 
 P. Hen. Not ! to dispraise me ; and call me — 
 pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what ? 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal. 
 
 Pains. No abuse ! 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, 
 none. I dispraised him before the wicked, tliat the 
 wicked might not fall in love with him : — in which 
 doing I have done the part of a careful friend, and 
 a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks 
 for it. — No abuse, Hal ; — none, Ned, none ; — no, 
 boys, none. 
 
 P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire 
 cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuor.a 
 gentlewoman to close with us ? Ls she of the wicked ? 
 Is thine hostess here of the wicked ? Or is the boy 
 of the wicked ? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal 
 burns in his nose, of the wicked ? 
 
 Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, :insvver. 
 
 Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph ir- 
 recoverably ; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, 
 where he doth nothing but roast malt-v»'Oi ms. For 
 the boy, — there is a good angel about him ; but the 
 devil outbids him too. 
 
 P. Hen. For the women, — 
 
 Fal. For one of them, — she is in hell already, 
 and burns, poor soul ! For the other, — I owe her 
 money ; and whether she be damned for that. I 
 know not. 
 
 Host. No, I warrant you. 
 
 Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think, thou art 
 quit for that: Marry, there is another indictment 
 upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy 
 house, contrary to the law ; tor the which, I think, 
 thou wilt hov/1. 
 
 Host. All victuallers do so : What's 9 joint of 
 mutton or two in a whole Lent ? 
 P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, — 
 Doll. What says your grace ? [against 
 Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
 Host. Who knocks so loud at the door ? look to 
 the door there, Francis. 
 
 Enter Peto. 
 
 P. Hen. Peto, how now? what news? 
 
 Peto. The king your father is at Westminster; 
 And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, 
 Cume from the north : and, as I came along, 
 I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, 
 Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns. 
 And asking every one for sir John Falsta.T. 
 
 P. Hen. I3y heaven, Poins, I leel me much to 
 So idly to profane the precious time; [blame, 
 Wne^i tempest of conunotion, l>ke tiie south 
 
356 
 
 SECOND 
 
 PART OF 
 
 Act hi. 
 
 Borne wilh black vapour, doth begin to melt, 
 
 And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
 
 Oive me my sword and clonk : — FalstafF, good night. 
 
 [Exeiint Prince Henry, Pains, Peto, and 
 Bardolph. 
 
 Wal, Now comes in tlie sweetest morsel of Die 
 night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. 
 [Knocking heard.) More knocking at the door ? 
 
 Be-enter Bardolph. 
 How now ? what's the matter ? 
 
 Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently ; 
 a dozen captains stay at door for yoTi. 
 
 Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. ('To the Page.) — 
 Farewell, hostess; — farewell, Doll. — You see, my 
 good wenches, how men of merit are sought after: 
 ihe undeserver may sleep, w^hen the man of action 
 is called on. Farewell, good wefiches : II' I be not 
 sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. 
 
 Doll. I cannot speak ; — If my heart be not ready 
 UJ burst: — well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. 
 
 Fal. Farewell, Farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph. 
 
 Host. Well, fare thee well : 1 have known thee 
 these twenty-nine years, come peascod time ; but 
 an honester and truer-hearted man, — Well, fare 
 thee well. 
 
 Bard. {TFithin.) Mistress Tear-sheet, — 
 Host. What's the matter? 
 
 Bard. ( n ithin.) Bid mistress Tear-sheet come 
 to my master. 
 
 Host. O run, Doll, run ; run, good Doll. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A Rooin in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henky in his night-gown, with a Page. 
 K, Hen. Go, call tiie earls of Surrey and of 
 Warwick ; 
 
 Rut, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters. 
 And well consider of them : Make good speed. — 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep. 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I li ighted thee, 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down. 
 And steep my senses in forgetfilness ? 
 Why rather, sleep, liest tliou in smoky cribs. 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber ; 
 Than in the perfum'd ciuimbers of the great. 
 Under the canopies of costly state. 
 And luli'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 
 O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile 
 In loathsome beds ; and leav'st the kingly couch, 
 A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell ;? 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 fn cradle of the rude imperious surge; 
 And in the visitation of the winds. 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 Curling their monstruous heads, and hanging them 
 With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, 
 That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? 
 Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
 And, in the calmest and most stillest night. 
 With all appliances and means to boot. 
 Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
 
 Enter Warvs^ick and Surrey. 
 
 War. Many good morrows to your majesty ! 
 
 K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords? 
 
 War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. [lords. 
 
 K.. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my 
 Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you ? 
 
 War. We have, my liege. [kingdom 
 
 jKT. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our 
 How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, 
 And with what danger, near the heart of it. 
 
 War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd ; 
 
 Which to his former strength may be restor'd. 
 With good advice, and little niedecine. — 
 My lord Northumberland will soon be cooi'd. 
 K. Hen. O heaven ! that one might read ihe booi 
 of fate: 
 
 And see the revolution of the times 
 Make mountains level, and the continent 
 
 i Weary of solid firmness,) melt itself 
 nto the sea ! and, other times, to see 
 The beachy girdle of the ocean 
 Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances laockf 
 And changes fill the cup of alteration 
 With divers liquors! O, if this were seen. 
 The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through, 
 What perils past, what crosses to ensue, — 
 Would shut the book, and sit him down and dip. 
 'Tis not ten years gone. 
 
 Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friend* 
 Did feast together, and, in two years alter. 
 Were they at wars : It is but eight years since 
 This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 
 Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs, 
 And laid his love and life under my foot; 
 Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
 Gave him defiance. But vvhick of you was by, 
 (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,) 
 
 (To Warwuk.) 
 When Richard, — with his eye brimlull of tears, 
 Theucheck'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
 Did speak these words, now prov'd a propiiecy ? 
 Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which 
 My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne ; — 
 Tliough then, heaven knows, I had no S'Uch intent; 
 But that necessity so bow'd the state, 
 'i'hat I and greatness were compelled to kiss : — 
 The time shall cofne, thus did he follow it. 
 The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption : — so went on. 
 Foretelling this same time's condition. 
 And the division of our amity. 
 
 War. There is a history in all men's lives. 
 Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd : 
 The which observ'd, a man may prophecy. 
 With a near aim, ol the main chance of things / 
 As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds. 
 And weak beginnings, lie iritreasured. 
 Such things become the hatch and brood of time ; 
 And, by the necessary form ol' this. 
 King Richard might create a perl'ect guess. 
 That great Northumberland, then laKse to him, 
 Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness ; 
 Which should not find a ground to nx>t upon. 
 Unless on you. 
 
 K. Hen. Are these things then necessities ? 
 Then let us meet them like necessities : — 
 And that same word even now cries out on us; 
 They say, the bishop and Northumberland 
 Are fifty thousand strong. 
 
 War. It cannot be, my lord ; 
 
 Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, 
 The numbers of the fear'd : — Please it your graco 
 To go to bed : upon my life, my lord. 
 The powers tnat you already have sent forth. 
 Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
 To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd 
 A certain instance, that Glendower is dead. 
 Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill ; 
 And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add 
 Unto your sickness. 
 
 K. Hen. I will take your counsel ^ 
 
 And, were these inward wars once cut of hand. 
 We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Court before Justice Shallow's Hous* 
 
 in Gloucestereki e. 
 Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting ; Mout>dy 
 
 Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-calf, and 
 
 Servants, behind. 
 
 Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give n*a 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 357 
 
 your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early 
 stirrer, by the rood. And how doth niy good cousin 
 
 Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 
 
 8hal. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow ? 
 and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god- 
 daughter Ellen ? 
 
 Sil. Akts, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin 
 VViiliaiu is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford, 
 Blill, is he not 'I 
 
 Sil. Indeed, sir ; to my cost. 
 
 ShaL He must then to the inns of court shortly : 
 I was once of Clement's inn; where, I think, they 
 will talk of mad Shallow yet. 
 
 Sil. You were called — lusty Shallow, then, eousin. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I was 'called any thmg; and 
 I would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly 
 too. There was I, and little John Doit of Start'ord- 
 shire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pick- 
 hone, and Will Sq iele a Cotswold man, — you had 
 not four such swinge-buckieis in all the inns of 
 court again ; and, I may say to you, we knew where 
 the bona-robas were ; and had the best of them all 
 at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaft", now sir 
 John, a boy ; and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke 
 of Norfolk. [about soldiers ? 
 
 Sil. 'J^his sir John, cousin, that couies hither anon 
 
 Shal. The same sir John, the very same. I saw 
 him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when 
 he was a crack, not thus high: and the very same 
 day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruit- 
 erer, behind Gray's inn. O, the mad days that I have 
 spent ! and to see how many of mine old acquaint- 
 ances are dead ! 
 
 Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 
 
 Shal. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure: 
 death, as the Psai^nist saith, is certain to all ; all 
 Sf'sall die. — How good a yoke of bullocks at Stam- 
 ford fair ? 
 
 Sil. Tridy, cousin, I was not there. 
 
 Shal. Death is certain. — Is old Double of your 
 town living yet 
 
 Sil. Dead, sir. 
 
 Shal. Dead I — See, see ! — he drew a good bow ; 
 And dead !— he shot a line shoot: — John of Gaunt 
 loved hint well, and betted much money on his head. 
 Dead I — he would liuve clapped i' the clout at twelve 
 score ; and carried you a lorehaiid shaft a fourteen 
 and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a 
 aians heart good to see. — tlovv a score of ewes now? 
 
 Sil. Tiiereajteras they be: a score of good ewes 
 may be worth ten po'.mds. 
 
 Shal. And is old Double dead ! 
 
 Enter Bardolph, and one with him. 
 Sil. Here coiue two of sir John FalstalF's men, 
 as 1 think. 
 
 Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I be- 
 seech you, vvliich is justice Shallow i 
 
 Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire 
 of this county, and one of the king's justices of the 
 peace : W^liat is your good pleasure with me? 
 
 Bard. iVly captain, sir, conmiends him to you : 
 my captain, sir John Falstatt": a tall gentleman, by 
 heaven, and a uiost gallant leader. 
 
 ShaL He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good 
 Iv cksword man ; How doth the good knight ? may 
 1 ask, how my lady his wife doth i 
 
 Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommo- 
 (lited, than with a wife. 
 
 Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well 
 eaid indeed too. Better acconauodated ! — it is 
 go;)d ; yea, indeed, it is: good phrases are surely, 
 und ever were, very commendable. Accommodated I 
 — it comes frma accotmnodo : very good ; a good 
 phrase. 
 
 Bard. Pardon raf sir. I have heard th*^ word. 
 Phrase, ^aii you it? By this good day, I know not 
 4ije piirase ; but I '"'ui namtai;) th-.- w-.^ni with my 
 
 sword, to be a soldier-like word and a word of es« 
 
 ceediiig good command Accommodated ; That 13, 
 when a man is, as they say, accommodated: or, 
 when a man is, — being, — wliereby, — he may l)e 
 thought to be accommodated ; which is an excellent 
 thing. 
 
 Enler Falstafp. 
 Shal. It is very just : — Look, here comes good 
 sir John. — Give me your good hs -d, give me you 
 worship's good hand: By my troth, you look w^if, 
 and bear your years very well : welcome, good s.i 
 John. 
 
 Fal. I am glad to see you well, good matikr 
 Robert Shallow : — Master Sure-card, as I think. 
 
 Shal. No, sir John; it is my cousin Silence, u 
 commission with me. 
 
 Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you 
 shoidd be of the peace. 
 
 Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 
 
 Fal. Fy ! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, have 
 you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men ? 
 
 ShaL Marry, have we, sir. Wil] you sit i* 
 
 Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 
 
 ShaLWhere's the roll ? where 's the roll ? where's 
 the roll ? — Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so : 
 Yea, marry, sir. — Ralph Mouldy: — let them appear 
 as I call ; let them do so, let them do so. — Let me 
 see : Where is Mouldy ? 
 
 Moul. Here, an't please you. 
 
 Shal. What think you, sir John ? a good limbed 
 fellow : young, strong, and of good friends 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ? 
 
 Moul. Yea, an't please you. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! things, 
 that are mouldy, lack use: Very singular good .'— 
 In faith, well said, sir John ; very well said. 
 
 FaL Prick him. \Tq Shallow.^ 
 
 Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an you 
 could have let me alone : my old dame will be un- 
 done now, for one to do her husbandry, and her 
 drudgery : you need not have pricked me ; there are 
 other men fitter to go out than I. 
 
 Fal. Go to ; peace. Mouldy, you shall go Mouldy 
 it is time you were spent. 
 
 Moul. Spent! 
 
 Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside ; Kno\i 
 you where you are ? — For the oth*^r, sir John : — le 
 me see ; — Simon Shadow ! 
 
 Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: 
 he's like to be a cold soldier. 
 
 ShaL Where's Shadow i 
 
 Shad. Here, sir. 
 
 FaL Shadow, whose son art thou? 
 Shad. My mother's son, sir 
 
 Fal. Thy mother's son! like enough; and thy 
 father's shadow : so the son of the temale is the 
 shadow of the male : It is often so, indeed ; but not 
 much of the father's substance. 
 
 ShaL Do j'ou like him, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, — prick him , 
 — for we have a number of shadows to fill up the 
 muster-book. 
 
 Shal. Thomas Wart ! 
 
 FaL Where's he ? 
 
 Wart. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Wart? 
 
 Wart. Yea, sir. 
 
 FaL Thou art a very ragged warL 
 
 Shal. Siiall 1 prick him. sir John, 
 
 Fal. It were superliuous ; for his apparel is buitt 
 upon his back, and the whole frame stands upoa 
 pins : prick him no nmre. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! — you can do it, sir ; you can do 
 it; i connnend you well. — Francis Feeble I 
 
 Fee. Here, sn- 
 
 Fal. What tiade art thou. Feeble ? 
 Fee. A woman's tailor, sir, 
 Shal. Shall i prick him, sir? 
 
S58 
 
 SECOND 
 
 PART OF 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Fal. You may ; but if he hail been a man's tai- 
 lor, he wonhJ have pricked you. — Wilt thoii make 
 as many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast 
 done in a vvomr.n's petticoat? (more. 
 
 Fee. I vvill da my good will, sir ; you can have no 
 
 FaL Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, 
 courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valian't as the 
 wrathtul dove, or most magnanimous niouse. — Prick 
 the woman's tailor well, master Shallow; deep, 
 master S'iraUow. 
 
 Fee. I would, Wart might have gone, sir. 
 
 FaL I would, ihou wert a man's tailor; that thou 
 miglit'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I cannot 
 put iiim to a pri\ ate soldier, that is the leader of so 
 many thousands: Let that suffice, most tbrcible 
 
 Fee. It shalk suffice, sir. [Feeble. 
 
 Fal. 1 am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. — 
 Who is the next ? 
 
 SAal. Peter Bull-calf oi" the green! 
 
 FaL Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. 
 
 Bzill. Here, sir. 
 
 FaL 'Fore God, a likely fellow! — Come, prick 
 me Bull-calf till he roar again. 
 
 BulL O lord ! good my lord captain,— 
 
 FaLWhiit, dost thou roar before thou art pricked ? 
 
 Bic/L O lord, sir I 1 am a diseased man. 
 
 FaL What disease hast thou ? 
 
 Bu/L A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, sir; which 
 I caught with ringing in the king's aflairs, upon his 
 coronation day, sir. 
 
 FaL Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown : 
 we will have away thy cold ; and I will take such 
 order, that thy friends shall ring for thee. — Is here 
 all? 
 
 S/taL Here is two more called than your number ; 
 you must have but four here, sir; — and so, I pray 
 you, go in with me to dinner, 
 
 FaL Come, 1 will go drink with you, but I cannot 
 tiirry dinner, I am glad to see you, in good troth, 
 master Sliallow. 
 
 S/iaL O, sir John, do you remember since we lay 
 all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields ? 
 
 F'al. No more of that, good master Shallow, no 
 more of that. 
 
 S/iaL Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane 
 Nigjit- work alive? 
 
 FaL Slie lives, master Shallow. 
 
 SAaL She never could away with me. 
 
 FaL Never, never: she would always say, she 
 could not abide master Shallow. 
 
 S/iaL By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. 
 She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own 
 well ? 
 
 F^aL Old, eld, master Shallow. 
 
 SAaL Nay, she must be old ; she cannot choose 
 but be old ; certain, she's old : and had Kobin 
 Night work by old Night-work, before I came to 
 Clement's inn. 
 
 SiL Tiiat's fifty five years ago. 
 
 SAaL Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen 
 that, that tliis knight and I have seen! — Ha, sir 
 John, said I well? [master Shallow. 
 
 F^al. We have heard the chimes at midnight, 
 
 SAal That we have, that we ha\e, that we have; 
 in faith, sir John, we have ; our watch-word was, 
 ,Hem, boys ! — Come, let's to dinner ; come, let's to 
 dinner: — O, the days that we have seen!— Come, 
 come. \Exeiini Falstaff, SAallow, and Silence. 
 
 Bull. Good master cur|)orate Bardoiph, stand 
 my friend ; and here is four Harry ten shillings in 
 French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, J had as 
 lief be hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine own 
 part, sir, I do not care ; but, ratlier, because I am 
 unwilling, and, lor mine own part, have a desire to 
 stay witli my friends; else, sir, 1 did not care, for 
 mine own part, so much. 
 
 Baj d. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Moul. And good master corporal captain, for my 
 old dame's sake,st9nd my friend : she lias nobody tu 
 dk) any thing about her, wheu 1 uui g^oue i and siie 
 
 is old, and cannot help herself: yon shall have forty, 
 sir. 
 
 Bard. Go to; stand aside. 
 
 F\e. By my trotli I rare not ; — a man can die but 
 once ; — we owe God a death , — I'll ne'er bear a basa 
 mind : — an't be my destiny, so ; an't be not, so: No 
 man's too good to serve his prince ; and, let it go 
 which way it vvill, he that dies tliis year, is quit for 
 the next. 
 
 Bard. Well said ; thou'rt a good fellow. 
 Fee. 'Faith, I'll bear no base mind. 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices. 
 Fal. Come, sir, which men shall 1 have? 
 SAal. Four of which you please. 
 Bard. Sir, a word with you : — I have three pound 
 to free Mouldy and Bull-calf. 
 FaL Go to ; well. 
 
 SAaL Come, sir John, which four will you have ? 
 
 Fal. Do you choose for me. 
 
 SAaL Marry then,— Mouldy, BuU-calC Feeble, 
 and Shadow. 
 
 FaL Mouldy, and Bull-calf :— For you. Mouldy, 
 stay at home still ; you are past service; — and, for 
 your part. Bull-calf, — grow till you come unto it; I 
 will none of you. 
 
 SAaL Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong; 
 they are your likeliest men, and I would have you 
 served with the best. 
 
 FaL Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to 
 choose a man? Care I lor the limb, tiie thewes, the 
 stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give 
 me the spirit, master Shallow. — Here's Wart ; — joii 
 see what a ragged appearance it is: he shall charge 
 you and discharge you, with the motion of a 
 pewterer's hammer; come off, and on, swifter than 
 he that gibbets on the brewer's bucket. And this 
 same half- faced fellow, Shadow, — give me this man ; 
 he presents no mark to the enemy ; the Ibemau may 
 with as great aim level at the edge of a jjenknife : 
 And, for a retreat, — how swiftly will this Feeble, 
 the woman's tador, run off ? O, give me the spare 
 men, and spare me the great ones. — Put me a cali- 
 verinto Wart's hand, Bardoiph. 
 
 Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse ; thus, thus, thus. 
 
 FaL Come, manage me your caliver. So: —very 
 well : — go to : — very good : — exceeding goad. — O, 
 give me always a little lean, old, chapped, bald 
 shot. — W ell said, i'faith. Wart ; thou'rt a good scab : 
 hold, there's a tester for thee. 
 
 SAad. He is not his craft's master, he doth not 
 do it right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when 
 I lay at Clement's inn, — I was then Sir Dagonet in 
 Arthurs show,) there was a little quiver fellow, and 
 'a would manage you his piece thus, and 'a would 
 about, anJ about, and come you in, and come you 
 in : raA, taA, tah, would 'a say : bounce, would 'a 
 say ; and away againi would 'a go, and again would 
 'a come : — I shall never see such a fellow. 
 
 FaL These fellows will do well, master Shallow. 
 — God keep you, master Silence ; I will not use 
 many words with you : — Fare you well, gentlemeu 
 both : I thank you : I must a dozen mile to night.— 
 Bardoiph, give the soldiers roats. 
 
 SAaL Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper 
 your affairs, and send us peace ! As you return, visit 
 my house ; let our old acquaintance be renewed . 
 peradventure, I will with you to tJie court. 
 
 Fal. I would you would, master Shallow. 
 
 SAal. Go to; 1 have spoke, at a word. Fare yoj 
 well. [Exeunt SAalloiv and Silence^ 
 
 FaL Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar. 
 dolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardoiph^ 
 Recruits, 8ic.] As I return, Iv\ill letc'a .^if these 
 justices : I do see the bottom of justice Sliallow 
 Lord, lord, how subject we old men are to tliis vice 
 of lying! Tliis same starved justice hath done 
 nothing but prate to me of the wildness of hi* 
 youth, and the feats he hath done ah jul 'i'urobuii- 
 streeLi and every third word a lie duer ptud to th« ^ 
 
ACT IV. Scene 1, 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 359 
 
 nearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remetnber him 
 atCIenjcnt's inn, like a man made after supper of a 
 cheese-paring: when he was naked, he was, for all 
 the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantasti- 
 cally carved upon it with a knife : he was so forlorn, 
 that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible ; 
 he was the very Genius of ianiine ,• yet lecherous as 
 a monkey, and the whores called him — mandrake : 
 he came ever in the rear- ward of the fashion ; and 
 sung those tunes to the over scutched huswives that 
 he heard the carmen whistle, and svvare — they were 
 his fancies, or his good-nigiits. And now is this 
 Vice's dagger become a squire ; and talks as fami- 
 liarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had been sworn 
 brother to him : and I'll be sworn he never saw him 
 but once in the Tilt-yard ; and then he burst his 
 head, for crowding among the marshal's men. I 
 saw it; and told John of Gaunt, he beat his own 
 name : for you might have truss"d him, and all his 
 apparel, into an eel-skin : the case of a treble haut- 
 boy was a mansion for him, a court; and now has he 
 land and beeves. Well ; I will be acquainted with 
 him, if I return : and it shall go hard, but I will make 
 ,y him a philosopher's two stones to me. If the young 
 dace be a bait for the old pike, 1 see no reason, in 
 the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let time 
 shape, and there an end. [Exit, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 Scene I. — A Forest in Yorkshire. 
 Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, 
 Hastings, and others. 
 
 Arck. What is this forest call'd ? 
 
 Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your 
 grace. [forth. 
 
 Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send discoverers 
 To know the numbers of our enemies. 
 
 Hast. We have sent forth already. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis well done. 
 
 My friends, and brethren in these great allairs, 
 I must acquaint you, that I have receiv'd 
 New-dated letters I'rom Northumberland ; 
 Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus : — 
 Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
 As might hold sortance with his quality, 
 The which he could not levy; whereupon 
 He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes. 
 To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers, 
 That your attemps n»ay overlive the hazard. 
 And tearful m^-etiiig of their opposite. 
 
 Moivb. 'V\ms do the hopes we have in him touch 
 And dash themselves to pieces. [ground. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Hast. Now, what news ? 
 
 Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile. 
 In goodly form comes on the enemy : 
 And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
 Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. 
 
 Moivh. The just proportion, that we gave them out. 
 Let us sway on, and face tliem in the tield. 
 
 Enter Westmoreland. 
 
 Arch. What well appointed leader fronts us here? 
 
 Mowb. I tliink, it is my lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 West. Health and fair greeting froni our general. 
 The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. 
 
 Arch. S.iy on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace ; 
 What dotli concern your coming? 
 
 West. 'rhen, my lord, 
 
 IJiUo yotvr grace do Ijn chief address 
 The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
 Caa.e like itself, ir^ base and abject routs, 
 Led on by bloo ly }outh, guarded with rage, 
 Afidoountenanc'd by boys, and beggary; 
 1 say, if damn'd connnotiou so appear'd, 
 la his true, nati\e,and most proper shape. 
 You, revereuci father, and these noble lords. 
 Had not bee.a here, to dress the ugly form 
 Of base, and bloody insurrection 
 
 With 3 our fair honours. You, lord archbishop,-«« 
 
 Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd; 
 VVhose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd; 
 Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'a - 
 Whose white investments figure innocence. 
 The dove and very blessed sj>irit of peace. 
 Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, 
 Out of the speech of peace, that bears such giace. 
 Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war? 
 Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, 
 Your pens to lances; and your tongue divine 
 To a loud trumpet, and a point of war? 
 Arch. Wherefore do I this ? — so the qiiestioa 
 stands. 
 
 Briefly to this end : — We are all diseas'd ; 
 And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours, 
 Have brought ourselves into a burning fever. 
 And we must bleed for it ; of which disease 
 Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
 But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, 
 I take not on me here as a physician ; 
 Nor do I, as an enemy to peace. 
 Troop in the throngs of military men : 
 But, rather, show a while like fearful war. 
 To diet rank minds, sick of happiness ; 
 And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop 
 Our very veins of like. Hear me more plaiuly. 
 I have in equal balance justly weigli'd 
 What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we 
 suffer. 
 
 And find our griefs heavier than our offe nces. 
 
 We see which way the stream of time doth rup 
 
 And are enforc'd from our most quiet spiiei e 
 
 By the rough torrent of occasion : 
 
 And have the summary of all our griefs, 
 
 When tine shall serve, to show in ai tides , 
 
 Which, long ere this, we oifer'd to the king, 
 
 And might by no suit gain our audience : 
 
 When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our [;rief-; 
 
 We are denied access unto his person, 
 
 Even by those men, that most have done us u rwn^v 
 
 The dangers of the days but newly gone, 
 
 (Whose memory is written on the earth 
 
 With yet appearing blood,) and the examples 
 
 Of every minute's instance, (present now,) 
 
 Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms : 
 
 Not to break peace, or any branch of it : 
 
 But to establish here a peace indeed. 
 
 Concurring both in name and quality. 
 
 West. When ever yet was your appeal dei.iL-d ? 
 Wherein have you been galled by the king ? 
 What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you 
 That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
 Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine. 
 And consecrate commotion's bitter edge ? 
 
 Arch. My brother general, the commonweal ili. 
 To brother born an household cruelty, 
 I make my quarrel in particular. 
 
 West. There is no need of any such redress ; 
 Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. 
 
 Mowb. Why not to him, in part ; and to us ; 11 
 That feel the bruises of the days before ; 
 And suffer the condition of these times 
 To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
 Upon our honours ? 
 
 West. O my good lord Mowbray, 
 
 Construe the times to their necessities. 
 And you shall say indeed, — it is the time, 
 And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
 Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, 
 Either from the king, or in the present time, 
 That you should have an inch of any ground 
 To build a grief on : Were you not restor'd 
 To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories. 
 Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's . 
 
 Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my lather [rhA, 
 That need to be reviv'd and breatli'd in me ? 
 'I'he king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then 
 Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him; 
 And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, aad be, — 
 
860 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Aci TY. 
 
 Being mounted, and both ronsed in their seats, 
 Their neiglimg coursers, darin;;' oftli® spur, 
 Tiieir armed staves in charge, their beavers down, 
 Their eyes ol'fire sparkling through sights of steel. 
 And the loud trumpet blowing them together; 
 Then, then, when ttiere was nothing could have staid 
 My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
 O, when the king did tiirow his warder down. 
 His own life hang upon the statFhe threw ; 
 Then (hrew he down himself; and all tlieir lives, 
 That, by indictment, and by dint uf sword, 
 J Have since miscarried under Boiingbroke. 
 
 West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know 
 
 not what ; 
 he earl of Hereford was reputed then 
 In England the most valiant gentleman; 
 Who knov/s, on whom fortune would then have 
 smil'd ? 
 
 But if your father had been victor there, 
 He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : 
 For all the country, in a general voice. 
 Cried hate upon him, and all their prayers, and love, 
 Were set on Herelbrd, whom they doted on, 
 And bless'd, and grac'd, indeed, more than the king. 
 But this is mere digression from my purpose. — 
 Here come I from our princely general, 
 To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace. 
 That he will ^ive you audience ; and wherein 
 It shall appear, that your demands are just, 
 You shall enjoy them ; every thing set oiY, 
 That might so much as think you enemies. 
 
 Moivb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this oflTer ; 
 And it proceeds from policy, not love. 
 
 West. Mowbray, you overvveen to take it so; 
 This offer comes Irom mercy, not Irom fear: 
 For, lo I within a ken our army lies ; 
 Upon mine honour, all too conlident 
 To give admittan<;e to a thought of fear. 
 Our battle is more full of names than yours. 
 Our men more perfect in the use of arms, 
 Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ; 
 Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good : — 
 Say you not then, our offer is compelled. 
 
 Motvb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. 
 West. That argues but the shame of your olience : 
 A rotten case abides no handling. 
 
 Hast. Hath the prince a full commission. 
 In very ample virtue of his father, 
 To hear, and absolutely to determine 
 Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? 
 
 West. Tiuit is intended in the general's name : 
 1 muse, yon make so slight a question. 
 Arc/i. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this 
 schedule ; 
 
 For this contains our general grievances : — 
 Each several article herein redress'd ; 
 All members of our cause, both here and hence 
 That are insinew'd to this action, 
 Acquitted by a true substantial form ; 
 And present execution of our wills 
 lo us, and to our purposes, consign'd ; 
 We come within our awful banks again. 
 And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 
 
 West. This will I show the general. Please you, 
 lords, 
 
 In sight of both our battles we may meet : 
 And either end in peace, which heaven so frame ! 
 Or to the place of difference call the swords 
 Which if.ast decide it. 
 Arch. My lord, we will do so. 
 
 [Exit West. 
 
 Mowb. There is a thing withm my bosom, tells me. 
 That no conditions of our peace can stand. 
 
 Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make ourpe'^ce 
 Upon such large terms, and so absolute, 
 As our conditions shall consist upon. 
 Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky n:ouii':ains 
 
 Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such. 
 That every sii*ht and false-derived ca-ise, 
 Vea. e'\ery idle, nice and want'ju reason. 
 
 Shall, to the king, taste of this action 
 'J'hat, were our royal ftiths martyrs in love. 
 We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind, 
 'J'hat even our corn shall seem as lit:ht as chalF, 
 And good from bad find no [)artiti(>n. [weurj 
 Arch. No, no, my lord ; Note this, — the king k 
 Of dainty and sut-h picking grievances: 
 For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death, 
 Revives two greater iii the heirs of life. 
 And therefore will he wipe hi? tablts clean; 
 And keep no tell-tale to his memory. 
 That may repeat and hibtory his loss 
 To new remembrance : I'or full well he knows, 
 . He cannot so precisely weed this laud. 
 As his misdoubts present occasion : 
 His foes are so enrooted with his friends. 
 That, plucking to unfix an enemy, 
 He duth unfasten so, and shake a friend, 
 S j that this land, like an offensive wile. 
 That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes, 
 As he is striking, holds his infant up, 
 
 And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 
 
 I'hat was uprear'd to execution. 
 
 Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rod» 
 
 On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
 
 The very instruments of chastisement : 
 
 So that his power, like to a fangless lion. 
 
 May offer, but not hold. 
 
 Arc/i. ' Tis \ ery true ; — 
 
 And therefore be assur'd, my good h)rd marshal. 
 
 If we do now make our atonement well. 
 
 Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
 
 Grow stronger for the breaking. 
 Mowb. Be it so, 
 
 Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 Re-enter WESTMORELAND. 
 
 TJ'est. The prince is here at hand : Pleaseth your 
 lordsliip. 
 
 To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies? 
 Motvb. Your grace of York, in God's name then 
 set forward. 
 
 Arch, Before, and greet his grace : — my lord, w3 
 come. [Exeunt. 
 Scene U.~Anot/ter Part of the Forest 
 Enter, from one side, Mowerav, the Archbishop, 
 Hastings, and others; from the other side 
 Prince JoHN of Lancaster, Westmoreland 
 Officers, and Attendants. 
 
 P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my 
 cousin Mowbray : — 
 Good day do you, gentle lord archbishop: — 
 And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to ail. — 
 My lord of York, it better shew'd with yon, 
 When that your flock, assembled by the bell. 
 Encircled you, to hear with reverence 
 Your exposition on the holy t^'xt ; 
 Than now to see j^ou here an iron man. 
 Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 
 Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
 That man, that sits within a monarch's heart. 
 And ripens in the sunshine o!' his favour. 
 Would he abuse the countenance of the king. 
 Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach. 
 In shadow of such greatness ! Witli you, lord bisho 
 It is even so ; — Who hath not heard it spoken. 
 How deep you were within the books of God ? 
 To us, the speaker in his parliament; 
 To us, tl»« imagin'd voice ol God himself ; 
 The very opener, and intelligencer, 
 Betwceu the grace, the sanctities of heaven. 
 And o'jrdull workings; O, who shall believe, 
 B:jt j^ou misuse tlie reverence of your place ; 
 Eiuplcj the countenance and grace of heaven. 
 As « ialse favourite doth his prince's name. 
 In deeds dishonourable ? You have taken up, 
 Under the counterfeited zeal ol God, 
 Tiie subjects of his substitute, my father; 
 And, both against the peace of heaven and mu\g 
 
Scene S. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 361 
 
 Have here up-swarni'd them. 
 
 Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, 
 
 I am not here against your lather's peace : 
 But, as I told roy lord ot Westmoreland, 
 The time misoider'd dotli, in common sense, 
 Crowd us, aud crush us, to this monstrous form, 
 To hold our safety up I sent your grace 
 The parcels and particulars of our grief; [court, 
 '^he which hath been with scorn shov'd from the 
 Whereon this Hydra son of war is born: 
 Whose dangerous eyes may well be charni'd asleep. 
 With grant of our most just and right desires : 
 And true obedience, oi' this madness cur'd ; 
 Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 
 
 Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
 To the last man. 
 
 Hast. And though we here fall down, 
 We have supplies to second our attempt ; 
 If they miscarry, theirs shall second them : 
 And so success of mischief shall be born ; 
 And heir from heir sliall hold this quarrel up. 
 Whiles England shall have generation. 
 
 P. John. Yos are too shallow, Hastings, much 
 too shallow. 
 
 To sound the bottom of the after-times. [ly, 
 West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them direct- 
 How far-lbrfh you do like their articles ? 
 
 P. John 1 like them all, and do allow them well : 
 And svwrtt nere, by the honour of my blood. 
 My father's purposes have been mistook j 
 And some about hiin have too lavishly 
 Wrested his meaning aud authority. — 
 My lord, these grieis shall be with speed redress'd; 
 Upon my soul tliey shall. If this may please you. 
 Discharge yoiu- powers nito their several counties, 
 A.S we will ours : and here, between the armies. 
 Let's drink together f riendly, and embrace ; 
 That all their eyes may bear those tokens home, 
 Of our restored love, and amity. [dresses 
 Arch. I take your princely word for these re- 
 P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word : 
 And thereupon 1 drink unto your grace. 
 
 Hast. Go, captain, [to an Officer.) and deliver to 
 the army 
 
 Phis news of peace ; let them have pay, and part: 
 I know, it will well please them ; Hie thee, captain. 
 
 [Exit Officer. 
 Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 
 West. I pledge your grace: And, if you knew 
 what pains 
 
 I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace. 
 You would drink freely : but my love to you 
 Shall shew itself more openly hereafter. 
 
 Arch. I do not doubt you. 
 
 West. I am glad of it. — 
 
 H^ealth to my lord, and gentle consin, Mowbray. 
 
 Moivb. You wish me health in very happy season; 
 For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 
 
 Arch. Against ill ci'iances, men are ever merry ; 
 But heaviness foreruns the good event. 
 
 West. Therefore be merry, coz: since sudden 
 sorrow 
 
 Serves to say thus, — Some good thing comes to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in sj irit. 
 Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be 
 true. {Shouts within.) 
 
 P. John. The word of peace is render'd : Hark, 
 
 how they shout ! 
 Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory. 
 Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; 
 For then both parties nobly are subdued, 
 And neither party loser. 
 
 P. John. ' Go, my lord. 
 
 And let our armv be discharged too. — 
 
 [Exit Westmoreland. 
 And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains 
 March by ( s ; that we may peruse the men 
 We should have rop'd withal. 
 
 Arch. Go, good lord Hastings. 
 
 And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. 
 
 [Exit Hastings 
 
 P. John. 1 trust, my lords, we shall lie to-nigh 
 together. — 
 
 Now, 
 
 Re-enter W estmoreland. 
 
 /he 
 
 ow, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ? 
 \tJ^^'^^' '^'^^^ headers, having charge from you to 
 Will not go off until they hear you speak. [staad, 
 P. John. They know their duties. 
 
 Re-enter Hastings. 
 Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already 
 Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses 
 Last, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke np. 
 Each hurries towards his home, and sporting-place! 
 West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the 
 which 
 
 I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason :— 
 
 And you, lord archbishop,~and you, lord Mowbray 
 
 Of capital treason I attach you both. 
 
 Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable? 
 
 West. Is your assembly so ? 
 
 Arch. Will you thus break your faith ? 
 
 P. John. I pawn'd thee none. 
 
 1 promis d yon redress of these same grievances, 
 W hereof you did complain ; which, by mine honoui^ 
 I will perform with a must christian cbic, 
 But, for you, rebels,— look to taste the due 
 Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. 
 Most shallowly did you these arms commence. 
 
 Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence! 
 
 Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray ; 
 Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to day.— 
 Some guard these traitors to the block of death ; 
 Treason's true bed, aud yielder up of breath. ' 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter F alst kVF and 
 CoLEV/LE, meeting. 
 
 Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition 
 are you; and of what place, I pray? 
 
 Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is — Cole- 
 vile of the dale. 
 
 Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name ; a knighl 
 is your degree; and your place, the dale : Colevile 
 shall still be your name ; a traitor your degree ; ;and 
 the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough ; sc 
 shall you still be Colevile of the dale. 
 
 Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff ? 
 
 Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. 
 Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I do 
 sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep 
 for thy death : therefore rouse up fear and trembling, 
 and do observance to my mercy. 
 
 Cole. I think, you are sir John FalstatF; and, io 
 that thought, yield me. 
 
 Fal. 1 have a whole school of tongues in this 
 belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks 
 any other word but my name. An I had but a belly 
 of any indiiferency, 1 were simply the most active 
 i'ellow in Europe : My womb, my womb undoes me 
 Here comes our general. 
 
 Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, 
 and others. 
 
 P. John. The heat is past, follow no furthef 
 now ; 
 
 Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. — 
 
 [Exit West. 
 
 Now, FalstaflF, where have yon been all this while ? 
 When every thing is ended, then you come : 
 These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
 One time or other break some gallows' back. 
 
 Fal. I would be sorry, vny lord, but it should be 
 thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was 
 the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, 
 an arrow, or a bullet? Have 1, in my poor and old 
 motion, the expedition of tliought? I irave specdeH 
 
562 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act \r. 
 
 hither witli the very extretnest inch of possibility ; 
 1 hav^ foundered nine-score and odd posts : and here, 
 travel -tainted as I am, huve, in my pure and imnia- 
 eulate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a 
 most fnrious knight, and valorous enemy : But vviiat 
 of that? he saw me, and yielded; tiiat I may justly 
 
 say, with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, 1 
 
 came, saw, and overcame. [deserving. 
 
 P. John. It was more of" his courtesy than your 
 
 F.iL I know not; here lie is, and here I yield 
 hitn : and I beseech your grace, let it be booked 
 with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the lord, 
 I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine 
 own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my 
 foot : To the which course if J be enforced, if you 
 do not all shew like gilt two-pences to me ; and I, in 
 the clear sky oi'fame, o'ersii' le you as much as the 
 full moon doth the cinders of the element, which 
 shevv like pins' heads to her; believe not the word 
 of the noble : Therefore let me have right, and let 
 Jesert mount. 
 
 P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount. 
 
 Fal. Let it shine then. 
 
 P. John. Thine's too thick to shine. 
 
 Fal. Let it di» something, my good lord, that may 
 do me good, and call it vvhiit you will. 
 
 P. John. Is thy name Colevile ? 
 
 Cole. It is, my lord. 
 
 P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 
 
 Fal. And a famous true subjc-ct took him. 
 
 Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are. 
 That led me hither: had they bes n rul'd by me, 
 ifou should have won them dearer than you have. 
 
 Fal. I know nut how they .sold themselves: but 
 thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away, and 1 
 thank thee for thee. 
 
 Re enter Westmoreland. 
 
 P. John Now, have you left pursuit? 
 
 [Vest. Retreat is made, an I execution stay'd 
 
 P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates. 
 To York, to present execution : — 
 Blunt, lead hinj hence; and see you guard him sure. 
 
 [Exeunt some with Colevile. 
 Aid i.ow despatch we toward tue court, my lords; 
 I hear, the king my father is sore sick: 
 Ournfws shall go btfure us to his njajesty, — 
 Which, cousin, you shall benr, — to coujfort him; 
 And we with sober speed will follow you. 
 
 Fal. My lord, 1 btseecli you, give me leave to go 
 througii Glostershire : and when you come to court, 
 otand my good lord, 'pray, in your good report. 
 
 P. John. Fare you well, Falstalf : I, in my con- 
 dition, 
 
 Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. I would, you h;id but tlie wit; 'twere better 
 than your dukedom. — Good laith, this same young 
 sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man 
 cannot make hiin laugh; — but th it's no marvel, 
 he drinks no wine. There's never any of these 
 demure boys come to any proof : for thin drink 
 doth so over- cool their blood, and making many 
 fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green- 
 eickness , and then, when they marry, they get 
 wenches ; they are generally fools and cowards ;— 
 which some of us should be too, but for inflam- 
 mation. A good sherris sack hath a two-fold opera- 
 tion in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me 
 there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours, 
 which environ it : makes it apprehensive, quick, 
 forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; 
 which deliver'd o'er to tlie voice, (the tongue,) 
 which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The 
 second property of your excellent sherris is, — the 
 warming ot tiie blood; which, before cold and 
 settled,, left the liver white and pale, which is the 
 badge of pusillanimity and rovvardice : but the 
 sherris uarm? it, and makes it course from the in- 
 irerdH to tiie parts extreme. It illiimineth the face ; 
 "^hich, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of 
 
 this little kingdom, man, to arm : and (hen the vital 
 
 commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster me aU 
 to their captain, the heart : who, greut, and puffed 
 up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; 
 and this valour conies of sherris : So tiiat skill in 
 the weapon is nothing without sack ; fur that .stts 
 it a-work: and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept 
 by a devil ; till sack commences it, and sets it ia 
 act and use. Hereof comes it that prince Harry 
 is valiant; for the cold blood lie did naturally ir»- 
 herit of his father, he hath, like lean, steni and baie 
 land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent 
 endeavour of drinking good, and good store of fer- 
 tile sherris; that he is become very hot, and valiant 
 If I had a thousand sons, the first himian principle 
 I would teach them, should be, — to forswear thin 
 potations, and addict themselves to sack 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 How now, Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. 
 
 Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire : and 
 there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire : 
 I have him already tempering between my finger 
 and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. 
 Come away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Westminster. A Room i.?i the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrey 
 Warwick, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give suc- 
 cessful end 
 To this debate, that bleedeth at our doors. 
 We will our youth lead on to higher fields, 
 And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
 Our navy is address'd, our fiower collected, 
 Our sub.stltutes in absence well invested, 
 And every thing lies level to our wish : 
 Only, we want a little personal strength;, 
 And pause us, till these rebels, not afoot, 
 Couie underneath the yoke of government. 
 
 War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty 
 Shall soon enjoy. 
 
 K. Hen. Humphi-ey, my son of Glcster; 
 
 Wiiere is the prince your brother ? 
 
 P Humph. I think, he's gone to hunt, my lorn, 
 at Windsor. 
 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied ? 
 
 P. Humph. ] do not know, my lord, 
 
 K. Hen. Is not his brother, Tiiomas of Clai'ence, 
 vi'itii him ? [here. 
 
 P. Humph. No, my good lord ; he is in pi-esence 
 
 Cla. VVliat would my lord and father !' 
 
 K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of 
 Clarence. [brother? 
 How ciiance, thou art not with the prince thj 
 He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, 'i'homas ; 
 Thou hast a better place in his affection, 
 'J'han all your brothers : cherish it, my boy ; 
 And noble offices thou may'st eii'ect 
 Of mediation, after I am dead. 
 Between his greatness and thy other brethren — 
 Therefore, omit him not ; hlunt not his love : 
 Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, 
 By seeming cold, or careless of his will. 
 For he is gracious, if he be ob.serv'd ; 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 Open as day for melting charity : 
 Vet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint , 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reveiently 
 When you perceive his blood inclin d to mirth , 
 But being moody, give him line and scope ; 
 'J'ill that his passions, like a whale on ground, 
 Confound themselves with working. Leaia this 
 Thomas, 
 
 And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends: 
 A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers ia: 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 That the united vessel of their blood. 
 Mingled wiiH venom of suggestion. 
 As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) 
 iSWil never leak, thuugh 1 do work as stronff 
 As aconituni, or rash gunpowder. 
 
 Cla. 1 shall observe him with all care and love. 
 
 K. Hen. VVfiy art thou not at Windsor with him, 
 Tiiomas ? 
 
 Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines m London. 
 
 K. Hi^it. And iiow accompanied ? canst thou tell 
 tiiat? [lowers. 
 
 Cla. With Poins, and other his continual fol- 
 
 K. Hen. Most subject is the llittest soil to weeds; 
 And he, tiie noble image of my youth, 
 Is o\ erspiead with them : Therefore my grief 
 Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ; 
 Tlie blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape. 
 In forms imaginary, the unguided days. 
 And rotten times, that you shall look upon 
 When I am sleepnig with my ancestors. 
 For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, 
 Wlien rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
 When means and lavish manners meet together, 
 O, with what wings shall his affections fly 
 Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 
 
 War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him 
 The prince but studies his companions, [quite ; 
 Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gain the lan- 
 guage, 
 
 'Tis needful, that the most immodest word 
 Be look'd upon, and learn'd : which once attain'd, 
 Your highness knows, comes to no further use, 
 But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms, 
 The prince will, in the perfectness of time. 
 Cast oft' his followers : and their memory 
 Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 
 By which his grace must mete the lives of others ; 
 Turning past evils to advantages. [her comb 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doih leave 
 In the dead carrion. — Who's here ? Westmoreland ? 
 
 Enter Westmoreland. 
 
 West. Health to my sovereign ! and new happiness 
 Added to that, that I am to deliver ! 
 Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand : 
 Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, 
 Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
 There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd. 
 But peace puts forth her olive every vvhere. 
 The manner how this action hath been borne, 
 Here at more leisure may your highness read ; 
 With every course, in his particular. [bird, 
 
 K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting up of day. Look ! here's more news. 
 
 Enter Harcourt 
 
 Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ; 
 And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
 As those that I am come to tell you of I 
 The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 
 With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
 Are by the sheriflf of Yorkshire overthrown: 
 'I'fie manner and true order of the fight. 
 This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
 
 K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news 
 make me sick? 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full, 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? 
 She either gives a stomach, and no food, — 
 Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast. 
 And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich 
 That have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
 I should rejoice now at this happy news ; 
 A.nd now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy :— 
 O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. (Swoons.) 
 
 P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty I 
 
 Cla. O my royal father ! 
 
 West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yoi rself^ look 
 up I 
 
 363 
 
 War. Be patient, princes ; you do k now, these fita 
 Are with his highness very ordinary. 
 Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be we 
 
 Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs 5 
 The incessant care and labour of his mind 
 Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in. 
 So fhin, that life looks through, and will break out 
 
 P. Humph. The people fear me; for they do 
 observe 
 
 Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature : 
 'J'he seasons change their manners, as the year 
 Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them 
 over. 
 
 Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between? 
 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
 .Say, it did so, a little time before 
 Tliat our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. 
 
 War. Speak lower princes, for the king recovers. 
 
 P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end: 
 
 K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me 
 hence 
 
 Into some other chamber : softly, pray 
 
 {They convey the King into an inner part of 
 the room, and place him on a bed.) 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ; 
 Unless some dull and favourable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 
 War. Call for music in the other room. 
 
 K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 
 
 Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 
 
 War. Less noise, less noise. 
 
 Enter Prince Henrv. 
 
 P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ? 
 
 Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 
 P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none 
 How doth the king ? [abroad ! 
 
 p. Humph. Exceedingly ill. 
 
 P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet ? 
 
 Tell it him. 
 
 P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it, 
 
 P. Hen. If he be sick 
 With joy, he will recover without physic. 
 
 War. Not so much noise, my lords: — sweet 
 prince, speak low; 
 The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room, [us ? 
 
 War. Wiirt please your grace to go along with 
 
 P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the 
 king. [Exeunt all but P. Henrv 
 
 Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow. 
 Being so troublesome a bedfellow ? 
 O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
 That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
 To many a watchful night I — sleep with it now I 
 Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, 
 As. he, whose brow, with homely biggin bound. 
 Snores out the watch of night. O majesty ! 
 When tiiou dost piuch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
 Like a rich armour, worn in heat of day. 
 That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
 There lies a downy feather, which stirs not : 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 Perforce must m^se. — My gracious lord! my 
 father! 
 
 This sleep is sound iinJeed ; this is a sleep. 
 That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd 
 So many English kings. Thy due, from me, 
 Is tears, and heavy sorrows <>f the blood ; 
 Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
 Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteonsly: 
 My due, from thee, is this imperial crovvn ; 
 Which, as immediate from thy place and blood. 
 Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, — 
 
 f Put ting it on his head] 
 Which heaven shall guard : And put the world' 
 
 whole strength 
 Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
 This lineal honour from me • This fiora thee 
 Will 1 to mine leave, as 'tis left to me lExi 
 
 KING HENRY lY. 
 
S64: 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 K. ifon, Wa. A^ick ! Gloster ! Clarence ! \ 
 Ee enter Warwick, and th* rest. | 
 
 £7/^. Doth the king call ? ; 
 
 War. What would your majesty ? How fares your 
 grace ? , , ^^^'^^ ' i 
 
 K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my | 
 
 Cla. We leit the prince my brother here, my , 
 Who undertook to sit and watch by you. [liege, ^ 
 
 K. Hen. The prince of Wales ? Where is he i 
 [le is not here. [let me see him : 
 
 War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. j 
 
 P. Humph. He came not throtigh the chamber 
 where we stay'd. ^ , , , -i r 
 
 K Hen. Wiiere is the crown ? who took it trom 
 inv pillow? /here. 
 
 War. W'hen we withdrew, my liege, we lett it 
 
 K Hen The prince hath ta'en it hence ;— go, 
 seek liim out. 
 Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 
 
 My sleep my death? i -.i 
 
 Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. 
 
 {Exit Warwick. 
 This part of his conjoins with my disease. 
 And helps to end me.— See, sons, what things you 
 How quickly nature falls into revolt, | are ! 
 
 When gold becomes her object ! 
 For this, the foolish over-careful fathers . 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains 
 Their bones w .th industry : [with care. 
 
 For this, they have engrossed and pil'd up 
 The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; 
 For this, they have been thoughtful to invest 
 Their sons with arts, and martial exercises , 
 When, like the bee, tolling from every flower 
 The virtuous sweets ; 
 
 Our thighs [)ack'd with wax, our mouths with honey. 
 We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees. 
 Are murder'd for our pains. Tliis bitter taste 
 Yield his engrossments to the ending father.— 
 
 Re enter Warwick. 
 Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
 Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me? 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next 
 room, 
 
 Washing with kindlylears his gentle cheeks; 
 With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, 
 That tyranny, which never quati'd but blood. 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-dro|is. He is coming hither. 
 K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the 
 crown? 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry. 
 Lo, where he comes,— Come hither tome, Harry :— 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 
 [Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Lords, §fc. 
 
 P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. 
 
 K.Hen. T\\y wish was fatlter, Harry, to that 
 I stay too long by thee, I \/eary thee. [thought; 
 Dost thou so hunger lor my empty chair. 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours. 
 Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
 Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is held from falling with so weak a wind, 
 Th*t it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
 Thou hast stoPn that, which, aller some few hours. 
 Were thiae withov.t offenco ; and at my death. 
 Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
 Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not. 
 And thou wilt hav e me die assur d of it. 
 Thou hid\'^t a thousand dagi;ers in ♦'by thoughts ; 
 Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart. 
 To stab at half an hoiir of my life. 
 What! canst th'>u not iorl)ear me half an hour? 
 Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself; 
 And bid the mc-rry bells ring to thine ear, 
 WiA tliou art crowai'd, liot that I aiu dead. 
 
 Let all the tears, that should bedew my hearse, 
 
 IJe drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : 
 
 Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 
 
 Give that, which gave thee life, unto the woraiS< 
 
 Pluck down my otficers, break my decrees; 
 
 For now a time is come to mock at form, 
 
 Harry the fifth is crown'd : — Up, vanity ! 
 
 Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence \ 
 
 And to the English court assemble now. 
 
 From every region, apes of idleness! 
 
 Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum: 
 
 Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dauce» 
 
 Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit 
 
 The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more : 
 
 England shall double gild his treble guilt : 
 
 England shall give him office, honour, might: 
 
 For the fifty Harry from ciirb'd license plucks 
 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 
 Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
 
 0 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
 When that my care could not withold thy riots. 
 What will thou do, when riot is thy care ? 
 
 O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
 P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for 
 
 tears, {Kneeling.) 
 The moist impediments unto my speech, 
 
 1 had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke, 
 Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He, that wears the crown immortally. 
 Long guard it yours ! If I atiect it more. 
 Than as your honour, and as your renown, 
 Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
 (Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
 Teacheth,)this prostrate and exterior bending ! 
 Heaven witness with me, when I here came in. 
 And found no course of breath within your majesty 
 How cold it struck my heart! If 1 do feign, 
 
 O, let me in my present wildness die ; 
 
 And never live to show the incredulous world 
 
 The noble change that I have purposed ! 
 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
 
 (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) 
 
 I spake unto the crown, as having sense. 
 
 And thus upbraided it : The care on thee depending^ 
 
 Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 
 
 Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. 
 
 Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, 
 
 Preserving life in med'cine potable : ^ ^ ^ , 
 
 But thou, mostfime, most honoured, most renowned, 
 
 Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege, 
 
 Accusing it, I put it on my head ; 
 
 To try with it, — as with an enemy, 
 
 That had before my face murder'd my father,— 
 
 The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
 
 But if it did infect my blood with joy. 
 
 Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; 
 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 
 Did, with the least affection of a welcome. 
 
 Give entertainment to the.might of it, 
 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
 
 And make me as the poorest vassal is. 
 
 That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! 
 
 K. Hen. O, my son ! 
 Heaven put it in t>y mind, to take it hence. 
 That thou might'st win the more thy father's love. 
 Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
 Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel. 
 That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son 
 By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, 
 I met this crown ; and I myself know well. 
 How troublesome it sat upon my head: 
 To thee it shall descend with better quiet 
 Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
 For all the soil of the acliievement goes 
 With me into the earth. It seem'd m mo, 
 But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand ; 
 
Act y. Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 365 
 
 And 1 had many living, lo npSraid 
 Mv gain of it by tli':'ir assistanoes ; 
 \Vhich daily ^revv to quarrel, and to bloodshed, 
 VVonndins snpposed pH^ce : all these bold fears, ' 
 Thou see'st, with [)eril I lia\e answered : 
 For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
 Acting that aigument; and now my death 
 Changes the mode : for what in me was purchas'd, 
 Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; 
 So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
 Yet, thougli thou stand'st more sure than I co'ild do. 
 Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
 And all thy friends, which thou must make thy 
 friends, 
 
 Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; 
 By whose iell working I was first advanc'd. 
 And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
 To be again displac'd : which to avoid, 
 1 cut them off; and had a purpose now 
 To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 
 Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 
 ! Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 
 j Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 
 '' With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out. 
 May waste tlse memory of the former days. 
 More vi^ould I, but my lungs are wasted so, 
 That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
 How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 
 And grand it ma,y with thee in true peace live ! 
 
 P. Hen. My gracious liege, 
 You won it, wore it, keep it, gave it me ; 
 Then plain, and right, must my possession be: 
 Which I, with more than with a common pain, 
 Gainst all the word will rightfully maintain. 
 Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, 
 
 Lords, and others. 
 K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of 
 Lancaster. 
 
 P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my 
 royal lather ! [son John ; 
 
 K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace. 
 Hat health, alack, with youthful wings is Hown 
 From this bare wither'd trunk: upon thy sight, 
 My worldly business makes a period. — 
 Where is my lord of Warwick ? 
 
 P. Hen. My lord of Warwick ! 
 
 K. He7i. Doth any name pa/tictilar belong 
 Unto the lodging where J first did swoon ? 
 
 War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 
 
 K. Hun. Land be to God ! — even there my life 
 must end. 
 
 It hath beea prophesied to me many years, 
 I should not die Unt in Jerusalem ; 
 Which vainly I suppns d, the Holy Land : — 
 , But, bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; 
 jfiUn that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene 1. — Glostershire. A Hall in Shallow^ s 
 House. 
 
 Enter Shallow, Falstafp, Bardolph and Page. 
 
 Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away 
 t )-night.— What, Davy, I say ! 
 
 Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow. 
 
 Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be 
 xcus'd ; excuses shall not be admitted; there is 
 )o excuse siiall serve ; you shall not be excused. — 
 Why, Davy • 
 
 Enter Davy. 
 Davy Here, sir. 
 
 Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy; 
 let, me see: — yea, marry, William cook, bid him 
 come hither. — Sir John, you shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; — those precepts cannot 
 be served ; and, again, sir, —Shall we sow the 
 head-land with wheat? 
 
 Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William 
 cook; — Are there no young pigeons ? 
 
 Davy. Yes, sir. — Here is now the stnilii s note 
 
 for shoeing, and piougli-irons. 
 
 Shal. Let it be cast, and paid: — sir John,, yoq 
 shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must 
 needs be had : — And, sir. do you mean to stop any 
 of William's wages, about the sack he lost the othet 
 day at Hinckley fair? 
 
 Shal. He shajl answer it: — Some pigeons Davy; 
 a couple of short-legged hens; a j )int of mutton; 
 and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William 
 cook. 
 
 Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? 
 
 Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him well ; A frieml 
 i'the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his 
 men well, Davy : for they are arrant knaves, and 
 will backbite. 
 
 Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir 
 for they have marvellous foul linen. [Davy, 
 
 Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy business, 
 
 Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William 
 Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. 
 
 Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against 
 that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on ray 
 knowledge. 
 
 Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, 
 sir: but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should 
 have some countenance at his friend's request. An 
 honest man, sir, is able to speak for hiu)sclf, when 
 a knave is not. I have served your worship truly, 
 sir, these eight years ; and if I cannot once or twice 
 in a quarter bear out a knave agai-nst an honest man, 
 I have but a very little credit with your worship. 
 The knave is mine honest friend, sir; therefore, I 
 beseech your worship, let him be countenanced. 
 
 Shal. Go to; I say, he shall have no wrong. 
 Look about, Davy. {Exit Davy.\ Where are you, 
 sir John ? Come, off with your boots. — Gi^ e me 
 your hand, master Bardulph. 
 
 Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 
 
 Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind masfeir 
 Bardolph: — and welcome, my tall fellow. (T-^ th9 
 Paqe.JQnme, sir John. [Exit Shalloiv, 
 
 Fat. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow, 
 Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeimt Bardolph 
 and Page] If I were sawed into quantities, \ 
 should make four dozen of such bearded hermit's- 
 staves as master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing, 
 to see the semblable coherence of his men's spirits 
 and his: They, by observing hi;n, do bear them- 
 selves like foolish justices ; he, by conversing with 
 them, is turned iuto a justice-like serving-man : 
 their spirits are so married in conjunction with tlie 
 participation of society, that they flock together in 
 consent, like so many wild-geese. If l had a suit 
 to master Shallow, I would humour his men, with 
 the imputation of being near their muster: if to his 
 men, I would curry with master Shallow, that no 
 man could better command his servants. It is cer- 
 tain, that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, 
 is caught, as men take diseases, one of another : 
 therefore, let men take heed of their company. \ 
 will devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to 
 keep prince Harry in continual laughter, the wear- 
 ing-out of six fashions, (which is four terms, or two 
 actions,) and he shall laugh without intervallums, 
 O, it is much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a 
 jest, with a sad brow, will do with a fello\'v that 
 never had the ache in his shoulders ! O, you shalj 
 see him laugh, till his face be like a 'vet ck k iW 
 laid up. 
 
 Shal. {Within.) Sir John! 
 
 Fal. I come, master Shallow; I ci^me, nuistey 
 Shallow. [Exit Fahtff. 
 
 Scene Westminster. A room in the Palace* 
 Enter Warwick and the lord Chief Justice 
 War. How now, my lord chief justice? wliitbef 
 away ? 
 
56G 
 
 SECOND PAET OF 
 
 Act V. 
 
 €7.'i. Ju$(. How doth the king ? [ended. 
 
 fi'ar. Exceeding well ; his cares a» how all 
 
 (M. JusL I hope, ndt dea<l. 
 
 War. He's vvalk'd the way of nature ; 
 
 And, to our purposes, he lives no more. Lhirn. 
 
 Ch. Just. I 'vould, his majesty had call'd me with 
 The service that I truly did his life, 
 Llath left rne open to ail iiijiiries. Inot. 
 
 War. Indeed, 1 thiuk, the young»king loves you 
 
 CL \ist. I know, he duth not; and do arm my- 
 To welcome the condition of the time ; [self. 
 Which cann(.t louk mure hideously upon me 
 Than I have drawn it iu n\y phantasy. 
 
 EtiterPrince John, Prince Humppirey, Claxence, 
 W^E.STMORKLAND. and others. 
 
 War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry: 
 O, tliat the living Harry had the temper 
 Oi liim, tiie vvoistot these three gentlemen ! 
 How many nobles then should hold their places, 
 That must strike sail to spuits of vile sort! 
 
 Ch. Jiisl. Alas! I fear, all will be overturn'd. 
 
 P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. 
 
 P. Hianp/i. Cla. Good morrow, cousin. 
 
 P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to 
 speak. 
 
 War. We do remember; but our argument 
 Is all tiio heavy to udmit much talk. 
 
 P. John. Well, pea<;e be with him, that hath 
 
 made us heavy ! 
 Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! 
 P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a 
 friend, indeed : 
 And I dare swear, you borrow not that face 
 Of seeiuing sorrow ; it is, sure, your own. 
 
 P. John. Thoiigli no man be assur'd what grace 
 You stand in coldest expectation : [to find, 
 
 I am the sorrier; 'would, 'twere otherwise. 
 
 Cla. SVeil, you must now speak sir John FalstatF 
 fair; 
 
 Whic h swims against your stream of quality. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in 
 honour. 
 
 Led by the impartial conduct of my soul; 
 And never shall you see, that I will beg 
 i A nigged and forestali'd remission. — 
 If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
 I'll to the king my master, that is dead, 
 A lid tell me who hath sent me alter him. 
 ^Far. Here comes the prince. 
 
 Enter King Henry V. 
 
 Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your 
 majesty ! 
 
 King. 'J'liis new and gorgeous garment, majesty. 
 Sits not so easy on me as you thitik. — 
 Brotliers, you mix your sadness with some fear; 
 This is the English, riot the Turkish court; 
 Not Aumrath an Amurath succeeds, 
 But Harry Harry : Yet be sad, good brothers. 
 For, to speak tiuth,it very well becomes you ; 
 Sorrow so royally in you appears, 
 That I will deeply put the fashion on, 
 And wear it in my heart. W^hy then, be sad 
 But entertain no more of it, good brothers, 
 Tiian a joint burden laid upon us all. 
 For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd. 
 Ml be your ftther and your brother too; 
 Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. 
 Vet weep, that Harry's dead ; and so will 1 : 
 But Harry lives, th;it shall convert those tears. 
 By number, iiit(t hours of happiness. 
 
 /■*. John, ^■"c. We hoi)e no other from your majesty. 
 
 King. Ytui all look strangely on aie ; — and you 
 most ; ( To the Chief Justice.) 
 
 YoH are, ! think, assur'd I love you not. 
 
 Cfi Just. I am assur'd, it I be measur'd rightly, 
 Vi»'ii majesty hath no just cause to hate me 
 
 King. No'l 
 
 How might a prince of my great hopes forget 
 So great indignities you laid upon me ? 
 What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
 The immediate heir of England ; Was this easy • 
 May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ? 
 
 Ch. Just. I then did use the person of yon* 
 father; 
 
 The image of his power lay then in me ; 
 
 And, in the administration of his law. 
 
 Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, 
 
 Your highness pleased to Ibrget my place, 
 
 The majesty and pov\'er of law and justice. 
 
 The image of the king, whom I presented. 
 
 And struck me in my very seat of judguient; 
 
 Whereon, as an offender to your lather, 
 
 I gave tiold way to my authority, 
 
 And did commit you. Il the detd were ill, 
 
 Be you contented, wearing now the garland, 
 
 'i^o have a son set your decrees at nought ; 
 
 To pluck down justice from your avvlul bench ; 
 
 To trip the course ol law, and blunt the sword 
 
 That guards the peace and safety of your person: 
 
 Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal imsge. 
 
 And mock your workings in a second body. 
 
 Question your royal tiioiights, make the case yours, 
 
 Be now the lather, and propose a son : 
 
 Hear your own dignify so much profin'd, 
 
 See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted. 
 
 Behold yourself so by a son disdain d ; 
 
 And then imagine me taking your part. 
 
 And, in your power, solt silencing your son 
 
 Alter this cold consideraiice, sentence tne ; 
 
 And, as you are a king, speak in your state, 
 
 What 1 have done, that misbecame my place 
 
 My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 
 
 King. You are right, justice, and you weigh this 
 well ; 
 
 Therefore still bear the balance, and tVie sword : 
 And I do wish your hdnitiirs may increase. 
 Till you do live to see a son of mine 
 Olfeiid you and obey \ou, as I did. 
 So shall I live to speak my father's words ; - 
 Happy am I, that have a man so bold, 
 That dares do justice on my proper son : 
 And not less happy, having such a son. 
 That a ould deliver up his greatness so 
 Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me : 
 For which, I do commit into your hand 
 The unstain'd sword that you have us'd to bear; 
 With this remembrance, — that you use the same 
 With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit, 
 As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand 
 You shall be as a father to my youth : 
 My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear* 
 And I will stoop and humble my intents 
 To your well practis'd, wise directions. — 
 And, princes all, believe me, 1 beseech you ; — 
 My father is gone wild into liis grave. 
 For in his tomb lie my aifections ; 
 And with his spirit sadly I survive. 
 To mock the expectation of the world , 
 To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out 
 Uotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
 After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
 Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, till n< vv : 
 Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; 
 Where it shall mingle with the state of floods. 
 And flow henceforth in forma! majesty. 
 Now call we our high court of parliament : 
 And let us choose such limbs of noble ccumselj 
 That the great body of our state may go 
 In equal ratik with the best goveru'd nation ; 
 That war, or peace, or both at once, may be. 
 As things acquainted and familiar to us ; — 
 In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.— 
 (To the Lord Chief Jutiict 
 Our coronation done, we will accite, 
 As I before remember'd, all our state : 
 And (God consigning to my good intents,) 
 No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to «ay,-« 
 
SCENK 3. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 867 
 
 Heaven siuoi ten Harry's happy life one day. 
 
 (Exeimt. 
 
 Scene \\l.~Glosfer(ihire. The Garden of 
 Shallow's Hon»e. 
 Enter Falstapp, Shallow, Silence, Bakdolph, 
 the Faye, and Davy. 
 
 Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard : where, 
 in an arbour,' we will eat a last year's pippin of my 
 own grading, with a dishcf carraways, and so forth; 
 — come, cousin Silence ; — and then to bed. 
 
 Fa/. Fore God, you have here a goodly dwell- 
 ing, and a rich. 
 
 Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beg- 
 gars all, sir John: — marry, good air.— Spread, 
 Davy ; spread, Davy ; well said, Davy- 
 
 Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is 
 your serving- man, and your husbandman. 
 
 Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good 
 varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I have drunk too 
 
 much sack at supper: A good varlet. Now 
 
 sit down, now sit down : — Come, cousin. 
 
 Sil. Ah, sirrah I quoth a, — we shall {Singifrg,) 
 
 Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 
 
 And praise heaven for the merry year , 
 
 When flesh is cheap, and females dear. 
 
 And lusty lads roam here and there, 
 So tnerrily. 
 
 And ever among so merrily, 
 
 Fal. There's a merry heart! — Good master Si- 
 lence, I'll gi\ e you a health for that anon. 
 
 Shal Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. 
 
 Davy. Sweet .sir, .sit: {seating Bardolph and 
 the Page at another table)) I'll be with you anon :— 
 
 most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good master 
 
 page, sit : proface ! What you want in meat, we'll 
 have in drink. But you must bear; The heart's 
 all. [Exit. 
 
 Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph; — and my 
 little soldier there, be merry. 
 
 Sii Be merry, be merry, my wife's as all; 
 
 (Singing.) 
 
 Fir tvometi are shrews, both short and tall: 
 Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all. 
 
 And welcome merry shrove-tide. 
 Be merry ^ be merry, &c. 
 
 Fal. I did not think, master Silence had been a 
 man of this mettle. [ere now. 
 
 Sil, Who, 1 ? I have been merry twice and once. 
 
 Re-enter Davy. 
 
 Davy, There is a dish of leather-coats for you. 
 
 {Setting them before Bardolph.) 
 
 Shal. Davy,— 
 
 Davy. Your worship ? — I'll be with yon straight, 
 f To Bard.) — A cup of wine, sir? 
 
 Sil. A cup of wine, that brisk and fine, 
 
 And drink unto the leman mine ; ( Singing.) 
 And a merry heart lives long- a. 
 
 Fal. Well said, master Silence. 
 
 Sil. And we shall be merry ; — now comes in the 
 sweet of the night. 
 
 Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence, 
 
 Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; 
 
 Til pledge you a mile to the bottom, 
 
 Shal. lionest Bardolph, welcome : If thou 
 wantest any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy 
 heart. — Welcome, my little tmy thief \{to the Page.) 
 and welcome, indeed, too.— I'll drink to master 
 Bardolph, and to all the cavaleroes about London. 
 
 Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 
 
 Bard. And 1 might see you there, Davy, — 
 
 Shal, By the mass, you'll crack a quart together. 
 Ha ! will you not, master Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. 
 
 Shal. I tlvnk thee : — The knave will stick by 
 thee, I can assure thee that ; he will not out ; he is 
 true bred. 
 
 -Hard. And I'll stick to him, sir. 
 
 S/iai. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing : 
 
 be merry. {Kncckivg heard.) Look wIio'n at door, 
 there: l-Io ! whu knocks? [Exit Davy 
 
 Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 
 
 ( To Silence, who drinks a bumper ^ 
 Sd. Do me rigid. {Singtng 
 And dub me knight : 
 Samingo. 
 Is't rot so ? 
 Fal, 'Tis so. 
 
 Sil. Is't so ? Why, then say, an old man can do 
 somewhat. 
 
 Re-enter Davy. 
 Davy. An it please your worship, iliere's one 
 Pistol come from the court with news. 
 Fal, From the court, let him come in. — 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 
 How now. Pistol. 
 Pist. God save you, sir John 1 
 Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol ? 
 Pist. Not the ill wind, which blows no man to 
 good. — Sweet knight, tlum art now one of the 
 greatest men in the realm. 
 
 Sil. By'r lady, I think a' be ^ but good man Puft 
 Pist. PufF ? [of Barson. 
 
 Puffin thy teeth, most recreant coward base J — 
 Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend. 
 And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ; 
 And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys. 
 And golden times, and happy news of price. 
 
 Fal. I pry thee now, deliver them like a man of 
 this world. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base ! 
 I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 
 
 Fal. O basp Assyrian knight, what is thy news ? 
 Let king Co| hetua know the truth thereof. 
 
 Sel. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, o.nd John. {Sings., 
 
 Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? 
 And shall good news be baffled ? 
 Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 
 
 Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breccia 
 
 Pist. Why then, lament thereof. [ing. 
 
 Shal, Give me pardon, sir : — If, sir, you come 
 with news from the couit, 1 take it, there is but 
 two ways ; either to utter them, or to conceal them 
 I am, sir, under the king, in some authority. 
 
 Pist. Under which king, Bezonian ? speak, or die. 
 
 Shal. Under king Harry. 
 
 Pist. Harry the fourth ? or fifth ? 
 
 Shal. Harry the fourth. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for thine office ! — 
 
 Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; 
 Harry the fifth's the man. 1 speak the truth : 
 When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like 
 The bragging Spaniard. 
 
 Fal. What ! is the old king dead ? 
 
 Pist. As nail in door: the things I speak are just 
 
 Fal. Away, Bardolph ; saddle my horse. — Master 
 Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in 
 the land, 'tis thine.— Pistol, I will double charge 
 thee with dignities. 
 
 Bard. O joyful day ! — I would not take a knight- 
 hood for my fortune. 
 
 Pist. What? I do bring good news? 
 
 Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master 
 Shallow, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I 
 am fortune'is steward. Get on thy boots; we'll 
 ride all night : — O, sweet Pistol : — Away, Bardolph 
 [Exit Bard.] — Come. Pistol, utter more to ine ; and(, 
 withal, devise soinetl.ing, to do thyself good.— - 
 Boot, boot, niastt^r Siiallow : I know, the yoiin§ 
 king is sick for me. Let us take any man s horse 
 the laws of England are at my commandment 
 Happy are they which have been my friends : auo 
 woe to my lord chief justice. 
 
 Pist. Let viiltiin-s vilt- seize on his Ii;ng.i also 
 Whe7-e is the life that late I led, say they t 
 Why, here it is ; W^lcun-.e th'^'se pleas.ir't day*. 
 
 {Eseunt* 
 
868 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Scene IV. — London. A Street. 
 
 BsUcr Beadles, drac,rjiny in Hostess QuiCKLY, and 
 Doix'a Tear SHEET 
 
 Host. No, thou arrant knave ; I would 1 might 
 iie, that I might have thee hanged : thou hast drawn 
 uiy shoulder out of joint. 
 
 ! Bead. The constahles have delivered her over 
 to me ; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, 
 I warrant her: There hath been a man or two lately 
 killed alijut her. 
 
 Doll. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; 
 I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-yisaged ras- 
 cal ; an ^he child 1 now go with, do miscarry, thou 
 hadst better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou 
 |)aper-foced-villain. 
 
 Host, O the Lorj, that sir John were come! he 
 would make this a bloody day to somebody. But 
 I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry ! 
 
 1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of 
 cushions again ; you have but eleven now. _ Come, 
 I charge you both go with me \ for the man is dead, 
 that you and Pistol heat among you. 
 
 Doll. rU tell thee what, thou thin man in a 
 censer ! I will have you as soundly swinged for 
 this, you blue-bottle rogue! you filthy famished 
 correctioDcr ; if you be not swinged, I'll forswear 
 half kirtlea. 
 
 1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. 
 Host. O, that right should thus overcome might ! 
 Well ; of sufferance comes ease. [justice. 
 Doll. Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to a 
 Host. Ay ; come, you starv'd blood-hound. 
 Doll. Goodman death ! goodman bones! 
 Host. Thou atomy thou ! 
 
 Doll. C< me, you thin thing ; come, you rascal ! 
 I Bead, V^erywell. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene V —A public Place near Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 Epjter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 
 
 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 
 
 2 Groom. The .rumpets have sounded twice, 
 
 1 Grocnn. It will be two o'clock ere they come 
 from the coronation : Despatch, despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt Grooms- 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, 
 and the Page. 
 
 Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow ; 
 I will make the king do you grace : I will leer upon 
 him, as 'a comes by; and do but mark the counte- 
 Biance that he will give me. 
 
 Pisl. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 
 
 FaL Come here. Pistol; stand behind me. — O, 
 if I had had time to have made new liveries, I would 
 have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of 
 you. (To Shalloiv.) But 'tis no i;iatter ; this poor 
 show doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to 
 see bim. 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fid. It shews my earnestness of atFection. 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. My devotion. 
 
 Fal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 
 
 Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not to 
 deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience 
 
 Shal. it is most certain. [to shift me. 
 
 Fal. But to stand staln'd with travel, and sweat- 
 ing with desire to see hiin ; thinking of nothing else ; 
 [mtting all affairs else in oblivion ; as if theie were 
 nothing else to be done, hist to see him 
 
 Pisi. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est : 
 'Tis ail in every part. 
 
 Shal. 'Tis so, inileed. 
 
 Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liser, 
 And make thee rage. 
 
 Tl.y Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
 Is in base durance, and coutagious prison ; 
 
 JlRul'd thither 
 
 By most mechanical and dirty hand : — 
 Rguse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto' 
 snake. 
 
 For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth 
 Fal. I will deliver her. 
 
 {Shouts within, and the trumpets somtC/Ci 
 Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clarigoi 
 
 ids. 
 
 Enter the King and his Train, the Chief Justict 
 among them. 
 
 Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal 
 Hal ! 
 
 Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most 
 royal imp of fame ! 
 
 Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 
 
 King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain 
 man. ['tis you speak ? 
 
 Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what 
 
 Fal. My king I my Jove I I speak to thee, my 
 heart! [prayers; 
 
 King. I know thee not, old man : Fall to thy 
 How id white hairs become a fool, and jester I 
 I have long dream'd of such a kind of man. 
 So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; 
 But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 
 Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace ; 
 Leave gormandizing ; know thy grave doth gape 
 For tliee thrice wider than for other men : — 
 Reply not to me with a fool-born jest ; 
 Presume not, that I am the thing I was : 
 For heaven doth know, so shall the worlfl perceive 
 That I have turn'd away my former self; 
 So will I those that kept me company. 
 When thou dost hear I am as I have been. 
 Approach nie ; and thou shalt be as thou wast 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
 Till then, I banish thee, on pam of death, — 
 As 1 have done the rest of my misleaders, — 
 Not to come near our person by ten mjle. 
 For competence of life, I will allow you ; 
 That lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
 And, as we hear you do reform j'ourselves. 
 We will, — according to your strength, and qnali 
 ties, — [loni, 
 Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my 
 To see perform'd the tenor of our word. — 
 Set on. [Exeunt King, and his Tram. 
 
 Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousaml 
 pound. 
 
 Shal. Ay, marry, sir John ; which I bese ech yon 
 to let me have home with me. 
 
 Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. '^^ 
 not you grieve at this; I shall be sent for in pri "^^^^J 
 to him : look you, he must seem thus to the -Frorl^. 
 Fear not your advancement : \ will be the man J^U 
 that shall make you gr»^av 
 
 Shal. I cannot p«'ii<;eive -low ; unless you giv9 
 your doublet, and ntuffmeout with straw. I be seec« 
 you, good sir / i^'); Ifii me have five hundred ^' ^"7 
 thousand. 
 
 Fal. r wjil be as good as my word: this 
 
 thatyoo leurd, "was but a colour. [J oJu'. 
 
 Shal A colour, I fear, that you will die in, - i 
 Fal H^ear no colours ; go with me to dinner. 
 Come, lieutenant Pistol ; — come, Bardolph: — 1 .sh 
 be sent for soon at night. 
 
 Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice, 
 Officers, ^c. 
 Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstaff to the FJe 
 Take all his company along with hiin. 
 Fal. My lord, tnv lord,— 
 
 CLJus't. 1 cannot now speak: 1 will hear y. 
 Take ttiem away. [soon. 
 Pist. Sifortuna me tormenta. spero me content'^, 
 [Exeunt FaL Shal. Pist. Bard. Pag 9 
 and Officers. 
 P. Jo/m. I like this fair proceeding of tbfi 
 
SCEJJE 5. 
 
 He hath iutent, his wonted followers 
 Shall all be very well provided for; 
 But aU are banish'd till their conversations 
 Appear more wise and modest to the world. 
 
 Ch. Just. And so they are. £lord. 
 P. John, 'i'he king hath call'd his parliament, my 
 Ch. Just. He hath. [expire, 
 P. John. I will lay odds, — that, ere this year 
 VVe bear our civil swords, and native fire, 
 As far as Prance : I heard a bird so sing, 
 Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
 Come, will you hence? [Exeunt. 
 
 Epilogue. — Spoken by a Dancer. 
 First, my fear; then, my court' sy ; last, my 
 speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my courfsy, 
 my duty ; and my speech, to be<j your pardons. If 
 vou look for a good speech now, you undo me : for 
 what I have to sav, is of mine own making ; and 
 what, indeed. I should say, ivill, I doubt, prove 
 mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so 
 to the venture. — Be it known to you, fas it is very 
 well, J I was lately here in the end of a displeasing 
 play, to pray your patience for it. and to promise 
 you a better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you with 
 ih^s; which, if like an ill venture, it come uninckilu 
 24 
 
 369 
 
 home, I break , and you, my aentle creditors, /o*«, 
 
 Here, I promised you, I would be, and here Icom^ 
 mit my body to your mer cies : bate me some, and 
 I will pay you some, and, as most debtors do^ 
 promise you infinitely. 
 
 If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, 
 unit you command me to use my legs 1 and yet 
 that were biU light payment, — to dance out of 
 vour debt. But a pood conscience will make any 
 possible satisfaction, and so will I. All the gen - 
 tlewomen here Iiave forgiven me ; if the gentlemen 
 will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with, 
 the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in 
 such an assembly. 
 
 One word more, I beseech you. If you be not 
 too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author 
 will continue the story, with Sir John in it., and 
 make you merry with fair Katharine of France : 
 where, for any thing I knoiu, Falstaff shall die 
 of a sweat, unless already he be killed with your 
 hard opinions ; for Oldcastle died a marlyr, and 
 this is not the man. My tongue is weary ; ivAea 
 my legs are too, I will bid you good night : and 
 so kneel down before you; — but, indted, io pra§ 
 J'or the queen. 
 
 KING HENRY lY. 
 
KING HENRY V, 
 
 This plav has many scenes cf high dignity, and many of easy merriment. Tlie character of lie king is well sup- 
 ported, except ill his courtsliip, wliere he "jas neither the vivacity of Hal, nor the grandeur of Henry. The humour 
 of Pistol is very happily continued: his character has perhaps been tlie model of all the bullies that have yet appeared 
 on tlie English stage. 
 
 The lines gi\en to the chorus have many admirers; but the truth is, in them a little may be praised, and much 
 must be forgiven; nor can it be easily discovered, why the intelligence given by the chorus is more necessary in 
 this play, than in many others where it is omitted. The great defect of this play is, the emptiness and narrowness ol 
 the last act, which | very little diligence might have easily avoided. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Brothers to the King. 
 
 KIN(i HENRY THE FIFTH. 
 DUKE OF GLOSTER, ) 
 DUKE OF BEDFORD, ( 
 DUKE OF EXETER, Uncle to the King. 
 DUKE OF YORK. Cousin to the Ki7iq. 
 EARLS OF SALISBURY, WESTJMORELAND, and 
 
 WARWICK. 
 ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 
 BISHOP OF ELY. 
 
 LORD SCROOP''''^^^^' i Conspirators against the 
 SIR THOMAS GRRY S 
 
 «IR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, GOWER, FLUELLEN, 
 MACMORRIS, JAMY, Officers in King Henry's 
 
 Army. 
 
 Bates, COUI^T, WILLIAMS, SolcUers in the same. 
 N\M, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, formerly Servants to 
 Fa/staff, now Soldiers in the same. 
 
 King of France. 
 ORLEANS, and BOURBON. 
 
 Boy, Serva7it to them, 
 A Herald 
 Chorus. 
 
 CHARLES THE SIXTH, 
 LEWIS, the Dcmphin. 
 DUKE OF BURGUNDY, 
 The Constable of France. 
 RAMBURES and GRANDPREE, French Lord*, 
 Governor of Harfleur. 
 MONTJOY, a French Herald. 
 A mbassadors to the King of England. 
 ISABEL, Queen of France. 
 
 KATHARINE, Daughter of Charles and Isabel. 
 ALICE, a Lady attending on the Princess Katharine. 
 QUICKLY, Pistol's Wife, an Hostess. 
 Lords, Ladies, Officer, French and English Soldier*, 
 Messengers, and Attendants. 
 
 The Scene, at the beginning of the Play, lies in England; but afterwards wholly in France. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 O, for amnse of Sre, that would ascend 
 The brij>htest heaven ol" invention ! 
 k kingdom for a stage, princes to act. 
 A.nd monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
 ThM! shoald the warlike Harry, like himself, 
 Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, [fire, 
 Leasli'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and 
 f-rouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, 
 The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd, 
 On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth 
 So great an object : Can this cockpit hold 
 The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram 
 Within this wooden 0, the very casqiies. 
 That did affright (he air at Agincourt ? 
 O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
 Attest, in little place, a million ; 
 And let us , ciphers to this great accompt. 
 On your imaginary forces work : 
 Suppose, within the girdle of these walls 
 Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies. 
 Whose high upreared and abutting fronts 
 The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. 
 Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; 
 Into a thousand parts divide one man. 
 And make imaginary puissance: 
 Think, when we talk of horses, that you see thera 
 Printing their proud hoofs i'the receiving earth: 
 For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings. 
 Carry them here and there : jumping o'er times ; 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 Into an hour-glass : For the which supply. 
 Admit me chorus to this history ; 
 Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, 
 Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I.- London. An Ante-chamber in the 
 King's Palace. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
 Bishop of Ely. 
 
 Cant. My lord, I'll tell you, — that self bill is urg'd, 
 Whicli, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign 
 VVas like, and had indeed against us pass'd, 
 t2ut tl)at the scambling and uuquiet time 
 
 Did push it out of further question. 
 
 Ehj. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? 
 
 Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against m, 
 We lose the better half of our possession : 
 For all the temporal lands, which men devout 
 By testament have given to the church, 
 Would they strip from us; being valued thus, — 
 As much as woidd maintain, to the king's hocmir. 
 Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights • 
 Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; 
 And, to relief of lazars, and weak age. 
 Of indigent faint souls, past corpora! toil, 
 A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied; 
 And to the coffers of the king beside, 
 A thousand pounds by the year: Thus runs the bifii 
 
 Ely. This would drink deep. 
 
 Cant. Twould drink the cup aad all. 
 
 Ely. But what prevention ? 
 
 Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard. 
 
 Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. 
 
 Cant. The courses of his youth prdmis'd it not 
 The breath no sooner left his father's body. 
 But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
 Seem d to die loo: yea, at that very moment. 
 Consideration like an angel came. 
 And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; 
 Leaving hi.s body as a paradise, 
 To envelop and contain celestial spirits. 
 Never was such a sudden scholar made . 
 Never came reformation in a flood. 
 With such a heady current, scouring faults^ 
 Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness 
 So soon did lose his seat, and all at once. 
 As in this king. 
 
 Ely. We are blessed in the change. 
 
 Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity. 
 And, all-admiring, with an inward wish 
 You would desire, the king were made a prelate : 
 Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs. 
 You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his stadyi 
 List his discourse of war, and you shall heal 
 A fearful battle render'd you in music : 
 'J'urn him to any cause of policy. 
 The Gordian knot of it he will unloose. 
 Familiar as his garter: that, when he sp^aks^ 
 The air, a charter'd libertine, is still. 
 And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ea»» 
 
KING HENRY V. >S^< 
 
 Scene 2. 
 
 To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences 
 So that the art and practic part of life 
 Must he the mistress to this theoric : 
 Wliich is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, 
 Since iiis addiction was to courses vain; 
 His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow; 
 His hours fili'd up with riots, hauquets, sports; 
 And never noted in hitn any study, 
 Any retirement, any sequestration, 
 Fro.M open liaunts and popularity. 
 
 Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle ; 
 And wholesome berries tlirive and ripen best, 
 Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality : 
 And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt. 
 Grew like the summer-grass, fastest by night. 
 Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 
 
 Cant. It must be so: for miracles are ceas'd ; 
 And therefore we must needs admit the means, 
 How things are perfected. 
 
 Ely. But, my good lord. 
 
 How now for mitigation of this bill 
 Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty 
 Incline to it, or no ? 
 
 Cant. He seems indifferent ; 
 
 Or, rather, swaying more upon our part. 
 Than cherishing the exhibiters against us . 
 For I have made an oifer to his majesty, — 
 Upon our spiritual convocation ; 
 And in regard of causes now in hand, 
 Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
 As touching France,— to give a greater sum 
 Thau ever atone time the clergy yet 
 Did to his predecessors part witlial. 
 
 Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord ? 
 
 Cant. With good acceptance of his mnjesty ; 
 Save, that there was not time enough to hear 
 (As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done,) 
 The severals, and unhidden passages. 
 Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms; 
 \i)d, generally, to the crown and seat of France, 
 'Jeriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. 
 
 Ely. W^hat wasthe impediment that broke this off ? 
 
 Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, 
 Crav'd audience : and the hour, 1 think, is come. 
 To give him heariug : Is it four o'clock ? 
 
 My. It is. 
 
 Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy ; 
 Which I could, with a ready guess, declare. 
 Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 
 
 Ely. I'll wait upon you; and I long to hear it. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. A Room of State in the 
 same. 
 
 Enter King Henky, Gloster, Bedford, Exeter, 
 Warwick, Westmoreland, and Attendants. 
 K. Hen. Where is my gracious Lord of Canter- 
 Exe. Not here in presence. [bury ? 
 
 K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 
 TVest. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege ? 
 K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be re- 
 solv'd, 
 
 Before we hear him, of some things of weight, 
 That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of C anterbury and Bishop 
 of Ely. 
 
 Cant. God, and his angels, guard your sacred 
 And make you long become it ! [throne, 
 
 tx. Hen Sure, we thank you. 
 
 My learned lord, we pray you to proceed; 
 And justly and religiously unfold, 
 VVhy the law Saiique, that they have in France, 
 sfeould, or should not, bar us in our claim. 
 
 God forbi l, my dear and faithful lord, 
 at yo'i shor'd fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, 
 nicely charge yuur understanding soul 
 With opening titles niiscieate, vviiose right 
 Suits not in native t Dlour witit the truth ; 
 
 For God doth know, how many now in healthy 
 
 Shall drop their blood in approbation 
 Of what your reverence shtil incite us to; 
 Therefore take heed how you impawn our person. 
 How you awake the sleeping sword of war ; 
 We charge you in the name of God, take heed 
 For never two such kingdoms did contend, 
 Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops 
 Are e\ ery one a woe, a sore complaint, 
 'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the 
 swords 
 
 That make such waste in brief mortality. 
 Under this conjuration, speak, my lord : 
 And vve will hear, note, and believe in heart, 
 'That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd 
 As pure as sin with baptism. [you peers. 
 
 Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — and 
 That ovve your lives, your faith, and services, 
 To this imperial throne; — There is no bar 
 To make against your highness' claim to France, 
 But this, which they produce from Pharamond, — 
 In terrain Salieam mulieres ne succedaret. 
 No woman shall succeed in Saiique land : 
 Which Saiique land the French unjustly gloze. 
 To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 
 The founder of this law and female bar. 
 Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, 
 That the land Saiique lies in Germany, 
 Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe : 
 Where Chailes the great, having subdued tb® 
 Saxons, 
 
 There left behind and settled certain French, 
 
 Who, holding in disdain the German women^ 
 
 For some dishonest manners of their life, 
 
 EstablishVl there this law, — to wit, no female 
 
 Should be inheritrix in Saiique land ; 
 
 Which Saiique, as I said, 'twixtElbe and Sala, 
 
 Is at this day in Germany call'd — Meisen. 
 
 Thus doth it well appear, the Saiique law 
 
 VV^as not devised for the realm of France : 
 
 Nor did the French possess the Saiique laud 
 
 Until four hundred one and twenty years 
 
 After defunction of king Pharamond, ^ 
 
 Idly suppos'd the founder of this law; ; 
 
 Who died within the year cf our redemption 
 
 Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Grent 
 
 Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 
 
 Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
 
 Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say. 
 
 King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, 
 
 Did, as heir general, being descended 
 
 Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothmr^ 
 
 Make claim and title to the crown of France. 
 
 t:i»gh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown 
 
 Of Chades the Duke of Lorain, sole heir male 
 
 Of the true line and stock of Charles the great,— 
 
 To fine his title with some show of truth, 
 
 (Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught > 
 
 Convey'd himself as heir to the lady Lingare, 
 
 Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 
 
 To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son 
 
 Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenths' 
 
 Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
 
 Could not keep quiet in his c(mscience. 
 
 Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 
 
 That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother. 
 
 Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, 
 
 Daughter to Charles the foresaid dnke of Lorain 
 
 By the which marriage, the line of Charlea the gread 
 
 Was re-united to the crown of France. 
 
 So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
 
 King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim. 
 
 King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
 
 To liold in right and title of the female: 
 
 So do the kings of France unto this day; 
 
 Howbeit they would lipid up this Saiique law, 
 
 'I'o bur your highness claiming from the female. 
 
 And ratiier choose to hide them in a net, 
 
 ^fnari a!n|)Iy to imbare their crooked titles, 
 
 Usurp'd !rum you and your progenitors. 
 
KING HENRY Y. 
 
 Act L 
 
 K.Uen. May I, with right and conscience, make 
 this claim ? 
 
 Cant. The sin npon my head, dread sovereign ! 
 For in the boob of Numbers is it writ, — 
 Wiienthe son dies, let the inheritance 
 Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, 
 Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag; 
 Look back unto your mighty ancestors : 
 Go, my dread lord, to yonr great grandsire's tomb, 
 From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit. 
 And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince ; 
 Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
 Making defeat on the full power of France; 
 Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 
 Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp 
 Forage in blood of French nobility. _ 
 O noble English, that could entertain 
 With half their forces the full pride of France ; 
 And let another half stand laughing by. 
 All out of work, and cold for action ! 
 
 Ell/. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead. 
 And with your puissant arm renew their feats : 
 Yon are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; 
 The blood and courage, that renowned them. 
 Runs in your veins; and my thrice-Duissant liege 
 Is in the very May -morn of his youth. 
 Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. 
 
 Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth 
 Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, 
 As did the former lions of your blood. 
 
 West. They know, your grace hath cause, and 
 means, and might; 
 So hath your highness; never king of England 
 Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects ; 
 Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, 
 And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 
 
 Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, 
 With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right: 
 In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty 
 Will raise your highness such a mighty sum. 
 As never did the clergy at one time 
 Bring in to any of your ancestors. (French ; 
 
 K. Hen. VVe must not only arm to invade the 
 But lay down our proportions to defend 
 Against i^lie Scot, who will make road upon us 
 With all advantages. 
 
 Cant. They of those marches, gracious sovereign. 
 Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
 Our inland from the pilfering borderers. [only, 
 
 K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers 
 But fear the main intendment of the Scot, 
 Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us : 
 For you shall read, that my great grandfather 
 Never went with his forces into France, 
 But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
 Came pouring, like the tide into a breach. 
 With ample and brim fulness of his force ; 
 Galling the gleaned land with hot essays ; 
 Girding, with grievous siege, castles and towns ; 
 That England, being empty of defence. 
 Hath shook, and trembled at the ill-neighbourhood. 
 
 Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than 
 liarm'd, my liege : 
 For hear her but exaiupled by herself,— 
 When all her chivalry hath been in France, 
 And she a mourning widow of her nobles. 
 She hath herself not only well defended. 
 But taken, an 1 impounded as a stray. 
 The king of S ots; whom she did send to France, 
 To fill king E Iward's ftiine with prisoner kings ; 
 And make yo sr chronicle as rich with praise. 
 As is the ooz- and bottom of the sea 
 With s mken wreck and sumless treasuries. 
 
 West. But iliere's a saymg, very old and true, — 
 Iftktt you will France win, 
 Then with Scotland first begin : 
 For once the . agle Knuland being in prey. 
 To her unguar led uesl the weasel Scot 
 Comes siieaki ^r, anH so sucks her princely eggs; 
 Playing the ra.tuse, lu abse.i e of the cat, 
 
 To spoil and havock more than she can eat. 
 
 Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at bomet 
 
 Yet that is but a curs'd necessity ; 
 
 Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries. 
 
 And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
 
 While that the armed hand doth fight abroad. 
 
 The advised head defends itself at home : 
 
 For government, though high, and low, and lower* 
 
 Put into part, doth keep in one concent ; 
 
 Congruing in a full and natural close. 
 
 Like music. 
 
 Cant. True : therefore doth heaven dividt 
 
 The state of man in divers functions. 
 
 Setting endeavour in continual (notion ; 
 
 To which is fixed, as an aim or buit. 
 
 Obedience : for so work the honey bees 
 
 Creatures, that, by rule in nature, teach 
 
 The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
 
 They have a king, and officers of sorts : 
 
 Where some, like magistiates, correct afhome; 
 
 Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; 
 
 Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings. 
 
 Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; 
 
 Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
 
 To the tent-royal of their emperor: 
 
 Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
 
 The singing masons building roofs of gold; 
 
 The civil citizens kneading up the honey; 
 
 The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
 
 Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; 
 
 The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum. 
 
 Delivering o'er to executors pale 
 
 The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, — 
 
 That many things, having fidl reference 
 
 To one concent, may w(»rk contrariously : 
 
 As many arrows, loosed several ways. 
 
 Fly to one mark ; 
 
 As many several ways meet in one town; 
 As many tVesh streams run in one self sea; 
 As many lines close in the dial's centre ; 
 So niay a thousand actions, once afoot, 
 End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
 Without defeat. Therelbre to France, my lii^e. 
 Divide your happy England into four; 
 Whereof take you one quarter into France, 
 And you vvithal shall make all Gallia shake. 
 If we, with thrice that power left at home, 
 Cannot defend our own door from the dog. 
 Let us be worried ; and our nation lose 
 The name of hardiness, and policy. [Dauphin. 
 K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the 
 [Exit an Attendant. The King ascends his 
 throne. 
 
 Now are we well resolv'd : and, — by God's help; 
 And yours, the noble sinews of our power, — 
 France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe. 
 Or break it all to pieces : Or there we'll sit. 
 Ruling, in large and ample empery, 
 O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms; 
 Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
 Tombless, with no n membrance over them: 
 Eithe r our history shall, with full riouth. 
 Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave. 
 Like Turkish mute, shall have a tonxueless month. 
 Not worship'd with a waxen epitaph. — 
 
 Enter Ambassadors of France. 
 Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure 
 Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for, vv<; hear, 
 Vour greeting is from him, not from the king. 
 
 Amb. May it please your majesty, to give us leare 
 Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
 Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
 The Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy 
 
 K. Hen. VVe are no tyrant, but a Cliristan king; 
 Unto whose grace our passi(<n is as subject, 
 As are our wretches fetter'd in our }}risons : 
 Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plamnesa 
 Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 
 
 A7n ). Thus then, in few. 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 Your highuess, lately sending into ranee, 
 Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right ^ 
 Of yonr great predecessor, king Edward the third. 
 To answer of which claim, the prince our master 
 5ays, -that you savour too much of your youth; 
 And l)ids you be advis'd, there's nought in France 
 That can be with a nimble galliard won ; 
 V^ou cannot revel into dukedoms there: 
 He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, 
 This tun of treasure : and, in lieu of this, 
 Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, 
 Hear na more of you. This tlie Dauphin speaks. 
 
 K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ? 
 
 Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant 
 with us ; 
 
 His present, and your pains we thank you for: 
 When we have match'd our rackets to these balls. 
 We will, in France, by God s grace, play a set, 
 Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard : 
 Tell him, he hath made a niatch with such a wrangler, 
 That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
 With chaces. And we understand him well, 
 How he comes o'er ns with our wilder days. 
 Not measuring what use we made oi"them. 
 We never valued this poor seat of England ; 
 And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 
 To barbarous license; As 'tis ever common, 
 That men are merriest when they are from home. 
 But tell the Dau|,hin, — I will keep my state; 
 Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness. 
 When I do ro-:ise me in my throne of France : 
 For that I have laid by my majesty, 
 And plodded like a man for working-days ; 
 But I will rise there with so full a ghiry. 
 That I will diizzle all the eyes of France, 
 Vea, strike tlie Dauphin blind to look on us. 
 J.., And tell ttie pleasant prince, — this mock of his 
 ^^"IJath turn'd liis balls to gun stones; and his soul 
 Siial! stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
 I'liat shall fly with them: for many a thousand 
 widows [bands ; 
 
 Shall this his mock mock out of their dear hus- 
 Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles d own ; 
 And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, 
 That shall liave cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. 
 But this lies sW within the will of God, 
 To whom I d.> appeal ; And in whose name. 
 Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on. 
 To venge me as i may, and to f)ut forth 
 My rightf.d hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
 So, get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin, 
 FI is jest will savour but of shallow wit, 
 When thousaiids weep, more than did laugh at it. — 
 Convey tnem witli safe conduct. — Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Ambassadot's. 
 Exe. This was a merry message. 
 K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. 
 
 [Desceyids from his throne.) 
 Therefore, my lords, otnit no happy hour. 
 That may give furtiierance to our expedition. 
 For we have now thought in us but France 
 Save those to (rod, that run before our business 
 Therefore, let our proportions for these wars 
 Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon. 
 That may, with reasonable swittiess, add 
 More featnrrs to our wings ; for, God before, 
 We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. 
 Thereibre, let every man now task his thought. 
 That this fair action may on foot be brought. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor Now all the youth of England are on fire. 
 And silken dalliance iu the wardrobe lies; 
 Now thrive the anuourers, and honour's thought 
 Reigns so'ely in the breast of every man : 
 They sell the pasti;re now to buy the horse ; 
 
 Following the mirror of all Ofiristian kings 
 
 With winged heels, as Engl sh Mercuries. 
 
 For now sits Expectation in the air ; 
 
 And hides a sword, from hilts unto the poiut. 
 
 With crowns imperial, crowns, and coroDets> 
 
 Prornis'd to Harry, and his followers. 
 
 The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
 
 Of this most dreadful preparation, 
 
 Shake in their fear; and with pale policy 
 
 Seek to divert the English purposes. ' 
 
 O England ! — model to thy inward greatness^ 
 
 Like little body with a mighty heart, — 
 
 W^hat miglit'st thou do, that honour would thee Qeti 
 
 Were all thy children kind and natural! 
 
 But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out 
 
 A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills [raen,- - 
 
 With treacherous crowns : and three corrupted 
 
 One, Richard earl of Cambridge ; and the second, 
 
 Henry lord Scroop of Masham ; and the third. 
 
 Sir Thomas Grey knight of Northumberland, — 
 
 Have, for the gilt of France, (O guilt, indeed !) 
 
 Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ; 
 
 And by their hands this grace of kings must die, 
 
 (If hell and treason hold their promises,) 
 
 Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. 
 
 Linger your patience on ; and well digest 
 
 The abuse of distance, while we Ibrce a play 
 
 The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
 
 The king is set from London ; and the scene 
 
 Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton: 
 
 There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: 
 
 And thence to France shall we convey you safe 
 
 And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
 
 To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may. 
 
 We'll not offend one stomach with our play. 
 
 But, till the king come forth, and not till then. 
 
 Unto Southampton do we shift our scene [ExiU 
 
 Scene I. — The same. Eastcheap. 
 Enter Nym and Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. 
 
 Ny7n. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. [yet? 
 
 Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends 
 
 Nr/m. For my part, I care not^ say little ; bu< 
 when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; — but 
 that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I 
 will wink, and hold out mine iroi) : It is a simple 
 one; but what though? It will toast cheese ; and 
 it will enrlure cold as another man's sword will 
 and there's the humour of it. 
 
 Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make yoo 
 friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to 
 France ; let it be so, go >d coriwral Nym. 
 
 Nym. 'Faith, I will livt- so long as i may, that's 
 the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any longer 
 I will do as I may : that is my rest, that is the ren- 
 dezvous of it. 
 
 Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married 
 to Nell Quickly : and, certainly, she did you wrong • 
 for you were Iroth-pliglit to her. 
 
 Nym. I cannot tell ; things must be as they may: 
 men may sleep, and they may have their throats 
 about them at that time; and, some say, knives 
 have edges. It must be as it may : though patience 
 be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be 
 conclusi(ms. Well, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quicfxy. 
 
 Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife :— 
 good corporal, be patient here. — How now, niiae 
 host Pistol? 
 
 Pist. Base tike, call'st thou me — host ? 
 Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term ; 
 Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 
 
 Quick. No, by my troth, not long : for we can- 
 not lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentle- 
 woinen, that live honestly by the prick of their 
 needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy- 
 hotise straight. [Nym draivs his sword.) O well-a- 
 day. Lady, if he be not di awn now I O Lord ! here* 
 
KING HENRY V. 
 
 iorporal Nym's — now shall we have wilful adultery 
 aud uiurder committed. Good lieutenant Bardolph, 
 — good corporal, offer nothing here. 
 Nym. Pish ! 
 
 Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick- 
 eared cur of Iceland. 
 
 Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valour of 
 a man, and put up thy sword. 
 
 Nym. Will j'ou shog off! I would have you solus. 
 
 {Sheathing his sword.) 
 
 Pist. Solus, egregious dog ! O viper vile ! 
 The solus in thy most marvellous face : 
 The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat. 
 And in tliy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy; 
 And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth I 
 I do retort the solus in thy bowels : 
 For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
 And Hashing fire will follow. 
 
 Nym I au» not Barbason : you cannot conjure me. 
 I have an humour to knock you indifferently well: 
 If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you 
 with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms : if yen would 
 walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good 
 terms, as I may; and that's the humour of it. 
 
 Pist. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight! 
 The grave dotli gape, and doting death is near; 
 Therefore exhale. {Pistol and Nym draw.) 
 
 Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say: — he that 
 strikes the first stroke. I II run him up to the hilts, 
 as I am a soldier. {Draws.) [abate. 
 
 Pist. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall 
 Give me thy fist, tliy fore-foot to me give ; 
 Thy spirits are most tall. 
 
 Nym. I vvill cut thy throat one time or other, in 
 fair terms; that is the htunour of it, 
 
 Pist. Coupe la gorge, that's the word? — I thee 
 del'y again. 
 
 0 hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get ? 
 No ; to the spital go. 
 
 And from the powdering tub of infamy 
 Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 
 Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse : 
 
 1 have, and I will hold, tiie quofidam Quickly 
 For the only she ; and — Pauca, there's enough. 
 
 Enter the Boy. 
 
 Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my 
 master, — and you, hostess ; — he is very sick, and 
 would to bed. — Good Bardolph, put thy nose be- 
 tween his sheets, and do the office of a warming- 
 pan: 'faith, he's very ill. 
 
 Bard. Away, you rogue. 
 
 Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pud- 
 ding one of these days: the king has killed his 
 heart. — Good husband, come home presently. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy. 
 
 Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends"'' We 
 must to France together: Why, the devil, should 
 we keep knives to cut one another's throats ? 
 
 Pist. Let floods o'ersvvell, and fiends for food 
 hnwl on ! (you at betting ? 
 
 Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of 
 
 Pist. Base is the slave that [)ays. [of it. 
 
 Nym. That now I will have ; that's the humour 
 
 Pist. As manhood shall compound ; push home. 
 
 Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first 
 thrust. Ml kill him; by this sword, I will. 
 
 Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their 
 course. 
 
 Bard. Corporal Nym. an thou wilt be friends, be 
 friends; an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with 
 me too. Pr'ythee, put up. | you at betting 
 
 Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of 
 Pist. A noble sliait thou have, and present pay ; 
 And liquor likewise will I give to thee, 
 And frieii'Sshii< shall coiiibine, and brotherhoid : 
 I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall ii\e by n.t- , — 
 Is not this just ? — t(w I shall sutler be 
 Iji.to the can>p, and profits will accue 
 Give uie thy hand. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my noble ? 
 Pist. In cash most justly paid. 
 Nym. Well then, that's the humour of it 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Qdickly. 
 Quick. As ever you came of women, cone in 
 quickly to Sir John : Ah, poor heart ! he is soshaked 
 of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most la- 
 mentable to behold. Sweet men, Gome to him. 
 
 Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the 
 knight, that's the even of it. 
 
 Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; 
 His heart is fracied, and corroborate. 
 
 Nym. The king is a good king : but it must be as 
 it may; he passes some humours, and careers. 
 
 Pist. Let us condole the knight ; for, land>kin8, 
 we will live. [Exeunt 
 Scene Southampton. A Council-chamber. 
 Inter Exeter, Bedford, and WesTiMGReland. 
 Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these 
 traitors. 
 
 Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. 
 
 West, flow smooth and even they "do bear them 
 As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, [selves. 
 Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. 
 
 Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend. 
 By interception, which they dream not of 
 
 Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow. 
 Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princely 
 favours, 
 
 That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell 
 His sovereign's life to death and treachery ! 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter King Henry, Scroop, 
 Cambridge, Grey, Lords, and Attendants 
 
 K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will 
 aboard. [sham,— 
 My lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord of Ma- 
 A nd vou, my gentle knight,— give me your thoughts : 
 Think you not, that the powers we bear with us. 
 Will cut their passage through the force of France ; 
 Doing the execution, and the act, 
 For which we have in head assembled them? 
 
 Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his 
 best. [suaded, 
 
 K. Hen. I doubt not that: since we are well per- 
 We carry not a heart with us from hence, 
 That grows not in a fair consent with ours ; 
 Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish 
 Success and conquest to attend on us. 
 
 Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd, and lov'd. 
 Than is your majesty'; there's not, I think, a subject, 
 That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
 Under the sweet shade of your government, [mies, 
 
 Orey. Even those, that were your father's ene 
 Have steep'd their galls in honey; and do serve you 
 W^ith hearts create of duty and of zeai. 
 
 K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thank- 
 And shall forget the office of our hand, [fulness ; 
 Sooner than quittance of desert and merit. 
 According to the weight and worthiness. 
 
 Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil 
 And labour shall refresh itself with hope. 
 To do your grace incessant services. 
 
 K. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter, 
 Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 
 That rail'd against our person; we consider. 
 It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
 And, on his more advice, we pardon him. 
 
 Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security. 
 Ijet liim be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example 
 Breed, by his sufferance, nKu-e of such a kmd. 
 
 K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 
 
 Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 
 
 Grey. Sir. you show great mercy, if you give 
 After the taste of much correction. [him life, 
 
 K. Hen. Alas, your too mucii iove and care of mf 
 Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch. 
 If little faults, proceeding on distemper, 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 875 
 
 Shall ootbe WTuk'd at, how shall we stretch our eye. 
 When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and di- 
 gested. 
 
 Appear before us ? — We'll yet enlarge that man, 
 fhoiigh Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey,— in their 
 dear care. 
 
 And tender preservation of oar person. 
 
 Would have hini punish'd. And now to onr French 
 
 Who are the late commissioners? [causes ; 
 
 Cam. I one, my lord ; 
 Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 
 
 Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 
 
 Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there 
 is yours ; — [knight ; 
 
 There yours, lord Scroop of Masham ; — and, sir 
 UiL'v of Northumberland, this same is yours: — 
 Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. — 
 iVly lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle Exeter, — 
 We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentle- 
 What see you in those papers, that you lose [men ? 
 S » much complexion? — look ye, how they change 1 
 'V\\<r\v cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there, 
 Tiiat hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
 Out (if appearance ? 
 
 Cam. I do confess my fault ; 
 
 A.nd do submit me to your highness' mercy. 
 
 (h-ey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. 
 
 K. Hen. The mercy, that was quick in us but late. 
 By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : 
 Vou must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; 
 For your own reasons turn into your bosoms. 
 As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. — 
 See you, my princes, and my noble peers, 
 These English monsters ! My lord of Cambridge 
 here, — 
 
 Yon know, how apt our love was, to accord 
 
 To furnish him with all appertineuts 
 
 Belonging to his honour : and this man 
 
 Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd. 
 
 And sworn unto the practices of France, 
 
 To kill us here in Hampton : to the which. 
 
 This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
 
 Than Cafubridge is, — hath likewise sworn. — But O ! 
 
 What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop; thou cruel, 
 
 Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature ! 
 
 'i'liou, thatdid'st bear the key of all my counsels, 
 
 That knew'st the very bottom of ray soul, 
 
 That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold? 
 
 Would'st thou have praclis'd on me for thy use ? 
 
 May it be possible, that toreign hire 
 
 Could out of thee extract one spark of evil. 
 
 That might annoy my finger ? 'Tis so strange, 
 
 That, though the truth of it stands oiF as gross 
 
 As black from white, my eye will ^arcely see it. 
 
 'JVeason, and murder, ever kept together 
 
 As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose. 
 
 Working so grossly in a natural cause. 
 
 That admiration did not whoop at them: 
 
 But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in 
 
 Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder ; 
 
 And whatsoever ctmning fiend it was. 
 
 That wrought upon thee so preposterously, 
 
 H'ath got the voice in hell lor excellence : 
 
 And other devils, that suggest by treasons, 
 
 l^o botch and bungle up damnation 
 
 With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd 
 
 From gli.stering semblances of piety; 
 
 But he, that temper'd thee, bade thee stand up, 
 
 CJave theb no instance why thou shouid'st do treason, 
 
 Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 
 
 If that sf isie demon, that hath gull'd thee thus, 
 
 Should with his lion gait walk tiie whole world, 
 
 He might return to vasty Tartar back, 
 
 And tell the legions— 1 can never win 
 
 A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 
 
 O, how hast thou witii jealousy injected 
 
 The PAveetness of alliance ? Show men dutiful? 
 
 ^hy, »o didst thou ; Seem they grave and learned ? 
 
 Wby, so didst thou : Come tliey of noble family ? 
 
 Why, so didst thou : Seem they leligicKis ? 
 Why, so didst thou : Or are they spare in die!; 
 Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger; 
 Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood { 
 Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement; 
 Not working with the eye, without the ear. 
 And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? 
 Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem: 
 And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
 To mark the full-franght man, and best endued. 
 With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; 
 For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
 Another fall of man. — Their faults are open, 
 Arrest them to the ansv/er of the law ; — 
 And God acquit them of their practices ! 
 
 Exe. 1 arrest thee of high treason, by the name ol 
 Richard earl of Cambridge. 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 Henry lord Scroop of Masham. 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland. 
 
 Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; 
 And I repent my fault, more than my death ; 
 W^hich I beseech your highness to forgive, 
 Although my body pay the price of it, [duce ; 
 
 Cam. For me, — the gold of France did not se- 
 Although I did admit it as a motive. 
 The sooner to effect what I intended : 
 But God he thanked for prevention ; 
 Which I in sniferance heartily will rejoice. 
 Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me. 
 
 Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
 At the discovery of most dangerous treason. 
 Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. 
 Prevented from a damned enterprize : 
 My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ? Hear your 
 sentence. 
 
 You have conspir'd against our royal person, 
 
 Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his cof- 
 
 Receiv'd the golden earnest of our deatli ; ffea 
 
 Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, 
 
 His princes and his peers to servitude. 
 
 His subjects to oppression and contempt. 
 
 And his whole kingdom unto desolation. 
 
 Touching our person, seek we no revenge; 
 
 But we our kingdom's safety must so tender. 
 
 Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws 
 
 We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence^ 
 
 Poor miserable wretches, to your death : 
 
 The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you 
 
 Patience to endure, and true repentance 
 
 Of all your dear oti'ences ! — Bear them hence. 
 
 [Exeunt Conspirators, guardedi 
 Novv, lords, for France : the enterprise whereof 
 Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
 We doubt not of a fair and lucky war ; 
 Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
 This dangerous treason, lurking in our way. 
 To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now. 
 But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
 Then, forth, dear countrymen ; let us deliver 
 Our puissance into the hand of God, 
 Putting it straight in expedition. 
 Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance ; 
 No king of England, if not king of France. [Exeuni, 
 
 Scene HI. — London. Mrs. Quickly's Home i% 
 Eastckeap. 
 
 Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, Nym, Bardolpr, 
 a7id Boy. 
 
 Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me 
 bring thee to Staines. 
 
 Pist. No ; for my manl^ heart doth yearn, — 
 Bardoli)h, be blithe ;—lSym, rouse thy vaunting 
 veins ; 
 
 Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaffheis dead. 
 And we must yearn therefore. 
 
 Bard. 'Would, I vere with him, wheresorae'eT 
 he 's, either in heaver or in hell! 
 
KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell , he's in Ar- 
 fbar's hosorn, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 
 'A made a finer end, and w^ent away, an it had been 
 ' any christom child ; 'a darted even just between 
 ty twelve and one, e'en at turning o'the tide : for after 
 iilli I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with 
 flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew 
 there was but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as 
 a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. How now, 
 sir John ? quoth I : what, man ! be of good cheer. 
 So 'a cried out — God. God, God ! three or four 
 times : now I, to comfort him, bid him, 'a should 
 not think of God ; I hoped there was no need to 
 trouble himself with any such thoughts yet: So, 'a 
 bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand 
 into the bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as 
 any stone ; then I felt to his knees, and so upward, 
 and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. 
 
 Nym. They say, he cried out sack. 
 
 Quick. Ay, that 'a did. 
 
 Bard. And of women. 
 
 Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. [incarnate. 
 
 Boy. Yes, that 'a did ; and said, they were devils 
 
 Quick. 'A could never abide caruati6n; 'twas a 
 colour he never liked. [about women. 
 
 Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have him 
 
 Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle wo- 
 men : but then he was rheumatic ; and talked of the 
 whore of Babylon. 
 
 Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick 
 npon Bardolph's nose, and 'a said, it was a black 
 soul burning in hell fire ? 
 
 Bard. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained 
 that fire ; that's all the riches I got in his service. 
 
 Nym. Shall we sliog olF? the king will he gone 
 from Southampton. [lips. 
 
 Pist. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thy 
 Look to my chattels, and my moveables : 
 Let senses rule ; the word is. Pitch and pay ; 
 Tiust none ; 
 
 For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes. 
 And hold fast is the only dog, my duck ; 
 Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. 
 Go, clear thy crystals. — Yoke-fellows in arms. 
 Let us to France ! like horse-leeches, my boys ; 
 To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 
 
 Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. 
 
 Pist. Touch her soft uiouth, and march. 
 
 Bard. Farewell, hostess. {Kissing her.) 
 
 NiJ/in. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it ; 
 6ut adieu. [command. 
 
 Pist. Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee 
 
 Quick. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — France. A Room in the French King's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter the French King attended ; the Dauphin, 
 the Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and 
 others. 
 
 Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power 
 And more than carefully it us concerns, [upon us; 
 To answer royally in our defences. 
 Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, 
 Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, — 
 And you, prince Dauphin, — with all swift despatch. 
 To line, and new repair, our towns of war. 
 With men of courage, and with means defendant: 
 For England his approaches makes as fierce 
 As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 
 It fits us then, to be as provident 
 As fear may teach us, out of late examples, 
 Left by the fatal and neglected English 
 Upon oor fields. 
 
 Dau. My most redoubted father. 
 
 It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe : 
 For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, 
 {Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in qne.s- 
 Kut that del'ences, musters, preparations, Ition,) 
 Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected 
 A.' were a war in e ctation. 
 
 Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all 150 foT.ih, 
 To view the sic k and feeble parts of France : 
 And let us do it with no shew of fear : 
 No, with nii more, than if we hear that Englaud 
 W ere busied with a W hitsnn morris-dance 
 For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd. 
 Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
 By a vain, shallow, humorous youth. 
 That fear attends her not. 
 
 Con. O peace, prince Dauphil 
 
 You are too much mistaken in this king : 
 Question your grace the late ambassadors, — 
 With what great state he heard their embassy. 
 How well supplied with noble counsellors. 
 How modest in exception, and, withal, 
 How terrible in constant resolution, — 
 And you shall find, his vanities fore-spent 
 Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots, 
 That shall first spring, and be most delicate. 
 
 Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable. 
 But though we think it so, it is no matter: 
 In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh 
 The enemy more mighty than he seems, 
 So the pioportions of defence are fiU'd; 
 Which, of a weak and niggardly projection. 
 Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting 
 A little cloth. 
 
 Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong ; 
 And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet him 
 The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; 
 And he is bred out of that bloody straisj. 
 That haunted us in our familiar paths : 
 Witness our too much memorable shame, 
 VVhen Cressy battle fatally was struck, 
 And all our princes captiv'd, by- the hand 
 Of that black name, Edward, black prince of Wales 
 Whiles that his mountain sire, — on mountaiB 
 standing. 
 
 Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sud,— 
 
 Saw his heroical seed, and smil'a to see him 
 
 Mangle the work of nature, and deface 
 
 The patterns, that by God and by French fathers 
 
 Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
 
 Of that victorious stock; and let us fear 
 
 The native mightiness and fate of him. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 Mess. Ambassadors from Henry King of England 
 Do crave admittance to your majesty. 
 
 Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. 
 Go and bring them. 
 
 [Exeunt M iss. and certain Lords. 
 You see, this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. 
 Dau. Turn head, and slop pursuit: for ccvard 
 dogs [threaten, 
 Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to 
 Runs far before them. Good my sovereign. 
 Take up the English short; and let them know 
 Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
 Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
 As self neglecting. 
 
 Re-enter Lords ^ ivith Exeter and Train. 
 
 Fr. King. From our brother Erigland ? 
 
 Exe. From him ; and thus he greets your majesty. 
 He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
 That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
 The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven. 
 By laws of nature, and of nations, 'long 
 To him, fsnd to his heirs ; namely, the crown, 
 And all wide-R^retched honours that pertain. 
 By custom and the ordinance of times. 
 Unto the crown of France. That you may know, 
 *Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim, 
 Pick'd from Ihe worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, 
 Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, 
 He seuds vou this most memorable line, 
 
 {Givet a paper 
 
Act ni. Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 877 
 
 n ery branch truly demonstrative ; 
 Willing you, overlook this pedigree: 
 A.nd when you find him evenly deriv'd 
 FroiD his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
 Edwciid the Third, he bids you theu resign 
 Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held 
 From him the native and true challenger. 
 
 Fr. King. Or else what follows ? 
 
 Exe. Illoody constrain; for if you hide the crown 
 Even in }our hearts, there will be rake for it: 
 And therefore in fierce tempests is he coming, 
 *ii thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove; 
 Thcit, if requiring fail, he will compel; ) 
 And bids yuu, in the bowels of the Lord, 
 Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy 
 On the poor souls, for wliom this htmgry war 
 Opens ins vasty jaws : and on your head 
 'i'urns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, 
 'J'he dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans. 
 For husbands, fathers, and bt-trothed lovers. 
 That shall be swallowed in this controversy. 
 This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message; 
 Unless the Dauphin be in presence here. 
 To wljjm expressly I bring greeting too. 
 
 Fr. tiirtfj. For us, we will consider of this further: 
 To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
 Back to our brother England. 
 
 Dau. For the Dauphin, 
 
 1 stand here for him; What to him from England? 
 
 Exe. Scorn, and defiance : slight regard, contempt, 
 And any tiling, that may not misbecome 
 The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
 Thus says my king : and, if your father's highness 
 Do not, in grant of all demands at large. 
 Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty. 
 He'll call you to so hot an answer for it, 
 Tliat caves and womby vaultages of France 
 Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock 
 In second accent of his ordnance, 
 
 Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply. 
 It is against iny will • for I desire 
 Nothing but odds with England ; to that end, 
 As matching fo his youth and vanity, 
 
 did present him with those Paris balls. 
 
 Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it. 
 Were it the mistress court of miglity Europe : 
 And, be assur'd, you'll find a difference, 
 (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) 
 between the promise of his greener days, 
 .And these he masters now ; now he weighs time, 
 Even to the utmost grain ; which you shall read 
 In your own losses, if lie stay in France. 
 
 Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind 
 at full. [king 
 
 Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our 
 Come here himself to question our delay; 
 For he is footed in this land already. [conditions : 
 
 Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd, with fair 
 A night is but small breath, and little pause 
 To answer matters of tiiis consequence. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT in. 
 
 Enter Chorus 
 
 Cho. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies. 
 In motion of no less celerity 
 
 Than that of thought. 8a{)pose, that yon have seen 
 The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
 Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
 With silken streamers the young Phcebus fanning. 
 Play with yonr fancies; and in them behold. 
 Upon the hempen tackle, shij)-boys climbing: 
 Hear the shrill whistle, wliich doth order give 
 To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails. 
 Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, 
 Dra;v the huge bottoms tlirough the furrow'd sea. 
 Breasting the lofty surge : O. do but think, 
 Vou stand upon the rivage, and behold 
 A city on the inconstant billows dancing: 
 l'"o«- so H^pears this fleet majesticai. 
 
 Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow. 
 Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy; 
 And leave yonr England, as (lead midnight, atill. 
 Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women. 
 Either past, or not arrived to, pith and puissance: 
 For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
 With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
 These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France 
 Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege 
 Behold the ordnance on their carriages, 
 With latal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
 Suppose, the ambassador from the French comef 
 Tells Harrv — tliat the king doth offer him [back. 
 Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, 
 Some petty and unprofiiabje dukedoms. 
 The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner 
 With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, 
 
 (Alarum ; and chnmbers go ojf,\ 
 And down goes all before them. Still lie kind, 
 And eke out our performance with your mind. \F^xiit 
 
 Scene I. The same. Before Harjleur. 
 Alarums. Enter King Henwv , Exeter, ilEDPf UD, 
 Gloster, and Soldiers, with scaling ladder*-, 
 K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear frier-'^s, 
 once more ; 
 Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
 In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, 
 As modest stillness, and humility : 
 But when the blast of war blows in our ears. 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 Stiffen the sinews, sunmion ui> the blood. 
 Disguise fair nature with hard favour'd rage i 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head. 
 Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it, 
 As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
 O'erhang andjntty his conlounded base, 
 Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height ! — On, on, you noblest English, 
 Whose blood is fet from lathers of war-proof! 
 Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
 Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 
 And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. 
 Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest. 
 That those, whom you calfd fathers, did beget yoii' 
 Be copy now to men of grosser blood. 
 And teach them how to war I — and you, goai 
 yeomen. 
 
 Whose limbs were made in England, show us hera 
 
 The mettle of your pasture; let us swear 
 
 That you are worth your breeding : which I doubt 
 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, [not j 
 
 That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 
 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips. 
 
 Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; 
 
 Follow your spirit: and, uptm this charge, 
 
 Cry — God for Harry! England' and Saint George! 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarum.., and chambers go off. 
 
 Scene W.—The same. 
 Forces pass over ; then enter Nym, Bardolph, 
 
 Pistol, and Boy. 
 Bard. On, on, on, on ! to the breach, to tho 
 breach I 
 
 Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are 
 too hot ; and, for mine own part, I have not a cas6 
 of lives : the humour of it is too hot, that is the very 
 plain-song of it. [do abound; 
 
 Pist. The plain-song is most just; for humours 
 Knocks go and come; God s vassals drop and die; 
 And sword and shield. 
 In bloody field. 
 Doth win immortal fame. 
 Boy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in Londott! I 
 would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety 
 Pist. And I : 
 
 If wishes would prevail with mo. 
 
87S 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act nr. 
 
 My purpose should not fail with nie. 
 But thither would I hie. 
 Si If. As didy, but not as truly, as bird doth song 
 en b v^^h. 
 
 Enter Fluellen 
 
 Flu. Got's plood !— Up to the preaches, and 
 rascals.' will you not up to the preaches? 
 
 {Driving t/iem foward.) 
 
 Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! 
 Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage ! 
 Abate thy rage, great duke! _ [chuck! 
 
 Good bawcock, bate thy rage ! use lenity, sweet 
 
 Nym. These be good humours ! — your honour 
 wins bad humours. 
 
 [Exeunt Nytn, Pistol, and Bardolph, 
 folloivedby Fluellen. 
 
 Boy. As young as 1 am, I have observed these 
 three swashers. I am boy to them all three : but 
 all they three, though they would serve me, could 
 not b" man to me ; for, indeed, three such antics 
 do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, — he is 
 white-ii .'er'd, and red-faced ; by the means whereof, 
 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, — he hath 
 a killing tongue, and a quiet sword; by the means 
 whereof, 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. 
 For Nym, — he hath heard, that men of few words 
 are the best men ; and therefore he scorns to say 
 his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward ; but 
 his few bad words are match'd with as few good 
 deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's head but his 
 own ; and that was against a post, when he was 
 drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it, — 
 purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case ; bore it 
 twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym, 
 and Bardolph, are sworn brothers in filching: and 
 in Calais they stole a fire-shovel : I knew, by that 
 piece oi' service, the men would carry coals. They 
 would have me as familiar with men's pockets, 
 as their gloves or their handkerchiefs : which makes 
 much against my manhood, if I should take from 
 another's pocket, to put into mine ; for it is plain 
 pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and 
 fteek some better service: their villainy gnes ^igainst 
 
 oy. 
 
 tiy weak stomach, and therefore T must cast it up, 
 
 [ExU B 
 
 Re-enter YiAiELW.^, Gow em follotving. 
 Goiu. Cai)tain Fluellen, you must come presently 
 the mines; the duke of Gloster would speak 
 ofiih you. 
 
 Flu. To the mines! tell you 
 
 the duke, it is not 
 
 40 goot to come to the mines : For, look you, the 
 tiines is not according to the disciplines of the war; 
 the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, 
 til' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look 
 yo<i,) is dight himself lour yards under the counter- 
 mines : by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow up all, if 
 there is not better directions. 
 
 Goto. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order 
 of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an 
 Irishman ; a very valiant gentleman, i'faith. 
 Flu. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? 
 Gow. I think, it be. 
 
 Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld : 
 I will verify as much in his peard : he has no more 
 directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look 
 you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 
 
 Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance. 
 
 Dow. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, cap- 
 tain Jamy, vvith him. 
 
 Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen- 
 tleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition, 
 and knowledge in the ancient vvars, upon my par- 
 ticular knowledge of his directions: By Cheshu, he 
 will maintain his argunient as well as 'any military 
 man in the 'orld, in the disciplines of t!ie pristine 
 wars o{ the Romans. 
 Ja^ny. 1 say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. 
 
 Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy 
 Goiv. .How now, captain Macmorris? have yoa 
 quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? 
 
 Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done : the work ish 
 give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By ray 
 hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work 
 ish ill done ; it ish give over : I would have blowed 
 up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. 
 O, tish ill done, tish ill done ; by my hand, tish ill 
 done ! 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will 
 you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with 
 yon, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines 
 of the war, the Roman wars, in the vvay of argument, 
 look you, and friendly conmuinication ; partly, to 
 satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, 
 look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of 
 the military discipline ; that is the point. 
 
 Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud captains 
 bath: and I sail quit you with gud leve, as I may 
 pick occasion; that sail I, marry. 
 
 Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save 
 me, the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, 
 and the king, and the dukes; it is no time to dis-" 
 course. The town is beseeclied, and the trumpet 
 calls us to the breach ; and we talk, and, by Chrish, 
 do nothing; 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 
 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: 
 and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; 
 and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la. 
 
 Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take 
 themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile 
 ligge i the grund lor it; ay, or go t-o death; and aila 
 pay it as valorously as I may, that sail 1 surely do, 
 that is the brefi" and the long: Marry, I wad full 
 fain heard some question 'tween you 'tway. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, un- 
 der your correction, there is noi many of your na- 
 tion 
 
 Mac. Of my nation ? What ish my nation ? ish 
 a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal? 
 What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? 
 
 Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise 
 than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, 1 
 shall think you do not use me with that affability as 
 in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; being 
 as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines oi 
 wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other 
 particidarities. 
 
 Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself. 
 so Chrish save me, I will cutoff your head. 
 
 Govo. Gentlemen both, you will mistake eacl 
 other. 
 
 Janry. Au ! that's a foul fault. [A parley sounded.) 
 
 Gow. The town sounds a parley. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
 Detter opportunity to be required, look you, I will 
 be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines oi 
 war ; and there is an end. [ExeunU 
 
 Scene HI. — The same. Before the Gates of 
 Harfleur. 
 
 The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; 
 and English Forces below. Enter Ki^ Henrtt 
 and his Train. 
 
 K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the 
 
 This is the latest parle we will admit : [town? 
 
 Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; 
 
 Or, like to men proud of destruction, 
 j Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, 
 ! (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me bess 
 \ [f I begin the battery once again, 
 
 I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, 
 
 Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
 
 The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; 
 
 An. I the flesh'd soldier,— rough and hard of heart.— 
 
 In liberty of bloody hand, shall range 
 
 With conscience wide as hell ; moxving like grass 
 i Your fresh-fair virgins, and your flowering infants 
 i What is It then to me, if impious war, — 
 
Scene 5. KING 
 
 Airay'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, — 
 
 Do, with his smii ch'd complexion, all fell feats 
 
 Eulink'd to waste and desolation? 
 
 What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 
 
 If your pure maidens fall into the hand 
 
 Oihot and forcing v iolation ? 
 
 What rein can hold licentious wickedness. 
 
 When down ttie hill he holds his titrce career? 
 
 We may as bootless spend our vain command 
 
 Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil. 
 
 As send precepts to the Leviathan 
 
 To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, 
 
 Take pity of your town, and of your people, 
 
 Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; 
 
 Whiles yet tije cool and temperate wind of grace 
 
 O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
 
 Of deadly murder, spoil, and \ illainy. 
 
 If not, wliy, in a moment, look to see 
 
 The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
 
 Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ; 
 
 Vour fathers taken by the silver beards. 
 
 And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls ; 
 
 Y our naked infants spitted upon pikes ; 
 
 Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd 
 
 Do break tlie clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
 
 At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
 
 What say you ? will you yield, and this avoid? 
 
 Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd ? 
 
 Gow. Oiir expectation hath this day an end: 
 The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, 
 Returns us — that his powers are not yet ready 
 To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king, 
 We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy : 
 Enter our gates ; dispose of us, and ours; 
 For we no longer are defensible; 
 
 7^". Hen. Open y<iur gates. — Come, uncle Exeter, 
 Go you and enter Harfieur; there remain. 
 And fortify it stronejly 'gainst the French : 
 Vse mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — 
 The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
 Upon our soldiers,— we'll retire to Calais. 
 To-night in tlaifleur will we be your guest; 
 To nion ow i'or the march are we addrest. 
 
 [Flourish, The King, §fo. enter the Town. 
 
 Scene IV. — Rouen. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Etiter Katharine and Alice. 
 Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre^ et tu 
 paries bien le lanyaye. 
 Alice. Un peu, madame. 
 
 Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que 
 j'apprenne a parler. Comment appellez vous la 
 tnain, en Anylois ? 
 
 Alice. La main ? elle est appellee, de hand. 
 
 Kath. \}e \vA\n\. Et les doigts 't 
 
 Alice. Les doigts f mafoij,je oublie les doigts ; 
 mais je me souviendray. Les doigts? je pense, 
 qu'ils sont appelles de hngres ; ouy, de fingres. 
 
 Kath. La main, de hand; lei doigts, de fiiigres. 
 Je pense, que je suis le bon escolier. J ai gagne 
 deux mots d'Anglois vistement. Comment ap- 
 pellez vous les ongles ? 
 
 Alice. Les ongles ? les appellons, de nails. 
 
 Kath. De nails. Escoutez ; dites moi, si je 
 parle bien; de hand, de fiugres, de nails. 
 
 Alice. C est bien dit, madame ; il est fort bon 
 Anglois. 
 
 Kath. Dites moy en Angiois, le bras. 
 Alice. De arm, madame. 
 Kath. Et le coude. 
 Alice. De elbow. 
 
 Kath. De elbow. Je m'cn faitz la repetition 
 de tons les mots, que vous in'avez appris des a 
 present. 
 
 Alice. II est trop difficile, madame, comme je 
 ae ise. 
 
 Kath. Excusez tnoy, Alice ; escoutez : De hand, 
 de fingre, de Uriils,, de arm, de bilbow. 
 Alice. \y^. t\hu\w, madame. 
 
 Kath. 0 Seigneur Dieu! je m'en oublie; De 
 
 HENRY Y. 379 
 
 elbow. Comment appelles vous le coif 
 Alice. De neck, madame. 
 Kath. De neck ; Et le menton 1 
 Alice. De chin. 
 
 Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck : le menton, d« 
 sin. 
 
 Alice. Ouy. Sauf vosire honneur : en veriik^ 
 vous prononcez les mots aussi drotct que Iv-s 
 natifs d'Angleterre. 
 
 Kath. Je ne doute point ctapprendre par la 
 graee de Dieu ; et en peu de temps. 
 
 Alie. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ee que je 
 vous ay enseignee ? 
 
 Kath. Non, je reciteray d vous promptement. 
 De hand, de fingre, de mails, — 
 
 Alice. De YtaWs, madame. 
 
 Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. 
 
 Alice Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow. 
 
 Kath. Ainsi dis je ; de elbow, de neck, et de 
 sin ; Comment appellez vous le pied et la robe? 
 
 Alice. De foot, madame; et de con. 
 
 Kath. De foot, et de con? 0 Seigneur Dieu; 
 ces sont mots de son mauvais. corruptible, grosse, 
 et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur 
 d'^user. Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant 
 les seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. 11 
 faut de loot, et de con, neant-moins. Je reciterai 
 une autre fois ma leqon ensemble : De hand, de 
 fingre, de nails, de arm. de elbow, de neck, de sin, 
 de foot, de con. 
 
 Alice. Excellent, madame. 
 
 Kath. Cest assez pour une fois; aliens nous a 
 disner. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — The same. Another Room in the saine. 
 Enter the French King, the Dauphin, Duhe of 
 Bourbon, the Constable of France, and others. 
 Fr. King. 'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river 
 Somme. 
 
 Con. And if he be not fought withal, my kid, 
 Let us not live in France ; let us quit all. 
 And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 
 
 Dau. 0 Dieu vivant ! shall a few sprays of oa,— 
 The emptying of our fathers' luxury, 
 Our scions, put in wild and savage stock. 
 Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
 And overlook their grafters ? [bastards i 
 
 Bour Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman 
 Mort de ma vie : if they march along 
 Unfbught withal, but I will sell my dukedom, 
 To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
 In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. [mettle ? 
 
 Con. Dieu de battailes ! where have they this 
 Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull? 
 On whoui, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
 Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, 
 A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley broth. 
 Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ? 
 And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine. 
 Seem frosty ? O, for honour of our land. 
 Let r.s not hang like roping icicles [people 
 Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty 
 Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ; 
 Poor — we may call them, in their native lords. 
 
 Dau. By laith and honour. 
 Our madaius mock at us: and plainly saj. 
 Our mettle is bred out; and they will give 
 Their bodies to the lust of English youth. 
 To new-store France with bastard warriors. 
 
 Bour. They bid us— ta the English daniiny. 
 schools, 
 
 And teach lavoltas high, ana swift corantos; 
 Saying, our grace is only in our heels. 
 And tiiat we are most lofty runaways. 
 
 Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald ? speed 
 lum hence ; 
 
 Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. — 
 Up, princes ; and with spirit of honour edg'd, 
 iMore sharper than your swords, hie to the field: 
 Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; 
 
880 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 You dnkes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, 
 
 A.len<;on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy: 
 Jatjues Chatillon, Ranibures", Vaudemont, 
 Heaiimont, Grandpre, Boussi, and Fauconberg, 
 
 Lestiale, Bonciqualt, and Charolois; 
 High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and 
 knigiits. 
 
 For your great seals, now quit you of great shames. 
 Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
 With pennons painted in tlie blood of" Harfieur : 
 Rush on his host, as doth fhe melted snow 
 Upon the valleys; whose low vassal seat 
 Tiie Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: 
 Go (luwn upon him, — you have power enough, — 
 And in a capti\ e chariot into Roiien 
 Bring him our prisoner. 
 
 Cun. This becomes the great 
 
 Sony am I, his numbers are so few, 
 His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march ; 
 For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
 He li di oop his heart into the sink of fear. 
 And, Ibr achievement, offer us his ransome. 
 
 Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on 
 Montjoy ; 
 
 And let him s;iy to England, that we send 
 To know what willing ransome he will give. 
 Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roiien. 
 Dan. Not so, 1 do beseech your majesty 
 Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with 
 Now, fortn, lord constable, and princes all; [us ^ 
 And qiii(^kly bring us word of England's fall. 
 
 Scene VI. — The English Camp in Picardy. 
 Enter Gower and Fluellen. 
 
 Gow. How now, captain Fluellen come you 
 from the bridge ? 
 
 Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent service 
 cotniiiitted at the pridge ? 
 
 Gmv. Is the Duke of Exeter safe ? 
 
 Flu. Tiie duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as 
 Agamemnon : and a man, that I love and honour 
 wuh my suul, and my heart, and my duty, and my 
 fife, and my livings, and my uttermost powers : lie 
 is not (God be praised, and plessed !) any hurt in 
 the 'or!d ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with 
 excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at 
 the pridge, — I tiiink, in my very conscience, he is 
 as valiant as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no 
 estimation in the 'orld : but 1 did see him do gallant 
 service. 
 
 Gow. What do you call him ? 
 Flu. He is called — ancient Pistol 
 Gow. I know him not. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 
 Fill. Do you not know him ? Here comes the man. 
 
 Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: 
 The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 
 
 Flu. Ay, I praise Got; and 1 have merited some 
 love at his hands. 
 
 Pist. Bardolph, a soldi'^r, firm and sound of heart, 
 Ol bnx!*ni vaioiir, hath, by cruel fate 
 And giddy fortune's fickle wheel, 
 That goddess blind, 
 
 '1 hat stands upon the rolling restless stone, — 
 
 Flu. By your patience, ancier)t Pistol. Fortune is 
 painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to 
 3%eify to you, that fortune is plind. And she is 
 pointed also with a wheel : to signify to you, which 
 1^ the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, 
 and variations, and nuitabilities : and her foot, look 
 you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, 
 and rolls, and rolls; — In good truth, the poet is 
 make a most excellent description of fortune : for 
 tune, look you, is an excellent moral. [him ; 
 
 Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on 
 For he hath stol'n a pix, and hanged must 'a be. 
 A damned death ! 
 
 Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free : 
 
 And let not hemp his wiDd-pip« sufibca&e : 
 But Exeter hath given the doom of death. 
 For pix of little price. 
 
 Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy ifoice; 
 And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
 With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach : . 
 Speak, captain, for his life, and I will tbee requite 
 
 Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand yoal 
 meaning. 
 
 Pist. Why then rejoice therefore. 
 
 Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice 
 at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I would 
 desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and pat 
 him to executions; for disciplines ought to be used. 
 
 Pist. Die and be daran'd ; and figo for thy friend- 
 
 Flu. It is well. [ship! 
 
 Pist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Flu. Very goot 
 
 Gow. Why this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; I 
 remember him now; a bawd; a cutpurse. 
 
 Flu. I'll assure you, 'a ulter'd as prave 'ords at 
 the pridge, as you shall see in a siunmer's day : But 
 it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, that is 
 well, I warrant you, when time is serve. 
 
 Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue; that novr 
 and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his 
 return into London, under the forni of a soldier. 
 And such fellows are perfect in great commanders'' 
 names : and they will learn you by rote, where ser- 
 vices were done ; — at such and such a sconce, at 
 such a breach, at such a convoy ; who came off 
 bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms 
 the enemy stood on ; and this they con perfectly ia 
 the phrase of war, which they trick np with new- ^ 
 tuned oaths : And what a beard ol the general's cut,"^ 
 and a hori id suit of the camp, will do among foam- 
 ing bottles, and ale washed wits, is wonderful to 
 be thought on ! Bui you must learn to know such 
 slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellous 
 mistook. 
 
 Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower; — I do per- 
 ceive, he is not the man that he would gladly make 
 show to the 'orld he is ; if I find a hole in his coat, 
 I will tell him my mind. {Drum heard.) Hark you, 
 the king is coming ; and I must speak with hira 
 from the pridge. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Soldiers. 
 Flu. Got pless your majesty ! 
 K. Hen. How now, Fluelleu? earnest thou from 
 the bridge ? 
 
 Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of 
 Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge: 
 the French is gone off, look you ; aiid tliere is gal- 
 lant and most prave passages : Marry, th' athversary 
 was have possession of the 'pridge ; but he is en- , 
 forced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master ; 
 of the pridge : I can tell your majesty the duke ia ; 
 a prave man. | 
 
 K. Hen. What men have yon lost, Fluellen ? j 
 
 Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been j 
 very great, veiy reasonable great : marry, for my j 
 part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but ; 
 one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, j 
 one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man : his \ 
 face is all bubuckles, and whelks, and knobs, and ) 
 flames of fire ; and his lips plows at his nose, a 'j 
 is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes 
 red ; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out. 
 
 K, Hen. We would have all such offenders so 
 cutoff: — and we give express charge, that, in our 
 marches through the country, there be nothing com- 
 pelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid 
 for; none of the French upbraided, or abused in ; 
 disdainful language; For when lenity and cruelty | 
 play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is thi j 
 soonest winner. j 
 
 Tucket sounds. Enter MoNTJOY j 
 
 Mont. You know me by my habit. | 
 
 ■1 
 
Scene 7. 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 881 
 
 K. Hen. Well then, I know thee ; What shall 1 
 Mont. Mv master's mind. [know of tliee ? 
 
 K. Jlen. Unlold it. 
 
 Mont. Thus says my king :— Say thou to Harry 
 of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but 
 Bleep; Advantage is a better soldier, than rashness. 
 Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur; 
 but that we thought not good to bruise an injury, 
 till it were full ripe : — now we speak upon our cue, 
 and our voice is imperial : England shall repent 
 his folly, see his weakness, and admire our suffer- 
 ance. Bid him, therefore, consider of his raiisome ; 
 which must proportion the losses we have borne, 
 the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have 
 digested; which, in weight tore-answer, his petti- 
 ness would bow under. For our losses, his exche- 
 quer is too poor j for the effusion of our blood, the 
 muster of his kingdom too faint a number; and for 
 our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, 
 but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this 
 add — defiance: and tell him, for conclusion, he hath 
 betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is 
 pronounced. So far my king and master; so much 
 my <i(!ice. 
 
 K. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality. 
 Mont. Montjoy. _ [back, 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee 
 
 And tell thy king, — I do not seek him now ; 
 
 But could be willing to march on to Calais 
 
 Without empeachinent : for, to say the sooth, 
 
 (Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
 
 Unto an enemy of crait and vantage,) 
 
 My people are with sickness much enfeebled ; 
 
 My numbers lessen'd ; and those few I have. 
 
 Almost no better than so many French ; 
 
 Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, 
 
 I thouglit, upon one pair of English legs 
 
 Did match three Frenchmen. — Yet, fcrgive me God, 
 
 That 1 do brag thus ! — tliis your air of France 
 
 Hath blo^vn that vice in me ; I must repent. 
 
 Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am ; 
 
 My ransome, is this frail and worthless trunk: 
 
 My army, but a weak and sickly guard ; 
 
 Yet, 0 >d before, tell him we will come on. 
 
 Though France himself, and such another neighbour, 
 
 Stauf! in our ways. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. 
 
 Go, bid thy army well advise himself : 
 
 ff we may pass, we will; it We be hinder'd. 
 
 We siiall your tawny ground with your red blood 
 
 Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
 
 The mta of all our answer is but this ; 
 
 VVe would not seek a battle, as we are ; 
 
 Nor, as we are, we say, we will not shun it: 
 
 So tell your master. 
 
 Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high- 
 lie ss. [Exit Montjoy. 
 
 Glo. I hope, they will not come Uj on us now. 
 
 K. Hen. VVe are in God's hand, brothers, not in 
 theirs. 
 
 March to the bridge ; it now draws towards night : — 
 
 Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves ; 
 
 And on to-morrow bid them nmrch away. [Exeunt. 
 
 CENE y\\. ~The French Camp, near Ayincourt. 
 E^iter the Constable of France, the Lord Ra.m- 
 BURES, the Duke c>/Orleans, the Dauphin, and 
 others. 
 
 Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world. 
 Would it were day ! 
 
 Qrl. You have an excellent armour ; but let my 
 borse have his d/ie. 
 
 Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 
 
 Or) . Will it never be morning ? 
 
 Dmi. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high 
 Constable, you talk of horse and armour, — 
 
 Orl. Yon are as well provided of both, as any 
 prince in the world, 
 
 Dctu. What a lung night is this I will not 
 change my horse with anv that treads but on four 
 yiaacerus. Ca, ha ! He bounds from the earth ^ if 
 
 his entrails were nairs : le cheimt volant, Uie Pega- 
 SU9, qui a les narines de feu'. When I bestride him, 
 I soar, [ am a hawk : he trots the air ; the eartb 
 sings, when he touches it; the basest horn of hia 
 hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. 
 
 Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. 
 
 Dau. And of the heat of the ^\nger. It is a 
 beast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and the 
 dull elements "of earth and water never appear ia 
 him, but only in patient stillness, while his ride, 
 mounts him : he is, indeed, a horse ; and al othe 
 jades you may call — beasts. 
 
 Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute ai{<d 
 excellent horse. 
 
 Dau. It is the prince of palfrej's ; his neigh is 
 like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance 
 enforces homage. 
 
 Orl. No more, cousin. 
 
 Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, 
 from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the 
 lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a 
 theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into elo 
 quent tongues, and my horse is argument for them 
 all : 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and 
 for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on ; and for the 
 world, (familiar to us, and unknown,) to hiy afvirt 
 their particular functions, and wonder at him. I 
 once writ a sonnet in his praise, and begim tini.s : 
 Wonder of nature. [inistress. 
 
 Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to ones 
 
 Dau. Then did they imitate that whic li I am, 
 posed to my courser ; for my horse is my nK.>ti (-s,s. 
 
 Orl. Your mistress bears well. 
 
 Dau. Me well; which is the [jrescript praise and 
 perfection of a good and particular misti ess. 
 
 Con. Ma foy I the other day, tnetliun^ut, y(,iu 
 mistress shrewdly shook your back. 
 
 Dau. So, perliaps, did yours. 
 
 Con. Mine was not bridled. 
 
 Dau. 01 then, belike, she was old and gf ntlc , 
 and you rode, like a Kerne of Ireland, your Frem i'i 
 hose off, and in your strait trossers. 
 
 Con. You have good judgment in horsenianship. 
 
 Dau. Be warned by me then : they that ride so, 
 and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; 1 had ra- 
 ther have my horse to my mistress. 
 
 Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 
 
 Dau. 1 tell thee, constable, ray mistress wears 
 her own hair. 
 
 Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I 
 had a sow to my mistress. 
 
 Dau. Le chien est retourne d aonpropre vomis 
 sement, et la truie lavee au bourhier : thou make?t 
 use of any thing. 
 
 Con. Yet I do not use my horse for my mistress ; 
 or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. 
 
 Ram. My lord constable, the armonr that I saw 
 in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it ? 
 
 Con. Stars, my Lord. 
 
 Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 
 
 Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 
 
 Dau. That may be, for you bear a many super- 
 fluously; and 'twere more honour, some were away 
 
 Con. Even as your horse bears your praises 
 who woidd trot as well, were some of your braga 
 dismounted. 
 
 Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with hi 
 desert! Will it never be day ? I will trot to-mor 
 row a mile, and my way shall be paved wi* 
 English faces. 
 
 Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be face 
 out of my way : But I would it were morning, fo 
 I would fain be about the ears of the English. 
 
 Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty 
 English prisoners ? [you have them. 
 
 Con. You must tirst go yourself to haza» , ere 
 
 Dau. "V'\s midnight, I'll go arm myself. Exit 
 
 Orl. Tiie Daiiphm lont;s for morning. 
 
 Ra7n. lie longs to eat the Eiii^lish. 
 
 Co7i. 1 think, he will eat all he kills. 
 
S82 
 
 KING HENRY T. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Orl By the white 'iand of my lady, he's a gallant 
 |Wince. the oath. 
 
 Con. Swear by hel foot, that she may tread oat 
 
 Orl. He iS;, simply the most active gentleman of 
 Prance. [doing 
 
 Con. Doing is activity : and he will still be 
 
 Ori. He never did harm, that I heard of. 
 
 Co?i. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep 
 that good name still. 
 
 Orl. I know him to be valiant. 
 
 Con. I was told that, by one that knows him 
 
 Orl. What's he ? [better than you. 
 
 Con. Marry, he told me so himself : and he said, 
 he cared not who knew it. 
 
 Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue iu him. 
 
 Co?i. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any body 
 saw it, but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valour; and, 
 when it appears, it will bate. 
 
 Orl. Ill will never said well. 
 
 Con. I will cap that proverb with — There is flat- 
 tery in friendship. [his due. 
 
 Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the devil 
 
 Con. Well placed; there stands your friend for 
 the devil : have at the very eye of that proverb, 
 with — a pox of the devil. 
 
 Orl. Yon are the better at proverbs, by how much 
 
 A fool's bolt is soon shot. 
 
 Con. You have shot over. 
 
 Orl. "lis not the first time you were overshot. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie 
 within fifteen hundred |)acesofyour tent. 
 Con. Who hath measured the ground ? 
 Mess. The lord Grandpie. 
 
 Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. — 
 Would it were day ! — Alas, poor Harry of England ! 
 he longs not for the dawning, as we do. 
 
 OA. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this 
 king of England, to mope with his fat-brained fol- 
 lowers so far out of his knowledge ! 
 
 Con. If the English had any apprehension, they 
 would run f.way. 
 
 Orl. 'W.i.\ they lack ; for if their heads had any 
 intellectual armour, they could never wear such 
 heavy head pieces. 
 
 Ram. That island of England breeds very \ aliant 
 creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable cou- 
 rage. 
 
 Orl. Foolish curs ! that run winking into the 
 mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads 
 crushed like rotten apples : You may as well say, — 
 that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on 
 the lip of a lion. 
 
 Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with 
 the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, 
 leaving their wits with their wives : and then give 
 them great meals of beef, a.id ivon and steel, they 
 will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. 
 
 Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of 
 beef. 
 
 Con. Then we shall find to-morrow — they have 
 only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it 
 lime to arm : Come, shall we about it? [ten, 
 
 Orl. It is now two o'clock • but let me see, — by 
 We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 Enter Chorus, 
 tho. Now entertain conjecture of a time. 
 When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, 
 li'ills the wide vessel of the universe. 
 From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night. 
 The htmi of either army stilly sounds, 
 Tiiat the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
 The secret vvhis{)ers of each other's watch : 
 Fire answers fire ; and through their paly flames 
 ti^irh battle sees the other's umber'd face. 
 Steed threateiis steed, m high and boastful neij^hs. 
 
 Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the teal 
 
 The armourers, accomplishing the knights. 
 
 With busy hanmiers closing rivets up, 
 
 Give dreadful note of preparation. 
 
 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll. 
 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
 
 Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul. 
 
 The confident and over-lusty French 
 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned English 
 
 Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
 
 Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
 
 The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad. 
 
 Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
 
 Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
 
 So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold 
 
 I'he royal captain of this ruin'd band. 
 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent. 
 
 Let him cry— Praise and glory on his head ! 
 
 For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; 
 
 Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile ; 
 
 And calls tnem — brothers, friends, and country me:; 
 
 Upon his royal face there is no note. 
 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 
 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night : 
 
 But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint. 
 
 With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; 
 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before. 
 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : 
 
 A largess universal, like the sun. 
 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 
 Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all. 
 
 Behold, as may unworthiness define, 
 
 A little touch oi' Harry in the night : 
 
 And so our scene must to the battle fly ; 
 
 Where, (O for pity !) we shall much disgrace— 
 
 With four or five most vile and ragged foils. 
 
 Right ill disposed, in brawl ridiculous, — 
 
 The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see ; 
 
 Minding true things by what their mockeries be. 
 
 [E.xil- 
 
 Scene \. —The English Camp at Agincourt. 
 Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster. 
 K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in gn-af 
 danger; 
 
 The greater therefore should our courage be. — 
 Good -morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty ! 
 There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men observingly distill it out; 
 For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers. 
 Which is both healthful, and good husbandry : 
 Besides, they are our outward consciences, 
 And preachers to us all ; admonishing, 
 That we should dress us fairly for our end. 
 Thus may we gather honey from the weed, 
 And make a moral of the devil himself. 
 
 Enter Erpingham. 
 Good-morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham : 
 A good soft pillow for that good white head 
 Were better than a churlish turf of France. 
 
 Erp. Not so, my liege ; this lodging likes me ! u f 
 Since I may say — now lie I like a king. [tt i 
 
 K. Hen. ''I'is good for men to love their pr s. .i 
 Upon example; so the spirit is eased : > 
 And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doi.lil, 
 The organs, though defunctand dead before, 
 Break up their drowsy grave, and newly n)o\ e 
 With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
 Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both, 
 Commend me to the princes in our camp: 
 Do my good-morrow to them : and, anon, 
 Desire them all to my pavilion. 
 
 Glo. We shall, my liege. [Exeunt Qlc^nd Bei/j 
 
 Erp. Shall 1 attend your grace i* 
 
 K. Hen. No. nty good knijjlit, 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 S83 
 
 Gro with my brothers to my lords of England : 
 I and my bosom must debate a while, 
 And then I would no other company. 
 
 Erp. The lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 K, Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou speakest 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 Pist. Quivala? 
 K. lien. A friend 
 
 Pist. Discuss uuto me ; art thou officer? 
 Or art thou base, common and populai ? 
 
 K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 
 
 Pist. 'Frailest thou the puissant pike ? 
 
 K. Hen. Even so : What are you ? 
 
 Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 
 
 K. Hen. Then you are better than the king. 
 
 Pist. The king s a bawcock, and a heart of gold, 
 A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
 or parents good, of list most valiant: 
 I kiss his dirty shoes, and from my heart-s<rings 
 [ love the lovely b >lly. What's thy name ? 
 
 K. Hen. Harry 'Roy. 
 
 Pist. he Roy \ Cornish name : art thou of 
 
 Cornish i *w? 
 K. Hen. No, I . n a Welshman. 
 Pist. Knovvest ihou Fluelien ? 
 K. Hen. Yes. 
 
 Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate. 
 Upon St. Davy's day. 
 
 ^L. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your 
 cap that, day, lest he knock that about yours. 
 
 Pist. Art thou his friend? 
 
 K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 
 
 Pist. The fiyo for thee then ! 
 
 K. Hen. \ thank you : God be with you ! 
 
 Pist. Mv name is Pistol called. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 
 Enter Fluellen and GowE*.- severally. 
 
 Goto. Captain Fluellen! 
 
 Flu. So ! in the name of ChesYiti Christ, speak 
 lower. It is the greatest admiration in the univer- 
 sal old, when the true and auncient prerogatifes 
 and laws of tiie wars is not kept : if you would take 
 the {)aius but to examine the wars of Pompey the 
 Great, yo'i shall find, I warrant you, that thei'e is 
 no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Poinpey's 
 camp; I warrant you. you shall find the ceremonies 
 of the wars, arid the cares of it, and tiie forms of it, 
 and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be 
 otherwise. [all night. 
 
 Gow. Why, the enemy is loud ; you heard him 
 
 Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a 
 prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we 
 should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a 
 prating coxcomb ; in your own conscience now ■* 
 
 Goiv. I will speak lower. 
 
 PIm. I pray yoo and beseech you, that yon will. 
 
 [Exeunt Gower and Flueilen. 
 K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion. 
 There is much care and valour in this Welshman. 
 
 Enter Bates, Court, and Williams. 
 Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn- 
 ng, which breaks yonder? 
 Bates. 5 think it be : but we have no great cause 
 desire the approach of day. 
 
 Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, 
 ut, I think, we shall never see the end of it. — 
 Who goes there ? 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Will. Under what captain serve you . 
 
 K. Hen. Under sir Tiiomas Erpingham. 
 
 Will. A good old commander, and a most kind 
 f^ntletnan : I pray you wliat thinks he of our estate ? 
 
 K. Hen. Evd'u as men wrecked upon a sand, that 
 look to be washed off the next tide. 
 
 Bater.. He hatli not told iiis thought to the king ? 
 
 K. Hen, No • nor it is not meet he should For, 
 
 though I speak it to jou, I lliink, the king is bul n 
 man, as I am: the violet smells to him, as it doth 
 to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to mei 
 all his senses have but human conditions; his cere- 
 monies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a 
 man ; and though his affections are higher mounted 
 than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the 
 like wing ; therefore, when he sees reason of fears., 
 as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same 
 relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should 
 possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, 
 by showing it, should dishearten his army. 
 
 Bates. He may show what outward courage he 
 will: but, I believe, as cold anight as 'tis, he could 
 wish himself in the Thames up to the neck ; and so 
 I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, 
 so we were quit here 
 
 K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak ray conscience 
 of the king ; I think, he would not wish himsoW 
 any where but where he is. 
 
 Bates. Then,'would he were here alono ; so shoold 
 he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's 
 lives saved. 
 
 K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wis'jj 
 him nere alone; howsoever you s eak this, to feel 
 other men's minds: Methinks, I could n^t die any 
 where so contented, as in the king's company; his 
 cause beingjust, and his quarrel honourable. 
 
 Will. That's more than we know. 
 
 Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after 
 for we know enough, if we know we are the king's 
 subjects ; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to 
 the king wipes the crime of it ont of us. 
 
 Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king him- 
 self hath a heavy reckoning to make ; when all those 
 legs, and arms, and hands, chopped off in a battle, 
 shall join together at the latter day, and cry all — 
 We died at such place; some, s\\ earing; some, 
 crying for a surgeon ; some, upon their wives left 
 poor behind them ; some, upon the debts they owe : 
 some, upon their children rawly left. I am afeard 
 there are few die well, that die in battle ; for how 
 can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood 
 is their argument ? Now, if these nten do not die 
 well, it will be a black matter for the king, that led 
 them to it; whom to disobey, were against all pro- 
 portion of subjection. 
 
 K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent 
 about merchandise, do sinfidly miscarry upon the 
 sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rules, 
 should be imposed upon his father, that sent him ; 
 or if a servant, under his master's command, trans- 
 porting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and 
 die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the 
 business of the master the author of the servant's 
 damnation : — But this is not so : the king is not bound 
 to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the 
 father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for 
 they purpose not their death, when thev purpose 
 their services. Besides, there is no king, be his 
 cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement 
 of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. 
 Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of pre- 
 medited and contrived murders ; some, of beguiling 
 virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, mak- 
 ing the wars their bulwark, that have before gored 
 the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery 
 Now, if these men have defeated the law, and outrun 
 native punishment, though they can outstrip men, 
 they have no wings to fly from God ; war is his 
 beadle, war is his vengeance ; so that here men are 
 punished, for before-breach of the king's laws, in now 
 the king's quarrel ; where they feared the death, they 
 have borne life away ; and, where they would be 
 safe, they perish. Then if they die unprovided, ne 
 more is the king guilty of their damnation, than he 
 was before guilty of those impieties for the which 
 they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the 
 king's ; but every subject's soul is l:is own. There- 
 fore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick 
 
384r KING HENRY V 
 
 man in his bed, wash every mote put of his con- 
 hcience : aud dying so, death is to him advantage ; 
 or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein 
 •uch preparation was gained : and in him that es- 
 capes, it were not sin to think, that making God so 
 free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see his 
 greatness, and to teach others how they should 
 prepare. 
 
 IFill. " Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the 
 ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer 
 "->r it. 
 
 Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me ; 
 and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 
 
 K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would 
 not be ransomed. 
 
 Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfiiiiy : 
 but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransofjied, 
 and we ne'er the wiser. [vvordaiter. 
 
 K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
 
 Will. ' Mass, you'll pay him then ! Tint's a -'erii- 
 ous shot out of an elder gun, a poor and private 
 displeasure can do against a monarch ! you may as 
 well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in 
 his face with a peacock's leather. You'll never 
 trust his word after i come, tis a foolish paying. 
 
 K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round ; 
 1 should be angry with you, if the time were con- 
 venient. 
 
 Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. 
 
 K. Hen. I embrace it. 
 
 Will. How shall I know thee again ? 
 
 K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will 
 wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest ac- 
 knowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. 
 
 Will. Here's my glove ; give me another of thine. 
 
 /T. Hew. There. 
 
 Will. 'IWa will I also wear in my cap ; if ever 
 £3iou come to me and say, after to-morrow. This is 
 my glove, by this hand, I will take the.e a box on 
 the ear. 
 
 K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. 
 
 Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though J take thee in 
 the king's company. 
 
 Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well. 
 
 Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends : 
 we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell 
 how to reckon. 
 
 K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
 French crowns to one, they will beat us ; for they 
 bear them on their shoulders : But it is no English 
 treason, to cut French crowns ; and, to-morrow, the 
 king himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
 Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
 Our sins, lay on the king ; — we must bear all. 
 O hard condition ! twin-born with greatness, 
 Subjected to the breath of every fool, 
 Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! 
 What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect. 
 That private men enjoy ? 
 
 And what have kings, that privates have not too, 
 Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
 And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ? 
 What kind of god art thou, that sufier'st more 
 Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ? 
 What are thy rents ? what are thy comings-in ? 
 O ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
 What is the soul of adoration? 
 Alt thou aught else but place, degree, and form, 
 treating awe and fear in other men ? 
 Wlierein thou art less happy, being fear'd 
 T\v,m they in fearing. 
 
 What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet. 
 
 But poison'd flattery ? O, be sick, great greatness, 
 
 And bid tliy ceremony give thee cure ! 
 
 Think'st thou, the fisry fever will go out 
 
 With titles blown iVoin adalation ? 
 
 Vv ill it give place to flexure aiul low bending ? 
 
 Cttust thou, when thou command'st the btggur s kuee. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Command the health of it? Nc,, fhonpruud dr. am 
 
 That piayst so subtly with a king's repose ; 
 
 I am a kmg, that find thee ; aud I know, 
 
 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball. 
 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 
 Tlie enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl. 
 
 The farced title running 'fore the kmg. 
 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide oi' pomp 
 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world. 
 
 No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremoi y. 
 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 
 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave; 
 
 Who with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, 
 
 Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distrt-ssfui in eud ; 
 
 Never sees horr.d night, the child of heli : 
 
 But, like a lackey, trom the rise to set, 
 
 Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night 
 
 Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn. 
 
 Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse , 
 
 And ibllows so the ever-running year 
 
 With profitable labour, to his grave : 
 
 And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
 
 Wmding up days with toil, and nights withf'eep, 
 
 Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
 
 The slave, a member of the country's peace. 
 
 Enjoys it ; but in gross brain little wots, 
 
 Wiiat watch the king keeps to maintain the peace. 
 
 Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 
 
 Enter Erpinciiam. 
 Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your ab 
 Seek through your camp to find you. [sence 
 
 K. Hen. Good old knight 
 
 Collect them all together at my tent; 
 I'll be before thee. 
 
 Erp. I shall do't, my lord. [Exii 
 
 K. Hen. O God of battles ! steel my soldie a' 
 hearts ! 
 
 Possess them not with fear ; take from them no"^ 
 The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbere 
 Pluck tlieir hearts from them .'—Not to-day, O \jOii\ 
 
 0 not to day, think not upon the fault 
 My father made in compassing the crown! 
 
 1 Ricliard's body have interred new ; 
 
 And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, 
 Thau from it issued forced drops of blood. 
 Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, 
 Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up 
 Toward iieaven, to pardon blood; and I have built 
 Two chantries, where the' sad and solemn priests 
 Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do ; 
 Though all that I can do, is nothing worth ; 
 Since that my penitence comes alter all. 
 Imploring pardon. 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. My liege! 
 
 K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ?■ — Ay 
 I know thy errand, I will go with thee : — 
 The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. 
 
 [ Eveunt. 
 
 Scene 11.— The French Camp. 
 Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Rambukes, a)id others. 
 Orl. The sun doth gild our armour ; up, my 
 
 lords. [quay ! ha I 
 
 Dau. Montez a cheval : — My horse ! valet ! lac- 
 Orl. O brave spirit ! 
 Dau. Via ! les eaux et la terre — 
 Orl. Rien puis ? I air et le feu — 
 Dau. del 1 cousin Orleans. — 
 
 Enter Constable, 
 Now, my lord Constable I 
 
 Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service 
 neigh. . [hides; 
 
 Dau. Miiuiit thein, and make incision in theil 
 That tiieirhot blood may spin in English eyes. 
 And duut them with sui/eriiuous courage ; Hal 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 385 
 
 Ham. What, will you have them weep our 
 horses' blood ? 
 How shall we then behold their natural tears? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. The English are embattled, you French 
 peers. [horse! 
 Con. To horse, yoii gallant princes ! straight to 
 Do but behold you poor and starved band. 
 And your fair show shall suck away their souls, 
 Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. 
 There is not work enough for all our hands ; 
 Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins. 
 To give each naked curtle-ax a stain, 
 I'hat our French gallants shall to-day draw out, 
 And sheath for lack of sport : let us but blow on 
 them, 
 
 The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them 
 
 ' Tis positive ' gainst all exceptions, lords. 
 
 That our superfluous lackeys, and oar peasants, — 
 
 Who, in unnecessary action, swarm 
 
 About our squares of battle, — were enough 
 
 To purge this field of such a hilding foe ; 
 
 Though we, upon this mountain's basis by. 
 
 Took stand for idle speculation : 
 
 But that our honours must not. What's to say ? 
 
 A very little little let us do, 
 
 And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound 
 
 The tucket-sonnance, and the note to mount : 
 
 For our approach shall so much dare the field, 
 
 That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. 
 
 Enler Grandphs. 
 Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of 
 France ? 
 
 Von island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
 
 I'll favour'dly become tlie morning field : 
 
 Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, 
 
 And our air shakes them passing scornfully. 
 
 Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host. 
 
 An'] faintly thraugli a rusty beaver peeps. 
 
 Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks. 
 
 With torch-staves in their hand ; and their poor jades 
 
 Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips ; 
 
 The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes; 
 
 And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
 
 Lies foul with chewed grass, still and motionless; 
 
 And their executors, the knavish crows, 
 
 Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. 
 
 Dv>,scription cannot suit itself in words. 
 
 To demonstrate the life of such a battle 
 
 In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 
 
 Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay 
 tor death. [suits, 
 
 Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and IVesli 
 And give tlieir fasting horses provender. 
 And after fight with them ? 
 
 Con. I stay but for my guard ; On, to the field : 
 I will the banner from a trumpet take. 
 And use it for my haste. Come, come away ! 
 : The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IIL — The English Camp. 
 Enter the Enqlish Host; Gloster, Bedford, 
 1 Exeter, Salisbury, and Westmoreland. 
 Qlo. Where is the king? 
 
 Bsd. The king himself is rode to view their bat- 
 tle, [tliousand. 
 West. Of fighting men they have full threescore 
 Exe. There's five to one ; besides, they all are 
 fresh. 
 
 Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful odds. 
 God be wi' you, princes all ; I'll to my churge ; 
 If we no more meet, lill we meet in heaven, 
 ■Then, joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford, — 
 iMy dear lord (jloster, — and niy good lord Exeter, — 
 !And my kind kinsman, — warriors all, adieu ! 
 
 Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury ; and good luck 
 go with thee. 
 
 1 Exe Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to day: 
 
 And yet I do thee vrrong, to mind thefi of ii. 
 For thou art fram'd of the firm truth o< valonr. 
 
 [lUxit Salu-Hsry 
 
 Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness : 
 Princely in both. 
 
 West. O that we now had hert 
 
 Enter King Henry. 
 
 But one ten thousand of those men in England, 
 That do no work to-day ! 
 
 K. Hen. What's he that wishes so ? 
 
 My cousin Westmoreland ? — No, my fair cousin: 
 If we are marked to die, we are enough 
 To do our country loss ; and if to live, 
 The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 
 God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man mo o ' 
 By Jove, 1 am not covetous for gold ; 
 Nor care 1, who doth feed upon my cost ; 
 It yearns me not, if men my garments wear; 
 Such outward things dwell not in my desires: 
 But, if it be a sin to covet honour, 
 I am the most oiSending soul alive. 
 No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England 
 God's peace ! I would not lose so great an honour, 
 As one man more, methinks. would share from me, 
 For the best hope I have O do not wish ooe 
 more : 
 
 Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hofst. 
 That he, who hath no stomach to this fight, 
 liet him depart ; his passport shall be made, 
 And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 
 We would not die in that man's company. 
 That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
 This day is call'd — the feast of Crisj)ian : ■ " 
 He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home. 
 Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd. 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
 He, that shall live this day, and see old age. 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends. 
 And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian : 
 Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. 
 And say, these wounds I had on Crispian's day. 
 Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot. 
 But he'll remember, with advantages, 
 What feats he did that day: Then shall our names. 
 Familiar in their mouths as household words, — 
 Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, 
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — 
 Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd : 
 This story shall the good man teach his son ; 
 And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
 From this day to the ending of the world. 
 But we in it shall be remember'd: 
 We few, we happy few, we band of brothers , 
 For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 
 Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 
 This day shall gentle his condition : 
 And gentlemen in England, now a-bed. 
 Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were ao4 
 here ; 
 
 And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speak, 
 That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day. 
 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 
 Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself w?tb 
 speed : 
 
 The French are bravely in their battles set. 
 And will with all expedience charge on us. 
 
 K. Hen. Al' things are ready, if our minds be so. 
 West. Perish the man, whose nu'nd is backward 
 now ! [England, cousin.? 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from 
 TV est. God's will, my liege, would you and ] 
 alone. 
 
 Without more help, might fight this battle out I 
 K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd fiv^ 
 thousand men; 
 Which likes me better, than to wish us one — 
 You know your places ; God be with you aiji 
 'lb 
 
386 
 
 1hsck«t. Enter Montjot. 
 
 McmS, Once more I come to know of thee, king 
 Harry, ' 
 If for thy raiisoine thon wilt now compound. 
 Before thy most assured overthrow : 
 For, certainly, thou art so near tlie gulf, 
 ""hoii needs ir.ust be engliitted. Besides, in mercy, 
 e Constable desires thee — thon wilt mind 
 y followers of repentance ; that their souls 
 y make a peaceful and a sweet letire 
 o'm olF these fields, where (wretches) their poor 
 nst lie and fester. ' [bodies 
 
 K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ? 
 
 Mont. The Constable of France. [back ; 
 
 K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer 
 d them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
 GoodGi-d! why should they mock |)Oor fellows 
 The man, tiiat once did sell tlie lion's skm [thus ? 
 While the beast iiv'd, waskili'd with hunting liim. 
 A t)iariy of our bodies shall, no doubt, 
 Find native p,raves : upon the which, I trust, 
 Sliall witness live in brass of this day's work : 
 And those, that leave their \aliant bones in France, 
 Dying like m^n, though buried in your dimghills, 
 'I'liey sliall be fam'd : for there the sun sliall greet 
 them. 
 
 And 'iraw their honours reeking up to heaven ; 
 Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, 
 'I'he smell whereof shall breed a | lague in France. 
 Mark then a bounding valour in our English ; 
 'J'hat, b'-in;.; dead, like to th-^ bullet's grazing, 
 lirejik .)ut into a second course of mischief. 
 Killing in relapse of mortality. 
 Let me s^ieak proudly ; — Tell the Constable, 
 VVV are but warriors for the working-day : 
 Our gayiiess, and our gilt, are all besmirch'^ 
 With rainy marching in the painful field ; 
 Thert-'s not a piece of feather in our host, 
 Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,) 
 And time hath worn us into slovenry : 
 But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim : 
 And my poor soldiers tell me — yet ere night 
 They'll be in iresher robes; or they will pluck 
 T!ye 5fay nevv coats o'er the French soldiers' heads^ 
 And turn then» out of service. If they do this. 
 As, if God please, they shall,) my ransome (hen 
 iVill soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; 
 Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald ; 
 They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints: 
 Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them, 
 Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. 
 
 Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well : 
 Thou never slialt hear herald any more. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for 
 ransome. 
 
 Enter the Duke of York. 
 York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
 The leading of the vavvard. 
 K. Hen. Take it, brave York. — Now, soldiers, 
 march away : — 
 And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene lY.—T/ie Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums. Excur.<>io7is. Enter French Soldier, 
 Pistol, a7id Hoy. 
 
 Pist. Yield, cur. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme 
 de bonne qualite. 
 
 Pist. Q lality, call yon me? — Construe me, art 
 thou a gentleman ? What is thy name ? discuss. 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0 seigneur Dieu ! 
 
 Pvit. O signieur Dew should be a gentleman : — 
 Perpend my wiirds, O signieur Dew, and mark ; — 
 O sifriieiir Dew, tliou dieston point of fox, 
 
 i..c|)l O signieur, thou do give to me 
 Eg^'egiuus ransome. [moy ! 
 
 Fr ^i'ji. O, jjrenez misericorde ! ayez pitie de 
 
 Act IY 
 
 Pist. Moy ahall not serve, 1 will have forty moys 
 For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat, 
 In drops of crimson blood. [de tonhratf 
 
 Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d'eschapper la foro9 
 
 Pist. Brass, cur ! 
 Thou damned and luxurious monntain goat, 
 Olfer'st me brass ? 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0 pardonnez moy - 
 
 Pist. Say'sl thou me so? is that a ton of moys ? 
 Come hither, boy ; Ask me this slave in French, 
 Wiiat is his name. 
 
 Boy. Escoutez : Comment estes vous appelle ? 
 
 Fr. Soi. Monsieur le Fer. 
 
 Boy. He says, his name is — master Fer. 
 
 Pist. iMaster Fer ! I'll fer him, and firk him, 
 and ferret him : — discuss the same in French unto 
 him. [and 6rk. 
 
 Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and terret, 
 
 Pist. Bid him {;rei)are, for 1 will cut liis throat. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Que dit-il. ?nonsieur ? 
 
 Boy. II me commande de vous dire que voua 
 faifes vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est dispose 
 tout a cette neure de covper i)ostre gorge. 
 
 Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par nia foy, pesant. 
 Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; 
 Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword, 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0, je vous supplie pour lamour dt 
 Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de 
 bonne maison ; gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai 
 deux cents ecus. 
 
 Pist. What are his words ? 
 
 Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a gen- 
 tleman oi" a good house; and, for his ransom*, he 
 will give you two hundred crowns. 
 
 Pist. Teli him, — my fury shall abate, and I 
 The crowns will take. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? 
 
 Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, de 
 pardonner aucun p>risonnier ; neantmoins, pour 
 les escus que vous tccvez promts, il est content de 
 vous donner la liberte, le franchisement. 
 
 Fr Sold. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille 
 remerciemens : et je m'estime heureux que je suis 
 tombe entre les mains d un chevalier, je pense, le 
 plus brave, valiant, et tres distingue seigneur 
 d'Angleterre. 
 
 Pist. Ex{)0Hnd unto me, boy. 
 
 Boy. He gives you, upon his kness, a thousand 
 thanks; and he esteems himself happy that he hath 
 fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave, 
 valorous, and trice-worthy signieur of England. 
 
 Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.— 
 Follow me, cur [Exit Pistol 
 
 Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine. 
 
 [Exit French S tidier. 
 I did never know so full a voice issue liom so 
 empty a heart : but the saying is true, — 'j'he empty 
 vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and 
 Nym, had ten times more valour than this roaring 
 devil i'the old play, that every one may pare hia 
 nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both 
 hanged ; and so would this be, if he durst steal any 
 thirg adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, 
 wi'il the luggage of o'lr camp: the French might 
 h-j\e a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is 
 none to guard it, but boys. [Exit> 
 Scene Y.— Another Part of the Field of Battle. 
 Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, 
 Constable, Rambukes, "a«Q? others. 
 
 Con. Odiable! [perdu! 
 
 Orl. 0 seignetir ! — le jour est perdu, tout est 
 
 Dau. Mort de ma vief&W is conlounded, all ! 
 Reproach and everlasting shame 
 Sits mocking in our plumes.— 0 mescha^ite fortune \ 
 Do not run away. {A shurt alarum.) 
 
 Ccn. Why, all our ranks are broke. 
 
 Dau. O perdurable shame !— let's stab ourselves. 
 Be tiHse the wretcnes that we play'datdice for? 
 
 Oi-} Is this the king we sent to for his ransome ? 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
Scene 7. 
 
 KING HENRY V 
 
 88T 
 
 Bour, Shame and eternal shame, noth:EJg- but 
 snaiiie . 
 
 Let n*<iie instant: Once moie bnck .isain ; 
 And he tliat will not follow Boui boa now, 
 Lot hiiJi go lietice, and, with liiscaj.) in hand, 
 Like a base t>audtr, bold the chamber-door. 
 Whilst by a slave, no gentler tlian my dog^. 
 His t'airest d uighter is confaiiunute. 
 
 C\)U Disorder, tliat hath spoil d ns, fiii nd us now ! 
 Let lis. in ht-ajjs, go ollVr up our lives 
 Unto these English, or else die with lame. 
 
 Orl. We are eno g i, yet living in the tifdd. 
 To smother up the linglisii in onr flirongs, 
 li any order might be tiu>tii;lit iijjon. [throng ; 
 
 hour. The devil take order now 1 I'll to the 
 Let life be short; else, shame will be too long. 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Altrunis. Enter Kimj Henky and Forces ; ExE- 
 TEK, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice- valiant 
 conntrytnen : 
 But all's tint done, yet keep the French the field. 
 
 Exe. The fluke of Y'ork commends him to your 
 majesty. [this \\our, 
 
 K.Han. Lives he, good uncle? thrice, within 
 { saw him down ; thrice up again, and hghting; 
 From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. 
 
 Exe. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie. 
 Larding the plain: and by his bloody side, 
 fYoke-fellovv to h s honour-owing vyounds,) 
 The noble earl of SulFolk also lies. 
 fjuiTolk first died: and York, all haggled over, 
 Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd. 
 And takes him by the beard ; kisses tiie gashes, 
 That l)ioodily did yawn upon iiis i;u e ; 
 And criea aloud. — Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk i 
 My soul shall thine keep^ company to heaven : 
 Tarry, aiveet soul, for mine, then Jit/, a-b reast : 
 As. in this yturioas and well-JouyJicen feldf 
 TVe kept toytther in our chivalry I 
 Upon lii-se woids I came, and cheer'd him up . 
 He smii'd me in tiie face, raught me his hand, 
 And, with a feeble gripe, says — Dear my lord. 
 Commend my service to my sovereign I 
 So did he turn, and over Siitiotk's neck 
 kle threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips ; 
 And so. espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 
 A testament of noble-ending li)\ e. 
 The pretly and svvetit manner of it forc'd 
 Tliose waters from me, which I would have stopp'd ; 
 But I kid not so much of man in me, 
 But all my motiier came into my eyes, 
 And gave me up to tears. 
 
 /\. Hen. I blame you not ; 
 
 For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
 With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. — {Alarum.) 
 But, hark ! what new alarum is this same V — 
 The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men: — 
 Then every soldier kill his prisoners ; 
 Give the w<»rd through. [Exeunt, 
 Scene Vi l. — Another Part of the Field, 
 Alarums. Enter Fluellen and GowER. 
 
 Flu. Kill the fxiysand the luggage ! "tis expressly 
 ngaiiist the law of arms : "tis as arrant a piece of 
 kna 'cry, mark you now, as can be offered in the 
 'orld : In your conscience now, is it not? 
 
 (tow. 'Vis certain, there's not a boy left alive; 
 and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, 
 havt* done this slaughter: besides, they have burned 
 and carried away all that was in the king's tent: 
 wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused 
 ^very soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a 
 gallant king ! 
 
 Flu. Ay, he was poru at Montmouth, captain 
 Govver: What call you the town's name, wiiere 
 Alexander the pig was porn? 
 
 Goto, Ale.\ander the great 
 
 Fi'tc. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? Th« 
 pig, or (he great, or the mighty, or tne nuge, or thf 
 magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the 
 phrase is a littU- variations. 
 
 Goiv. I think, Alexander the great was bom in 
 Macedon ; liis lather was called Phiiipof Maccdofi, 
 as I take it. 
 
 Flic. 1 ffiink, it is in Macedon. where AlesEnder 
 is porn, i tell you, capt:iin, — If you look in the 
 maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in tha 
 comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, thai 
 tlie situations, look you, is botli alike. There is a 
 river in Macedon ; and there is also moreover a river 
 at Moniriouti) : it is called Wye, at Monmouth; but 
 it is out of my prains, what is the name of the other 
 river : but 'tis all one, 'tis so like as my fingers is to 
 my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If yoti 
 mark Alexander s life well, Harry <if Monmouth's life 
 is come alter it indifferent well ; for there is figures 
 in all things. Alexander (God knows, and you 
 know,) in liis rages, and his furies, and his wraths^ 
 and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, 
 and his indignations, and al.so being a little intoii^ 
 cates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, 
 look you, kill his pest I'riend, Clytus. 
 
 Goic. Our king is not like him in that; he never 
 killed atiy of liis friends. 
 
 Flu. It is not well done, mark yon now, to take 
 tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and 
 finished. I speak but in the figures and compari 
 sons of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, 
 being in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Mon- 
 mouth, being in his right wits and his goot judg- 
 ments, is turn away the fat knight with tlie grea», 
 pelly-doublet : he was full of jests, and gipes. and 
 knaveries, and mocks ; 1 am lorget his name. 
 
 Gow. Sir John FalstafF. 
 
 Flu.T\mi is he : I can tell you, there is goot men 
 porn at Monmouth. 
 
 Gow. Here comes his majesty. 
 
 Alarum. Enter King Henry with a. part cf th» 
 English Forces; Warwick, Gloster^ Exeter^ 
 and others. 
 
 K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France 
 Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald^ 
 Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill ; 
 If they will fight with us, bid them come down, 
 Or void the field ; they do olfend our sight : 
 If they'll do neither, we will come to them ; 
 And make them skirraway, as swift as stones 
 Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : 
 Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have ; 
 And not a man of them, tliat we shall take, 
 Shall taste our mercy : — Go, and tell them so. 
 
 Enter Montjoy. 
 Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my 
 liege. 
 
 Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. 
 
 K. Hen. How now ! what means this, herald? 
 know'st thou not, 
 ThatT have fin'd these bones of mine for ransome? 
 Com'st thou again for ransome ? 
 
 Mont. No, great king ; 
 
 I come to thee for charitable license. 
 That we may wander o'er this bloody field. 
 To book our dead, and then to bury them ; 
 To sort out nobles from our common men ; 
 For many of our princes (woe the while!) 
 Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blf>od ; 
 So do our vulgar drench their peasant limba 
 n blood of princes;) and their wounded > teeds 
 Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, 
 Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters. 
 Killing them twice. O, give us loave, gieat king 
 To view (he field in saiety, and dispose 
 Of their dead bodies. 
 
 K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald 
 
 I know not if the day be ours, or no •. 
 
S88 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 Act it. 
 
 For yet a many ot your horsemen peer 
 And gallop o'er the field. 
 
 Mont. The day is yours. (for it! — 
 
 K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, 
 What is this castle caU'd, that stands hard by? 
 
 Mont They call it — Agincourt. 
 
 K. Hen. Then call we this — the field of Agin- 
 Fouiiht on the day of Crispin Crispianus. [court, 
 
 Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't 
 please your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward 
 the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the 
 hionicles, fought a most prave pattle here in 
 
 K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. [France. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty says very true : if your ma- 
 jesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot 
 service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing 
 /j4^iileeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your majesty 
 knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of the 
 service; and, I do believe, your majesty takes no 
 scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day. 
 
 K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour; 
 For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 
 
 Flu. All the water in VYye cannot wash your 
 majesty's W-^elsh plood out of your pody, I can tell 
 you that : Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it 
 plesses liis grace, and his majesty too! 
 
 K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 
 
 Flu. By Chesu, 1 am your majesty's countryman, 
 [ care not who know it; I will confess it to all the 
 'orld : I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, 
 praised be God, so long as your majesty is an ho- 
 uest man. [him ; 
 
 K. Hen. God keep me so ! — Our heralds go with 
 Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 
 On both our pr.rts. — Gall yonder fellow hither. 
 
 [Points to Williams. Exeunt Montjoy 
 and others. 
 
 Exe. Soldier, you nuist come to the king. 
 
 K. Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in 
 tiiy cap ? 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of 
 one that I should light withal, if he be alive. 
 K. Her,. An Englishman ? 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that 
 swaggered with me last night: who, if 'a live, and 
 ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to 
 take hitn a box o'lhe ear: or, if I can see my glove 
 in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he 
 would wear, if alive), I will strike it out soundly. 
 
 K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it 
 fit this soldier keep his oath ? 
 
 Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please 
 your majesty, in my conscience. 
 
 K, He7i. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of 
 great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. 
 
 Fhc. I'liough he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil 
 IS, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is neces- 
 sary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and his 
 oath: if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation 
 is as arrant a villain, and a Jack-sauce, as ever his 
 plack shoe trod upon Got's ground and his earth, in 
 my conscience, la. 
 
 K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou 
 meet'st the fellow. 
 
 W^ill. So I will, my liege, as I live. 
 
 K. Hen. Who servest thou under ? 
 
 Will. Under captain Gower, my liege. 
 
 Flu. Gower is a goot captain ; and is goot know- 
 ledge and literature in the wars. 
 
 K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 
 
 Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this favour 
 for me, and stick it in thy cap : When Alencou and 
 myself were down together, I plucked this glove 
 from his helm : if any man challenge this, he is a 
 friend to Alencon and an enemy to our person ; if 
 tlsou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou 
 dost love me. 
 
 Flu. Your grace does me as great honours as can 
 be desired in the hearts of his subjects : 1 would 
 
 fain sue the man, that has bat t»vo legs, that sKjilJ 
 find himself aggriefed at tl )s glove, that is all ; but 
 I would lain see it once ; an please Got of his grace, 
 that I might see it. 
 
 K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower? 
 
 Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 
 
 K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek hiu), and bring him 
 to my tent. 
 
 Flit. I will fetch him. [ExU 
 K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, and my brother 
 Follow Fluellen closely at the heels : [Gloster 
 The glove, which 1 have given him for a favour. 
 May, haply, purchase him a box o'the e,ar; 
 Jt is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should 
 Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick; 
 If that the soldier strike him, (as, 1 judge 
 By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) 
 Some sudden mischief may arise of it; 
 For I do know Fluellen valiant. 
 And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder. 
 And quickly will return an injury : 
 Follow, and see there be no harm between them."- 
 Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene VHI. — Before King Henry's Pavilion, 
 
 Enter Gower and Williams. 
 Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain. 
 
 Etiier Fluellen. 
 Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I pe- 
 seech you now, come apace to the king ; there is 
 more goot toward you, peradventure, than is in 
 your knowledge to dream of. 
 
 Will. Sir, know you this glove ? [glove. 
 Fhe. Know the glove ? I know, the glove is a 
 Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it. 
 
 (Strikes him.] 
 
 Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any s in the uni- 
 versal 'orld, or m France, or in England. 
 
 Goiv. How now, sir? you villain ? 
 
 Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn? 
 
 Flu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give 
 treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. 
 
 Will. I am no traitor. 
 
 Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. — I charge you in 
 his majesty's name, apprehend him ; he's a friend of 
 the duke Alencon's. 
 
 Enter Warvtick and Gloster. 
 
 War. How now, how now! what's the matter? 
 
 Fhi. My lord of Warwick-, here is (praised be 
 Got for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, 
 look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. 
 Here is his majesty. 
 
 Enter King Henry and Exeter. 
 
 K. Hen. How now! whats the matter? 
 
 Flu. My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, that» 
 look your grace, has struck the glove, which your 
 majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencon. 
 
 Will. My liege, this was my glove; here is the 
 fellow of it : and he, that I gave it to in change, pro- 
 mised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike him, 
 if he did : 1 met this man with my glove in his cap, 
 and I have been as good as my word. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty hear now, (saving your ma- 
 jesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beg- 
 garly, lousy knave it is : I hope, yoin- majesty is pear 
 me testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that 
 ti)is is the glove of Alencon, that your majesty ia 
 give nte, in your conscience now. 
 
 K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier ; Look, here 
 is the lellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st 
 to strike ; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. 
 
 Flu. An please your majesty, let iiis neck answei 
 for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. 
 
 K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? 
 
 Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart' 
 never came any from mine, that might offend youi 
 majesty. 
 
Act V. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 38S 
 
 K. Hen. ft was onrself thoa difist abuse 
 Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: yon 
 aopeared to lae but as a common man : witness the 
 night, your garments, your lowliness ; and what your 
 highness sutt"ered under that shape, I beseech you, 
 take it for your own fault, and not mine : for had you 
 Deen as I took you for, I made no oftence ; therefore, 
 i beseech your highness, pardon me. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 
 crowns, 
 
 A nd give it to this fellow. -Keep it, fellow ; 
 And wear it for an honour in thy cap, 
 Fill I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns : — 
 And. captain, you must needs be friends with him. 
 
 F/u. liy this day and this light, the fellow has 
 mettle enough ia his pelly; — Hold, there is twelve 
 pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep 
 you outofprawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and 
 dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for 
 
 Will. I will none of your money. [you. 
 
 Flu. It is with a goot will ; I can tell you, it will 
 serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore 
 should you be so pashful ? your shoes is not so goot : 
 'tis a goot sdling, I warrant you, or I will change it. 
 Enter an English Herald. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, herald ; are the dead number'd ? 
 
 Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd 
 French. {Delivers a paper.) 
 
 K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, 
 uncle ? 
 
 Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king ; 
 John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt : 
 Of other lords, and barons, knights, and squires. 
 Full fifteen himd; ed, besides common men. [French, 
 
 K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
 That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number. 
 And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
 One hundred twenty-six : added to these, 
 Of knights, esquires and gallant gentlemen, 
 Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which, 
 Five hundred vvere but yesterday dubb'd knights: 
 So that, in these ten thousand they have lost. 
 There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; 
 The rest are — princes, barons, lords, knights. 
 And gentlemen of blood and quality. ['squires, 
 'i'he names of those their nobles that lie dead, — 
 Charles De-ia-bret, hi^h constable of France ; 
 Jaques of Cliatiilon, admiral of France ; 
 The ntaster of the cross-bows, lord Rambures; 
 Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard 
 Dauphin ; 
 
 John duke of Alen^on ; Antony duke of Brabant, 
 The brother to the duke of Burgundy; 
 And Edward duke of Bar : of lusty earls, 
 Grandpre, and lloussi, Faucomberg, and Foix, 
 Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudemont, and Lestrale. 
 Here was a royal fellowship of death ! — 
 Where is the number of our English dead? 
 
 {Herald presents another paper.) 
 Edward the duke oi York, the earl of Sutiblk, ^ 
 Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, esquire : , 
 None else of name ; and of ail other men, 
 But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here, 
 Aiid not to us, but to thy arm alone, 
 Ascribe we all. — When, without stratagem, 
 But in plain shock, and even play of battle, 
 Was ever known so great and little loss, 
 On one part and on th' other ? — Take it, God, 
 For it is only thine ! 
 
 Exe 'Tis wonderful ! 
 
 K. He?t. Come, go we in procession to the village : 
 And be it death proclaimed through our host, 
 To boast of this, or take that praise from God, 
 Which is his only. 
 
 Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to 
 iell how many is killed? [ledgment, 
 
 K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknow- 
 rhat God fought fur us. 
 
 J^Vm. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. 
 
 K. Hsn. Do Vie all holy rites 
 
 Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te V&utn 
 The dead with charity enclos'd in clay. 
 We'll then to Calais ; and to England then; 
 Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Enter Chorus. [story, 
 Cho. Vouchsafe to those, that have not read th« 
 That I may prompt them : and of such as have, 
 I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
 Of time, of numbers, and due course of things. 
 Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
 Be here presented. Now we bear the king 
 Towards Calais : grant hiin there ; there seen. 
 Heave him away upon your winged thoughts. 
 Athwart the sea : Behold, the English beach 
 Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boya. 
 Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-niouth'd 
 Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king, [sea, 
 Seems to prepare his way : so let him land. 
 And solemnly, see him set on to London. 
 So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 
 Y^ou may imagine him upon Blackheath : 
 Where that his lords desire him, to have borne 
 His bruised helmet, and his bended sword. 
 Before him, through the city : he forbids it, 
 Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride, 
 Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent. 
 Quite from himself, to God. But now behold. 
 In the quick forge and working-house of thought, 
 How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
 The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort, — 
 Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
 With the plebeians swarming at their heels, — 
 Go forth, and fetch their conquering Caesar in i 
 As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, 
 Were now the general of our gracious empress 
 (As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming. 
 Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 
 How many would the peaceful city quit. 
 To welcome him ? much more, and much more cause, 
 Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ; 
 (As yet the lamentation of the French 
 Invites the king of England's stay at home : 
 The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
 To order peace between them ;) aitd omit 
 All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, 
 Tdl Harry's back-return again to France; 
 There must we bring hiuj ; and myself have play'd 
 The interim, by remembering you — "tis past. 
 Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance 
 After your thoughts, straight back again to France 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Scene I. — France. An English Court of Guard. 
 Enter Fluellen and Govver. 
 
 Gow. Nay, that's right : but why wear you your 
 leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past. 
 
 Flu. There is occasions and causes why and 
 wherefore in all things : I will tell you as my triend, 
 captain Gower ; The rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, 
 pragging knave, Pistol, — which you and yourself, 
 and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, 
 look you now, of no merits, — he is come to me, 
 and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look yo ., 
 and bid me eat my leek : it was in a place where I 
 could not breed no contentions with him; biit 1 
 will be so pold as to wear it in my cap, till I see hiiu 
 once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of 
 my desires. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a tur- 
 key cock. 
 
 Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor lii«( 
 turkey-cocks. — Got pless you, ancient Pistol! juii 
 scurvy, lousv knave, Got pless you ! 
 
 Pist. Hafartthou Behhim? Dost thou thirst, base 
 To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? [Trojan, 
 Hence ! ( am qualmish at the smell of leek. 
 
 Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, iouKy knavd 
 
350 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 at my dc-sires, and my requests, and my petitions, 
 to cut, iouk yon, this leekj because, look you, you 
 do not love it, nor your atiections, and your appe- 
 tites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I 
 would desue you to eat it. 
 
 Pist. Not tor Cadvvallarler, and all his g^oats. 
 
 Flu. 'J'liere is one goat for you. ( Strikes him.) 
 Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it? 
 
 Pisi. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 
 
 Flu You say very true, scald knave, when Got's 
 will is : 1 will desire you to live in the mean time, 
 and eat yotu" \ ictiials ; come, there is sauce for it. 
 [Strikinij him again.) Yon called me yesterday, 
 /.loiiiilaiii-sqiiire ; but I will make you to-day a squire 
 t)l" luvv dt-^iee. 1 pray yon, fall to; if you can mock 
 a ii^t k, yon can eat a leek. 
 
 Cotv. Enough, captain ; you have astonished him. 
 
 Flu. i say, I will uiake him eat some part of my 
 leek, or I will peat his pate lour days : — Pite, 1 pray 
 you ; It IS ^oot i'oi your green wound, and your 
 
 Pist. Mast i bite ? [ploody coxcomb. 
 
 Flu. \ es, certainly; and ont of doubt, and out 
 of qiiestions too, and ambiguities. 
 
 Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; 
 I ent, and eke I swear — 
 
 Fin. Eat, I pray you : Will you have some more 
 sauce to your leek ? there is not enough leek to 
 swear by. 
 
 Pist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see, I eat. 
 
 Flu. INiuch goot do you, scald knave, heartily. 
 Nay, 'pray you, throw mme away; the skin is goot 
 for your proken coxcomb. When you take occa- 
 •ions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at 
 
 Pist. Good. ^ [them ; that is hll. 
 
 Fu. Ay, leeks is goot; — Hold you, there is a 
 
 Pist. IVie a groat! [groat to heal your pate. 
 
 Flu Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall ^akeit;or 
 I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. 
 
 P:sf.. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. 
 
 Flu. If I owe you any thing, 1 will pay you in 
 nidgels; y<»u shall be a woodmonger, and buy no 
 Ihing of me but cudgels, God be wi' you, and keep 
 yon. and heal vour pate. [Exit. 
 
 Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 
 
 Qow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
 knave. Will you mock at an ancient traditiim, — be- 
 gun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a me- 
 morable trophy of predeceased valour, and date 
 not avojch in your deeds any of your words / I 
 have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentle- 
 man twice or thrice. You thought, because he 
 could not speak English in the native garb, he 
 could not thereiore handle an Englise cudgel : yon 
 find it otherwise; and, henceforth, let a Welsh 
 correction teach you a good English condition. Fare 
 ye wfll. _ ^ 'Exit 
 
 Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife with me now ? 
 News have 1, that my Nell is dead i' the spital 
 Of malady of France ; 
 And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
 Old I do wax ; and fnmi my weary limbs 
 Honour is cudgeli'd. Well, bawd will I turn. 
 And something lean to cut])in'se of quick hand. 
 To England will I steal, and there I'll steal : 
 And patches will 1 get unto these scars. 
 And swear, 1 got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. 
 
 Scene \\.—Troyes in Champagne. An Apartment 
 in the French King s Palace. 
 
 Enter at one door, King Henry, Bedford, Glos- 
 TER, Exeter, Warwick, Westmoheland, 
 and other Lords ; at another, the French King, 
 Queen Isabel, the Pr/wcess Katiiarink, Lords, 
 Ladies, ^c. the Duke of Burgundy, and his 
 Train. 
 
 K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are 
 met 1 
 
 CJnto oui brother France, — and to our sister. 
 Health and lair time of day :— joy and good wishes 
 To our most l'c<iraud princely cousiu Katharine ; 
 
 And (as a branch and member of this rofalty. 
 By whom this great assembly is contiiv'd,) 
 We do salute you, duke of Burgiuidy ; — 
 And, princes French, and peers, health to yoa alL 
 
 Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold yoar iace, 
 Most worthy brother England ; fairly n>et 
 So are you, princes English, every one. 
 
 Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England 
 01 this good day, and of this gracious n>eeting. 
 As we are now glad to behold your eyes; 
 Your eye.«», which hitherto have borne in them 
 Against the French, that met theuj in Iheii bent, 
 The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
 The venom of such looks, we lairly liope. 
 Have lost their quality; and that this day 
 Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Vo cry anjen to that, thus we appear. 
 
 Q Isa. Yon English princes all, I do salute you 
 
 Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, 
 Great kings of France and England ! That I havt 
 labonr'd 
 
 With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavonrs, 
 
 To bring your most imperial majesties 
 
 Unto this bar and royal interview. 
 
 Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
 
 Since then my office hath so far preAail'd. 
 
 That, face to face, and royal eye to eye, 
 
 You have congreeted ; let it not disgrace me. 
 
 If I demand, before this' royal view, 
 
 W^hat rub, or what impediment, there is. 
 
 Why tliat the naked, poor, and niangled peace. 
 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births. 
 
 Should not, in this best garden of the world, 
 
 Our fertile France, put up her lovely \isage? 
 
 Alas ! she hath from France too Jong been cbas'd 
 
 And all her husbandry doth lie ua heaps 
 
 Ct>rrupting in its own fertility. 
 
 Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
 
 Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached,— 
 
 Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair. 
 
 Put forth disorder'd twigs : her fallow leas 
 
 The darnel, hemlock, and rank funntory. 
 
 Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts. 
 
 That should d'^racinate such savagery : 
 
 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
 
 The freckled covvslip, burnet, aiMl green clover. 
 
 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank. 
 
 Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems, 
 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs. 
 
 Losing both beauty and utility. 
 
 And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges. 
 
 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness ; 
 
 Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children. 
 
 Have lost, or do not learn, for want of tinse, 
 
 'J'i»e sciences tliat should become our country; 
 
 But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will. 
 
 That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 
 
 To swearing, and stern looks, diffos'd attire. 
 
 And every thing that seems unnatural. 
 
 Which to reduce into our former iavour. 
 
 You are assembled : and my speech entreats. 
 
 That I may know the let, why gentle peace 
 
 Siiould not expel these inconveniences. 
 
 And bless us with her former qualities. fpeacc, 
 
 K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you Wffnld tiid 
 Wliose want gives growth to the imperfections 
 Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
 With lull accord to all our just demands; 
 Whose tenours and particular efl'ects 
 You have, euschedui'd briefly, in your hands. 
 
 Bur. The king hath heard them; to tlie which 
 There is no answer made. [as ye.< 
 
 K. Hen. Well then, the peace. 
 
 Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. 
 
 Fr. King. I have but with a cinsoiary eye 
 O'er-glanc'd the articles; pleaseth your grace 
 To appoint s jme of your council presently 
 To sit with us once more, with Vtter heed 
 To re survey tiiem, we will, suddenly. 
 Pass oiv accept, and peremptory answer 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 301 
 
 K. Hen. Brother, we shall— Uo, nncle Exeter.— 
 And brother Clarence, — and yon, brother (iloster, — 
 Warwick, — and Huntingdon go with the king, 
 And txke with you free power, to ratify, 
 Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
 Shall see advantageable for our dignity. 
 Any thing in, or out of, our demands ; 
 And we'll consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister 
 Go with the princes, or stay here with us? 
 
 Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them; 
 Haply, a woman's voice may do some good. 
 When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with 
 She is our capital demand, compris'd [us; 
 Within the fore-rank of our articles. 
 
 Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Henri/, Katharine, 
 and her Gentlewoman. 
 
 K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair ! 
 
 Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, 
 Such as will enter at a lady's ear. 
 And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 
 
 Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot 
 speak your England. 
 
 K. Hen, O lair Katharine, if you will love me 
 soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to 
 hear you confess it brokenly with your English 
 tongue. Do you like me, Kate ? fme. 
 
 Kath. Pardonnez-moy, I cannot tell vat is — like 
 
 K. Hen. An angel is hke you, Kate ; and you are 
 like an angel. [antes'} 
 
 KatIuQu€ dii in que he suis semblable a les 
 
 Alice. Out/, vrayment, (saufvostre grace) ainsi 
 ditil 
 
 K. Her,',. I said so, dear Katharina ; and I must 
 not blush to affirm it. \pleines de tromperies. 
 
 Kath. 0 bon Dieu \ les langues des homines sont 
 
 K. Hen. What says she, i'air one? that the 
 tongues of men are full of deceits? 
 
 Alice. Ouy ; dat de tongues of de mans is be full 
 of deceits : dat is de princess. 
 
 K. Hen The princess is the better English-wo- 
 oian. I'lAiith, Kate, niy wooing is fit for thy under- 
 standing : I am glad, thou canst speak no better 
 English ; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me 
 such a plain king, that thou wouldst think 1 had 
 sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways 
 to mince it in love, but directly to say — I love you ; 
 then, if you urge me further than to say — Do you in 
 faith I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; 
 i'faith, do ; and so clap hands and a bargain : How 
 say you, lady ? 
 
 Kath. Saiif vostre honneur, me understand well. 
 
 K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, 
 or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : 
 lor tiie one, I ha ve neither words nor measure; and 
 for the otlier, I have no strength in measure, yet a 
 reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a 
 lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle 
 vvitli my armour on my back, under the correction 
 of br.tggiiig be it spoken, I should quickly leap into 
 a wife. Or, if I mij^ht bulfet for my love, or bound 
 my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a but- 
 clier, and sit like a jackanapes, never off: but, be- 
 fore God, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my 
 eloquence, nor V have no cunning in protestation; 
 only downright oaths, wiiich 1 never use till urged, 
 nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a 
 teiiow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth 
 sun bunting, that never looks in his glass for love 
 ol any thing he sees tiiere. let thine eye be thy cook. 
 I speak to thee plain soldier : If thou canst love me 
 for this, take me : if not to say to thee — that I shall 
 die, is (rue ; but — for thy love, by the lord, no; yet 
 I love thee too. And while tiiou livest, dear Kate, 
 take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy ; for 
 h-? perforce must do thee right, because he hath not 
 ti>e gift ti> woo in otiier phices ; for these fellows of 
 infinite tonyue, that can rhyme themselves into 
 ladies' favours,-~iiieji do always reasou themselves 
 
 out again. What! a speaker »s Dot a j)rater; a 
 
 rhyme is but a bc.llad. A good leg will fall; 9 
 straight back will stoop; a black beard will tura 
 white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair facu will 
 wither; a full eye will wax hollow : but a good heart, 
 Kate, is the sun and moon; or, rath.er, the sun, 
 and not (he moon ; for it shines bright, and never 
 changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would 
 have such a one, take me: And take me, take a 
 =oldier; take a .«oldier, take a king: And what 
 sayest thou then to my love ? speak, ujy fair, and 
 fairly, I pray thee. [France? 
 
 Kath. Is it possible dat I shoidd love de enemy of 
 
 K. Hen. No; it is not possible, you should love 
 the enemy of France, Kate: but, in lo\ ing me, you 
 should love the friend ol' France ; for I love France 
 so well, that I will not part with a village of it; I 
 will have it all mine : and, Kate, when France is 
 mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. fvou are mine. 
 
 K. Hen. No, Kate? 1 will tell thee in French; 
 which, 1 am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a 
 new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly 
 to be shook of Quand fay la possession de 
 France, et quand vous avez la possess ion de moy, 
 (let me see, what then? Saint Dennis be my speed !) 
 — done vostre est France, et vous estes mienne. 
 It is as easy lor me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom, 
 as to speak so much more French: I shall never 
 move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. 
 
 Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, le Franqois que 
 vous paries, est meilleur que I'Anr/lois leqttel je 
 parle. 
 
 K. Hen. No, 'faith, 'tis not, Kate : bat thy speak- 
 ing of my tongue, and 1 thine, most tridy falsely 
 must needs be granted to me much at one. Bu(^ 
 Kate, dost thou understand thus much English: 
 Canst thou love me ? 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell. 
 
 K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? 
 I'll ask them. Come, I know, thou lovest me ; 
 and at night when you come into your closet, you'il 
 question this gentlewoman about me ; and I know, 
 Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me, 
 that you love with your heart: but, good Kate, mock 
 me mercil'ully ; the rather, gentle princess, because 
 I love thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine, Kate, 
 (as I have a saving faith within me, tells me, — thou 
 shalt,) I get thee with scambling, and thou must 
 therefore needs prove a good soldier breeder : Shall 
 not thou and I, betvveen Saint Dennis and Saint 
 George, compound a boy, half French, half English, 
 that shall go to Constantmople, and take the 'I'urk by 
 the beard ? shall we not? what sayest tliou, my fair 
 
 Kath. I do not know dat. [flower-de-luce •* 
 
 K. Hen. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to 
 promise : do but now promise, Kate, you will en- 
 deavour for your French part of sucii a hoy ; and 
 for my English moiety, take the word of a king, and 
 a bachelor. How answer yon, la plus belle Ka- 
 tharine du monde, mon tres chere et divine deesse ? 
 
 Kath. Yoi\f inajeste "ax e fausse Frcncn enough 
 to deceive de most sarje damoiselle dat is en 
 France. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, fy upon my false French I By mine 
 honour, in true Englisii, [ love thee, Kate : by which 
 honour 1 dare not swear, thou lovest ine ; yet my 
 blood begins to {latter me lhat thou dost, notwith- 
 standing the poor and untemperiiig ellVct of my 
 visai;e. Now beshrew my fatlier's amhiiion ! he w»a 
 thinking of civd wars when he got me ; tlierefore was 
 I created with a stubboi n outside, with an aspect 
 of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright 
 then). But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the bet- 
 ter I shall a[)pear: my confort is, that o!d age, thill 
 ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more sj oil upon 
 my face ; tiiou hast me, if thdu hast me, at the worst; 
 and thou shalt wear nie, if thou wear me, better and 
 better: And therefor^ tell me, most fair Katiiariiwe, 
 will you have me? Put off your maidfn blushes, 
 
892 
 
 KING HENRY Y. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of 
 an empress ; lake nie by the hand, and say — Harry 
 of England, T am thine : wliich word thou shalt no 
 sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee 
 aloud — Englmd is thine, Ireland is thine, France 
 is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, 
 though I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow 
 with the best king', thou shalt find the best king of 
 ^ood fellows. Come, your answer in broken music ; 
 for thy voice is music, and thy English broken: 
 therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind 
 to me in broken English, Wilt thou have me ? 
 
 Kath. Dat IS, as it shall please de roy mon pere. 
 
 K. He7i. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it 
 <hall please him, Kate. 
 
 Kaih. Den it shall also content me. 
 
 K. He.n. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I 
 call you — my queen. 
 
 Kaik. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez : 
 ma foyjene veux point queiwus abbai$sez vostre 
 grandeur, en baisant la main d une vostre indigne 
 serviteure ; excusez moy,je vous suppHe,montres 
 puissant seigneur. 
 
 h. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 
 
 Katli. Les dames, et demoiselles, pour estre 
 baisees devant leurs nopces, il nest pas le coutume 
 de France. 
 
 K. Hen. Madame, my interpreter, what says she ? 
 Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies 
 of France, — I cannot tell what is, baiser, en English. 
 K. Hen. To kiss. 
 
 Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moy. 
 
 K. Hen. It is not the fasliion for the nmids in 
 France to kiss before they are married, would she 
 say ? 
 
 Alice. Ouy, vray7nent. 
 
 K. Hzn. Q, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great 
 kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined 
 within the weak list of a country's fashion : we are 
 the makers of manners, Kate ; and the liberty that 
 follows our places, stops the mouths of all find- 
 faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice 
 fashion of your country, in denying nje a kiss ; there- 
 fore, patiently and yielding. (Kissing her.) You 
 have witchcraft in your lips, Kate : there is more 
 eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in the 
 tongues of the French council ; and they should 
 sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general 
 petition of monarchs. Here comes your father. 
 
 Enter the French King and Queen, Burgundy, 
 Bedford, Gloster, Exeter, Westmoreland, 
 and other Frtinc-h and English Lords. 
 Bur. God save your majesty ! ray royal cousin, 
 
 teach you our princess English ? 
 
 K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, 
 
 how perfectly I love her, and that is good English. 
 Bur. Is she not apt? 
 
 K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz ; and my con- 
 dition is not smooth : so that, having neither the 
 voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so 
 conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will ap- 
 pear in his true likeness. 
 
 Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if t an- 
 swer you for that. If you would conjure in her, you 
 must make a circle ; if conjure up love in her in his 
 true likeness, he must appear naked, and blitid : Can 
 you blame her then, being a m;tid yet rosed over 
 with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the 
 appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing 
 self ? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid 
 to consign to. [^blind, and enforces. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield ; as love is 
 
 Bur. j'heyare then excused, my lord, when they 
 see not what they do. 
 
 K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to 
 coL'sent to winkii g. 
 
 Bur. I Will wink on her to consent, my lord, if 
 Jrou will teach her to know my meaning : for maids, 
 well suuiiuered and warm kept, are like fl;i'sat Bar- 
 USiinl tl>'»nj|i t.iiev have t.ieir eyes: 
 
 and then they will endure handkng, which before 
 would not abide looking on. 
 
 K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a 
 hot summer ; and so I will catch the fly, your cousia, 
 in the latter end, and she must be blind too. 
 
 Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves, 
 
 K. Hen. li is so: and you may, some of you 
 thank love for my blindness ; who cannot see many 
 a fair French city, for one fair French maid, that 
 stands in my way. 
 
 Fr. King. Yes, ray lord, you see them perspec- 
 tiveiy, the cities turned into a tnaid ; for they are 
 all girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never 
 
 K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wile ? [entered. 
 
 Fr. King. So please you. 
 
 K. Hen. I am content; so the maiden cities yoa 
 talk of may wait on her: so the maid, that stood in 
 the way of ray wish, shall show me tiie way to ray 
 will. [son. 
 Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of rea- 
 
 K. Hen. Is't so, my lords ol' England ? 
 
 West, The king hath granted every article : 
 His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all. 
 According to their firm proposed natures. 
 
 Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this : — 
 Where your majesty demands, — Tiiat the king of 
 France, having any occasion to write for matter of 
 grant, shall name your highness in tliis form, and 
 with this addition, in French, — Notre tres cherfils 
 Henry roy d' Amjleterre. heretier de France; and 
 thus in Latin, — P rteclarissirnus Jilius noster Hen- 
 ricus, rex Anglian, et haeres Franciae. 
 
 Fr. King. Nor this i have not, brother, so denied. 
 But your request shall make me letitpass 
 
 K. Hen. 1 pray you then, in love and dearalliance, 
 Let that one article rank with the rest: 
 And, thereupon, give me your daughter, [raise up 
 
 Fr. King. Take her, fair son ; and Irom her blood 
 Issue to me : that the contending kingdoms 
 Of France and England, whose very shores look pale 
 With envy of each other's happiness. 
 May cease their hatred : and this dear conjonctioo 
 Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord 
 In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
 His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. 
 
 All. Amen ! [ness all, 
 
 K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate : — and bear me wit- 
 That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 
 
 [Flourish. 
 
 Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages. 
 Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one 1 
 As man and wife, being two, are one in love. 
 So be there t'wixtyour kingdoms such a spousal. 
 That never may ill office, or lell jealousy. 
 Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marnage. 
 Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, 
 To make divorce of their incorporate league; 
 That English may as French, French Englishmen, 
 Receive each other ! — God speak this Amen ! 
 All. Amen. [(^ay» 
 K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage : — on whiiiil 
 My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, 
 And all the peers, for surety of our leagues. 
 Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; 
 And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen. 
 
 Our bending author hath pursu'd the story 
 In little room confining mighty men, 
 
 Mangling by starts the fuU'course of their glory. 
 Smalltime, but, in that small, most g'-eatly liv'd 
 
 This star of England: fortune made his sword ; 
 By which the world's best garden he achiev'd. 
 
 And of it left his son imperial lord. 
 Henry the sixth, in swaddling bands crovvn'd king^ 
 
 Of France and England, did tiiis king succeed : 
 Whose state so many had the managmg, [bleed 
 
 That they lost France, and made his England 
 Which oft our stage has shown ; and, for their sake, 
 In your fair minds let tuis acceptance take. [Exit, 
 
KING HENRY VL 
 
 PART 1. 
 
 Of this play there h no copy earlier tlian that af the folio m 1623 though the t^yo succeeding parts are MtaBt 
 in two editions i.i quarto. Tliat the secotirt and third parts were published williout the first may be admitted as 
 no weak proof thai the copies were surreptitiously ohlaiiied, and tha the priiilers ot hat tune gave the public 
 thos^ plays not such as the author designed, but such as they could get them. That this play was written before the 
 two oUers ir n.h.bital.ly collected from the series of events; that it was written and p ayed before Henry the 
 fifth is apparent ; because, in the epilogue there is mention made of this play, and not of the other parts: 
 
 " Henry the sixth in swaddling bands crown'd king, 
 
 Whose state so many had (he managing, 
 
 Tiiat they lost Fiance, and made his England bleed: 
 
 Wiiich oft our stage hath shown. " 
 France is lost in this play The two following contain, as the old title imports, the contention of the houses of York and 
 Lancaster The s- cond and third of Henry VI. were printed in ICOO. When Henry V. was written, we know not; but 
 it was printed likewise in 1600, and tlierefore before the publication of the first and second parts. The first part oi 
 Henry VI had been often shown on the stage, and would certainly have appeared in its place, had the author been 
 the publisher. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 
 DUKEOF GLOSTKil Uncle to the King, and Protector. 
 DUKE OF U ED FORD, Uncle to the King, and Regent of 
 
 France , 
 THOMAS BKAUFOllT, Duke of Exeter, great Uncle to 
 
 tkf Kin(/. , » 
 
 HENRY BEAUFORT, g^eat Uncle to the King, Bishop 
 
 uf Whirhesl^r, and afterwards Cardinal. 
 JOHN BEAUFORT, Enrl of Somerset, ajterwards Duke. 
 RiCHAliJ^ PLANTAGENKT, eldest Son oj Richard /ate 
 
 Ear/ of Cambridge, afterwards Duke of York, 
 EARL OF WARWICK. 
 EARL OF SALUSBLRY. 
 
 EARL OF SUFFOLK. ^ , ^ t. 
 
 LORD TALHOr, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. 
 
 JOHN TAUIV)T, hi^- Son. 
 
 EDMUND MORTIMKR, Earl of March. 
 
 Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer. 
 
 SIR JOHN FASTOLFE. 
 
 SIR WILLI \ SI LUCY. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM GLXNSDALE. 
 
 SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE. 
 
 Mayor of London. 
 
 Scene, — Partly in England, and partly in France. 
 
 WOODVILLE, Lievtenant of the Tower. 
 
 VERNON, vf the White Rose, or Y'ork Faction. 
 
 BASSET, of the Red Rose, or Jjancaster Faction. 
 
 CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France. 
 
 REIGNIER, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples 
 
 DUKE OF BURGUNDY. 
 
 DUKE OF .ALENCON. 
 
 Governor of Paris 
 
 Bastard of Orleans. 
 
 Master Gunner of Orleans, and nis Son. 
 
 General of the French Forces in Bourdeaux. 
 
 A Fretich Sergeant. 
 
 A Porter. 
 
 An old Shepherd, Father to Joan la Pucelle. 
 MARGARET, Daughter to Reignier; afterwards mat' 
 
 riod to Kino Henry 
 COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE. 
 
 JOAN LA PUCELLE, commonly called Joan of Arc. 
 Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders qf 
 the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, 
 and several Attendants both on the English aria 
 French. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene L — Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Dead march. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth 
 discovered, lying in state ; attended on by the 
 Dukes o/' Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter ; the 
 Earl o/ vV.4K\vicK, the Bishop of Winchester, 
 Heralds, etc. 
 
 Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day 
 to night ! 
 
 Comets, importing change of times and states, 
 Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky ; 
 And with them scourge the bad revolting stars. 
 That have consented mito Henry's death ! 
 Henry the Filth, too famous to live long! 
 England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 
 
 Glo. England ne'er had a king until his time. 
 Virtue he harl, deserving to command ; 
 His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams ; 
 His arms spread wider than a dragon's vvings ; 
 His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire. 
 More dazzled and drove back his enemies, 
 Than mid d iy sun, fierce bent against their faces. 
 What should 1 say ? his deeds exceed all speech ; 
 He ne'er lilt up his hand but conquered. 
 
 Exe. We mourn in black; Why mourn we not in 
 Henry is dead, and never shall revive : [blood ? 
 Upon a wooden collin we attend ; 
 And death's dishonourable victory 
 We with our stately presence glorify, 
 Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
 What? slia!! we curse the planets of mishap, 
 That plotted thus our glory's over<hrow !* 
 Or shall we think the subtle witted French 
 Conjiirors and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, 
 
 By magic verses have contrived his end ? 
 
 Win. He was a king, blessed of the King of klngi 
 Unto the French the dreadful judgment day 
 So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. 
 The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: 
 The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 
 
 Glo. The church ! where is it ? Had not church- 
 men f)ray'd, 
 His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: 
 None do you like but an effeminate prince, 
 Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 
 
 Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector 
 And lookest to command the prince, and realm. 
 Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee ia awe. 
 More than God, or religious churchmen, may. 
 
 Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh 
 And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st 
 Except it be to pray against thy foes. [in peace I 
 
 Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minda 
 Let s to the altar : Heralds, wait on us : — 
 Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms ; 
 Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.— 
 Posterity, await for wretched years. 
 When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck 
 Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, 
 And none but women left to wail the dead. — 
 Henry the fifth I thy ghost I invocate ; 
 Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils! 
 Combat with adverse planets in the heaveiis! 
 A far more glorious star thy soul will make. 
 Than ulius Cassar, or bright — 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My honourable lords, health to you -■> 
 Sad tidings bring 1 to you out of France, 
 Of loss, of slaiigiiter, and discomfiture*. 
 
894 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Oaienne, Champaigne, Reims, Orleans, 
 Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are ail quite lost. 
 
 Bed. Vv hat say'sttlioi aiau, before dead Henry's 
 
 corse ? 
 
 Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns 
 VVill make him burst his lead, and rise from death. 
 
 Glc. Is Paris lost ? is Rinifn yielded up? 
 ff Henry were recall d to life again, 
 These news would cause him once more yield the 
 ghost. [us'd ? 
 
 Exe. How werf they lost? what treachery was 
 
 Mess. No treacb=Ty , but want of men and money. 
 Anioug the soldiers tliis is muttered, — 
 'I'hat here you maintain several factions; 
 And, whilst a field should be des[»atcii'd and foil g.ht. 
 You are disputing of your generals. 
 One would have liug'ring wars with little cost; 
 Another would fly swift but wanteth wings ; 
 A third man thinks, without expense at all, 
 Bygnilelul fair words peace may be obtain'd. 
 Awake, awake, English nobility ! 
 Let not sloth din> your honours, new-begot : 
 Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 
 Of England's coat one half is cut away. 
 
 Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral. 
 These tidings would call forth lier flowing tides. 
 
 Bed. Me they concern ; regent 1 am of France : — 
 Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight lor France. — 
 Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! 
 Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes. 
 To weep their intermissive miseries. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. liords, view these letters, full of bad 
 
 mischance, 
 France is revolted from the English quite ; 
 Except some petty towns of no import: 
 The Dauphin Charles is crovvned king in Reims; 
 The bastard of Orleans with him isjoin'd; 
 Reignier, duke of Anjou, doth lake his part; 
 The duke of Alen9oii ilieth to his side. 
 
 Exe. The D,(Ujjliin crowned king ! all fly to him I 
 O, whither shall we fly from this reproach ? 
 
 Glo. W e w ill not fly, but to our enemies' throats : — > 
 Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll rt-;htit out. [ness ? 
 
 Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forward- 
 A^n army have 1 muster d in my thoughts, 
 Wherewitli already France is over run. 
 
 Enter a third Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My gracious lords, — to add to your la- 
 
 ments. 
 
 Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, — 
 
 [ must inform you of a dismal flght, 
 
 Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. 
 
 Win. What ! wherein Taibot overcame ? is't so ? 
 
 3 Mess. O, no ; wherein Lord Talbut was o'er- 
 thrown : 
 
 The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. 
 The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, 
 Retiririg from the siege of Orleans, 
 Having full scarce six tiiousand in his troop. 
 By three and twenty thousand of the French 
 Was round encompassed and set upon : 
 No leisure had he to emank liis men ; 
 He wanted pikes to set beli)re hi^ archers ; 
 Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of Ledges, 
 They pitched in the groiiod confusedly. 
 To keep the horsemen oli" from breaking in. 
 More than three hours the hgnl continued ; 
 Where valiant Talbot, abo\e human thought. 
 Enacted wonders with his swo^d and lance. 
 Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him ; 
 Here, ttiere, and every where, enrag'd he slew: 
 The French exclaim d, 'I'tie devil was in arms; 
 A.II the whole army slood agaz'il on iiim : 
 II is soldiers, spying his undiuinted spirit, 
 A Taibot ! a 'i'aibot I ci ied out amain, 
 Afid rush'd into the bowels of tlie b.ittle. 
 « had the conquest fully been seal'd up. 
 
 t If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the cowsfd; 
 I He, be.'ng in the vaward, (pluc'd behind, 
 
 With purpose to relieve and follow them,) 
 
 Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 
 ! Hence grew the general wreck and massaBre ; 
 
 Enclosed were they with their enemies: 
 : A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 
 i Thrust Talbot with a spear into tiie back ; 
 
 Whom all France, with their chief assembled 
 strength. 
 
 Durst not presume to look once in the face. 
 
 Bed. Is I'albot slain ? then 1 will slay myself. 
 For living idly here, in pomp and ease, 
 I Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
 , Unto his dastard fbe-raeu is betray d. 
 I 3 Mess. O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner. 
 And lord Scales with him, and loid Hiiiigerford : 
 Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise. 
 
 Bed. His ransome there is none but 1 siiall pay 
 I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne. 
 His crown shall be the ransome of my friend ; 
 Four of their lords I'll change lor one of ours.— • 
 Farewell, my masters ; to my task will 1 ; 
 Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make. 
 To keep our great Saint George's feast uilhal; 
 1'en thousand soldiers with me 1 will take, 
 Whose bloody deeds shad make all Europe quake. 
 
 3 Mess. S o you had need ; for Orlt^ans i.s besiegdj 
 The English army is grown weak and faint: 
 The earl of Salisbury craveth supply, 
 And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, 
 Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 
 
 Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn 
 Either to quell the Dauphin utterly. 
 Or bring Inin in obedience to your yoke. 
 
 Bed. I do remember it; and here take leave, 
 To i^o about my preparation. [Exht 
 
 Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste I can. 
 To view the artillery and munition ; 
 And then I will proclaim young Henry king. {Exit 
 
 Exe. 'Vo Eltham will 1, where the young king is 
 Being ordain'd his special governor ; 
 And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit 
 
 Win. Each hath his place and function to attend 
 I am left out; for me nothing remains. 
 But long I will not be Jack-out of oflice ; 
 The king from Eltham I intend to send. 
 And sit ui chiefest stern ol public weal. 
 
 [Exit. Scene closes* 
 
 Scene II. — France. Before Orleans. 
 
 Enter Charles, with his Forces ; Alencon, 
 Reignier, and others. 
 
 Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the hea- 
 So in the earth, to this day is nut known : [vens. 
 Late did he shine upon the En;j;'isii side ; 
 Now we are victors, upon \.. he smiles. 
 What towns of any moment, hul we liave ? 
 At pleasure here we lie, near Oi leans ; 
 Olherwhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts. 
 Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 
 
 Alen. 'i'hey want their porridge, and tiieir fiat 
 bull-beeves : 
 Either they must be dieted like mules. 
 And have their provender tied to their mouths. 
 Or piteous they will look, like diowned mice. 
 
 /?t!2^. Let's raise the siege : Wiiy liv e we idly here? 
 Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: 
 Ilemaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; 
 And he may well in fretting vspend his gall. 
 Nor men, nor money, hath tie to make war. 
 
 Char. Sound, sound alarum : we will rush on them. 
 Now tor the honour of the forlorn French : 
 Him I forgive my death, that killetn me. 
 When he sees me go back one loot, or fly. [Exeunt 
 Alarums; Excursions; u^terwarcU a Retreat. 
 
 Re enter Charles, Alencon, Reignikr, and 
 others. 
 
 Char.\N\iQ ever saw the like ? «vhat men have I? ' 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY VI 
 
 Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! — I woulc? ne'er have fled, 
 But that they lell me 'midst my enemies. 
 
 Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; 
 He li^^hteth as one weary of his life. 
 The other lords, like lions wanting food, 
 Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. 
 
 Alen. Frossard, a countryman of ours, records, 
 England all Olivers and Rowlands bred. 
 During the time Edward the third did reign. 
 More truly now may this be verified ; 
 i' or none but Samsons, and Goliasses, 
 It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
 Lean raw bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
 They had such courage and audacity? 
 
 Char. Let's leave this town; for they are hair- 
 hrain'd slaves, 
 And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: 
 or old 1 know them; rather with their teeth 
 'I'he walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege. 
 
 Reig. I think, by some odd ginimals or device, 
 Tiieir arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on; 
 Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. 
 By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone. 
 Alen. Be it so. 
 
 Enter the Bastard of Orleains. 
 Bast. Where's the prince Dauphin ? I have news 
 for him, 
 
 Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. 
 Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer 
 
 appaFd ; 
 
 Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? 
 Be notdismay'd, for succour is at hand: 
 A holy maid hither with me I bring. 
 Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven. 
 Ordained is to raise this tedious siege. 
 And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
 The s{<irit of deep prophesy she hath. 
 Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome ; 
 What's past, and what's to come, she can descry. 
 Speak, shall I call her in ? Believe ray words. 
 For they are certain and unfallible. 
 
 Char. Go, call her in : [Exit Bastard.] But, first, 
 to try her skill, 
 Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : 
 Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern: — 
 By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. 
 
 {Retires.) 
 
 Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans, and 
 others. 
 
 Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do those wond'rous 
 feats ? [me ? — 
 
 Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to l3eguile 
 Where is the Dauphin ? — come, come from behind ; 
 £ know thee well, though never seen before. 
 Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from nrie ; 
 fn private will I talk with thee apart; — 
 Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. 
 
 Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. 
 
 Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daugh- 
 My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. [ter, 
 Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleas'd 
 To shine on nay contemptible estate : 
 Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs. 
 And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, 
 God's mother deigned to appear to rae ; 
 And, in a vision l ull of maje sty, 
 Will'd me to leave my base vocation. 
 And free my country from calamity : 
 Her aid she promis'd, and assiir'd success: 
 In complete glory she reveal'd herself; 
 And, whereas I was black and swart before, 
 With those clear rays which she infus'd on me, , 
 That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. 
 Ask me what question thou canst possible, ^ 
 And I will answer unpremeditated : 
 itrly courage try by combat, if thou dar'st. 
 And thou shalt find that I exceed my se^x. 
 Resolve on this : 'Wq\x shalt be fortunate. 
 
 , ff thou receive me lor ti.y warlike mate. 
 
 Char. Thou hast astonish'd nie with thy high 
 terms ; 
 
 Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, — 
 In single combat thou shalt buckle with me; 
 And, if thou vanquishes!, thy words are true.; 
 Otherwise, I renounce all cfmfidence. 
 
 Puc. 1 am prepar'd : here is my keen-edg'd sword, 
 Deck'd with five fiower-de-luces on each side ; 
 The which at Toiiraine, in Saint Katharine's ciuirch- 
 Oiit of a deal of old iron ! chose ibrtli. ;y;i: d, 
 
 Char. Then come o' God's name, 1 fear no woman. 
 Puc. And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. 
 
 {Theyfvjht) 
 
 Char. Stay, stay thy hand ; thou art an Amazon^ 
 And fightest with the sword of Deborah. 
 
 Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too 
 weak. [help me : 
 
 Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must 
 Impatiently I burn with thy desire; 
 My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. 
 Excellent Pucelle, il' thy name be so, 
 Let me thy servant, and not sovereign be ; 
 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 
 
 Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love. 
 For my profession's sacred fiom above : 
 When I have chased all thy foes from hence, 
 Then will I think upon a recompense. [thrall. 
 Char. Mean time, look gracious on thy prostrate 
 Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 
 Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her 
 smock : 
 
 Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 
 Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no 
 mean? [know; 
 Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do 
 These women are shrewd tempters with their 
 tongues. [on ? 
 
 Reig. My lord, where are you ? what devise you 
 Shall we give over Orleans, or no ? 
 
 Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! 
 Fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard. 
 Char. What she says, I'll confirm ; we'll fight it 
 out. 
 
 Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. 
 This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: 
 Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days. 
 Since I have enter'd into these wars. 
 Glory is like a circle in the water. 
 Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, 
 Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought. 
 With Henry's death, the English circle ends; 
 Dispersed are the glories it included. 
 Novy am I like that proud insulting ship. 
 Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. 
 
 Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ? 
 Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 
 Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
 Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. 
 Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth. 
 How may I reverently worship thee enough ? 
 Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege 
 Reig. Woman, d > what thou canst to save our 
 honours ; 
 
 Drive them from O. I -ans, and be immortalia'd. 
 Char. Presently we'll try : — Come, let's away 
 about it : 
 
 No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene Ul.— London. Hill before the Tomsr. 
 Enter, at the gates, the Duke of Glostsr, with 
 his Serving-me7i, in blue coats. 
 Glo. I am come to sur\ey the Tower t!iis day; 
 Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.-* 
 Where be these warders, that they wait not here? 
 Open the gates ; Oloster it is that calls. 
 
 {Servants knock.) 
 1 Ward. {Within.) Who is there, tiiat knocks so 
 
 imper iously ? 
 1 Strv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. 
 
B90 FIRST 
 
 S Ward. (Within.) Whoe'er he be, we may not 
 let him in. 
 
 I Serv, Answer you so the lord protector, villains ? 
 1 Ward. {Within.) The Lord protect him ! so we 
 answer hini : 
 
 We do no otherwise than we are wiU'd. [mine ? 
 
 Gio. Who willed yon ; or whose will stands, but 
 There's none protector of the realm, but I. — 
 Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize : 
 Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? 
 
 Servants rush at the Tower gates. Enter to the 
 g-xtes, VVooDViLLE, the Lieutenatit. 
 Wood. ( Within. ) What noise is this ? what 
 
 traitors have we here? 
 Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear! 
 Open the gates ; here's Gloster that would enter. 
 Wood ijrithin.) Have patience, noble duke ; I 
 may not open ; 
 The cardinal of Winchester forbids : 
 Fro-:n him I have express comnmndment, 
 Tiiat thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. [me? 
 
 Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore 
 Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate, 
 Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? 
 Thou art no friend to God, or to the king : 
 Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. 
 
 1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector. 
 Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not 
 quickly. 
 
 Enter Winchester, attended by a Train of Ser- 
 vants in tawny coats. 
 
 Win. Hovt^ now, ambitious Humphrey, what 
 means this ? [shut out ? 
 
 Glo. Piel'd priest, dost thou command me to be 
 
 Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor. 
 And not protector of the king or realm. 
 
 Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator ; 
 Thou, that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord; 
 Thou, that giv"st whores indulgences to sin: 
 I'll canvas thee in thy broad cardinal's hat. 
 If thou proceed in this thy insolence. [foot; 
 
 Win. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a 
 This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
 To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 
 
 Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back : 
 Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth 
 I'll use to carry thee out of this place. 
 
 Win. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy 
 ,face. [face ? 
 
 Glo. What? am 1 dar'd, and bearded to my 
 Draw, men, for all this privileged place; [beard ; 
 Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your 
 ( Gloster and his men attack the Bishop.) 
 I mean to tug it, and to culf you soundly : 
 Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; 
 In spite of pope or dignities of church, 
 Here by the cheeks 1 11 diag thee up and down. 
 
 Win. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope. 
 
 Glo. Winchester goose, 1 cry — a rope ! a rope ! — 
 Now beat them hence, why do you let them stay? — 
 Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. — 
 Out, tawny coats! — out, scarlet hypocrite I 
 
 Here a great tumult. In the midst of it, enter 
 the Mayor of London, and officers. 
 
 May. F'y, lords ! that you, being supreme ma- 
 gistrates. 
 
 Thus contuuieliously should break the peace ! 
 
 Glo Peace, mayor, tliou know'st little of my 
 wrongs : 
 
 Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
 Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. 
 
 Win. Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens ; 
 One, that still motions war, and never peace, 
 0'erchargii\g your free purses with large fines ; 
 7'hat seeks to ov erthrow religion, 
 Because he is protector of the realm ; 
 And would have armour here out of the Tovv'^ir, 
 
 »ART OF ActI 
 
 To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. 
 
 Glo. I will not an)Wer thee with words, but blowa 
 (Here they skirmish again,} 
 
 May. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuoua 
 Sut to make open proclamation • — [strife. 
 Come, officer ; as loud as e'er thou canst. 
 
 Offi. All manner of men, Qsse7fibled here in 
 arms this da-y, against God's peace and the king's, 
 ive charge and command you, in his highness' 
 name, to repair to your several dwelling places ; 
 and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, wea- 
 pon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. 
 
 Glo. Cardinal, 1 11 be no breaker of the law: 
 But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. 
 
 Win. Gloster, we'll meet ; to thy dear cost, be 
 sure : 
 
 Thy heart blood I will have, for this day's work. 
 
 May. I'll call for clubs, if you will not away: 
 This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. 
 
 Glo. Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what thon 
 may'st. 
 
 Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head; 
 For I intend to have it, ere long. [Exeunt. 
 May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will 
 depart. — 
 
 Good God that nobles should such stomachs bear ! 
 I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — France. Before Orleans. 
 Enter, on the walls, the Master-Gunner and his 
 Son. 
 
 M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is 
 
 besieg'd ; 
 
 And how the English have the suburbs won. 
 
 Son. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, 
 Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim. [by me ; 
 
 M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd 
 Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; 
 Something I must do, to procure me grace. 
 The prince's espials have informed me. 
 How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd. 
 Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars 
 In yonder tower, to overpeer the city ; 
 And thence discover, how, with most advantage. 
 They may vex us, with shot, or with assault 
 To intercept this inconvenience, 
 A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd ; 
 And fully even these three days have I watch'd. 
 If I could see them. Now, boy^ do thou watch. 
 For I can stay no longer. 
 II" thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
 And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. 
 
 Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care ; 
 I'll never trouble yon, if I may spy them. 
 
 Enter, in an upper Chamber of a Tower, the Lords 
 Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Glans* 
 DALE, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and others. 
 Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd ! 
 
 How wert thou handled, being prisoner? 
 
 Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd ? 
 
 Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top. 
 Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner, 
 
 Called — the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles ; 
 
 For him I was exchang'd and ransomed. 
 
 But with a baser man of arms by far. 
 
 Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me 
 
 Which 1, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death 
 
 Rather than I would be so pil'd est^em'd. 
 
 In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. 
 
 But, O ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds iny heart! 
 
 Whom with my bare fist I would execute. 
 
 If now I had him brought into my power. 
 Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert enttr* 
 tain'd. [taunts 
 Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and c «itamelioai 
 
 In open market-place produc'd they me 
 
 To be a public spectacle to all; 
 
 Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
 
 The scare-crow, tliat alfrights oxtt children so. 
 
Scene 6. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 897 
 
 Then nroke I from tk,*, officers that led me ; 
 
 And with my nails d stones out of the ground, 
 
 To hurl at the behoiders of my shame. 
 
 My grisly countenance made others fly ; 
 
 None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
 
 In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; 
 
 So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, 
 
 That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steef, 
 
 And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : 
 
 Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, 
 
 That walk d about me every minute-while; 
 
 And if I did but stir out of uiy bed, 
 
 Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 
 
 Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd; 
 But we will be revengd sufficiently. 
 Now it is supper-tiui*" in Orleans: 
 Here, through this grate, 1 can count every one, 
 And view the Frenchmen how they fortify ; 
 Let ns look in, the sight will much delight thee. — 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Giansdale, 
 Ijpt me have your express opinions. 
 Where is best place to make our battery next. 
 
 Gar. I think, at the north gate ; for there stand 
 lords. 
 
 Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. 
 
 Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, 
 Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 
 
 (Shot from the town. Salisbury and Sir 
 Thomas Gargrave fall.) 
 
 Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners ! 
 
 Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! 
 
 Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath 
 cross'd us? — 
 Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak ; 
 How far'st thou, mirror of ail martial men? 
 One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off! — 
 Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand, 
 That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy! 
 In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercauie ; 
 Henry the fifth he first traiiVd to the wars ; 
 Whilst any trump did souud, or drum struck up, 
 His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. — 
 Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth 
 fail. 
 
 One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace : 
 The sun with one eye vievveth all the world. — 
 Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive. 
 If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! — 
 Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. — 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ? 
 Speak unto I'albot; nay, look up to hinj. 
 Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this ccmfort; 
 Thou shalt not die, whiles — 
 He beckons with his liand, and smiles on me ; 
 As who should say. When I am dead and gone, 
 Remember to avenge me on the French. — 
 Flaritagenet, I will; and Nero-like, 
 Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : 
 Wretched shall France be only in my name. 
 
 (Thunder heard; afterwards an alarum.) 
 VVhat stir is this ? What tumult's in the heavens "!* 
 Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise ? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have ga- 
 ther'd head : 
 The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, — 
 A holy prophetess, new risen up, — 
 Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 
 
 ( Salisbury groans.) 
 Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan ! 
 t irks his heart, he cannot be reveng d. — 
 Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you : — 
 Pucelle or [luzzel, dolphin or dogfish, 
 Vour hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, 
 And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. — 
 Ck)u\ey me Salisbury into his tent, 
 Aad then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen 
 dare. {Exeu7ii, bearing out the bodies 
 
 Scene V. — T>te same. Before one oj the Gateg 
 
 Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pur siitik the Dau* 
 phin, and driveth hitn in ; then enter Joan la 
 Pucelle. driving Englishmen before her. Then 
 enter Talbot. 
 
 Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my 
 force ? 
 
 Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ; 
 A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle. 
 Here, here she comes : — i'll have a bout with theef 
 Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee : 
 Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, 
 And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st, 
 
 Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace 
 thee. {They fight.) 
 
 Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ? 
 My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage. 
 And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. 
 But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. 
 
 Puc. Talbot, farewell ; thy hour is not yet come 
 I must go victual Orleans forthwith 
 O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength 
 Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men; 
 Help Salisbury to make his testament : 
 This day is ours, as many more shall be. 
 
 (Pucelle enters the Toivn, with Soldiers.) 
 
 Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's 
 wheel ; 
 
 I know not where I am, nor what I do : 
 A witch, by fear, not iorce, like Hannibal, 
 Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: 
 So bees with smoke, and doves with noisom© 
 stench, 
 
 Are from their hives, and houses, driven away. 
 They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs 
 Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 
 
 {A short alarum* * 
 Hark, countrymen I either renew the fight. 
 Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; 
 Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead : 
 Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolt. 
 Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard. 
 As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 
 
 (Alarum. Another skirmish J 
 It will not be : — Retire into your trenches : 
 You all consented unto Salisbury's death. 
 For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.-— 
 Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, 
 In spite of us, or aught that we could do. 
 O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
 The shame hereof will make me hide my head 
 
 {Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and 
 his Forces, etc.) 
 
 Scene VI. — The same. 
 Enter, on the walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignisk 
 Alencon, and Soldiers. 
 
 Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls; 
 Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves : — 
 Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 
 
 Char. Divinest creature, bright Astiea's daugh. 
 How shall I honour thee for this success? Iter. 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens. 
 That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next- 
 France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess ! — 
 Recover'd is the town of Orleans: 
 More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 
 
 Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the 
 town ? 
 
 Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires. 
 And feast and banquet in the open streets. 
 To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 
 
 Alen. All France will be replete with mirth ana 
 
 When they shall hear how we nave play'd fhe men 
 Char, "hs Joan, not we, by whom the day is woo 
 For which, 1 will divide my crown with bei : 
 
398 FI 
 
 And all the priests and fria? i in my r 'altn 
 Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise. 
 A statelier pyraniis to her I'll rear, 
 Than Kliodoi^e's, or Memphis', ever was : 
 In memory ot her, when she is dead, 
 Her ashes, in an urn, more precions 
 Than tlie rich jewei'd coller of Darius, 
 Transported shall be at hi^h festivals 
 Beture the kings and queens ol' France. 
 No longer o::i Saint Denis will we cry, 
 But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
 Come in: and let us banq;iet royally, 
 Alter this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene 1. — The same. 
 F.nter to the dates, a French Sergeant, and two 
 Sentinels. 
 
 Ser<j. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant: 
 If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, 
 Near to the nulls, by some apparent sign. 
 Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 
 
 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Ser.} Thus 
 are poor servitors 
 (When others sleep upon their quiet beds,) 
 Constraia'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 
 
 Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and Forces, 
 with sc'fltny ladders ; their drums beating a 
 dead inarch. 
 
 Tal. Lord regent, — and redoubted Burgundy, — 
 By whose approaclj, the regions of Artois, 
 VValloon, and Picardy, are Iriends to us, — 
 This happy nigiit the Frenchmen are secure. 
 Having all day carous'd and bunqueted : 
 Embrace we tiien this opportimity ; 
 As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
 Contriv'd by ait, and baleful sorcery. 
 
 Std. Coward of France ! — how much he wrongs 
 xis lame, 
 
 Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, 
 To join with v/itches, and the help of hell. 
 
 Bur. Traitors have never other company. — 
 But what's that Fucelle, whom they term so pure ? 
 
 Tal. A maid, they say. 
 
 Bed, A maid ! and be so martial ! 
 
 Bur. Pray God, she prove nut n>asculine,ere long; 
 If underneath tlie standard ol' the French, 
 She carry armour, as she hath begun. 
 
 Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
 spirits : 
 
 God is our fortress; in whose conquering name. 
 Let us resolve to scale tlieir flinty bulwarks. 
 
 Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow thee. 
 
 Tal. Not all together: better far I guess. 
 That we do make our entrance several ways; 
 That, if it chance the one of us do fail, 
 The otlier yet injty rise against their force. 
 
 Bed. Agreed ; I'll to yon corner. 
 
 Bur. And I to this. 
 
 Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
 grave.— 
 
 Now, Salisbury ! for thee, and for the right 
 Of Kni;lish Henry, shall this night appear 
 How much in duty 1 am bound to both 
 
 {The Efi'jlish scale the loalls. crying St. George ! 
 
 a Talhot ! and all enter Ijt/ the Town.) 
 Sent. {Within.) Arm! arm! tne enemy doth 
 make assault ! 
 
 The French leap over the walls in their shirts. 
 Enter, several ways Bastard. Alencon, ReI- 
 GNiEK, halj ready, and half unready. 
 Alen. How now, my lords ? what, all unready so? 
 Bast. Unready ? ay, and glid «e 'scap'd so well. 
 R^fig. 'i'was time, 1 trow, to wake and leave our 
 beds, 
 
 Hearing alarums at ourchambf^r doors. 
 
 Ot ail exploits, since fiist I ibilow'd arms, 
 Ne'»r heard \ of a warlike enterprize 
 
 PART OF Act IL 
 
 More venturous, or more desperate than this. 
 Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fi.md of hell. 
 Heig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour hin^ 
 Alen. Here cometh Charles; 1 marvel how he sped 
 
 Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 
 Bast. 'VvkV. holy Joan was his defensive guard. 
 Char Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? 
 Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal. 
 Make us partakers of a little gain. 
 That now our loss might be ten times so much? 
 Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with hi 
 friend ? 
 
 At all times will yon have my power alike? 
 Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail. 
 Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?- - 
 ImproN ident soldiers I had your watch been good, 
 This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 
 
 Char. Duke of Alencon, this was your default; 
 That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
 Did look no better to that weighty charge. 
 
 Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, 
 As that whereof 1 had the government. 
 We had not been thus shamefully surpiis'd. 
 Bast. Mine was secure. 
 
 Reig. And so was mine, my lord. 
 
 Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night, 
 Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, 
 I was employ'd in passing to and fro. 
 About relieving of the seKitinels : 
 Then how, or which way, should theyfirst break in? 
 
 Puc. Question, my lords, no further on the case. 
 How, or which way ; 'tis sure, they fouiid some p!ace 
 But weakly guarded, where the breach was mdde. 
 And now there rests no other shift but this, — 
 To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, 
 And lay new platforms to endamage them. 
 
 Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying, a 
 Talbot! a Talbot ! They Jiy, leaving th^ir 
 clothes behind. 
 
 Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. 
 The cry of Talbot serves n>e for a sword ; 
 For I have loaden me with many spoils. 
 Using no other weapon but his name. [Exii, 
 
 Scene II.— Orleans. Within the Town. 
 Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain^ 
 and others. 
 
 Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled. 
 Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. 
 Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 
 
 {Retreat sounded) 
 Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury; 
 And here advance it in the market-place. 
 The middle centre of this cursed town. — - 
 Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; 
 For every drop of blood was drawn from him. 
 There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. 
 And, that hereafter ages may behold 
 What ruin happen'd in revenge of him. 
 Within their chiefest temple I'll erect 
 A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'dt 
 Upon the which, that every one may read, 
 Sliall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans ; 
 The treacherous manner of his mournful death. 
 And what a terror he had been to France. 
 But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
 I nuise, we ntet not with the Dauphin's grace ; 
 His new-come champion, virtuous John of Aic 5 
 Nor any of his false confederates. 
 Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, whei the figh 
 began, 
 
 Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy oeds 
 Tliey did, atnongst the troops of armed men. 
 Leap o'er the walls Tor refuge in the field. 
 
 Bur. Myself fas far as I could well discern. 
 For .smoke, and dusky vapours of the night,) 
 Am sure, I scar'd the Dauphin, and his trull; 
 Whvn arm in arm they both came swiftly ru 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 399 
 
 Like to a pair of lovinjj turtle-doves, 
 That «"onld not live asunder day or night 
 After that things are set in order here, 
 Weil follow them with all the power we have. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. All hail, my lords ! which of this princely 
 train 
 
 Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
 So miic 1 applauded through the realm of France ? 
 Tal. Here is the Talbot : who would speak with 
 him? 
 
 3Iess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, 
 With modesty admiring thy renown. 
 By me entreats, good lord, thou vvouldst vouchsafe 
 To visit her poor castle where she lies; 
 That she may boast, she hath beheld the man 
 Whose glory fills the world wifh loud report. 
 
 Bur. is it even so? Nay, then, I see, our wars 
 Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, 
 When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. — 
 Yon may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 
 
 Tal. Ne'er trust lue then ; for, when a world of men 
 Could not prevail with all their oratory. 
 Yet hatha woman's kindness over-rul'd : — 
 And therefore tell her, I return great thanks : 
 And in submission will attend on her. — 
 Will not your honours bear me company? 
 
 Bed. No, truly ; it is more than manners will : 
 And I have heard it said, — Unbidden guests 
 Are often welcomest, when they are gone. 
 
 Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, 
 I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
 Come hither, captain. { Whispers.) — You perceive 
 my mind. 
 
 Cavi. I do, my lord ; and mean accordingly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III, — Auvergne. Court of the Castle. 
 Enter the Countess and her Porter. 
 
 Count. Porter, reniember what I gave in charge ; 
 ■And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 
 
 Port. Madam, I will. {Exit. 
 
 Count. The plot is laid : if all things fallout right, 
 I shall as famous be by this exploit, 
 As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. 
 Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight. 
 And his achievements of no less account : 
 Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears. 
 To give their censure of these rare reports. 
 
 Enter Messenger and Talbot 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 According as your ladyship desir'd, 
 By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. 
 
 Cotmt. And he is welcome. What ! is this the 
 
 Mess. Madam, it is. [man ? 
 
 Count. Is this the scourge of France ? 
 
 Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad. 
 That with his name the mothers still their babes? 
 I see, report is fabulous and false : 
 I thought, I should have seen some Hercules, 
 A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 
 And large proportion of liis strong-knit limbs. 
 Alas ! tins is a child, a silly dwarf : 
 It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp 
 Bhould strike such terror to his enemies. 
 
 Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you : 
 But, since your ladyship is not afc leisure, 
 I'll sort some other tinje to visit you. 
 
 Count. Wlmt means he now? — Go ask him, 
 whither he goes. 
 
 Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot ; for my lady craves 
 To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 
 
 Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, 
 
 go to certify her, Talbot's here. 
 
 Re-enter Porter, with keys. 
 Count. If thon be he, then art thou prisoner. 
 lal. Pruouei' ! to whom ? 
 
 Count. ' To me, blood-thirsty I 
 
 And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
 Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to iriC, 
 For in my gallery thy picture hangs: 
 But now the substance shall endi.re the like ; 
 And I will chain these legs and arms of thine. 
 That hast by tyranny, thf se many years. 
 Wasted our country, slain our citizens, 
 And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 
 
 Tal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Count. Laiighest thou , wretch? thy miith shal, 
 turn to moan. 
 
 Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond. 
 To think that yon have anglit but Talbofs shadow. 
 Whereon to practise your severity. 
 
 Count. Why, art not thou the man ? 
 
 Tal. I am indeed. 
 
 Count. Then have I substance too. 
 
 Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself : 
 You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; 
 For what you see, is but the smallest part 
 And least proitorticn of humanity : 
 I tell you, madam, were the w hole frame here. 
 It is of such a spacious lofty pitch. 
 Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. 
 
 Count. Tliis is a riddling mercliant lor the nonce : 
 He will be here, and yet he is not here: 
 How can these contrarieties agree ? 
 
 Tal. That will I show you presently. 
 
 He winds a horn. Drums heard; then a peat 
 of ordnance. The Gates being forced, enttt 
 Soldiers. 
 
 How say you, madam? are you now persuaded 
 That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
 These are his substance, sinew, arms, and strength 
 With which he yoketh your rebellious necks ; 
 Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns. 
 And in a moment makes them desolate. 
 
 Count. Victorious Talbot ! pardon rny abuse 
 I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited. 
 And more than may be gatlier'd by the shape 
 Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; 
 For 1 am sorry, that with reverence 
 I did not entertain thee as tliou art. 
 
 Tal. Be notdismay'd, fair lady ; nor misconstra© 
 The mind of 'i'albot, as you did nnstake 
 The outward composition of his body. 
 What you have done hath not oflended me : 
 No other satisfaction do I crave. 
 But only (with your patience,) that we may 
 Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have ; 
 For soldiers' stomachs always serve thenj well 
 
 Count. With all my heart ; and think me honoure^ 
 To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV.— London. The Temj)le Garden. 
 Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and War- 
 wick; Richard Plantagenet, Vernon and 
 another Lawyer. 
 
 Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what means 
 this silence ? 
 Dare no man answer in a case of truth ? 
 
 Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too load,' 
 The garden here is more convenient. 
 
 Plan. Then say at once, if i maintain'd the truth* 
 Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error? 
 
 Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law ; 
 And never yet could frame my will to it; 
 And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. 
 
 Sotn. J'idge you, my lord of Warwick, then be 
 tvveen us. [pitch 
 
 War. Betvveen two hawks, which flies the higho 
 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; 
 Between two blades, which bears the bettt-r temper 
 Between two horses, which doth bear him best; 
 Between two girls, whi^h hath the nierriest eye : 
 I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of jiidgmeat. 
 But in (iiese ni.-^e sharp quillets of the lavsr. 
 Good faith, I am no wiser than a dav/. 
 
400 
 
 FIRST PART OP 
 
 ACT It 
 
 Plan. Tat, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance : 
 The truth appears so naked on my side, 
 
 Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd. 
 That any purblind eye may find it out. 
 So clear, so shining, and :> evident, 
 That it will glimmer throi.gh a blind man's eye. 
 
 Plan Since you are congue ty'd, and so loath 
 to sjjeak, 
 
 In dumb significants pr»;laim your thoughts: 
 
 Let him, tliat is a true-born gentleman, 
 
 And stands upon the honour of his birth. 
 
 If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
 
 Prom otf tiiis brier pluck a white rose with rae. 
 
 Som. Let him, that is no coward, nor no flatterer, 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth. 
 Pluck a red rose from otf this thorn with me. 
 
 War. I Io\e no colours; and, without all colour 
 Of base insinuating flattery, 
 I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet. 
 
 Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset ; 
 And say withal, I think he held the right 
 
 Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen ; and pluck no 
 more, 
 
 Till you conclude — that he, upon whose side 
 The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, 
 Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 
 
 Som, Good master Vernon, it is well objected ; 
 If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 
 
 Plan. And I. 
 
 Yer. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, 
 I pluck this pale, and maiden blossom here, 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 So7}i. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
 Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, 
 And fall on my side so against your will. 
 
 Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed. 
 Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt. 
 And keep me on the side where still I am. 
 
 Som. Well, well, come on : Who else ? 
 
 Laiv. Unless my study and my books be false, 
 The argnmetit you held, was wrong in you ; 
 
 [To Somerset.) 
 In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 
 
 Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? 
 
 So7ii. Here, in my scabbard ; meditating that, 
 Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. 
 
 Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our 
 roses ; 
 
 For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
 The truth on our side. 
 
 Soi7i. No, Plantagenet, 
 
 'Tis not for fear; but anger, — tliat thy cheeks 
 Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses; 
 And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 
 
 Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? 
 
 Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ? 
 
 Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth ; 
 Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 
 
 Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding- 
 roses, 
 
 Tiiat shall maintain what I have said is true. 
 Where false Plantngenet dare not be seen. 
 
 Plan. Now. by this maiden blossom in my hand> 
 I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 
 
 Suf. Turn not thy scorns this wiiy, Plantagenet. 
 
 Plan. Proud Poole, I will ; and scorn both him 
 and thee. 
 
 Suf. I'll turn niy part thereof into thy throat. 
 Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole! 
 
 grace tlie yeoman, by conversing with him. 
 War. Now by God's will, thou wrong'st him, 
 Somerset ; 
 
 His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, 
 Third son to the third Edward king of England; 
 j;ring crestless yeo?nen from so deep a lOot? 
 
 Plan. He hilars him on the place's privilege, 
 Or darsi no?, for iiis craven heart, say thus. 
 
 Som. By Him that made me, I'll maintain iny words 
 On a -ty plot of ground in Christendom : 
 Was not thy faliier, Richard, earl of Cambridge, 
 
 For treason executed in our late king's days ? 
 And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attained. 
 Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? 
 His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ; 
 And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman. 
 
 Plan. My father was attached, not attainted; 
 Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor ; 
 .And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, 
 Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
 For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, 
 I'll note you in my book of memory, 
 To scourge you for this apprehension : 
 Look to it well ; and say you are well warn'd. 
 
 Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still : 
 And know us, by these colours, for thy foes ; 
 For these rny friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. 
 
 Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose 
 As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, 
 Will I for ever, and my faction, wear; 
 Until it wither with me to my grave. 
 Or flourish to the height of my degree. 
 
 Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition r 
 And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit* 
 
 Sotn. Have with thee, Poole. — Farewell, ambi- 
 tious Richard. [Exit, 
 
 Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en- 
 dure it ! [house, 
 
 PVar. This blot, that they object against youi 
 Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament. 
 And, if thou be not then created York, 
 I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 
 Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, 
 Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, 
 Will I upon thy party wear this rose : 
 And here I prophesy, — This brawl to-day, 
 Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden, 
 Shall send, between the red rose and the white 
 A thousand souls to death and deadly night. 
 
 Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you 
 'That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. 
 
 Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the samft. 
 
 Laio. And so will I. 
 
 Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 
 Come, let us four to dinner : I dare say. 
 This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene V. — The same. A Room in the Tower. 
 Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair by two 
 Keepers. 
 
 Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age. 
 Let dy ing Mortimer here rest himself. — 
 Even like a man new haled from the rack. 
 So fare my limbs with long imprisonment: 
 And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
 Nestor-like aged, in an age of care. 
 Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
 These eyes, — like lamps whose wasting oil is 
 spent, — 
 
 Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent : 
 
 Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief ; 
 
 And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
 
 That droops his sapless branches to the ground : — 
 
 Yet ftre these feet, whose strengthless stay is n'jnib 
 
 Unable to support this lump of clay, — 
 
 Swift- winged with desire to get a grave. 
 
 As witting I no other comfort have. — 
 
 But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ? 
 
 1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will com© 
 We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber ; 
 And answer was return'd, that he will come. 
 
 Mor. Enough ; my soul shall then be satisfied.-— 
 Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
 Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
 ( Before whose glory I was great in arms, ) 
 This loathsome sequestration have 1 had ; 
 And even since then hath Richard been obscw'aL 
 J)epriv'd of honour and inheritance: 
 But now, the arbitrator of despairs. 
 Just death, kind umpire of men's miseridt, 
 y/ith sweet enlargement doth dismias 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 401 
 
 I would, his troubles likewise were espir'd. 
 That so he might recover what was lost. 
 
 Enter Richakd Plantagenkt. 
 i Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. 
 Mor. Richard Flautageuet, my friend? Is he 
 
 come ? 
 
 Plan. Ay, noble nncle, thtis ignobly us'd, 
 Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes 
 
 Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck. 
 And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: 
 O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, 
 That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. — 
 And now declare, sweet stem from York's great 
 stock. 
 
 Why didst thou say — of late thou wert despis'd ? 
 
 P/fl!».First, lean thine aged back against mine arm ; 
 And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. 
 This day, in argument, upon a case. 
 Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me : 
 Among which terms he used his lavish tongue. 
 And did upbraid me with my father's death; 
 Which obloquy set bars belore my tongue. 
 Else with the like I had requited hirn : 
 Therefore, good uncle, — for my father's sake. 
 In honour of a true Plantagenet, 
 And for alliance' sake, — declare the cause 
 My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 
 
 31o". That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me. 
 And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth. 
 Within a loatlisome dungeon, there to pine. 
 Was cursed instrument of his dec ease. 
 
 Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was ; 
 For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 
 
 Mor. I will ; if that my fading breath permit. 
 And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
 Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king, 
 Depos'd his ne[)hew Riciiard ; Edward's son. 
 The first- begotten, and the lawful heir 
 Of Edward king, the third of that descent: 
 During whose reign, the Percies of the north. 
 Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
 Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne: 
 The reason rnov'd these warlike lords to this. 
 Was — for that (young king Richard thus reraov'd, 
 Leaving no heir begotten of his body, ) 
 I was the next by birth and parentage; 
 For by my mother I derived am 
 From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son 
 To king Edward the third, whereas he 
 From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree. 
 Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
 But mark ; as, in this haughty great attempt. 
 They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
 I lost my liberty, and they tiieir lives. 
 Long after this, when Henry the fifth, — 
 Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, — did reign. 
 Thy father, earl of Cambridge, — then deriv'd 
 From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York, — 
 Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, 
 Again, in pity of my hard distress. 
 Levied an army : weening to redeem. 
 And have install'd me in the diadem : 
 But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, 
 And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
 In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 
 
 Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last. 
 
 3Ior. True ,• and thou seest that I no issue have ; 
 And that my fainting words do warrant death : 
 Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather: 
 Bat yet be wary in thy studious care. 
 
 Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me : 
 R/ityet, methinks, my father's execution 
 Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 
 
 Mor. With silence, nephew, be thon politic ; 
 Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
 And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. 
 But now thy uncle is removing hence ; 
 As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
 With long continuance in a settled place. 
 
 Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my young 
 years 
 
 Might but redeem the passage of your age! 
 Mor. Thou dostthen wrong me, as the slaught'rer 
 doth. 
 
 Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill. 
 Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ; 
 Only, give order for my fimeral ; 
 And so farewell ; and fair be all thy hopes ! 
 And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war ! 
 
 {.DS99.) 
 
 Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul 1 
 In prison hast Ihou spent a pilgrimage. 
 And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. — 
 Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; 
 And what I do imagine, let that rest. — 
 Keepers, convey him hence ; and I myself 
 Will see his burial better than his life. — 
 
 [Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Moriimer, 
 Here dies the dusky torch ol' Mortimer, 
 Choked with ambition of the meaner sort: — 
 And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
 Which Somerset hatli ofi'er'd to my house, — 
 I doubt not, but with honour to redress : 
 And therefore haste I to the parliament ; 
 Either to be restored to my blood. 
 Or make ray ill the advantage of my good. [Exit. 
 
 ACT in. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. The Parliajnent House, 
 Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Glostes, 
 Warwick, Somerset, ant/ Suffolk ; the Bishop 
 of Winchester, Richard Plantagenet, and 
 others. Gloster offers to put up a bill ; Win- 
 chester snatches it and tears it. 
 Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines. 
 With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, 
 Humphrey of Gloster ? if thou can'st accuse, 
 Or aught intend'stto lay unto my charge, 
 Do it without invention suddenly ; 
 As I with sudden andextemporal speech 
 Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 
 
 Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commauils 
 my patience. 
 Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me. 
 Think not, although in writing I preferr'd 
 The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, 
 That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able 
 Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen: 
 No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness. 
 Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks. 
 As very infants prattle of thy pride. 
 Thou art a most pernicious usurer : 
 Froward by nature, enemy to peace; 
 Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
 A man of f hy profession, and degree ; 
 And for thy treachery. What's more manifest? 
 In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life. 
 As well at London bridge, as at the Tower ? 
 Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted. 
 The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
 From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 
 
 Win. Gloster, T do defy thee. — Lords, voucbkal^ 
 To give me hearing what i shall reply. 
 If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse. 
 As he will have me. How am I so poor ? 
 Or how haps it, I seek not to advance 
 Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? 
 And for dissention. Who preferreth peace 
 More than I do, — except I be provoli" ' ? 
 No, my good lords, it is not that offei. ; 
 It is not that, that hath incensd the duke : 
 It is, because no one should sway but he; 
 No one, but he, should be about the king ; 
 And that engenders thunder in his breast, 
 And makes him roar these accusations forth. 
 
 But he shall know, 1 am as good 
 
 Glo. A* good ? 
 
 Thou bastard of my grandfather! — 
 
103 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 fVin. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray. 
 But Mac imperious in another's throne : 
 
 Gh. Am 1 n(»t the protector, saucy priest? 
 
 Win. And am I not a prelate of the cl .vch ? 
 
 Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps. 
 And useth it to patronage his tiieft. 
 
 Win. Unrevereut (iloster! 
 
 Glo. Thou art reverent 
 
 roucliing thy spiritual function, not thy life. 
 
 Win. This ilome shall remedy. 
 
 War. Roam thither then. 
 
 Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 
 
 War. Ay, see the bislioj> be not overborne. 
 
 Som. Melhinks. n>y lord shoidd be religious, 
 And know the (*ftice that belongs to such. 
 
 War. Metliiiiks, his lordship should be humbler; 
 It litteth not a prelate so to plead. 
 
 Som. Yes, wlien his holy state is touch'd so near. 
 
 War. State holy, or unliallow'd, what of that ? 
 Is not ids grace protector to the king? 
 
 Plan. Plant;ig*>net, 1 see, must hold his tongue ; 
 Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should; 
 Musi your bold vtrdict enter talk with lords? 
 Else would I have a (ling at VVinchester. {Aside.) 
 
 K. Hen. Uncles ot Gloster, and of VVinchester, 
 The special watchmen of our English weal; 
 I would prevail, if prayers might prevail. 
 To join your hearts in love and atuity. 
 O, what a scafidal is it to our crown, 
 That two such noble peers as ye, should jar I 
 Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell. 
 Civil dissenti()n is a viperous worm, 
 'J'hat gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. — 
 
 {A noise within ; Doivn luith the tawny coats }) 
 What tumulfs this? 
 
 War. An uproar, I dare warrant, 
 
 Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 
 
 {A noise again ; Stones ! Stones .') 
 
 Enter the Mayor of London, attended. 
 May. O, my good lords, — and virtuous Henry, — 
 Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
 The bislsop and the duke o( Gioster's men, 
 Porbidden late to carry any weapon, 
 Have fili'd their pockets full of" pebble-stones ; 
 And, banding themsehes in contrary parts, 
 Do peit so fist at one another's pate, 
 That many have their giddy brains knock'd out : 
 Our windows are broke down in every street. 
 And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops. 
 
 Enter, skirmishiny, the retainers of Gloster and 
 Winchester, with bloody pates. 
 K. Hen. VV'e charge you, on allegiance to ourself, 
 To hold your slaiight'ring hands, and keep the peace. 
 Pray, uncle CJIoster, mitigate this strife. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, if we be 
 
 Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 
 
 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 
 
 {Skirmish again.) 
 Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish b.-'oii. 
 And set his uiiacfustom'd fight aside. 
 
 1 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man 
 Just and upright; and, f<»r your royal birth, 
 Inferior to none, but to his majesty : 
 
 And, ere fiiat we wilt suffer such a prince, 
 
 So kind a fallier of tiie commonweal, 
 
 To be disgract-d by an ink horn mate, 
 
 We, and our wives, and chiUlren, all will fight, 
 
 4Qd have our bodies slaugtiter'd by thy foes. 
 
 2 Serv. Ay, ami the very parings of our nails 
 Shall pitch a tkid, when we are dead. 
 
 {Skirmish again.) 
 
 Gio. Stay, stay, I say. 
 
 And; if you love me, as you say you do, 
 Let me persuade you to forbear a while. 
 
 K. Si. O. how this discord duth afflict my soul ! — 
 Can joM, ii.y lord »)f Winchester, betiold , 
 My sighs and tears, aiul will not once relent? 
 Who should be pitiful, if yov be not ? 
 
 Or who should study to prefer a peace, 
 If holy churchmen take delight in broils? 
 
 War. My lord protector, yield ; — yield, Wis*. 
 Chester; — 
 
 Except you mean, with obstinate reptdse. 
 To slay your sovereign, and destroy (he realm. 
 You see what mischief, and what murder too. 
 Hath been enacted through your ennnty • 
 'I'hen be at peace, except ye thirst f<»r blood. 
 
 Win. He shall submit, or I will never ;field. 
 
 Glo. Compassion on the king commands ine stoop; 
 Or, I would see his heart out, ere the prie&t 
 Should ever get that privilege of me. 
 
 War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke 
 Hath banisii'd moody discontented fury, 
 As by his smoothed brows it doth appear : 
 Why look you still so stern, and tragical ? 
 
 Glo. Here, Winchester, I ofter thee my hand. 
 
 K. Hen. Fy, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard yoa 
 preach, 
 
 That malice was a great and grievous sin : 
 And will not you maintain the thing you teach. 
 But prove a chief offeiider in the same ? 
 
 War. Sweet king I — the bishop hath a kindly 
 gird.— 
 
 For shame, my lord of Winchester ! relent ; 
 What, shall a child instruct you what to do? 
 
 Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee; 
 Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give. 
 
 Glo. Ay ; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart. — 
 See here, my friends and loving countrymen; 
 This token serveth for a flag of truce. 
 Betwixt ourselves, and all our Ibllovvers: 
 So help me God, as I dissemble not ! 
 
 Win. So help me God, as 1 intend it not! 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, 
 How joyful am I made by this contract! — 
 Away, my masters ! trouble us u^/ more ; 
 But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 
 
 1 Serv. Content ; I'll to the surgeon's. 
 
 2 Serv. And so will i 
 
 3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern 
 
 affords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, §^c. 
 
 War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign; 
 Which in the right of ilicliard Plantageuet 
 We do exhibit to your majesty. 
 
 Glo. Well nrg'd, my lord of Warwick; — for, 
 sweet prince, 
 An if your grace mark every circumstance. 
 You have great reason to do Richard riglit: 
 Especially, for those occasions 
 At Eltham- place I told your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. And those occa^sions, imcle, were of force: 
 Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is. 
 That Richard be restored to his blood. 
 
 War. Let Richard be restored to his blood ; 
 So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'<l. 
 
 Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 
 
 K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not tiiat aloue. 
 But all the whole inheritance I give, 
 That doth belong unto the house of York, 
 From whence you spring by lineal descent. 
 
 Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience. 
 And humble service, till the point of death. 
 
 K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee againli 
 my foot ; 
 
 And, in reguerdon of that duty done, 
 I girt ti*ee with the valiant sword of York : 
 Rise, Richard, like a true Plautagenet ; 
 And rise created princely duke of York. 
 
 Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall! 
 And as my duty springs, so perish they 
 That grudge one thought against your majesty ! 
 * All. Welcome, higii prince, the mighty auke o( 
 York ! 
 
 Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York ! 
 
 {Asidt] 
 
 Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty, 
 To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in Ftance : 
 
Scene 2.* 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 403 
 
 The presotjce c's king engenders love 
 Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends • 
 As it disatiiinates Ins enemies. 
 K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king 
 Henry goes ; 
 For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 
 Olo. Your ships already are in readiness. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Exeter. 
 Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in 
 France, 
 
 Not seeing what is likely to ensue : 
 
 This late dissenlion, grown hetwirtthe peers. 
 
 Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love. 
 
 And will at last break out into a flame : 
 
 4is fester'd members rot but by degrees. 
 
 Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away, 
 
 So will this base atid envious discord breed. 
 
 And now I fear that fatal prophecy. 
 
 Which, in tiie time of Henry, nam'd the fifth. 
 
 Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, — 
 
 Tiiat Henry, born at Montmouth, should win all ; 
 
 And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all : 
 
 Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish 
 
 His days may finish ere that ha|)less time. [Exit. 
 
 Scene H. — France. Before Rouen. 
 Enter LA PucELLE disguised, and Soldiers dressed 
 
 like countrytnen, with sacks upon their backs. 
 
 Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Roiieu, 
 Through which our policy nmst make a breach : 
 Take heed, be wary how you place your words; 
 Talk like ti)e vulgar sort of market-men, 
 That come to gather money lor their corn. 
 Tf we have entrance (as, i hope, we sliall), 
 And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
 I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, 
 That Charles the Dauphin may encounter tliera. 
 
 1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, 
 And we be lords and rulers over Roiien; 
 Therefore Wf'll knock. {Knocks.) 
 
 Guard. [Within.) Qui est la? 
 
 Puc. Paisans, pauvres yens de France : 
 I'oor market folks, tiiat come to sell their corn. 
 
 Gnard. Enter, go in; the market bell is rung. 
 
 {Opens the gates.) 
 
 Puc. No\v, Roiien, I"ll shake tny bulwarks to the 
 ground. {Pucelle, §fc. enter the city.) 
 
 Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Alencon, 
 and Forces. 
 
 Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem ! 
 And once again we'll sleep secure in Roiien. 
 
 Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants ; 
 Now she is there, how will she specify. 
 Where is the best and safest passajje in? 
 
 Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower ; 
 Which, once discern'd, shews, that her meaning is, — 
 No way to that, for weakness, which she enterd. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle on a battlement : holding out a 
 torch burning. 
 
 Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, 
 Thatjoineth Roiieu luito her coiuitrynien ; 
 But burning fital to the Talbotites. 
 
 Bast. See, nuble Charles! the beacon of our friend, 
 Tlie buniinn torch in yonder tiuTet stands. 
 
 Char. Now siiine it like a comet of revenge, 
 A prophet to the fall of all our foes! 
 
 Alen. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends; 
 Enter, and cry — The Da.uphini — presently. 
 And iiien do eitecution on the watch. {They enter.) 
 
 Alarxims. Enter Talbot, and certain English. 
 
 Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with 
 thy tears, 
 If Talbot but survive thy treachery. — 
 Pucelle, that witch, that d.umied sorceress. 
 Hath wrought this hellish mischief nn;»wares, 
 That hardly we escap'd the pride ot France. 
 
 [Exeu7it to the Town. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions. Enter, from th» Town. 
 Bedford, brought in sick, m a chair, tvith 
 Talbot, Burgundy, atid the English Forces, 
 Then, enter on the walls, La Pu'cellb. Char- 
 les, Ballard, Alencon, and others. 
 
 Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for 
 bread ? 
 
 I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast. 
 Before he'll buy again at such a rate : 
 'Twas full of darnel; do you like the taste ? 
 
 Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless courteaaa! 
 I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, 
 And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 
 
 Cha. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that 
 time. 
 
 Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge thia 
 treason ! 
 
 Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? break 
 a lance. 
 
 And run a tilt at death within a chair? 
 
 Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, 
 Encompass'd with thy lustfid paramours! 
 Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age. 
 And twit with cowardice a man half dead? 
 Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again, 
 Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 
 
 Puc. Are you so hot, sir ? — Yet, Pucelle, hoW 
 thy peace ; 
 
 If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. — 
 
 ( Talbot, and the rest, c msult together. \ 
 God speed the parliament ! who sliall be the speaker: 
 
 Tal. Dare ye come forth, and nieet us in the field ? 
 
 Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for 
 To try if that our own be ours, or no. '{fools. 
 
 Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
 But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest; 
 Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? 
 
 Alen. Signior, no. 
 
 Tal. Signior, hang! — base muleteers of France 
 Like neasant foot-boys do they keep the walls. 
 And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 
 
 Puc. Captains, away, let's get us from the walls 
 For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. — 
 God be wi' you, my lord ! we came, sir, but to telj 
 That we are here. (you 
 [Exeunt La Pucelle, ^c.from the wall*. 
 
 Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, 
 Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! — 
 Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, 
 
 iPrick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd iu France,^ 
 Either to get the town again, or die : 
 And I, — as sure as English Henry lives. 
 And as his father here was conqueror; 
 As sure as in this late-betrayed (own 
 Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried ; 
 So sure I swear, to get the town, or die. 
 
 Bur, My vows are equal partners with thy vows 
 Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, 
 The valiant duke ofBelford : — Con>e, my lord. 
 We will bestow you in some better place. 
 Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. 
 
 Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me • 
 Here will I sit before the walls of Roiien, 
 And will be partner of yo<ir weal, or woe. 
 Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persnad* 
 you. [read 
 Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once 2 
 That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick, 
 Came to the field, and vanquished his foes : 
 JVlethinks, I should revive the soldiers' lieirts, 
 Becau^ I ever fvund them as inyseif 
 
 Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breas< !-•• 
 Then be it so: — Heavens keep old Bedford safe 1 
 And now no more ado, brave Burgutfdy, 
 But gather we our lorces out of hand. 
 And set upon our boasting enemy. 
 
 [Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Fsuroeg 
 leaving Bedford, and others. 
 
^04 
 
 Alarum. Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe, 
 auU a Captain. 
 
 Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such 
 
 haste ? 
 
 Fa^i. Whither away? to save myself by flight; 
 We are like to have the overthrow agaiti. 
 
 Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot ? 
 Fast. Ay, 
 II the Talbots in the world, to save my life. ( Exit. 
 Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill fortune follow thee ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Retreat. Excursions. Enter from the Toivn, La 
 PucELLE, Alen^on, Charles, §fc. and exeunt 
 fiying. 
 
 Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please; 
 For I have seen o-ur enemies' overthrow. 
 What is the trustor strength of foolish man? 
 They, that of late were daring with their scoiFs, 
 Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 
 
 [Dies, and is carried off in his chair. 
 
 Aiarnm. Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others. 
 
 Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again ! 
 This is a double honour, Burgundy : 
 Yet, heavens have glory for this victory! 
 
 Bur. VVarlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy 
 Enshrines thee in his heart ; and there erects 
 Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument. 
 
 Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle 
 [ think her old familiar is asleep : [now ? 
 
 Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his 
 gleeks? 
 
 What, all a nmrt? Roiien hangs her head for grief, 
 
 That sach a valiant con)pany are fled. 
 
 Now will we take some order in the town. 
 
 Placing therein some expert ofticers ; 
 
 And then depart to Paris, to the king; 
 
 For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies. 
 
 jBwr. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy. 
 
 Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget 
 I'he noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd. 
 But see his exequies fulfill'd in Roiien ; 
 A braver soldier never couched lance, 
 A gentler heart did itever sway in court : 
 liut kings, and mightiest potentates, must die ; 
 For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. The Plains near the City. 
 
 Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alencon, La 
 Pucelle, and Forces. 
 
 Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
 Nor grieve, that Roiien is so recovered : 
 Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
 For things, that are not to be remedied. 
 Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while, 
 And like a peacock sweep along his tail ; 
 We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train, 
 If Dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd. 
 
 Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto. 
 And of thy cunning had no diflidencc ; 
 One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 
 
 Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, 
 And we will make thee famous through the world. 
 
 Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place. 
 And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint; 
 Emploj thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 
 
 Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan de- 
 vise : 
 
 By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words. 
 We will entice the duke of Burgundy 
 To leave tliL< Talbot, and to follow us. 
 
 Char. Aj, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, 
 France were no place for Henry's warriors; 
 Nor should that nation boast it so with us. 
 But be extirped from our provinces. [France, 
 
 Alen. For ever should they be ezpuls'd from 
 And not have title to an earldom here. [work, 
 
 Puo. Voar honours shall perceive how I will 
 
 ' Act III. 
 
 To bring this matter lo the wished end. 
 
 {Drums heard. 
 Hark! by the sound of drum, you m;\y j)erfeivc 
 Their powers are marching unto Paris ward. 
 
 An English March. Enter, and pass over ai a 
 
 distance, Talbot and his Forces. 
 There goes the Talbot, with his colturs spread. 
 And all the troops of English after him. 
 
 A French March. Enter the Dube o/BL'RGUNl>y 
 
 and Forces. 
 Now, in the rearward, conies the duke, and his; 
 Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind. 
 Summon a parley, we will talk with him. 
 
 {A parley sounded.) 
 Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy? 
 Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? 
 Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy couu- 
 tryman. 
 
 Bur. Wliat say'st thou, Charles ? for I am march- 
 ing hence. 
 
 Char. Speak, Pucelle ; and enchant him with thy 
 words. 
 
 Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France, 
 Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee, 
 
 Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. 
 
 Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 
 And see the cities and the towns defac'd 
 By wasting ruin of the cruel foe ! 
 As looks the mother on her lowly babe. 
 When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 
 See, see the pining malady of France ; 
 Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds. 
 Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast! 
 O, turn thy edged sword another way ; 
 Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help . 
 One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bo- 
 som, [gore ; 
 Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign 
 Return thee, therefore, with a flood oi" tears. 
 And wash away thy country's stained spots I 
 
 Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her 
 Or nature makes me suddenly relent. [words. 
 
 Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims 
 on thee. 
 
 Doubting thy birth, and lawful progeny 
 Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation. 
 That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake ? 
 When Talbot Iiath set footing once in France, 
 And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, 
 Who then, but English Henry, will be lord. 
 And thou be tiirust out, like a fugitive ? 
 Call we to mind,— and mark but this, for proof 
 Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe ? 
 And was he not in England prisoner? 
 But, when they heard he was thine enemy. 
 They set him free, without his ransom paid. 
 In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends. 
 See then ! thou fight'st against thy countrymen, 
 And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-tnen. 
 Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord 
 Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their ar 
 Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty wor 
 her's 
 
 Have battered me like roaring cannon-shot. 
 And made me almost yield upon my knees. — 
 Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! 
 And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace: 
 My forces and tuy power of men are yours ; — 
 So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee. 
 
 Puc. Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn 
 again ! [us fresh. 
 
 Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy fiiendship makes 
 
 Bast. And doth beget new courage iu our 
 breasts. [this 
 
 Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in 
 And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 
 
 Char. Now let us on, ray lords, and join our 
 powers ; 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. KING H 
 
 And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene lY.— Fans. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and other Lords, 
 
 Vernon, Basset, ^c. To them Talbot, and 
 
 some of his Ojficers. 
 
 Tal. *My p.iacions i)nnce, — aud honourable 
 peers, — 
 
 Hcarinjy of your arrival in tliis realm, 
 
 I have awhile given truce unto my wars. 
 
 To do my duty to my sovereign : 
 
 In sign whereol', this arm, — that hath reclaimed 
 
 To youi obedience fil"ty fortresses, 
 
 Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength. 
 
 Beside five hiin Ired prisoners of esteem, — 
 
 Lets fall his sword before your highnt^ss' feet; 
 
 A^rid, with submissive loyalty of heart, 
 
 A, scribes the glory of his conquest got, 
 
 First to my God, and next unto your grace, 
 
 K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, 
 Thitf hath so long been resident in France ! 
 
 Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. VVelcome, brave captain, and victorious 
 lord ! 
 
 VV^hen I was young (as yet I am not old,) 
 
 I do remember how my father said, 
 
 A stouter champion never handled sword. 
 
 i<ong since we were resolved of your truth, 
 
 Your faithful service, and your toil in war; 
 
 Yet never have you tasted our reward, 
 
 Or been reguerdou'd with so much as thanks. 
 
 Because tilt now we never saw your face : 
 
 Therefore, stand up ; atid, for these good deserts. 
 
 We here create you earl of Shrewsbury ; 
 
 And in our coronation take your place. 
 
 [Exeunt Kimj Henry, Gloster, Talbot, 
 and Nobles. 
 
 Ver Now, sir, to you, that vvere so hot at sea, 
 Disgracing uf tuese cokturs that I wear 
 In honour oi my noble lord of York , — 
 Dar'sttiii^u maintain the former words thou spak'st? 
 
 Bos. Yes. sir; as well as you dare patronage 
 The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
 Ag'Unst Tuy lord, the duke of Sornerset. 
 
 Ver. Sirrah, tiiy lord V honour as he is. 
 
 Bas. VV'liy, what is he ? as good a man as York. 
 
 Ver. Hark ye; not so: in witness, takp ye that. 
 
 {Strikes him.) 
 
 Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is 
 stecti. 
 
 That, whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death; 
 Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 
 But I'll unto his majesty, and crave 
 1 may have liberty to venge this wrong; 
 When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost 
 Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as 
 you ; 
 
 And, after, meet you sooner than you would. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. A Room of State. 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, 
 Suffolk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, 
 Talbot, the Governor of Paris, and others. 
 Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upo.i his head. 
 Win. God save king Henry, of that name the 
 sixth ! 
 
 Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, — 
 {Governor kneels.) 
 That yoa elect no other king but him : 
 Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends ; 
 And none your foes, but such as shall pretend 
 Malicious practices agiiinst his state : 
 "Shis shall ye do, so he If) you righteous God ! 
 
 [Exeunt Gov. and his Train. 
 
 Enter Sir John Fastolfe. 
 
 ^asf. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from 
 Calais, 
 
 NRY VI. 40J 
 
 To haste imto your coronation, 
 
 A letter was delivered to my hands, 
 
 Writ to your grace from the duke of Burguij(l|r, 
 
 Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and iam 1 
 I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next. 
 To tear the garter from thy craxen's leg. 
 
 {Pinching it 
 (Which I have done) because unworthily 
 Thou wast installed in that high degree. — 
 Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest : 
 This dastard, at the battle of Patay, 
 When but in all I was six th(*usand strong. 
 And that the French were almost ten to one,— 
 Before we met. or that a stroke was given, 
 Like to a trusty oquire, I'd vai away: 
 In w^hich assault we lost lAelve hundred jnen; 
 Myself, and divers gentlemen beside. 
 Were there surpris'd, and taken prisoners. 
 Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; 
 Or wlietlK^r that such cowards oup,ht to wear 
 Tliis ornament of knighthood, yea, or no. 
 
 Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous, 
 And ill beseeming any common man; 
 Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. 
 
 Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lord* 
 Knights of the garter were of noble birth ; 
 Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage. 
 Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
 Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, 
 But always resolute in most extremes. 
 He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort, 
 Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, 
 Profaning this most honourable order; 
 And shoidd (if I were worthy to be judge,) 
 Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
 That doth presmne to boast of gentle blood. 
 
 K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen ! thou hear'st 
 thy doom : 
 
 Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight; 
 Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. — 
 
 [Exit Fastolfe 
 And now, my lord protector, view the letter. 
 Sent froni our cmcle, duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chaiig'd 
 his style ? (Viewitig the superscription, ] 
 No more but, plain and blimtly,— To iheking^l 
 Hath he forgot, he is his sovei eign ? 
 Or doth this churlish superscription 
 Pretend some alteration in good will? 
 What's here ? — I have, upon especial cause, — 
 
 (Reads.) 
 
 Mov* d with compassion of my country^ wreck. 
 Together with the pitiful complaints 
 Of such as your oppression feeds upon, — 
 Forsaken your pernicious faction. 
 And joined with Charles, the rightful king qf 
 France. 
 
 0 monstrous treachery ! Can this be so; 
 That in alliance, amity, and oaths. 
 
 There should be found such false dissembling guik ? 
 K Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revoll? 
 Glo. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe. 
 K. Hen. Is tiiat the worst, this letter doth contain? 
 Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lorfl, he writes^ 
 K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk 
 with him, 
 
 And give him chastisement for this abuse- — 
 My lord, how say youV are you not content? 
 
 Tal. Content, my liege? Yes, but thai I mii 
 prevented, 
 
 1 should have begg'd I might have been etnploy'd. 
 K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march \ni^ 
 
 him straight : 
 Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason; 
 And what offence it is, to Hunt his friends. 
 
 Tal. I go, my lord; in lirart desiring still. 
 You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit 
 
 Enter Vernon and Basset. 
 Ver Grant me the combat, gracioucj «ovcr?i|nie 
 
*08 
 
 FIKST PART OF 
 
 Bag. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too . 
 Yorit- Tim is ray servant; Hear him, noble 
 prince ! 
 
 ^otn. And this is mine; Sweet Henry, favour 
 him ! 
 
 K. fl«w. Be patient, lords ; and give them leave 
 to speak. — 
 
 Say, gontlt'uien, What makes you thns exclaim? 
 A\v\ wherefore cra\e you combat; or with whom? 
 Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done me 
 wrong. 
 
 Bas. And I with him; for he hath done me 
 wrong. [complain? 
 
 K. Hen. VVliat is (hat wrong, whereof you both 
 First let me know, and then I'll answer yon. 
 
 lias. Crossing tiie aea fro England into France, 
 This fellow here, with envvA is carui»'g tongue. 
 Upbraided i-.te about Ih*' '^^"e 1 wear; 
 Saying — the sanguine colour of the leaves 
 Did represent toy master's blushing cheeks. 
 When stiiliborniy he did repugn the truth. 
 About 1 re tain question in the law, 
 Argu d betwixt the duke of York and him ; 
 With ntlirr vile and ignominious terms: 
 In confutation of wiiich rude reproach. 
 And in df fence of my lord's worthiness, 
 I crave the benefit of law of arms. 
 
 Ver. And tliat is my petition, noble lord : 
 For thont>h he seem, with forged quaint conceit. 
 To s<'ta gh>ss upon his bold intent, 
 Yet know, my hud, I was provok'd by him; 
 And he first look exceptions at this badge, 
 IVonouncing — that the paleness of this flower 
 Bewray'd tlie taintness of my master's heart. 
 
 York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? 
 
 Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will 
 Though ne'er so cumingly you smother it. [out, 
 
 A' Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules in 
 brain sick men ; 
 WIku, for so slight and frivolous a cause. 
 Such factions emidations shall arise ! 
 Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
 Qniet yourselves, I pray, and be at per«ce. 
 
 York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, 
 A 'id tiien your highness shall command a |)eace. 
 
 Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone ; 
 Uetvvixt onrst Ives let us decide it then. 
 
 York. There is my pledge ; accept it, Somerset. 
 
 Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 
 
 Bas. C(/nfirm it so, mine honourable lord. 
 
 Glo. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife! 
 And perish ye, with your audacious prate I 
 Presuniptuous vassals I are you not asham'd, 
 With tins iunu'idest clamorous outrage 
 To trouldeand disturb the king and us? 
 And yon, my lords, — methinks you do not well, 
 To bear witn their perverse objections; 
 Much less, to take occasion from their mouths 
 To raise a mutiny bet' ^xt yourselves ; 
 Let tne persuade you, take abetter course. 
 
 Exe. It grieves his highness: — Good my lords, 
 be frienils. 
 
 K. Hen. Come hither, you, that would be con>- 
 batants: 
 
 Henceforth, J charge you, as you love our favour. 
 Quite to Icirget this quarrel, and the cause. — 
 .And you, my lords, — remember where we are; 
 In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation : 
 If tiiey perceive dissentions in our looks, 
 And tliat within ourselves we disagree, 
 How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd 
 To wilfid disobedience and rebel? 
 Beside, Wiiat infamy will there arise. 
 When foreign princes shall be certified, 
 That, ibr a toy, a thing of no regard, 
 Kii.g Henry's peers, and chief nobility, 
 lier»troy'd tliemseh es, and lost the realm of France ? 
 , think in»m the conquest of my father, 
 y tender years, and let ns not forego 
 Bftt fur A Uiiie, that was bought with blood! 
 
 Let me be umpire in thisdouirful strife. 
 
 I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 
 
 {Putting on a red rvtl^ 
 
 That any one should therefore be suspicious 
 
 I more incline to Somerset, than York : 
 
 Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both: 
 
 As well they may upbraid me with my crown 
 
 Because, fors<)«)th, the king of Scots is crown i. 
 
 But your discretions better can persuade, 
 
 Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
 
 And therefore, as we hither came in peace. 
 
 So let us still continue peace and love.— 
 
 Cousin of Y^ork, we institute your grace 
 
 To be our regent in these parts ol" France: 
 
 And, good tny lord of Somerset, unite 
 
 Your Iroojjs of horsemen with liis bands of foot ;-^ 
 
 And, like true subjects, .sons of your progenitors. 
 
 Go cheerfully together, and dij,'est 
 
 Your angry choleron your enemies. 
 
 Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest. 
 
 After some respite, will return to Calais; 
 
 From thence to England ; where I hope e'er long 
 
 To be presented, by your victories, 
 
 With Charles, Alengon, and that traitorous rout. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo. Som. 
 Win. Suf. and Basset. 
 
 War. My lord of York, I prouuse you, the king 
 Prettily, methonght, did play the »>ralor. 
 
 Yorlc. And so he did ; but yet 1 like it not. 
 In that he wears the badge of Somerset. [not ; 
 
 War. Tush, that was but his fuicy, blame hiio 
 I dare presume, sweet prince, he Ihouglit no harm. 
 
 York. And if 1 wist he did, — But let it rest; 
 Other aff'airs must now be managf'd. 
 
 Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon. 
 
 Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to sui)press thy 
 voice : 
 
 For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
 1 fear, we should have seen decipher'd there 
 More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, 
 1'han yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. 
 But hovvsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
 This jarring discord of nobility, 
 Thisshould'ring of each other in the cou'-t, 
 Tliis factious bandying of their favoiirittrf, 
 But that it doth presage some ill event. 
 'Tis much, when sceptres are in children's hands; 
 But more, when envy breeds unkind division; 
 There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Scene II. — Before Bourdeaux. 
 Enter Talhot, tvith his Forces. 
 
 Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter. 
 Summon their general unto the wall. 
 Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the wallsy 
 General of the French Forces, and others. 
 English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth. 
 Servant in arms to Harry King of England; 
 And thus he would, — Open your city gates. 
 Be hnntble to us ; call my sovereign yours. 
 And do him homage as obedient subjects. 
 And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power: 
 But, if yon frown npoi; this profler'd peace. 
 You tempt tiie fury of my three attendants, 
 l4ea)i famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ; 
 W^ho, in a moment, even with the eaith 
 Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers. 
 If you forsake the offer ol" their love. 
 
 Gen. Thou ominous and fearful (Avl of death. 
 Our nation's terror and their bloorly scourge I 
 The period ol thy tyranny approacheth. 
 On ns thou can'st not enter, but by death: 
 h'or, I protest, we are well fortified, 
 Anrl strong enou>;h to issue out and fight: 
 If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed. 
 Stands with the snares of war to tangle tliee : 
 On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd* 
 To wall thee fron) the liberty of tlight ; 
 Aad QO wa^ caust thou turu thee for reike^. 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 KING HLNRY VI. 
 
 40'] 
 
 But dealh Joth front thee with apparent spoil, 
 
 Aud pale Aestruction meets tliee in the face. 
 
 1'en thousand French have ta'en the sacrament. 
 
 To rive their dangerous artillery 
 
 Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
 
 Lo! there thou stand st, a breathing valiant man. 
 
 Of an invincible unconqiier'd spirit: 
 
 This is the latest glory of thy praise. 
 
 That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ; 
 
 For ere the glass', tliat now begins to run, 
 
 Finish the process of his sandy hour, 
 
 rhese eyes, that see thee now well-coloured, 
 
 ShaJl see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead, 
 
 [Drums afar off. 
 
 Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell. 
 Sings heavy music to thy liuiorous soul ; 
 Aud mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 
 
 [Exemit General, §"0. from the walh. 
 Tal. He fables not, J hear the eneniy ; — 
 Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. — 
 O, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
 How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale ; 
 A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
 Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! 
 If we be English deer, be then in blood: 
 Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch ; 
 But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags. 
 Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel. 
 And make the cowards stand aloof at bay: 
 Sell every man his life as dear as mine. 
 And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. — 
 God, and Saint George! Talbot, and England's 
 right ! 
 
 Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — Plains in Gascony. 
 Enter York, with Forces ; to him a Messenger. 
 
 York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again. 
 That dogged the niighty army of the Dauphin? 
 Mess. They are returned, my lord; and give it 
 out 
 
 That he is luarch'd to Bourdeaux with his power. 
 To fight with Talbot: As he inarch'd along, 
 By your espinls were discovered 
 Two mightier troops tlian ti»at the Dauphin led ; 
 Which jdiri'd with him, aud made their march for 
 \ Bourdeaux. 
 York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, 
 That thus delays my promised supply 
 Of horsemen, th it were levied for this siege! 
 Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid; 
 And I am lowted by a traitor villain, 
 Aud cannot help the noble chevalier : 
 God condort iiim in this necessity I 
 If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 
 
 Enter Sir William Lucy. 
 Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English 
 strength. 
 
 Never so needful on the earth of France, 
 S;)ur to tlie rescue of the noble Talbot; 
 VVho now is girdled witli a waist of iron. 
 And heniiu'd about with grim destruction: 
 T ) Baui dt-auA, warlike duke I to Bourdeaux, York ! 
 Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's ho- 
 nour. ^ [heart 
 
 York. O God ! that Somerset — who in proud 
 D<.th stop my cornets — were in Talbot's place! 
 So should we save a valiant gentleman. 
 By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
 Ma'l ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep, 
 Ttiat tlius we die, white reuiiss traitors sleep. 
 
 Lucy. O. send sonje succour to the distress'd 
 I'irrl ! 
 
 York He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word ; 
 We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get; 
 Ail 'long (if tills vile traitor Si>u»erset 
 
 Lucy. Tuen, God take mercy on brave Talbot's 
 
 40Ul' 
 
 And on his son, young John ; whom twohouifci 
 Irnet in travel toward his warlike father! 
 This seven years did not Talbot see his son ; 
 An»l now they meet where both theirliv.es are diKio. 
 
 York. Alas ! what joy shall noble Talbot have. 
 To bid his young son welcome to Id's grave ? 
 Away, vexation almost stops my brf ath, 
 That sunder'd friends greet in the h )ur of death.— - 
 Lucy, farewell : no more my fortune can, 
 lint curse the cause t cajitiot aid the man. — 
 Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, 
 'Long all of Sonierset, and his delay. [Exit. 
 
 Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
 Feeds in the bosom of such great conunanders. 
 Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
 The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
 That ever-living ruiin of memory, 
 Henry the tilth :— Whiles they each other cross, 
 Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — Other Plains of Gascony. 
 
 Enter Somerset with his Forces ; an Officer <)f 
 
 Talbot's ivith him. 
 
 Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now 
 l^his expedition was by York, and Talbot, 
 Too rasldy plotted; all our general force 
 Might with a sally of the very town 
 Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
 Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour. 
 By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure : 
 York set him on to fight, and die in slmme. 
 That Talbot dead, great Yo k might bear thcnanut 
 
 Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me 
 Set from our o'cr match'd forces forth for aid. 
 
 Enter Sir William Lucy. 
 
 Som. How now, sir William ? whither were yoa 
 sent ? 
 
 Lucy. Whither, my lord ? from bought and %o\C 
 lord Talbot; 
 Who ring'd about with bold adversify. 
 Cries out for jioble York and Sonjerset, 
 To beat assailing death from his weak legions. 
 And whiles the honourable ca|)tain there 
 Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs. 
 And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue, 
 You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour 
 Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
 Let not your private discord keep away 
 The levied succours that should lend him aid, 
 While he, renowned noble gentleman, 
 Yields up his life unto a world of odds : 
 Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, 
 Alencon, Reignier, cofnpass him about. 
 And Talbot perisheth by your defaidt. 
 
 Som. York set him on, York should have sent him 
 aid. [claims ; 
 
 Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace ei- 
 Swearing, that you v/iihhold his levied host. 
 Collected for this expedition. [horse : 
 
 Som. \ork lies; he might have sent and had the 
 I owe him little duty, and less love ; 
 And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending. 
 
 Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of 
 France, 
 
 Hath now enfrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot: 
 Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
 But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. 
 
 So7n. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen 
 straight : 
 
 Within six hours they will be at his aid. 
 
 Lucy. Too late comes rescue ; he is ta'en, or slain: 
 For fiy he could not, if he would have tied ; 
 And fly would Taibot never, though hemi.ijht. 
 
 Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu! 
 
 Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in 
 J '\)u. [Exguni 
 
105 
 
 FIRST PART OP 
 
 Act IY 
 
 ScsKS V. — Tks English Camp near Bourdeauss. 
 Enter' Talbot and John his Son. 
 
 Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee. 
 To tutor thee in stratagems of war; 
 I'hat Talbot's name niigiit be in thee reviv'd, 
 When sapless age, aiid weak, unable limbs, 
 Shoidd bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
 Hut, — O malignant and ill-boding stars !- 
 Now thou art como unto a feast of death, 
 A terrible and unavoided danger : 
 Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse ; 
 And I'll direct thee how thou shall escape 
 By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone. 
 
 John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your son? 
 And shall I fly ? O, if you love my mother. 
 Dishonour not her honourable name. 
 To make a bastard, and a slave of me : 
 The world will say — He is Talbot's blood, 
 That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. 
 
 Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 
 
 John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again. 
 
 Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. 
 
 John. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly: 
 Your loss is great, so your regard should be; 
 My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
 Upon my death the French can little boast; 
 In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
 Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; 
 But mine it will, that no exploit have done : 
 You fled for vantage every one will swear; 
 But, if I bow, they'll say — it was for fear. 
 There is no hope, that ever I will stay, 
 If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away. 
 Here, on my knee, I beg mortality. 
 Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. 
 
 Tal. Shall all thy njother's hopes lie in one tomb ? 
 
 John. Ay, ratiier than I'll s-hame my mother's 
 womb. 
 
 Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. 
 John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 
 Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in thee. 
 John. No part of him, but will be shame in me. 
 Tal. Thou never had'st renown, nor canst not 
 
 lose it. [abuse it ? 
 
 John. Yes, your renowned name ; Shall flight 
 Tal, Thy lather's charge shall clear thee from 
 
 that stain. 
 
 John. Yon cannot witness for me, being slain. 
 If death be so apparent, then both fly. [die ? 
 
 Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight, and 
 My age was never tainted with such sliame. 
 
 John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame : 
 No more can 1 be sever'd from your side, 
 Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : 
 Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 
 For live I will not, if my father die. 
 
 Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son. 
 Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
 Come, side by side together live and die ; 
 And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI.— ^ Field of Battle. 
 Alarum: Excursions, wherein Talbot's son is 
 hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 
 Tal. Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, 
 fight; 
 
 The re^'ent halh with Talbot broke his word, 
 And lelt ua to the rage of France his sword. 
 V^ here is John Talbot ? — pause and take tiiy ' reath ; 
 I gave thee life, and lescu'd thee from dealh. 
 
 John. O twice my lather ! twice am I thy son : 
 The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done, 
 l*ill with thy warlike sword, des[)ite of fate, 
 To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date. 
 
 Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword 
 struck fire, 
 
 It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
 Of bold-fac'd victory. I'ken leaden age. 
 
 Quicken'd with youthful Si)lecn, and \a arlike rage. 
 Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgimoy, 
 And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd tl ee. 
 The ireful bastard Orleans — that drew blood 
 From thee, my boy; and had the maidenhood 
 Of thy fifst fight — 1 soon encountered ; 
 And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed 
 Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace. 
 Bespoke him thus : Contaminated, base, 
 And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, 
 Mean and right poor ; for that ptire blood of mine 
 Which thou didst force from Talbot, my hravi 
 boy : — 
 
 Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, 
 
 Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care ; 
 
 Art thou not weary, John ? How dost thou far« ^ 
 
 Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, 
 
 Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry ? 
 
 Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead ; 
 
 The help of one stands me in little stead. 
 
 O, too nmch folly is it, well I wot. 
 
 To hasard all our lives in one suiall boat. 
 
 If 1 to-day die not with Frenclimeri's rage, 
 
 To-n)orrow I shall die with mickle age : 
 
 By me they nothing gain, an if I stay, 
 
 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day : 
 
 In thee thy mother dies, our household's name. 
 
 My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame; 
 
 All these, and more, we haza.d by thy stay ; 
 
 All these are sav'd, if thou wilt flyaway. 
 
 John. The sword of Orleans hath not made mc 
 smart. 
 
 These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart: 
 
 On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
 
 (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) 
 
 Before yotmg Talbot I'rom old Talbot fly, 
 
 The coward horse, that bears me, lall and die! 
 
 And like me to the peasant boys of France; 
 
 To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance ! 
 
 Surely, by all the glory you have won, 
 
 And if I fly, I am not I'albot's son : 
 
 Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; 
 
 If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 
 
 Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
 Thou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet : 
 If thou wilt light, fight by thy father's side; 
 And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — Another part of the same. 
 
 Alarum : Excursions. Enter Talbot zvounded, 
 supported by a Servant. 
 Tal. Where is my other life ? — mine owu is 
 
 gone 
 
 O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?— 
 Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity! 
 Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:— 
 When he perceiv'd me shrink, atid on my knee. 
 His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, 
 And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
 Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience; 
 But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
 Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of none, 
 Dizzy-ey'd finy, and great ragv? of heart. 
 Suddenly made him from my side to start 
 Into the clustering battle of the French : 
 And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
 His overmounting spirit; and there died 
 My Icarus, n)y blossom, in his pride. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, bearing the body ofJoHS Talbot. 
 Serv. O my dear lord ! lo, where your son is borne ! 
 Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to 
 scorn, 
 
 Anon, fiotn thy insulting tyranny. 
 
 Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, 
 
 Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky. 
 
 In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality — 
 
 O thou, whose wounds become hard favoured deatl^ 
 
 Speak to thy father, ere tisou yield thy breath* 
 
AC?T V. Scene 1. KING H 
 
 Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no ; 
 
 imagine liim a Frenchman, and thy foe. — 
 
 Poor boy! he smiles, niethiuks ; as who should 
 
 Had deatii been French, then death had died to-day. 
 Come, come, and lay liim in his father's arms ; 
 My spirit can no longer bear tliese harms. 
 Soldiers, adieu ! I tiave what I would have, 
 Now my old arms are round John Talbot's grave. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 A.larums. E.xpunt Soldiers and Servants, leaving 
 the two bodies. Entti-r Charles, Alencon, Bur- 
 gundy, Bastard.^ La Pucelle, and Forces. 
 Char. Had Yoik and Somerset brought rescue in, 
 
 We should have found a bloody day of this. 
 Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging- 
 wood, 
 
 Did flesh his pimy sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 
 
 Puc. Oiice I enroiinterd him, and thus I said, 
 Thou maiden ijoiiih, he vanquiah'd by a maid. 
 But — witii a pioiid, majestical liii^h scorn, — 
 He answered thus : Young Talbot was not born 
 To be the pillage of a giglot wench: 
 So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
 He left me pioudly, as unworthy fight. 
 
 Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble 
 knij;lit : 
 
 See, where iie lies inhersed in the arms 
 Of the mast bloody nurserof his harins. 
 Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones 
 astiiidi r ; 
 
 Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 
 Char. O, no ; lorbear : lor that, which we have 
 fled 
 
 During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 
 
 Enter Sir William Lucy, atte?ided; a French 
 
 Herald preceding. 
 Lucy, Herahl, 
 Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent; to know 
 Who have obtani'd the glory of the day. 
 Char. O t what submissive message art thou sent? 
 Lucy. S!il)missioii, Dauphin ;' 'tis a mere French 
 word ; 
 
 We English warriors wot not what it means. 
 I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en. 
 And to survey the Ixidies of the dead. [is. 
 
 Char. Fur piisuners ask'st thou ? hell our prison 
 But tell nic whtun thou seek'st. 
 
 Imcy. Where is the great Alcides of the field. 
 Valiant lord Talbot, eaii of Slirewsbury ? 
 Created, for his rare success in arms, 
 Great eaii of Waslilord, Waterford, and Valence; 
 Lord Talbot ol Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
 Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, 
 Lord Cn.uiwell of Wingheld, lord Furni\al of 
 SlielHeM, 
 
 The thrice \ictorious lord of Falconbridge ; 
 Knight of the n ible order ol' Saint-George, 
 Worthy Saint Michael, and the golden tteece ; 
 Great marshal! to Henry tlie sixth. 
 Of all his wars within liie realm of France ? 
 
 Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
 The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath. 
 Writes not so tedious a style as this. — 
 Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles, 
 Stinking, and fiy blown, lies here at our feet. 
 
 Lucy. Is Tilbot slain; the Frenchmen's only 
 scourge. 
 
 Your kingdom's terror, and black Nemesis? 
 O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turu'd, 
 
 hat I, in rage, miglit shoot them at your faces! 
 O, that I could but call these dead to life? 
 It were enough to fright the realm of France : 
 Were but his picture left among you here. 
 It would auj ize tlie [iroudest of you all. 
 Give me iheir bodies; that 1 may bear thetn hence. 
 And give them burial as beseems their worth. 
 Pua 1 think, tliis upstart is old Talbot's ghost. 
 
 mm VI. 409 
 
 He sjieaks with such a proud commanding spirit 
 For God's sake, let him have 'em; to keep theoft 
 here. 
 
 They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 
 
 Char. Go, take tlieir bodies hence. 
 
 Lucy. I'll bear them hence ; 
 
 But from their afihes shall be rear'd 
 A f)lienix, that siiall make all France afeard. 
 
 Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what 
 thou wilt. 
 
 And now to Paris, in this conquering vein ; 
 
 All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. \Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene L — London. A Room in the Palace 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter. 
 
 K. Hen. Have you perus'd the letter-s from 
 the pope, 
 
 The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac ? 
 
 Glo. 1 have, my lord, and their intent is this,— 
 They humbly sue unto your excellence. 
 To have a godly peace concluded of. 
 Between the reaius of England and of France. 
 
 K. Hen. How doth your grace aliect their mct> 
 tion ? 
 
 Glo. Well, my good lord ; and as the only meanf 
 To stop eifusion of our Christian blood. 
 And 'stablish quietness on every side. 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always Ihougki 
 It was both inipious and unnatural. 
 That such immanity and bloody strife 
 Shotdd reign among [i.!ofessi)rs of (uie faith. 
 
 Glo. Beside, my lord, — the sooner to effect. 
 And surer bind, tiiis knot of aniity, — 
 The earl of Armaj^nac — near knit to Charles, 
 A man of great authority in France, — 
 Proifers his only daughter to your grace 
 In marriage, with a laige and sumiituous dowry. 
 
 K. Hen. Marriage, uncle ! alas ! u»y years ar# 
 young ; 
 
 And fitter is my study and my books. 
 Than wanton dalliance with a [jaramour. 
 Yet, call the aml)Hs;saiiors ; and, as you please. 
 So let them have tiieir answers everyone: 
 I shall be well content witli any choice. 
 Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal. 
 
 Enter a Legate, and two Ambassadors, with 
 Winchester, in a cardinal's habit. 
 
 Exe. What ! is my lord of Winchester instali'd 
 And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? 
 l^hen, I perceive, that will be verified, 
 Henry the fifth did sometime prophesy, — 
 If once he come to be a cardinal, 
 He'll make his cop co-equal ivith the crown. 
 
 K. Hen.My lords ambassadors, your several aoiti 
 Have been consider'd and debated on. 
 Your purpose is both good and reasonable : 
 And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd 
 To draw conditions of a friendly peace; 
 Whi«'h, by my lord of Winchester, we mean 
 Shall be transported presently to France. 
 
 Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your master,--' 
 I have inform 'd his highness so at large. 
 As — liking of the lady's virtuous gilts. 
 Her beauty, and the value (jf her dower, — 
 He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 
 
 K. Hen. In argument and proof of which cOtt- 
 tract. 
 
 Bear her this jewel, {to the Atnb.) pledge of my 
 affection. 
 
 And so, my lord protector, see them guarded. 
 And safely brought to Dover; where, inshipp'd 
 Comufit them to the fortune of the sea. 
 
 [Exeunt King Henry ard Train; Gloster, Sms- 
 ter, and Ambassadors. 
 
 Win. Stay, n»y lord legate; you sliall first reoeiT© 
 The sum of money, which I promised 
 Should be deliver^! to his holiness 
 
410 FIRST ] 
 
 Fur clothino; me m these grave ornaments. 
 
 Leg. 1 will attend upon your lor(!shii)'s leisure. 
 
 ff in. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow, 
 Or be inferior to tlie proudest peer, 
 tiinnpliiey ol Glostei, tlicu simit well perceive, 
 Th.'it. neither in birth, or for aiithoiity, 
 The bishop will be overborne by thee : 
 I'll either make thee stf)op, and bend thy knee, 
 Or sack this country with a nmtiuy. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENU II — France. Plains in Anjou. 
 Enter CfURLES, Burgundy, Alencon, La Pu- 
 CELLE, and Fortes, marching. 
 Char. Tiiese news, niy lords, may cheer our 
 drooping spirits : 
 "Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt, 
 And turn again unto the warlike French. 
 Alen. 'I'lien march to Paris, royal Charles of 
 France, 
 
 And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 
 
 Puc. Peace be amongst tliem, ildiey turn to us; 
 Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Success unto our valiant general, 
 And happiness to his accomplices; 
 
 Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pry'thee, 
 speak. 
 
 Mess. The English army, that divided was 
 Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one ; 
 And means to gi\e you biittle presently. 
 
 Char. Souie what too sudden, sirs, the warning is ; 
 But we will presently provide for them. 
 
 Bur. I trust the ghost of TulbtA is not there ; 
 Now he is gone, my lord, you need not lear, 
 
 Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd : — 
 Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine ; 
 Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 
 
 Char, 'i'lien on, my lords; and France be foir- 
 tunate ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — The same. Before Angiers. 
 Alarums : Excursions. Enter La PucEiiLE. 
 Puc, 'Ihe regent conquers, and the Frenchmen 
 tly.— 
 
 Now hell), chariiiing spells, and periapts; 
 
 And y^' ciio:c-e spirits, that admonish me. 
 
 And give me signs of future accidents! {Thunder.) 
 
 You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
 
 Under the hirdly monarch of the not th. 
 
 Appear, and aid me in this enterprise ' 
 
 E?iter Fiends, 
 This speedy quick appearance argues proof 
 Of your accu.>5tom"d diligence to me. 
 Now, ye fiiuiliar spirits, that are cull'd 
 Out of the powerful regions under earth. 
 Help me this once, tiial France may get the field. 
 
 ( They walk about, and speak not.) 
 O, hold me not with silence over-long! 
 Where 1 was wont to i'eed you with my blood, 
 I'll lop a meinoer olf, and give it you. 
 In earnest of a furlher benefit; 
 So you do condescend to help me now. — 
 
 i^They hang their heads.) 
 No hope to have redress ? — My body shall 
 Pay recompense, if you w ill grant my suit. 
 
 ( They shake their heads.) 
 Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice, 
 Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? 
 Then take my soul ; my body, soul, and all, 
 Before that England give the French the foil. 
 
 [They depart.) 
 See ! they forsake me. Now the time is come. 
 That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest. 
 And let her he-id fall into England's lap. 
 My ancient incantations are too weak, 
 And heii too strong ibr me to buckle with : 
 Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ART OP Ac'i ?. 
 
 Alarums. Enter French and Englvsk, 
 La Pucelle and York Jig hi hand to hand, 1^ 
 Pucelle is taken. The French jly. 
 
 York. Damsel of France, I think, I have you fast 
 Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms. 
 And try if they can gain your liberty.— 
 A goodly prize, tit for the devil's grace ! 
 See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows. 
 As if, with Circe, she would change my siiape. 
 
 Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be 
 
 Yo7-k. O, Charles the Dauphin is a [)roperman; 
 No siiajte but his can please your dainty eye. 
 
 Puc. A plaguing niischiel light on Charles, am 
 thee I 
 
 And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd 
 liy bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! 
 
 York. Fell, banning hag ! enchantress, hold thy 
 tongue. 
 
 Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while. 
 York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to 
 the stake. [Exeunt, 
 
 Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady 
 Margaret. 
 
 Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 
 
 {Gases on her.) 
 
 0 fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly; 
 
 For I will touch thee but with reverent hands. 
 And lay them gently on thy tender .side. 
 
 1 kiss these fingers {kissing her hand) for eternal 
 
 peace : 
 
 Who art thou? say, that I m;iy honour thee. 
 
 Mar. Margaret my name ; and daugluter to a king, 
 The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 
 
 Suf. An earl 1 am, and Sullblk am I calPd. 
 Be not oli'ended, nature's miracle, 
 Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me : 
 So doth (he swan her downy cygnets save. 
 Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings. 
 Yet, if this servile usage once ( fl'end, 
 Go, and be free again as Suffolk's friend. 
 
 {She turns aivay as going. ) 
 O, stay ! — I have no power to let her pa.ss ; 
 My hand would free her, but my heart says — no. 
 As plays the sun upon the glassy streams. 
 Twinkling another counterfeited beam. 
 So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 
 Faia would I woo her, yet 1 dare not speak : 
 I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind : 
 Fy, De la Poole! disable not thyself; 
 Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner? 
 Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sigiit ? 
 Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such, 
 Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough. 
 
 Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk, — if thy name be so, — 
 What ransome must I pay before I pass? 
 For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner. 
 
 Suf. How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit, 
 Before thou make a trial of her love ? {Aside.) 
 
 Mar. Why .speak'st thou not? what ransome 
 must 1 pay V 
 
 Suf. She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd ; 
 She is a woman ; therefore to be won. {Aside.) 
 
 Mar. Wilt thou acce[>t of ransome, yea, or no" 
 
 Suf. Fond man ! remember, thf t thou hast a vi^ife; 
 Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? {Aside.) 
 
 Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear, 
 
 Suf. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cooling card. 
 
 Mar. He talks at random ; sure, the man ia mad. 
 
 Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 
 
 Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me^ 
 
 Suf. ril win this lady Margaret. For whom? 
 Why, for my king : Tush ! that's a wooden thing. 
 
 Mar. He talks of wood : it is some carpenter. 
 
 Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied. 
 And peace established between these realms. 
 But there remains a scruple in that too : 
 For though her lather be the king of Naples, , 
 Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is be poor. 
 
Scene 4.] 
 
 And oar nobility will scorn the match. {Aside.) 
 
 Alar. Ilear ye, captain ? Are yon not at leisvire ? 
 
 Suf. It shall be so, disdain thoy ne'er so much : 
 Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield: 
 Madanv, 1 have a secret to reveal. [knight. 
 
 Mar. What though I be enthrall'd ? he seems a 
 And will not any way dishonour me. {Aside.) 
 
 Suf. Lndy, vouchsafe to listen what I say. 
 ^ Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescu'd by the French ; 
 
 nd then I need not crave his courtesy. {Aside.) 
 
 Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — 
 
 Mar. Tush ! women have been captivate ere now. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so ? 
 
 Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. 
 
 Suf Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose 
 Vour bondage hap|)y, to be made a queen ? 
 
 3Iar. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile. 
 Than is a slave in base servility ; 
 For princes should be free. 
 
 Suf And 30 shall you, 
 
 If happy England's royal king be free. 
 
 Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me ? 
 
 Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen ; 
 To put a golden sceptre in thy hand, 
 And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
 If thou wilt condescend to be my — 
 
 Mar. What? 
 
 Suf. His love. 
 
 Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 
 
 Sif. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am 
 To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
 And have no portion in the choice myself. 
 How say you, madam ; are you so content? 
 
 Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 
 
 Suf Then call our captains, and our colours, forth : 
 And, madam, at your lather's castle walls 
 W^e'll crave a parley to confer with him. 
 
 {Troops come forward.) 
 
 Parley sounded, Enter Reicnier, on the walls. 
 
 Suf, See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner. 
 
 Reig. To whom i 
 
 Suf To me. 
 
 Reig, Suffolk, what remedy ? 
 
 I am a soldier ; and unapt to weep. 
 Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 
 
 Suf. Yes, there is remedy enoagh, my lord: 
 Consent (and, for thy honour, give consent,) 
 Thy daughter shall be wedded to njy king ; 
 Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto ; 
 And this her easy-held imprisonment 
 Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 
 
 Reig. Speaks Suftblk as he thinks? 
 
 Suf. Fair Margaret knows 
 
 That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. 
 
 Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend. 
 To give thee answer of thy just demand. 
 
 [Exit from the walls. 
 
 Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignier, below. 
 
 /2e»jf. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories ; 
 Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 
 
 Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweeta child, 
 Fit to be made companion with a king : 
 What answer makes your grace unto my suit? 
 
 Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little 
 To be the princely bride of such a lord ; [worth, 
 Upon condition I may quietly 
 Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, 
 Free from oppression, or the stroke of war. 
 My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 
 
 Suf. That is her ransome, I deliver her; 
 And those two counties, I will undertake, 
 Vour grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 
 
 Reig. And I again, — in Henry's royal name, 
 As deputy unto that gracious king. 
 Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 
 
 Suf Reignier of France, I give thee kingly 
 thanks. 
 
 41i 
 
 Because this is in traffic of a king.: 
 
 And yet, mclhinks, I could be well content 
 
 To be mine own attorney in this case. {Asidg,) 
 
 I'll over then to England with this news. 
 
 And make this marriage to be soieniuiz'd : 
 
 So, farewell, Reignier! Set this diamond safe 
 
 In golden palaces, as it becomes. 
 
 Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
 The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. 
 
 Mar. Farewell, my lord! Good wisher, [^raise, 
 and prayers, 
 
 Shall Siittblk ever have of MargJiret {Going j 
 
 Suf. Farewell, sweet madam ! But hark yo 
 Margaret ; 
 No i>rincely commendations to my king? 
 
 Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, 
 A virgin, and his servant, say to him. [ed 
 
 Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly duect 
 But, madam, I must trouble you again, — 
 No loving token to his majesty ? 
 
 Mar. Yes, my good lord ; a pure unspotted heart 
 Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 
 
 Suf. And this withal. {Kisses her,] 
 
 Mar. That for thyself ; I will not so presume. 
 To send such peevish tokens to a king. 
 
 [Exeunt Reignier and Margaret^ 
 
 Suf. O, wert thou for mysell ! — But, Sutiblk, stay : 
 Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth ; 
 There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. 
 Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise : 
 Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount; 
 Mad, natural graces that extinguish art ; 
 Repeat their semblance often on the seas. 
 That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet. 
 Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder 
 
 [Exii 
 
 Scene IV. — Camp of the Duke of Yorh, in Anjou 
 Enter York, Warwick, and others. 
 York. Bring forth that sorceress, condenm'd U 
 burn. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. 
 
 Shep. Ah, Joan ! this kills thy father's heart out 
 right ! 
 
 Have I sought every country far and ne:ir. 
 And, now it is my chance to find thee out. 
 Must I behold thy timeless cruel death ? 
 Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee I 
 
 Puc. Decrepit miser ! 1 ase ignobie wretch ! 
 I am descended of a gentler blood ; 
 Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. 
 
 Shep. Out, out! — My lords, an please you, 
 not so ; 
 
 I did beget her, all the parish knows : 
 
 Her mother liveth yet, can testify. 
 
 She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 
 
 W ar. Graceless 1 wilt thou deny thy parentagu ? 
 
 York. This argues what her kind of lite hath becm; 
 Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. 
 
 Shep. Fy, Joan ! that thou wilt be so obstacle ! 
 God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh ; 
 And for thy sake ha\t- I shed many a tear: 
 Deny me not, I pr yiiiee, gentle Joan. 
 
 Puc. Peasant, avaimt! — Vou have suborn'd th^ 
 Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. [wao, 
 
 Shep. 'Tis true^ I gave a noble to the priest. 
 The morn that I was wedded to her mother. — 
 Kneel down and take my blessing, good iny girl. 
 Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the timft 
 Of thy nativity ! I would, the milk 
 Thy mother g^ave thee, when thou suck'dst bei 
 breast, 
 
 Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
 
 Or else, when thou didst keep \\\y lambs n-fieJd 
 
 I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
 
 Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? 
 
 O, burn her, burn her; hanging is too g(X)d. [Exit. 
 
 York. Take her away ; lor she hath l;\ d too long, 
 To fill the world with vicious qualities. 
 
 KING HENRY YI. 
 
412 
 
 FIEST PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 Pue t^^rst, let ine tell yoa whom yoa have con- 
 denm'd : 
 
 Not me begotten of a sliepherd swain. 
 But issu'd tVom tlie progeny of kings ; 
 Virtuous, and holy ; chosen from above. 
 By inspiration of celestial grace, 
 To work exceeding tniracles on earth. 
 I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
 But youj — that are polluted with your lusts, 
 Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents. 
 Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
 Because you want the grace that others have. 
 You judge it straight a thing impossible 
 To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
 No, misconceived ! Joan of Arc hath been 
 A virgin from her tender infancy, 
 Chaste and immaculate in very thou'ght; 
 Whose nsaiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd. 
 Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 
 
 York. Ay, ay ;— away with her to execution. 
 
 fFar. And hark ye, sirs ; because she is a maid. 
 Spare for no fagots, let there be enough : 
 Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake. 
 That so her torture may be shortened. 
 
 Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts 
 Then, Joan, discover thine infirmi.ty ; 
 That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. — 
 I am with cliild, ye bloody hoiniciacs : 
 Murder not then the fruit within my womb. 
 Although ye hale me to a violent death. 
 
 York. Now heaven forefend ! the holy maid with 
 child ? 
 
 W^ar. The greatest miracle that ere ye wrought: 
 Is all your strict preciseness come to this ? 
 
 York. She and the Dauphin have been juggling: 
 I did imagine what would be her refuge. 
 
 War. VVell, go to ; we will have no bastards Hve ; 
 Especially, since Charles must father it. 
 
 Puc. You are deceiv'd ; my child is none of his : 
 It was Alen^on that enjoy'd my love. 
 
 York. Alen9on! that notorious Machiavel! 
 It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 
 
 Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you ; 
 Twas neitlier Charles, nor yet the duke I naai'd. 
 But Roignier, king of Naples, tliat prevail'd. 
 
 War. A married man! that's most intolerable. 
 
 York. Why, here's a girl ! I think, she knows not 
 well. 
 
 There were so many, whom she may accuse. 
 
 War. It's sign she hatli been liberal and free. 
 
 Yo7'k. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. — 
 Strumpet, tiiy words condenui thy brat, and thee : 
 Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 
 
 Puc. Then lead me hence ; — with whom I leave 
 my curse : 
 
 Alay never glorious sun reflex his beams 
 
 Upon the country where you make abode ! 
 
 But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
 
 Environ you ; till mischief, and despair. 
 
 Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves! 
 
 [Exit, guarded. 
 
 York. Break thoa in pieces, and consume to ashes. 
 Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 
 
 Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. 
 
 Car. Lord regent, I dr» greet your excellence 
 With letters of commission I'rom the king. 
 For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
 Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils. 
 Have earnestly implor'd a general peace 
 Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; 
 And here at hand, the Daujjhui, and his train, 
 Approacheth, to confer about some matter. 
 
 York. Is all our travail turn'd to this elfect? 
 Alter the slaughter of so many peers. 
 So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers. 
 That in this (piarrel huve been overthrown, 
 And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, 
 Hhail we at last conclude etfeminate peace V 
 Have we not lost inof.t part of all tl»e towns. 
 
 By treason, falsehood, and by treachery. 
 Our great progenitors had conquered ? — 
 O, Warwick, Warwick, I foresee with grief 
 The utter loss of all the realm of France. 
 
 War. Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace 
 It shall be with sucli strict and severe covenants. 
 As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 
 
 Enter Charles, attended; Alencon, Bastard, 
 Reignier, and others. 
 Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed. 
 That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, 
 We come to be informed by yourselves 
 What the conditions of that league must be. 
 
 York. Speak, Winchester ; for boiling cholei 
 chokes 
 
 The hollow passage of my poison'd voice. 
 By sight of these our baleiul enemies. 
 
 Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thuf 
 That — in regard king Henry gives consent. 
 Of mere compassion, and of lenity, 
 To ease your country of distressful war. 
 And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, — 
 You shall become true liegemen to iiis crown: 
 And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
 To pay him tribute, and submit thyself. 
 Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him, 
 And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 
 
 Alen. Must he be then a shadow of himself? 
 Adorn his temples with a coronet ; 
 And yet, in substance and authority. 
 Retain but privilege of a private man ? 
 This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 
 
 Char. 'Tis known, already that I am possess'd 
 With more than half the Gallian territories. 
 And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king : 
 Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, 
 Detiact so n«uch from that prerogative. 
 As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole? 
 No, lord ambassador ; I'll rather keep 
 That which I have, than, coveting for more. 
 Be cast from possibility of all. [means 
 
 York. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret 
 Used intercession to obtain a league : 
 And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
 Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison ? 
 Either accept the title thou usurp'st. 
 Of benefit proceeding from our king. 
 And not of any challenge of desert. 
 Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 
 
 Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
 To cavil in the course of this contract : 
 If once it be neglected, ten to one. 
 We shall not find like opportunity. 
 
 Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy. 
 To save your subjects from such massacre. 
 And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen 
 By our proceeding in hostihty : 
 And therefore take this compact of a truce. 
 Although you break it when your pleasure ser?cs. 
 
 {Aiide to Charles^ 
 
 TVar. How say'st thou, Charles ? shall our con- 
 
 Char. It shall: [dition stand ? 
 
 Only reserv'd, you claim no interest 
 In any of our towns of garrison. 
 
 York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty , 
 As thou art knight, never to disobey. 
 Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
 Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crf)wn of England. 
 
 [Charles, and the rest, give tokens of fealijf.) 
 So, now dismiss your army when ye please ; 
 Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be slill. 
 For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Exeum 
 
 Scene V.- -London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk ; 
 
 Gloster and Exeter following. 
 K. Hen. Your wond rous rare description, nobla 
 
 earl, 
 
 C beauteous JIargaret hath astotosh'd m© : 
 
KING HENRY YL 
 
 413 
 
 Her virtues, graced wifk' extf /tial gifis, 
 Do breed love's setUei,^ f issions in my heart: 
 Aud like as rigour iu tenipestiioiis gusts 
 Provokes the mightiesi hulk against the tide; 
 So am 1 driven, by breath of her renown. 
 Either to suffer shipwrec k, or arrive 
 Where [ may have /ruiiion of her love. 
 
 Suf. Tusli ! my good lord ! this superficial tale 
 fs but a preface of her wortliy praise : 
 The chief perfections of that lovely dam&, 
 Had I sufficient skill to utter them,) 
 VYould make a volume of enticing lines, 
 A.ble to ravish any dull conceit. 
 And, which is more, she is not srt divine. 
 So full replete with choice of all delights. 
 But, with as humble lowliness of mind. 
 She is content to be at your command ; 
 Command, 1 mean, of virtuous chaste intents, 
 To love and honour Henry as her lord. ^ 
 
 K, Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pre- 
 sume. 
 
 Therefore, my lord protector, give consent. 
 That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 
 
 Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
 You know, my loi-d, your highness is betroth'd 
 (Into another lady of esteem ; 
 How shall we then dispense with that contract. 
 And not deface your honour with reproach i 
 
 Suf. As doth. a ruler with unlawful oaths ; 
 Or one, that, at a triumph having vow'd 
 To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
 By reason of his adversary's odds : 
 A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds. 
 And therefore may be broke without offence. 
 
 Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than 
 Her father is no better than an earl, [that ? 
 
 Although in glorious titles he excel. 
 
 Suf. Yes, niy good lord, her father is a king, 
 The king of Naples, and Jerusalem ; 
 And of such great authority in France, 
 As his alliance will contirm our peace, 
 And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 
 
 Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do. 
 Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 
 
 Exe. Beside, his wealth doth wiwrant liberal 
 dower; 
 
 While Reignier sooner will receive, than give. 
 
 Suf. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so your king, 
 That he should be so abject, base, and poor. 
 To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
 Heni-y is able to enrich his queen. 
 And not to seek a queen to make him rich : 
 So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
 As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
 Marriage is a matter oi usore %yorth. 
 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; 
 Not whom we will, but whom his grace aiTccti^ 
 Must be companion of his nuptird bed : 
 And therefore, lords, since he affects her most. 
 It most of all these reasons bindeth us, 
 In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
 For what is wedlock forced, but a hell. 
 An age of discord and continual strife ? 
 Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss, 
 And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
 Whom should we match, with Henry, being a king 
 But Margaret, that is daughter to a king ? 
 Her peerless feature, joined with her birth. 
 Approves her tit for none, but for a king : 
 Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit, 
 (More than in women commonly is seen,) 
 Will answer our hope in issue of a king; 
 For Henry, son unto a conqueror. 
 Is likely to beget more conquerors. 
 If with a lady of so high resolve. 
 As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love. 
 Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with me. 
 That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 
 K. Hen. Whether it be through force of yoofl 
 report, 
 
 My noble lord of Suffolk ; or for that 
 
 My tender youth was never yet attaint 
 
 W ith any passion of inflaming love, 
 
 I cannot tell ; but this I am assur'd, 
 
 I feel such sharp dissension in my breast. 
 
 Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear. 
 
 As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
 
 Take, therefore, shipping; post my lord, to Fn»C«J] 
 
 Agree to any covenants : and procure 
 
 That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
 
 To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd 
 
 King Henry's faithful and anointed queen: 
 
 For your expenses and suiiicieut charge, 
 
 Among the people gather up a tenth. 
 
 Begone, I say ; for till you do return, 
 
 I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. — 
 
 And you, good uncle, banish all oflence : 
 
 If you do censure me by what you were. 
 
 Not what you are, I know it will excuse 
 
 This sudden execution of my will. 
 
 And so conduct me, where from company, 
 
 I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [JSar<# 
 
 Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and la*t. 
 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Exetfr, 
 
 Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd : and thus he g ^a. 
 As did the youthful Paris once to Greece; 
 With hope to find the like event in love. 
 But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
 Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the kfa^J 
 Bat I will rule both her, the king, and realas. lfi!xit. 
 
KING HENRY VI. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED, 
 
 KINO HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 HUMPHREY, Dnke of Glosler, his Uncle. 
 CARDINAi. BEAUFORT, Bishop of Winchester, great 
 
 Uncle to the King. 
 RfCHARD i^LANTAGENET, Duke of York. 
 EDWARD and RICHARD, his Sons. 
 DUKE OF SOMERSET, v 
 DCKE OF SUFFOLK, I 
 
 D U K E O F B U C K I N G H A M, > of the King's Party. 
 LORD CLIFFORD, ft 
 Yonnq CLIFFORD, his Son, J 
 EARL OF SALISBURY, 
 EARL OF WARWICK, 
 
 of the York Faction. 
 
 LORD SCALES, Governor of the Tower. 
 LORD SAV. 
 
 SIR HUlMl'HREY STAFFORD, and his Brother. 
 SIR JOHN STANLEY. 
 
 A sea Caiifai/i, Mdster, and Master's Mate, and 
 
 WALTER WHITMORE. 
 Tk'u Geiillemen, Prisoners with Suffolk 
 A Rtrald. 
 
 VAUX. 
 
 HUME and SOUTHWELL, tvoo Priestt . 
 
 BOLINGBROKE. a Conjurer. 
 
 A Spirit raised bp him. 
 
 THOMAS HORNER, an Armourer. 
 
 PETER, his Man. 
 
 Clerk of Chatham. 
 
 Mayor (f Saint Alban's. 
 
 SIMPCOX, an Impostor —Two Murderers. 
 
 JACK CADE, a Rebel. 
 
 GEORGE, JOHN, DICK. SMITH, the Weaver i Ml 
 
 CHAEL, etc. /,is Followers. 
 ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish Gentleman. 
 
 MARcArET, Queen to King Henry. 
 ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloster. 
 MARGERY JOURDAIN, a Witch. 
 Wife to SIMFCOX. 
 
 Lvrdr,, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitionen, Aldermei^ 
 a Beadle, Sheriff, and Ojficers ; Citizens, Prentice$, 
 Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, etc. 
 
 ScENE^ — Dispcrsedhj in various parts of England. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Scene I. — London. A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 FlourisJi of trumpets : then hautboys. Enter on 
 one side, Kimj Henry, Duke o/Glost£R, Sa- 
 lisbury, Warwick, and Cardinal Be. WiFOKT; 
 on the other, Queen Margaret, led in by Sup- 
 folk; VoRK, Somerset, IJuckingham, and 
 others following. 
 
 Suf. As by yonr high imperial majesty 
 f had in charge at my depart for France, 
 As procurator to your excellence. 
 To marry princess Margaret lor your grace; 
 So in tlie lainous ancient city Tours, — 
 In presence of tlie kings of France and Sicil, 
 The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and 
 Alen^on, — 
 
 Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bi- 
 shops, — 
 
 I have perlorni'd my task, and was espous'd : 
 And humbly now upon my bended knee. 
 In sight of Eng and and her lordly peers. 
 Deliver up niy title in the queen 
 To your most gracious Innds, that are the substance 
 Ot that great shadow I did represent; 
 The kiappiest gill, that ever marquess gave. 
 The fairest q-ieen that ever king recciv'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Suliolk, arise. — Welcome, queen Mar- 
 g^iret : 
 
 I can express no kinder sign of love, 
 
 Than this kind kiss. — O Lord, that lends me life, 
 
 Lend nie a heart replete with thankfulness! 
 
 For thou h;ist given me in this beauteous face, 
 
 A woild of eartlily blessings to «ny soul. 
 
 If syir»[)H}hy (»f love unite our tliouishts. 
 
 Q. Mur. Grt^at king of England, and my gracious 
 lord ; 
 
 The mutual conference that my nitnd hath had — 
 By day, by night; waking, and in my dreams ; 
 In courtly company, or at ujy beads, — 
 W^itii you mine ahler-liel'est sovereign, 
 Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
 With ruder terms; such as my wit affords. 
 And over-joy of lieart doth minister. 
 
 K. Hen, Her sig'nt did ravish : but her grace in 
 speech. 
 
 Her words y cl.jd with wisdom's majesty, 
 Makfs me, from wondering, fall to wee, ing joys; 
 Such IS the fulness of my heart s content — 
 Lords. wiM) one ciieerlul voice wt'lcouie my love. 
 
 All. Long live queen Margaret, England's happi- 
 ness ! 
 
 Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish.) 
 
 Suf My lord protector, so it please yonr grace, 
 Here are the articles of contracted peace, 
 Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, 
 For eighteen months concluded by consent. 
 
 Glo. [Reads.] Iinj)rimis, // is agreed bettveen 
 the French king, Charles, and Wiliiam de la 
 Poole, marquess of Suffolk, amhabsador for 
 Henry king of England, — that the said Henrij 
 shall espouse the lady Margaret, daughter nnio 
 Reignier king of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusnlcni ; 
 and crown her queen of England, ere the thirtieth 
 
 of May next ensuing. Item, — That the duchy 
 
 of Anjou and the county of Maine shall Le re- 
 leased and delivered to the king her father 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle, how now ? 
 
 Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 
 
 Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the hf;u t, 
 And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no iin liier 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read ( n. 
 
 Win. Item, — It is further agreed between them, 
 — that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be 
 released and delivered over to the king her father; 
 and she sent over of the king of England s own 
 proper cost and charges, without having dowry. 
 
 K. Hen They please us well. — Lord maiq-iesa, 
 kneel down; 
 We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
 And girt thee with the sword. — 
 Cousin of York, we here discharge yonr grace 
 From being regent in the parts of France, 
 Till term of eighteen months be full e:ipir'd — 
 Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, 
 
 Buckingham, 
 Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; 
 We thank you all for this great favour done, 
 In entertainment to my princely queen. 
 Come, let us in ; and with all speed provide 
 To see her coronation be perform'd. 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, and Suffolk 
 
 Glo. Brave |»eers of England, pillars of the state, 
 To you duke Hnm}>hrey must unK»ad his grief. 
 Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
 What! did my brother Henry spend his youth^ 
 His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? 
 Did he so often l(»dge in open field, 
 In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat. 
 To conquer France, his trae inheritance ? 
 And did my brother Bedford toil bis wits 
 j To keep by policy what Henry got? 
 
 and 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 415 
 
 Have yon yonrffelveg, Son^trset, Backingham, 
 Brave Ytirk, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
 Rpceiv'd deep scars in I raase and Normandy ? 
 Or liath my uncle Beaufort, and myself, 
 Vv^ith all the learned council of the realm, 
 Studied vso long, s^t in the council-house. 
 Early and late, debating to and fro 
 
 w France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe? 
 
 hath his highness in his infancy 
 11 crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes? 
 shall these labours, and these honours, die? 
 Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, 
 deeds of war, and all our counsel, die ? 
 ers of England, shameful is this league! 
 this marriage, cancelling your fame ; 
 tting your names from books of memory ; 
 rig the characters of your renown ; 
 ciitg monuments of conquer'd France ; 
 oing all, as all had never been ! 
 ar. Nephew, what means this passionate dis- 
 course ? 
 
 peroration with such circumstance ? 
 PVance, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still. 
 lo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; 
 now it is impossible we should : 
 ffolk, the new-made duke, that rules the roast, 
 ath given the duchies of Anjoii and Maine 
 rito the poor king Reignier, whose large style 
 Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 
 
 Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all. 
 These counties were the keys of Normandy : — 
 But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? 
 
 War. For grief, for they are past recovery : 
 For, were there hope to conquer them again, 
 My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. 
 Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; 
 Tliose provinces these arms of mine did conquer: 
 And are the cities, that I got with wounds, 
 Deliver'd up again with peaceful words ? 
 Mort Dieu ! 
 
 York. For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocate, 
 That dims the honour of this warlike isle ! 
 France should have torn and rent my very heart. 
 Before I would have yielded to this league. 
 I never read but England's kings have had 
 Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives : 
 And our king Henry gives away his own. 
 To match with her that brings no vantages. 
 
 Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before. 
 That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth. 
 For costs and charges in transporting her: 
 She should have staid in France, and starv'd in 
 
 France, 
 Before 
 
 Car, My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot ; 
 It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 
 
 Qlo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind : 
 "Fis not my speeches, that you do mislike; 
 But 'tis my presence, that aoth trouble you. 
 Rancour will out : Proud prelate, in thy face 
 I see thy fury : if I longer stay, 
 We shall begin our ancient bickerings. — 
 Lordings, farewell; and say, when 1 am gone, 
 [ prophesied — France will oe lost ere long. {Exit. 
 
 Car. So, there goes our protector io a rage. 
 'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy : 
 Nay, more, an enemy unto you all ; 
 And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
 Consider, lords, he is the next of blood. 
 And heir apparent to the English crown ; 
 Had Henry got an empire by his marriage. 
 And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west. 
 There's reason he should be displeas'd at it. 
 Look to it, lords ; let not his smoothing words 
 Bewitch your hearts ; be wise, and circumspect. 
 What though the common people favour him, 
 Calling him — Humphrey , the good duke of Gloster; 
 Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice — 
 Jesu maintain your royal excellence ! ' 
 VVith — Ond preserve the good duke Humphrey ' 
 
 I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss. 
 He w\\l be found a dangerous protector. 
 
 Buck. Why should he then protect our soverei^ 
 He being of age to govern of hiniself ? — 
 Cousin of Somerset, join you with me. 
 And all together — with the duke of Suffolk, — 
 We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his sea* 
 
 Car. This weighty business will not brook delay 
 I'll to tl e duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit 
 
 Som. Cousin of Buckinghum, though Humphrey 
 pride, 
 
 And greatness of his place te grief to us. 
 Yet let us watch the liaughty cardinal ; 
 His insolence is more intolerable 
 'i'han all the princes in the land beside ; 
 If Gloster be displac'd, he'll be protector. 
 
 Buck. Or tliou, or 1, Somerset, will be protector 
 Despite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal, 
 
 [Exeunt Buckingham andSomertii, 
 
 Sal. Pride went befoie, ambition follows him. 
 While these do labour for their own pieferment, 
 Behoves it us to labour lor the realm. 
 I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster 
 Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
 Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal — 
 More like a soldier, than a man o'the church. 
 As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all,— 
 Swear like a rulfian, and demean himself 
 Unlike the ruler of a common-weal. — 
 Warwick, my son, the couifort of my age ! 
 Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping. 
 Hath won the greatest favour of the commons. 
 Excepting none but good duke Humphrey.— 
 And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
 In bringing them to civil discipline ; 
 Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, 
 Wtien thou wert regent for our sovereign, 
 Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd, of loe 
 
 people : — 
 Join we together, for the public good ; 
 In what we can to bridle and suppress 
 The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal, 
 With Somerset's and Buclingham's ambition ; 
 And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds, 
 While they do tend the profit ol the land. 
 
 War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, 
 And common profit ol" his country ! 
 
 York. And so says York, for he hath greatest 
 cause. 
 
 Sal. Then let' s make haste away, and look unto 
 the main. 
 
 War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is lost ; 
 That Maine, which by niain force Warwick did win. 
 And would have kept, so long as breath did last: 
 Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, 
 Which I will win from France, or else be slain. 
 
 [Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury, 
 
 York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French,* 
 Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy 
 Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone : 
 Suffolk concluded on the articles ; 
 The peers agreed ; and Henry was well pleas'd. 
 To change two dukedoms for a duko's lair daugh 
 I cannot blame tiieni all ; What is t t(t thom ? 
 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 
 Pirates may make cheap penny wojths ot 
 pillage, 
 
 And purchase friends, and give to courlcaacs. 
 Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone : 
 While as tlie silly owner of the goods 
 Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless liandf, 
 And shakes his head, and trembling slands aloof. 
 While all is shar'd, and all is borne away; 
 Ready to starx o, and dare not touch his own. 
 So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, 
 While his own lauds are bargain'd for, and sold. 
 Melhinks, the realms of England, France, %o4 
 Ireland, 
 
 Beartliat proporlion to iny flesh and blood. 
 As did the jiiial nrand Allhea burn'd. 
 
416 SECOND 
 
 Un<o the orince's heaii of Calydon. 
 Anjou aiia Maine, both given unto the French ! 
 Coid Di«"^s for me ; for I had iiope of France, 
 Even a£ I liave of fertile Enghxnd's soil. 
 A day >5ill come, when York shall claim his own; 
 And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts. 
 And make a shew of love to prondduke Humphrey, 
 And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, 
 For that's the golden mark I seek to hit : 
 Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right. 
 Nor hold his sceptre in his childish fist. 
 Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 
 Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown. 
 Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve : 
 Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep, 
 To pry into the secrets of the state ; 
 Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love. 
 With his new bride, and England's dear-bought 
 queen. 
 
 And Humi)hrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: 
 Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose. 
 With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd ; 
 And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
 'To grapple with the house of Lancaster; 
 And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown. 
 Whose bookish rule hath puU d fair England down. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 SuENB IL — The same. A Room in the Duke of 
 Gloster's House. 
 
 Enter Gloster and the Duchess. 
 Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd 
 corn. 
 
 Hanging the head at Ceres' ])lenteous load ? 
 Why doth the great duke Humprey knit his brows. 
 As Irowning at the favours of the world ? 
 Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, 
 Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? 
 VVi)at see'st thou there? King Henry's diadem, 
 Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? 
 If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, 
 LTutil thy head be circled with the same. 
 Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : 
 What, is't too short ? I'll lengthen it with mine : 
 Aiid, having both together heav'd it up, 
 We'll both together lift our heads to heaven ; 
 And never more abase our sight so low. 
 As to vouchsafe ooe glance unto the ground. 
 Glo. O Nell's sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy 
 lord, 
 
 iJanish the canker of ambitious thoughts ; 
 And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
 Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
 Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 
 My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. 
 Duch. What dreara'd my lord? tell me, and I'll 
 requite it 
 
 With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 
 Glo. Methought, this stafl', mine office-badge in 
 court. 
 
 Was broke in twain ; by whom, I have forgot. 
 
 But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; 
 
 And on the pieces of the broken wand 
 
 Were plac'd the heads of Edmund duke of Somerset, 
 
 And William de la Foole first duke of Suffolk. 
 
 This was my dream ; what it doth bode, God knows. 
 
 Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument. 
 That he, that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove. 
 Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
 But list to me, niy Humphrey, my sweet duke : 
 Methought, I sat in seat of majesty. 
 In the c<\th>edral church of Westminster, 
 And io that chair where kings and queens are 
 crown'd ; 
 
 Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me. 
 And on my head did set the diadem. 
 
 Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: 
 Presunaptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! 
 Art thou not second woman in the realm; 
 And the protector's wife, belov'd of him ? 
 
 PART OF Act L 
 
 Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command 
 Above the reach or compass of thy thought? 
 And wilt thou still be hamniering treachery. 
 To tumble down thy husband, and thyself. 
 From top of honour to disgrace's feet ? 
 Away from me, and let me hear no nu)re! 
 
 Duch. What, what, niy lord, are you so cholerio 
 With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? 
 Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself. 
 And not be check'd. 
 
 Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd agaiu. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mes.My lord protector,' tis his highness' pleasure. 
 You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, 
 Whereas the king and queen do mean to hnwk. 
 
 Glo. I go. — Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us ? 
 
 Duch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Messenger. 
 Follaw I must, 1 cannot go before. 
 While Gloster bears this base and humble mimL 
 Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
 I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks. 
 And smooth my way upon their headless necks • 
 And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
 To play my part in fortune's pageant. 
 Where are you there ? Sir John ! nay, fear not, man. 
 We are alone ; here's none but thee, ami I. 
 
 Enter Hume. 
 Hume. Jesn preserve your royal majeshr ! 
 Duch. What say'st thou, majesty ! I am bat 
 grace. 
 
 Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume'a 
 advice, 
 
 four grace's title shall be multiplied. 
 Duch. What say'st thou, man ? hast thou as yet 
 conferr'd 
 
 With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch ; 
 And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? 
 And will they undertake to do me good ? 
 Hume. This they have promised, — to shew yom 
 highness 
 
 A spirit, rais'd from depth of under ground. 
 That shall make answer to such questions. 
 As by your grace shall be propounded him. 
 
 Duch. It is enough : I'll think upon the questions ♦ 
 When from Saint Alban's we do make return. 
 We'll see these things effected to the full. 
 Here, Hume, take this reward ; make merry, man. 
 With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 
 
 [Exit Duchess. 
 
 Hume. Hume must make meriy with the duchess* 
 gold; 
 
 Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume? 
 
 Seal up your lips, and give no words but — mum! 
 
 The business asketh silent secrecy. 
 
 Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch : 
 
 Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
 
 Ifet have I gold, flies from another coast : 
 
 I dare not say, from the rich cardinal. 
 
 And from the great and new-made duke of Suflblk, 
 
 Yet I do find it so : for, to be plain, 
 
 They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, 
 
 Have hired me to undermine the duchess. 
 
 And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
 
 They say, a crafty knave does need no broker; 
 
 Yet am I Suffolk, and the cardinal's broker. 
 
 Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
 
 To call them both — a pair of crafty knaves. 
 
 Well, so it stands : And thus, I fear, at last, 
 
 Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck ; 
 
 And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
 
 Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Room in the Palace, 
 Enter Peter, and others, with petit ens. 
 1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close; my lord 
 protector will come this way by and by, and thea 
 we may deliver our supplications in the <juiU. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRI VI. 
 
 'i Pet. Many, tli lord protect liim, for he is a 
 food njtin! Jeiin bL-ss him! 
 
 Enter SuFf OLK and Queen Margaret. 
 
 1 Pet. Here 'a comes, niethinks, and the queen 
 v/ith him: I'll be the tirst, sure. 
 
 2 Pet. Come back, fool; this is the duke of Suf- 
 folk, and not my lord protector. [nae'/ 
 
 Suf. How now, fellow ? would'st any thing with 
 1 Pet, 1 pray, my lord, pardon me ! 1 took ye for 
 my lord protector. 
 
 Q. Mar. {Reading the superscription.) To my 
 lord pi otector! are your supplications to his lord- 
 ship? Let me see them : What is thine ? 
 
 1 Pet. Mine is, an t please your grace, against 
 Johu (joodman, nw lord cardinal's man, for keeping 
 my house, and lands, and wife, and all, from me. 
 
 Suf. Thy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed. — 
 What's your's ? — What's here ! [Reads.) Against 
 the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of 
 Melford, — How now, sir knave ? 
 
 2 Pet, Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our 
 whole township. 
 
 Peter. [Presenting his petition.) Against my 
 master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the duke of 
 York was rightful heir to the crown. 
 
 Q. Mar. Whatsay'st thou ? Did the duke of York 
 say, he was rightful heir to the crown? 
 
 Peter. That my master was ? No, forsooth : my 
 master said, 'i'hat he was ; and that the king was 
 an usurper. 
 
 Suf. Who is there ? [Enter Servants.)— T?^\e 
 this fellow in, and send for his master with a pur- 
 8ui\aut presently: — we'll hear more of your matter 
 before the king. [Exeunt Servants, with Peter. 
 
 Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be protected 
 Under the vvings of our [)rotector's grace, 
 Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 
 
 [Tears the Petition.) 
 Away, base cullions! — Suffolk, let them go._ 
 
 All. Come, lei's he gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. 
 
 Q. Mar, My lord ol Suifolk, say, is this the guise, 
 h this the fasliion in the court of England ? 
 5 3 this the government of Britain's isle. 
 And this the 'cyalty of Albion's king ? 
 What, shall king Henry be a pupil still. 
 Under the surly Gloster's governance ? 
 Am ! a queen in title and in style. 
 And must be made a subject to a duke ? 
 I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours 
 Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love, 
 And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France, 
 1 tliotight king Henry had resembled thee, 
 In courage, courtship, and proportion: 
 But all his mind is bent to holiness, 
 To number A ve- Maries on his beads : 
 His champions are — prophets and apostles ; 
 His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ; 
 His study is tilt-yard, and his loves 
 Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints. 
 I would the college of cardinals 
 Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, 
 And set the triple crown upon his head; 
 Tiiat were a state tit for his holiness. 
 
 Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause 
 Your hif)hness came to England, so will I 
 In England work your grace's full content. 
 
 Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we 
 Beaulbrt, 
 
 The imperious churcliman ; Somerset, Buckingham, 
 And grumbling York . and not tiie least of these. 
 But can do more in England than the king. 
 
 Suf. And he of these, that can do most of all. 
 Cannot do more in England than the Neyils : 
 Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me iialf so 
 much. 
 
 As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
 Bhe sweeps it through the court with troops of la- 
 dies. 
 
 More like an empress than (hike fTu.iSphrey's wife 
 Strangers in court do take her for the qiieen: 
 She bears a duke's rovenut-.s on her back, 
 And in her heart she scorns our poverty : 
 Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her? 
 Contemptuous base-born callat as she is. 
 She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day. 
 The very train of her worst wearing-gown 
 Was better worth than all my fathers lands. 
 Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter 
 
 Suf. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her;. 
 And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds. 
 That she will light to listen to their lays. 
 And never mount to trouble you again. 
 So, let her rest: And, madam, list to me: 
 For [ am bold to counsel you in this. 
 Although we fancy not the cardinal. 
 Yet must we join with him, and with the lords, 
 Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
 As for the duke of York, — this late complaint 
 Will make but little for his benefit: 
 So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last. 
 And you yourself shall steer the happy helm, 
 
 Eitter King Henry, York, and Somerset, cow- 
 versing with him; Duhe and Duchess of Ghos- 
 TER, Cardinal Beaufort, Buckingiiam, Salis- 
 bury, and Warwick. 
 
 K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not 
 which ; 
 
 Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me. 
 
 York. IfY^ork have ill demean'd himself in FiJ.iice* 
 Then let him be deny d the regentship. 
 
 Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, 
 Let York be regent - I will yield to him. 
 
 War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, Ca tSs 
 Dispute not that: York is the worthier. 
 
 Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 
 
 War. The cardinL-.'s not niy better in the field. 
 
 Buck. All in this presence are thy betters. War- 
 wick., 
 
 l^Var. W arwick may live to be the best of a!!. 
 Sal. Peace, son ; — —and show some rt ason, 
 
 Buckingham, 
 Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this, 
 
 Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will hart 
 
 it so. 
 
 Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
 To give his censure : these are no women's matters, 
 Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your 
 
 grace 
 
 To be protector of his excellence ? 
 
 Glo. Madam, T am protector of the realm ; 
 Alii, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 
 
 Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 
 Since thou wert kirg, (as who is king, but thou ?) 
 The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck: 
 The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyord the seas; 
 And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
 Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 
 
 Car. The commons hast thou I ack'd ; the cle -rj's 
 Are lank and lean with thy extoitions. :bags 
 
 Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, aiid thy wife's 
 Have cost a mass of public treasury. [attire 
 
 Buck. Thy cruelty in execution 
 Upon offenders, haWi exceeded law, 
 And left thee to the mercy of the law. 
 
 Q, Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France,— 
 If they were known, as the suspect is gn at, — 
 Would make thee quickly hop without thy heKtl. 
 
 [Exit Gloster. The Queen drojts h^r /oj^ 
 Give me my fan: What, minion 1 can you not ? 
 
 [Gives the Duchess a box on the ear., 
 1 cry you mercy, madam ; Was it you ? 
 
 Duch. Was't I? yea, I it was, proud French 
 woman : 
 
 Could I come near your beauty with my nalU, 
 I'd set my ten commandments in your f;M;c'. 
 K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet ;' 'twas ...-jii 
 will 2? ^ 
 
418 SECOND 
 
 Duch. Asrainst ber will ! Good king, !o(»k to't in 
 time ; 
 
 Shell Imnii'Cr thee, and dandle thee like a haby : 
 Though ifi liiis piace most master wear no breeches. 
 She shall not stiike dame Eleanor nnreveng'd. 
 
 I Exit Duchess, 
 
 Buck. Lord cardinrd, I will follow Eleanor, 
 And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : 
 She's tickled now ; iier I'mne can need no spnrs, 
 She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction. 
 
 [Exit Buckingham. 
 Re-enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Now, lords, my choler being- overblown. 
 With walking once abo.it tiie quadrangle, 
 I come to talk ot commonwealtn allairs. 
 As foryonr spitefid i'alse objections, 
 Prove them, and I lie open to the law : 
 But God in mercy so deal with my soul. 
 As I in duty love my king and country ! 
 But to the matter that we have in hand : — 
 I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
 To be your regent in the realm ot" France. 
 
 Suf. Belbre we make election, give me leave 
 To shew s )n)e reason of no little force, 
 That York is must unmeet of any man. 
 
 York. I'll tell thee. Sutfolk. why 1 am untneet. 
 First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride : 
 Next, if 1 be ajipuinted lor the place. 
 My lord of Somerset will ktep me here, 
 VVithdiit discharge, money, or furniture. 
 Till France be won into tiie Dauphin's hands. 
 Last time, I dani;'d attendaiice on his will, 
 Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost. 
 
 War That 1 can witness ; and a fouler fact 
 Did never traitor in the land commit. 
 
 Suf. Peace, headstrong VVarM'ick ! 
 
 War. Image of pride, why should I hold my 
 peace ? 
 
 Enter Servants of SuFFOhK, bringing in HoRNER 
 and Peter. 
 
 Siif Because here is a man accus'd of treason : 
 Piay (Jod, tiie duke of York excuse himself! 
 
 Yor/r. Doth any one accuse York lor a traitor? 
 
 K.Hen. What mean'st thou, Sulfolk? tell me: 
 What are these ? 
 
 Snf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
 iliat doth accuse his master of high treason: 
 His words were these ; — that Richard, duke of York, 
 Was ri^^iitfiil heir unto the English crown: 
 And that your majesty was an usurper. 
 
 K. Hen. S;iy, man, were these thy words? 
 
 Hor. An t sliall please your majt^sty, I never said 
 nor thought any such matter : God is my witness, I 
 am falsely accused by the villain. 
 
 Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, {holding up 
 his hands) he did speak them to me in the s>arret 
 one niglit, as we were scouring my lord of York's 
 armour. 
 
 York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, 
 I'll have thy head ibr this thy traitor's speech : — 
 \ do beseech your royal majesty. 
 Let him have all the rigour ol'tiie law. 
 
 Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
 woids. My accuser is my pien ice; and when I 
 did correct him for his fault the other day, he did 
 vew upon his knees he would be even with me : 1 
 have good witness of this; therefore, 1 beseech 
 your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a 
 \ illain's accus;ition. 
 
 K Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to fhis in law? 
 
 Gio. Tiiis doom, my lord, if I may judge. 
 L^t Souif rset be regent o'er the French, 
 Because in York this breeds suspicion : 
 And let tiiest- have a day appointed tliem 
 For singh? comb it in convenient place ; 
 for he hjth witness o! his servant's malice : 
 This is llie hnv, and this duke Humphrey's doonu 
 
 lien. 'V\\€\\ be it so. iMy lord of Somerset, 
 We up.ke your gr.ice lord regent o'er the French. 
 
 PART 01^ 
 
 Som. I humbly tliank your royaS ma^cgty. 
 
 Hor. And I accept the rombat wilimgj'v. 
 
 Pet. Alas, niy lord, I cannot tight; for G««f'a 
 sake, pity my case ! the spite of man prevaileth 
 against me. O lord have mercy upon me 1 1 shall 
 never be able to fight a blow : O lord, my heart ! 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang d. 
 
 K. Hen. Away with them to prison: and the day 
 Of combat shall be the last of the next month. — 
 Come, Somerset, we'll see thee se.it away. {Ejceuni 
 
 Scene W.—The same. The Duke of Ghstsr'a 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter Margery JouRD.Misr, Hume, Southwell 
 
 and BOMNCBROKE. 
 
 Hume. Cocie, my masters ; the duche.ss, I t^dl 
 you, expects performance of your promises. 
 
 Boling. Master Hume, we are therelbre pro- 
 vided : Will her ladyship behold and hear our ex- 
 ortusms ? 
 
 Hume. Ay ; What else? fear you not her courage. 
 
 Boling. I have heard her reported to be a woman 
 of an invincible spirit: But it shall be convenient, 
 master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we 
 be busy below; and so, I pray you, no in God's 
 name, and leave us. [Exit Hume. I Mother Jour- 
 dain, be you prostrate, and grovel on the earth : — 
 John Southwell, read yon ; and let us to our work. 
 
 Enter Duchess, above. 
 
 Duck. W^ell said, my masters; and welcome all. 
 To this gear; the sooner the better. 
 
 Boling. Patience, good lady ; wizards know their 
 times : 
 
 Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, 
 The time of night when Troy was set on fn e ; 
 The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl. 
 And spirits walk, and giiosts lireak u|) their i',ra\es. 
 That time best fits the work we hive in hand. 
 Madam, sit you. and fear not ; whom we raise, 
 We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 
 
 {Here they perform the ceremonies appertain- 
 ing, and make the circle] Boinigbruke, or 
 Southwell, reads., Conjuro te, &6C. ll thunders 
 and lightens terribly : then the Spirit riseth.] 
 Spir. Adsum. 
 M.Jourd. Asmath, 
 By the eternal God, whose name and power 
 'i'lK)u tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
 For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass irom hence. 
 Spir. Ask what thou wilt: — Tiiat I had said and 
 done ! 
 
 Boling. First, of the king. — TV hat shall of him 
 become / {Reading out of a paper.) 
 
 Spir. The duke yet lives, that lienry shall depose; 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 {As the Spirit speaks, Southwell tvrites the an- 
 swer.) 
 
 Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ? 
 
 Spir. By water shall he die, and take Ins end. 
 
 Boling. What shall bejall the duke ofSomersei ? 
 
 Spir. Let him shun castles ; 
 Safer shall he be upcn the sandy plains 
 Than where castles uKumted stand. 
 Have done, for more I hardly can ;ndin-e. 
 
 Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake: 
 False liend, avoid ! 
 
 [Thunder and lighininj. Spirit descends. 
 
 Enter York and Buckingham hastily, with their 
 Guards, and others. 
 
 York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their 
 trash. 
 
 Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an incli. — 
 What, madam, are you there ? the king and com- 
 monweal 
 
 Are deeply indebted for th-s piece of pains; 
 
 My lord protector will, 1 doubt it n it, 
 
 Se-e you well guerdon'd for the.se good desert?, 
 
II ^'ENE 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 419 
 
 Duck. Nf>t lialf so bad as thine to England's king, I 
 Injurious d'»ke ; lliat threat'st whore is no cause. 
 Buck. True, tnudutii, none at all. What call yoii 
 (iiis i {Shetvintj her the papers.) 
 
 Away wiih them ; let thciu be clapp'd up close, 
 And kept asunder: — Vou, raadaui, shall with us: — 
 ijcallbrd, take her to thee.— — 
 
 [Exit Duchess from above. 
 We'll see your trinkets here all Ibrthconiing ; 
 All— Away! 
 
 [Exeunt Guards, with Soulh.^ Holing., §fc. 
 York. Lord iiuckingham, niethinks, you vvatcli'd 
 her well : 
 
 A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! 
 Now, |)ray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. 
 What have we here ? [Reads. 
 The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ; 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 Why, this is jnsf, 
 
 Aio tc, JEacida Romanos vincere posse. 
 Well, to tlie rest : 
 
 Tell me, tvhai fate aivaits the duke of Suffolk 1 
 
 By water shall he die, and take his end. — 
 
 What shall betide the duke of Somerset t 
 
 Let him shun castles ; 
 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
 
 Thati where castles mounted stand. 
 
 Couie, come, my lords; 
 
 Tfifse orachs are hardily attain'd, 
 
 And hardly understood. 
 
 Tne king is now in progress toward Saint Albau's, 
 With him the husband oftiiis lovely lady : 
 Tlut/.c r go these news, as fast as horse can carry 
 them ; 
 
 A sorry break l ast for my lord protector. 
 
 Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord 
 of York, 
 
 To ht the post, is hope of liis reward. 
 
 York. At yjir pleasure, lay good lord. — Who's 
 \s ittun there, ho ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 hn ite my lords of Scdisbury and Warwick, 
 To sup with me tomorrow Jiight — Away \[Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene \.--Saint Albans. 
 Enter Kimj Henky, Queen Margaret, Gloster, 
 (Jardinal. and Suffolk., with Falconers hoilainrj. 
 
 Q. iT/«r. Lfelieve me, lords, for flying at tlie brook, 
 [ saw not bttter sport these seven years' day: 
 Vet, by your leave, the wind was very high ; 
 Atid. tt^n to one, old Joan had not gone out. 
 K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon 
 made, 
 
 And what a pitch she flew sbove the rest !-- 
 To see how God in all his creatures works! 
 Ytii, man and birds are fain of climbing high. 
 
 Suf No marvel, an it like your in.ijesty. 
 My lord protector's hawks do tower so well; 
 Tliey know their master loves to be aloft, 
 An l bears liis tlvouglits above liis i^ilcon's pitch. 
 
 do. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind. 
 That moiMith no higher than a bird can soar. 
 
 Car. I tliought as much ; he'd be above the 
 cluiuls. [that? 
 
 Glc. Ay, my lord cardinal ; How think you by 
 Wt^re it not goud, your grace could tly to heaven? 
 
 K. Hen. Tiie treasury of everlasting joy ! 
 
 Car. Tiiy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and 
 tliougiits 
 
 Beat on a crown, the troAfl""-" of thy heart; 
 
 l-*eruici*»us prott'ctor, dangerous peer, 
 
 That suiooth'st it so with king and commonweal ! 
 
 Clo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown 
 Tuntoine animis caeLestibus ine f (peremptory ? 
 ChiMClimen so hut :* }i.ood uncle, hide such malice; 
 With such holiness can you do it? 
 
 Suf. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes 
 S(» goad a <{iiarrel, anJ so Ijail a perr. 
 
 Gh. As who, my Wd ? 
 
 Suf. Why, as you, my k>r4) 
 
 An t like your lordly lord-protectorsliip. 
 
 Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine iasii- 
 
 Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. [leac©. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ylhee, peace, 
 
 Good queen ; and whet not on these furious peers, 
 For blessed are the peace-makers on earth. 
 
 Car. Let me be blessed lor the peace 1 make. 
 Against this proud protector, with my sw(Md I 
 
 Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere cotne to 
 that ! (Aside to the Cardinal.) 
 
 Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. {Aside.} 
 
 Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter, 
 In thine own person answer thy abuse. {Aside.) 
 
 Car. Ay, where thou dar'st uot peep : an if thou 
 dar'st, 
 
 This evening on the cast side of the grove. {Aside.) 
 
 K. Hen. How now, my lords ? 
 
 Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, 
 
 Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, 
 We had had more sport. — Come with thy Ivvo-hand 
 sword. {Aside to Glo.) 
 
 Glo. True, uncle. 
 
 Car. Are you advis'd? — the east side of the grove? 
 Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. {Aside) 
 K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ? 
 
 Glo. Talking of havvking; notiiing else, my lord. — 
 Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown 
 for this. 
 
 Or all my fence shall fail. (Aside.} 
 
 Car. Mediae teipsum ; 
 Protector, see to t well, protect yourself. ( Aside,.) 
 
 K. Hen. The winds grow high ; so do your sto- 
 machs, lords. 
 How irksome is this music to my heart! 
 When such strings jar, what hope of harmony ? 
 I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 
 
 Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Albans, crying^ 
 A Miracle! 
 
 Glo. What means this noise ? 
 Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? 
 Inhab. A miracle ! a m.iracle ! 
 Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle 
 Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albao'a 
 shrine, 
 
 Within this half hour, hath received his sight 
 A man. that ne'er saw in his life before. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd ! that to believing 
 souls 
 
 Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! 
 
 Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans, and hie 
 Brethren; and SiatPCOX, borne betweeti two 
 persons in a chair; his Wife and a great Mul- 
 titude following. 
 
 Car. Here come the townsmen in procession.. 
 To present your highness with the man. 
 
 K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale. 
 Although by his sight his sin be multi. lied. 
 
 Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near th« 
 king, 
 
 His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 
 
 K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circum- 
 stance. 
 
 That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
 
 What, hast thou been long bhnd, and now restor'd \ 
 
 Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. 
 
 Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. 
 
 Suf. VVhat woman is this ? 
 
 Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. 
 
 Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'at 
 have better told. 
 
 K. Hun. Where wert thou born ? 
 
 Simp. At Berwick, in the north, an't like your 
 grace. [great to ihee : 
 
 K. Hen. Poor soul ! God's goodness hath baea 
 Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
 But still remember wliat the Lord hath done. 
 
m SECOND 
 
 ^. Mar, Te!I na*, good fellow, caiii'st tbou here 
 by chance. 
 Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? 
 
 Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being call'd 
 A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep 
 liy good Saint Alhan ; who said, — Shnpcox come; 
 Come, offer at my shrine, and I tcill help thee. 
 
 TVifc. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and 
 IJyselt'have heard a voice to call him so, [oft 
 
 Car. VVliat, art thou lame ? 
 
 Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 
 
 Suf. How cam'st thou so ? 
 
 Simp. A fall off a tree. 
 
 Wife. A plum-tree, master. 
 
 Glo. How long hast thou been blind ? 
 
 Simp. O, born so, master. 
 
 Clo. What, and wonld'st climb a tree? 
 
 Simp. But that in ail my life, when I was a youth. 
 Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very 
 dear. 
 
 Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that would'st 
 venture so. 
 
 Simp. Alas ! good master, my wife desir'd bome 
 damsons, 
 
 .4nd made me climb, with danger of my life. 
 
 Glo. A subtle knave I but yet it shall not serve. — 
 Let me see thine eyes ; — wink now ; now open 
 them : — 
 
 f u my opinion yet thou see'st not well. 
 Sim]}. Yes, master, clear as day ; I thank God 
 
 and Saint Alban. 
 Glo. Say'st thou me so':* What colour is this cloak 
 of? 
 
 Simp. Red, master; red as blood. 
 Glo. Wliy that's well said : What colour is my 
 gown of? 
 
 Simjy. iilack, forsooth ; coal-black, as jet. 
 K. Hen. Why, then, thou know'st what colour 
 jet is of? 
 
 Stif. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 
 Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, betbre this day, a 
 many. 
 
 Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 
 Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name ? 
 Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 
 Glo. Wliat's his name? 
 Simp. I kiiow not. 
 Glo. Nor his? 
 Simp. No, indeed, master. 
 Glo. What's thine own name? 
 Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, 
 master. 
 
 Glo. Tiien, Saunder, sit thou there, the lyingest 
 knave 
 
 In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind. 
 Thou might'st as well have known our names, as thus 
 To name tl)e se\ eral colours we do wear. 
 Sight may distinguish of colours ; but suddenly 
 To nominate them all, 's impossible. — 
 My lords, Saint Albati here hath done a miracle ; 
 And would ye not think that cunning to be great. 
 That coidd restore this cripple to his legs? 
 
 Simp. O, master, that you could ! 
 
 Glo, My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not 
 beadles in your town, and things called whips? 
 
 May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 
 
 Glo. Then send for one presently. 
 
 Mat/. Sirrah go fetch the beadfe hither straight. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Glo. Now fetch rae a stool hither by and by. f A 
 tlool brought out.) Now, sirrah, if you mean to 
 •ave yourself from whipping, leap me over this 
 *tool, and run away. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master,! am not able to stand alone: 
 You go about to torture me in vain. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle. 
 Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. 
 -Sirrah beadle, whip him tilt he leap over that 
 Mune stooL 
 
 PART OF Act It 
 
 Bead. I will, cay lord.— Come oa, sirrah; oi 
 wirh your doublet quickly. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not 
 able to stand. 
 
 [After the Beadle hath hit him once he 
 leaps over the stool, and rtms aivay ; and 
 the people follow, and cry : A tniracle . 
 K. Hen. O God, see'st thou thi.s, and bear'st so 
 long ? 
 
 Q. Mar. It made me laugh, to see the villain run. 
 
 Glo. Follow the knave; and take this drab away. 
 
 Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 
 
 Glo. Let them be whipped through e\ery market 
 town, till tliey come to Berwick, whence they came. 
 
 [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, §'c. 
 
 Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to day. 
 
 S/if. 'J'rue ; made the lame to leap, and fly away. 
 
 Glo. But you have done more miracles than 1 ; 
 You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 
 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 
 K. Hen. VVhat tidings with our cousin Bucking* 
 
 ham ? 
 
 Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to uafold 
 A sni t of naughty persons, lewdly bent, — 
 Under the countenance and confederacy 
 Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, 
 The ringleader and head of all this rout, — 
 Have practis'd dangerously against your state. 
 Dealing with witches, and with conjurers : 
 Whom we have apprehended in the fact; 
 Raising up wicked spirits from under ground. 
 Demanding of king Henry's life and death. 
 And other of your highness' privy council, 
 As more at large your grace shall understand. 
 
 Car. And so, my lord protector, by this mean.<i 
 Your lady is foithcoming yet at London. 
 This news, I think, hath tiiru'd your weapon's edge \ 
 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 
 
 {Aside to Gloster.) 
 
 Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my 
 heart ! 
 
 Sorrow and giiefhave vanqnish'd all my powers: 
 And, vanquished as I am, I yield to thee. 
 Or to the meanest groom. 
 
 K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked 
 
 ones : 
 
 Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the taintiire of thy nest* 
 And. look, thyself bo faultless, thou wer't best. 
 
 Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal. 
 How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal : 
 And, for my wife, I know not how it stands; 
 Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: 
 Noble she is ; but if she lia\ e forgot 
 Honoui- and virtue, and convers'd with such 
 As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
 I banish her my bed, and company; 
 And gi\ e her, as a prey, to law, and shame. 
 That hath dishonour'd tJloster's honest name. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose lU 
 here : 
 
 To-morrow, toward London, back again, 
 To look into this business thoroughly. 
 And call these foul offenders to their answers; 
 And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 
 W^hose beam stands sure, whose rjchtfid cause 
 prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt 
 
 Scene IL — London* The Duke of York's Garden. 
 Enter YoRK, SALISBURY, and Warwick. 
 York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and 
 Warwick, 
 Our simple supper ended, give me leave, 
 In this close walk, to satisfy myself, 
 In craving your opinion of my title, 
 Which is infallible, to England's crown. 
 Sal. My lord, 1 long to bear it at full. 
 VTar. Sweet York, begin : and if thy claim be 
 good. 
 
.Scene 3 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 421 
 
 The Nevils Are (hy subjects to command. 
 
 f^ork. Tfieii llius: — 
 Edward the third, my lords, had seven sons: 
 The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of 
 Wales ; 
 
 The second William of Hatfield ; and the third, 
 Lionel, diikf of Clarence; next to vviioiii, 
 Was John of Gaunt, tlie duke of Lancaster : 
 The fd'th, was Edinoiid Langley, dnke of York: 
 The sixtii, was 'i'honuis of Woodstock, duke of 
 Gloster; 
 
 Willj'un of Windsor was the seventh and last. 
 Edward, the Black Priif :e, died before isis father; 
 t^nd left behind hint Richard, his only son, [king; 
 tVho, after Edwaal the Third's death, reign'd as 
 Till Henry I>olingi>roke, duke of L tncaster, 
 The eldest son and heir of .John of Gaunt, 
 Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
 Seiz'd on the realm ; depos'd the rightful king; 
 Sent his jxjor queen to France, Irom whence she 
 came, 
 
 And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, 
 {Jarndess llictiard was murder'd traitorously 
 
 War. Fatlier, the duke hath told the truth ; 
 Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. 
 
 Yorh. Wliich now they hold by force, and not by 
 right ; 
 
 For Richard, the first son's heir being dead, 
 'I'iie issue oi'the next son shoidd have reign'd. 
 Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an 
 heir. 
 
 York. Tiie third son, duke of Clarence, (from 
 whose line, * 
 I claim the crown,) had issue — Philippe, a daughter, 
 VV^ho married Edmi.r.d I\lortiiner, earl of March: 
 Edmund had issue — Roger, earl oi' i\iarch ; 
 Roaer iiad issue — Edmimd, Anne, and Eleanor. 
 
 Sal. 'VhU Eduiimd, in the reign of Bolingbroke, 
 As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; 
 Aiid, but for Owen Glendower, had been king. 
 Who kept hiui in captivity, till he died. 
 But to the rest. 
 
 York. Flis eldest sister, Anne, 
 
 My mother, being heir inito the crown. 
 Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was son 
 To Eduiund Langley, Edward the Third's filth son. 
 By her 1 claim tlie kingdom : she was the son 
 Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe, 
 Sole d-augliter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence : 
 So, if the issue of the elder son 
 Succeed before the younger, I am king. 
 
 War. VV'liat jdain proceedings are more plain 
 than this ? 
 
 Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, 
 'I'he fourth son; York claims it from the third. 
 Tdl Lioiiefs issue ftils, his should not reign: 
 ft fails not yet; but flourishes in thee. 
 And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. — 
 'I'lieu, fatlier 8alisl)ury, kneel we both together; 
 And in tifis private plot, be we the first. 
 That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
 With honour oi" his birthright to the crown. 
 
 Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, Eng- 
 land's king ! [king 
 
 York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your 
 Till I be crown'd ; and that my sword be staiu'd 
 With heart-bluod of the house of Lancaster- 
 And that's not suddenly to be perform'd; 
 But with advice, and silent secrecy. 
 Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, 
 Wink at the duke of Sulfolks insolence. 
 At Beaufort's pride, at Souierset's ausbition. 
 At Buckingham, and all the ci ew of them. 
 Till they have suar'd the shepherd ol the liock, 
 That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey: 
 Tis that they seek ; and tiiey, in seeking that, 
 Khali fuid their deatiis, if York can propiiesy. 
 
 Sal. My lord, break we olF; we know your mind 
 at full. [Warwick 
 
 U vr. My heart ussures me. that the earl of 
 
 Shall one day make the duke of York a kinjf. 
 
 York. And, Nevil, this 1 do assure myself, — 
 Richard shall live to make the earl of VVarwick 
 'I'he greatest man in England, but the king. [ExevKS. 
 
 Scene UI.—The same. A Hall of Justice. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen 
 Margaret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and 
 Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloster, Margekv 
 JouRDAiN, Southwell, Hume, arid Bolino 
 RKOKE, under guard. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobhara, 
 
 Gloster's wife : 
 In sight of God, and us, your guilt is great; 
 Receive the sentence of the law, for sins 
 Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. — 
 You four, from hence to prison back auain; 
 
 {To Jourd., gr.) 
 From thence, unto the place of execution : 
 The witch in Smithfield shall be burn d to ashes, 
 And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.— 
 You, madam, for you are more nobly born, 
 Des{)oiled of your honour in your lite, 
 Shall, after three days' open penance done. 
 Live in your country here, in banishment, 
 With sir John Stanley, in the isle of Man. 
 
 Duck. Welcome is banishment, welcome wei« 
 
 my death. 
 
 Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thet; 
 I cannot justify whom the law condemns. — 
 
 [Exeunt the Duchess and the other Prisonert, 
 guarded. 
 
 Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
 Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age 
 Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground,*— 
 I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; 
 Sorrow would solace, and mine age would eascr 
 K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster ; em 
 thou go, 
 
 Give up thy statf"; Henry will to himself 
 Protector be : and God shall be my hope, 
 My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet ; 
 And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd. 
 Than when thou wert protector to thy king. 
 
 Q. Mar. I see no reason, why a king of years 
 Should be to be protected like a child. — 
 God and king Henry govern England's helm. 
 Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 
 
 Glo. My stafli'? — here, noble Henry, is my staflF 
 As willingly do I the same resign. 
 As ere thy father Henry made it mine ; 
 And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it. 
 As others woidd ambitiously receive it. 
 Farewell, good king: When I am dead and gont?. 
 May honourable peace attend thy throne ! [EgtS. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret 
 queen ; 
 
 And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself. 
 That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once, — 
 His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; 
 'V\i\s stair of honour raught : — There let it stand, 
 Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 
 
 Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs hifl 
 sprays ; 
 
 Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 
 
 York. Lords, let him go. — Please it your majesty 
 This is the day appointed for the combat; 
 And ready are the appellant and defendant, 
 'I'he armourer and his man, to enter tlie lists. 
 So please your highness to behold the fight. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord ; for jiurposely (hops- 
 fore 
 
 Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 
 
 K. Hen. O'God's name, see the lists and &3 
 things fit ; 
 
 Here let them end it, and God defend the right! 
 
 York. I never saw a lei low worse bested. 
 Or more afraid to fight, (ban is the aj)pellant. 
 The servant of this armoni er, iny lords. 
 
122 
 
 SECOND 
 
 PART OF 
 
 Act fl. 
 
 f^ter, on one side, Horner, and his Neig/ibaurs, 
 drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and 
 he enters hearing his staff iviih a sand-bag 
 fastened to it ; a drum before him : at the other 
 side, Pktkr, ivith a drum and a si?nilar staff ; 
 C.cc^ni})anied by Prentices drinking to him. 
 
 1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to yon 
 in a cup oi'sack ; And lear not, neighbour, yoii shall 
 do well orxmgh. 
 
 2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of 
 
 c\v,\ rnero. 
 
 3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer, 
 neighbour : diink, and fear not your man. 
 
 Hor. Let it oon)e, i' faith, and I'il pledge yon all ; 
 And r. ri^' for Peter! 
 
 ] Prert. Here, Peter, I drink, to thee ; and be 
 not afrrud. 
 
 '2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy mas- 
 ter; fiiilit lor creilit of the prentices. 
 
 Peter. I thank you all : <kink, and pray for me, 
 J pray you; for, 1 think, I have taken niy last 
 draught in this world. — Here, Uolsin, an if 1 die, 
 I give thee my apron; and, Will, thon shalt have 
 my hannuer: — and here, Tom, take all (he money 
 that I have. — O Lord, bless me, 1 pray God ' for 1 
 am never al>le to deal with my master, he hath learnt 
 so mu<'h lence already. 
 
 Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. 
 
 Sirrah, what's thy natne ? 
 
 Pet'ir. Peter, iorsooth. 
 
 Sal. "^eter! what more? 
 
 Petf.. 'I'hump. [well. 
 
 Sal. Thump! then see thou thump thy master 
 
 Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon 
 my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and 
 myself an honest man : and touching the duke of 
 York, — will take my death, I never meant him any 
 ill, nor tise king, nor the queen : And therefore, 
 I>*( <er, have at t lee with a downright blow, as Bevis 
 ol Southampton fell upon Ascapart. 
 
 York. Despatch : — this knave's tongue begins to 
 double. 
 
 S »urd trinnpets. alarum to the combatants. 
 
 {Alarum. They fight y attd Peter strikes dotvn 
 his master. 
 
 Hor. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess 
 treason. {Dies.) 
 
 York. Take away his weapon : — Fellow, thank 
 God. and the good wine in thy master's way. 
 
 Peter. O God! have J overcome mine enemies 
 in this presence ? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in 
 ^igh^• _ [sight; 
 
 h Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our 
 For, hy his death, we do perceive his guilt : 
 And God, injustice, hath reveal'd to us 
 The truth and innocence of this poor fellow. 
 Which he had thought to have murder'd wrong- 
 ful ly.~ 
 
 Come, fellow, follow ns for thy reward. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Street 
 Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning cloaks. 
 
 Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a 
 And, ailer suuimer, evernjore succeeds [cloud; 
 Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
 So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
 Sirs, what's o'clock ? 
 
 Serv. Ten, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Ten is the hour that was ap|)ointed me. 
 To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: 
 Uneatli may she endure the flinty streets, 
 To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
 Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrpok 
 The abject people, gazing on thy lace,' 
 With envious looks still laughing ;st thy shame; 
 That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels. 
 When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. 
 But, soft! I think, she comes; and I II prepare 
 tlf tear-staia'd eyes to see her miseries. 
 
 Enter the Duchess of Olostbr, in a white sheet, 
 with papers pinn d upon her back, her feet barCf 
 and tt taper burning in her hand; Sir JoHJf 
 Stanley, a Sheriff, and Oncers. 
 
 Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from 
 the sherifl'. 
 
 Glo. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her pass by. 
 Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open 
 shame ? 
 
 Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze J 
 
 See, how the giddy multitude do point. 
 
 And nod their heads, and throw tin ir eves on thee'. 
 
 Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hatelul looks; 
 
 And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, 
 
 And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. 
 
 Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell ; furget this gr^ f. 
 
 Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach nje to forget n»y»-l£ 
 For, whilst I think I am thy married wife. 
 And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
 Methinks, 1 should not thus be led along, 
 Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back ; 
 And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice 
 To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet groans. 
 The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet; 
 And, wiien 1 start, the envious people langh, 
 And bid me be advised how 1 tread. 
 Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke 
 Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world; 
 Or count them happy, that enjoy the sim ? 
 No; dark shall be my light, and night my day; 
 To think U|)on my pomp, shall be n»y hell. 
 Sometime I'll say, I am duke Hmnphrey's wife; 
 And he a prince, and ruler of the land: 
 Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, 
 As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess. 
 Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock, 
 To every idle rascal follower. 
 But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame; 
 Noi: stir at nothing, till the axe of death 
 Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. 
 For Siilfolk, — he, that can do all in all. 
 With her that hateth thee, and hates us all, — 
 And York, and impious Be.iufort, that false pries^ 
 Have all lim'd biisiies to betray thy wings. 
 And, fly tiiou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: 
 But I'ear not thou, until thy foot be siiar'd. 
 Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. 
 
 Glo. Ah, Nell, fori)ear; thou aiujest all awry; 
 I nuist oflV nd, before i be attainted : 
 And had I twenty times so nsany ioes. 
 And each of tiiem had twenty linses their power. 
 All these could not procure nie any scathe. 
 So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 
 Wouldst have ine rescue thee fronj this reproach? 
 Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away. 
 But 1 ill danger for the breach of law. 
 Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: 
 I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; 
 These lew days' wonder will be quickly worn. 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 
 Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's pariia* 
 ment, holden at Bury the first of this next nionth 
 
 Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before I 
 This is close dealing. — Well, I will be there. 
 
 [Exit Herald. 
 My Nell, I take my leave : — and, master sheriff. 
 Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 
 Sher. An't please your grace, here my comoii* 
 sion stays : 
 And sir John Stanley is appointed now 
 To take her with hinj to the isle of Man. 
 
 Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here? 
 Stan. So am 1 given in charge, inafi i)!eatfe yoai 
 grace. 
 
 Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that 1 pr»y 
 You use her well : the worhl may laugh agaji; 
 And I may live to do you kindness, it 
 You do it her. Aud so, sir Joltu, Surew«\L 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 423 
 
 Duch. What, gone, my lord; and bid me not 
 farewell ? 
 
 Gio. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 
 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Servants. 
 Duch. Art (hou gone too? All comfort go with 
 thee ! 
 
 For none abides with me; my joy is — death; 
 Death, at whose name 1 oft have been afeard. 
 Because I wish'd this worM's eternity. — 
 Stanley, I pr'ythee go, and talce me hence ; 
 I care not whither, for 1 beg no favour, 
 Only convey me wliere thou art commanded. 
 
 Stan. Why, madam, that is to the isle uf Man ; 
 There to be used according to your state. 
 
 Duck. That's bad enough, for I anj but reproach : 
 And shall I then be us'd reproachfully ^. 
 
 Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's 
 lady. 
 
 According to that state you shall be used. 
 
 Duch Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare ; 
 Although thou liast been conduct of my shame ! 
 
 Sher. It is my office ; and, madam, pardon me. 
 
 Duch. Ay, ay, farewell ; thy office is discharg'd. — 
 Come, Stanley, shall we go ? 
 
 Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw oflf this 
 sheet, 
 
 And go we to attire you for our journey. 
 
 Duch. My shame will not be shilted with my 
 sheet : 
 
 No, it will hang upon my richest robes. 
 
 And shew itself, attire me how I can. 
 
 Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The Abbey at Bury. 
 Enter to the Parliament King Henry, Queen 
 
 AIaHCARET, Cardinal liEAUFOIiT, SUFFOLK, 
 
 YoKK, Buckingham, and others. 
 
 K, lien. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come : 
 Tis not liis wont to be the hindmost man, 
 WhatHi'er occasion keeps him from us now. 
 
 Q. Mar. Can you not see ? or will you not observe 
 The strangeness oi' his alter'd countenance? 
 With what a majesty lie bears himself; 
 How insolent of late he is become, 
 How proud, pereiiiptary, and unlike himself? 
 We know the tiuje, since he was mild and affable ; 
 And, if we did but glance a far-off look. 
 Immediately he was upon his knee, 
 That all the court admir'd him for submission : 
 liut meet him now, and, be it in the morn. 
 When every one will give the time of day, 
 He knits his brow, and shews an angry eye. 
 And passeth by witli stiff unbowed knee. 
 Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
 Small curs are nut regarded wiien they grin ; 
 But great men tremble when the lion roars; 
 And Humphrey is no little man in England. 
 First, note, that he is near you in descent; 
 And shiMild yuu fall, he is ttis next will mount. 
 Me seemeth then, it is no policy, — 
 Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears. 
 And his advantage following your decease, — 
 That he should cotue about your royal person. 
 Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
 By flattery halh he won the commons' hearts ; 
 And, when he please to make connnotion, 
 'Tis to be /"ear d, tiiey alt will follow him. 
 Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ; 
 Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden. 
 And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
 Tiie reverent care, I bear unto my lord, 
 ^lade me collect these dangers in the duke. 
 If it hs fond, call it a wonian's fear; 
 ^V^hick fear if better reasons can supplant, 
 I will subscribe and say — I wrong'd the duke. 
 My lord of Suffolk, — Buckingham, — and Y ork, — 
 Reprove my allegati(m, if you can; 
 Or else C4>nclude my words effectual. 
 
 Suf. Well hath your highneas teen into tiiia duke 
 And, had I first been jjutto speak my mind, 
 I think, I should have told your grace's tale. 
 The duchess, by his subornation. 
 Upon my life began her devilish practices; 
 Or if he were not privy to those faults. 
 Yet, by reputing of his high descent, 
 (As next the king, he was successive heir,) 
 And such high vaunts of his nobility, 
 L>'id instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess. 
 By wicked means to frame our sovereign'o fall. 
 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; 
 And in his simple shew he hai hours treason. 
 The I'ox barks not, when he would steal the lamk 
 No, no, nly sovereiun ; Gloster is a man 
 Unsounded yet, and fidl of deep dei;eit. 
 
 Car. Did he not, contrary lo Ibrm of law. 
 Devise strange deaths, for small offences done? 
 
 York. And did he not, in his protectorship. 
 Levy greatsumsof money througn the realm. 
 For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? 
 By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. 
 
 Buck, 'i'uti these are petty iaults to faults UE- 
 known. 
 
 Which time will bring to light in smooth duke 
 Humphrey. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords, at once : The care you have 
 of us. 
 
 To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, 
 is worthy praise : But shall I speak my conscience ? 
 Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent 
 From meaning treason to our royal person. 
 As is the suckling lamb, or harmless dove : 
 The Duke is virtuous, mild ; and too well given, 
 To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than tbia 
 fond affiance ! 
 Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but borrow'd. 
 For he's disposed as the hateful raven. 
 Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him. 
 For he's inclin'd, as arc the ravenous wolves. 
 Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit? 
 Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 
 Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 
 
 Enter Somerset. 
 Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign ! 
 K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. Whatnewa 
 
 from France ? 
 Sum. That ail your interest in those territories 
 Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
 
 K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset: but Gcd'B 
 
 will be done. 
 York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France, 
 As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
 Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud. 
 And caterpillars eat my leaves away 
 But I will remedy this gear ere long, 
 Or sell niy title for a glorious grave. (Aside.) 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king! 
 Pardon, my liege, tiiat I have staid so long. 
 
 Suf. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art cjme too 
 soon. 
 
 Unless tliou wert more loyal than thou art: 
 I do arrest thee of high treason here. 
 
 Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see bm 
 blush. 
 
 Nor change my countenance for (his arrest; 
 A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
 The purest spring is not so free fro:n mud. 
 As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: 
 Who can accuse me ? wherein am 1 guilty ? 
 
 York 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took briber 
 of France, 
 
 And, being protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay; 
 By means whereof, his highness hath lost France. 
 Glo. is it but thought so ? What are they tha/ 
 think it? 
 
SECOND 
 
 f never roblj'<1 fite soldiers of fheir pay, 
 
 Nor ever had on? penny bribe from France. 
 
 So help me God, as I liave watch'd the night. — 
 
 Ay, night, by night, in studying good for England! 
 
 That d(;it, tiiate'er I wrested from the king, 
 
 Or any groat I hoarded to my use, 
 
 He brought against me at my trial day! 
 
 No! many a pound ol'mine own projjer store. 
 
 Because 1 would not tax the needy commons, 
 
 Have 1 dispersed to the garrisons, 
 
 And never ask'd for restitutioti. 
 
 Car. It serves you well, my h^rd, to say so much. 
 
 G/o. I say no more tlian truth, so help me God ! 
 
 York. In your protectorship, you did de\ise 
 Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of. 
 That England was defam'd by tyranny. 
 
 Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was 
 protector. 
 Pity was all the fault tl.at was in me ; 
 For I should melt at an otfenders tears, 
 And lowly words were ransom lor their fault. 
 Unless it were a bloody murderer, 
 Or foul felonious thiel", that fleec'd poor passengers, 
 [ never gave them condign punishment: 
 Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
 Above the felon, or what trespass else. 
 
 Suf. My lord, tiiese faults are easy, quickly an- 
 swer'd : 
 
 Dut mightier crimes are laid unto your charge. 
 Whereof you caniiot easily i)urge yourself. 
 I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
 And liere commit you to my lord cardinal 
 'r<ikeep, until your further time of trial. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope, 
 That yon will clear yourself from all suspects; 
 My conscience tells me, you are innocent. 
 
 iilo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous! 
 Virtue is ch.ok'd with foul ambition, 
 And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand; 
 Foul SMb(;i uation is predominant, 
 And equity exil'd your highness' land. 
 I know, their complot is to have my life ; 
 And, if my death might make this island happy. 
 And prove the period of their tyramiy, 
 I would ex|)end it with all vvillmgness : 
 But mine is made the prologue to their play; 
 For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril. 
 Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
 Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice. 
 And Sullblk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; 
 Sharp Buckingham unburf^ens with his tongue, 
 The en\ious load that lays upon his heart; 
 And dogged York, that reaches at the moon. 
 Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back. 
 By false accuse doth level at n>y life: — 
 .And you, my sovereign lady with liie rest. 
 Causeless have laid disgraces on my head ; 
 And, with your best endeavour, ha\e stirr'd up 
 My liefest liege to be mine enemy : — 
 Ay, all of you have laid your heads together, 
 Myseli'had notice of your conventicles, 
 .\nd all to make away my guiltless life : 
 I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
 Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; 
 The ancient proverb w ill be well effected, — 
 A stalf is quickly found to beat a do'^. 
 
 Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : 
 If those, that care to keep your royal person 
 From treason's secret kniie, and traitors' rage. 
 Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at. 
 Awl the olfender granted scope of speech, 
 1 will make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 
 
 Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here 
 'With ignominious wtwds, though clerkly couch'd, 
 As if she had suborned some to swear 
 False allegations, to o'erthrow his slate ? 
 
 Q. Mat . But 1 can give the loser leave to chide. 
 
 Glo. Fartruerspoke than meant: I lose, indeed ; — 
 Beslirew the winners, for they played me false ! 
 Aud well ?uvh losers may ha\e leave to speak. 
 
 PART OF ^ Act in. 
 
 Buc. He'll wrest the ser^e, and liold us here ali 
 day:- 
 
 Lord cardinal, he is your i)risoner. [sure. 
 Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him 
 Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch, 
 Before his legs be firm to bear his body : 
 'I'hus is the shepherd beaten from thy side. 
 And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee firSL 
 Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were ! 
 For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants, ivith Gh.ster. 
 K. Hen. My lords wiiat to your w isdom seemeth 
 best. 
 
 Do, or undo, as ifonrself were here. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave th« 
 parliament ? 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd 
 with grief, 
 
 Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; 
 
 My body round engirt with miseiy ; 
 
 For what's more miserable than discontent? 
 
 Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy face I see 
 
 I'he map of honour, truth, and loyalty ; 
 
 And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come. 
 
 That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. 
 
 What low'ring star now envies thy estate, 
 
 That these great lords, and Margaret our queen. 
 
 Do seek sub^■ersion ot thy harnjless life ? 
 
 Thou never didst tiiem wrong, nor no man wrong: 
 
 And as the butcher takes away the calf. 
 
 And binds the w retch, and beats it when it strays, 
 
 Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ; 
 
 Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence. 
 
 And as the datn runs lowing up and dow n, 
 
 Jjooking the way her harmless young one went, 
 
 And can do nought but wail her darling's loss; 
 
 Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case 
 
 With sad uuheliiful tears ; and with din,n»'d eyes 
 
 Look after him, and cannot do hiuj good ; 
 
 So mighty are his vowed enemies. 
 
 His fortunes 1 will weep; and, 'twixt each groan, 
 
 Say — Who's a traitor ? Gloster he is none. [Exii. 
 
 Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the 
 sun's hot beams. 
 Henry, my lord, is cold in great affairs, 
 Too lull of foolish pity : and Gloster's shew 
 Beguiles him, as the moui nful crocodile 
 With sorrow snares relenting passengers ; 
 Or as tiie snake, roll d in a flowering bank. 
 With sliiniiig chequer'd slough, doth sting a child, 
 'I'hat, for the beauty, thinks it excellent. 
 Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, 
 ( And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,) 
 'fhis Gloster should be quickly rid the world. 
 To rid us from the fear we have ol'him. 
 
 Car. That he should die is worthy policy : 
 But yet we want a colour ior his death : 
 'Tis nieet he be condenm'd by course of law. 
 
 Siif. But, in my mind, that were no policy: 
 The king will labour still to save his liie, 
 'J'he commons ha[)ly rise to save his life ; 
 And yet we have but trivial argument, 
 More than mistrust, that shews liim worthy death. 
 
 York. So that by this, you would not have him die. 
 
 Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I. 
 
 York. 'Tis York, that hath more reason for his 
 death.— 
 
 But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk,— 
 Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, — 
 Wer't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
 To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, 
 As place duke Hun), hrey for the king's protector? 
 Q. Mar. So the poor chicken shoidd be sure of 
 death. Ithen, 
 Suf. Madam, 'tis true: And wer't not raaducs% 
 To make the fox surveyor of the fold ? 
 SVho being accus'd a crafty murderer. 
 His guilt should be but idiy posted over, 
 Because his purpose is not executed, 
 No ; let him die, in that he is a fox, 
 
ScE^^^ 2, 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 By nature p^ov'd rd enemy to the flock, 
 Bei'ore his chaps be stun'd with crimson blood j 
 As nuiupiey, prov'd liy reasons, to my liege. 
 And do not stand on quillets, how to slay him : 
 Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty, 
 Sleeping, or waking, tis no matter how. 
 So he be dead ; for tliat is good deceit 
 Which mates him first, that first intends deceit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Tin ice noble Sntlblkj'tis resolutely spoke. 
 
 Suf. Not resoUite, except so much were done ; 
 For tilings are often spoke, and seldom meant: 
 i*ui. that my heart accordeth with my tongue, — 
 S( eing the deed is meritorious, 
 A . id to preserve my sovereign from his foe, — 
 Say but the word, and I will be his priest, 
 
 ('ar. But I would have him dead, my lord of 
 Sufiblk, 
 
 i'j e you can take due orders for a priest : 
 S ty, you consent, and censure well tiie deed. 
 Ami l"ll provide his executioner, 
 I tender so the safety of my liege. 
 
 Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing, 
 
 Q. Mar. And so say I. 
 
 York. And 1 : and now we three have spoke it, 
 It skills not greatly who impugns our doom 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain. 
 To signify — that rebels there are np, 
 And put the Englishmen unto the sword : 
 Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime. 
 Before tiie wound do grow incurable ; 
 For being green, there is great hope of help. 
 
 Car. A breach, tliat craves a quick expedient stop! 
 What coimsel give you in this weighty cause ? 
 
 York. Tliat vSomerset be sent as regent thither: 
 "V\s meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd ; 
 Witness the fortune he hath had in France. 
 
 Som. if York, with all his far-fet policy. 
 Had been the regent there instead of me, 
 He never would liave staid in France so long. 
 
 York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done : 
 I rather would have lost my life betimes, 
 Than bring a liurden of dishonour home, 
 By staying there so long, till all were lost. 
 Siiew me one scar ciiaracter'd on thy skin : 
 Men s flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging 
 fire, 
 
 U wind and fuel be brought to feed it with :— 
 No more, good York ; — sweet Somerset, be still 
 Thy ibrtuno. Vork, hadst thou been regent there, 
 Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. 
 
 York. Wliat, worse than naught? nay, then a 
 
 shame take all ! 
 So7n, And, in tlie uunaber, thee, that wishest 
 sliame I 
 
 Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. 
 The uncivil Kernes of Ireland are in arms. 
 And temper clay witii blood of Englishmen: 
 To Ireland will you lead a band of men, 
 Collected ciioicely, from each county some, 
 And try your hap against the Irishmen? 
 
 York. 1 will, my lord, so please his majesty. 
 Suf. Why. our authority is his consent; 
 And, what we do establish, he confirms: 
 i'hen, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 
 
 York. I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords. 
 Whiles I take order tor mine own affairs. 
 
 Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd. 
 But now return we to the false dukt Humphrey. 
 
 Car. No njore of him ; fori will deal with him. 
 That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. 
 And so break off; the day is almost spent: 
 Lord Siilfolk, you and I must talk of that event. 
 
 York. My loid of Suffolk, within fourteen days. 
 At Bristol 1 expect my sc Idiers ; 
 For there I'll ship them a.i for Ireland. 
 S^f I'U wee it truly done, my lord of York. 
 
 ^Exeunt all but York. 
 
 York. Now, Y ork, or never, steel thy fearfii 
 
 thought, 
 
 And change misdoubt to resolution : 
 
 Be that thou hop'st to be ; or what thou art 
 
 Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying: 
 
 Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man, 
 
 And find no harbour in a royal heart. 
 
 Faster than spring time showers, comes thoughl 
 
 on thought ; 
 And not a thought, but thinks on dignity. 
 My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, 
 Vv eaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
 Well, nobles, well , 'tis politicly done, 
 To send me packing with an host of men : 
 I fear me, you but warm the starved snake. 
 Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting yomr 
 hearts. 
 
 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me : 
 
 I take it kindly ; yet, be well assur'd 
 
 You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands 
 
 VVHiiles I in Irel and nourish a mighty band, 
 
 J will stir up in England some black storuj, 
 
 Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hel!: 
 
 And this fell temjiest shall not cease to rage 
 
 Until the golden circuit on my head. 
 
 Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams. 
 
 Do calm the fury of this mad-bred tlaw. 
 
 And, for a minister of my intent, 
 
 1 have seduc'da headstrong Keutishman, 
 
 John Cade of Ashford, 
 
 To make commotion, as full well he can, 
 
 Under the title of John Moi timer. 
 
 In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 
 
 Oppose himself against a ti-oop ol' Kernes; 
 
 And fouglitso hnig, till that his thighs with darts 
 
 Were almost like a sharp-quiU'd porcupine: 
 
 And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him 
 
 Caper upright like a wild Morisco, 
 
 Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. 
 
 Full often, like a shag hair d crafty Kerne, 
 
 Hath he conversed with the enemy; 
 
 And undiscover'd come to me again, 
 
 And given me notice of their villanies. 
 
 This devil here shall be my substitute; 
 
 For that John Mortimer, which now is dead. 
 
 In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble • 
 
 By this I shall perceive tiie commons' mind, 
 
 How they affect the house and claim of York. 
 
 Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured ; 
 
 I know no pain they can inflict upon him, 
 
 Will make him say — i inov'd him to those arras. 
 
 Say, that he thrive (as 'tis great like he will,) 
 
 Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength. 
 
 And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd : 
 
 For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be. 
 
 And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit 
 
 Scene II. — Bunj. A Room in the Palace 
 Enter certain Murderers, hastily, 
 
 \ Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk ; let him know 
 We have despatcli d tiie duke, as he commanded. 
 2 Mur. O, that it were to do ! — What have we 
 done 'i 
 
 Didst ever hear a man so penitent ? 
 
 Enter Suffolk. 
 
 1 Mur. Here comes my lord 
 Suf. Now, sirs, have yoB 
 
 Despatch'd this thing ? 
 
 1 Mur. Ah, my good lord, he's dead. 
 
 Suf Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my 
 house ; 
 
 I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
 The king and all the peers are here at hand. — 
 Have you laid fair the bed ? are all things well. 
 According as I gave direction ? 
 
 1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lorcL 
 
 Suf. Away, be gone ! [Exeunt Murderersk 
 
426 
 
 SECOND 
 
 PART OP 
 
 Act in. 
 
 Sitter King ^^ENRY, Queen Margaket, Cardinal 
 Beaufort, SojmerseTj Lords, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence 
 straiglit : 
 
 Fay, we iu end to try his <(race to-day. 
 If he he g iilty, as 'tis pubUslied. 
 
 Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. 
 
 K. H^n. Lords, take your places And I pray 
 you all. 
 
 Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, 
 Than from true evidence, of good esteem, 
 He be apjirov'd in jiractice culpable. 
 
 Q. Mar. God Ibibid any malice should prevail. 
 That faultless may condemn a noblt-man ! 
 Pray God, he nray acquit iiim of suspicion ! 
 
 K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words 
 content me much. — 
 
 Re-enter Suffolk. 
 
 How now? why look'st thou pale ? why treniblest 
 thou ? 
 
 Where is our uncle ? what is the matter, Suffolk ? 
 Siif. Dead in his bed, uiy lord ; Gloster is dead. 
 Q. Mar. Marry, God t'orefend ! 
 Car. God's secret judgment — 1 did dream to- 
 night, 
 
 The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. 
 
 {TJie Kiv<j swoons.) 
 Q. Mar. How fares my lord r — Help, lords! tlie 
 
 king is dead. 
 So?n. Rear up his body ; wrin^ him by the nose. 
 Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help !— O, Henry, ope 
 thine eyes ! 
 
 SuJ'. He dolh' revive asjain; — Madam, be patient. 
 K. Hen. O hea\ enly (i<>d ! 
 Q. Mar. How fares uiy gracious lord ? 
 Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry, 
 comf)rt! 
 
 iST Hen. What, doth niy lord of SnlTolk comfort me? 
 Came he riglit now to sing a raven's note. 
 Whose dismal tutie bereft my \ital powers; 
 And thinks he, that the chii |-ing of a wren, 
 IJy crying cortif)rt from a hollow breast. 
 Can chase away the fii st-cimceived sound? 
 Hide nut tliy poison witii such sugar d words. 
 Lay not hands on me ; forbear, I say ; 
 Their touch aifii»hts me, as a serpent's sting. 
 Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! 
 U on thy eye-balls murd'rnus tyranny 
 Sits in grim majesty, to fright tlie world. 
 Look not upon mc, lorth.ine eyes are wounding: — 
 Vet do not go away ;— Come, basilisk. 
 And kill the innocent gazer witii thy sight: 
 For in the shade of death I shall find joy ; 
 [n life, but double death, now Gluster's dead. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord c.f Suftbik thus? 
 Although the duke was enemy to him, 
 Yet he, most christiaii-like, laments his death : 
 And for myself, — foe as he was to me, 
 Might liquid tears, or heart oifending j^roans, 
 Or blood consuming sighs recall his life, 
 I would be blind with weeping, sick yvith groans, 
 liook pale as primrose, vvitli biood-drinking sighs, 
 And all to have the noble duke alive. 
 What know I how the world may deem of me? 
 For it is known, we were but hollow friends; 
 ft may be judg'd, I made the duke away: 
 So shall my name vvith slanders tongue be wounded, 
 And princes' courts be tiH'd with my reproach. 
 This get I by his death : Ah me, unhappy ! 
 To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, woe is me ibr Gloster.wretched man ! 
 
 0 Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. 
 What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? 
 I am no loathsome leper, look on me. 
 What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? 
 Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn <|ueen. 
 ii all thy couilort shut iu Gluster's tomb ? 
 
 Why, then dame M«rga -et ^as ne'e*- £y joy; 
 Erect his statue then, and worsiiip it, 
 And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
 Was 1, fortius, nigh wreck'd upon the sea, 
 And twice by awkward wind from England's baiifc 
 Drove back again unto my native clime ? 
 What boded this, but well forewarning wind 
 Did seem to say, — Seek not a scf)rpi(>n's nest. 
 Nor set no looting on this unkind shore ? 
 What did I then, but uurs'd the gent!'; gusts, 
 And he that loos'd them from their braaen caves ; 
 And bid them blow towards England's blessed 
 shores. 
 
 Or tm-n our stern upon a dreadful rock ? 
 Yet i^iolus would not be a niurderer, 
 But lelt that hatefd ciTice unto thee : 
 'J'he pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me ; 
 Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd ou 
 shore, 
 
 With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness ; 
 
 'I'he splitting rocks cow'rd in the sinking satuls, 
 
 Atid would not dash me with their ragged s;des; 
 
 Because thy flinty heart, more hard tiian they. 
 
 Might in thy palace perish Margaret- 
 
 As fa r y 1 could ken thy chalky clilfs. 
 
 Win n Irotn the shore the tempest beat us back, 
 
 1 stood u|)on the hatches in the storm: 
 
 And when the dusky sky began to rob 
 
 My earnest gaping sight of thy land's view, 
 
 I look a costly jewel Irom my neck, — 
 
 A lieart it was, boimd in with diamonds, — 
 
 And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea receiv'd it) 
 
 And so, I wisli'd. thy body might my heart: 
 
 And even with this, I lost fair England's \ iew. 
 
 And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart: 
 
 And caird them blind and dusky spectacles. 
 
 For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
 
 How often have I tempted Snilolk's tongue 
 
 riMie agent of thy foul inconstam y.] 
 
 To sit and witcli me, as Ascanius did. 
 
 When he t(i madding Dido vvouid unfold 
 
 His father's acts, conmienc'd in binning Troy ? 
 
 Am I notwitch'd like her?or(hou not false likebim? 
 
 Ah me, I can no more I Die, Margaret! 
 
 For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. 
 
 Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury 
 The Commons press to the door. 
 
 War. It is reported, mighty sovereign. 
 That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd 
 By Suifolk and the cardmal Beaufort's means 
 'i'he commons, like an angry hive of bees, 
 That want their leader, scatter up and down, 
 And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
 Myself have calm'd their spleenful nuitiny. 
 Until they hear the order of his death. 
 
 K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, *ti 
 too true ; 
 
 But how he died, God knows, not Henry: 
 Enter his chamber, view his b'eathless corpse. 
 And coumient then uj)on his sudden death. 
 
 War. That I shall do, my liege : — Stay, Salisbury 
 With the rude multitude, till I return. 
 
 [Wartvick goes into an inner room, and Sali» 
 bury retires. 
 K. Hen. O thou, thatjudgest all things, "jtay inj 
 thoughts; 
 
 My thoughts, that labour to persuade my so d. 
 
 Some violent hands were laid on Huinpl rev i life \ 
 
 If my sus|)ect be false, forgive me, God; 
 
 For judgment only doth belong to thee! 
 
 Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
 
 With twenty thousand kisses, and to draia 
 
 Upon his face an ocean of .suit tears: 
 
 To tell my lo\ e unto his dmi)b deaf trunk, 
 
 And with my fingers feel his hand ur.fecliu^: 
 
 But all in vain are these mean obseijuies; 
 
 And to survey his dead and errthly image. 
 
 What were it but to make my sorrow greater? 
 
bCEjNE 2. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 427 
 
 Thef.-Jdin(] doors of an inner chamher are throtvn 
 open, Glostek is discovered dead in his 
 bed: W arwick and others standing by ii. 
 
 Wat Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this 
 body. 
 
 K. Hen. That is to see liow deep my grave is made : 
 For, vvitii his soul, fled all my worldly solace; 
 For seeing him, I see my life in death. 
 
 War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
 With that dread King, that took our state upon hira, 
 'Jo free us from his Fathers wrathful curse, 
 I do believe, tliat violent hands were laid 
 l/pon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 
 
 Siif. A dreadful oath, sworn vvitha solenni tongue ! 
 W^hat instance gives lord Warwick for his vow ? 
 
 War. S^e, how the blood is settled in his face ! — 
 Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost. 
 Of ashy senkblaoce, meagre, pale, and bloodless. 
 Being all descended to the labouring heart ; 
 Who, in the conflict that it holds with death. 
 Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy ; 
 Whicli with the heart there cools, and ne'er re- 
 turneth 
 
 To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
 But, see, his face is black, and full of blood; 
 His eye-ljalls farther out than when he liv'd. 
 Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : 
 His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strug- 
 gling ; 
 
 His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd 
 Aud tugg'd for life, and was by strength subtia'd. 
 Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking; 
 His well-proportioned beard made rough and 
 rugged. 
 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
 It cannot be, but he was murder'd here ; 
 The least of all these signs were probable. 
 
 Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke 
 to death ? 
 
 Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection; 
 And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 
 
 TVar, But both of you were vow'd duke Hum- 
 phrey's foes ; 
 \nd you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep: 
 Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend ; 
 Arid 'tis well seen he found an enemy. 
 
 Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen 
 As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
 
 War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding 
 fresh, 
 
 And sees fast by a butcher with an axe. 
 But wiii sus[)ect, 'twas he that made the slaughter ? 
 Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest. 
 But may imagine how the bird was dead. 
 Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ? 
 Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 
 Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where 's 
 your knife ? 
 
 Is Beaufort term'd a kite ? where are his talons ? 
 
 Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men ; 
 But here's « vengeful sword, rusted with ease. 
 That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart. 
 That slanders me with murder's crimson badge: — 
 Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, 
 That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. 
 
 [Exeunt Cardinal, Som., and others. 
 War. What dares not Warwick, if false SutFolk 
 dare him? 
 
 Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, 
 'Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, 
 jThongh Suffolk dare hitn twenty thousand times. 
 1 fJ^'ar. Madam, be still ; with reverence may I say; 
 ! For every word you speak in his behalf. 
 
 Is slander to your royal dignity, 
 i ^«/. Blunt- witted lord, ignoble in demeanour ! 
 ! If ever lady wrorig'd her lord so much. 
 
 Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
 
 iSome stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
 
 I Was graft with crab-tree slii) ; whose fruit thou art. 
 
 And never of the Nevils' nobl<« race» 
 
 War. But that the guilt of murder Oiickiers th©» 
 And I should rob the deathsman of his fee. 
 Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand sliaaies. 
 And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
 I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
 Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech. 
 And say — it was tliy mother, that tlion niean'st. 
 That thou thyself was born in bastardy ; 
 And after all this fearful liomage dune, 
 Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell. 
 Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men ! 
 
 Si(f. Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood 
 If iiom this presence thou dar'st go with me. 
 
 War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence J 
 Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee. 
 And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. 
 
 [Exeunt Suffolk and Warivick. 
 
 K. Hen. What stronger breast- plate than a hearl 
 untainted ? 
 
 Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just; 
 And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 
 
 {A noise within^ 
 
 Q. Mar. What noise is this ? 
 
 Re-enter Suffolk and Waravick, with their 
 
 weapons drawn. 
 K. Hen. Why, how now, lords ? your wrath&il 
 weapons drawn 
 Here in our presence ? dare you be so bold? — 
 Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? 
 
 Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of 
 Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. T^ury, 
 
 Noise of crowd ivithin. Re-enter Salisbury. 
 
 Sal. Sirs, stand apart; the king shall know your 
 mind. — (Speakiny to those ivithin. 
 
 Dread lord, the commons send you word by me. 
 Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death, 
 Or banished fair England's territories. 
 They will by violence tear him from your palace 
 And tortine him with grievous ling'ring death. 
 They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died; 
 They say, in him they fear your highness* death : 
 And mere instinct of love, and loyalty. 
 Free from a stubborn opposite intent. 
 As being thought to contradict your liking, — 
 Makes them thus forward in his banishment 
 They say, in care of your most royal person. 
 That, il' your highness should intend to sleep. 
 And charge — that no man should disturb your re^ 
 In pain of your dislike, or pain of death; 
 Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict. 
 Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue. 
 That slily glided towards your majesty. 
 It were but necessary, you were wak'd ; 
 Lest, being sufter'd in that harmful slumber. 
 The mortal worm might make the slet^p eternal: 
 And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, 
 That tliey will guard you whe'r you will, or no. 
 From such fell serjn iits as false Suffolk is: 
 With whose envem -. ed and fatal sting, 
 Your loving uncle, twenty tiuies his worth, 
 They say, is shnmef nly beiej"t of life. 
 
 Commons. {Within^ An answer from ttie king, 
 my loid of Salisbury. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis like, the conunons, rude unpolisk'd 
 hinds. 
 
 Could send such messager to their sovereign : 
 But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd. 
 To shew how quaint an orator you are. 
 But all the honour Salisbury hath won, 
 Is — that he was the lord ambassador. 
 Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 
 
 Commons. {Within.) An answer ficm the di^, 
 or we'll all break in. 
 
 K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all fromme^ 
 I thank them for their tender lov ing care ; 
 And had I not been 'cited so by them, 
 
428 
 
 SECOND 
 
 PART OF 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 VettJici I purpose as they so entreat; 
 For «ure, niy thoughts do hourly prophesy 
 MiBchance iitito my state by SutTolk's means. 
 And therefore — by His majesty I swear, 
 Whose far unworthy deputy I am, — 
 He shall not breatlie itilection in this air 
 But three days longer, on the pain of death. 
 
 [Exit Salisbury. 
 
 Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Sulfolk ! 
 
 K. lien. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle 
 Sulfoik.^ 
 
 f^o more, I say ; if thou dost plead for him. 
 
 Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
 
 Had I but said, I would have kept my word ; 
 
 But, wiien I swear, it is irre\ocahle: 
 
 ff, after tinee days s[)ace, thou here be'st found 
 
 On any ground that i am ruler of, 
 
 The world shall not be ransome ior thy life. — 
 
 Come, VV arwick. come, ^ood Warwick, gt) with me ; 
 
 I have great nuttters to impart to thee. 
 
 [Exeunl K. Hem y, IT arivick. Lords, ^c. 
 
 Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with 
 Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, [you ! 
 
 Be playfellows to keep you company ! 
 There's two of you ; tiie devil make a third ! 
 And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps ! 
 
 Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations. 
 And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 
 
 Q. Mar. Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted 
 wretch ! 
 
 Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies ? 
 Suf. A plague unon them ! wherefore should I 
 curse them ? 
 
 Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
 I would in\ent as bilter-searching terms. 
 As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
 Dehver'd strongly through my fixed teeth. 
 With full as many signs of deadly hate, 
 „\s lean fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave: 
 My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; 
 Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; 
 My hair be lix'd on end, as one distract ; 
 Ay, every joint slioidd seem to curse and ban : 
 And even now my biirden'd heart would break, 
 Should 1 riot curse them. Poison be their drink ! 
 Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste ! 
 'J'heir sweetest sliade, a gro\e of cypress trees! 
 Their chiefest prospects, murdering basilisks! 
 Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings I 
 Their music, fiightlul as the serpent's hiss; 
 And boding screech-owls make the concert full! 
 All the foul terrors in dark-»eated hell. — 
 
 Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suftblk ; thou torment'st 
 thyself: 
 
 4.nd these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass. 
 Or like an overcharged gun, — recoil. 
 And turn the i'orce of them upon thyself. 
 
 Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? 
 Now, by the ground that 1 am banish'd from. 
 Well could 1 curse away a winter's night, 
 Though standing naked on a mountain top. 
 Where biting cold would never let grass grow. 
 And think it hut a minute spent in sport. 
 
 Q. Mar. O. let me entreat thee, cease I Give me 
 thy hand, 
 
 That I may dew it with my mournful tears; 
 Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place. 
 To wash away my woeful monuments. 
 O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand : 
 
 {Kisses his hand.) 
 That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, 
 1 hrough whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for 
 thee I 
 
 So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief: 
 'Tis but surniis'd whilst thou art standing by. 
 As one t'lat surfeits thmking on a want. 
 1 will re^^al thee, or, be well assured. 
 Adventure to be banished myself : 
 And banished I am, if but from thee. 
 Go, speak, not to me , even now be gone. — 
 
 O, go not yet ! — Even thus two friends, coDiiemn'd, 
 Embrace, and kiss., and take ten thousand ieaves, 
 Loather a hundred times to part than die. 
 Yet now farewell : and farewell life with thee I 
 Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished. 
 Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee, 
 Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence; 
 A wilderness is populous enough. 
 So SuffoJk had thy heavenly conipany. 
 For, where thou art, there is the world itself, 
 With every several pleasure in the world ; 
 And where thou art not, desolation. 
 I can no more : — Live thou to joy thy life , 
 Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. 
 
 Enter Vaux. 
 
 Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, 
 I pr'ythee ? 
 
 Vaux. To signify unto his majesty. 
 That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death 
 For suddenly a grievous sickness took him. 
 That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, 
 Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. 
 Sometime, he talks as if duke Humpiirey's ghost 
 Were by his side ; sometime, he calls the king. 
 And whispers to his pillow, as to him. 
 The secrets of his overcharged soul: 
 And I am sent to tell his majesty, 
 That even now he cries aloud lor him. 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. 
 
 [Exit Vaux. 
 
 Ah me ! what is this world ? what news aie these ? 
 But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss. 
 Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? 
 Why only, Sufllolk, mourn I not for thee, 
 And with the southern clourls contend in tears ; 
 Tlieirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? 
 Now, get thee hence: The king, thou know's* 
 
 is coming ! 
 If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 
 
 Stif. If I depart from thee, I cannot live : 
 And in thy sight to die, what were it else 
 But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap 
 Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
 As mild and gentle as the cradle babe. 
 Dying with mother's dugs between his lips : 
 Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, 
 And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes. 
 To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; 
 So should'st thou either turn my flying soul. 
 Or I should breathe it so into thy body. 
 And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 
 'I'o die by thee, were but to die in jest : 
 From thee to die, were torture more than death : 
 O, let me stay, befall what may befall. 
 
 Q. Mar. Away ! though parting be a fretful cor- 
 rosive. 
 
 It is applied to a deathful wound. 
 To France, sweet Suffolk : Let me hear from thee ; 
 For whereso'er thou art in this world's globe, 
 I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. 
 Suf I go. 
 
 Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. 
 
 Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask 
 That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
 Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we; 
 This way fall I to death. 
 
 Q. Mar. This way for me. [Exeunt, severally. 
 
 Scene III. — London. Cardinal Beauforfs bed- 
 chamber. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and 
 others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with 
 him. 
 
 K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort,! 
 to thy sovereign. [treasure,! 
 
 Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's' 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 So tiiou wilt let nje live, and feel uo pain. 
 
 K. Hen. Ah. what a sign it is of evil life, 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 4:29 
 
 When death's approach is seen so terrible I 
 1 PFar. Bcautort, it is tliy sovereign speaks tolhee. 
 I Car. Briug me unto my trial when you will. 
 
 D -d he nut ui liis bed : wilt re siiuiild he die? 
 
 Can 1 make men live, whe'r they will or nu ^ — 
 jOl torture me no more, I will coni'ess. — 
 jj Alive again then shew me where he is; 
 I I'll give a thousand poiu)il to look upon him. — 
 liBti hath no eyes, the dust hath hlinded them. — 
 
 (Joinb (lownlii.s hair; look ! look ! it_ stands upright, 
 [Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! — 
 iGive me some drink ; aiul hid tlie apothecary 
 
 Bring the strong poistm thai I bi.Might of him. 
 K. Hen. O thou eternal iMover of the heavens. 
 
 Look witli a gentle eye upo!) this wretch 1 
 j O, beat away the busy meddling fiend, 
 ' That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, ^ 
 
 And Truin his bosom purge this black despair ! 
 War. See, how the pangs of death do make him 
 grin. 
 
 Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably, 
 j K. Hen. Peace to his s(wil, if God's good plea- 
 sure be. 
 
 ; Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
 j Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — 
 ! He dies, and n>akes no sign ; O God, forgi\ e him I 
 i rVar. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 
 ! K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. — 
 ! Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close ; 
 And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Kent. The Sea shore near Dover. 
 I Firing heard at sea. Then enter from a boat, a 
 j Captain, a Master, a Master s-Mate, Walter 
 ' VVhitmore, and others ; tvith them Suffolk, 
 
 and other Gentlemen, prisoners. 
 I Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day 
 jj [& crept into the bosom of ihe sea ; 
 I And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades. 
 That drag the tragic melancholy night; 
 Wl\o with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings. 
 Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws 
 Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
 Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize ; 
 For, whilst our pinnace anchors in t!ie Downs, 
 Here shall they make their ransom on the sand. 
 Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. — 
 i Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; 
 And thou tiiat art his mate, make boot of this; — 
 Tlie other, {poi?iiin(j to SuJ/olk) Walter Whitmore, 
 is thy share. 
 1 Gent. What is my ransome, master ? let me 
 know. 
 
 I Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 
 head. 
 
 Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes 
 yours. 
 
 t-ap. What, think you much to pay two thousand 
 crowns, 
 
 And bear the name and port of gentlemen? 
 Cut both the villains' throats ; — for die you shall ; 
 'file lives of those, which we have lost in fight, 
 Cc::not be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 
 
 1 Gent I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my 
 
 life. [straight. 
 
 2 Ge7it. And so will I, and write home for it 
 ' Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard. 
 
 And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ; 
 
 (To Suffolk.) 
 i And so should these, if I might have my will. 
 I Cap. Be not so rash; take ransome, let him live. 
 S^f', Look on n)y George, I am a gentleman; 
 Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. 
 Whit. And so am I ; my name is — Walter Whit- 
 : more. [affright ? 
 
 I How now? why start'st tbon? what, doth death 
 St{f. Thy name allrights me, in whose sound is 
 \ CQDoing man did calculate n>y birth, [death, 
 
 And told me — that by Walter I should dse *. 
 Vet let not tliis make thee be bloody u*inded , 
 Tliv name is — Ganlticr, b«ing rigiitly sounded. 
 
 Whit. Gaultier. .>v Walter, which I't is. 1 careaot 
 Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name, 
 Jiut with onr swo il we wip'd away the blot; 
 Therefore, when ineichant-l ke I sell revenge. 
 Broke be my swo d, my arms torn and defac'd. 
 And 1 proclaim'd a coward tinough the world I 
 
 ( Lays hold on Suffolk, 
 
 Stif. Stav, Wliitmore ;for tiiy prisoner is a prince 
 The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. 
 
 PFhil. The duke of Sullblk, muffled up in rags! 
 
 S?/J'. Ay, but these rags aie no part of the dul e ; 
 Jove sometime went disguis'd. and why not I ? 
 
 Cap. But Jove was never slain, as tiiou shalt be. 
 
 Suf. Obscure and lowly swain. King Henry's 
 The iionour-jble blood of Lancaster, [blood. 
 Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. 
 Hast thou not kiss'd' thy hand, and lield my stirrup? 
 Bare-headed plodded by niy loot cloth mule, 
 And thought thee happy when 1 shook my head ? 
 How often hast thou waited at my cup. 
 Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board. 
 When 1 have feasted with queen Margaret? 
 Remember it, and let it make thes crest fall'n f 
 Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride: 
 Hovv in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, 
 And duly waited for my coming forth ^ 
 This liand of mine hath writ in thy behalf. 
 And tlierelbre shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 
 
 Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab t ie forlorn 
 swain ? 
 
 Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me, 
 Suf. Base slave I thy words are blurit, and s: art 
 thou. 
 
 Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-l»at'» 
 
 side 
 
 Strike oft" his head. 
 
 Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. 
 
 Cap. Yes, Poole 
 
 Suf Poole ? 
 
 Cap. Poole ? Sir Poole ? lord 1 
 
 Ay, kennel, puddle, sink: whose fiith and dirt 
 Troubles the silver spring wnere England drinks 
 Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth. 
 For swallowing the treasure of tlie realm : 
 'J'hy li[)s, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the 
 f;round ; 
 
 And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Hnmpref** 
 death, 
 
 Against tlie senseless winds shalt grin in vain. 
 
 Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again : 
 
 And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
 
 For daring to affy a mighty lord 
 
 Unto the daughter of a worthless king. 
 
 Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
 
 By devilish policy art thou grovvn great, 
 
 And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd 
 
 With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. 
 
 By thee. Anjou and Maine were sold to France 
 
 The false revolting Normans, thorough thee. 
 
 Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy 
 
 Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forta. 
 
 And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
 
 The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, — 
 
 Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain.-.* 
 
 As hating thee, are rising up in arms : 
 
 And now the house of York — thrust from the crowny 
 
 By shameful murder of a guiltless king 
 
 And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, — 
 
 Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colourm 
 
 Advance ouv half-fac'd sun, striving to shine. 
 
 Under the which is writ — invitis nubibus. 
 
 The commons here in Kent are up in arms 
 
 And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary, 
 
 Is crept into the palace of our king, 
 
 And all by thee : — Av/ay ! convey him hence. 
 
 Suf O that I were a god, to shoot forth tiuiDder 
 Upon these paltry, servile abject drudges I 
 
430 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Small t!i!np,"s make bnse men proud : this villain here, 
 
 BeiDg captain uf a pioiiace. (hreatens more 
 
 Than Baignliis, tlie strong lilyiian pirate. 
 
 Dror)es suck not eagles' blixifl, but rob bee-hivea. 
 
 ft is impossible, that I should die 
 
 By sucii a lowly \assal as thyself. 
 
 Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me : 
 
 F go ol" mt-ssage (Vom the quren to France ; 
 
 I charge Ihee, waft me safely cross the channel. 
 
 Cap. Walter, [death. 
 
 Wkit. Ci>me, 8u!iolk, I must waft thee to thy 
 Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus : — 'tis thee 1 
 ft^ar. 
 
 W/iiL Tiiou shalt have cause to fear, before I 
 leave thee. 
 
 What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 
 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak 
 him fair. 
 
 S?if. Siiirolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 
 Us d to command, imlaught to plead for favour. 
 Far be it, we should honour such as these 
 Witli husntde suit: no, rather let my head 
 S^oop to the blo< k, than these knees bow to any. 
 Save to (he God of iieaven, and to my king; 
 And sootier dance upon a bloody pole, 
 Thau stnnd uncover'd to the vulgar groom. 
 True nubility is exempt from fear: — 
 JMore can I bear, than you dare execute. 
 
 CVfp. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 
 
 Siff. Come, soldiers, shew what cruelty ye can, 
 Tliat this my death may never be forgot 1 
 Great men oft die by vile bezonians : 
 A Rttmati sworder and banditto slave, 
 Mnrder'd sweet Tully ; Brutus* bastard hand 
 Stabb'd Jidius Caesar; savage islanders, 
 Poiiipey the great : ai/d Siilfolk dies by pirates. 
 
 [Exit Suf. with Whit, and others. 
 
 Cap. And as for tliese whose ransom we have set, 
 ^, is our pleasure, one of theui depart: — 
 therefore come you with us, and let him go. 
 
 [Exeunt all Out the first Gentleman. 
 
 Rp-enter W hitmore, loith Suffolk's body. 
 
 Wkit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, 
 Until the »pieen, his mistress, bury it. [Exit. 
 
 1 Gffut O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
 His liody will I bear unto the king: 
 If he revenge it not, yet will his friends: 
 So wii' the queen, that living held him dear. 
 
 [Exit ivith the body. 
 
 Scene fl. — Blackheath. 
 Enter George Bevis and .)oks Holland. 
 
 Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made 
 of a lath ; they have been up these two days. 
 
 John. Tluy have the more need to sleep now then. 
 
 Geo. I tell thee. Jack Cade, the clothier, means 
 to dn\ss the commonwealtii, and turn it, and set a 
 «ew tiap upon it 
 
 John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, 
 f say, it was never merry world in England, since 
 gentietiieti cauie up. 
 
 Geo C> miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in 
 hand :craits- men. 
 
 John, riie nobility think scorn to go in leather 
 aproiis. 
 
 Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good 
 woi kuu'n. 
 
 John. True: And yet it is said, — Labour in thy 
 Voratioti : which is as much to say, as, — let the ma- 
 cisir itrs be labouring men; aiid thereiore should we 
 be re5a6i>ist rates. 
 
 Gfu. riioti hast hit it: for (here's no better sign 
 of a bt ave mind than a hard hand. 
 
 John. \ seethcui! i see them! There's Best's 
 son. the taiuier <;f Wingiiam ; — 
 
 Geo. lit' .>-hall have the skins of our enemies, to 
 make (log's i/alherof. 
 
 John. And Dick the butcher, — 
 
 GVo 'V^tix .3 is.ii struck down like an ox, and ini 
 
 Act IY. 
 
 em. JH 
 
 S^tuTH On 
 ber. T| 
 
 r supposed 1 
 
 quity's throat cut like a crfft 
 John. And Smith the weaver. 
 Geo. Aryo, their thread of life \t spna. 
 John. Come, come, let's iall in w;tii lliem. 
 
 Drum. Enter Caoe, Dick the butcher. SamH 
 weaver, and others in yreat number 
 
 Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supptised 
 
 father,— 
 
 Diok. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrin,i;9, 
 
 Cade. — for our enemies shall fall beiijie ns 
 inspired with the spirit of putting dovv?i kings an 
 princes. — Command silence. 
 
 Dick. Silence ! 
 
 Cade. My father was a Mortimer. — 
 Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick- 
 layer. {Aside.) 
 Cade. My mother a Planlagenet, — 
 Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies. — 
 Dick. Slie was, indeed, a pedlar's dauglster, and 
 
 sold many laces. {Aside.) 
 Smith. But, now of late, notable to travel with 
 
 her Ihrred pack, she washes bucks here at lumie. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 
 
 Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is iionourable; 
 and there was he born, under a hedge; for his father 
 had never a house, but tlie cage. {Aside.) 
 
 Cade. Valiant I am. 
 
 Smith. 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. j 
 
 {Aside.) \ 
 
 Cade. I am able to endnre much. j 
 
 Dick. No question of that; lor I have seen him i 
 whipped three market days together. {Aside.) i 
 
 Cade. I fear neither sword nor fiie. 
 
 Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat ' 
 is of proof. _ {Aside.) 
 
 Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in tear ol 
 fire, being burnt i'the hand for stealing ol sheep. 
 
 {A.^ide.) 
 
 Cade. Be brave then; for your captain is brave, 
 and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, 
 seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny ; the three- 
 hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and I will make it 
 felony to drink small beer: all the realm siiail be in 
 common, and in Cheapside shall my paltry go to 
 grass. And when I am king, (as king I will be) — 
 
 All. God save your majesty ! 
 
 Cade. I thank you, good people : — there shall be 
 no money ; all shall eat and drink on my score ; and 
 I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may 
 agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 
 
 Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the 
 lawyers. 
 
 Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a 
 lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent 
 lamb should be made parchment? that parcimient, 
 being scribbled o'er, should undo a man ? Some 
 say, the bee stings: But I say, 'tis the bee's wax, 
 for I did but seal once to a thing, and 1 was sievel 
 mine own man since. How now ? who's there i , 
 
 Enter some, bringing in tlie Clerk of Chatham. ; 
 
 Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write anA ; 
 read, and cast accompt. ; 
 Cade. O monstrous! 
 
 Smith. We took him setting of boy's copies. 
 
 Cade. Here's a villain I [in t I 
 
 Smith. H'as a book in bi.s pocket, with red letters , 
 
 Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. 
 
 Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
 court-hand. i 
 
 Cade. I am sorry for't : the man is a proper man, 
 on mine honour, unless 1 find hivi guilty, he shall 
 not die. — Come hither, Nirrah, 1 must exsiiunf 
 thee : What is thy naiae ? 
 
 Clerk. Emmanuel. 
 
Scene i. 
 
 KING HENR^ VI. 
 
 481 
 
 />icff. Tisey nse to write tt on the top of letters ; 
 -I'will go hard with you. 
 
 Cade. Let me alone: — Dost thon use to write 
 thy ririine ? or hast ti)ou a mark to tliyself^ like an 
 honest plain-deahiij? man? 
 
 Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well 
 bron<(ht up, that I can write my name. 
 
 AFL He hath confessed : away with him ; he's a 
 villain, and a traitor. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, I say: hang him with his 
 pen and iukhorn about his neck. 
 
 [Exeimt some with the Clerk. 
 
 Enter Michael. 
 
 Mlc^. Where's our general ? 
 
 Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 
 
 Mich. Fly, fly, lly! sir Humphrey Stafford and 
 his brotlier are hard by, with the king's forces. 
 
 Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down : 
 He shall be encountered with a man as good as 
 himself: He is but a knight, is 'a? 
 
 Mick. No. 
 
 Cade. To equal him, T will make myself a knight 
 presently ; Rise up, sir John Mortimer. Now have 
 at him. 
 
 Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William 
 his brother, with drum and Forces^ 
 
 Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
 Mark'd for the gallows, — lay your weapons down, 
 Hon»e to your cottages, forsake this groom ; — 
 The king is merciful, if you revolt. [blood, 
 
 TV. Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclined to 
 If you go forward : therefore yield, or die. [not; 
 
 Cade. As for these silken coated slaves, I pass 
 It is to you, good people, that I speak, 
 O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ; 
 For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 
 
 Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; 
 And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not? 
 
 Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 
 
 W.Staf And what of that ? 
 
 Cade. Marry, this : — Edmund Mortimer, earl of 
 March, 
 
 Married the duke of Clarence' daughter ; Did he 
 not? 
 W. Staf. Ay, sir. 
 
 Cade. By her, he had two children at a birth. 
 
 W. Staf That's false. [true : 
 
 Cade. Ay, there's the question; but, I say, 'tis 
 The elder of them, being put to nurse. 
 Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away ; 
 And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
 Became a bricklayer, when he came to age : 
 His son am I ; deny it, if you can. 
 
 Dick. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall b3 
 king. 
 
 Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in tny father's 
 10 use, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify 
 t ; therefore, deny it not. 
 
 Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words, 
 That speaks he knows not what? 
 
 All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone. 
 
 W. Staf Jack Cade, the duke of York hath 
 taught you this. 
 
 Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. {Aside.) 
 —Go to, sirrah. Tell the king from me, that — for 
 tis father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time 
 f>oys went to span-counter for French crowns, — I 
 -in content he shall reign, but I'll be protector over 
 him. 
 
 Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's 
 head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. 
 
 Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is England 
 manned, and fain to go with a staff, but that my 
 puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, 
 that that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, 
 and made it an eunach : and more lhan that, he can 
 jpeak French, and therefore he is a traitor. 
 
 Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! 
 
 Cade. Nay, answer, if yon can : The Frenchmen 
 are our enemies : go to then, 1 ask but this : Caa 
 he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, he « 
 good counsellor, or no ? 
 
 All. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. 
 
 W. Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not pn> 
 vail, 
 
 Assail them with an army of the king. 
 
 Staf Herald, away: and throughout every town^ 
 Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade ; 
 That those, which fly before the battle ends, 
 May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
 Be hang'd up for example at their doors : — 
 And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt the two Staffords, and Forcet 
 
 Cade. And you, that love tlie comnions, follow 
 me. — 
 
 Now shew yourselves men, 'tis for liberty. 
 We will not leave one lord, one gentleman: 
 Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon ; 
 For they are thrifty honest men, and such 
 As would (but that they dare not) take our parts. 
 
 Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us. 
 
 Cade. Biit then are we in order, when we are 
 most out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Another part of Blackheath. 
 Alarums. The two parties enter and fiyht, and 
 both the Staffords are slain. 
 
 Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford? 
 Dick. Here, sir. 
 
 Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
 and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in 
 thine own shnighter house : therefore thus will I 
 reward thee, — The LeJit shall be as long again a.s 
 it is; and thou shall have a license to kill for a 
 hundred lacking one. 
 
 Dick. I desire no more. 
 
 Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. 
 This monuinent of the victory v/ill I bear; and the 
 bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels^ till 1 do 
 come to London, where we will have the misyor's 
 sword borne before us. 
 
 Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break 
 open the gaols, and let out the prisoners. 
 
 Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's 
 march towards London. [Exeunt. 
 Scene IV. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Uej^ry, reading a supplication ; the 
 
 Duke of BucKlNGtlAM and Lord .^say with him ; 
 
 at a distance. Queen Margaret, mourni7ig over 
 
 Suffolk's head. 
 
 Q. Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens th« 
 And makes it fearful and degenerate : [mind, 
 l^hink therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. 
 But who can cease to weep, and look on this ? 
 Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: 
 But where's the body that I should embrace ? 
 
 Buck. What answer makes your grace to the 
 rebels' supplication? 
 
 K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat: 
 For God forbid, so many sinjple souls 
 Should perish by the sword ! And I myself. 
 Rather than bloody war should cut them short. 
 Will parley with Jack Cade, their general.-— 
 But stay, I'll read it over once again, fface 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely 
 Rul d, like a wandering planet, over me ; 
 And could it not enforce them to relent. 
 That were unworthy to behold the same? 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to 
 have thy head. 
 
 Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, madam ? Still 
 Lamenting, and mourning f r Suffolk's death ? 
 I fear, njy love, if that I had been dead, 
 Thou wocldst not have mourn'd so much for me. 
 
 Q. Mar. No, toy love, I should not moura, bat 
 die fot thee. 
 
SECOND PART OF 
 
 Enter a Messenger 
 
 Kt Hen. How now! what news? why com St 
 thou in such hnste ? [lord ! 
 
 Mess. The rebels are in Soiithwark; Fly, my 
 Jack. Cade proclaims inuiselflord Mortimer, 
 Descended from the duke of Clarence' house ; 
 And calls your grace usurper, openly, 
 And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
 His army is a ragged multitude 
 Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : 
 Sir Humphrey Statibrd and his brother's death 
 Hath given them heart and courage to proceed : 
 All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen. 
 They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death. 
 
 K. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not what 
 they do. 
 
 Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, j 
 Until a power be rais'd \o put them down. j 
 ' Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Sutlblk now alive, 
 These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, 
 Therefore away with us to Kenelworth. 
 
 Say. So might your grace's person be in danger; 
 The sight of me is odious in their eyes : 
 And therefore in this city will I stay, 
 And live alone as secrt-t as I may 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge ; 
 the citizens 
 Fly and forsake their houses : ^ 
 The rascal [leople, thirsting after prey, 
 iohi with the traitor ; and they jointly swear, 
 To spoil the city, and your royal court. 
 
 Buck. Then linger not, my lord; away, fake 
 horse. [succour us. 
 
 K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will 
 Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is de- 
 oeas'd. 
 
 K. Men. Farewell, my lord; (To Lord Say.) 
 
 trust not the Kentish rebels. 
 Buck. Trust no l)ody, for fear yon be betray'd. 
 Sity. Tiie trust I have is in mine innocence. 
 And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — The same. The Tuiver. 
 
 Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the ivalls. 
 Then enter certain Citizens, below. 
 
 Scales. How now? is Jack Cade slain ? 
 
 1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for 
 they have won the bridge, killmg all those that 
 withstand them : The lord mayor craves aid of your 
 honour from the Tower, to defend the city from the 
 rebels. 
 
 Scales. Such aid as 1 can spare, you shall com- 
 mand ; 
 
 But 1 am troubled here with them myself, 
 Tiie rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
 But get you to Smithlield, and gather head. 
 And thitlitr 1 will send you Matthew Gough : 
 Fight for your king, your country, and your lives; 
 And so I'arewell, ibr 1 nuist hence again. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — The same. Cannon-street. 
 Enter Jack Cade, and his foUoivers. He strikes 
 his staff on Londun-stone. 
 Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And 
 here, sitting upon London stone, 1 charge and cotn- 
 maiicl, that, of the city's cost, the pissing- conduit 
 rim nothing but claret wine this first year of our 
 reign. And now, henceibrward, it shall be treason 
 far any that calls me other than — lord Mortimer. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, running. 
 Sold. Ja^ck Cade ! Jack Cadel 
 ^^ade. Knock him down there. {They kill him.) 
 SiLiih. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call 
 m Jack Cade mc^ e; I think he hath a very fair 
 
 Dick. My lord, there's an army ga 
 
 in Siniihfield. 
 Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them : f,?ut, 
 first, go and set London bridge on fire ; and, if y<;n 
 can, burn down the Tower too. Come, lef's away 
 
 [ExeunU 
 
 Scene VI I.— The same. Smithjield. 
 Alarum. Enter, on one side. Cade and his com- 
 pany; on the other, Citizens, and' the King's 
 Forces, headed by Matthew Gcl'ch. They 
 Jight; the Citizens are routed, and Matthew 
 Gough is slain. 
 
 Cade. So, sirs : — Now, go some and pull down 
 the Savoy ; others to the inns of court ; down with 
 them all. 
 
 Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 
 Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that 
 word. 
 
 Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come 
 out of your mouth. 
 
 John. Mass, 'twill be sore law then ; for he wag 
 thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole 
 yet. _ (Aside) 
 
 Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; foi 
 his breath stinks with eating toaste-d cheese. 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. 
 Away, burn all the records of the realm ; niy mouth 
 shall be the parliament of England. 
 
 John. Then we are like to have bitinj^ statutes, 
 unless his teeth be pulled out. ^ {Aside.^^ 
 
 Cade. And henceforward all thinjj.s shall be in 
 common. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the lord 
 Say, which sold the towns in France ; he that made 
 us pay one-and-twenty fifteens, and one shilling to 
 the pound, the last subsidy. 
 
 Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say. 
 
 Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. 
 — Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram 
 lord ' now art thou within point-blank of our juris- 
 diction regal. What canst thou answer to my ma- 
 jesty, for giving up of Normandy unto monsieur 
 Basimecu, the Dauphin of France ? Be it known 
 unto thee by these presence, even the presence of 
 lord Mortimer, that I am the be'som that must sweep 
 the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast 
 most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm, 
 in erecting a grammar-school • and whereas, before, 
 our forefathers had no other books but the score 
 and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; 
 and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, 
 thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to 
 thy face, that thou hast men about thee, that usually 
 talk of a noun, and a verb ; and such aDommaDie 
 words, as no Christian ear can endure to hear. 
 Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor 
 men befbre them about matters they were not able 
 to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison ; 
 and because they could not read, thou hast lianged 
 them ; wiieo. iodeed, only for that cause they have 
 been most worthy to live Thou dost ride on a fo it 
 cloth, dust thou not? 
 
 Say. What of that? 
 
 Cade. Marry, thou otsghtest not to let thy horse 
 wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in 
 their hose and doublets. 
 
 Dick. And work in their shirt too as myself, fot 
 example, that am a butcher. 
 
 Say. You men of Kent, — 
 
 Dick. What say you of Kent ? 
 
 Say. Nothing but this : 'Tis bona terra, mala gens 
 
 Cade. Away with him, away with him ! he S|)eak3 
 Latin. [will 
 
 Say. Hear me but speak, and iear rae where yoa 
 Kent, in the commentariesJ CsBBat writ. 
 
yCENE 8. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 433 
 
 Is term'd the civiPst place of all this isle : 
 Sweet ia the country, becairse full of riches ; 
 The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy ; 
 Which makes me hope you are not \o\d of pity. 
 I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy ; 
 Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. 
 Justice with favour have I always done ; 
 Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. 
 When have I cuight exacted at your hands, 
 Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you ? 
 Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks. 
 Because my book preferr'd me to the king ; 
 And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
 Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, — 
 Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, 
 You cannot but forbear to murder me. 
 T'hia tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings 
 For your behoof, — 
 
 Cade. Tut I when strnck'st thou one blow in the 
 field? [struck 
 
 •Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft have I 
 Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 
 
 Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come be- 
 hind folks? [good. 
 
 Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your 
 
 Cade. Give him a box o'the ear, and that will 
 nwke 'em red again. 
 
 Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes 
 Hat h niade me full of sickness and diseases. 
 
 Cade. Ye shall have a heu)pen caudle then, and 
 the pap of a hatchet. 
 
 Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man? 
 
 Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. 
 
 Cade. Nay, he nods at us ; as who should say. 
 Ml be even with you. I'll see if his head will 
 stand steadier on a pole, or no ; Take him away, 
 and behead him. 
 
 Say. Tell me, wherein I have offended most? 
 Have I afl:ected wealth, or honour : speak ? 
 Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold ? 
 Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? 
 Whom liave I injur'd, that ye seek my death ? 
 These hands are free from guiltless blood shedding. 
 This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. 
 O, let me live ! 
 
 Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words: 
 b it I II bridle it ; he shall die, an it be but for plead- 
 ing so well for his life. Away with him ! he has a 
 familiar under his tongue ; he speaks not o*Qod's 
 name. Go, take him away, 5 say, and strike off his 
 head presently ; and then break into his son-in-law's 
 house, sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, 
 and bring- them both upon two poles hither. 
 
 All. It shall be done. 
 
 Say. Ah, countrymen ! if when you make your 
 prayers, 
 
 God should be so obdurate as yourselves. 
 How would it fare with your departed souls? 
 And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, and do as 1 command ye. 
 
 [Exeunt some tvith Lord Say. 
 The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a 
 head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; 
 there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay 
 tome her maidenhead ere they have it: Men shall 
 hold of me in capite ; and we charge and command, 
 that their wives be as free as heart can wish, or 
 tongue can tell. 
 
 Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, 
 and take up commodities upon our bills? 
 
 Cade. Marry, presently. 
 
 All. O brave f 
 
 Re-entsr Rebels, with the heads o/LoRD Say and 
 his Son-in-law. 
 Cade. But is not this braver? — Let them kiss one 
 I another, for they loved well^ when they were alive. 
 Now par them again, lest they consult about the 
 fivins[' up of some more towns i i France Soldiers, 
 defer the Si>oil of the city until night : for with these 
 
 borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride 
 through the streets; and a1 every corner, have 
 them kiss. — Away ! [Exeuni, 
 
 Scene VII f. — Southtvark. 
 Alarum. Enter Cade, ana all his Rcbhlement. 
 
 Cade. Up Fish-street ! down St, Magnus' corner t 
 kill and knock down ! throw them into Thames l--^ 
 [A parley sounded, then a retreat.) What noise is 
 this J hear? dare any be so bold to sound letieat or 
 parley, when I command them kill ? 
 
 Enter Bucj?lingham, and Old Clifford, unth 
 Forces. 
 
 Buck. Ay, here they be, that dare and will dis 
 turb thee : 
 
 Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 
 Unto the commons, whom thou hast misled : 
 And here pronounce free pardon to them all, 
 That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. 
 
 Clif. What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent. 
 And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis olTer'd you ; 
 Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths? 
 Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon. 
 Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty! 
 Who hateth him, and honours not his father, 
 Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake. 
 Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 
 
 All. God save the king ! God save the king ! 
 
 Cade. What, Buckingham, and Cliftbrd, are ye 
 so brave ? — And you, base peasants, do ye believe 
 him ? will you needs be hanged with your pardons 
 about your necks ? Hath my sword therefore broke 
 through London Gates, that ye should leave me 
 at the White Hart in Southwark ? I thought, ye 
 would never have given out these arms, lill jon 
 had recovered your ancient freedom : but you are 
 all recreants, and dastards; and delight to live in 
 slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs 
 with burdens, take your houses over your heads, 
 ravish your wives and daughters before your faces : 
 For me, — I will make shift for one : and so — God's 
 curse light upon you all ! 
 
 All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade. 
 
 Clif. Ys Cade the son of Henry the fifth, 
 That thus you do exclaitn — you'll go with him? 
 Will he conduct you through the heart of France^ 
 And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? 
 Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to; 
 Nor knows he how to live, out by the spoil, 
 Unles.s by robbing of your friends, and us. 
 Wer't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar. 
 The fearful French, whom you late vanquished. 
 Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you ? 
 Methinks, already, in this civil broil, 
 I see them lording it in London streets. 
 Crying — Villageois ! unto all they meet. 
 Better, ten thon^^and base-born Cades miscarry. 
 Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. 
 To France, to France, and get what you have lost; 
 Spare England, for it is your native coast: 
 Henry hath money, you are strong and manly : 
 God on our side, doubt not of victory. 
 
 All. A Cliflbrd! a Cliflbrd ! we'll follow the king, 
 and Clifford. 
 
 Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and 
 fro as this multitude? the name of Henry the filth 
 hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them 
 leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads to- 
 gether, to surprize me : my sword make way for me, 
 for here is no staying. — In despight of the devils 
 and hell, have through the very midst of you ! and 
 heavens and honour be witness, that no want of re- 
 solution in me, but; only my followers' base and ig- 
 nominious treasons, makes me betake me to my 
 heels. [Exit. 
 
 Brick. What, is he fled ? go some, and follow him ; 
 And he, that brings his head unto the king. 
 Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. — 
 
 [Exeunt some of ihsm, 
 28 
 
SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act TV. 
 
 Follow me, soldiers ; we'll de\ ise mean 
 
 To reconcile you all unto the king. [Kxeuni. 
 
 Scene \X.~Kenelworth Castle, 
 Enter Khuj Henrv, Queen Margaret, and 
 
 Somerset, on the terrace uj the Castle. 
 K. He?i. Was ever king, that joy'd an earthly 
 throne. 
 
 And could cv)n)niand no more content than I ? 
 No sooner was I crept ontofnjy cradle, 
 But I was made a king, at nine montlis old : 
 Was never snlyject h)ng'd to be a -king, 
 As I do long and wish to be a subject. 
 
 Enter Buckingham ajid Clifford. 
 Bud: Health and glad tidings to your majesty! 
 K. Hen. Why, Biickiny.hani, is tlie traitor, Cade, 
 surpi is d ^ 
 
 Or is he but retir'd to make hira strong? 
 
 Enter, belocv. a yreat niimhe.r o/'Cade's Followers, 
 ivith halters about their necks. 
 Clif. Hp's (led, my lord, and all his powers do 
 yiekl ; 
 
 And humbly (hus, with halters on their necks, 
 Expect your liiglmess' doom, of life, or death, 
 K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting 
 gates, 
 
 I o entertain n)y vows of thanks and praise! 
 Soldiers, th.s day liave you redeem'd your lives. 
 And shew'd how well you love your prince and 
 country : 
 
 Continue still in this so good a mind, 
 And Henry, ihoiigh he be unfortunate, 
 Assure yourselves, will never be imkiud: 
 And so, vvitii thanks, and pardon to you all, 
 J do dismiss you to your several countries. 
 All. Uod save the king ! God save the king ! 
 
 t Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised, 
 The duke of York is newly come from Ireland : 
 And with a puissant and a mighty power, 
 Of Gallowglasses, and stout Kernes, 
 lo marching liiiherward in proud arrav ; 
 And still proclaiineth, as he comes along, 
 Hjs arm? are only to remove from thee 
 The duke of Somerset, vviioni he terms a traitor. 
 
 K. Hen. 'I'hus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and 
 York distress'd ; 
 Like to a sliip, that, having 'scap'd a tempest, 
 \» straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate: 
 But now is Cade driven back, liis men dispers'd ; 
 And now is York in arms to second him. — 
 I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him; 
 And ask him, what's the reason of these arms. 
 Tell him, I li send duke Edmund to the Tovver; — 
 And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither. 
 Until iiis iwmy be dismissed from him. 
 
 Sam. My lord, 
 I.'ll yield myself to prison willingly. 
 Or unto death, to do my country good. 
 
 K. Hen. iu any case, be not too roui^h in terms; 
 For tie IS fierce, and cannot brook hard language. 
 
 Buck. I will, ujy lord ; and doubt not so to deal 
 As all tilings shall redound unto your good. 
 
 K. Hen. Cume, wife, let s in, and learn to govern 
 better ; 
 
 For yet may England curse my wretched rei'jn. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene X. — Kent. Iden's Garden, 
 Enter Cade. 
 Cede. Fye on ambition ! fye on myself ; that have 
 a sword, and yet am ready to fmiish ! These five 
 daya have 1 hid me in these woods; and durst not 
 peep out, for all the country is lay'd for me ; but 
 B4)W am i so hungry, that if I might have a lease of 
 my life for a thousand years, [ could stay no longer. 
 Wherefore, on a brick-wall have 1 clinibed into this I 
 
 garden; to see if I can cat grass, or pick a saliel 
 another while, which is not amiss to coo! a man's 
 stomach this hot weather. And, I think, this word 
 sallet was born to do me good; for, many a lime, 
 but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been cleft with a 
 browii bill ; atid, many a time, when I have been 
 dry and bravely marching, it hath served me instead 
 of a quart-pot to drink in ; and now the word sallet 
 must serve me to feed on. 
 
 Enter Iden, with Servants. 
 
 Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these 'i 
 I'his small inheritance, my father left me, 
 Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy. 
 I seek not to wax great by others' waning ; 
 Or gather wealth, 1 care not with what envy: 
 Sufficeth, that I have maintains my state, 
 Anil sends the poor well pleased from my gate 
 
 Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me 
 for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. 
 — Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand 
 crowns of t'lie king for carrying my head to \\\\\\ ; but 
 I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow 
 my sword like a great pin, ere thou and \ part. 
 
 Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be 
 I know thee not; Why then should I betray thee ? 
 fs't not enough, to break into my garden. 
 And, like a tliief, to come to rob my grounds. 
 Climbing ujy walls in spite of me the owner, 
 But thou wilt brave rne with these saucy terms ? 
 
 Cade Brave thee ? ay, by the best blood that e\«r 
 was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me 
 well : I have eat no meat these five days ; yet, conse 
 thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you al! 
 as dead as a door nail, \ pray God, I may never eat 
 grass more. [stands, 
 
 Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England 
 That Alexander Iden, an esquire oi Kent, 
 Took odds to combat a poor lamish'd man. 
 Oppose thy stedfast gazing eyes to mine. 
 See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. 
 Set limb to limb, and th(»u art far the lesser; 
 Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ; 
 Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon ; 
 IMy f)ot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; 
 And if my arm be heaved in the air, 
 Tliy grave is digg'd already in the earth. 
 As for more words, whose greatness answers words, 
 Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 
 
 Cade. By my valom-, the most complete champion 
 that ever I heard. — Steel, if thon tarn the edge, or 
 cut not out the burley-boned clown in chines ol 
 beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God, on 
 my knees, thou niayest be turned to hobnails. ( They 
 fight. Cade Jails.) O, I am slain ! famine, and no 
 other, hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come 
 against me, and give me but the ten raeals I have 
 lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden ; and 
 be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell 
 in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade 
 is fled. 
 
 Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous 
 traitor ? 
 
 Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, 
 And hang thee o'er my tomb, when i am dead : 
 Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point ; 
 But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat. 
 To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 
 
 Cade. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy vic- 
 tory : Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best 
 man, and exhort all the world to be cowards ; for I, 
 that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not 
 by valour. {Dies.) 
 
 Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be 
 myjudge. 
 
 Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee 
 And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
 So wish I, I might tlirust thy soul to hell. 
 Hence will I drag thee headlong by tiie heel* 
 
Act Y. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY YI. 
 
 m 
 
 Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, 
 And there cut off thy most ungracious head; 
 Which I will bear in triumph to the king. 
 Leaving thy trunk, for crows to feed upon. 
 
 [Exit, dragging out the body. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. Fields between Dartford 
 
 and Blackhealh. 
 The King's Camp on one side. On the other, enter 
 
 York attended, with drum and colours: his 
 
 Forces at some distance. 
 
 York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim 
 his right. 
 
 And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
 
 king bells, aloud ; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, 
 
 To entertain great England's lawful king. 
 
 P^\\,sancta majesias! who would not buy thee dear? 
 
 Let them obey, that know not how to rule ; 
 
 This hand was made to liandle nought but gold: 
 
 1 cannot give due action to my words, 
 
 Except a sword, or sceptre, balance it 
 
 A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul ; 
 
 Oil which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. 
 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 
 Whom have me here? Buckingham, to disturb me ? 
 The king h?>lh sent him, sure : 1 must dissemble. 
 Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee 
 well. 
 
 York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
 greeting. 
 
 Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ? 
 
 Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, 
 To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
 Or why, thou — being a subject as I am, — 
 Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
 SiiDiiklst raise so great a power without his leave, 
 Oi flfire to bring tliy force so near the court. 
 York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is 
 
 so great, [flint, 
 O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with 
 [ am so angry at these abject terms; 
 And now, like Ajax Telamonius, 
 On sheep or oxen could I spend iny fury ! 
 1 mil far better born than is the king; 
 More like a king, more kingly in my 
 
 thoughts : 
 
 But I must make fair weather yet a while. 
 Till Henry be more weak, and I more 
 strong. — 
 
 O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me, 
 'i'hat I have given no answer all this while ; 
 My mind was troubled with deep melanclioly. 
 The cause why 1 have brought this army hither. 
 Is — to remove proud Somerset from the king. 
 Seditious to his grace, and to the state. 
 
 Buck. That is too much prbsemptiou on thy part; 
 But if thy arms be t(i no other end, 
 The king hath yielded unto thy demand; 
 The duke of Somerset isintlie Tower. 
 
 York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? 
 
 Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 
 
 York. Then, Buckingham, f do dismiss my 
 powers, — 
 
 Soldiers, I thank you all ; disperse yourselves ; 
 Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 
 You shall have pay, and every thing you wish. 
 And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
 Conmiand my eldest son, — nay, all my sons. 
 As pledges of my fealty and love, 
 I'll send them all as willing as I live ; 
 Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have 
 Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 
 
 Buck. York, I cornineiid this kind submission : 
 We twain will go into his highness' tent. 
 
 Enter King Henry, attended. 
 
 K. Hen. Btickingha n, doth York intend no hgirm 
 tooa 
 
 > Aside. 
 
 That thus he marcheth M'ith thee arm in ana , 
 York. In all submission and humility, 
 
 York doth present himself unto your highueas. 
 K. Hen. Then what intend these forceH thou d>84 
 bring ? 
 
 York. To heave the traitor Somerset from henc$ i 
 And fight against that monstrous rebel, C-ade, 
 Who since I heard to be discomfited. 
 
 Enter Iden, with Cade's head. 
 
 Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition, 
 IVtay pass into the presence of a king, 
 Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head. 
 The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 
 
 K. Hen. The head of Cade ? — Great God, now 
 just art thou ! — 
 O, let me view his visage being dead, 
 That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
 Tell me, my friend, art thou (he man that slew him ? 
 
 Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. [degree ? 
 
 K. Hen. How art thou call'd ? and what is thy 
 
 Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name : 
 A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 
 
 Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amisi 
 He were created knight for his good service. 
 
 K. Hen. Iden, kneel down; {he kneels.) Rise 
 up a knight. 
 We give thee for reward a thousand marks ; 
 And will, that thou henceforth attend on us. 
 
 Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty. 
 And never live but true unto his ii^ge ! 
 
 K. Hen. S«e, Buckingham ! Somerset comes witb 
 the queen , 
 Go bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret Somerset. 
 
 Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide 
 his head. 
 
 But boldly stand, and front him to his face. 
 
 York. How now I Is Somerset at liberty ? 
 Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts. 
 And let thy tongue be equal with tliy heart. 
 Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? — 
 False king ! why hast thou broken faith with me. 
 Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? 
 King did I call thee ? no, thou art not king : 
 Not fit to govern and rule multitudes. 
 Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 
 That head of thine doth not become a crown ; 
 Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff. 
 And not to grace an awful princely seeptre. 
 That gold must lound engirt these brows of mine , 
 Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 
 Is able with tlie change to kill and cure. 
 Here is a hand to hold a seeptre up. 
 And with the san»e to act controlling laws. 
 Give place ; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 
 O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler. 
 
 Som. O monstrous traitor ! — I arrest thee, York, 
 Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown : 
 Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for graee. 
 
 York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me as 
 of these, 
 
 If they can brook I bow a knee to man. 
 Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail ; 
 
 [Exit an Attendant, 
 I know, ere they will have me go to ward, 
 They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement, 
 Q.Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come 
 amain. 
 
 To say, if that the bastard boys of York 
 Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 
 
 York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitanj 
 Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scoorge 1 
 The sons of York, thy betters in theii birth, 
 Shall be their father's bail ; and banc to tikO»9 
 That for my surety will refuse the boy*. 
 
i36 SECOND 
 
 Enter Edward and Richard Plantagenet, with 
 Forces, at one side ; at the other, with Forces 
 also. Old Clifford and his Son. 
 
 Bee, whej 8 they come ; I'll warrant they'll make it 
 good. 
 
 Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their 
 bail. 
 
 JJlif. Health and happiness to my lord the kin^! 
 
 {Kneels.) 
 
 York. I thank thee, Clifford: Say, what news 
 wifh thee ? 
 Nay, do not fright ns with an angry look : 
 We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ; 
 For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 
 __Clif. This is m'y king, York, I do not mistake ; 
 But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do :— 
 To Bedlam with him' is the man grown mad? 
 K. Hen. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambitious 
 humour 
 
 Makes him oppose himself against his king. 
 
 Clif. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, 
 And chop away that factions pate of his. 
 
 Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
 His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. 
 
 York. Will you not, sons ? 
 
 Ediv. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 
 Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons 
 shall. 
 
 Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here ! 
 
 York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so; 
 I am thy king, and thou a false-heart (raitor. — 
 Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, 
 That, with the very shaking of their chains, 
 They may astonish these fell lurking curs; 
 Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come tome. 
 
 Drums. Enter Warwick and Sausbury, tvith 
 Forces. 
 
 Clif. Are these thy bears ? we'll bait thy bears to 
 death, 
 
 Arid manacle the bear- ward in their chains, 
 If thou dais't bring them to the baiting-place. 
 
 Rich. Oft have 1 seen a hot o'erweening cur 
 Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; 
 Who, being sulVer'd witli the bear's fell paw. 
 Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd: 
 And such a piece of service will you do. 
 If you oppose yourself to match lord Warwick. 
 
 Clif Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, 
 As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 
 
 York. Nay, we .shall heat you thoroughly anon. 
 
 Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn your- 
 selves. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot 
 to bow ? — 
 Old Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair. 
 Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son ! — 
 What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, 
 And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? 
 O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? 
 If it be banish'd from the frosty head, 
 Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ? — 
 Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war. 
 And shame thine honourable age with blood ? 
 Why art thou old, and want'st experience ? 
 Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? 
 For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me, 
 That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 
 
 Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
 The title of this most renowned duke ; 
 And in my conscience do repute his grace 
 The riffhtfnl heir of England's royal seat. [me ? 
 
 K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto 
 
 Sal. I have. 
 
 K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for 
 such an oath ? 
 
 Sal It is great sin, to swear unto a sin ; 
 But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. 
 Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
 
 PART OF Act Y 
 
 To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, 
 
 To force a spotless virgin's chastity. 
 
 To reave the orphan ot his patrimony, 
 
 To wring the widow from her custom'd right; 
 
 And have no other reason for this wrung 
 
 But that he was bound by a solenni oath. 
 
 Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 
 
 K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm him- 
 self [hastj 
 
 York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends the 
 I am resolv'd lor death, or dignity. 
 
 Clif. The first, I warrant thee, il dreams prove true 
 
 War You were best to go to bed, and dream again. 
 To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 
 
 Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm, 
 Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ; 
 And that I'll write upon tiiy burgonet. 
 Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 
 
 War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's 
 crest. 
 
 The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff. 
 This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
 (As on a mountain top the cedar shows. 
 That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,) 
 Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 
 
 Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, 
 And tread it under foot with all contempt. 
 Despight the bear-ward that protects the bear. 
 
 Y. Clif And so to arms, victorious father. 
 To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. 
 
 Rich. Fye ! charity, for shame ! speak not in spite, 
 For you shall sup with Jesu Christ io-mg\\{. 
 
 Y. Clif. Foul stigmatick, that's more than thou 
 canst tell. 
 
 Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene II. — St. Albans. 
 Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. 
 War. Clifford of Cimiberland, 'tis Warwick calls ■ 
 And if thou dost not hide thee froui the bear, 
 Now, — when the angry trumpet sounds alarm. 
 And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, — 
 Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me ! 
 Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cunjberland, 
 Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 
 
 Enter York. 
 How now, my noble lord ? what, all a foot? 
 
 York. I'he deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed ; 
 But match to match I have enconnter'd him, 
 And made a |.rey for carrion kites and crows 
 Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. 
 
 Enter Clifford. 
 War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 
 York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other 
 
 chase. 
 
 For I myself must hunt this deer to death. 
 
 War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thoo 
 fight'st.— 
 
 As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day. 
 It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. 
 
 [Exit Warwick. 
 Clif. What seest thou in me, York ? why dost 
 thou pause? 
 
 York. With thy brave beanng should I be in lore. 
 But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 
 
 Clif. Nor should thy pro vess want praise and 
 esteem. 
 
 But that 'tis shewn ignobly, and in treason. 
 
 York. So let it help me now against thy sword. 
 As I in justice and true right express it ! 
 
 Clif. My soul and body on the action both ! — 
 York. A dreadful lay ! — address thee instantly 
 
 {They fight, and Clifford falls.) 
 Clif. La Jin couronne les osuvres. {Dies.) 
 York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for tboa 
 art .still.— 
 
 Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! [Exit, 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 487 
 
 Enter Yom^ Cjjfford. 
 
 Y. Clif. Shanie and fijnfnHicn ! all is on the rout ; 
 Fear frames disorder, Ac?" uis;>rder wounds 
 Where it should guard O war, thou son of hell, 
 Whom angry heavens do make their minister, 
 Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
 Hot coals of vengeance! — Let no soldier fly : 
 He, that is truly dedicate to war, 
 Hath no self-love ; nor he, that loves himself. 
 Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, 
 The name of valour. — O, let the vile world end, 
 
 {Seeinfjkis dead father.) 
 And the premised flames of the last day 
 Knit earth and heaven together! 
 Now let the general trumpet blow his blast. 
 Particularities and petty soimds 
 To cease ! — Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, 
 To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
 The silver livery of advised age ; 
 And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus 
 To die in ruffian battle — Even at this sight. 
 My heart is turn'd to stone: and, while 'tis mine. 
 It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ; 
 No more will I their babes; tears virginal 
 Shall be to me even as the dew to fire ; 
 And bsauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, 
 Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
 Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity • 
 Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
 Into as many gobbets will I cut it. 
 As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: 
 In cruelty will 1 seek out my fame. 
 Come, thou new ruiu of old Cliftbrd's house ; 
 
 [Taking up the body.) 
 As did ilineas old Anchises bear, 
 So bear I thee upon usy manly shoulders; 
 But then iEneas bare a living load. 
 Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit, 
 
 Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset 
 fighting, and Somerset is killed. 
 
 Rick. So, lie thou there ; — 
 For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign. 
 The Castle in St. Albans, Somerset 
 Hath made the wizard famous in his death. — 
 Svvord, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still: 
 Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. 
 
 Alarums I Excursions. Enter King Henry, 
 Queen Margaret, and others, retreating. 
 
 Q. Mar. Away, my, lord! you are slow; for 
 
 shame, away ! 
 K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens ? good Mar- 
 garet, stay. [cor fly : 
 Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight. 
 Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, 
 I tf ifive the eneuay Wi»y ; and to secure us 
 
 By what we cao, wh'ch « la ao more but Ej. 
 
 \Alarum afar \ 
 If you be ta'en, we then «lBOuld see the bottom 
 Of all our fortunes : but. it' we haply scape, 
 (As well we may, if not tlirough your neglect.) 
 We shall to London get ; where you are lov'd ; 
 And where this breach^ now in our fortunes ma (Je. 
 May readily be stopp'd. 
 
 Enter Young Clifford. 
 
 Y. Clif But that my heart's on future mischief s 
 I would speak blasphemy, ere bid you fly \ 
 But fly you must ; uncurable discomfit 
 Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 
 Away, for your relief I and we will live 
 To see their day, and them our fortune give : 
 Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Fields near Saint Albuns. 
 Alarum : Retreat. Flourish ; then enter York, 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Sol 
 
 diers, with drum and colours. 
 
 York. Of Salisbury, who can report of hiin ; 
 That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets 
 Aged contusions, and all brush of time ; 
 And like a gallant in the brow of youth, 
 Repairs him with occasion? this happy day 
 Is not itself, nor have we won one foot. 
 If Salisbury be lost 
 
 Rich. My noble father.. 
 
 Three times to-day I holp him to his horse. 
 Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off. 
 Persuaded him from any further act: 
 But sfill, where danger was, still ihere I met Mim ; 
 And like rich hangings in a homely house. 
 So was his will in his old feeble body. 
 But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 
 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou foiui 
 to-day ; 
 
 By the mass, so did we all. — I thank you, Richa , 
 God knows, how long it is I have to live ; 
 And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 
 You have defended me from imminent death. — 
 Well, lords, we have not got that which we have : 
 'Tis not enough cur foes are this time fied, 
 Being opposites of such repairing nature. 
 
 York. I know, our safety is to follow thera ; 
 For, as I hear, the king is fled to London 
 To call a present court of parliament. 
 Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth : — 
 What says lord Warwick ? shall we after them ?-« 
 
 War, After them! nay, before them, if we can 
 Now by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day : 
 .Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. — 
 Sound, dru ris and trumpets ; — and to London allj 
 Alid more such days as these to us sief»ll i \Ereu 
 
 « 
 
KING HENRY VI. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The tliree parts of King Henry VI. are suspected, by Mr. Theobald, of being luppositioas, atd are doclu'ed, !» 
 Dr. Warburton, to be certainly not Sliakspeare's. Mr. Theobald's suspicion arises from some t>bso^ete words; bai 
 the phraseology is like the rest of our author's style, and single words, of which however 1 do ntt observe more tbaq 
 two, can conclude little. 
 
 Dr Wai barton gives no reason, but I suppose him to iudgc upon deeper principles and more comprehensive views, 
 ajid to draw his opinion from the general efiett and spirit of the composition, which he thinks intt-rior to the other hisio- 
 lical plays. ... 
 
 From mere inferiority nothing can be inferred; in the productioiis of wit there will be inequality. Sometimes judgroent 
 will err, and sometimes the mutter itself wi!! def eat the artist. Of every author's works one will be the besi, and one 
 will he the worst The colours are not equally pleasing, uor the attitudes equally graceful, in all the pictures of litian 
 er Reyr:c-,l,ls. 
 
 ^)issimilitude of style and heterogeneousness of sentiment, may sufficiently show that a work does not really belong to 
 the reputed author. But in these p]a) s no such marks of spuriousncss are I'ound. The diction, the versification, and tlie 
 figures are Shakspeare's. These plays, considered without regard to characters and incidents, merely as narratives in 
 verse, are more happily conceived, and more accurately finished, than those of King John. Richard II. or the tragic scene* 
 of King Henry IV and V. If we take these plays from Shakspeare, to whom shall they be given ? What autlicr of that 
 age had the same easiness of exnression and fluency of numbers? Of these three plays I think the second Ihe best, ine 
 truth is, that they have not sullicient variety of action, for the incidents are too often of the same kind; yet many oi th« 
 ( hai actcrs are well discrimiuaied. King Henry, and kis queen, king Edward, the duke of Gloster, and the earl ol W ar- 
 v\ ick, are very strongly and distinctly painted. JoA'tson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 EDWARD, Frhice of Wales, his Son. 
 LEWIS XI, King of France. 
 DUKE OF SOMERSET, ' 1 
 DUKE OF EXETElt, 
 E.\RL OF OXFORD, \ 
 EARL OF NORTH U31BERLAND, ( 
 EARL OP WESTMORELAND, 
 LORD CLIFFORD, 
 
 RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Ditke of York. 
 EDWARD, Earl of March, afterwards King 
 
 Edward IV . 
 EDMUND, Earl of Rutlaml, 
 GEOllGE, ajterwards Duke of Clarence, 
 RICHARD, afterwards Duke of Glocester. 
 DUKE OF NORFOLK, , 
 MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE. I 
 EARL OF WARWICK, of the Duke of York's 
 
 EARL OF PEMBROKE, ( Party. 
 LORD HASTINGS, 
 LORD STAFFORD, 
 
 Lords on King 
 Henry's side. 
 
 his Sons, 
 
 SIR JOHN MORTIMER ) . . > r»» 
 
 SIR HUGH MORTIMER, \ i^"cles to tnt uutf ^ i»» 
 
 HE^RY, Earl (j/ Richmond, a Yontk. 
 
 LORD RIVERS. Brother to Lady Gre}. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM STANLEY. 
 
 SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY. 
 
 SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Tutor to Rutland. 
 
 Mayor of York. 
 
 Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 A Nobleman. 
 
 Two Keepers. 
 
 A Huntsman. 
 
 A Son that has killed kis Father. 
 A Father that has killed his Son. 
 
 QUEEN MARGARET. 
 
 LADY GREY, aj'tertvards Queen to Edward IV. 
 BONA, Sister to the French Queen. 
 
 Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry and Kiuj 
 Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, etc. 
 
 Scene, — During jmrt of the third Act, in France ; during all ihe rest of the Play, in Enqland. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — London. The Parliament-House. 
 Drums. Some Soldiers of York's Party break in. 
 
 Then, enter the Duke of York, Ed'.vard, 
 
 RicH\nD, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, aiid 
 
 others ivith white roses in their hats. 
 
 War. I wonder how the king- escap'd our hands. 
 
 York. While we pnrsu'd the horsemen of the 
 He slily stole away, and left his men : [north, 
 Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, 
 Whose warlike ears could ne\ er brouk retreat, 
 Oheer'd np the drooping army; and himself, 
 Lord Cliflbrd, and lord Stafford, all a-breast, 
 Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in. 
 Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. 
 
 Ediv. [»nrd Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham, 
 fs either slain, or wounded dangerous : 
 1 cleft his beaver with a downright blow; 
 That tins lo true, father, behold his blood. 
 
 {Shewing his bloody Sword.) 
 
 Mont. And, brother, here's the eai 1 of Wiltshire's 
 biood, {To York, shewing his.) 
 
 Whom I enconnter'd as the battles join'd. 
 
 Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. 
 
 {Throwing down the Duke of Somersets head.) 
 
 York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. — 
 What, is your g^ ace dead, my lord of Somerset ? 
 
 Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of 
 G'Uint! 
 
 Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head. 
 
 War. And so do I. — Victorious prince of York, 
 Befora I see fhee seated in that throne 
 Which now the house of Lancaster usurps. 
 
 I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close. 
 This is the palace of the learfnl king. 
 And this the regal seat: possess it, York; 
 For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs. 
 York. As.sist me then, sweet Warwick, and 
 will; 
 
 For hither we have broken in by force. 
 Norf. We'll all assist you ; he that Hies shall di 
 York. 'I'hanks, gentle Norfolk. — Stay by me, 
 lords ; — 
 
 A.nd, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 
 War. And, wlien the king comes, offer him 
 violence, 
 
 Unless he seek to thrust yon out by force. 
 
 {They ret 
 
 York. The qneeu, this day, here holds herpar- 
 liament, 
 
 But little thinks we s' all be of her conncil : 
 By words, or blows, Iwre let us win our right. 
 
 Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's slay within this 
 honse. 
 
 War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd. 
 Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king ; 
 And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice 
 Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 
 
 York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; 
 I mean to take possession of my right. 
 
 War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, 
 The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
 Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. 
 I'll plant .Plantagenet, root him up who dares : — 
 Resolve thee, Richard ; claim the English crown. 
 
 'Warwick leads York to tM throns, whs 
 seats himsel^.i 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 435 
 
 Viemrish Enter King Henry, Clifford, North- 
 umberland, Westmouelavu, Exeter, and 
 others, ivith red ruses in their hats. 
 
 K. Hen, My lords, look where tl,e sturdy rebel sits, 
 Even in the chair of state ! belike, he means, 
 (B&ck'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,) 
 To aspire unto the crown, a )d reign as king. — 
 Earl of Northumberland, lie slew thy father ;— 
 (Vnd thine, lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd 
 revenge 
 
 On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. 
 ^orth. If I be not, heavens, be reveng'd on ine ! 
 Vlif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in 
 steel. 
 
 West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck 
 him down : 
 My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it. 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. 
 
 Clif. Patience is for pollrons, and such as he ; 
 He durst not sit there, had your father liv'd. 
 My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
 Let us assail the family of York. 
 
 North. Well hast tiiou spoken, cousin ; be it so. 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city uivours them, 
 And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? 
 
 Exe. But, when the duke is slain, they'll quickly 
 fly. 
 
 K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henrj's 
 heart. 
 
 To make a shambles of the parliament-house ! 
 Cousin of Exeter, Irowns, words, and threats. 
 Shall be (he war that Henry means to use.— 
 
 {They advance to the Duke.) 
 Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne, 
 And kneel for grace and mercy at my teet; 
 I am thy sovereign. 
 
 York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine. 
 
 Exe. For shame, come down; he made thee 
 duke of York. 
 
 York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. 
 
 Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 
 
 War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown, 
 In following this usurping Henry. 
 
 Clif. Whom should he follow, but his natural 
 king ? 
 
 War. True, Clifford ; and that's Richard duke 
 of York. 
 
 K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my 
 throne ? 
 
 York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself. 
 War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king. 
 West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster; 
 An i that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. 
 War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You 
 forget. 
 
 That we are those which cha.s'd you from the field, 
 /^nd slew your lathers, and with colours spread 
 March'fl through the city to the palace gates. 
 
 North. Yes, Warwick, I reineuiber it to niy grief; 
 And, !iy ills soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 
 
 West. Plaiitagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, 
 Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives, 
 Than drcps of blood were in my father's veins. 
 
 C/if, Urge it no more ; lest that, instead of word.s, 
 1 send thee, Warwick, such a messenger. 
 As shall revenge his death, before I stir. 
 
 War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless 
 threats ! 
 
 York. VVill you, we shew our title to the crown ? 
 If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 
 
 K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? 
 Thy father was, as ihou art, duke of York ; 
 'I hy giandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March: 
 I am the son of Henry the Filth, 
 Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop, 
 And seiz'd uuon tljeir towns and provinces. 
 
 War. Talk not of France, sitli thou hast lost it all. 
 
 K. Hen. 'liw lord protector lost it, and not I ; 
 When i was crowu'd, 1 was but nine months oltl. 
 
 Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, taetkbifc», 
 
 you lose : — 
 
 Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 
 Edw. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. 
 Mont. Good brother, {to York) as thou lov s 
 and honour'st arms, 
 Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. 
 Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king 
 
 will fly. 
 York. Sons, peace ! 
 
 K. Hen. Peace thou! and give king Henry leave 
 to speak. 
 
 War. Plantagenet shall speak first: — hoar him, 
 And be you silent and attentive too, [lords, 
 For he that interrupts him shall not live. 
 
 K. Hen. Thi-nk st thou that I will leave my 
 kingly throne. 
 Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat? 
 No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
 Ay, and their colours — often borne in France : 
 And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow. 
 Shall be my winding-sheet.— Why faint you, lords? 
 My title's good, and better far than his. 
 
 War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be 
 king. 
 
 K. Hen. Henry the Fourth, by conquest got the 
 crown. 
 
 York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. 
 K. Hen. I know not what to say; my title's 
 Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? [weak. 
 York. What then? 
 
 K. Hen. An if he may, then am I a lawful king 
 For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
 Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth; 
 Whose heir my father was, and 1 am his. 
 
 York. He rose against him, being his so\ ereign. 
 And made him to resign his crown perforce. 
 
 War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd. 
 Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown? 
 
 Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown, 
 But that the next heir should succeed and reign. 
 
 K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter ? 
 
 Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 
 
 York. Whv whisper you, my lords, and answer 
 not"? 
 
 Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. 
 K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to 
 him. 
 
 North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st. 
 Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd. 
 War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. 
 North. 'I'hou art deceiv'd : 'tis not thy southern 
 power. 
 
 Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, — 
 Which makes thee thus presumptuous anil proud,- — 
 Can set the duke up, in despite of me. 
 
 C/ff. King Henry, be thy titte right or wrong, 
 Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence : 
 May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, 
 Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father 
 
 K. Hen. O Clifford, how thy words revive mj 
 heart ! 
 
 York. Henry of Lancaster, resig-n thy crown : — 
 What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? 
 
 War. Do right unto this princely duke of York; . 
 Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
 And o'er the chair of state, where now he sits. 
 Write up his title with usurping blood. 
 {He stamps, and the Soldiers shew lhe?nselves.) 
 K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one 
 word ; — 
 
 Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king. 
 
 York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs, 
 And thou ihalt reign in quiet, while thou liv'st. 
 
 K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet, 
 Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. _ [son t 
 
 Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your 
 
 Wa-r. What good is tliis to Eijgland, and himself? 
 
 West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry .' 
 
 Ctif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and at? 
 
^0 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act i 
 
 West. I CAnnot stay to hear these articles. 
 hiori/i. r I. [news. 
 Clif. Come, Gonsin, let us tell the queen these 
 Wesi. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate 
 king, 
 
 in whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. 
 
 North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, ' 
 And die in bands for this unmanly deed ! 
 
 Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome ! 
 Or live in j)eace, abandon'd, and despis'd ! 
 
 [Exeunt Nortfuunberland, Clifford, and 
 Westmoreland. 
 War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them 
 not [yield. 
 Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not 
 K. Hen. Ah, Exeter! 
 
 War. Why sliould you sigh, my lord ? 
 
 K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my 
 Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. [son. 
 But, be it as it may : — I here entail 
 The crown to thee, and to tliine heirs for ever; 
 Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
 To cease tliis civil war, and, whilst I live. 
 To honour me as thy king and sovereign; 
 And neither by treason, nor hostility, 
 ■ro seek to put me down, and reign thyself. 
 
 York. This oath I willingly take, and will per- 
 form. {Coming from the throne.) 
 War. Long live king Henry! — Piantagenet, 
 embrace him. [ward sons J 
 K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy for- 
 York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. 
 - Exe. Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them foes ! 
 
 {Senet. The hords come forward) 
 York. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my 
 castle. 
 
 War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers. 
 Norf. And I to Norfolk, with my followers. 
 Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came. 
 [Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick, Nor- 
 folk, Mojitague, Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 K. Hen. And I, witlj grief and sorrow, to the 
 court. 
 
 Enier Queen Margaret the Prince o/Wales. 
 
 Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray 
 her anger : 
 I'll steal away. 
 
 K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. {Going.) 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, 1 will follow 
 thee. [stay. 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and 1 will 
 
 Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes ? 
 Ah, wretched man ! 'would I had died a maid, 
 And never seen thee, never borne thee son, 
 Seeii^gthou hast prov'd so unnatural a father! 
 Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? 
 Had st thou but lov'd him half so vvell as 1 ; 
 Or felt that |)ain, which I did for him once ; 
 Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood; 
 Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart- blood there. 
 Rather than made that savage duke thine heir. 
 And disinherited thine only son, 
 
 Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
 If you be king, why should not I succeed ? 
 
 A. flew. Pardon me, Margaret ;— pardon me, 
 sweet son ; — 
 Hie earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me. 
 
 Q, Mar. Enforc'd theei art thou kine, and wilt 
 be forc'd ? 
 
 I shame to hear tliee speak. Ah, timorous wretch ! 
 Thma hast undone thyself, thy sou, and me; 
 knd given unto the house of York such hea'd. 
 As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
 To entail hiiu and his heirs unto the crown. 
 What is it but to make thy sepulchre. 
 And creep into it far before thy time ? 
 Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais; 
 *ltern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas • 
 The ?uke is made protector of the realm , ' 
 
 And yet shalt thou be safe ? sacb safety find'* 
 
 The trembling lamb, environed with wolves. 
 
 Had I been there, which am a silly woman, 
 
 The soldiers should have toss'd me on th^ir pikea 
 
 Before I would have granted to that act. 
 
 But thou preferr'st thy life before tiiine honour* 
 
 And seemg thou dost, I here divorce Uiyself 
 
 Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, ' 
 
 Until that act of parliament be repeal d, 
 
 Whereby my son is disinhei ited. 
 
 The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours 
 
 Will follow mine, if once they see lUcn, spread • 
 
 And spread they shall be ; to thy foul disgrace, ' 
 
 And utter ruin of the house of York. 
 
 Tims do I leave thee :— Come, son, let's away 
 
 Our army's ready; come, we'll after thtm. 
 
 A. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me 
 speak. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already • get 
 thee gone. ' 
 
 K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with 
 me ^ 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, to be munler'd by his enemies. 
 Prince. When I return with victory from the field 
 I'll see your grace : till then, I'll follow her. 
 
 Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we mav not linger 
 [Exeunt Q. Marg. ond'thf Prince 
 K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to m*' and 
 her son, 
 
 Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
 Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke ; 
 Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,' 
 Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle, 
 Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son ! 
 The lossoftho.^e three lords torments my heart; 
 
 I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair; 
 
 Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 
 Exe. And I, J hope, shall reconcile them all. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene 11. A Rootn in Sandal Cattle, near 
 
 Wakejield, in Yorkshire. 
 Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague. 
 Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me 
 Edw. No, 1 can better play the orator. [leave, 
 Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. * 
 
 tQ 
 
 Enter York. 
 how now, sons and brother, at 
 
 York. Why, 
 strife 
 
 What is your quarrel ? how began it first? 
 Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contenlion, 
 York. About what ? [and us 
 
 Kich. About that, which concerns your grace 
 
 The cnjwn of England, fiithers, which is yours. 
 York. Mine, boy ? not till king Henry be dead. 
 Rich. Your right depends not on his lif e, or deatli, 
 Ediv. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now : 
 
 By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe. 
 
 It will outrun you, father, in the end. 
 
 York. I took an oath, that he should quietly reigOp 
 Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be 
 broken : 
 
 I d break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. 
 Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be 
 forsworn. 
 
 York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. 
 Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you 11 hear me 
 speak. 
 
 York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossible. 
 
 Rich. An oath is of no moment, b 
 Before a true and lawful magi.strate. 
 That hath authority over him that swears: 
 Henry had none, but did usurp the place; 
 Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depoee. 
 Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
 Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think. 
 How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; 
 VV^ithin whose circuit is Elysium, 
 And all that poets feign oi bliss and joy. 
 
-Scene 4. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 441 
 
 Why do wc linger U. js ? I cannot rest, 
 Untill the white rose, that I wear, bf dyed 
 Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. _ 
 
 York, Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.— 
 Brother, tlioti slialt to London presently. 
 And whet on Warwick to his enterprise. — 
 Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, 
 And tell him privily of our intent. — 
 Voii, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, 
 With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise : 
 In them I trust ; for tliey are soldiers, 
 Witty and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.— 
 While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, 
 Rut that I seek occasion how to rise ; 
 And yet the king not privy to my drift, 
 Nor any of the house of Lancaster? 
 
 Enter a Messemjer. 
 But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such 
 post ? 
 
 Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls 
 and lords. 
 
 Intend here to besiege you in your castle : 
 She is hard by witii twenty thousand men ; 
 And therefore fortiiy your hold, my lord. 
 
 York. Ay, with my sword. What ! think'st thou 
 ill at vve fear them? 
 Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me 
 My brother Montague shall post to London : 
 Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, 
 Whom we have left protectors of the king, 
 With powerful policy strengthen thein^elves, 
 And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. 
 
 Mont. Brother, 1 go ; Til win them, lear it not: 
 And thus most humbly 1 do take my leave. [Exit, 
 Enter Sir ioiE^ and Sir Hugh Mortimer. 
 
 York. S r John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine 
 You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; [uncles ! 
 'J'he army of (he queec mean to besiege us. 
 
 Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in 
 the field. 
 
 York. Wlic^t, with five thousand men ? 
 Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. 
 A woman's general; What should we fear? 
 
 {A march afar off.) 
 Edw. T hear their drums ; let's set our men in 
 order; 
 
 And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 
 
 York. Five men to twenty ! — though the odds 
 I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. [be great, 
 
 Many a battle have I won in France, 
 When as the enemy hath been ten to one ; 
 Why should 1 not now have the like success ? 
 
 [Alarum. Exeunt. 
 Scene III. — Plaim near Sandal Castle. 
 Alarums, Excursions. Enter Rutland and his 
 Tutor, 
 
 Rut. Ah, whither shall 1 fly to 'scape their hands? 
 Ah, tutor ! look, wliere bloody Clilibrd conies ! 
 Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 
 
 Clif. Chaplain, away I thy priesthood saves thy 
 As for the brat of this acrursed duke, [life. 
 Whose father slew my father, — he shall die. 
 
 Tut, And I, my lord, will bear him company. 
 
 Clif. Soldiers, away with him. 
 
 Tut Ah, Clifford ! murder not this innocent child, 
 Lest thou be hated both of God and man, 
 
 [Exit., forced off by Soldiers. 
 
 Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear 
 That makes him close his eyes ? — I'll open them. 
 
 Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
 That trembles under his devouring paws : 
 And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ; 
 And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. — 
 Ah, gentle Cliftord, kill me with thy sword. 
 And not with such a crut?l threafning look. 
 Sweet CljtTord. hear mo speak before I die 
 I am too mean a subject for thy wrath, 
 Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me Uv«» | 
 
 Clif, In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; iny fa. 
 ther's blood [enter. 
 Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 
 
 Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again ; 
 He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with hiin. 
 
 Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and 
 Were not revenge sufficient for me ! [thine, 
 No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves. 
 And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
 It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
 The sight of any of tlie house of York 
 Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
 And till I root out their accursed line. 
 And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
 Therefore — {Lifting his hand,) 
 
 Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death : 
 To thee I pray ; Sweet Clififord, pity me ! 
 
 Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 
 
 Rut. I never did thee harm ; Why wilt thou 
 
 Clif Thy father hath. [slay me ? 
 
 Rut, But 'twas ere I was born. 
 
 Thou hast orre son, for his sake pity me ; 
 Lest in revenge thereof, — sith God is just,~ 
 He be as miserably slain as I. 
 Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; 
 And when I give occasion of offence. 
 Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 
 
 Clif, No cause ? 
 Thy father slew my father; therefore die. 
 
 {Clifford stabs him,) 
 
 Rut, Diifaciant, laudis summa sit ista tu<B ! 
 
 {Die».\ 
 
 Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet! 
 And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade. 
 Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 
 Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exii, 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. 
 Alarum. Enter York. 
 York. The army of the queen hath got the field t 
 My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ; 
 And all my followers to the eager foe 
 Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind. 
 Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. 
 My sons — God knows what hath bechanced them 
 But this I know, — they have demean'd themselves 
 Like men born to renown, by life or death. 
 Three times did Richard make a lane to me ; 
 And thrice cried, — Courarje, father '.fight it out 
 And full as oft came Edward to my side. 
 With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt 
 In blood of those that had encounter'd him; 
 And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
 Richard cried, — Charge! mid give no foot of grounCU 
 And cried, — A croivn, or else a glorious tomb! 
 A sceptre or an earthly sepulchre ! 
 With this, we charg'd again : but, out, alas! 
 We bodg'd again ; as I have seen a swan 
 With bootless labour swim against the tide, 
 And spend her strength with over-matching waves. 
 
 (^1 short alarum within.) 
 Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ; 
 And 1 am faint, and cannot fly their fury : 
 And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury 
 The sands are number'd, that make up my lite 
 Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Noatmuu- 
 
 BERLAND, and Soldiers. 
 Corae, bloody Clifford, — rough Northumberland,— 
 I dare your qnenchless fury to more rage; 
 I am your butt and I abide your shot. 
 
 North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 
 
 Clif,, Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm. 
 With downright payment, shew'd unto my father 
 Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car. 
 And made an evening at the noontide prick. 
 
 Yjrk. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth 
 A bird, that will revenge upon you all : 
 And, m that hope, I throw mine eyes to heave* 
 
442 
 
 THIRD 
 
 PART OF 
 
 A Of 1 
 
 Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 
 Why come you not ? what ! imiltitndes, and fear? 
 Clif. So cowards fight, when tliey can fly no fur- 
 ther ; 
 
 So doves do peck fhe falcon's piercing talons; 
 So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
 Breatlie out invectives 'gainst the officers. 
 
 York. O ClilFord, l>ut bethink thee once again. 
 And in thy thought o'errtui my former time: 
 And, if thou caf.st for blushing, view this face; 
 And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowar- 
 dice, 
 
 Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. 
 
 Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; 
 But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. 
 
 {Draws.) 
 
 Q. Mar. Hold, valiant ClilFord ! for a thousand 
 
 causes, 
 
 I would prolong awhile the traitor's life ; — 
 Wrath makes Lim deaf: speak thou, Northumber- 
 land, [much, 
 North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honour him so 
 To prick thy finger, though to woimd his heart* 
 What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, 
 l-'or one to thrust liis hand between his teeth. 
 When he might sprun him with his foot away? 
 It is war's prize to take all 'vantages ; 
 And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 
 
 {Tkeij lay hands on York, ivho struggles.) 
 Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woo.lcuck with the gin. 
 North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 
 
 ( York is taken prisoner.) 
 York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd 
 booty : 
 
 So true men yield, with robbers so o'er match'd. 
 
 North. What would your grace have done unto 
 him now ? [berland, 
 
 Q. Mar. lirave warriors, Clifford and Northum- 
 Come, make him stand U|;on this molehill here; 
 That raught at mountains with oustretched arms, 
 Vet parted but tiie siiadow witli his hand. — 
 What, was it you, that woul l be England's king? 
 Was"t you, that revell'd in our parliament. 
 And made a preachment of your high descent? 
 Where are your mess ol" sons to back you now? 
 The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? 
 And wliere's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
 Dicky, your boy, that, with his grumbling voice. 
 Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ? 
 Or, with tlie rest, whtre is your darling Rutland ? 
 Look, York ; 1 stain'd this napkin witii the blood 
 
 at valiant Clitford with his rapier's point 
 Made issue from the bosom of the buy: 
 And, if tliine eyes can water for his death, 
 I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
 Alas, poor York ! but that I hate tiiee deadly 
 I should lament thy miserable state. 
 I pr'ytliee, grieve to make me merry, York; 
 Stamp, rave, and fret, that 1 may sing and dance._ 
 What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails. 
 That not a tear can tall fir Rutland's d^ath? 
 Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad; 
 And I, to make thee m^d, do nmck thee thus. 
 Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; 
 York cannot speak, unless he wear a ciown. — 
 A crown for York : — and, lords, bow low to him. — 
 Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. — 
 
 [Putting a paper croivn on his head.) 
 Ay, marry, sir, now looks like a king! 
 Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; 
 And this is he was his adopted heir. — 
 But how is it, tiiat great Plantagenet 
 Is crovvn'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ? 
 As I bethink me, you should not be king, 
 Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. 
 And will you pale your head in Henry's glory. 
 And Kob his temples of the diadem. 
 Now in his life, against your holy oath? 
 O, 'tis a fault t-oo, too unpardonable ! — 
 Oil with the crown : aud, with the crown, his head ; 
 
 And, whilst vve breathe, take time to do him dead. 
 Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 
 Q Mar. Nay, stay; let's iiear the orison;* he 
 makes. 
 
 York. She- wolf of France, but worse than wolves 
 of France, 
 
 Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's .ooti»! 
 How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex, 
 To triumph like an Amazonian trull, 
 Upon their woes whom fortune captivates 
 But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, 
 Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 
 I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush : 
 To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, 
 Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 
 shameless. 
 
 Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, 
 Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ; 
 Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
 Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult ? 
 It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen ; 
 Unless the adage must be verified, 
 That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 
 'Tis beauty, that doth olt make women proud ; 
 But God, he knows, thy share thereof is small: 
 'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd; 
 The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at : 
 'Tis government, that makes them seem divine ; 
 The want thereof makes thee abominable : 
 Thou art as opposite to every good, 
 As the Antipodes are unto us. 
 Or as the south to the septentrion. 
 O, tiger's heart, vvrapp'd in a woman's hide ! 
 How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child. 
 To bid the lather wipe his eyes withal, 
 And yet be seen to bear a woman's face ? 
 Women are solt, mild, pitil'ul and flexible ; 
 Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
 Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish : 
 Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast iUj 
 will : 
 
 For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
 And when the rage allays, the rain begins. 
 These tears are my sv^^eet Rutland's obsequies ; 
 And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 
 'Gainst thee, fell Cliftbrd, — and thee, false French 
 woman. 
 
 North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, 
 That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 
 
 York. That face of his the hungry cannibals 
 Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd 
 with blood : 
 
 But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, — 
 O, ten times more, — than tigers of Hyrcania. 
 See, ruthless queen, a ha[>less father's tears : 
 This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, 
 And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
 Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: 
 
 {He gives back the handkerchief.] 
 And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, 
 Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears: 
 Yea, even my foes will shed fast falling tears. 
 And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed ! — 
 There, take the crown, and with the crown, my c 
 And, in thy need, such comfort coine to thee. 
 As now I reap at thy too cruel hand I — 
 Hard-hearted Cliftbrd, take me from the world 
 My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads 
 
 North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my 
 I should not for my life but weep with him. 
 To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, weeping- ripe, my lord North 
 berland ! 
 
 Think but upon the wrong he did us all. 
 And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 
 Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my 
 
 death. {Stabbing 
 Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-h 
 king. {Stabbing 
 York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious GT 
 
Act 11. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY YI. 
 
 443 
 
 My soui flies through fheae wounds to seek out thee. 
 
 {Dies.) 
 
 Q. Mar. OIF with his head, and set it on York gates; 
 So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 ScENii I. — A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in 
 Herefordshhe. 
 Drum. Enter Edward, and Richard, with their 
 Forces, marching. 
 Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd ; 
 Or whether he he 'scap'd away, or no, 
 From Ciilford's and Northiiinberland's pursuit: 
 Had he been ta'en, we shnulu have heard the news ; 
 Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; 
 Or, had he 'scap'd, inethinks, we should have heard 
 The happy tidings of his good escape. — 
 How fares my brotlier ? why is he so sad ? 
 
 Rich. 1 cannot joy, until I be resolv'd 
 Where our right valiant father is become. 
 I saw him in the battle range about ; 
 And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. 
 Metiiought, he bore him in the thickest troop. 
 As doth a lion in a herd of neat : 
 Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; 
 Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry 
 e rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
 far'd our father with iiis enemies; 
 fled his en:emies niy warlike father: 
 thinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 
 ee how the morning opes her golden gates, 
 And takes her tare well ol" the glorious sun ! 
 How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
 Trimiii'd like a younker, prancing to his love! 
 Edw. Daazle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? 
 ^ Tiich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun ; 
 Nol separated with the racking clouds, 
 But sever d in a pale clear-shining sky. 
 See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, 
 As il they vow'd some league inviolable: 
 Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
 1-1 this the heaven figures some event. [heard of. 
 
 Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never 
 I tliink, it cites us, brother, to the field ; 
 That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
 Each one already blazing by ourrneeds, 
 Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, 
 And overshine the earth, as this the world. 
 Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
 Upon my target throe fair shining suns. 
 Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ; — by your leave 
 I speak it, 
 
 You love the breeder better than the male. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel 
 borne dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? 
 
 Mess. Ah, one that was a woeiul looker on. 
 When as the noble duke of York was slain, 
 Vour princely father, and my loving lord. [much. 
 
 Edw. O, speak no more ! for I have heard too 
 
 Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 
 
 Mess. Environed he was with many foes ; 
 And stood against them as the hope of Troy 
 Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. 
 But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; 
 And many strokes, though with a little axe, 
 Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
 By many hands your father was subdu'd ; 
 But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
 Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : 
 Who crowo'd the gracious duke in high despite ; 
 Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept. 
 The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, 
 A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
 Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain : 
 And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
 They took his head, and on the gates of York 
 Tiiey set the same ; and there it doth remain, 
 
 The saddest spectacle that f'er 1 view'd. 
 
 Ediv. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean nuoa, 
 Mow ti ou art gone, we have no stall", no stay !— 
 () Clifford, boist'rous Clilford, thou hast slain 
 The liovver of Europe for his chivalry; 
 And treacherously hast thou vaviquislt'd him, 
 For, hand to hand, he would have vanqiiish'd thee 
 Now my sotil's palace is become a prison : 
 Ah, would she break Iron, hence ! tliat this my b 
 Might in the ground be closed up in rest : 
 Fur never henceforth shall I joy again, 
 Never, O Never, shall I see more joy. 
 
 Rich. 1 cannot weep; for all my body's moisture' 
 Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: 
 Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden; 
 For self-same wind that I should speak withal. 
 Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, 
 And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench, 
 l o weep, IS to make less the dep(h of grief: 
 Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge, forme I— 
 Richard, I bear thy name, I'^' venge thy death, 
 Or die renowned by attempting it. [thee ; 
 
 Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with 
 His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 
 
 Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, 
 Shew thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : 
 For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say ; 
 Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 
 
 March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with 
 Forces. 
 
 War. How now, Aiir lords? What fare? what 
 news abroad ? 
 
 Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount 
 Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance. 
 Stab poniards in our flesh, till ail were told. 
 The words would add more anguish than tlie wounds. 
 
 0 valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. 
 
 ^ Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, 
 Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption. 
 Is by the stern lord Cliflord done to death. 
 
 War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news m tears . 
 And now, to add more measure to your woes, 
 
 1 come to tell you things since then befall'n. 
 After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, 
 Wiiere your brave father breath'd his latest gasp. 
 Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, 
 Were brought me of your loss, and his depart, 
 
 I then in London, keeper of the king, 
 Mustcr'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends. 
 And very well appointed, as I thought, [|ueeii 
 March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the 
 Bearing the king in my behalf along. 
 For by my scouts I was advertised. 
 That she was coming with a full intent 
 To dash our late decree in parliament, 
 Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. 
 Short tale to make,— we at Saint Albans met, 
 Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought : 
 But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king. 
 Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen. 
 That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen; 
 Or whether 'twas rejiort of her success; 
 Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour. 
 Who thunders to his captives— blood and death. 
 I cannot judge : but, to conclude wit-h truth, 
 I heir weapons like to lightning came and went; 
 Our soldiers— like the night-owrs lazy flight. 
 Or like a lazy thrasher with flail,— 
 Fell gently down, as if they struck their frienda, 
 I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause. 
 With promise of high pay, and great rewards: 
 But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight. 
 And we, in them, no hope to win the dny. 
 So that we fled; the king, unto the queen ; 
 Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself 
 In haste, post-haste, are come to join with yon. 
 For in the marches here, we heard you were. 
 Making another head to fight ag un. (Warwick 
 Edw. Where is the duke &f Norfolk, geatto 
 
THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act IL 
 
 And when came George from Burgundy to England ? 
 War. Some six miles olF the duke is with the 
 soldiers ; 
 
 And for your brother,— he was lately sent 
 
 From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, 
 
 With aid of soldiers to this needful war. [fled : 
 
 Rich. 'Tvvasodds, belike, when valiant Warwick 
 Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit. 
 Bat ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. [hear: 
 
 War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou 
 For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine 
 Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head. 
 And wring tlie awful sceptre from his hst; 
 Were he as iamous and as bold in war, 
 is he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. 
 
 Ric/i. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not; 
 Tis lo\e, I bear thy gb.ries, makes me soeak. 
 But. in this troublous time, what's to be done i 
 Shall we go tin ow away our coats of steel, 
 And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, 
 Numbering our Ave Maries with our beads i 
 Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
 Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? 
 If for the last, sav— Ay, and to it, lords. [out; 
 
 War Why, tlierefoi e Warwick came to seek you 
 And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
 Attend me, lords. 'I"he proud insulting queen, 
 With Clilford and the haught Northumberland, 
 And of their feather many more proud birds. 
 Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax, 
 He swore consent to your succession. 
 His calh enrolled in the parliament; 
 And now to London all the crew are gone 
 To frustrate botii his oath , and what beside 
 May make against the house of Lancaster. 
 Their power, 1 think, is thirty thousand strong : 
 Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself, 
 With all the friends that tliou, brave earl of March, 
 Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, 
 W"ill but amount to five and twenty thousand, 
 W^hy, Via ! to London we will march amain ; 
 And once again bestride our foaming steeds ; 
 And once again cry— Charge rtpon our foes ! 
 But never once again tiiin back, and fly. [speak; 
 
 Ric/i. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick 
 Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, 
 That cries— Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 
 
 Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean : 
 And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour !) 
 Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend! 
 
 War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; 
 The next degree is, England's royal throne : 
 For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd 
 In every borough as we pass along; 
 And he, that throws not up his cap for jov, 
 Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
 King Edward,— valiant Richard,— Montague,— 
 Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, 
 But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 
 
 Rich. Then, Clilford, were thy heart as hard as 
 steel, 
 
 [As thou hast shewn it flinty by thy deeds,) 
 I come to pierce it,— or to give thee mine. ^ 
 Edw. Then strike up, drums :— God, and Samt 
 George, for us ! 
 
 Enter a Messeuger. 
 War. How now ? what news ? 
 Mess. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me. 
 The queen is coming with a puissajit host; 
 And craves your company for speedy counsel. 
 War. Why then it sorts , brave warriors : Let's 
 away. [Exeunt. 
 Scene n. — Before York. 
 Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince 
 of VVales, Cufford, and Nortoumberland, 
 with Forces. 
 
 Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town 
 of York. 
 
 Vender's the head of that arch-enemy. 
 
 That sought to be encompass'd with your crown : 
 
 Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord V 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them, thai fear 
 their wreck ; — 
 To see this sight, it irks my very soul,— 
 Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault, 
 Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow. 
 
 Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenitf 
 And harmful pity, must be laid aside. 
 To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ? 
 Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
 Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? 
 Not his, that spoils her young before her lace. 
 Who 'scapes the Irrking serpent's mortal sting? 
 Not he, that sets his foot upon her back. 
 The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; 
 And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. 
 Ambitious York did level at thy crown, 
 Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: 
 He, but a duke, would have his son a king. 
 And raise his issue, like a loving sire ; 
 Thou, being a king, bless'd with i\ goodly son, 
 Didst yield consent to disinherit him. 
 Which argued thee a most unloving father 
 Unreasonable creatures feed their young : 
 And though man's face be fearful to their eyes. 
 Yet, in protection of their tender ones, 
 Who hath not seen them (even with those wings 
 Which sometime they have us'd with learful flight,} 
 Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, 
 Olfering their own lives in their young's defence? 
 For shame , my liege , make them your precedent 
 Were it not pity , that this goodly boy 
 Should lose his birthright by his father's fault; 
 And long hereafter say uoto his child, — 
 What my great-grandfather and grandsire got 
 My careless father fondly gave avay f 
 Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; 
 And let his manly face, which promiseth 
 Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart. 
 To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. 
 
 K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd Uie orator 
 Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
 But, Clitford, tell me, didst thou never hear,— 
 That things ill got had ever bad success? 
 And happy always was it for that son. 
 Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ? 
 I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
 And 'would my father had left me no more 1 
 For all the rest is held at such a rate, 
 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep. 
 Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 
 Ah, cousin York ! 'would thy best friends did know 
 How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! 
 
 Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits ; our foe« 
 are nigh. 
 
 And this soft courage makes your tollowers laint. 
 You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ; 
 Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.— 
 Edward, kneel down. . i . i . 
 
 K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, anse a knight : 
 And learn this lesson,— Draw thy sword in ri^ht 
 
 Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leav^ 
 I'll draw it as apparent to the crown. 
 And in that quarrel use it to the death. ^ 
 
 Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward pnnce. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness ; 
 For, with a band of thirty thousand men. 
 Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; 
 And, in the towns as they do march along. 
 Proclaims him king, and many fly to him : 
 Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. 
 
 Clif. I would, your highness would depart the 
 field; , . . 
 
 The queen hath best success, when you are absent, 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leaye us to oui 
 fortune. 
 
bCENE 8. 
 
 KING HENRY YI. 
 
 415 
 
 K. f¥en. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore 
 I'll stay. 
 
 North. Be it with resolation then to fight. 
 
 Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, 
 And hearten those that fight in your defence : 
 Unsheath your sword, good father; cry Saint 
 George . 
 
 M (jrch. Enter Edwxrd, George, Richard, War- 
 wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. 
 
 Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for 
 And set thy diadem upon niy head : [grace, 
 Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? [boy ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting 
 Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms. 
 Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? 
 
 Ediu. I am his king, and he should bow his knee ; 
 I was adopted heir by his consent : 
 Since when, his oath is broke : for, as I hear, 
 V'ou — that are king, though he do wear the crown, — 
 Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament, 
 To blot out me, and put his own son in. 
 
 Clif. And reason too; 
 VVho should succeed the father, but the son? 
 
 Rich. Are you there, butcher ? — O, I cannot 
 speak ! [thee, 
 
 Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer 
 Or any he tlie proudest of thy sort, [it not ? 
 
 Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was 
 
 Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 
 
 Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the 
 fi.oht. 
 
 War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield 
 the crown ? 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongn'd Warwick? 
 dare you speak ? 
 ^Vhen you and I met at Saint Albans last, 
 ^our legs did better service tiian your hands. 
 
 War. Then "twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. 
 
 CW\ You said so much before, and yet you fled. 
 
 War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove nie 
 thence. [you stay. 
 
 North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make 
 
 Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; — 
 Break off tiie parle; for scarce I can refrain 
 The execution of my big-swolen heart 
 Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 
 
 Clif. 1 slew thy father : Call'st thou him a child? 
 
 Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous 
 coward, 
 
 As thou didst kill our teiwS^^'r brother Rutland ; 
 But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. 
 
 K. Hen. Have done with words, niy lords, and 
 hear me speak. [lips. 
 
 Q.Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue ; 
 I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. [here, 
 
 Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting 
 Cannot he ciir'd by words; therefore be still. 
 
 Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword : 
 By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd. 
 That Cliftbrd's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
 
 Edw. Say, fJenry, shall I have my right, or no? 
 A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, 
 That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. 
 
 War. If thou deny, their bbod upon thy head ; 
 For York injustice puts his armour on. [right. 
 
 Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is 
 There is no wrong, but every thing is right. 
 
 Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; 
 For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 
 
 Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam ; 
 But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, 
 Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, 
 As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 
 
 Mich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, 
 Whose father bears the title of a king, 
 (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) 
 ShaiQ st thou not, knowing whenoe thou art ex- 
 traught. 
 
 To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? 
 Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand 
 crowns, 
 
 To make this shameless callet know herself,~ 
 
 Helen of Greece was fairer far than tliou, 
 
 Although tliy husband may be Menelaus; 
 
 And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
 
 By that fal-se woman, as this king by thee. 
 
 His father revell'd in the heart of^ France, 
 
 And tam'd the king, and made the Dauphin stoop 
 
 And, had he match'd according to his state, 
 
 He might have kept that glory to this day : j 
 
 But, when he took a beggar to his bed. 
 
 And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day 5 * 
 
 Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, 
 
 That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
 
 And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
 
 For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? 
 
 Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; 
 
 And we, in pity of the gentle king. 
 
 Had slipp'd our claim until another age. [spring, 
 
 Geo, But, when we saw our sunshine made thy 
 And that thy summer bred us no increase. 
 We set the axe to thy usurping root : 
 And though the edge hath something hit ourselves | 
 Yet now thou, since we have begun to strike. 
 We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down, 
 Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. 
 
 Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee ; 
 Not willing any longer conference, 
 Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. — 
 Sound trumpets .'—let our bloody colours wave — 
 And either victory, or else a grave. 
 
 Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. [stay : 
 
 Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we'll no longer 
 These words will cost ten thousand lives to day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 111.—^ Field of Ba/Me between Towton and 
 Saxton, in Yorkshire. 
 Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. I 
 War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, 
 I lay me down a little while to breathe : 
 For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, " 
 Have robb'd my strong- knit sinews of their strength. 
 And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. 
 Enter Edward, running, 
 
 Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle 
 death ! 
 
 For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 
 War. How now, my lord r what hap ? what hope 
 of good ? 
 
 Enter George. 
 Geo. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair : 
 Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows as : 
 What counsel give you, whither shall we fly ? 
 
 Edw, Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings j 
 And weak v/e are, and cannot shun pursuit. 
 Enter Richard. 
 
 Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn 
 thyself? 
 
 Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 
 Broach'd with the steely point of Clifibrd's lance. 
 And, in the very pangs of death, he cry'd, — 
 Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, — 
 Warwiclc, revenge I brother, revenge niy death / 
 So underneath the belly of their steeds, 
 That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood. 
 The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. [blood : 
 War. Then let the earth be drunken with cm 
 I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
 Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, | 
 Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; | 
 And look upon, as if the tragedy 
 Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? 
 Here on my knee 1 vow to God above, 
 I'll never pause again, never stand still, 
 Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, 
 
m 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act n 
 
 Orfortiine given me measure of revenge. 
 
 Edtv. VVarwick, I do bend my knee with thine; 
 And, in this vow, do chain my soul to tliine. — 
 And, ere my knee rise from ttie earth's cold face, 
 I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee. 
 Thou setter up and phicker down of kings ! 
 Oeseeching tliee, — if with thy will it stands, 
 That to my foes this body must he prey, — 
 V^et that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 
 And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! — 
 Now, lords, take leave, until we meet again, 
 Wliere-'i'er it he, in heaven, or on earth. 
 
 Ric/i. Brother, give n»e thy hand ;— and, gentle 
 Warwick, 
 
 Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : — 
 I, that did never weep, novv melt with woe, 
 That winter should cut otf onr spring-time so. 
 
 War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, 
 farewell. 
 
 Geo. Vet let iis all together to our troops, 
 And give them Kave to fly, that will not stay; 
 And call them pillars, that will stand to us ; 
 And, il we thrive, promise them such rewards 
 As vietors wear at the Olyn }>ian games: 
 This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; 
 For yet is hope ol life, and victory. — 
 Fore-slow no longer, make we hence mTta\n.[Exeuni. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. Another part of the Field. 
 
 Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 
 
 Rich. Now, ClilFord, I have sin<jled thee alone : 
 Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, 
 And this for Rtitland ; both botmd to revenge, 
 Wert tiiou environ'd with a brazen wall. 
 
 Clif. Now, Richard, I am wit'h thee here alone : 
 This is the hand, that stabb d thy father York ; 
 And this the hand, that slew thy brother Rutland ; 
 And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, 
 And cheet J these hands, that slew thy sire and bro- 
 ther. 
 
 To execute the like upon thyself; 
 
 And so, have at thee. 
 
 iJVhtyJiyht. WARWICK enters; CuFVOVM Jlies. ^ 
 liich. Nny, Warwick, single out sonif other chase; 
 
 For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter King Henry. 
 K. Hen.'lWn battle (ares like to the morning's war. 
 When (lying clouds contend with growing light; 
 What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails. 
 Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. 
 Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, 
 Forc'«l by the tide to combat with the wind; 
 Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea; 
 Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind: 
 Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind ; 
 Now, one the better ; then, ar)other best; 
 Both tugi^ing to be victors, breast to breast. 
 Yet neither cnnqueror, nor conquered : 
 So is the eqnal poise of this fell war. 
 Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
 To whom God will, there be the victory! 
 For Margaret rny queen, and ClifTord too. 
 Have chid me from t he battle ; swearing both. 
 They pro.sper best (jf all when I am thence. 
 'Would I were dea<l ! if Goers good will were so: 
 For what is in this vv-orld, but grief and woe ? 
 O Ciod ! methinks, it were a happy life. 
 To br no better than a honieiy swai/ -; 
 To sit upon a hill, as I do mnv, 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point. 
 Thereby to see the minutes, how they run* 
 How many make the hour full complete, 
 How many hours brint; about the day, 
 How many days wJl tinish up the year, 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 When tins is known, tiien to divide the times: 
 So manv hours must I tend my flock; 
 So uiuui b'jiirs must I tal.« my rest 
 
 So many hours must I contemplate, 
 
 So many hours ir.ust I sport myself; 
 
 So many days my ewes have been with young; 
 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 
 So many years ere I shall ahear the fleece ; 
 
 So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
 
 Pass'd over to the end they were created^ 
 
 Would bring white hairs tmto a quiet grave. 
 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely! 
 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
 
 Than doth a rich embroidered canopy 
 
 To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? 
 
 O, yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth. 
 
 And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely cords, 
 
 His cold thin drink out ot his leather bottle, 
 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shad,-^. 
 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys. 
 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates. 
 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup. 
 
 His body couched in a curious bed, 
 
 When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 
 
 Alarum. Enter a Son that has hilled his Father 
 dragging in the dead body. 
 
 Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody. — 
 This man, whom hand to hand 1 slew in fij^ht, 
 May be possessed with some store of crowns: jj 
 And I, tiiat haply take them from him now, i 
 May yet, ere night, yield both my lile and them 1 
 To some man else, as this dead man doth me. — 1 
 Who's this ? — O God I it is my father's face, 1 
 Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 1 
 O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
 From London by the king was I press'd forth ; 
 My father, being the earl of Warwick's man. 
 Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; 
 And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, 
 Have by my hatids of life bereaved him. — 'm 
 Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! — 1 
 And pardon, lather, for I knew not tiiee ! — I 
 My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; \ 
 And no more words, till they have fiow'd their fill. 
 
 K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times 
 Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, 
 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. — 
 Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for teat • 
 And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war. 
 Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief. 
 
 Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with 
 the body in his arms. 
 
 Fath. Thou, that so stoutly hast resisted me. 
 Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold : J 
 For i have bought it with an hundred blows. — a 
 But let me see : — is this our faeman's face ? M 
 Ah, no, no, it is mine only son ! — - i| 
 
 Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, 
 Throw up thine eye ; see, see, what showers arise. 
 Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, 
 Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! — 
 O, pity, God, this miserable age ! — 
 VVhat stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
 Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatm-al. 
 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! — 
 O boy, thy father gave thee life too fluon, 
 And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! 
 
 K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than cona- 
 mon grief! 
 
 O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds!— 
 
 O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! — 
 
 Th-e red rose and the white are on his tace. 
 
 The fatal colours of our striving houses: 
 
 The one, his purple blood right well resemoles • 
 
 The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present: 
 
 Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ! 
 
 If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 
 
 Son. How will my mother, for a father's death. 
 Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied i* 
 
 Fath. How will my wife, for sla-iphterof my eoa 
 
^scENE 6. KING H] 
 
 Blied seas of Seara, and ne'er be satisfied ? ! 
 K. Hen. Hoiv will the country, for these woeful 
 chances. 
 
 Mis- think the king-, and not be satisfied? 
 
 Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death ? 
 Fath. Was ever father, so ben>oan'd a son? 
 K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'J for subjects' , 
 woe ■ _ I 
 
 Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much. | 
 Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my ! 
 
 fill. ^ [Exit, ivit'h the body. \ 
 
 Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding- \ 
 sheet; 
 
 My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ; 
 For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. 
 My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell : 
 And so obsequious will thy father be. 
 Sad for the loss of thee, having no more. 
 As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 
 I'll bear thee hence : and let them fight that will, 
 For I have murder'd where I should not kill. 
 
 [Exit, with the body. 
 K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with 
 care, 
 
 Here sits a king more woeful than you are. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Qtieen MkB.GXRET, 
 Prince of Wales, and Exeter. 
 
 Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are 
 And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : [fled, 
 Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick 
 post awain : 
 
 Ed ward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds. 
 Having the fearful flying hare in sight. 
 With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, 
 And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands. 
 Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. 
 
 Exe. Away! forven^eaace comes along with thera: 
 Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; 
 Or else come after, I'll away before. [Exeter; 
 
 K. Hen. Nay, take me with tliee, good sweet 
 Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
 Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away I 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene W.—The same. 
 
 A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, tvaunded. 
 
 Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, 
 Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. 
 O Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow. 
 More than my body's parting with my soul. 
 My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee ; 
 And now I fdl, thy tough commixtures melt. 
 Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud Yoik. 
 The common people swarm like summer flies ; 
 And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun ? 
 And who shines now but Henry's enemies? 
 
 0 Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent 
 That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, 
 Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth: 
 And Henry, had'st thou sway'd as kings should do. 
 Or as thy father, and his father, did. 
 
 Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
 They never then had sprung like summer flies ; 
 I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm. 
 Had eft no mourning widows for our death. 
 And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. 
 For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air ? 
 And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? 
 Bootless are plaints, and curf^'.c^s are my wounds; 
 No way to fly, nor strength t - UiAd out flight • 
 The foe is merciless, and will not pity ; 
 For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. 
 The ail hath got into my deadly wounds. 
 And much effiise of blood doth make me faint: — 
 Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest ; 
 
 1 stabb'd your fstliers' bosoms split my breait. 
 
 (i/e faints. 
 
 INRY VI. 447 
 
 Alarum and retreat. Enter Edwahd, George, 
 Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Sold *rs. 
 
 Edw. Now breathe we, lotds ; good fortune bids 
 ns pause. 
 
 And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.'-. 
 Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen 
 That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
 As doth a sail, fili'd with a fretting gust. 
 Command an argosy to stem the waves. 
 But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? 
 
 WaT. No, 'tis impossible he should csca{)e : 
 For, though before his face I speak the vvoids, 
 Your brother Richard n\ark'd hini f)r the grave: 
 And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. 
 
 {Clifford yroans. and dies."^ 
 
 Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy 
 leave ? 
 
 Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de- 
 parting. 
 
 Edw. See who it is, and, now the battle's er,dpd, 
 If friend, or foe, let him be gently us d. [ford ; 
 
 Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clif- 
 Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
 In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth. 
 But set his murdering knife unto the root 
 From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring 
 I mean our princely father, duke of York. [head. 
 
 War. From off the gales of" York fetcli down the 
 Your lather's head, which ClilTord placed there: 
 Instead whereof, let this supply the room ; 
 Measure for measure fnust be answered. [house, 
 
 Ediu. Bring forth that fatal screecli owl to our 
 That nothing sung but death to us and ours: 
 Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, 
 And his ill-boding tongue no n)ore shall speak. 
 
 {Attendants brine/ the body forward.) 
 
 War. I think his understanding is bereft : — 
 Speak, Cliff"ord, dost thou know who speaks to 
 thee ?— 
 
 Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life. 
 And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say 
 
 Rich. O, 'would he did i and so, perhaps, e doth, 
 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit. 
 Because he would avoid such bitter taunts, 
 Which in the time of death he gave our father. 
 
 Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager word3 
 
 Rich. Cliff"ord, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. 
 
 Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 
 
 War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy i'aults. 
 
 Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 
 
 Rich. Thou didst love York, and 1 am son to York. 
 
 Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. 
 
 Geo. Where's captain Margviret, to fence you now ? 
 
 fVar. Tliey mock thee, Clifford ! swear as thou 
 wast wont. 
 
 Rich. What, nut an oath? nay, then the world 
 goes hard, 
 
 When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath :— 
 I know by that, he's dead ; And, by my soul. 
 If this right hand would buy two hours' life, 
 That I in all despite might rail at him, [blood 
 This hand should cho^) it off; and with the issuing 
 Stiffs the villain, whose unstaiUiched thirst 
 York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 
 
 War. Ay, but he's dead : Off with the traitor'* 
 head. 
 
 And rear it in the place your father's stands.— 
 
 And now to London with triumphant inarch. 
 
 There to be crowned England s royal king. 
 
 From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to Fraoci, 
 
 And ask the lady Bona for thy queen ; 
 
 So shalt thou sinew both tiiese lands together; 
 
 And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread 
 
 The scatter'd (be, that hopes to rise again ; 
 
 For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 
 
 Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine eftra. 
 
 First, will I see the coronation; 
 
 And then to Britany I'll cross the sea. 
 
 To effect this marriage, so it please my IwdL 
 
m 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Sdw. Even as ihou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be: 
 For on thy shoulder do I build my seat ; 
 And never will 1 undertake the thing, 
 Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. — 
 Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster ; — 
 And George of Clarence : — VV arwick, as ourself, 
 Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. 
 
 Rich. Let rae be duke of Clarence ; George, of 
 Glo-ter ; 
 
 For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. 
 
 War. Tut, that's a foolish observation ; 
 Richard, be duke of Gloster : Now to London, 
 To see these honours in oossession. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A Chase in the North of England. 
 Enter Two Keepers, with cross-bows in their 
 hands. 
 
 1 Keep. Under this thick grown brake we'll 
 
 shroud ourselves ; 
 For through this laund anon the deer will come : 
 And in this covert will we make our stand. 
 Culling the principal of all the deer. 
 
 2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may 
 
 shoot. [bow 
 
 1 Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy cross- 
 Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 
 Here stand we both, and aim we at the best; 
 And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
 
 I'll tell thee what befell me on a day, 
 
 [n this self-place, where now we mean to stand. 
 
 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be 
 
 past. 
 
 Enter King Henry, disguised.ioith a prayer-booh. 
 K. Hen. From Scotland am 1 stol'i), even of 
 pure love. 
 
 To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
 
 No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine ; 
 
 Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 
 
 1 hy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed : 
 
 No bending knee will call thee Cassar now. 
 
 No humble suitors press to speak for right, 
 
 No, not a man comes for redress of thee ; 
 
 For how can I help them, and not myself? 
 
 1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's 
 
 fee : 
 
 This is the quondam king ; let's seize upon him. 
 
 K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities ; 
 For wise men say, it is the wisest course. 
 
 2 Keep. Why linger we ! let us lay hands upon 
 
 him. [more. 
 1 Kepp. Forbear a while; we'll hear a little 
 K. Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France 
 for aid ; 
 
 And, as 1 hear, the great commanding Warwick 
 
 fs thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
 
 To wife for Edward. If this news be true. 
 
 Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost; 
 
 For VVarwick is a subtle orator. 
 
 And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. 
 
 By this account, tlien, Margaret may win him; 
 
 For she's a woman to be pitied mucti : 
 
 Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; 
 
 Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; 
 
 The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn ; 
 
 And Nero will be tainted with remorse. 
 
 To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 
 
 Ay, but she's come to beg ; VVarwick, to give : 
 
 She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry ; 
 
 He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
 
 She weeps, and says — her Henry is depos'd ; 
 
 He smiles, and says— his Edward is install'd ; 
 
 That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more : 
 
 Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, 
 
 Inferreth arguments of mighty strengtli ; 
 
 And, in conclusion, wins the king Irom her, 
 
 With promise of his sister, and what else. 
 
 To strengthen and support king Edward's place. 
 
 O Margaret, thus 'twill bo ; and thou, poor soul, 
 
 Art then lorsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. 
 
 2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kingj 
 and queens [born to • 
 
 K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was 
 A man at least, for less I should not be; 
 And men may talk of kings, and whj not I ? 
 
 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a 
 king. [enough. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's 
 
 2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown ? 
 
 K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; 
 Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones. 
 Nor to be seen ; my crown is call'd, content ; 
 A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. 
 
 2 Keep. Well, if you be a king, crown'd with 
 content, 
 
 Your crown content, and you, must be contented 
 To go along with us: for as we think, 
 You are tiie king, king Edward hath depos'd; 
 And we his subjects, sworn in alf allegiance, 
 Will apprehend you as his enemy. [oath 
 K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an 
 2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not 
 now. 
 
 K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king 
 of England ? 
 
 2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now 
 remain. 
 
 K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old 
 My father and my grandfather were kings ; 
 And you were sworn true subjects unto me ; 
 And tell me then, have you not broke your oaths ? 
 
 I Keep. No ; 
 For we were subjects, but while you were king. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, am I dead ? do I not breathe a man? 
 Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. 
 Look, as I blow this feather from my face. 
 And as the air blows it to me again, 
 Obeying with my wind when I do blow, 
 And yielding to another when it blows, 
 Commanded always by the greater gust ; 
 Such is the lightness of you common men. 
 But do not break your oaths ; for, of that sin 
 My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
 Go where you will, the king shall be commanded , 
 And be you kings; command, and I II obey. 
 
 1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king 
 Edward. 
 
 K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, 
 If he were seated as king Edward is. 
 
 I Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in 
 the king's, 
 To go with US unto the officers. 
 K. Hen. In God's name, lead ; your king's name 
 be obey'd: 
 
 And what God will, then let your king perform 
 Aad what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — London. A Room m the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Edward, Gloster, Clarence, and 
 Lady Grey. 
 
 K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field 
 This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain. 
 His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror: 
 Her suit is now, to repossess those lands • 
 Which we injustice cannot well deny. 
 Because in quarrel of the house of York 
 The worthy gentleman did lose his life. 
 
 Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant hei 
 It were dishonour, to deny it her. [suit; 
 
 K.Edw. It were no less; but ye* I'll make a pause 
 
 Gio. Ye« ! is it so? {Aside to Clarence.} 
 
 I see the lady hath a thing to grant. 
 Before the king wil'l grant iier humble suit. 
 
 Clar. He knows tlie game ; How true he keepi 
 the wind? i Aside \ 
 
 Glo. Silence! (AstOa.] 
 
 K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suii; 
 And come some other time, to know our mind. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 449 
 
 L. Gtijf. Right gracious lord, 1 cannot brook 
 dc-lay : 
 
 May it please your highness to resolve me now; 
 And wLat your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 
 Glo. {Aside.) Ay, widow ? then 1 11 warrant you 
 all your lands. 
 An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you. 
 Fij-lit closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. 
 Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Glo. God forbid that! for he'll take vantages. 
 
 K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow ? 
 tell me. 
 
 Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. 
 
 , • (Aside,) 
 Glo. May, whip me then ; he'll rather give her 
 
 T ^"'^rn, . {A.side.) 
 
 Jj. Grey. Ihree, my most gracious lord. 
 Glo. You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by 
 ^ ^ {Aside.) 
 K. Edw. ' Twere pity, they should lose their fa- 
 ther's land. 
 
 L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it 
 then. [wit. 
 K. Edw. Lords, give us leave ; I'll try this widow's 
 Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have 
 leave. 
 
 Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 
 [Gloster and Clarence retire to the other side.) 
 K. Ken. Now tell me, madam, do you love your 
 children ? 
 
 L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
 X. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them 
 
 good 
 
 [harm. 
 
 ii. Grey. To do them good, \ would sustain some 
 K Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do 
 them good. 
 
 L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 
 K. Edw. ril tell you how these lands are to be 
 
 got. _ [service. 
 
 L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' 
 K. Edw. What service wilt tijou do me, if I give 
 
 ^i^ein ; [to do. 
 
 L, Grey. What you command, that rests in me 
 A. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. 
 L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot doit. 
 K, Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean 
 
 to fisk. [commands. 
 L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace 
 Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the 
 ^, marble. {Aside.) 
 Clar. As red as fire ! nay, then her wax must 
 , ^ "'fit {Aside.) 
 U. Grey. Why stops my lord ? shall I not hear 
 
 my task? 
 
 A. Edw. An easy task ; 'tis but to love a king. 
 L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am 
 a subject 
 
 K. Edtv. Why then, thy husband's lands 1 freely 
 give thee. 
 
 L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand 
 ^, „^hanks. [curt'sy. 
 Glo. 1 he match is made ; she seals it with a 
 K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I 
 mean. [liege. 
 L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving 
 K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. 
 
 What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? 
 L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, 
 my prayers ; 
 
 That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. 
 K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such 
 
 T r '^'wu [you did. 
 
 u. i^ej/. Why, then you mean not as I thought 
 K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my 
 mind. fceive 
 L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I per- 
 Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 
 K, Edw To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. 
 
 L Grey. To tell tfc^e plain, I had raih^r \ie m 
 TT 7^'"'^^*J'^' [band's lands. 
 
 A. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have th bus- 
 L. Grey. Why, then mine houesty sliall be 
 dower ; 
 
 For by that loss I will not purchase them. 
 
 K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children 
 mightily. _ [and me. 
 
 Jj. Crrey. Herein your highness wrongs both (hem 
 But, mighty lord, this merry inclination 
 Accords not with the sadness of my suit; 
 Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no. 
 
 K. Edw. Ay ; if thou wilt say ay, to my request : 
 No; if thou dost say no, to my demand. [end 
 
 L. Greff. Then, no, my lord. JVIy suit is at asi 
 
 Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her 
 brows. {Aside.) 
 
 Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. 
 
 K. Edw. {Aside.) Her looks do argue her replete 
 with modesty; 
 Her words do shew her wit incomparable ; 
 All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
 One way, or other, she is for a king ; 
 And she shall be my love, or else my queen. — 
 Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen ? 
 
 L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious 
 I am a subject fit to jest withal, [lord : 
 
 But far unfit to be a sovereign. [thee 
 
 K. Edtv. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to 
 I speak no more than what my soul intends; 
 And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. 
 
 L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield imto : 
 I know 1 am too mean to be your queen, 
 And yet too good to be your concubine. 
 
 K.Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean, my 
 qu?en. 
 
 L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, ray sons should 
 call you — father. 
 
 K. Edw. No more, than when my daughters call 
 thee mother. 
 Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ; 
 And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor/ 
 Have other some : why, 'tis a happy tiling 
 To be the father unto many sons. 
 Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 
 
 Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. 
 
 ni iii7L {Aside.) 
 Liar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas ior 
 
 shift. {Aside.) 
 K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two 
 
 have had. 
 
 Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. 
 K. Edw. You'd think it strange, if I should 
 
 marry her. 
 Clar. To whom, my lord ? 
 
 K. Edtv. Why, Clarence, to myself. 
 
 Glo. 1 hat would be ten days' wonder at the least. 
 Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
 Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
 K. Edw. Well, jest on. brothers : I can tell yoo 
 both. 
 
 Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 
 Enter a Nobleman. 
 Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, 
 And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 
 K. Edw. See, that he be convey'd unto the 
 Tower: — 
 
 And go we, brothers, to the man that took him. 
 To question of his apprehension. — 
 Widow, go you along ;— Lords, use her honourable 
 [Exeunt King Eldward, Lady Grtyt 
 Clarence, and Lord. 
 Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. 
 Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all. 
 That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, 
 To cross me from the golden time I look for! 
 And yet, between my soul's desire, and me, 
 (The lustful Edward's title buried,) 
 
 29 
 
THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act tit. 
 
 Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
 And all the unlouk'd for issue of tlieir bodies, 
 To trike their rooms, ere I can place myself: 
 A cold uremeditation for my purpose ! 
 Why, tiien 1 do but dream on sovereignty : 
 Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
 And spies a far-offshore, where he would tread, 
 VVishinsij his {bot were equal with his eye ; 
 And cliides the sea timt sunders him from thence, 
 Duying— heMl lade it dry to have his way : 
 So do I wish the crown, being so far ort : 
 And so I ciiide the means, that keep^ me from it; 
 And so I say— 1 11 cut the causes otf. 
 Flattering me with impossibilities. — 
 My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweenstoo much. 
 Unless my hand aud strength could equal them. 
 Well, say there is no kingdoni then for Richard; 
 What other pleasure can the world aftord f 
 ni make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
 And deck my body in gay ornaments. 
 And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. 
 O miserable thought', aud more unlikely, 
 'J'han to accomplish twenty golden crowns I 
 Why, love forswore me in my mothers womb ; 
 And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, 
 She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 
 To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; 
 To make an envious mountain on my back. 
 Where sits deformity to mock my body ; 
 To shape my legs of an unequal size ; 
 To disproportion me in every oart, 
 Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp. 
 That carries no impression like the dam. 
 And am I then a man to be belov'd ? 
 O monstrous lault, to harbour such a thought I 
 Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, 
 But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
 As are of better person than mysell, 
 I'll make my heaven— to dream upon the crown ; 
 And, while?* I live, to account this world but hell. 
 Until my n/is-shau'd trunk that bears this head. 
 Be round impaled with a glorious crown: 
 And yet I know not how to get the crown. 
 For manv lives stand between me and home : 
 And I,— like one lost in a thorny wood, 
 That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns ; 
 Seeking a way, and straying from the way; 
 Not kno-A-ing how to find the open air, 
 But toiling despeiatelv to find it out,— 
 Torment myself to catch the English crown: 
 And from that torment 1 will fi'ee myself. 
 Or hew mv way out with a bloody axe. 
 Why, I can smde, and murder wliile I smile; 
 And crv, content, to that which grieves my heart ; 
 And wet my clieeks with artificial tears, 
 And frame uiy face to all occasions. 
 I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid ahail ; 
 I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 
 I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, 
 Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, 
 And, like a Siuou, take another Troy : 
 I can add colours to the cameleon ; 
 Change shapes, with Protheus, for advantages, 
 And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school. 
 Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ? 
 Tut: were it further olf. 1 11 pluck it down. [±jXit. 
 
 Scene Ml — France. A Room in the Palace. 
 Flourish. Enter Leavis the French King, and 
 Lady Bona, attended; the Kinij takes his state. 
 Then enter Queen Margaket, Prince Edvvacid 
 her son, and the Earl, o/ Oxford. 
 K Leiv Fair oueen of England, worthy Mar- 
 garet, {Rising.) 
 Sit down with us ; it ill befits thy state . 
 And birt',., that thou sliould'st stand, whiU Lewis 
 doth Sit. ^ ^ [Margaret 
 
 g. Mar. No. mighty king of France; now 
 Must strike her sail, and lean, a while to sers'e, 
 Wlicre kings cominaud. I was, I must coniess, 
 
 Great Albion's queen in former gol<3en dRfS*; 
 But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
 And with dishonour laid me on the ground ; 
 Where 1 must take like seat unto my fortune. 
 And to my humble seat conform my.self. 
 K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence spnngf 
 
 this deep despair? 
 Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills name eyei 
 witii tears, [cares. 
 And stops my tongue, while heart is drown d m 
 
 K. Le/y. What'er it be, be thou still like thyselt. 
 And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck ^ 
 
 [Seats her by him.} 
 To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
 Still ride in triumph over all michance. 
 Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief ; 
 It shall be eas'd, if France can yield rehet. 
 
 Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive niy droop- 
 ing thoughts, 
 And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speaR. 
 Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, — 
 That Henry, sole possessor of my love, 
 Is, of a king, become a banished rnan. 
 And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn ; 
 While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York, 
 Usurps the regal title, and the seat 
 Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
 This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret,— _ 
 With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir,— 
 Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ; 
 And. if thou foil us, all our hope is done: 
 Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; 
 Our people and our peers are both misled, 
 Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to night. 
 And, as thoK see'st, ourselves in heavy plight. 
 
 Leiv. Renowned queen, with patience calm 
 the storm, . 
 While we bethink a means to break it oft. 
 
 O Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows 
 our foe. tthee. 
 K. Leiv. The more I stay, the more 111 succour 
 Q. Mar. O, out impatience waiteth on true 
 sorrow : 
 
 And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. 
 Enter Warwick, attended. 
 K. Lew. W^hat's he, approacheth boldly 1x> our 
 presence? , ^, [fr'^'id. 
 
 O Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward s greatest 
 K. Lew. Welcome, braveWarwick ! What bnngs 
 thee to France ? ^ ^ 
 
 [Descending from his state. Queen Margaret 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second sterm to rise ; 
 For tius is he, that moves both wind and tide. 
 
 War. From worthy Edward, king oi Albion, 
 My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
 I come,— in kindness, and unfeigned love, 
 First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
 And, then, to crave a league ot amity; 
 And, lastly, to confirm that amity 
 With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
 That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair si.ster, 
 To England's king in lawful marriage. ^ 
 g Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope IS done. 
 War, And, gracious madam, [to Bona.) m our 
 king's behalf, 
 I am commanded, with your leave and lavour, 
 Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
 To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart; 
 Where fame, late entering at his heedlul ears, 
 Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. 
 Q. Mar. King Lewis,— and lady Bona, hear m« 
 
 Before yoT answer Warwick. His demand 
 Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love. 
 But from deceit, bred by necessity: 
 For how can tvrants safely govern home. 
 Unless abroad thev purchase great alliance T 
 To prove him tyrant, this reason may sufec* — 
 That Henry liveth still : but were he dead. 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 \Vt here prince E«Jwarf? stands, king: Henry's son. 
 LuoK, tfiereiore. Lewis, that by this league and 
 
 451 
 
 marriage 
 
 Thou di aw not on thy danger and dishonour : 
 for thoagh usnrjw-rs sway the rule a while, 
 l^et heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. 
 
 lyar. Injurious Margaret! 
 
 Pr"ice. And why not queen ? 
 
 War. Because thy father Henry did usurp ; 
 And thou no more a. t prince, than she is queen. 
 
 Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of 
 Gaunt, 
 
 Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain: 
 And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
 Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest: 
 And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
 Who by his prowess conqpiered all France : 
 From these our Henry lineally descends. 
 
 War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth dis 
 course, 
 
 Yon told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
 All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten ? 
 xMethinks, these peers of France should smile at 
 But for the rest,— You tell a pedigree [that 
 Ut threescore and two years ; a siily time 
 To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 
 Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against 
 thy liege. 
 
 Whom thou obey'dst thirtv and six years, 
 And not bewray thy treason with a blush ? 
 
 War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right. 
 Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree ? ^ 
 For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king. 
 
 Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 
 My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, 
 Was done to death ? and more than so, my father, 
 Civen in the downfall of his meliow'd years, 
 When nature brought him to the door of death ? 
 No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, 
 I his arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 
 fp'ar. And I the house of York. 
 K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and 
 Oxford, 
 
 Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, 
 While I use further conference with Warwick. 
 Q. Mar. Heaven grant, that Warwick's words 
 bewitch him not! 
 
 {Retiring with the Prince and Oxford.) 
 
 K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon 
 thy conscience. 
 Is Edward your true king? for I were loth 
 To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 
 
 TTair. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. 
 
 K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye i 
 War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate, 
 
 K. Lew. Then further, all dissembling set aside, 
 Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
 Unto our sister Bona. 
 
 War. Such it seems, 
 
 As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
 Myself have often heard him say, and swear, — 
 That this his love was an eternal plant ; 
 Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground. 
 The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun; 
 Exempt from envy, but not from disdain. 
 Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. 
 
 K. Lew. Ndw, SiSter, let us hear your firm resolve. 
 
 Bona. Your grant, or yourdenial, shall be mine :— 
 I et I confess, {to War.) that often ere this day, 
 Wlien I have heard your king's desert recounted, 
 Miue ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 
 
 K Lew. 'I'hen, Warwick, thus, — Our sister shall 
 be Ed ward "s ; 
 4nd now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
 r.Michiiig tiie j.)iiiture that your king must make, 
 \yiiicli witli her dowry shall be couiiterpois'd : — 
 Draw near, queen Margaret; and be a witness, 
 *l>at Bona s[iall be wife to the English king. 
 
 Prince.'Vo BIwird, but not to the Ens^hsh king. 
 
 V?. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy device 
 
 By this alliance to make void my suit; 
 Before_thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend 
 
 K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret, 
 But if your title to the crown be weak,— 
 As may appear by Edward's good success,— 
 1 hen tis but reason, that I be releas'd 
 From giving aid, which late I promised. 
 Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand, 
 that your estate requires, and mine can yield 
 ifTL /^^"'■y "f^w lives in Scotland, at his ea«» 
 Where, having nothing, nothing he can lose. 
 And as for you yourself, our quondam queen,— 
 Vou have a father able to nfi^intain you ; 
 ^"ij better 'twere, you troubled him than France. 
 Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless Waj. 
 wick, peace ; 
 Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings ! 
 I will not hence, till with my talk and tears. 
 Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold 
 I hy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love: 
 i'or both of you are birds of self-same feather. 
 rr r . , , . sounded wiihim, 
 
 A. Jjew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thea 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for 
 you; 
 
 Sent from your brother, marquis Montague.— 
 1 hese from our king unto your majesty.— 
 And, "ladam, these fbr you ; from vvhom I know no„ 
 [To Margaret. They all readth<iir kites.) 
 UxJ. 1 like It well, that our fair queen and mis^ 
 tress 
 
 miles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. 
 Frince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were 
 I hope all's for the best. [netlled : 
 
 K.Jjetv. Warwick, what are thv news? and 
 
 yours, fair queen ? 
 Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with mi- 
 hop'd joys. 
 
 W^«r. Mine, full or sorrow and heart's discontent. 
 A. Lew. What! has your king mairied the lady 
 Grey ? 
 
 And now, to sooth your forgery and his. 
 Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? 
 Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? 
 Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? 
 
 Q- Mar. I told your majesty as much before : 
 Tnis pioveth Edward's love, and Warwick's 
 honesty. • [heaven, 
 War. King Lewis, I here protest,— in sight of 
 And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, — 
 That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's: 
 No more my king, for he dishonours me ; 
 But most himself, if he could see his shame.— 
 Did I forget, that by the house of York 
 My father came untimely to his death ? 
 Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece ? 
 Did I impale him with the regal crown ? 
 Did I put Henry from his native right; 
 And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame ? 
 Shame on himself! for my desert is honour. 
 And, to repair my honour lost for him, 
 I here renounce him, and return to Henry. 
 My noble queen, let former grudges pass. 
 And henceforth I am thy true servitor; 
 I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona, 
 And replant Henry in his former state. 
 Q. Mar. VVarwick, these words have turn'd tag 
 hate to love : 
 And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 
 And joy, that thou becom'st king Henry's friend. 
 
 War. So much his friend,ay, his unfeigned friend, 
 That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
 With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
 I'll undertake to land them on our coast. 
 And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
 'Tis not this new-made bride siiall succour himf 
 And as for Clarence, — as my letters Leli m$ 
 He's very likely now to fall from him; 
 
152 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act 
 
 Fw matcli'iDg more for wanton lusl than honour. 
 Or than for strength and safety of our country. 
 
 Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd. 
 But by thy help to this distressed queen ? 
 
 Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor 
 Henry live, 
 Onless thou rescue him from foul despair? 
 Bona. My quarrel, and this English queen's 
 are one. 
 
 War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. 
 K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and 
 Margaret's, 
 j'herefore, at last, 1 firmly am resolv'd. 
 Yon sliall have aid. [once. 
 Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at 
 K. Lew. Then, England's messenger, return in 
 post ; 
 
 And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, — 
 That Lewis of France is sending over maskers. 
 To revel it with him and his new bride : 
 Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal. 
 Bonn. Tell him, In hope he'll prove a widower 
 shortly, 
 
 I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. [aside, 
 Q. Mar. Tell him, My mourning weeds are laid 
 
 And 1 am ready to put armour on. 
 
 War. Tell him from me. That he hath done me 
 wrong ; 
 
 And 'herefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long. 
 There's thy reward; be gone. [Exit Mess. 
 
 K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou. 
 
 And Oxford, witk five thousand men, 
 Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle : 
 And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
 And prince shall follow with a fresh sui)ply. 
 Yet, ere thou go, but answer rne one doubt; — 
 What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? 
 
 War. Tins shall assure my constant loyalty ; — 
 That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
 I'll join mine eldest daughter, and my joy, 
 To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 
 
 Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your mo- 
 Son £«]\vai d, she is fair and virtuous, [lion :- 
 Tjieiefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick; 
 And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, 
 That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 
 
 Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well de- 
 serves it ; 
 
 And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 
 
 {He gives his hand to Warwick.) 
 K. Lew. Why stay we novv ? These soldiers shall 
 be levied. 
 
 And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 
 Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.— 
 I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance. 
 For mocking marriage witli a dame of France. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Warwick. 
 War. I came from Edward as ambassador. 
 But I return his sworn and mortal foe : 
 Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me. 
 But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
 Had he none else to make a stale, but me ? 
 Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow 
 1 was the chief, that rais'd him to the crown. 
 And I'll be chief to bring him down again : 
 Not that I pity Henry's misery, 
 But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I.' — London. A lloom in the Palace. 
 Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Monta- 
 gue, and others. 
 Glo. Now tell rae, brother Clarence, what think you 
 Of this new marriage with the lady Grey ? 
 Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ? 
 Clar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to 
 France ; 
 
 Bow could he stay till Warwick made return i 
 8om. My lords, forbear this talk: here comes 
 the king. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King EdwasR', izitended: Ladtf 
 Grey, as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, Hast- 
 ings, and others. 
 Glo. And liis well-chosen bride. 
 Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what 1 think. 
 K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, Wow likfl 
 you onr choice. 
 
 That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? 
 
 Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl o2 
 Warwick ; 
 
 Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment, 
 That they'll take no otience at our abuse. 
 
 /\. Edw. Suppose, they take (ifl"ence without a 
 cause. 
 
 They axe but Lewis and Warwick; I am Edward, 
 Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. 
 Glo. And you shall have your will, because oar 
 king : 
 
 Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 
 
 K. Edtv. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended 
 Glo. Not I: [too? 
 No; God forbid, that I should.wish them sever'd. 
 Whom God hath join'd together : ay, and 'twere pity 
 To sunder them that yoke so well together. 
 
 K. Edtv. Setting your scorns, and your mislike, 
 aside, 
 
 Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey 
 Should not become my wife, and England's queen : — 
 And you, too, Somerset, and Montague, 
 Speak freely what you think. 
 
 Clar. Then this is my opinion, — That king Lewis 
 Becomes your enemy, tor mocking him 
 About the' marriage of the lady Bona. 
 
 G/o. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, 
 Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. 
 
 K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be 
 appeas'd, 
 By such invention as I can devise? 
 
 Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such 
 alliance. 
 
 Would more have strengthen'd this our comraon- 
 
 weallh 
 
 'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred marriage. 
 
 Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself, 
 England is safe, if true within itself ? 
 
 Mo7it. Yes; but the safer, when 'tis back'(| 
 with France. [France: 
 
 Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting 
 Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, 
 Which he hath given for fence impregnable, 
 And with their helps only defend ourselves ; 
 In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies. 
 
 Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings weJI 
 deserves 
 
 To have ti'ie heir of the lord Hungerford. 
 
 K. Edw. Ay, what of that? it was ray will anJ 
 
 grant ; 
 
 And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. 
 Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath nol 
 done well, 
 
 To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales 
 Unto the brother of your loving bride ; 
 She better would have fitted me, or Clarence . 
 But in your bride you bury brotherhood. 
 
 Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heii 
 Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son, 
 And It-ave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. 
 
 K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wile. 
 That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee 
 
 Clar. In choosing for yourself, you shew'd fom 
 judgment ; 
 
 Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
 To play the broker in mine own behalf; 
 And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 
 
 K.Edw Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king 
 And not be tied u«to his brother's will. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majestj 
 To raise my state to title of a queen, 
 Do me but right, and you must all confew 
 That I was not ignoble of descent. 
 
^CENE 3. 
 
 KING HENRY VT. 
 
 m 
 
 And me'aner than myself have had like fortune. 
 But as this title honours me and mine, 
 So your djshk.es, to whom I would be pleasing, 
 Do cloud my joys with danger an.l with sorrow. 
 K. Edvj. My love, forbear to fawn upon their 
 frowns ; 
 
 What danger, or what sorrow, can befall thee, 
 So long as Edward is thy constant friend, 
 And their true sovereign, \y\\on\ tliey must obey? 
 Nay, wiiom they shall obey, and love thee too. 
 Unless they seek for hatred at my hands: 
 VVliich, il they do, yet will I keep thee safe, 
 And <hey shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 
 Glo- 1 hear, yet say not much, but think the 
 more. {Aside.) 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 K. Ediv. Now, messenger, what letters, or what 
 Froni l<Vance? _ [news. 
 Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few 
 words. 
 
 But such as I, without your special pardon, 
 
 D.I re tint relate. [brief, 
 
 K. Ediu. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, in 
 Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. 
 
 h-it ;ins\ver makes king Lewis unto our letters? 
 
 Mess. At my depart, these were his very words ; 
 To tell false Edward, tJiy supposed king, — 
 Ti-at Lewis of France is sending over mashers, 
 To revel it with him and his new bride. 
 
 K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ? belike, he thinks 
 nie Henry. 
 B it wliHt s.iid lady Bona to my marriage? 
 
 Mess. Tiitise were her words, utter'd with mild 
 disdain; 
 
 Te/l him. in hope he'll prove a ividower shortly, 
 111 wear the willoio garland fur his sake. 
 
 K. Edw. 1 bltuue not her, she could .say iittle less; 
 Slie had tlie wrong. But what said Henry's queen? 
 For I liave he;u-d, that sl)e \vas there in jtlace. 
 
 (l/e«s s-. Tell him, quoth she, iny mourning weeds 
 are done, 
 A »d I am ready to put armour on. 
 
 K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon, 
 But what .said Waivvick to th^— ■ injuries? 
 
 Mess, lie, more incens'd aga.nst your majesty 
 I'han all the rest, dl.sciiarg'd me with these words; 
 7V// him from me. that he hath done me wrong, 
 And therefore I'll uncrown lain, ere't be long. 
 
 K. Edw. Ha! (liirst the traitor breathe out so 
 proud words 
 Well, 1 will arm ine, being thus forevvarn'd : 
 Tiiey shall have wars, and pay for their presumption. 
 But say, is Warwick iViends with IN^argaret? 
 
 Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd 
 in friendship, [daugl-iter. 
 Tint young prince Edward marries Warwick's 
 
 Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the 
 younger. 
 
 Now, brother king, farewell, and si* you fast. 
 Nor I will hence to Warwick's otiier daughter; 
 Tftat, though 1 want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
 I may not prove inferior to yourself. — 
 Vuu, that love me and Warwick, follow me. 
 
 [Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows. 
 
 Glo. Not \ : 
 My tiioughts aitn at a further matter; I 
 Stay not (or love of Edward, but the crown. {Aside.) 
 
 K. Ediv. Clarence and Somerset both gone to 
 Warwick! 
 
 Vet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; 
 And ha.ste is needful in this desperate rase. — 
 l*einbroke, and Stafford, you in »ujr behalf 
 tin levy men, and make prepare for war; 
 They are already, or qui(-kly will be, landed' 
 Myself in person will straigiit follow you, 
 
 [Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford. 
 But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Moutague, — 
 Resolve n>y doubt, 'i'ou twain, of all the rest, 
 Are txeir to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance : 
 
 Tell nie, if you love Warwick more tliau m«T 
 
 If it be so, then both depart to him ; 
 I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends- 
 But if you mind to hold your true obedience. 
 Give me assurance with some friendly votjv. 
 That I may never have you in suspect. 
 
 Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves (ru«l 
 Hast And Hastings, as he favours Edward's 
 cause ! [by us ? 
 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand 
 Gio. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you 
 K. Edw. Why so ; then am [ sure of victory. 
 Now therefore let us hence , and lose no hour. 
 Till me weet Warwick with his foreign power. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A plain tn Warwickshire. 
 Enter WARwqcK and Oxford, with French and 
 other Forces. 
 War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; 
 The common people by numbers swarm to us. 
 
 Enter Clarence and Somerset. 
 But, see, where Somerset and Clarence come; — 
 Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends ? 
 
 Clar. Fear not that, my lord. [wick ; 
 
 War. Tiien, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War- 
 And welcome, Somerset:— I hold it cowardice 
 To re.?t mistrustful, where a noble heart 
 Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; 
 Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother, 
 Were but a I'eigned friend to our proceedings : 
 But welcome, Clarence : my daughter shall be thine 
 And now what rests, but, in night's coverture 
 'Yhy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
 His soldiers lurking in the towns about. 
 And but attended by a simple guard, 
 We may surpris'e and take him at our pleasure? 
 Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: 
 That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, 
 With slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents. 
 And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds* 
 So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, 
 At unawares may beat down Edward's guard 
 And seize himself; I say not — slaughter him, 
 For I intend but only to surprise him, — 
 You, that will follow me to this attenipt, 
 Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. 
 
 {Thetj all cry, Henry ,) 
 Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort : 
 For Warwick and his friends, God and Sainl 
 George ! [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III. — Edtoard's Camp, near Warwick. 
 Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King''» 
 tent. 
 
 1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man takt) 
 
 his stand ; 
 
 The king, by this, is set him down to sleep. 
 
 2 Watch. What, will he not to bed ? 
 
 1 If'a^c/i.Why, no: for he hath made a solemn vow. 
 Never to lie and take his natural rest, 
 
 Till Warwick,, or himself, be q lite suppress'd. 
 
 2 W atch. To morrow then, belike, shall be the day 
 If Warwick be so near as men report. 
 
 ^ 3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is (hat, 
 That with the king here resteth in his tent? 
 
 1 Watrh. 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's 
 
 chiefest friend. [king, 
 
 3 Watch. O, is it so? But why conmiands th^ 
 That his chief followers lodge in towns about him. 
 While he himself keepeth in the cold field? 
 
 2 Watch. 'Tis the more honour, because mof 
 
 dangerous. 
 
 3 W atch. Ay ; but give me worship and quietness, 
 I like it better than a dangerous honour. 
 
 If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
 'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him, 
 
 1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut op fail 
 passage. 
 
454 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 2 WiSt^h Ay ; wherefore else guard we his royal 
 But to defend his person from night-foes. [teat, 
 
 Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, 
 and Forces. 
 
 War. This is his tent; and see, where stand his 
 guard. 
 
 Courasje/uiy masters : honour no\v, or never! 
 Out tollow nie, and Edward sliall be ours. 
 1 Watch. Who goes tliere ? 
 I Watch. Stay, or thou diest. 
 
 Warwick, and the rest, cry all— Warwick! 
 U arivick! and set upon the Guard ., who 
 fiy, f t'yi^'J — Arm ! arm ! IFarwich, and 
 the } est, J'ollo wine/ them. 
 
 The drmn beating, and trumpets sounding, re- 
 enter Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King 
 out in a gown, sitting in a chair : Gloster and 
 Hastings Jly. 
 
 Sam. What are tliey that fly there ? 
 
 Wq*'. Richard and Hastings : let tliem go, iiere's 
 the duke, 
 
 K. Edw. The duke I why, Warwick, when we 
 {Kjrted last, 
 Thou cairdst me king? 
 
 War. Ay, but the case is alter'd: 
 
 Wlieu you disgrac'd me in iny embassade. 
 Then 1 degraded you froui being king, 
 And come now to create you duke of Vorlc 
 Alas! how should you govern any kin-gdoui, 
 That know not how to use ambassadors ; 
 Nor how to be contented with one wiie ; 
 Nor how to use your brothers brotherly; 
 Nor how to study fir the people's welfare; 
 Nor how to slwovvd yoursell" from enemies? 
 
 K Ediv. Yea, brother oi" Clarence, art thou here 
 too':* 
 
 Kay, then 1 see, that Edward needs must down. — 
 Yet, W arwick, in despite of all mrsciiauce. 
 Of thee, thyself, and all thy complices, 
 Edward wiii always bear himsell as king : 
 Th( ugli tbrtuue's lu.dice overthrow my st;ite, 
 My niu»d cxcet ds the compass ol her wheel. 
 IV ar. 'I'hfu, lor uis mind, be Edward England's 
 
 king : [Takes off his crown.) 
 
 But Henry now sh;>l! wear the Eaglisu crown. 
 And be tr.ie king indeed; thou but the sliadow. — 
 My lord of So iit-rset, at my request, 
 See that t'orthwitii duke Edward be convey'd 
 Unto my brutuer, archbisiiop of York. 
 When 1 liave fought with Pembroke and his fellows, 
 I'll f »llow yoii. and tell vvliat answer 
 Lewis, and the laciy Buna, send to him : 
 N[)w, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. 
 K. Edw. Wliat fates impose, that men must needs 
 
 aliide ; 
 
 It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 
 
 \Jtuxit King Edward, led out ; Somerset luith him. 
 
 Oxf. What u iw remains, my lords, lor us to do ; 
 But march to Loudon with our soldiers ? [do : 
 
 War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to 
 To i'ree king Henry from imprisonment. 
 And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — London A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 
 Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden 
 change ? [learn, 
 Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to 
 W»at late nu-nfortune is befall'n king Edward ? 
 Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against 
 Warwick'? 
 
 Q. KHz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. 
 
 ttiv. fhen i-s my sovereign slain? 
 
 Q. Ehz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner ; 
 Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard. 
 Or by nis loe surpris'd at unawares : 
 Aitd, as I further have to understand, 
 
 new coiDtnitted to the bishop of York, 
 
 Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. 
 
 Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of gmf 
 Yet, gracious madanj, bear it as you may ; 
 Warwick may lose, that now hati'i won the day. 
 
 Q. Eliz.TiW then, lair hope must hinder life's aecay 
 And i the rather wean me from despair, 
 For love of Edward's offspring in my womb j 
 'I'his is it that makes me bridle passion. 
 And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; 
 Ay, ay, for tiiis I draw in many a tear. 
 And stop tlie rising of blood-sucking sighs, 
 Lest with my sighs or tears 1 blast or drown 
 Kino Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. 
 
 Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then be- 
 come ? [London, 
 
 Q. Eliz. I am informed, that he conies towa:da 
 To set the crown om-e more on Heniy's head : 
 Guess thou the rest; king Edward's friends must 
 down. 
 
 But, to prevent the tyrant's violence, 
 
 (For trust not him, that hath once broken faith,) 
 
 I'll hence f)rthwith unto the sanctuary, 
 
 ']'o save at least the heir of Eil ward's right ; 
 
 There shall 1 rtst secure from Ibrce, and iraud. 
 
 Come therelore, let us tly, \\ hile we may fly ; 
 
 II' Warwick take us, we are S!ire to die. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene V. — A Park near Middle ham Castle, in 
 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter Gloster, tlASTiNGs. Sir William Stan- 
 ley, and others. 
 Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir Wiilianj 
 Staulf-y, 
 
 Leas e off to wonder why I drew you hither, 
 Into this chieiest thicket of the pnrk. 
 Thus stands the case : Vou know, our king, my 
 brother. 
 
 Is prisoner to the bisho}) here, at whose hands 
 
 He hath good us;ige and great lil)erty ; 
 
 And, often but i<ttended with weak gu:trd, 
 
 Comes iiunting tiiis way to disport Idmself. 
 
 1 have adv 'rtis'd him by secret uieans, 
 
 Tnat ii' about this horn- he m;ike this vv; y, 
 
 Under tue colour oi' his usual game, 
 
 He shall here hnd his friends, willi horse and nsen, 
 
 To set him i'ree trom his captiv ity. 
 
 Enter King EdvvaRD, and a Hnntsinan. 
 Hunt, 'i'his way, my lord; for this way lies the 
 game. 
 
 K. Edw. Nay. this way, man; see, where tiie 
 iiunlsioeri s!;!nd. — 
 Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest, 
 I Stand yoa tiius close to steal tiie bi.Miop's <leer ? 
 
 Glo. Brotiier, the time auil case reqnireth haste : 
 Your horse stands ready at the park corner, 
 Ii. Edw. Uut whither shall we tlien ? 
 Hast. I'o l>ynn, ujy lord; and ship from thence 
 to Flanders. (meaning. 
 Glo Well >>uess'd, believe me; for thai was my 
 K Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy lorwarduess, 
 Glo. lint wherelore stay we'? 'tis no time to talk, 
 K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt tiiot> 
 go along ? 
 
 Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. 
 Glo Come then, away ; let's have no more ado. 
 K. Edw. Bishop, farewell : shield thee hoiia 
 Warwick's frown ; 
 And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene VI. — A Room in the Tower. 
 Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Su 
 merset, young RicHiMond, Oxford, lVloNTAGUB^ 
 Lieutenant of the Tower and A ttendants. 
 K. Hen. Master lieutenant , now that God and 
 iriends 
 
 Have shaken Edward from the regal seat; 
 And turn'd my captive state to liberty. 
 My fear to ho()e, my sorrows unto joys ; 
 At our ^nlar^jemeut what are thy due feea ? 
 
Scene 7. 
 
 KING HENRY YL 
 
 456 
 
 Lieu. Subjects may challenge aothing of their 
 •Bovereigns; 
 But, if an hutnble prayer may prevail, 
 1 then crave pardon of your majesty. 
 
 K Hen. For what, lienteiiatjt ? for well using me ? 
 Nay, be thou sure, I'll vvell requite thy kindness, 
 for that it made my imj)risonriient a pleasure : 
 Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
 Conceive, when, after many ri.oody thoughts, 
 At last, by notes of household harmony, 
 'I'hey quite forget their loss of liberty. — 
 But. VVarvvick, after God, thoti set'st me free, 
 And chiefly therefore 1 thank God, and thee ; 
 He was the author, thou the instrument. 
 Therefore, that 1 may conquer fortune's spite, 
 By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me ; 
 And that the people of this blessed land 
 May not be piuiish'd with my thwarting stars; 
 Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 
 I here resign my government to thee, 
 for thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. [ous ; 
 
 War. V'our grace hath still been fam'd for virtu- 
 And now may seem as wise as virtuous, 
 By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice. 
 For few men rightly temper with the stars : 
 Vet in this otie thing let me blame your grace, 
 For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. 
 
 C/a. No, Warwick, thou art vvortliy of the sway, 
 To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, 
 Adjug'd an olive branch, and laurel crown. 
 As likely to be blest in peace, and war; 
 And therefore I yield tiiee my free consent. 
 
 ffar. And I choose Clarence only for protector. 
 
 K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both 
 your hands; [hearts. 
 Now join your hands, and, with your hands, your 
 'J'hat no dissension hinder government : 
 I make you both protectors of this land; 
 While I mysell'will lead a private life. 
 And in de\ otion S|)end my latter days, 
 Ti) sill's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. [will? 
 
 ]y^ar. What answer Clarence to his sovereign's 
 
 C/rtr. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent ; 
 Fur o;i thy fortune I repose myself. 
 
 IFfl-r. VV'hy then, though loath, yet must I be 
 content: 
 
 We'll yoke together, like a double shadow 
 "So Henry's i)ody, and sup()iy his place: 
 • mean, in beariuij weight of government. 
 While he enjoys the honour, and his ease. 
 And, Cl.irence, now then it is more than needful, 
 Forthwith tiiat l^dward be proiiounc'd a traitor. 
 And all Ins lands and goods be confiscate. 
 
 C/ar. Wiiatelse V and that succession be deter- 
 min'd. [part. 
 War. Ay. therein Clirence shall not want his 
 K. Hen. But, with the lii st oi' all your chief attUirs, 
 Ijet me entreat, (ior I coiniaand no more,) 
 'J'liat iMarg:iret your queen. ;ind my son Edv/ard, 
 Be sent tor, to return from France with speed : 
 I'^jr, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
 My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. [speed. 
 C/ar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all 
 K. Hen. My lord of Sonjerset, what youth is that. 
 Of whoiii you seem to have so tender care? 
 
 Sum. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich- 
 mond. 
 
 II'. Couje hither, England's hope ; If secret 
 
 jjowers [Laij.^ his hand on his head.) 
 Suggest but truth to my divining tiioughts, 
 This pretty lad will {)ro\ e our country's bliss. 
 His lo(>ks are full of pea:;el"ul majesty ; 
 His h^'ul by nature frain'd to wear a crown. 
 His hand to wield a sceptre : and lumself 
 Ukely, ill time, to bless a regal throne. 
 Alak^ niiicii of him, my lords; for this is he. 
 Must help you more ttiao you are hurt by me. 
 
 Enter a Me.isenyer. 
 War, What news, my friends ? 
 
 Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother, 
 And lied, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 
 
 W ar. Unsavoury news : But how made he escape . 
 Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke o( 
 Gloster, 
 
 And the lord Hastings, vvho attended hiiu 
 in secret ambush on the forest side, 
 And Irorri the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; 
 For hunting was his daily exercise. 
 
 War. My brother was too careless of his charge.— • 
 But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
 A salve for any sore that may betide. 
 
 [Exeunt King Henrij, War. Clar. Lieut 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Som. My lord. 1 like not of this flight of Edward's j 
 For, doubtless, Bnrgundy will yield him help; 
 And we shall have more wars, before't be long 
 As Henry's late | resaging prophecy [mond ; 
 
 Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich- 
 So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
 What may befall him, to his harm and ours: 
 Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, 
 Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany, 
 Till stornjs be past of civil enmity. 
 
 Oxf. Ay; for, if Edward repossess the cr^^wn, 
 'Tis like, tliat Richmond with the rest shall down. 
 
 Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Britany. 
 C iihe, therefore, let's about it speedily. [Exeunt- 
 
 Scene YU.— Before York. 
 Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hasiings, and 
 
 Forces. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Eastings, 
 and the rest; 
 Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, 
 And says — that once more I shall interchange 
 My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
 Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas, f 
 And brought desired help from Burgundy: ; 
 What then remains, we being thus arriv'd ! 
 From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, 
 But that we enter, as into our dukedom? 
 
 Glo. The gates made fast ! — Brother, I like 
 not this ; 
 
 For many men, that stumble at the threshold 
 Are well foretold— that danger lurks within. 
 
 K. Edw. Tush, man! abodements must not now 
 affright us : 
 By fair or i'o\A means we must enter in, 
 For hither will our friends repair to us. 
 
 Hast. My liege, I'tl knock once more, to Sam- 
 mon them. 
 
 Enter on the walls, the Mayor of York., and hit 
 Brethren. 
 
 May. My lords, we were forewarned of your 
 coining, 
 
 And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; 
 For no\v we o\ve allegiance unto Flenry. 
 
 K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, 
 Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of 'Ifork. 
 
 May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no 
 less. 
 
 K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothir.g but my 
 dukedom, 
 As being well content with that alone. 
 
 Glo. But, when the fox hath once got in his nose. 
 He'll soon find means to make the body follow. 
 
 [Asidt.) 
 
 Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a 
 doubt ? 
 
 Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends. 
 
 May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then ba 
 open'd. [Exeunt from above, 
 
 Glo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon • 
 Hast. The good old man v^'oiild fain that all 
 were well, 
 
 So 'twere not 'lowg of him : but, being enter'd, 
 I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
 Both him. and all his brothers, unto reasoa 
 
THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act Y 
 
 l?e enfer the Mayor, and tivo Alderinen, below. 
 
 K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must 
 no( be shut, 
 *BKt in the nii^ht, or in the time of war. 
 What! fear not, man, but y.eld me np the keys ; 
 
 {Takes his keys.) 
 For Ell ward will defend the town, and thee. 
 And all those friends that deign to follow me. 
 Vrum.Enie rMotiTGOMERY, and Forces, marching. 
 
 Glo. Broth-er, this is sir John Montgomery, 
 Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. 
 
 K. Edw. Welcome, sir John ! But why come 
 
 you in arms ? 
 Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm, 
 As every loyal subject ought to do. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery. But we 
 now forget 
 Our title to the crown ; and only claim 
 Our dukedom, till God |)lease to send the rest. 
 
 Mont. Then fare you well, (or 1 will hence again ; 
 I came to serve a king, and not a duke. — 
 Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 
 
 {A March begun.) 
 K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, awhile ; and we'll 
 debate. 
 
 By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. 
 
 Mont. Wliat talk you of debating in few words, 
 Cf you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, 
 I'll leave you to your fortune; and be gone 
 To keep them hack, that come to succour you : 
 Why should we fight, if you pretend no title ? 
 
 Glo. Wiiy, biotner, vvherelbre stand you on nice 
 points ? 
 
 K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'll 
 make our claim : 
 lisl then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning;. 
 
 Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must 
 rule. [crowns. 
 
 G(o. And fearless minds climb soone'<t nnto 
 Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; 
 The bruit thereof will bring you many Irien-li. 
 
 K. Edw. Then be it as you will ; for 'tis My right, 
 And tlenry but usurps the diadem. [self; 
 
 Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like him- 
 And now will I be Edward's champion. 
 
 llast. Sound, trumpet; Edward s\\A\ be here 
 proclaim'd : — 
 Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proxlama'ion. 
 
 {Gives him a paper. Flourish.) 
 
 Sold. (Reads.) Edward the Fourth, by the grace 
 of God, king of England and France, and lord of 
 Ireland, §fc. 
 
 Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's 
 By this I challenge him to single fi^ht. (right, 
 [Throtvs down his gauntlet.) 
 
 All. Long live Edward the Fourth I 
 
 I\. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ; — and 
 thanks unto you all. 
 ff fortune serve nje, I'll requite this kindness. 
 Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York : 
 And, when the morning sun shall raise his car 
 Above the border of this horizon, 
 We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates ; 
 Eor, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier. — 
 Ah, froward Clarence! — how evil it beseems thee, 
 To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother ! 
 Vet, as we may, we'll meet both thee Pvnd War- 
 wick, — 
 
 Come on, brave soldiers ; doubt not of the day ; 
 And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VHI. — London. A Room ia the Palace. 
 
 'Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Mon- 
 tague, Exeter, and Oxford. 
 War. What counsel, lords? EJward from Belgia, 
 With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, 
 Hath p.iss'd in -^af-ty through tiie narrow seas, 
 (Lai with h s trou" Jctn :narch amain » .ondou 
 
 And many giddy people flov.! to him. 
 
 Oxf Let's levy men, and beat him back aj^ain* 
 Clar. A little tire is guickly trodden out ; 
 
 Which, being sutier'd, rivers cannot quench. 
 
 War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearte 
 friends, 
 
 Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; 
 
 Those will I rauster up : — and thou, son Clarence, 
 
 Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, 
 
 The knights and gentlemen to come with the 
 
 Thou, brolhcr Montague, in Buckingham, 
 
 Noi thampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
 
 Men well inclin'd to hear wiiat thou comwiand'st • 
 
 And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'u. 
 
 In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. — 
 
 My sovereign, with the loving citizens, — 
 
 Like to his island, girt in with the ocean, 
 
 Or modest Dian, circled vvith her nymphs,— 
 
 Shall rest in London, till we come to him. 
 
 Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. — 
 
 Farewell, njy sovereign. [true hope. 
 
 K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's 
 
 Clar. In sign oi" truth, I kiss your highness' hand. 
 
 K. Hen. Well -minded Clarence, be thou fortu- 
 nate ! [leave. 
 
 Mont. Comfort, my lord! — and <*o I take my 
 
 Oxf. And thus {Kissing Henry's hand.) 1 seal 
 my truth, and bid adieu. 
 
 K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving ^Montague, 
 And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 
 
 War. Farewell, sweet lords; let's m t-t at Co- 
 \ entry. [Exeunt War. Clar. Oxf. and Mont. 
 
 K. Heyi. Here at the palace will I rest a while. 
 Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship 
 Methinks, the power that Edward hath in field. 
 Should not be able to encounter mine. 
 
 Exe. The doubt i-s, that he will seduce the rest. 
 
 K. Hen. That's not my fear, my meed I ath got 
 me fame. 
 
 r have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands. 
 Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; 
 My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, 
 My nnldness hath allay'd their swelling giiefs, 
 My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears : 
 I have not been desirous of their wealth, 
 Nor much oppress'd them with great sut)sidies, 
 Nor forward of revenge, though they nmch err'd ; 
 'I'hen why sliould tiiey love Edward more than me? 
 No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace ; 
 And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, 
 The lamb will never cease to follow him. 
 
 [Shout within. A Lancaster ! A Lancaster ! 
 Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! wiiat shouts are these ? 
 
 Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Soldiers. 
 Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him 
 hence, 
 
 And once again proclaim us king of England. — 
 You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow ; 
 Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry, 
 An(4 swell so much the higher by their ebb. — 
 Hence vvith him to the Tower; let him not spealc. 
 
 [Exeunt some with King Henrg. 
 And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, 
 Where peremptory Warwick now remains: 
 The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay. 
 Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay, 
 
 Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join, 
 And take the great grown traitor unawares : 
 Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Coventry. 
 Enter., upon the walls, Warwick, the Mayor of 
 Coventry, itvo Messengers, and others. 
 War. Wherp is the post that came from valiuo^ 
 Oxfbrd? 
 
 How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? 
 < Mess. Bv this al Dunsmore. marrhini; hitlierwarcL 
 
fc^CENE 2. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 457 
 
 War. flow hi o(f is our brother Montague ? — 
 Where is tlie post that came from Montague ? 
 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. 
 
 E7der Sir John Somerville, 
 fVar. Say, Somerville, what says uiy loving son? 
 And, by tiif guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? 
 
 Som. At Si)iitliatn, Iclid leave him with his forces, 
 And do expect him here sonie two iionrs iience. 
 
 {Drian heard.) 
 
 War. Then Clarence is at hand, I liear liis drum. 
 Som. It is not iiis, my lord; here Sjiitham lies; 
 The drum, vour honour liears, marcheth tioin War- 
 uick. [friends. 
 War. W\\o should that be? belike, unlook'd-tor 
 Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly 
 know. 
 
 Drums. Enter King Edward, Gloster, and 
 Forces, marching. 
 K. Edw. (Ja, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a 
 paile. 
 
 Glo. See liow the surly Warwick mans the wall. 
 War. O, unbid spite! is sportful Edward come 
 ■Where slept our scouts, or how are titey seduc'd, 
 ^'hat we could hear no news of his repair ? 
 
 K. Edw. i\ow, Warwick, wilt tliou ope the city 
 
 gaT.tr s, ^ 
 Speak geiitlv words, and humbly bend thy knee 
 Call Ed'vvaid— king, and at his hands beg mercy, 
 And he shall pardon thee these outrages. [hence, 
 War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy torces 
 Confess whu'set thee up and pluck'd thee down ?— 
 Call W arwick— patron, and be penitent. 
 And thou slnlt sUll remain the duke of York. 
 G'/o. 1 thought, at least, he would have said— 
 
 the king ; 
 
 Or did he malv. the jest against his will? 
 War. Is nut H dukedom, sir, a goodly gift 
 Glo. Ay, by my fiith, lor a poor eaii to give 
 
 I'll do thfe .service for so good a gift. 
 
 War. "l\vas i that gave the kingdom to thy 
 broUier. [wick's gilt. 
 
 K. Ediv. Wiiy, then 'tis mine, if but by War- 
 War. I Ik.u art no Atlas for so great a weight : 
 
 And, weakhng, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
 
 And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 
 K. EUiv. But Warwick's king is Edward's pri- 
 soner : 
 
 And, galliint Warwick, do but answer this, — 
 What is the body, when the head is otf ? 
 
 Glo. Aias, tiiat Warwick had no more forecast. 
 But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 
 The kino was siily finger'd from the deck ! 
 You left poor Menry at the bishop's palace, 
 And,tei; to one, you'll meet him in the lower. 
 
 K. Eiw. "l is even so ; yet you are Warwick still. 
 
 Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, 
 kneel down : 
 Nay, ? strike now, or else the iron cools. 
 
 Wur. i had rather chop this hand off at a blow, 
 And witli the uther fling it at thy face, 
 Than bear se lew a sail, to strike to thee. 
 
 K. Ediv. ^ai* iiovv thou canst, have wind and tide 
 thy t rieod ; 
 
 This hand, last wound about thy coal-black hair, 
 Shall, whiles tiie head is warm, and new cut off. 
 Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, — 
 Wind-changiny Warwick now can change no more. 
 
 Enter Oxford, with drum and colours. 
 
 War. O chi?erful colours! see, where Oxford 
 
 comes ! 
 
 Oxf, Oxlord, Oxford, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [Oxford and his Forces enter the City.) 
 Glo. The gaies are open, let us enter too. 
 K. Ediv. So other foes may set upon our backs 
 itand we in good airey ; for they, no doubt, 
 i^wsue out a;5ain, 0 bid u.s battle ; 
 ol, *.he city being of n mall defence, 
 '11 q, sii!i»y rou"*^. tua Vaitors in the same. 
 
 War. O, welcome, Oxford ! for we want thy help 
 
 Enter Montague, with drum and colours 
 
 Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! 
 
 {He and his Forces enter the City.) 
 Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy thi. 
 treason, 
 
 Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 
 
 K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory 
 My nund presageth happy gain, and conquest. 
 
 Enter Somerset, iviih driun and colours. 
 So7n. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the City.^ 
 Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes ot Somerset' 
 Have sold their lives unto the house of York ; 
 And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 
 
 Enter Clarence, with drum and colours. 
 War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
 along, 
 
 Of force enough to bid his brother battle , 
 With whom an upright zeal to right prevails, 
 More than the nature of a brother's love ; — 
 Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. 
 
 Clar. Father of Warwick, know you vvliat this 
 means ? ( Taking the red ruse out of his cap, > 
 Look here, I throw my infamy at thee : 
 I will not ruinate my father's liouse. 
 Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, 
 And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st tiion, W arwick. 
 That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, 
 To bend the fatal instruments of war 
 Against his brother, and his lawful king? 
 Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath : 
 To keep that oath, were more impiety 
 Than Jephtha's, when he sacrihc'd his daughter, 
 I am so sorry for my trespass made. 
 That, to deserve well at my brotiier's hands, 
 I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ; 
 With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, 
 (As I will meet thee, ii' tht)u stir abroad), 
 'J^o plague thee for thy foul misleading me. ^ 
 And so, proud hearted Warwick, I defy thee. 
 And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. — 
 Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; 
 And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, 
 For 1 will henceforth be no more unconstant. 
 
 K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten timet 
 more belov'd. 
 Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. [like, 
 
 Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother- 
 
 War O passing traitor, perjur'd, and unjust! 
 
 K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the 
 town, and figiit? 
 Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ? 
 
 War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence, 
 I will away towards Barnet presently. 
 And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st, 
 
 K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads 
 the way : — 
 
 Lords, to the field ; Saint George, and victory i 
 
 [March. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Field of Battle, near Barnet. 
 Alarums, and Excursions. Enter King Edward^ 
 bringing in Warwick, wounded. 
 K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and di» 
 our fear; 
 
 For Wa.rwick was a bug, that fear'd us all,— 
 Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, 
 That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. 
 
 lExiL 
 
 War. Ah, who is nigh ? come to me, friend, or foe 
 And tell me, who is victor, Yo< k, or Warwick ? 
 Why ask I that? my mangled body shews, 
 My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart 
 shews. 
 
 That I must yield my body to the earth. 
 And, by my fall, trie conquest to my foe 
 
458 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act V, 
 
 Thas yields the cedar to the axe's edge, 
 Wlioae arms gave shelter to t!ie princely eat;le, 
 Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; [tree. 
 Whose top -branch overneer'3 Jove's spreading 
 And kept low siirubs from winter's powerful wind. 
 These eyes, that now are dimm d with death's black 
 veil. 
 
 Have been as piercing as the mid day sun. 
 
 To search the secret treasons of the world: 
 
 "J'he wrisikles in my brows, now fUl'd with blood. 
 
 Were liken'd oft to kingly sepiiichres ; 
 
 For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? 
 
 And who durst smile, when VV^arvvick bent his brow? 
 
 Lo, now my glory sinear'd in dust and blood ! 
 
 My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. 
 
 Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands. 
 
 Is nothing lelt me, but my body's length! 
 
 Why, whaf is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? 
 
 And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 
 
 Enter Oxford and Somerset. 
 
 Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we 
 We might recover all our loss again! [are, 
 rhe queen from France hath brought a puissant 
 power ; [fly ! 
 
 Even now we heard the news : Ah, could st thou 
 JVar. Why, then i would not fly.— Ah, Mon- 
 tague, 
 
 It* thou be there, svveet brother, take my hand. 
 And witli thy li[)S keep in my soul awhile! 
 Thou lov'st me no!; for, brother, if thou didst. 
 Thy tears vvouid wash this cold congealed blood, 
 That glews my lips, and will not let me speak. 
 Comeqiiicklv. Woiitague, or I am dead. (last; 
 
 Sotn. Ah, vVarwick, Montague hath breath'd his 
 And to the latest gasp, cried out lor Warwick, 
 And said — Cuunnt^nd me to my valiant brother. 
 And more he would have said ; and more he spoke. 
 Which sounded like a cannon in a vaidt. 
 That miglit not be distingiiish'd ; out, at last, 
 I well nnglit hear deliver'd with a groan, — 
 O, farewell, Warwick! 
 
 War. Sweet rest to his soul ! — 
 
 Fly, lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids 
 You all farewell, to meet a.;aiii iu heaven. {Dies.) 
 
 Oxf. Away, away, to meet tlie queen's great 
 power i 
 
 lE.\-eimi, bearing off IVartvick's body. 
 Scene III.— Another pari of the Field. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King Edward, in triumph; with 
 Clarence, Glos ier, and the rest. 
 K. Edw. Thi'.s far our fortune keeps an upward 
 course, 
 
 And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. 
 But, in the midst of this bright shining day, 
 I spy a hhick, suspicious, threat'ning cloud, 
 1'iiat will encounter with our glorious sun, 
 Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
 I mean, my lords, — those powers, that the queen 
 Hath rais d in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast. 
 And, as we hear, march on to ti^ht with us. 
 
 Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud. 
 And blow it to the source from whence it came : 
 Thy very beams will dry those vapours up; 
 For every do id engenders not a storm. 
 
 Glo. The queen is valu d thiity thousand strong. 
 And Somerset, with Qvford, fled to her; 
 If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd. 
 Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 
 
 K. Edw. We are advertls'd by our lo\ing friends, 
 That th» y do hold their course toward Tevvksbury ] 
 We, having now best at Bari.et tield, 
 'Will ihither straight, for willingness rids way: 
 iiid, as we march, our strength will be augmented 
 . ^ every county as we go alo g. — 
 ^ like up the drum; cry — Courage ! and away. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene TV. — Plains near Teioksbury. 
 
 March. Enter Queen MaroaI^et. Prince EOWABB 
 Somerset, Oxfohd, and Soldiers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wai 
 their loss. 
 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
 What though the mast be now blown over-board» 
 The cable broke, the holding anchor lost. 
 And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? 
 Yet lives our pilot still : Is't meet, that he 
 Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, 
 With tearful eyes add water to the sea, 
 And give more strength to that which hath too niuchj 
 Whiles, in his tnoan, the ship splits on the rock^ 
 Which industry and courage might have sav'd? 
 Ah, what a shame ! ah ! what a fault were this! 
 Say, Warwick was our anchor; What of tliat? 
 And Montague our top-mast; What of him ? 
 Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; What of these? 
 Why. is not Oxford here another anchor? 
 And Somerset another goodly mast? 
 The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? 
 And though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
 For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? 
 We will not from the helm, to sit and weep; [no, 
 But keep our course, though the rough winds say— 
 From shelves and rocks that threaten ns with wreck 
 As good to chide the waves, as speak theni fair 
 And what \a Edward, but a ruthless sea? 
 What V'larence, but a quicksand of deceit? 
 And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock ? 
 All these the enemies to our poor hnrk. 
 Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while : 
 I'read on the sand; why, there you quickly sink : 
 Bestride the rock; the tide will uasli yon of!" 
 Or else you famish, that's a threefold death 
 This speak 1, lords, to let you understand, 
 In case some one of you would lly iVom us. 
 That there's no hop'd for mercy with the I rothers. 
 More than with ruthless waves, with sauua, and 
 rocks. 
 
 Why, coinage, then ! what cannot he avoided, 
 'Twere childtsh weakness to laiuerit, or iear. 
 
 Prince. Methinks, a woman ol this v;iliaiit spin 
 Should, if a coward heard her speak tliese vv ©rdn, 
 Infuse his breast with magnanii'iity , 
 And make him, naked, toil a ui.ui at aims. 
 I speak not this, as doubting any here . 
 For, did 1 but suspect a fearful man, 
 He should have leave to go away betimes ; 
 Lest, in our need, he might hifect another^ 
 And make him of like S()irit to iiimself. 
 If any such be here, as God forbid ! 
 Let him depart, before we need iiis help. 
 
 Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage I 
 And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual sham«.— 
 O, brave young prince ! thy famous grandiather 
 Doth live again in thee; Long may'st tliou live, 
 To bear his image, and renew his glories! 
 
 Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope 
 Go home to bed, and, like the ovv I by day. 
 If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; — sweet Ox 
 ford, thanks. [thing else 
 
 Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath no 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand 
 Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. 
 
 Oxf. I thought no less: it is his policj'. 
 To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 
 
 So?n. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness. 
 
 Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your for- 
 wardness, [budffe. 
 
 Oxf. Here pitch our battle, hence we will not 
 March. Enter, at a distance, liing FiDWilia, 
 Clarence, Gloster, and Forces, 
 
 K. Ediv. Brave followers, yonder stands di« 
 tlwrny wood. 
 
Scene 6. 
 
 VV ich, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength, 
 
 Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 
 
 I need noi add more fuel to your fire, 
 
 iH'or, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out : 
 
 Give sig:iial to the light, and to it, lords. 
 
 i^. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I 
 should say, 
 My tears srainsay ; ibr every word I speak, 
 Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. [reign, 
 Therefore, no more but this : — Henry, your sove- 
 /i prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd, 
 His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain, 
 His statutes caiiceli'd, and his treasure spent; 
 And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. 
 Vou fight in justice : then, in God's name, lords, 
 Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 
 
 [Exeunt both armies. 
 Scene V. — Another part of the same, 
 ilarums : Excursions : and afterwards a retreat. 
 
 Then, enter King Kdward, Clarence, Gloster, 
 
 and Forces : with Queen Margaret, Oxford, 
 
 and Somerset, prisoners. 
 
 K. Ediu. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. 
 Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle straight: 
 For Somerset, off" with his guilty head. 
 KiO, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak, 
 Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with 
 words. [tune. 
 Sotn. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my for- 
 [Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 
 Q. Mar. So part we sadly in his troublous world, 
 T ■ 'iret vvith joy in sweet Jerusalem. 
 
 K. Edio. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds 
 Edward, 
 
 Sl<all have a high reward, and he his life? 
 
 Glo. It is : and lo, where youthful Edward comes. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, with Prince EDWARD. 
 K. Ediv. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear hira 
 speak. 
 
 What I can so young a thorn begin to prick? 
 . .( J ward, what satisfaction canst thou make, 
 I 'or bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects. 
 And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? 
 
 Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious 
 York! 
 
 S ip pose, that I ana now my father's mouth ; 
 Kesign thy chair, and where I stand, kneel thou, 
 W^hilst I propose the self-same words to thee, 
 Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so re- 
 sol v'd! [coat, 
 
 Glo. That you might still have worn the petti- 
 And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 
 
 Prince. Let iKsop fable in a winter's night ; 
 His currish riddles sort not with this place. 
 
 Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that 
 word. [men. 
 
 Q- Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to 
 
 Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. 
 
 Prince. Nay^ take away this scolding crook-back 
 rather. _ [tongue. 
 
 K. EdiV. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your 
 
 >Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 
 
 Prince. I know my duty, yoa are all undutiful : 
 Lascivious Edward, — and thou perjur'd George, — 
 And thou mis-shapen Dick, — I tell ye all, 
 f am your better, traitors as ye are ; — 
 ft.nj3 trtttu usnrp'st ray father's right and mine. 
 
 K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this raiier here. 
 
 {Stabs him) 
 
 Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony. 
 
 {Glo. stabs him.) 
 C.lar. And there's for twitting me with perjury. 
 
 {Clar. stabs htm.) 
 Q.jifar. O, kill me too! * 
 Glo. Marry, and shall. {Offers to kill her.) 
 
 K, Edw. llold, Richard, hola, for we have done 
 too much. [words ? 
 
 Oh. Why should she live, to fill the world with 
 
 459 
 
 K. Edw. What! doth she swoon? use meaBS fof 
 her recovery. 
 
 Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king, niy brother 
 I'll hence to London, on a seri(»us matter ■• 
 Ere ve come there, be ."jure to hear some news. 
 
 Clar. What? what? 
 
 Glo. The Tower, the Tower ! [Esni. 
 Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy ma 
 ther, boy ! 
 
 Canst thou not speak? — O traitors ! nsard'^rers 
 They, that stabb'd Ciesar, shed no blood at all. 
 Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, 
 If this foul deed were by, to equal it. 
 He was a man; this, in respect, a child; 
 And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
 What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? 
 No, no; my heart will burst, an if I speak : — 
 And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.— 
 Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals! 
 How sweet a plant have yon untimely cropp'd! 
 You have no children, butchers! if you had, 
 The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse 
 But, if you ever chance to have a child, 
 Look in his youth to have him so cut otV, [prince! 
 As, d«athsmen ! you have rid this sweet young 
 
 K. Edw. Away with her; go, bear her hence 
 perforce. [here ; 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me 
 Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death : 
 What: wilt thou not? — then, Clarence, do it tiiou. 
 
 Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease, 
 
 Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clarence, do 
 thou do it. [doit? 
 
 Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself; 
 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. 
 What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, 
 Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thoa? 
 Thou art not here : Murder is thy alms deed ; 
 Petitioners for blood thon ne'er put'st back. 
 
 K. Ediv. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear her hence. 
 
 Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this 
 prince! [Exit, led out forcillyk 
 
 K. Edw. W^here's Richard gone? 
 
 Clar. To London, all in | ost ; and, as I guess, 
 To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 
 
 K. Edw. He's sudden, ifa thing conies in his head. 
 Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
 With pay and thanks, and let's away to London, 
 And see our gentle queen how well she lares; 
 By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Ex^euni, 
 
 Scene VI. — London. A Room in the Tower. 
 King Henry is discovered sitting loith a booh in. 
 his hand, the Lieutena^it attending. Enter 
 
 GLOSTtER. 
 
 Glo. Good day, my lord ! What, at your book 
 so hard? [say rather; 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, my good lord : My lord, I sliould 
 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better : 
 Good Gloster, and u'>od devil, were alike. 
 And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord. 
 Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must com 
 fer. [Exit Lietitenant, 
 
 K. Hen, So flies the reckless shepherd from the 
 wolf: 
 
 So tirst the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
 And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.— 
 What scene of death hath Ro.scius now to Dct? 
 
 Glo. Suspic'on always haunts the guilCy wind 
 The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 
 
 K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed m a bust-. 
 With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush : 
 And I, the hapless male lo one sweet bird. 
 Have now the fatal object in my eye, [klll'd 
 Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and 
 
 Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete 
 That taught his son the office of a fowl? 
 And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd, 
 
 K, Hen. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, icams; 
 
 KING HENRY VL 
 
460 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VL 
 
 Act V 
 
 Thy father, Minos, that den ed onr course ; 
 The snn, tiiat sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, 
 Tliy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea, 
 Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
 All, kill me with thy weapon, not with words. 
 My breast can better brook thy dagger's point, 
 Than can ti'y ears that tragic history.— 
 Buf wherefore dost thou come i is't for my I'.te . 
 
 Glo. Think'st thou, I am an executioner.'' 
 
 K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art ; 
 If murdering innocents be executing, 
 \Vhy, tiien thou art an executioner. 
 
 Glo, Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 
 
 K. Ben. Hadst thou been killed, when first thou 
 didst presume. 
 Thou hadst not liv d to kill a son of mine. 
 And thus I prophecy,— that many a thousand, 
 \Vhich now mistrust no parcel of my fear ; 
 A d many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, 
 And many an orphan's water-standing eye,— 
 Men for tlieir sons, wives for tiieir husbands fate, 
 And or{)hans for their parents' timeless death,— 
 Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
 The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; 
 The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; 
 Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down 
 trees ; 
 
 The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, 
 And ciiattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
 Thy mother lelt more than a mother's pain, 
 And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope ; 
 To wit,— an indigest deformed lump. 
 Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
 Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born, 
 To signify,— thou cam'st to bite the world : 
 And, if the rest be true which I have heard, 
 
 ( Thou cam'st — , ^ . n. 
 
 \ Glo. I ll hear no more ;— Die, prophet in thy 
 
 \ speech; (Stabs him.) 
 
 For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. [tins. 
 
 • K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter alter 
 
 0 God ! forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! (Dies.) 
 Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
 
 Sink in the ground? I thought it would have 
 
 mounted. ^ 
 See, how my sword weeps for the poor king s death ! 
 
 0, may such purple tears be always shed 
 
 From those that wish the downfal ol our house ! 
 If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
 Down, down to hell ; and say— I sent thee thither, 
 (Stabs him again.) 
 
 1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.— 
 Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of; 
 For I hav^ often heard my mother say, 
 
 1 came into the world with my legs forward: 
 Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 
 And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right i 
 The midwife wonder'd; and the vvomen cried, 
 0, Jesus bless ui, he is born with teeth? 
 And so I was ; which plainly signified — 
 That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 
 Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so. 
 Let hell make crook'd .uy mind to answer it. 
 
 I have no brother, I am like no brother : ^ 
 
 And this word — love, which greybeards call divine, 
 
 Be resident m men like one another, 
 
 An .1 not in me ; I am myself alone.— 
 
 Clarence, beware; thou keep'st \ue from the light; 
 
 But I will sort a pitchy day for thee : 
 
 For I will buz abroad such prophecies, 
 
 That Edward shall be fearful of his life ; 
 
 And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 
 
 King Henry, and the prince his sen, are gone : 
 
 Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest; 
 
 Counting myself but bad, till I be best. — 
 
 I'll throw thy body in another room. 
 
 And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit. 
 
 Scene VII. — The same. A Room in the Palace, 
 King Edward is discovered sitting on his throne ; 
 Queen Elizaiseth , ivith the infant Prince. 
 Clarence, Gloster, Hastings, and others 
 near him. 
 
 K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal 
 throne, 
 
 Re purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
 What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn, 
 Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride i 
 Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
 For hardy and undoubted champions : 
 Two Clifibrds, as the father and the son: 
 And two Northuiiiberlands; two braver men 
 Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound: 
 With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and 
 Montague, 
 
 That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion. 
 And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
 Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat. 
 And made our footstool of security. — 
 Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy : 
 Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself 
 Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night; 
 Went all a foot in summer's scalding heat. 
 That thou niight'st repossess the crown in peace ; 
 And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. 
 
 Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid; 
 For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
 This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave : 
 And heave it shall some weight, or break my 
 back : — 
 
 Work thou the way,— and on shalt execute. 
 
 K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely 
 
 queen ; 
 
 And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 
 
 Clar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty, 
 I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence : worthy bro- 
 ther, thanks. [sprang'st, 
 
 Glo. And that I love the tree from whence thoo 
 Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit : — 
 To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master ; \ 
 And cried— all hail I when as he meant- > Aside, 
 all harm. 
 
 K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights. 
 Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves. 
 Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar- 
 garet ? 
 
 Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
 Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
 And hither have they sent it for her ransome. 
 K. Edw. Away with her, aad waft her hence ta 
 France. 
 
 And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
 With stately triumphs, mirthful conao shows, 
 Such as befit the pleasures of the court? — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets ! — farewell, soar annoy! 
 For here, I hope, begins oar lasting joy. [Exeunt< 
 
KING RICHARD HI, 
 
 TSsif i« 0115 of the most celebrated of our author's performances ; yet I know not whether it has not happened to hiw 
 gi3 to otheru. to be praised most, when praise is not most deserved. That tiiis play has scenes nuble in themselves, and 
 very well coctrived to strike iu the exhibition, cannot be denied. But some parts are trilling, others shocking, and sons 
 Hnprfcbsbie. Johnsen. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING EDWARD THE FOURTH. 
 
 iuUWA.iiD, Prince of Wales, after-} 
 
 jv<tr!is King Edward V., \ Sons to the King. 
 
 lUCHARD, Duke of York, ) 
 a i<:OliGE, Di-ke oj Clarence, i nrnthert tn thp 
 
 MCHARD, Duke of G lost er, after- \ ^'^"'/^f^^'' '^^ 
 
 wards King Richard III , \ 
 A yoHitg Son oj Clarence. 
 
 Iifc:NRV, Karl of Richmond, afterwards King 
 Henry VIl. 
 
 CARDINAL BOURCHIER, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 THOMAS ROTHERAM, Archbishop of York. 
 JOHN MORTON, liishop of Ely. 
 DUKE OF iJUCKINGHAM. 
 ULKE OF NORFOLK. 
 KARL OF SURREY, his Son. 
 
 i'.ARL lUVEIvS, Brother to Kind Edward's Queen. 
 ftlARQUlS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her Sons. 
 EARL OF OXFORD. 
 L0R13 HASTINGS. 
 LOilD STANLEY. 
 LORD LOVEL. 
 
 SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN. 
 SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF. 
 SIR WILLIAM CATESBY. 
 SIR JAMES TYRREL. 
 SIR JAMES BLOUNT. 
 SIR WALTER HKWJ^^'^T. 
 
 SIR ROBEH URY, Lieutenant qftX* fomr. 
 
 CHRLSTOi K, a Friest. 
 
 Another PrifSi. 
 
 Lord Mayor of Lo7i.don. 
 
 Sheriff of Wiltshire. 
 
 ELIZABETH, Queen of King Edward IV. 
 MARGARET, Widow of King Henry VI. 
 DUCHESS OF YORK, Mother to King Edward IT.., 
 
 Clarence, and doster. 
 LADY ANNE, Widow of Edward Prince of Wjiler. 
 
 Sun to King Henry VI.; afterwards married 
 
 to the Duke of Gloster. 
 A yottng Daughter of Clarence. 
 
 Lords, and other Attendants ; two Gentlemen, a Pur- 
 suivant , Scrirener, Citizens, Murderers, Mes- 
 sengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, etc. 
 
 Scene, — England. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — London. A Street. 
 Enter Gloster. 
 Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent 
 Made glorious sunimer by this sun of York; 
 Aud all the clouds, that lowr'd up^ ii our liouse. 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean Isnry'd. 
 Now are otir brows bound with victorions wreathsj 
 Our bruised arms hung up for monuu)ents; 
 Our stern alarums chang'd to merry njeetings, 
 Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
 Griia-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; 
 And now, — instead of mounting barbed steeds. 
 To Iright the souls of fearlul adversaries, — 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
 To t()e lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
 But I,— that am not shap'd for sportive tricks. 
 Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ; 
 I, that ana rudely stamp'd, and want love s aiajesty, 
 'J'o strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
 I, that am ciirtail'd of this fair proportion, 
 Cheated of feature by dissemblmg nature, 
 Delbrm'd, untinish'd, sent before my time 
 Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
 That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ; — 
 Why I, in this weak piping time ol' peace, 
 Have no delight to pass away the time ; 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. 
 And descant on mine own deformity; 
 And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover, 
 To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — 
 I am determined to prove a villain. 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
 Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 
 LJy drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams. 
 To set my brother Clarence, and the king. 
 Id deadly hate the one against the other: 
 And, if king Edward be as true and just. 
 As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, 
 i'his day should Clarence closely be mew'd up; 
 About a prophecy, which says — that G 
 Of Edwaid s heirs the murderer shall be. [comes. 
 IHve, thoughts, down to my soul ! here Clarence 
 
 Enter Clarence, guarded^ and Brakenbury. 
 Brother, good day : What means this armed guard. 
 
 That waits upon your grace ? 
 
 Clar. His majesty. 
 
 Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
 This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 
 
 Glo. Upon what cause ? 
 
 Clar. Because my name is — George 
 
 Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ; 
 He should, for that, commit your godfathers : — 
 O, belike, his majesty hath some intent, 
 'I'hat you shall be new christen'd in the Tower. 
 But what's the matter, Clarence? may 1 know? 
 
 Clar. Yea, Richard, when 1 know; for, I prote*^^ 
 As yet J do not: But, as I can learn. 
 He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams; 
 And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
 And says — a wizard told him, that by G 
 His issue disinherited should be; 
 And, for my name of George begins with G. 
 It follows in his thought, that I am he : 
 Tliese, as I Itarn, and such like toys as these, 
 Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 
 
 Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by vf* 
 men ; — ' 
 
 'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower; 
 
 My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she. 
 
 That tempers him to this extremity. 
 
 Was it not she, and that good man of worship, 
 
 Antony Woodeville, her brother there. 
 
 That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower; 
 
 From whence this present day he is deliver'd ? 
 
 We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe. 
 
 Clar. By heaven, 1 think, there is no man secure, 
 But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds 
 That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore, 
 Heard you not, what an humble suppliant 
 Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery? 
 
 Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity 
 Got my lord chamberlain his liberty, 
 I'll tell you what, — I think, it is our way, 
 If we will keep in favour with the king. 
 To be her men, and wear her livery : 
 The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself, 
 Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomea, 
 Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. 
 
 Bralc. I beseech your graces both to pardon Btej 
 His majesty hath straitly given in charge, 
 'J h,it no man shall have private conference, 
 0/vvhat degree soever, with his brotbei. 
 
462 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Ar'c I. 
 
 Gh^ Even so ? an plea«e your worship, Braken- 
 \ou may part'ike of iiny tiling we say : [bury, 
 N^'e speak no reason, man ; — We say, the king 
 Is wise, aiid virtuous; and his noble queen 
 Well struck in years; (air and not jealous: — 
 VV'e say, that Sliore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
 A cherry lip, 
 
 A l)<)nny eye, a passing? pleasing tongue ; 
 And tlie queen's kindred are made gentlefolks: 
 How say you, sir ? can you deny all this ? 
 Brak, \Vith this my lord, myself have naught 
 to do. 
 
 Glo. Nauglit to do with mistress Shore? I tell 
 liiee, fellow. 
 He (hat dotli naught wit| '"epting one, 
 
 Were best to do it s&c'Woi\\d'st i 
 
 Brak. W^hat one, my 'o^ 
 
 Glo. Her husband, kntJ.. . ihou be- 
 
 tray me ? [withal, 
 
 Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and, 
 Forbear your conference witli the noble duke. 
 
 C/ar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury ^ and will 
 obey. 
 
 Olo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. 
 Brotlie.r, fareweli : I will unto the king; 
 And wiiatsoe'er you will employ me in, — 
 Were it, to call king t!^dward's widow — sister, — 
 I will perform it to enfranchise you. 
 Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, 
 louclies uie deeper than you can imagine. 
 
 Cl<rr. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. 
 
 G/o. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long ; 
 I will dn-liver you, or else lie for you: 
 Mean time, have patience. 
 
 Clar. I must perforce ; farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and guard. 
 
 Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er re- 
 turn. 
 
 Simple, plain Clarence I — 1 do love thee so, 
 That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven. 
 If heaven will take the present at our hanas. 
 But who comes here? the new deliver'd Hastings? 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord ! 
 Glo. As much unta my good lord chamberlain ! 
 Well are you welcome to this open air. 
 How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? 
 Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners 
 must : 
 
 But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, 
 That were the cause of my imprisonment. [too; 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence 
 For they, that were your enemies, are his. 
 And liave prevailed as much on him, as you. 
 
 Hast. More pity, that (he eagle should be mew'd, 
 While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 
 
 Glo. What news abroad ? 
 
 Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home ; — 
 The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, 
 And Ills piiysiciaiis fear him mightily. 
 
 Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. 
 O, he that kept an evil diet long. 
 And over-much ccmsum'd his royal person; 
 ^Tis \ e.-y grievous to be thought upon. 
 Wnat, is he in his bed ? 
 
 Hast. He is. 
 
 Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. 
 
 [Exit Hastings. 
 lie cannot live, I hope ; and must not die. 
 Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven. 
 I'll ill, to ur<;e his hatred more to CI irence 
 V\'i(li lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; 
 And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
 Clarence hath not another day t i live : 
 Wiiith done, (iod take king Kdward to his mercy, 
 Ard leave f.iie world lor me to l)iistle in! 
 For theo I i! mairy Warwick's youngest daughter: 
 Wiiat though I ki'li'd her husband, and her father? 
 'R'be readiest way to make the vveut-h amends, 
 
 Is — to become her husband, and her fatJisr 
 The which will I: not all so n"ich for iove. 
 As for another secret cl jh*? irl. nt, 
 By marrying her, which i reach unto* 
 But yet 1 run before my horse to market : 
 Clarence still breathes; Edward still liveSv asi 
 reigns ; 
 
 When they are gone, then must 1 count my gains. 
 
 [Exik 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Another Street. 
 
 Enter the corpse of IviNC Henrv the Sixth, borni 
 in an open coffin, Gentlemen hearing halberds^ 
 to guard it; and Lady Anne as mourner. 
 Anne. Set down, set down your honourabie load,— 
 
 If honour may be shrouded in a hearse. 
 
 Whilst I a while.obsequioosiy lament 
 
 The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. — 
 
 Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! 
 
 Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! 
 
 Thou bloodless renmant of that royal blood! 
 
 Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, 
 
 To hear the lamentations of poor Anne. 
 
 Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter a son. 
 
 Stabb'd by the self-same hand that maae tlie&8 
 wounds ! 
 
 Lo, in these windows, that let forth Ihy life, 
 I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes: — 
 O, cursed be the hand that mad'e these holes! 
 Cursed the heart, that bad the heart to do it ! 
 Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence ! 
 More direful hap betide that hated wretch. 
 That makes us wretched by the death of thee. 
 Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads. 
 Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! 
 If ever he have child, abortive be it, 
 Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, 
 Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 
 May fright the hopeful mother at the view; 
 And that be heir to his unhappiness ! 
 If ever he have wife, let her be made 
 More miserable by the death of him, 
 Than I am made by my young lord, and thee 
 Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load, 
 Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 
 And, still as you are weary of the weight. 
 Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. 
 
 [The bearers take up the corpse, and advance. 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it 
 down. [fiend, 
 
 Anne. What black n:agician conjures up this 
 To stop devoted charitable deeds? 
 
 Glo. Villains, set down the corse ; or, by St. Paul, 
 I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 
 
 1 Gtnt. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin 
 pass. [mand : 
 
 Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I corn- 
 Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, 
 Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, 
 And spurn upon thee, beggar, i'or thy boldness. 
 
 [The bearers set down the coffin.^ 
 
 Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? 
 Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, 
 And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. — 
 Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell ! 
 Thou had'st but power over his mortal body. 
 His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, be gone^ 
 
 Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 
 
 Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, an^ 
 trouble us not; 
 For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
 Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
 If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 
 Behold this pattern of thy butcheries: — 
 O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henry's wo-./ndls 
 Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh !— 
 Blu?h, blush, thou lump of foul deformity: 
 For 'tis thy presence tliat exhales this h(o*i<i 
 From cold and empty veins, wliere no oioo'i dweJIi; 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Thy dtf.d tEihuman and nQnatarftl, 
 
 ProvOxes this deluge most unnatural. — 
 O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death ! 
 O earth, Vt-hich tliis blood drink'st, revenge his 
 death! [dead, 
 Either, heaven, with lif^htning strike the murderer 
 Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick ; 
 
 thou (lost swallow up this good king's blood, 
 Which his hell govern'd arm hath butchered! 
 
 Glo. Lad-y, you know no rules of charity, 
 VVhich renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 
 
 Jnwe. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man ; 
 No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. 
 
 Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. 
 
 Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! 
 
 Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry. — 
 Vouc hsafe, divine perfection of a woman. 
 Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, 
 By circumstance, but to acquit myself, 
 j Anne. Vouchsafe, di(fused infection of a man. 
 For these known evils, but to give me leave, 
 ^By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. (have 
 
 Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me 
 Some patient leisure to excuse myself. [make 
 
 Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst 
 No excuse current, but to hang thyself. 
 
 Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. 
 
 Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand ex- 
 For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, [cus'd ; 
 That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 
 
 Glo. Say, that I slew them not ? 
 
 Anne. Why then, they are not dead : 
 
 But dead Ihey are, and, devilish slave, by thee. 
 
 Glo. I did not kill your husband. 
 
 Anne. Why, then he is alive. 
 
 Glo. Nay, he is dead ; and slain by Edward's hand. 
 
 Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest ; queen Mar- 
 garet saw 
 
 Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood ; 
 The which thou once didst bend against her breast, 
 B'lt that thy brothers beat aside the point. 
 
 Glo. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, 
 That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 
 
 Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, 
 That Jiever dreamt on aught but butcheries : 
 Didst thou not kill this king ? 
 
 Glo. I grant ye. 
 
 Anne. Dost grant me, "hedge-hog ? then, God 
 grant me too, 
 Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed ! 
 O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. [him. 
 
 Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath 
 
 Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never 
 come. 
 
 Glo. Let him thank me, that help to send him 
 thither; 
 
 For he was fitter for that place, than earth. 
 Anne. And tliou unfit for any place but liell. 
 Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear mo 
 
 name it. 
 Anne. Some dungeon. 
 Glo. Your bed-chamber. 
 
 Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou iiest * 
 Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 
 Antte. I hope so. 
 
 Glo. I know so. — But, gentle lady Anne, — 
 To leave this keen encounter of our wits. 
 And fall somewhat into a slower method ; — 
 Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
 Of tiu'se Plantagenets, Henry, and Edward, 
 A« blameful as the executioner ? [effect. 
 
 Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd 
 
 Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; 
 Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep, 
 To undertake the death of all the world. 
 So I mii^ht livt one hour in your sweet bosom. 
 
 Anne. If S thought that, 1 tell thee, homicide, 
 Th'jge naiis should rend that beauty from my cheeks. 
 
 tf/o. These eyes could not endure that beauty s 
 m-eck. 
 
 YoH should not blemish it, iff stood by: 
 As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
 So f by that; it is my day, my life. 
 
 Anne. Black night o'crshade thy day, and (]i*Atb 
 thy life ! 
 
 Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature ; thou ar4 
 both. 
 
 Ann6. I would I were, to be reveng'd on tliee. 
 
 Glo. It is a quarrel most uiiiiatural, 
 To be reveng'd on him that !o\eth thee. 
 
 Anne. It is a quarrel just and reason;ihle, 
 To be peveng'd on him that kill d my husband. 
 
 Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, «,f thy husl):ind, 
 Did it to help thee to a better husband. [earth 
 
 Anne. His better doth not breatlie upon tho 
 
 Glo. He lives, that loves you better than lie could. 
 
 Anne. Name him. 
 
 Glo. Plantagenet. 
 
 Anne. Why, that was he 
 
 Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. 
 
 Anne. Where is he ? 
 
 Glo. Here -. {She spits at him.) Why 
 
 dost thou spit at me ? 
 Anne. 'VVould it were mortal poison, for thy sake ! 
 Glo. Never came poison from so sweet ri place. 
 Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
 Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes. 
 
 Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have iniected mine. 
 Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike tiiee 
 
 dead ! 
 
 Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once ; 
 For now they kill me with a living death. 
 Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, 
 Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops; 
 These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, — 
 Not, when my father York and lidward wept. 
 To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, 
 When black-fac'd ClitFord shook bis sword at him : 
 Nor when thy warlike father, like a child. 
 Told the sad story of my father's death ; 
 And twenty times made pause, to iob, and weep, 
 That all the standers-by had wet the.r . iief ka. 
 Like trees bedash'd witli rain: in that sai! lime. 
 My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear . 
 And what these sorrows conld not thetice e>:liale, 
 Thy beauty hath, and made them blind wi*h weepinf, 
 I never su'd to friend, nor enemy ; 
 My tongue could never learn svveet soothing word ; 
 But now thy beaut-y is propos'd my fee. 
 My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to 
 speak. {She looks scornfully at him.) 
 Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made 
 For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
 If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
 Lo! Iiere I lend tliee this sharp-pointe d sword ; 
 Which if thou please to hide in this true breast. 
 And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
 \ lay it naked to the deadly stroke. 
 And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 
 
 {He lays his breast open ; she offers ai itf 
 with his sword.) 
 Nay, do not pause ; for 1 did kill king Henry; — 
 But 'twas thy beauty that prov okt^d me. 
 Nay, now despatch ; 'twas I that stabb'd young Ed- 
 ward : — {She nijain offers at his breaaS.) 
 But 'twas thy heavenly face that set ine on. 
 
 {She lets fall the sivord.) 
 Take up the sword again, or take up me. 
 
 Anne. Arise, dissembler : tliough I wish thy (leatfe 
 I will not be thy executioner. 
 
 Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 
 
 Anne. I have already. 
 
 Glo. That was in thy rage : 
 
 Speak it again, and, even with the word, 
 This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love 
 Sliall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; 
 To both their deaths shalt thou be acre«sarf. 
 
 Anne. I wouid. I knew thy heart. 
 
 Glo. ' Tis figur'd in my tongue. 
 
 Anne. I fear me, botli are false. 
 
464 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act I 
 
 ^io. Then man 
 
 iVa> tjever true. 
 
 Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 
 
 Qlo. Say then, u^y peace is made. 
 
 Anne. That shall you know 
 
 Hereafter. 
 
 G/o. But shall T live in hope ? 
 
 Anne. All men, 
 
 I hope, live so. 
 
 Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 
 
 Anne. To take, is not to give. 
 
 {She puts on the ring.) 
 
 Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger. 
 Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; 
 Wear both of them, i'or both of them are thine. 
 And if thy poor devoted servant mav 
 But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, 
 Tiioii dost confirm his liappiness for ever. 
 
 Anne. What is it ? 
 
 Glo. That it may please you leave these sad 
 designs 
 
 To him that hath more cause to be a mourner. 
 
 And presently repair to Crosby-place ; 
 
 Where — after I have solemnly interr'd. 
 
 At Chertsey monast'ry, this noble king, 
 
 And wet his grave with my repentant tears,— 
 
 I vriil with all expedient duty see you: 
 
 For divers unknown reasons, 1 beseech you. 
 
 Grant me this boon. 
 
 Anne. With all my heart ; and much it joys mo too, 
 To see you are become so penitent. — 
 Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. 
 
 Glo. Bid me farewell. 
 
 Anne, 'Tis more than you deserve • 
 
 But, since you teach me how to flatter you. 
 Imagine 1 have said farewell already. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkley. 
 
 Glo. 'J'ake up the corse, sirs. 
 
 Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord ? 
 
 Glo. No, to White-Friars ; there attend my 
 coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the corse. 
 Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? 
 Was ever woman in this humour won ? 
 I'll iiave her, — but I will not keep her long. 
 What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father, 
 To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; 
 With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
 The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; 
 VV ith God, her conscience, and these bars against 
 me. 
 
 And I no friends to back my suit withal^ 
 But the plain devil, and dissembling looks. 
 And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing-! 
 
 Hath she forgot already that brav; prince, 
 
 Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since, 
 
 Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury ? 
 
 A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — 
 
 Fram'd in the prodigality of nature. 
 
 Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, — 
 
 The spaciosis world cannot again afford : 
 
 And will she yet abase her eyes on me, 
 
 ] hat cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince. 
 
 And niade her widow to a wofnl bed ;* 
 
 On me, whose ail not equals Edward's moiety ? 
 
 On me, that halt, and anj mis-shapen thus? 
 
 5fy dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
 
 I do mistake my person all this while : 
 
 I pon my life, she finds, although I cannot, 
 
 JViyself to be a marvellous proper man. 
 
 I'll be at charges for a looking-glass; 
 
 And entertain a score or two of tailors, 
 
 To study fashions to adorn my body : 
 
 kjince I am crept in favour with myself, 
 
 1 wilt maintain it with some little cost. 
 
 But, first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave ; 
 
 And then return lamenting to my love. — 
 
 Shire out, fair sun, till 1 have bought a glass, 
 
 VhitX I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit 
 
 Scene \Vl.—The same. A Room inihe Palace. 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and Lord 
 Grey. 
 
 Riv. Have patience, madam; theres no doubt, 
 his majesty 
 Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 
 
 Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse : 
 Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, 
 And cheer his grace with quick and merry word 
 
 g. Eliz. If lie were dead, what would betide of me/ 
 rey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. 
 Q. Eliz.'rUe loss of such a lord includes all harms 
 Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodij 
 son. 
 
 To be your comforter, when he is gone. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young ; and his minority ^ 
 
 Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, ( 
 
 A man that loves not me, nor none of you. / 
 Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector? \ 
 Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet : / 
 
 But so it must be, if the king miscarry. / 
 
 Enter Buckingham and Stanley. 
 Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham am! 
 Stanley. 
 
 Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace I 
 Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have 
 been I 
 
 Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord 
 of Stanley, 
 
 To j'our good prayer will scarcely say — amen. 
 Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife. 
 And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd, 
 I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 
 
 Stati. I do beseech you, either not believe 
 The envious slanders of her false accusers ; 
 Or, if she be accus'd on true report, 
 Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
 From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord i>f 
 Stanley : 
 
 Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and 1, 
 
 Are come from visiting his majesty. 
 
 Q. Eliz.What likelihood of his amendment, lords 1 
 Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace s,eakg 
 cheerfully. [with him . 
 
 Q. Eliz. God grant hrni health ! Did you conit r 
 Buck. Ay, madam : he desired to make atone meiiS 
 
 Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers. 
 
 And between them and my lord chamberlain ; 
 
 And sent to warn them to his royal presence. 
 Q.Eliz. 'Would all were well!— But that will 
 never be ; 
 
 I fear, our happiness ia at the height. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset. 
 
 Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it 
 U uo are tiiey, that complain unto the king. 
 That 1, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? 
 By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly 
 That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. 
 Because ji cjinnot flatter, and speak fair. 
 Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
 Duck with French nods and apiih courtesy, 
 I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
 Cannot a plain man live, and think mo harm. 
 But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
 By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? [grare ? 
 
 Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks )o\ii 
 
 Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor gr&oe. 
 When have I injur'd thee ? when done thee wrong.'*— 
 Or thee ? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ? 
 A plague upon you all ! His royal grace, — 
 Whom God preserve better than you would wish I — 
 Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while. 
 But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake thi 
 matter: 
 
 The king, of his own rcyal disposition. 
 
 I 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING RICHxiRD III. 
 
 465 
 
 Anel not provok'd by any suitor else ; 
 Aiming, helike, at your interior hatrefl. 
 That in your outward action shews itself, 
 Ag:F;(nst ray children, brothers, and myself, 
 Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
 The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it 
 
 Glo. I cannot Vil; — The world is grown so bad. 
 That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch : 
 Since every Jack became a gentleman, 
 There's many a gentle person made a Jack. 
 
 Q. Elss. Conie, come, we know your meaning, 
 brother Oloster ; 
 Von envy my advancement, and my friends ; 
 CJnfl grant, we never may have need of you ! [you : 
 
 Glo. Meantime, Ciod grants that we have need of 
 
 iir brother is imprison d by your means, 
 
 yself disgraced, and the nobility 
 id in contempt; while great promotions 
 
 e daily given, to ennoble those [ble. 
 
 hat scarce, some two days since, were worth a no- 
 
 Q. Eliz. By Him, that rais'd me to this careful 
 height 
 
 From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, 
 I never did incense his majesty 
 Against the duke of Clarence, but have been 
 An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
 My lord, you do me shameful injury, 
 Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 
 
 (ilo. Vou may deny that you were not the cause 
 Ofii\y lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 
 
 Riv. She may, my lord ; for — [not so ? 
 
 Glo. She may, lord Rivers? — why, who knows 
 She may do more, sir, than denying that: 
 She may helj) you to niany fair preferments; 
 And then deny her aiding hand therein, 
 And lay those honours on your high desert. 
 What may she not? She may, -ay, marry, may she,— 
 
 Riv. \Vhat, marry, may she ? 
 
 Gio. Wlmt marry, may she ? marry with a king, 
 A hatcheh r^ a handsome stripling too: 
 ' wis, youi grandam had a vvorser match. 
 
 Q. Eliz. iMy lord of Gloster, I have too long borne 
 ^'oiir blunt u|)braidings, and your bitter scoffs : 
 liy heaven, ] will acquaint his majesty. 
 Of those f;ross taunts I often have endur'd. 
 \ liad rather be a country servant-maid. 
 Than a great queen, with this condition — 
 To be so baited, scorn'd, and storm'd at : 
 Small joy have I in being England's queen. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 
 Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I be- 
 seech thee ! 
 
 Thy honom-, state, and seat, is due to me. [king ? 
 
 Glo. What ? threat you me with telling of the 
 Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said 
 1 will avouch, in presence of the king . 
 I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
 'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot. 
 
 Q. Mar. Out, devil ! 1 remember them too well : 
 Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, 
 Aud Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. 
 
 Glo. Ere yon were queen, ay, or your husband king, 
 I was a pack-horse in his great alVairs; 
 A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, 
 k liberal rewarder of his friends; 
 Vo royalise his blood, 1 spilt mine own. [thine. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or 
 
 (wlo. In al' which time, you, aud your husband 
 Grey, 
 
 A'ere factious for the house of Lancaster; — 
 And, Rivers, so were you : — W'as not your husband 
 In IMargaret's battle at Saint Albans slain? 
 Let aie put in your minds, if you Icrget, 
 VVhat you Imve been ere now, and what you are ; 
 Withal, what I have been, and wt.at I am. 
 
 Q Mar, A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. 
 
 Qlo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father War- 
 wick, 
 
 Ay, mid forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon I - 
 
 Q. Mar. Which God revenge ! 
 
 Glo. To fight on Edward s party, for the crown ; 
 And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew d up : 
 I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward 9, 
 Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine ; 
 I am too childish-foolish for this world. [vvrrld, 
 
 Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave tlii 
 Tliou cacodcemon ! there thy kingdom is. 
 
 Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days. 
 Which here you urge, to prove us enemies, 
 W e follow'd then our lord, our lawful king ; 
 So should we you, if you should be our king. 
 
 Glo. If I should be ? — I had rather be a pedlar: 
 Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! 
 
 Q. Eliz As little joy, my lord, as you sr.ppose 
 You should enjoy, were you this country's king ; 
 As little joy you may suppose in me. 
 That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 
 
 Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; 
 For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
 I can no longer hold me patient. — (Advancing ^ 
 Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
 Jn sharing that which you have pill'd from me: 
 Which of you trembles not, that looks on me ? 
 If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects; 
 Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebeU ? — 
 Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away ! [my sight? 
 
 Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in 
 
 Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd ; 
 Th;it will I make, before I let thee go. 
 
 Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? 
 
 Q. Mar. I was ; but I do find more pain in ba- 
 nishment, 
 
 Than death can yield me here by my abode. 
 A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me, — 
 And thou, a kingdom ; — all of you, allegiance: 
 l^his sorrow that I have, by right is yours; 
 And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine. 
 
 Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee, — 
 When fhou didst crown his warlike brows wit^ 
 paper, 
 
 And with thy scorns drevv'st rivers from his eye#. 
 And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, 
 Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland 
 His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
 Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee ; 
 And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. 
 
 Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. 
 
 Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe. 
 And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. 
 
 Riv. 'I'yrants themselves wept when it was re- 
 ported. 
 
 Dors. No man but prophesied revenge tor it. 
 
 Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to .see 
 it. (came, 
 
 Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all, before I 
 Ready to catch each other by the throat. 
 And turn you all your hatred now on me ? 
 Did York's dread curse prevail so much mth heaven, 
 That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death. 
 Their kingdom's loss, my vvoful banishment. 
 Could all but answer for that peevish brat ! 
 Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven 
 Why, then give way, dull clouds, to n?y qoidi 
 curses ! 
 
 Though not by war, by surfeit die your king. 
 As ours by murder, to make him a king ! 
 Edward, thy son, that now^ is prince of Wales, 
 For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales, 
 Die in his youth, by like untimely violence ! 
 "^I'hyself a queen, for me that was a queen, 
 Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! 
 Lonii may'sl thou live, to wail thy children's Iom; 
 And see another, as I see thee novv, 
 Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! 
 Long die thy happy days before thy death ; 
 And, after many length'en'd hours of grief. 
 Die neither moUier, wife, nor England's queen! — 
 Rivers,— and Dorset,— you were standers by, — • 
 And XQ wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son 
 30 
 
KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Was siahb'd with bloody daggers ^ God, T pray him, 
 T'hat mne of you may live your natural age, 
 But hy some unlook'd accident cut dfi"! [ha^. 
 
 Gl). Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd 
 
 Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou 
 slialt hear me. 
 If heaven have any grievous plague in store, 
 Exceeding those tfiat I can wish upon thee, 
 O, let them keeo it, till thy sins be ripe. 
 And then hurl dowu their indignation 
 On thee, the troubier of the poor world's peace ! 
 The worm of conscience still he-gnaw thy soul! 
 'J'hy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, 
 And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! 
 No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine. 
 Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
 Aftrights thee with a hell of ugly devils 1 
 riiou elvish mark'd, aboitive, rootmg hog! 
 Tlmu that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
 The slave of nature, and (he son of hell ! 
 Thou slander of thy mother's hea\y womb! 
 Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! 
 'I'iiou rag of honour! thou detested — 
 
 G/o. Margaret. 
 
 O. Mar. Richard ! 
 
 Glo. Ha? 
 
 Q. Mar. I call thee not, 
 
 Glo. I cry thee mercy then ; tor I did think, 
 That thou had'st cali'd me all these bitter names. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, so I dirl ; but look'd for no reply. 
 O, let me ujake the period to my curse. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis done by me ; and ends in— Margaret. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse 
 aj^ainst yourself. 
 
 Q. ]\lar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my 
 foi tune ! 
 
 V^^'hy strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, 
 XVhose deadly web ensnareth thee about? 
 Fool, fool ! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
 The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me 
 To help thee curse this pois'nous hunch-back'd toad. 
 
 Hast. False-boding woman, end tiiy frantic curse ; 
 Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience. 
 
 Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all 
 mov d mine- 
 
 Ri7j. Were yon well serv'd, you would be taught 
 your duty. 
 
 Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
 duty, 
 
 Teach me to' be your queen, and you my subjects : 
 O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. 
 
 Dor. Dis|,u(e not with her, she is lunatic. 
 
 Q, Mar. Peace, master njarquis, you are nialapert: 
 Yom- hre-new stamp (jf honour is scarce current: 
 O. that your young nobility couJd judge, 
 What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable ! [them ; 
 Tney that stand hiuh, have many blasts to shake 
 And, if tliey fall, they dash themselves to pieces. _ 
 • Glo. Good counsel, marry ; learn it, learn it, 
 maiquis. 
 
 Dor. It touciies you, my lord, as much as me. 
 
 Glo. Ay, and much more : But 1 was born so 
 Our aiery buildeth m the cedar's top, [high, 
 And d tllies with the wind, and scorns the sun. 
 
 Q M"t-y- -'^»<i '^"""''^s the sun to sh-ide ; — alas ! alasi — 
 VV^itiiess my sou, now in thf shade of death ; 
 VV"h()se b: iglit out sliining beams thy cloudy wrath 
 Hath in eternal darkness folHed up. 
 Your aiery buildetii in our aiery's nest: — 
 O (iod. that see'st it, do not sutFer it; 
 As it was won with blood, lost be it so? 
 
 Buck. l*e;ice, peace, forsh iuje, if not for charity. 
 
 Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me} 
 Uncharitably with me have you dealt, 
 And shameiully by you my iiojjes are butcher'd. 
 My charity is oiitraj,'.e, life my sliame, — 
 And in my sliame still live my sorrow's rage ! 
 
 Buck. Ha\ e diMie, have don". 
 
 ^. j>/«r. O [)riucely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand, 
 ^ ' siyu of league and amity witii tijee: i 
 
 Now fair befal thee, and thy noble hoasd : 
 Thy gariueats are not spotted with our biood, 
 Nor thoo within the compass of my curse. 
 
 Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never past 
 The lips of those that breathe them in the a>r. 
 
 Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky. 
 And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace 
 
 0 Buckingham, beware of yonder dog ; 
 Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and, when he bites 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death : 
 Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 
 Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on himi 
 And all their ministers attend on him. 
 
 Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham ? 
 Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 
 Q. Mar. What, doth thou scorn me for ray gentl 
 counsel ? 
 
 And sooth the devil that I warn thee from? 
 O, but remember this another day. 
 When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow 
 And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess, — 
 Live each of you the subjects to his hate, 
 And he to yours, and all of you to God's! [Exit, 
 Hast. My hair doth stand on end to bear her 
 cu rses. 
 
 Riv. And so doth mine ; I muse, why she's at 
 liberty. 
 
 Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother; 
 She hath had too much wrong, and I repent 
 My part thereof, that I have done to her. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge, 
 Glo. Vet you have all the vantage of her wrong, 
 
 1 was too hot to do some body good, 
 That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
 Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
 He is frank'd up to I'atting for his pains ; — 
 God pardon them that are the cause thereof I 
 
 Rlv. A virtuous and a christian like conclusion, 
 To pray for tbem that have done scath to us. 
 
 Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ;— 
 For had 1 curs'd novv, I had curs'd myself. {Aside.) 
 
 Enter Catesby. 
 Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, — 
 And for your grace, — and you, my noble lords. 
 Q. Eliz. Catesby, t come: — Lords, will you go 
 with me ? 
 
 Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Gloster. 
 Glo. I do the wrong, ancl first begin to brawl. 
 The secret njischiefs that 1 set abroach, 
 I lay unto the griev ous charge of others. 
 Clarence, — whom l,iiideed, have laid in darkness,- 
 1 do bevveep to' many simple gulls; 
 Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham; 
 And tell them — 'tis the queen and her allies, 
 That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
 Now they believe it; and withal whet me 
 '^1^0 be reveng'd on Hivers, Vaughan, Grey: 
 But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, 
 Tell them — that God birls us do good for evil : 
 And thus I clothe my naked villany 
 With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ: 
 And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 
 
 Enter tivo Murderers, 
 But soft, here come my executioners. — 
 How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates? 
 Are vou now going to despatch this thing ^ 
 
 1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the 
 That we mr\y be admitted where he is. [warrai.t, 
 Glo. Well thought upon, 1 ha\e it here about me' 
 [Gives the Warrant.) 
 When you have done, repair to Crosby-place, 
 But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, 
 Witiial obdurate, do not hear him plead , 
 For Clarence is svell spoken, and, perhaps. 
 May move your hearts to pity, if you ntark biun. 
 1 Murd. Tut, tui,, my lord, we w»U nut stand t« 
 1 Talkers are no good doers ; be assur'd, Lprate, 
 
SCSNE 4. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 467 
 
 We go to us® cur hands, and not our tongues. 
 Geo, Your eyes drop mill stones, when fools' eyes 
 di up tears ; 
 
 I like you, lads : — about your business straight. 
 Go, go, despatch. 
 1 Murd. V^'e will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Room in the Tower. 
 Enter Clarence ajid Brakenbury. 
 
 Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ? 
 
 Clar. O, I have pass d a miserable night, 
 So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
 1'hat, as [ am a christian faitlil'ul man, 
 \ would. not spend another such a night, 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ; 
 feJo f ill of dismal terror was the time. 
 
 Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? 1 pray 
 you, tell me. [Tower, 
 
 Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the 
 And wasembark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
 And, in my company, my brother Gloster: 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches ; thence we look'd toward England, 
 A«d cited up a thousand heavy times. 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
 That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 Methought, that Gljoster stuutbled ; and, b falling, 
 Struck me, that tiiought to stay him, over-board. 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 
 0 Lord : methought, wliat pain it was to drown ' 
 W hat dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 Methought, i saw a tiiousand fearful wrecks; 
 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw d upon ; 
 
 Wedges of gol'l, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
 
 All scatterd in the botto'u of the sea. 
 
 Seme lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes 
 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 
 lAs 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, 
 
 Vliat woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 
 
 Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, 
 To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? 
 
 Clar. Methought, I had ; and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost: but still the envious lloud 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ; 
 But srnother'd it within my panting bulk. 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony? 
 
 Clar. O no, my dream was lenothen'd alter life ; 
 O, then began the tempest to my soul! 
 
 1 pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 
 With that grim ferryman which poets write of. 
 Unto the kingdom of [jerpetual night. 
 
 T!ie first that tliere did greet my stranger soul, 
 W^is my great father in-law, renowned Warwick ; 
 Who cry'd aioud, — What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? 
 And so he xaiiish'd: Then ca.ne wand'ring by 
 A shadow like an aiisjel, with brigtit hair 
 Dabhlc-d in blood ; and he shric k'd out aloud, — 
 Clarence is come, — false., fleeting, perjur'd Cla- 
 rence, 
 
 That stahh'd me in the field hy Tewkshnry ; — 
 Seize on him. furies, take hiiu to your torments] — 
 W itli tliat, luf thoutiiit, a legion ot foul fiends 
 Ruv iiou'd lite, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hiileous cries, tint, with the very noise 
 I trenibliiig ^vnk'd, au(]. for a Sf^asoii alter, 
 Could nut believe but that I was in hell; 
 Such terrible iuipressioii made my dream. 
 
 Brak. No marvel, lord, thoujli if all' ighted you ; 
 I ftni afraid, luetliinks. tu hear you tell it. 
 
 Cfa'T O lirakenbury, I have done tliese things, — 
 Tiiiit now ^ive eviflem:e ayaiust my soul, — 
 For Edwanl's SHke ; aud. see, h()vv he requites me 
 O (»od ! if luy dtcp prayerj cannot appease thec; 
 
 [ But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeed. 
 
 Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 
 
 O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children !—- 
 
 I pray t-hee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
 
 My soul is heavy, and 1 fain would sleep. 
 
 Brak. I will, my lord ; (Jod give your grace g«»<| 
 rest ; — 
 
 {Clarence reposes himself m a chair..) 
 Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, 
 Makes the night morning, and the noon tide night. 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
 An outward honour for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations. 
 They often feel a world of restless cares. 
 So that, between their titles, and low name, 
 'inheres nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 Enter the two Murderers. 
 1 Mtird. Ho ! who's here ? 
 
 Brak. What would'st thou, fellow, and how 
 cam'st thou hither ? 
 
 1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I camo 
 
 hither on iny legs. 
 Brak. What, so brief? [dious : — 
 
 2 Murd. O, sir;^ 'tis better to be brief than te- 
 Let him see our commission ; talk no more. 
 
 {A paper is delivered to Brakenbury, ich* 
 reads it.) 
 
 Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
 The noble duke of Clarence to your hands : 
 I will not reason what is meant hereby. 
 Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
 Here are the keys — there sits the duke asleep: 
 I'll to the king; and signify to him, 
 J'hat thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 
 
 1 Murd. Y ou may, sir ; 'tis a point of wnsdom : 
 Fare you well. [E.tit Blakcnburf*. 
 
 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as be sleeps ? 
 
 1 Murd. No; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, 
 wlien he wakes. 
 
 2 Mfird. When he wakes ! wh}', fool, he shall « 
 never wake until the great judgment day. | 
 
 1 Murd. Why, then he'il say, we stabb'd hica 
 sleeping. 
 
 2 Murd. The urgibg of that word, judgment, hath 
 bred a kind of remorse in me. 
 
 1 Murd What? art thou afraid? 
 
 2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it: 
 but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which 
 no warrant can defend me. 
 
 1 Murd. I thougnt, thou had'st been resolute. 
 
 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. [him so. 
 
 1 Murd. I ll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell 
 
 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, slay a little : I hope, 
 this holy humour of mine will change ; it was wont 
 to liold me but while one would tell twenty. 
 
 1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now? 
 
 2 Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience 
 are yet within me. [done. 
 
 1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's 
 
 2 Murd. Come, he dies: I had forgot the reward. 
 
 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now ? 
 
 2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse. 
 
 1 Murd. So, when he opens his purse to give u« 
 our reward, thy conscience flies out. 
 
 2 Murd. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few, 
 or none, will entertain it. 
 
 1 Murd. What, if it come to thee r\gain ? 
 
 2 Murd. I II not meddle with it, it is a dangeroiw 
 thing, it makes a man a coward; a man cannot 
 steal, but it accuseth hiin ; a man cannot swear, 
 but it checks him : a man cannot lie with his neigh- 
 bour's wife, but it detects him : 'Tis a blushing 
 shame faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; 
 it fills one full of obstacles : it made ine once restore 
 a purse of gold, that by chance I found ; it beggars 
 any man that keeps it : it is turned out of all towns 
 and cities for a dangerous thing ; and every man, 
 that means to live well, endeavours to trust to him- 
 self, and live without it. 
 
468 
 
 KING RICHARD JII. 
 
 1 Murd. 'Zoands, it is even now at my elbow, 
 persuading ine not to kill the duke. 
 
 2 Murd. Take Uie de^il in thy mind, and believe 
 fiirn not : he would insinuate with thee, but to make 
 thee siy;h. [with me. 
 
 1 Murd. 1 am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail 
 \ 2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow, that respects his i 
 reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ? j 
 
 1 Murd. Take him over the costard with the hilts 
 of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey- j 
 butt, in the next room. [him. ' 
 
 2 Murd. O excellent device ! and make a sop of 
 
 1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. j 
 
 2 Murd. Strike. 
 
 I Murd. No, we'll reason with him. ' 
 Clar. Wliere art thou, keeper? give me a cup of 
 wine. _ [anon, i 
 
 1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, I 
 Clar. In God's name, what art thou ? 
 1 Murd. A man, as you are. 
 Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 
 1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. 
 Cla7\ Tiiy voice is thunder, but thy looks are 
 iiumble. 
 
 1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks 
 my own. 
 
 Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou 
 
 speak ! 
 
 Your eyes do menace me : Why look you pale ?- 
 Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come ? 
 
 Both Murd. To, to, to,— 
 
 Clar. murder me i 
 
 f^oth Murd. Ay, ay. 
 
 Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, 
 And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
 Wherein, my friends, have 1 offended you ? 
 
 1 Murd, Olfended us you have not, but the king. 
 Clar. I shall be reconcii'd to him again. 
 
 2 Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare to die. 
 Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of 
 
 men, 
 
 'ID slay the innocent? What is my offence? 
 Wiiere is the evidence that doth accuse me ? 
 \V iiat lavvliii quest have given their verdict up 
 U:\to the frowning judge ? or who pronounc'd 
 'i'iie b;tt- r sentence of poor Clarence' death ? 
 lie fore I be convict by course of law, 
 'i'o threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
 I rl. arge you, as you hope for any goodness. 
 By Christ s dear blood shed for our grievous sins, 
 That you depart, and lay no hands on me ; 
 Ihe deed you undertake is damnable. 
 
 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upoi> command. 
 
 2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, sour king. 
 Clar. Erroneous vassal! the great K\x\^ of kings 
 
 Hath in the table of his lavv commanded, 
 That thou shalt do no murder : Wilt thou then 
 Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's ? 
 Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
 To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 
 
 2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl 
 on thee. 
 
 For false forswearing, and for murder too : 
 Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight 
 In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 
 
 1 Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God, 
 Didst break that vow; and, with thy treacherous 
 
 blade, 
 
 Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 
 
 2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and 
 
 defend. 
 
 1 Mutd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful 
 law to us. 
 
 When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ? 
 
 Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed ? 
 For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : 
 He sends you not to murder me for this; 
 Foi in that sin he is as deep as /. 
 If God will be avenged for the deed, 
 O kaow you« that he doth it publicly: 
 
 Take not the quarrel frc n bis powerful i4m; 
 He needs no indirect nor lawless course. 
 To cut off those that have otiended him. 
 
 \ Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister 
 When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
 That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? 
 
 Clar. My l/rother's love, the devil, and my rage. 
 
 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and th]f 
 Provoke us hither now to slaughter- thee, [fault, 
 
 Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; 
 I am his brother, and I love him uell. 
 If you are hir'd for meed, go back again. 
 And 1 will send you to my brother Gloster ; 
 Who shall reward you better for my life. 
 Than FiOward will for tidings of my death. 
 
 2 Murd. You are deceived, your brother Gloster 
 
 hates you. 
 
 Clar. O, no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear : 
 Go you to him from me. 
 
 Both Murd. Ay, so we will. [York' 
 
 Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father 
 Bless d his three sons with his victorious arm, 
 And charg'd us from his soul to love each other. 
 He little thouf^ht of this divided friendship : 
 Bid Gloster think on tliis, and he will weep. 
 
 1 Murd. y, mill-stones ; as he lesson'd us to 
 weep. 
 
 Clar. O, do not slander him, for ho is kind. 
 
 1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest. — Come, you 
 deceive yourself; 
 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. 
 
 Clar. It cannot be; lor he bewept my fortune, 
 And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs. 
 That he would labour my delivery. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you 
 From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 
 
 2 Murd Make peace with God, for you must 
 
 die, my lord. 
 
 Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul. 
 To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
 And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind 
 That thou wilt war with God. by murdering me? — 
 Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set^ou on 
 To do this deed, will l ate you for the deed. 
 
 2 Murd. What shall we "do ? 
 
 Clar. Relent, and save your souls. 
 
 1 Miird. Relent ! 'tis cowardly, and womanish, 
 Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish, — 
 
 Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
 
 Being pent from liberty, as I am now, — 
 
 If two such murderers as yourselves came to yon,— 
 
 Would not entreat for life ? — 
 
 My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; 
 
 O, if thine eye be not a flatterer. 
 
 Come thou on my side, and entreat for me. 
 
 As you would beg, were you in my distress. 
 
 A begi^iug prince vvhat beggar pities not? 
 
 2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 
 
 1 Murd. Take that, and that: if all this will not 
 
 do, {Stabs him.) 
 
 ril drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 
 
 [Exit with the body. 
 
 2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately de 
 
 spatch'd ! 
 
 How fain, like Pilate, would T wash my hands 
 Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! 
 
 Re-enter first Murderer. 
 
 1 Murd. How now ? what mean'st thou, that thug 
 
 help'st me not? 
 By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have 
 been. [brother ! 
 
 2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd bit 
 Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; 
 
 For 1 repent me that the duke is slain. [EsiL 
 1 Murd. So do not I ; go, coward, as thou art^ 
 Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole. 
 Till that the duke give order for his burial : 
 And when I have my meed, I will away ; 
 For this wil out, and then I must not stay. [J2 
 
A.CT n. Scene 4. 
 
 KING EICHARD TTT. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene l.—The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Kmj Edward, {led in sick,) Queen Cliza- 
 BBTH, Dorset, IIive-rs, Hastings, Bucking- 
 ham, Grey, and others. 
 
 K. Edw. Why, so : — now have I done a good 
 ddy's work; — 
 V'ou peers, continue this united league : 
 
 every day expect an en>bassage 
 From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; 
 Vnd niore in peace my son! shall part to heaven. 
 Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. 
 Rivers, and H'lstings, take eacli other's hand ; 
 Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 
 
 Riv. By heaven, my soul is purg d irom grudging 
 hato ; 
 
 And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 
 Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like ! 
 K. Edtv. Take heed, you dally not bei'ore your 
 king; 
 
 Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings, 
 Conibund your hidden falsehood, and award 
 liither of you to l>e the other's end. 
 Hast. So prosper I, as 1 swear perfect love ! 
 Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart I 
 K Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in 
 this,— 
 
 Nor your son Dorset,— Buckingham, nor you ; — 
 V^ou have been factious one against tiie other. 
 Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand : 
 And wliat you do, doit unfeignedly. [remember 
 
 Q. Eliz. 'I'li«re, Hastings; — I will never more 
 Oiir former hatred, So thrive 1, and mine ! 
 
 K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him, — Hastings, love 
 lord marquis. 
 
 Dor. Tliis interchange of love, I here (irotest, 
 Upon my part siiall be inviolable. 
 
 Hast. And so swear L [Embraces Dorset.) 
 
 K. Ediv. Now, princely Buckingliam, seal thou 
 this league 
 
 With thy euiliracements to my wife's allies, 
 Asid niah.e ;!ie happy m your unity. 
 
 Buck. Whenever Buckingham duth turn his hate 
 Upon your grace, (To the Queen) but with ail du- 
 teous love 
 
 Doth cherisl! your and yours, God punish me 
 With hate in tiiose where 1 expect most love! 
 When i have moist need to employ a friend. 
 And most assured tliat he is a friend, 
 Deep, iiollow, treaci»erous, and full of guile. 
 Be he unto me I this do I beg of heaven, 
 When I am cold in love, to you, or yours. 
 
 {Embracing Rivers, §fc.) 
 
 K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Bucking- 
 Is this tiiy \o\s unto my sickly heart. [ham. 
 There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, 
 To make the blessed period of this peace. [duke,, 
 
 Buck, And, tu good time, here comes the noble 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Good-morrow to my sovereign king, and 
 queen ; 
 
 And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! 
 
 K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the 
 day :— 
 
 Brother, we have do«e deeds of charity ; 
 Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate. 
 Between these swelli.ig wrong- incensed peers. 
 
 do. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege. — 
 Among this princi'i.y heap, if any here^ 
 By false intelligence, or wrong surmise. 
 Hold me a foe : 
 
 If I unvvittingiy, or in my rage, 
 Have augljt comuiitted that is hardly borne 
 by any in this presence, I desire 
 To reconcile me to iiis friendly peace : 
 Tis deatii to me, to be at e-mnity ; 
 I hate it, and desire all good men s love. — 
 Fir.st, ra^.daai, i eutreat true peace of you. 
 - Which 1 wiil purchase with my duteous service ; — 
 
 Of you, my noble cousin Buckinghaiu, 
 If ever any grudge were lo.lg'd between iib:—. 
 Ol'you, lord Rivers, — and lord Grey, of yoo,— 
 That all without desert have frown'd on me ; 
 Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of fuU 
 I do not know tiiat Englishman alive, 
 With whom my soul is any jot at odds. 
 More than the infant that is born to-uight ; 
 I thank my God for my humility. 
 
 Q. Eliz. A holy-day sinll this be kept hereafter 
 I would tu God, all strifes uere well compounded^ 
 My sovereign lord, I do iK&rfch your highness 
 To take our brother Clan nce to your grace, 
 
 Glo. Why, madam, have I oUer'd love for this. 
 To be so flouted in this royal pr«^.sence ? 
 Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead ? 
 
 {They all start. 
 You do him injury, to scorn his corse. 
 
 K. Edw. Who knows not lie is dead ! who knows 
 he is ? 
 
 Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this ! 
 Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest ? 
 Dor. Ay, my good lord • and no man in th« 
 presence. 
 
 But his red colour hath r.»rsook his cheeks. 
 
 K.Edw. Is Clarence dead / the order was revers'd. 
 
 Glo. JJut he, poor n-.^!!, by your tirst order died 
 And that a winged Mercury did bear ; 
 Some tardy cripple bore the countermand. 
 That came too lag to see him buried : — 
 God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal, 
 Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood. 
 Deserve not worse tiian wretched Clarence did. 
 And yet go current from suspicion 1 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 Stan. A boon, my sovereign, foi my service done. 
 K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace ; my soul is full ol 
 sorrow. 
 
 Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me. 
 K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou le- 
 quest'st, 
 
 Stan, 'i'he Ibrfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life ; 
 Who slew to day a riotous gentleman, 
 Irately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. [death, 
 
 K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's 
 And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave ? 
 My brother kill'd no »nan, his fault was thought; 
 And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
 Who sued to nje for him? who, in my wrath, 
 Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd ? 
 Who spoke of brotherhood t who spoke of love » 
 Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake 
 The mighty Warwick, and did tight for me? 
 Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury, 
 When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me. 
 And said. Dear brother., live., and be a king? 
 Who told me, when we both lay in the field, 
 Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
 Even iu his garments; and did give himself. 
 All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? 
 All this from my remembrance brutish vvratli 
 Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you 
 Had so much grace to put it in rny mind. 
 But, when your carters, or your waiting vassalfl. 
 Have done a drunken slaughter, and del'ac'd 
 'I'he precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
 You straight are on your kuees for pardon, pardon | 
 And I, unjustly too, must grant it you : — 
 But (or my brotlier, not a man would speak,— 
 Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself 
 For him, poor soul. — The proudest of you all 
 Have been beholden to him iu his lil'e ; 
 Yet none of you would once plead for his life.— » 
 O God! I fear, thy justice will take hold 
 On me, and you, and mine, and yours, forthia.r— 
 Come, Hastings, help me to my c loset. O, 
 Poor Clarence ! 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, Hastings, Rioers, 
 Durset, and Grey, 
 
m 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Gio. Tliis IS the frnit of rashness !— Mark'd you 
 How <hat the guilty kindred of the queen [not, 
 Look'd wlien they did hear of Clarence' death? 
 O, tht»y ilid urge it still unto the king: 
 God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go, 
 To coiidort Edward with our company? 
 
 Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— T/ie same. 
 
 Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son and 
 Daughter c)/' Clarence. 
 
 Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our fatlier dead ? 
 Duck No, boy. 
 
 Dauyh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your 
 breast ; 
 
 And ciy — O Clarence., my iinhappy son! 'head, 
 Son, Wtiy do you look on us, and shake your 
 And call us — orphans, wretches^ cast aways, 
 jftiiat our noble lather be alive 
 
 Duch. I\1y pretty cousins, you mistake me both; 
 I ill lament (he sickness of the king, 
 ^•i. ioii h to lose him, not your father's death: 
 It were lost sorrow, to wail one that's lost. 
 
 SoJi. Tl)en,grandam, you conclude that he is dead. 
 'i"h'- king niy luvcle is to blame for this : 
 'Jod s^ill irveiigr it; whom I will importune 
 A ith earnest pra\ers all to thatetfect. 
 
 DdH^iJu And .so will I. [you well; 
 
 Dia fu rea<:e, children, peace ! the king doth love 
 Incapable and slialiow innoceiits, 
 Vnti canaot guess who caus'd your father's death. 
 Son. (iran iam, we can : for my good uncle 
 Gloster 
 
 Told M>e, the king, provok'd to't by the queen, 
 Devi-s'd in>peachinents to imprison him : 
 Aim] when niy uncle told me so, he wept, 
 And pi <-ii mt-, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; 
 bade me rely on him, as on my falh^'r. 
 And he would love me dearly as his child. 
 
 Duch. Ah. that deceit should steal such gentle 
 shapes,' 
 
 An i with a virtuous visor hide deep vice! 
 He is my sou, ay, and therein my shame, 
 Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 
 
 Son. 'I'hiuk you, my uncle did dissemble, grandam? 
 
 Duch. Ay, boy. 
 
 Son. 1 cannot think it. Hark I what noise is this ? 
 
 Enter Queen ELIZABETH, distrncfedly; Rivers, 
 and DoRta^l. J'olioiviny her. 
 Q. Eliz. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and 
 weep? 
 
 To chide my Ibrtime. and torment myself? 
 I'll join wiili black aespair against my soul, 
 And to myselt" become an enemy. 
 
 Duch. Wliat means this scene of rude impatience ? 
 
 Q. Eiiz. To make an act of tragic violence ; — 
 Edwaid, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. — 
 Why grow tlie branches, when the root is gone? 
 Why wither not the leaves, that want tneir sap? — 
 If you will live, lament; if die, be brief; 
 That our swift-vvin<;ed souls may catch the king's; 
 Or, like obedient subjects, Ibllow him 
 To his new kingd mi of perpetual rest. 
 
 Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy SOTOW, 
 As 1 had title in thy noble husband ! 
 I ha\fc bewept a worthy husband's death. 
 And liv'd by looking on his images: 
 But now, two mirrors of his princely semblance 
 Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death; 
 And I for comfort have but one false glass. 
 That grieves me when 1 see my shamt in him. 
 Tliou art a wiuow; yet thou art a mother, 
 And hast the eonjfort of thy children left thee : 
 liut death hath suatch'd my husband from my arms. 
 And pluck'd two crutches from my feebi^e hands, 
 Clarence, and Edward. O, what cause have I, 
 (Thine being but a moiety of my grief,) 
 T-D over-jjo thy plaints, and dnnvn tliy cries? 
 
 Son. Ah, aunt ! yoa wept nut for oar father's death 
 How can we aid you vvitl) our kindred tears ? 
 
 Dauyh. Our fatherless distress UaS ief* uiiisioaa'd 
 Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lameulation, 
 I am not barren to bring forth laments : 
 All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes. 
 That I, being govern d by the watery fnoon, 
 May send forth p!enteoi:s tear's to drown the world. 
 Ah. for my husband, fur my dear lord Edward! 
 
 ChiL Ah. for our father, for our dear lord Clarence. 
 
 Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and 
 Clarence ! [gone, 
 
 Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward ? and he's 
 
 Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence ? and he's 
 gone. [gone. 
 
 Duch. What stays had I, bot they ? and they ara 
 
 Q. Eiiz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss. 
 
 Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss. 
 Alas ! I am the niother of these griefs ; 
 Their woes are parcell'd, mine are geJieraL 
 She for an Edward weeps, and so do 1 ; 
 I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she : 
 These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I : 
 I for an Edward weep, so do not they : — 
 Alas! you three, on me, threefold dislress'd. 
 Pour all your tears, I am your sorrow's nurse, 
 And I will pamper it with lamentations. 
 
 Dor. Comfort, dear mother; God is much dis- 
 pleas'd. 
 
 That you take with unthankfulness his doing; 
 In common wordly things, 'tis call'd — ungrateful. 
 With dull unwillii'gness to repay a debt. 
 Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; 
 Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, 
 For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 
 
 Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, 
 Of the young prince your son : send straight for him, 
 Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives: 
 Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave. 
 And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hast- 
 ings, Ratcliff, and others. 
 
 Glo. Sister, have comfort : ail of us have cause 
 To wail the dimming oi' our shining star; 
 Rut none can cure their harms by wailing them. — 
 Madam, niy uiother, I do cry you mercy, 
 I did not see your grace : — Humbly on my knee 
 I crave your blessing. [breast, 
 
 Duch, God bless thee ; and put meekness m thy 
 Eove, charity, obedience, and true duty ! 
 
 Glo. Au>en ; and make me die a good old man ! — 
 That is the butt end of a mother's blessing; 
 I marvel, that her grace did leave it out. (Aside.) 
 
 Buck, You cloudy princes, and heart sorrowing 
 peers. 
 
 That bear this mutual heavy load of moan. 
 Now cheer each other in each other's love 
 Though we have spent our harvest of this king. 
 We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
 The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, 
 But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together. 
 Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept: 
 Me seemetii good, that, with sonie little train, 
 Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd 
 Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. 
 Riv. Why with some little train, my lord of 
 
 Buckingham ? 
 Buck, Marry, ray lord, lest^ by a multitude. 
 The new heafd wound of malice should break oai| 
 Which would be so much the more dangerous. 
 By how much the estate is green, and yet on 
 
 govern'd : 
 
 Where every horse bears his commanding reio. 
 And may direct his course as please himself. 
 As weli the ff^ar of harm, as harm apparent. 
 In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 
 
 Glo, I hope, the kii.g made peace with ail of Q3y 
 And tne compact 's firm, ani firue m me. 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 KING RICHARL III. 
 
 471 
 
 Ntv. And so IB me ; and so, I think, in all : 
 Yer, since it is but green, it should be put 
 To no apparent likelihood of" breacli, 
 Which, haply, by much compai)y might be urg'd : 
 Therefore f say, with noble Buckingham, 
 That it is meet so few should letch the prince. 
 
 Hast. And so say I. 
 
 Olo. Then be it so ; and go we to determine 
 Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. 
 Jladam,- and you ray mother, — will you go 
 To give your censures in this weighty business ? 
 
 [Exeunt all but Buckingham and Gloster. 
 
 Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince, 
 For God's sake, let not u.« two stay at home : 
 FoVj by the way, I'll sort occasion, 
 As index to the story we late talk'd of. 
 To part the queen's proud kindred from the prince. 
 
 Glo. My other sell, my counsel's consistory. 
 My oracle, my prophet! — My dear cousin, 
 I, as a child, will go by thy direction. 
 Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind, 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene \\U—The same. A Street. 
 Enter two Ciiizens, meeting. 
 
 1 Ctt. Oood morrow, neighbour : Whither away 
 
 so fast ? 
 
 2 Cit. I promise you, I scarcely knov/ myself: 
 Hear you the news abroad ::* 
 
 1 Cit. Yes ; the king's dead. 
 
 2 Cit. Ill news, by'r lady ; seldom comes the bet- 
 I fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world. [ter : 
 
 Enter another Citizen. 
 
 3 Cit. 'Neighbours, God speed ! 
 
 1 Cit Give you good morrow, sir. 
 3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Ed- 
 ward's death V 
 
 2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true ; God help, the while ! 
 
 3 Cit. Tiien, masters, look to see a troublous 
 
 world. [reign. 
 
 1 Cit. N((, no; by God's good prace, his son shall 
 
 3 Cit. Woe to that land, tiiat's govern'd by a child ! 
 
 '2 Cit. lu hiui there is a hope of government; 
 That, in his nonage, council under him. 
 And, in his lull and ripen'd years, himself. 
 No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 
 
 1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry th^ Sixth 
 Was crowa'd in Paris but at nine months old. 
 
 3 Cit. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends, 
 God vvot; 
 
 For then tliis land was famously enrich'd 
 With politic grave counsel ; then the king 
 Had virtuoti? uncles to protect his grace. 
 
 Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father and 
 mother. 
 
 3 Cit. Better it were, they all came by his father ; 
 Or, by his father, there were none at all : 
 For emulation now, who shall be nearest, 
 Will touch ua all too near, if God prevent not. 
 
 full of danger is the duke of Gloster; 
 And the >|iieeii's sons, and brothers, haught and 
 proud : 
 
 And were tiiey to be rul'd, and not to rule, 
 This sickly land might solace as before 
 
 1 Cit, Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will be 
 
 well. 
 
 3 Cit. W lien clouds are seen, wise men put on 
 their cloaks ; 
 When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ; 
 Wlien the sun sets, who doth not look for night? 
 Untiuiely storiris make men expect a dearth: 
 All n>ay be well ; but, if God sort it so, 
 *j"is more than we deserve, or I expect. 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear: 
 Vou cannot reason almost witn a man 
 
 That looks not heav\ly, and full of dread. 
 
 3 Cit. Bi-fine the days of change, still' is it so: 
 By a divine instinct, men's tninds mistrust 
 Euffluiiii; danger ; as, by proof, we see 
 
 The water swell before a boist'rous storm, 
 But leave it all to God. Whither away ? 
 
 2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the j:istice»- 
 
 3 Cit. And so was I ; I'll bear you company. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Room in tht Palace. 
 Enter the Archbishop 0/ York, the young Duhc 0/ 
 York, Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess oj 
 York. 
 
 Arch. Last night, I beard, they lay at Stony- 
 Stratford ; 
 
 And at Northampton they do rest to night : 
 To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 
 
 Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prime; 
 I h<>pe. he is much grown since last I saw him. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But I hear, no; they say, my son of York 
 Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. 
 
 Yurie. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so, 
 Duch. Why, my young cousin ? it is good to grow 
 York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper. 
 My imcle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
 More than my brother; Jy, quoth my uncle Gloster, 
 Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow 
 apace : 
 
 And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, 
 Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make 
 haste. 
 
 Duch. 'Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did not 
 hold 
 
 In him that did object the same to thee : 
 He was the wretched'st thing, when he was young. 
 So long a growing, and so leisurely, 
 That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 
 Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious 
 madam 
 
 Duch. J hope, he is; but yet let mothers doubt. 
 York- Now, by my troth, if I had been remem- 
 bered, 
 
 I could have given my uncle's grace a flotit. 
 
 To touch his growth, nearer than he touoh'd mine. 
 
 Duch. How, my young York ? 1 pr'ythee, let me 
 hear it. ' 
 
 York. Marry, they say, my uncle grevy so fast, 
 That he could g-naw a crust at two hours old; 
 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
 Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee this ? 
 
 York. Grandam, his nurse. 
 
 Duch. His nurse ! why, she was dead ere tho8 
 wast born. 
 
 York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. 
 Q. Eliz. A parlous boy : Go to, you are too shrewd. 
 Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child. 
 Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Arch. Here comes a messenger. 
 
 What news ? 
 
 Mess. » Such npws, my lord. 
 As grieves n»e to unfold. 
 
 Q. Eliz. How doth the prince ? 
 
 Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 
 
 Duch. What is thy news? 
 
 Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent tm 
 Pomfret, 
 
 With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 
 
 Duch. Who hath committed them ? 
 
 Mess. The mighty dake 
 
 Gloster and Buckingham. 
 
 Q. Eliz. For what offence ? 
 
 Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd; 
 Why, or for what, the nobles were committed. 
 Is all unknown to me, my graciinis lady. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house I 
 The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind; 
 Insulting tyianny begins to jut 
 Upon the innocent and avvless throne: — 
 Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre! 
 [ see, as in a map, tlie end of all. 
 
472 
 
 KING PJGHARE III. 
 
 Act in. 
 
 Duck, Accxirsed and nnqaiet wrangling days! 
 How many of you have mine eyes beheld ? 
 My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
 And often up and down niy sons were tost, 
 For tne to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss 
 And being seated, and domestic broils 
 Clean over-blown, tiieniselves, the conquerors, 
 Make war upon themselves ; brother to brother. 
 Blood to blood, self 'gainst self: — O, preposterous 
 And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen; 
 Or let nie die, to look, on death no more ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, my bt>y, we will to sanc- 
 Madauj, farewell. [tuary. — 
 
 Duch. Stay, I will go with you. 
 
 Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 
 
 Arch. My gracious lady, go, 
 
 [To the Queen.) 
 And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
 For my part, Fll resign ur.toyour grace 
 The .seal I keep; And so betide to me. 
 As well I tender you, and all of yours ! 
 Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 Scene l.—T/ie .same. A Street. 
 The trumpets sound. Enter the Prince o/ Wales, 
 Gloster, Buckingham, Cardinal Bourchier, 
 and others. 
 
 Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to 
 yuur chamber. [reig"n : 
 
 Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove- 
 The weary way hath made you uielancholy. 
 
 Prince. No uncle ; but our crosses on the way 
 Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy ; 
 I want more uncles here to welcome me. 
 
 Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your 
 years 
 
 Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit : 
 
 No more can you distinguish of a man, 
 
 Than of his outward shew; which, God he knows, 
 
 Seldom, or never, jumpeth with tiie heart. 
 
 Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous: 
 
 Your grace attended to the sugar'd words, 
 
 lJut look'd not on the poison of their hearts : 
 
 rod keep you from them, and from such false friends! 
 
 Prince. God keep tne from false friends I but 
 they were none. 
 
 Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to 
 greet you. 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train. 
 May. God bless your grace with health and 
 
 happy days ! 
 Prince. 1 thank you, good my lord ; — and thank 
 you all. — [Exeunt Mayor, §Cc. 
 
 I thought my mother, and my brother York, 
 Would long ere this have met us on the way : 
 Fy, what a slug is Hastings ! that he comes nut 
 To tell us, whether they will come, or no. 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweat- 
 ing lord. 
 
 Prince. Welcome, my lord : What, will our mo- 
 ther come ? 
 
 Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, 
 The queen your motlier, and your brother York, 
 Have taken sanctuary : The tender prince 
 Would lain have come with me to mt^et your grace. 
 But by his mother was perfcuce withheld. 
 
 Bud Fy ! what an indirect and peevish course 
 fs this of hers? — Lord cardinal, will your grace 
 Persuade the queeii to send the duke of York 
 Unto his princely brother presently ? 
 If she deny — lord Hastings, go with him. 
 And from her jealous arn)s pluck him perforce. 
 
 Card. My lord oi"B tckingtiam,if my weak orafo. y 
 C»s from his nu)ther win the duke of York, 
 Anon expect him here : But if she be obdurate 
 
 To mild entreaties, God in heaven forb>i<i 
 We should infringe tiie iioiy privilege 
 Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this laod, 
 Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. 
 
 Buck. You are too sejiseless-obstinate, mj lord. 
 Too ceremonious, and traditional : 
 Weigh it but with the grossness of this age. 
 You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
 The benefit thereof is always granted 
 To those vvhose dealings have deserv'd the place^ 
 And those who have the wit to claiui the place : 
 I'his prince hath neither claim rl it,, nor df serv'd it ; 
 And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it: 
 Then, taking hinj i'rom thence, that is not there, 
 You break no privilege nor charter there. 
 Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ; 
 But sanctuary children ne'er till now. 
 
 Card. My lord, you shall o er-rule my mind foi 
 once. — 
 
 Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me ? 
 Hast. I go, my lord. 
 
 Prince. Good loi (Is, make all the speedy haste you 
 may. [Exeunt Cardinal and Hastings. 
 Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come, 
 Wiiere shall we sojourn till our coronation? 
 
 Glo. Where it seems best imto your royal self. 
 If I may counsel you. some day, or two, 
 Your highness shall repose you at the Tower ; 
 Then where you please, and shall be tiioiight most fit 
 For your best healtu aud recreation. 
 
 Prince. I do not I ike tiie 'l ower, of any place : — 
 Did Julius Csesar buiid that place, my lord ? 
 
 Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin <liat place 
 Which, since, succeeding ages have re fc,'ilied. 
 
 Prince. Is it upon record ? or else reporw'd 
 Successively from age to age he built it? 
 
 Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord. 
 
 Prince. Biitsay, my lord,. it were not registf^r'd ; 
 Methiiiks, the trutu slioidd live from age to age, 
 As "twere retail'd to all posterity, 
 Even to the general ad-ending day. 
 
 Glo. So wise, so young, they say, do ne'er live 
 long. (Aside.) 
 
 Prince. What say you, uncle ? 
 
 Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long. 
 Thus, like the tonual vice, iniquity, » (Aiide \ 
 
 I moralize two uieauings in o.ie word. 9 ^ '' 
 
 Prince. Tiiat Julius Caesar was a faiaOvS man; 
 Witii what his valour did enrich his wit. 
 His wit set down to make his valour li\e: 
 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ^ 
 For now he lives in iame, though not in life. — 
 1 11 tell you what, my cousin Buckingham. 
 
 Buck. What, my gracious lord ? 
 
 Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
 I'll win our ancient ri;;lit in France again. 
 Or die a soldier, as i liv'd a king. 
 
 Glo. Short summers lightly have a forward spring. 
 
 [Aside.] 
 
 Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal, 
 Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke 
 
 of York. [brotuei .' 
 
 Prince. Richard of York ! how fares our loving 
 York. Well, my dread lord \ so must 1 call you 
 
 now. 
 
 Prince. Av, brother ; to onr grief, as it is yours : 
 Too late he died, that might have kept that title, 
 Which by liis death hath tost nnich mai<-sty. 
 
 Glo. How fares our cousir,, noble lord oi York ? 
 
 Jork. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, 
 You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
 The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 
 
 Glu. He hath, ojy lord. 
 
 York. And therefore iu ho idle? 
 
 Glo. O, my fair cousin, I nuist not say so. 
 York. Then is he nu)re beholden to you, th.ja I. 
 Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign; 
 But you have power iu me, as \n a kmsiuan, 
 
 York. I pray you, uocie. then, give me liiis dagger. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 473 
 
 &I0, 3Ty fla^^er, little cousin ? with all my heart. 
 
 Prince. A beggar, brother ? 
 
 Yvrk. Ofriiy kind uncle, that I know will give ; 
 And, being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 
 
 Geo. A greater gilt than that Til give my cousin. 
 
 York. A greater gift ! O, that's tlie sword to it ? 
 
 Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
 
 York. O then, f see, you'il part but with light gifts ; 
 In weightier things you'il say a beggar, nay. 
 
 Glo. It is too weighty ibr your grace to wear. 
 
 York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 
 
 Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little 
 lord ? [call me. 
 
 York. 1 w >uld, that I might thank you as you 
 
 Glo. How? 
 
 York. Little. [talk ;— 
 
 Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in 
 Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 
 York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with 
 me • — 
 
 Uncle, my brotlier mocks both you and me; 
 Because tliat I ain little, like an ape, [ders. 
 He thinks that you shoidd bear me on your shoul- 
 
 Iiuck.W\th what a sharp- provided wit he reasons ! 
 To mitijjate the scorn he gives his uncle. 
 He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
 So cunnir.^, and so young, is wonderful. 
 
 Glo. My gracious lord, will't please you pass 
 along ? 
 
 Myself, ami luy good cousin Buckingham, 
 
 Will to your mother: to entreat of I f r. 
 
 To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 
 
 York. VViiat. will you go unto the Tower, my lord ? 
 
 Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
 
 York. I siiall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
 
 Glo. VV'liy, sir, what should you fear? 
 
 York. Marry, my uncle Clareace' atigry ghost; 
 My grandaiu told me, he was murder'd there. 
 
 Prince. I iVar un uncles dead. 
 
 Glo. Nor nnnr that live, I hope. 
 
 Prince. An if tiit-y live, I hope, I need not fear. 
 But come, niy lord, and, with a heavy heart. 
 Thinking fin tiiem, go I unto the Tower. 
 
 [Exeuni Prince, York, Hastinys, Cardinal, 
 and A ttendants. 
 
 ffwc^. Think you, tuy lord, this little prating York 
 W^as not inct n-it^d by his subtle mother. 
 To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ? 
 
 Glo. No doubt. i:o doubt: O, 'tis a parlous boy; 
 Bold, q lick, iugv nioiis, forward, capable ; 
 He's all the mother's, from the top to toe. 
 
 Buck. Well, let tlieiu rest. — 
 Come hitlier, RPTitl^- Catesby; thou art sworn 
 As deeply to elf ct what we intend, 
 As closely to OKicea! what we impart : 
 Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way ; — 
 What think'st t!i to ? is it not an easy matter 
 To make W^iilia n I iid Hastings of our mind, 
 Fer tile instalment of this noble duke 
 In the seat royal of this famous isle ? 
 
 Gate. He ior his fallier's sake so loves the prince, 
 That he wiil not be won to aught against him. 
 
 Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley? will 
 not he ? 
 
 Gate, l ie will do all in all as Hastings doth. 
 Buck.W^iW then, no more but this : Go, gentle 
 
 Catesby, 
 
 And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings, 
 How he doth stand ailected to our purpose; 
 And summon hiiu to-morrow to the Tower, 
 To sit about the coronati(m. 
 If thou dost lind him tractable to us, 
 Encoura^ie him, and tell him all our reasons; 
 If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling. 
 Be thou so too ; and so break oft' the talk. 
 And give us notice of his inclination: 
 For we to morrow hold divided councils, 
 Wherein thysplf shall highly be employed. 
 Gio Commend me to lord William: tell him, 
 C-utes'iy, 
 
 His ancient knot of dangerous adversar'es 
 To-morrow are let blood at Poiufret-castle ; 
 And by my friend, for joy of this good news. 
 Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 
 Buck. Good Catesby, go, etfect this busineos 
 soundly. 
 
 Gate. My good lords both, with all the heed I can. 
 Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere w« 
 Gate, You shall, my lord. [sleep 
 Glo, At Crosby-place, there shall you find la 
 
 both. [Exit Vatesl^^ 
 
 Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if v\e 
 
 perceive 
 
 Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? 
 Glo. Chop off his head, man; — soinewhat we 
 will do r — 
 
 And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me 
 'xif ^''^'"'^""^ Hereford, and all the moveables 
 Whereoi the king my brotlier was possess'd. 
 
 Buck. I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand. 
 
 Glo. And look to have it yielded witii all kindness. 
 Come, let us su,. betimes; that alterwards 
 We may digest our complots in some form. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 11.— Before Lord Hastings House. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, njy lord,— {Knocking. 
 Hasi. (PFit/iin.) Who knocks? 
 
 rr /^rr- . . ^'Ord Stanley 
 
 Hast. (Wit/iin.) What is't o'clock ' 
 Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious nights 
 Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say* 
 First, he commends him to your noble lordship. 
 Hast. And then,— 
 
 3less. And then he sends you word, he ireamt 
 To-night the boar had rased otf his helm 
 Besides, he says, there are two councils held f 
 And that may be determin'd at the one. 
 Which may make you and him to rue at the othei 
 Therelbre he sends to know yoia- lordship's plea 
 sure, — 
 
 If presently, you will take horse with him, 
 
 And with all speed post witli him toward the north, 
 
 To shun the danger that his soul divines. 
 
 Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; 
 Bid him not fear tlie separated councils : 
 His honour, and myself, are at the one ; 
 And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby ; 
 Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us. 
 Whereof I shall not have inteihgence. 
 Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting mstance : 
 And for his dreams — I wonder, he's so fond 
 To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbtfs; 
 1 o fly the boar, before the boar pursues, 
 Were to incense the boar to follow us. 
 And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase. 
 Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 
 And we will both together to the Tower, 
 Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. 
 
 Mess, ril go, my lord, and tell him what you say. 
 
 Enter Catesby. 
 Gate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! 
 Hast. Good morrow, Catesby ; you are etal'j 
 stirring : 
 
 What news, what news, in this our tottering state? 
 
 Gate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; 
 And, 1 believe, will never stand upright. 
 Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 
 
 Hast. How ! wear the garlatd ? dost thou mean 
 the crown ? 
 
 Gate. Ay, my good lord. fshouldeia, 
 Hast, ril have this crown ^if mine cut froiij tzf 
 Before I'll see the crown so tcjl misplac'ii. 
 I But canst thou guess that he doth aim at ft? 
 
m 
 
 KING RIOIIAIID 
 
 Act iri. 
 
 Caie, Ay, on tny life ; and hopes to find jou 
 forward 
 
 Upon liis party, for the ^ain thereof; 
 
 And, thereupon, he sends yoii this good news, — 
 
 That, this same very day, yonr enemies, 
 
 The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 
 
 Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
 Because they liave been still my adversaries : 
 But, that I'll gi^e my voice on Richard's side, 
 I'o bar liiy master's heirs in true descent, 
 U>d knows, 1 will not do it, to the death. 
 
 Caie. GoH keep your lordship iu that gracious 
 miiid ! [hence, — 
 
 Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month 
 riiat tliey, who brought me in my master's hate, 
 I live til look upon their trngedy. 
 Well, Catesby, ere a tortnight make me older, 
 Hi send some packing, that yet think not on't. 
 
 Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, 
 When men are uriprepar d, and look not for it. 
 
 Hast. O monstrous, monstrous ! and so falls it out 
 With Uivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do 
 W^ith some men else, who think themselves as safe 
 As thou, and I ; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
 To i)rincely Richard, and to Buckingham. 
 
 Cate TUe princes both njake high accoimtofyou, — 
 For they accoimt his bead upon tlie bi idge.s(^szV/e.) 
 
 Hast. I know, they do; and I have well deserv'd it. 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear, man? 
 Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided 
 
 Stan. My lord, good morrow; and good morrow, 
 Catesby : 
 
 You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, 
 
 do not like these several councils, I. 
 
 Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours; 
 And never, in my life, 1 do protest, 
 Was it more precious to me than 'tis now: 
 Think yon, but that I know our state secure, 
 I would be so tiiutnphant as I am ? 
 
 Stan. 'Vhe lords at Pomfret, when they rode 
 froni London, 
 Were jdciuid. and suppos'd their s-tates were sure, 
 And tl'.ey, indeed, had no cause to mistrust; 
 But yet, you see, how soon the day o'er-cast. 
 This sudden stab of rancour i misdoubt; 
 Pray God. I say, I prove a needless coward ! 
 What, shall we toward the Tower ? the day is spent. 
 
 Hast. Come, come, have with you. — Wot you 
 what, my lord ? 
 To-day, (he lords yon talk of are beheaded. 
 
 Stan. They, for their truth, might better wear 
 their heads, 
 
 Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their hats. 
 But come, my lord, let's away. 
 
 Enter a Pursuivant. 
 
 Hast. Go on before, I'll talk with tliis good 
 fellow. [Exeunt Stan, and Catesby. 
 
 How now, sirrah? how goes the world with thee ? 
 
 Purs. The better, that your lordship please to ask. 
 
 Hast. 1 tell thee, m u), 'tis better with me now, 
 Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet; 
 Then was { going prisoner to the Tower, 
 By the suggestion of the queen's allies ; 
 But now, I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,) 
 This day those enemies are put to death, 
 And I in better state than ere I was. 
 
 Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good content ! 
 
 Hast. Gramercy, fellow : There, drink that lor 
 me. {Throwhuj him his purse.) 
 
 Purs, 1 thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant. 
 
 Enter a Priest. 
 Pr. Well met, my lord ; I am glad to see your 
 honour. [heart. 
 Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all my 
 E am in your debt for your last exercise; 
 Come the next Sabbalh, and 1 will content you. 
 
 Enter Buckinghasi. 
 
 Buck, What, talking with a prisst, lord chank 
 berlain? 
 
 Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest 
 Your honour hath no stiriving work in hand. 
 
 Hast. 'Good faith, and when I met this holy maHj 
 The men you talk of came into my mind. 
 What, go you toward the Tower ? [there: 
 
 BucL I do, my lord : but long I cannot staj 
 I shall return before your lordship ther.ce. 
 
 Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. 
 
 Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st it 
 not. [Aside.) 
 Come, will you go ? 
 
 Hast. I'll wait upon your lordship. 
 
 [ Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Pomfret. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter R atcliff, ivith a gtiat d, conducting RiVEKS , 
 Grey, and Vaughan, to execution. 
 
 Rat. Come, bring forth the piisoners. 
 
 Biv. Sir Richard Ratclilf, let me tell thee this, — 
 To day, shalt thou behold a subject die, 
 Far truth, for duty, and for loyalty, 
 
 Grey.Good keep the prince from all the pack of you! 
 A knot you are of damned blood suckers. 
 
 Yaugh. You live, that shall cry woe for this 
 hereafter. 
 
 Bat. Despatch ; the limit of your lives is out. 
 
 Biv. O Poudret, Pomlret! O thou bloody piison, 
 Fatal and ominous to noble peers! 
 Witliin the guilty closure of thy walls, 
 Richard the Second here was hack'd to death 
 And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, 
 We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. 
 
 Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fallen ujion our 
 heads. 
 
 When she exclaini'd on Hastings, you, and 1, 
 For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 
 
 Biv. Then curs'd she Hastings, then curs'd sLe 
 Buckingham, 
 Then curs'd she Richard : — O, remember, God, 
 To hear her prayers for them, as now for us I 
 And for my sister, and her princely sons, — 
 Be satisfied, dear God, with our true bloods. 
 Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt! 
 
 Rat. Make haste, the hour of death is expiate. 
 
 Biv. Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan, — let us hero 
 embrace : 
 
 Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene IV. — London. A Boom in the Tower. 
 
 Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bishop o 
 Ely, Catesby, Lovel, and others, silting ai a 
 table: officers of the council attending. 
 Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met 
 Is — to determine of the coronation : 
 In God's name, speak, v^dien is the royal day ? 
 Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time ? 
 Stan. They are ; and wants but nomination, 
 Ely. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. 
 Buck. Wiio knows the lord protector's mind 
 herein ? 
 
 Who is most inward with the noble did^e ? 
 
 Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know 
 his mind. [hearts,— 
 
 Buck. We know each other's faces : for oui 
 He knows no more of mine, than 1 of yours ; 
 Nor I of his, my lord, than you of mine ;- 
 Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 
 
 Hast. 1 thank his grace, I know he loves me weU« 
 But, for his purpose in the coronation, 
 1 have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
 His gracious pleasure any wa»y therein: 
 But you, my noble lord, may name the time ; 
 And in the duke's behalf Ml give my voict* 
 Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle paft; 
 
»SC£NE 5. 
 
 KlNGi KICILVRD 111. 
 
 475 
 
 l^er Glostkr 
 Klv. In liapj)y time, here comes the duke himself. 
 Gfo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good 
 njorrow : 
 
 I have jeen long a sleeper; btit, I trust, 
 
 rtly ab.*'n)ce dotli neglect no great design, 
 
 W liicli .)y my presence might have been concluded. 
 
 Buck. H;id yon not come upon your cue, my lord, 
 v\ illi;;iD lord Hastini^s had i)ronounc'd your part, — 
 
 mean, yoin- voice, — for downing of the king. 
 
 Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no man might be 
 bolder; 
 
 His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. — 
 My lord of LCly, when I was last in Holborn, 
 I saw good strawberries in yonr garden there ; 
 1 do beseech yon, send for some of them. 
 Ely. iVlarry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. 
 
 [Exit Ely. 
 
 Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with yon. 
 
 [Takes him aside.) 
 Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business ; 
 And finds the testy gentleman so hot, 
 That he vvill lose his head, ere give consent, 
 His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it. 
 Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 
 
 Buck. Withilraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Buckingham. 
 Stan, We have not yet set down this day of 
 triumph. 
 
 To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden, 
 
 For I myself am not so well provided, 
 
 As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. 
 
 Re-enter Bishop of Ely. 
 
 Ely. Where is my lord protector ? I have sent 
 Far these strawberries, [morning; 
 
 Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this 
 There's some conceit or other likes him well, 
 U'hen he doth bid good morrow with such spirit 
 ' think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom, 
 ' an lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ; 
 i'or by his face straight shall you know his heart. 
 
 Stan, What of his heart perceive you in his face, 
 Uy any likelihood he shew'd to day ? 
 
 Hast, Marry, that with no man here he is 
 oftended ; 
 
 For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. 
 Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham. 
 
 (rlo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve, 
 Tii;it do conspire my death with devilish plots 
 or damned witchcraft ; and that have prevail'd 
 I |viM niy body with their hellish charms? 
 
 Hnst. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, 
 ^iakes me most forward in this noble presence 
 I'» fl »orn the offenders: Whosoe'er they be, 
 i s i \ , my lord, they have deserved death. 
 
 (•lo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil, 
 I. c.k Ikuv I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm 
 Is itke a blastf^l sa|;ling, vvither'dup: 
 A i'I til is l:^>l>var(ls wife, that monstrous witch, 
 ('(tiisortt^d \vitli that harlot, strumpet Shore, 
 I'hat by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 
 
 Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble 
 lord, 
 
 Glo. If ! thou prote<:tor of this damned strumpet, 
 alk'st thou to me of ifs ? — Thou art a traitor : — 
 ■with his head ; — now, by saint Paul I swear, 
 11 not dine nntil I see the same. — 
 vel, and Catesby, look, that it be done ; 
 e rest, that love me, rise, and follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt Council, with Gloster and 
 Buckingham. 
 Hast. Woe, woe, for England ! not a whit for me ; 
 For I, too fond, might have prevented this : 
 •Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm ; 
 But I disdaiu'd it, and did scorn to fly. 
 Three t;n?es to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble. 
 And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, 
 As ioath to bear me to the slaughter-house. 
 
 O, now I v^'ant the priest that spake to ££0; 
 I now repent I told tlie pursuivant. 
 As too triumphing, how mine enemies 
 I'o-day at Pomfret bloodily were b-ifcher'd, 
 And 1 myself secure in grace and fir/our. 
 O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy cur^e 
 Is liohted on poor Hastings' wretched'head. 
 
 Gate. Despatch, my lord, the duke wcakl b« 9 
 dinner; 
 
 Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. . 
 
 Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men. 
 Which we more hunt for than tlie gi ace of God I 
 Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks. 
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; 
 Ready, with every nod. to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 
 
 Lov. Come, come, despatch ; 'tis bootless t« 
 exclaim. 
 
 Hast. O, bloody Richard ! — n)iserable England f 
 I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee, 
 'J'hat ever wretched age hath look'd upon. 
 Come, lead nve to the block, bear him my head ; 
 They smile at me, who shortly sliall be dead. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene N .—The same. The Tower Walls. 
 Enter Gloster and Buckingham, m rusty ar7nour, 
 tnarvp.llous ill-favoured. 
 Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change 
 thy colour ? 
 Murder thy breath in middle of a word, — 
 And then again begin, and stop again, 
 As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror . 
 
 Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian 
 Speak, and look back, and pry on every si'le. 
 Tremble and start at wagging of a stravf^. 
 Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks 
 Are at my service, like enforced smiles: 
 And both are ready in their oUices, 
 At any time^ to grace my stratagems. 
 But what, is Catesby gone ? 
 Glo. He is ; and see, he brings the mayor 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and Catesby. 
 Buck. Let me alone to entertain him. — Iiord 
 mayor, 
 
 Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there. 
 Buck. Hark, hark ! a drum. 
 
 Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. [you,— 
 Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for 
 Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. 
 Buck. God and our innocence defend and guard 
 us I 
 
 Enter LoVEL awo? Ratclifp, ivithHastings's head. 
 Glo. Be 1 atient, they are friends ; RatclilF, aad 
 Lovel. 
 
 Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, 
 The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 
 
 Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep. 
 I took him for the plainest harrnle.s.s't creature. 
 That breath'd upon llie earth a christian; 
 Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded 
 'I'he history of all her secret thoughts : 
 So smooth he daub'd his vice with shew of virtue. 
 That, his apparent open guilt omitted, — 
 1 mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, — 
 He liv'd I'rom all attainder of suspect. [Itaitof 
 
 Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd 
 That ever liv'd. — Look you, my lord mayor. 
 Would you imagine, or almost believe, 
 (Were't not, that by great preservation 
 We live to tell it you,) the subtle traitor 
 This day had plotted, in the council-house. 
 To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster? 
 
 May. What ! had he so ? 
 
 Glo. What! think you we are Turks, or infidels' 
 Or that we would, againsl the fornj of law. 
 Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death; 
 But that the extreme peril of the case. 
 The Deace of England, and our persons" safety. 
 
iTG KING E 
 
 « 
 
 Enforced m to this execution ? 
 
 Mat/. New, fair befal you ! he deserv'd his death ; 
 And your good graces both have well proceeded. 
 To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
 I never look'd for better at his hands, 
 After he once fell in with mistress Shore. 
 
 Buck. Yet had we not deterniin'd he should die, 
 Until your lordship came to see his end ; 
 Which now the loving haste of these our friends, 
 iSomewhat against our meaning, hath prevented : 
 Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 
 Tiie traitor speak, and timorously confess 
 The manner and the purpose of iiis treasons ; 
 That you might well iiave signified the same 
 Unto the citizens, who, haply, may 
 Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. 
 
 Maj/. But, my good lord, your grace's word shall 
 serve, 
 
 As well as I had seen, and heard him speak: 
 And do not doubt, right noble princes both, 
 But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens 
 With all your just proceedings in this case. 
 
 Glo. And to that end we vvish'd your lordship here, 
 To avoid the censures of the carping world. 
 
 Buck, But since you came too late of our intent, 
 Yet witness what you hear we did intend : 
 And so, my s/jod lord mayor, we bid farewell. 
 
 lExit Lord Mat/or, 
 
 do. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
 The mayor towards Guildhall hies hin> in all post: — 
 There, at your meetest vantage of the time. 
 Infer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
 Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen, 
 Only for saying — lie would make his son 
 Heir to the crown; meaning, indeed, his house, 
 Which, by tlie sign thereof, was termed so. 
 Moreover, urge liis hateful luxin-y, 
 And bestial appetite in change of lust; [wives. 
 Which stretchVl unto their servants, daughters. 
 Even where his raging eye, or savage heart. 
 Without controul, listed to make his prey 
 Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : — 
 Tell them, when that my mother went with child 
 Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
 My princely father, then had wars in France; 
 And, by just computation of the time. 
 Found, that the issue was not his begot ; 
 Which well appeared in his lineaments, 
 Being nothing like the noble duke my lather: 
 Yet touch tins sparingly, as 'twere far off; 
 Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives. 
 
 Buck. Doubt not. my lord : I'll play the orator. 
 As if the golden fee, for which I plead. 
 Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu, 
 
 Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's 
 castle ; 
 
 Where you shall find me well accompanied, 
 With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. 
 
 Buck. 1 go: and, towards three or four o'clock, 
 Look tin- the news that the Guildhall aiiords. 
 
 [Exit Buckingham. 
 GIg. Go, Love!, with all speed to Doctor Shaw, — 
 Go thou {to Cat.) to friar Penker ;— bid them both 
 Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. 
 
 [Exezmt Love! and Catesby. 
 Now will I in, to take some [jrivy order 
 To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ; 
 And to give notice, that no manner of person 
 £lave, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Exit. 
 Scene VI.— .1 Street. 
 Enter a Scrivener. 
 Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord 
 Hastings ; 
 Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, 
 That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's 
 And mark how well the sequel hangs together: — 
 Eleven iiours i liave spent to write it over. 
 For yesternight by Catesby was it .sent me; 
 Tiie precedent was full as long a doing : 
 
 CHARD III. Acr III, 
 
 And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd. 
 
 Untainted, unexamin'd, fri e, at liberty. 
 
 Here's a good world the while !— Who is sogroea, 
 
 Tliat cannot see this palpable device ? 
 
 Yet who so bold, but says — he sees it not ? 
 
 Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought. 
 
 When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Scene VII.— TAe same. Court of Baynard' 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter Gloster and Buckingham, meeting. 
 Glo. How now, how now ? what say the citizens , 
 Buck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, 
 The citizens are mum ; say not a word. 
 Glo. Touch'dyou the bastardy of Edward's child- 
 ren ? 
 
 Buck. I did ; with his contract with Lady Lucy, 
 And his contract by deputy in France : 
 The insatiate greedines of his desires. 
 And his enforcement of the city wives; 
 His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy, — 
 As being got, your father then in France ; 
 And his resemblance, being not like the duke. 
 Withal, I did infer your lineaments. 
 Being the right idea of your father. 
 Both in your form and nobleness of mind • 
 Laid open all your victoiies in Scotland, 
 Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, 
 V our bounty, virtue, fair humility : 
 Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, 
 Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. 
 And, when ray oratory grew to an end, 
 I bade them, that did love their country's good. 
 Cry — God save Richard, England's royal king ! 
 
 Glo. And did they so ? [word ; 
 
 Buck. >lo, so God help me, they spake not a 
 But, like dumb statuas, or breathless stones, 
 Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. 
 Which when I saw, I reprt«ieuded them ; 
 And ask'd the mayor, what meant this vyilful silence 
 His answer was — the people were not us'd 
 To be spoke to, but by the recorder. 
 Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again ; — 
 Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'cL 
 But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
 When he had done, some followers of mine own. 
 At lower end o'the hall, hurl'd up their caps. 
 And some ten voices cried, God save king ttichardl 
 And thus I took the vantage of those few, — 
 Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I ; 
 This general applause, and cheerful shout, 
 Argues your tvisdom and your love to Richard: 
 And even here brake off, and came away. 
 
 Glo. What tongueless blocks were they; Would 
 they not speak ? 
 Will not the mayor then, and his brethen, come ? 
 
 Buck. The mayor is here at hand; intend some fear; 
 Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit: 
 And look you get a prayer-book in your hand. 
 And stand between two churchmen, good my lord : 
 For on that ground I'll make a holy descant : 
 And he ruat easily won to our requests ; 
 Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 
 
 Glo. I go ; And if you plead as well for them. 
 As I can say nay to thee for myself. 
 No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue. 
 
 Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord mayol 
 knocks. [Exit Gloster. 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Cittzent 
 
 Welcome, my lord : I dance attendance here • 
 
 I think, the duke will not be spoke withal. — ^ 
 
 Enter, from the Castle, Catesby. 
 
 Novv, Catesby I what says your lord to my request > 
 Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, 
 To visit him to morrow, or next day: 
 He is within, with two right reverend fathern. 
 Divinely bent to medituiion ; 
 
KING RICHARD III. m 
 
 ScKis-E 6. 
 
 And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd. 
 To draw him from his holy exercise. 
 
 Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke ; 
 Tell, him, myself, the mayor and aldermen, 
 In deep designs, in matter of great moment, 
 No less importing than our general good, 
 are come to have some conference with his grace. 
 
 Cate. Til signify so much unto him straight. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Ed- 
 Ile is ndt lolling on a lewd day-bed, [ward! 
 But on his knees at meditation 
 Not dallying witli a brace of courtesans, 
 But meditntiiig with two deep divines ; 
 Nut sleeping, to engross his idle body, 
 Biit praying, to enrich his w;itchful soul: 
 Happy were l^nglaiHl, would this virtuous prince 
 'i'ake on liimselt tiie so\ ereij^nty thereof: 
 But, sure, 1 fear, we .sh lil ne Vr win him to it. 
 
 Mat/. Marty, Go l def-riid, his grace should say 
 ris nay ! [again ; — 
 
 Buck. 1 fear, he will : Here Catesby conies 
 
 Re-enter Catesby. 
 Now, Catesby, wh^st says his grace ? 
 
 Cate. He w onders to what end you have assembled 
 S ic.h troops of citizens to ootne +o him. 
 His grace not being warn'd (hereof before, 
 Hf fears, my lord, you mean no goo 1 to him. 
 
 Buck. Surry I am, my noble cousin should 
 Suspect me, tuat I mean n3j;0Gd to him: 
 By heaven, we come to him in perfect love; 
 And so once more return and tell his grace. 
 
 [Exit Catesby. 
 When holy and devout religious men 
 Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence ; 
 So sweet is zealous contemplation. 
 
 Ejiter Gloster, in a rjaUery above, between two 
 Bishops. Catesby returns. 
 May. See where his grace stands 'tween two 
 clergymen I 
 
 Buck. Two props of V irtue for a christian prince, 
 To stay him from the fall of vanity: 
 And, see, a book of prayer in his hand; 
 True ornaments to know a holy man. — 
 F'iunoiis Plantagenet, most gracious prince. 
 Lend favourable ear to our requests ; 
 And pardon us the interruption 
 Of thy devotion, and right-christian zeal. 
 
 Crlo. My lord, there needs no such apology ; 
 i rather do beseech you pardon me, 
 Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
 Neglect the visitation of my it iendf^. 
 But, leaving this, what is y(uir grace's pleasure ? 
 
 Buck. E\en that, i hope, which pleaseth God 
 above. 
 
 And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. 
 
 Qlo. I do suspect, I have done some oftence. 
 That seems disgracious in the city's eye ; 
 And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 
 
 Buck. You have, my lord; VVould it might 
 please your grace, 
 On our entreaties to amend yosir fault! 
 
 Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian 
 land? [sign 
 
 Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you re- 
 The supreme seat, the throne niajestical. 
 The scepter'd office of your ancestors, 
 Vour state of fortune, and your due of birth. 
 The lineal glory of your royal house. 
 To the roi ruption of a blemish'd stock: 
 Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 
 (Which here we waken to our country's good,) 
 The noble isle doth want her proper limbs ; 
 Her face defac'd with scars ot infamy, 
 Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, 
 And almost shoidder'd in the swallowing gulf 
 Of dark forgetfidness and deep obliviou. 
 Which to recure, we heartily solicit 
 
 Your gracious self to take on you tne charge 
 
 And kingly government of this your land : 
 
 Not as protector, steward, siibstitute. 
 
 Or lowly factor for another's gain: 
 
 But as successively, from blood to blood. 
 
 Your right of birth, your empery, your own 
 
 For this, consorted with the citizens, 
 
 Your very worshipful and loving friends. 
 
 And by their vehement instigation, 
 
 In this just suit come I to move your grace, 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence. 
 Or bitterly to speak in your reproof. 
 Best fitteth my degree, or your condition: 
 If, not to answer, — you might haply think, 
 'J'ongue-tied anibition, not replying, yielded 
 To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, 
 VVhich fondly you would here impose on me 
 If to reprove you for this suit of yours. 
 So season'd with your faithful love to me, 
 Then, on the other side, I check'd my friendii. 
 Therefore, — to speak, and to avoid the first; 
 And the-n, in sp.eaking, not to incur the last, — 
 Definitively thus I answer you. 
 Your love deserves my thanks ; but my desert 
 Unmeritable, shuns your high request. 
 First, if all obstacles were cut away. 
 And that my path were even to the crown, 
 As the ripe revenue and due of birth ; 
 Yet so much to my poverty of spirit, 
 So mighty, and so many, my defects. 
 That I would rather hide me from my greatness,— 
 Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, — 
 Than in my greatness covet to be hid, 
 And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. 
 But, God be tliank'd, there is no need of me; 
 ^And much I need to help you, if need were;) 
 The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
 Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, 
 Will well become the seat of majesty, , 
 And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
 On him I lay what you would lay on me, 
 The right and fortune of his happy stars. — 
 Which. God defend, that I should wrin^ from him. 
 
 Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in yoal 
 grace ; 
 
 But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, 
 
 All circumstances well considered. 
 
 You say, that Edward is your brother's son ; 
 
 So say we too, but not by Edward's wife: 
 
 For first he was conti-act to lady Lucy, 
 
 Your mother lives a witness to his vow ; 
 
 And afterwards by substitute betroth'd 
 
 To Bona, sister to the king of France. 
 
 These both put by, a poor petitioner, 
 
 A care-craz'd mother to a many s.ons, 
 
 A beauty-waning and distressed widow. 
 
 Even in the afternoon of her best days, 
 
 Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, 
 
 Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts 
 
 To base declension and loath'd bigamy : 
 
 By her, in his unlawful bed, he got 
 
 This Edward, whom our manners call — the princ 
 
 More bitterly could I expostulate. 
 
 Save that, for reverence to some alive, 
 
 I give a sparing limit to my tongue. 
 
 Then, good my lord, take to your royal self 
 
 This profFer'd benefit of dignity : 
 
 If not to bless us and the land withal. 
 
 Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry 
 
 From the corruption of abusing time. 
 
 Unto a lineal true-derived course. ^ [yon. 
 May. Do, good my lord ; your citizens entreat 
 Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this profter'd love. 
 Cate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful 
 suit. 
 
 Glo. Alas, why wotdd you heap those cares on me? 
 I am unfit for state and majesty : — 
 I do beseech you, take it not amiss : 
 I cannot, nor I will not yield to you. 
 
 Buck. If you refuse it,— as in love and seal, 
 
478 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Loath to <!epose f he chW^, vonr brother's son ; 
 As Wfll ue know your tetulerness of heart, 
 And gentle, kitid, ellViiiinate reiriorse, 
 Whicli we have noted in you to your kindred, 
 And equally, indeed, to hI! estates, — 
 Yet know, whe'r you accei)t our suit or no, 
 Your bnither's son shall never reign our king; 
 But we will plant some other in your throne. 
 To the disgrace and downtall of your house. 
 And, in this resuliition, here we leave you; — 
 Ccjne, citizens, we will entreat no more. 
 
 [Exeunt Burhinykam and Citizens. 
 Cafe. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their 
 suit : 
 
 f yon deny them, all the land will rne it. 
 
 G/o. Will yon enforce me to a world of cares ? 
 Well, call them a^aiti; I am not made of stone. 
 But penetrable to your kind entreaties, 
 
 [Exit Cateshy. 
 Albeit against my conscience and my soul. 
 
 Re enter Buckingham, and the rest. 
 Cousin of Buckinyhan). — and sage, grave men, — 
 Since yon will buckle fortune on my back, 
 To bear her burden, wh'er I will, or no, 
 I nnist iia\e patience toendnre tlie load: 
 But if black scandal, ur foul fac'd reproach. 
 Attend the se<piel ui your imposition, 
 \ oiir mere eriiorcement shall acquittance me 
 From all the iini)ure blots and stains thereof; 
 For (3od he knows, and you may partly see, 
 How far I am from the desire of this. [say it. 
 
 ]^ay. God bless your giace ! we see it, and will 
 
 Glo. In saying so, yon siiall but say the truth. 
 
 Buck. 'I'hen I salute you with this royal title, — 
 Long live king Richard, England's worthy king ! 
 
 All. Amen. 
 
 K//c/-/r(i-niorro\v may it please you to be crown'd ? 
 Glo. Ev^n when you please, since you will have 
 it so. [grace ; 
 
 Buch. To-morrow then we will attend your 
 And so, most joyfully, we take our leave. 
 Glo. Come, let us to our lioly work again : — 
 
 {To the Bishops.) 
 Farewell, good cousin ; — farewell, gentle friends. 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SnENE I. — Before the Tower. 
 
 Enter, on one side. Queen Ei.rzABETH, Duchess of 
 York, and Mtirqnis of Dorset; on the other, 
 Anne. Duchess of (iLOSTEit, leading Lady 
 Makcaket Plantac.enet, Clarence's young 
 dautjiiter. 
 
 Duch. Who meets us here? — my niece Planta- 
 genet 
 
 Led in the hand by her kind aunt of Gloster? 
 hiow, for my lile. she's wand ring to the Tower, 
 On pin-e heart's love, to greet the tender prince. — 
 Daughter, well met. 
 
 Anne. (iod give your craces both 
 
 A iiappy andajoylnl time of day! 
 
 Q. Eliz. As innch to you, good sister! Whither 
 away? [guess, 
 
 Anne. No further timn the Tower; and, as I 
 Upon tlie like devotion as yourselves, 
 
 gratnlate tiie gentle princes there. [gether : 
 
 Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks ; we'll enter all to- 
 Efiter Brakenbury. 
 A'-d, in good time, here the lientenant comes. — 
 ,l\|;ister lieutenant, pray yon, by your leave, 
 1^ j\\ *loth the prince, and my young son of York ? 
 
 Brak. lliiiht well, dear niaiiam ; By your pa- 
 \ may not snii'er yon to visit them ; [tience, 
 Tl)e kir-ti hath strictly charg"d tfie contrary. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The king! wlio's that? 
 
 iimi . I mean, the lord protector. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The Lord orotect him iVorn that kingly 
 title * 
 
 Hath he set bounds between their love, M)d me ? 
 
 [ am their mother, who shall bar me from them? 
 Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them, 
 Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love theii 
 mother : 
 
 Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame, 
 And take thy office from thee, on thy peril. 
 
 Brak. No, madam, in), I may not leave it so; 
 ! am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 
 
 [Exit Bruienburf 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Stan. Let me but meet yon, ladies, one hour hence 
 And I'll salute your grace of York as niolhcr, 
 And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. — 
 Come, madam, you must straight to vVestniinster. 
 
 ( To the Duchess of Glotter. 
 There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder ! 
 That my [)ent heart may have some scope to beat. 
 Or else I swoon with this dead killing news. 
 
 Anne. Despitefid tidings! O nnpleasing news! 
 
 Dor. Be of good cheer: — JVlother, how fares 
 your grace ? [gone, 
 
 Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to jne, get the« 
 Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; 
 Thy mother's name is ominous to children : 
 If thou wilt outstri|) death, go cross the seas, 
 And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell 
 Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slanghter-huuse. 
 Lest thou increase tlie number of the dead ; 
 And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,— 
 Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 
 
 Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, 
 madam : — 
 
 Take all the swift advantage of the hour".' 
 You shall have letters from me to my son 
 In \ our behalf, to meet you on the way : 
 Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. 
 
 Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery ! 
 O my accursed womb, the bed of death ; 
 A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, 
 Whose unavoided eye is murderous! 
 
 Stan. Come, madam, come ; I in all haste was sent 
 
 Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.- • 
 O, would to God, that the inclusi\ e verge 
 Of golden metal, that must round my brow. 
 Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ! 
 Anointed let me be with deadly venom ; 
 And die, ere men can say — God save the queen! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor sou), I envy not thy glory ; 
 To feed my hnmour, wish thyself no harm. 
 
 Anne. No I why ? — When lie, that is my hus- 
 band now, 
 
 Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; [hands, 
 
 W hen scarce the blood was well wash'd from hif 
 
 Which issu'd from my other angel husband, 
 
 And that dead saint which then I weeping tollow'd ; 
 
 O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, 
 
 This was my wish,— Be thou, quoth I, accursed, 
 
 For making rne, so young, so old a widow ! 
 
 And, when thou tved st. let sorrow haunt thy bed 
 
 And be thy wife {if any he so mad) 
 
 More miserable by the life of thee. 
 
 Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's dsaih 
 
 Lo, ere 1 can repeat this curse again, 
 
 Even in so short a space, my woman's heart 
 
 Grossly grew captive to his lioney words. 
 
 And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse; 
 
 Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest j 
 
 For never yet one hour in his bed 
 
 Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep. 
 
 But with hi? timorous dreanu was still awak'd. 
 
 Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick, 
 
 And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu ; I pity thy complainint^ 
 Anne. No more than with my soul 1 mo .rn foi 
 yours. 
 
 Dor. Fare\^ell, thou wofnl welcomer of K:' )ry '. 
 Anne. Adien, poo** «oul, that tak'st thy e ol'iJ 
 
Duck. Go thou to Richmond, and ^ood fortune 
 guide thee . (To Dorset.) 
 
 Go thou to hichard, and good angels tend thee !— 
 
 (To Anne. J 
 
 Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts povssess 
 tiiee! {To Q Elizabeth.] 
 
 1 to my grave, where peace and rest he wiih me ! 
 
 Eighty o(hl years of sorrow have I seen. 
 
 And eHch hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. 
 Q.Eltz. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the 
 Tower — 
 
 Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, 
 \Vhon» envy hath immur'd within yourwallsl ' 
 Roiigii cradle for such little pretty ones! 
 Rude ragged nurse! old sullen pl-iy fellow 
 P'lr tender princes, use my babies well ! 
 So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room of State in the Palace, 
 flourish of troumpets. Richard, as King upon 
 his throne; Buckingham, Catksby, a Page, 
 and others. 
 
 K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Bucking- 
 Buck. My gracious sovereign. [fiani, — 
 
 K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy 
 advice, 
 
 A-ud thy assistance, is king Richard seated : — 
 But shall we wear these glories for a day ? 
 Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? 
 
 B?ick. Still live they, and for ever let thena last ! 
 
 K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the 
 touch. 
 
 To try if thou be current gold, indeed : — 
 Yoiuig Edward lives; — Think now what I would 
 speak. 
 
 Buck. Say on, my loving lord. (king. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be 
 
 Buck. Wliy, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. 
 
 K. Rich. Ha I am I king ? 'Tis so : but Edward 
 
 Buck. True, noble prince. [lives. 
 
 iC. Rich. O bitter consquence, 
 
 That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince! — 
 Cousiit, thou wast not wont to be so dull : — 
 Shall 1 be plain? I wish the bastards dead; 
 And 1 would have it suddenly perform'd. 
 What say'st thou now ? speak suddenly, be brief. 
 
 Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 
 
 K. Rich. 'J'ut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness 
 freezes : 
 
 Say, have I thy consent that they shall die ? 
 
 Bwi. Give me some breath, some little pause. 
 Before 1 positively speak in this: [dear lord, 
 
 i will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit. 
 
 Cate. The kiag is angry ; see, be gnaws his lip. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted tools, 
 {Descends from his throne.) 
 And unrespective boys; cone are for me. 
 That look into me with considerate eyes ; — 
 High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. — 
 lioy, — 
 
 Jraoe. My lord, [ing gold 
 
 K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupt- 
 
 ould tempt unto a close exploit of death ? 
 
 Page. I know a discontented gentleman, 
 
 hose humble means match not his haughty mind : 
 
 old wer*^ as good as twenty orators. 
 And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 
 
 K. Rich. What is his name ? 
 
 Paae. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. 
 
 K. Rich, I partly know the man; Go, call him 
 hither, boy.— _ [Exit Page. 
 
 ine deep revolving witty Buckingham 
 No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels: 
 Hath he so long held out with me untir'd. 
 And stops he now tor breath ? — well, be it so. — 
 
 En4er Stanley. 
 How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news V 
 
 ^ta». Know, my loving lord. 
 
 m 
 
 The marquis Dorset, an I hear, is fled 
 
 To Richmond, in the pnrts where he abides. 
 
 K, Rich. Come hitlier, Cateshy , rumour is abroad* 
 That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; 
 I will take order for her keeping close. 
 Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, 
 Wtjom iwill marry straight to Clarence' daughter;— 
 The boy is foolish, and I i'ear not him. — 
 Look, how thou dream'st ! — 1 say again, give out. 
 That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : • 
 About it; for it stands me nuich upon, 
 To stop all hopes, whose growth may dama^^e me. — 
 
 [Exit (Jat9ihy 
 I must be manned to my brother's daughter, 
 Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. 
 Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! 
 Uncertain way of gain ! But 1 am in 
 So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. 
 Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.— 
 
 Re enter Page, with Tyrrel. 
 Is thy name Tyrrel ? [jert, 
 Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient aub- 
 K. Rich. Art tliou, indeed ? 
 
 Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of 
 
 mine ? [nries. 
 Tyr. Please you ; but I had rather kill two ene- 
 K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep 
 
 enemies. 
 
 Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers. 
 Are they tliat I would have thee deal upon ; 
 Tyrrel, 1 mean those bastards in the Tower. 
 
 Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them. 
 And soon I'll rid you from the learof them. 
 
 K.Rich. 'I'hou sing'st sweet music. Haik, come 
 hither, Tyrrel ; 
 Go, by this token: — Rise, and lend thine ear: 
 
 (Whispers^ 
 There is no more but so : — Say, it is done. 
 And I will love thee, and preter thee for it. 
 
 Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exii 
 
 Re-enter Buckingham. 
 
 Buck, My lord, I have consider'd in my mind 
 The late demand that you did sound me ui. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let tiiat i-est. Dorset is fled to 
 Richmond. 
 
 Buck. I hear the news, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son: — Well, 
 look to it. [rnise 
 
 Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by pro- 
 For which your honour and your faith is pawrVd; 
 The earldou) of Hereford, and the moveabk\s. 
 Which you have promised 1 shall possess. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, look to your vvite ; if siie convey 
 Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. (.quest f 
 
 Buck. What says yoar higtmess to ury ju.st re- 
 
 K. Rich. I do remeuiber me, — Henry tiie Siitb 
 Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king. 
 When Ricimioud was a little peevish boy. 
 A king! — perhaps — 
 
 Buck. My lord,— [that time, 
 
 K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at 
 Have told me, 1 being by, tliat 1 should kill liim 
 
 Buck. My lord, your prouuse for the ear! lo ii,— 
 
 K.Rich. Richmond! — Wlieu last I was at Exeter, 
 The maj'or in courtesy shevv'd me the castle. 
 And call'd it — Rouge mont: at which name, I 
 started ; 
 
 Because a bard of Ireland told me once, 
 I should not live long after 1 saw Richuroad, 
 Buck. My lord,— 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ? 
 
 Buck. I am thus bold 
 
 To put your grace in nrind of what you proiujo d iie. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, but what is t o'clock ? 
 
 Buck. Upoa the stroke 
 
 Of ten. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Acr rV; 
 
 Buck, Whr, let it strike ? 
 
 K. Rick. Becanse that, like a Jack, thon keep'st 
 the stroke 
 
 Betwixt tiiy begging and my meditation. 
 
 I am not in the giving vein to-day. [no. 
 Buck. Why, then resolve ine whe'r you will, or 
 K. Rich. Thou troublest me ; lam notinthe vein. 
 
 [Exeunt King Richard and Train. 
 Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep service 
 
 With such contempt? made I him king for this? 
 
 O, let me think on Hastings; and be gone 
 
 "T'o Brecknock, while my learlul head is on. [Exit, 
 
 Scene III. — The same. 
 Enter Tyrrel. 
 Tyr. The tyrannous and bloodly act is done ; 
 The most arch deed of piteous massacre, 
 That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
 Dighton, and Forrest, whom 1 did suborn 
 To do this piece of ruthless butchery, 
 Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, 
 Melting with tenderness and mild compassion. 
 Wept like two children, in tlieir death's sad story. 
 0 thus, quoth Dighton, lay the (jentle babes, — 
 Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another 
 Within their alabaster innocent arms: 
 Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. 
 Which, i?i their summer beautij, hiss d each other. 
 A book of prayers on their piiloiv lay ; [mind; 
 Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my 
 But, 0, the devil — there the villain stoi)p'd ; 
 VV^lien Dighton thus told on, — ive smothered 
 The most replenished sweet work of nature, 
 That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd. — 
 Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse. 
 They could not speak ; and so I left them both. 
 To bear this tidings to the bloody king. 
 
 Ent-er King Richard. 
 And here he comes : — All health, my sovereign lord ! 
 
 K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel ! am I happy in thy news ? 
 
 Tyr. If to have done the thing yon gave in charge 
 Beget your happiness, be happy then. 
 For it is done. 
 
 K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ? 
 
 Tyr. I did, ray lord. 
 
 K.Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? 
 
 Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; 
 But where, to say the truth, I do not know. 
 
 K.Rich.Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper, 
 When thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
 Mean time, but think how I may do thee good. 
 And be inheritor of thy desire. 
 Farewell, till then. 
 
 Tyr. 1 humbly take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. The son of Clarence have 1 penn d up 
 close ; 
 
 His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage ; 
 Ti>e sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, 
 And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. 
 Now, for 1 know the Bretagne Richmond aims 
 At young Ef Zibeth, my brother's daughter, 
 And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, 
 To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. 
 
 Enter Catesby. 
 Cafe. My lord,— 
 
 K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in 
 so bluntly ? [mond ; 
 
 Cate. Bad news, n)y lord : Morton is fled to Rich- 
 Ai)d Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, 
 Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. 
 K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more 
 near, 
 
 Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. 
 
 Come, — I have learn d, that fearful commenting 
 
 Is leaden servitor to dull delay ; 
 
 Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary; 
 
 Then fiery expedition be my v/ing, 
 
 ioye's Mercury, and herald tor a king ! 
 
 Go, muster men : My counsel vs my shieW ; 
 We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret. 
 Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, 
 And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
 Here in these confines slily have 1 lurk'd. 
 To watch the waning of mine enemies. 
 A dire induction am 1 witness to. 
 And will to France ; hoping, the consequence 
 Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
 Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes 
 here ? 
 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth andthe Duchess of Ygzih, 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender bab ea' 
 My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! 
 if yet your gentle souls fly in the air, j| 
 And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, ^ 
 Hover about me with your airy wings. 
 And hear your mother's lamentation! 
 
 Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for right 
 Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 
 
 Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice. 
 That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, — 
 Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? 
 
 Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, 
 Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. [lambs, 
 
 Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle 
 And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? 
 When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done? 
 
 Q. Mar.When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. 
 
 Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living 
 ghost, [usurp'd, 
 Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life 
 Brief abstract and record of tedious days. 
 Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 
 
 CSittiug down.) 
 Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a 
 As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ; [grave. 
 Then would I hide my bones, not rest theni here ! 
 Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we ? 
 
 {Sitting down by fier.) 
 
 Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, 
 Give mine the benefit of seniory. 
 And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
 If sorrow can admit society, 
 
 {Sitting dotvn with them. 
 Tell o'er your woes again b„y viewing mine : — 
 I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 
 I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him. 
 Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him 
 Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.. 
 
 Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill 
 him ; 
 
 I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. 
 
 Q. Mar. Tiiou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
 kill'd him. 
 
 From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
 A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death : 
 That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
 To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood ; 
 That foul defacer of God's handy-work; 
 Tiiat excellent grand tyrant of the earth. 
 That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls. 
 Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. 
 O upright, just, and true-disposing God, 
 How do 1 thank thee, that this carnal cur 
 Preys on the issue of his mother's body. 
 And makes her pew fellow with others' moan ! 
 
 Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woesj 
 God witness v/ith me, I have wept for thine. 
 
 Q. Mar. Bear with me ; I am hungry for reveng«i 
 And now I cloy me with beholdi' g it. 
 Thy Edward he is dead, that kilt A my Edward 
 Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; 
 Young York he is but bout, because both tbef 
 
bOENE 4. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Match not the high perfection of my loss. 
 
 Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward ; 
 
 And the beholders of this tragic play. 
 
 riie adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vanghan, Grey, 
 
 Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
 
 Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; 
 
 Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, 
 
 And send them thither; But at hand, at hand, 
 
 Ensues his piteous and nnpitied end. 
 
 Eavih gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
 
 To have him suddenly convey'd fronj hence : — 
 
 Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray. 
 
 That I may live to say. The dog is dead ! [come, 
 
 Q. FAiz. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would 
 That 1 should wish for thee to help me curse 
 'J'liat bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. 
 
 Q Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my 
 fortune ; 
 
 I oall'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen; 
 The presentation of but vvhat I was, 
 The flattering index of a direful pageant. 
 One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below : 
 A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ; 
 A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag, 
 To be the aim of every dangerous shot; 
 A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ; 
 A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 
 Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ? 
 Where be thy two sons ? wherein dost thou joy ? 
 Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the 
 queen ? 
 
 Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee ? 
 Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee ? 
 Decline all this, and see what now thou art. 
 For happy wife, a most distressed widow ; 
 For joyiul mother, one that wails the name; 
 For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; 
 For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care . 
 For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ; 
 For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; 
 For one coinmanding all, obey'd of none. 
 Thus hatii the course of justice wheel'd about. 
 And left thee but a very prey to time; 
 Having no more but thought of what thou wert, 
 To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
 Thou didst usurp my place. And dost thou not 
 Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow ? 
 Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yokei 
 From which even here I slip my wearied head. 
 And leave the burden of it all on thee. 
 Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis- 
 chance, — 
 
 These English woes shall make me smile in France. 
 
 Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while. 
 And teach me how to curse mine enenues. 
 
 Q.Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the 
 
 Compaie dead happiness with living woe; 
 'Think that thy babes were fairer than they were. 
 And he, that slew them, fouler than he is : 
 Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse ; 
 Uevolving this will teach thee how to curse. 
 Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them 
 with thine I 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
 pierce like mine. [Exit. 
 
 Duck. Why should calamity be full of words? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes. 
 Airy succeeders of intestate joys. 
 Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
 Let them have scope ; though what they do impart 
 Hel]) notiiing else, yet do they ease tlie heart. 
 
 Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd : go with me, 
 4.nd in the breath of bitter words let's smother 
 »ly damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. 
 
 {Drum within.) 
 
 hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching. 
 K Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition V 
 
 Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted t 
 By strangling thee in her accursed womb, 
 From al! the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done, 
 
 Q. Eliz. llid'st thou that forehead with a golden 
 crown. 
 
 Where should be branded, if that right were right, 
 The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown 
 And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers ? ' 
 Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children ? 
 Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother 
 Clarence ? 
 
 And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? [Grey 
 
 Q.Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan. 
 
 Duch. Where is kind Hastings V [drums! 
 
 K.Rich, A flourish, trumpets ! — strike alarunis, 
 Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
 Rail on the lord's anointed : Strike, I say. — 
 
 {Flourish. Alarums.) 
 Either be patient, and entreat me fair, 
 Or with the clamorous report of war 
 Thus will I drown your exclamations. 
 
 Duch. Art thou my son ? [self. 
 
 K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and your- 
 
 Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition, 
 That cannot brook the accent of reproof 
 
 Duch. O, let me speak. 
 
 K. Rich. Do, then ; but I'll not hear 
 
 Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. 
 K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for J am in 
 haste. 
 
 Duch. Art thou so hasty ? I have staid for thee, 
 God knows, in torment and in agony. 
 
 K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you? 
 
 Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well. 
 Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. 
 A grievous burden was thy birth to me ; 
 Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ; [rious 
 Thy school-days, frightf(d, desperate, wild, and fu- 
 Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous; 
 Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody. 
 More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : 
 What comfortable hour can'st thou name. 
 That ever grac'd me in thy company. 
 
 K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that 
 call'd your grace 
 To breakfast once, forth of my company. 
 It I be so disgracious in your sight. 
 Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.- 
 Strike up the drum. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak 
 
 K, Itich. You speak too bitterlj. 
 
 Duch. Hear me a word ; 
 
 For I shall never speak to thee again. 
 
 K. Rich. So. [dinance 
 
 Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just or 
 Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror: 
 Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish, 
 And never look upon thy face again. 
 Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse; 
 Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more. 
 Than all the complete armour that thou wear'sti 
 My prayers on the adverse party fight; 
 And there the little souls of Edward's children 
 Whisper the spirits of thine enemies. 
 And promise them success and victory. 
 Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; 
 Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. 
 
 [EsiL 
 
 Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much lesa 
 spirit to curse 
 Abides in me ; I say amen to her. {Going»'\ 
 K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with 
 you. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood. 
 For thee to murder : for my daughters, Richardy — 
 They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens 
 And therefore level not to hit their lives. 
 
 K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd — Elizabetlif 
 Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 
 
182 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? 0,let her live. 
 And I'll corrtijit her inanneis, stain her beauty; 
 Siumief niysdi, as false to Edward's bed; 
 Tl row over hei the veil of infamy : 
 So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
 I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 
 
 K.Rich. Wrong not her biith, she is of royal 
 blood. 
 
 Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say — she is not so. 
 
 K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. 
 
 Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers. 
 
 K. Riclu Lo, at their births good stars were 
 ojjposite. [trary. 
 
 Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con- 
 
 K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 
 
 Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny. 
 My babes were destin'd to a fairer death, 
 If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. 
 
 K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my 
 cousins. [cozen'd 
 
 Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their uncle 
 Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
 Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts, 
 Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: 
 No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt, 
 Till it was whetted on thy stone hard heart. 
 To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 
 But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, 
 My tongue should to thy ears not name ray boys. 
 Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; 
 And I, in such a desperate bay of death, 
 Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, 
 Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in ray enterprise. 
 And dangerous success of bloody wars, 
 As I intend more good to you and yours. 
 Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of 
 heaven, 
 
 To he disjover'd that can do me good? 
 K. Ric/u The advancement of your children, 
 gentle lady. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Up to some scaifold, there to lose their 
 
 heads ? 
 
 K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, 
 Fhe hii>li imperial type of this earth's glory. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; 
 Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour. 
 Canst thou demise to any child of mine ? 
 
 K. Rich. Even all I have ; ay, and myself and all. 
 Will 1 withal endow a child oi' thine; 
 So in the Letlie of thy angry soul 
 'J'hou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, 
 Which, thou supposest. I have done to thee. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy 
 kindness 
 
 Last longer ti lling than thy kindness' date. 
 
 K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul, I love 
 
 thy daughter. [soul. 
 Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her 
 K. Ric.'i. Wivit do you think? 
 Q. Eliz. Tiiat thou dost love my daughtei from 
 
 thy soul : 
 
 So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers ; 
 And. from u)y heart's love, I do thank thee for it. 
 
 K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my uieaning: 
 \ mean, tiuit with my soul 1 love thy daughter, 
 And do intend to make her queen of England. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Weil then, who dost thou mean shall be 
 her king ? 
 
 K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen; Who 
 
 else should be? 
 Q. Eliz. What, thou ? 
 
 K. Rich. _ Even so : What think you 
 
 of it, madam ? 
 Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her? 
 K. Rich. That would I learn of yon, 
 
 4s one b;-ing best acquainted with her humour. 
 Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? 
 K. Rick. Madam, with all my heart 
 
 Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew fcej 
 brotliers, 
 
 A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave, 
 Edward, and York; then, haply, will s\w weep: 
 'J'herefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret 
 Did to thy father, steep'a in llutland's blood, — 
 A handkerchief; which, nay to her, did drain 
 The purple^sap from her sweet brother's body, 
 And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. 
 If this inducement move hei not to lo\e, 
 iSend her a letter of thy noble deeds; 
 Tell her, thou mad'st away her imcle Clarence, 
 Her imcle Rivers ; ay, and, for her sake, 
 Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Ana*. 
 K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not 
 way 
 
 To win your daughter. 
 
 K Eliz. There is no other way ; 
 
 Unless thou could'st put on some other shape, 
 And not be Ricbard that hath done all this. 
 
 K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her ? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but 
 have thee. 
 
 Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 
 
 K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now 
 amended : 
 Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimet 
 Which after-hours give leisure to repent. 
 If I did take the kingdom from your sons. 
 To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter 
 If 1 have kill'd the issue of y(»ur womb. 
 To quicken your increase, I will beget 
 Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. 
 A grandam's name is little less in love, 
 Than is the doting title of a mother: 
 7'hey are as children, but one step below, 
 Evernof your niettle, of your very blood ; 
 Of all one pain, — save for a night ol" groans 
 Endur'd of her, for whom you hid like sorrovy. 
 Your children were vexation to your youth, 
 But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
 'i'he loss, you have, is but — a sun being king, 
 And, by tiiat loss, your daughter is made queen. 
 I cannot make you what amends I would, 
 Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 
 Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul. 
 Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, 
 This fair alliance quickly shall call home 
 To high promotions and great dignity : 
 The king, that calls your beauteous daughter, — wifej, 
 Familiarly shall call thy Dorset—brother; 
 Again shcdl you be mother to a king. 
 And all the ruins of distressful times 
 Repair'd with double riches of content 
 What I we have many goodly days to see : 
 The liquid drops of tears that you have shed, 
 Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl; 
 Advantaging their loan, with interest 
 Often-times-double gain of happiness. 
 Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go; 
 Make bold her bashful years with your expencBSa J 
 Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale ; 
 Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 
 Of golden sov'reignty ; acquaint the princess 
 With the sweet silent hotirs of marriage joys : 
 And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
 The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckii»gham, 
 Bound with triumphant garlands will 1 come, 
 And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed; 
 To whom I will retail my conquest won. 
 And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What were 1 best to aay? hei fa(b«r 
 brother 
 
 Would be her lord ? Or shall I say, her uncle? 
 Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles? 
 Under what title shall 1 woo for thee, 
 Tliat God, the law, my honour, and her love, 
 Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? 
 
 K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this 
 alliance. 
 
KING ETCHARD IIL 
 
 Q, Eliz Wliich she shall purchase with still last- 
 ing war, 
 
 K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command, 
 entreats. [Kin^ forbids. 
 
 Q. Eliz. 'i'hat at her hands, whicli the king's 
 K, Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty 
 queen. 
 
 Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. 
 K. Ricfu Say, I will love her everlastingly. 
 Q. Eliz. Jiiit how long shall that title, ever, last? 
 K. Rich, Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. 
 Q, Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life 
 last ? (ens it. 
 
 K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, length- 
 Q. Eliz. And long as hell, and Riclmrd, likes of it. 
 K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, ai j her subject 
 
 fsov'reigiity. 
 oaths such 
 
 Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, 
 K- Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. 
 Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly 
 
 told. [tale. 
 K. Rich. Then in plain terms tell her my loving 
 Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style. 
 K Rich. Your reasons are too shallow, and too 
 
 quick. 
 
 Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and 
 dead ; — 
 
 Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. 
 K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam ; that 
 
 is past. [break. 
 Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings 
 K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and 
 
 my crown, — [usurp'd. 
 Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third 
 K. Rich. 1 swear. 
 
 Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath. 
 
 Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour; 
 Thy garter, bletnish'd, pawn'd his knigutly virtue ; 
 Thy crown, usurp 'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory: 
 If something thou would'st swear to be believ'd. 
 Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. 
 
 K. Rick. Now by the world, — 
 
 Q. KHz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. 
 
 K. Rich. My father's death,— 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Then, by myself,— 
 
 Q Eliz. Thyself is self-misus'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Why then, by God,— 
 
 Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 
 If tliou had'st fear'd to break an oatfi by him, 
 1'he imity. the king thy brother made. 
 Had not been broken, nor my brottier slain. 
 If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him, 
 The imperial metal, circling now thy head. 
 Had grac'd the tender temples of aiy child ; 
 And both the princes had been breathing here, 
 Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust. 
 Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. 
 What canst thou swear by now ? 
 
 K. Rich. By the time to come. 
 
 Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'er- 
 For I myself have many tears to wash (past; 
 Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. 
 The children live, whose parents thou hast slaugh- 
 ter'd, 
 
 Ungovern'd youth .to wail it in their age : 
 The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd. 
 Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. 
 Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast 
 Mi^ius'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'er past 
 
 K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent ! 
 So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
 Of hostile arms myself myself confound ! 
 Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy Ijours ! 
 Daj , yield me not thy light; nor, night thy rest! 
 Be oppositf' all planets of" good luck 
 To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love, 
 Immaculate devotion, holy tfioughts, 
 I tende.- not ti>y beauteous princely daughter! 
 Ib her consists my happiness, and thine; 
 
 Without her, follows to myself, and tnee, 
 Herself, the land, and many a chrisl au soul, 
 Death, desolation. rMiii, and decay: 
 It cannot he avoided, lint by tliis ; 
 It wiil not be avoided, but by this. 
 Therefore, dear mother, (I must call yrn so,) 
 Be the attorney of my love to her. 
 Plead what I will be, not what I have been; 
 Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : 
 Urge the necessity and state of funes, 
 And be not peevish found in great designs. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted by the devil thus? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good, 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself? 
 
 K. Rick. Ay, if your self s remembrance wro:^ 
 yourself. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. 
 JSC. Rich. But in your daughter's woinb I bury 
 them : 
 
 Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall breed 
 Selv es of themselves, to your recomforture. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Sfiall I go win my daughter to thy will? 
 
 K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed 
 
 Q. Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly, 
 And you shall understand from nie her mind. 
 
 K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so 
 f are well. 
 
 {Kissing her.) [Exit Queen Elizabeik, 
 Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman! 
 How now ? what news? 
 
 Enter Ratclifp ; Catesby following. 
 
 Rat. Most niighty sovereign, on the western coast 
 Rideth a piKssant navy ; to the shore 
 Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
 Unarm'd. and unresolv'd to beat fhem back : 
 Tis thought, that Richmond is their admiral ; 
 And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
 Of Fiiu kingham, to welcome them ashore. 
 
 K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the dvke 
 _ of Norfolk:— 
 Ratclifi', thyself,— or Catesby; where is he ? 
 
 Cate. Here, my good lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. 
 
 Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient hasfe, 
 K. Rich. Ratolirt', come hither : Post to Salisbury; 
 Wlien thou com'st thither, — Dull unmindful villain, 
 
 {To C'ateubyS 
 
 Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke r 
 Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' 
 pleasure. 
 
 What from your grace I shall deliver to him. 
 
 K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby ; — Bid him levy 
 straight 
 
 The greatest strength and power he can make. 
 And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 
 
 Cate. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Rat. What, may it place you, shall I do at Sa- 
 lisbury ? 
 
 K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, be» 
 fore I go ? 
 
 Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 K. Rich. My mind is chang'd. — Stanley, wha 
 
 news with you ? 
 Stan. None good, my liege, to please you witii 
 the hearing: 
 Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. 
 
 /\. Rich. Heyday, a riddle I neither good nor bad ! 
 What need st thou run so many miles about. 
 When thou may'st tell thy tale the neaiest Wfy ? 
 Once more, what nevvs? 
 
 Stan. Richmond is on the sens. 
 
 K. Rich. Th-ere let him sink, and be the s?as ou 
 him! 
 
 White liver'd runagate, what doth he «here ? 
 
 Stan. I ksiovv not, mi<;lity sovereign, but by ^uesa. 
 K. Rich. Well, as you guess'-* 
 Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, nwA 
 Morton, 
 
KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 lie li.aRcs fur England, here to claim the crown. 
 K. Rich. Is the cliair empty ? is the sword un- 
 sway'd 
 
 Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd? 
 VV^hat heir of York is there alive, but we ? 
 And who is England's king, but great York's heir? 
 Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas? 
 
 Stan. Unless for that, niy liege, I cannot guess. 
 
 K. lllch. Unless for that he comes to be your liege. 
 Yon cannot guess wherefore the W elshman comes. 
 Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 
 
 Stan. No, mighty liege, therefore mistrust me 
 not. [back ? 
 
 K. Rich. Where is thy power then, to beat him 
 iVliere be thy tenants, and thy followers? 
 A.re they not new upon the western shore. 
 Safe-conducting the rebels fron« their sliips? 
 
 Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in tht 
 north. [the north, 
 
 K. Rich. Cold friends to me : What do they in 
 When they should serve their sovereign in the west? 
 
 Stan, 'i hey have not been commanded, mighty 
 king : 
 
 Pleascth your niajesty to give me leave, 
 
 rii muster np my friends; and meet your grace. 
 
 Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouidst be gone to join 
 with Richmond : 
 I will not trust you, sir. 
 
 Stan. Most miglity sovereign. 
 
 You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful; 
 1 never was, nor never will be false. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, 
 leave behind 
 
 Your son, George Stanley ; look your heart be firm. 
 Or else liis head's assurance is but frail. 
 
 Stan. So deal with him, as i prove true to you. 
 
 [Exit Statiley. 
 
 Enter a Messewjer. 
 
 Mess. IMy gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, 
 As 1 by friends am well advertised, 
 Sir Edward Courtney, and ttie haughty prelate. 
 Bishop of Exeter, his eider brother, 
 VViih many more confederates, are in arms. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are 
 
 in arms; 
 Ai^d every hour more competitors 
 Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Bucking- 
 
 ham — 
 
 K.Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of 
 death ? {He strikes him.) 
 
 There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 
 
 8 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, 
 Is, — that, by sudden Hoods and lall of waters, 
 Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd; 
 A«d he himself wander'd away alone, 
 No man knows whither. 
 
 K. Rich. O, I cry you mercy : 
 
 There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. 
 Hath any well-advised iriend proclaim'd 
 
 Reward to him that brings the traitor 
 
 [liege. 
 
 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, ray 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord mafquis 
 
 Dorset, 
 
 'T.''i3 said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arras. 
 But this good comfort bring I to vour highness, — ; 
 Thr Erttagne navy is dispers'd by tempest: 
 Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
 iJnto the shore, to ask those on the banks. 
 If they were his assistants, yea, or no ; 
 Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 
 Vpoc his party: he, mistrusting them. 
 
 Hois'd sail, and ma3e his course again for Bretagne. 
 K. Rich. March on, mai ch on, since we are n^ iv 
 arms ; 
 
 If not to fight with foreign enemies. 
 
 Yet to beat down tiiese rebels here at home. 
 
 Enter Catesby. 
 Gate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is takrii| 
 That is the best news; That the earl of Richmond 
 Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
 Is coider news, but yet they must be told. 
 
 K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we 
 reason here, 
 A royal battle might be won and lost : — 
 Some one take order, Buckingham be brought 
 To Salisbury ; — the rest march on with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene Y. — A Room in Lord Stanley's House. 
 Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Urswick. 
 Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from 
 me : — 
 
 That, in the sty of this most bloody boar, 
 My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold; 
 If I revolt, oif goes young George's head ; 
 The fear of that withholds my present aid. 
 But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? 
 Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in 
 Wales. 
 
 Stan. What men of name resort to him ? 
 
 Chris Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; 
 Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley; 
 Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunta 
 And Rice ap Thomas, w'tb a valiant crew ; 
 And many other of great fame and v/oith: 
 And towards London do they bend their course. 
 If by the way they be not fought withal. 
 
 Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me 
 to him ; 
 
 Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented 
 He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
 These t'^tlers will resolve him of .my mind. 
 Farewei^^ {Gives papers to Sir Christopher ) 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Salisbury. An open Place. 
 Enter the Sheriff, and Guard., with Buckingham, 
 led to execution. 
 
 Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with 
 
 him 1 
 
 Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be patient. 
 Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children. Rivers, 
 Grey, 
 
 Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
 
 Vaughan, and all that have miscarried 
 
 By underhand corrupted foul injustice; 
 
 If that your moody discontented souls 
 
 Do through the clouds behold this present hour, 
 
 Even for revenge mock my destruction! — 
 
 This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not 
 
 Sher. It is, my lord. [doomsday. 
 
 Buck. Wfiy, then All-Soul's day is my body's 
 This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, 
 T wish'd might fall on me, when I was found 
 False to his children, or his vvife's allies : 
 This is the day, wherein I vvish'd to fall 
 By the false faith of him whom most I trusted; 
 This, this, All-Souls' day to my fearful soul, 
 Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. 
 That high All-seer which I dallied with, 
 Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head. 
 And given in earnest what I beg^d in jest 
 Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
 To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms : 
 Thjis Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, — 
 When he., quoth she, shall split thy heart wifi 
 sorrow, 
 
 Remember Margaret was a prophetess. — 
 Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame; 
 
5CENE 3. 
 
 KING RICHARD TIT. 
 
 485 
 
 Wrong hath but and blame the due of j 
 
 hiaine. [Exeunt Buckingham, ^c, \ 
 
 ScENK 11. — Plain near Tamwortk. { 
 Enter, tvith drum and colours, [IicHiMOND, Ox- 
 ford, 5i> James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, 
 and others, with Forces marching. 
 Richm. Ffllovvs in arms, and my most loving ; 
 friends, 
 
 Bniis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny. 
 Thus far into the bowels of the land 
 Uavi we nuuch'd on withont impediment; 
 And here receive we from our father Stanley 
 Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
 Tlie wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, 
 Tliat sfioifd your summer fields, and fruitful vin* s, 
 Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his 
 trough 
 
 In your enibovvell'd bosoms, this foul swine 
 Lies now even in the centre of this isle, 
 Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
 From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march. 
 \n God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends. 
 To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
 By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 
 
 Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand 
 To fight against that bloody homicide. [swords. 
 
 Herb. 1 doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. 
 
 Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends 
 for fear ; 
 
 Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. 
 Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's 
 name, march : 
 True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's vings, 
 Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 
 
 [Eseunt. 
 
 Scene lll.—Bosworth Field. 
 Enter King Richard, and Forces : the Duke of 
 NoKFOLK, Sftr/ c// Surrey, and others. 
 K. Rich. Here pitch o i. tents, even here in Bos- 
 worth field. — 
 My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ? 
 Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 
 li. Rich. My lord of Norfolk,— 
 Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 
 
 K. Rick. r^orColk, we must have knacks ; Ha! 
 
 must we not ? 
 Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. 
 K. Rich. Up with my tent : Here will I lie to- 
 night; 
 
 {Soldiers begin to set up the King's tent.) 
 But where, to-morrow ? — Well, all's one for that. — 
 Who hath descried the number of the traitors ? 
 
 Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 
 
 K. Rick. VVhy, our battalia trebles that account: 
 Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, 
 Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
 Up with the tent. — Conae, mhle gentlemen. 
 Let us survey the vantage of the ground ; — 
 Call for some men of sound direction : — 
 Let's want no discipline, make no delay; 
 For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter, on ike otker side of the field, Richmond, 
 Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and otker 
 Lords. Some of tke Soldiers pitch Richmond's 
 tent. 
 
 Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set. 
 And, by the bright track of his fiery car. 
 Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — 
 Sir William Brnndon, you shall bear my standard. — 
 Give me some ink and paper in my tent ; — 
 I II draw the form and model of our battle. 
 Limit each leader to his several chnrge. 
 And part in just proportion our small power. 
 My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William lirandon, — 
 And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me: 
 The earl oi' Peujbroke keeps his regiment;- ■ 
 •3ood captiiu Blunt, bear mv good night to him. 
 
 And by the sec ind hour in the trror:«ng 
 
 Desire the earl to see me in my tent; — 
 
 Yet one tiling more, good captain, do for n»e; 
 
 Wiiere is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you ktKSw? 
 
 Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much^ 
 Which, well I am assiir'd, I have not done,) 
 His regiment lies hall a mile at least 
 South from the mighty power of the king. 
 
 Richm. If without peril it be possible, [hinij 
 Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak witk 
 \nd give him from me tins most needful mtte. 
 
 Blunt. Upon my life, iii> lord, I'll undertake it; 
 And so, God give you quu i rrst to-night! 
 
 Richm. Good night, good i <»ptain Blunt. Coma 
 gentlemen, 
 Let us consult upon to-morrow's business : 
 In to my tent, the air is raw and cold. 
 
 {They withdraw into thb cem 
 
 Enter, to his Tent, King Richard, Norp(^ 
 Ratclipf, and Catesby. 
 
 K. Rick. vV^hat is't o'clock ? 
 
 Cate. It's supper time, my lord j 
 
 It's nme o'clock. 
 
 K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. — 
 
 Give me some ink and paper. — 
 What, is my beaver easier than it was ?— 
 And all my armour laid into my tent? [diness. 
 
 Gate. It is, my liege; and all things are in rea- 
 
 K. Rick. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; 
 Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 
 
 Nor. I go, my lord. [Norfolk 
 
 K. Rick. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle 
 
 Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit 
 
 K. Rick. RatcHtF,— 
 
 Rat. My lord ? 
 
 K. Rick. Send out a pursuivant at airma 
 
 To Stanley's regiir^ent ; bid him bring his powei 
 Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall 
 Into the blind cave of eternal nigl t. — 
 Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch : — * 
 
 {To Catesby.. 
 Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — 
 Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. 
 Ratcliff,— 
 
 Rat. My lord ? [thumberland ? 
 
 K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord Nor- 
 
 Rat. Thomas, the earl of Surrey, and himself. 
 Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop. 
 Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. 
 
 K. Rick. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine. 
 I have not that alacrity of spirit. 
 Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. — 
 So, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready? 
 
 Rat. It is, my lord. 
 
 K. Rick. Bid my guard watch ; leave me. 
 
 About the mid of night, come to my tent 
 And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say. 
 
 [King Rickard retires into his tent. Exeunt 
 Raicliff and Catesby. 
 
 Richmond's Tent opens, and discovers him and 
 his Officers, ^c. 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Stan. Fortunes and victory sit on thy helm '. 
 
 Richm. All conifort that the dark night can alforJ, 
 Be to thy person, noble falher-in-iaw i 
 Tell me, how fares our loving mother? 
 
 Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy niothef) 
 Who prays continually for Richmond's good : 
 So much for that. — The silent hours steal od. 
 And flaky dfakness breaks within the east. 
 In brief, for so the season bid us be, 
 Prepare thy battle early in the morning; 
 And put thj fortune to the arbitrement 
 Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war, 
 I, as I may, (that which I would, I cantjot,) 
 With best advantage will deceive the tim«. 
 And aid thee in this doubtfa! shock of aru&as. 
 But on thy side I may not be too forward. 
 
ISG 
 
 Lfst, being^ seenrtJiy brotJjer, tender George, 
 Be executed in his father's sigl>t. 
 Farewell : The leisure and the I'earful tim s 
 Cuts olf the ceremonious vows of love, 
 And ample interchange of sweet disco'irse. 
 Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon: 
 God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
 Onre more, adieu : — Be valiant, and speed well! 
 
 Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment: 
 1 11 strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap; 
 Lest leaden slumber peise me down to nioi row, 
 When I should mount with wings of victory: 
 Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. 
 
 [ExfAint London, ^c. with Stanley. 
 O Thou! whose captain 1 account mysflf. 
 Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
 Put ill their hands thy bruising irons of wrath. 
 That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
 The usurping helmets of our adversaries^! 
 Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
 That we may praise thee in thy victory ! 
 To thee I do comment my watchful soid, 
 Ere 1 let fall the windows of mine eyes : 
 Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still I [Sleeps.) 
 
 The Ghost of Prince Edward, son to Henry the 
 Sixthy rises between the two tents. 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 
 
 {To King Richard.) 
 Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of 
 youth 
 
 At Tewksburv ; Despair therefore, and die : — 
 Be cheerfid, Richmond ; for the wronged souls 
 Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf: 
 King Henry's issue, Richmond, coniforts thee. 
 
 Ths Ghost of King Henry the Sixth rises. 
 Ghost. When I was mortal, my auointi d body 
 
 {To King Richard.) 
 By tbee was punched full of deadly holes : 
 Think on the Tower and niP ; Desjjair, and die ; 
 Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. — 
 Vii tuous and holy, be thou conqueror 1 
 
 To Richmond.) 
 Harry, that prophesy d thou should'st be king, 
 Dotli couifort thee iu thy sleep; Live, and llourish I 
 
 The Ghost of Clarence rises. 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on tlvy soul to-morrow I 
 ( To King Richard.) 
 I, that was wash'd to death with fiilsou»e wine. 
 Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death! 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me. 
 And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! — 
 Thou olTspring of the house of Lancaster, 
 
 {To Richmond.) 
 The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ; 
 Good angels guard thy battle ! Live, and flourish ! 
 
 The Ghosts o/ Rivers, Grey, and Vaugh vn, rise. 
 Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, 
 
 {To King Richard.) 
 Rivers, that died at Pomfret! Despair, and die ! 
 Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul des- 
 pair! {To King Richard.) 
 Vaiigh. Think upon Vaughan; and, with guilty 
 Let fall thy lance! Despair, and die! — [fear, 
 {To King Richard.) 
 All. Awake ! and think, our wrongs in Richard's 
 bosom {To Richmond.) 
 Will conqper him; — awake, and win the day! 
 
 The Ghost of Hastings rises. 
 Qhost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awfike ; 
 
 {To' King Richard.) 
 A ifd in a bloody battle end thy days ! 
 Think on lord Hastings; and despair, and die! — 
 Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! 
 
 {To Richmond.) 
 Arra^ fight, and croqucr, for fair England's sake ! 
 
 Act V, 
 
 The Ghosts of the two yount Princes rise. 
 
 Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the 
 Tower; 
 
 Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, 
 And weigh thee down to ruin, sliame, and death! 
 'J'by nephews' soids bid thee despair, and die. — 
 Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake ii 
 
 joy; 
 
 Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! 
 Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
 Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 
 
 The Ghost of Queen Anne rises. 
 
 Ghost. Richard, thy wile, that wretched Annt 
 thy wife. 
 
 That never slept a quiet hour with thee, 
 Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me. 
 And fall thy edgeless swor»l ; Despair, and die !— 
 Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sl< ep; 
 
 {To Richmond.; 
 Dream of success and happy victory; 
 Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 
 
 The Ghost of Buckingham rises. 
 
 Ghost. The first was I, that help'd thee to the 
 crown: {To King Richard.) 
 
 The last was I that felt thy tyranny: 
 O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
 And die in terror of thy guiltiness! 
 Dream on, dream on, of bloody dreds and death ; 
 Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath! — 
 I died for hope, ere I could lend <Iipp aid : 
 
 (7'; Rirhmond^i 
 But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd : 
 God, and good angels fight on Richmond's side; 
 And Richard falls in height of all his pride. 
 
 {The Ghosts vanish. King Richard starH 
 out of his dream.) 
 K.Rich. Give me another horse, — bind s;* my 
 wounds, — 
 
 Have mercy, Jesu !— Soft; — I did but dream. — 
 
 0 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!— 
 The lights burn blue. — It is now <lead miduight. 
 Cold fearful drops stand on my trembWng flfsh. 
 What do I fear? myself? there's none else by: 
 Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. 
 
 Is there a murderer here? No; — Yes; I arn . 
 Then fly, — What, from myself? Great reaaaa: 
 Why? 
 
 Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself? 
 
 1 love mysflf Wherefore? for any good. 
 That I myself have done unto myself? 
 
 O, no* alas, ! rather hate myself. 
 
 For hateful deeds committed by myself. 
 
 I am a villain : Yet 1 lie, I am not. 
 
 Fool, of thyself speak well : — Fool, do not flatter. 
 
 My conscienice hath a thousand several tongues, 
 
 very tongue brings in a several tale. 
 And every tale cond-emns n>e for a villain. 
 Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree. 
 Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; 
 All several sins, ail us'd in each degree. 
 Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty ! guilty! 
 I shall despair. — There is no creature loves mc; 
 And, if I die, no soul will pity me : 
 Nay, wherefore .should they ? since that I myself 
 Find in myself no pity to myself. 
 Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd 
 Came to my tent: and every one did threat 
 To-morrow's vengeance oa the head of Richard. 
 
 Enter Ratclifp. 
 Rat. My lord,- 
 K. Rich. Who's there? 
 
 Rat. Ratclili; my lord ; 'tis L The early vill«i» 
 cock 
 
 Hath twice done sahitation to the morn ; 
 
 Your frierids are i>p and buckle on their armoor 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
SCENH 3. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 487 
 
 K. Rich. O, RatcIifF, I have art'am'd a fearful 
 dream ! — 
 
 What thinkest thou? will our friends prove all true ? 
 Rat. No doubt, niy lord. 
 
 K. Rich, Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,— 
 
 Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not aliaid of sha- 
 dows. 
 
 K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, 
 Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, 
 Armed in proof, and led bv shallow Richmond, 
 it is not yet near day. Cofe'e, go with me ; 
 Under our tents 111 play the eaves dropper, 
 To hear, if any mean to shrink irom me. 
 
 {Exeunt Kiny Richard and Ratcliff. 
 
 Utchmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others. 
 
 Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. 
 Rich, Cry niercy, lords, and watchful gentle- 
 men, 
 
 That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 
 Lords, How have you slept, my lord ? 
 Rich. The sweetest sleep, and fairest boding 
 dreams. 
 
 That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, 
 Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
 Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard 
 murder'd, 
 
 Came to my tent, and cried— On ! victory ! 
 ( promise you, my heart is very jocund 
 In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
 How far into the morning is it, lords? 
 
 Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
 
 Rich, Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give 
 direction.— (He advances to the Troops.) 
 More than I have said, loving countrymen, 
 The leisure and enforceaent of the time 
 Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, — 
 God, and our good cause, fight upon onr side : 
 The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls. 
 Like tiiah-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces ; 
 Richard except, those, whom we light against. 
 Had ratlier have us win, tirrui him they follow. 
 For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, 
 A bloodv tvrant, and a homicide; 
 One rais'd in blood, ond one in blood establish'd ; 
 One tiiat made means to come by what he hath, 
 And slaiighter'd those that were the means to help 
 liiuj; 
 
 A base foul ston>3, made precious by the foil 
 
 Of England's chair, where he is falsely set 
 
 O.-ie tiiat hath ever been God's enemy: 
 
 Then, if you figlit against God's enemy, 
 
 Gild will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers; 
 
 It you do sweat to put a tyrant down. 
 
 You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; 
 
 If you do fi^ht apiinst your country's foes, 
 
 Vour country's (at shall pay your pains the hire; 
 
 If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, 
 
 Voiu- wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 
 
 If you do free your children froin tiie sword, 
 
 Your children's children quit it in your age. 
 
 Then, in the name of God, and all these rights, 
 
 Advance your standards, draw your willing swords : 
 
 Fwr rtie, the ransom of my bold attempt 
 
 Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; 
 
 Hut if I tiirive, the gain of my attempt 
 
 The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
 
 Sound, dr sand trumpets, boldly and cheerfully; 
 
 Gud, and Saint George .' Richmond, and victory ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 He enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants, 
 
 and Forces. 
 
 K. Rick. Wh..t said Northumberland, as touch- 
 ing Richmond ? 
 
 Rat. Tnat he was never trained up in arms. 
 
 K. Rich. He said tlie truth • And what said Surrey 
 tJUeu ? 
 
 Rat. He sniil'd and said, tl. e better for our purpose 
 K. Rich. He was i' the right; and so, iudted, it i 
 {Clock strikes 
 Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. — 
 Who saw the sun to-day ? 
 
 Rat. Not I, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Then he disdains to sliine ; for, by th 
 book. 
 
 He should have brav'd the east an hour ago: 
 A black day will it be to somebody.^ 
 Ratclitf,— 
 
 Rat. My lord ? 
 
 K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day; 
 
 The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
 I would, these dewy tears were from the ground. 
 Not shine to-day I Why, vvhat is that to me. 
 More than to Richmond ? for the selfsame heaven 
 That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. 
 
 Enter Norfolk. 
 Nor, Arm, arm, niy lord ; the foe vaunts in the 
 field. [horse;— 
 K. Rich. Come, bnstle, bustle ; — Caparison my 
 Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:— 
 I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, 
 And thus my battle shall be ordered. 
 My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, 
 Consisting equally of horse and foot; 
 Our archers shall be placed in the midst: 
 John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, 
 Shall have the leading of this fox)t and horse. 
 They thus directed, we ourself will follow 
 In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side 
 Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
 This, and Saint George to boot! — What think 'st 
 thou, Norfolk? 
 Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. — 
 This found I on my tent this morning. 
 
 {Giving a scroll,) 
 K. Rich, {Reads.) Jocky of Norfolk, be not too 
 bnldy 
 
 For Dickon thy master is bought and sold. 
 A thing devised by the enemy. — 
 Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge : 
 Let not our babbling dreams aliVight our souls; 
 Conscience is but a word that cowards use, 
 Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe ; 
 Our strong arms be our conscience, swords onr law, 
 March, on, join bravely, let ns to't pell-mell ; 
 If not to heaven, then nand in hand to hell. — 
 Wiiat shall I say more than I have infer'd ? 
 Remejuber whom you are to cope withal ; — 
 A sort of vagabonas, rascals, and run-aw3;«, 
 A scum of Rretagnes, and base lackey peasants 
 Whom their o'er-cloy'd country voi.iits forth 
 To desperate ventm-es and assur'd destruction. 
 You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest ; 
 You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wi»'«9, 
 They v\'ouId restrain the one, distain the other. 
 And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow- 
 Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost? 
 A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
 Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? 
 Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas agaio,* 
 Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, 
 These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; 
 Who, but for dreaming on this fond exjdoit. 
 For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd th^«m- 
 se! ves : 
 
 If we be conqiier'd, let men conquer us. 
 And not these bastard Bretagnes? whom our fal!»erf 
 Have in their own laud beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd. 
 And, on kecord, left them the heirs of shame. 
 Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our vvives? 
 Ravish our daughters ?--Hark, I hear their druro. 
 
 {Drum afar off^ 
 Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen i 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head I 
 Spur your proud horses hard, ana ride in blood; 
 Anjay.H the welkin vvi'Ji youi h:cker. stave* i 
 
*88 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act ? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 What snys lord Stanley? will he brifig his power? 
 
 Me9s. My lord, he doth deny to come. 
 
 K. Rich. Off instantly with his son George's head. 
 
 Nor. My lord, the enemy is passd the marsh; 
 A-fter the battle let George Stanley die. 
 
 K. Bich. A thousand hearts are great within my 
 bosom : 
 
 Advance our standards, set upon our foes; 
 Our ancieet word of courage, fair Saint George, 
 Inspire us Avi*th the spleen of fiery dragons! 
 Upon then ! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene \Y.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions. Enter Norfolk, and 
 Forces ; to him Catesby. 
 
 Gate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue ! 
 The king enacts more wonders than a man> 
 Daring an opposite to every danger; 
 His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights. 
 Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death : 
 Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost I 
 
 Alarum. Enter King Richard. 
 K, Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a 
 horse ! 
 
 Gate. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse. 
 
 K. Rich. Slave, 1 have set my life upon a cast, 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die ; 
 f think, there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
 Five have I slain to-day, instead of him : — 
 A horse ! a horse ! niy kingdom for a horse ! 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond , 
 and exeunt, fighting. Retreat, and flourish. 
 Then enter Richmond, Stanley hearing the 
 crotvn, tirith divers other Lords., and Forces. 
 Richm. God, and your arras, be praia'd, vict;>- 
 rion?! friends ; 
 
 The day w oars, the bloody is ^t-A, 
 
 Stan. Courageous Richmond, well ha&t thoQ ac- 
 quit thee ! 
 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty. 
 From the dead temples of this bloody Jvretch 
 Have I pluck'd o(t, to grace thy biows withal; 
 Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 
 
 Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to ail .'— 
 But, tell me first, is young George Stanley ii\ing ? 
 
 Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town ; 
 Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw 
 us. [side? 
 
 Richm. What men of name are slain d either 
 
 Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers 
 Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. 
 
 Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes tlieir births. 
 Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, 
 That in submission will return to us; 
 And then, as we have ta'en the sacramf nt. 
 We will unite the white rose with the red : — 
 Sntiie heaven upon this fair conjimction. 
 That long hath irowu'd upon their eianity ! — 
 What traitor hears me, and says not, — ;unen? 
 England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself 
 The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, 
 The father rashly slaughterd his own son. 
 The son, compeli'd, been butcher to the sire; 
 All this divided York and Lancaster, 
 Divided, in their dire division. — 
 O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, 
 The true succeeders of each royal house, 
 By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! 
 Aud let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so,) 
 Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace 
 With smiling plenty, and fair p osperous days! 
 Abrite the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
 'J''hat would reduce these bloody d lys again, 
 And make poor Englaud weep in streams of blood! ! 
 Let them not live to taste this land's nicrease, 
 'J'hat would with treason wound this fiir land's peace 
 Now civil wouuds are stopp'd, peace lives again; 
 i'hsX stje may long live here, God say—Auien! 
 
 » 
 
KING HENRY VIII 
 
 •file play of Henry tlie Eighth is one of 'hose which still keeps possession of the staj^e hy the splendour of 
 its pageantry. The coronation, about forty years ago, drew the people together in multitudes lor a great par 
 of the winter. Yet pomp i-i not the only merit of this play. The meek sorrows, and virtuous distress, of Katha* 
 fine, have furnished some scenes, which may be. justly numbered among the greatest ettorts of tragedy. But the 
 genius of Shakspeare comes iu and goes out with Kaihariue. Every other part may be easily conceived and easily 
 written. 
 
 The second scene of the fourth act is above any other of Shakspeare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene of 
 aay other poet: tender and pathetic, without gods, or furies, or poisons, or precipices; without the help ©/ 
 romantic circumstances, without improbable sallies of poetical lamentation, and without any throes of tuumltuou* 
 miser}'. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. 
 CARDINAL WO SEY. 
 
 CARDINAL CAMFiilUS. , t 
 
 C\PUCIIJS. Ambassador from the Emperor Charles T 
 CRANMl^Ul, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 DUKE OF NORf-'OLK. 
 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 DUKE OP SUFFOLK. 
 EARL OF SURltEY. 
 Lord Chtiiibr'rtaiu. 
 
 Lord Chancel/or 
 
 GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester, 
 BISHOP OK LINCOLN. 
 LORD ABERGAVENNY. 
 LORD SANDS 
 SIR HENKV GUBLDFORD. 
 SIR THOMAS LOVELL. 
 SIR ANTtiONY DENNY. 
 SIR NICHOLAS VAUX. 
 Secretaries to Wolsey, 
 CllOMWELL, Servant to Wolsey. 
 
 GRIFFITH, Gentlemxn- Usher to Queen Katharine. 
 
 Three ofhsr Gentlemen. 
 
 DOCTOR BUTTS, Physician to the King. 
 
 Garter, King at Arms. 
 
 Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 BRAN DON, and a Sergeant at Arms. 
 
 Duor keeper of the Council- Chamber. 
 
 Porter, and his Man. 
 
 Page to Gardiner. 
 
 A Crier. 
 
 QUEEN KATHARINE, Wife to King Henry, afterwardi 
 
 divorced. 
 
 ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwartU 
 Queen. 
 
 An old Lady, Friend to Anne Bullen. 
 
 PATIENCE, Woman to Queen Katharine. 
 
 Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows ; Women 
 attending upon the Queen ; Spirits which appear to 
 her.- Scribes, Officers Guards, and other Attetui- 
 ants. 
 
 Scene, — Chiejly in London and Westminster ; once at Kimbolton, 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 I come no nmre to make yon laugh ; things now. 
 Thai bear a weighty and a serious brow. 
 Sad, high, and working;, full of state and woe. 
 Such n()!>le scenes as draw the eye to flow, 
 Wc now present. Those that can pity, here 
 May, ifthey think it well, let fall a tear; 
 The subject will de,serve it. Such, as give 
 Their money out of hope they may believe, 
 May here Hnd truth too. Those, that come to see 
 Only a shew or two, and so agree. 
 The plav may pass; ifthey be still, and willing, 
 I'll undi /take, may see away their shilling 
 Richly in two short hours. Only they, 
 That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, 
 A noise of targets ; or to see a fellow 
 In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow, 
 Will be rieceiv'd: for, gentle hearers, know, 
 To rank our cliosen truth with such a shew 
 As fool and tight is, beside forfeiting 
 Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
 ('I'o make that only true we now intend,) 
 Will leave iis never an understanding friend. 
 Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known 
 The first and happiest hearers of the town, 
 Be sad, as we would make ye : think, ye see 
 The very persons of our noble story. 
 As they were living; think you see them great, 
 And follow'd with the gene'&l 'chn;-2g, aad sweatj 
 Of thousand friends; then, in a moment. s«e 
 How loon this mightiness m'=?et3 misery! 
 And, if you can be merry then, I'll soiy, 
 A man may weep upon his w>'ddingr da^^ 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. — London. An Ance-cfiamher in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter the Duhe o/ Norfolk, at one door; at the 
 other, the. o/ BUCKINGHAM, and the Lord 
 
 Abergavenny. 
 
 Buck. Good morrow, and weii met. How have 
 you done. 
 
 Since last we saw in France ? 
 
 Nor. I tbark foar grace t 
 
 Healthful ; and ever since a fresh adcaijer 
 Of what I saw there. 
 
 Buck. An untimely ague 
 
 Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
 Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, 
 Met in the vale of Arde. 
 
 Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Ard« ; 
 
 I was then present, saw them salute on horseback ; 
 Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung 
 In their enibracement, as they grew together; 
 Which had they, what four thron'd ones could ha?a 
 
 weighd 
 Such a compounded one ? 
 
 Buck. All the whole time 
 
 I was my chamber's prisoner 
 
 Nor. Then you lost > 
 
 The view of earthly glory : Men might say. 
 Till this time pomp was single; but now married 
 To one above itself. Each following day 
 Became the next day's master, till the last 
 Made former wonders its : To-day, the French, 
 All clinquant, all in go.J, like heathen god.<i, 
 Shone down the English ; and, to-morrow, they 
 Made Britain, India : every man, that stood, 
 Shew'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
 As chernbims, all gilt : the madams too, 
 Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
 The pride upon them, that their very labour 
 Was to them as a painting : now this mask 
 Was cry'd incomparable ; and the ensuing nigh) 
 Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kingSj 
 Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst. 
 As presence did present them ; him in eye, 
 Still him in praise : and, being present both, 
 'Twas said they saw but one ; and no discerner 
 Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these sunt 
 (For so they j)hra.se them,) by iheir heralds chal 
 leng'd 
 
 The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
 Beyond thought's compass : that former fabalouf 
 story. 
 
 Being now seen possible enough, got cred. 
 
490 
 
 KING HENRY Vlll. 
 
 Act T. 
 
 That Eeus was believ'd. 
 
 Buck. O, you go far. 
 
 Nor. As I belong to worship, and atfect 
 111 hoiioiir honesty, the tract oi every tiling 
 Would hy a good disconrser lose some lil'e, 
 V\ hich action's self was tongue to. All was royal; 
 'J'o the disposing of it nought rebell'd, 
 Order gave each thing view ; the ultice did 
 Distinctly his full function. 
 
 Buck. Who did guide, 
 
 I inran, v\ ho set the body and the limbs 
 or this gieat sport togetlier, as you gu'jss ? 
 
 Nor. One, certes, that promises no element 
 In such a business. 
 Back. I pray yon, who, my lord ? 
 
 Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion 
 Ol tiie rigiit reverend cardinal of York. 
 
 Buck. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is free'd 
 Frcui Iris aml>itious finger. What had he 
 '1 \> do in these fierce vanities ? 1 wonder, 
 Tiiat such a keech can with his very bulk 
 Take up the ray o' the beneficial suri, 
 And keep it from the earth. 
 
 Nu?: Surely, sir, 
 
 Tiiere's in him stuif, that puts hin» to these ends : 
 For being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose grace 
 Chaik.i successors their way,) nor cail'd upon 
 For i!i}>h teats done to the crown ; neither allie-d 
 ' To emuient assistants, but. spider-like, 
 Out v»l"his self drawing web, he gives us note, 
 Tlie lorce of his own merit makes his way; 
 A gilt that Heaven gives for him, which buys 
 A pl^ice next to the king. 
 
 Aber. I cannot tell 
 
 Wiial l)eaven hath given him, let sonje graver eye 
 Pierce into that ; but 1 can see his pride 
 l^eep through each part of him : Wlience has he that? 
 If not IVoin hell ti.e devil is a niggard; 
 Or liiis gi\ en all before, and he begms 
 A new hell in himself. 
 
 B/icL Why the devil. 
 
 Upon this French going-out, took he upon hira, 
 W'itf out the privity o' the i^ing, to appoint 
 Wiio siiould attend on him ^ He makes up the file 
 or all the gentry ; for the most part such 
 Too. whom as great a charge as little honour 
 Ho liieant to lay upon: and his own letter, 
 'I'lio honourable boara of council out, 
 Mu'-'t fetcfai hira in the papers. 
 
 AOer. 1 do know 
 
 Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
 By this so sicken'd their estates, that never 
 Th! y sh;ill abound as formerly. 
 
 Buck. O, many 
 
 Have broke their backs with laying manors on them 
 For this (;reat journey. What did this vanity, 
 B;it uiuuster couiuiunication of 
 A most poor issue ? 
 
 Nor. Grievingly I think, 
 
 The peace between the French and us not values 
 Tlip cost that dill conclude it. 
 
 Buck. Every man. 
 
 Alter the hideous storm that follow'd, was 
 A thing inspir'd: and, not consulting, broke 
 Into a general prophecy, — 'I'hat this tempest, 
 D.ishinj, tiie garment of this peace, aboded 
 The sudded breach on't. 
 
 Nor, Which is budded out; 
 
 For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd 
 Our Tnerchants' goods at Bourdeaux. 
 
 Aber. Is it therefore 
 
 The ambassador is silenc'd ? 
 
 Nor. Marry, is't. 
 
 Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and |.urchas'd 
 At a superfluous rate I 
 
 Buck. Why, all this business 
 
 Our re\erend cardinal carried. 
 
 Nor. 'Like it j^our grace, 
 
 The state takes notice of the pri\ate ditference 
 lietvvixt you and the cardinal. I advise you. 
 
 (And take it from a heart, that w ishes (owurds jot 
 Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read 
 Tlie cardinal's malice and his potency 
 Together : to consider further, that 
 Wtiat his high hatred wotdd ellect, wants not 
 A minister in his power : You know his nature, 
 Tlial he's revengeful ; and I know, his sword 
 Hath a sharp edge : it's long, and, it may be said. 
 It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend, 
 Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, 
 You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes thai 
 'i'hat I advise your shunning. [rock^ 
 
 Enter Cardinal Wolsey, ft/ie purse borne befora 
 him J certaiti of the Guard, and two Secretaries 
 with papers. The Cardinal in hi-t passaijn Jixeth 
 his eye on Buckingham, and Buckimjham on 
 Aim, both full of disdain. 
 
 Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor? ha? 
 Where's his examination ? 
 
 1 Seer. Here, so please you. 
 
 Wol. Is he in person ready ? 
 
 1 Seer. Ay, please your grace 
 
 Wol. Well, we shall then know more ; and Buck- 
 ingham 
 Shall lessen this big look. 
 
 [Exeunt Wolsey, and Train, 
 
 Bmc^. This butcher s cur is venom-niouiird, and I 
 Have not the power to nsuzzle him ; thereiore, best 
 Not wake him in his slumber. A beggars book 
 Out-worths a noble's blood. 
 
 Nor. What, are you chaf'd ? 
 
 Ask God for temperance ; that's the appliance oiilj 
 W hich your disease requires. 
 
 Buck. I read in his looks 
 
 Matter against me ; and his eye revil d 
 Me, as his abject object : at I'jis instant 
 He bores me with some trick : He's gone to the king 
 I'll follow, and out-stare him. 
 
 Nor. Stay, my lord, 
 
 And let your reason with your choler question 
 What 'tis you go about : To climb sleep hills. 
 Requires slow pace at first : Anger is like 
 A lull hot horse ; vvho being allovv'd his way. 
 Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
 Can advise ine like you : be to yourself 
 As y(»u would to your friend. 
 
 Buck. I'll to the king ; 
 
 And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
 This lijswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim. 
 There's ditierence in no persons. 
 
 Nor. Be advis'd ; 
 
 He<.t not a furnace for your foe so hot, 
 That it do singe yourself: We may outrun. 
 By violent swiftness, that which we run at, 
 And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
 'I'he fire, tnat mounts the liquor till it run o'er. 
 In seeuiing to aiiguient it, wastes it? Be advis'd : 
 I say again, there is no English soul 
 More stronger to direct you than yourself, 
 If with the sap of reason you would quenchi, 
 Or but allay, the fire of passion. 
 
 Buck. Sir, 
 I am thankful to you ; and I'll gc along 
 By your prescription : — but this t. p proud fellow 
 (Whom from the {low ot gall I name not, but 
 From sincere motions,) by intelligence. 
 And proofs as clear as founts in Jtdy, when 
 We see eacii grain of gravel, I do know 
 To lie corrupt and treasonous. 
 
 Nur. Say not, treasonous* 
 
 Buck. To the king I'll say't; and make my vuuci 
 as strong 
 
 As shore oi' rock. Attend. This holy toi. 
 Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous. 
 As he is subtle ; and as prone to mischief, 
 As able to perform it : his mind and place 
 Infecting one another, \ea, reciprocally,) 
 Only to shew his pomp as well in France 
 As nere at hoiue,<isuggests the king our uiacter 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 493 
 
 Tn this last costly treaty, the interview, 
 '•'hat .swa/lovv'd so much treasure, and like a glass 
 break i' the rinsing. 
 AV^r. 'Faith, and so it did. 
 
 Buih, Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning 
 cardiniil 
 
 Th( articles o' the combination drew. 
 As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified, 
 As he cried, Thus let be : to as mucii end. 
 As give a crutch to the dead : But our count-car- 
 dinal 
 
 Has done this, and 'tis well ; for worthy Wolsey, 
 Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, 
 (VVliich, as 1 take it, is a kind of puppy 
 To the old dam, treason,) — Charles the emperor, 
 Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, 
 (For 'twas, indeed, his colour ; but he came 
 To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation : 
 His fears were, that the interview betwixt 
 England and France might, through their amity, 
 Breed hini some p.>-ejudice ; for from this league 
 Peep'd harms, that menac'd him : He privily 
 Deals with our cardinal ; and, as 1 trow, — 
 Which I do well ; for, I am sure, the empe-or 
 Paid ere he promis'd ; whereby his suit was granted. 
 Ere it was ask'd ; — but when the way was made, 
 And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ; — 
 That he would please to alter the king's course. 
 And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, 
 (As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal 
 Does buy and sell his homiur as he pleases. 
 And for his own advantage. 
 
 Nor. I am sorry 
 
 To bear this of him ; and could wish, he were 
 Something mistaken in't. 
 
 Buck. No, not a syllable ; 
 
 I do pronounce him in that very shape. 
 He shall appear in proof. 
 
 Ekittr Brandon ; a Sergeant at Arms before him, 
 and two or three of the Guard. 
 
 Bran. Your office, sergeant; execute it. 
 
 Serg Sir, 
 My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl 
 Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 
 Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
 Of our most sovereign king. 
 
 Buclc. Lo you, my lord. 
 
 The net has fallen upon me ; I shall perish 
 Under device and practice. 
 
 Bran. I am sorry 
 
 To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
 The business present; 'Tis his highness* pleasure, 
 Vou shall to the Tower. 
 
 Buck. It will help me nothing. 
 
 To plead mine innocence ; for that die is on me, 
 Which makes my whitest part black. The will of 
 heaven 
 
 Be done in this ard all things ! — I obey. — 
 
 my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. 
 
 Bran. Nay, he must bear you company: — The 
 king {To Abergavenny.) 
 
 Is pleas'd you shall to the Tower, till you know 
 How he determines further. 
 
 Aber. As the duke said. 
 
 The wiU of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure 
 By me obey'd. 
 
 Brand. Here is a warrant from 
 The king, to attach lord Montacute ; and the bodies 
 Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court, 
 One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 
 
 Buck. So, so ; 
 
 These are the limbs of the plot : No more, I hope. 
 
 Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux. 
 
 Buck. O, Nicolas Hopkins ? 
 
 Bran. He. 
 
 Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great car- 
 dinal 
 
 Hath shew'd him gold : my life is spann'd already : 
 I am the sliadow of poor Buckingham; 
 
 Whose figure even this instant clond puts ca, 
 By dark'ning my clear sun. — My lord, farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ScENK H. — The Council-Chamber. 
 Cornets. Enter King Henry. Cardinal Wcf^sEY 
 the Lords of the Con7icil, Sir Thomas Lev ell, 
 OJicers, and Attendants. The King enters^ 
 leaning on the Cardinal s shoulder. 
 K. Hen. My life itself, and <rhe best heart of it, 
 Tlianks you for this great care : I stood i' the level 
 Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks 
 To you, that chok'd it. — Let be call'd before us 
 That gentleman of Buckingham's : in persr)n 
 I'll hear him his confessions justify ; 
 And point by point the treasons of his master 
 He shall again relate. 
 
 The King takes his State. The Lords of the 
 Coimcil take their several places. The Cardinal 
 places himself under tlie King's feet, on his 
 right side. 
 
 A noise ivithin, crying. Room for the Queen, 
 Enter the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of 
 Norfolk and Suffolk : she kneels. The King 
 risethfrom his State, takes her ujy, kisses, and 
 placeth her by him. 
 
 Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel : I am a 
 suitor. 
 
 K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us : — Half 
 your suit 
 
 Never name to us ; you have half our power : 
 'J'he other moiety, ere you ask, is given; 
 Repeat your will, and take it. 
 
 Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 
 
 That you would love yourself; and, in that love. 
 Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor 
 The dignity of your office, is the point 
 Of my petition. 
 
 K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 
 
 Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, 
 And those of true condition, that your subjects 
 Are in great grievance : there have been commis - 
 sions 
 
 Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart 
 Of all their loyalties : — wherein, although, 
 My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
 Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
 Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
 (Whose honour heaven shield from soil ! ) evea he 
 escapes not 
 
 Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
 The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
 In loud rebellion. 
 
 Nor. Not almost appears. 
 
 It doth appear : for, upon these taxations, 
 The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
 The many to them 'longing, have put off 
 The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
 Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger. 
 And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
 Darino^ the event to the teeth, are all in uproar. 
 And danger serves among them. 
 
 K. Hen. 
 
 Taxatic 
 
 Wherein ? and what taxations ? — My lord cardinal 
 You, that are blam'd for it alike with us, 
 K now you of this taxation ? 
 
 Wol. Please you, sir, 
 
 I know but of a single part, in aught 
 Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file. 
 Where others tell steps with me. 
 
 Q. Kath. No, my lord. 
 
 You know no more than others : but you frame 
 Things, that are known alike ; which are not whole 
 some 
 
 To those which would not know them, and yetmual 
 Perforce be their accjuaintance. 'I'hese exactions, 
 Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
 Most pestilejjt to the hearing ; and, to bear them. 
 The back is sacrifice to tlie load. They say. 
 They are devis'd by you ; or else you .suffer 
 
4 2 
 
 T K> hrird an exclamation. 
 
 K. Hen, Still exaction ! 
 
 The nature of it? In what kiud, let's know. 
 Is til is ex fiction? 
 
 Q, Kath. I am much too venturous 
 [n teiifpting of your patience ; but am bolden'd 
 Under your proniis'd pardon. Tlie subject's grief 
 Comes through commissions, which compel from 
 each 
 
 The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
 Without delay ; and the pretence for this 
 Is nam'd, your wars in France : — This makes bold 
 mouths : 
 
 l^ong-ues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 
 
 Allegiance in them : their curses now 
 
 Live, where their prayers did : and it's come to pass. 
 
 That tractable obedience is a slave 
 
 To each incensed will. I would, your highness 
 
 Would give it quick consideration, for 
 
 There is no primer business. 
 
 K. Hen. By my life, 
 
 This is against our pleasure. 
 
 Wol. And for me, 
 
 I have no further gone in this, than by 
 A single voice; and that not pass'd me, but 
 By learned approbation of the judges. 
 If I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know 
 My faculties, nor pepson^ yet will be 
 The chronicles of my domg, — let me say, 
 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake, 
 That virtue must go through. We must not stint 
 Our necessary actions, in the fear 
 To riipe malicious censurers; which ever, 
 As lavenous fishes, do a vessel follow. 
 That is new trimm'd; but benefit no further 
 Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
 Hy sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
 Nut ours, or not allowed ; what worst, as oft, 
 I Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
 
 For our btst act. If we shall stand still, 
 ; In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
 I W e should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 ' State statues only. 
 
 K. Hen. Things done well, 
 
 And with a care, exempt themselves from fear: 
 rhings, done without example, in their issue 
 Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
 Of this commission ? I believe, not any. 
 We must not rend our subjects from our laws. 
 And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? 
 A trembling contribution ! Why, we take. 
 From every tree, lop, bark, and parto' the timber; 
 And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, 
 The air will drink the sap. To every county, 
 Where (his is question'd, send our letters, with 
 Free pardon to each man that has denied 
 The force of this commission : Pray, look to't ; 
 I put it to your care. 
 
 Wol. A word with you. 
 
 (To the Secretary.) 
 Let there be letters writ to every shire, 
 Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd com- 
 mons 
 
 Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd. 
 That, through our intercession, this revokement 
 And pardon comes: I shall anon adsise you 
 Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary. 
 
 Enter Surveyor. 
 
 Q. Kath. I am sorry, that the duke of Buckingham 
 Is run in your displeasure. 
 
 K. Hen It grieves many: 
 
 The gentleman is leam'd, and a most raie speaker. 
 To n-.iture none more hound : his tiaining such, j 
 That he n»ay furnish and instruct great teachers, 
 And never seek for aid out of himself. ! 
 \etsee 
 
 When tliese so noble benefit* shall prove 
 
 Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, 
 
 *^hey turn to vicious forms, ten time=; more ugly 
 
 Act I 
 
 Than e\erthey were fair. This man so complete, ' 
 
 W^lio was enrol I'd 'inongst wonders, and when we. 
 
 Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not fiud ' 
 
 His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady. 
 
 Hath into monstrous habits put the graces. 
 
 That once were his, and is become as black 
 
 As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us ; you shall hea 
 
 n^his was his gentleman in trust,] ol him 
 
 Things to strike honour sad. — Bid him recount 
 
 The fore-recited practices ; whereof 
 
 We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 
 
 Wol. Stand forth : and with bold spirit relate whal 
 you, 
 
 Most like a careful subject, have collected 
 Out of the duke of Buckingham. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak freely. 
 
 Surv. First, it was usual with liiui, every day 
 I t would infect his speech, That if the king 
 Should without issue die, he'd carry it so 
 To make the sceptre his : These very words 
 I have heard him utter to his'son-in law, 
 Lord Aberga'ny : to whom by oath he menac'd 
 Revenge upon the cardinal. 
 
 ^ ol. Please your highness, note 
 
 This dangerous conception in this point. 
 Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
 His will is most malignant; and it stretches 
 Beyond you, to your friends. 
 
 Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, 
 
 Deliver all with charity. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak on : 
 
 How grounded h« his title to the crown, 
 Upon our fail ? to (his point hast thou heard him 
 At any time speak aught ? 
 
 Sutv. He was brought to this 
 
 By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. 
 
 K. Hen. What was that Hopkins ? 
 
 Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar. 
 
 His confessor; who fed him every minute 
 With words of sovereignty. 
 
 K. Hen. How know'st thou this T 
 
 Surv. Not long before your highness sped to 
 France, 
 
 The duke, being at the Rose, within the parish 
 Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
 What was the speech amongst the Londoners 
 Concerning the French journey : I replied. 
 Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious. 
 To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
 Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed ; and that he double 
 'Twould prove the verity of certain words 
 Spoke by a holy monk; that oft, says he. 
 Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit 
 John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour 
 To hear from him a matter of some moment i 
 Whom after under the confession's seal 
 He solemnly had sworn, that, what he spoke. 
 My chaplain to no creature living, but 
 To me, should utter, with demure confidence. 
 This pausingly ensu'd — Neither the king, nor his \ 
 heirs, 
 
 (Tell you the duke) shall prosper : bid him strive \ 
 To gain the love of commonalty ; the duke 
 Shall govern England. 
 
 Q. Kath. If I know you well. 
 
 You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your oflfce 
 On the complaint o' the tenants ; Take go jd heed, 
 You charge not in your spleen a noble person, 
 And spoil your nobler soul ! I say, take heed ; 
 Yes, heartily beseech you. 
 
 K. Hen. Let him on : 
 
 Go forward. 
 
 Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. 
 1 told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions 
 The monk might be deceived ; and that 'twas dang « 
 
 rous lor him i 
 To ruminate on this so far, until 
 It forg'd him some design, which, beiitg believ'd. 
 It was Miiicli like to do: He aiiswer'd. Tush'. 
 It can do me no damage addiug further 
 
 KING HENRY YIIL 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 I'hat, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, 
 The cardaiars and sir Tltoraas Lo\ ell's heads 
 Should have gone off. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha ! what, so rank? Ah, ah . 
 
 There's mischief in this man : Canst thou say 
 
 further ? 
 
 Surv. 1 can, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. Proceed. 
 
 ii'urv. Being at Greenwich, 
 
 A Iter your highness had reprov'd the duke 
 About sir William Blomer, — 
 
 K. Hen. I remember. 
 
 Of such a time : — Being my servant sworn, 
 
 The duke retain'd him his. But on; What 
 
 hence ? 
 
 Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been com- 
 mitted, 
 
 As to the Tower, I thought, — I woidd have play'd 
 The part my father meant to act upon 
 The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury, 
 Made suit to come in his presence ; which, if 
 granted. 
 
 As he made semblance of his duty, would 
 Have put his knife into him. 
 K. Hen. A giant traitor ! 
 
 WgI. Now, madam, may his highness live in 
 freedom, 
 And this man out of prison ? 
 Q.Kath, God mend all! 
 
 K. Hen. There's something more would out of 
 
 tiiee ; what say'st ? _ • 
 
 Surv. After— ^Ae duke his father, — with the 
 knife, — 
 
 He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, 
 Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, 
 He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenour 
 Was, — Were he evil us'd, he would out-go 
 His father, by as much as performance 
 Does an irresolute purpose. 
 
 K. Hen. There's his period. 
 
 To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd; 
 Call him t(» present trial : if he n;ay 
 Find mercy in the law, 'tia his ; if none, 
 Let him not seek't of us : by day and night. 
 He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. 
 Cham. Is it possible, tlie spells of France should 
 
 Men into such strange mysteries ? 
 Sands. New customs, 
 
 Though they be iaever so ridiculous. 
 
 Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 
 Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English 
 
 Have got by the late voyage, is hut merely 
 
 A fit or two o' the face ; but they are shrewd ones ; 
 
 For, when they hold them, you would swear directly. 
 
 Their very noses had been counsellors 
 
 To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so, 
 Sands. They have all uew legs, and lame ones; 
 one would take it, 
 
 That never saw them pace before, the spavin, 
 
 A springhalt reign'd among tha^n, 
 Cham. Death ! my lord, 
 
 heir clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
 hat sure, they have worn out Christendom. How 
 now ? 
 
 What news, sir Thomas Lovell ? 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 
 
 Jjov. 'Faith, my lord, 
 
 I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
 That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 
 
 Cham. What is't for? 
 
 Lov The reformation of our travell'd gallants. 
 That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. 
 
 Cham. I am glad, 'tis there ; now 1 would pray 
 our monsieurs 
 To think an English courtier may be wise. 
 
 And never see the LiOuvre. 
 Lov. They must eitb« 
 
 (For so run the conditions,) leave these renin 
 
 ()f fool, and leather, that they got in Fiance, 
 
 With all their honourable points of ignorance, 
 
 Pertaining thereunto, as fights, and fireworks 
 
 Abusing better men than they can be, 
 
 Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean 
 
 The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, 
 
 Short blisterd breeches, and those types of travel, 
 
 And understand again like honest men; 
 
 Or pack totlieir old playfellows : there, 1 take it, 
 
 They may, cum privilegio, wear away 
 
 The lag end ol their lewdness, and be langh'd at. 
 
 Sands. 'Tis time to give them ihysic, theil 
 diseases 
 Are grown so catching. 
 
 Cham. What a loss our ladies 
 
 Will have of these trim vanities ! 
 
 Lov. Ay, marry. 
 
 There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoreson* 
 Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies ; 
 A French s-ong, and a fiddle, has no fellow. 
 
 Sands. The devil fiddle them, I am glad they're 
 going ; 
 
 (For, sure, there's no converting of them ;) now 
 An honest country lord, as I am, beaten 
 A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song. 
 And have an hour of hearing ; and, by'r-lady, 
 Held current music too. 
 
 Cham. Well said, lord Sands : 
 
 Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. 
 
 Sands. No, my lord ; 
 
 Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 
 
 Cham. Sir Thomas, 
 
 Whither were you a-going ? 
 
 Lov. To the cardinal'a 
 
 Your lordship is a guest too. 
 
 Cham. O, 'tis true : 
 
 This night he makes a supper, and a great one. 
 To many lords and ladies ; there will be 
 The beauty of tliis kingdom, I'll assure you. 
 
 Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous min^ 
 indeed, 
 
 A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; 
 His dews iall every where. 
 
 Cham. No doubt, he's noble; 
 
 He had a black mouth, that said other of him. 
 
 Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherevntJia^ 
 in him. 
 
 Sparing would shew " worse sin than ill doctrine: 
 Men of his way should be most liberal, 
 They are set here for examples. 
 
 Cham. True, they are so 
 
 But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; 
 Your lordship shall along : — Come, good sir Thomas . 
 We shall be late else : which I would not be. 
 For 1 was spoke to with sir Henry Guildford, 
 This night to be comptrollers. 
 
 Sands. I am your lordship's. [Exeunt 
 
 CENE IV, — The Presence-Chamber in York- 
 Place. 
 
 Hautboys. A small table under a state for iha 
 Cardinal, a longer table for the gtiests. Enter 
 at one door Anne Bullen, and divers LordSf 
 Ladies, and Gentlewomen, as guests ; at an- 
 other door, enter Sir Henrv Guildford. 
 Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his graoa 
 Salutes ye all : This night he dedicates 
 To fair content, and you : none here, he hopes 
 In all this noble bevy, has brought with her 
 One care abroad ; he would have all as merry 
 As first- good company, good wine, good welcoiTM, 
 Can make good people. — O my lord, you wn 
 tardy ; 
 
 Enter Lord Chamberlain., Lord Sands, and 
 
 Thomas Lovell. 
 The very thoughts of this fair companj 
 
494 
 
 KING HENRY Yin. 
 
 Act 
 
 Ciapp'd wings to me. 
 
 i^/imn.. Von are young, sir Harry Guildford. 
 
 liiinds Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal 
 R(it iial! iiiy lay-thoughts in him, some of" these 
 ShtHild find a riinriing banquet ere they rested, 
 I think, would better pit- ase them : By my life, 
 They are a sweet society of fair ones. 
 
 Lov. O, that your lordship were but now confessor 
 To OFie or two of these ! 
 
 Hands. I would, I were ; 
 
 'I hey should find easy penance. 
 
 Lov. 'Faith, how easy? 
 
 Sands. As easy as a down bed would afford it. 
 
 Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit ? Sir 
 ilarry, 
 
 Place yo!i that side, I'll take the charge of this: 
 His grace is ent'ring. — Nay, you must not freeze ; 
 Two women plac'd together ma kos cold weather: — 
 My lord Sands, yon are one will keep them waking; 
 Fray, sit lietween these iadies. 
 
 Sands. By my faith. 
 
 And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet 
 ladies : 
 
 [Seats himself Lehveen Anne Bullen and 
 another lady.) 
 ff f chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; 
 I had it from my father. 
 
 Anne. 
 
 Was he mad. 
 
 S((nds. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too : 
 But he would bite none; just as I do now, 
 He Wiinld kiss you twenty with a breath (^^isses her.) 
 
 Chrrm. Well said, my lord. — 
 
 So now you are fairly seated : — Gentlemen, 
 Tlie penance lies on you, if these fair ladies 
 Pass away frowning. 
 
 Sands. For my little cure, 
 
 1 let me alone. 
 
 Uauthoys. Enter Cardinal WoLSEY, attended; 
 and takes his state. 
 
 Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests; that 
 noble lady, 
 Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, 
 Is not n>y friend : This, to conhrm my welcome ; 
 And to you all good health. {Drinks.) 
 
 Sands. Your grace is noble : — 
 
 Let rue have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
 And save me so much talking. 
 
 Wol. My lord Sands, 
 
 [ am beholden to you : cheer your neighbours. — 
 Ladies, you are not meiry \ — Gentlemen, 
 Wh..se fault is this? 
 
 Sands. The red wine first must rise 
 
 fn their t'air cheeks, my lord j then we shall have them 
 Talk us to silence. 
 
 Anne. You are a merry gamester, 
 
 My l(»r(l Sands. 
 
 Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 
 Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam, 
 Por 'tis to such a thing, — 
 
 Anne. You cannot shew m**. 
 
 Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. 
 
 [ Drums and trumpets within : Chambers 
 discharged.) 
 
 TT'ol. What's that ? 
 
 Cham. Look out there, some of you. 
 
 [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Wol. ^ What warlike \oice! 
 
 And to what end is this? — Nay, ladies, fear not; 
 By ail the laws ot war you are privileg'd. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Cham. How now ? what is't P 
 Sew A noble troop of strangers; 
 
 For so tiiev seem : they have left their barge, and 
 landed ; 
 
 And i-ift" I make, as great ambassadors 
 Fi-oiM (".reign princes. 
 
 Wol. Good lord chamberlain. 
 
 Go, give them welcome, you can speak the Freoch 
 tongue ; 
 
 And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct thpra 
 Into our presence, where this h«?aven of beauty 
 Shall shnie at full upon them : — Some attend him. 
 
 {Exit Chamberlain, attended. All artttx 
 and tables removed.) 
 You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it 
 A good digestion to you all : and, once more, 
 1 siiower a welcome on you ; — Welconie all. 
 
 Hautboys. Enter the King, and twelve ethers, M 
 maskers, habited like shepherds, with sixteen 
 torch bearers ; ushered by the Lord Chamber, 
 lain. They pass directly before the Cardinal, 
 and (jracejully .salute htm. 
 
 A noble'couipany ! what ifre their pleasures ? 
 
 Cham. Because tiiey speak no English, thus they 
 pray'd 
 
 To tell your grace; — That, having heard by fame 
 
 Of this so nt»ble and so fair assembly 
 
 This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
 
 0\>i of tile great respect they bear to beauty. 
 
 But leav*^ their flocks : and, under your fair conduct, 
 
 Crave leave to \iew these ladies, and entreat 
 
 An hour of revels with them. 
 
 Wol. Say, lord chamberlain. 
 
 They have done my poor house grace; for which I 
 pay them [sures. 
 A thousand thanks, and pray them take their plea- 
 * [Ladies chosen for the dance. The King 
 chooses Anne Bullen.) 
 K. Hen. The fiiirest hand I ever toucli'd ! O, 
 beauty, 
 
 Till now I ne\er knew thee (Music. Dance.) 
 
 Wol. My lord 
 
 Cham. Your grace? 
 
 Wol. Fray, tell them thus nmch from mc ■ 
 There should be one amongst them, by his j>er«'>«3 
 More worthy this place than myself ; to whom. 
 If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
 1 would surrender it. 
 
 Cham. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Ckamb. goes to the company, and returns.) 
 
 Wol. What say they ? 
 
 Cham. Such a one, they all confoss. 
 
 There is indeed; which they would have your grace 
 Find out, and he will take it. 
 
 Wol. Let me see then.— - 
 
 (Comes from his state.) 
 By all your good leaves, gentlemen; — Here I'll make 
 My royal choice. 
 
 K. Hen. Yon have found him, cardinal : 
 
 [Unmasking.) 
 You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord : 
 You are a churclmian, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, 
 I should judge now unhappily. 
 
 W ol. I am glad. 
 
 Your grace is grown so pleasant. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord chamberlain, 
 
 Pr'ythee, come hither: What fair lady's that ? 
 
 Cham. An't please your grace, sir Thomas Bul- 
 len's daughter, [wonien. 
 Tiie viscount Rochford, one of her highness ; 
 
 K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweet 
 heart, 
 
 I were nnmanne'ly, to take you out, 
 
 .And not to kiss you. — A health, gentlemen, , 
 
 Let it go round. 
 
 Wol. Sir Tnomas Lovell, is the banquet rearf'- 
 V tlie privy cliauiber? 
 
 Lov. Yes, my lord. 
 
 JTol. Your grace, 
 
 I fV;ir. with dancing is a little heated. 
 
 K. Hen I fear, too nnich. 
 
 Wol. TtK;re's fresher air, nsy lorCi, 
 
 In til*- r)ext chamber. 
 
 K Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. — Sweel 
 part iif r, 
 
 I must not yet ilursake |on • — Let's be merry:— 
 
KING HENRY VIIL 495 
 
 At^T II. Scene 1. 
 
 fJood my loid cardinal, I have half a dozen healths 
 To drint to these fair ladies, and a measure 
 To lead therii once again ; and then let's dream 
 Who's beat in favour. — Let the music knock it. 
 
 [Exeunt, with trumpets. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A Street. 
 Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gsnt. Whither away so fast 
 
 2 Gent. O, — God save you ! 
 'Even to the hall, to hear what shall become 
 
 Ol the great duke of Buckingham. 
 
 1 Gent. I'll save you 
 Tliat labour, sir. All's now done, but the cereuioay 
 01 bringing back the prisoner. 
 
 2 Gent. Were you there? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 
 
 2 Gent. Pray, speak, what has happened ? 
 
 1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 
 
 2 Gent. Is he I'ound guilty? 
 
 1 Ge7it. Yes, truly is he, and condejun'd upon it. 
 
 2 Gent. I am sorry for't. 
 
 1 Gent, So are a number more. 
 
 2 Gent. But pray, how pass'd it ? 
 
 1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke 
 Came to the bar ; where, to his accusations, 
 
 He pleaded still, not guilty, and alleg'd 
 
 Many sharp reasons to delieat the law. 
 
 The king's attorney, on the contrary, 
 
 Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions 
 
 Of divers witnesses ; which the duke desir'd 
 
 To him brought, viva voce, to his face 
 
 At which ap[)ear'd against him, his surveyor: 
 
 Sir (jjibert Peck his chancellor; and John Court, 
 
 Conlessor to him ; with that devil-monk, 
 
 Hopkins, that made this mischief. 
 
 2 Gent. That was he, 
 1 hat fed him with his prophecies ? 
 
 1 Gent. The same. 
 All these accus'd him strongly; which he fain 
 Would have flung from him, but, indeed, be could 
 
 not : 
 
 And so his peers, upon this evidence, 
 Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 
 He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all 
 Was either pitied in him, or forgotten. 
 
 2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself? 
 
 1 Gent. When he was brought again to tiie bar, 
 
 — to hear 
 
 His knell rung out, his judgment, — he was stirr'd 
 With such an agony, he sweat extremely. 
 And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty ; 
 But lie fell to himself again, and sweetly. 
 In aU the rest, shew'd a most noble patience. 
 
 2 Gent. I do not think, he fears death. 
 
 1 Gent. Sure, he doth not. 
 He never was so womanish ; the cause 
 
 He may a little grieve at. 
 
 2 Gent. Certainly, 
 The cardinal is the end of this. 
 
 1 Ge7it. 'Tis likely. 
 By all conjectures: First, Kildare's attainder. 
 Then deputy of Ireland ; who reniov'd, 
 
 Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too. 
 Lest he sliould help his father. 
 
 2 Gent. That trick of state 
 Was a deep envious one. 
 
 1 Gent. At his return. 
 
 No doubt, he will requite. This is noted. 
 And generally ; whoever the king favours. 
 The cardinal instantly will find employment. 
 And far enough from court too. 
 
 2 Gent. All the commons 
 Hcite him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, 
 VViish him ten fathom deep: this duke as nuich 
 They love and dote on ; call him, bounteous Buck- 
 ingham, 
 
 1'he mirror jf all courtesy ; — 
 
 1 Gent. Stay there, sir^ 
 And see the noble ruin d man you speak ol. 
 
 Enter Buckingham from his arraignment ; Tip 
 staves before Aim; the axe with the edgi 
 towards him ; halberds on each side : with him, 
 Sir ThoiMas Lovell, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir 
 W iLLiAM Sands, and common people. 
 
 2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. 
 Buck. All good people. 
 
 You, that thus far have come to pity me, 
 Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
 I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment. 
 And by that name must die ; Yet, heaven bear wit 
 ness, 
 
 And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me, 
 Even as the axe falls, if I be not faitlifid I 
 The law I bear no malice for my death ; 
 It has done, upon the premises, but justice; 
 But tliose, that sought it, I could wish more ...hiia- 
 tians : 
 
 Be what they will, I heartily forgive them • 
 Yet let tliem look they glory not in mischief. 
 Nor build their evils on the graves of great luon ; 
 For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. 
 For lurther life in this world I ne'er hope. 
 Nor will I sue, although the king have rnerci<^s 
 More than I dare make faults. You few, that lov'd 
 me, 
 
 And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
 His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave 
 Is only bitter to him, only dying, 
 Go wiih me, like good angels, to my end ; 
 And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me. 
 Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice. 
 And lift my soul to heaven. — Lead on, o' God'i 
 name. 
 
 Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, 
 If ever any malice in your heart 
 Were hid against me, now to forgive me frarkh- 
 
 Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell 1 Rs iiee forgive yoi 
 As I would be forgiven: I forgive all : 
 There cannot be those numberlrss offences 
 'Gainst me, 1 can't take peace witii : no bhick envy 
 Siiul! make my grave. — Commend me to his gra( e ; 
 And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell iiim, 
 Vou met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers 
 Ve( are the king's; and, till my soul forsake me, 
 Shall cry for blessings on him: May he live 
 Longer than I have time to tell his year« ' 
 Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be ! 
 And, when old time shall lend him to his end. 
 Goodness and he fill up one monument I 
 
 Lov.To the water side I must conduct your grace ; 
 Tiien give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, 
 Wlio undertakes you to your end. 
 
 Vaux. Prepare there, 
 
 The duke is coming: see, the barge be ready ; 
 And fit it with such furniture, as suits 
 'I'lie greatness of his person. 
 
 Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, 
 
 Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. 
 When I came hither, 1 was lord high constable. 
 And duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward 
 Bohun : 
 
 Yet I am richer than my base accusers, 
 That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it ; 
 And with that blood will make them one day gHMy 
 iVlv noble father, Henry of Buckingiiam [f ' 
 
 Who first rais'd head a-ainst usurping Richard, 
 Flying for succour to his servant Banister, 
 Being distress'd, was oy th;^t wretch betr.iy'd, 
 And without trial fell ; God ■ peace be v\it;i !jiia \ 
 Henry the seventh succeeding, Ir ily pitying 
 My father's loss, like a most royal prince. 
 Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins. 
 Made my name once more noble. Now i.is soi* 
 Henry the eighth, life, honour, na ue, an.'l a'l 
 That made me happy, at one strike has taken 
 For ever from tlie world. 1 had my triai. 
 
19 G 
 
 h iid, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes me 
 A liH.le ha[)jjier than my wretched father: 
 Yel tfius far we are one in fortunes, — Both 
 Feii by our servants, by those men we lov'd most; 
 A most unnatural and faithless service ! 
 Heaven has an end in all. Yet you that hear me, 
 Tills from a dying man receive as certain : 
 Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels, 
 Be siifcj y^u be not loose; for those you make 
 friends. 
 
 And give your hearts to, when they once perceive 
 
 i'he least rub in youi fortunes, fall away 
 
 Like water from ye, never found again 
 
 Biit where they mean to sink ye. All good people, 
 
 Pray for me ! 1 must now forsake ye ; the last hour 
 
 Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
 
 Farewell . 
 
 And when you would say something that is sad. 
 Speak how I fell. — I have done ; and God forgive 
 me ! [Exeunt Buckingham and Train. 
 
 1 Gent. O, this is full of pity !— Sir, it calls, 
 r fear, too many curses on their heads. 
 
 That were the authors. 
 
 2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 
 'Tis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 
 
 Of an ensaiing evil, if it fall, 
 Greater than this. 
 
 1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us ! 
 Where mf>,y it be ? You do not doubt my faith, sir ? 
 
 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require 
 A strong faith to conceal it. 
 
 1 Gent. Let me have it ; 
 f do not talk much. 
 
 2 Gent. I am confident ; 
 
 You shall, sir : Did you not of late days hear 
 A buzzing, of a separation 
 Detweeii the king and Katharine ? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, but it held not : 
 For when the king once heard it, out of anger 
 
 He sent command to the lord mayor, straignt 
 To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues 
 That durst disperse it. 
 
 2 Gent. But that slander, sir, 
 Is found a truth now: for it grows again 
 Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain, 
 The king will v enture at it. Either the cardinal. 
 Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
 
 To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
 That will undo her : To confirm this too, 
 Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately ; 
 As all think, lor this business. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal ; 
 And merely to revenge him on the emperor. 
 For not bestowing on him, at his asking, 
 
 The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 
 
 2 Gent. I think, you have hit the mark: But is't 
 
 not cruel, 
 
 That she siiould ieel the smart of this? The cardinal 
 VVill have his will, and she must fall. 
 
 I Gejit. 'Tis woful. 
 
 We are too open here to argue this ; 
 Let's think in private more. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 11. — An Anle-Chamber in the Palace. 
 Enter the Lord Chnmherlain, reading a letter. 
 
 Cham. My lord, — The horses your lordship 
 sent for, tvith all the care I had, I saio icell 
 chosen f ridden, and furnished. They were young , 
 and handsome ; and of the best breed in the north. 
 When they were ready to set out for London, a 
 man of my lord cardinal's, by commission, and 
 main power, took 'em from me ; with this reason, 
 — His master would be served before a subject, if 
 not before the king : which stopped our mouths, 
 sir. 
 
 I fear he will, indeed : Well, let him have them : 
 He will have all, I think. 
 
 Enter the Dukes of NoRFOiiK and Suffolk. 
 Not: Well met, my goo 
 
 Act IL 
 
 Lord chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good day to both your {jraces. 
 
 Suf. How is the king employ'd ? 
 
 Cha?n. I left him private, 
 
 FuU of sad thoughts and troubles. 
 
 Aor. What's the cause ? 
 
 Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother* 
 Has crept too near his conscience. [wif« 
 
 S'lf. iVo. his conscience 
 
 Has crept too near another lady. 
 
 Nor. _ 'Tis so; 
 
 This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 
 That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune. 
 Turns what he lists. The king will know him one 
 day. [elst 
 
 Suf. Pray God, he do ! he'll never know himselt 
 
 Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! 
 And with what zeal 1 For, now he has crack'd the 
 league 
 
 Between us and the emperor, the queen's great ne» 
 phew, 
 
 He dives into the king's soul ; and there scatter! 
 Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience. 
 Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage : 
 And, out of all these to restore the king. 
 He counsels a divorce : a loss of her, 
 That, like a jewel has hung twenty years 
 About his neck, yet never lost her lustre : 
 Of her, that loves him with that excellence, 
 That angels love good men with ; even of her 
 That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls. 
 Will bless the king : And is not this course pioiLs ? 
 Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ; Tis 
 most true. 
 
 These news are every where ; every tongue speaks 
 them, 
 
 And every true heart weeps for't : All, that dare 
 Look into these affairs, see this mail? end, — 
 The French king's sister. Heaven will one day opei 
 The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
 This bold bad man. 
 
 S/(f. And free us from his slavery. 
 
 Nor. We had need pray. 
 And heartily, for our deliverance ; 
 Or this imperious man will work us all 
 From princes into pages : all men's honours 
 Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
 Into what pitch he please. 
 
 Suf. For me, my lords, 
 
 I love him not, nor fear him, there's my creed : 
 As I am made without him, so I'll stand. 
 If the king please : his curses and his blessings 
 Touch nie alike, they are breath I not believe in. 
 1 knew him, and I know him ; so I leave him 
 To him, that made him proud, the pope. 
 
 Nor. Let's in ; 
 
 And, with some other business, put the king 
 J'rom these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 
 My lord, you'll bear us company ? [him :— 
 
 Cham. Excuse me; 
 
 The king hath sent me other-where : besides. 
 You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him . 
 Health to your lordships. 
 
 Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 
 
 [Exit Lord Chamberlam 
 
 Norfolk opens a folding-door. The King it 
 discovered sitting, ana reading pensively. 
 Suf. How sad he looks ! sure he is much afflicted. 
 K. Hen. Who is there ? ha ? 
 Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry ; 
 
 K. Hen. Who's there, I say? How dare yoc 
 thrust yourselves 
 Into my private njeditations ? 
 Who am I? ha ? 
 
 Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences. 
 Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way. 
 Is business of estate ; in which we come 
 To know your royal pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. You are too bold ; 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Cik» to ; ni mase ye kno« your times of business : 
 Is this an hour for temporal affairs? Iia ? — 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Caivipeius. 
 Who's there ? my good lord cardinal ? — O my Wol- 
 The quiet of my wounded conscience, [sey, 
 Thou art a cure fit for a king — You're welcome, 
 
 {To Campeius.) 
 Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom ; 
 Use us, and it : — My good lord, have great care 
 I be not found a talker. {To Wolsey.) 
 
 Wol. Sir, you cannot. 
 
 I would, your grace would give us but an hour 
 Of private conference. 
 
 K. Hen, We are busy ; go. 
 
 {To Norfolk and Suffolk.) 
 
 Nor. This priest has no pride in him ? 
 
 Suf. Not to speak of ; 
 
 I would not be so sick though, for his place 
 But this cannot continue. \ Aside. 
 
 Nor. If it do, 
 
 I'll v enture one heave at him. 
 
 Suf. I another. 
 
 [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom 
 Above all princes, in committing freely 
 Your scruple to the voice of Christendom : 
 Who can be angry now ? what envy reach you ? 
 Tke Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, 
 Must now confess, if they have any goodness. 
 The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
 I mean, the learned ones, in christian kingdoms, 
 Have their free voices ; Rome, the nurse of judg- 
 Invited by our noble self, hath sent fment. 
 One generil tongue unto us, this good man, 
 This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius, 
 Whom, once more, I present unto your highness. 
 
 li. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms I bid him 
 welcome. 
 
 And thank the holy conclave for their loves ; for. 
 I'hey \\i 'e sent me such a man I would have wish'd 
 
 Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' 
 \m are so noble : To your highness' hand [loves, 
 I tender my cojnmission ; by whose virtue, 
 (The court of Rome commanding,) — you, my lord 
 Cardinal of York, arejoin'd with me their servant. 
 In the unpartial judging of this business. 
 
 A. He7i. Two equal men. The queen shall be 
 acquainted 
 
 Fortliwith, for what you come : — Where's Gardiner? 
 
 F^'j/. I know, your majesty has always lov'd her 
 So dear in heart, not to deny her that 
 A woman of less place might ask by law. 
 Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her. 
 K. Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall have ; and 
 my favour 
 
 To him that does best ; God forbid else. Cardinal, 
 Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary ; 
 find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey, 
 
 Re-enter WoLSEY, with Gardiner. 
 Wol. Give me your hand : much joy and favour 
 1 Von are the king's now. [to you : 
 
 Gar. But to be commanded 
 
 For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. 
 I {Aside.) 
 j K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. 
 I {They converse apart.) 
 
 I Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace 
 i in this man's place before him ? 
 I Wol. Yes, he was. 
 
 j Cam. Was he not held a lewiaed man ? 
 I Wol. Yes, surely. 
 
 Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread 
 Even of yourself, lord cardinal. [then 
 I Wol. How! of me? 
 
 Cam, They will not stick to say, you envied him ; 
 ^nd, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, 
 I'Kept him a foreign nwin still ; wh ch so griev'd him, 
 I That he ran man and died 
 
 Wol. Hea\ en's peact be with him 
 
 That's christian care enough: for livirig iiiurmurers, 
 There's places of rebuke. He was a ibol 
 For he would needs be virtuous : That gc>.od fellov» 
 If I command him, follows my appointiuent ; 
 I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, 
 We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. 
 
 K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 
 
 [Exit Gardiner 
 The most convenient place that I can think of. 
 For such receipt of learning, is Black-Fiiars ; 
 There ye shall meet about this weighty business : — 
 My Wolsey, see it furnish'd, — O my lord. 
 Would it not grieve au able man, to leave 
 So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience,-— 
 O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — An Ante-Chamber in the Queen's 
 Apartments. 
 Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady. 
 Anne. Not for that neither ; — Here's the pang 
 that pinches : 
 His highness having liv'd so long with her; and .«! j 
 So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
 Pronounce dishonour of her, — by my life 
 She never knew harm-doing; — O now, after 
 So many courses of the sun enthron'd. 
 Still growing in a majesty and pomp, — the which 
 To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than 
 'Tis sweet at first to acquire, — after this process 
 To give her the avaunt I it is a pity 
 Would move a monster. 
 
 Old L. Hearts of most hard teniptii 
 
 Melt and lament for her. 
 
 Anne, O, God's will ! much belter 
 
 [ She ne'er had known pomp : though it be temporal, 
 j Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce 
 I It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, pangiog 
 j As soul and body's severing. 
 I Ord. L. Alas, poor lady . 
 
 She's a stranger now again. 
 
 Anne. So much the more 
 
 Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born. 
 And range with humble livers in content. 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow. 
 
 Old L. Our content 
 
 Is our best having. 
 
 Anne. By my troth, and maidenhe ad 
 
 I would not be a queen. 
 
 Old L. Beshrew me, 1 v/onld. 
 
 And venture maidenhead fort : and so would you, 
 For all this spice of your hypocrisy : 
 You, that have so fair parts of woman on you. 
 Have too a woman's heart ; which ever yet 
 AtFected eminence, wealth, sovereignty ; 
 Which, to say sooth, are blessings : and which gifts 
 (Saving your mincing) the capacity 
 Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, 
 If you might please to stretch it. 
 
 Anne. Nay, good troth,— 
 
 Old L. Yes, troth, and troth, — You would not 
 be a queen? 
 
 Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 
 
 Old L. 'Tis strange ; a three-pence bowed would 
 hire me. 
 
 Old as I am, to queen it : But, I pray y<w. 
 What think you of a duchess ? have you limbs 
 To bear that load of title ^ 
 
 Anne. No, in truth. 
 
 Old L. Then you are weakly made : Pluck oft' a 
 little; 
 
 I would not be a young count in your way. 
 For more than blushing comes to: if your back 
 Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak 
 Ever to get a boy. 
 
 Anne. How do you talk I 
 
 I swear again, I would not be a queen 
 For all the world. 
 
198 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act TL 
 
 OUL. In faith, for little England 
 
 t oii'd venture an fmballiiig: I myself 
 Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd 
 So moiT to the crown but thfit. Lo, who comes here ? 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good moi row, ladies. What wer'f worth 
 The seciet of your conference? [to know 
 
 Anne. My good lord, 
 
 Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
 Ou» mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 
 
 Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
 The action of good women: there is hope. 
 All will be well. 
 
 Anne. Now I pray God, amen! 
 
 Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 
 blessings 
 
 Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, 
 Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's 
 Ta'ea of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
 Commends his good opinion to you, and 
 Does purpose honour to you no less flowing 
 Than marchioness of Penibroke ; to which title 
 A thousand pound a year, annual support, 
 Out of his gi ace he adds. 
 
 Anne. I do not know, 
 
 What kind of my obedience I should tender; 
 More tlian my all is nothing: nor my prayers 
 Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
 More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers, and 
 wishes, 
 
 Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship. 
 Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience, 
 As frou> a blusiiing handmaid, to his liighness; 
 Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. 
 Cham. Lady, 
 sliail not fail to approve the fair conceit 
 The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well ; 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 ^Jcauty and honour in her are so mingled, 
 That they have caught the king: and who knows yet. 
 But from this lady mav proceed a gem. 
 To ligliten all this isle'?— I'll to the king. 
 And say, I spoke with you, 
 
 My honour'd lord. 
 [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 
 Old L. Why, tnis it is ; see, see ! 
 f have been begging sixteen years in court, 
 (Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could 
 C(une pat betwixt too early a»d too late, 
 For any suit of pounds : and you, (O fate !) 
 A very fresh-fish iiere, (fy, fy upon 
 
 compell d fortune 1) have your mouth fill'd up, 
 Bpfor*^ you open it. 
 Anne. This is strange to me. 
 
 Old L. How tastes it ? is it bitter ? Ibrty pence, no. 
 Tliere was a lady once, ('tis an old story,) 
 'iMmt would not be a queen, that would she not, 
 For all the mud in Egypt: — Have you heard it? 
 Anne. Conrje, you are pleasant 
 Old L. With your theme. 1 could 
 
 0 eriuDunt the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke ! 
 A thousiind pounds a year! for pure respect; 
 
 No otiiei obligation : By my life, 
 
 'I'hat prf:i>ises more (hmisands : Honour's train 
 
 Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, 
 
 1 know, your back will bear a duchess ; — Say, 
 Are y(ju not stronger than you were ? 
 
 Anne. Good lady, 
 
 M'ike yourself mirth with your particular fancy. 
 And lea\e me out on't. 'Would I liad no being, 
 If this salute nny blood a jot ; it faints me. 
 To tliink what tollows. 
 The queen is cornfortless, and we forgetful 
 In our long absence : Pray, do not deliver 
 VVhat here you have iieard. to her. 
 
 Old L. What do you tiiink !ne ? \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene W.—A Hal I in iilack-Friars. 
 Trumpets, senet, and ( ortiets. Enter two Verr/ers. 
 
 tvith short silver wands; next them, tivo Scribes, 
 in the habits of doctors ; after tJwn, the Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, alone ; after him, the Bi- 
 shops of Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint 
 Asaph; next them, tvith some small distance, 
 folloius a Gentleman hearing the purse, with the 
 great seal, and a cardinals hat ; then two 
 Priests, bearing each a silver cross : then a 
 Gentleman - Usher bareheaded, accompanied 
 ivith a Sergent at Arms, bearing a silver • 
 then two Gentlemen, hearing two great silver 
 pillars ; after them, side by side, the two Car- 
 dinals, Wolsey and Campeius ; two Noblemen 
 with the sword and mace. Then enter the King 
 and Queen, and their Trains. The King talcea 
 place under the cloth of state ; the two Cardi 
 nals sit under him as judges. The Queen takes 
 place at some distance from the King. The 
 Bishops place themselves on each side the court, 
 in manner of a consistory ; between them the 
 Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishop. The 
 Crier and the rest of the Attendants stand in 
 convenient order about the stage. 
 
 }VqI. Whilst our commission from Rome is read 
 Let silence be commanded. 
 
 K. Hen. What's the need ? 
 
 It hath already publicly been read, 
 And on all sides the authority atlow'd ; 
 Y^ou may then spare that time. 
 
 Wol. Be't so : — Proceed. 
 
 Scribe Say, Henry king of England, come into 
 the court 
 
 Crier. Henry king of England, &c. 
 
 K, Hen. Here. [into court. 
 
 Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come 
 
 Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c. 
 {The Qiceen makes no answer, rises out cf her 
 
 chair, goes about the court, conies to the King, 
 
 and kneels at his feet ; then speaks., 
 
 Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right anJ 
 justice; 
 
 And to bestow your pity on me : for 
 I am a most poor woman, and a stranger. 
 Born out of your dominions ; having here 
 No judge indilferent, nor no more assurance 
 Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir. 
 In what have I oifended you ? what cause 
 Hath my behaviour ^iven to your displeasure, 
 That thus you should proceed to \ me ofl", 
 And take your good grace from me ? Heaven wit- 
 ness, 
 
 I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
 
 At all times to your will conformable : 
 
 Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, 
 
 Yea, subject to your countenance ; glad, or sorry. 
 
 As I saw it inciin'd. When was tlie hour, 
 
 1 ever coBtradlcted your desire. 
 
 Or made it not mine too? Or which of your ff!en5« 
 
 Have I nc*t strove to love, although ! knew 
 
 He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine. 
 
 That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 
 
 Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice 
 
 He was from thence discharg'd ? Sir, call to miud^ 
 
 That I have been your wife, in this obedience. 
 
 Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
 
 VVith many children by you : If, in the course 
 
 And process of this time, you can repoi t, 
 
 And prove it too, against miuf^ honour aught, 
 
 My bond to "vedlock, or my love and duty. 
 
 Against your sacred person, in God's name, 
 
 Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 
 
 Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
 
 To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir. 
 
 The king, your father, was reputed for 
 
 A prince most prudent, of an excellent ^ 
 
 And unmatcird wit and judgment : Ferdinand, 
 
 i\1v father, king of Sp;tin, was reckon'd ot>e 
 
 The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by maity 
 
 A year l)pfore : It is t'ot to be questiou'd. 
 
SCEISIE 4. 
 
 That they Imd gatlier'd a wi»3 council to them 
 Of every realm, that did debate this business, 
 Who deemd our marriage lawful: Wherefore 1 
 hmiibly 
 
 Beseech yon, sir, to spare me, till I may 
 
 Be by r,\y friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel 
 
 I will implore : if not, i'the name of Ciod, 
 
 Yowr pleasure be fulfiH'd ! 
 
 Wol. You have here, lady, 
 
 (And of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men 
 \.lif singular int'-grity and learning, 
 Y ;a, tlie elect of the land, who are assembled 
 To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootless 
 Thai longer yon desire the court ; as well 
 For your own quiet, as to rectify 
 VVhat is unsettled in the king. 
 
 Cam. His grace 
 
 Halli spoken well, and justly; Therefore, madam, 
 ft's fit this royal session do proceed ; 
 A od that, without delay, their arguments 
 Be now produc'd, and heard. ^ 
 
 Q. Kath. liord Cardinal, — 
 
 To you I speak. 
 
 Wal. Your pleasure, madam ? 
 Q. Kath. Sir, 
 
 [ am about to weep ; but, thinking that 
 We are a queen, (or long have drean»'d so,) certain, 
 The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
 i'll turn to sparks of fire, 
 
 Wol. Be patient yet, 
 
 Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble : nay, be- 
 Or God will punish me. I do believe, [lore, 
 Induc'd by potent circumstances, that 
 You are mine enemy; and make my challenge, 
 Ynu shall not be my judge ; for it is you 
 Ha\e blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, — 
 Which God's dew quench I — Therefore, I say again, 
 [ utterly abhor, yea, from my soul, 
 Refuse you for my judge, whom, yet once more, 
 [ h'dd my most malicious foe, and think not 
 At all a friend to truth. 
 
 WoL I do profess. 
 
 You speak not like yourself ; who ever yet 
 Ha* f» stood to charity ; and display'd the effects 
 Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom [wrong: 
 0>i topping woman's power. Madam, you do me 
 I have no spleei against you ; nor injustice 
 For you, or any how far I have proceeded. 
 Or how far further shall, is warranted 
 By a ccunmission from the consistory, [me, 
 Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge 
 That I have blown this coal : I do deny it : 
 The king is present: if it be known to him, 
 Tiiat 1 gainsay my deed, how may he wotmd. 
 And worthily, my falsehood ? yea, as much 
 As you hav e done my truth. But if he know 
 That I am free of your report, he known, 
 I am not of your wrong. Therefore in hira 
 \i lies, to cure me : and the cure is, to 
 Remove these llioughts from you : The which before 
 His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
 ^ou. gracious madam, to nnthink your speaking. 
 And to s:»y so no more. 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 
 
 \. am a si nple woman, much too weak 
 To oppose your ctinning. You are meek, and hum- 
 ble- mor.th'd ; 
 V ou sign )'<\\\v place and calling, in full seeming, 
 W ith meekness and humility : but your heart 
 Is cramm d with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
 You have, b^* fortune, and ins highness' favours, 
 G<'mf slightlj »er low steps ; and now are mounted, 
 Wliere power* -^re your retainers : and your words, 
 Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please 
 YiMirself pronounce their office. I must teJl you, 
 Yu!i tender more your person's honour, than 
 Yonr lii^h profession spiritual : That again 
 • do reluse yon for my judge ; and here, 
 Retire you all, appeal unto the pope, 
 Vo bring m ' whole cause 'fore his holiness. 
 
 499 
 
 And to be juHg'd by hiin. 
 {She curt sies to the King., and offers to depart 
 
 Cam. The queen i» obstinate 
 
 Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
 Disdainful to be try'd by it; 'tis not well. 
 She's going away. 
 
 K. Hen. Call her again. [the court 
 
 Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into 
 
 Grif. Madam, you are called back. [your way ; 
 
 Q. Kath. Wliat need you note it pray yon, keep 
 When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord he lp. 
 They vex me past my patience I — pray joxx, p'ass 
 1 will not tarry : no, nor ever more, 
 Upon this business, my appearance make 
 In any of their courts. 
 
 [Exeunt Queen, Griffith, and her otktt 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate: 
 
 That man i' the world, who shall report he has 
 A better wife, let in nought be trusted, 
 For speaking false in that : Thou art, alone, 
 (If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness. 
 Thy meekness saint-like, wife- like government, — 
 Obeying in commanding, — and thy parts 
 Sovereign and pious else, could speak then out,) 
 The queen of earthy queens : — She is noble bora ; 
 And, like her true nobility, she has 
 Carried herself towards me. 
 
 Wol. Most gracious sir, 
 
 In humblest manner I require your highness. 
 That it shall please you to declare, in iiearing 
 Of all these ears, (for where I am robb'd and bo«md| 
 There must I be unloos'd ; although not there 
 At once and fully satisfied,) whether ever I 
 Did broach this business to your highness ; or 
 Laid any scruple in your v^ay, which might 
 Induce you to the question on't? or ever 
 Have to you, — but with thanks to God for such 
 A royal lady, — spake one the least woid, might 
 Be to the prejudice of her present state, ^ 
 Or touch of her good person ? 
 
 K. Hen. My lord f ardiual 
 
 I do excuse you ; yea, upon miue honour, 
 I free you from't. You are not to be taught 
 That you have many enemies, that know not 
 Why they are so, but, like to village curs. 
 Bark when their fellows do: by some of these 
 The queen is put in anger. You are excusj'd: 
 But will you be more justified ? you ever 
 Have wi ih'd the sleeping of this business : never 
 Desir'd it to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd : ofl 
 The passages made toward it: — on my honour, 
 I speak my good lord cardinal to thin point, 
 And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't,— 
 I will be bold with time, and your attention : — 
 Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ; —give 
 
 heed to't: — 
 My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness. 
 Scruple, and piick, ou certain speeches utter'd 
 By the bishop ofBayonne, then French ambassador* 
 Who had been hither sent on the debating 
 A marriage, 'twixt the duke of Orleans and 
 Our daughter Mary : I' the progress of this businesa^ 
 Ere a detenninate resolution, he 
 (I mean, the bishop) did require a respite ; 
 Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
 Whether our daughter were legitimate, 
 Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, 
 Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook 
 The boson of my conscience, enter'd me, 
 Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 
 The region of my breast; which forc'd such way. 
 That many n»az'd considerings did throng. 
 And press d in with this saution. First, methought , 
 I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had 
 Commanded nature, that my lady's womb. 
 If it conceiv'd a male child by me. should 
 Do no more offices of life to't, than 
 The grave does to (he dead : for her male issue 
 Or died where they were made, or shortly afip. 
 
 KING HENRY TTH. 
 
^00 KING HENRY Till. 
 
 'I'his world had air'd them : Hence I took a thought, 
 
 This was a judgment on me ; that my kingdom, 
 
 Well worthy the best heir o'the world, should not 
 
 Be gladded in't by me : Then follows, that 
 
 i weigli'd the danger, which my realm stood in 
 
 By this my issue's fail ; and thcit gave to me 
 
 M.^ny a groaning throe. Thus hulling in 
 
 The wild sea of my conscience, 1 did steer 
 
 Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
 
 Now present here together; that's to say, 
 
 { meant to rectify my conscience, — which 
 
 I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, — 
 
 By all the reverend fathers of the land. 
 
 And doctors learn'd. — First, I began in private 
 
 With you, my lord of Lincoln ; you remember 
 
 How under my oppression I did reek. 
 
 When I first raov'd you. 
 
 Li?i, Very well, my liege. 
 
 K. He7i. I have spoke long ; be pleas'd yourself 
 How far you satisfied me. [to say 
 
 Lin. So please your highness, 
 
 7he question did at first so stagger \ne, — 
 Beafing a state of mighty moment in't. 
 And consequence of dread,— that I committed 
 The daring'st counsel, which 1 had, to doubt; 
 And did entreat your highness to this course. 
 Which you are runnning here. 
 
 K. Hen, I then mov'd you, 
 
 Kly lord of Canterbury; and got your leave 
 To make this present summons : — Unsolicited 
 I left no reverend person in this court; 
 But by particular consent proceeded, 
 Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on : 
 For nc dislike i' the world against the person 
 or the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
 Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward : 
 Prove but our marriago lawful, by my life. 
 And kingly dignity, we are contented 
 To wear our mortal state to come, with her, 
 Katharine our queen, before the primest creature, 
 That's paragon'd o'the world. 
 
 Cam. So please your highness, 
 
 Ti'.e queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness 
 That we adjourn this court till further day: 
 Meanwhile must be an earnest motion 
 Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
 She intends unto his holiness, {They rise to depart.) 
 
 K. Hen. I may perceive, {Aside.) 
 
 These cardinals trifle with me ; f abhor 
 This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. 
 My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, 
 Pr'ythee return ! with thy approach, I know, 
 My comfort comes along. Break up the court: 
 I say, set on. [Exeunt, in manner as they entered. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene L — 'Palace at Bridewell. A Room in the 
 Queen's Apartment. 
 The Queen, and some of her Women, at work. 
 
 Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows 
 sad with troubles ; [ing. 
 Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave work- 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees. 
 And the mountain-tops, that freeze. 
 
 Bow themselves, when he did sing 
 To his music, plants and flowers 
 Ever sprung ; as sun, ana showers. 
 
 There had been a lasting spring. 
 Every thing that heard him play, 
 J^ven the billows of the sea. 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by, 
 In sweet music is suck art; 
 Killina care, and grief of heart, 
 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing, di*s. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 Q. Kat^. How now ? 
 
 Act U 
 
 Gent. An t please your grace, the two great car- 
 Wait in the presence. (dinals 
 
 Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? 
 
 Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 
 
 Q. Kath. Pray their gracesi 
 
 To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be theif 
 business 
 
 With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favoui 
 I do not like their coming, now I think on't 
 They should be good laen ; their aft'airs as righteo 
 But all hoods mbie eot monks. 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Campeius. 
 Wol. Peace to your highQei^s! 
 
 Q. Kath. Your graces find me here pah* of a 
 
 housewife ; 
 
 I would be aU, against the worst may happcrj. 
 What are your pleasures with me, reverenfJ lord? 
 Wol. May it please you, noble mad? to witb- 
 dra-v 
 
 Into your private chamber, we shall giv«i you 
 The full cause of our coming. 
 
 Q.Kath. Spffkithere; 
 There's nothing I have done yet, o' ny conscience, 
 Deserves a corner : 'Would, al)! ofJier women 
 Could speak this with as free a tcusl as 1 do? 
 My lords, I care not, (so much 1 am happy 
 Above a number,) if my actions 
 Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them* 
 Envy and base opinion set against them, 
 I know my life so even : If your business 
 Seek me out, and that way \ am wife in, 
 Out with it boldly; Truth loves open dealing. 
 
 'Wol. Tanta est ergo, te mentis integritas, regina 
 seren iss irna, — 
 
 Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin; 
 I am not such a truant since my coming, 
 As not to know the language I have liv'd m. 
 A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, 
 suspicious: [yoO» 
 Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank 
 If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; 
 Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord cardinal 
 The willing'&t sin I ever yet committed. 
 May be absolv'd in English. 
 
 Wol. Nobh; lady, 
 
 I am sorry, my integrity should breed 
 (And service to his majesty and you,) 
 So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
 We come not, by the way of accusation. 
 To taint that honour, every good tongue blesses; 
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ; 
 Yon have too much, good lady: but to know 
 How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
 Between the king and you ; and to deliver. 
 Like free and honest men, our just opinions. 
 And comforts to your cause. 
 
 Cam. Most honour'd madam, 
 
 My lord of York,— out of his noble nature. 
 Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace ; 
 Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
 Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) — 
 Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace. 
 His service and his counsel. 
 
 Q.Kath. To betray me. {Aside.) 
 
 My lords, 1 thank you both for your good wills. 
 Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so !) 
 But how to make you suddenly an answer. 
 In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, 
 (More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit. 
 And to such men of gravity and learning. 
 In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
 Among my maids ; full little, God knows, looking 
 Either for such men, or such business. 
 For her sake that I have been, (for I feel 
 The last fit of my greatness,) good your graces. 
 Let me have time, and council, for my cause; 
 Alas ! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. 
 
 Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love wifll 
 these fears ; 
 
bCENB 2. 
 
 KING HENRY YIIT. 
 
 501 
 
 Vonr hopes and friends are infinite. ' 
 
 Q. Kath. In England, 
 
 But little for my prolit: can you think, lords, 
 That any Englisliinan date give me counsel? 
 Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, 
 {Tlioiigh he be grown so desperate to be honest,) 
 And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends. 
 They, that nuist weigh out my afflictions, 
 They, that niy trus't may grow to, live not here ; 
 'I'iiey are, as all my other comforts, far hence. 
 Id my own country, lords. 
 
 Cam. I would, your grace 
 
 Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
 
 Q. Kath. How, sir? 
 
 Cam. Put your main cause into the king's pro- 
 tection ; 
 
 He's loving, and most gracious ; 'twill be much 
 Both for your honour better, and your cause ; 
 For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you. 
 You'll part away disgrac'd. 
 
 WoL He tells you rightly. 
 
 Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my 
 ruin : 
 
 Is this your christian counsel ? out upon ye ! 
 Heaven is above all yet; there sits a Judge, 
 That no king can corruji 
 
 Cam. Y'our rage mistakes us. 
 
 Q. Kath. The more shame for ye ; holy men I 
 thought ye, 
 
 Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; 
 But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye : 
 Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your 
 
 com t ort ? 
 
 The cordial tliat ye bring a wretched lady ? 
 
 A womaii lost among ye, laugh'd at, scom'd? 
 
 1 will not wish ye luilf my miseries, 
 
 I have more cliarity : But say, I warn'd ye ; 
 
 T:-ik.p heed; for iieaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
 
 'ihe burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 
 
 WoL Madam, this is a mere distraction; 
 Yo\i turn the ucod we offer into envy. 
 
 Q. KaiJu Ye turn me into nothing : Woe upon ye, 
 And all such false professors! Would ye have me 
 (If you have any justice, any pity; 
 If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits,) 
 Put my sick, cause into his hands, that hates me? 
 Alasl he has banish'd me his bed already; 
 His love, t(jo long agp : I am old, my lords. 
 And all the fellowship, I hold now with him. 
 Is only my obedience. What can happen 
 To me above tlii^ wretchedness? all your studies 
 Make me a curse like this 
 
 Cam. Your fears are worse. 
 
 Q. Kath, Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak 
 myself, 
 
 Since virtue finds no friends,) — a wife, a ti ofi one ? 
 A woman, (I dare say, witliout vain-glory,) 
 Never yet hrauded with suspicion? 
 Have I with all my full affections [him ? 
 
 Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey'd 
 Been, out of fondness, superstitions to him? 
 Almost l(u-got my prayers to content him ? 
 And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords, 
 Brin» me a constant woman to her husband ; 
 One, that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; 
 And to tliat woman, when she has done most. 
 Yet will 1 add an honour, — a great patience. 
 
 Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim 
 at [guilty, 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so 
 I'o give up willingly that noble title, 
 Your maiiter wed me to : nothing but death 
 SJiall e'er divorce my dignities. 
 
 W ol. 'Pray, hear me. 
 
 Q. Kmt/i. 'Woidd I had never trod this English 
 ^'arth, 
 
 Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! 
 Ye have angels' laces, hut heaven knows your hearts. 
 What will become of iiie now, wrete.hed h<iy? 
 &im tkii moHl. uuliappy vvoman living.— 
 
 Alas ! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes ? 
 
 {To her WottUfU 
 Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pi!^y, 
 No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me, 
 Almost, no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily, 
 That once was mistress of the field, and flourijh'd, 
 I'll hang my head, and perish. 
 
 Wol. If your grace 
 
 Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest 
 You'd feel more comfort : why should we, good ladj^ 
 Upon what cause, wrong you ? alas ! our places. 
 The way of our profession is against it: 
 We ■ r to cure such sorrows, tiot to sow them. 
 For goodness' sake, consider what you do: 
 How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
 Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience. 
 So much they love it; but, to stubborn spirits. 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
 I know, you have a gentle, noble temper, 
 A soul as even as a calm ; Pray, think us 
 Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and ser- 
 vants, [virtue* 
 
 Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong year 
 With this weak women's fears. A noble spirit, 
 As yours was put into you, ever casts lyou; 
 Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king love* 
 13eware, you lose it not : For us, if you please 
 To trust us in your business, we are ready 
 To use our utmost studies in your service. 
 
 Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords; And, pray., 
 forgive me, 
 If I have us'd myself unmannerly; 
 You know, I am a woman, lacking wit 
 To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
 Pray, do my service to his majesty : 
 He has my heart yet; and sliall have my prayers. 
 While I ahall have my life. Come, reverend tather 
 Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, 
 That little thought, when she set footing here. 
 She should have bought her dignities so dear. 
 
 Scene II. — Ani^- chamber to the King's 
 Apartment. 
 
 Enter the Duke o/ Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, 
 the Earl o/Surrey, and the Lord Cha^ibcrlain 
 
 Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints. 
 And force them with a constancy, the cardinal 
 Cannot stand under them : If you omit 
 The offer of this time, I cannot promise. 
 But that you shall sustain more new disgraces, 
 With these you bear already. 
 
 Sur. _ I am joyftd 
 
 To meet the least occasion, that may give n)e 
 Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke. 
 To be reveng'd on him. 
 
 Suf. Which of the peers 
 
 Have uncontemn'd gone by hini, or at least 
 Strangely neglected ? when did he regard 
 The stamp of nobleness in any person. 
 Out of himself? 
 
 Cham. My lords, you speak you;- pleasures; 
 What he dese» ve of you and me, I know ; 
 What we can do to him, (though now the time 
 Gives way to us,) 3 much fear. If you cannot 
 Bar his access to the; king, never attt mpt 
 Any thing on him; ftr he hath a witchcraft 
 Over the king in his tongue. 
 
 Nor. O, fear him not; 
 
 His spell in that is out : the king hatli found 
 Matter against him, that for ever mars 
 The honey of his language. No, he's settled. 
 Not to come off, in his displeasure. 
 
 Sur. Sir, 
 I should be glad to hear such news as this 
 Once every hour. 
 
 Nor. Believe it, this is true. 
 
 In tlie divorce, his contrary proceeding's 
 Are all unfolded; wherein he appearne 
 
502 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act ][L 
 
 As T conld wish mine enemy. 
 
 Sur. How came 
 
 His practices to Ifght? 
 
 Suf. Most strange fy. 
 
 Sur. O, how, how ? 
 
 Sitf. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried, 
 And came to the eye o'the king: wherein was read, 
 How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
 To sfa} the judgment o'the divorce : For if 
 t did take phice, ! do, quoth he, perceive. 
 My Jcincj is iamjhd in affection to 
 A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen. 
 
 Sur. Has the king this ? 
 
 Suf. Believe it. 
 
 Sur. Will this work ? 
 
 Cham. The king in this perceives him, how he 
 coasts, 
 
 All his tricks foimder, and he brings his physic 
 And hedges, his own way. But in this point 
 After his patient's death : the king already 
 Hath married the fair lady. 
 
 Sur. 'Would he had ! 
 
 Suf. May you be happy in your wish, niy lord ! 
 For, 1 profess, you have it. 
 
 Sur. Now all my joy 
 
 Trace the conjunction ! 
 
 Suf My amen to't ! 
 
 Nur . All men's. 
 
 Suf. There's order given for her coronation : 
 Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
 To some ears unrecounted. — But, my lords, 
 She is a gallant creature, and complete 
 In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her 
 Will fall sonie" blessing to this land, which shall 
 In it be memoriz'd 
 
 Sur. But, will the king 
 
 Digest this letter of the cardinal'** ? 
 The Icrd forbid ! 
 
 Nor, Marry, amen ! 
 
 Suf. No, no ; 
 
 Theie be more wasps, that buz about his nose, 
 Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius 
 Is stolen away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave; 
 Has left the cause o'the king unhandled ; and 
 Is posted, as the a^ent of our cardinal. 
 To second all his plot. I do assure you, 
 The king cry'd, ha ! at this. 
 
 Cham. Now, God incense him. 
 
 And let him cry ha, louder ! 
 
 Nor. But, ray lord. 
 
 When returns Cranmer? 
 
 Suf. He is return'd, in his opinions; which 
 Have satisfied the king for his divorce. 
 Together with all fauious colleges 
 Almost in Christeridom : shortly, I believe, 
 His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
 Her coronation. Katharine no more 
 Shall be call d queen; but princess dowager. 
 And widow to prince Arthur. 
 
 Nor. * This same Cranmer's 
 
 A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
 In the king's business. 
 
 Suf. He has ; and we shall see him 
 
 For it an archbishop. 
 Nor. So I hear. 
 
 Stif. 'Tis s&. 
 
 The cardinal — 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Cromwell. 
 
 Ncr. Observe, observe, he's moody. 
 
 Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave you the king? 
 
 Crom. To his own hand, in his bedchamber. 
 
 Wol. Lonk'd he o'the inside of the paper? 
 
 Crom, Presently 
 He did imseal them : and the first he view'dy 
 He did it with a serious mind; a heed 
 Was in his countenance : You, he bade 
 Attend him here this morning. 
 
 Wol. Is he leady 
 
 To come abroad ? 
 
 *^'T°^- I fhmk, by this he is. 
 
 T. L M ^ while.— \Exit. Cromtvell 
 
 It shall be to the duchess of Alengon, 
 The French kings sister ; he shall f,mVtv her — 
 Anne Bullen 1 No; Ml no Anne liuliens'fo,- him 
 There is more in it than fair vis jgf-. — Hnilf n ! 
 No, we'll no Bullens — Speedily I wi.-h [hroke! 
 'loj'pa'* I'rom Rome.— Tlie marcliioiit-ss ol l\,m- 
 
 Nor. He's discontented. 
 
 r^^"f- . May be, he hears the king 
 
 Does whet his anger to him. 
 
 Sharp enough, 
 Lord, for thy justice ! [daughter, 
 Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's 
 
 To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! 
 
 This candle burns not clear: 'tis 1 must snuifit; 
 Then, out it goes.— What though I know her vir- 
 tuous. 
 
 And well-deserving? yet I know her for 
 A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to 
 Our cause, that she should lie i'the bosom of 
 Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung ap 
 An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one 
 Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king. 
 And is his oracle. 
 
 Nor. He is vex'd at something. 
 
 Suf. I would, 'twere something that would fr®t 
 The master-cord of his heart ! [the striog. 
 
 Enter the King, reaaing a schedule ; and LovBLIr. 
 Suf. The king, the king. 
 
 K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumu- 
 lated 
 
 To his own portion I and what expense bv the hour 
 Seems to flow from him ? How, i'the uaufe ol thrift, 
 Does he rake this together? — Now, my lords; 
 Saw you the cardinal ? 
 ^ Nor. My lord, we have 
 
 Stood here observing him: Some strange or mmotioB 
 Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; 
 Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground. 
 Then lays his finger on his ten)|)Ie ; straight. 
 Springs out into last gait; then, stops again. 
 Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts 
 His eye against the moon : in most strange postures 
 We have seen him set himself. 
 
 K. Hen. It may well be ; 
 
 There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning 
 Pa|)ers of state he sent me to peruse. 
 As I requir'd ; And, wot you, what I found 
 There ; on my conscien 'e, pnt unwittingly ? 
 Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, — 
 The several parcels of his plate, his treasure. 
 Rich stutJs, and ornaments of household ; which 
 I find at such prond rate, that it out-speaks 
 Possession ol' a subject. 
 
 Nor. It's heaven's will ; 
 
 Some spirit pnt this paper in the packet. 
 To bless your eye withal. 
 
 K.Hen. Ifwe did think 
 
 His contemplation were above the earth. 
 And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
 Dwell in his musings : but, I am alraid. 
 His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
 His serious considering. 
 
 {He takes his seat, and whispers Lcvell, whn 
 goes to Wolsey.) 
 Wol. Heaven forgive me ! 
 
 Ever God bless your highness ! 
 
 K. Hen. Good my lord, 
 
 You are tull of heavenly stuff', and bear the inveuioiy 
 Of your best graces in your mind ; the which 
 You were now ruiming o'er ; you have scaice time 
 To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span. 
 To keep your earthly audit: Sure in that 
 I deem you an ill husband ; and am glad 
 To have you therein my companion, 
 
 Wol. Sir, 
 For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
 To think Ui.ou the part of business, whicb 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 503 
 
 ear i'tne slat ; and nature does re(^uire 
 Her times of preservation, which, perlorce, 
 I, her frail son, amongst ray brethren mortal, 
 Must eive my tendance to. 
 
 K. Hen. You have said well. 
 
 Wol. And ever may your highness yoke together, 
 As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
 With my well-saying ! 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis well said agaiu \ 
 
 And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well: 
 And y*it words are no deeds. My father lov'd you : 
 He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown 
 His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
 I have kept you next my heart; have not alone 
 Eraploy'd you where high profits might come home, 
 But par'd my present havings, to bestow 
 My bounties upon you. 
 
 Wol. What should this mean ? 
 
 Sur. The Lord increase this business ! {Aside.) 
 
 K. Hen. Have I not made you 
 
 The prime man of the slate ? I pray you, tell me. 
 If what 1 now pronounce, you have found true : 
 And if you may confess it, say withal. 
 If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ? 
 
 Pf^ol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
 Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could 
 My studied purposes requite ; which went 
 Beyond all men's endeavours ; — my endeavours 
 Have ever come too short of my desires, 
 Yet fil'd with my abilities : Mine own ends 
 Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 
 To the good of your most sacred person, and 
 The profit of the state. For your great graces 
 Heap'd upoc me, poor undeserver, I 
 Can nothing render but allegiant thanks; 
 My prayers to heaven for you; my loyalty. 
 Which ever has, and ever shall be growing, 
 Till deati», that winter, till it. 
 
 K. Hen. Fairly answer'd ; 
 
 A loyal and obedient subject is 
 Therein illustrated: The honour of it 
 Does pay the act of it; as, i'the contrary. 
 The ibulness is the punishment. I presume. 
 That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
 My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, 
 more 
 
 On you, than any; so your hand, and heart. 
 Your brain, and every functio.i of your power. 
 Should, notwithstandmg that your bond of duty. 
 As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
 To me, your friend, than any. 
 
 Wol. I do profess. 
 
 That for your highness' good I ever labour'd 
 More than mine own ; that am, have, and will be, 
 Though all the world should ctack their duty to you. 
 And tiirow it from theii soul : though perils did 
 Abound, as thick as thought could make thenj, and 
 Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty. 
 As doih a rock against the chiding flood. 
 Should the approach of this wild river break. 
 And stand unshaken yours. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken : 
 
 Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast. 
 For you have seen him open't. — Read o'er this ; 
 
 {Giving him papers^ 
 And, after, this : and then to breakfast, with 
 What appetite you have. 
 
 \E.xit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey: 
 the Nobles throng after him, smiling, and 
 whispering. 
 
 Wol. What should this mean ? 
 
 What rfiidden anger's this? how have 1 reap'd it? 
 He ported frowning from me, as if ruin 
 Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion 
 Upon the daring Imntsman, that has gali'd him ; 
 Tnen makes hini notliing. I must read this paper; 
 I fear, tlie story of liis anger. — 'Tis so: 
 This paper has undone me : — 'Tis the account 
 Of all that v/orld of wealth 1 have drawn together 
 For uiiue own ends; indeed, *o ^ain the popedom. 
 
 4nd fee n)y friends in Rome. O negl gence. 
 
 Fit lor a fool to fall by ! W^bat cross devil 
 
 Made me put this main secret in the packet 
 
 I sent the king ? Is there no way to cure this * 
 
 No new device to beat this from his brains? 
 
 I know, 'twill stir him strongly ; Yet I knowr 
 
 A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune 
 
 Will bring me otf again. What's this — To ihv Popi » 
 
 The letter, as I live, with all the business 
 
 I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell I 
 
 I have toucrlSi the highest point of all my greaty^ la, 
 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 
 I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening. 
 
 And no man see me more. 
 
 Re-enter the Dukes o/Norfolk and Suffolk ,M# 
 
 Earl o/SuRREY, and the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor, Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal ; wlia 
 commands you 
 To render up the great seal presently 
 Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 
 To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's, 
 Till you hsar further from his highness. 
 
 Wol. ^ ^ Stay, 
 
 Where's your commission, lords ? words cannot 
 Authority so weighty. [carry 
 
 Suf. Who dare cross them ? 
 
 Bearing the king's will from his modth expressly ? 
 
 Wol. Till I nnd more than will, or words, to do it, 
 (I mean, your malice,) know, offici-ous lords. 
 I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel 
 Of what coarse metal ye are moulded. — envy. 
 How eagerly ye follow my disgraces. 
 As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 
 Ye appear in every thing may bring my nun ! 
 Follow your envious courses, men of malice; 
 You have christian warrant for tliem, and, no doubt» 
 In time will find their fit rewards. That seal. 
 You ask with such a violence, the king, 
 (Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me. 
 Bade me enjoy it, with the place and hononrs. 
 During my life ; and, to confirm his goodness. 
 Tied it by lette:rs patents : Now, who'll take it ? 
 
 Sur. 'I'he king, that gave it. 
 
 Wol. It must be himself then 
 
 Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 
 
 Wol. Proud lord, tliou liest; 
 
 Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
 Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 
 
 Sur. Thy arabitioi^ 
 
 Thou scar*'* sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
 Of noble 'iuckingham, my fjther-in-law : 
 The head* of all thy brother cardinals, 
 (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,) 
 Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy. 
 You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 
 Far from his succour, from the king, from all, 
 That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him * 
 Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
 Absolv'd him with an axe. 
 
 Wol. This, and all else 
 
 This talking lord can lay upon mv credit, 
 I answer, is most false. The duke by law 
 Found his deserts : how innocent I was 
 From any private malice in his end. 
 His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
 If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, 
 You have as little honesty as honour ; 
 That I, in the way of loyalty and truth 
 Toward the king, my ever royal masti>r, 
 Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey car oe, 
 And all that love his follies. 
 
 Sur. By my soul. 
 
 Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou shonld'4 
 feel 
 
 My sword i'the life-blood of thee else. — My lords. 
 Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? 
 And from this fellow? If vve live thus tamely. 
 To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet. 
 
504 
 
 KING 
 
 HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, 
 Ami dare us with his cap, like larks. 
 
 Wol, All goodness 
 
 I s iwison to thy stomach. 
 
 S?ir. Yes, that goodness 
 
 Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
 Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion : 
 The goodness of your intercepted packets, 
 
 ou writ to the pope, against the king : your good- 
 ness, 
 
 Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. — 
 
 My lord of Norfolk, — as you are truly noble. 
 
 As you respect the common good, the state 
 
 Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, 
 
 Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, — 
 
 Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
 
 Collected from his life : I'll startle you 
 
 Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench 
 
 hny kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 
 
 /f^oL How much, methinks, I could despise this 
 man. 
 
 But that I am bound in charity against it ! 
 
 iVor.Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand : 
 Hut, thus much, they are foul ones. 
 
 Wol. So much fairer, 
 
 A.nd spotless, shall mine innocence arise, 
 When the king knows my truth. 
 
 Sur. This cannot save you : 
 
 F thank my memory, I yet remember 
 Some of these articles; and out they shall. 
 Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal. 
 You'll shew a little honesty. 
 
 Wol. Speak on, sir; 
 
 I dare your worst objections : if I blush, 
 It is, to see a nobleman want manners. 
 
 Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. 
 Have at you. 
 First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge, 
 Y ou wrought to be a legate ; by which power 
 You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 
 
 Nor Then, that, i& all you write to Rouie, or else 
 To foreign princes, Eyo et Rex mens 
 Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king 
 To be your servant. 
 
 Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge 
 
 Either of king or council, when you went 
 Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
 To carry into Flanders the great seal. 
 
 Sur. Item, you sent a large commission 
 To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude 
 Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, 
 A leafiue between his highness and Ferrara. 
 
 Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd 
 ^ our holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 
 
 Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- 
 stance, [ence,) 
 (By what means got, I leave to your own consci- 
 To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
 You have for dignities ; to the mere undoing 
 Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ; 
 Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
 I will not taint my mouth with. 
 
 Cham. O my lord, 
 
 Press not a falling man too far ; 'tis virtue : 
 His faults lie open to the laws ; let them. 
 Not you, correct thera. My heart weeps to see him 
 So little of his great self. 
 
 Sur. I forgive him. 
 
 Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is, — 
 Because all those things, you have done of late 
 By vour power legatine within this kingdom, 
 FaJi into the compass of a proemunire.,— 
 That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
 To forfeit a^ your goods, lands, tenements. 
 Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
 Out of the king's protection : — This is my charge. 
 
 Nor. And so we'll leave yon to your meditations 
 How to live better. For your stuboorn answer, 
 About the giving back the great seal to us, [you. 
 The king sluJl know it, ami no doubt, shall thank 
 
 So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Wolsiy, 
 Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear mii 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope, to morrow blossoms. 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
 The third day, comes a frost, a killing irost ; 
 And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surelj 
 His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd. 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. 
 This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond niy depth : my high-blown [)ride 
 At length broke undei me; and now has left me. 
 Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me. 
 Vain pomp, and glory of tliis world, I hate ye; 
 I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man, that hangs on prim es' favours ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 'I'hat sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin. 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to h.ope again. — 
 
 Enter Cromwell, amazedly. 
 
 Why, bcw now, Cromwell ? 
 
 Cram. I have no power to vspeak, sir, 
 
 Wol. What, amaz'd 
 
 At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder, 
 A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep, 
 I am fallen indeed. 
 
 Crom. How does your grace ? 
 
 Wol. Why, well; 
 
 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
 I know myseli'now; and I feel within nae 
 A peace above all earthly dignities, 
 A still and quiet conscience. The king haj cur'd lae, 
 I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders, 
 Tiiese ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
 A load would sink a navy, too much honour : 
 O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, 
 Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 
 
 Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right 
 use ol it. 
 
 rf'ol. I hope, I have : I am able now, methinks, 
 ^Out of a fortitude of soul I feel.) 
 To endure more miseries, and greater far. 
 Than u)y weak-hearted enemies dare olfei 
 V\"hat news abroad? 
 
 Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, 
 
 Is your displeasure with the king. 
 
 tVol. ^ _ God bless him! 
 
 Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen 
 Lord chancellor in your place. 
 
 W ol. Tliat's some what sudden : 
 
 But he's a learned man. May he continue 
 Long in his highness' favour, and do justice 
 For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bone* 
 When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
 May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! 
 VVhat more ? 
 
 Crom. That Crantner is return'd with welcome, 
 Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Wol. That's news indeed. 
 
 Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, 
 
 Whom the king hath in secrecy lon^- married, 
 This day was vievv'd in open, as his queeu. 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 Only about her coronation. 
 
 Wol. There was the weight that puU'd me dowB, 
 O Cromwell, ' 
 Tte king has gone beyond me, all niy giorie» 
 In that one woman I ha\ e lost for ever ; 
 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, 
 Or gild again the noble troops, that waited 
 Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwsllg 
 I am a poor fa!!ei? man, unworthy now 
 To be tliy lorJ an J fnaJ^^i^ek the king; 
 
A.CT TV. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII 
 
 505 
 
 riiat sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him 
 
 What, and liow true thou art : he will advance thee ; 
 
 Some little memory of me will stir hun; 
 
 (1 know his noble nature,) not to let 
 
 Thy hopeful service perish too : Glood Cromwell, 
 
 Neglect him not; make use now, and provide 
 
 For thine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. O my lord. 
 
 Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master ? 
 Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
 The kin^ shall have my service ; but my prayers, 
 For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. 
 
 Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me. 
 Out of *hy honest truth, to play the woman. 
 Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 And, — when I am forgotten, as 1 shall be ; 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, 
 Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory. 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — 
 Found thee a way, out ol' his wreck, to rise in ; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
 Croniwell_, I charge tiiee, fling away ambition ; 
 By that sin fell tiie angels, how can man then, 
 Ttie image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? 
 Love tliyselfiast : cherish those hearts that hate thee; 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 Stiil in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just; and fear not : 
 Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's. 
 Thy God's, and trutii's ; then if thou fall'st, OCrom- 
 Thou fall'st a blessed tnartyr. Serve the king; [well, 
 And, — Pr ythee, lead nie in : 
 There take an inventory of all I have, 
 i o the last (,enny ; 'tis the king's : my robe 
 A^nd my integrity to hea\en, is all 
 I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me na^ed to mine enemies. 
 
 Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
 
 Wol. So I have. Farewell 
 
 The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 Scene I. — A Street in Westminster. 
 Enter tivo Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gent. You are well met once again. 
 
 2 Gent. And so are you. 
 
 1 Gent. Yon come to take your stand here, and 
 
 behold 
 
 The lady Anne pasa from her coronation? 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last en- 
 
 counter, 
 
 The duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis very true : but that time oft'er'd 
 'I'his. general joy. [sorrow; 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis well : The citizens, 
 
 1 am sure, have shewn at full their royal minds ; 
 As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward 
 In celebration of this day, with shews, 
 Pageants, and sights of honour. 
 
 1 Gent. Never greater. 
 Nor, ril assure you, better taken, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains, 
 That paper in your hand ? 
 
 1 Gent Yes ; 'tis the list 
 Of those, that claim their otfices this day. 
 By custom of the coronation. 
 
 The duke of Sullblk is the first, and claims 
 
 To be high steward ; next, the duke of Norfolk, 
 
 He to be earl marshal : yow may read the rest. 
 
 2 Go.nt. 1 thank you, sir had 1 not kncwn those 
 
 customs. 
 
 I should have been beholden to your paper. 
 But, I beseech you, what's beci me of K.atharine, 
 The princess dowager? how goes her business? 
 
 1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop 
 Of Canterbury, accouipanied with other 
 Learned and reverend fathers (tf his order. 
 
 Held a late court at Dunstable, sis miles off 
 From Ampthill, where the princess lay ; to which 
 She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not • 
 And, to be short, for not appearance, and 
 The king's late scruple, by the inain assent 
 Of all these learned men she was divorc'd. 
 And the late marriage made of none etlect . 
 Since which, she was removed to Kimholton, 
 Where she remains now sick. 
 
 2 Gent. Alas, good lady l-^^. TruTnpett.) 
 The trumpets sound : stand close, tiie queen is 
 
 coming. 
 
 THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. 
 
 A lively flourish of trumpets ; then, enter., — 
 \. Tivo Judges. [before hinn. 
 
 2. Lord Chancellor, wick the purse and tnace 
 
 3. Choristers singi7tg. [Music.) 
 
 4. Mayor of London hearing the mace. Then 
 
 Garter, in his coat of arms, and on his 
 head, a gilt copper croivn. 
 5 Marquis Dorset, hearing a sceptre of gold, on 
 his head a demi- coronal of gold. With 
 him, the Earl of Surrey, hearing the roa 
 of silver with the dove, crowned with an 
 earls coronet. Collars of SS. 
 
 6. Duke of Suffolk, in hisrohe of estate, his coronet 
 
 on his head, hearing a long white tvand^ 
 as high-steward. With him, the Duke 
 of Norfolk, with the rod of marshalship, 
 a coronet on his head. Collars ofSS. 
 
 7. A canopy borne by four of the Chuiue-ports ; 
 
 under it, the Queen in her robe; in her 
 hair richly adorned with pearl, crotvned. 
 On each side of her, the Bishops of Lon- 
 don and Winchester. 
 
 8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of 
 
 gold, wrought with Jiowers, bearing i he 
 Queen's train. 
 
 9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain cir- 
 
 clets of gold without flowers. 
 2 Gent. A royal train, believe me. — These 1 
 know ; — 
 
 Who's that, that bears the sceptre ? 
 
 1 Gent. Marqms Dorset : 
 And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 
 
 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman : And that 
 
 should be 
 The duke of Suffolk. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the same ; high-steward. 
 
 2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes. 
 
 2 Gent. Heaven bless thee! 
 
 [Looking on the Queen,) 
 Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. — 
 Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel ; 
 Our king has all the Indies in his arms, 
 And more, and richer, when he strains that lady : 
 I cannot blame his conscience. 
 
 1 Gent. They, that Dear 
 The cloth of honour over her, are four barons 
 
 O-t the Cinque-ports. 
 
 2 Gent. Those men ar*} happy; and so are all, ar» 
 
 near her. 
 
 I take it, she that carries up the train. 
 
 Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 
 
 1 Gent. It is ; and all the rest are countesses. 
 
 2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars, 
 
 indeed ; 
 And, sometimes, falling ones. 
 
 1 Gent. No more of that 
 
 [Exit Procession, with a great flot risk oj 
 trumpets. 
 
506 
 
 KING HENRY VTII. 
 
 Act it. 
 
 Enier a third Gentleman. 
 
 God Aavfi you, sir? Where 
 
 ing 
 
 \\Q you been broil- 
 [a finger 
 
 3 G^nt. Amons the ornwd i'the abbey; where 
 Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I am stifled 
 \V^ith the mere ankness of their joy. 
 
 2 Cent. You saw 
 1 he cerejnocy 
 
 3 Gi nt. That 1 dia 
 
 1 Gtnt. How was it? 
 'i Cent. Well worth the seeing. 
 
 2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us. 
 
 3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream 
 Of lords, and Indies, having brought the queen 
 
 'J'o a prepar'd place in tl;e clioir, fell off 
 
 A distance from her, while her grace sat down 
 
 'J'o rest a while, some half an hour, or so, 
 
 In a rich chair of state, o|)posing freely 
 
 The beauty of her person to the people. 
 
 Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman. 
 
 That ever lay by man : which when the people 
 
 Had the full view of, such a noise arose 
 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
 
 \s loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks, 
 
 .Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces 
 
 Been loose, this aay they had been lost. Such joy 
 
 I never saw before. Great-bellied women. 
 
 That had not hall" a week to go, like rams 
 
 In the old time of war, would shake the press, 
 
 And iiiake tliem reel before them. No man living 
 
 Could say, This is my wife, there; all were woven 
 
 So strangely in one piece. 
 
 2 Gent. But, 'pray, what follow'd '* 
 
 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with mo- 
 
 dest paces 
 
 Came to the altar ; where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, 
 Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly, 
 Then rose igaiii, and bow'd her to the people : 
 When by the archbishop of Canterbury 
 She had all the royal makings of a queen; 
 As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, 
 The rod, and bird of {leace, and all such emblems 
 Laid nobly on her : which perform'd, the choir. 
 With all the choicest music of the kingdom, 
 Together sung Te Dium. So she parted, 
 And with the same full state pac'd back again 
 To York-place, where the feast is held. 
 
 1 Gent. _ Sir, you 
 Must no more call it York -place, that is past : 
 For, since the cardinal fell, lhat title's lost; 
 
 Tis now the king's, and call'd — Whitehall. 
 
 3 Gent. I know it ; 
 
 But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name 
 fs fresh about me. 
 
 2 Gent. What two reverend bishops 
 Were those, that went on each side of the queen ? 
 
 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of 
 
 Winchester, 
 fNewIy preferr'd from the king's secretary,) 
 The othejf, Loudon. 
 
 2 Gent. He of Winchester 
 
 [s held no great good lover of the archbishop's. 
 The virtuous Cranmer. 
 
 3 Gent. All the land knows that : 
 However, yet there's no great breach ; when it 
 
 comes, 
 
 Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 
 
 2 Gent. Who may that be, 1 pray you? 
 
 ^ Gent. Thomas Cromwell ; 
 
 A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 
 A worthy friend. — The king 
 Has made him rnaster o'the jewel-house. 
 And one, already, of the privy-council. 
 
 2 Gent. He will deserve more. 
 
 3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt 
 Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 
 
 Is to the court, and there ye shall be njy guests; 
 Something 1 can command. As 1 walk thither, 
 I'll tell ye more. 
 
 Both. You may c'-mmand us, sir. EAeuitt 
 
 Scene II.— Kimbolton. 
 Enier Katharine, dotvager, sick; led between 
 Griffith and Patience. 
 
 Grif. How does your grace ? 
 
 Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death 
 
 My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
 Willing to leave their burden : Keach a chair; — 
 So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
 Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me. 
 That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead? 
 
 Grif. Yes, madam ; but, i think, your gract, 
 Out of the pain you snffer'd, gave no ear to't. 
 Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how hs 
 died : 
 
 If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
 For my example. 
 
 GriJ'. Well, the voice goes, madams 
 
 For after the stout earl Northumberland 
 Ariested him at York, and brought him forward 
 (As a njan sorely tainted,) to his answer, 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Kath. Alas, poor man! 
 
 Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Lei 
 cester, 
 
 Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot. 
 With ail his convent, honourably recei» 'd iiitn ; 
 To whom he gave these words, — 0 father abbot, 
 An old man, broken with the storms of state. 
 Is come to lay his iveary benes among ye ; 
 Give him a little earth for charity ! 
 So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness 
 Pursu'd him still ; and, three nights after this, 
 About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
 Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance, 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows. 
 He gave his honours to the world again. 
 His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 Kath. So may he rest ; his faidts lie gently on hia 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him. 
 And yet with charity, — He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion, 
 Ty'd all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; 
 His own opinion was his law: I'the presence 
 He would say untruths ; and be ever double. 
 Both in his words and meaning : He was never. 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful ; 
 His promises vAere, as he then was, mighty; 
 But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
 Grif. Noble madam, 
 
 Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 We write in water. May it please your highness 
 To hear me speak his good now ? 
 
 Kath. Yes, good Griffiti^ 
 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 Grif. This cardinal. 
 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle, 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; ■ 
 Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading: 
 Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; : 
 But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer ! 
 And though he were unsatisfied in getting, | 
 fWhich w*as a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, j 
 He was most princely : Ever witness for him i 
 Those twins of learhing, that he rais'd in you, j 
 Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with hin^ 
 Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; ( 
 The other, though unflnish'd, yet so far;)ou«, ^ 
 So excellent in art, and .still so rising, ; 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself v 
 And found the blessedness of being little: • ; ' ■ 
 
feCENE I. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 507 
 
 And, to add greater honours to his a^e 
 
 Than man could give him, he died, fearing God. 
 
 Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep mine honour from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
 With thy religious truth, and modesty, 
 Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! — 
 Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
 1 liave not long to trouble thee. — Good Gritlith, 
 5ause t!ie nuisicians play nie that sad note 
 I nanj'd my knell, whilst 1 sit meditating 
 On that celestial harmony I go to. 
 
 Sad and solemn music, [quiet, 
 
 Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down 
 For lear we wake her ;— Softly, gentle Patience. 
 
 The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping onf. after 
 another, six Personages, clad in whitt robes, 
 wearing on their heads garlands of hay a. and 
 golden vizards on their faces ; branches of 
 hays, or palm, in their hands. They first congee 
 unto her, then dance ; and, at certain changes, 
 the first two hold a spare garland over her 
 head; at which, the other four make reverend 
 curt'stes; then the two, that held the garland, 
 deliver the same io the other next two, who ob- 
 serve (he same order in their changes, and 
 holding the garland over her head; ivhich 
 done, they deliver the same garland to the last 
 two IV ho likewise observe the same order : at 
 which, ( as it were by inspiration,) she makes 
 in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up 
 her hands to heaven : and so in their dancing 
 they va?iish, carrying the garland with them. 
 The music continues. 
 
 Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye 
 
 all gone ? 
 
 And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? 
 
 Grif. Madam, we are here. 
 
 Kath. It is not you I call for : 
 
 Saw ye none enter, since I slept? 
 
 Grif None, madam. 
 
 Kath. No ? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
 Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
 Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? 
 They promised me eternal happiness; 
 And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
 I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall. 
 Assuredly. 
 
 Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
 Possess your fancy. 
 
 Kath. Bid the music leave, 
 
 I They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases.) 
 \ Pat. Do you note, 
 
 \ How much her grace is alter d on the sudden ? 
 ! How long her face is dravvn ? How pale she looks, 
 And of an earthly cold ? Mark you her eyes ? 
 
 Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray. 
 
 Pat. Heaven comfort her ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger 
 Mess. An't like your grace, — 
 Kath. You are a saucy fellow : 
 
 Deserve we no more reverence ? 
 j Grif. You are to blame, 
 
 1 Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness, 
 ! To nse so rude behaviour : go to, kneel. 
 \ Mess, I hunibly do entreat your highness' pardon ; 
 i My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying 
 ! A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 
 ! Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : But this fellow 
 ! Let one ne'er see again. 
 
 [Exeunt Griffith and Messenger. 
 
 Re enter Griffith, with Capucius. 
 
 If my sight fail not. 
 You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
 j My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 
 
 Cap. Madam, the same, your sei'v ar t. 
 
 Kath. i) my lord, 
 
 Tiie times, and titles, now are alter'd Ktraj.gely 
 With me, since first you knew me. But, I piay you 
 What is your pleasure with me ? 
 
 Cap. ^ _ Noble lady, 
 
 First, mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
 The king's request, that I would visit you ; 
 Who grieves much for your weakness, and by uie 
 Sends you his princely commendations. 
 And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
 
 Kath. O my good lord, that comfort conges to 
 late; 
 
 'Tis like a pardon after execution : 
 That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me; 
 But now I am ijast all comforts here, but prayers. 
 How does his highness ? 
 
 Cap. Madam, in good health. 
 
 Kath, So may he ever do ! and ever flourish. 
 When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
 Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
 I caus'd you write, yet sent away ? 
 
 Pat. ^ No, madam. 
 
 {Giving it to Katharint ) 
 
 Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
 This to my lord the king. 
 
 Cap. Most willing, madam. 
 
 Kath. In which I have commended to his good, 
 ness 
 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter 
 
 The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on he'-i — 
 
 Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breedinsfj 
 
 (She is young, and of a nuble modest nature : 
 
 I hope, she will deserve well) ; and a little 
 
 To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him. 
 
 Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
 
 Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
 
 Upon my wretched women, that so long 
 
 Have follow'd both my fortunes fuithfullyi 
 
 Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
 
 (And now I should not lie,) but will deserve, 
 
 For virtue, and true beauty of the soul. 
 
 For honesty, and decent carriage, 
 
 A right good husband, let him be noble ; 
 
 And, sure, those men are happy, tiiat shall have them 
 
 The last is, for my men ; — they are the poorest. 
 
 But poverty could never draw them from me ;•— 
 
 That they may have their wages duly paid them. 
 
 And something over to remember nie by : 
 
 If heaven had pleas'd to have given n>e longer hfe. 
 
 And able means, we had not parted thus. 
 
 These are the whole contents : — And, good my lord, 
 
 By that you love the dearest in this world, 
 
 As you wish christian peace the souls departed. 
 
 Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
 
 To do me this last right. 
 
 Cap. By heaven, I will ; 
 
 Or let me lose the f^ishion of a man ! 
 
 Kath. I thank yon, honest lord. Remember ane 
 In all humility unto his highness: 
 Say, his long trouble now is passing 
 Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd hint. 
 For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
 My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
 You must not leave me yet, I must to bed ; 
 Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wenon 
 Let me be us'd with honour : strew me over 
 With maiden flowers, that all the worlJ may know 
 I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm i'«e. 
 Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
 A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
 I can no more. [Exeunt, leading KaihoR^ne 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — A Gallery in the Palace. 
 Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Paga 
 with a torch before him, met by Sir TuoMAt 
 
 LOVELL. 
 
 Gar. Its one o'clock, bo , is't not? 
 
5C J 
 
 i \y. It hath struck. 
 
 ii %r. I'hese should be hours for necessities. 
 Nut 'or (1 ;lights ; times to repair our nature 
 VN'it > coiiifortiug repose, and not for us 
 
 I'o saste these times. — Good hour of night, sir 
 
 Thomas ! 
 Whit jer so late ? 
 
 Lo%. Came you from the king, my lord ? 
 
 Gat I did, sir Thomas ; and left him at primero ^ 
 With t ie duke of Suffolk. 
 
 hov. I must to him too, 
 
 Uefore l>e go to bed. I'll take my leave. 
 
 Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the 
 matter? 
 
 ft seems, you are in haste ; an if there be 
 No great olfence belongs to"t, give your friend 
 Some toucii of your late business ; Atiairs, that walk 
 As, they say, spirits do) at midnight, have 
 u them a wilder nature, than the business 
 Ti)at seeks despatch by day. 
 
 hov. My lord, I love you ; 
 
 And durst commend a secret to your ear 
 Much weightier than this work. The queen's in 
 labowr, 
 
 They say, in great extremity ; and fear'd, 
 She'll With the labour end. 
 
 Gar. The fruit, she goes with, 
 
 I |)i ay for heartily ; that it may find 
 Good time, and live : but lor the stock, sir Thomas, 
 i wish it grubb'd up now. 
 
 hov. Methinks, I could 
 
 Cry thee amen ; and yet my conscience says 
 She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
 Deserve our better wishes. 
 
 Gar. But, sir, sir, — 
 
 Bear me, sir Thomas : You are a gentleman 
 Of my own way ; 1 know you wise, religious ; 
 And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, — 
 'Twill not, sir Thoiaas Lovell, take't of me, — 
 Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, 
 Sleep in their graves. 
 
 hov. Now, sir, ye speak of two 
 
 Tiie most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for Crom- 
 well, — 
 
 Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master 
 O'the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir. 
 Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, 
 VVith which the time will load him : The arch- 
 bishop 
 
 Is the king's hand, and tongue; And who dare speak 
 One syllable against him 'i 
 
 Car. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, 
 
 There are, that dare ; and I myself have yeDtur'd 
 To speak my mind of him : and, indeed, this day. 
 Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think, I have 
 Incens'd the lords o'the council, that he is 
 (For so I know he is, they know he is) 
 A most arch heretic, a pestilence, 
 That does infect the land : with which they moved, 
 Have broken with the king ; vyho hath so lar 
 Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace _ 
 And princely care ; foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
 Oar reasons'laid before him,) he hath commanded, 
 Yo-morrow morning to the council-board 
 He be conveuted. He's a rank weed. Sir Thomas, 
 And we must root him out. From your affairs 
 hinder you too long: good night, sir Thomas. 
 
 hov. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your 
 servant. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page. 
 
 hovell is going out, enter the King and the 
 Duke of Suffolk. 
 
 K. Hen. .^/harles, I will play no more to-night; 
 My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me, 
 
 Si/f. Sir, I did never win of yoir before. 
 
 K. Hen. But little, Charles ; 
 INor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. — 
 N(nv, ljo\ eil, from the queen what is the news? 
 
 Lav. I could not personally deliver to her 
 What y'iu commanded me, but by her woman 
 
 Act V 
 
 I sent your 'nessage ; who return'd her thanks 
 
 In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your hij;l». 
 
 Most heartily to pray for her. [nes 
 
 K. Hen. _ What say'st thou ? ha 
 
 To pray for her? what, is she crying out'-' 
 
 hov. So said her woman; and that her sufferaucfl 
 Almost each pang a death. [made 
 
 K. Hen. _ Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Suf, God safely quit her of her burden, and 
 With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
 Your highness with an heir ! 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis midnight, Charley 
 
 Pr'ythee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember 
 The estate of my poor queen. Leave ine alone 
 For I must think of that, which company 
 Will not be friendly to. 
 
 Suf. I wish your highness 
 
 A quiet night, and my good mistress will 
 RemcKiber in my pi'ayers. 
 
 K. Hen. Charles, good night—- 
 
 [Exit Stijjrolk 
 
 Enter Sir Anthony Denny. 
 Well, sir, what follows? 
 
 Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop, 
 As yon commanded me. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha ! Canterburj 
 
 Den. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 K. Hen. "Vis true : Where is he, I>enny ? 
 
 Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. 
 K. Hen. Bring liim to us. [Exit Denny, 
 
 hov. This is about that which the bishop spake ; 
 I am happily come hither. {Aside.) 
 
 Re enter Denny, with Cranmer. 
 
 K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. 
 
 { Lovell seems to stay.) 
 Ha ! — I have said. — Begone. 
 What ! [Exeunt hovell and Denny, 
 
 Cran. I am fearful : — Wherefore frowns he thus ? 
 'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, my lord ? You do desire to 
 Wherefore I sent for you ? [know 
 
 Cran. It is my duty 
 
 To attend your highness' pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Pray you, arifle. 
 
 My good and gracious lord of Canterbury. 
 Come, you and I must walk a turn together; 
 I have news to tell you : Come, come, give me year 
 hand. 
 
 Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak. 
 And am right sorry to repeat what follows : 
 I have, and must unwillingly, of late 
 Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, 
 Grievous complaints of you; which, being con- 
 sider'd. 
 
 Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall 
 This morning come before us ; where, I know. 
 You cannot with such freedom purge yourself 
 But that, till further trial, in those charges, 
 Which will require your answer, you must take 
 Your patience to you, and be well contented 
 To make your house our Tower : You a brother of OS, 
 It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
 Would come against you. 
 
 Cran. I humbly thank your highness; 
 
 And am right glad to catch this good occasion 
 Most thoroughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff 
 And corn shall fly asunder; for, I know. 
 There's none stands under more calumnious tongueS; ; 
 Than I myself, poor man. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand up, good C:^nterbury; 
 
 Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted 
 In us, thy friend -.'Give me thy hand, stand up; 
 Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy dame, 
 What manner of man are you ? My lord, 1 look'd 
 You would have given me your petition, that 
 I should have ta en some pains to bring together 
 Yourself and your accusers ; and to iiave heard yon 
 Without endurance, iin tiie-rc, 
 
 KING HENRY VIIL 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING HENRY VIIL 
 
 Cran. Most dread liege, 
 
 The good I stand ((n is my truth, and houesty. 
 If they shall fail, T, with mine enemies, 
 Will triumph o'er my person ; which I weigh not. 
 Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
 VVhat can be said against me. 
 
 K. Hen. Know you not how 
 
 \"our state stands i' the world, with the whole world? 
 Your enemies 
 
 Are many, and not small ; their practices 
 Must bear the same proportion : and not ever 
 The justice and the truth o'the question carries 
 The dae o'the ^erdlct with it : At what ease 
 Migfit corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
 To swear a»ainst you? Such things have been done. 
 You are potently oppos'd ; and with a malice 
 Of a great size. Ween you of better luck, 
 I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your master, 
 Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd 
 Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to; 
 You take a precipice for no leap of danger. 
 And woo your own destruction. 
 
 Cran. God, and your majesty. 
 
 Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
 The trap is laid tor me ! 
 
 K. Hen. Be of good cheer ; 
 
 Tliey shall no more prevail, than we give way to. 
 Keep comfort to you; and tliis morning see 
 You do appear before them: if they shall chance, 
 In charging j^on with matters, to commit you, 
 'J'he best [)ersuasions to the contrary 
 Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
 The occasion shall instruct jou; if entreaties 
 VV ill render you on remedy, this ring 
 Deliver theni and your appeal to us 
 There make before them. — Look, the good man 
 weeps ! 
 
 He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother! 
 
 [ swear lie is true-hearted ; and a soul 
 
 None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone. 
 
 And do as I have hid you. — [Exit Cranmer. 
 
 He has strangled 
 
 His language in his tears. 
 
 Enter an old Lady. 
 Gent. {Within.) Come back ; what mean you ? 
 Lady. £'ll not come hack ; the tidings, that I bring, 
 Wili make my boldness manners. — Now good 
 angels 
 
 Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade ihy person 
 Under their blessed wings ! 
 
 K. Hen. Now, by thy looks 
 
 f guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd ? 
 Say, ay ; and of a boy. 
 
 Lady. Ay, ay, my liege ; 
 
 And o< a lovely boy : The God of heaven 
 Both now and ever bless her! — 'tis a girl. 
 Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
 Desires your visitation, and to be 
 Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you, 
 As cherry is to cherry. 
 
 K Hen, Lovell,— 
 
 Enter Lovell, 
 Lov. Sir. 
 K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I ll to the 
 '"'^«^en. [Exit King. 
 
 Lady. An iumdred marks! By this light, I'll 
 b«ive more. 
 An ordinary groom is for such payment 
 I v\'ill have more, or scold it out of him. 
 Said I for this, the girl is like to him ? 
 I will have more, or else unsay't ; and now 
 While it is hot, Pll put it to the issue. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Lobby before the Council Chamber. 
 Enter Cranmer ; Servants, Door-keeper, §Cc. at- 
 tending, 
 
 Cran. 1 hope, I am not too late ; and vet the 
 gentleman. 
 
 That was sent to n.^' from the council, pray'd me 
 To make great haste. All ihst ? what means (his? — 
 Who waits there ? — Sure, you know me ? fHoat 
 
 D. Keep. Yes, ray lord ; 
 
 But yet 1 cannot help you. 
 
 Cran. Why ? 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace must wait till you b* 
 call'd for. 
 
 Enter Doctor Butts. 
 
 Cran. So. 
 
 Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad 
 I came this way so happily : The king 
 Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts 
 
 Cran. 'Tis Butts, {Aside.) 
 
 The king's physician : As he past along, 
 How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! 
 Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace : For certain, 
 This is of purpose laid, by some that hate me, 
 (God turn their hearts I I never sought their malice,) 
 To quench mine honour : they would shame to 
 make me 
 
 Wait else at door ; a fellow counsellor, 
 Among boys, grooms, and lackeys But their 
 pleasure.^ 
 
 Must be fulfiU'd, and I attend with patience. 
 Enter, at a window above, the King and Butts. 
 Butts. I'll shew your grace the strangest sight,—. 
 K. Hen. What's that, Butts? 
 
 Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a 
 day. 
 
 K. Hen. Body o'rae, where is it? 
 
 Butts. There, my lord j 
 
 The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; 
 Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants. 
 Pages and footboys. 
 
 K.Ren. Ha! 'Tis he, indeed : 
 
 Is this the honour they do one another ? 
 'Tis well, there's one above them yet. I h;^^ 
 thought 
 
 They hod parted so much honesty among them, \ 
 (At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer \ 
 A man of his place, and so near our favour, ! 
 To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, ' 
 And at the door, too, like a post with packets. 
 By holy M.iry, Butts, there's knavery: 
 Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ; 
 VVe shall hear more anon. — ■ [Exeunt 
 
 The Council-Chamber. 
 Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suffolk, 
 £(7r/q/" Surrey, LordChaml erlain, Gardiner, 
 and Cromwell. The Chan cellar 2 laces him- 
 self at the tipper end of th<i table on the left 
 hand; a seat being left void above him, as Jar 
 the Archbishop 0/ Canterbury. The rest seat 
 themselves in order on each side. Cromwell at 
 the loiver end, as secretary. 
 
 Chan. Speak the business, master secretary : 
 Why are we met in council t 
 
 Crom. Please your honours, 
 
 The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury, 
 
 Gar. Has he had knowledge of it ? 
 
 Crom. Yes. 
 
 Nor. Who waits there ? 
 
 D. Keep. Without, my noble lords ? 
 
 Gar. Yes. 
 
 D. Keep. My lord archbishop , 
 
 And has done half an hour, to know youj pleasures. 
 
 Chan. Let him come in. 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace may enter now 
 
 {Cranmer approaches the council-table,] 
 
 Chan. My good lord archbishop, 1 am very sorr? 
 To sit here at this present, and behold 
 That chair stand empty : But we all "re men, 
 In our own nature frail; and capable 
 Of our flesli, few are angels: out of which frailty. 
 And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach u«, 
 Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little 
 
BIO 
 
 KING HENRY VIH 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Tovsrard the king first, then his laws, in filline 
 The whule realm, by your teaching, ana your 
 chaplains, 
 
 (For so we are ini'orra'd,) with new opinions, 
 Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies. 
 And, not reforiii'd, may prove pernicious. 
 
 Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, 
 My nf)ble lords : for those, that tame wild horses, 
 Pa ;e tlipm not in their hands to make them t5;entle : 
 But stop their mouths vvilh stubborn bits, aua spur 
 them, 
 
 Till they obey the manage. If we suffer 
 {Gut of our easiness, ana childish pity 
 To one man's honour) this contagious sickness, 
 Farewell, all physic : And what follows then i 
 Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
 Of the whole state : as, of late days^ our neighbours, 
 The upper Germ-iny, can dearly witness, 
 Yet freshly pitied in our memories. [gress 
 Cran. My good lords, hitlierto, in all the pro- 
 Both of my life and office, I have htbotir'd, 
 And with no little study, that my teaching, 
 And tlie strong course of my authority. 
 Might go one way, and safely ; and the end 
 Was ever to do well : nor is there livinff 
 {I speak it with a single heart, my lords,) 
 A nian that more detests, more stirs against, 
 Ijioth in his private conscience, and his place, 
 Defacers of a public peace, tiian I do. 
 IVay heaven, the king may ne\er find a heart 
 V\'ith less allegiance in it! Mrn, that make 
 Euvy, and crouk'd malice, nourishmeiit, 
 Dare bite the best. I do beseech y(jur lordships. 
 That, in this case of justice, niy accusers, 
 lie what rhey will, may stand tbrth face to face. 
 And freely urge against me. 
 
 Huf. Nay, my lord, 
 
 Tbu' cannot be ; you are a counsellor, 
 A.ifl, by that virtue, no man dare accuse j^ou. 
 f'«/'. My lord, because we have business of 
 
 mo-re moment, 
 We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' 
 
 jjlcasure, 
 
 Anf^ our C'liisent, for blotter trial of you. 
 
 From hence you be committed to the Tower: 
 
 \Vheie, bring but a private man again, 
 
 ^'on sliali know many dare accuse you boldly, 
 
 More than, I fear, you are provided for. [you, 
 
 Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, 1 thank 
 Yo'i ;ire always my good friend; if your will pass, 
 I shall bolii hiid your lordship judge and juror, 
 Vou are .so merciful: I see your end, 
 'Ti.s my undo:ng : Love, and meekness, lord. 
 Become ;t '•-luircliman better than ambition; 
 Will ,s!rayi)ig souls with modesty again. 
 Cast noni- away. 'I'iiat I shall clear myself, 
 Lay all the \v(-i;;ht ye can upon my patience, 
 I make <;s little doubt, as you do conscience. 
 In (ioitig daily wrongs. I could say more, 
 Bt'.t reverence to your calling makes me modest. 
 
 Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, 
 Tiiat's ttie plain truth ; your painted gloss dis 
 covers, 
 
 To men tliat un lerstand you, words and weakness. 
 
 Cram. My lorti of Winchester, you are a little^ 
 By yoi!rf;ood I'autur, too sharp; men so noble. 
 However faulty, yet slioiild find respect 
 l\)r wiiat (hry have been; 'tis a cruelty, 
 S o load a falling man. 
 
 Gnr. Good n>aster secretary, 
 
 { n y your honour mercy : you may, worst 
 Df 'ill liiis tai)le, say so. 
 
 ilrom. Why, my lord? 
 
 liar. Do not 1 know you (or a fivourer 
 Of III. s new sect ? ye are not sound. 
 
 Cro>n„ Not sound ? 
 
 Car. Not souu'l, I say. 
 
 (.'ronu 'Woiilii you were half so honest! 
 
 Sfleii's (.rayers tiini would se^-k yoa, not their fears. 
 Gar. I sliaii reniemoei tins bold lanmiage. 
 
 ' Crom. Do. 
 Remember youi bold life too. 
 
 Chan. This is too niiich ; 
 
 Forbear, for shame, my lords. 
 
 Gar. I have done. 
 
 Crom. .A ndl. 
 
 Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It standi 
 I take it, by all voices, that forthwith [agreed, 
 Vou be conveyed to the Tower a prisoner ; 
 There to remain, till the king's further pleasure 
 Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords ? 
 
 Ail. We are. 
 
 Cran. Is there no other way of mercy 
 
 But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ':' 
 
 Gar, What otho» 
 
 Would you expect? You are strangely trouble- 
 Let some o'the guard be ready there. 'some : 
 
 Enter Guard. 
 
 Cran. For me ? 
 
 Must I go like a traitor thither? 
 
 Gar. Receive him, 
 
 And see him safe i'the Tower. 
 
 Cran. Stay, good my lords, 
 
 I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; 
 By virtue of that ring, I take my cause 
 Out of the grines of cruel men, and give it 
 To a most noble judge, the king my master. 
 
 Cham. This is the king's ring. 
 
 Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit 
 
 Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told ye all, 
 When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 
 ' Twould fall upon ourselves. 
 
 Nor. Do you think, my lords. 
 
 The king will suffer but the little linger 
 Of this man to be vex'd ? 
 
 Cham. 'Tis now too certain : 
 
 How much more is his life in value with him ? 
 Would I were fairly out on't. 
 
 Crom. My mind gave tb9 
 
 In seeking tales and informations. 
 Against this man, (whose honesty the devil 
 And his disciples only envy at,) 
 Ve blew the fire that burns ye : Now have at ye. * 
 
 Enter King , frowning on them; takes his scat. 
 Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound 
 to heaven 
 
 In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ; 
 Not only good and wise, but most religious : 
 One that, ia all obedience, makes the cliux h 
 The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen 
 That holy duty, out of dear respect. 
 His royal self in judgment comes to hear. 
 The cause betwixt her and this great oifender. 
 K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden coBJ- 
 mendatioDS, 
 
 Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not 
 To hear such flattery now, and in my presence, 
 They are too thin and base to hide oifences. 
 To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel, 
 And think with wagging of your tongue to win nie ; 
 But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, \ am sure 
 Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. — 
 Good man, [to Cranmer) sit down. Now let me 
 
 see the proudest 
 He, that dares most, bat wag his finger at thee: 
 By all that's h 'ly, he had better starve, 
 Than but once think his place becouies thi'e not. 
 
 Sur. May it please your grace, — 
 
 K. Hen. N o, sir, it does not please \ae. 
 
 I had thought, I had had men of some umler- 
 standing 
 
 And wisdom, of my council; but find none. 
 
 Was it discretion, lords, to let this man. 
 
 This good man, (few of you deserve that title,) 
 
 This honest man, wait lik^^ a lousy lootboy 
 
 At chamber-door? and one as great as vou are"* 
 
 Why, what a shame was this? Did my counmssicn 
 
 liid ye so far forget yom-selves? I gave \f 
 
ScKNE 4. KING HENRY VTII. 
 
 511 
 
 Power as he was a counsellor to try him, 
 Not as a groom ; There's some of ye, I see. 
 More out of iHKlice than integrrity, 
 VV^>iild try I in to the utmost, had ye mean ; 
 VVhicli ye stall never have, while I live. 
 
 Chan. Thus far, 
 
 My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
 r<) let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 
 Concerinug his imprisonment, was rather 
 (If there be faith in men,) meant for his trial. 
 And fair purg&tiou to the world, than malice ; 
 I am sure, in me. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him ; 
 
 Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. 
 F will say thus much f )r him, If a prince 
 May be beholden to a subject, I 
 Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
 Make mifno more ado, but all embrace him ; 
 Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Can- 
 terbury, 
 
 I have a suit, which you must not deny me ; 
 That is, a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism. 
 You must be godfather, and aiisvver for her. 
 Craru The greatest monarch now alive rpay 
 glory 
 
 In such an honour; How may I deserve it, 
 Th^t am a poor and humble subject to you ? 
 K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare 
 your s[)Oons; you shall have 
 Two noble partners with you ; the old Duchess of 
 Norfolk, 
 
 And lady marqiiis Dorset ; Will these please you ? 
 Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, 
 Embrace, and love this man. 
 
 Gar. With a true heart. 
 
 And brother-love, 1 do it 
 
 0-an. And let heaven 
 
 Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 
 
 K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy 
 true heart. 
 The common voice, I see, is verified 
 Of thee, which says thus. Do my lord of Canterbury 
 A shrewd turn, and he is your friend forever. — 
 Coiiit', lords, we Iritle time away ; I long 
 To have tliis young one made a christian. 
 A» I have made ye one, lords, one remain; 
 So 1 grow stronger, you more honour gain. 
 
 [Exeufit. 
 
 Scene \\\.—The Palace Yard. 
 Noise and titmidt within. Enter Porter and his 
 Man. 
 
 Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals : 
 Do yon take the court for Paris-garden ? ye rude 
 slaves, leave ymw gaping. 
 
 (Within.J Good master porter, I belong to the 
 larder. 
 
 Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you 
 rogue: Is this a place to roar in? — Fetch me a 
 dozen crab tree staves, as.d strong ones ; these are 
 but switches to them. — I'll scratch your heads 
 You must be seeing christenings ? Do you look for 
 «U and cakes here, you rude rascals. 
 
 Man. I'riy, sir, be patient; 'tis as much ira- 
 I- possible 
 aUnless we sweep them from the doorwith cannons,) 
 To s( atter tiietn, as 'tis to make them sleep 
 On May-day morning; which will never be : 
 We rnxy as well push against Paul's, as stir them. 
 
 Po^ t. How got lliey in, and be hang'd i 
 
 Man. Mas, I know not; How gets the tide in? 
 As much as one sound cudgel of four foot 
 
 iYiiu see tiie poor remainder) could distribute, 
 made uo spare, sir. 
 
 Pari. You did nothing, sir. 
 
 Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Col- 
 brat.d, to mow them down before me': but, if I 
 ipared any, tliat had a head to hit, either young or 
 id, he or she, cuckold or cuckold maker, let \nv 
 Eev€r hope to see a chine again; and that I would 
 
 not for a cow, God save her. 
 
 [Within.) Do you hear, master portef ? 
 
 Port. I shall be with you presently, good master 
 puf)py. — Keep the door close, sirrah. 
 
 Man. What would you have me do? 
 
 Port. What should you do, but knock theni 
 down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster 
 in ? or have we some strange Indian with the great 
 tool come to court, the women so besiege i./s? 
 Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at d(K-r ! On 
 my christian conscience, tiiis one christening will 
 beget a thousand ; here will be father, godfather 
 and all together. 
 
 Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There 
 is a leliow somewhat near the door, he should be a 
 brazier by his face, for, o'my conscience, twenty 
 of the dog-days now reign in's nose ; all that stand 
 about him are under the line, they need no other 
 penance: That fire -drake did I hit three times on 
 the head, and three times was his nose discharged 
 against me ; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to 
 blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of 
 small wit near him, that railed upon me till her 
 pink'd porringer fell oil' her head, for kindling such 
 a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor 
 once, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs ! 
 when I might see from far some forty trnncheoneers 
 draw to her succour, which were the hape of the 
 Strand, where she was quartered. They fell onj 
 I made good my place ; at iengtii they came to the 
 broomstalF with nte, I defied them stiil ; when sud- 
 denly a Hie of boys behinrl them, loose shot, deli- 
 vered such a shower of pebbles, that I was lam to 
 draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: 
 The devil was among them, I think, suiely. 
 
 Port. These are the youths that th'.inder at a 
 play-house, and fight for bitten apples ; that '30 
 audience but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the 
 liujbs of Limehouse, their dear iirothers, are able 
 to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrun^ 
 and there they are like to dance these three days} 
 besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is 
 to come. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain, 
 Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here ! 
 They grow still too, from all parts they are coming. 
 As if we ke[)t a fair here ! Wliere are tiie porters, 
 'J'hese lazy knaves ?— Ye have made a fiiie hand, 
 fellows. 
 
 There's a trim rabble let in : Are all these 
 Your faithful friends o'the suburbs? We sh;il! have 
 Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies. 
 When they pass back from the christening. 
 
 Port. An't please your honout. 
 
 We are but men; and what so many may do. 
 Not being torn a pieces, we have done : 
 Kn army cannot rule them. 
 
 Cham. As I live. 
 
 If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ve all 
 By the heels, and suddeidy ; and on your heads 
 Clap round fines, for neglect: V on are lazy knaved J 
 And here ye lie bai' ng of bumbards, when 
 Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpr ts sound ; 
 They are come already from the christening : 
 Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
 To let the troop pass fairly ; or I'll find 
 A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two 
 months. 
 
 Port. Make way there for the princess. 
 
 Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or Til 
 make your head ache. 
 
 Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail ; I'll 
 pick you o'er the pales else. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene \^ —The Palace. 
 Enter trumpets, soundimj ; then tiro Afder?nen, 
 Lord Mai/or, Garter, Cuanmeh. Duke o/ NoB- 
 FOLK, with his marshnPs .stffjf, Du '<e a/ Suffolk 
 two Noblemen bearitif/ yreai atanUiny boivU 
 
512 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 ACJT ? 
 
 for the nkristeniny gifts ; then four Noblemen 
 bearing a canopy, under tvhich the Duchess of 
 Norfolk, godmother^ hearing the Child, richly 
 habited in a mantle, §fc. Train borne by a 
 Lady : then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, 
 the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop 
 pass once about the stage, and Gar ter speaks. 
 Cart. Heaven, from thy endkss goodness, send 
 pmsperoiis life, long, and ever happv, to the high 
 "^nd mighty princess of England, Elizaljeth. 
 Flourish Enter King and Train. 
 Cran. {Kneeling.) And to your royal grace, and 
 the good queen, 
 Vlv nohle partners, and myself, thus pray: — 
 Ail comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, 
 l!<>aven ever \?ia up to make parents happy 
 Mav hourly fall upon ye ! 
 
 t^. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop : 
 W Iwt is her name ? 
 Cran. Elizabeth. 
 A.. Hen. Stand up, lord. — 
 
 {The King kisses the Child.) 
 With this kiss take my blessing: God protect 
 Into whose hands I give thy -life. [thee ! 
 
 Cran. Amen. 
 K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too 
 prodigal : 
 
 I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, 
 V^'hen slie has so much English. 
 
 Cran. -L-et me speak, sir. 
 
 For heaven now bids me ; and the words 1 utter 
 Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. 
 This loyal infant, (heaven still move about her!) 
 Tliough in her cradle, yet now promises 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings^ 
 Which time shall bring to ripeness : She shall be 
 (5?ut few now living can behold that goodness,) 
 A pattern to all princes, living with her, 
 And all, that shall succeed : Sheba was never 
 More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue. 
 Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is. 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 
 She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless 
 her: 
 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
 Aud hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows 
 with her: 
 
 Id her days, every man shall eat in safety 
 Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing' 
 '"I he merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: 
 Ood shall be tnvly known ; and those about her 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of iionour. 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by biood. 
 Mor shall peace sleep witJi her; But as when 
 
 The bird of wonder dIeS; (he maiden phcituia. 
 Her ashes new create another heir, 
 As great in admiration as herself: 
 So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
 (When heaven shall call her from Ihia cloiicl of 
 darkness,) 
 
 Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour. 
 Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she v/as, 
 And so stand fii'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth, 
 terror. 
 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant. 
 Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 
 Wherever the bright sun of hea\en shall shine, 
 His honour and the greatness of his name 
 Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish. 
 And, like a mountain cedar, reach his braoches 
 
 To all the plains about him: Our childien' 
 
 children 
 
 Shall see this, and bless heaven. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou speakest wondera. 
 
 Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of EnglaxM^ 
 An aged princess; many days shall see her, 
 And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
 Woidd I had known no more ! hut she must die, 
 She must, (he saints must have her ; yet a virgin, 
 A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
 To the ground, and all the v.-orld shall mourn her. 
 
 K. Hen. O lord archbishop, 
 Thou hast made me now a man ; never, before 
 This happy child, did I get any thing: 
 This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, 
 That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire 
 To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.— 
 I thank ye all, — To you, my good lord mayor, 
 And your good brethren, I am much beholden; 
 I have receiv'd much honour by your presence. 
 And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way 
 lords ; — 
 
 Ye must all see the queen, aud she must thank ye. 
 She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
 He has business at his house ; for all shall st?y, 
 I'his little one shall make it holiday. [MlxeuM 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 'Tis ten to one, this play can never please 
 All that are here : Some come to take their easje. 
 And sleep an act or two : but those, we fear, 
 We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 'tis ckaT; 
 They'll say, 'tis naught : others, to hear the city 
 Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — thafs wihy! 
 Which we have not done neither : that, I fear, 
 All the expected good we are like toiiear 
 For this play at this time, is only in 
 The merciful construction of good women; 
 For such a one we shew'd them : If they suito 
 And say, 'twill do, I know, within a whiU 
 All the best men are ours; for^'tis ill hap. 
 If tlie/ hold, when their ladi«r ; i them clapk 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 IMiblished his version of Hom';r. 
 
 makes no mention, is proof tiiatTWsplaywasVri 
 
 of 
 
 ] 
 
 Sons. 
 
 PRIAM, King of Trov 
 HECTOR, - ^ 
 TROILUS, 
 PAHtS, 
 DEIPHOBUS 
 H' LENUS, 
 
 a:nkas,-ant£nor 
 
 CALCidLAS, a Trojan 
 Greeks. 
 
 PANDARUS, Uticle to Cressida 
 AGAS^SS>^/\f *a..«.rr|^'«/ Priam. 
 MPvl?r Ani^' ''^ Grecian General. 
 
 AJAX, i Grecian Commanders. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 - Tr ojan Coynmanders. 
 Priest, taking part with thti 
 
 Grecian Commanders. 
 
 Scene,— Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it 
 
 ULYSSES, 
 NESTOR. 
 DiOMEDES. 
 FATROCLUS, J 
 
 Tf'l^v^lT.ir,^!." (^''formed and scnrriious Grecian, 
 ALEXANDER, Sert-aut to Creasida. 
 servant to Truilus. 
 Servant to Paris. 
 Servant to Diomedes. 
 HELEN Wife to Menelavs. 
 ^^/i*^9^^^<^HE, ^^'^re to Hector. 
 C^vt^x^^^f. D^>:'J^^ter to Priam, a PropheUu. 
 L/KESSIDA, Dang titer to Calchas. 
 
 Trojan and Greek Sciditrs, and Actendants. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 ta Troy, there lies the scene. From isles o 
 Greece 
 
 The princes orguiotis, their hioj, blood chaf'd 
 
 Have to fhe port of Athens sent their ships, 
 
 Fraught witli the ministers and instruments 
 
 Ul cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore 
 
 Their crovvnets regal, from the Athenian bay 
 
 Int iorward toward Fiirygia : and tlieir vow is uia<2e, 
 
 J o innsack Iroy ; within those strong immures 
 
 i/ie ravish d Helen, Menehms' queen, 
 
 \S It) wantor. Paris sleeps ; and tliat's'the quarrel. 
 
 10 I'enedos they come: 
 
 And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
 
 i tie.r warlike franghtage : Now on Dardan plains 
 
 i he Iresh and yet nnhrnised Greeks do pitch 
 
 Iheir brave pavihons; Priam's six-gated city. 
 
 Dardan, and Tymbria, liias, Chetas, Trojan 
 
 And Antenondes, with massy staples. 
 
 And corresponsive and fnlhlling bolts! 
 
 Sperr up the sons of Troy. 
 
 Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 
 
 Un one and other side, Trojan and Greek 
 
 Sets all on hazard :— And hither am I come 
 
 A prologue arm'd,— but not in confidence 
 
 Ul author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited 
 
 in like conditions as our argument, 
 
 To tell yon, i'air beholders, that our play 
 Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstling of those broils 
 Uinning in the middle ; starting thence away 
 1 0 what may be digested in a play. 
 Like, or find fault ; do as your pleasures are ; 
 Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 gcENE I.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
 E?iter Tkoilus armed, and Pandarus. 
 
 nr'?'''^ ^"^^1 l^^*"^ "^J" ^^""^^^ J'll ""■'^••'n again : 
 VVhy should I war without the walls of Troy 
 
 hat find such cruel battle here within ? 
 Bach 'IVojan, that is master of his heart 
 1-et hir.) to field ; Troilus, alas! hath none. 
 Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended 
 Iro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their 
 ; strength, 
 
 t ierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant • 
 unt 1 am weaker than a woman's tear, ' 
 I amer tuan sleep, fonder than ignorance ; 
 
 I 
 
 Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 
 And skill-less as unpractis'd infrncy. 
 
 Pan. Well, 1 have told you enough of this : foi 
 my part 1 II not meddle nor m ike no further. He 
 ..lat vvill have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry 
 cue grinding. ' 
 
 Tro. Have I not tarried ? 
 boUi^"" ^'^^ giinding; but you must tarry the 
 
 Tro. Have I not tarried ? 
 Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you 
 Tro. Still have 1 tarru^d. 
 Pan. Ay, to the leavening: hut 
 
 [iea/pnirii 
 must tiiiry the 
 
 word— hereafter, the kneading, the 
 cake, the heating of the oven, and tl 
 
 ere s yeJ in tha 
 makiiig of thg 
 e baking; nay, 
 you may chance 
 
 you must stay the cooling too, o 
 to burn your lips. 
 
 Tro. Patience herself, wliat goddess e'er she be. 
 iJoth lesser biench at sufferance than I do. 
 At Fna.n's royal table do I sit: 
 And when fair Cressid comes info my thoughts — 
 
 ^0, traitor I when she comes ! u iien is sl.« 
 
 thence 1 
 
 Pan. Well, she looked yesterniglit Hiirer thai 
 ever 1 saw her look, or any woman else. 
 
 Iro. l was about to tell thee,— \Vh, n my heart. 
 As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain ; 
 Lest Hector or my father should perceive me. 
 1 hav^ (as when tiie sun doth light a storm,) 
 ^nry d this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: 
 Hut sarrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 
 Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden tadness. 
 
 i- an. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
 Helens, (well, go to,) there w.re no more com. 
 parison between the women,— But, for my i)art. 
 she is my kinswoman; I would not, as tliey term 
 It, praise her,— But I would somebody had heanj 
 ner talk yesterday, as I did. I will not disp 
 your sister Cassandra's wit ;— but 
 ^Ar. "V^,' Piindarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,— 
 When 1 do tell thee. There my hopes lie drowird, 
 Keply not in how many fathoms deep 
 i he^ he indrench'd. 1 tell thee, J am mad 
 In Oressid's love : Thou answe.'st. She is fair: 
 Pom- st m the open ulcer of my lieart 
 Her eyes, her hair, her cheeks. 
 
 w A\ i- , ■■ ■ — Jier gait, h»r voice: 
 Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 
 In whose comparison all whites are ink, 
 Writing their own reproach ; To whose soft seizure 
 
 33 
 
5U 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 
 I3aid as the i)alta of" ploiigiunau 1 Tliis thou teirat 
 nie, 
 
 As true thou tell'st me, wlien I say — I love her j 
 Bat saying, thus, instead of oil and bahn, 
 Thou \ayyt in every gash that love hatli given me, 
 1'he knife that ma(ie it. 
 
 Pan. I speak no more than truth. 
 
 7Vo. Thou dost not speak so much. 
 
 Pan. 'Faitli, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as 
 she is: if she he fair, 'tis the better for lier; an she 
 be not, she l»as the mends in her own hands. 
 
 Tro. (Jood Pandarus ! How now, Pandnrus ? 
 
 Pa)i, I have iiad my labour for niy travel : ill- 
 thought on of her, and ill thought on of you : gone 
 between and between, but small thanks for my 
 labour. 
 
 Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus ? what, 
 with me ? 
 
 Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's 
 not so fiiir as Helen : an she were not kin to me, 
 «he would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on 
 Sunday. But what care I ? I care not, an she were 
 a black a moor ; 'tis all one to me. 
 
 Tro. Sjiy !, she is not iair ? 
 
 Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's 
 a fool t\j stay beiiind her father ; let her to the 
 Greeks : and so 1 11 tell her the next time I see her : 
 for my part, I'li meddle nor make no more in the 
 Miatter. 
 
 Tro. Pandarus, — 
 
 Pan. Not I. 
 
 Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 
 
 Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me ; I will 
 eave all as i ibund it, and there an end. 
 
 [Exii Pandarus. An alarum. 
 
 Tro. Pe?re, you ungracious clamours,' peace, 
 rude sounds I 
 Fools on both sides I Helen must needs be fair. 
 When with your blood you daily j,aint her thus. 
 I cannot light u{)on this argununt; 
 It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. . 
 But Pandarus ! — O gods, how do yo'.t plague me I 
 I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar; 
 And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo, 
 As she is stubborn-chaste against hI,I suit. 
 Tell me, A polio, for thy Daphnes love, 
 What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we ? 
 Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl : 
 Between our Ilium, and where she re.>-ides, 
 I/etit be call'd the wild and wandering flood ; 
 Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pandar, 
 Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. 
 Alarum. Enter JE^SExs. 
 
 .^ne. How now, prince Troilus ? wherefore not 
 atield ? [sorts, 
 
 Tro. Be(;ause not there; This wornan.'s answer 
 For womanish t is to be I'rom thence. 
 What news. ^Eneas, trom the field to-day? 
 
 jEne. 'I'hat Paris is return'd home, and hurt. 
 
 Tro. By whom, iEneas ? 
 
 .^ne. Troilus, by Menelaus. 
 
 Tro. Let Paris bleed : 'tis but a scar to scorn; 
 Paris is gor'd with Menelans* horn. (A/artwi.) 
 
 i¥jne. Hai k ! what good sport is out of town to- 
 day! \rnmj. — 
 
 Tro. Better at home, if would I miglit, were 
 But, to the sport abroad ; — Are you bound thither? 
 
 j^.ne. In ail swift haste. 
 
 Tro Come, go we then together. {Exeunt. 
 
 Sc'ENB 11. — The same. A Street. 
 Enter Cressida and Alexander. 
 
 Cres Who were those went by ? 
 
 Alex Queen Hecuba, and Helen. 
 
 Creti. And whither go they ? 
 
 Alex. Up to the eastern tower, 
 
 Whose height commands fi subject all the va'e. 
 To see the battle. Hecto*- ^- hose patience 
 
 ! Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was movM • 
 He chid Andromache, and .struck, his armoatfr; 
 And, like as there were husbandry in war. 
 Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light. 
 And to the field goes he ; where every flower 
 Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
 In Hector's wrath. 
 
 Cres. What was his cause of anger? 
 
 Alex. The noise goes, this : There is among f he 
 Greek.s 
 
 A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector: 
 Thy call him Ajax. 
 
 Cres. Good ; And what of him ? 
 
 Alex. They say he is a very manner se, 
 And stamls alone. 
 
 Cres. So do all men ; unless they are drunk, sick, 
 or have no legs. 
 
 Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts 
 of their particular additions ; he is as valiant as the 
 lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant; a 
 man, into whom natine hath ^o crowded humours, 
 that his valour is crushed into folly, his tolly .sauced 
 with discretion : there is no man hath a virtue, that 
 he hath not a glimpse of ; nor any man an attaint, 
 but he carries some stain of it : He is melancholy 
 without cause, and merry against the hair : He hath 
 the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of 
 joint, tiiat he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and, 
 no use ; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 
 
 Cres. But how should this man, that makes m6 
 smile, make Hector angry ? 
 
 Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in 
 the battle, and struck him down ; the disdain and 
 shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting 
 and waking. 
 
 Enter PandarUS. 
 
 Cres. Who comes here ? 
 
 A lex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. Hector's a gallant man. 
 
 Alex. As may be in the world, lady 
 
 Pan. What's that? wliat's that ? 
 
 Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Good morrow, consin Cressid : What do 
 you talk of ? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How do 
 you, cousin ? When were you at Ilium ^ 
 
 Cres. This morning, uncle. 
 
 Pan. What were you talking of, when 1 came ? 
 Was Hector a.-'.Tied, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? 
 Helen vvas not up, was slie ? 
 
 Cres. Hector was gone : but Helen was not up. 
 
 Pan. E'en so ; Hector was stirring early. 
 
 Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger 
 
 Pan. Was he ana^ry ? 
 
 Cres. So he says nere. 
 
 Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too; 
 he'll layabout him to-day, I can tell them that: 
 and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; 
 let them take heed of Troilus ; I can tell them that 
 
 Cres. What, is he angry too ? [too. 
 
 Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus is the better man 
 of the two. 
 
 Cres. O, Jupiter ! there's no comparison. 
 
 Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector 
 Do you know a man, if you see him? 
 
 Cres. Ay ; if ever 1 saw him before, and knew him. 
 
 Pfni. VVell, I say, Troilus is Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Then you say as I say ; far, I am sura, h» 
 is n<:t Hector. 
 
 Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some 
 degrees. 
 
 Cres. 'Tis just to each of them, he is himself. 
 Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would, h« 
 were.— 
 
 Cres. So he is. [India. 
 
 Pan. 'Condition, I had" gone bare-loot to 
 
 Cres. He is not Hector. 
 
 Pan. Himself ? no, he's not himself —'Would a , 
 were himself! Well, tlie gods are abovt; Time i 
 uiubt friend, or end; Well, Troilus, well,— I woald,/ 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TROTLUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 515 
 
 Biy neart were in her body . — No, Hector is not a 
 better tiian than Troiliis. 
 
 K^res. Excuse me. 
 
 Pan He is eider. 
 
 Cres Pardon tue, pardon me. 
 
 Pati. 'I'he otiier's not come to't; you shall tell 
 me another tale, wlien the otiier's come to't. Hector 
 hall not have his wit this year. 
 
 Cres, He shall not need it, if he have his own. 
 
 Pan. Nor liis qualities ; — 
 
 Cres. No matter. 
 
 Pan. Nor his beauty. 
 
 Cres. 'Tvvould not become him, his own's better. 
 
 Pan. You have no judgment, niece : Helen her- 
 leli" swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown 
 favour, (lor so 'tis, 1 must confess,) — Not brown 
 neither. 
 
 Cres. No, but brown. 
 
 Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. 
 Cres. 'I'o say the truth, true and not true. 
 Pan. Slie [)rais'd his complexion above Paris. 
 Cres. Why, Paris iiath colour enough. 
 Pan So he has. 
 
 Cres. i'hen, Troilus should have too much: if 
 •ilie [iraised liinj above, his complexion is higher 
 
 an his ^ ne having colour enough, and the other 
 nigher, is too tlaniuig a praise lor a good complexion. 
 1 had as lief, Ht^ien's golden tongue had commended 
 Ttoilus for a copper nose. 
 
 Pan. I swear to you, I think, Helen loves him 
 better than l*aris. 
 
 Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him 
 the other day into a compass'd window, — and, you 
 know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arittimetic may soon 
 bring liis particulars therein to a total. 
 
 Pan. Wliy, lie is very yoiuig : and yet will he, 
 within three pound, lilt as much as his brother 
 .lector. 
 
 Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? 
 
 Pun. But, to prove to you, that Helen loves him ; 
 •~sue came, and puts me her white hand to his 
 cloven ciim^ — 
 
 Cres. Juno have mercy! — How came it cloven? 
 
 Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think, his 
 easiling becomes hint better than any man in all 
 Piirygia. 
 
 Cres. O. he smiles valiantly. 
 
 Pan. Does he not ? 
 
 Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 
 
 Pan. Why, go to then : — But to prove to you, 
 that Helen loves Troilus, — 
 
 Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll 
 pro\ e it so. 
 
 Pan. Troilus ? why, he esteems her no more than 
 I esteem an addle egg. 
 
 Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love 
 en idle head, you w(»uld eat chickens i'the shell. 
 
 Pan. I cannot clioose but laugh, to think how she 
 tickled his chin; — Indeed, she has a marvellous 
 white h;tnd, I must needs confess. 
 
 Cres. Without the rack. 
 
 Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair 
 onhiscliin. 
 
 Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. 
 
 Pan. Mut, there was such laughing ;— Queen 
 Hecuba hiughed, that her eyes ran o'er. 
 
 Cres, VVith mill stones. 
 
 Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 
 
 Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under 
 lie pot of her eyes ; — Did lier eyes run o'er too V 
 
 Pan. And Hector laughed. 
 
 Cres, At what was all tliis laughing? 
 
 Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied 
 »n Troilus's chin. 
 
 Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have 
 laughed too. 
 
 Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as 
 It Ills pretty answer. 
 
 Cres. What was his answer? 
 Pan. Qiioth she, Here's but one and fifty hatn 
 on your chin., and one of them is white. 
 Cres. This is her question. 
 
 Pan. That's true ; make no question of that. 
 One and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: 
 That ivhite hair is my father, and all the rest aro 
 his sons. Jupiter .' quoth she, ivhich of these hails 
 is Paris my husband f The forked one, quoth he • 
 pluck it out., and give it him. But, there was sue 
 laughing ! and Helen so blushed, and Paris 
 chafed, and all the rest so laugh'd, that it pass'd. 
 
 Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great svhild 
 goijjg by. 
 
 Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday ; 
 think on't, 
 
 Cres. So I do. 
 
 Pan. IHI be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep ym, 
 an 'twere a man born in April. 
 
 Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twera a 
 nettle against May {A retreat sounded.; 
 
 Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field: Shall 
 we stand up here, and see them, as they jiass towards 
 Ilium ? good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida. 
 
 Cres. At your pleasure. 
 
 Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here 
 we may see most bravely : I'll tell you then all by 
 their names, as they pass by ; but mark TroiUia 
 above the rest. 
 
 ^Eneas passes over the Stage. 
 Cres. Speak not so loud. 
 
 Pan. I'hat's iEneas ; is not that a brave man? 
 he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you But 
 mark Troilus ; you shall see anon. 
 
 Cres. Who's that ? 
 
 Ante NOR passes over 
 
 Pan. That's Antenor ; he has a shrewd vvit, 1 caig 
 tell you ; and he's a man good enc ugh , ne's ,>U8 
 o'the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and 
 a proper man of person; — When comes Troilus .^ 
 — I'll shew you Troilus anon ; if he see me, yoj 
 shall see him nod at me. 
 
 Cres. Will he give you the nod? 
 
 Pan. You shall see. 
 
 Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 
 Hector passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look yoi^, that : 
 There's a fellow !— Go thy way. Hector ;— There's 
 a brave man, niece. — O brave Hector! — Look, how 
 he looks ! there's a countenance : Is't not a brave 
 man ! 
 
 Cres. O, a brave man ! 
 
 Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good — 
 Look you what hacks are on his helmet! look you 
 yonder, do you see? look you there! There's !io 
 jesting: ther^^'s laying on; take't oil' who will, as 
 they say : there be hacks ! 
 
 Cres. Be those with swords? 
 
 Paris passes over. 
 
 Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not : an the 
 devil come to him, it's all one : By god s lid, it does 
 one's heart good: — Yonder comes Paris, yonder 
 comes Paris : look ye yonder, niece ; Is t not a 
 gallant man too, is't not?— Why, this is brave now. 
 — Who said, he came hurt home to-day he's noJ: 
 hurt : why, this will do Helen's heart good now. 
 Ha ! 'would I could see Troilus now !— you shall f-es 
 Troilus anoi). 
 
 Cres. Who's that? 
 
 Helenus passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Helenus, — I marvel, where Troikis 
 is That's Helenus 1 think he went not forth to- 
 day : — That's Helenus. 
 
 Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? 
 
 Pan. Helenus? no; — yes, he'll fight indiflerei 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 well: — I marvel, where Troilns is! — Hark; do 
 you not hear the people cry, Troilns? — Heleniis is a 
 priest. 
 
 Crf.s. VV^hat sneaking fellow comes yonder? 
 Troilus passes over. 
 
 Pan Where ? yonder ? that's Deiphobns : 'Tis 
 Troilns! there's a man. niece! — Hem! — Brave 
 Troilns ' the prince of cliivalry. 
 
 Cres. Peiue, for shame, peace ! 
 
 Pan. Mark him: note him; — O brave Troilns! 
 ■ --look well npon him, niece ; look yon, how his 
 sword is bloodied, and iiis helm more hack'd than 
 Hector's; And how he looks, and how he yoes!— 
 
 0 admirable youth ! he ne'er saw three-and twenty. 
 Gu thy way, Troilus, thy way ; had I a sister 
 were a grnce, or a daughter a goddess, he should 
 t'ike Ins choice. O adnnrable man! Paiis.'' — Paris 
 is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, 
 would give an eye to boot. 
 
 Forces pass over the Stage. 
 Cres. Here come more. 
 
 Pan. y?sses, fools, dolts! chaflT and bran, chaff" 
 and bran! porridge after meat! I could live and 
 die i'the eyes of IVoilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; 
 (he eagles are gone; crows and daws, crows and 
 daws ! I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than 
 Agamemnon and all Greece. 
 
 Cres. 'I'here is among the Greeks, Achilles; a 
 ootter man than 'I'roilus. 
 
 Pan. Achilles ? a drayman, a porter, a very 
 ■c.imel. 
 
 Cres Well, well. 
 
 Pan. Well, well ? — Why, have yon any discre- 
 tion ? have you any eyes? Do you know what a 
 man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, dis- 
 course, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, 
 liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that 
 easoii a man ? 
 
 Cres. Ay, a minced man; and then to be baked 
 V ith no date in the pie, — for then the man's date is 
 out. 
 
 Pan You are such a woman ! one knows not at 
 what wird you lie. 
 
 Cres Upfui my back, to defend my belly ; upon 
 my wit. to defend my wiles; and upon my secrecy, 
 la defend mine honesty; my mask, to detend my 
 beauty ; and you, to defend all these : and at all 
 these wards 1 lie, at a thousand watches. 
 
 Pan. Say one of your watches. 
 
 Cres. Nay, Ml watch you for that; and that's 
 ene of the chiefest of them too : if I cannot ward 
 what I v\^)Old not have hit, I can vvatch you for tell- 
 ing how I took the blow ; unless it swell past hid- 
 ing, and then it is past watching. 
 
 Pan. You are .such another! 
 
 "Enter Troilus' Boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 
 Pan. Where? 
 
 Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him. 
 Pan. Good boy, teU him I come: [Exit Boy. 
 
 1 doubt he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece. 
 Cres. Adieu, uncle. 
 
 Pr<n. [W be with you. niece, by and by. 
 
 Cre.'i. To bring, uncle, — ^ 
 
 p.:in, A}\ a toKen from Troilus. 
 
 Cres. By the same token — you are a bawd. 
 
 [Exit Pandarus. 
 Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice, 
 He otlVrs in another's enterprise: 
 |5ut more in Troilus thousand fold I see 
 Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be; 
 f et hold I off. Wamen are angels, wooing : 
 Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: 
 That she, belov'd, knows noutrht, that knows not 
 . <his.— _ 
 
 Heu prize the ihii ; ungaio'd more than it is : 
 
 That she was never yet, that ever knew 
 Love got so sweet, as when desire ditl sue : 
 Therefore this maxim oiitof lo\e I tench, — 
 Achievement is command ; Uiigaia' 1, besee : 
 Then though my heart's content firm hue doth hear 
 Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Eail 
 
 Scene HI. — The Grecian Camp. Before A^Om 
 
 metnnon's Tent. 
 Trtanpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulyssb* 
 Menelaus, and others. 
 Agam. Princes, 
 What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? 
 The ample proposition, that hope makes 
 In all designs begiin on earth below. 
 Fails its the promis'd largeness : checks and disasterg' 
 Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd ; 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
 Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
 ! Nor, princes, is it matter new to U5, 
 ! That we come short of our suppose so far, 
 ' That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand 
 Sith every action, that hath gone belore. 
 Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
 Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, 
 • And that unbodied figure of the thought, 
 ; That gave't surmised shape. Why then, yon princeii^ 
 Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works ; 
 And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought 
 else 
 
 But the protractive trials of great Jove 
 
 To find persistive constancy in men? 
 
 The fineness of which metal is not found 
 
 In fortune's love : for then, the bold and coward. 
 
 The wise and fool, the artist and unread. 
 
 The hard and soft, seem ail atfiii'd and kin: 
 
 But, in the wind and tempest of her frown. 
 
 Dist notion, with a broad and poweifd fan. 
 
 Puffing at all. winnows the light away ; 
 
 And what hath mass, or matter, by itself 
 
 Lies, rich in \irtue, and unmiiigled. 
 
 Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat. 
 Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
 Thy latest words. In the repntof of chance 
 Lies the true proof of men; 'I'he sea being smooth, 
 How many shallow bauble boats d ire sail 
 Upon her patient breast, making their way 
 VVith those of m bier bulk? 
 But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
 The gentle Tiietis, and, anon, behold 
 The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut. 
 Bounding between the two moist ele.nents, 
 Like Perseus' horse : Where's then the saucy boat 
 Whose weak untimber'd sides b'lt even now 
 Co-rival'd greatness ? either to harbour fled, 
 Or made a toast for Nepturje, Even so 
 Doth valour's shew, and vah ur's worth, divide. 
 In storms of fortune : For, in her ray and brightness. 
 The herd hath more annoyance by the brizf^. 
 Than by the tiger: but when the spPtting wind 
 Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks. 
 And flies fled under shade, Why, then, the thing s>f 
 courage, 
 
 As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize, 
 A nd with an accent tun'd in self same key, 
 Returns to chiding fortune. 
 
 Ulyss. Agamemnon, — 
 
 Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Qrecee; 
 Heart of our numbers, soul and ordy spirit, 
 In whom the tenipers and the minds of all 
 Should be shut up, — hear what Ulysses speaks. 
 Besides the applause and approbation 
 The which,— most mighty for thy jdace and sway,— 
 {To Ayaif9mnon>) 
 And th«j most reverend for thy stretch'd cjt Tfe, — 
 
 'To Nestor.) 
 I give to both your speeches. — which were such. 
 As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
 Should hold up high in brass; atd sucb Again, 
 
SCKNE 3. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 51t 
 
 As venerable Nestor, hnfch'd in silver. 
 Should witii a bond of ;iir (strung as the axle-tree 
 On which hear tti rides,) knit all ihe Greekish ears 
 To liis experitiiic'd ton<> ne, — yet let it please both, — 
 'i ho'i great, — and wise, — to liear Ulysses speak. 
 Agatn. i^l'^-dk, prince of Ithaca ; atid be't ot" less 
 expect 
 
 That matter needless, of importless burden, 
 Divide thy lii's; than we are confident, 
 When rank 'I'liersites opes his inastitl' jaws, 
 S^'e nhall hear music^ wit, and oracle. 
 
 ITiyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down. 
 And tiie great Hector's sword had lack'd a master. 
 But for these instances. 
 The siiecialty of rule hath been neglected : 
 /Vnd, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
 Hollow upon tliis plain, so many hollow lactions. 
 When that the general is nut like tije hi\ e. 
 To whom tlie foragers shall all repair, 
 What honey is ex[)ected ? Degree being vizarded. 
 The nnworthiest shews as fiirly in the mask. 
 The hea-.enstiiemselves, tiie planets, and this centre. 
 Observe degiee, priority, and place, 
 Insisture, course, pro|K)rtion, season, form. 
 Office, and custoiii, it. all line oi'ordt-r: 
 And tlierefoie is the glorious planet, Sol„ 
 In nol)le eminence entlirou'd and splier'd 
 Amidst the other; whose med cinable eye 
 Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil. 
 And posts, like tlie commandment of a king. 
 Sans check, to good ami bad : lint, when the planets, 
 In evil mixture, to disorder wander, 
 What plagues, and wiiat portents what mutiny ? 
 What raging of the sea ^ shaking of earth ? 
 Commotion in the winds ? f igtits, ciianges, horrors. 
 Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
 The unity and nia ried calm ot states 
 Quite from their fixture ? O, wiien degree is shak'd, 
 Which is tiie Udi^." of all high designs, 
 Tiie enteri>5ise la sicK ! How could communities, 
 De^r?es in schools, and brotlierhoods in cities. 
 Peaceful cQunncrce I'rom dividahle shores, 
 Tl(e piimogenitive and due ot birth, 
 Piei o£fati\e of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
 Hut by degree, stand in authentic place ? 
 Take but degree aw;»y, untune tiiat string, 
 And, hark, what discoid f iliovvs! each tiling meets 
 In mere op|)ugnancy : Tlie bounded waters 
 Should lift tiieir bosuuis higher than the shores. 
 And make a sop of all tliis soiid globe : 
 Strength should be lord of imbecility, 
 And the rude son should strike his lather dead : 
 Force should be right ; or, rather, right and wrong 
 (Between whose endless jar justice resides,) 
 ahot.ld lose their names, and so siiould justice too. 
 Then e\ ery thing includes itself in power. 
 Power into will, will into appetite; 
 And appetite, an uniiers.d uolf, 
 So doubly seconded with will and power. 
 Must make perforce an universal prey. 
 And, last, eat up himsell. Great i\gameninon, 
 This chaos, v\hen degree is sulfocate. 
 Follows the choking. 
 And this neglectioii of degree it is, 
 That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 
 It lia<h to clini). The general's disdain'd 
 By him one slep below ; he, by the next; 
 Tiiat next, by liim beneaih ; so e\ery step, 
 Kxamphd Ity the first }>ace, that is sick 
 Ol'his superior, grows to an envious fever 
 Ot" palf and bloo ;lless emiilaf ion ; 
 And 'tis thift fe\ er (hat keeps 'i'roy on foot, 
 Not her oun sinews. I'o end a tale of length, 
 Tiny in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 
 
 ife'ii. Must wisely haih Ulysses here duscover'd 
 The lever whereol ail our power is sick. 
 
 Agarn. The nature of liie sickness found, Ulysses, 
 at i"! the remedy ? 
 
 yna. 'I'he great Achilles. — whom opinion crowns 
 itievv and tae f-^iehauil ot our liust. — 
 
 Having his ear full of his airy fan e 
 
 Grows dainty of his worth, and in his w.it 
 
 Lies mocking our designs: Witii him, Patroc'us, 
 
 Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day 
 
 Breaks scurril jests ; 
 
 And with ridiculous and awkward action 
 
 (Wliich, slanderer, he imitation calls,) 
 
 He pageants us. Sometime, great Agameirmon, 
 
 Thy topless deputation he puts on; 
 
 And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit 
 
 Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it nch 
 
 To hear the wooden d.alogue and soir.id 
 
 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaiVoldage, — 
 
 Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wiested seeniing 
 
 He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 
 
 'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar'd, 
 
 VVhich, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropped, 
 
 Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stulf, 
 
 The large Achilles, on liis press'd bed lolling. 
 
 From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ; 
 
 Cries — Excellent ! — 'tis Agamemnon just. — 
 
 Now play me Nestor ; — hein, and stroke thy beeerd. 
 
 As he, beiny 'drest to some oration. 
 
 "^I'hat's done ; — as near as the extremest ends 
 
 Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wile: 
 
 Yet good Achilles still cries. Excellent. 
 
 ' Tis N tstor ri(/ht ! Noiv play him tue, PatrocluSj 
 
 Arminfj to answer irt a niyht alarm. 
 
 And then, forsooth, the faint delects of age 
 
 JVlust be the scene of mii th ; to cough, and spit, 
 
 And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, 
 
 Shake in and out the rivet : — And at this sport. 
 
 Sir Valour dies ; cries, 0! enough, Patrodus; — 
 
 Or give me rijbs of steel ! I shall split all 
 
 In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashioo 
 
 All our abilities, gilts, natures, shapes, 
 
 Severals and generals of grace exact. 
 
 Achievements, plots, orders, prevenlions, 
 
 Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, 
 
 Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves 
 
 As stulf for these two to make paradoxes. 
 
 Nest. And ia the imitation of these twain 
 (Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
 VVith an imperial voice,) many are infect. 
 Ajax is grown self-willed ; and bears hio hca^ 
 In .such a rein, in full as proud a jjlace 
 As broad Achilles: keeps his tent like him; 
 iVlakes factious feasts: rails on our state of war, 
 Bold as an oracle : and sets Thersites 
 (A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,) 
 'J'o match us in comparisons with dirt; 
 To weaken and discredit our exposure. 
 How rank soever rounded in with danger. 
 
 Vlyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice 
 Count wisdom as no member of the war; 
 Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
 But that of hand : the still and mental parts, — 
 That do contrive how many hands shall strike. 
 When fitness calls them on ; and know, by measiu'6 
 01 their observant toil, the enemies' weight, — 
 Why, this hath not a finger's dignity : 
 They call this---bed-work, niappery, closet- war . 
 So that the ram, that batters down the wail. 
 For the great swing and rudeness of his poize. 
 They place beibre his hand, that made the engiae 
 Or tliose, that with the fineness of their smils 
 By reason guide his executicm. 
 
 Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
 Makes many 'J'hetis' sons. [Trumpet soundJt,j 
 
 Ayam. \Vhat trumpet ? look, Menelaus. 
 
 Enter JEt^Ei^. 
 Men. Frcuii Trov. 
 
 Ayam. What would yju Tore our tent, 
 
 A'-liie. la tia 
 
 Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray ? 
 
 Ayam. E\cn th'iH. 
 
 JEne. iVIay one, that is a herald, and \\ \ \xm.ii. 
 Do a lair message to his kingly ears 
 
 Ayam. With surety stronger than Achillea' a;m 
 
518' 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 'Fore al) the Greekish heads, which with one voice 
 Ca.l Agamemnon head and general. 
 
 ^U/.'ie. Fair leave, and large security. How may 
 A stranger to those most imperial looks 
 Know them from eyes of other mortals ? 
 
 Aqam. How? 
 
 Mne. Ay; 
 I ask, that 1 niiglit waken reverence, 
 And bid the cheek be ready with a bhish, 
 Modest as mornin" when she coldly eyes 
 The youtlihil Pb.Tebiis: 
 Which is tliatgod in office, guiding men? 
 VVhicl) is the high and mighty Agamemnon? 
 
 A<jam. This 'IVojan scorns us ; or tlie men of Troy 
 Aie ceremonious courtiers. 
 
 j^ne. CouHiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd. 
 As bending angels; that's their fame in peace : 
 But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, 
 Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and Jove's 
 accord, 
 
 Notiiing so full of heart. Bn( peace, JEneas, 
 Peace, Trojan ; lay tliy finger on thy lips ! 
 The wortliiness of praise distains his worth, 
 If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth: 
 But what tlie repining enemy commends, 
 That breath fame follows; that praise, sole pure, 
 transcends. 
 
 Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself 
 iEneas ? 
 
 JEne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 
 Af/am. What's your alfair, I pray you ? 
 
 JEne. Sir^ pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. 
 Ayam. He hears nought privately, that comes 
 from Troy. 
 
 j^ne. Nor I I rom Troy come not to whisper hinj : 
 I bring a trumpet to awake his ear; 
 'i'o set tiis sense on the attentive bent, 
 And then to speak. 
 
 Aoam. Speak frankly as the wind ; 
 
 It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour : 
 Mint thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, 
 Ne telis thee so himself 
 
 Mne. Trumpet, blow loud, 
 
 .Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; — 
 And every Greek of mettle, let him know, 
 Wiveti Troy means fairly, shall l>e spnke aloud. 
 
 {Trumpet sounds.) 
 We have, great Aganjemnon. here in Troy 
 A prince cail'd Hector, (Priam is his fatiier,) 
 Who in this didl and long-continued truce 
 Is rusty grown ; he bade me take a trumpet. 
 And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords ! 
 If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece, 
 That hohls his honour higher than his ease ; 
 That seeks his praise more than he iears his peril; 
 That knows his valour, and knows not his fear ; 
 That loves his mistress more than in confession, 
 (With truant vows to her own lips he loves,) 
 And dare avow her beauty and her worth, 
 In other arms than hers, — to him this challenge. 
 Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
 Shall make it good, or do his best to do it ; 
 He hath a lady, wiser fairer, truer. 
 Than ev»-'r Greek did compass in his arms ; 
 And uill to-morrow with his trampet call. 
 Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy, 
 To rouje a Grecian that is true in love: 
 If any come, Htctor shall honour him; 
 If none, he'll s >y in Troy, when he retires. 
 The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth 
 The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 
 
 Ayam. This shall be told our lovers, lordiSneas; 
 If none of them hate soul in such a kind. 
 We left them all at home: But we are soldiers; 
 And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, 
 'i hat means not, hath not, or is not in love ! 
 If then one is, or hath, or means to be, 
 That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. 
 
 Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
 W Aeu Hector's grandsire suck'd he is old now; 
 
 But, if there be not in our Grecian host 
 One noble man. that hath one spark of fire 
 To answer for his love. Tell hinj iiom me,<— 
 I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver. 
 And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn; 
 And, meeting him, will tell him, that my lady 
 Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste 
 As may be in the world : His youth in flood, 
 I II prove this truth with my three di ops of blood. 
 
 JEne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth ! 
 
 Ulyss. Amen. 
 
 Ayam. Fair lord i^neas, let me touch your hand j 
 To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
 Achilles shall have word of this intent; 
 So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent; 
 Yourself shall feast with us before you go. 
 And find the welcome of a noble foe. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor 
 
 Ulyss. Nestor, — 
 
 Nest. What says Ulysses ? 
 
 Ulyss. 1 have a young conce|)tion in my brain, 
 Be you my time to bring it to some shape. 
 
 Nest. What is't ; 
 
 Ulyss. This 'tis : 
 Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded pride. 
 That hath to this maturity blown up 
 In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, 
 Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
 'i'o overbulk us all. 
 
 Nest. Well, and how ? 
 
 Ulyss. This challenge, that the galla^it Hectoi 
 sends, 
 
 However it is spread in general name. 
 Relates in purpose only to Achilles. [stance 
 Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub" 
 Whose grossness little chaiacters sum up: 
 And, in the puhlicsttion, make no strain. 
 But tint Achilles, wer*^ his brain aa barren 
 As banks of Lybia, —though, Apollo knows, 
 'Tis dry enough, — will, with great speed of judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 
 Pointing on him. 
 
 Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think jou? 
 
 Nest. Yes, 
 It is most meet ; whom may you else ( ppose, 
 Tliat can from Hector bring tliose honours olf, 
 If not Achilles? Tnoiigli't be a sporll'ul combat 
 Yet in tlie trial much opinion dwells; 
 For here the Troj ins taste our dear'st rep ite 
 With their hn'st palate: And trust to ins, Ulysses, 
 Our imputation shall he oddly pois'd 
 In tliis wild action: for the success. 
 Although particular, shall give a scantling 
 Of good or bad unto the general ; 
 Ar>d in such indexes, although small pricks 
 To their subs quent volumes, there is seen 
 The baby figure of the giant mass 
 Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd. 
 He, that meets Hector, issues f rom our choice. 
 And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 
 ]\lakes merit her election ; an»l doth boil, 
 As 'twere from forth us all, a ^lan distill'd 
 Out of our virtues ; Who miscarrying. 
 What heart receives from hence a conquering paiii 
 To steel a strong 0|)inion to theujselves ? 
 Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments. 
 In no less working, than are swards and bows 
 Directive by the limbs. 
 
 Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech : — 
 Therefore, 'tis meet. Achilles meet not Hector. 
 Let us, like merchant*, shew our foulest wvee, 
 And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not, 
 The lustre of the bettt^r shall exceed. 
 By shewing the worse first. Do not '■onsent, 
 Tliat ever Hector and Achilles m.;ei; 
 For both our htmour and our sham^, in this, 
 Are dogg'd with two strange lollovvuis. Tthey? 
 
 Nest. 1 see them not with my old eyes; wb.'it hx% 
 
 Ulyss.W i\ai glory our Achilles shares from Hector, 
 
4cT IT. Scene 1. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 £19 
 
 VVeie he not prond, we all should share with him : 
 
 But he already is too insolent ; 
 
 And we were better parch in Afric sun, 
 
 Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, 
 
 Should he 'scape Hector fair : It b'^ were foil'd. 
 
 Why, then we did our main opinion crush 
 
 In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ; 
 
 And, bv device, let blockish Ajax draw 
 
 The sort to fight with Hector: Among- ourselves. 
 
 fiive him allowance for the better man, 
 
 For that will physic the great JMyrmidon, 
 
 Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall 
 
 I lis crest, that prouder than blue Iris bv-nds. 
 
 if the dull brainless Ajax come safe off. 
 
 We'll dress him up in voices: If he fail, 
 
 Vet go we under our opinion still 
 
 That we have better men. But, hit or miss, 
 
 Our project's life this shape ol^sense assumes,— 
 
 Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes. 
 
 Nest. Ulysses, 
 Now [ begin to relish thy advice ; 
 And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
 To Agamemnon: go we to him straight. 
 Two curs shall tame each other: Pride alone 
 Must tarre the mastitis on, as 'twere their bone. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Another part of the Grecian Camp. 
 
 Enter Ajax and Thkrsites. 
 Ajax. Thersites, — 
 
 Ther. Agaujemnon — how if he had boils ? full, all 
 ever, generally ? 
 Ajax. Thersites, — 
 
 Ther. And those boils did run ? — Say so, — did not 
 (he general run then ? were not that a botchy core? 
 Ajax Dog, — 
 
 Thei Then would come some matter from him ; 
 J see none now. 
 
 Ajus. Thou bitch-wolfs son, canst thou not 
 Iji ar ? Feel then. {Strikes him.) 
 
 Ther. The plague of Greece upon .thee, thou 
 mongrel beef-witted lord 1 
 
 Ajax. Speak tiien, thou unsalted leaven, speak : 
 i ll beat tlue into handsomenesa. 
 
 Ther. 1 shall sooner rail thee into wit and holi- 
 ness: but, I think, thy horse will sooner con bn 
 oration, than thou learn a prayer without book, 
 'i'liou canst strike, canst thou ? a red juurrain o'tliy 
 jrtde's tricks ! 
 
 Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. 
 
 Ther. Dost tiiou think, I have no sense, thou 
 itrik'jjt me thus ? 
 
 Ajax. The proclamation, — 
 
 Ther. Tliou art |-ioclaimed a fool, I think, 
 
 Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. 
 
 Ther. 1 woiild tiioii didst itcli Ironi head to lout, 
 and 1 liad the scratniing ul tiiee ; 1 would make thee 
 the loatlisoniest scjib \i\ Grrece. VVhen tliooart ibrth 
 in the incursions, thou slrikc.st as slow as another. 
 
 Ajax. I sity, the |,ruclaniation, — 
 
 Ther. Ttiou grumblest and rudest every hour on 
 Achilles; and tliuu art as full of envy at hs great- 
 ness, as C*jrbcnis is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that 
 thou barkest at him. 
 
 Ajtix. Mistress I'hersitt si 
 
 Ther. Tlioii siiould'st strike him. 
 
 Ajax Col) lout I 
 
 Ther IJg would pun thee into shivers with his 
 fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 
 
 Ajax. Y ou whoreson cur 1 {Beating him.) 
 
 Ther. I).., do. , 
 Ajax. 'I'hun stool lor a witcii 1 i 
 Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-uitted lord ! thou j 
 hast no more brain than 1 ha.e m mine elbows ; an 
 assinego may tut')r tiiee : Thou st;ur\y valiant ass! , 
 thou art liere put to thrash Trojan.->; and thou art j 
 bought and .sold among those ol any wit. like a | 
 Barhaiian slave. It thou use to beat nie, 1 witl 
 
 begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by iuchei^ 
 thou thing of no bowels, thou ! 
 
 Ajax. You dog I 
 
 Ther. You scurvy lord ! 
 
 Ajax. You cur! {Beating him.) 
 
 Ther-. Mars his idiot.' do, rudeness do, cainel« 
 do, do. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Patroci.us. 
 Achil. Whv, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do jon 
 thus? 
 
 How no\r. Thermites ? what's the matter, mfin ? 
 Ther. You see him there, do you'' 
 Achil. Ay ; what's the matter? 
 Ther. Nay, look upon him. 
 Achil. So I do; What's the matter? 
 Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 
 Achil. Well, why I do so. 
 
 Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : fo' 
 whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 
 Achil. I know that, fool. 
 Th&r. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 
 Ajax. 'J herefore, I beat thee. 
 Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he 
 utters! his evasions have ears thus long. I havo 
 bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones; 
 I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia 
 mater is not worth the ninth j)art t)f a sparrow, 
 'i'his lord, Achilles, Ajax, — who wears his wit in 
 his belly, and his guts in his head, — I'll tell you 
 what I say of him. 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. I say, this Ajax 
 
 Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 
 Ajax ojD'ers lo strike him, Achilles interpose^,) 
 Vier. Has not so much wit- — 
 Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 
 Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle 
 for whom he comes to fight. 
 Achil. Peace, fool! 
 
 Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the 
 fool will not: he there; that he; look you there. 
 Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall — 
 Achil. W ill you set your wit to a fool's ? 
 T//«r. No, 1 warrant you; for a fool's will shame it. 
 Patr. Good words, 'I'hersites. 
 Achil. What's the quarrel? 
 
 Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenuur 
 of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 
 
 Ther. I serve thee not. 
 
 Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 
 
 Iker. I serve here voluntary. 
 
 Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not 
 voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary : Ajax was 
 here the voluntary, and you as under an impresa. 
 
 Ther. Even so? — a great deal of your wit too 
 lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector 
 shall have a great catch, if he knock out cither of 
 your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with 
 no kernel. 
 
 Achil. What, with me too, Thersites? 
 
 Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor,— whose 
 wit was mouldy, ere your grandsires had n lils on 
 their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make 
 you plough up the wars. 
 , Achil. What, what? 
 
 Ther.Yes. good sooth ; To, Achilles I to, Ajax ! to! 
 
 Ajax. 1 sliai) cut out your tongue. 
 
 Ther. 'Tin no matter; 1 shall speak as much <it 
 thou, afterwards. 
 
 Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace. 
 
 Ther. 1 will hold my peace, when Achilles' bracb 
 bids me, shall I ? 
 
 Achil. 'I'here's for you, Patroclus 
 
 Ther. 1 will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I 
 come any more to your tents ; 1 will keep wherethere 
 is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit, 
 
 Patr. A good riddance. 
 
 Achil. iViarry, this, sir, is proclaimed througk all 
 our host 
 
520 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 'Act II. 
 
 Thav Beclor, by the first hour of the sun, 
 VV^i!!, with a trninjiet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
 To-morrow iiioi-ning call some knij^ht to arms, 
 That h;^th a stomach ; and such a one, that dare 
 Maintain — ! know not what; 'tis trash : Farewell. 
 
 ^jax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 
 
 Acliil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise. 
 He knew his man. 
 
 Ajax. O, meaning yon: — I'll go learn more of 
 it. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENK II. — Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
 Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, a7id 
 Helenus. 
 
 Pri. After sa many hours, lives, speeches spent, 
 Thus once aeain says Nestor from (he Greeks; 
 lieliver Helen, and all. damaije else — 
 As honour^ loss of time, travel, expenae, 
 TVounds, friends, and ichat else dear that is 
 consum'd 
 
 In hot dhjestion of this cormorant ivar, — 
 Shall be struck off: — Hector, what say yon to't? 
 Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks 
 than T 
 
 As far as toiicheth my particular, yet, 
 Oread Priam, 
 
 There is no lady of more softer bowels. 
 
 More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, 
 
 More ready to cry out — Who htiows what follotvs 1 
 
 Than Hector is : The wound of peace is surety, 
 
 Surety secure; but modest doubt is calTd 
 
 The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
 
 To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
 
 Since the first sword was drawn about this question. 
 
 Every tithe soul, 'inongst many thousand dismes, 
 
 Hath been as dear as Helen ; 1 mean, of ours : 
 
 If we have lost so many tents of ours. 
 
 To guard a thing not ours ; not worth to us. 
 
 Had it our name, the value of one ten ; 
 
 \That merit's in that reason, which denies 
 
 The yielding of her up ? 
 
 Trc. Fy, fy, my brother I 
 
 Weigh yon the worth and honour of a king. 
 So great as our dread father, in a scale 
 Of common ounces? will you with counters sum 
 The past-proportion of his infinite? 
 And buckle-in a waist most fathondess, 
 With spans and inches so diminutive 
 As fears and reasons ? fy, for godly shame! 
 
 H.el. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at 
 reasons, 
 
 Von are so empty of them. Should not our father 
 Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, 
 Because your speech hath none, that tells him so? 
 Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother 
 priest, 
 
 You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your 
 reasons : 
 
 You know, an enemy intends you harm ; 
 You know, a sword, employ'd, is perilous. 
 And reason flies the object of all harui : 
 Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 
 A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
 The verv wings of reason to his heels ; 
 Aiid fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, 
 Or like a star dis-orb'd ? — Nay, if we talk of reason. 
 Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour 
 Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their 
 thoughts 
 
 (\'ith this crainm'd reason : reason and respect 
 Make livers f)ale, and lustihood deject. 
 
 Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost 
 The holding. 
 
 Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued ? 
 
 Hect. But value dwells not in particular will; 
 It holds its estiuiate and dignity 
 As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
 As in the piizer : 'tis mad idolatry, 
 To (uake the bervi';e greater thatj the god; 
 Add the will doted, that is attributive 
 
 To what infectiously itself affects, 
 Without some ima^e of the affected merit. 
 
 Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my eleciioa 
 Is led on in the conduct of my will; 
 My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, 
 '^I'wo traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
 Of will and judgment : How may I avoid, 
 
 ' Although my will distate what it elected, 
 The wife I chose? there can be no evasion 
 To blench from this, and to stand firm by honor i; 
 We turn not back the silks upon the merchants, 
 When we have soil'd them ; nor the remainder viands 
 
 : We do not throw in unrespective sieve. 
 Because we now are lull. It was thought meet, 
 Paris shoidd do some vengeance on the Greeks : 
 
 j Your breath with full consent bellied his sails ; 
 
 [ The seas and winds (oid wranglers) took a truce, 
 
 } At)d did him service : he touclt'd the ports desir'd ; 
 And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive, 
 
 I He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and 
 freshness 
 
 Wrinkles Apollo's and makes [)ale tlie morning. 
 Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt: 
 Is she worth keeping ? why, she is a peari, 
 Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
 And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
 If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went, 
 (As you must needs, for you all cry'd — Qoy go^ 
 If you'll confess, he brought hcmie noble prize, 
 (As you nuist needs, for you all clapp'd your hands 
 And cry'd — Inestimable !) why do you now 
 The issue of your proper wisdom rate; 
 And do a deed that fortune never did. 
 Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
 Richer than sea and land ? O the It nu)st base ; 
 'I'hat we have stolen what we do fear to keep! 
 But, thieves, unworthy ol" a thing so stolen, 
 'i'hat in their country did theni that disgrace, 
 We fear to warrant in our native place 1 
 
 Cas. [Within.) Cry, Trojans, cry ! 
 
 Pri. What noi-^e ? what shritli s this ? 
 
 Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her \OM:e. 
 
 Cas. [Within.) Cry, Trojans ! 
 
 Hect. It is Cassandra. 
 
 Enter Cassandra, raving 
 Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry, lend me ten thousand eyos, 
 And I will till them with prophetic tears. 
 Hect. Peace, sister, peace. 
 
 Cas. Virgins and boys, mid- age and wrinkled 
 elders. 
 
 Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
 
 Add to my clamours ! let us pay betimes 
 
 A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
 
 Cry, Trtvjans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears;' 
 
 Troy must nwt be, nor goodly Ilion stand ; 
 
 Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. 
 
 Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen, and a woe: 
 
 Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit 
 
 Hect. Now, youthf'd Troilus, do not these high 
 Of divination in our sister work [strains 
 Some touches of remorse ? oris your blood 
 So madly hot, that no discourse of reason. 
 Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, 
 Can qualify the same ? 
 
 Tro. Why, brother Hector, 
 
 We may not think the justness of each act 
 Such and no other than event doth form it ; 
 Nor once deject the courage of our minds, 
 Because Cassandra's mad : her brain-sick raptures 
 Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel. 
 Which hath our several honours all engag'd 
 To make it gracious. For my private part, 
 I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons: 
 And Jove forbid, there should be d(»ne amongst ns 
 Such things, as mii^ht oft'end the weakest spleen 
 I'o fight for and maintain ! 
 
 Par. Else might the world convince of llvity 
 As well my undertakings, as your counsels: 
 But I attest the gods your full consent 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 521 
 
 G«re wines to my propenoion, and cut off 
 
 All fears attendins^ on so dire a project 
 F( r v<rii!it, alas, can these niy sir)»le arms? 
 What projiuo nation is in one man's valour, 
 To stand the [jii.sh and emnitv of those 
 This quarrel would excite ? V'et, I protest, 
 Were I alone to pass the difficulties, 
 And had as ample power as I have will, 
 l* ;r.8 sliould ne'er retract what he hath done, 
 Nov faint in the pursuit. 
 
 Pri. Paris, you speak 
 
 Like one besotted on your sweet delights : 
 You have the honey still, but tiiese the gall; 
 So to be valiant is no praise at ail. 
 
 Par, Sir, I propose not inereiy to myself 
 The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; 
 But I woidd have the soil of her fair rape 
 Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her. 
 W hat treason were it to the ransack'd queen, 
 Disgrace to your great wortlis, and shame to me, 
 Now to deliver her possession up 
 On terms of base c/mpnlsion ? Can it be, 
 That so degenerate a strain as this 
 Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? 
 I^here's not the meanest spirit on our party. 
 Without a lieart to dare, or sword to draw,' 
 When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble. 
 Whose lite were ill bestow'd. or death unfam'd, > 
 Where Helen is the subject : then, 1 say, 
 Well lujty we tight for her, whom, we know well. 
 The world's huge spaces carmot parallel. 
 
 Hect. Paris, and IVoilus, you have both said well ; 
 And uu the cause and question now in hand 
 Have gloz'd, — but superficially ; not unich 
 Unlik:? yomig men, whom Aristotle thought 
 Unlit to hear moral pliilosophy : 
 The reaso.is, you allege, do more conduce 
 To the hot passions of distemper'd blood. 
 Than to make up a free deterunnation 
 *l\vist riglit and wrong; for pleasure and revenge 
 Ha"e ears m< .re deaf than adders to the voice 
 Of any true decision, Natine crave.s 
 All dues lie render'd to tlieir owners; Now, 
 What nearer debt in all humanity. 
 Than wife is to the husband ? if this law 
 Of nature be corrupted through atlection; 
 And that great minds, of partial indulgence 
 To their benutiibed wills, resist the san)e ; 
 Therv is a iaw ia each well order'd nation, 
 To curb those raging appetites that are 
 Most disobedient and refractory. 
 If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, — 
 As it is known she is, — these moral laws 
 Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud 
 To have her back return'd : Thus to persist 
 In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong, 
 But makes it much more heavy. Hector's Oj;inion 
 Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ei theless, 
 My spritely bretiiren, I propend to you 
 In resolution to keep Helen still. 
 For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance 
 Upon our joint and several dignities. 
 
 Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design • 
 Were it not glory that we more affected 
 1'han tiie perfornjance oi our heaving spleens, 
 I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
 Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, 
 She is a theme of honour and renown ; 
 A sptir to valiant and magnanimous deeds 
 W^hose present courage may heat down our foes, 
 And fame, in time to come, canonize us : 
 For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
 So rich advantage of a prouiis'd glory. 
 As smiles upon the forehead of this action, 
 For the wide world's revenue. 
 
 Hect. I am yours, 
 
 You valiant offspring of great Priamus. — 
 I have a roisting challenge sent amongst 
 The didl and 'actious nobles of the (Jreeks, 
 Wili strike amazeraent to their drowsy spirits : 
 
 I was advertis'd, tneir great general sl^-pt 
 
 Whilst emulation in the army cre^ t ; 
 
 This, I presume, will wake him. [£!xeuni 
 
 Scene III. — The Grecian Cntnp. Before Achilles 
 Tent. 
 Enter Thersites. 
 Ther. How now, Thersites ? what, lost in tht 
 labyrinth of thy fury ? Shall the elephant Ajax carry 
 it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O worthy 
 .satisfaction ! 'would it were otherwise; that I cculd 
 beat him, whilst he relaid at me ; "Sfoot, I II learn 
 to conjure and raise devils, but Til see some issue 
 of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, 
 — a rare ejigineer. If Troy be not t;tken till these two 
 undermine it, the wal^s will stand till they full 
 of themselves O thou great thuniier - darter of 
 Olyutpus, foi ;»^et that thou art Jove, the king of 
 gods; and, Mercury, lose all the serpentme craft of 
 thy Coduceus ; if ye take not that little little less- 
 than-little wit from them that they have ! whioh 
 short armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant 
 scarce, it will not in circiuiivention deliver a fly from 
 a spider, without drawing their massy irons, and 
 cutting tlie web. After tiiis, the vengeance on the 
 whole camp! or, rather, the bone ache ! for that, 
 methinks, is the curse dependant on those that war 
 for a placket. I have said my prayers ; and devil, 
 envy, say amen. What, ho ! iny lord Achilles ! 
 
 Enter Patuoclus. 
 
 Patr. Who's there ? Thersites ? Good Thersitts, 
 come in and rail. 
 
 Ther. If I could ha' e ren>einbered a gilt counter- 
 feit, thou wouldest no. have slipped out of my coa- 
 templation : but it is n>> matter; Thyself upon thy- 
 self! The common curse of matikind, folly ami 
 ignorance, be thine in great rev enue ! heaven bless 
 thee from a tutor, and disciple come not near thee.* 
 Let thy blood be thy direction till tiiy death I thca 
 if she, that buys thee out, says — thou art a fair (orf>e, 
 I'll be svvcun and sworn upon t, she never shroudetl 
 any but lazars. Amen. Wh' re s Achilles ? 
 
 Patr. What, art thou devout! Wast thou in 
 
 Tfier. Ay; the heavens hear me! [prayer? 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Who's there ? 
 
 Patr. '^I'hersites, my lord. 
 
 Achil. Where, where? — Art thou come? Why, 
 my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served 
 thyself in to my table so many meals? Come ; what's 
 Agamenmon ? 
 
 Ther. Thy commander, Achilles ;— then tell me, 
 Patroclus, wiiat's Achilles? 
 
 Patr. Thy lord, Thersites ; Then tell me, I pray 
 thee, what's thyself. 
 
 Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus; Then tell me, 
 Patroclus. what art thou ? 
 
 Patr. Thou mayest tell, that knowest. 
 
 Achil. O tell, tell. 
 
 Ther. I'll decline the whole question^ Agamem- 
 non conmiands Achilles ; Achilles is my lord ; I am 
 Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a tool. 
 
 Patr. You rascal ! 
 
 Ther. Peace, fool ; 1 have not done. [sites. 
 Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Ther- 
 '/%er. Agamemnon is a tool; Achilles is a f ool; Ther- 
 sites is a fool j and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fooL 
 Achil. Derive this; come. 
 
 Thar. Agamemnon is a fool to oiTer to coinmn'id 
 Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be conmianded o 
 Agamemnon; Thersites is at fool to serve such % 
 fool; and Patroclus is a foci positive. 
 
 Patr. Why am I a fool ? 
 
 Ther. Make that demand of the proven — ft suf- 
 fices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here. 
 £«<er AoiMEMNON, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes 
 and Ajax. 
 
 Achil. Patroclus, 1 11 speak with Uv^body : — CovaA 
 
522 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 La with me, 1 nersites. [Exit. 
 
 Ther. Here is such patcliery, such juggling, and 
 such knavery I all the aigiimerit is, a cuckold, and 
 B whore ; a good quarrel, to draw ernidous factions, 
 and *o bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on 
 the .ubject! and war, and lechery, couloiind all ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Afjam. Where is Achilles? 
 
 Pair. Within his tent; but ill dispos'd, niylord. 
 
 A gam. Let it be known to hini, that we are here. 
 Be slient our messengers ; and we lay by 
 Our af^pertainnients, visiting of him : 
 Let liiiji be told so; lest, perchance, he think 
 We dare not move the question of our place. 
 Or know not what we are. 
 
 Pair. I shall say so to him. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his teut; 
 He is not sick. 
 
 Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you 
 may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; 
 but, by my head, 'tis pride : But why, why i let 
 liim shew us a cause. — A word, my lordi. 
 
 (Takes Agamemnon aside.) 
 
 Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at iiim 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool frouj him. 
 
 Nest. Who ? 'J'hersites 'i 
 
 Ulyss, He. « 
 
 Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
 his aigiunent. 
 
 Ulyss. No ; you see, he is bis argument, that has 
 his argument; Achilles. 
 
 Nest. All the uetter ; their fraction is more our 
 wish than their faction: liut it was a strong com- 
 posure, a i'o il could disunite. 
 
 Ulyss. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly 
 laaji easily untie. Here conies Patroclug. 
 
 Re-enter Patkoclus. 
 
 A'c?.?/. No Achilles with him. 
 
 Ulyss. Tiie elephant hath joints^ but none for 
 (onrtesy; his legs are legs for necessity, not for 
 Uexnre. 
 
 Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sorry, 
 11 any thing more than your sport and pleasure 
 Did move your greatness, and this noble state, 
 To call U[)on him ; he hopes, it is no other. 
 But, for your iiealth and your digestion sake, 
 An afttr-dumers breath. 
 
 Aya.m, Hear you, Patroclus: — 
 
 We are too well acquainted witli tiiese answers: 
 But his evasioi), wing'd thus swift with scorn, 
 Cannot outlly our apprehensions. 
 Mu(h attribute lie hath; and much the reason 
 Wiiy we ascribe it to him : yet all his viitues, — 
 Nfit virtuously on his own part beheld, — 
 Do, in your eyes, begin to lose their gloss ; 
 Yea, like lair fruit in an unwholesome dish. 
 Are like to rot unstated. Go and tell hinj, 
 We ( oute to speak with him : And you shall not sin. 
 If you do say — we think him over-proud, 
 And under honest; in self-assuuiption greater. 
 Than in the note of judgujent ; and worthier than 
 hiuiself 
 
 Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on; 
 ITisgu/se the holy strength of their command. 
 And underwrite in an observing kind 
 ti.s himiours predonunance ; yea, watch 
 His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his tlows, as if 
 The passage and whole carriage of this action 
 Rode on his tide. Go and tell him this; and add, 
 That, if he overbold his price so much, 
 We'll tione of him ; but let hiuj, like an engine 
 Not portable, lie under this report — 
 Bring action hither, this cannot go to war: 
 A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
 Belore a sleeping giant — Tell him so. 
 
 Patr. 1 shall; and bring his answer presently. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ayam \u second voice we'll not be satisfieii 
 
 We come to speak with hira. — Ulysses etiter. 
 
 [Exit Ulyss 
 
 Ajax. What is he more than another ;* 
 
 Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. 
 
 Ajax. Is he so much? Do you not think, he 
 thiiiks himsell a better man than I am ? 
 
 Agam. No question. [he is? 
 
 Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say — 
 
 Agam. No, noble Ajax ; you are as strong, as 
 valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle 
 and altogether more tractable. 
 
 Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How dotl 
 pride grow? 1 know not what pride is. 
 
 Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your 
 virtues the fairer. He, that is proud, eats up huu- 
 self : pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his 
 own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in 
 the deed, devours the deed in the praise. 
 
 Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as 1 hate the engen- 
 dering of toads. 
 
 Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not strange ? 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Re-enter Ulysses. 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 
 
 Ayam. What's his excuse ? 
 
 Ulyss. He doth rely on none; 
 
 But carries on the stream of his dispose. 
 Without observance or respect of any, 
 In will peculiar and in self-admission. 
 
 Agam. W hy will he not, upon our fair request, 
 Untent his person, and share the air witii us ? 
 
 Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake 
 only, [ness; 
 He makes important: Possess'd he is with great- 
 And sjteaks not to himsell', but with a pride 
 'i'hat quarrels at self breath : imagin'd worth 
 Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse. 
 That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, 
 Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages. 
 And batters down himself: What should I say? 
 He is so plaguy proud, that the death tok<- us oi 'i 
 Cry — No recovery' 
 
 Agam. Let Ajax go to him. — 
 
 Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent -. 
 ''I'is said, he holds you well; and will beled, 
 At your request, a little from himself. 
 
 Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so! 
 We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
 When they go from Achilles: Shall the proud lord. 
 That bastes his arrogance with his own seam, 
 And never sutlers matter of the world 
 Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve 
 And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd 
 Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 
 No, this thrice-woithy and right-valiant lord 
 Must not so stain his palm, nobly acquir'd; 
 Nor, by my will, assubjugale his merit. 
 As amply titled as Aclulies is, 
 By going to Achilles: 
 That were to eulard his fat-already pride ; 
 And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns 
 With entertaining great Hyperion. 
 'J'his lord go to him! Jupiter forbid ; 
 And say in thunder — Achilles, go to him. 
 
 Nest. O, this is well; he rubs tiie vein of hini. 
 
 {Aside.\ 
 
 Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applau.se : 
 
 {Aside^ 
 
 Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash 
 Over the face. Jiim 
 
 Agam. O, no, yon shall not go. 
 
 Ajax An he be proud with me, i ll pheeze hif 
 Let me go to him. {pride: 
 
 Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs ujjon oui 
 quarrel. 
 
 Ajax. A paltry, insol(;nt fellow! — 
 Nest. How he describe! 
 
 Himself! {Asidt*) 
 Ajax, Can he not be sociable ? 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 * 523 
 
 XJlyss. The raven 
 
 Chides blackness. {Aside^ 
 Ajax. T will let his humours blood. 
 
 Agam Hc*ll be phjsician, that should be the pa- 
 tieat. {Aside.) 
 Ajax. An all men 
 kVere o'my mind, — 
 Ulyss. ' VVit would be out of fashion. 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 Ajax. He should not bear it so, 
 should eat swords first: iShall pride carjy it? 
 
 Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. (Aside.) 
 
 Ulyis. He'd have ten shares. [Aside.) 
 
 Ajax. I'll knead hini, I'll make him supple : — 
 
 Nest. He's not yet thorough warm : force him 
 with praises: 
 i*our in, pour in ; his ambition is dry. [Aside.) 
 
 Ulyss.My lord, you feed too much on this dis- 
 like. [To Agamemnon.) 
 
 Nest. O noble general, do not do so, 
 
 Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 
 
 Ulyss, Why, 'tis this naming of him does hiu) 
 harm. 
 
 Here is a man — But 'tis before his face ; 
 I will be silent. 
 
 Nest. Wherefore should you so? 
 
 He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 
 
 Ulyss. K-tiOW the whole world, he is as valiant. 
 
 Ajax. A ^vhoreson dog, that shall palter thus 
 with us! 
 I would, he were a Trpjan ! 
 
 Nest. What a vice 
 
 Were it in Ajax now — 
 
 Ulyss* If he were proud ? 
 
 Dio. Or covetous of praise ? 
 
 Uljfss. Ay, or surly borne? 
 
 Dto. Or strange, or self-affected ? 
 
 l7/ys*. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet 
 composure ; 
 
 Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck : 
 
 i Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
 Tl\rice-fam'd, beyond all erudition: 
 
 j But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight. 
 Let Mars divide eternity in twain, 
 
 \ And give him half: and, for thy vigour. 
 Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield 
 To sinewy Ajax. I'll not praise thy wisdom, 
 Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
 Thy spacious and dilated parts: Here's Nestor, — 
 
 ; Instructed by the antiquary times, 
 He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; — 
 
 I But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
 
 1 As green as Ajax', and your brain so temper'd, 
 You should not have the eminence of him, 
 
 i But be as Ajax. 
 
 j Ajax. Shall I call you father ? 
 
 I Nest. Ay, my good son. 
 
 Tfio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax. 
 
 Ulyss, There is no tarrying here ; the hart 
 I Achilles 
 
 Keeps thicket Please it our ^reat general 
 'J'o call together all his state of war; 
 Fresh kings are come to Troy ; To-morrow 
 We must with all our main of power stand fast: 
 And here's a lord, — come kniglits from east to west, 
 |And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best, 
 j Agam. Go we to council. Let Acliiiles sleep : 
 Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 
 deep. [Exeunt. 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Troy, A Room in Priam's Palace. 
 
 Enter Pandarus and a Servant. 
 Pan. Friend ! you I pray you, a word : Do not 
 you follow the young lord Paris ? 
 i Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 
 I Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean ? 
 1 Serv, Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 
 
 Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman; 1 
 must needs praise him. 
 
 Serv. The lord be praised 
 Pan. You know me, do you not ? 
 Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. 
 Pan. Friend, know me better; 1 Jm the lord 
 Pandarus. 
 
 Serv. I hope I shall know your honour better. 
 
 Pan. I do desire it. 
 
 Serv. You are in a stiite of grace. 
 
 [Musii wiihin.) , 
 
 Pan. Grace ! not so, friend ; honour an I loi tlship 
 are my titles : — What music is this ? 
 
 Serv. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in 
 parts. 
 
 Pan. Know yon the musicians ? 
 
 Serv. Wholly, sir. 
 
 Pan. Who play they to ? 
 
 Serv. To the hearers, sir. 
 
 Pan. At whose pleasure, friend? 
 
 Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music* 
 
 Pan. Command, I mean, friend. 
 
 Serv. Who shall I comnmnd, sir? 
 
 Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I 
 am too courtly, and thou art too cunning : At wltose 
 request do these men play ? 
 
 Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at the 
 reqi'.est of Paris my lord, who is there in person; 
 with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of 
 beauty, love's invisible soul, — 
 
 Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ? 
 
 Serv. No, sir, Helen ; Could you not find out 
 that by her attributes ? 
 
 Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not 
 seen tiie lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris 
 from the prince Troilus : I will make a complimen- 
 tal assault upon him, for '.My business seeths. 
 
 Serv. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase, 
 indeed.' 
 
 Enler Paris and Helen, attended. ^ 
 
 Pan. Fair be to you, niy lord, and to all this faif 
 company ! fair desires, in all fair measure^, fairly 
 guide them ! especially to you, fair queen ? faif 
 thoughts be your fair pillow ! 
 
 Helen, Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 
 
 Pan.Yow speak your fair pleasure, sweet queeur— 
 Fair prince, here is good broken music. 
 
 Par. Yo \ have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, 
 you shall make it whole agaiu ; you stiall piece k 
 out with a piece of your performance : — Nell, he is 
 full of harmony. 
 
 Pan. Truly, ladj% no. 
 
 Helen. O, sir, — 
 
 Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rade 
 
 Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in fits. 
 
 Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen : — ■ 
 My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word V 
 
 Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we'll 
 hear vou sing, certainly. 
 
 Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with 
 me. — But (marry) thus, n»y lord, — My dear lord, 
 and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus — 
 
 Hele7t. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord, — 
 
 Pan, Go to, sweet queen, go to: — commends 
 himself most afi'ectionately to you. 
 
 Helen. You siiall not bob us out of our melody ; 
 If vou do, our melancholy ii[>on your head ! 
 
 Pan. Sweet queen, eweet queen ; tiiat'a a sweet 
 queen, i'faith. 
 
 Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a 
 sour offence. 
 
 Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; th«t 
 shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, 1 care »:ot for such 
 words; no, no. — And, my lord, he dfsires you, 
 that, if the kini.^ call for him at supper, you will 
 make his excuse. 
 
 Helen. My lord Pandarus,— - 
 
 Pan. What says my swert queen? — h»y very 
 very sweet queen 
 
 Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he tO» 
 nitiht i 
 
S2t 
 
 TROILITS AND CRESSTDA. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Helen. Kay, but my lord, — 
 
 I^on. V hrtt says my sweet queen? — My cousin 
 <vi!l lull out vvitli you. You must not know where 
 he sups. 
 
 Par. I ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressirla. 
 
 Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide ; 
 Cv nie, your disposer is sick. 
 
 Par. Weil, I'll make excuse. 
 
 Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say — 
 C/es«ida ? no, your poor disposer's sick. 
 
 Par. 1 spy. 
 
 Pan. \ ou spy ! what do you spy ? — Come, give 
 nie an instnimeut. — Now, sweet quten. 
 
 HeUn. Wliy, this is kindly done. 
 
 Pan. My niece is iiorribly in love w'ith a thing 
 you htiv<.', sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not 
 ray lurd P.uis. [twain. 
 
 Pan. He ! no, siie II none of him ; the two are 
 
 Helen. Falling in, after falling out, many hiake 
 theiri three. 
 
 Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll 
 sIq;^ you a song now. 
 
 Helen. Ay, ay. pr ythee now. By my troth, sweet 
 lord, tiioii hast a tine forehead. 
 P(m. Ay, you may, you may. 
 Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo 
 us all. O. Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! 
 Pan. Love ! av, that it shall, i'faith. 
 Par. Ay. good now, love, love, nothing but love. 
 Pati. In gO(jd trotli, it begins so: 
 
 Love. love, nothimj hut love, still more! 
 For, oh. love's bow 
 Shoots Imclc and doe : 
 The shaft confounds 
 Not that it ivounds. 
 But tickles still the sore. 
 These lovers cr// — Oh ! oh ! they die ! 
 
 Yet that, which seems the wound to kill, 
 Doth turn oh ! oh ! to ha ! ha ! he ! 
 
 So dyinij love lives still : 
 Oh ! oh ! a while., hut ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 lr!ey ho ! 
 
 Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose. 
 
 Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that 
 breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, 
 and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is 
 Io\e. 
 
 Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, 
 liot thoughts, and hot deeds? — Why, they are vi- 
 pers: Is io\p a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, 
 who's a-field to day ? 
 
 Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and 
 a!l the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed 
 to day, but my Nell would not have it so. How 
 chance niy brother Troilus went not ? 
 
 Helen. He hangs the Up at something; — you 
 know all, lord Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to 
 aear how they sped to day. — You'll remember 
 your brother's excuse? 
 
 Par. To a hair. 
 
 Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Commend me to your niece. 
 
 Pan. 1 will, sweet queen. [Exit. 
 
 {A retreat sounded.) 
 
 Par. They are come from field : let us to Priam's 
 hall, [you, 
 i o greet the warriors. Sweet Helen. I must woo 
 10 > elp unarm our Hector: His stubborn buckles. 
 With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, 
 'jl..dl more obey than to the edge of steel, 
 3r ;o:(!e of (Jreekish sinews ; you shall do more 
 Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. 
 
 Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, 
 Paris: 
 
 Vea, what he shall receive of us in dutv, 
 Ciiives us atore palm in beauty than we have ; 
 
 Yea, overshines oin st-lf. 
 
 Par. Sweet, above thouglit I love thee [ExeuM. 
 Scene II. — The same. Pandarus^ Orchard. 
 
 Enter Pandarus and a Servant, meeting. 
 Pun. How now ? where's thy master ? at m| 
 cousin Cressida s ? 
 
 Serv. No, sir; he stavs for you to conduct him 
 thither. 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 Pan. 0,here becomes. — How now, how now ? 
 
 Tro. Sirrah, walk olf. [Exit Servant 
 
 Pan. Have you aeen my cousin ? 
 
 Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door. 
 Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks. 
 Staying for waftaiie. O, be thou itjy Charon, 
 And give nie swift transportatice to those fields, 
 VVhere I may Mallow in the lily beds 
 Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus, 
 From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, 
 And fly with me to Cressid ! 
 
 Pan. Walk here i'the orchard, I'll bring hei 
 straight. [Exit, 
 
 Tro. I am giddy : expectation whirls me round. 
 The imaginary relish is so sweet, 
 That it enchants my sense ; What will it be, 
 W^hen that the watery palate tastes indeed 
 Love's thrice-reputed nectar ? death, I fear rae ; 
 Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine, 
 1 oo subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness. 
 For the capacity of my ruder powers: 
 I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, 
 That I shall lose distinction in my joys; 
 As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
 The enemy flying. 
 
 Re-enter Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come straight ; 
 j;ou must be witty now. She does so blush, and 
 fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed 
 with a sprite : I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest 
 villain: — she fetches her breath as short as a now- 
 ta'en sparrow. [FjcH, 
 
 Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my no- 
 sorn : 
 
 My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; 
 And all my powers dp their bestowing lose, 
 Like vassalage £t cnawares encouut ring 
 The eye of majesty. 
 
 Enter Pandarus and Cressida 
 Pan. Come, come, what need yon blush ? shame's 
 a baby. — Here she is now : swear the oaths now to 
 her, that you have sworn to me. — What, are you 
 gone again ? you must be watched ere you be made 
 tame, must you ? Come your ways, come your 
 ways ; an you draw backward, we'll j)ut you i the 
 fills. — Why do you not speak to her ? — Come, draw 
 this curtain, and let's see your picture. Alas the 
 day, how loath you are to oftend day-light! an 
 'twere dark, you'd close sooner. So, so ; rub on; 
 and kiss the mistress. How now, a kiss in fee- 
 farm! build there, carpenter; the air is sweet. 
 Nay, you shall fight your hearts out. eie I • part 
 you The falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks 
 i'the river : go to, go to. 
 
 Tro. You have bereft tne of all words, lady. 
 Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds, btit 
 she'll bereave you of the deed too, if slie call your 
 activity in question. What, billing again ? Heres 
 — In witness tvkereof the parties interchange- 
 ably — 
 
 Come in, come in; I'll go get a fir->. [Exii 
 
 Cres. Will you walk, in, my lord ? 
 
 Tro. O Cressida, how olteri have I wished me 
 thus ! [my lord ! 
 
 Cres. Wished, my lord ? — The gods gruit !-r-0 
 
 Tro. What sliould they graist? what makes i^iis 
 pretty abruption? What too » iirious dreg esAie' 
 my sweet lady it; the fountain of our love ? \ 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSTDA. 
 
 525 
 
 J Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears ^ave 
 I , , , [truly, 
 j ^'Tro. Frp.rs make Hevils i-herubim ; they never s^e 
 Cres Blind fear, that seeing rea.sun leads, finds 
 sfer looting than blind reason stuinbling without 
 flr • I'o ft'-tr tiie worst, oil cares t\\e worst. 
 Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no tear; in all 
 t'l pid's pagt-ant tnere is presented no nionster. 
 ! Crei ISor nothing uionstrons neither r 
 
 7Vo Noihing. but our undertakings; when we 
 ow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame ti- 
 : (IS- thinking It harder for our mistress to devise 
 fmno's-tion enough, than for us to undergo any 
 tiiaitulty imposed. This is the monstruosity in 
 Hove lady. -thHt the will is infinite, and tne execu- 
 iiuonconfiued ; that the desire is boundless, and the 
 act a sla\e to limit. 
 
 Cres Thev sav, all lovers swear more perform- 
 ance than th'ey aVe able, and yet reserve an ability 
 that triey ne\er pertorm ; vowing more tlian t be 
 perfection of ten, and discharging less tlian the 
 tenth part of one. They that have the \oice of lions, 
 and the act of hares, are they not monsters { 
 1 Tro. Are there such ? such are not we: 1 raise 
 jus as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our 
 jliead shall go baie, till merit crown it : no perfec- 
 tion in lexersion sliall have a praise in present: we 
 will nolname desert, before liis birth; and, being 
 born, his addition shall be humble. Fevv words to 
 ,fajr faith ; Troiius siiall be such to Cressid, as what 
 lenvy can say worst, shall be a mock lor his truth; 
 !«n(l what truth can speak truest, not truer than 
 iTrciUis. . 
 
 Cres. Will you walk in, my lord i 
 
 Re-enier Pandarus. 
 
 Pan, What, blushing still? have you not done 
 IMiking yet? „ , i i v 
 
 ]j Cres, We'd, uftcle, what folly I commit, 1 dedi- 
 cate to you. 1 , . 1 
 Pan I thank vou for that ; if my lord get a bov 
 of you, you'll give iiim me: Be true to my lord : it 
 be llinrh, chide me for it. ^ 
 I ro. Yon know now your hostages ; your uncle s 
 word, and my firm faiili. , ^ , 
 i Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too; our 
 kindred, thoilgh they be long er*^ they are wooed, 
 U'ev are constant, being won: they are burs, J can 
 teii'von; they'll stick where they are thrown. 
 
 Cres, Boldness comes to me now, and brings me 
 heart: — 
 
 P \ ce Troiius, I have lov'd you night and day 
 Fni nian\ w eary months. , , ^ -9 
 
 7 ro. Why was my Cressid then «-) hard to win { 
 Cres. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my 
 
 With the first glance that ever— Pardon me ;— 
 
 If 1 confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
 
 I love vou now; but not, till now, so much 
 
 Bat i liiight master it :— in faith, I lie ; 
 
 My thoughts we e like unbridled children, grown 
 
 Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools. 
 
 Why have 1 blabb'd ? who shall be true to us. 
 
 When we are so unsecret to oursehes : 
 
 But, though 1 lov'd you well. I woo'd you not; 
 
 ! And yet, good faith, 1 wish'd myself h man ; 
 
 ; Or that women had men's privilege 
 
 I or speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue ; 
 
 1 For, in tliis rapture, I shall surely speak. 
 
 I The thing I shall repent! See, see, your silence, 
 
 I Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
 
 I Mv veiv sou! of counsel : Stop my mouth. 
 
 Tro. 'And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. 
 Pan, Pretty, i'taith. 
 
 Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me ; 
 ' Twas not my purpo e, thus to beg a kiss : 
 Tarn asham'd O heavens! what have I done { 
 Foithis time will I lake my leave, my lord. 
 lo. Yd ir leave, sweet Cressid ? 
 
 Pan. Leave I an you take leav* till to morrow 
 
 morning, — 
 
 Cres. Pray you, content yon. 
 
 7Vo. W hat offends you, lady * 
 
 Cres. Sir, mine own company. 
 
 7Vo. ^ «annot shua 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Cres. Let me go and try : 
 \ have a kuid of self resides with you ; 
 But an unkind self, that itself will leave. 
 To be another's fool. 1 would be gone :— 
 Where is niy wit? I know not what i speik. 
 
 Tro. Well know tliey what they speaks Aiaf 
 spf ak so wisely. 
 
 Cres. Perchance, my lord, I shew mora Craft 
 than love ; 
 
 And fell so roundly to a large confession, 
 To angle (or your thoughts : But you ore wise ; 
 Or else you love not; For to be wise, and love, 
 Fxreeds' man s might; that dwells with trods above. 
 
 Tro. O, that I thought it could be i«i a woman, 
 (As, if it can, ( will presume in you,) 
 To fee<l for aye her lamp and flames of love ; 
 To keep her constancy in plight and youth, 
 Outli\ ing beauty's outward, with a mind 
 That dot.h renew swifter than blood decays I 
 Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me,— 
 Tiiat my integrity and truth to you 
 MiKht be aiironted with the match and weight 
 Of such a winnow'd purity in love; 
 How were 1 then uplifted ! but, alas, 
 I am {i8 true as truth's simplicity, 
 And simpler than the infancy oi truth. 
 
 Ci-es. In that Pll war with you. 
 
 Tro. O virtuous fight, 
 
 When right with right wars, who shall lie most 
 right ! 
 
 True swains in love shall, in tho world to come, / 
 Approve their truths by Troiius: when iht t 
 rlivmes, , 
 Full of juotest, of oath, and big compare, 
 Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration, — 
 As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, 
 As sun to day, as turtle to her mate. 
 As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre — 
 Yet, alter all comparisons of truth, 
 As truth's authentic author to be cited. 
 As true as 'i'roilus shall crown up the verse, 
 And sanctify the numbers. 
 
 Cres. Prophet may you be I 
 
 If I be false, or swerve a hair from triitli, 
 When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
 When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy, 
 And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
 And mighty states characterless are grated 
 To dusty nothing ; yet let memory. 
 From false to false among ialse maids in love. 
 Upbraid my falsehood 1 when they have said— a» 
 false 
 
 As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth. 
 
 As fox to iamb, as wolf to heifer's calf. 
 
 Paid to the hind, or stepdanie to her son ; 
 
 Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood. 
 
 As false as Cressid. 
 
 Pari. Go to, a bargain made : seal it. seal it ; I'l! 
 be the witness. — Here I hold your hand : here, my 
 cousin's. Ji e\er you pro\e false one to another 
 since I have taken such pains to bring vou together, 
 let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's 
 end after my name, call them all— Paiidars ; let ail 
 oonstantmen be Troilusses, all false women Cressirls* | 
 and ail brokers between Pt.ndurs ! say, amen. i 
 
 Tro. Amen. 
 
 Cres. Amen. 
 
 Pan. Amen. Whereupon 1 will shew you 
 chamber and a bed, which bed, l)eca.ise i! shall no 
 sj.eak (.f your pretty encounters, press it to death? 
 avvav. 
 
 And'Ciipid gran! all tongue-tied ma dens here. 
 Bed-chamber Pa.dar o i'loviele this geer ' 
 
 [Exeuni 
 
526 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSTDA. 
 
 Act Til 
 
 ScsNE III.— The Grecian Camp. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, 
 Ajax, Menelals, and Calchas. 
 Cal. Now, pnnces, lor the service I have done 
 you, 
 
 V'e advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
 I u cail for recompense. Appear it to your mind, 
 I I. at, turoii^h the sight I bear in things, to Jove 
 I F:i(ve abandon'd Troy, left my possessiotis, 
 Inciirr'd a traitor's name; expos'd myself, 
 V\ am certain and possess'd conveniences, 
 !■> doubtful fortunes; sequest'ritig from me all, 
 That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, 
 T'lade tame and most familiar to my nature ; 
 And here, to do you service, am become 
 As new into the world, strange, unacquainted: 
 1 do beseech you, as in way of taste, 
 To give me now a little benefit, 
 Out of tliose many register'd in promise, 
 Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 
 A gam. What would'st thou of us, Trojan? make 
 demand. 
 
 CaL You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor, 
 Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear. 
 Oft liave you, (often have you thanks therefore,) 
 Desii 'd my Cressid in right great exchange. 
 Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor, 
 I know, is such a UTest in their aft'airs, 
 Ttjat their negotiations all must slack, 
 V\'aiiting his nianage; and they will almost 
 Give us a prince ol' blood, a son of Priam, 
 In change of him : let him be sent, great princes. 
 And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence 
 Shall quite strike off all service I have done, 
 In most accepted pain. 
 
 Agam. Let Diomedes bear him. 
 
 And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shall have 
 IV h it he requests of us. Good Dioraed, 
 Furnish you fairly for this interchange : 
 Witiial, bring word if Hector will to-morrow 
 Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 
 
 Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a burden 
 Which I am proud to bear. 
 
 [Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas. 
 
 Enter Achilles «wc?Patroclus, before their Tent. 
 Ulyss. Achilles stands i'the entrance of his 
 tent: — 
 
 Please it our general to pass strangely by him. 
 As if he were forgot; and, princes all. 
 Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : — 
 I will come last : "Tis like, he'll question me, 
 Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why tiini'd on 
 him ? 
 
 If so, I have derision med'cinable. 
 To use between your strangeness and his pride. 
 Which his own will shall have desire to drink ; 
 It may do good : pride has no other glass 
 To shew itself but pride; for supple knees 
 Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 
 
 Agam, We'll execute your purpose, and put on 
 A form of stranjgeuess as we pas's along ; — 
 So do each lord ; and either greet him not, 
 Or else disdainfully, which snail shake him more 
 Than if not look'd on. I will lead tlie way. 
 
 Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me? 
 You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. 
 
 Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught 
 with us? 
 
 Nest Would you, my lord, augnt with the ge- 
 neral ? 
 
 AcktL No. 
 
 Nest. Nothing, my lord. 
 Agam, The better. 
 
 [Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor. 
 Achil. Good day, good day. 
 
 Men. How do you ? how do you ? [Exit, 
 Achil VVVa^c, does the cuckold scorn me ? 
 
 Aja.X' •* now, Patroclus ? 
 
 Achil. Good morrow, Ajai. 
 
 Ajax. ild 1 
 
 Achil, Good morrow. 
 
 Ajax, Ay, and good next day too. [EAtt 
 
 Achil, What mean these fellows? K.no\f thej 
 
 not Achille:* ? 
 Pair, They pass by strangely : they wpre oa 
 
 to bend, 
 
 To send their smiles before them to Achiiles 
 To come as humbly, as they ui'i to creep 
 To holy altars. 
 
 AchiL What, am I poor of late? 
 
 'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with foi. 
 tune, 
 
 Must fall out with men too: What the drclin'd is, 
 
 He shall as soon read in the eyes of otherSj 
 
 As feel in his own fall : for men, like buttsL.'flies, 
 
 Shew not their mealy wings, but to the summer 
 
 And not a man, for being simply man, 
 
 Hath any honour; but honour Ibr those honours 
 
 That are without him, as place, riches, favour, 
 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit : 
 
 Which when they fall, as being slippery standeri^ 
 
 The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, 
 
 Do one pluck down another, and together 
 
 Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me : 
 
 Fortune and I are friends; 1 do enjoy 
 
 At ample point all that 1 did possess, 
 
 Save these men's looks • who do, methinks, fiYi 1 out 
 
 Something not wortli in me such rich beholding 
 
 As they have often given. Here is Ulysses ; 
 
 I II interrupt his reading. — 
 
 How now, Ulysses ? 
 
 Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ? 
 
 Achil. What are you reading? 
 
 Ulyss. A strange fellow h«rB 
 
 Writes me, That man — how dearly ever parted. 
 How much in having, or without, or in.. — 
 Cannot make boast to have that which he hath. 
 Nor feels not what he owes, but by re^lectioa; 
 As when his virtues, shining u|)on other.",. 
 Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
 To thp firs.t giver 
 
 Achil. This is not strange, Ulyssea. 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face. 
 The bearer knows not, but commends itself, 
 To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself 
 (That most pure spirit of sense,) behold itselfl 
 Not going from itself ; but eye to eye oppos'd, 
 Salutes each other with each other's form 
 For speculation turns not to itself^ 
 Till it hatii traveird, and is married there. 
 Where it may see itsell': this is not strange at all, 
 
 Ulyss. T do not strain at the position. 
 It is lauiiliar; but at the authors drift: 
 Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves — 
 That no man is the lord of any tiling, 
 (Though in and of him there be much consisting,) 
 Tili he commimicate his parts to others : 
 Nt»r doth he of himself know them for aught. 
 Till he behold them form'd in the applaase. 
 Where they are extended ; which, lii;e an arch, 
 
 reverberates 
 The voice again; or, like agate of steel, 
 Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
 His figure and his heat I was much rapt in this J 
 And apprehended here immediately 
 The unknown Ajax. 
 
 Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ; 
 That has he knows not what. Nature, what things 
 (here are. 
 
 Most jibject in regard, and dear in uee ! 
 
 What things again most dear in the esif em, 
 
 And poor in woi th ! Now shall we see to-morrow, 
 
 An act that veiy ol ance d..th throw upon iiii, 
 
 Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some iicn do. 
 
 While some nun lea\e to do ! 
 
 How some men creep in skittish fortune s Itall^ 
 
 WLii«8 others play the idio's in her eyes ! 
 
 How one man eats into another's pride, 
 
Scene S. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 While pr'u\e is fasting in his wantonness ! 
 Tc see lliese Grecinii lords I — why, even aheady 
 Tliey claji the lubber Ajax on the shoelcler ; 
 As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast. 
 And grt-at Troy shrinking. 
 
 Afhil. I do believe it : for Ihey pass'd by nie. 
 As misers do by bet;gars ; neither gave to me 
 Gord wold, nor look; What, are n\y deeds forgot? 
 
 Uhjss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
 A grent-siz'd monster of ingratitudes : 
 Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are de- 
 vour'd 
 
 As fast H8 they are made, forgot as soon 
 As done : Perseverance, dear my lord. 
 Keeps honour bright : To have done, is to hang 
 Quite out (if fashion, like a nisty mail 
 III monumental mocKery. Take the instant way ; 
 For bono ir travels in a strait so narrow, 
 Wh( re one but goes abreast: keep then the path ; 
 For (mutation hath a tlioiisand sons, 
 That one by one pursue : If you give way, 
 Or hedf-'e aside from the direct forthright, 
 Lik^- to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, 
 And leave you hindmost; — 
 Or, 1 ke a gallant horse fallen in first rank, 
 Lie tnere for pavement to the abject rear, 
 O'cr-run aiiti trampled on: 'J'hen what they do iu 
 present, 
 
 Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours. 
 For time is like a fashionaI)le host, 
 Tiiat slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ; 
 And vviin his arms out stretch'd, as he would fly, 
 Gratps ill the comer: Welcome ever smiles, 
 And f;.re\vell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue 
 Remui eration for the thing it was ! [seek 
 For bcHi ty, wit, 
 
 Higi) birth, vigour of bone, desert in service. 
 
 Love, iVieiidsiiip, charity, are subjects all 
 
 To envions and calumniating time. 
 
 Oi e touciv jf nature makes , the whole world kin, — 
 
 That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds, 
 
 Ihcugh t'ley are made nd moulded of things past; 
 
 And give to dust, that is a little gilt. 
 
 More iaud than gilt (»'er-dusted. 
 
 The present eye praises the present object : 
 
 'J'hen marvel not, thon great and complete man, 
 
 That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajai 5 
 
 Since things in motion sooner catch the eye. 
 
 Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, 
 
 And still it might; and yet it may again. 
 
 If thou would'st not entomb thyself alive, 
 
 And case thy reputation in thy tent; 
 
 W^hose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, 
 
 Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods them- 
 
 And drave great Mars to faction. [ae.hf s, 
 
 Achil. Of th i 8 my p r i v ac y 
 
 I have strong reasons. 
 
 Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy 
 
 The ) easons are more potent and heroical : 
 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love 
 With one of Priam's daughters. 
 
 Achil. Ha ! known ? 
 
 Ulyss. Is that a wonder ? 
 The providence that's in a watchful state. 
 Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold , 
 Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps : 
 Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods, 
 Docs thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
 There is a mystery (with whom relation 
 Durst never meddle) in the soul of state; 
 Which hath an operation more divine. 
 Than breath, or pen, can give expiessure to 
 All tile comraerce that you have had with Troy, 
 As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ; 
 And belter would it fit Achilles iiuich, 
 'i o throw down Hector, than Polyxena : 
 But rL iiiuet grieve young Pyrriiu.s, now at home, 
 VVhen lame shall in our islands sound her tnniip, 
 And ail the Groekish girls shall tripping sing, — 
 
 Great Hector's s-isier dtd Achilles win ; 
 But our yreot Ajax bravely beat doicn hhn. 
 Farewell, my lord : J as your lover speak ; 
 The fool slides o'er the ice that you sliould break. 
 
 [Exil 
 
 Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you 
 A woman impudent and mannish grown 
 Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man 
 III time of action. I stand condemii'd ibr this, 
 They think, my little stomach to the war, 
 And your great love to me, restrains you thus , 
 Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak vvantoii l'ir[«j 
 .Shall from your neck unloose his amoronn fold. 
 And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, 
 Be shook to air. 
 
 AcMl. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? 
 
 Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much iionotif 
 by him. 
 
 Achil. 1 see, my reputation is at stake ; 
 Vjy ("ame is shrewdly gor'd. 
 
 Pair. O, then bsjware ; 
 
 Thuse wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves ; 
 Omission to do what is necessary 
 Seals n comuiisaion to a blank of danger; 
 And (!ani;er, like an ague, subtly taints 
 Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 
 
 Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclua 
 I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him 
 To invite llie Trojan lords after the combat, 
 'i'o see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's longing, 
 An appetite that I am sick withal, 
 To see great Hector iu his weeds of peace; 
 To talk with him, and to behold his visage, 
 Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd 1 
 
 Enter Thersites. 
 Ther. A wonder! 
 . Achil. Wliat? [forhimsrlf. 
 Ther, Ajax goes up and down the fitid, Asking 
 Achil. How so ? 
 
 Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow witi He»: 
 tor ; nnd is so prophetically proud of an h- roinul 
 cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing. 
 
 Achil. How can that be ? 
 
 Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a pea 
 cock, a stride, and a stand : ruminates like an hoa- 
 tess, that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set 
 down her reckoning : bites his lip with a politic re- 
 gard, as who should say — there were wit in this 
 liead, an 'twould out ; and so there is ; but it lies as 
 coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not s's^sw 
 without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for 
 if Hector break not his neck i tlie combat, he'li 
 break it himself in vain-glory. He knows not me : 
 ii said, Good-morroiv, A jax ; and he replies,T^«n/lr«, 
 Aqamemnon. What think yon of this man, that 
 Likes me for the general ? He is grown a very land- 
 (..sh, languagelesp, a monster. A plague of opinion! 
 a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather 
 jrtrkin. [Thersites. 
 
 Achil. Thou must be my ambassadjr to hitn, 
 
 Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he 
 professes not answering ; speaking is for beggars ; 
 he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his 
 presence ; let Patroclus make demiuds to me, you 
 shall see the pageant of Ajax. 
 
 Achil. To him, Patroclus : Tell him,— I humbly 
 desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous 
 Hector to come unartaed to myjent ; and to i)rocure 
 safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, 
 and most illustrious, six-or-seTen-times-houourcd 
 captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamenmon, 
 Do this. 
 
 Patr. Jove bless great Ajax. 
 
 Ther. Humph! 
 
 Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,- 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Patr. Wlio most humbly desires you t-i invito 
 
 Hector to his tent ; — 
 '^^^I'er. Humph 
 
523 
 
 TROILFS AND CRESSIDx\. 
 
 Act TV 
 
 Pair. And to procure .safe condl'^c> froin Aga- 
 Ther. A^aiiieinnon ? fmeiniion 
 Pair, Ay, my lord. 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Pair. Wiiat say you to't ? 
 
 Ther. (iotl be wi' you, with all my heart. 
 
 Pair. \ >ur answer, sir. 
 
 T/ier. ir to inurrow be a fair day, by eleven 
 »'cli)ck it v.ill go one way or other; hovvsoe»'er, he 
 jiiall pay for nie ere he has ine. 
 
 Pair. Vour answer, -sir. 
 
 Ther. Fare you well , with all my heari. 
 
 AchiU VViiy, but he is not in tliis iwr.d^ \s h?t ? 
 
 Ther. Nt), but be's out o'tune tliur^. What mu- 
 will be in hiru when Hector Vac knocked out 
 his brains, 1 knovv not : but, I pn> Ji're, none, un- 
 less the tiddler Apollo get his tfic^ews to make cat- 
 lings on. 
 
 AchiL Come, thou shalt be«ir a letter to him 
 straight. 
 
 Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's 
 the more capable creat.ire. 
 
 Achil. My mind is tronblfj ]ike a fountain stirr d; 
 And I myself see vA 'J»e bc'c<"Tn of it. 
 
 \FxearA S ^hilles and Patrochtf- 
 
 'Ther. 'Woi'*d tbj ib'.otaia of your mind wer« 
 clf.*ar again, thai 1 n»'gt2 -ivater an ass at it! I had 
 raiher be a ti».L ir^ a .iheep, than such a valiant ig- 
 norance. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 ^OSTMS I.— Troy. A Street. 
 
 l/l^^ley r^.e vie, iE^EAS, and Ser^rant with a 
 torrn , at the other, Paris, Dkiphi>3US, Ante- 
 NOR, ?k»>MEDES, and others, wUh torches. 
 
 P'oj^. See, ho! who's that there 'f 
 
 'Tis the lord iEaeas. 
 
 A^Me, Is the prince there in persia?— 
 iad I so good occasion to lie long, 
 ks j'ou, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business 
 Should rob my bed-mate of my conEpany. [^iilneas. 
 
 Dio. Tljat's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord 
 
 Par. A valiant Greek, ^Eneas; lake his hand; 
 Witness the process of your speecbj wherein 
 You told — how Diomed, a whole week by days, 
 Did haunt you in the field. 
 
 JEtfie. Health ?o you, valiant sir. 
 
 During all question of the gentle ^ruce : 
 But when \ meet you arm'd, as Hnck defiance, 
 A.s heart can think, or courage e^«cute. 
 
 Dlo. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
 Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, health : 
 But when coulentiun and occasion meet. 
 By Jove, 1 11 .<ia/ tue l.unter for th/ life, 
 VVilh all my for pursuit, and policy. 
 
 Mne. And thou shfilt.hnnt a lion, ihat will fly 
 VVith his fac- b-ckward. — in humane ^'flntleness. 
 Welcome o Froy ! now, by i^.nchises' Ule, 
 Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand 1 sv car 
 No man alive can lo\e in such a sort, 
 The thing he means to kill, more exct- Ufmtly. 
 
 Dio. VVe sympathize: — Jove, letiEaeas live, 
 If to my sword his iate be not the glory, 
 A thoiisand complete courses of the sun! 
 But, in mine einuUms honour, let him die. 
 With every Joint a wound ; and that to-morrow I 
 
 ^ne. We know each other well. 
 
 Dio. \Ve do: and long to know each oMier worse. 
 
 Par. Tills is the most despiteful gent e greeting, 
 The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of — 
 What business, lord, so early I 
 
 JFjne^ 1 was sent lor to the king; but why, I know 
 not. 
 
 Par. His purpose meets you ; 'twas to bring thia 
 
 Greek 
 
 To Calchas' house ; and there to render him, 
 For the oulVeed Antenor, the fair Cressid. 
 Let s have your co fjpauy ; or, ii you pi'-as* 
 
 Hasie there before os : I constantly do tl ink, 
 (Or, rather, call my tliought a certain knowledge,) 
 My brother 'i'roilus lodges there to night : 
 Rouse him, and give him note of our approach. 
 With the whole q-iality wherefore \ fear 
 VVe shall be much unwelcome. 
 
 J^ne. That I assure you ; 
 
 Troiliis had rather Troy were borne to Greece, 
 Than Cressid borne from Troy. 
 
 Par, There i." 00 help*, 
 
 The bitter disposition of the time 
 Will have it so. On, lord : we'll follow yoii 
 
 JEne. Good morrow, all. {.RsiS. 
 
 Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; 'faith, tell tae 
 true, 
 
 Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,— 
 Wlio, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best. 
 Myself, or Menelaus? 
 
 'Dio. Both alike : 
 
 He merits well to have her, that doth seek her 
 (Not making any scruple of her soilure,) 
 VVith such a hell of pain, and world of charge ; 
 And you as well to keep her, that defend her 
 I.Vot palating the taste of her dishonour,) 
 V\ ith such a costly loss of wealth and friends : 
 lie, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
 The lees and dregs of a Hat tamed piece ; 
 Vou, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
 Are pleas'd^o breed out your inheritors: 
 Both uierits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor mcTGy 
 But he as he, the heavier for a whore. 
 
 Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman, 
 
 Dio. She's bitter to her country : Hear me, Paris - 
 For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
 A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 
 Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
 A Trojan hatli been slain: since she could speak, 
 She hath not given so many good words bcealh, 
 As lor her Greeks and Trojans sufier'd death, 
 
 Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen sfo, 
 Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
 But we in silence hold this virtue well, — 
 We'll not commend what we intend to sell. 
 Here lies our way. [JJjccmw 
 
 Scene IL — The same. Court before ths House 
 of Pandarus. 
 
 TrOILUS «nfl?CRBSSIDA. 
 
 Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself ; the morn 5s cold. 
 
 Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle 
 down ; 
 He shall unbolt the gates. 
 
 Tro. Trouble him not ; 
 
 To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
 And give as soft attachmeut to thy senses, 
 As infants' empty of all thought ! 
 
 Cres. Good morrow, the* 
 
 Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed. 
 
 iires. Are yon aweary of me ? 
 
 'Tro. O Cressida 1 but that the busy day, 
 W ik'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, 
 And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, 
 J would not from thee. 
 
 Cres. Night hath been too brief. 
 
 Tro. Beshrew the witch ! with venomous W/^ut 
 she stays, 
 
 As tediously as liell ; but flies the grasps of lov« 
 With wings more moaientary-svvift than thougisst* 
 Von will catch cold, and curse me. 
 Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry ; 
 
 Vou men will never tarry. 
 
 O foolish Cressid !— I m ght have still hel I off, 
 And then you would have tarried. Hark ! the^^'X 
 one up. 
 
 Pan ( What, are all the doors open here? 
 Tro. It is your uncle. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 { 
 
 Enter Pandarus. 
 
 Crts. 
 
 A pestilence on 
 mock g ; 
 
 him! now will h« bo 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSTD^. 
 
 shall have such a hTe, — 
 
 Pan. How now, how now ? how go maidenheads ? 
 — Here, you maid ! where's my cousin Cressid ^. 
 Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking 
 uncle ! 
 
 Vou bring me to do, and then you flout me too. 
 
 Pan. To do what ? to do what?— let her say 
 what : what have 1 brought you to do ? 
 
 Cits. Come, come;beshrew your heart! you'll 
 ne'er be good, 
 
 Of suffer others. 
 
 Pan. Ha, ha I Alas, poor wretch! a poor capoc- 
 cLia ! — ha&t not slept to-night ? would he not, a 
 naughtj man, let it sleep ? a bugbear take him ! 
 
 {Knocking.) 
 
 Cres. Did 1 not tell you ? — 'would he were 
 knock'd o'the head ' — 
 Who's that at door V good uncle, go and see. — 
 My lord, come you again into my chamber : 
 Von smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 
 
 Tro. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such 
 thing.— [Knocking.) 
 How earnestly they knock ! — pray you, come in ; 
 1 would not lor half Ti oy have you seen here. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Pan. (Going to the door.) Who's there '{ what's 
 ihe matter will you beat down the door? How 
 DOW ? what's the matter ? 
 
 Enter jEneas. 
 
 Mne. Good morrow, lord, goofl morrow. 
 
 Pan. Who's there ? my lord ^A\^a% I By my troth, 
 I knew you not: what news with you so early i 
 
 Mne. Is not prince 'i'roilus here ? 
 
 Pan. Here ! what should he do here ? [him ; 
 
 Mne. Come, h^ is here, my lord, do not deny 
 
 doth import him much, to speak with me. 
 
 P m. la AC here, say you ? tis more than I know, 
 J U Iiesvvoi n: — For my own part, 1 came in late : 
 VV'iat should he do here ? 
 
 Ainc, Who I— nay, then :— 
 C m e, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware : 
 Yju'U be so true to him, to he ikise to him : 
 Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither; 
 (io. 
 
 As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. 
 
 Tro. How now ? what's the matter ? 
 
 Mie. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, 
 My Hiatter is so rash : There is at hand 
 Paris your brotiier, and Deiphobus, 
 The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
 Deliver'd to u? ; and for him forth vvith. 
 Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour. 
 We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
 The lady Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Is it so concluded ? 
 
 Mne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy: 
 They are at hand, and ready to eftect it. 
 
 Tro. How my achieveinents mock me ! 
 [ will go rneet them : and, my lord iEaeas, 
 We met by chance ; you did not tind me here. 
 
 Mne. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of nature 
 Have not more gift in taciturnity. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and Mneas. 
 
 Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got, but lost ? The 
 devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad. 
 A pbgue upon Antenor ! I would, they had broke's 
 Beet ! 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 Cres. How now ? What is the matter ? Who was 
 here ? 
 
 Pan. Ah. ah ! [lord pone ? 
 
 Cres. Wny sigh you so profoundly ? where's my 
 Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter ? 
 
 Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as 
 I am above ! 
 
 Cres. O the gods! — what's the njatter ? 
 
 Pan Pr'ythee, get thee in ; 'Would thou had'st 
 
 ne'e! been bom ! I knew, thou uo i!d".st be his death; 
 poor gentleinan ! — A plague upon Antenor ' 
 
 Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, 
 I beseech you, what's the matter ? 
 
 Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be 
 gone ; thou art changed for Antenor; thou must to 
 thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 'twill be hiii 
 death ; 'twill be his bane ; he cannot bear it. 
 
 Cres. O you immortal gods ! — I will not go. 
 
 Pan. Thou must. 
 
 Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my latlifr, 
 I know no touch of consan^iiiity ; 
 No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near ii e. 
 As the sweet Troilus.— O you gods divine ! 
 INlake Cressid's name the very crown of fal.«el»!-»ofl, 
 If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death, 
 Do to this body what extremes you can ; 
 But the strong base and building of my love 
 Is as the very centre of the earth. 
 Drawing all t'hings to it. — I'll go in, and weep ; — 
 
 Paw. Do, do. [cheeks. 
 
 Cre«. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised 
 Cr.ick my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart 
 With sounding Troilus. I wdl not go from Troy. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III. — T/ie same. Before Pandarus' House. 
 
 Enter Paris, Troilus, tEneas, Deiphobus, 
 Antenor, and DioxMedes. 
 
 Par. It is great morning; and the hour pre.ix'd 
 Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
 Comes fnst upon: — Good my brother Troilus, 
 'J ell you the lady what she is to do, 
 And haste her to the purpose. 
 
 Tro. Walk in to her house ; 
 
 I II bring her to the Grecian prest-otly: 
 And to his hand when T deliv er her. 
 Think it an altar; and thy brotiier 'iVoiins 
 A priest, there ofteri g to it his own heart. [Exit, 
 
 Par. I know what 'tis to lo\e ; 
 And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help ! — 
 Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Boom in Pandarus* 
 House. 
 
 Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 
 
 Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 
 
 Cres. Why tell you me of moderation ? 
 Tiie grief is fine, fidl, perfect, that I taste. 
 And violenteth in a sense as strong 
 As that which causeth it: How can I moderate it? 
 If I could temporize with my Rflection, 
 Or brew it to a weak and colder j alate, 
 The like allayment could I give my grief 
 My love admits no qualifying dross : 
 No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 
 
 Enter TaoiLOS. 
 Pan. Here, here, here he comes. — Ah, sweet 
 ducks ! 
 
 Cres. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing him.) 
 Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let me 
 embrace too: 0 heart, — as the goodly saying is, — 
 
 0 heart, 0 heavy heart. 
 
 Why sigKsl thou without breaking 1 
 Where he answers again, 
 
 Because thou canst not ease thy smariy 
 By friendship, nor by speaking. 
 There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast awa| 
 nothing, for we may live to have need of such c 
 verse ; we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs? 
 
 Tro. Cressid, I love thee ins > stiain'd a purity, 
 That the blest gods— as angry wi h my fancy, 
 More bright in zeal than tlie devoti(m which 
 Cold lips blow to their deities, — t:)ke thee from rae. 
 Cres. Have the gods en\ y ? 
 Pa}i. Av, ay, av, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. 
 Cres. And is it'triie, that I must go from Troy? 
 Tro. A liateful trutlu 
 
 (Jres. What, and from Troilus too ? 
 
530 TROTLUS AN 
 
 Vrom Troy anc Troilns. 
 re . Is it possible ? 
 
 Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance 
 I* tits back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
 time ol" pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
 Of all rejoindure, forcibly pre t ents 
 ()«r lock'd embrasures, stiaoides our dear vows 
 Even in the birth of our own labouring breath: 
 We two, that with so many I'lousand sighs 
 Did ouy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
 With the rude brevity and d'scharge of one. 
 Injurious time now, with a robber's haste. 
 Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: 
 As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 
 With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to theHj 
 He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; 
 And scants us with a single fainish'd kiss, 
 Di.5tnrfted with the salt of broken tears. 
 
 ^E?7.e. ( ff 'ithin.) My lord ! is the lady ready ? 
 
 Tro. Hai k ! you are call'd : Some say, the Genius so 
 Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die. — 
 Bid 'them have patience; she shall come anon. 
 
 Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay tiiis wind, 
 or my heart will be blown up by the root ! [Exit. 
 
 Cres. I must then to the Greeks ? 
 
 Tro. No remedy. 
 
 Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry 
 Greeks ! — 
 
 When shall we see again ? [heart, — 
 
 Tro. Hear me, my love; Be thou but true of 
 Cres. I true ! how now ? what wicked deem is this? 
 . Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, 
 
 For it is parting from us : 
 
 I speak not, be thou true., as fearing thee ; 
 
 For 1 will throw my glove to death himself. 
 
 That there's no marulation in thy heart: 
 
 But, be tJiou tfue, say I, to fashion in 
 
 My sequent protestation; be thou true, 
 
 And I will see thee. 
 
 Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers 
 
 t\s infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true. 
 
 Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear 
 this sleeve. 
 
 Cres And you this glove. When shall I see you ? 
 
 Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, 
 To give thee nightly visitation. 
 But yet, be true. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! — be true, again ? 
 
 Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ; 
 The Grecian youths are full of quality; [flowing. 
 They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature 
 And'swelliug o'er with arts and exercise ; 
 How novelty may move, and parts with person, 
 Alas, a kind of godly jealousy 
 (VVhkli, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) 
 makes me ai'eard. 
 
 Cres. O heavens! you love me not. 
 
 Tro. Die I a villain then! 
 In this I do not call your faith in question, 
 So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing, 
 .Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, 
 iNor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, [nant : 
 To which the Grecians aie most prompt and preg- 
 iJut I can tell, that in each grace of these 
 There lurks a still and dumb discoursive devil, 
 That tempts most cunninglv : but be not tempted. 
 
 Cres. Do you think 1 w ill ? 
 
 Tro. No. 
 
 But something may be done, that we will not ; 
 And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, 
 When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, 
 I\*sumitigon their changeful potency. 
 
 yEpt.', {Within.) Nay, good my lord, — 
 
 Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. 
 
 Par. {Within.) Brother Troilus ! 
 
 Tro. Good brother, come you hither : 
 
 And bring JF-neaa, and the Grecian, with you. 
 
 Cres. iMy lord, will you be true? 
 
 Tro. Who, I ? alaa, it is mv vice, my fault: 
 While olhcid fish with craft l0|- great opinion, 
 
 ) CRESSIDA. Act TV. 
 
 I with great truth catch mere simplicity ; 
 
 Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowoa 
 
 With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
 
 Fear not my truth : the moral of my wit 
 
 Is — plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it. 
 
 Enter ^Eneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus* 
 and DiOMEDES. 
 Welcome, sir Dioraed ! here is the lady. 
 Which for Antenor we deliver you : 
 At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand ; 
 And, by the way, possess thee what she is. 
 Entreat her fair, and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
 H'e'er thou stand at mercy of my swoi d. 
 Name Cressid, and thy lite shall be as safe, 
 As Priam is in llion. 
 
 Dio. Fair lady Cressid, 
 
 So please you, save the thanks this prince expects: 
 The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, 
 Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 
 You shall be mistress, and command him wholly, 
 
 Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously 
 To shame the zeal of my petition to thee, 
 In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
 She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises, 
 As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant, 
 I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge i 
 For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not. 
 Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
 I'll cut thy throat. 
 
 Dio. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus: 
 
 Let me be privileg'd by my place, and message, 
 To be a speaker free ; when I am hence, 
 I'll answer to my lust: And know you, lord, 
 I'll nothing do on charge : To her own worth 
 She shall be priz'd, but that you say — be't so, 
 I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, — no. 
 
 Tro. Come, to the poi t. — I'll tell thee, Diomed, 
 This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.- 
 Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk. 
 To our own selves bend we our needf ul talk. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus, Cressida, and Diomeck 
 {Trutnpel heardr^ 
 
 Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet. 
 
 ^ne. How have we spent this morning! 
 
 The prince must think me tardy and remiss. 
 That swore to ride before him to the field. 
 
 Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: Come, come, to field 
 with him. 
 
 Dei. Let us make ready straight. 
 
 jEne. Yea, with a bridegroom s fresh alacrity. 
 Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : 
 The glory of our Troy doth this day lie 
 On his fair worth, and single chivalry. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — The Grecian Camp. Lists set out. 
 Enter Ajax, armed; AgamExMNOn, Achilles, 
 Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor ana 
 others. 
 
 Ayam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair 
 Anticipating tmie with starting courage. 
 Give witti thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
 Thou dreadful Ajax;"that the appalled air 
 May pierce the head of the great combatant, 
 And hale him hither. 
 
 Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse 
 
 Now crack thy lungs, and split thy braze-) pipe : 
 Blow, vili'ain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
 Out-swell the colick of pufF'd Aquilon : 
 Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout bhwd 
 Thou blow'st for Hector. {Trumpet soutld$' 
 
 Ulyss. No trumpet answers. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis but early days. 
 
 Agam, I« not yon Diomed,with Calcbas' danghte 
 
 lilyss. "I'is he, I ken the manner of his gait; 
 He rises on the toe : that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 
 
 Enter Diomed with Csessida. 
 Agam. Is this the lady Crtssid ? 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 IVlq. Even ishe. [(ady. 
 
 A(j(im. IViost (-It'arly uelcometo the Greeks, sweet 
 
 "^est. Our oencral doth salute yon with a kiss. 
 
 Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particidar; 
 Twere better, she were kiss'd in general. 
 
 Nest. Ami very courtly counsel : 1 11 begin :— 
 So much tor Nestor. 
 
 Acliil. I'll take (hat winter from your lips, fair lady: 
 Acliiiles bids you welr ome. 
 
 Itlen. i had g(uid argument for kissiiig on'^e. 
 
 Pntr. But that's no argument for kissing now * 
 For thus popp d Paris in his hardinient ; 
 And parted thus you and your argument. 
 
 Vly8s% O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns ! 
 For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. 
 
 Potr. The first wis Menelaus' kiss, — this, mine : 
 I'dfroclus kisses you. 
 
 Men. O, this is trim ! 
 
 Patr Paris, and 1, kiss evermore for him. 
 
 Men, I'll have my kiss, sir: — Lady, by your leave, 
 
 Cres. In kissing, do vou render or receive ? 
 
 Patr. Both tal^e and give. 
 
 Ct'es. I'll make my match to live, 
 
 The kiss you take is better than you give ; 
 Therefore no kiss 
 
 Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one. 
 
 Ores. You're an odd man : give even, or give none. 
 
 Men. An odd man, lady r every man is odd. 
 
 Cres. No, Paris is tjot ; for, you know, 'tis true, 
 That yi u are odd, and he is even with you. 
 
 Men You fillip me o' the head. 
 
 Cres No, I'll be sworn. [horn. — 
 
 Ulysi. It were no match, your nail against his 
 May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ? 
 
 Ores. You njay. 
 
 U/yss. I d'o desire it. 
 
 Cres. Why, beg then. 
 
 t7y.vA. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss, 
 When Helen is a maid again, and his. 
 
 Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due. 
 
 Ulyss. Ne\er's my day, and then a kiss of you. 
 
 Dio. Lady, a word ; — 1 II brin^ you to your lather. 
 
 [Diomed leads out Cressida. 
 
 Nest, A woman of quick .sense. 
 
 Ulyss. Fy, fy upon her! 
 
 There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip. 
 Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out 
 At every joint and motive of her body. 
 Q, these eucounterers, so glib of tongue, 
 That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, 
 An'd wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
 To ©very tick'ish reader! set tliein down 
 1 r sluttish Sj oils of opportunity, 
 Aiid daughters of tiie game. (Trumpet within.) 
 
 4.11. The Trojan's trum]iet. 
 
 A'ja7n. Yonder comes the troop. 
 
 Enter Hector, armed; ^Eneas, Troilus, and 
 
 other Trojans, with Attendants. 
 jEne, Hail, all the state of Greece ! what shall 
 be done 
 
 To liim that victory commands? Or do you purpose 
 
 A victor shall be known ? will you, the knights 
 
 Shall to the edge of all extremity 
 
 Puisne eai h otiier; or shall they be divided 
 
 By any voice or order of the field ? 
 
 Hector bade ask. 
 
 A;/a.>//. Which way would Hector have it? 
 
 j^tlne. He cares not, he ll obey conditions. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis done like Hector; but securely done, 
 K little proudly, and great deal misprizing 
 The knight oppos'd. 
 
 Alne. If not Achilles, sir. 
 
 What is your name ? 
 
 Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 
 
 Mne. Therefore Achilles : But, whate'er, know 
 this 
 
 In the ertremity of great and little, 
 
 Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; 
 
 TuR on»« almost as inticiite as all 
 
 531 
 
 The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
 And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. 
 This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood : 
 In love whereof, half Hector stays at home ; 
 Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek 
 This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Gretk. 
 Achil. A maiden battle then ? — O, I perceive yol , 
 
 Re-enter Diomed. 
 
 Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle k.Dt^l'\ 
 Stand by our Aiax : as you and lord iEneaa 
 Consent upon the order of their fight, 
 So be it : either to the uttermost. 
 Or else a breath : the combatants being kin. 
 Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 
 
 {Ajax and Hector enter the listt 
 
 Ulyss. They are oppos'd already, [hea\y , 
 
 Anam. What Trojan is that sanie that looks 8« 
 
 Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight^ 
 Not yet mature, yet matchless ; firm of word ; 
 Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ; 
 Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd 
 His heart and hand both open, and both free ; 
 For what he has, he gives, what thinks, he shews; 
 Ye4 gi ves he not till judgment guide his bounty* 
 Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath : 
 Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
 For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
 To tender objects ; but he,' in heat of action, 
 Is more vindicative than jealous love: 
 They call him Troilus: and on him erect 
 A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
 Thus says iEneas : one, that knows the youth 
 Even to his iti-ches. and, with private soul, 
 Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 
 
 {Alarum. Heefor and Ajax fight J 
 
 Agam. They ^e in action. 
 
 Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own i 
 
 Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st 
 
 Awake thee! 
 
 Agam. His blows are well disposed: — theri' 
 Ajax! 
 
 JJto. You must no more. {T^rumpets ceas9 
 JSjne. Princes, enough, so please ycwfc 
 
 Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. 
 Dio. As Hector pleases. 
 
 Hect. Why then, will I no more:-^. 
 
 Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, 
 A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ; 
 The obligation of our blood forbids 
 A gory emulation 'twixt us twain : 
 Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so, 
 That thou could'.st say— This hand is Grecian ail. 
 And this is Trojan; the sineivs . f this leg 
 All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother s blood 
 Runs on the dexter cheek., and this sinister 
 Bounds in my father's ; by Jove multipotent, 
 Thou should st not bear from me a Greekish member 
 Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
 Of our rank feud : But the just gods gainsay. 
 That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother, 
 My sacred auat, should by my mortal sword 
 Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : 
 By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ; 
 Hector would have them fall upon him thus. 
 Cousin, all honour to thee I 
 
 Ajax. I thank thee, Hector i 
 
 Thou art too gentle, and too free a man • 
 I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear kence 
 A great addition earned in thy death. 
 
 Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable 
 (On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'sl Of 
 Cries. This is he.) could promise to himself 
 A thought of added honour torn from Hector. 
 
 jEne. There is expectance here from both the 
 sides, 
 
 What further you will do. 
 
 Meet. We'll answer it ; 
 
 The issue is embracement : — Ajax, farewell. 
 
 Ajax. If I might ir^ entreaties find succesft. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
532 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 (Aa seid I liave the cliiince,) I would desire 
 My iamoiis cousin to our U/ecian tents. 
 
 Dio. ' Tis Agauieinnoji's -vv-ish : and great Achilles 
 D(;th long lo see unarni'd the valifint Hector. 
 
 Heci. /E:iea8, call my brother Troilus to ine : 
 And signity this lo\ing interview 
 To the exjiecteis of our Trojan part; 
 Desire them liome. — Give nie thy hand, my cousin ; 
 I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. 
 
 A^'ax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. 
 
 Meet. The worthiest of thenj tell me name by 
 name ; 
 
 But for AohiUes, my own searcliing eyes 
 Siiaii find him by his large and portly size. 
 
 A^r/m. Worthy of anus ! as welcome as to one 
 That would be rid of such an enemy; 
 But tliat's no welcome : Understand more clear, 
 W'hai's past, and what's to come, is strew'd wkh 
 husks 
 
 And formless ruin of oblivion : 
 
 Hut in tliis exUiiit moment, faith and troth, 
 
 Strain'd purely from all hollow hias drawing, 
 
 Hills tiiee, with most divine integrity, 
 
 From t;eart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 
 
 Hect. 1 tuauk ttiee, most iinperions Againe<nMon. 
 
 A'/am. Mv well lam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. 
 
 {To TroLlus.) 
 
 Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's 
 greeting : — 
 
 Yon brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. 
 Hect. Whom must we answer ? 
 Men, The noble Menelaus. 
 
 Hect, O you, my lord ? by Mars his gauntlet, 
 thanks ! 
 
 Mock not, that r^ffect the untreaded oath ; 
 Vour quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove : 
 She's well, but bade me not commend her to yoiu 
 Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly 
 theme. 
 
 Hect. O, pardon; I ofTend. 
 
 Nest. J have, thoo gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, 
 iiabouring for destiny. mak« cruel way 
 Througl) ranks of Greekish youth anci I have seen 
 thee, 
 
 As hot as Persens, spur thy Phrygian steed, 
 Despising many forfeits and subduements. 
 When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i'the air. 
 Not letting it decline on the declin'd ; 
 That I have said to some my standers-by, 
 Loy Jupiter is yonder , dealinrj life! 
 And 1 liave seen thee |)ause, and take thy bre-ath. 
 When tiiat a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, 
 Like an Olympian wrestling: Tliis have I seen; 
 But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
 I never saw till now. 1 knew thy grandsire. 
 And once fought witli him : he was a soldier'good ; 
 But, bv great Mars, the captain of us all, 
 Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee ; 
 And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 
 ^ne. "I'is the old Nestor. 
 
 Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, 
 hat hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time ; — 
 Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 
 Nest. I would, my arras could match thee in con- 
 tention. 
 
 As they contend with thee in courtesy. 
 Hect, i would they could. 
 Neat, Ha! 
 
 By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow. 
 Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time — 
 
 Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands, 
 Wlieii we have here her base and pillar by us. 
 
 Hect. I know your fivour, lord Ulysses, well. 
 Ah, sir. there's many a (iiet-k and Trojan dead, 
 Since rirst i saw yo irsell' and Uiomed 
 In lii in on your G'eekisli embassy. [ensue: 
 
 Vyas. Sir, i foretold you then what would 
 My p.optu-cy is but half his journey yet, 
 For y>inder walls, that pertly front your town, 
 iTon Ijwers. whose wantoa to|^s do buss the cloads* 
 
 Must kiss their own feet. 
 
 Hect. 1 rnusf not believe jrcK! 
 
 There they stand yel, ; and rodde.-.lly 1 think. 
 The fall of every Phrygiaii stoi.e wiii cost 
 A drop of Grecian blood : I'iie euil crowns all; 
 And thiit old cnmuion ail)itralor. Time, 
 Will one day end it. 
 
 Ulyss, So to him we leave it 
 
 Most gentle, and most valiasit Hector, welcome: 
 After the geiieral, f beseech yoti next 
 To feast With me, and see me at my tent. 
 
 Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thca!- - 
 Now. Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee: 
 \ have with exact view perus'd thee. Hector, 
 And quoted joint by joint. 
 
 Hect, Is this Achilles? 
 
 Achil. lam Achilles. 
 
 Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee. 
 Achil. Beliold thy fiU. 
 
 Hect. Nay, I have done already. 
 
 Achil. Thou art too brief ; I will the second time. 
 As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 
 
 Hect, O, like a book of sport tliou'lt read me o'er; 
 But there's more in me than thou understand'st. 
 Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? 
 
 Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of 
 his body 
 
 Shall I destroy him ? whether there, there, or there ? 
 That 1 may give the local wound a name ; 
 And make distinct the very breach, whereout 
 Hector's great spirit flew : Answer me, heavens! 
 Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud 
 man. 
 
 To answer such a questiim : Stand again : 
 'I'hink'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly. 
 As to prenominate in nice conjecture. 
 Where thou wilt hit me dead ? 
 
 Achil. I tell thee, yea. 
 
 Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
 I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well, 
 For 1 11 not kdl thee there, nor tliere, nor there; 
 But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, 
 I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. — 
 You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. 
 His insolence draws folly from my lips ; 
 But I'll endeavour deeds to match these vvords^ 
 Or may I never — 
 
 Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin - 
 
 And you, Achilles, let these threats alone. 
 Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't: 
 You may have every day enough of Hector, 
 If you have stomach ; the general state, I fear. 
 Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 
 
 Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field; 
 W^e have had pelting wars, since you refus'd 
 The Grecians' cause. 
 
 Achil. Dost thou entreat me. Hector* 
 
 To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death; 
 To night, all friends. 
 
 Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 
 
 Ay am. First, all vou peers of Greece, go to my 
 tent ; 
 
 There in the full convive we : afterwards. 
 As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
 Concur togetiier, severally entreat him. — 
 Beat loud the tabouiines, let the trumpets biow 
 That tliis great soldier may his welcome know 
 
 [Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulyssii 
 
 Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you. 
 In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? 
 
 Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely froilus t 
 There Diomed doth feast with him to-night; 
 Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth. 
 But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
 On the fair Cressid. [much, 
 
 Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you 
 After we part from Agamemnon's tent. 
 To bring me thither ? 
 
 Ulyss. You shall command me, sir 
 
 As gentle tell me, of what honour wa« 
 
Act V. Scene 2. 
 
 TROTLUS an: 
 
 D CRESSTDA. 
 
 533 
 
 Tliis Crrssida in Troy ? had she no lover there, 
 TIrat wniis her ahsetice ? 
 
 Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting shew their scars, 
 A mock, is due, \\ ill you walk on, my lord ^ 
 She was helov'd, she lov 'd ; she is, and doth : 
 But, still, sweet love is food lor fortune's tooth. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 ScsfE I. — The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles! 
 Tent. 
 
 Enter Achilles a}id Patroclus. 
 
 Achil. I'll lieat his blood with Grtekish wine to- 
 night, 
 
 Which witli my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. — 
 Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 
 Pair. Here comes Thersites. 
 
 EnUr Thersites. 
 
 Achil. How BOW, thou core of envy ? 
 
 Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news ? 
 
 Ther. VVhy, thuii p icture of wiiat thou seemest, 
 and idol of idiot \\orshippers, here's a letter lor thee. 
 
 Achil. From wi ence, fragment? 
 
 Ther. Why, thou lull dish of fool, from Troy. 
 
 Pair. Who keeps the tent now ? 
 
 Ther. The surgeons box, or the patient's wound. 
 
 Patr. Well said, Adv ersity ! and what need 
 these tricks ? 
 
 Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy ; I profit not by 
 thy talk : thou art thought to be Achiiles' male 
 variet. 
 
 Patr. JVlale variet, you rogue! Whiit's that? 
 
 Ther. Wny, his masculine whore. Now the 
 rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, rup- 
 tures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, 
 cold palsies, raw eyes, dirf-rotten livers, wheezing 
 lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sci tticas, liine- 
 tilus I'the palm, incurable boiie-ache, and tlie rivelled 
 fee-simple of the tetter, take and take agaiii such 
 preposterous discoveries! 
 
 Patr. VVhy, tiiou damnable box of envy, thou, 
 «'.iat meanest thoiJ to curse thus? 
 
 Ther. Do I curse thee ? 
 
 Patr, Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson 
 iudistinguisnable cur, no. 
 
 Ther. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou 
 idle immaterial skein of sleive silk, thou green 
 sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodi 
 gals purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is 
 pestered with such water -flics; diminutives of 
 nature ! 
 
 Patr. Out, gall I 
 
 Ther. Finch e^g ! 
 
 Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite 
 From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
 Here is a letter from queen Heciiba; 
 A token from her daughter, my lair love ; 
 Both taxitig me, and gaging me to keep 
 An oath that 1 have sworn. 1 will not break it : 
 Pali, Greeks; fail, fame; honour, or go, or stay ; 
 "ily major vow lies here, this I'll obey. — 
 Come, come, Taersites, hel{> to trim my tent; 
 I'his night in banqueting must all be spent. — 
 Away, Patroclus. 
 
 [Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 
 
 Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, 
 these two may run niad ; but if with too nnich 
 brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer 
 of madtsien. Here's Agamemnon, — an honest fel- 
 low enough, and oiie that loves quails ; but he has 
 not so nmch brain as ear-wax : And tiie goodly 
 transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the 
 rjuil, — the primitive statue, and oblique ujemorial 
 ol cuckolds; a thrifty shoeing - horn in a chain, 
 hanging af his brother's leg, — to what form, but that 
 he IS, should wit lurded witii malice, and nialice 
 forced witii wif, turn him to? 'i'o an ass, were 
 nothing; he is Ix ti) ass and ox ; to an ox, were 
 aodiiag; he is bolii o£ und ass. To be a dog, a 
 
 I mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an ow!, a 
 j puttock, or a heritng without a roe, I would not 
 i care ; but to be Meneiaus, — I would conspire agaiii jt 
 destiny. Ask rne not wliat I woidd be, if I wt.e 
 not Thersites ; for I care not to be the louse of a 
 lazar. so I were not Meneiaus. Hey-day! spirits 
 and fires ! 
 
 Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon 
 Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomeb* 
 with lights. 
 
 Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong. 
 Ajax. No, yonder ti«; 
 
 There, where we see the lights. 
 
 Hect. I trouble yon. 
 
 Ajax. No, not a whit. 
 
 Uiyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 Achil. Welcome, brave Hector ; welcome, prince« 
 all. 
 
 Agam. So, now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good 
 night. 
 
 Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. 
 
 Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' 
 general. 
 
 Men. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Hect. Good night, sweet Meneiaus. 
 
 Ther. Sweet draught: Sweet, quoth 'a! swee". 
 sink, svveet sewer. 
 
 Achil. Good night. 
 And welcome, both to those that go, or tarry, 
 
 Agam. Good night. 
 
 \Exeunt Agamemnon and Meneiaus, 
 
 Achil. Old Nestx>r tarries ; and you too, Diomed, 
 Keep Hector company an hour or two. 
 
 Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business. 
 The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great Hector, 
 
 Hect. Give me your hand. 
 
 Ulyss. Follow his torch, he gofi 
 
 To Calchas* tent; I'll keep you company. 
 
 [Aside to Troilus 
 
 Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. 
 
 Hect. And so good night. 
 
 [Exit Diomed; Ulyss. and Tro. following. 
 
 Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 
 
 [Exeunt Achil. Hector, Ajax, and Nest. 
 
 Ther. That same Diomed's a false lit arted rogue, 
 a n»ost unjust knave ; I will no more trust him when 
 he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses: he 
 will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the 
 hound; but when he performs, astronomers foretel 
 it; it is prodigious, there will come some change; 
 the sim borrows of the moon, when Diomed keef)9 
 his word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than 
 not to dog him . fhey say, he keeps a Trojan drab, 
 and uses the traitor Calchas' tent: I'll after. — No- 
 thing but lechery ! all incontinent varlets ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Before Calchas' lent. 
 
 Enter Diomedes, 
 Dio. What, are you up here, ho ? speak. 
 Cat. [Within.] Who calls? 
 Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where's your 
 daughter? 
 
 Cat. [Within.] She comes to you. 
 
 Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after 
 them Thersites. 
 Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover ua 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 Tro. Cressid, come forth to him ! 
 Dio. How now, my cliarge ? 
 
 Cres. Now, my sweet ^uar-Jian ! — l laiL ! a word 
 
 with you. (Whispers.) 
 Tro. Yea, so familiar I 
 
 JJlyss. She will sing any man at first sight, 
 Ther. And any man may sing her, iHie can tak* 
 her ciitl"; she's noled. 
 
534 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act Y 
 
 ** Dio. Will you remember? 
 
 Cres, Kemeniber?. — yes 
 Dio. ^ Nay, but do then ; 
 
 And let yonr mind be coupled with your words. 
 Tro. What should she remember ? 
 f^/;/!>s. List! 
 
 Cres. Sweet honey G ?ek, tempt me no more to 
 folly. 
 
 T/,er. Roguery! 
 
 J)io. Nay, then, — 
 
 Cres. I'll tell yon what: 
 
 Dio. Pho! pho I come, tell a pin: Yon are for- 
 sworn, — 
 
 Cres. Ill faith, I cannot : What wonld you have 
 
 me do ? 
 
 T/ier. A juggling trick, to be — secretly open. 
 Pio. Whnt did yon swear yon would bestow on 
 
 me ? 
 
 Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
 Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 
 Dio. Good night. 
 Tro. Hold, patience ! 
 
 Ulyss.' How now, Trqjan ? 
 
 Cres. Diomed, 
 
 Dio. No, no, good niglit : I'll be your fool no 
 more. 
 
 Tro. Thv better must. 
 
 Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. 
 
 Tro. O plague and madness ! 
 Ulyss. Von are niov'd, prince ; let us depart, I 
 pray you, 
 
 Lest your dis, leasure should enlarge itself 
 To wrathful terms* this place is d tngerous; 
 The time right deadly; I beseech you, go. 
 Tro. Bthold, I pray you ! 
 
 Uly *i. Now, good my lord, go off : 
 
 You flow peat destruction; conie, niy lord. 
 Tro. { pr'ythee, stay. 
 
 Ulyss. You have not patience ; come. 
 
 Tro. I pray you, stay; by hell, and all hell's 
 will i\?>i speak a word. (torments, 
 Dio. And so, good night. 
 
 Cres. Nay, but you part in a11^er. 
 Tro. Doth that grieve thee? 
 
 0 wither'd truth ! 
 
 Ulyss. Why, how now, lord ? 
 
 Tro. By Jove, 
 
 1 will be patient. 
 
 Cres. Guardian! — why, Greek! 
 
 Dio. Pho. pho! adieu; you palter. 
 
 Cres. In faith, I do not; come hither once again. 
 
 Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something: will 
 You will break out. (yon go? 
 
 Tro. She strokes his cheek ! 
 
 Ulyss. Come, come. 
 
 Tro. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word : 
 There is betwee:) my will and all olfences 
 A snard of patience ; — stay a little while. 
 
 Ther. How the devil luxury, with iiis fat rump, 
 and potatoe finger, tickles these together! Fry, 
 lecherv, f ry ! 
 
 Dio'. r.ut will yon then ? 
 
 Cres. In laith, I will, la; never trust me els'e. 
 
 Dio. 'Jiv» me some token for the surety of it. 
 
 Cres. I'L fetch you one. [Exit. 
 
 Ulyss. \ on have sworn patience. 
 
 Tro. Fear me liot, my lord : 
 
 I ' ihi not be myself, nor have cognition 
 O' what I feel ; 1 am all patience. 
 
 Re-enter Ckessida. 
 Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now! 
 Cres. Hre, D'omed, keep this sleeve. 
 Tro. O beauty! where's thy faith? 
 Ulyss. . My lord,— 
 
 T-r>. I will be patient; outwardly, ] will. 
 Cres. \on I upon that sleeve; Behold it well. — 
 He lov'd me — O fdse wench! — Giv't nie again. 
 Dio. Who was't? 
 
 CrtK. No matter, now I have't again. 
 
 I I will not meet with you to-morrow night , 
 I I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. 
 
 Ther. Now .she sharpens ; — VVelJ said, whetstoBfi 
 Dio. I shall have it 
 Cres. What, this ? 
 
 Dio. Ay, that 
 
 Cres. O, all you gods ! — O pretty, pretty piedgfl 
 Thy master now lies thinking m his bei 
 Of thee, and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove, 
 .^nd gives memorial dainty kisses to it, 
 As 1 kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me; 
 He that takes that, must take my heart withal. 
 Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 
 Tro. I did swear patience. 
 
 Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed : 'faith, yrt 
 shall not; 
 I'll give vou sometliing else. 
 
 Dio. i will have this ; Whose was it? 
 
 Cres. 'Tis no matter. 
 
 Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. [will, 
 
 Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than yoa 
 But, now you have it, take it. 
 
 Dio. Whose was it ? 
 
 Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yonder. 
 And by herself, I will not tell you who.se. 
 
 Dio. 'J\)-morrow will I wear it on my helm; 
 And giie\ e his spirit that d;ires not challenge it. 
 
 Tru. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy 
 It shtiuld be challeng'd. [horn, 
 
 Cres. Well, well, tis done, 'tis pa.st;— -And yet 
 it is not ; 
 I will not keep my word. 
 
 Dio. Wh> then, farewell ; 
 Thou nevei shall mock Diomed again. 
 
 Cres. You .shall not go: — one cannot speak a 
 But it straight starts you. (word, 
 
 Dio. I do not like this foiling, 
 
 Ther. Nor 1, by Pluto : but that, that likes not 
 ynu, phases me best. 
 
 Dio What, shall 1 come? the hour? 
 
 Cres. Ay, come : — O Jove !— 
 
 Do come : — 1 shall be plagu'd. 
 
 Dio. Farewell till ther. 
 
 Cres. G3od night. 1 pr'ythee, come. — 
 
 [Extt Diom€ti«^ 
 Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee; 
 But w ith my heart the other eye doth .see. 
 Ah ! p'Kir our sex ! this fatdt in us I find, 
 The ( rior of our eye directs our mind : 
 Whht error leads, nnist err; O then ronchide, 
 iMiiids, svvay'd by eyes, are full of turpitude. [Exit. 
 
 Thfr. .\ proof of strength she could not publish 
 more. 
 
 Unless she said, !\ly n»ind is now tnru'd whore 
 
 Uh/ss. All's done, my lord. 
 
 Tro. It is. 
 
 Ulyss. Why stay we then? 
 
 Tro. To ma.' e a recordation to my soul 
 Oi' every s} ll:»i)!e that here was spoke, 
 liut, if I tell l>()w these two did co-act. 
 Shall I not lie in publishing a truth ? 
 Sith yf t there is a credent-e in niy heart. 
 An esper.ince so ob.stinately strong, 
 'I'hat doti) ii.verf the attest of eyes and ean; 
 As if thuse organs had deceptions functifmt. 
 Created only to calumniate. 
 Was Cressid here ? 
 
 Uly.t.'i. I cannot conjure, Trojao. 
 
 Tro. She was not, sure, 
 
 Ulyss. Most sure she was. 
 
 Tro. Why, my negation hath no ia.sje of madres.s. 
 
 Ulyss. Nor n)ine, my lord, Cressid was here but 
 now. 
 
 Tro. Let it not be belie v'd for wt»manhood ! 
 Think, we had ujothers; do not give advantage 
 To stubborn critics — apt, without a theme. 
 For depravation,— to square the general sex 
 By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid, 
 
 Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, tnal can soil 
 our motile rs ^ 
 
 i 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 IROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 535 
 
 Tro. Nothing at al!, unless that this were ahe. 
 
 T/i&r. Will he swMi^per him self out en's own eyes ? 
 
 Tro. This she ? no, this is Dionied's Cressida ; 
 ff beauty have a soul, this is not she ; 
 If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, 
 ff sanctimony be the gods' dt-light, 
 (f there be rule in unity itself; 
 J'his was not she. O madness of discourse. 
 That cause sets up with and a^ainsf itself I 
 Bi fold authority ! where reason ran revolt 
 |\ ithout perdition, and loss assunie all reason 
 Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid ! 
 Wilhin my soul there dotli commence a tight 
 Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate 
 Divides more wider than the sky and earth ; 
 And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
 Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
 As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter. 
 InstsncCj O instance ! strong as Pluto's gates ; 
 Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
 instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself; 
 The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and 
 loos'd ; 
 
 And with another knot, five-finger tied. 
 
 The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
 
 Tije fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques 
 
 Of her o'er-eaten faitli, are bound to Diomed. 
 
 Ulyss. May wortl y Troilus be half atlach'd 
 With that which here his passion doth express ? 
 
 Tro. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well 
 In characters as red as Mars his heart 
 Inflam'd with Venus : never did youvig man fancy 
 With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
 Hark, Greek ; — As much as I do Cressid love. 
 So nuich by weight hate I her Diomed. 
 Tliat sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm* 
 Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill, 
 Mv sword should bite it: not the dreadlul spout, 
 VVliich sl\ii)men do the hurricane call, 
 Coristring'd in mass by the almighty sun, 
 Shiil! diZzy with more clamour Neptune's ear 
 iii liis descent, than shall my prompted sword 
 i;i!'iu-i on Diomed. 
 
 T/ier. He'll tickle it for his concupy. 
 
 Tru. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false 
 false ! 
 
 Let al! imtrnths stand by thy stained name, 
 And they'll seein glorious. 
 
 Ulyss. O, contain yourself; 
 
 Vour passion draws ears hither. 
 
 Enter MtiB.KS. 
 yE//.fi. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord : 
 Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; 
 Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 
 
 Tro. Have with you, prince : — My courteous 
 lord, adieu ; — 
 l^irewell, revolted fair! — and, Diomed, 
 Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 
 
 Ulyss. I U bring you to the gates. 
 
 Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus, ^Eneas, and Ulysses. 
 
 Tlier. 'W^oidd, 1 could meet tiiat rogue Diomed ! 
 V would croak like a raven; I would bode. I would 
 bode. Patrocliis will give me any thing for the in- 
 telligence of this whore : the parrot will not do 
 more for an almond, than he for a commodious 
 drab. Lechery, lechery; still wars and lechery; 
 notliing else holds fashion : A burning devil take 
 ihem ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene HI. — Troy. Before Priam" s Palace. 
 Enler HECTOR Andromache. 
 
 And. When was ni.y lord so niur.h ungently tem- 
 To stop his eat s against adinonishnient ? [per'd, 
 'Jnarm, unarm, and do not figiit to day. 
 
 Hect. Y'ou train me to ollend you ; get you in ; 
 By all the everlasting gods, I'll go. 
 
 And. My dreams will, sure prove ominous to 
 tl»e day. 
 
 Hect. No more, 1 say. 
 
 Enter C.isSANDR^. 
 
 Cas. Where is my brothei Hector? 
 
 And. Here, sister: ann'd, and bloody Il'i intent* 
 Consort with me in loud and dear petition, 
 Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd 
 Ol'bloodv turbulence, and this whole night 
 Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. 
 
 Cas. O, it is true. 
 
 Hect. Ho ! bid my truLipet sound ! 
 
 Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet 
 brother. 
 
 Hect. Begone, I say ; the gods have heard uie 
 swear. 
 
 Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows; 
 l^hey are polluted ollerings, more abhorrd 
 Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 
 
 And. O ! be persuaded : Do not count it holy 
 To hurt by being just : it is as lawful, 
 For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
 And rob in the behalf of charity. 
 
 Cas. It is the purpose, that makes strong the 
 vow ; 
 
 But vows, to every purpose, must not hold : 
 Unarm, sweet Hector. 
 
 Hect. Hold you still, I say; 
 
 Mine honour keeps the weather of niy fate : 
 Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man 
 Holds honour far more precious-dear than life. 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 How now, young man ? mean'st thou to fight la. day ? 
 And. Cassandra, call niy father to persuade. 
 
 [Exit CassandrcL 
 Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus; dolf thy haraess, 
 • youth, 
 
 I am to-day i'the vein of chivalry : 
 Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, 
 And tempt nut yet the brushes of the war. 
 Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
 I'll stand, to-day, for thee, and n^e, and Troy. 
 
 Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in y(>a» 
 Which better fits a lion, than a man. 
 
 Hect. What vice is that, good Troi.'us ? chid* 
 me lor it. 
 
 Tro. When many times the captive Gr<?cians fall. 
 Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, 
 Yoti bid them rise, and live. 
 
 Hect. O, 'tis lair play. 
 
 7V*o. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector, 
 
 Hect. How now ? how now ? 
 
 Tro. For the love of all the gods, 
 
 Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother; 
 And when vve have our armours buckled on, 
 The venoni'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; 
 Spur them to rutliful work, rein them from ruth. 
 
 Hect. Fy, savage, ly ! 
 
 Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 
 
 Hect. Troilus, I would not have you (c;ht to-day, 
 
 Tro. Who should withhold me ? 
 Not late, obedience, nor tiie hand of Mars 
 Beckoning with fifry tnmcheon my retire: 
 Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, 
 Their eyes o'ergalled with recoi; se of tears ; 
 Nor you, my brother, with your true sword dra^m, 
 Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way. 
 But by my ruin. 
 
 Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. 
 
 Cass. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast; 
 He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay. 
 Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on tiiee. 
 Fall all together. 
 
 Pri. Come, Hector, ccmie, go back : 
 
 Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had visitMW/ 
 Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself 
 Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt, 
 To tell thee — that tl is d;ty is ominous : 
 Therefore, come back. 
 
 Hect. .Eneas is a-fjefd; 
 
^36 
 
 And I do «(ain^ ert^agV! to many Greeks, 
 Even ill the (aitJi (.!' valour, to apptidr 
 Tiiis niornitig t(* them. 
 
 Pri. But thou shalt not go. 
 
 Hect. I must not break my i'aitli; 
 You koow me diitiiul ; tlierefore, dear sir, 
 Let me not shame respert; but give me leave 
 To take that coiir>iP by your consent ajid voice, 
 VV hicli you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 
 
 Cas. O Priam, yield not to him. 
 
 And. ' Do not, dear father. 
 
 Hert. Andromache, I ani offended with you : 
 Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 
 
 [Exit Andromache. 
 
 Tro, This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
 Make* all these bo;!ements. 
 
 Cas. O farewell, dear Hector, 
 
 Look, how tliou diest I look, how tiiy eye turns pale ! 
 Look, how thy wounds do bleed <it many vents ! 
 Hark, how I'rny roars I how Hecuba cries out ! 
 How poor Andromache siirills lier dolors forth I 
 Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement. 
 Like witless antics, one another meet. 
 And all cry — Hector ! Hectors dead ! O, Hector 1 
 
 Tro. Away ! — Away ! — 
 
 Cas. Farewell ! — Yet, soft Hector, I take my 
 leave : 
 
 Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. 
 
 Hect. You are amazd, my liege, at her exclaim: 
 Go in, and cheer tlie town : we il forth, and fight; 
 Do deeds worlh praise, and tell you them at night. 
 
 Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about 
 thee! 
 
 [Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. 
 Alarums. 
 
 Tro. They are at it ; hark ! Proud Diomed, be- 
 lieve, 
 
 I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 
 
 A $ Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side. 
 Panda Rus. 
 Pan. Do you hear, my lord ? do you hear ? 
 Tro. Wliat now ? 
 
 Pan. Here's a letter from yon' poor girl. 
 Tro, Let me read. 
 
 Pan, A whoreson ptisick, a whoreson rascally 
 ptisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of 
 this girl; and what one thing, what another, that 1 
 shall leave you one o'these <lays : And I have a 
 rheum in mine eyes too; and such an ache in my 
 bones, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell 
 what to think on't. — What says she there ? 
 
 Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from 
 the heart; {Tearing the letter.) 
 
 l^he effect doth operate another way. — 
 Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. — 
 My love with words and errors still she feeds; 
 But edifies another with her deeds. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene IV. — Betioeen Troy and the Grecian Camp. 
 Alarums : Ex- ursions. Enter THiiKSiTES. 
 Ther. Now they ue clapper-clawing one another : 
 I'll go look on. Tf.at disseuibling abominable var- 
 let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting fool- 
 ish young knave's sleeve of Troy there, in his hebn : 
 I would fain see them meet; that tliat same 'I'ro 
 jan ass, th^it loves the whore there, niight send tliat 
 Greekish whoremasterly villain, with the sleeve, 
 back to the dis.seud>ling luxurious drab, on a sleeve- 
 less errand. O' the other side, the policy of those 
 crafty swearing rascals, — timt stale (.Id mouse- 
 eaten dry cheese, Nestor ; and that same dog-fo», 
 Ulysses, — i? not proved worth a blackberry : — They 
 tet me U{«, in policy, thut mongrel cur, Ajax, against 
 that dog<tf as bad a kind, Acliilies : and now is the 
 cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not 
 arm to d:iy; whereupor. the Grecians begin to pro- 
 claim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opi- 
 uioo. 8olt! here come sleeve, nnd t'other. 
 
 Act y. 
 
 Enter DiOMEDES, T ROUGHS following. 
 
 Tro. Fly not; for, should'st thou take the rirtr 
 I wotdd swim after. jStyc 
 
 Dio. Thou dost miscall retire : 
 
 I do not fly ; but advartageoiis care 
 Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : 
 Have at thee ! 
 
 Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now f(^r thy 
 whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the ."^leeve ! 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and DiomeUe.s, fghting. 
 
 Enter HscroR. 
 
 Hect. What art thou, Greek, art (hou for Hec- 
 tor's match J 
 Art thou of blood, and honour? 
 
 Ther. No, no: I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing 
 knave ; a very filthy rogue. 
 
 Hect. I do believ e tiiee ; — live. [Exit. 
 
 Ther, God-a-mercy, that tliou wilt beliexe me; 
 But a plague break thy neck, for fris^hting me! 
 What's become of the wenchi g rogues ? I think, 
 they have swallowed one anotlier : I would laugh ai 
 that nuracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself, 
 I'll seek them. [Exit. 
 
 Scene V. — The same. 
 
 Enter Diomedes and a Servant, 
 Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse; 
 
 Present the f;iir steed to my lady Cressid : 
 
 Fellow, commend my service to Iser beauty; 
 
 Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan 
 
 And am her knight by proof. 
 
 Serv, I go, my lord. [Exitt 
 
 Enter Agamemnon. 
 
 Agam. Renew, renew .' The tierce PolydamVi 
 Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon 
 Hath Doreus prisoner; 
 
 And stands colossus- wise, waving his beaa>, 
 Upon the pashed corses of the kings 
 lipistrophus and Cedius : Polixenes is slain; 
 Anjpiiiinachus, and Tlioas. deadly hurt; 
 Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Pala nedes 
 Sore hurt and l)ruis"d : the dreadf d Sagittary 
 Appals our numbers; haste we, Diomed, 
 'I'o reinlbrcement, or we perish ail. 
 
 Enter Nestgu. 
 
 Nes. Go, bear Patroclus' bo \\ to Ac'iilles; 
 And bid ti»e snail pac'd Ajax ar i for shame. 
 There is a thousand Hectors in die lield : 
 Now here he hgi.t'^ on Galaihe ' uo se. 
 And tliere lai;'hS work; anon, he's there afoot. 
 And there they fly, or die. I ke sc;ded sc ills 
 Before thr- beh hiug whale; tiien is lie yonder. 
 And there the strawy Gn^eks, ri|;e lor nis edge. 
 Fall down be:ore him, like the mowt-r's s vath : 
 Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takef ' 
 Drxtenty so obeying appetite, 
 That what he vvili, he does; and does so much| 
 That proof is call'd impossibility. 
 
 Enter Ulysbks. 
 
 Ulyss. O, courage, courage, princes ! grea 
 Achil es 
 
 Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance : 
 Patroclus' woiinds have roiis'd his drowsy blood. 
 Together with his ma igied Myrmidons, 
 That noseless, handLss, hack'd ai* I chipp'd, corn 
 to him. 
 
 Crying on Hec tor. Ajax hath lost a friend. 
 And loams at month, and he is arm'd, and at it, 
 Boaring for 'i'roiliis; who hath done to day 
 Mad and fantastic execution ; 
 litigating and redeeming of himself. 
 With sucli a careless f irce, and forceless care. 
 As if that luck, in very spite of cunning. 
 Bade hiiu wiu alh 
 
 TROILUS AND ORESSTDA. 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSTDA. 
 
 587 
 
 Enter Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Troilus! thou coward Troil us ! [Exil. 
 Pio, Ay, there, there. 
 
 Nest. So, 80, we draw together. 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Where is this Hector? 
 
 Come, come, thou boj^-quelh^r, siie\v thy face; 
 Know what it is to meet Achiiles angry. 
 Hector! where's Hector? 1 will none but Hector. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene W.— Another part of the Field. 
 Enter AjaX. 
 Ajax. Tioiliis, thou coward Troilus, shew thy 
 head ! 
 
 Enter DioMEDES. 
 
 Dio, Troilus, I say! wheres Troilus? 
 
 Ajax. Wiiat would'st thou? 
 
 Diu. I would correct him. 
 
 Ajax. ^Vere I the general, thou should'st have 
 iny (.ifice. 
 
 Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 Tro. C traitor Dioined ! — turn thy false face, 
 thou traitor, 
 And |);)y thy lile tliou ow'st me for my horse ' 
 Dio. Ha! Hit tliuu there? 
 
 Ajax. I'll tinht with him alone : stand, Diomed. 
 Dio. He is my prize, j will not look upon. 
 Tro. CoMie both, you cogging Greeks; have at 
 you both. [Exeunt Jiyhtiny. 
 
 Enter Hector. 
 
 Hect. Yea. Troilus ? O well fought, my youngest 
 brollier ! 
 
 Enter AcHiLLSB. 
 
 Achil Now do I see thee : — Ha I — Have at thee, 
 
 Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. [Hector. 
 
 Achil. J do disdain thy courtesy, pro"d Trojan. 
 Be happy, that my arms are out of use : 
 My rest and negli^ience belnend thee now, 
 But thou anon slialt hear of nie again: 
 Till when, go seek thy fortune. [E.xit. 
 
 Hect Fare thee well :-— 
 
 I would have been much more a fresher m;in. 
 Had 1 expected thee. — How now, my brother? 
 
 Re-enter Troilus. 
 Tro. Ajax hath ta'en iEneas; Shall it be? 
 No, by the Hume ol' yonder glorious heaven, 
 He shall not carry hiin ; I'll be taken too. 
 Or bi-ing him olf : — Fate, hear me what 1 say! 
 I reck not though I end my iife to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Enter one in sumptuous armour. 
 
 Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thon art a 
 goodly mark : — 
 No? wilt thou not?— I like thy armour well, 
 ni frush it, and unlock the rivets all. 
 Bat Ml be innster of it :— Wilt thou not, beast, 
 abide ? 
 
 Why then, fly on, I'll himt thee for thy hide. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VU.-The same. 
 Enter Achilles, tvith Myrmidons. 
 Achil. Come here about me, vou my iMyrmidons: 
 Mark wliat I say.— Attend me where I wheel: 
 Ktnke not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath 
 And whon I have the bloody Hector found, 
 Empale him with your weapons round about; 
 In feliest manner execute your arms, 
 follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : — 
 « ia decided— llei tor tiie great umst die. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VHI.— T/te same. 
 Enter Menelaus and Paris, Jijhting : thm 
 Thkrsites. 
 
 Ther. The cuckold, and tiie cuckold-maker ar« 
 at it: Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! 
 now my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paris, 'loo I 
 The bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho i 
 
 [Exeunt Paris and Menelaus 
 Enter Margarelon. 
 
 Mar. Turn, slave, and figfit 
 
 Ther. What art thou'-' 
 
 Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. 
 
 Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I 
 am u bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in 
 mind, bastard in valour, in every tiling illegitimate. 
 One bear will not bite another, and vvherelbre should 
 one bastard ? Take heed, the quarrel's most omi- 
 nous to U8 ; if the son of a whore fight ibr a whore, 
 he tempts judgment : Farewell, bastard. 
 
 Mar. Tiie devil take thee, coward! [Exeunt 
 
 Scene IX. — Another part of the Field. 
 Enter Hector. 
 Hect. Most putiilied core, so fair without. 
 Thy goodly armour tkus hath cost thy lile. 
 Now is my day's work done : I'll take good breath : 
 Rest, swtird ; thou hast tiiy fill ot blood and death ! 
 (Puts ojf'his helmet, and hanys his shield 
 behind him.) 
 
 Enter Achilles and Myrmidom. 
 
 Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; 
 How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
 Even with the vail and dark'ning of tlie sun. 
 To close the day up. Hector's life is done. 
 
 Hect. I am unarnt'd: forego this 'vantage, Greek. 
 
 Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man 1 
 seek. {Hector falls) 
 
 So, Ilion, lall thou next! Now, Troy, siok down; 
 Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and tlij bone. — 
 On, Myrmidons: and cry you all amain, 
 Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain. 
 
 [A retreat sounde'L, 
 Hark ! a retreat npon our Grecian part. 
 
 Myr. Th« Trojan trumpets sound the like, iny lord 
 
 Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the 
 earth. 
 
 And, stickler-like, the arnaies separates. 
 
 My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, 
 
 Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. — 
 
 (Sheathes his sword.) 
 Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; 
 Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene X. — The same. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, 
 DioMEDES, and others marching. Shouts ivithin. 
 
 Again. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that? 
 
 Nest. Peace, drums. 
 
 (Within.. Achilles ! 
 
 Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles! 
 
 Dio. The bruit is — Hector's slain, and by Achillea. 
 
 Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ! 
 Great Hector was as good a man as he. 
 
 Again. March patiently along : — Let one beaeni 
 To pray Achilles see us at our tent, — 
 If in his death the gods have us befriended. 
 Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ecded 
 [Exeunt marching 
 
 Scene Another part of the FiehL 
 Enter jEneas and Trojans 
 JEne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field 
 Never go home ; here starve we out the uight 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 Tro. Hector is slain. 
 
 All. Hector ?— The gods forUdl 
 
538 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSID/ 
 
 Act V 
 
 Tro. He's do ad; and at the murderer's horse's 
 tail, 
 
 In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. — 
 Frown on, you heavens, eliect your rage with speed ! 
 Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy I 
 I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy. 
 And linger not our sure destruction on! 
 
 My lord, you do discomfort all the host. 
 Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so : 
 do not speak, of fliight, of fear, of death ; 
 But dare all imminence, that gods and men 
 Address their dangers in. Hector is gone ! 
 \Vh8 shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? 
 (jet him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd, 
 Go into Troy, and say there— Hector's dead : 
 There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; 
 Make vTclls and Niobes of the maids and wives. 
 Cold statues of the youth ; and, in a word. 
 Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away: 
 Hector is 'dead ; there is no more to say. 
 Stay yet; — You vile abominable tents. 
 Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, 
 Let Titan rise as early as he dare, 
 I'll through and through you I— And thou, great- 
 
 siz'd coward ! 
 No space of earth sliall sunder our two hates ; 
 I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, 
 That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts.— 
 Strike a free march to Troy !— with comfort go : 
 Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 
 
 [Exeunt j^ieas and Trqgans. 
 
 As Troilus i* ^*tng out, enters, from ths other side, 
 Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. But hear you, hear you ! 
 Tro, Hence, broker lackey ! ignomy and shame 
 Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name. 
 
 [Exit Troilus, 
 
 Pan. A goodly nied'cine for my aching bones !— • 
 O world! world! world I thus is the poor agcn 
 despis'd ! O traitors and bawds, hjw earnestly ar« 
 you set a work, and how ill requited I Why should 
 our endeavour be so loved, and tiie perfornmnce so 
 loathed? what verse for it? what instance for it?— 
 Let me see : — 
 
 Full merrily the humble-bee doth sin^, 
 Till he hath lost his honey, and his stuig: 
 And being once subdued in armed tail, 
 Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.— 
 Good traders in the flesh, set tliis in your painted 
 cloths. 
 
 As many as be here of pander's hall, 
 Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandars fall ; 
 Or, if you cannot weep, ytt give some groans. 
 Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. 
 Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade, 
 Some two nionths hence my will shall here be made 
 It should be now, but that my fear is this, — 
 Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss: 
 Till then I'll sweat, and .seek about for eases ; 
 And, at th-tt time, bequeath you ray diseases. 
 
 [Eait 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 The plajr of Timon is a domestic tragedy, and therefore strongly fastens on the attention of the reader. In tht 
 plan there is not much art, but the iniidents are natural, and tlie cliaracters various and exact. The catastrophi 
 Bifords a very powerful warning a^rainst that ostentatious liberality, which si;atiers bounty, but confers no beiif.hl*. 
 buys flattery, but not friendsliip. 
 In this tragedy, arc many nassages perplexed, and probably corrupt, which I have endeavoured to rectify, oi 
 explain with due diligence; but having only one copy, canmit promise myself that my endravours shall be niuci 
 jppiauded. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED, 
 
 TIMOI^, a noble Athenian 
 
 LUCUWIUS, i Lords, and Flatterers of Timon. 
 SEMFKONIUS, ) ^ 
 
 VENTIDIUS, one of Timon' s false Friends. 
 APEMANTUS, a churlish Philosopher. 
 ALCIBIADES, an Athenian General. 
 FLAVIUS. Steward to Timon. 
 FLAMINILS, , 
 
 LUCILIUS, > Timon's Servants. 
 SERVILIUS, 
 CAFHIS. 
 rHlLOTUS, 
 TITUS, 
 LUCIUS. 
 HOKTENSIUS. 
 
 ) 
 
 Servants to Timon's Creditors. 
 
 Ttvo Si-rvinitx of Vnrro. 
 
 TUe Sirva/it of IsUiore. 
 
 Two (if' 'I'miou's Cttdilors. 
 
 Cupid ami Maski'rs. 
 
 Thret Strangers. 
 
 Poet. 
 
 Painter. 
 
 Jeweller. 
 
 Merchafit. 
 
 An old Athenian 
 
 A Page.— a Fool. 
 
 TIAlSdra } Mistresses to Alcibiades. 
 
 rs. Soldiers. Thievea 
 
 Other Lords, Senators, 
 Attetulant.^. 
 
 ScENEf — Athens; and the Woods adjoining. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene \.— Athens. A Hall in Timon s House. 
 Enter Poet., Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and 
 others, at several doors. 
 Poet. Good day, sir. 
 
 Pain. I am glad you are well. 
 
 Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the 
 world ? 
 
 Paitu It wears, sir, as it grows. 
 
 Poet. Ay, that's well known : 
 
 But what particular rarity ? what strange, 
 Which manifold record not matches? See, 
 Magic of bounty ! all these spirits thv power 
 Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant 
 
 Pain. I know them both ; t'other's a jeweller. 
 
 Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord ! 
 
 Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd. 
 
 Mer. A most incomparable man ; breath'd, as it 
 were, 
 
 To an untirable and continuate goodness : 
 He passes. 
 
 Jew, I have a jewel here. [sir? 
 Mer. O. pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, 
 Jew. If l»e will touch the estimate : But, for that — 
 Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd 
 the vile, 
 
 If stains the glory in that happy verse 
 Which aptly sings the good. 
 
 Mer. 'Tis a ^ood form. 
 
 {Looking at the jewel.) 
 
 Jew. And rich ; here is a water, look you. 
 
 Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some 
 dedication 
 To the great lord. 
 
 Poet, A thing slipp'd idly from me. 
 
 Our poesy is as a gum, which oozi^s 
 From whence 'tis nourished : The fire i'the flint 
 Shews not, till it be struck ; our gentle Hame 
 Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies 
 Each bound it chafes. What have you there? 
 
 Pain. A picture, sir- — And when comes your 
 booK forth ? 
 
 Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
 Let's see your piece. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis a good piece. 
 
 Poet. So 'tis : this comes ofl' well and excel- 
 lent. 
 
 Pain. Indifferent 
 
 Poet. Admirable : How this grace 
 
 Speaks his own standing I m hat a mental powej 
 Tills eye shoots lorth 1 lu.w big itnagination 
 IVloves in this lip ! to the dumbness ul the gestui 
 Oj)e might interpret. 
 
 Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
 Here is a touch : Is't good ? 
 
 Poet rii say of it. 
 
 It tutors nature : artificial strife 
 Lives in these touches, livelier than lile. 
 
 Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 
 
 Pain. How this lord's follow'd I 
 
 Poet The senators of Athens ; — Happy men ! 
 
 Pain. Look, more ! [\ isiior 
 
 Poet. You see this confluence, this great Hood » 
 I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man. 
 Whom this beneath world doth en>brace and hug 
 With amplest entertainment: My free drill 
 Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
 In a wide sea of wax : no levell'd malice 
 Infects one comma in the course I hold ; 
 But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on. 
 Leaving no track behind. 
 
 Pain. How shall I understand you? 
 
 Poet. 1 11 unbolt to yotb 
 
 You see how all conditions, how all minds 
 (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as 
 Of grave and austere quality) tender down 
 Their services to lord Timon : his large fortune. 
 Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, 
 Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
 All sorts of hearts ; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer 
 To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
 Than to abhor him.self : even he drops down 
 The knee before him, and returns in peace 
 Most rich in Timon's nod. 
 
 Pain. 1 saw them speak together. 
 
 Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and |)leasant hill 
 Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd : The base o' the niou» 
 Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures. 
 That labour on the bosom of this sphere 
 To propagate their states: amongst them all. 
 Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd. 
 One do I personate of lord Timon's franie, 
 Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her 
 Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 
 Translates his rivals. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope, 
 
 This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, meC 
 With one man beckou'd from the rest below 
 
TTMON OF 
 
 Bowinp liis head asjainst the steepy motmt 
 
 To climb his li;ippiness, would be well express'd 
 
 In our condition. 
 
 Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on : 
 
 All tiiose, which were his fellows but of late, 
 [Some better than his value), on the moment 
 Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, 
 Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, 
 Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 
 Drink the free air. 
 
 Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ? 
 
 Poei. When Fortune, in her shift and change of 
 mood, 
 
 Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants. 
 Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top, 
 E^ enon their knees and hands, let him slip down, 
 Not one accompanying his declining foot. 
 
 Pain. 'T'ls common : 
 A thousand moral paintings I can shew, 
 Thf»t shall deiiionstiate tiiese quick blows of fortune 
 More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well. 
 To shew lord I'iinon, that mean eyes have seen 
 Tiie foot above the head. 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter Tmoji, attended; the 
 
 Servant of Ventidius talking ivith him. 
 TifH, In)pris(m'd is he, say you ? 
 
 Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord : five talents is his 
 debt ; 
 
 His means most short, his creditors most strait : 
 Your honourable letter he desires 
 To those have shut him up ; which failing to him. 
 Periods his comfort. 
 
 Tim. Noble Ventidius ! Well ; 
 
 I am not of that feather, to shake otf 
 My friend when he most need me. I do know him 
 A gentleman, that well deserves a help, 
 Which he sliail have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. 
 
 Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds liim. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his 
 ransom ; 
 
 And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me : — 
 
 "l is not (Miongh to help the feeble up. 
 
 But to sii(i|»ort him alter. — Fare you well. 
 
 i Ven. Serv. Ail happiness to your honour ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter an old Athenian, 
 Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 
 Tim. Freely, good father. 
 
 Old Ath. Tliou hast a servant nam d Lucilius. 
 l\in. I have so: What of him? [thee. 
 Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before 
 Titn. Attends lie here, or no ? — Lucilius ! 
 
 Enter Lucilius. 
 Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. 
 Old Ath. Tnis fellow here, lord Timon, this thy 
 
 creature, 
 
 ii\ niglit frequents my house. I am a man 
 Tiic.t from uiy first ha\e been inclin'd to thrift; 
 And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd, 
 I'hari one which holds a trencher. 
 
 Tim. Well; what further? 
 
 Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, 
 On whom I tn;iy confer what i have got: 
 The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride, 
 Ami I have bred her at m^ dearest cost. 
 In qualities of the best 'I his man of thine 
 Attempts her love; 1 pr'y thee, noble lord, 
 Join with me to forbid him her resort; 
 Myself have jpoke in vain. 
 
 Tim. The man is honest 
 
 Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon : 
 His honesty rewards him in itself, 
 (t must not bear my daughter. 
 
 Tun. Does she love him ? 
 
 Old Ath She is young, and apt : 
 Our own (jrecederjt passions do instruct us 
 What levity's in votith. 
 
 2Vm. {To Luciliwi.) Love you the maidi? 
 
 ATHENS. 
 
 L?/n. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 
 
 Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missinjf, 
 I call the gods to witness, I will choose 
 Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, 
 And dispossess her all. 
 
 Titn. How shall she he endow'd, 
 
 If she be mated with an equal husband ? [all 
 
 Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, 
 
 Tim. This gentleman of mine hatli serv'd me long ; 
 To build his fortune, I will strain a little, 
 For^tis a bond in men. ^ Give him thy daughter. 
 What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, 
 And make him weigh with her. 
 
 Old Ath, Most noble lord. 
 
 Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. 
 
 Tim. My hand to thee ;mine honour on my promise. 
 
 Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship : Never may 
 That state or fortime fall into my keepin^^. 
 Which is not ow'd to you ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian, 
 
 Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your 
 lordship ! 
 
 Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon* 
 Go not away. — What have you there, my friend ? * 
 
 Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
 Your lordship to accept. 
 
 Tim. Painting is'welcome. 
 
 The painting is almost the natural man ; 
 For since dishonour traffics with man's nature. 
 He is but outside : These pencil'd figures are 
 Even such as they give out. I like your workj 
 And you shall find, I like it: wait attendance 
 Till you hear further from me. 
 
 Pain. The gods preserve you ! 
 
 Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen : Give me your 
 hand ; 
 
 We must needs dine together — Sir, your jewel 
 Hath suffer'd under piraiie. 
 
 Jew. What, my lord ? dispraise ? 
 
 Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. 
 If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoil'd, 
 It would uncle w me quite. 
 
 Jew. My lord, 'tis rated 
 
 As those, which sell, would give: But you well 
 know, 
 
 Things of like valu3, dilTering in the owners, 
 Are prized by their masters : believ't, dear lord, 
 You mend the jewel by wearing it. 
 
 Tim. Well mock'cl. 
 
 Mer. No, my good lord ; he speaks the commoD 
 tongue. 
 
 Which all men speak with him, 
 Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid? 
 
 Enter Apema ntus. 
 Jew. We will bear with your lordship. 
 Mer. He'll spare none. 
 
 Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! 
 Apem.T'iW I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow; 
 When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest 
 Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? tho« 
 
 know'st them not. 
 Apem. Are they not Athenians ? 
 Tim. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then I repent not. 
 Jew. You know me, Apen>antns. 
 Apem. Thou knovvest, I do; I call thee byth| 
 name. 
 
 Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 
 Apem. Of nothing so much, as that . am acl 5ke 
 Timon. 
 
 Tim. Whither art going ? 
 
 Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. 
 Tim. That's a deed thou'it die for 
 Apem. kight, if doing nothing be death by the lavr 
 Tim. How iikest thou this p cture, Apemantus? 
 Ajtem. The best, for the innocence. 
 Ttm. Wrought he not well, that painted it? 
 Apem, Me wrought better, tiiat made the paintei 
 and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 541 
 
 Pain. You are a dog. ^ 
 Ape.m. Tliy mother's of my generation ; What s 
 he, it I be a \\o% ! 
 Tim. Wilt (lioe v\'th me, Apemantiis? 
 Apem. No; I eat not lords. 
 Tim. An thou shonld'st, thoa'dst anger ladif*. 
 Apetn. O, they eat lords ; so they come by great 
 beilies. 
 
 Tim. Thnl's a lascivious apprehension. 
 Apem. iSu thou apprehend'st it : Take it for thv 
 (ihour. 
 
 Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? 
 Apem. Not so well as plain-dealiiig, which will 
 not cost a man a doit. 
 
 Tim. What dost thon think 'tis worth? 
 
 Apem. Nut worth my thinking.— How now, poet ? 
 
 Poet. How now, philosopher? 
 
 Apem. Thou liest. 
 
 Poet. A rt not one ? 
 
 Apem. Yes. 
 
 Poet. Then I lie not. 
 
 Apem. Art not a poet? 
 
 Poet. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then thou liest : look in thy last work, 
 where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. 
 
 Poet. 7^hat's not feign'd, he is so. 
 
 Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee 
 for thy labour: He, that loves to be flattered, is 
 worthy u'the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord ! 
 
 Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord 
 with my heart. 
 
 Tim. What, thyself? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. Wherefore? 
 
 Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. — 
 Art not then a merchant ! 
 Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Tratiic confound thee, if the gods will not ! 
 ^fer. If tratiio do it, tlie gods do it. 
 Apem. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound 
 thee ! 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. 
 
 Tim. What trumpet's that ? 
 
 Serv. 'Tis Alcibiades, and 
 
 Some twenty horse, all of companionship. 
 
 Tim. Fray entertain them ; give them guide to us. 
 
 [Exeunt some Attendants. 
 You must needs dine with me: — (Jo not you hence, 
 'I'il! 1 have thank'd you; and, when f'.inner's done, 
 Sliew me this piece. — I am joyful o^ your sights. 
 
 Enter Alcibiades, with his company. 
 
 Most welcome, sir! {They salute.) 
 
 Apem, So, so ; there ! — 
 
 Aclies contract and starve your supple joints ! — 
 That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet 
 kna' cs. 
 
 And all this court'sy ! The strain of man's bred out 
 Into baboon and monkey. 
 
 Ale. Sir, you have sav'd ray longing, and I feed 
 Most htingriiy on your sight. 
 
 Tim. Right welcorae, sir : 
 
 Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time 
 Id dift'ereut pleasures. Pray you. let us in. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Apemantus. 
 
 Enter two Lords, 
 
 1 Lord. What time of day is't, Apemantus? 
 Apem. Tune to be honest. 
 
 1 Lord. That time serves still. 
 
 Apem. f he most accursed thou, that still omit'st it. 
 
 2 Lord. Thou art going to lord Timon's feast. 
 Apem. Ay ; to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat 
 
 foftis. 
 
 2 Lord, Fare thee well fare thee well. 
 
 Apem, Thou art a Ibol, to bid me farewell twice. 
 
 2 Lord. Why, Apemai^us 
 
 Apem. Should"st have kept one to thyself, >or 1 
 
 mean to give thee none. 
 
 1 Lord. Haiig thyself. 
 
 Apem. No. { will do nothing at thy idding : inake 
 tliy requests to thy friend. 
 
 2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn 
 
 thee hence. 
 
 Apem. I will Hy, like a dog, the heels of the ass. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Lord, fle's opposite to humanity. Come, shalf 
 
 we in, 
 
 And taste lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes 
 The very heart ot ki redness. 
 
 2 Lord. He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gord, 
 Ts but liis steward : no meed, but he repays 
 Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, 
 
 But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
 All use of quittance. 
 
 1 Lord. The noLlest mind he carries. 
 That ever govern'd nian. 
 
 2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes I Shall we 
 
 in? 
 
 1 Lord. 1 11 keep you company. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene H. — The same. A Room of State in 
 Timons House. 
 Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet 
 served in ; Flavius and others attendiyig ; then 
 enter TiMON, Alcibiadks, Lucius, Lucullus, 
 Sempronius, and other Athenian Senators, luith 
 Ventjdius and Attendants. Then comes, dro2>- 
 ping after all, Apemantus, discontentedly. 
 Ven. Most honour'd Tinmn, 't liath pleas'd tl>« 
 gods remendjer 
 My father's age, and call him to long peace. 
 He is gone happy, and has lelt n>e rich : 
 Then, as in grateful virtue I am hound 
 To your free heart, I do return those talents, 
 Doubled, with thanks, and service, from whose beJp 
 I deriv'd liberty. 
 
 Ti?n. O, by no means, > 
 
 Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love; 
 I gave it iVeely ever; and there's none 
 Can truly say, he gives, if he receives : 
 If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
 To imitate them ; Faults, that aie rich, are fair. 
 Ven. A noble spirit. 
 
 [They all stand ceremoniously looking 
 -« on Tim on.) 
 
 Tim. Nay, my Irtrds, ceremon.v 
 
 Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss 
 On faint deeds, hollow welcomes. 
 Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shewn; 
 But where there is true friendship, there needs none. 
 Pray, sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes, 
 'J'han my fortunes to me. {They ^i£') 
 
 1 Lord. My lord, we always have coniess'u it. 
 Apem. Ho. ho, confess'd it! hung'd it, have yoo 
 not r 
 
 Tim. O, Apemantus ? — you are welcome. 
 
 Apem. No, 
 You shall not make me welcome : 
 I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. 
 
 Tim. Fy, thou art a churl ; you have got a humom 
 there 
 
 Does not become a man ; 'tis much to blame 
 
 They say, my lords, that ira furor brevis est, 
 
 But yond' man's ever angry. 
 
 Go, let him have a table by himself; 
 
 For he does neither affect company, 
 
 Nor is he fit for it, indeed. 
 
 Apem. Let me stay at thine own peril, Tiraooi 
 I come to observe : I give thee warniiig on't. 
 
 Tim. I take no need of thee; thou art an Ath 
 nian ; theref ore welcome : I myself would 
 power: pr'ytliee, let my meat make thee sil-nt. 
 j Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, fo 
 I should 
 
 Ne'er flatter tliee.— O you go:ls ' -s !iat a niinilM-r 
 1 Of men eat Timon and he sees tlie n .lot ! 
 
542 TlIvION OF 
 
 neves me, lo see so many dip their meat 
 n one man's blood ; and all the madness is. 
 He cheers them up too. 
 
 f wonder, men dare trust themselves with men : 
 Methinks, they should invite them without knives ; 
 Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
 There's much example for't; the fellow, that 
 Sits next him now, parts hread with him, and pledges 
 The breath of him in a divided draught. 
 Is the readiest man to kill him : it has been prov'd. 
 If I 
 
 Were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals ; 
 Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous 
 notes : 
 
 Great men should drink with harness on their 
 throats. 
 
 Tim. My lord, in heart; and let the health go 
 round. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 
 
 Apem. Flow this way ! 
 
 A brave fellow! — he keeps his tides well. Timon, 
 Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look ill. 
 Here's that, which is too weak to be a sinner, 
 Honest water, which ae'er left man i'the mire : 
 This, and my food, are equals; there's no odds, 
 Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 
 
 Apemantus's Grace. 
 
 Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; 
 I pray for no man, but myselj': 
 Grant I may never prove so fond ^ 
 To trust man on his oath or bond; 
 Or a harlot, for her tveeping ; 
 Or a dog, that seems a sleeping ; 
 Or a keeper with my freedom ; 
 Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 
 A men. So fall to't ; 
 Rich men sin^ and I eat root. 
 
 {Eats and drinks,) 
 
 Mnch good dich thv good heart, Apemantus ! 
 
 Tim, Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field 
 now. 
 
 Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. 
 
 Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies, 
 than a dinner of friends. 
 
 Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, 
 there's no meat like them ; I could wish my best 
 friend at such a feast. * 
 
 ■Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine 
 enemies then ; that then thou might'st kill 'em, and 
 bid me to 'enu 
 
 1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my 
 lord, that you would once use our lieatts, where by 
 we might express some part of our zeals, we should 
 think ourselves for ever perfect. 
 
 Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but llie gods 
 themselves have provided that I sliall have much 
 help from you : How had you been niy friends else ? 
 why have you that charitable title frnm thousands, 
 did you not chiefly belong to my heart f f have told 
 more of yon to myself, than you can wifh modesty 
 speak in you. own behalf; and thus far 1 confirm 
 you. O, you t;ods, think I, what need we have 
 any friends, if we sliould never have need of them ? 
 they were ti.e tnost needless cieatures living, should 
 we ne'er have use for them ; and would most resem- 
 ble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep 
 their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often 
 wished niyself poorer, tliat I might come nearer to 
 you. We are born to do benefits : and what better 
 pr projjerer can we call our own, than the riches 
 if our f riends ? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to 
 ha\e so niaiiy, like brothers, commanding one 
 another's fortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere it can 
 be born ! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, me- 
 tliinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you. 
 
 Apem. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon. 
 
 2 Lord. Joy had tlie like conreption in our eyes, 
 Ai^d. ut the instant, like a babe sp«-'nig up. 
 
 ATHENS. 
 
 Apem. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that bn 
 bastard. 
 
 3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you niov J m« 
 nmch. 
 
 Jjpem. Much! [Tucket sounded) 
 
 lim. What means that trump? — How now / 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Ser. Please you, my lord, there are certain Indieg 
 most desirous of aduuttance. 
 
 Tim. Ladies? What are their wills? 
 
 Serv. There comes with them a f'orenmner, ray 
 lord, which bears that office, to signify their plea- 
 sures. 
 
 Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 
 
 Eftter Cupid. 
 
 Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon ; — and to all 
 That of his bounties taste ! — The five best senses 
 Acknowledge thee their patron ; and come freely 
 To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: The ear. 
 Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from tliy table rise ; 
 They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 
 
 Tim. They are welcome all; let them have kind 
 admittance: 
 
 Music, make their welcome. [Exit Cupid. 
 
 1 Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you are 
 belov'd. 
 
 Music. Re-enter CupiD, tvith a masque of Ladies 
 as Amazons, tvith lutes in their hands, dancing 
 and playing. 
 
 Apem. Hey-day, what a sweep of vanity comei 
 this way I 
 They dance ! they are mad women. 
 Like madness is the glory of this life. 
 As this pomp shews to a little oil, and root. 
 We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves, 
 And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, 
 Upon whose age we void it up again, not 
 With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives, that's 
 Depraved, or depraves who dies, tliat bears 
 Not one spurn to their giaves of their friends' gift ? 
 1 should fear, those, tliat dance before me now. 
 Would one day stamp upon me : It has been done ; 
 Men shut their doors against a setting aun. 
 
 The Lords rise from fable, with much adoring of 
 Timon; and, to shew their loves, each sintjles out 
 an Amazon, and all dance, men with ivomen, a 
 lofty strain or tivo to the hautboys, and cease. 
 Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, 
 fair ladies, 
 
 Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, 
 
 Which was not half so beautiful and kind; 
 
 You have added worth unto't, and lively lustre, 
 
 And entertain'd me with niine own device; 
 
 1 am to thank you for it. 
 
 1 Lady. lord, you take us even at the best. 
 Apem. 'Faith, f r the v^orst is filthy; and would 
 
 not hold taking, I doubt me. 
 
 TiiH. Ladies, there is an id!e banquet 
 
 Attf^nds you : Please you to dispose yourselves. 
 All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 [Exetc7it Cupid and Ladies. 
 
 Tim. Flavins, — 
 Flav. My lord. 
 
 TiiH. The little casket bring me hithei^ 
 
 Flav. Yes, my lord. — More jewels yet! 
 
 There is no crossing him in his htmiour ; (Aside.) 
 
 Else I should tell him— Well,— i'faith, I should, 
 
 When all's spent, he'd be cruss'd then, an he coul(^ 
 
 'Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind ; 
 
 That man might ne'er be vvi etched for his mind. 
 
 [Exit, and returns tvith the casket* 
 
 1 Lord. Where be <nir men 'I 
 Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness. 
 
 2 Lord. Our horses. 
 
 Tim. O my friends, I have one word 
 
 To say to you; — Look you, my good lord, I must 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 ACT IT. rfCENE 2. 
 
 Entrea' /on, lioiour rae so much, as fo 
 
 Advai' .e this j- wel ; 
 
 Accc't, and wear it, kind my lord. 
 
 1 Ijord. i am so far already in your gifts, — 
 J ,1. So are we all. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 \ 3erv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the 
 * senate 
 
 '(ewly alighted, and come to visit you. 
 j Tim. They are I'airly welcome. 
 
 Flav» I beseech your honoar, 
 
 S^onchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. 
 
 Tim, Near ? why then another time Til hear thee : 
 I pr'ythee, let us be provided 
 To shew them entertainment. 
 
 FLav. 1 scarce know how. {Aside.) 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. May it please your honour, the lord Lucius, 
 Out of his free love, hath presented to you 
 
 Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. 
 Tim. I shall accept them fairly : let the presents 
 
 Enter a third Servant. 
 Be worthily eutertain'd.— How now, what news ? 
 
 3 Serv. Please you. my lord, that honourable 
 gentleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company 
 to-morrow to hunt with him ; and has sent your 
 honour two brace of greyhounds. 
 
 Tim. I'll hunt with him ; and let them be receiv'd, 
 Not without fair reward. 
 
 Flav. (Aside.) What will this come to ? 
 
 He commands us to provide, and give great gifts. 
 And ail out of an empty coli'er. — 
 Nor will he know his purse ; or yield m« this, 
 To shew him what a beggar his heart is. 
 Being of no power to make his wishes good ; 
 His promises fly so beyond his state. 
 That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes. 
 For every word ; he is so kind, that he now 
 Pays interest for't ; his land's put to their books. 
 WeU, 'would I were gently put out of office, 
 Before I were forc'd out ! 
 
 I [iappier is he that has no friend to feed, 
 
 I Than such as do even enemies exceed. 
 I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Esit. 
 
 TtTn. ' You do yourselves 
 
 Much wrong, you bate too much of your own me- 
 rits : — 
 
 Here, my lord^ a trifle of our love. 
 
 2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will 
 
 receive it. 
 
 3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty ! 
 
 Tim. And now I remember me, my lord, you gave 
 ^lood words the other day of a bay courser 
 I [ rode on : it is yours, because you lik'd it! 
 I 2 Lord. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in 
 that. 
 
 I Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know, 
 
 I no man 
 
 I Can justly praise, but what he does affect: 
 
 I I weigh my friend's affection with mine own ; 
 I'll tell you true. I'll call on you. 
 
 All Lords. None so welcome 
 
 I Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
 
 II So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ; 
 
 i Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, 
 And ne'er be weary. — Alcibiades, 
 ri>6u art a soldier, therefore seldom rich, 
 ( (( comes in chanty to thee : for all thy living 
 ! h 'iiaongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast 
 Lie in a pitch'd field. 
 Aicib. Ay, defiled land, my lord, 
 
 1 L ord. We arc so virtuously bound, — 
 
 '\ Tim. And so 
 
 A ni I to you . 
 
 2 Lord So itiflnitely endear'd. — 
 Ti?n. AS} tv. 'v "^J. -Liglits, more li>',hts ! 
 
 1 Lord. The best of happiness, 
 
 , Boaour, a id fo.luV»>-s, keep \v\\'l\ you, lord Timonl 
 
 Tim. Ready for his friends. 
 
 [E.veunt Alcibiades, Lordsy 
 
 Apetn. What a coil's here! 
 
 Serving of becks, and jutting out of bums ! 
 I doubt whether tlieir legs be worth the suras 
 That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs 
 Methinks, false hearts should never have sound Icgjfc 
 Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court sses. 
 
 Tim Now. Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, , 
 I'd be good to thee. 
 
 Apem. No, I'll nothing : for, 
 
 If 1 should be brib'd too, tiiere would be none left 
 To rail upon thee; and then thou would'st siu the 
 faster. 
 
 Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou 
 
 Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly : 
 
 Wh;it need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories? 
 
 Tim. Nay, 
 An you begin to rail on society once, 
 I am sworn, not to give regard to you. 
 Farewell : and come with better music. [Exit. 
 
 Apem. So; — 
 
 Thou lt not hear me now, — thou shalt not then, — 
 I'll lock 
 
 Thy heaven from thee, O, that men's ears should be 
 To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. A Room in a Senators 
 House. 
 
 Enter a Senator, with papers in his hand. 
 Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro; and to 
 Isidore 
 
 He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sura. 
 Which makes it five and twenty, — Still in motioa 
 Of raging waste ? It cannot hold ; it will not. 
 If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, 
 And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold : 
 If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
 Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
 Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight. 
 And able horses : No porter at his gate ; 
 But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
 All that pass by. It cannot hold ; no reason 
 Can Ibund his state in safety. Caphis, ho ! 
 Caphis, I say ! 
 
 Enter Capiiis. 
 CapL Here, sir ; What is your pleasure ? 
 
 Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord 
 Timon ; 
 
 Importime him for my moneys; be not ceas'd 
 With slight denial; nor then silenc'd, when — 
 Commend me to your master — and the cap 
 Plays in the right hand thus: — but tell him, sirrah, 
 My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 
 Out of mine own ; his days and times are past. 
 And my reliances on his fracted dates 
 Have smit my credit: I love, and honour him; 
 But must not break my back, t'» heal his finger: 
 Immediate are my needs; and my relief 
 Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words. 
 But find supply immediate. Get you gone: 
 Put on a most importunate aspect, 
 A visage of demand; for, I do fear, 
 When every feather sticks in his own wing, 
 Lord Timon will be left a naked gull. 
 Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 
 Caph. I go, sir. 
 
 Sen. I go, sir? — take the bonds along ill y«n, 
 And have tlie dates in cornpt. 
 
 Caph. I will, sir. 
 
 Sen. Go. [Exetmi 
 
 Scene II, — The same. A Hall in Timon' s house 
 Enter Flavius, with many bills in his h 
 Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of exp^'Bse, 
 That lie will neither know how to maintain it, 
 Nor cease liis How r-^riot: Takes no account 
 How things go from him: nor resumes no care 
 
544 
 
 F7av. O, my pood lord ! 
 
 At many times I brought in my accounts, 
 Of whfit is to continue: Never mind 
 VVys to be so unwise, to be so kir)d. 
 W'liat shall be done ? He will not hear, till feel . 
 I must be round with him, now he comes from hunt- 
 i-'y, fy, fyjy! [ing. 
 
 Enter Caphis, and the Servants of Isidore and 
 Varro. 
 
 Caph. Good even, Varro : What, 
 
 ^ on come for money ? 
 
 Var. Serv. Is't not your business too? 
 
 Caji/i. It is ; — and yours too. Isidore ? 
 
 Is id. Serv. It is so. 
 
 Coph. 'Would we were all discharg'd ! 
 
 Var. Serv. I fear it 
 
 Caph. Here comes the lord. 
 Enter TiMON, Alcibiades, and Lords, §fc. 
 
 Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again 
 My Alcibiades. — With me ? Wh;it"s your will 
 
 Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 
 
 Tim. Dues V Whence are you ? 
 
 Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 
 
 Tr/n. Go to my steward. 
 
 Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me otF 
 To tlie succession of new days this month : 
 My master is awak'd by great occasion, 
 To call upon his own; and humbly prays you, 
 That with your other noble parts you'll suit. 
 In giving him his right. 
 
 Tifn. Mine honest friend, 
 
 I pr'ytliee, but repair to me next morning. 
 
 Caph. Nay, good my loi;d,— 
 
 TirA. Contain thyself, good friend. 
 
 Var. Serv One Varro's servant, my good lord. — 
 
 Isid. Serv. From Isidore ; 
 
 He humbly prays your speedy payment, — 
 
 Caph, If you did know, my lord, my master's 
 wants, — [weeks, 
 
 Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six 
 And past, — 
 
 hid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ; 
 And I am sent expressly to your lordship. 
 
 Tifn. Give me breath : — 
 I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; 
 
 [E.veunt Alcibiades and Lords. 
 I'll wait upon you instantly. — Come hither, pray 
 you ; {To Fiavius.) 
 
 How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd 
 Witli clatnorons demands of date-broke bonds. 
 And the detention of long-since-due debts. 
 Against my honour ? 
 
 Flav. Please you, gentlemen, 
 
 I he time is nnngreeable to this business : 
 Yvnr impoitunacy cease, till after dinner; 
 '! h.it I may make' his lordship understand 
 Wherefore you are not paid. 
 
 Tim. Do so, my friends : 
 
 See tliem well entertain'd. [Exit. 
 
 Fla. I pray, draw near. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Apemantus and a Fool. 
 Caph. Stay, slay, here comes the fool with Ape- 
 mantus; let's liave some sport with 'em. 
 Var. Serv. Hang iiim, he'll abuse us. 
 Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! 
 Var. Serv. How dost, I'ool ? 
 Apetn. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? 
 Var. Serv. \ speak, not to thee. 
 Apem. No; 'tis to thyself. — Come away. 
 
 [To the Fool.) 
 
 Isid. Serv. [To Var. Serv.) There's the Ibol 
 /langs on your back already. 
 
 Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou art not on 
 him yet. 
 
 Caph. Where's the fool now? 
 
 Apem. He last asked the question. — Poor rogues, 
 and usurers' men ! bawds between gold and want! 
 
 All Serv. Wliat are we, Apeniantua ? 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Apem, Asses, 
 All Serv. Why ? 
 
 Apem. That you a-ik me what you are, and da 
 not know y(Husel\es. — Speak to 'em, fool. 
 Fool. How do you, gentlemen? 
 All »S'ery. Gramercies, good fool : How does your 
 mistress ? 
 
 Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald such 
 chickfns as you are. 'Would, we could see you 
 Corinth. 
 
 Apem. Good ! gramercy. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 
 
 Patje. {To the Fool.) Why, how now, captain? 
 what do you in this wise company? — How dost 
 thou, Apemantus ? 
 
 Ape?n. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that 1 
 laight answer thee profitably. 
 
 Page. Pr ythee, A[)emantus, read me the super- 
 scription of these letters : I know not which is which. 
 
 Apem. Canst not read ? 
 
 Page. No. 
 
 Ape7n. There will little learning die then, that 
 day thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon; this 
 to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard and 
 thou'lt die a bawd. 
 
 Page. Thou wast whelped a dog ; and thou shall 
 famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, 1 
 will go with you to lord Timon's. 
 
 Fool. Will yon leave me there? 
 
 Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serve 
 three usurers. 
 
 All Serv. Ay ; would they serv'd us ! 
 
 Apem. So would i. — As good a trick as evffr 
 hangman served thief. 
 
 Fool. Are you three usurers' men? 
 
 All Serv. Ay, fool. 
 
 Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to h'« sisr- 
 vant : My mistress is one, and I am hei foot 
 When men come to borrow of your masters, they 
 approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter 
 my nrlstress' house merrily, and go away sadly • 
 The reason of this ? 
 
 Var. Serv. I could render one. 
 
 Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a 
 whorcmaster, and a knave; which notwithstanding, 
 thou shalt be no less esteemed. 
 
 Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ? 
 
 Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like 
 thee. 'Tis a spirit : sometime, it appears like a 
 lord ; sometime, like a lawyer ; sometime, like a 
 philosopher, with two stones more than his artifi- 
 cial one : He is very often like a knight; and, ge- 
 nerally in all shapes, that man goes up and down in, 
 from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. 
 
 Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 
 
 Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much 
 foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. 
 
 Apem. That answer might have become Ape- 
 mantus. 
 
 All Serv. Aside, aside: here comes lord Timon, 
 Pe enter Timon and Flavius. 
 
 Apem. Come with me, fool, come. 
 
 Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder bro- 
 ther, and woman; sometime, the philosopher. 
 
 [Exeunt Apemantus and FocU 
 
 Flav. 'Pray you, walk near, I'll speak with yon 
 anon. [Exeunt Svrv. 
 
 Tim. You make me marvel : Wherefore, ere thii 
 time, 
 
 Had you not lully laid my state before me; 
 'i'hat I might so liav^e rated my expense 
 As 1 iirtd leave of means ? 
 
 Flav. You would not heai mc, i 
 
 At many leisures I propos'd. 
 
 Thn. ^ Go to: 
 
 Perchance, some ein^Ie vantages yoa ttK>k» 
 
 TLMON OF ATHENS. 
 
Act in. Scene 1. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 545 
 
 Wlien my indisposition pyit yon back ; 
 And tliat unaptness made your minister, 
 riias to excuse yourself. 
 
 f^lav. O, my good lord ! 
 
 At many times I brought in my accounts, 
 Laid them before yon ; you would throw them off, 
 And sa;', you found them in mine honesty. 
 When, for some trifling present, yon have bid me 
 lleturn so much, I have shook, my head, and 
 wept ; 
 
 '\ ea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
 I ) hold your hand more close : I did endure 
 N.t seldom, nor so slight checks; when 1 have 
 Prouipted you, in the ebb of your estate. 
 And your great flow of debt. My dear-Iov'd lord, 
 'l]!iough you hear now (too late \) yet now's a time, 
 The greatest of your having lacks a half 
 Topay your present debts. 
 
 \>^- . Let all my land be sold. 
 
 Fiav. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone ; 
 And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
 Of present dues : the future comes apace ; 
 What shall defend the interim ? and at length 
 Ho\v goes our reckoning? 
 
 Tim. To Lacedaemon did my land extend. 
 
 Flat. O my good lord, the world is but a word : 
 Were it all yours to give it in a breath. 
 How quickly were it gone ! 
 
 'Ti^' ' You tell me true. 
 
 Flav. If vou suspect my husbandry, or falsehood. 
 Call me before the exactest auditors, 
 And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me. 
 When all our offices have been oppress'd 
 With riotous feeders ; when our vaults have wept 
 Wirn drunken spilth of wine; when every room 
 [lath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy; 
 I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock. 
 And set mine eyes at flow. 
 
 r!f"' TT Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Flav, leavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord ! 
 How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants, 
 I lus mght englutted ! Who is not Timon's ? 
 VV »iat heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord 
 Timon's ? 
 
 Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon ? 
 Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, 
 1 he breath is ffone whereof tliis praise is made : 
 f-^ast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers, 
 Ihese flies are couch'd. 
 
 , Come, sermon me no further; 
 
 N 0 villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart • 
 Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. [lack. 
 Why dost thou weep V Canst thou the conscience 
 lo thmk I shall lack friends ? Secure thy heart: 
 if I would broach the vessels of my love, 
 A nd try the argument of hearts by borrowing, 
 Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use' 
 As I can bid thee speak. 
 
 F(ay. Assurance bless your thoughts! 
 
 litn. And, m some sort, these wants of mine are 
 crown'd, 
 
 That I account them blessings ; for by these 
 Nmll I try friends : You shall perceive, how yon 
 Mistake my fortunes ; I am wealthy in my friends. 
 Vi itiuu there, ho !— Flaminius ! Servilius! 
 
 Enter Flaminius, Servilius, and other Servant; 
 Serv. My lord my lord,— 
 
 Tim. I will despatch you severally.— Vou, to 
 lord Lucius, — 
 To lord Lucullus you ; I hnnted with his 
 Uenour to-day;— You to Sempronius ; 
 tommend me to their loves ; and, 1 am proud, say 
 1 hat my occasions have found time to use them 
 lovvard a supply of money : let the request 
 Be fifty talents. ^ 
 
 F/am. As you have said, my lord. 
 
 tlav. Lord Lucius, and lord Lucullus? humph I 
 
 m- r\ • I A side.) 
 
 I jm. boyou, 8ir,C/o another Strv. ) tn th, senators. 
 
 (Of whom, even to the stale's best health, I havo 
 Deserv'd this hearing,! bid 'em send o'the instani 
 A thousand talents to me. 
 
 .J^^""^' T . ' ^een bold, 
 
 (tor that I know it the most general way,) 
 To them to use your signet, and your name ; 
 But thiey do shake their heads, and I am here 
 No richer in return. 
 
 Tim, Is't true ? can it be ? 
 
 f^lt^v. They answer, in a joint and corporate v«rfft^ 
 That now they are at fall, want treasuie, cannot 
 Do what they would ; are sorry— you are honour- 
 able,— [hut 
 «ut yet they could have wish'd— they know not— 
 Something hath been amiss — a noble nature 
 May catch a wrench — would all were well— 'tis 
 
 And so. Intending other serious matters. 
 After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, 
 With certain half caps, and cold-moving nods, 
 They froze me into silence. 
 
 Tim, You gods, reward them ! — 
 
 I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly : These old fellows 
 Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: 
 rheir blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom liows ; 
 Tis lack jf kindly warmth, they are not kind ; 
 And nature, as it grows again towards earth. 
 Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy - 
 Go to Ventidius.— ( a Serv.) 'Pr'ythee, [To 
 
 Flavins) be not sad. 
 Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak, 
 No blame belongs to thee -.—[to Serv.) Venlidins 
 
 lately 
 
 Buried his father; by whose death, he's stepp'd 
 
 Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
 
 Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, 
 
 I clear'd him with five talents : Greet him from me i 
 
 Bid him suppose, some good necessity 
 
 Touches his friend, which craves to be rememhei-'d 
 
 With those five talents :— that had,— (^o give 
 
 it these fellows 
 To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, 
 lhat Timon's fortune 'mong his friends can sink. 
 Flav. I would, I could not think it ; That thought 
 
 IS bounty's foe ; 
 Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [Exeuvt, 
 
 ACT IIL 
 
 SCENB I.— The satne. A Room in Lucullus' House, 
 Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him, 
 
 Serv. I have told my lord of you, he is comiiia 
 down to you. 
 
 Flam. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Enter Lucullus. 
 Serv. Here's my lord. 
 
 Lucul. (Aside.) One of Lord Timon s men ? 
 gift, I warrant. Why, this hits rigiit; J dreamt of 
 a silver basin and ewer to-night.— Flaminius, ho. 
 nest Flaminius; you are verv respectively welcome, 
 sir,— Fill me some mm.— [Exit Servant.) And how 
 does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gen- 
 tleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and 
 master r 
 
 Fla7n. His health is well, sir. 
 
 Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, 
 sir: And what hast thou there under thy cloak, 
 pretty Flaminius ? 
 
 Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir: 
 which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat vour 
 honour to supply; who, having great and ins'fani 
 occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lord- 
 ship to furnish him; nothing doubting your present 
 assistance therein. 
 
 Lucul. La, la, la, la,— nothing doubting, says 
 he f alas, good lord I a noble gentleman 'tis, if he 
 would not keep so good a house. Many a time and 
 often I have dined with him, and told him on't; and 
 come again to supper to him, of purpose to have 
 nim spend less : and yet he would embrace m 
 
 ^5 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every 
 iiinn iias liia fault, and honesty is liis ; 1 have told 
 him on t, but 1 could never get hitn from it. 
 
 Re-enter Servnni wii.'i icine. 
 
 Serv. Please your lordship, iiere is the wine. 
 
 LucTil. Fiaminiiis, I have noted thee always wise. 
 Here's to thee. 
 
 (Uam. V our lordship speaks yonr pleasure. 
 
 Lucul. I have observed thee always lor a towardly 
 prompt spirit, — give thee thy due, — and one that 
 knows what belongs to reason ; and canst use the 
 time well, if the time use thee well; good parts in 
 thee. — Get you gone, sirrah. — (7'o the Servant, tvho 
 goes out.) — Dravv nearer, honest Flammius. Thy 
 lord s a bonntifid gentleman : but thou art wise ; and 
 thou knowest well etjough, altliough thou couiest to 
 ine, that this is no time to lend money ; esjjecially 
 upon bare friendship, without security, liere'a three 
 BOiidares liir thee ; good boy, wink at me, and say, 
 thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. 
 
 Flam. Is't possible, the world should so much 
 ddier; 
 
 And we alive, that liv'd ? Fly, damned baseness, 
 To him tliat worships thee. 
 
 {Throwing the money atvay.) 
 
 Lucid. Ha I now I see, thou art a loot, and fit tor 
 thy master. [Exit LucuUus. 
 
 Flam. Mav these add to the number that may 
 scald thee ! 
 Let molten coin be thy damnation. 
 Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! 
 Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, 
 It turns in less than two nights ! O you gods, 
 I feel my master's passion! Tliis slave 
 Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him : 
 W^hy should it thrive, and turn no nutriraeut, 
 When he is turn'd to poison ? 
 
 (), may diseases only work upon't ! [nature. 
 And, when he is sick to death, let not that part of 
 Which my lord paid for, be of any power 
 To expel sickness, but prolong his hour I [Exit. 
 
 S:ene U.—The sa7ne. A Public Place. 
 Enter Lucius, ivith three Strancjers. 
 Ltic, Who, the lord Timon ? he is n»y very good 
 friend, and an honourable gentleman. 
 
 1 Stran. We know him tor no less, though we 
 are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one 
 thing, my lord, and which 1 hear from common ru- 
 mours; now Lord Tiuu^n's happy hours are done 
 anrl past, and his estate shrinks Irom him. 
 
 Luc. Fy, no, do not believe it; he cannot want 
 for money. 
 
 2 Slran. But believe yon this, my lord, that, not 
 lonif ago, one of his men was with the lord Lu- 
 cuUus, to borrow so many talents; nay, urged ex* 
 tieinely Ibr't, and shewed what necessity belonged 
 to L and yet was denied, 
 
 Ijuc. How ? 
 
 •2 Stran. I tell yon, denied, my lord. 
 
 Luc. What a strange case was that? now, before 
 tlie gods, 1 am ashamed on't. Denied that ho- 
 nourable !nin ? there was very little honour shewed 
 iu't. For my own part, I must needs confess, I 
 have received some small kindnesses from him, as 
 money, plate, jewels, and such like trifles, nothing, 
 comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him, and 
 sent to me. I should ne'er have denied his occasion 
 80 many talents. 
 
 ^ter Sbrvilius. 
 
 S9r. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord ; I have 
 •weat to see his honour. — My honoured lord, — 
 
 {To Lucius.) 
 
 Luc. Servilius ! you are kindly met, sir. Fare 
 thee well. — Comtnend me to thy honourable-vir- 
 aoos lord, my very exquisite friend. 
 
 8erv. May it pleasure your honour, my lord hath 
 8^nt — 
 
 hue. Ha! what has he sent? J am sc much en- 
 
 deared to that lord ; he's ever sendinr; : Hcv\ sliall 
 1 thank him, think'st thou V And what has iro sen! 
 now ? 
 
 Serv. He has only sent his present occasion now, 
 my lord ; requesting your lordship to supply hia 
 instant use with so many talents. 
 
 hue. 1 know, his lordship is but merry with me; 
 He cannot want fifty-five himdred talents. 
 
 Serv. But in the mean time wants less, my Icrd. 
 If his occasion were not virtuous, 
 I should not urge it half so faithfidly. 
 
 Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? 
 
 Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. 
 
 Luc. What a wicked beast was I. to disfurnish 
 juyseif against such a good time, when I might 
 have shewn myself honourable ! how unluckily it 
 happened, that 1 should purchase the d;iy belore 
 lor a Httle part, and undo a great deal of honour ! — 
 Servilius, now before the gods, 1 am not able to 
 do't ; the more beast, 1 say : — I was sending to use 
 lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness ; 
 but I would not, lor the wealth of Athens, I had 
 done it now. Commend me bomitifuUy to his good 
 lordship; and I hoj e, his honour will conceive the 
 fairest of me, because 1 have no power to be kind: 
 — And tell him this from me, 1 count it one of my 
 greatest alllictions, say, that I cannot pleasure .such 
 an honourable gevitleinan. Good Servilius, will 
 you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words 
 to him ? 
 
 Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 
 
 Luc. I will look you out a good turn, Servilius. , 
 [ Exit Serviliiu, 
 True, R-3 yon said, Timon is shrunk, mdeed ; 
 And he, that's once denied, will hardly speed. 
 
 [Exit Litcus*, 
 
 1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius ? 
 
 2 Stran. Ay, too well. 
 1 Stran. \\ iiy this 
 
 Is the world's soul ; and just of the same piece 
 Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him 
 His friend, that dips in the same dish ? for, in 
 My knowing, 'Timon has been this lord's father, 
 -And kept his credit with his purse; 
 Supported his estate ; nay, Timon's money 
 Has paid his men their wages: He ne'er drinks. 
 But Timon's silver treads upon his lip: 
 And yet, (O, see the monstrousness of man. 
 When he looks out in an ungrateful shape! 
 He does deny hin», in respect of his. 
 What charitable men aQ'ord to beggars. 
 
 3 S trail. Religion groans at it, 
 
 1 Stran. For mine own parti 
 
 I never tasted Timon in my life, 
 Nor came any of his bounties over me, 
 To mark me for his friend ; yet, I protest. 
 For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue. 
 And honourable carriage. 
 Had his necessity made use of me, 
 1 would have put my wealth into donation. 
 And the best half should have return'd to him, 
 So much I love his heart: But, I perceive, 
 Men must learn now with pity to dispense ; 
 For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III. — 7%e same. A Room in Sempronius'i 
 House. 
 
 Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon's. 
 
 Sem. Must he needs trouble me iu't ? Humpll! 
 'Bove all others ? 
 He might have tried lord Lucius, or LuculIusJ 
 And now Ventidius is wealthy too, 
 Whom he redeem'd from prison; All these th 
 Owe their estates unto him. 
 
 Serv. O my lord, [for 
 
 They have all been touch'd, and found base metal; 
 They have all denied hiu^. 
 
 Sem. How ! they have denied htia? 
 
 Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? 
 And does he send to me Three''' humi)b! — 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 TTMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 U7 
 
 It shews but little lo\ e or jud^rrient iu him. 
 Musi I be his last refuge ? ilis friends, like phy^ 
 sicians. l'"^ • 
 
 rbrive, give him over; Must I take the care upon 
 He lias much disg-rnc'd rne in't ; I hid angry at him, 
 fhat might have known my place : I see no jw^nse 
 for't, 
 
 But his occasions might have woo'd me first 
 For, in my conscience, I was the first mau 
 That e'er received gift from him : 
 And does he think so bar.kvvardly of me nowj 
 That ril requite it last ? No: So it may prove 
 An argument of laughter to the rest, 
 And { amongst the lords be thought a fool. 
 I had rather than the worth of thrice the sura, 
 He had sent to ine first, but formy mind's sake ; 
 I had such a courage to do him good. But now 
 return, 
 
 And with tlitir faint reply this answer join ; 
 
 Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin. 
 
 \Exii. 
 
 Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly vil- 
 lain. Tne devil knew not what he did, .when he 
 made mau politic; he crossed himself by't: and I 
 cannot thiuii, but, in the end, the villanies of man 
 will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to 
 appear foul ! takes virtuous copies to be wicked ; 
 like those, that, under hot ardent zeal, would set 
 whole realms on fire. Of such a nature is his poli- 
 tic love. 
 
 'I'his Will my lord's best hope • now all are fled, 
 
 Save the gods only : Now his friends are dead, 
 
 Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
 
 M.iny a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
 
 N'.w to guard sure their master. 
 
 Arid this is all a liberal co urse allows ; 
 
 VV uu cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SfiENR IV. — The same. A Hall in TimorCs House, 
 F.nfer two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of 
 Liiciua, meetin(j 'i\TVls, HoRTENSlUS, and other 
 Servnjils to Timon's Creditors, waiting his 
 comniu out. 
 
 Var. Serv. Well met; good-morrow, Titus and 
 Hortensius. 
 
 I'it. Tl»e like to you, kind Varro. 
 
 Hor. Lucius I 
 
 What, do we mee* together? 
 
 L?ic. Serv. Ay, and, 1 think, 
 
 One business does ;ommand us all ; for mine 
 Is money. 
 
 Tit. So is theirs and ours. 
 
 Enter Philotus 
 
 Luc. Serv. And, sir, 
 
 Philotus loo I 
 
 Phi. Good-day at once 
 
 Lnc. Serv. vVelcome, good brother. 
 
 \W\Hi do you think the hour? 
 
 Phi. Labouring for nine. 
 
 Luc. Serv. So much ? 
 
 P/ii. Is not my lord seen yet ? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Not yet. 
 
 Phi. I vvf.nder on't ; he was wont to shine at 
 seven. [with him ; 
 
 Liic. Serv. A.f, but the days are waxed shortei 
 ^ (HI must consider, that a prodigal course 
 1> like tiie sun's; but not, like his, recoverable, 
 i tear, 
 
 "Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse : 
 I luit is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
 find hule. 
 
 P/u. I am of your fear for that. 
 
 T it. I'll shew you how to observe a strange* event, 
 Vonr lord sends now for money, 
 
 Hur. Most true, he does. 
 
 Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timou s gift, 
 Far wiiicli I wait for motiey. 
 
 Hor. It is again.st my heart. 
 
 Luc. Serv. ^ Mark; how atrange U chews 
 
 Timon in this should pay u»ore than he owes : 
 And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels. 
 And send for money for 'em. 
 
 Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods caa 
 witness : 
 
 I know, my lord liath spent of Tiinon's wealth. 
 And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 
 1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand crovius 
 
 What's yours ? 
 Luc. Serv. Fi\e thousand mine. 
 1 I Vn Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should 
 seeni by tlie sum, 
 Yoar master's co.ifidence was above mine ; 
 Else, burely, his had equall'd. 
 
 Etiler FLA.MINIUS. 
 
 Tit. One of lord Timon's men. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Flamiiiiusl sir, a word; 'Pray, is my 
 lord ready to come forth ? 
 
 Flam. No, iirdeed, he is not. [mucb. 
 
 Tit. We attend his lordship ; 'pray, signify so 
 
 Flam. I need nut tell him that ; he kuows^ yoH 
 are too diligent. [Exit F/aminius. 
 
 Enter Flavius, m a cloak, muffled. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his steward muftled so? 
 He goes away in a cloud. : call him, call him. 
 
 Tit. Do you hear, sir ? 
 
 1 Var. Serv. liy your leave, sir, — 
 
 Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend? 
 
 Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 
 
 Flav. ' Ay^ 
 
 If money were as certain as your waiting, 
 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not 
 Your sums and bills, vvhen your false niasters e«t 
 Of my lord's meat? Then they could smile, and fawo 
 Upon his debts, and take down th' interest 
 Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselve* ha\ 
 wrong, 
 
 To stir me up; let me pass quietly: 
 Belicve't, my lord and I have made an end : 
 I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve, 
 Flav. If 't will not, 
 
 'Tis not so base as you ; for you serve knaves. [Exit. 
 
 1 Var. Serv. How ! what does his cashier d 
 worship mutter? 
 
 2 Var. Serv. No matter what; he's powr, and 
 that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader 
 than he that has no house to put liis head iu ? such 
 may rail against great buildings. 
 
 Enter Servilius. 
 
 Tit. O, here's Ser\ ilius ; now we shall know 
 Some answer. 
 
 Ser. If I might beseech you, gentletis ii, 
 
 To repair some other hour, I should much 
 Derive from it: for, take it on my soul, 
 My lord leans wond'rously to discontent. 
 His comfortable temper has forsook him ; 
 He is much out of heaith, and keeps his cliam'oer. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, ara 
 not sick : 
 
 And, if it be so far beyond his health, ' 
 Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts. 
 And make a clear way to tlie gods. 
 
 St^r. ' Good gods! 
 
 Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir. 
 
 Flam. {TVithin.) Servilius, help I— iiiv lord ! rajf 
 lord !— 
 
 Enter Timon, in a rai/e: Flaminius following. 
 Tim. What, are my doors oppos d ag.iiust mj 
 passage ? 
 
 Have I been ever free, and must my house 
 Be niy retentive enemy, my gaol ? 
 The place, which I liave feasted, does it now 
 Like all mankind, shew me an iron hear^^ 
 Luc. Serv. Vni in now, Titus, 
 
548 
 
 riMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act ITL 
 
 Tii My lord, here is my bill. 
 f/uc. Serr>, Here's mine. 
 Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord. 
 liuth Vor. Serv. AuA ours, my lord. 
 Phi All our bills. [the girdle. 
 
 Tin . Knock me down with 'em ; cleave me ta 
 Li:c. Serv. Alas! my lord, — 
 Tim lyiit my. heart in 3um.s 
 Tit. Miiie, fifty talents. 
 77;-!:. Tell out my bloocS. 
 Lite. Serv. Five thousand drops pay hat. 
 Ttm. Five thousand drops pays that. — 
 Vh.'it \ ours ? — and yours? 
 
 1 Var. Serv. My lord, — 
 
 2 Var. Serv. My lord,— 
 
 Tim. Tear me, take me, asd the gods fall on 
 you ! [Exit. 
 Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may tlnow 
 iheir caps at their money ; these debts may well be 
 called desperate ones; ibr a madman owes 'em. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 He-enter TiMON and Flavius. 
 Tim. They have e'en put my breath from n)e, the 
 slai es : 
 Creditors ! — devils. 
 Flav. My dear lord, — 
 Ti7n. What if it should be so ? 
 Flav. My lord,— 
 
 Tim. I'll have it so: — My steward ! 
 Flav. Here, my lord. 
 
 Tim. So fitly ? Go, bid all my friends again, 
 Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius ; all : 
 f '11 once more feast the rascals. 
 
 Flav. O my lord, 
 
 Vou only speak from your distracted soul ; 
 There is not so much left, to furnish out 
 A moderate table. 
 
 Tim. Be't not in thy care ; go, 
 
 I charge thee; invite them all : let in the tide 
 Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. 
 
 [Exeitnt. 
 
 JScENE V. — The same. The Senate-House. 
 The Senate sitting. Enter Alcibiades, attended. 
 
 1 Sen. i\ly lord, yon have my voice to't; the fault's 
 Sloody ; 'tis necessary he should die : 
 
 Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 
 
 2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him. 
 Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the 
 
 senate ! 
 I Sen. Now, captain ? 
 
 Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; 
 For pity is the virtue of the law, 
 And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
 It pleases time, and ibrtune, to lie heavy 
 Upon a friend ol" mine, who, in hut blood, 
 Hath stepp'd intu the law, which is past dej)th 
 To those that, without heed, dn plunge into it. 
 He is a man, setting his fate aside. 
 Of comely virtues : 
 
 Nor did he soil the fart with cowardice ; 
 (An honour in him, wfiich buys out his fault), 
 But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit, 
 Seeing his reputation touch'd to death. 
 He did oppose his foe : 
 An'l with s:ich sober and unnoted passion 
 He did t)eha\ e his anger, ere 'twas sj^ent, 
 As if he had but prov'd an argurnent. 
 
 3 Sen. Vou undergo too strict a paradox, 
 Striving to ».nake an ugly deed h»ok lair: 
 
 Vour words have took such pains, as if they laboor'd 
 To bring manslaughter into form, set tjuarreiiing 
 lJp(m tlie head ol' valour; which, indeed. 
 Is \al(Mir nnsbeiiot, and came into the w orld 
 When sects and factions were newly born : 
 He's tndy valiHBt, that can wisely suffer 
 The worst that man can breatlie ; and make his 
 wrongs 
 
 His otitsides ; wear them like his raiment, c*r»- 
 
 lessly ; 
 
 And ne'er prefer his injuries to his I eart. 
 To bring it into danger. 
 If w rongs be evils, and enforce us kill, 
 What folly 'tis, to hasard life for ill ? 
 Alcib. My lord,— 
 
 1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clevir ; 
 To revenge is no valour, but to be«r. 
 
 Alcib. My lords, then, under t'avour, j>ar<kin xu^ 
 If 1 speak like a captain. — 
 Why do fond n»en expose themselves to battle. 
 And not endure all threat'nings ? sle. p upon it, 
 And let the foes quietly cut tneir throats 
 Witiiout re(,ngnancy ^ but if there be 
 Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
 Abroad ? why then, women are more valiant, 
 Tliat stay at h<jme, if bearing carry it ; 
 And the ass, more captain tlian the lion; the fo^QQ; 
 Loaden with irons, w iser than the judge, 
 II Wisdonj be in sulfering. O my lo.as. 
 As you are great, be pitifidly good : 
 Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? 
 To kill. I grant, is sin's extremest gust ; 
 But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. 
 To be in anger, is impiety ; 
 But who is man, that is not angry ? 
 Weigh but the crime with this. 
 
 2 Sen. You breathe in vain. 
 
 Alcib, In vain? hia service doM 
 
 At Lacedaemon, and Byzantium, 
 Were a sulHcieut briber for bis life. 
 
 1 Sen. What's that'i' [vic« 
 Alcib. Why, I say, my lords, h'as ^ose fair aer 
 
 And slain in ti^ht many of" your enemies: 
 
 How lull of valour did he bear himself 
 
 In the last conflict, and made plenteous wou?:(li? 
 
 2 Sen. He has made too mucli pl< nty with em, he 
 Is a sworn rioter: h'as a sin that often 
 
 Drowns him, ai d fakes his valour piisoner: 
 If there were no foes, that were enough alone 
 '1 o overcome hin» : in that beastly lury 
 He has been known to conunit oiit rages, 
 And cherish fictions: 'Tis inferr'd to us, 
 His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 
 1 Sen. He dies. 
 
 Alcib. Hard fate! he might have died in war 
 My lords, if liot for any parts in him, 
 (Though his right arm might purchase his own time 
 And be in debt to none), yet, more to move you, 
 Take my deserts to his, and join them both: 
 And, for I know, your reverend a«es love 
 S( ciirity, i'll pawn my victories, all 
 My honour to you, up^n his got a returns. 
 It by this crime he owes the law his life, 
 VVhy, If t the war receiv't in valiant gore ; 
 For 1.1 vv is strict, and war is nothing more. 
 
 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; uige it no more, 
 On height of our displeasure : Friend, (u- brother, 
 He forfeits his own blood, tliat spills another. 
 
 ' Alcib. Must it be .so ? it must not be. My Iwlt, 
 I do beseech you, know me. 
 
 2 Sen. How? 
 
 Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 
 
 3 Sen. What? 
 Alcib, I cannot think, but your age has furj^m*; 
 
 It could not else be, I should prcve so base, 
 To sue, and be denied such common grace : 
 M y \-.ounds ache at yon. 
 
 1 Sen. Do you dare our anger ? 
 T'is in few words, but spacious in effect 
 We banish thee forever. 
 
 Alcib. Banish me ? 
 
 Banish your dotage; banish usury. 
 That makes the senate ugly. 
 
 1 Sen. If, alter two days' shine, Athens ccnttun 
 thee. 
 
 Attend our weightier judgment. And. not to swell 
 our spirit, 
 
 I He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Senator*^ 
 
Scene 6. TIMON 0] 
 
 Alcib. Now the ffods keep you old enough; that 
 you may live 
 Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
 I am worse than mad : f have kept back their foes, 
 While they have told their money, and let out 
 Their coin upon large interest; I myself 
 Rich only in lartje hurts; — All those, for this ? 
 Is this (h? bals;im, that the usnring senate 
 Pours into captains' wounds ? ha ! banishment? 
 It corner not dl ; I hate not to be banish'd ; 
 It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury. 
 That 1 n>ay strike at Athens. I'll cheer up 
 My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 
 Tis honour, with most lands to be at odds, 
 Soldiers sliould brook as little wrongs as gods. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene VI. — A maynificent Room in Timon's 
 House. 
 
 Music. Tables set out : Servants attending. 
 Enter divers Lords, at several doors. 
 Lord. Tlie good time of day to you, sir. 
 2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this 
 honourable lord did but try us this other day. 
 
 1 Lord. Upon th-^t were my thoughts tiring, when 
 we encountered : 1 hope, it is not so low with him, 
 as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends, 
 
 2 Lord. It shoidd not be, by the persuasion of 
 his new feasting. 
 
 1 Lord. I should think so : He hath sent me an 
 earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did 
 urge me to put olf; but he hath conjured me beyond 
 them, and I must needs appear. 
 
 2 Lord, (fi like manner was I in debt to my im- 
 portunate business, but he would not hear my ex- 
 cuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of nie, 
 that my piovision was out. 
 
 1 Lord. I aui sick of that grief too, as I under- 
 »*an(l how all things go. 
 
 2 Lord. Every man here's so. What would he 
 have hornnved of you ? 
 
 1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 
 
 2 Lord. A thousand pieces! 
 
 1 Lord. What of you? 
 
 2 Lord, lie sent to me, sir, — Here he coraes. 
 
 Enter Timon, and Attendants. 
 Tim. With all my heart, gentleioen both : — And 
 'low fare you ? 
 
 1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your 
 lordship. 
 
 2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer more 
 willing, liian we your lordship. 
 
 Titn. (Aside.) Nor more willingly leaves winter; 
 such Kurtiutei -birds are men. — Gentlemen, our din- 
 ner will not recompense this long stay : feast your 
 ears witii the music awhile; if they will fare so 
 harshly on the trumpet's sound : we shall to't pre- 
 sently. 
 
 1 Lord. I hope, it remains not unkindly with 
 your lordship, that I returned you an empty mes- 
 sensrer. 
 
 TJm. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 
 
 2 Lofd, My nolile lord, — 
 
 Tim. Ah, my good friend ! what cheer •* 
 
 ( T/ie b-anquet brought in.) 
 
 2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick 
 of shame, that, when your lordship this other day 
 Bent to n»e. I was so unfortunate a beggar. 
 
 Tim. Think not «)n't, sir. 
 
 2 Lord. H" you had sent but two hours before, — 
 Tim. Let it not cuniher your better remembrance. 
 — Cotne. brnig in ail together. 
 
 2 Lord. All rovered dishes! 
 
 i Lord- Royal cheer, i warrant you. 
 
 3 Lord. Doiibt tiot tliat, if money and the season 
 laii yield it. 
 
 1 Lord. How do you ? What's the news? 
 
 3 Lord. A Icihiades is banished : Hear you of it ? 
 
 ] &L 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 
 
 3 LotV. 'Tis so be sure of it. 
 
 ATHENS. m 
 
 1 Lord. How ? how ? 
 
 2 Lord. I pray you, upon what? 
 
 Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near .' 
 
 3 Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Hert s a uob.g 
 feast toward. 
 
 2 Lord. This is the old man still. 
 
 3 Lord. WiU't hold ? will't hold ? 
 
 2 Lord, ft does: but time will — and so-- 
 
 3 Lord. I do conceive. 
 
 Tim. Each man to his stooJ, with that spur as \;.'. 
 would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall 1^' 
 in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it ( • 
 let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the lii st. 
 place : Sit, sit. The gods require our tlianks. 
 
 You great benefactors, spr inkle our society ivith 
 thankfulness. For your oivn gifts, make yours-ylves 
 praised: but reserve still to give, lest your deities 
 be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one 
 need not lend to another : for. were your godheads 
 to borroiv of men, men would forsake the gods. 
 Make the meat be beloved, more than the man that 
 gives it. Let no assembly of ttventy be ivithout a 
 score of villains : If there sit twelve tvomen at 
 the table.) let a dozen of them be — as they are. — 
 The rest of your fees., O gods, — the senators of 
 Athens, together with the common lag of people, — 
 what is amiss in them, you gods, make suitable 
 for destruction. For these my present friends, — 
 as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, 
 and to nothing they are welcome. 
 Uncover, dogs, and lap. 
 
 {The dishes uncovered, are full of warm water,) 
 Sotne speak. What does his lordship mean? 
 Some other. I know not. 
 Tim. May you a better feast never behold, 
 You kuot of mouth-friends ! smoke, and iuke-warm 
 water 
 
 Is your perfection. This is Timon's last ; 
 Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries, 
 Washes it otf, and sprinkles in your faces 
 
 ( Throwing water in their fac«9>. ) 
 Your reeking villany. Live loath 'd, and long, 
 Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, 
 Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears. 
 You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's Hies, 
 Cap and-knee slaves, vapours, and minute -jacks ! 
 Of nmn, and beast, the infinite malady 
 Crust yon quite o'er! — What, dost thou go? 
 Soft, take thy physic first, — thou too, — and thou 
 [Throtvs the dishes at them, and drives them out.. 
 Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.— 
 What, all in motion ? Henceforth be no feast. 
 Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. 
 Burn, house; sink, Athens! henceforth hated be 
 Ot Timon, man, and all humanity. [Exit, 
 
 Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and 
 Senators. 
 
 1 Lord. How now, my lords? [fury? 
 
 2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's 
 
 3 Lord. Pish ! did you see my cap ? 
 
 4 Lord. 1 have lost my gown. 
 
 3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but 
 humour sways him. He gave ine a jewel the other 
 day, and now he has beat it out of my hat ; — Did 
 you see my jewel ? 
 
 4 Lord. Did you see my cap ? 
 2 Lord. Here 'tis. 
 
 4 Lord. Here lies my gown. 
 
 1 Lord. Let's make no stay. 
 
 2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad. 
 
 3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones. 
 
 4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next df»y 
 
 stones. [Exeunh 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene {.—Without the Walk of AtJiens. 
 Enter TiMON. 
 Tim. Let me look back upon the«. O thou wall. 
 
550 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Thai g^irdiest in those wolves ! Dive in the earth, 
 And fence not Athens I Matrons, turn incontinent! 
 Obedience fail in children! slaves, and fools, 
 Phick the grave wrinkled senate from the bench. 
 And minister in their steads ! to general filths 
 Convert o'the instant, green virgniity ! 
 Do't in your parents' eyes ! bankrupts hold fast; 
 Ratiier than render back, out with your knives. 
 And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, 
 sieal ! 
 
 Large-lianiled robbers your grave masters are, 
 And pill by law ! maid, to thy master's bed ; 
 'j'liy mistress is o'the brothel! son of sixteen, 
 Pliick the liu'd crutch from the old limping sire, 
 W ith it beat out his brains ! piety, and I'ear, 
 Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
 Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, 
 Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
 Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,' 
 Decline to your confoanding contraries. 
 And yet confusion live ! — Plagues, incident to men, 
 Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
 On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica, 
 Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
 As lamely as their manners ! lust and liberty 
 Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth ; 
 That 'gainst the stream of \irtue they may strive. 
 And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains. 
 Sow all the Athenian bosoms: and tiieir crop 
 Be general leprosy ! breath infect breath; 
 That their society, as their friendship, may 
 Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear ironi thee, 
 But nakedness, thou detestable town ! 
 Take thou that too, with multiplying banns! 
 Timon will to the v;oods ; where he shall find 
 The unkindest beast more kinder thun mankind. 
 The gods cunfoiuul (hear me, ye good gods all,) 
 The Atheninns both within and out that wall! 
 And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
 To the whole race of mankind, high, and low ! 
 Amen [Exit, 
 
 Scene II. — Athens. A Room in Timuri's House. 
 Et/ier Flavius, ivii/i two or three Servants. 
 1 Serv. Hear you, uiasttr steward, vvhere's our 
 master ? 
 
 Are we undone ? cast otV? nothing remaining? 
 Flav. .4lack, my fellows, what should I say to 
 you i 
 
 Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
 I ani as poor as you. 
 
 1 ^erv. Such a house broke ! 
 So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not 
 One I'riend, to take his fortune by the £»nn. 
 And go ah)ng with him ! 
 
 2 Serv. As we do turn our backs 
 From our companion, thrown into his grave ; 
 
 So his fauuliars to his buried fortunes 
 
 Slink all away ; leave their false vows with him. 
 
 Like empty purses pick'd : and his poor self, 
 
 A dedicated beggar to the air. 
 
 With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, 
 
 Walks, like contempt, alone. — iVlore oi our fellows. 
 
 Enter other Servants. 
 Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 
 
 3 Serv. Vet do our hearts wear Timon's livery, 
 That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, 
 Serving alike in sorrow : Leak'd is our bark ; 
 And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck. 
 Hearing the surges threat: we must all part 
 Into this sea oi air. 
 
 Flav. Good fellows all. 
 
 The latest of my wealth 1 11 share amongst you. 
 Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake. 
 Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our iieads, and say. 
 As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes. 
 We hav9 sOtn better days. Let each take some ; 
 
 {Giving them money.) 
 Nay, put oat all your bands. Not one word more 
 
 Thus part we rich in som iv, parting poor. 
 
 [Exeunt Servant^ 
 O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us ! 
 Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt. 
 Since riches point to misery and contempt? 
 Who'd be so mock'd with glory ? or to live 
 But in a dream of friendship ? 
 To have his pomp, and all what state compouad<). 
 But only painted, like his varnish'd friends ? 
 Poor honest lord, brought low by his own hearty 
 Undone by goodness ! Strange, unusual blood. 
 When man's worst sin is, he does too much gooti! 
 Who then dares to be half so kind again ? 
 For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar naea. 
 Aly dearest lord, — bless'd, to be most accars'd. 
 Rich, only to be wretched ; — thy great fortunes 
 Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! 
 He's fiung in rage from this ungrateful seat 
 Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to 
 Supply his life, or that which can command it. 
 I'll follow, and inquire him out: 
 I II serve his mind with my best will; 
 Whilst I have gold. 1 11 be his steward still. [EgU 
 
 Scene III.— The Woods. 
 Enter Timon. 
 Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from tb« 
 earth 
 
 Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
 
 Infect the air! JVinn'd brothers of one womb, — 
 
 Whose procreation, residence, and birth, [tunes ; 
 
 Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several for 
 
 The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature. 
 
 To wiiouj all sores lay siege, can bear great fortuijc, 
 
 Hut by contempt of nature. 
 
 Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord; 
 
 The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, 
 
 The beggar native honour. 
 
 Jt is tiie pasture lards the brother's side?, ^"lire» 
 
 The want that makes him lean. Who dar«>9, 
 
 In purity of manhood stand upr-ght. 
 
 And say. This man's a jiatterer? if one be* 
 
 So are they all ; ior every grize offoitune 
 
 Is sinooth'd by that below : tlie learned patt 
 
 Oiicks to the golden fool : All is chliqiie ; 
 
 There's nothmg level in our cursed nalnres, 
 
 Hut direct villany. Therefore, be abliorr'd 
 
 All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
 
 His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: 
 
 Destruction fang mankind! — Earth, yield me roots! 
 
 (Digging,) 
 
 Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
 With tl»y most operant poison ! What is here ?, 
 Gold ? yellow, glitteruig, precious gold i No, gods, 
 I an* no idle vot;irist. Roots, you clear heavens ! 
 Thus much of this, will make black, white; foul, 
 
 fair ; [valiant. 
 Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, 
 Ha, you gods I why this ? What this, you gods? 
 
 Why this 
 
 Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; 
 Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: 
 This yellow slave 
 
 Will knit and break religions; bless the accuro'd; 
 Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
 VVith senators on the bench : this is it, 
 Tliat makes the wappeu'd widow wed again ; 
 She, whom the spital house, and ulcerous sores 
 Would cast the gorge at, tins embalms and spicca 
 To the April day again. Come, diimned earth. 
 Thou common whore of mankind, that put st odds 
 Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
 Do thy right nature.~(il/rtrt7/ njar o/lj-Ha! % 
 
 drum ? — Thou'rt quick. 
 But yet I'll bury thee : Thou'it jio, strong thief. 
 When gouty keepers of thee cannot ftand :— 
 Nay, stay thoa out for earnest 
 
 {Ktt^ing some go^d,) 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. . oul 
 
 Scene 3. 
 
 fJnter AhClBiADES, with drum andffe, in warlike 
 manner : Phrynia and Timandra. 
 
 Alcib. What art thou (here ? 
 
 fc>p<'ak. 'heart, 
 
 Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker guaw thy 
 For shewing me again the eyes of nmn I 
 
 Alcib. What is thy name ? Is man so hateful to 
 That art thyself a man ? [thee, 
 
 Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind. 
 For tliy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, 
 Thaf 1 might love thee something. 
 
 Alcib. I know thee well ; 
 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 
 
 Tim. 1 know thee too; and more, than that I 
 know thee, 
 [ not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; 
 Wti\i man's blood j)aint the ground, gules, gules : 
 Religious canons, civil latws are cruel ; 
 Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine 
 Hath in her more destruction tlian thy sword. 
 For all her cherubiu look. 
 
 PItry. Thy lips rot olf! 
 
 Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns 
 To thine own lips again. 
 
 Alcib. How came the noble 'I'imonto this change? 
 
 Tim. As the moon does, by wanting liuht to give : 
 But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
 lliere were no suns to borrow of. 
 
 Alcib. Noble Tiuion, 
 
 What friendship may I do thee ? 
 
 Tim. None, but to 
 
 Maintain my opinion. 
 
 Alcib. What is it, Timon? 
 
 Tiin. Promise me friendship, but perform none : If 
 Thou wilt not promise, the gods plaj^ue thet-, for 
 Thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound thee, 
 For tliou'rt a man ! 
 
 Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy niiseries. 
 
 Tim, Thou savv'st tiiem, when I had prosperity. 
 
 Alcit. I see them now ; then was a blessed time. 
 
 Titii. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. 
 
 Tim. Is this the Atlienian miniou, whom the 
 world 
 f oic'd so regardfully ? 
 
 Tim. Art thou Timandra ? 
 
 Timan. Yes. 
 
 Tim. lie whore still ! they love thee not, that 
 use thee ; 
 
 Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
 Make use of thy salt iiours: season the slaves 
 For f libs, and baths ; bring down rose-cheeked youth 
 To the tub-fast, anil the diet. 
 
 Tiinan. Hang thee, njonster ! 
 
 Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his wits 
 Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.— 
 I ha\e t)ut little );old of late, brave Timon, 
 The vv.'int vvheretjf dotli daily tnake revolt 
 In my penuiu)ns band: I iiave heard, and griev'd, 
 IJyvv '-ufsed Athens, iiiindless of thji worth, 
 For^'etliii;^ ihy great d-erds, when neighbour states. 
 But (or tliy xvvord and fortune, trod upon them, — 
 
 Tim. 1 pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 
 
 Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity tiiee, dear Ti- 
 mon. [trouble ? 
 
 Ti?n. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost 
 I had ratiier be alone. 
 
 Alcib. Why, fare thee well : 
 
 Hert- s .some gold for thee. 
 
 Tun. Keep't, I cannot eat it. 
 
 Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a 
 heaj),— 
 
 Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ■* 
 Alcib. Ay, Tiu»on, and have cause. 
 
 TiT/i. The gods conift ^nd them all i'tliy conquest ; 
 and 
 
 Thee after, when thou hav.t conquer'd ! 
 
 Alcib. VVh'v me, Timon ? 
 
 Tim, That, 
 By kiihng viliainH, thou wast born to conquer 
 
 My country. 
 
 Put up thy gold ; Go on, — here's gold, — go on ; 
 Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
 Will o'er some high vic'd city hang his poisoo 
 In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one : 
 Pity not honour'd age for his white beard ; 
 He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matrou 
 It is her habit only ^at is honest, 
 HerselPs a bawd : Let not the virgin's cheek 
 Make soft thy trenchant sword ; for those milk-papi^ 
 That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes^ 
 Are not within the leaf of pity writ, [babe 
 Set them down horrible traitors : Spare not th* 
 Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 
 mercy ; 
 
 Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 
 Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut. 
 And mince it sans remorse: Swear against objects; 
 Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes; 
 Whose proofs, nor yells of mothers, ntaids, uof 
 babes, 
 
 Nor sight of j)riests in holy vestments bleeding, 
 Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to i)ay thy soldiers: 
 Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, 
 Conioiinded lit- thyself I Speak not, be gone. 
 
 Alcib. Hast thou gold yet ? I'll take the gold tho* 
 giv'.st me, 
 
 Not all thy counsel. [upon thee! 
 
 Tim. Dost tliou. or dost thou not, heaven's curse 
 Phr. ^ Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon: 
 
 Hast thou juore ? 
 Tim. linoiigh to make a whore forswear her trade, 
 And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, 
 Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable,-- 
 Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear. 
 Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues. 
 The imuK^rtal gods that hear you, — spare your oaths, 
 I'll trust to your conditions ; lie whores still ; 
 And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you. 
 He strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; 
 Let your close fire predominate his smoke. 
 And be no turncoats: Yet may your pains, sis 
 months, 
 
 Be quite contrary : And thatch your |)oor thin roofi 
 Witii burdens of the dead ; — some that were hang'd, 
 No nmtter : — wear them, betray with them : whor« 
 still ; 
 
 Paint, till a horse may mire upon your face: 
 A [)0x of wrinkles ! 
 
 P/ir.§- Timan. Well, more gold;— What then?— 
 Believ t, that we'll do any thing for gold. 
 
 Ti/n. Consumption sow 
 In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins. 
 And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice. 
 That lie may never more false title j)lead. 
 Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen. 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh. 
 And not believes himseli : down with the nose, 
 Down with it fbit; take the bridge quite away 
 Of him, that his particular to foresee. 
 Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pat« 
 
 rufiians bald ; 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
 Derive some pain from you: Plague all; 
 That your activity may del'eat and quell 
 The source of all erection. — There's more gold :— 
 Do you damn others, and let this damn you. 
 And ditches grave you all! 
 
 P/ir. £f Timan. More counsel with more money, 
 bounteous Timon. 
 
 Tim. More whore, more mischief first ; I havi 
 given you earnest. 
 
 Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Fare* 
 well, Timon ; 
 If 1 thrive well, I'll visit thee again. 
 
 Tim. If I hope well, I 'll never see thee more. 
 
 Alcib. I never did thee harm. 
 
 Tim. Yes, thou spok st well of me. 
 
 Alcib. Call'st thou that harm! 
 
 Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away; 
 
^52 TIMON OF 
 
 Anrl tale thy beagles with tliee. I 
 Alcib. We but offend him. — ' 
 
 Strike. 
 
 [Drum beats. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrynia, 
 
 and Tunandra. 
 Tim. That nature, bein^ siclv of man's unkind- 
 ness, 
 
 ?!ionld yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou, 
 
 [Dif/rjing.) 
 
 Whose womb immeasurable, and infinite breast, 
 Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle, 
 Whereof thy piotid child, arrogant man, is piiff'd, 
 Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, 
 The gilded newt, and eyeless venonrd worm, 
 With all the abhorred births below crisj) heaven, 
 Wliereon Hyperion's quickening fire duth shine; 
 Yield him, who all t!iy human sons doth hate. 
 From forth thy plenteous bosom one poor root! 
 Ensear thy fertile and conceptions womb, 
 Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! 
 Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; 
 Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
 Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
 Never presented ! — O, a root, — Dear thanks! 
 Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas: 
 Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts. 
 And morsels imctuous, greases his pure mind, 
 That from it all consideration slips! 
 
 Enter Apemantus. 
 More man ? Plague ! plague ! 
 
 Apem. 1 was directed hither: men report, 
 Thou dosrt alfect my manners, and dost use them. 
 
 Tim. "Fis then, because thou dost not keep a 
 
 VVhom I would imitate: Consumption catch thee! 
 
 Apem. 'I'his is in thee a nature hut affected; 
 h poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
 Fiom change of fortune. Why this spade V this 
 place? 
 
 This s!a\elike habit? and these looks of care? 
 Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; 
 Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 
 That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, 
 By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
 Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
 By that which has undone thee : hinge thy knee, 
 And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe. 
 Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain. 
 And call it excellent: Thou wast told thus; 
 Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid wel- 
 come, 
 
 To knaves, and all approachers. 'Tis mf)stjust. 
 That thou turn rascal : had'st thou wealth again, 
 Rascals should ha\ e't. Do not assume my likeness. 
 
 Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. 
 
 Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like 
 thyself; 
 
 A madman so long, now a fool: What, think'st 
 That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain. 
 Will put thy shirt on warm ? Will these moss'd 
 trees. 
 
 That have ont-liv'd the eagle, page thy lieels, 
 And skip, when thou point'st out? W'ill the cold 
 brook. 
 
 Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, 
 
 To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? call the creatures, — 
 
 Whose naked natures live in all the Sjiite 
 
 Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks. 
 
 To the conflicting elements expos'd. 
 
 Answer mere nature, — bid thenj flatter thee ; 
 
 O! thou shah find— 
 
 TitK.. A fool of thee : Depart. 
 
 Apem. I lo*e thee better novv than e'er I did. 
 
 Tim. 1 hate thee worse. 
 
 Apem. VVTiy ? 
 
 Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 
 
 Anem. I flatter not; but say, tliou art a caiiifl". 
 
 Tim. Wl.y d >st tliou seek n»e out ? 
 
 Apeir . To vex thee. 
 
 ATHENS. Act IY. 
 
 Tim. Always a villain's oiBce, or a fool's. 
 
 Dost please thyself in't? 
 
 Ajrem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. What ! a knave too' 
 
 Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
 To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou 
 Dost it enforcedly ; thoud'st cwurtier be again, 
 Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
 Outlives incertain pomp, is crownM before : 
 The one is filling still, never comjjlete; 
 The other, at high wish : Best state, contentk-ss. 
 Hath a distracted and most wretched being, 
 Worse than the worst, content. 
 Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. 
 
 Tim. Not by U's breath, that is more miserable 
 Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm 
 With favour ne ^r clasp'd ; but bred a d(>g 
 Hadst thon, lik us. from our first swath, proceeded 
 The sweet dt-jrees that fliis brief world afl'ords 
 To such as may the passive drugs of it 
 Freely command, thou would'st Ijavc })lung'd thyself 
 In general riot ; melted down thy youth 
 In diflerent beds of lust; and never learn'd 
 The icy precepts of respect, but foUow'd 
 The sugar'd game before thee. Hut myself, 
 Who had the world as my confectionary; 
 The n»ouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men 
 At duty, nuire than 1 could frame employment; 
 That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
 Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
 Fell froni their boughs, and left me open, I are 
 For every storm lliat blows; — I, to bear this, 
 That never knew but better, is some burden: 
 Thy natin-e did commence in sufl'erance, time 
 Hath made thee hard ia't. Why should'st thou nat« 
 men ? 
 
 They never flatter'd thee : What hast thou given . 
 If thou wilt curse, — thy father, that poor lag, 
 Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put slulf 
 To some she beggar, and compounded thcfi 
 Poor rogue hereditary, lie nee ! be gone' 
 If thou hadst nut been born the worst of men. 
 Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. 
 
 Apem. Art thou proud yet? 
 
 Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 
 
 Apem. I, that 1 was 
 No prodigal. 
 
 Tim. I, that I am one now; 
 
 Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, 
 I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. — 
 That the whole life of Athens were in this! 
 Thus would 1 eat it [Eatimj a root.) 
 
 Ape?n. Here: I will mend thy feast. 
 
 {Off'eriny him some thing.) 
 
 Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. 
 
 Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack ol 
 thine. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
 If not, 1 would it were. 
 
 Apem. What would'st thon have to Athens? 
 
 Tim. Thee thither in a vvliirlwind. If thou wilt, 
 Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have. 
 
 Apem. Here is no use for gold. 
 
 Tim. The best, and truest: 
 
 For liere it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 
 
 Apem. Where ly'st o'nights, Timon? 
 
 7m. Under that's above me* 
 
 Where feed'st thou o'days, A emanfus? 
 
 Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather 
 where I eat it. 
 
 Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew m 
 mind ! 
 
 Apetn. Wliere would'st thou send it? 
 Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 
 
 Apem. The (uiddle of tmuianity thou never kui^vT 
 est, but the extremity of both ends; When thou 
 wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, lliey miM-ked the* 
 for too much curiosity ; in thy rags Ui».>u knowest 
 none, but art despised fur the contrarv. There's a 
 n>edlar for thee, eat it 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 TTMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 553 
 
 Tim On what I hsste, I fercl nut. 
 
 Ajn'tn. Dost hate a luedlHr ? 
 
 Tiiti. Av, thougli it look 'like thee. 
 
 Apem. An ti»ou hadst hated nietldlers sooner, thou 
 shoU'id'st ha\ e loved thyself better now. What man 
 didst thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved 
 alter his jneans ? 
 
 Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, 
 did^t thou ever know beloved ? 
 
 Apem, Myself. 
 
 Tim. I understand thee ; thou hadst some naeans 
 to keep a dog. 
 
 Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest 
 lornpaie to thy flatterers? 
 
 Tim. Women nearest ; but me»i, rnen are the things 
 themselves. What would'st thou do with the world, 
 Ai>etnantu.s, if it lay in thy power ? 
 
 Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. 
 
 Tim. Would'st thou have thyself fall in the con- 
 fnsioi of men, and remain a beast with the beast? 
 
 Apem. Ay, Timon. 
 
 Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant 
 thee to attain to! If thou vvert the lion, the \'ox 
 would beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb, tiie fox 
 would eat ttiee : if thou wei t the fox, the lion would 
 snsppct thee, wh-en, perad venture, thou wert ac- 
 ^rusfd by the ass: if thou wert the ass. thy dulness 
 would torment thee ; and still thou lived'st but as a 
 breakfast to the wolf: if thrtu wert the wolf, thy 
 ereediness would afliict thee, and oft thou should'st 
 ijazard thy life for tliy dinner: wert thou the uni- 
 corn, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make 
 thine own self the conquest of thy fury : wert thou a 
 bear, thoj would'st be killed by the horse; wert 
 thou a horse, thou would'st be seized by the leopard; 
 wert thou a leopard, thou wert gerinan to the lion, 
 and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: 
 all thy sal'ety were remotion ; and thy defence, ab- 
 eencf. W^hat beast could'st thou be, that were not 
 nubject to a beast ? and what a beast art thou al- 
 red.ly, that seest not thy loss in transformation? 
 
 Apem. If thou could'st please nie with speaking to 
 -me, thou niight'st have hit upon it here: '^I'he com- 
 monwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. 
 
 Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou 
 art out of tlie city ? 
 
 Apem. Yonder comes a poet, and a painter: the 
 plaj>iie of company light upon thee! I will fear to 
 catch it, and give way : wlieu I know not wiiat else 
 to fl(«. 1 11 see thee again. 
 
 Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou 
 siialt l»e welcome. I liad rather be a beggar's dog 
 than Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. 
 
 Tun. 'Would thou wt- rt clean enough to spit upon. 
 
 Ajjtm. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. 
 
 Tim. Ail villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. 
 
 Apei/i. Tht're is no leprosy bat what thou speak'st. 
 
 Tim. 11 I name thee. — 
 Mi 1>, at tiiee — but 1 should infect my hands. 
 
 Apem. I would, my tongue could rot them off! 
 
 Ti/Ji. Away, thou issue ol' a mangy dog! 
 Glif h-r does kdl me, that thou art alive; 
 i siVtxKi to see thee. 
 
 Apem. 'Would thou would'st burst! 
 
 Tim. Away, 
 ruoti tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose 
 A. stone by thee. {Throws a stone at him.) 
 
 Apem. iJeast ! 
 
 Tim. Slave ! 
 
 Apem. Toad ! 
 
 Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 
 
 [Apemantus retreats backward, as yoiny. 
 i am sick of this false world ; and will love nought 
 But even the mere necessities upon it. 
 Fnen, Timon, presently prepare tliy grave; 
 Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
 Thy grave-stone daily • make tiiine epitaph. 
 That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
 
 O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 
 
 {Lookimj on the gold,^ 
 'Twixt natural son and sire I tiiou bi igtit d^filer 
 Of Hymen's purest bed i thou vaiiant Mars! 
 Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate w .i er. 
 Whose blush doth lliaw the consecratt-d snow 
 That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, 
 That solder'st close impossibilities, 
 And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with ev(ij 
 tongue. 
 
 To every purpose ! O thon touch of hearts ! 
 'I'hink, thy slave man rebels; and by thy virtue 
 Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
 May have the world in empire! 
 
 Apem. 'Would 'twere so 
 
 But not till I am dead I — I'll say, thou hast gold : 
 Thi'u wilt be throug'd to shortly. 
 
 Tim. Throng'dto? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. Tay back, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Apem. Live, and love thy misery ! 
 
 T.im. Long live so, and so die ! — I am quit. — 
 
 [Exit Apemantm 
 More things like men? — Eat, Timon, and abhoi 
 them. 
 
 Enter Thieves. 
 
 1 Thief. Where should he have this gold ? It is 
 some poor fragment, some slender ort of his re- 
 mainder: The mere want of gold, and the falling- 
 fromof his friends, drove him into this melancholy. 
 
 2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass ol treasure. 
 
 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him ; if he 
 care not for't, he will supply us easily ; If he covet- 
 ously reserve it, how shall's get it? 
 
 2 Thief. True ; for he bears it not about him, tar 
 hid. 
 
 1 Thief Is not this he ? 
 Thieves. Wliere? 
 
 2 Thief. 'Tis his description. 
 Z Thief He; 1 know him. 
 Thieves. Save thee, Timon. 
 Tim. Now, thieves. 
 Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves. 
 Tim, Both too ; and women's sons. 
 
 Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that mucli 
 do want. ^meat. 
 
 Tim. Your greatest want is, you want uwich of 
 W^hy should you want? Behold the earth hath roots 
 Within this mile break forth a hundred springs : 
 The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips ; 
 The bounteous house A'ife, nature, on each bush 
 Lays her full mess before you. W^ant? why want ? 
 
 1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, ou berrie-s 
 water. 
 
 As beasts, and birds, and fishes. 
 
 Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, 
 and fishes ; 
 
 You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con. 
 That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work not 
 In holier shapes : for there is boundless theft 
 In limited professions. Rascal thieves. 
 Here's gold : Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape 
 Till the hij>h fever seeth your blood to froth. 
 And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician : 
 His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
 More than you rob : take wealth and lives together t 
 Do villany, do, since you profess to d(»'t, 
 Like workmen. I ll example you with thievery : 
 The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
 Robs the vast sea : the moon's an arrant thief. 
 And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: 
 'J'he sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
 The moon into salt tears : ttie earth's a thief, 
 That feeds and breeds by a composture .stolen 
 From general excrement : each thing's a thief; 
 The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 
 Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves ; away 
 Rob one another. There's mere gold : Cut throat*; 
 All that yoQ meet are thieves: To Athens, go^ 
 
554 
 
 TTMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Bi»-aK open shops; nothing cau you steal, 
 Hut t!)ieves do lose it : Steal not less, for this 
 I give yoii ; and gold corilomid yon howsoever ! 
 Amen. \Timun retires to his Cave.) 
 
 Thief. He has almost ciianued me I'rom niy 
 |-ri.}fes«ion, by p'^-siiadin^ me to it. 
 
 j Thief. 'Tis in the maiice oi' mankind, that he thus 
 advises lis : not to iiavie us thrive in our mystery. 
 
 2 Thief I'll beiieve him as an enemy, and give 
 over my trade. 
 
 J Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens : There 
 is no time so miserable, but a man may be true. 
 
 [Exeunt Thieves. 
 
 Enter Flavius. 
 Flav. O you gods ! 
 fa yon despis"d and niinous man my lord ? 
 Full of decay and failing? O monument 
 And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd ! 
 What an alteration of honour has 
 Desperate want made ! 
 
 What viler thing upon the earth, than friends, 
 VV'ho can bring noblest minds to basest ends I 
 How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, 
 When man was wish'd to love his enemies . 
 Grant, 1 may ever love, and rather woo 
 Those that would mischief me, th;in those that dc ! 
 He has caught me in his eye : I will present 
 My honest grief unto him ; and as my lord, 
 Still serve him with my lite. — My dearest master! 
 'i'lMON comes forward from his Cave. 
 
 Tim, Away! what art thou? 
 
 Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? 
 
 Tiiit. Why dost ask that ? I have forgot all nien ; 
 Then, if thou giviut'st thoji'rt man, J have forgot thee. 
 
 Finv. An honest poor servant of yours. 
 
 Ti7ri. Then 
 I know thee not: I ne'er had honfst man 
 About me, 1 ; all that I kept were knaves, 
 Fo serve in meat to villains. 
 
 Fiav. 'I'he gods are witness, 
 
 "^e'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
 For his undone lord, than mine eyes for yon, 
 
 Tim. What, dost thou weep? — Come nearer; — 
 tlitn I love thee. 
 Because thou art a woman, and di.-^claim'st 
 Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give, 
 But thoroa;^h lust, and laughter. Pity"s sleeping; 
 Strange times, i\\<A weep with laughing, not with 
 weeping ! 
 
 Fiav. I beg ol jou to know me, good tny lord. 
 To acc ept my griel. and. whilst this poor wealth lasts. 
 To entert;iin me as your steward still. 
 
 Ti?n. Had I a steward so trut , so just, and now 
 So comlortable? It almost turns 
 My dangerous nature wild. Let me behoid 
 Thy fac<*. — Surely, this man was born of \voinan.— • 
 Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, 
 Perpetual sober gods • 1 do proclaim 
 One honest man, — mistake me not, — but one ; 
 No nu)re, I pray, — and he is a steward. 
 How (ain would I have hated all mankind. 
 And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee, 
 I fell with curses. 
 
 Methinks thou art more honest now than wise ; 
 
 For, by oppressing and betraying me, 
 
 Thou might'st have sooner got another service: 
 
 For many so arrive at second masters, 
 
 Upon their first lord's neck. But tell ine true, 
 
 (Imif \ must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) 
 
 Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, 
 
 If tiot a usuring kindness ; f^nd as rich men deal gifts, 
 
 Kxpecting in return twenty for one ? 
 
 Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast 
 Doubt and suspect, alas, are pUc'd too late : 
 1 ou should iiave fear'd false times, when you did 
 least: 
 
 SoRpect still comes, where Ln estate is least. 
 Tkit which I shew, heaven iinows, is merely love, 
 Dnijr aud zeal to your "omatrhed mind^ 
 
 Care of your food and living: and, beiievo 
 
 My most honoiir'd lord, 
 
 For any benefit that points to me. 
 
 Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange 
 
 For this one wish, i'hat you had power and wea'fch 
 
 To rs-qiiite me, by makmg rich yourse'^T. 
 
 Tim. Look thee, 'tis so ! — Thou singly honest man, 
 Here, take : — the gods out of my nsisery 
 Have sent thee trea.sure. Go, live rich; and happy 
 But thus condition'd ; 'I'hou shait build trom men; 
 Hate all, curse all ; shew charity to none ; 
 Bi.t let the famish'd lltsh slide iVoni tiie bone, 
 Ere tliou relieve the beggar: give to dogs 
 Wiiat thou deny'st to men ; let prisons swallow them, 
 Debts wither them : Be men like blasted woods. 
 And may diseases lick up their false bloods I 
 And so, farewell, and thrive. 
 
 Flav. O, li^t me stay. 
 
 And comfort you, my master. 
 
 Tim. If thou hat'st 
 
 Curses, stay not; fly, while thou'rt bless'd and free : 
 Ne'er see tliou man, and let me ne'er see tiiee. 
 
 [Exeunt sevei ally, 
 
 ACT. V. 
 
 Scene L — The same. Before Timons Cave, 
 Enter Poet and Painter; Timok behind, unseen. 
 
 Pain, .As 1 took note of the place, it cannot be 
 far where he abides. 
 
 Poet. WluU's to be thought of him? Does the 
 rumour hold for true, that he is so lull of gold ? 
 
 Pain, Certain: Alcibiades reports it: Ptuynia 
 and Timandra had gold of him : he likevvise en- 
 riched i-oor straggling soldiers with great quantity , 
 'Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. 
 
 Poet. 'I'hen this breaking of his has been but a 
 try for his friends. 
 
 Pain. Notiiing else : you shall see him a pajm iu 
 Athens again, and flourish with the higheiit. 'i'here- 
 j fore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in 
 this supposed distress of his : it will shew honest? 
 in us ; and is very likely to load our purposes witn 
 what they travel for, if it be a just and true report 
 that goes of his having. 
 
 Poet. What have you now to present unto him ? 
 
 Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : 
 only I will promise him an excellent piece. 
 
 Poet. 1 must serve him so too; tell him of an 
 intent that's coming toward him. 
 
 Pain Good as tiie best. Promising is the very 
 air o'the time : it opens the eyes of ex})ectation : 
 performance is ever the duller lor ins act 1 and, but 
 in the [)iainer and simpler kind of people, the deed 
 of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most 
 conitly and fashionable : performance is a kind of 
 will, or testament, which argues a great sickness in 
 his jiidgment tiiat makes it. 
 
 Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst cot paint 
 a man so bad as is thyself. 
 
 Poet, I am thinking what I shall say I have pro- 
 vided for him : It must be a personating of himself: 
 a satire against the softness of prosperity ; with a 
 discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth 
 and opuiency. 
 
 Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain iii thine 
 own work ? Wilt thou w iiip thine own faults iu other 
 men ? Do so, 1 have gold for thee. 
 
 Poet. Nay, let's seek him : 
 Then do we sin against our own estate, i 
 When we may profit meet, and come too late. i 
 
 Pain. Ti ne ; 
 When the day serves, before black-cornor'd night, 
 Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. 
 Come. 
 
 Ti?n I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold. 
 That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple 
 Thau where swine feed 1 
 
 'Tis thou that rigg'st the I ark, and plougb'st tht i 
 foam 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 55S 
 
 tiettlest admired reverence in a slave : 
 
 I'o thee be vf«»r8hip ! and thy saints for aye 
 
 Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey ! 
 
 'Fit I do meet them. {Advancing.) 
 Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! 
 Pair.. Our late noble master- 
 
 I Tim. [lave I once ^iv'd to see two honest men ? 
 I Poet Sir, 
 
 Having often of yonr open bounty tasted, 
 1 Hfariug yon were reiir'd, yonr friends fall'n olf, 
 j Whose tliankless natnies — O abhorred spirits I 
 
 Not all 'he whips of heaven are large enough — 
 
 What I to you ! 
 
 Whose atar-iiko nobleness gave life and influence 
 To their whole being! I'm rapt, and cannot cover 
 The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
 I With any size of words. 
 
 Tim. Let it go naked, nien may see't the better : 
 Vou, that ar» honest, by being what you are, 
 Make them best seen, and known. 
 
 Pain. He, and myself. 
 
 Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts. 
 And sweetly felt it. 
 
 Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 
 
 P«iM.VVeare hither come to olfer yon our service. 
 
 Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall J requite 
 you .'' 
 
 Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. 
 Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. 
 Tim. Yon are honest men ; Y'ou have heard that 
 I have gold ; 
 
 I am sure, you have : speak truth : you are honest 
 men. 
 
 Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but therefore 
 Came not my friend, nor I. 
 
 Tim. Good honest men : — Thou draw'st a coun- 
 terfeit 
 
 Best in all Athens : thon art, indeed, the best ; 
 Thon counterfeit'st most lively. 
 
 Pa^n. So, so, my lord. 
 
 Vim, Even so, sir, as I say : — And, for thy fiction, 
 
 {To the Poet.) 
 
 Wliy, thy verses swell with stuff so fine and smooth. 
 That thou art even natural in thine art. — 
 But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
 I must needs say, you have a little fault ; 
 Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you ; neither wish i, 
 You take much pains to mend. 
 
 Both. Beseech yonr honour, 
 
 To make it known to us. 
 
 Tim. You'll take it ill. 
 
 Both. Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Will you, indeed ? 
 
 Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 
 
 Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, 
 That mightily deceives you. 
 
 Both. Do we, my lord ? 
 
 Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dis- 
 semble. 
 
 Know his gross patchery, love him, feed hira, 
 Keep in your bosom : yet remain assur'd, 
 That he's a made-up villain. 
 
 Pain. I know none such, my lord. 
 
 Poet. Nor I. 
 
 Tim. Look you, I love you well ; I'll give you 
 gold, 
 
 Rid rae those villains from yonr companies : 
 Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draui;ht. 
 Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
 I'll give you gold enough. 
 
 ' Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them. 
 Tim, You that way, and you this, but two in com- 
 pany :— 
 
 Each man apart, all single and alone, 
 Yet an arch-villain keeps him coni()any. 
 If where thou art, two villains shall not be, 
 
 (To the Painter.) 
 Cume not near hira. — If thou would'st not reside 
 
 {To the Poet.) 
 But where one villain is, then him abaudou. — 
 
 Hence! pack there's gold, ye carae for gold, y« 
 slaves : 
 
 Yoa have done work for me, there's payment; 
 Hence ! 
 
 You are an alchymist, make gold of that :— 
 Out, rascal dogs ! 
 
 [Exit, beating and driving tk^m out 
 
 Scene II. — The same. 
 Enter Flavius and two Senatc/s. 
 Flav. It is in vaiu that you would speak wilk 
 Timon \ 
 
 For he is set so only to himself, 
 
 That nothing but himself, which looks like man. 
 
 Is friendly with him. 
 
 1 Sen. Bring us to his cave : 
 It is our part, and promise to the Athenians, 
 To speak with Timon. 
 
 2 Sen. At all times alike 
 
 Men are not still the same : 'Twas time and griefs. 
 That fram'd him thus : time, with his fairer hand, 
 Olfering the fortunes of his former days. 
 The former man may make him : Bring us to hira. 
 And chance it as it may. 
 
 Flav. Here is his cave. — 
 
 Peace and content be here I Lord Timon ! I'imon ! 
 Look out, and speak to friends : The Athenians, 
 By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee : 
 Speak to them, noble Timon. 
 
 Enter Timon. 
 Tim. Thou sun. that comfort'st, burn I — Speak, 
 and be hang'd : 
 For each true word, a blister! and each false 
 Be as a caut'rizing to the root o'the tongue. 
 Consuming it with speaking! 
 
 1 Sen. Worthy Timon— 
 Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Tirnon. 
 
 2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timoa. 
 Tim. I thank them ; and would send them bacR the 
 
 plague, 
 
 Could I but catch it for them. 
 
 1 Sen. O, forget 
 What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
 The senators, with one consent of love, 
 Entreat thee back to Athens; who liave thougbt 
 On special dignities, which vacant lie 
 
 For tny best use and wearing. 
 
 2 Sen. They confess, ' 
 Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross : 
 Which now the public body, — which doth seidott) 
 Play the recanter,— feeling in itself 
 
 A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 
 
 Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon ; 
 
 And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render. 
 
 Together with a recompense more fruitfiil 
 
 Than their offence can weigh down by the dram ; 
 
 Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth. 
 
 As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs. 
 
 And write in thee the figures of their love, 
 
 Ever to read them tliiue. 
 
 Tim. You witch me in it ; 
 
 Sin prise me to the very brink of tears : 
 Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes. 
 And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 
 
 1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with u». 
 And of our Athens (thine, and ours,) to take 
 
 The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, 
 Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name 
 Live witif authority :— so soon we shall drive back 
 Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; 
 VVho, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
 His country's peace. 
 
 2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning swur£ 
 Against the walls of Athens. 
 
 1 Ssn. Therefore, Timon,-^ 
 
 Tim. Well, sir, I will ; therefore, I will, air* 
 Thus, — ^ 
 
 If Alcibiades kill my countrymen. 
 
 Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, 
 
556 
 
 TmON OF ATIIE^TS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Tliat—TiiTion cares not. BiitlThe sack fair Athenf^ 
 And takf onr gooflly aged men by the beards. 
 Giving our lioiy virgins to the stain 
 Of coiitutn'^iioas, beastly, mad-brain'd war; 
 Then, let hint know, — and tell him, Timon speaks it, 
 In pity of our aged, and our youth, 
 I cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not. 
 And let him tak't at worst ; for their knives care not, 
 VVhile you have throats to answer ; for myself. 
 There's not a whittle in the unruly camp. 
 But I do prize it at my love, before 
 The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave yoa 
 To the protection of the prosperous gods. 
 As thieves to keepers. 
 Flav. Stay not, all's in vain. 
 
 Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph, 
 ft will be seen to-niorrow; My long sickness 
 or health, and living, now begins to mend, 
 And nothii.g brings me ail things. Go, live still; 
 Be Alcibiades your plague, you his. 
 And last so lung euougii! 
 1 Sen. We speak in vain. 
 
 Tim. But yet I love my country; and am not 
 One that rejoices in the common wreck, 
 As common bruit doth put it. 
 
 1 Sen. That's well spoke. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen, — 
 
 1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass 
 
 through them. 
 
 2 Sen. And enter in our ears like great triumphers 
 Ih their applauding gates. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to them; 
 
 And tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, 
 It eii fears of hostile strokes, tiieir aches, losses, 
 Tlieir pangs of love, with other incident throes 
 Tliat nature s fragile vessel doth sustain 
 In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 
 tliem : 
 
 I'll teach tliem to prevent wild Alcibiades* wrath. 
 I 2 Sfn. I like this well, he will return again, 
 
 Tim. I l;ave a tree, which grows here in my close, 
 TliHt mine own use invites me to cut down. 
 And shortly must 1 fell it; Tell my friends, 
 Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, 
 From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
 'J'ostcp atni':tion, let him take his haste. 
 Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe. 
 And hang himself: — I pray you, do my greeting. 
 Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall 
 find him. 
 
 Tim. Conte not to me again : but say to Athens, 
 Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
 Up<»n the beached verge of the salt flood ; 
 W hich oijce a day with his embossed froth 
 The turbulent fiuge shall cover; thither come, 
 And let my grave-stone be your oracle. — 
 Lips, let sour words go by, and language end : 
 VVhat is amiss, plague and infection mend ! 
 Graves only be men's works ; and death, their gain! 
 Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign. 
 
 [Exit Timon. 
 
 1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
 Coupled to nature. 
 
 2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead . let us return. 
 And strain what other means is left unto us 
 
 In our dear peril. 
 1 Sen. It requires swift foot [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III.— TAe Walls of Athens. 
 Enter two Senators and a Messenger. 
 
 1 Sm. Thou hast painfully discovered ; are his files 
 As full as thy report? 
 
 Mess. I have spoke the least : 
 
 Besides, his expedition promises 
 Present approach. 
 
 2 Sen. We stand much haaard, if they bring not 
 
 Tinjon. 
 
 Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; — 
 Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, 
 Ifet our old lov« made a particular force. 
 
 And made us speak like friends :- this man VTM 
 
 riding 
 
 From Alcibiades to Tiraou's cave, 
 With letters of entreaty, which imported 
 His fellowship i'the cause against your city. 
 In part for his sake mov'd. 
 
 Enter Senators from Timon. 
 I S^fi' Here come our brothers 
 
 ' 3 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.— 
 The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
 Doth choke the air with dust : In, and prepare ; 
 Ours is the fall, I fear, our foes the snare. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene lY.—TAe Woods. Timon's Cave, and a 
 Tombstone seen. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. 
 Sold. By all description this shoidd be the place, 
 Who's here" speak, ho! — No answer? — VVhat is 
 this 
 
 Timon is dead, who hath outstrelch'd his span : 
 
 Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a maa 
 
 Bead, sure ; and this his grave. — 
 
 What's on this tomb I cannot read ; the character 
 
 I'll take with wax : 
 
 Our captain hath in every figure skill ; 
 
 An ag'd interpreter, though young in days • 
 
 Before proud Athens he's set down by tiiis, 
 
 Whose fall Ihe mark of his ambition is. [Exit. 
 
 Scet^eY.— Before the Walls of Athens. 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Alcidiades and For ess, 
 Alcib. Sound to this coward and last .•^-«»'-ik towe 
 Our terrible approach. {A parity svundtd.) 
 
 Enter Senators on the waii^ 
 
 Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time 
 With all licentious measure, making yo.ir wilJa 
 Tl'.e scope of justice ; till now, myself, and sack 
 As slept within the shadow of your power. 
 Have wander'd with our travers'd arms.and broath'd 
 Our sufierance vainly : Now the time is flush, 
 When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong;,, 
 Cries, of itseif, No more : now breathless wrong 
 Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; 
 And pursy indolence shall break his wind 
 With iear, and horrid flight. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble, and young, 
 When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, 
 Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear, 
 We sent to thee ; to give thy rages balm, 
 
 To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
 Abo\e their quantity. 
 
 2 Sen. So did we woo 
 Transformed Timon to our city's love, 
 
 By humble m'^ssage, and by promis'd means : | 
 We were not all imkind, nor all deserve I 
 The common stroke of war. 
 
 1 Sen. These walls of ours 
 Were not erected by their hands, from whom 
 
 You have receiv'd y<nir griefs : nor are ihey such, i 
 That these great towers, trophies, and schooli i 
 should fall I 
 For private faults in them. 
 
 2 Sen. Nor are they living, 
 Who were the motives that you first went out; 
 Shame, that they wanted cunning, in exress 
 Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord. 
 
 Into our city with thy banners spread ; ) 
 
 By decimation, and a tithed death, [ 
 
 (If thy revenges hunger for that food, 
 
 Which nature loaths,) take thou the destin'd ieiitfe- 
 
 And by the hazard of the spotted die. 
 
 Let die the spotted. 
 
 1 Sen. All have not offended ; 
 
 For those that were, it is not square to l^ke, j 
 On those that are, revenges: crimes, tike lands 
 Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, i 
 Bring in thy ranks, but leave witliout thy rage 
 
Sdwa 8. TIMON OF 
 
 pare thy Athenian cradle, and thosftkin, 
 ■ Which, in the bhister of thy wrath, imust fall 
 With those thnt have otfeoded : like a shepherd. 
 Approach the fold, and cull the infectfd forth, 
 But kill not all together. 
 
 2 Sen- What thcu wilt, 
 
 Th"U rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, 
 Thnn hew to t with thy sword, 
 
 ) St'H. Set but thy foot 
 
 A^Tfiiust our raitipir'd gates, and they shall ope* 
 
 tho;i wilt send thy gentle heart before. 
 To s:tv, thou'lt enter friendly. 
 
 2 ^itK. 'llirow thy glove, 
 
 Or anv tol;pn of thine honour else, 
 Thiit Aiuu wilt use the wars as thy redress. 
 And iiot n.s our confusion, all thy powers 
 Shall make their liarbour in our town, till we 
 \in\e seal'd thy full desire. 
 
 Alcib. Tiien there s my glove ; 
 
 l)e8c e nd, and open your uncharged ports : 
 Those eiieiiwes of Timon's, and mine own, 
 Wjiora you yoursehes shall set out for reproof, 
 Fall, and no more : and, — to atone your fears 
 With my more noble meaning, — not a man 
 Sliall pas^ liis (quarter, or olFend the stream 
 Of reg.ihsr justice in your city's boinids, 
 Bui shall bt^ rer. edied, to your public laws, 
 At heaviest answer. 
 
 Btiih. 'Tis most uobly spoken. 
 
 Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 
 The Senators descend, and open the gates. 
 
 ATHENS. mi 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Sol. My noble general. Timon is dead ; 
 Entomb'd upon the very nem o'the sea : 
 And, on his gravestone, this insculpture; which 
 With wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
 Interprets for my poor ignorance. 
 
 Alcib. (Reads.) Here lies a wretched c!}r»s, Oj 
 wretched soul bereft : 
 Seek not my name : A plague consume you wicked 
 caitijf's left ! 
 
 Here lie I Tunon ; who alive, all living tni y dia 
 hate ; 
 
 Pass by, and curse thy Jill; oun, pt^, ind sl^f 
 
 not here thy gait. 
 These vvell express in thee thy letter spirits : 
 Though thou abhorr'dst in us our liuman ^liefs.. 
 Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets 
 
 which 
 
 From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
 Taught ihee to make vast Neptune weep for ayj) 
 On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
 Is noble Timon ; of whose memory 
 Hereafter more. — Bring me into your city 
 And I will use the olive with my s'vvoid : 
 Make war breed peace ; inake peace slint vviir| 
 make each 
 
 Prescribe to other, as each other's le«ch.— 
 
 Let our drams strike. [Mxeunt, 
 
 ^ 
 
CORIOLANUS 
 
 trw^edy of Coriolanus ig one of the most amusing of our author's performances. The old man's merrimwU 
 f« sioueuius ; tile lofty lafly's dignity in Volumnia; the bridal mooesty in Virgilia ; the patrician and military haogla- 
 hiiees in CorioliijQus ; tlie plebeian in lirutus and Siciuius, make a very pleasuig variety ; and the various rerulutiou 
 uf the hero's fortune, fill the mind with anxious curio/sily. Tliere is, pechaps, too much bustle in the first act, uul 
 ti.o little in the last. Johnson, 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS, a noble Roman. 
 CtVihsnjs!^'^^^' } Genera/s against the Volscians. 
 WKN PINIL S AGRIPFA, Frit id to Curiolamts. 
 
 Tribunes of the People. 
 
 alClNILS Vi:;LLTUS, 
 'LNIUS liRLTUS, 
 Yoiiii'j WAItCIUS, Son to Coriolanus. 
 
 A Roman UertiLd. 
 
 1 LLLUS AUFtOlUS, General (if the Volscians. 
 Lieutenant to Anjidius. 
 
 Conspirators with Anfldlus. 
 A Citizen of Autiuni. 
 Tioo Volscian Guards. 
 VOLUMNIA. Mother to Coriolanns, 
 VIKIULL\, Wije to CorioUtnns. 
 VALEKIA, Friend to Virj^ilia. 
 Gentlewoman, altentling \ iryilla. 
 
 Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, yfdiles. Lit' 
 tors. Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Au 
 fidius, and other Atleudanls. 
 
 Scene,— Partly in Rome; and partly in the Territories of the Volscians and Antiatts, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I.— Rome. A Street 
 
 Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with 
 staves^ ciuds, and other iceapons. 
 
 1 Cit. Before we proceed any farther, hear me 
 spenk. 
 
 Cit, S()eak., speak. [Several sjieakinij at once.) 
 1 Cit. Vuii are all resolved rather to die, tliau to 
 famish :* 
 
 Cit. Ilesolved, resolved, 
 
 1 Cit. First you knovT', Caius INIarcius" is chief 
 tueiiiy to the people. 
 
 Cit. We kiiovv't, we know't. 
 
 I Cit. Lft IIS kill iiiiii, and we'll have corn at our 
 Bwu price. Is't a verdict? 
 
 Ctt. No nii.ve talking ou t; let it be done: away, 
 away. 
 
 '2 Cit. One word, good citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. VVe are accounted poor citizens ; the pa- 
 friri ins, good: What authority surfeits on, would 
 relieve ns; If tliey would yield us but the super- 
 fluity, while it were whoiesoine, we might guess, 
 they relieved us humanely; but they think, we are 
 too dear: tiie leanness that atHic.ts us, tlie object of 
 utir misery, is as an inventory to particularize tlieir 
 abundance; our sutferance is a gain to tliem. — Let 
 us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become rakes : 
 for the gods know, I speak tiiis in hunger for bread, 
 not in thirst lor revenge, 
 
 2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against 
 Cams MarciuB ? 
 
 Cit. Against him first; he's a very dog to the 
 commonalty. 
 
 2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done 
 for his country ? 
 
 1 Cit. Very well; and could be content to give 
 hini good report for't, but that he pays himself with 
 Ivitng proud. 
 
 "i Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 
 
 1 Cit. i say unto you, what he hath done fa- 
 BDOusly, he did it to that end: tliougii soft con- 
 »»«'ienc*d men can be content to say, it was for his 
 
 (ntry, he did it to please his moUier, and to be 
 
 tly proud ; which he is, even to the altitude of 
 virtue. 
 
 ■Cit. Wliat he cannot help in his nature, you ac- 
 t a \ice in him: You must in no way say, he 
 \ptmi3. 
 
 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of ac- 
 tions; he hath faults, with sur{Hu3, to tire in 
 tition. [Shotits within.) What shouts are tiiese? 
 other side o'the city is risen: W hy stay we 
 watinf! here ? to the Capitol. 
 €U. Come, come, 
 i Vit S-./lt; \vb«- f onie here ? 
 
 Enter Menenius Agrippa. | 
 
 2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hatk 
 always loved tlie people. 
 
 I Cit. He's one honest enough ; 'Would, all tht 
 rest were so i 
 
 Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? 
 Where go you ^ [you. 
 W^ith bats and clubs ? The matter ? Speak, I pray 
 
 1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate; 
 they have had inkling, this fortnight, what w<! in- 
 tend to do, which now we ll sliew 'em it deeda. 
 They say, poor suitors have strong breatlio ; thoy 
 shall know, we have strong arms too. 
 
 Men. Why, masteis. my good friends, mine bo- 
 nest neighbours, 
 Will you undo yourselves? 
 
 1 Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already. 
 
 Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
 Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
 Your suffering in tliis clearth, you may as well 
 Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them 
 Against the lioman state ; w hose course wiil oo 
 The \\ ay it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
 Of more strong link aMUider, than can ever 
 Ajjfjear in your inn;ediment : For the dearth, 
 'I'he gods, not the patricians, make it; and 
 Vour knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 
 You are transported by calanuly 
 Thither where more attends you; and you slandei 
 The heluis o'the state, who care tor you like fathers, 
 When you curse them as enemies. 
 
 1 Cit. Care lor us ! — True, indeed! — They ne'er 
 cared for us yet. Sulfer us to famish, and their 
 store-houses crammed with grain; make edicts fox 
 usury, to suj)port usurers; repeal daily any vvhoie- 
 soiije act established against ttie rich, and provide 
 more piercing statutes (iaily, to chain up and restrain 
 the pcxir. If the wars eat us not up, they vvill ; and 
 there's all the love they bear us. 
 
 Men. Either you must 
 Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
 Or be accas'd of folly. I shall tell you 
 A pretty tale ; it may be, you have heard it; 
 But, since it serves my purposes, I will venture 
 '^l"o scale't a little more. 
 
 1 Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not 
 think to fob oil" our disgrace with a tale : but, au't 
 please you, deliver. rmeinbers 
 
 Men. There was a time, when all the body'« 
 Rebeird against the bt-lly ; thus accusd it: — 
 That only like a gulf it did remain 
 I'the midst o the body, iwle and inactive, 
 Still cuiiboardiiig the viand, never bearing 
 Like labour with the rest; where the other mitru/nent« 
 Did see, and hf^ar, devise, instruct, walk, feeJ^ 
 And, mutually participate, did minister 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 559 
 
 Unto the appetite and affection common 
 Of the whole body. The belly answer'd, — 
 
 1 as* Well, sir, what answer made the belly ? 
 
 Men. I shall tell you. — Witii a kind of smile, 
 Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus, 
 (For, look you, I may make the belly smile, 
 As well as speak,) it tauntingly replied 
 To the discontented members, the mutinous parts 
 That envied his receipt; even so most fitly 
 As you malign our senators, for that 
 They arc not such as you. 
 
 1 Cit. Your belly's answer: What I 
 
 The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye, 
 The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier. 
 Our steed the le^, the tongue our trumpeter, 
 With other muniments and petty helps 
 In this our fabric, if that they — 
 
 Men. What then?— 
 
 Tore me, this fellow speaks ! — what then ? what 
 then? 
 
 1 Cit, Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, 
 Who in the sink o'the body, — 
 
 Men. Well, what then? 
 
 1 Cit. The former agents, if they did coujplain, 
 V\'liat could the belly answer? 
 
 Men. I will tell you ; 
 
 If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little) 
 Piitieiice, a while, you'll hear the belly's answer. 
 
 ] Cit. You are long about it. 
 
 Men. Note me this, good friend ; 
 
 Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
 Nnt r""!! like Ilia accusers, and thus answer'd : 
 Tna .s it., my incorporate friends, quoth he, 
 Thai I receive the <jeneral food at first, 
 Which yon do live upon: and fit it is; 
 'H 'Cause I am the store-house, and the shop 
 ' t hi-- 7u hole body ; But if you do retnember, 
 I s^nd it through the rivers of your blood., 
 i.i en the court, the heart, — to the seat o'the 
 brain ; 
 
 \ >)d. through (he cranks and offices of man^ 
 i'/ie. strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, 
 I ' mm nw receive that natural competency 
 
 hn ebij they live: And though that all at once, 
 Ynti. my good friends (this says the belly,) mark 
 
 i Cil. Ay, sir ; well, well. [me,— 
 
 Men. Though all at 07ice cannot 
 
 See what I do deliver out to each ; 
 Yet I can make my -audit up., that all 
 From me do back receive thefioiver of all, 
 A>id leave me but the bran. VVhat say you to't? 
 
 1 Cit. It was an answer: How apply you this? 
 
 Men. The senators of Home are this good belly, 
 And yon the mutinous members: For examine 
 Their counsels, and their cares ; digest things rightly, 
 Touching the weal o'the common; you shall find, 
 No public benefit which you receive, 
 lint it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, 
 Aii'l no way from yourselves. — What do you think ? 
 Von, the great toe of this assembly ? — 
 
 1 Cit. I the great toe ? Why the great toe ? 
 
 Men. For that being one o'the lowest, basest, 
 poorest. 
 
 Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: 
 
 Thou rascal, that art worst in blood, to run 
 
 Lead'st first to win some vantage. — 
 
 Hut make you ready your stiff bats and clubs ; 
 
 Kome and her rats are at the point of battle, 
 
 TiiB oue 8ide must have bale. — Hail, noble Marcius! 
 
 Enter Caius Marcius. 
 Mar, Thanks. — What's the matter, you dissen- 
 tious rogues. 
 That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion. 
 Make yourselves scabs ? 
 1 Ctt. We have ever your good word. 
 
 Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will 
 flatter ^ [curs, 
 
 Beneath abhorring. — What would you have, you 
 That like nor peace, nor war? the, one affrights you. 
 
 The other makes yon proud. He that trusts you, 
 VV here he should find vou lions, finds you hares; 
 Where foxea, geese : \ ou are no surer, no, 
 Than is the coal of fire upon tlie ice. 
 Or liailstone in the sun. Yoar virtue is. 
 To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him, 
 And curse that justice did it Who deserves great* 
 ness. 
 
 Deserves your hate : and your affections are 
 
 A sick, man's appetite, who desires most that 
 
 Wliich would increase his evil. He, that depends 
 
 Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, 
 
 And liews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye I Trmi 
 
 VV^ith every minute you do change a mind ; [ye ? 
 
 And call iiiin noble, that was now youv hate, 
 
 lliiM vile, that was your garland. U'hat's the matter 
 
 That ill these several places of the city 
 
 \ on cry ai',ainst the noble senate, who, 
 
 Unvler tiie gods, keep you in aw^, vvhicli else 
 
 VV^ould feed on one another? — What's their seeking? 
 
 Men. For corn at their own rates ; whereof, they 
 Tlie city is well stor'd. [say, 
 
 Mar. Hang 'em ! they say? 
 
 They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know 
 What's done i'the Capitol: who's like to rise, 
 VV^ho thrives, and who declines: side factions, and 
 give out 
 
 Conjectin al marriages : making parties strong, 
 And feebling such as stand not in their lik'og. 
 Below their cobbled shoes. They say, there's grain 
 enough ? 
 
 Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, 
 And let me use my sword, Td make a quarry 
 With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as higk 
 As 1 could ()ick my lance. 
 
 Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded ; 
 For though abundantly they lack discretion, 
 Yet are they passing cowardly. But, 1 besepcL- 
 What says the other troop ? lyoUj 
 
 Mar. They are dissolved : Hang 'em ! 
 
 They said, they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth pra 
 verbs ; — 
 
 That, hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat; 
 That, meat was made for mouths ; tnat, the gods 
 sent not 
 
 Corn for the rich men only : — With these shreds 
 They vented their complainings; which being an- 
 swer'd, 
 
 And a {)etition granted them, a strange one, 
 (To break the heart of generosi [capa 
 And make bold power look pa^.,,) they threw their 
 As they would hang them ou the horns o'the moon, 
 Shouting their emulation. 
 
 Men. What is granted them? [doms, 
 
 Mar, Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wis- 
 Of their own choice : One's Junius Brutus, 
 Siciniiis Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath ! 
 The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, 
 Ere so prevail'd with me : it vvill in time 
 Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes 
 For insurrection's arguing. 
 
 Me7i. This is strange. 
 
 Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Where's Caius Marcius? 
 Mar. Here: W^hat's the matter? 
 Mess. The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms. 
 Mar. I am glad on't; then we shall have meana 
 to vent 
 
 Our musty superfluity: — See, our best elders 
 
 Enter CoMiNius, Titus Lari ius, and other Sena- 
 tars; Junius Brutus, and Sicinius Velutus. 
 1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately 
 
 The Voices are in arms. [told ua; 
 
 Mar. They have a leader, 
 
 Tulh's Aufidius, that will put you to't 
 
 1 sin in en\ying his nobility: 
 
 And were 1 any thing but what I am. 
 
i?60 
 
 i would wish me only be. 
 
 Com Yoti have fought togetl>er. 
 
 Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears, 
 kJpoii my party, I'd revolt, tO make [and he 
 
 nlv tiiy wars with him : he is a lion 
 hat I am proud to hunt. 
 1 Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 
 
 Attend upon Comini is to these wars. 
 Com. It is your former promise. 
 Mar. Sir, it is; 
 
 And i am constant. — Titiis Lartins, thou 
 Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face: 
 What, art thou stilf ? stand'st out ? 
 
 Tit. No, Caius Marcius ; 
 
 I'ii lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other, 
 lire stay behind this business. 
 Men. O, true bred ! 
 
 1 Sen. Your company to the capitol; where, I 
 Our greatest friends attend us. [know. 
 
 Tit. Lead you on ; 
 
 Follow, Cominius; we must follow you; 
 Right worthy your priority. 
 Com. Noble Lartius ! 
 
 1 Sen. Hence ! To your homes, be gone. 
 
 [To the Citizens.) 
 Mar. Nay, let them follow : 
 
 The Voices have much corn ; take these rats thither, 
 To gnaw their garners : — Worshipful mutineers. 
 Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. 
 
 [Exeunt Senators, Corn. Mar. Tit. and 
 Menen. Citizens steal atony. 
 Sic. Was ever man so proud as is thi-' Marcius ? 
 Bru. He has no equal. [pie, — 
 
 Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the peo- 
 Bru. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes ? 
 Stc. Nay, but his taunts. 
 
 Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the 
 Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. [gods. 
 Uru. The present wars devour him : he is grown 
 T oo proud to be so vahant 
 J Sic. Such a nature. 
 
 Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
 Which he treads on at noon : But I do wonder, 
 His insolence can brook to be commanded 
 L'nder Cominius. 
 
 Bru. Fame, at the which he aims, — 
 
 In whom already he is well grac'd, — cannot 
 JJetter be held, nor moi-e attain'd, than by 
 A place below the first : for what miscarries 
 Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
 To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure 
 VVill then cry out of Marcius, 0, if he 
 Had borne the business ! 
 
 Sic. Besides, if things go well. 
 
 Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
 Of his demerits rob Cominius. 
 
 Uru. Come : 
 
 Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
 Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults 
 To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed, 
 In aught he merit not. 
 
 Sic. Let's hence, and hear 
 
 How the despatch is made ; and in what fasfiion, 
 More than in singularity, he goes 
 Upon his present action. 
 
 Bru. Let'.« along. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene U.—Corioli. The Senate- House. 
 Enter TuLLUS Aufidius, and certain Senators^ 
 I Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
 That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels. 
 And know how we proceed. 
 
 Auf. Is it not yours ? 
 
 Whatever hath been thought on in this state. 
 That could he brought to bodily act ere Rome 
 Had circunjvention ? Tis not four days gone, 
 S'lice I heard thence; these are the words; I think, 
 I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : {Reads ) 
 They hdvt pressed a power, but it is not known 
 Whether for east or west : The dearth is great ; 
 
 Act L 
 
 The people mutinous ttn<t it is rumour'dp \ 
 
 Coiuinius, Marcius yi ur old enemy, 
 ( Who is of Rome ivorse hated than of you.) 
 And Titus Lartius, n most valiant Roman, 
 These three lead on iJii.s preparation 
 Whither 'tis bent : most likely, 'tis for you i 
 Consider of it. 
 
 1 Sen. Our army's in the field : 
 
 We never yet made doubt but Rome was readf 
 To answer us. 
 
 At^. Nor did you think it folly, 
 
 To keep your great j)retences veil'd, till when 
 They needs must shew themselves; wiiich in th© 
 hatching, 
 
 It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery 
 We shall be sliorten'd in our aim ; wliich 
 To take in many towns, ere, almost, Roaie 
 Should know we were afoot. 
 
 2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, 
 Take your commission: hie you to your bauds: 
 Let us alone to guard Corioli: 
 
 Kf they set down before us, for the remove 
 Bring up your army; but, I think, you'll find 
 Tiiey irave not prepar'd for us. 
 
 Auf. O, doubt not that; 
 
 I speak fionj certainties. Nay, more, 
 Si)Mie parcels of their powers are forth already, 
 And only liitherward. I leave your honnurs. 
 n we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
 ' ! is sworn between us, we shall never .strike, 
 Till one can do no more. 
 
 All. The gods assist you ! 
 
 Ai(f. And keep your honours safe ! 
 
 1 Farewell 
 
 2 Sen. Farewell. 
 All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Rome. An Apartment in Marciwi 
 tiouae. 
 
 Enter Volumnia /Twr/ Virgilia : They sit down on 
 two low stools, and sew. 
 
 Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing ; or express your 
 self in a more comfortable sort: If my son were my 
 husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absen;*> 
 wherein he won honour, than in the ein'oracements 
 of his bed, where he would shew most lov e. When 
 yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son oi 
 my womb ; when youth with comeliness plucked 
 all gaze his way ; wlien, for a day of king's enti eaties, 
 a mother skould not sell him an hour from her 
 beholding; I,— considering how honour would be- 
 come such a person; that it was no better than 
 picture like to hang by the wall, if renown made i( 
 not stir, — was pleased to let him seek dat)ger where 
 he was like to 6nd fame. To a cruel war I sent 
 him ; from whence he returned, his brows bound 
 with oak. I tell thee, daughter, — I sprang not more 
 in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, than now 
 in first seeing he had proved himself a man. 
 
 Vir. But had he died in the business, madam, 
 how then ? 
 
 Vol. Then bis good report should have been my 
 sou; 1 therein would have found issue. Hear nie 
 profeMs sincerely : — Had I a dozen sons, — each io 
 my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my 
 good Marcius, — I had rather had eleven die nobly 
 for their country, than one vohu)tuousl* surfeit o«i 
 of action. 
 
 Enter a Gentlewoman^ 
 Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit 
 
 you. ^ _ [9il:4f, 
 
 Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire nry- 
 
 Vol. Indeed, you shall not. 
 Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum ; 
 See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair; 
 As children from a bear, the Voices shunning himt 
 Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call tlms,— 
 Come on. you cowards, if on were got in fear, 
 Though you were bom in Rome : His bloody Imtoh 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 56J 
 
 With his mai'l'd hand then wiping, forth he ^es , 
 Like to a harvest man, that's task'd to mow 
 Or all, or lose his hire. 
 
 Vir His bloody brow ! O, Jupiter, no blood ! 
 
 Vol. A>^ay, yon fool ! 't more becomes a man, 
 Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba, 
 When she did suckle Hector, lonk'd not lovelier 
 
 Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth Wood 
 At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeiia, 
 We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent 
 
 Vir. Heavens oless my lord from fell Aufidius ! 
 Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below hi.j knee, 
 ^nd tread upon his neck. 
 
 Re-enter Gentlevjoman, with Valeria and her 
 Usher. 
 
 Vnl. My ladies both, good day to you. 
 
 Vol. Sweet madam, — 
 
 Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 
 
 Val. How do you both ? you are manifest house- 
 keepers. VV hat, are you sewing here ? A fine spot, 
 in good faith.— How does your little sou? 
 
 Vir. I thank your ladyship ; well, oood madam. 
 
 Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a 
 drum, than look upon his schoolmaster. 
 
 Vol. O' my word, tlie father's son : I'll swear 
 'tis a very pretty boy. O'my troth, I looked upon 
 him o'VVediiesday half an hour together: he has 
 such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after 
 a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it 
 go again; and after it again ; and over and over he 
 comes, and up again; catched it again: or whether 
 bis fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his 
 teeth, and tear it; O, I warrant, how he mam- 
 mocked it! 
 
 Vol. One of his father's moods. 
 
 Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 
 
 Vir. A crack, madam. 
 
 Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have 
 you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. 
 Vir. No, good madam ; 1 will not out of doors. 
 Val. ISot out of doors? 
 Vol. She shall, she shall. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience: I will not 
 over the threshold, till my lord return from the 
 wars. 
 
 Val. Vy, you confine yourself most nnreason- 
 ably ; Come, you must go visit the good lady that 
 hes m. 
 
 Vir.l will wish her speedy strength, and visit 
 Qer with my prayers ; but I cannot go tiiither. 
 Vol. Why, I pray you ? 
 
 Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. 
 
 Val. lou would be another Penelope: yet, they 
 u^^'z?,!' yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did 
 but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come ; I would your 
 oambnc were sensible as your finger, that you might 
 leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with 
 us. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam, pardon me ; indeed, J will 
 not forth. 
 
 Val. In truth, la, go with me; and 111 tell you 
 excellent news of your husband. 
 
 Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 
 
 Val. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there came 
 news from him last night. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, madam t 
 
 Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak 
 It liius it is:— Tiie Voices have an army forth; 
 against whom Cominius the general is gone, with 
 «ie part of our Roman power: your lord, and Titus 
 Lartms, are set down before their city Corioii ; they 
 nothmg doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. 
 Ihis is true, on mine lionour ; and so, I pray eo 
 with us. ' r jj 6 
 
 Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will obey 
 fou in every thing hereafter. 
 
 Vol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she will 
 Out disease our better mirth. 
 
 »«i 1" troth, I think, she would -—Fare you 
 
 well then.— Come, good sweet lady.— Pr'ythei Vir- 
 with' us"" soJemnuess out o door, and go along 
 
 Vir No : at a word, madam ; indeed, I must not 
 I wish you much mirth. 
 
 Val. Well, then farewell. lExeunt 
 Scene \Y.— Before Corioii. 
 Enter, with drum and colours, Marcus Trrea 
 
 Lartius, Officers, and Soldiers. To them a 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 Mar. Yonder comes news :— A wager, they have 
 Liart. My horse to yours, no. [j^^x 
 ^^r. 'Tis done. 
 
 ^>art. Agned, 
 Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy V 
 Mess They lie in view; but have not spoke as 
 Liart. f>o, the good horse is mine. [yet 
 
 f'''; M TM, n I'" buy him of you. 
 
 Liart. No, 111 nor sell, nor give him: lend yo>^ 
 him, I will, 
 
 For half a hundred years.— Summon the town. 
 Mar. How far ofi' lie these armies 
 
 rt., , ^'thin this mile and half. 
 
 Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larun., and they 
 ours. ^ 
 Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work • 
 lhat we with smoking swords may maroh from 
 hence, 
 
 To help our fielded friends !— Come, blow thy blast. 
 They sound a parley. Enter, on the walls, some 
 
 Senators, and others. 
 Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? 
 
 1 Sen. No, nor a man t\r,x\ fears you less than he, 
 1 hat s lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 
 A t • . r {Alarums afar off.) 
 
 Are bringing forth our youth : W e'll break our walls' 
 Kather than they shall pound us up : our gates. 
 Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with 
 rushes ; 
 
 They'll open of themselves. Hark you, far off: 
 
 PL • A ^ •• .. [Other Alarums.. 
 
 I here is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes 
 Amongst your cloven army. 
 
 rru ' • , ^> they are at it! fho! 
 L,art. I heir noise be our instruction.— Ladders, 
 
 The Voices enter, and pass over the stage. 
 Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city 
 Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight 
 
 With hearts more proof than shields Advance, 
 
 brave Titus : 
 Su^ ,^0 disdain us much beyond our thoughts, 
 Which makes me sweat with wrath.— Come on, 
 
 iny fellows ; 
 He that retires, I'll take him for a Voice, 
 And he shall feel mine edge. 
 
 Alarum and exeunt Romans and Volces.fighlmg. 
 J he Romans are beaten back to their trenches. 
 Ke enter Marcius. 
 
 Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, 
 You shames of Rome! you herd of— Boils and plagues 
 Plaster you o'er ; that you may be abhorr'd 
 further than seen, and one infect another 
 Against the wind a mile ! * You souls of geese 
 lhat bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
 ^rom s aves that apes would beat? Pluto and hell » 
 All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
 With flight and agued fear ; Mend, and charge home. 
 Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe, 
 And make my wars on you : look to't : Come on ; 
 11 you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their xvives. 
 As they us to our trenches followed. 
 Another alarum. The Voices and Romans re, 
 enter, and the fight is renewed. The Voice* 
 retire into Corioii, and Marcius follows th^m 
 to the gates. 
 
 So, now the gates are ope : Now prove good*>ecouas 
 •JO 
 
562 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act L 
 
 "fin for the followers fortune widpns them, 
 Not for the flyers : mark m« and do the like. ^ 
 {He enters the gates, and is shU' 
 
 1 Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I. 
 
 5 Sol. Nor I. 
 
 ZSol. See, they 
 
 Have shut him in. {Alarum contmues.) 
 
 All. To the pot, I warrant him. 
 
 Enter Titus Lartius. 
 
 Lart. What is become of Marcins ? 
 
 ^11, Slain, sir, doubtless. 
 
 1 Sol Following the tiiers at the very heels, 
 With them he enters: who, upon the ?adden, 
 Clapp'd to their gates ; he is himself alone. 
 To anriwer all the city. 
 
 Sjart. O noble fellow ! 
 
 Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword. 
 And, when it bows, stands up ! Thou art left, Mar- 
 A carbuncle entire, as big as thoii art, , ,f<^*"^ * 
 Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
 Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
 Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks, and 
 The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds. 
 Thou mad\st thine enemies shake, as if the world 
 Were feverous, and did tremble. 
 
 Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the 
 enemy. 
 
 1 Sol. ^^,?y'^tj- • 
 
 Lart. * Marcius : 
 
 Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. _ 
 
 {They fight, and all enter the city.) 
 
 Scene V.— Within the Town. A Street. 
 Enter certain Romans, tvith spoils 
 1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 
 ^Rom. And I this. 
 
 3 Rom. A munain on't ! I took this for silver. 
 
 (Alarum still contmues aj'ar off.) 
 
 Enter Marcius and Titus Lartius, with a 
 trumpet. 
 
 Uar. See here these movers, that do prize their 
 hours 
 
 it n crack'd drachm ! Cushi«ns, leaden spoons, 
 irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
 Kury with those that wore them, these base slaves. 
 Ere yet the fight be done, pack up -.—Down with 
 
 them.— , , , i'V,? 
 
 And hark, what noise the general makes!— I o 
 There is (he man of my soul's hate, Anfidius, 
 Piercing our Romans : Then, valiant Titus, take 
 Cr.nveiiieiit numbers to make good the city; 
 Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste 
 To help Comiuius. 
 
 Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed st; 
 
 Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
 A second course of fight. 
 
 Mar. Sir, praise me not : 
 
 My work hath not yet warm'd me : Fare you well. 
 The blood \ drop is' rather physical 
 Than dangerous to me : To Aufidius thus 
 I will appear, and tight. 
 
 Lart. Now the fair goddess, bortune. 
 
 Fall deep in love with thee; and her great chaMns 
 Misguide thy opposer's swords! Bold gentleman, 
 Prosperity be thy page , ^ . ^ 
 
 ij^ar. Thy triend no less 
 
 Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. 
 
 hart. Thou worthiest Marcius \—^Exit Marcius. 
 Go, sound thv trumpet in the market-place ; 
 Call thither all the officers of the town. 
 Where tliey shall know our mind : Away, [Exewt. 
 Scene VI. — Near the Camp of Cominius. 
 Enter COMINIUS and Forces^ retreating. 
 
 Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fc^ht : we 
 
 are come ofi' 
 e flomang, neither foo^^sh in our fUnds, 
 
 ^or cowardly :a retire ; Beliave laa, sirs, 
 We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have fltrti<Rk| 
 By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard 
 The charges of our fiiends : — The Roman gods 
 Lead their successes as we wish our own ; 
 That both our powers, with smiling fronts enoonn. 
 teriug, 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 May give you thankful sacrifice! — Thy new*? 
 
 lUless. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 
 And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 
 I saw oHi party to their trenches drii'en, 
 And then I came away. 
 
 Com. Though thou speak'st Inilh, 
 
 Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't 
 
 Mess. Above an hour, my lord [iince? 
 
 Com. 'Tis not a mile ; briefly we hoard their drums: 
 H(AV could'st thou in a mile confound an hour, 
 And bring thy news so late? 
 
 Mi:ss. Spies of the Voices 
 
 Held me in chase, that I was foic'd to wheel 
 Three or four miles about; else had I, sir. 
 Half an hour since brought my report. 
 
 Evdet Marcius. 
 Com. Who's yonder. 
 
 That does appear as "he were flay'd ? O fiods ! 
 He has the stamp of Marcius; ?nd I have 
 Before-time seen him thus. 
 
 Mar. Come I too late ? 
 
 Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a 
 tabor. 
 
 More than I know the sound of Marcius's tongue 
 From every meaner man's. 
 Mar. Couie I too late ? 
 
 Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, 
 But mantled in your own. 
 
 Mar. O ! let me clip yon 
 
 In arms as sound, as when I wooVj ; in neart 
 As merry, as when our nuptial day was done, 
 And tapers burn'd to bedward. 
 
 Com. Flowc of" wan iors, 
 
 How is't with Titus Lartius? 
 
 Mar. As with a man busied about decrees . 
 Condenming some to death, and some to exile ; 
 Ransoming him, or pitying, tlireai'ning tlie oUicr; , 
 Holding Corioli in the name of Pome, 
 Even like a f^nvning greyhound in th^^ leash, 
 To let him slip at will. 
 
 Com. Where is that sla , 
 
 Which told me they had beat you to your tr.-.,i (j s 
 Where is he ? Call him hither. 
 
 Mar Let him alone, 
 
 Fie did inform the truth : Biit , for our gem li-men. 
 The common file, (A plague ! Tribunes f^r tiiem ! ) 
 The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they di 1 b>idf,e 
 From rascals worse than they. 
 
 Com. But how prevail'd yon ■. 
 
 Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? 1 do not lijink-- ■ 
 Where is the enemy ? Are you lords o'the field? 
 If not, why cease you till you are so ? 
 
 Com. Marcius, 
 We have at disadvantage fought, and did 
 Retire, to win our purpose. [s'de 
 
 Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on wli '-h 
 They have pluc'd their men of trust ? 
 
 Com. Vs I guess, Marc';.i!», 
 
 Their bands iu the vaward are the Antiatcs, 
 Of their best trust : o'er them ik.ufidius, 
 I'heir very heait of hope. 
 
 Mar. I do beseech you, 
 
 By all the battles wherein we have fought, 
 By the blood we have shed together, by the yovn 
 VV? have made to endure friends, that you dirr«<S| 
 Set me against Anfidius, and his Antiates: 
 And that you not delay th^e present; but, 
 Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts. 
 We prove this very hour. 
 
 Cc7M. Though 1 could wish 
 
Scene 9. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 063 
 
 You were conducted to a gentle bafh. 
 AniJ balmn apjjlied Ui yju, yet dare 1 never 
 Deny yuui asking; take yoiu- clioice of those 
 That best can aid your action. 
 
 Mar. Tliose are they 
 
 Tiiat most are willing: — If any such be here, 
 fAs it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting 
 Wherein you see me sn^ear'd ; if any fear 
 Lesser his person than an ill report; 
 If any think, brave death outweighs bad life, 
 And that his country's dearer than himself, 
 Let hitn, alone, or so many, so minded, 
 Wave thus, [waviny his hand) to express his dis- 
 And follow Marciiis. [position, 
 {They all shout, and wave their sivords ; take 
 him up in their arms, and cast up their caps.) 
 0 me, alone 1 Make you a sword of me ? 
 In these shews btr- not outward, which of you 
 But is four Voices ? None of you but is 
 Able to bear against the great Aiifidius 
 A shield as hard as his. A certain number, 
 Though thanks to all, must I select: the rest 
 Shall bear the business in some other fight, 
 As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; 
 And four shall quickly draw oui my command. 
 Which nitin are best inclin'd. 
 
 Com. jMarch on, my fellows : 
 
 Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
 Divide in all with ns. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V II.— The Gates of Corioli. 
 Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioli^ 
 going with a (drum and trumpet toivardQ,i)TAm\\}% 
 and Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant, 
 a party of Soldiers, and a Scout, 
 hart. So, let tlie ports be guarded : keep your 
 duties, 
 
 As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch 
 Those centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve 
 For a short holding : If we lose the field, 
 We cannot keep the town. 
 
 hiaa- Fear not our care, sir. 
 
 hart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. — 
 Oar guider, come ; to the Roman camp conduct us. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SceneVI II. — A Field of Battle betiveen the Roman 
 and the Volscian Camps. 
 Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aufidius. 
 Mar. I'll fight with none but thee ; for 1 do hate 
 Worse than a promise-breaker. [tliee 
 
 Auf. We hate alike ; 
 
 Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor 
 More ttian thy fame and envy : fix thy foot. 
 
 Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, 
 And the gods doom him alter ! 
 
 Auf. If I fly, Marcius, 
 
 Halloo nie like a hare. 
 
 Mar. Within these three hours, Tulhis, 
 
 Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, 
 And made what work I pleas'd : 'Tis not my blood. 
 Wherein thou see'st me mask'd ; for thy revenge. 
 Wrench up thy power to the highest. 
 
 Auf 
 
 Wert thou the Hector, 
 
 That was the whip of your hragg'd progeny. 
 Thou shoiild'st not 'scape me here. — 
 
 {They Ji(/ht, and certain Voices come to 
 the aid of Aufidius.) 
 Officious, and not valiant — you have sham'd me 
 In yoifr condemned seconds. 
 
 [Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius. 
 
 Scene IX.— The Roman Camp. 
 Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter 
 at one side, CoMlNlus and Romans ; at the other 
 side, Marcius, with his arm in a scarf and 
 other Ro?nans. 
 
 Com. If 1 shou\d tell thee o'er this thy day's work, 
 Thou'lt not be lie VP thy deeds : but I'll report it. 
 Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; 
 
 Where gieat patricians shall attend a-if? :'hrug, 
 Tthe end, admire; v\liere ladies shall be tnghtt d. 
 And, gladly quak'd, hear more; wlieix the rtnt! 
 I'nbiines, 
 
 That, with the fusty plebeians, hp.te thine honours, 
 Shall say against their hearts, — We thank the qods^ 
 Our Rome hath such a soldier ! — 
 Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast. 
 Having fully dined before. 
 
 ^n^er Titus Lartius, with his power, from the 
 pursuit. 
 
 Lart. O general. 
 
 Here is the steed, we the caparison : 
 Hadst thou beheld — 
 
 Mar. Pray now, no more : my mother. 
 
 Who has a charter to extol her blood. 
 When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done. 
 As you have done ; that's what I can; induc'd 
 As you have been ; that's for my country : 
 He, that has but effected his good will. 
 Hath overta'en mine act. 
 
 Com. Yon shall not be 
 
 The grave of your deserving; Rome must kno«f 
 The v alue of her own : 'twere a concealment 
 Worse than a theft, no less than a trad net- ment. 
 To hide your doings ; and to silence that, 
 W^hich, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, 
 Would seem but modest : Therefore, I beseech you, 
 (In sign of what you are, not to reward 
 What you have done,) before our army hear me. 
 
 Mar. I have some wounds upon n>e, and they 
 To hear themselves remember'd. [smart 
 
 Com. Should they not, 
 
 Wei! might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, 
 And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses. 
 (Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store.) of ail 
 The treasure, in tliis field achiev'd, and city 
 We render you the tenth ; to be ta'en forth 
 Before the conjmon distribution, at 
 Your only choice. 
 
 Mar. I thank you, general ; 
 
 But cannot make my heart consent to take 
 A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it ; 
 And stand upon my common part with those 
 That have beheld the doing. 
 
 {A long jiourish. They all cry, Marcius ! 
 Marcius! cast up their cajis andlancee: 
 Cominius and Lartius stand bare.) 
 
 Mar. May these same instruments, which you 
 profane. 
 
 Never eound more ! When drums and trumpets shall 
 
 r the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be 
 
 Made all of false-fac'd soothing! Wlien steel grovra 
 
 Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made 
 
 An overture for tlie wars! No more, I say ; 
 
 For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled, 
 
 Or foil'd some debile wretch, — which, without note. 
 
 Here's many else have done, — yen shout me forth 
 
 In acclamations hyperbolical ; 
 
 As if I loved my little should be dieted 
 
 In |. raises sauc'd with lies. 
 
 Com. Too modest are you; 
 
 More cruel to your good report, than grateful 
 To us that give you truly : by your patience. 
 If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, w^e'il put you 
 (Like one that means his proper harm,) in amnacleSj 
 Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it 
 known, 
 
 As to ns, to all the world, that Caius Maseius 
 Wears this war's garland : in token of the vphich 
 My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
 Vvith all his trim belonging; and, trom this time, 
 For what he did before Corioli, call him, 
 With all the applause and clamour of the host, 
 Caius Marcius Coriolanus. — 
 Bear the addition nobly ever! 
 
 (Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums 
 
 AIL Caius Marcius Coriolanus ! 
 
 Cor. I will go wash ; 
 
564 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act TL 
 
 And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
 WlvetliPi- 1 blnsli, or no : Howbeit, f l-hauk you : — ■ 
 I loean to stride your steed ; and, at all times, 
 To undercrest your good addition, 
 To the fairness of my power. 
 
 Com. So, to our tent : 
 
 Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
 To tlome of our success. — You, Titus Lartius, 
 Miist to Corioli back : send us to Rome 
 'The best, with whom we may articulate, 
 For their own good, and ours. 
 
 Lnrt. I shall, my lord 
 
 Cor The g-ods begin to mock me. I, that now 
 Refiis'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
 Of niy lord general. 
 
 Coin. Take it: 'tis yours.— What is't ? 
 
 Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, 
 At a poor man's house ; he us'd me kipdly 
 He cried to me ; 1 saw him prisoner; 
 But tlien Aufidiiis was within my view, 
 A -yd \vra(h o'e.- whelm'd my pity : 1 request you 
 To sive my poor host freedom. 
 
 Cofn. O, well begg'd ! 
 
 Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
 Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, I'itus. 
 
 Lart. Marcius, his name ? 
 
 Cor. By Jupiter, forgot: — 
 
 I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd — 
 Have we no wine here"? 
 
 Com. Go we to our tent; 
 
 The h\no(\ upon your visage dries; 'tis time 
 I( i^ihoiild be look'd to: come. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene X. — T/ie Camp of the Voices. 
 A flourish. Cornets. Enter TuLLUS AUFIDIUS, 
 bloody, ivith tivo or three Soldiers. 
 
 At-^f- The town is ta'en ! 
 
 1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. 
 
 Aiif. Condition? — 
 I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot, 
 Being a Voice, be that I am. — Conditionl 
 What good condition can a treaty find 
 I'the part that \h at mercy ? Five times, Marciu?, 
 I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat me ; 
 And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter 
 As often as we eat. — By the elements, 
 If e'er again I meet him beard to beard. 
 He is mine, or I am hi?j : Mine emulation 
 Hath not that honour in't, it had ; for where 
 I thought to crush him in an equal force, 
 (True sword to sword.) I'll potch at him some way ; 
 Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 
 
 I Sol He's the devil. 
 
 Auf. Bolder, though not .so subtle : My valour's 
 poison'd, 
 
 With only suffering stain by him ; for him 
 
 Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary, 
 
 Being naked, sick ; nor fane, nor Capitol, 
 
 The prayers of [)riests, nor times of sacrifice, 
 
 Em.barquements all of fury, shall lift up 
 
 Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
 
 My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
 
 At home, upon my brother's guard, even there 
 
 Against the hospitable canon, would I 
 
 Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city ; 
 
 Learn, how 'tis held ; and what they are, that must 
 
 Be hostages for Rome. 
 
 1 Sol. Will not you go? 
 
 Auf. I am attended at tlie cypress gio^e : 
 I pray you, 
 
 'Tisj south the city mills,) bring me word thith >r 
 How the world goes ; that to the pace of it 
 I may spur on my journey. 
 I Sol. I shall, sir. \Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Sgewe I. — Rome. A public Place 
 Enter Mv.^Kmvs. SiciNius, Brutus. 
 Men. The fivugurei tells me, we shall have news 
 to- eight 
 
 Brv,. Good, or bad ? 
 
 Men. Not according to tl e prnyej cf the people, 
 for tiiey love not Marcius. 
 
 Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their frienda* 
 Mm. Pray you, who does the wolf love ? 
 Sic. The binb. 
 
 Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry plebeians 
 
 would the noble Marcius. 
 
 Bru. He's a lamb, indeed, that baes like a bear. 
 
 Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
 You two are old men ; tell me one thinjr that I shall 
 ask you. 
 
 Both Trib. Well, sir. 
 
 Meyi. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that yos 
 two have not in abundance? 
 
 Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. 
 
 Sic. Especially, in pride. 
 
 Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 
 
 Men. This is strange now : Do you two know how 
 you are censured here in the city, 1 mean of us o'the 
 right hand file ? Do you ? 
 
 Both Trib. Why, how are we censured ? 
 
 Men. Because you talk ol pride now, — will you not 
 be angry ? 
 
 Both Trib. Weil, well, sir, well. 
 
 Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little 
 thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of pa- 
 tience : give your disposition the reins, and be angry 
 at your pleasures ; at the lea.st, if you take it as a 
 pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius for 
 being proud ? 
 
 Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 
 
 Men. I know, you can do very little alone; for 
 your helps are many ; or else your actions would grow 
 wondrous single : your abilities are too infmt-like, 
 for doing much alone. You talk of pride; O, that 
 you could tuni your eyes towards the napes of your 
 necks, and make but an interior survey of your good 
 selves I O, that you could ! 
 
 Bru. What then, sir? 
 
 Men. Why, then you should discover a brace dl 
 unmeriting. proud, violent, testy majfistrates, (alias, 
 fools,) as any in Home. 
 
 Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. 
 
 Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and 
 one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of 
 allaying Tyber in't; said to be something imperfect, 
 in favouring the first complaint: hasty, and tinder- 
 like, upon too trivial motion : one that converses 
 more with the buttock of the night, than with the 
 forehead of the morning. What I think, I utter; and 
 spend my n)alice in my breath: Meeting two such 
 weals-men as you are, (1 cannot call you Lycurfiuscs) 
 if the drink you give me touch my palate iidvers«-ly, 
 I make a crooked face at it. 1 cannot say, ynnx 
 worships have delivered tl>e matter well, wIh-.-; ! fii;(] 
 the ass in compound with the major part oi ycur 
 syllables : and though I must be content to bear w ith 
 those that say you are reverend grave men ; yet they 
 lie deadly, that tell, you have good faces, if you 
 see this in the map of my microcosm, follow it. thai 
 I am known well enougfh too? What harnf can your 
 bisson conspectuities glean out of thi.s character, if I 
 be known well enough too? 
 
 Bru. Come, sir, come, we know yon well enough. 
 
 Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
 thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' capsar?a 
 legs; you wear out a good wholesome lbrenoc>n, ia 
 hearing a cause between an orange- wife and a I /Ssct- 
 seiler ; and then rejourn the controversj of threa- 
 pence to a second day of audience. — Wlien you ars 
 hearing a matter between party and party, if yot 
 chance to be pinched with the cholic, you make 
 faces like mummers; setup the bloody flag against 
 all patience; and, :'n roaring for a chambt-r-pot, dis- 
 miss the controveisy bleeaing, the more entangled 
 b) your hearing: all the peace you make in their 
 cause, is oallnig both the parties knaves : You are 
 ? |»air of strange ones. 
 
 Bru ('♦^me, coBoe, you are well anderstood to bf t 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 565 
 
 A perfecter giber for the table, thaa a necessary 
 bencher in the Capitol. 
 
 Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if 
 they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you 
 are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is 
 not worth the wagging of your beards; and your 
 -beards deserve not so honourable a grave, as to stuff 
 B botcherV cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's 
 pack-saddle Yet yau must he saying, Marcius is 
 proud : who. In a cheap esti nation, is worth all your 
 predecessors, since Deucalion ; tliough, peradven- j 
 ture, some of the best of them were hereditary hang- I 
 men. Good e'en to your worships : more of your ' 
 conversation would infect my brain, being the he'i ds- ; 
 men of the beastly plebeians : I will be bold to take j 
 my leave of you. 
 
 [Brutus and Sisinius retire to the hacTc of the 
 scene.) 
 
 Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, Valeria, ^c. 
 How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, 
 were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you follow 
 your eyes so fast? 
 
 Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ao- 
 proaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go. 
 
 Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ? 
 
 Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most pros- 
 pen^ts approbation. 
 
 Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee : — 
 Hon ! Marcius coming home ! 
 
 Two Ladies. Nay, 'fis true. 
 
 Vol. Look, here's a letter from him: the state 
 hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's 
 one at home for you. 
 
 Men. I will make my very house reel to-night: — 
 A letter for me ? 
 
 Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you : I saw it. 
 
 Men. A letter for me ? It gives me an estate of 
 seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip 
 at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in 
 Galen is b:it empiricutic, and, to this preservative, 
 of no better report tlian a horse-drench. Is he not 
 wounded ? he was wont to come home wounded. 
 
 Vir, O, no, no, no. 
 
 Vul. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. 
 
 Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : — Brings 
 'a \ ictory in his pocket ? — The wounds become him. 
 
 Vol. Oil's brows, Menenius: he comes the third 
 ti;np home with the oaken garland. 
 
 Men. Has lie disciplined Aufidius soundly? 
 
 Vol. Titus Lartius writes, — they fought together, 
 but A.ifidius got off. 
 
 Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him 
 tiiat: an he had staid by him, I would not have been 
 so fidiiised for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold 
 flint's in them. Is the senate possessed of this ? 
 
 Vol. Good ladies, let's go : — Yes, yes, yes : the 
 senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives 
 my son (lie whole name of the war* he hath in this 
 action outdone his former deeds doubly. 
 
 Val. Ill troth, there's wondrous things spoke of 
 him. 
 
 Men. Wondrous ? Ay, I warrant you, and not 
 
 witiioiit his true purchasing. 
 
 Vir. The gods grant them true! 
 Vol. True ? pow, wow. 
 
 Men. True Ml be sworn they are true : — Where 
 is he wounded ?— God save your good worships! 
 [To the TrihuneSy ivho come forward.) Marcius is 
 coming home : he has more cause to be proud. — 
 Where is he wounded? 
 
 Vol. Ttht slioulder, and i'the left arm: There 
 will be large cl -atrices to shew the people, when lie 
 shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse 
 of Tarquiii. seven fi'irts i'tlie body. 
 
 Men. Oat- in ihe tieck, and two in the thigh, — 
 there's iiiiic Chat I know. 
 
 Vol. Ff,' liad, ht-fore (his last expedition, tvventy- 
 Sve wuMinIs iipoi) him. 
 
 Men "'^'^'Vk' its tweuty-se ven : every gash was an 
 
 enemy's grave : [a shout and flourish.) Hark I th« 
 trumpets. 
 
 Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before him 
 He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears ; 
 Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm duthlie ; 
 Which being advanc'd, declines ; and then men die, 
 
 A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and 
 TiTUS Lartius ; between them, Coriolanus, 
 crmvnedwith an oaken garland; ivith Captains^ 
 Soldiers, and a Herald. 
 
 Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight 
 Within Corioli's gates: where he hath won. 
 With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these 
 In honour follows, Coriolanus : — 
 Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 
 
 [Flourish)^ 
 
 AIL Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 
 
 Cor. No more of this, it does ofiend my heart ; 
 Pray now, no more. 
 
 Com. Look, sir, your .another, — 
 
 Cor. 01 
 You have, I know, petition'd all the gods 
 For my prosperity. [Kneels ) 
 
 Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up; 
 
 My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
 By deed achieving honour newly nam'd, 
 VVhat is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee ? 
 But 0, thy wife— 
 
 Cor. My gracious silence, hail ! 
 
 Would'st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd 
 home. 
 
 That weep'st to see my triumph ? Ah, my dear. 
 Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, 
 And mothers that lack sons. 
 Men. Now the gods crown thee I 
 
 Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady, par- 
 don. [To Valeria.) 
 Vol. I know not where to turn . — O welcome 
 home ; 
 
 And welcome, general , — And you are welcome all. 
 Men. A hundred thousand welcomes : I could 
 weep. 
 
 And I could laugh; I am light, and neavy : Wel- 
 come : 
 
 A curse begin at very root of his heart. 
 That is not glad to see thee !— You are three, 
 That Rome should dote on : ytt, by the faith of men. 
 We have some old crab-trees here at home, that 
 will not 
 
 Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors : 
 We call a nettle, but a nettle ; and 
 The faults of fools, but folly. 
 
 Com. Ever right. 
 
 Cor. Menenius, ever, ever. 
 
 Her. Give way there, and go on. 
 
 Cor. Your hand, and yours: 
 
 [To his wife and mothar) 
 Ere in our own house I do shade my head. 
 The good patricians must be visited ; 
 From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings. 
 But with them change of honours. 
 
 Vol. I have liv'd 
 
 To see inherited my very wishes. 
 And the buildings of my fancy : only there 
 Is one thing wanting, which I doubt not, but 
 Our Rome will cast upon thee. 
 
 Cor. Know, good xm^Satit 
 
 I had rather be their servant in my way, 
 Tliati sway with them in theirs. 
 
 Com. On, to the CapitoL 
 
 [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. 
 The Tribunes remain. 
 
 By'u. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared 
 sights 
 
 Are spectacled to see him : Your prattling nurse 
 Info a rai'tiire lets her baby cry, 
 VVhi'le she chats him : the kitchen malkin pios 
 Her richest lockraiu 'bout her reechy neck. 
 
CORTOLANUS. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 ClaMioeiing the walls to eye him: Stalls, bulks, 
 windows, 
 
 Are sniothei'd up, leads fiU'd, and ridges hois'd 
 VViil) variable complexions; all agreeing 
 in earnestness to see him: seld-shown tlamens 
 Do press among the popular throngs, and putf 
 To vvir. a vulgar station : our veil d dames 
 Commit the wai; of white and damask in 
 Then- niceiy-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil 
 or Phoebus' burning kisses : such a pother. 
 As if that whatsoever god, who leads him, 
 Were sliiy crept into his human powers. 
 And gave him graceful posture. 
 
 On the sudden, 
 
 I warrant him consul. 
 
 Then our oince may. 
 During his power, go sleep. 
 
 Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours 
 From where he should begin, and end ; but will 
 Lose those that he hath won. . 
 
 In that there's comtort. 
 ^^ic' Doubt not, the commoners, for whom we 
 stand, 
 
 But they, upon their ancient malice, will 
 Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours ; 
 Which that he'll give them, make as little question 
 As lie is proud to do t. 
 
 1 heard him swear. 
 Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
 Appear i"t.he market-place, nor ou him put 
 The napless vesture of humility; _ 
 Nor shewing (as the manner is) his wounds 
 'i o the people, beg their stinking breaths. _ 
 Sic. '■'g'"- 
 Bru. It was his word : 0, he would miss it, rather 
 Thau carry it, but by the suito'the gentry to him. 
 And the desire of the nobles. 
 
 I wish no better. 
 Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it 
 In execution. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis most like, he will. 
 
 Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills ; 
 A sure destruction. 
 
 lifu. So it must fall out 
 
 To him, or our authorities. For an end. 
 We must suggest the people, in what hatred 
 He still hath held them: that to his power, he 
 wouid 
 
 Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and 
 
 Dispropeiiied their freedoms: holding them. 
 
 In human action and capacity, 
 
 Of no more soul, nor fitness ior the world, 
 
 Than camels in their war; who have their provand 
 
 Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
 
 For sinking under them. 
 
 Sic. This, as you say, suggested 
 
 At some time when his soaring insolence 
 Shall teach the people, (which time shall not want. 
 If he be put upon't: and that's as easy, 
 As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire 
 To kindle their dry stubble ; and their blaze 
 Shall darken him for ever. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 jj^. What's the matter ? 
 
 Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis 
 thought, 
 
 That !\larcius shall be consul . I have seen 
 The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind 
 To hear him speak . The matrons flung their gloves. 
 Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiela, 
 Upon him as he passed : the nobles bended 
 As to Jo\e's statue : and the commons made 
 A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts; 
 I never saw the like. , ^ , 
 
 jjru. Let's to the Lapitol, 
 
 And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, 
 But hearts W the event. 
 
 g^f.^ Have vvith you. [txeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— The same. Tfie Capitil 
 Enter two Oncers., to lay cuskionsu 
 
 1 Off. Come, come, they are almost here : How 
 many stand for consulships 
 
 2 Off. Three, they say : but 'tis thought of evcrjf 
 one, Coriolanus will carry it. 
 
 1 Off. That's a brave leilow ; but he's vengeance 
 proud, and loves not the common people. 
 
 2 Off. 'Faith, tliere have been many great mea 
 that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved 
 them ; and there be manv that they have loved, they 
 know not wherefore: so that, if they love they know 
 not why, they hate upon no better ground : 1 here- 
 fore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they 
 love or hate him, manifests the true knowledge he 
 has in their dis.position ; and, out of his nobie care- 
 lessness, let's them plainly see't. , , „ • 
 
 1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their 
 love, or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them 
 neither good nor harm; but he seeks their hale with 
 greater devotion than they can render it him; and 
 leaves nothing undone, that may fully discover hun 
 their opposite. Now, to seem to aftect the malice 
 and displeasure of the people, is as bad as that which 
 he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. 
 
 2 0/! He hath deserved worthily ol his country: 
 And Ins ascent is not by such easy degrees as those, 
 who, having been suj.ple and courteous to the people, 
 bonnetted, without any further deed to heave theai 
 at all into their estimation and report; but lie hath 
 so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions 
 111 their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent 
 and not confess so much, were a kind of ingratHul 
 injury; to report otherwise, were a malice, tiiat, 
 giving itself the lie, would pluck reproot and re- 
 biike from every ear that lieard it. 
 
 \Off. No more of hin> ; he is a worthy man 
 Make way, they are coming. 
 
 A Sennet. Enter, loitk lictors before them, CoMI- 
 Nius the Consul, Menenius, Coriolanus, mam 
 other Senators, SiCiNiUS and Uhctus. I he- 
 Senators take their places; the Iribunes take 
 theirs also by themselves. 
 Men. Having determin'd of the \'olces, and 
 To send tor Titus Lai tins, it remains, _ 
 As the main po-iut of this our aiter-meeting, 
 To gratify his noble service, that fyou, 
 Hath thus stood for his country: Therefore, pleasa 
 Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 
 The present consul, and last general 
 In our well-found successes, to report 
 A little of that worthy work perform'd 
 By Caius Marcius Coriolanus ; whom 
 We meet here, both toihank, and to remember 
 With honours like himself. , « . . 
 
 ] Sen. Speak, good Cominms* 
 
 Leave nothing out for length, and make us think. 
 Rather our state's defective for requital, 
 Than we to stretch it out Masters o'the people, 
 We do request your kindest ears ; and, after, 
 your loving motion toward the common body, 
 To yield what passes here. 
 
 Sit 
 
 We are convenied 
 
 Upon a pleasing treaty ; nnd have hearts 
 Inclinable to honour and advance 
 The theme of our assembly. 
 
 Which the rathei 
 We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember 
 A kinder value of the people, than 
 He hath hereto priz'd them at. ^ ^y. 
 
 That's off, that's oiT; 
 I would you rather had been silent: Please you 
 To hear Cominius speak ? 
 
 j5^^ Most willingly ; 
 
 Bu! yet my caution was more pertinent. 
 Than the rebuke you give it. 
 
 He loves your peoplei 
 But tie'him not to be their btdfellow.— 
 
^'CEK^^ 3. CORIOLANUS. 
 
 fVorlhy CoMinins, speal? — Nay, keep your place. 
 
 {Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away.) 
 
 4 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus; never shaiue to hear 
 What you liave nobly done. 
 
 Cor. Your honours' pardon; 
 
 I bad rathei have my wounds to heal again, 
 T'han hear say bow I got them. 
 
 Bru. Sir, 1 hope, 
 
 Sly words dis bench'd you not. 
 
 Cor. No, sir : yet oft, 
 
 When blows have made me stay, 1 fled from words. 
 You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: But your 
 
 people, 
 I lo\ e theui as they weigh. 
 
 Men. Pray now, sit down. 
 
 Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i'the 
 VVhen the alarum was struck, tiian idly sit [sun, 
 To hear my nothings monster'd. [Exit. 
 
 Men. Masters o'the people, 
 
 Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, 
 (That's thousand to one good one,) when you now see 
 He had rather venture all his limbs for honour. 
 Than one of his ears to hear it ? — Proceed, Cominiu5. 
 
 Com. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus 
 Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held, 
 That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
 Most digniflcs the haver: if it be, 
 The man 1 speak of cannot in the world 
 Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, 
 When Tarqiiin made a head for Rome, he fought 
 Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator. 
 Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight. 
 When with his Amazonian chin he drove 
 The bristled lips before him : he bestrid 
 An o'er-press'd Roman, and i'the consul's view 
 Slevv three opposers; Tarquin's self he met. 
 And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, 
 When he might act tlie woman in the scene. 
 He prov'd best man i'the field, and for his ineed 
 W-ris l)row-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
 iMan-eiiter'd t!ius, he waxed like a sea ; 
 AatJ, its the brent of seventeen battles since, 
 il-" larsh'd all swurds o'the garland. For this iast, 
 lU-i'ore and in Corioli, let me say, 
 i f-atiiiot speak hini home; He stopp'd the fliers; 
 Ai!(l, by l«s rare example, made the coward 
 Tiiiri terror into sport: as waves before 
 A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, 
 And fell below his stem: his sword (death's stan^p) 
 VVhei e It did mark, it took ; from face to foot 
 He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
 Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd 
 The mortal gate o'the city, which he painted 
 With shurdf^ss d'^stiny, aidless came ofl", 
 And with a sudden reinforcement struck 
 Corioli, like a planet : Now all's his : 
 When by and by the d>n of war 'gan pierce 
 His ready sense ; then straight his doubled spirit 
 Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate. 
 Aind to the battle came he ; where he did 
 Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
 Twere a perpetual spoil: and, till we call'd 
 Both fiela and city ours, he never stood 
 To ease his breast with panting. 
 
 Men, Worthy man ! 
 
 1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the ho- 
 Which we de\ise him. [nours 
 
 Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ; 
 
 And look'd upon things precious, as tliey were 
 The coinmon muck o'the world, he covets less 
 Than niis^ery itseli would give; re'vards 
 His deeds with <\i "xig them; and is content 
 To spend the time, to end it. 
 
 Men. He's right noble ; 
 
 Let him be calFd for. 
 
 1 tSen. Call for Coriolanus. 
 
 (iff'. He doth appear. 
 
 Re-enter Coriolanus. 
 Meit. The senate, CorioianuH, are well pleas'd 
 
 56'? 
 
 To make thee consul. 
 
 Cor. I do owe them still 
 
 My life, and services. 
 
 Men. It then remains, 
 
 That you do speak to the people. 
 
 Cor. I do besee ;li yoa, 
 
 Let me o'erleap that custom : for I cannot 
 Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
 For n^y wounds' sake, to give their suftVage : pleas* 
 That 1 may pass this doing. [yoa. 
 
 Sic. Sir, the people 
 
 Must h^ve their voices ; neither will they bate 
 One jot of ceremony. 
 
 Men. Put them not to't : — 
 
 Pray you, go fit you to the custom: and 
 Take to you, as your predecessors have. 
 Your honour with your form. 
 
 Cor. It is a part 
 
 That I shall blush in acting, and might well 
 Be taken Irouj the people. 
 
 Bru. Mark you that ? 
 
 Cor. To brag unto them, — Thus I did, and 
 thus : — 
 
 Shew them the unaking scars, which I slnnild hide, 
 As if I had receiv'd them for the hire 
 Of their breath only ; — 
 
 Men. Do not stand upotr't. — 
 
 VVe recommend to you, tribunes of the people. 
 Our purpose to them ; — and to our noble consul 
 Wish we all joy and honour. 
 
 Sen. Tc Coriolanus come all joy and honour! 
 
 [Flourish. Then exeunt Senatorg. 
 
 Bru. You see how he iuteisds to use the peopl'% 
 
 Sic. May they perceive his intent I He, tliat wj'J. 
 require them, 
 As if he did contemn VJ'hat he requested 
 Should be in them to give. 
 
 Bru. CcTiic. we'U inform them 
 
 Of our proceedings here: on the market-place, 
 ! kiiow, they do attend us. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene HI. — The same. T/l^ Forum. 
 , Enter several Citizens, 
 
 1 Cit. Once, if he do require our vcioes, wt 
 ought not to deny him. 
 
 2 Cit. W'e niay, sir, if we will. 
 
 3 Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, bif 
 it is a po\\er that we have no power to do : for .f h^ 
 shew us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we art 
 to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak {ly, 
 them; so, if lie tell ns his noble deeds, we must alsa 
 tell him our noble acceptance of them Ingratitude 
 is monstrous: and for the multitude to be ingrate- 
 ful, were to make a monster of the multitude ; of the 
 which, we being membtrs, should brinp ourselves 
 to be monstrous members. 
 
 1 Cit. And to make us no octtei thought of, a 
 little help will serve : for once, whe^ we stood up 
 about the corn, he himself stuck not to call m the 
 many-headed multitude. 
 
 3 Cit. We have been rtlled so of n any; not that 
 our heads are some brown, some black. Home auburn, 
 some bald, but that "ur wits are so diversely co- 
 loured : and truly I thiijk,if all our wits w«re to jssue 
 out of one skull, they would' fly east, vest, north, 
 south; and their onsent of one diiect way should 
 be at (mce to al' ne points o'the compass. 
 
 2 Cit. Thinl you so ? Which way, do yo i judge, 
 my wit woulr^ dy ? 
 
 3 Cit Nay, your wit will not so soon 'mi as 
 another man's will, 'tis strongly wedged isp in a 
 block head : bat if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, 
 southward. 
 
 2 Cit. Wliy that way ? 
 
 3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog; where being thiee 
 parts melted away with rotten d» ws, the fourth 
 would return for conscience' sake, to aelp to gel 
 thee a wile. 
 
 3 Cit. You are never without your tricks: — Yon 
 may , you may. 
 
5Gb 
 
 S Oii. Are you all resolved to give your voices? 
 But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. J 
 say, if he would incline to the people, there was 
 waver a worthier man. 
 
 Enter Cortolanus ^no? Menenius. 
 Here be comes, and in the gown of humility • mark 
 his behaviour. We are not to stay altogethei. but to 
 come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, 
 and by threes. He's to make his requests by parti- 
 culars : wherein every one of us has a single honour, 
 in giving him our own voices with our own tongues ; 
 therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you 
 shnll gi) by him. 
 
 All. Content, content. [Exeunt. 
 
 Me.n. O sir, you are not right: have you not 
 The worthiest men have done't ? [known 
 
 C07; What must I say ? — 
 
 I |)iay, sir, — Plague i.pon'tl I cannot bring 
 My tongue to such a pace: — Look, sir; — my 
 
 wounds ; — 
 I got them in my country's service, when 
 »S()(iie certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran 
 From the noise of our own drums. 
 
 Men. O me, the gods .' 
 
 Yoi! tiiust not speak of that; you must desire them 
 To tliink upon you. 
 
 Cor. Think upon me ? Hang 'em ! 
 
 I vvonld they would forget me, like the virtues 
 Wliicli our divines lose by them. 
 
 Men. You'll mar all ; 
 
 I'll iea\e you: Pray you, speak to them, I pray you. 
 In wholesome manner. [Exit. 
 
 Enter two Citizens. 
 Cor. Bid them wash their faces, 
 
 A jid keep their teeth clenn. — So, here comes a brace. 
 V()!i know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 
 
 1 Cit. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you 
 Cor. i\line own desert. [to't. 
 
 2 Cit. Your own desert ? 
 Cor. Ay, not 
 
 Mine own desire. 
 
 1 Cit. How ! not your own desire ? 
 
 Cor. No, sir : 
 'Tw as never my desire yet, 
 1~o trouble the poor with begging. 
 
 I Cit. You must think, if we give you anything, 
 We hope to gain by you. [ship? 
 
 Cor. Well then, 1 pray, your price o'the consul- 
 
 1 Cit. 'V\\t price is, sir, to ask it kindly. 
 
 Cor. Kindly ? 
 
 Sir, 1 pray, let me ha't: I have wounds to shew you, 
 VVhicii shall be yours in private. — Your good voice, 
 What say you :* [sir; 
 
 2 Cit. You ^hall have it, worthy sir. 
 Cor. A match, sir 
 
 There is in all two woithy voices begg'd: — 
 1 have your alms ; adieu 
 
 1 Cit But this is something odd. 
 
 2 Cit. An 'twere to g" e again. — But 'tis no 
 
 matter. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter two other Citizens. 
 Cor. Pniy you now, if it may 4,and with the tune 
 of your v(-i<;es. that 1 may be co; '^ul, 1 have here 
 the cust-nnaiy gown. 
 
 3 Cit. You have deserved nobiy your country, 
 5?k! yon lia^e iH>t de.ser\ ed nobly. 
 
 Cor. \ owv enigma ? 
 
 3 Cit. Voti lia\e been a scourge to her enesnies, 
 |fou have been a rod to her friends; you have not, 
 iirdeed, loved the common jteople. 
 
 Cur. You should account me the more virtuous, 
 ifirtt I have Bot heen coiiunon in my love. I will, 
 sir, {fatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a 
 dearer estimati(»n of them ; 'tis a condition they ac- 
 count gentle : and since the \vi.s(l(/m of their choice 
 is rather to have my hat than my heart, I vvill prac- 
 tise thif> insinuating nod, and be off to them most 
 
 Act IL 
 
 counterfeitiy ; fnat is, sir, ! will counteifeit the be- 
 witchment of some popular man, and give it boun- 
 tifully to the desires. Therefore, beseech you, 1 
 may be consul. 
 
 4, Cit. We hope to find you oui friend; ati 
 therefore give you our voices heartily. 
 
 3 Cit. You have received many M'ounds for yonr 
 country. 
 
 Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with shewing 
 then!. I will make much of your voices, and su 
 trouble you no further. 
 
 Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily I 
 
 [Eseuni, 
 
 Cor. Most sweet voices ! — 
 Better it is to die, better to starve, 
 '^riian crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
 Why in this wolfish gown should I stand iiere. 
 To Iteg of Hub and Dirk, that do appear. 
 Their needless vouches 1 Custom calls inc" to't: — 
 Wiiat cu.st(-u» wills, in all tilings shoidd we do't. 
 The dust on antique time would lie unswept, 
 And moimtainons error be too highly heap'd 
 For ti iith to ov er-peer. — Rather than fool it so. 
 Let the high oflice and the honour go 
 'J'o one fliat would do thus. — I am half through ; 
 I'he one \i<wi suffer'd, the other will 1 do. 
 
 Enter three other Citizens. 
 
 Here come uK^re voices. — 
 
 Your voices : for your voices I have fought ; 
 
 W'ali.lrd for your voices: for your voices, bear 
 
 or wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice sis 
 
 1 have seen, and heard of ; for your voices, have 
 
 Done many things, some less, some more : your 
 
 Indeed. I would be consul. [voices: 
 
 5 Cit. Fie has done nobly, and cannot go without 
 any honest man's voice. 
 
 Cit. Therefore let him be consul: The gods give 
 him joy, and make him good friend to the ptople ! 
 
 All. Amen, amen. — 
 God save thee noble consid ! [Exeunt Ciiizem, 
 
 Cor. Worthy voices ! 
 
 Re enter Menenius, ivith Brutvs and Sicmius. 
 Men. You have stood your li taticm , and the 
 tribunes 
 
 Endue you with the people's voice : Reraains, 
 That, in the (.IFicial marks invested, you 
 Anon do meet the senate. 
 
 Cor. Is th's done 'i' 
 
 Sic. The custom of requests y(;U have discharg'd ; 
 The people do admit yuu ; and are .summon'd 
 To meet anon, upon your appniliatioii. 
 
 Cur. Where ? at the senate-house ? 
 
 Sic. There, Coriolanus. 
 
 Cor. May I then change these garments ? 
 
 Sic. You may, sir. 
 
 Cor. That I'll straight do ; and, knowing u)yself 
 Repair to the senate-house. [again. 
 
 Men. I ll keep you company. — Will you along? 
 
 Bru. We stay here for the people. 
 
 Sic. Fare y'ou vvell. 
 
 [Exeunt Coriol. and Menen. 
 He has it now ; and by his looks, methinks, 
 'Tis warm at his heart. 
 
 Bru. With a proud heart he wore 
 
 His humble weeds : Will you dismiss the people ? 
 
 Re enter Citizens. 
 Sic. How now, my masters? have you chose this 
 
 1 Cit. He has our voices, sir. [man? 
 Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve your 
 
 loves. 
 
 2 Cit. Amen, sir: To my poor unworthy notice. 
 He mock'd us, wlien he begg'd our voices. 
 
 Cit. Certainly, 
 He flouted us downright. 
 
 1 Cit. Nr., 'tis his kind of speech, he did no( 
 
 niock us. 
 
 2 ClI. Notoue amongst us, save yourself, ht:l $aya(j 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 66S 
 
 He us'd US scornfully: he should hav«^ shew'd ns 
 His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd ft./ his country. 
 Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 
 Cit. No ; no man saw 'em. 
 
 {Se>ocral speak.) 
 3 Cit, He said, he had wounds, which he couia 
 shew in private ; 
 And with his liat, tlius waving it in scorn, 
 I would be consul, says he : aged custotn, 
 But by your voices, will not so perinit me ; 
 Your voices therefore . When we granted that. 
 Here was, — / thank you for your voices, — thrnh 
 you, — {voic^es, 
 Your most sweet voices : — now you hnvr left your 
 I have no further withyou: — VVas :jot this n/ock- 
 ery ? 
 
 Sic. Why, either, you were jg'-.orcint to see't ; 
 Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
 To yield your voices? 
 
 Bru. Could you not have told him. 
 
 As you were lesson'd, — When he had no power, 
 But was a petty servant to tiie state. 
 He was your enemy ; ever spake against 
 Your liberties, and ';he charters that you bear 
 ['the body of the weal : and now, arriving 
 A place of potency, and sway o'the state, 
 5f he should still malignantly remain 
 fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
 £e ciir.-*es to yourselves ? You should liave said, 
 That, as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
 Thiiii what he stood for: so his gracious nature 
 VV'uiild think upon you for your voices, and 
 iVaiisl.ite his malice to\vards you into love, 
 titaiiding your friendly lord. 
 
 Sic. Thus to have said, 
 
 As von were fore-advis"d, had tonch'd his spirit, 
 Xw\ tryVl his inclination; frcm him p!iick"d 
 Either his gracious promise, which you might, 
 (^s caiis(- liad caird you \\\), have li^^ld iiiiii to; 
 Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, 
 VVhich easily endiires not article 
 Tyin^ him to aught; so outting him to rage. 
 You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler, 
 And pass d him uiielected. 
 
 Bru. Did you perceive, 
 
 He did solicit you in free contempt. 
 When he did need your loves; and do you think, 
 Ifluit his contempt shall not be bruising to you. 
 When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your bodies 
 No heart among you ? Or had you tougut-s., to cry 
 Against the rectorship of judgment ? 
 
 Sic. Have you, 
 
 Ere now, deny'd the asker? and, now again, 
 On him, tliat did not ask, but mock, bestow 
 Your au'd for tongues ? 
 
 .3 Cit. He's not confinn'd, we may deny him yet. 
 
 2 Cit. And will deny him: 
 I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 
 
 1 Cit. 1 twice five hundred, and their friends to 
 niece 'em. [friends,— 
 
 BrUm Get you hence instantly ; and tell those 
 They have chose a consul, that will from them take 
 Their jiherties ; make them of no more voice 
 'Wnn doirs. timt are as often beat for barking, 
 As therefore kept to do so. 
 
 Sic. Let them assemble j 
 
 And, on a safer judgment, all revoke 
 Vour ignorant election: Enforce his pride, 
 And luH old hate unto you : besides, fors>et not 
 With vvlmt contempt he wore the humble weed; 
 How in his suit he scom'd you : but your loves, 
 Thinkimj upon his services, took from you 
 'I'he apprehension of his present poi tance, 
 VVhich ^!)ingly, ungravelv he did fashion 
 AfttT the inveterate hate he bears you. 
 
 B',^. Lay 
 A fault on ns, your tribunes ; that we labour'd 
 (!^o inipedimeut between) but that you must 
 Oist yonr election on Mm. 
 Stc. Say, you chose him 
 
 More after our c^rjTnandment, than an gul<1ed 
 By your own tnie nffections ; and that, your minds 
 Pre occapy'd with what you rather must do 
 Thau what you should, made you against the grsim 
 To voice him consul : Lay the fault on ug. 
 
 Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we lead lecturet tf 
 you, 
 
 Wow youngly he began to serve his country, 
 flow long continued : and what stock he springs of. 
 The noble house o'the JMarciaus ; from whence cairts 
 That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
 Wlio, after great Hostilius, here was king : 
 Of the sauK" house Publius and Quintus were. 
 That our best water brought by conduits hither; 
 And Censorlnus, darling of the people. 
 And nobly nanrd so, being censor twice. 
 Was his great ancestor. 
 
 Sic. ^_ One thus descended. 
 
 That hath beside well in his person wrought 
 To be set high in place, we did commend 
 To your remembrances: but you have found, 
 Scaling his present bearing with his past, 
 That h^'s your fixed enemy, and revoke 
 Your sudaen approbation. 
 
 Bru. Say, you ne'er had done't, 
 
 (Harp on that still,) but by our putting on: 
 And presently, when you have drawn your number 
 Repair to the Capitol. 
 
 Cit. We will so : almost all (Several speak.) 
 Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens 
 
 Bru. Let them go on ; 
 
 This mutiny were better put in hazard, 
 Than stay, past doubt, for greater: 
 If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
 With their refusal, both observe and answer 
 The vantage of his anger. 
 
 Sic. To the Capitol : 
 
 Come ; we'll be there before the stream o'the people* 
 And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own. 
 Which we have goaded onwitrd. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The sayne. A Street. 
 Comets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Co. 
 MIMUS, TiTUS Lartius, Senators, and Patri- 
 cians. 
 
 Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? 
 
 hart. He had, my lord; and that it was, which 
 Our swifter composition. fcaus'd 
 
 Cor. So then the Voices stand but as at first; 
 Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road 
 Upon us again. 
 
 Com. They are wt rn, lord consul, so. 
 
 That we shall hardly in our ages see 
 Their banners wave again. 
 
 Cor. Saw you Aufidius? 
 
 Lar. On safeguard he cai ve to me ; and did curw 
 Against the Voices, for they had so vilely 
 Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Antiura. 
 
 Cor. Spoke he of me ? 
 
 Lart. He did , my lord. 
 
 Cor. How? what? 
 
 Latt. How often he had met you, sword io 
 sword. 
 
 That, of all things upon the earth, he hated 
 Your person most : that he would pawn bis fortnnes 
 To hopeless restitution, so he might 
 Be call'd your vanquisher. 
 
 Cor, At Antium lives he ? 
 
 Lart. At Antium. 
 
 Cor. I wish, I had a cause to seek him there. 
 To oppose his hatred full. — Welcome home. 
 
 (loLartiu»\ 
 
 Enter SiciNius Brutus. 
 
 Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people. 
 The tongues o'the common mouth. I do despisa 
 For they do prank them in authority, [them 
 Against all noble sufferance. 
 
570 
 
 CORIOLANUS, 
 
 Act III 
 
 Sic. Pass no further. 
 
 f7or. fla! What is that? 
 
 Bru. It will be daugerous to 
 
 f Jo on : no further. 
 
 Cor. What makes this change ? 
 
 Me7u The matter? 
 
 Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the com- 
 Bru. Cominius, no. [mo!)S ? 
 
 Cor. Have I had children's voices? 
 
 s^ft'tt. Tribunes, give way; he shall to the mar- 
 ket-place. 
 
 Bru. The people are ijaccEss'd against him. 
 
 Sic. Stop, 
 Or all will fall in broil. 
 
 Cor. Are these yonr herd ? — 
 
 Must these have voices, that can yield them now. 
 And straiglit disclaim their tongues? — What are 
 your offices? [teeth ? 
 
 Yon being their rnoiiths, why rule yon nSt their 
 Have you not set them on ? 
 
 Men. Be calm, be calm. 
 
 Cor. It is a piirpos'd thing, and grows by plot. 
 To curb the will of the nobility : 
 Sufl'er it, and live with such as cannot rule, 
 Nor ever will be rul'd. 
 
 Bru. Call't not a plot : 
 
 The people cry, you mock'd them ; and, of late, 
 Wlieii corn was given them gratis, you repin'd ; 
 Scandal'd the suppliants for the people ; ca^l'd them 
 Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 
 
 Cor. Why, this was known before. 
 
 Bru. Not to them all. 
 
 Cor. Have you inforra'd them since ? 
 
 Brtc. How! I inform tliem! 
 
 Cor. You are like to do such business. 
 
 Bru. Not unlike, 
 
 Eitch way, to better yours, [ciouds, 
 
 Cor. Why tiien should I be c<tnsul ? By yon 
 Let roe deserve so ill as you, and make me 
 Your fellow tribinie. 
 
 Sic. ■ You shew ti!0 muc'i of (hat, 
 
 For vvhi<',li the [ieople stir: If you will pass 
 To where you are bound, you must inquire your 
 way. 
 
 Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit; 
 Or iie\rr be so noble as a consul, 
 Nor yoke with hiu) for tribune. 
 
 Men. Let's be cahn. 
 
 Com. The people are abus'd : — Set on. — This 
 palt'ring 
 
 BecoMies not Rome; nor has Cori'ilanus 
 Deserv'd this so dishonoured ru!), hiid falsely 
 I'the plain way of his merit. 
 
 Cor. Trll me of corn! 
 
 This was my speech, and 1 will speak't again ; — 
 
 Men. Not now, not now. 
 
 1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 
 
 Cor. Now, as I live, I will. — My nobler friends, 
 1 crave their pardons : — 
 
 For the mutable, rank scented many, let them 
 Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
 Therein behold thenjselves : I say again, 
 [n soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
 The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition. 
 Which we ourselves fiave plough'd for, sow'd and 
 scatter'd, 
 
 By mingling them with us, the honour'd number; 
 VVho lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
 Which they have given to beggars. 
 
 Men. Well, no more. 
 
 I Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 
 
 Cur How ! no more ? 
 
 As for my country I have shed my blood, 
 Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
 Com words till their decay, against those meazels, 
 Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
 The very way to catch them. 
 
 Bru. You speak o'the people. 
 
 As if yo\; were a god to punish, not 
 A man of tht ir iufirmity. 
 
 Sic. Twere well. 
 
 We let the people kaw't. 
 
 Men. What, what? his chsileil 
 
 Cor. Choler! 
 Were 1 as a patient as the m,dnight sleep. 
 By Jove, 'twould be my mind. 
 
 l^ic. It is a csind. 
 
 That sliall remain a poison where it is. 
 Not poison any further. 
 
 Cor. Shall remain ! — 
 
 Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark yoa. 
 His absolute shall? 
 
 Com. 'Twas from the canon. 
 
 Cor. Shaiil 
 
 0 good, but most unwise patricians, why. 
 
 You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus 
 
 Given Hydra here to choose au olScer, 
 
 That with his peremptory shall, being but 
 
 The horn and noise o'the monsters, wants Ect spirit 
 
 To say, he'll turn your current in a ditch. 
 
 And make your channel his? If he have power. 
 
 Then vail your ignorance ; if none, awake 
 
 Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned. 
 
 Be not as common fools; if you are not, 
 
 Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, 
 
 If they be senators : and they are no less, 
 
 VVhen both your voices blended, the greatest taste 
 
 Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate : 
 
 And such a one as he, who puts his shally 
 
 His popular shall, against a graver bench 
 
 Than ever frown'd in Greece! By Jove himself, 
 
 It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches, 
 
 To know, when two authorities are up, 
 
 Neither supreme, how .soon confusion 
 
 May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take 
 
 The one by the other. 
 
 Com. Well — on to the market-place 
 
 Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to yive forth 
 The corn u'the store-house gratis, as twas us'd 
 S jHieliait in Greece, — 
 
 Men. Wei!, well, no more of that 
 
 Cor. (Though there the people had more abso 
 lute power,) 
 
 1 say, tiiey nourish'd disobedience, fed 
 The ruin of the state. 
 
 Bru. Why, shall the people give 
 
 One, that speaks thus, their voice ? 
 
 Cor. I'll ^ive my reasons, 
 
 More worthier than their ^ jices. They kt^ow, the 
 corn 
 
 Was not our recompence ; resting well assur'd 
 Tiiey ne'er did service for't : Being press'd to the 
 war, 
 
 Even when the navel of the state was touch'd 
 Tiiey would not thread the gates : this kind ol 
 serv ice 
 
 Did not deserve corn gratis ; being i'the war, 
 Tlieir mutinies and revolts, wherem they shew'd 
 Must valom-, spoke not for them : The accusation 
 VYliich they have often made against the senate. 
 All cause unborn, could ntver be the Urttive 
 Of our so frank donation. Well, what then ? 
 How shall this bosom multiiilied digest 
 The senate's f.ourtesy ? Lf"t deeds express 
 VVhat's like to be their words : — ]Ve did request itj 
 W e are the greater poll, and in true fear 
 They gave us our demands : — Thus we debase 
 'I'he nature of our seaty, and make the rabble 
 Call our cares, fears : whiv h will in time break op« 
 The locks o the senate, and bring in tlie crow 
 To peck the eagles.- - 
 
 Men. Come, enough. 
 
 Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 
 
 Cor. No, take morC'v 
 
 What may be sworn by, both divisae and human, 
 Seal what I end withal ! — This double worship, — 
 Where one part does disdain wiih cause, tlie otbei 
 Insult without all reason ; where gentry title, wis- 
 Caimot conclude, but by the yea auJ no [^om 
 Of general ignorance — it must omit 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 CORTOLANUS. 
 
 571 
 
 Real necessitjpg, and ^ive way tl ,e while 
 To unstable slightness : purpose s ) barr'd, it follows, 
 Nothing is done to purpose : Therefore, beseech 
 you,— 
 
 Yo\i that will be less fearful than discreet; 
 
 That love the fundamental part of state, 
 
 More tiian you doubt the change oft; that prefer 
 
 A noble life before a long, and wish 
 
 To jump a body with a dangerous physic, 
 
 That's siire of death without it, — at once pluck out 
 
 The na«ltitadinous tongue, let theui not lick 
 
 The sweet which is their poison : your dishonour 
 
 Mangiea true judgment, and bereaves the sta,te 
 
 Of that integrity which should become it; 
 
 Not hav ing the power to do the good it would, 
 
 For the ill which doth control it. 
 
 Bru. He has said enough. 
 
 Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall an- 
 As traitors do. [swer 
 
 Cor. Thou wretch! despite o'er whelm thee ! — 
 What should the people do with these bald tribunes ? 
 On whom depending, their obedience fails 
 To the greater bench : In a rebellion, 
 When what's not meet, but what must be, was law. 
 Then were they chosen ; in a better hour. 
 Let what i'S meet, be said it must be meet, 
 And throw their power i' the dust. 
 
 Bru. Manifest treason. 
 
 Sic. This a consul ? no. 
 
 Bru. Thei^ldiles, ho ! — Let him be apprehended. 
 
 Sic. Go, call the people ; [Exit Brutus.] in whose 
 name, myself 
 Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator, 
 A foe to the public weal : Obey, 1 charge thee, 
 And follow to thine answer. 
 
 Cor. Hence, old goat ! 
 
 Sen. §f Pat. We'll surety him. 
 
 Co?n, Aged sir, hands off. 
 
 Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy 
 Out of thy garments. [bones 
 
 Sic. Help, ye citizens. 
 
 Re eriterBRVTUSyWiik the ^diles, and a rabble 
 of Citizens. 
 
 Men. On both sides more respect. 
 
 Sic. Here's he, that wcfuld 
 
 Take from you all your power. 
 
 Bru. Seize him, i^Idiles. 
 
 Cit. Down with him ! down with him ! 
 
 [Several sjieak.) 
 
 2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 
 
 [They all bustle about Coriolanus.) 
 rHbiines, patricians, citizens! — what, ho! — 
 Siciiius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens! 
 
 Cit. Peace, jjeace, peace ; stay, hold, peace ! 
 
 Men. What is about to be ? — I am out of breath ; 
 Confusion's near: I cannot speak: — You, tribunes 
 To the peo,iIe, — Coriolanus, patieuce : — 
 Speak, good Sicinius. 
 
 Sic, Hear me, people , — Peace. 
 
 Cit. Let's hear our tribune: — Peace. Speak, 
 speak, speak. 
 
 Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties : 
 Marc jus would have all from you ; Marcius, 
 Whom late you have nam'd for consul. 
 
 Men. _ Fy, fy, fy 1 
 
 This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 
 
 1 Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 
 
 Sic. What is the city, but the people ? 
 
 CiL True, 
 1 he people are the city. 
 
 Bi^. By the consent of all, we were establish'd 
 The priople'3 magistrates. 
 
 Cit. You so remain. 
 
 Men... And 4<o are like to do. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat; 
 Vo bring the ro.)l'totlie fo indention; 
 i\ifd bury all, v\ hich yet distin tiy ranges, 
 \n Leaps and pi!es of ruin. 
 
 Situ This deserves death. 
 
 Bru. Or let ns stand to our au Jiorit/, 
 Or let us lose it : — We do here prx)uouD<^e, 
 Upon the fart o'the people, in whose power, 
 We were elected their's, Marcius is worlhy 
 Of present death. 
 
 Sic. Therefore, lay hold of liim; 
 
 Bear him to the rock Tarpeiau, and from ilieac* 
 Into destruction cast him. 
 
 Brit. iEdiles, seize hiia ; 
 
 Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. 
 
 Men. ^ Hear me one word. 
 
 Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 
 
 JEd. Peace, peace. [fnend, 
 
 Men. Be that you seem, truly your countiy'a 
 And temperately proceed to what you would 
 Thus violently redress. 
 
 Bru. Sir, those cold ways. 
 
 That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
 W^here the disease is violent : — Lay hands upoo 
 And bear hini to the rock. [him, 
 
 Cor. No; I'll die here. 
 
 [Draiviny his sword.) 
 There's some among you have beheld me fighting J 
 Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. 
 
 Men. Down with that sword ; — Tribunes, witit- 
 draw a while. 
 
 Bru. Lay hands upon him. 
 
 3Ien. Help, help, Marcius! help^ 
 
 You that be noble ; help him, young, and old! 
 
 Cit. Down with him, down with him! 
 
 [In this mutiny y the Tribmies., the Mdiles 
 and the people., are all beat in,) 
 
 Men. Go, get you to your house ; be gone, away. 
 All will be naught else. 
 
 2 Sen. Get you gone. 
 
 Cor. _ Stand fast ; 
 
 We have as many fiiends as enemies. 
 
 Men. Shall it be put to that? 
 
 I Sen. The gods forbid 1 
 
 I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house ; 
 L;ra\e us to cure this cause. 
 
 Men. For ti3 a sore upon us. 
 
 You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech yoii. 
 
 Com. Come, sir, along with us. 
 
 Cor. I would they were barbarians, (as they are 
 Though in Rome litter d,) not Romans, (as thef 
 are not, 
 
 Though calv'd i' tl).e porch of the Capitol,) — 
 
 Men. Begone: 
 
 Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
 
 One time will owe another. 
 
 Cor. On fair ground, 
 
 I could beat forty of them. 
 Men. I could myself 
 
 Take up a brace of the best of them ; yea, the tw© 
 tribunes. 
 
 Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; 
 And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
 Against a falling fabric. — Wdl you hence. 
 Before the tag return ? whose rage doth rend 
 Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
 What they are used to bear. 
 
 Men. Pray you, be gone : 
 
 I'll try whether my old wit be in request 
 With those that have but little ; this nuist be patcb'd 
 With cloth of any colour. 
 
 Com. Nay, come away. 
 
 [Exeunt Coriolanus., Cominius, and others* 
 
 1 Pat. 'J'liis man has niarr'd his I'ortune. 
 Men. His nature is too noble for the vyorld : 
 
 He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, 
 Or Jove for liis power to thunder. His heart's his 
 mouth : 
 
 What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; 
 And being angry, does forget that ever 
 He heard the name of death. [A nc ise tvithin.) 
 Here's goodly work! 
 
 2 Pat- I would they were a bed! 
 Men. I would they were in Tyber !— What the 
 
 vengeance. 
 
672 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act hi. 
 
 Could be not speak them fair? 
 Ue-enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the rabble. 
 
 S^c. Where is this viper. 
 
 That would depopulate the city, and 
 Be every man himself? 
 
 Men. You worthy tribunes, — 
 
 Sic. He shall be thrown dewn the Tarpeian rock 
 With rigorous hands ; he hath resisted law, 
 And therefore law shall scorn him further trial 
 Than the severity of the public power. 
 Which he so sets at nought 
 
 1 Cit. fie shall well know. 
 
 The noble tribunes are the people's mouths. 
 And we their hands. 
 
 C'll. He shall, sure on't. 
 
 {Several speak together.) 
 
 Men. Sir. — 
 
 Sic. Peace. 
 
 Men. Do not cry, havock, where you should but 
 With modest warrant. _ [hunt 
 
 Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you 
 
 Have holp to make this rescue ? 
 
 Men. Hear me speak : — 
 
 As I do know the consul's worthiness 
 So can I name his faults : — 
 
 Sic. Consul ! — what consul ? 
 
 Men. The consul Corlolanas. 
 
 Bru. He a consul ! 
 
 Cit. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
 
 people, 
 
 I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two; 
 The which shall turn you to no further harm, 
 Than so much loss of time. 
 
 Sic. Speak briefly then; 
 
 For we are peremptory, to despatch 
 This vi[)erous traitor: to eject him hence, 
 Were but one danger; and, to keep him here. 
 Our certain death; therefore it is decreed, 
 He dies to-tight. 
 
 Men. Now the good gods forbid, 
 
 Tliat otir renowned Rome , whose gratitude 
 Towards her deserved children is enroH'd 
 In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam, 
 Slioiild now eat up her own ! 
 
 Sic. He's a disease that must be cut away. 
 
 Men. O, he's a limb, that has but a disease ; 
 Mortal, to cut it of!'; to cure it, easy. 
 Wliat has he done to Rome, that's worthy death? 
 Xilling our enemies? The blood he hath lost, 
 
 i ''Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, 
 iy tuaiiy an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country: 
 Aiul, what is left, to lose it by his country. 
 Were to us all, that do't, and suffer it, 
 A brand to the end o'the world. 
 Sic. This is clean kam. 
 
 Bru. Merely awry : When he did love his coun- 
 It honour'd him. [try. 
 
 Men. The service of the foot 
 
 Being once gangren'd. is not then respected 
 For vvltat before it was ? 
 
 Bru. We'll hear no more : — 
 
 Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ; 
 Ijest his infection, being of catching nature, 
 Spf>ad further. 
 
 Men. One word more, one word. 
 
 This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
 The harm of nnscann'd swiftness, will, too late, 
 Ti-f leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by pro- 
 Lj. st parties (as he is belov'd) break out, [cess ; 
 A^d sack great Rome with Romans. 
 
 ^ru. Ifitwereso, — 
 
 i^ic. What do ye talk ? 
 Fave wf not had a taste of his obedience? 
 Ou' iEdiles sru'ite ? ourselves resisted ? — Cotne : — 
 M.Kn. Cotisider this; — He has been bred i'the 
 wars 
 
 Since he could draw a sword, anc is ill schfrol'd 
 la fch. fited language; meal and br«u tot;ellierj 
 
 He throws without distinction. Give me leaTO 
 I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him 
 Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
 (In peace) to his utmost peril. 
 
 I Sen. Noble tribnoes^ 
 
 It is the humane way : the other course 
 Will prove too bloody ; and the end of it 
 Unknown to the beginning. 
 
 Sic. Noble Menenioa, 
 
 Be you then as the people's officer : — 
 Masters, lay down your weapons. 
 
 Bru. Go not home. 
 
 Sic. Meet on the market-place: — We'll attend 
 you there : 
 
 Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed 
 In our first way. 
 
 Men. I'll bring him to you : — 
 
 Let nie desire your company. {To the Senators^ 
 
 He must come. 
 Or what is worst will follow. 
 ] Sen Pray you, let's to him, 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II.— ^ Room in Coriolanus's House. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus and Patricians. 
 Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears ; presei4 
 me 
 
 Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels, 
 Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock. 
 That the precipitation might down stretch 
 Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
 Be thus to them. 
 
 Enter Volumnia. 
 
 1 Pat. Yon do the nobler. 
 
 Cor. I mu.se, my mother 
 Does not approve me further, who was wont 
 To call them woollen vassals, things created 
 To buy and sell with groats ; to shew bare head« 
 In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, 
 When one but of my ordinance stood up 
 To speak of peace, or war. 1 talk of you ; 
 
 {'To Vokivtma,) 
 
 Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me 
 False to my nature ? Rather say, I play 
 The man I am. 
 
 Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 
 
 I would have had you put your power well on,. 
 Before you had worn it oat 
 
 Cor. Let go. 
 
 Vol. You might have been enough the man you 
 are. 
 
 With striving less to be so : Lesser had been 
 The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
 You had not shew'd them how you were dispos'd. 
 Ere they lacked power to cross you. 
 
 Cor. Let them haug^ 
 
 Vol. Ay, and burn too. 
 
 Enter Menenius and Senators. 
 
 Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, 
 something too rough ; 
 You must return, and mend it. 
 
 1 Sen. There's no remedy ; 
 
 Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
 Cleave in the midst, and perish. 
 
 Vol. Pray be counsel'd : 
 
 I have a heart as little apt as yours, 
 But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger. 
 To better vantage. 
 
 Men. Well said, noble woman; 
 
 Before he should thus stoop to tlie herd, but that 
 The violent fit o'the time craves it as physic 
 For the wlioh' state. I would put mine armoor OQ^ 
 Which I can scarcely bear. 
 
 Cor. What must 1 do'? 
 
 Men. Return to the tribunes. 
 
 Cor. Well, 
 Wh»t then? what then? 
 
 Men. Hepent what yon have spoJu*4 
 
 Co/: For theni?- -I cansiot do it to the godjj. 
 
SCENB 8* 
 
 Mnst I then do't to them ? 
 
 Vol. Vou are too absolute ; 
 
 Though therein you can never be too noble. 
 But when extrenjities speak. I have heard yon say. 
 Honour and policy, like unsjver'd friends, 
 I'the war do grow together : Grant that, and tell 
 me, 
 
 In peace, what each of them by th'other lose, 
 That they combine not there. 
 
 dor. Tush, tush ! 
 
 Men. A good demand. 
 
 VoL If it be honour, in your wars, to seem 
 The same you are not, (which, for your best ends. 
 You adopt your policy,) how is it less, or worse, 
 That it shall hold companionship in peace 
 With honour, as in war; since that to both 
 It stands in like request ? 
 
 Cor. Why force you this ? 
 
 Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
 To the people ; not by your own instruction, 
 Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you to, 
 But with such words that are but roted in 
 Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
 Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. 
 Now, this no more dishonours you at all, 
 Than to take in a town with gentle words. 
 Which else would put you to your fortune, and 
 The hazard of much blood. — 
 \ would dissemble with my nature, where 
 My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd 
 I should do so in honour: I am in this, 
 Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; 
 And yon will rather shew our general louts 
 How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them, 
 For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard 
 Of what that want might ruin. 
 
 Men. _ Nohle lady !— 
 
 Come, go with us ; speak fair: you may salve so. 
 Not what ir dangerous present, but the loss 
 Of what is past. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, my son. 
 
 Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
 And thus far having stretchd it, (here be with 
 them,) 
 
 Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business 
 Action is eloquence, and the eyes oi the ignorant, 
 More learned than their ears,) wa\ ing tiiy head, 
 VVhich often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
 That humble, as the ripest mulberry, 
 Now will not hold the handling; Or, say tc Ihem, 
 Thou art tlieir soldier, and being bred in broils, 
 Hast not the soft way, which, thou dust conl'ess. 
 Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, 
 In asking their good loves ; but tliou wilt fiame 
 Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
 As thou hast power, and person. 
 
 Men. This but done. 
 
 Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts were 
 yours ; 
 
 For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
 As. words to little purpose. 
 
 Vol. Pr'ythee, now. 
 
 Go, and be rul'd : although, I know, thou had'st 
 rather 
 
 Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf, 
 
 Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Comiuius. 
 
 Enter CoMiNius. 
 Com T Tiave been i'the market-place: and, sir, 
 'tis fit 
 
 Vou make strong party, or defend yourself 
 By calmness, or by absence ; all's in anger. 
 Men. Only fair speech. 
 
 Com. I think, 'twill serve, if he 
 
 Can thereto frame his spirit. 
 
 Vol. He must, and will : — 
 
 Pr'vthee, now, say, you will, and go about it. 
 
 Cor. Must 1 go shew them my unbarb'd sconce ? 
 Must I 
 
 With my base tongue give to my noble heart 
 
 57a 
 
 A lie, that it must bear ? Well, I will do't: 
 Yet were there but this single plot to lose. 
 This mould of Marcius, they to dust shoidd grixsd H 
 And throw it against the wind. — To the market 
 
 place : — 
 
 You have put me now to such a part, which nerer 
 T shall discharj.e to the life. 
 
 Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son ; as thou hast saic^ 
 My praises made thee first a soldier, so. 
 To have my praise for this, perform a part 
 Thou hast not done before. 
 
 Cor. Well, I must do't: 
 
 Away, my disposition, and possess me 
 Some harlot's spirit ! My throat of war be turn'd, 
 Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
 Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
 That babies lulls asleep ! The smiles of knaves 
 Tent in my cheeks ; and school-boys' tears take rrp 
 The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue 
 Make motion through my lips; and my arm'd kiMC««, 
 Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
 That hath receiv'd an alms ! — 1 will not do't. 
 Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth. 
 And, by my body's action, teach my mind 
 A most inherent baseness. 
 
 VoL At thy choice then; 
 
 To beg of thee, it is my more disht«nour. 
 Than thou of them. Come all to ruin ; let 
 Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear 
 Thy dangerous stoutness: for 1 mock at death 
 With as big heart as thou. Do as ihou list. 
 Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from m©f 
 But owe tliy pride thyself 
 
 Cor. Pray, be content; 
 
 Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
 Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves. 
 Cog their hearts from them, and come nome belo>'d 
 Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: 
 Commend me to my wife. Til return consul; 
 Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
 I'the way of flattery, further. 
 
 Vol. Do your w ill. [Exit, 
 
 Com. Away, the tribunes do attend you: arm 
 yourself 
 
 To answer mildly ; for they are prepar'd 
 With accusations, as I hear, more strong 
 Than are upon you yet. 
 
 Cor. The word is, mildly: — Pray you, let ns go; 
 Let them accuse me by invention, J 
 Will answer in mine honour. 
 
 3Ien. Ay, but mildly. 
 
 Cor. Well, mildly be it then ; mildly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III.— The same. The Forum. 
 Enter SiciNius and Brutus. 
 Bru. In this point charge him hon»e, that he at 
 fects 
 
 Tyrannical power: If he evade us there. 
 Enforce him with his envy to the people; 
 And that the spoil, got on the Antiates, 
 W as ne'er distributed. 
 
 Enter an JEdile. 
 What, will he come ? 
 
 .Md. He's coming, 
 
 Bru. How accompauied! 
 
 Aid. With old Menenius, and those seuators 
 That always favour'd him. 
 
 Sic. Have you a catalogue 
 
 Of all the voices that we have procur'd, 
 Set down by the poll ? 
 
 Aid. I have ; 'tii ready, here. 
 
 Sic. Have you collected them by tribes ? 
 
 Md. I hav^ 
 
 Sic. Assemble presently the people hither: 
 And when they hear me say, It shall be so 
 r the right and strength o' the commons^ be it 
 either 
 
 For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
671 
 
 CORTOLANUa 
 
 Act III. 
 
 If I say Me, c\y, fine; if death, cry death; 
 lusisting on the old prerogative 
 AnJ power i'the trutn o'the cause. 
 
 ^Ef/. 1 shall inform them. 
 
 Bru. And when such time they hav e begun to cry. 
 Let them not tease, but with a din confus'd 
 Enforce the present execution 
 Of what we chance to sentence. 
 
 j^]d. Very well. 
 
 Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, 
 iVhen we shall hap to give't them. 
 
 Bru. about it — 
 
 [Exit Mdile. 
 Put him to choler straight: He hath been us'd 
 Ever to cottquer, and to have his worth 
 01" contradiction : Being once cliafd, he cannot 
 Be rcin'd again to temperance ; then lie speaks 
 VVliat's in his heart; and that is there, which looks 
 With us to break his neck. 
 
 Enter Cokiolanus, Menenius, Cominii?s, 
 Senators^ and Patricmns. 
 Sic. Well, here he comes. 
 
 Men. Calmly, 1 do beseech you. 
 
 Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for tne poorest piece 
 Will bear the knave by the volume. — The honour'd 
 
 ^^^^ r . . 
 
 Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
 Supplied with woi tliy men '. plant love among us ! 
 Throng our huge teii)i)lps with the shews of peace. 
 And riftt our streets with war! 
 
 1 Sen. Amen, amen. 
 
 Men. A noble wish. 
 
 Re-enter /Edile., with Citizens. 
 Sic. Draw near, ye people. [say. 
 JEd. List to yolir tribunes; audience: Peace, I 
 Cor. First, hear me speak. 
 
 Both Tri. Well, say.— Peace, ho. 
 
 Cor. Shali I be charg'd no further than this pre- 
 Mnst all determine liere ? [sent? 
 
 .Sic. I do demand. 
 
 If you submit vou t '* the people's voices, 
 Allow their ollicers, atnl ^re content 
 To suifer lau'tul censure fw such faults 
 As shall be [)rov'd upon you ? 
 
 Cor. I am content. 
 
 Men. Lo, citizens, he says, lie is content. 
 The warlike service h<' has done, consider; 
 Think on tiie wounds his body hears, which shew 
 Like graves i'the holy churchyard. 
 
 Cor. Scratches with briars, 
 
 JSciirs to move laughter only. 
 
 Men. Consider further, 
 
 Thnt when lie speaks not like a citizen, 
 You find him like a soldier ; Do not take 
 His longlier aerents for malicious soundfi, 
 B;il, as I say, ijiich as become a soldier, 
 Rather tlian envy you. 
 
 Com. Weil, well, no more. 
 
 Cor. What is the matter, 
 That being pass'd for consid with full voice, 
 I am so dishonour'ij, that the very hour 
 Vou take it off again :* 
 
 Sic. Answer to us. 
 
 Cor. Say then : 'tis true, 1 ought so. 
 
 Sic.\Wti charge you, that you have contriv'd to take 
 From Rome ail se.ison'd office, and to wind 
 Yourself into a power tyrannical; 
 For which, you are a traitor to the people. 
 
 Cor. Hctvv ! Traitor! 
 
 Men. Nay ; temperately : Your pronaise. 
 
 Cor. The fires i'the lowest hell fold in the people! 
 Call me their traitor I — Thou injurious tribune! 
 Within thine eyes sat twenty tlionsand deaths. 
 In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
 Thy lying tongue both numbers, I vvould say, 
 Thou liest, unto tiiee, w'th a voice as free 
 As I do pray the god-*. 
 
 Sic. Murk you this, people ? 
 
 Cit. To the rock vvith him ; to the rock with him 
 
 Sic. Peace. 
 We need not put new matter to his chaise : 
 What you have .seen him do, and heard him speak. 
 Beating your officers, cursing yourselves. 
 Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying 
 Those whose great power must try him ; even thi*, 
 So criminal, and in such capital kind. 
 Deserves the extremest death. 
 
 Bru. But since he hath 
 
 Serv'd well for Rome, — 
 
 Cor. What, do you prate of servics ? 
 
 Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 
 
 Cor. You? 
 
 Men. Is this 
 
 The promise that you made your mother? 
 
 Com. ' KnoWy 
 
 I pray you, — 
 
 Cor. I'll know no further ; 
 
 Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death. 
 Vagabond exile, flaying; Pent to linger 
 But with a grain a day, I would not buy 
 Their mercy at the price of one fair word ; 
 Nor check my courage for what they can give. 
 To hav't with saying, Good morrow. 
 
 Sic. For that he has 
 
 (As much as in him lies) from time to time 
 Envied against the people, seeking means 
 To pluck away their power : as now at last 
 Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence 
 Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
 That do distribute it ; in the name o'the people, 
 And in the power of us the tribunes, we. 
 Even from this instant, banish him our city ; 
 In peril o( precipitjitie n 
 From olfthe rock Tarpeian, never more 
 To enter our Rome gates: I' the people's name, 
 I say, it shall be so. 
 
 Ctt. It shall be so, 
 
 It shall be so; hi liim away : he's hanish'd 
 And so it shall be. [friends ■ 
 
 Com. Hear me, my masters, and my coninii.n 
 
 Sic. He's seiiteu'j'd : no more hearing. 
 
 Com. Let me speak \ 
 
 I have been const. 1, and can shew from Rome 
 Her enemies" inaiks upon me I do love 
 My country's good, with a respect more tender, 
 More holy and protound, than mine own life. 
 My dear wile's estimate, her womb's increase. 
 And treas ire of my loins - then if I would 
 Speak that — 
 
 Sic. We know your drift; Speak what? 
 
 Bru. There's no more to be said, but he M 
 banish'd. 
 
 As enemy to the people, and his country : 
 It shall be so. 
 
 Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so. 
 
 Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath I ha* ; 
 As reek o'the rotten fens, whose loves I priae 
 As the dead carcases of unburied men 
 That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
 And here remain with your uncertainty! 
 Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! 
 Your enemies, with nodding of their plumegy 
 Fan yon into despair ! Have the power still 
 To banish your defenders ; till, at length. 
 Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,) 
 Making not reservation of yourselves, 
 (Stdl your own foes.) dehver you, as most 
 Abated captives, to some nation 
 That won you without blows! Despising, 
 For you, the city, thus I turn my back : 
 There is a vvoild elsewhere. 
 
 {Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Menenitts, 
 Senators., and Patricia7is. 
 
 jFjd. The people s enemy is gone, is gone ! 
 
 Cit. Our enemy's banish d ! he is gone ! Heo I hoo! 
 [The people shout, and throw up their ( 
 
 Sic. Go. see him out ai gates, and follow? him. 
 As he hath foliow'd you, W5th all despite ; 
 
Act rV. Sjene 2. 
 
 CORTOLANUS. 
 
 Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
 Attend ns through the city. [come; — 
 
 Ci(. Come, come, let us see him ont at gates ; 
 The gods preser\e our noble tribunes! — Come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. Before a Gate of the CAty. 
 
 "Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Mene- 
 NlUS, COMINIUS, and several young Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Come, leave your tears ; a brief farewell : — 
 the beast 
 
 With many heads butts me away.— Nay, mother, 
 VViiere is your ancient courage ? you were us'd 
 To say, extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
 That common cliances common men could bear ; 
 That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike 
 Shewed mastership in floating: fortune's blows, 
 When most struck home, being gentle wounded, 
 craves 
 
 A noble cunning: you were us'd to load me 
 With precepts, that would make invincible 
 The heart that conn'd them. 
 
 Vir. O heavens ! O heavens ! 
 
 Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman, — 
 
 Yol- Now the red pestilence strike all trades in 
 And occupations perish ! [Rome, 
 
 Cor. What, what, what ! 
 
 I shall be lov'd, when I am lack'd. Nay, mother. 
 Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, 
 If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
 Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd 
 Your husband so much sweat. — Cominius, 
 Droop nnt ; adieu: — Farewell, my wife! my mother! 
 I'll do well yet. — 'I^hou old and true Menenius, 
 Thy tt-ars are Salter than a younger man's, 
 And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime general, 
 I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
 Heart-hard"ning spectacles; tell these sad women, 
 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes. 
 As 'tis to laugh at them. — My mother, you wot well, 
 My hazards still have been your solace : and 
 Believ"t not lightly, (though I go alone 
 Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 
 Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen,) your son 
 Will, or exceed the common, or be caught 
 With cautelous baits and practice. 
 
 Yol. My first son, 
 
 Whither wilt thou go ? Take good Cominius 
 With thee a-while : Determine on some course, 
 More than a wild exposure to each chance 
 That starts i'the way before thee. 
 
 Cor. O the gods ! 
 
 Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee 
 Where thou slialt rest, that tliou may'st hear of us. 
 And we of tliee: so, if the time thrust forth 
 A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
 O'er the vast world, to seek a single man : 
 And l(»se advantage, which doth ever cool 
 I'the absence of the needer. 
 
 Cor. Fare ye well: — 
 
 Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
 Of tlie wars' surfeits, to go rove with one 
 That's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate. — 
 Come, iny sweet wile, my dearest mother, and 
 My friends of noble touch, when I am lorth. 
 Bid me furevvell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
 While I remain above the ground, you shall 
 Hear I'rom me still ; and never of me aught 
 But what is like me formerly. 
 
 Men. That's worthily 
 
 As any car can hear. — Come, let's not weep. — 
 If 1 could shake off but one seven years 
 From titese old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
 k'd wi'h thee everj foot. 
 
 C'of. Give me thy hand : — 
 
 Gome. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene \\,—The same, A. Street near the Gui^t 
 Enter SiciNius, Brutus, and an j^dile. 
 Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll M 
 further. — 
 
 The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sidad 
 In his behalf. 
 
 Bru. Now we have shewn our power, 
 Let us seem humbler after it is done, 
 'J'han when it was a doing. 
 
 Sic. Bid them home:' 
 
 Say, their great enemy is gone, and they 
 Stand in their ancient strength. 
 
 Bru. Dismiss them home. 
 
 [Exit Mdih 
 
 Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius. 
 Here comes his mother. 
 
 Sic. Let's not meet her. 
 
 Bru. Why? 
 
 Sic. They say, she's mad. 
 
 Bru. They have ta'en note of us : 
 
 Keep on your way. [o'the goda 
 
 Vol. O, you're well met: The hoarded plague 
 Requite your love. 
 
 Men. Peace, peace ; be not so loud. 
 
 Vol. If that I could for weeping,you should hear,— 
 Nay, and shall hear some. — Will you be gone ? 
 
 (To Brutus.) 
 
 Vir. You shall stay too: (To Sicin.) I would, I 
 
 had the power 
 To say so to my husband. 
 
 Sic. Are you mankind ? 
 
 Vol. Ay, fool; Is that a shame? — Note but this 
 
 fool.— 
 
 Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship 
 To banish him that struck more blows ior Rome, 
 Than thou hast spoken words ? 
 
 Sic 
 
 O blessed ht 
 
 Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wts« 
 words; [go:— 
 And for Ron)e's good. — I'll tell thee what ; — Yf>i 
 Nay, but thou slialt stay too: — 1 would my son 
 Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him. 
 His good sword in his hand. 
 
 Sic. What then ? 
 
 Vir. What then? 
 
 He d make an end of thy posterity. 
 
 Vol. Bastards, and all. — 
 Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome I 
 
 Men. Come, come, peace. 
 
 Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country. 
 As he began; and not unknit himself 
 The noble knot he made. 
 
 Bru. I would he had. 
 
 Vol. I would he had V 'Twas you incens'd the 
 rabble : 
 
 Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth, 
 As i can of those mysteries which heaven 
 Will not have earth to know. 
 
 Bru. Pray, let us go 
 
 Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone : [this : 
 
 You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear 
 As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
 The meanest house in Rome, s© far, my son^ 
 (This lady's husband here, tiiis, do you see,) 
 Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 
 
 Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. 
 
 Sic. Why stay we to be baifed 
 
 With one that wants her wits ? 
 
 Vol. Take my prayers with yoa.— 
 
 I would the gods had nothing else to do, 
 
 [Exeunt Tr4bunet, 
 But to confirm my curses! Could I meet them 
 But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
 Of what lies heavy to't. 
 
 Men. You have told them home, 
 
 And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup 
 with me ? 
 
 Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself. 
 
576 
 
 CORTOLANUS. 
 
 Act IT. 
 
 \nA 9.0 sh-dW shirve will feeding. — Come, let's go: 
 Leave this faint puling, hnw lament as I clo. 
 In anger, J mo like. Come, conve, come. 
 
 Men. Fy, fy, fy- [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — A Highivay between Rome and An- 
 
 tiunt. Enter a Roman and a Voice, meeting. 
 
 Ront. I know yon well, sir, and you know me: 
 your nanie, I think, is Adrian. 
 
 Vol. It IS so, sir: truly, I have forgot you. 
 
 Rom. [ am a Roman ; and my services are, as 
 you are, against them : Know you me yet? 
 
 Vol. Niranor? No. 
 
 Rom. The same, sir. 
 
 Vol. Yon had more beard, when T last saw yoii ; 
 but your f>ivonr is well a|)ppared by your tongue. 
 What's the news in Rome? I have a note from the 
 Volcian state, to find you out there : You have 
 well saved me a day's journey. 
 
 Rom. There liath been in Rome strange insur- 
 rection : the people as^ainst the senators, patricians, 
 and nobles. 
 
 Vol. Hath been! Is it ended then?* Our state 
 thinks not so; they are in a most warlike prepara- 
 tion, and hope to come upon them in the heat of 
 their division. 
 
 Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small 
 thing would make it flame again. For the nobles 
 receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy 
 Coriolanns. that they are in a ripe aptness, to take 
 II power from the people, and to pluck from them 
 their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell 
 you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking 
 «tit. 
 
 Vol. Coriolanns banished? 
 Rom. Banished, sir. 
 
 Vol. You will be welcome with this inteiligence, 
 
 NIcanor. 
 
 Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have 
 heard it said, the firtest time to corrupt a man's wife, 
 is wh' n she's fallen out with her husband. Your 
 noble Tnlius Anfidins will appear well in these wars, 
 his great opposer. Coriolanns, being now in no re- 
 quest of his country. 
 
 Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, 
 thus accidentally to encounter you : You have ended 
 my business, and 1 will merrily accompany you 
 Rome. 
 
 Rom. T shall, between this and supper, tell you 
 most str^tige tilings from Home; all tending to the 
 good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, 
 sa? vou? 
 
 Vol. A most ro\Q\ one : the centurions, and their 
 charges, distinctly billetted, already in the enter- 
 tainment, and to be on foot at an hours warning. 
 
 Rem. I an! joyful to hear of their readiness, and 
 am the man, I think, that shall set them in present 
 action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glarl 
 of your company. 
 
 Vol. You take my part from me, sir; I have the 
 most causp to be glad of yours. 
 
 Rom. W^ell, let us go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Antium. Before Aitf.dhis^s House. 
 Enter CoRlOLANUS, in mean apparel, disguised 
 and muffled. 
 Cor. A goodly city is this Antium: City, 
 Tis I that made thy widows ; many an heir 
 Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
 Have I heard groan, and drop: then know me not; 
 Lest that thy wives witb spits, and boys with stones, 
 
 Enter a Citizen, 
 in puny bnttle slay me. — Save you, sir. 
 Cit. And you. 
 
 Co*-. Direct me, if it be your will. 
 
 Where ereat Anfidins lies: Is he in Antium''' 
 
 Cit. He is. and feasts the nobles of the state, 
 At Kifi house this niirht. 
 
 l7or Which is his house, beseech you ? 
 
 Cit. This, here, before y>tt 
 
 Cor. Then>- yo'j, sir ; farewelL 
 
 [Exit Citiatn, 
 
 O, world, thy slippery turn?; F^'-iends now /ast 
 sworn, 
 
 Whose double bosoms »^em to wear ow heart, 
 
 Whose hours, whose bedl^ whose meal, aiH exercise. 
 
 Are still together, who 'tvin, as 'twere, in love 
 
 Unseparable, shall within this hour. 
 
 On a dissention of a doit, break out 
 
 To bitterest enmity : So, fcUesl foe.s, fsleep. 
 
 Whose passions and whose plot-i have broke theif 
 
 To take the one the other, by some chance. 
 
 Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, 
 
 And interjoin their issues. So with me: — 
 
 My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon 
 
 Tliis enemy town. — I'll enter : if he slay me. 
 
 He does fair justice; if he give me way, 
 
 I'll do his country service. [Exit. 
 
 Scene V.— The same. A Hall in Aujidius's 
 House. Music ivithin. Enter a Servant. 
 
 1 Ser. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! 
 I think our fellows are asleep. [Exit, 
 
 Enter another Servant 
 
 2 Ser. Where's Cotus ? my master calls for him. — 
 Cotus ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus. 
 
 Cor. A "goodly house : The feast smells wel! ; hvA \ 
 Appear not like a guest. 
 
 Re-enter the first Servant. 
 
 1 Ser. What would you have, friend ? When*.r. 
 are you ? Here's no place for you : Pray, go to tllA 
 door. 
 
 Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment. 
 In being Coriolanus. 
 
 Re-enter second Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the portei 
 his eyes in liis head, that he gives entrance to sueb 
 companions ? Pray, get you o^it. 
 
 Cor. Away! 
 
 2 Serv. Away? Get you away. 
 Cor. Now thou art troublesonie. 
 
 2 Serv. Are you so brave? I'll have you talked 
 with anon. 
 
 Enter a third Ser-vant. The first meets him. 
 
 3 Serv. What fellow's this? 
 
 1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on : I 
 cannot get him out o'the house : Pr'ythee, call my 
 master to him. 
 
 3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow ? Pray 
 you, avoid the house. [hearth. 
 Cor. Let me but stand; I will not hurt your 
 3 Serv. What are you ? 
 Cor. A gentleman. 
 3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 
 Cor. True, so I am. 
 
 3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some 
 other station ; here's no place for you ; pray you, 
 avoid : come. 
 
 Cor. Follow your function, go ! 
 And batten on cold bits, {Pushes him away.) 
 
 3 Serv. What, will you not? Pr'ythee, tell my 
 master what a strange guest he has here. 
 
 2 Serv. And I .shall. [EmU 
 
 3 Serv. Where dwellest thou? 
 Cor. Under the canopy. 
 
 3 Serv. Under the canopy ? 
 Cor. Ay. 
 
 3 Serfj. Where's that ? 
 Cor. V the city of kites and crows. 
 3 Serv. r the city of kites and crows? — What 
 an ass it is I— Then thou dwellest with daws tooV 
 Cor. No, I serve not thy master. [roaster? 
 3^' r»' How. sir! Do you meddle with my 
 
^CENE 5. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 577 
 
 Cor. Ay, 'tis an honester service than to meddle 
 with thy mistress: 
 Th >n prat'st, and prat'st ; serve with thy trencher, 
 hence ! {Beats him away.) 
 
 Ett^er AvFWivs and the second Servant. 
 Auf. Where is this fellow? 
 2 Sert\ Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a 
 dog, hot for disturbing the lords within. 
 Auf. Whence comest thou ? What woiildest thou? 
 Thy name ? 
 
 Why apeak'st not ? Speak, man : What's thy name ? 
 
 Cor. If, Tnllns, [Unmuffling.) 
 
 Not yet thon know'st me, and seeing me, dost not 
 Think me for the man I am, necessity 
 Commands me name myself 
 
 Auf. What is thy name f 
 
 {Servants retire.) 
 
 Cor. A name iinmiisical to the Voicians' ears, 
 And harsh in sound to thine. 
 
 Auf. Say, what's thy name ? 
 
 Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
 Bears a comniand in't ; though tliy tackle's torn, 
 Thon sliew'st a noble ves.3el ; What's thy name ? 
 
 Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown: Know'st thou 
 me yet ? 
 
 Auf I know thee not: — Thy name? 
 
 Cor. My name is Cains Marcius, who hath done 
 To thee particularly, and to all the Voices, 
 Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may 
 My surname, Corioianus : The painful service, 
 The extreme dans^ers, and the droi.s of blood 
 Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
 But witli that surname : a good memory, 
 And witness of the malice and displeasure 
 Which thou should'st bear me : only that name 
 The cruelty and envy of the people, [remains ; 
 Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
 Rave all forvook me, hath devour'd the rest; 
 And suller'd .ne by the voice of slave to be 
 VVhoopi'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity 
 Hath brought me to thy hearth: Not out of hope. 
 Mistake iiie not, to save my life ; for if 
 I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
 I would have 'voided thee: but in mere spite, 
 'J^o be full quit of those my banishers, 
 Stand \ before thee here. Then if thou hast 
 A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge 
 Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those mains 
 Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee 
 straight, 
 
 And make my misery serve thy turn ; so use it, 
 
 That my revengeful services may prove 
 
 As benefits to thee ; for I will fight 
 
 Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
 
 Of all the nnder fiends. But if so be 
 
 Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more forttmes 
 
 Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am 
 
 Ijonger to live most weary, and present 
 
 My thro:it to thee, and to thy ancient ma'Jce : 
 
 Which not to cut, would shew tliee but a fool; 
 
 Since I have ever follow'd thee witii hate, 
 
 Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, 
 
 And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
 
 It be to do thee ser\ice. 
 
 Auf. O Marcius, Marcius, 
 
 Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my 
 A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter [heart 
 Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say, 
 *Tis true : I'd not believe them more than thee, 
 All noble Marcius. — O, let me twine 
 Mine arms about that body, where against 
 My grained ash an hundred times hath broke, 
 And scar'd the moon with sulinters ! Here I clip 
 The anvil of my sword ; ana do contest 
 As hotly and as nobly with thy love, 
 As ever in ambitious strength I did 
 ^^nnlend against thy valour. Know thou first, 
 ' 'oved the maid I married; never man 
 Bighed truer breath ; but that I see thee here. 
 
 Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart. 
 Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
 Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars ! I tell 
 thee. 
 
 We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose 
 Once more to hew thy target I'rora thy omwn, 
 Or lose mine arm for't. Thou hast beat me on» 
 Twelve several times, and I have mgbtly since 
 Dreamt of encounters 'twixt tliysq)|f and ine ; 
 We have been down together in my sleep, 
 Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat. 
 And wak'd half dead with nothing. VVortliy Ma 
 cius. 
 
 Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that 
 Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all 
 From twelve to seventy; and, pouring war 
 Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
 Like a bold flood o'er-beat. O, come, go in. 
 And take our friendly senators by the hands; 
 Who now are here, taking their leaves of mo 
 Who am prepar'd against your territories. 
 Though not for Ronie itself. 
 
 Cor. Yon bless me, gods ! 
 
 Auf Therefore, most absolute sir, if tliou wilt 
 have 
 
 The leading of thine own revenges, take 
 The one half of my comutission ; and set down.— 
 As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st 
 Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine own 
 ways : 
 
 Whether to knock against the gates of Ronie, 
 Or rudely visit them in parts remote, 
 To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: 
 Let me commend thee first to those, that shall 
 Say, yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes ! 
 And more a friend than e'er an enemy ; 
 Yet Marcius, that was much. Your hand ! Most 
 welcome ! 
 
 [Exeunt Corioianus and Aujidius. 
 
 1 Serv. {Advancing.) Here's a strange alteration '. 
 
 2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to liave 
 strucken him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave 
 me, his clothes made a false report of him. 
 
 1 Serv. What an arm he has 1 He turned me 
 about with his finger and his thumb, as one would 
 set up a ton. 
 
 2 Serv. Nay, 1 knew by his face that there was 
 something in. him : he had, sir, a kind of face, 
 methought, — I cannot tell how to term it. 
 
 1 Serv. He had so : looking as it were, — 'Woidd 
 I were hanged, but I thought there was more in 
 him than I could think. 
 
 2 Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn: he is simply the 
 rarest man i'the world. 
 
 1 Serv. I tliink, he is; but a greater soldier thaa 
 he. you wot one. 
 
 2 Serv. Who ? my master ? 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that. 
 
 2 Serv. Worth six of him, 
 
 I Serv.. Nay, not so, neither ; but I take him to be 
 the greater soldier. 
 
 .2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to 
 say that: for the defence of a town, our general ia 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. [excellent 
 
 Re-enter third Servant. 
 3>Serv. O, slaves, I ran tell you news; news, 
 you rascals. 
 
 1. 2; Serv. W^hat, what, what? let's partake. 
 
 3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, oi all nations; 
 I had as lieve be a condemned man. 
 
 I. 2. Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 
 3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack 
 our generalj. — Caius Marcius. 
 
 1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general ? 
 3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general ; ba 
 
 he was always good enough for hin». 
 
 2 S^rv. Come, we are fellows, and friends: h« 
 was ever too hard for hini ; I have heard him, sa| 
 so himself. 
 
 37 
 
578 
 
 CORTOLANUS. 
 
 Act 1Y. 
 
 1 ^erv. He was too hard for hitn directly, to say 
 the truth on't: before Corioli he scotclied him and 
 notched him like a carbonado. 
 
 2 Serv. An he had been caunibally given, he 
 might have broiled and eaten him too. 
 
 1 Serv. But, more of tiiy news : 
 
 3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as 
 if he were son and heit to Mars : set at upper end 
 of the table: no question asked him by any of the 
 senators, but they stand bald before him: Our ge 
 neral himself makes a mistress of him; sanctifies 
 himself willi's hand, and turns up the white o'the 
 ^ye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news 
 is, our ;jeneral is cut i'the middle, and but one 
 half of what he was yesterday; for the other has 
 half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. 
 He'll go, he says, and sowie the porter of Rome 
 pates oy the ears : He will mow down all before 
 niiH, and leave his passage polled. 
 
 2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can 
 imagine. 
 
 3 Serv. Do't? he will do't: For, look you, sir, 
 he has as many friends as enemies : which friends 
 sir, (as it were,) durst not (look you, sir.J shew 
 themselves (as we term it,) his friends, whilst he's 
 in directitude, 
 
 1 Serv. Directitude! what's that? 
 
 3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up 
 again, and the man in blood, they will out of their 
 burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with 
 him. 
 
 I Serv. But when goes this forward ? 
 
 3 Serv. To morrow ; to-day : presently. You 
 shall have the drum struck up this afternoon : 'tis 
 88 it were, a parcel of the feast, and to be executed 
 ere they wipe their lips. 
 
 3 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring- world 
 again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, in- 
 crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 
 
 1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds 
 peace, as far as day does night ; it's sprightly, waking, 
 audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apo- 
 plexy, lethargy ; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible ; 
 e getter of mote bastard children, than war's a 
 destrojei of men. 
 
 2 Serv. ' ris so : and as war, in some sort, may 
 be said to be a ravisher; so it cannot be denied, 
 but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 
 
 3 Serv. Reason ; because they then less need 
 one another. The wars for my money. I hope to 
 Bee Romans as cheap as Volcians. They are rising, 
 they are rising. 
 
 All. In, in, in, in. \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — Rome. A Public place. 
 Enter SiciNius and Brutus. 
 <S«c. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; 
 His remedies are tame i'the present peace 
 And quietness o the people, which before 
 Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
 Blush, that the world goes well ; who rather had, 
 Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold 
 Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see 
 Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going 
 About their functions friendly. 
 
 Enter Menenius. 
 Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Me- 
 nenius ? 
 
 Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he : O, he is grown most kind 
 Of late.— Hail, sir! 
 
 Men. Hail to you both ! 
 
 Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not much miss'd, 
 But with his frien^.s : the common-wealth doth stand; 
 jind so woidd do, were he more angry at it. 
 
 Men, Al.Vs well ; and might have been much 
 better, if 
 He could have t- mporiz'd. 
 
 Sic, Where is he, hear you ? 
 
 Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and bis wifil 
 
 Hear nothing from him. 
 
 Enter three or four Citiseiu. 
 Cit. The gods preserve you both ! 
 Sic. Good e'en, our neighboara. 
 
 Bru. Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all. 
 1 Cit. Ourselves, our vvives, and children onov 
 knees. 
 
 Are bound to pray for you both. 
 
 Sic. Live, and thrive I 
 
 Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours: We wish'd 
 Coriolanus 
 Had lov'd you as we did. 
 
 Cit. Now the gods keep yon ! 
 
 Bot/i Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 Sic. This is a happier and more comely time. 
 Than when these fellows ran about fhe streets. 
 Crying, Confusion. 
 
 Bru. Caius Marcius was 
 
 A worthy officer i'the war ; but insolent, 
 O'erconie with pride, ambitious past all thinking. 
 Self- loving, — 
 
 Sic. And affecting one sole throne, 
 
 Without assistance. 
 
 Men. I think not so. 
 
 Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation. 
 If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 
 
 Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 
 Sits safe and still without him. 
 
 Enter ^dile. 
 
 -^d. Worthy tribunes, 
 
 There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, 
 Reports, — the Voices with two se\ eral powers 
 Are enter'd in the Roman territories ; 
 And with the deepest malice of the war 
 Destroy what lies before them. 
 
 Men. ^ 'Tis Aufidius, 
 
 Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, 
 Thrusts forth his horns again into the world ; 
 Whicn were inshell'd, when Marcius stood for 
 Rome, 
 
 And durst not once peep out. 
 
 Sic. Come, what talk yon 
 
 Of Marcius? ' (be, 
 
 Brtt. Go see this rumourer whipp'd.— It caiinol 
 The V^olces dare break with us. 
 
 Men. Cannot be ! 
 
 W e have record, that very w<=ll it can ; 
 And three examples of the like have been 
 Within my age. But reason with the fellow. 
 Before you punish him, where he heard this ; 
 Lest you should chance to whip vour information, 
 .And beat the messenger, who bids beware 
 Of \yhat is to be dreaded. 
 
 Sic. Tell not me : 
 
 I know, this cannot be. 
 
 Bru. Not possible. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going 
 All to the senate-house : some news is come. 
 That turns their countenances. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis this slave ; — 
 
 Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes ; — his raising ! 
 Nothing but his report! 
 
 Mess. Yes, worthy sir. 
 
 The slave's report is seconded; and more. 
 More fearful, is deliver'd. 
 
 Sic. What more fearful ? 
 
 Mess. It is spoke freely out of many moutlu 
 (How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius, 
 Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Raina| 
 And vows revenge as spacious, as between 
 The young'st and oldest thing. 
 
 Sic. This is most likely! 
 
 Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wist 
 Good Marcius home again. 
 
 Sic. The very trick on't. 
 
 I 
 
B^ENE 7. 
 
 Men This is unlikely : 
 He and Anfidins can no more atone. 
 Than violentest contrariety. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 Mess. Yon are sent for (o the senate 
 A fearful army, led bv Cains Marcius, 
 Associated witli Anfidins, rages 
 Upon our territories; and have already 
 0 crborne their way, consiini'd with fire, and took 
 What lay before (hem. 
 
 Enter CoMlNlUS. 
 Com. O, you have made good work ! 
 Men. What news ? what news ? 
 
 ^nm. Von have holp to ravish your own daugh- 
 ters, and 
 
 To melt tlie city leads upon your pates; 
 
 To see your wives dislionotn'd to your noses: — 
 
 Men. What's tlie news ? what's the news? 
 
 Com. Your temples burned in their cement; and 
 Your franchises, \\ hereon you stood, confin'd 
 Into an angre's bore. 
 
 Men. Pray now, your news? — 
 
 You have made fair work, i fear me : — Pray, your 
 news ^ 
 
 If Marcius sliould be join'd with Volcians, — 
 
 Com. ' If! 
 
 He is their god ; he leads them like a thing 
 Made by some other deity than nature, 
 That shapes man better: and they follow him, 
 AgainU us brats, with no less confidence, 
 Than boys pursuing sun»n»er butterflies, 
 Or butchers killing flies. 
 
 Men. You have made good work, 
 
 You, and your apron-nien ; you, that stood so much 
 Upon the voice of occupation^ and 
 The breath of garlick-eaters ! 
 
 Com. He will shake 
 
 Your Kome about yours ears. 
 
 Men. As Hercules 
 
 Did shake down mellow fruit : You have made fair 
 
 Bru. But is this true, sir ? [work! 
 
 Com. Ay ; and you'll look pale 
 
 &fefore you find it other. All the regions 
 Po smilingly revolt; and, who resist. 
 Are only niock'd for valiant ignorance. 
 And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? 
 Your enemies, and his, find something iu him. 
 
 Men. We are all undone, unless 
 The noble man have mercy. 
 
 Com. Who shall ask it? 
 
 The tribunes cannot do't for shame ; the people 
 Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf 
 Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they 
 Should say, Be good to Rome, they charg'd him even 
 As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, 
 And therein shew'd like enemies. 
 
 Men. 'Tis true : 
 
 If he were putting to my house the brand 
 That should consume it, I have not the face 
 To say, Beseech you, cease. — You have made fair 
 hands. 
 
 You, and your crafts ! you have crafted fair ! 
 
 Com. You have brought 
 
 A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
 Bo incapable of help. 
 
 IVi. Say not, we brought it. 
 
 Men. How ! Was it we ? We lov'd him ; but, 
 like beasts. 
 
 And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusteri\ 
 Who did hootliim out o'the city. 
 
 Com. But, I fear, 
 
 They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, 
 The second name of men, obeys his points. 
 As if he were his officer : — Desperation 
 U all the policy, strength, and defence, 
 Fhit Rome can make against them. 
 
 Ruiet a Troop of CUizen$ 
 
 Msm, Here come — 
 
 m 
 
 And is Aufidius wifh him ?— You are they 
 That made the air unwholesome, when you < Mt 
 Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at 
 Coriolanus' exile. IVowhe's coming; 
 And not a hair upon a soldier's head. 
 Which will not prove a whip ; as many coxcomhi\ 
 As you threw caps up, will he tumble down. 
 And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; 
 If he could burn us all into one coal. 
 We have deserv'd it. ^ 
 Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news. 
 
 1 Cit. For mine ovrn partj 
 When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 
 
 2 C?t. And so did I. 
 
 3 Cit. And so did I; and to say the truth, so did 
 very many of us : That we did, we did (w the best: 
 and though we willingly consented to his banish 
 ment, yet it was against our will. 
 
 Com. You are goodly things, you voices ! 
 
 MeUf You lune made 
 
 Good work, you and your cry! — Shall us to tlie 
 
 Com. O, ay; what else? fC:!pit(»l 
 [Exeunt Com. and Men. 
 
 Sic. Go, masters, get you home, he nut (i.Mn ly it ; 
 These are a side, that would he glad to dax 
 I'his true, which they so seem to tear. (Jo home, 
 And shew no sign of fear. 
 
 1 Cit. The gods be good to us I Come, masteiH., 
 let's home, i ever saiil, we were i'tiie wrong, wlii-n 
 we banish'd him. 
 
 2 Cit. So did we all. But come. let's hom«. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 Bru. I do not like this news. 
 Sic. Nor I. [wealth 
 Bru. Let's to the Capitol: — 'Would, half my 
 Would buy this for a lie I 
 
 Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — A Camp; at a small distance from 
 Rome. 
 
 Enter AuFlDius, and his Lieutenant. 
 
 Auf Do they still fly to the Roman ? 
 
 Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him ; but 
 Y(yur soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, 
 Their talk at table, and their thanks at end ; 
 And you are darken'd in this action, sir, 
 Even by your own, 
 
 Auf. I cannot help it now ; 
 
 Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
 Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier 
 Even to my j>erson, than I thought he w(mld. 
 When first I did embrace him : Yet his nature 
 In that's no changeling: and I must excuse 
 What cannot be amended. 
 
 Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, 
 
 il mean for your particular,) you had not 
 oin'd in commissiim with him : but either 
 Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
 To him had left it solely. 
 
 Auf. I understand thee well ; and be thou sure, 
 When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
 What I can urge against him. Although it seems, 
 And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
 To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly^ 
 And shews good husbandry for the Volcian state, 
 Fights di agon-like, and does achieve as soon 
 As draw his sword : yet he hath left undone 
 That, which shall break his neck, or hazard min 
 Whene'er we come to our account. [Rome 
 Lieu. Sir, I beseech yon, think you he'll carry 
 Auf. All places yield to him, ere he sits down 
 And the nobility of Rome are his : 
 The senators, and patricians, love him too : 
 The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people 
 Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
 To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome. 
 As is the osprey ti» th** fish, who takes it 
 B sovereignty of nature. First he was 
 A noble servant to them : but he could not 
 Carry his honours even ivheLher 'twas pride. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
680 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Which 3ut of daily fortnne ever taints 
 The ha^py man ; whether defect of judgment 
 To fail in the disposing of those chances 
 Which he was lorJ of; or whether nature, 
 Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
 From the casque to the cushion, but commanding 
 peace 
 
 Even with the same austerity and garb 
 
 As he controU'd the war : but, one of these, 
 
 fAs he hath spices of them all, not all. 
 
 For I dare so far free him,) made him fear'd, _ 
 
 So hated, and so banish'd : But he has a merit 
 
 To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
 
 Lie in the interpretation of the time; 
 
 And power, unto itself most commendable. 
 
 Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
 
 To extol what it hath done. 
 
 One lire drives out one fire : one nail, one nail ; 
 
 Rights by rights fouler, strength by strengths, do fail. 
 
 Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine. 
 
 Thou art poor st of all ; then shortly art thou mine. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT. V. 
 
 Scene I.— Rome. A Public Place. 
 Enter Menemus, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, 
 and others. 
 
 Men. No, I'll not go : you hear what he hath said. 
 Which was sometime his general ; who lov'd him 
 In a most dear particular. He call'd me, father: 
 But what o' that ? Go, you that banish'd him, 
 A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel 
 The way into his mercy : Nay, if he coy'd 
 To hear Cominius speak, I'M keep at home. 
 
 Com. He would not seem to know me. 
 
 Me7t. Do you hear ? 
 
 Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name : 
 I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops 
 I'hat we have bled together. Coriolanus 
 He would not answer to : forbad all names; 
 He was a kind of nothing, titleless. 
 Till he had forg'd himself a name i' the fire 
 Of burning Rome. 
 
 Men. Why, so ; you have made good work : 
 A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
 To make coals cheap : A noble memory ! 
 
 Com. I minded him, how roya-1 'twas to pardon, 
 When it was less expected : He replied. 
 It was a bare petition of a state 
 To one whom they had punish'd. 
 
 Men. Very well : 
 
 Could he say less ? 
 
 Com. I oti'er'd to awaken his regard 
 For his private friends : His answer to me was, 
 He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
 Of noisome, n)usty chaff : He said, 'twas folly. 
 For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, 
 And still to nose the otience. 
 
 Men. For one poor grain 
 
 Or two ? I am one of those ; his mother, wife. 
 His child, and this brave fellow too, we are the 
 grains : 
 
 You are the musty chaff ; and you are smelt 
 Above the moon : We must be burnt for yon. 
 
 Sic. Nay, pray, be patient : If yon refuse your aid 
 In this so never-heeded help, yet do not 
 Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you 
 VVould be your country's pleader, your good tongue 
 More than the instant ai my we can make, 
 Might stop our countryman. 
 
 Men. No : I'll not meddle. 
 
 ^ Sic. I pray you, go to him. 
 
 Men. What should I do? 
 
 Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 
 For Rome, towards Marcius. 
 
 Men. Well, and say that Marcius 
 
 Return me, as Cominius is return'd. 
 Unheard ; wliat then ? — 
 But as a discontented friend, grief shot 
 With his unkindneas ? Say't !>>? so ? 
 
 Sic. Yet your good will 
 
 Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure, 
 As you intended well. 
 
 Men. ril undertake it : 
 
 I think, he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip. 
 And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
 He was not taken well ; he had not din'd : 
 The veins unfill'd, our blood is celd, and then 
 We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 To give or to forgive ; but, when we have stuiTd 
 These pipes and these conveyancers of our blood 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
 Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore I'll watch 
 Till he be dieted to my request, [hiia 
 And then I'll set upon him. 
 
 Bru. You know the very road into his kindness. 
 And cannot lose your way. 
 
 Men. Good faith, I'll prove him. 
 
 Speed how it will. I shall ers long have knowledge 
 Of my success. [Exit. 
 
 Com. He'll never hear him. 
 
 Sic. Not 
 
 Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
 Red as 'twould burn Rome ; and his injury 
 The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him : 
 'Twas very faintly he said. Rise ; dismiss'd me 
 Thus, with his speechless hand : What he would do, 
 He sent in writing after me ; what he would not. 
 Bound with an oath, to yield to his conditions : 
 So, that all hope is vain, 
 Unless his noble mother, and his wife ; 
 Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
 For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence, 
 And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — An advanced Post of the Volcian 
 Camp before Rome. The ^uard at their stations. 
 Enter to them Menenius. 
 
 1 G. Stay : Whence are you ? 
 
 2 G. Stand, and go back. 
 Men. You guard like men ; 'tis well : But, hj 
 
 your leave, 
 I am an officer of state, and come 
 To speak with Coriolanus. 
 
 1 G. From whence ? 
 
 Men. From Rome.* 
 
 1 G. You may not pass, you must return : our 
 
 general 
 
 Will ne n»ore hear from thence. 
 
 2 G. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire. 
 You'll speak with Coriolanus, [before 
 
 Men. Good my friends. 
 
 If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
 And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, 
 My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius. 
 
 J G. Be it so ; go back : tJie virtue of your name 
 Is not here passable. 
 
 Men. I tell thee, fellow. 
 Thy general is my lover : I have been 
 The book of his good acts, whence men ha^e read 
 His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified; 
 For I have ever verified my friends, 
 (Of whom he's chief,) with all the siae that verity 
 VVould without la,psing suffer : nay, sometimes 
 iiike to a bowl upon a subtle ground, 
 I have tumbled past the thi'ow; and in his praise 
 Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing : therefore, fellow, 
 I must have leave to pass. 
 
 1 G. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in 
 his behalf as you have uttered words in your owu, 
 you should not pass here : no, though it were as 
 virtuous to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. 
 
 Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name if 
 Menenius, always factionary on the party of yo»ir 
 general. 
 
 2 G. Howsoever yon have been his liar, (as you 
 say you have,) I am one that, telling true under him, > 
 must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, ^o back. 
 
 Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would 
 not speak with him till after dinner. 
 
SCKNB 3. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 G. Yoa are a Roman, are you? 
 
 Men. 1 am as thy general is. 
 
 t G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. 
 Can you, when yoa have piish'd out your gates the 
 very defender oS them, and, in a violent popular 
 ignorance, given your enemy your sliield, think to 
 iront his revenges with the easy groans of old 
 women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or 
 with the palsied intercession of such a decayed do- 
 ivant as you seem to be ? Can you think to blow out 
 the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with 
 Buch weak breath as this? No, you are deceived; 
 therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your ex- 
 ecution : you are condemned, our general has sworn 
 you out of reprieve and pardon. 
 
 Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, 
 lie would use me \vith estimation. 
 
 2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
 
 Men. I mean, thy general. 
 
 1 G. My general cares not for yon. Back, I say, 
 go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood; — back, 
 —that's the utmost of your having : back. 
 
 Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow, — 
 
 Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. 
 Cor. What's the matter? 
 
 Men, Now, you companion, I'll say an errand 
 for you ; you shall know now, that I am in estima- 
 tion ; you shall perceive, that a Jack guardant cannot 
 office me from my son Coriolanus : guess, but by 
 my entertainment with him, if thou atand'st not i' 
 the state of hanging, or of some death more long in 
 spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now 
 presently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee. 
 — The glorious gods sit in hourly synod aboiit thy 
 particular properity, and love thee no worse than 
 thy old father Menenius does I O, my son! my son ! 
 thou art preparing fire for us ; look thee, here's 
 U'ater to quench it. I was hardly moved to come 
 to thee ; but being assured, none but Kjyself could 
 move thee, I have been blown out of Vour gates 
 with sighs; and conjure thee to pardon ft.ome, and 
 thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods as- 
 suage thy wrath, and turn the dregis of it upon this 
 varlet here ; this, who, like a block, hath denied my 
 access to thee. 
 
 Ccr, Away! 
 
 Mtfi. How ! away ! 
 
 Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My aff'airs 
 Are servanted to others: 'I'hough I owe 
 My revenge properly, my remission lies 
 In Volcian breasts. That we have been familiar, 
 Ingiate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
 Than pity note how much. — Therefore, be gone. 
 Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than 
 Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee. 
 Take thig along; I writ it for thy sake, 
 
 (Gives a letter^ 
 
 And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, 
 I will not hear thee speak. — This man, Aufidius, 
 Was my belov'd in Rome : yet thou behold'st — 
 Auf. You keep a constant temper. 
 
 [Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius, 
 
 1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius ? 
 
 2 G. "^Tis a spell, you see, of much power : You 
 know the way home again. 
 
 1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping 
 your greatness back ? 
 
 2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? 
 
 Men. I neither care for the world, nor your ge- 
 neral : for such things as you, I can scarce think 
 there's any, you are so slight. He that hath a will 
 to die by himself, fears it not from another. Let 
 your general do his worst. For you, be that you 
 are, long; and your misery increase with your age ! 
 I say to you, as I was said to, AwMy ! [Exit. 
 
 1 G. A noble fellow. I warrant him. 
 
 2 G. The worthy i'ellow is our general : He is the 
 rock, the oak not to be wind shaken. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene lU.—The Tent of Coriolnnua, 
 Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and others. 
 
 Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-niorro» 
 Set down our host. — My partner in this action, 
 You must report to the Volcian lords, how plainly 
 I have borne this business. 
 
 Auf. Only their ends 
 
 You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against 
 The general suit of Rome ; never admitted 
 A private whisper, no, not with such friend* 
 That thought them sure of you. 
 
 Cor. This last old man, 
 
 Wliom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
 Lov'd nie above the measure of a father; 
 Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
 Was to send him ; for whose old love, I have 
 (Though I shew'd sourly to him,) once more ofler'd 
 The first conditions, which they did refuse. 
 And cannot now accept, to grace him only. 
 That thought he could do more ; a very little 
 I have yielded too : Fresh embassies, and suits. 
 Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter 
 Will I lend eai to. — Ha I what shout is this ? 
 
 (Shout withimm 
 Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 
 In the same time 'tis made? 1 will not. — 
 
 Enter, in mourning habits, ViRGiLiA, VoLUMBOA, 
 leading young Marcius, Valeria, and Atten- 
 dants. 
 
 My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould 
 Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
 The grand child to her blood. But, out, afl'ection ! 
 All bond and privilege of nature, break! 
 Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
 What is that curfsy worth ? or those dove's eyes. 
 Which can make gods forsworn? — I m'='lt, and am not 
 Of stronger earth than others. — f't\ mother bows' 
 j As if Olympus to a molehill should 
 1 In supplication nod : and my young boy 
 ■ Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
 
 Great nature cries. Deny not. — Let the Voices 
 j Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; \'\\ never 
 j Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand. 
 As if a man were author of himself. 
 And knew no other kin. 
 
 Vir. My lord and husband ! 
 
 Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 
 Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chaug'd. 
 Makes you think so. 
 
 Cor. Like a dull actor now, 
 
 I have forgot my part, and I am out. 
 Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
 Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, 
 For that. Forgive our Romans. — O, a kiss 
 Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
 Now by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
 I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 
 Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods! I prate, 
 And the most noble mother of the world 
 Leave unsaluted : Sink, my knee, i' the earth ; 
 
 (Kneelt.) 
 
 Of thy deep duty more impression shew 
 j Than that of commons sons. 
 
 I Vol. O, stand up bless'd! 
 
 I Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, 
 
 I I kneel before thee ; and unproperly 
 Shew duty, as mistaken all the while 
 
 j Between the child and parent. (Kneels^ 
 
 ! Cor. What is this? 
 
 ' Your knees to nie ? to your corrected son ? 
 Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
 Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous wind 
 Strike the proud cedars "gainst the fiery sue ; 
 Murd'ring impossibility, to make 
 
 i What cannot be, slight work. 
 
 Vol. Thou art my warrior; 
 
 T ho'p to frame thee. Do you know tl as lady ? 
 
 j Cor. The noble sister of Fublicola, 
 
582 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Tlie moon <^ Rcine ; ch;iste as the icicle. 
 That'a curded by the frost from purest snow^ 
 And h-Asias on Dian's temple : Dear Valeria ! 
 
 Vol. This a poor epitome of yours, 
 Wliich by the interpretation of full time 
 May shew like all yourself. 
 
 Cor. The god of soldiers, 
 
 VVith the cor.sent of supreme Jove, inform 
 Thy tliotights with nobleness ; that thou may'st prove 
 To sliauie unvulncrable, and stick i' the wars 
 Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
 And saving those that eye thee I 
 
 Vol, Your knee, sirrah. 
 
 Cor. That's my brave boy. 
 
 Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, 
 
 re suitors to you. 
 
 Cor. I beseech you, peace : 
 
 Or, if you'd ask, remember this before; 
 The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never 
 Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
 Dismiss n)y soldiers, or capitulate 
 Again with Rome's mechanics: — Tell me not 
 VVherein I seem unnatural : Desire not 
 To allay my rages and revenges, with 
 Your colder reasons. 
 
 Vol. O, no more, no more.' 
 
 You have said, you will not vjrant us any thing ; 
 For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
 Which you deny already : Yet we will ask: 
 That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
 May hang upon your hardness : therefore hear us. 
 
 Cor. Aufidius, and you Voices, mark; for we'll 
 Hear nought from Rome in private. — Your request?- 
 
 Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our rai 
 raent, 
 
 And state of bodies would bewray what life 
 We have led since thy exile. Think with thyaelf, 
 How more unfortunate than all living women 
 Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which 
 should 
 
 Hake our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with 
 comforts, 
 
 GonstraiLis them weep, and shake with fear and 
 sorrow ; 
 
 Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
 
 The son, the husband, and the father, tearing 
 
 His country'^ bowels out. Aud to poor we. 
 
 Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
 
 Our prayers to the gods, which is a comtbrt 
 
 That all but we enjoy : For how can we, 
 
 Alas! how can we for our country pray, 
 
 Whereto we are bound; together witlithy victory, 
 
 Whereto we are bound ? Alack I or we must lose 
 
 The country, our dear nurse ; or else thy person. 
 
 Our comfort in the country. We must find 
 
 An evident calamity, though we had 
 
 Our wish, which side should win : for either thou 
 
 Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
 
 With manacles thorough our streets, or else 
 
 Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin : 
 
 And bear the palm, for having bravely shed 
 
 Thy vrife and cliildren's blood. For myself, son, 
 
 I purpose not to wait on fortune, till 
 
 These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee 
 
 Rather to shew a noble grace to both parts. 
 
 Than seek the end of one, thou slialt no sooner 
 
 Maich to assault thy country, than to tread 
 
 Trust to't, thou shaft not,) on thy mother's womb. 
 
 That brought thee to this world. 
 
 Vir. Ay, and on mine. 
 
 That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name 
 Living to time. 
 
 Boif He shall not tread on me ; 
 
 !'H ruL away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight 
 
 Cor, Not of a woman's tenderness to be, 
 Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
 I have sat too long. (Rising.) 
 
 Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 
 
 If it we/e so, that our request did tend 
 To «mve ihtf. llomans. thereby to ilestroy 
 
 The Voices whom yon serve, yon might .:ondemDOf 
 As poisonous of youi >ionour : No; our suit 
 Is. that you reconcile them ; while the Voices 
 May say. This mercy ibe have shew'd; the Romans, 
 This we received; and <each in either side 
 Oive the all-hail to thee, and cry. Be blesg'd 
 For mahing up this peace . Thou know'st, greai loa 
 The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain, 
 That, if thou coi>quer Rome, the benefit 
 Which thou slialt thereby reap, is such a nara«. 
 Whose repetition will be dogg'd witli curses; 
 Whose chronicle thus writ, — The manwas 7iobU, 
 But luith his last attempt he wip'd it out ; 
 'Destroyed his country ; and his name remain* 
 To the ensuing aye, abhorred. Speak to me, »on : ■ 
 Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, 
 To imitate the graces of the gods; 
 To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'the air. 
 And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
 That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? 
 Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
 Still to remember wrongs ?— Daugliter, speak you ; 
 He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy; 
 Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
 Than can our reasons. — There is no man in tho 
 world 
 
 More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate, 
 Like one i'the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
 Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesy; 
 When she, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood, 
 Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
 Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust, 
 And spurn me back: But, if it be not so. 
 Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee, 
 That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which 
 To a mothers part belongs.— He turns away: 
 Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees, 
 j'o his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride. 
 Than pity to our prayers. Down ; an end ; 
 This is the last; — So we will home to Rome, 
 And die among our neighbours.— Nay, behold ua 
 This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
 Hut kneels, and iiolds up hands, for fellowship 
 Does reason our petition with more strength 
 Tiian thou hast to deny"t. — Come^ lei us go; 
 This fellow had a Volcian to his mother ; 
 His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
 Like him by ciiance : — Yet give us our despatrw .'J 
 I am hush'd until our city be afire, 
 And then I'll speak a little. 
 
 Cor. O mother, mother ! 
 
 [Holding Volumnia by the hands, ittleni.) 
 What have you done ? Behold, the heaveub Jo ope, 
 The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
 They laugh at. O my mother, mother ] 0 1 
 You have won a happy victory to Rome : 
 But, ibr your sou, — believe it, O believe it, 
 Most dangerously, you have with hisa prevail'd, 
 If not most mortal to him. But, let it come : — 
 Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
 1 11 frame convenient ueace. Now, good Aufidius, 
 Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard 
 A mother less ? or granted "ieas, Aufidius ? 
 
 Auf I was mov'a withal. 
 
 Cor I dare be sworn, you wcro 
 
 And, sir, it is no little thiag, to make 
 Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir. 
 What peace you'll ciake, advise me : For my part, 
 I'll not to Rome, I'il back with you ; and pray you. 
 Stand to me in this cause. — O mother ! wife I 
 
 Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy ani th 
 honour 
 
 At diftrrence in thee : out of that I'll work 
 Myself \ former fortune. {Asidt.^ 
 ( The Ladies make signs to Coriolanus^l 
 Cor* Ay, by and by ; 
 
 (To Volumnia, Virgilta, j^c. 
 But we will drink together ; and you shall bear 
 A better witness back than words, which we, 
 Oa like conditions, will have counter-seai d. 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 583 
 
 Come, enter with ns. La(lies, you deserve 
 To have a temple built vou : all the swords 
 [n ilaly, and lier confcfferate arms, 
 Ck>uld not have made this peace. [Exeunt. 
 ScssE l\—Rome. A public Place, 
 Enter Menenius and SiciNiU3. 
 Men. See yoo jond' coign o the Capitol ; yond' 
 ccratr-stone ? 
 
 Sic. Wh.y, what of that? 
 
 Men. It" it be pc^ssible for you t(> displace it with 
 |our littler fi»srr, there is some hope the ladies of 
 Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. 
 iiut I say, there is no hope in't ; our throats are 
 sentenced, and stay upon execution. 
 
 Sic. Is't possil)le, that so short a time can alter 
 the condition of a man ? 
 
 Men. There is diti'orency between a grub, and 
 a butterfly ; yet your butterfly w.if a grub. This 
 Marcius is firown i'rom man to dragon : he has 
 wings ; tic's more than a creeping thing. 
 
 Sic, He loved his mother dearly. 
 
 Men. So did he me : and he no more remembers 
 his mother now, tlian an eight year old horse. The 
 tartness oi' his face sours ripe grapes. When he 
 walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground 
 shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a 
 corslet with his eye ; talks like a knell, and his hum 
 is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made 
 for Alexander. W hat he bids be done, is hnished 
 with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but 
 eternity, and a heaven to throne in. 
 
 Sir,. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 
 
 Men. I paint hiin in the cliaiacter. Mark what 
 nier^y his mother shall bring from him : There is 
 uc more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male 
 tiger ; that shall our poor city find : and all this is 
 long of yon. 
 
 Sic. The gods be good unto us ! 
 
 Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be 
 good unto us. When we banish'd him, we respect- 
 ed not them: and he, retaining to break our necks, 
 they respect not us. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house ; 
 The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune. 
 And hale hitn up and down ; all swearing, if 
 The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, 
 They'll give him death by inches. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Sic. What's the news ? 
 
 Mess. Good news, good news; — the ladits have 
 prevaii'd. 
 
 The Voices are dislog'd, and Marcius gone : 
 A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
 No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 
 
 Sic. _ ^ Friend, 
 
 Art thou certain this is true ? is it most certain ' 
 
 Mess. As certain, as I know the sun is fire : 
 Wher«3 have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it ? 
 Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide. 
 As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark 
 you ; 
 
 [Trumpets and hautbois sounded., and drum 
 beaten, all together. Shouting also within. 
 The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, 
 Tambors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
 Make the sun dance. Hark you ! {Shouting again.) 
 
 Men. This is good news : 
 
 I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
 |<a «./^rib nt consuls, Senators, patricians, 
 A cily lull ; of tribunes, such as you, 
 A. sea and land full: Vou have pray'd well to-day ; 
 This morning, for ten tiiousand of yo'ir throats 
 I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how tliey Joy ! 
 
 {Shouting ayid music.) 
 
 Sic. First, the gods bless you lor your tidings : 
 Accept my thankfulness. (next, 
 
 Mess. Sir. we have ;dl 
 
 Great cause to give great thanks. 
 
 Sic. They are near tli« city ^ 
 
 Mess. Almost at point to enter. 
 
 Sic. We will meet them^ 
 
 And help the joy. {Going.) 
 Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senates, 
 
 Patricians, and People. They pass over tha 
 
 Stage. 
 
 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome : 
 Call all your tribes together, praise the gods. 
 And make triumphant fires; strew flowers be fo»«« 
 them : 
 
 Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius : 
 Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; 
 Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! — 
 
 All. Welcome, ladies I 
 
 Welcome ! {A flourish with drums and trumpets.) 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Antium. A public place. 
 Enter Tuixus AuFiDius, with Attendants . 
 Auf, Go tell the lords of the city, I am here 
 Deliver them this paper: having read it^ 
 Bid them repair to the market-place, where I, 
 Even in theirs and in the commons' cars. 
 Will vouch the truth of it. Him_ I accuse, 
 The city ports by this hath enter'd, and 
 Intends to appear before the people, hoping 
 To purge himself with words : Despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants 
 
 Enter three or four Conspirators oj Aufidius 
 factions. 
 
 Most welcome ! 
 
 1 Con. How is it with our general? 
 
 Auf. Even so, 
 
 As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, 
 And with his charity slain. 
 
 2 Con. Most noble sir, 
 If y(ni do hold the same intent, wherein 
 You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver yor 
 Of your great danger. 
 
 Auf. Sir, I cannot tell : 
 
 We must proceed, as we do find the people. 
 
 3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 
 'Tvvixt you there's dift'erence ; but the fall of either 
 Makes the survivor heir of all. 
 
 Auf I know it; 
 
 And my pretext to strike at him admits 
 A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawii'd 
 Mine honour for his truth : Who being so heighten'd, 
 He water'd his new plants with dews of flatlej v 
 Seducing so my Irieiids : and, to this end. 
 Ho bow'd his nature, never known before 
 But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 
 
 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness, 
 When he did stand for consul, which be lost, 
 By lack of stooping. 
 
 Auf. That I Would have spoke of: 
 
 Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth ; 
 Presented to my knife his throat . I took him ; 
 Made him joint-servant with me ; gave him way 
 In all his own desires ; nay, let him choose 
 Out of my files, his projects to accomplish. 
 My best and freshest men ; serv'd his designmen<4 
 In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame, 
 Which he did end all his ; and took some pride 
 To do myself this wrong : till, at the last, 
 I seem'd his follower, not partner ; and 
 He wag'd me with his countenance, as if 
 I had been mercenary. 
 
 1 Con. So he did, my lord: 
 
 The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last, 
 When he had carried Rome; and that we look^j 
 F'or no less spoil, than glory, — 
 
 Auf. There was it ^ 
 
 For which my sinews shall be stretch'd npon hia 
 At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
 As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
 Of our great action : Therefore shall he die. 
 
184 
 
 A«d ril renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 
 
 {Drums and trumpets sound, tvith great 
 shouts of the people. 
 
 1 CoH. Your native town yon enter'd like a post, 
 And had no welcomes home ; but he returns. 
 Splitting the air with noise. 
 
 3 Con. And patient fools, 
 
 Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear, 
 With giving him glory. 
 
 3 Con, Therefore, at your vantage, 
 
 Ere he express himself, or niove the people 
 With what he would say, let liim feel your sword, 
 Which we will second. When he lies al(»ng, 
 After your way his tale prouounc'd shall bury 
 His reasons with his body. 
 
 Auf. Say no more ; 
 
 Here come the lords. 
 
 Enter the Lords of the City. 
 
 Lords. Vou are most welconte. 
 
 Auf. 1 have not deserv'd it ; 
 
 but, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd 
 What I have written to you ? 
 
 Lords. We have. 
 
 1 Lord. And grieve to hear it. 
 
 Whui faults he made before the last, I think, 
 Might have found easy fines: but there to end. 
 Where he was to begm: and give away 
 Tlie benefit of our levies, answering us 
 With our own charge; making a treaty, where 
 There was a yielding; This admits no excuse. 
 
 Auf He approaches, you shall hear him. 
 
 Enter CoRiOJLANUS, with drums and colours; a 
 cmwd of Citizens with him. 
 Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; 
 No more infected with my country's love, 
 Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
 Under your great command. You are to know. 
 That nrosperously 1 have attempted, and 
 With bloody passage led your wars, even to 
 The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought 
 home, 
 
 Do more than counterpoise, a full third part. 
 
 The charges of the action. We have made peace, 
 
 With no less honour to the Antiates, 
 
 Than shame to the Romans : And we here deliver, 
 
 Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, 
 
 Together with the seal o' the senate what 
 
 We have compounded on. 
 
 Auf, Reao it not, noo.e lords ; 
 
 But tell the traitor, in the highest degree 
 He hath abus'd your powers. 
 
 Cor. Traitor ! — How now ? — 
 
 Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 
 
 Cor. Marcius ! 
 
 Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius ; Dost thou think 
 ni grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name 
 Coriolanus in Corioli ? — 
 
 You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously 
 He has betray'd your business, and given up. 
 For certain drops of salt, your city Rome 
 (I say, your city,) to his wife and mother: 
 Breaking his oath and resolution, like 
 A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
 Counsel o'the war ; but at his nurse's tears 
 He win'd and roar'd away your victory ; 
 That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart 
 Look'd wondering each at other. 
 Cor, Hear'st thou. Mars? 
 
 Auf Name not the god, tliou boy ot tears. — 
 Cor. Ha! 
 
 Act V 
 Auf No more. 
 
 Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heail 
 Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O slave ! — 
 Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 
 I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave 
 lords, 
 
 Must give this cur the lie : and his own notion 
 (Who wears my stripes iaipress'd on him; that must 
 
 bear 
 
 My beating to his grave;) shall join to thrust 
 The lie unto him. 
 
 1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me .speak, 
 Cur. Cut n)e to pit-ceSj Voices: men and lads. 
 
 Stain all your edges on me. — Bpy ! False hound! 
 If you liave writ your annals true, 'tis there 
 That, like an eagle in a dove-cute, I 
 Flutter'd your voices in Corioli : 
 Alone I did it. — Boy ! 
 
 Auf. Why, noble lords, 
 
 W'll yoi' be put in mind of his blind fortune. 
 Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 
 'Fore your own eyes and ears ? 
 
 Con. Let him die for't. {Several speak at once.) 
 
 Cit. {Speaking promiscuously.) Tear him to 
 pieces, do it presently. He killed my son;— my 
 daujihter ; — He killed my cousin Marcus; — he killed 
 my father. — 
 
 2 Lord. Peace, ho ; — no outrage ,- .peace 
 The man is noble, and his fame folds in 
 This orb o' the earth. Hi.^ last offence to us 
 Shall have judicious hei^riug. — Stand, Autidius, 
 And trouble not the peace. 
 
 Cor. O, that I had him. 
 
 With six Aiitidiiises, or more, his tribe. 
 To use my lawful sword! 
 
 Auf. Insolent villain I 
 
 Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. 
 
 {Aufidius and the Conspirators draun-. 
 and kill Coriolanus, tvho falls, ana 
 Aujidius stands on him.) 
 Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold 
 
 Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak, 
 
 1 Lord. ^ O Tullus.-. 
 
 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour 
 
 will weep. 
 
 3 Lord. Tread not uptn him. — Masters all, be 
 
 quiet ; 
 
 Put up your swords. [rage, 
 Auf My lords, when you shall know (as in this 
 Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger 
 Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice 
 That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours 
 To call me to your senate, I'll deliver 
 Myself your loyal servant, or endure 
 Your heaviest censure. 
 
 1 Lord. Bear from hence his body. 
 And mourn you for him: let him be regarded 
 
 As the most noble corse, that ever herald 
 Did follow to his urn. 
 
 2 Lord. His own impatience 
 Takes from Aufidius a great part of Llame. 
 Let's make the best of il. 
 
 Auf. My rage is gone. 
 
 And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him np : — 
 Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one- 
 Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: 
 Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he 
 Hath widow d and utichilded many a one, 
 Which to this hour bewail the injury, 
 Yet he shall have a noble memory. — 
 Assist. [Exeunt, bearinu the body of CoTnntmm 
 A dead march sounded. 
 
 CORIOLANUS- 
 
JULIUS C^SAR 
 
 Of this tragedy many particular passages deserve regard, and the contention and reconcilement of Brntuf mn4 
 CassiuB is universally celebrated; but I Lave never been strongly agitated in perusing it, and think it aomewluit 
 cold nv4 unatfecting, compared with some other of Shakspenre's- plays : his adherence to the real storv, and to tks 
 Rom&u nwnners, seems to have impeded the natural vigour of his genius. Joktuom, 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 m^rcus^anto'nSjs. \ 
 
 ftl. ^MIL. LEPfDUS. i Casar. 
 CICERO, PU.BLIUS, POPILIUS LENA, Stiiators. 
 MARCUS BRUTUS, 
 CASalUS. 
 CASCA, 
 TREBONJUS, 
 LIGAR'L/S, 
 DECIUS BRUTUS. 
 WETE LUSCIMBEU, 
 CINNA, 
 
 Conspirators against Julius 
 Casar. 
 
 FLAVIUS and MARULLUS, Tribunes, 
 ARTEMIDORUS. a Svphist of Cnidos. 
 A Soothsayer. 
 CINNA, a Poet. 
 Another Poet. 
 
 LUCILIUS, TITINIUS. MESSALA, poung CATO, and 
 VOLUMNIUS. Friends to Brutus and Castivt. 
 
 VARRO, CLITUS. CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS. 
 DARDANIUS, Servants to Brutus. 
 
 PINDARUS, Servatit to Cassius. 
 
 CALPHURNIA, WiJ>. to Cetsar. 
 
 PORTIA, Wife to Brutus 
 
 Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, tie. 
 
 ScEUE,— During a great part of the. Play, at Rome; afiertvards at Sardis; and near Philippu 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I— Rome. A Street. 
 
 Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a Rabble of 
 Citizens. 
 
 Flav Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you 
 home ; 
 
 la this a holiday? What! know you not, 
 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk, 
 
 Upon a labouring day, witiiout the sign 
 
 Of your prof ession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ? 
 
 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 
 Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and tljy rule? 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel on? — 
 Vou, sir; what trade are you? 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I 
 am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 
 
 Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me 
 directly. 
 
 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with 
 B safe conscience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender 
 of b;id 3oals. 
 
 Mar. What trade, thou knave ? thou naughty 
 knave, what trade ? 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with 
 me: yet, if yuu be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 
 Mar. Wh it nieftnest thou by that? Mend me, 
 thou saucy fellow ? 
 
 2 Cit. VVMiy, sir, cobble you. 
 
 Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 
 
 2 Cit. Tiuty, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl : 
 I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's 
 matters, but with awl. 1 am, indeed, sir, a surgeon 
 to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, f re- 
 cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats- 
 leather, liave gone upon my handy-work. 
 
 Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? 
 VVhy dost thou lead these men about the streets? 
 
 2 Cii. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get 
 myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make 
 holiday, to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumpli. 
 
 Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings 
 he home ? 
 What tributaries fodow him to Rome, 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot- wheels ? 
 Yoj blocks, you stones, you worse than senselesr 
 things ! 
 
 O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
 Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft 
 Have you climb'd up to walls and battlenients, 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
 Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 The live-long-day, with patient expectation, 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome* 
 
 And, when you saw his chariot but appear, 
 Have you not made an universal shout. 
 That Tyber trembled underneath her bauks. 
 To hear the replication of your sounds. 
 Made in her concave shores ? 
 And do you now put on your best attire ? 
 And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way, 
 That comes in triuniph over Pompey's biood? 
 Be gone ; 
 
 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees. 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 That needs nuist light on tliis ingratitude. 
 
 Flav. Go, go, good countrymes), and, for this fault 
 Assemble all tiie poor men of your sort; 
 Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears 
 Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
 Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 
 
 [Exeunt tttig$nM» 
 See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd; 
 They vanish, tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
 Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
 This way will I : Disrobe the images, 
 If you do fijid them deck'd with ceremonies. 
 
 Mar. May we do so ? 
 You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. 
 
 Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 
 Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about. 
 And drive away the vulgar from the streets. 
 So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
 These growing feathers, pfuck'd from Caesar's whig 
 Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ; 
 Who else would soar above the view of men. 
 And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — T^he same. A public Place. 
 Enter, in procession, with music, C^SAR ; Antony, 
 for the course; Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, 
 Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, a great 
 Crowd following ; among them a Soothsayer. 
 Cces. Calphurnia, — 
 
 Casca. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. {Music ceatea,] 
 Cons. Calphurnia, — 
 Cal. Here, my lord. 
 
 CiBs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way. 
 When he doth run his course. — Autonias* 
 
 Ant. Caesar, ray lord. 
 
 Cas. Forget not, in your speed, Antonina, 
 To touch Calphurnia: tor our elders say, 
 The barren, touched in this holy chase. 
 Shake otF their steril curse. 
 
 Ant. I shall rememher: 
 
 When Caesar says, Do this, it is {)erform'd. 
 
 Cats. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. {Mueie), 
 
586 
 
 JULIUS C^SAK^ 
 
 Act 
 
 Sooth. Cesar. 
 Ciss. Ha! Who calls? 
 
 Casca. Bid every noise be still : — Peace yet again. 
 
 [Music ceases.) 
 C«f <f. Wlio is it in the press, that calls on me ? 
 I hear n tongue, shriller than all the music, 
 Cry, Csesar . Speak. ; Csesar is tiirn'd to hear. 
 Sooih. Beware the ides of March. 
 Cas. What man is that? 
 
 Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware t^e ides of 
 March. 
 
 Ctes. Set him before me, let me see his face. 
 Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon 
 Csesar. 
 
 C^s. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once 
 again. 
 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
 Cats. He is a dreamer ; let iis leave him: — pass. 
 
 \Senet. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas, 
 Cas. Will you go see the order of the course ? 
 Bru. Not I. 
 Cas. I pray yon, do. 
 
 Bru. 1 am tint gamesome : I do lack some part 
 Of that qiiicti spirit that is in Antony. 
 Let me t>ot hinder, Cassias, your desires ; 
 I'll leave you. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: 
 f have not from your eyes that gentleness. 
 And shew of love, as I was wont to have : 
 You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
 Over your friend that loves you. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, 
 Be not deceiv'd : If I have veil'd my look, 
 \ turn the trouble of my countenance 
 Merely upon myself. Vexed i am, 
 Of lute, with pussions of some ditference. 
 Conceptions only proper to myself, 
 Wtiicli give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours: 
 But let not llierelore my good friends be griev'd ; 
 (Among whicii nuuiber, Cassiiis, be you one;) 
 Nor construe any further my neglect, 
 Tlian that pooi Brutus, with hituself at war. 
 Forget tlie shews ot love to other men. 
 
 Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your 
 passion ; 
 
 By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 
 Ttioughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
 Tell me, good Brutus, can you see you-r face ? 
 
 Bru. I^o, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself, 
 But by reflection, by some other things. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis just : 
 
 it is very much lamented, Brutus. 
 l""hat you have no such nurrors, as will turn 
 Vour liidden worthiness into your eye, 
 That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
 Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
 (Except immortal Cassar,) speaking of Brutus, 
 And groaning underneath this age's yoke. 
 Have vvish'd, that noble Brutus had his eyes, 
 
 Bru. Into what dangers would yon lead me, 
 Cassius, 
 
 That you would have me seek into myself 
 For that which is not in nve? 
 
 Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear : 
 And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
 So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
 Will modestly discover to yourself 
 'lliat of yourself which you yet know not of. 
 And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus;, 
 Were I a common laugher, or did use 
 To stale's with ordinary oaths my love 
 To every new protester; if you know, 
 That 1 do fawn on men, ana hug them hard, 
 A^d after scandal them; or if you know. 
 That I profess myself in banqueting 
 To all the rout, tiien hold me dangerous. 
 
 [Flourish, and shout.) 
 
 Bru. What means this shouting ? 1 do fear, the 
 people 
 
 Cihoose Caesar (or tlieir king. 
 
 I Ca's. Ay, do you fear HI 
 
 I Then must I think you would not have it so. 
 
 Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well:^ 
 But whereibre do you hold me here so long? 
 What is it that you would impart to me ? 
 If it be aught toward the general good, 
 Set honour in one eye, and death i lhe other. 
 And I will look on both inditfereutly : 
 For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
 The name of honour more than I fear death. 
 
 Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, BrutoS^ 
 As well as I do know your outward favour. 
 Well, honour is the subject of my story. — • 
 I cannot tell, what you and other men 
 Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
 I had as lief not be, as live to be 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 I was born free as Caesar ; so were you . 
 We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
 Endure the winter's cold, as well as he. 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day. 
 The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores, 
 Caesar said to me, Darst thou., Cassius, now 
 Leap in with me into this angry Jiood, 
 And swim to yonder point f — Upon the word* 
 Accouter d as I was, 1 plunged in. 
 And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did. 
 The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
 With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside. 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
 Caesar cry'd. Help me, Cassius, or I sink. 
 I, as iiineaSj our great ancestor. 
 Did fi ouj the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tybel 
 Did I the tired Caesar: Ai:^d this mar."! 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is. 
 A %vretched creature, and must bend his body. 
 If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 And, when the Ht was on him, I did mark 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, tins god did shake : 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly ; 
 And that same eye, wiiose bend doth awe th-e world. 
 Did lose his lustre : I did hear l)im groan : 
 Ay, and that tongue of liis, that bade the Romans 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 Alas ! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius, 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish.) 
 
 Bru. Another general .shout! 
 I do believe, that these applauses are 
 For some new honours that are heap'd on Csesar, 
 Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow 
 world. 
 
 Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
 Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates. 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus, and Caesar : What should be in that Caesar? 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours t 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
 Sound them, Jt doth become the mouth as well; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them 
 Brutus will start a suirit as soon as Caesar. [Shoui) 
 Now in the names of all the gods at once. 
 Upon what meat doth this our Ciesar feed. 
 That he is grown so gteat ? Af e, thou art sham'di 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble b'oods ! 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood. 
 But It was fam'd with more than with one man ? 
 When could they say, till now, that talk'd of JlooM 
 That her wide walks encompass'd but one man'' 
 Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 
 I When there is in it but one only man. 
 
 i O I you and I have heard our fathers say, 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 JULIUS CJaSAR. 
 
 587 
 
 Fhere was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
 The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
 As easily as a kins. 
 
 Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
 What you would work me to, 1 ha» e soma aiui: 
 How I have tliought of this, and of these tijiies, 
 r shall recount hereafter; for tiiis present, 
 I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
 He any further mov'd. What you have said, 
 1 will consider; what you have to say, 
 I will with patience hear: and find a time 
 Coth meet to hear., and answer, such high things. 
 Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this j 
 Brutus had rather be a villager, 
 Tlian to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. 
 
 Cas. I am glad, that my weak words 
 Have struck but thus much shew of fire from Brutus, 
 
 Re-enter C^sar, and his Train. 
 
 Bru. TI»e games are done, and Caesar is returning. 
 
 Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
 And he will, alter his sour fashion, tell you 
 What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. 
 
 Bru. I will do so: — But, look you. Cassias, 
 The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
 And allthe rest look like a chidden train; 
 Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
 Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes, 
 As V, e have seen him in the Capitol, 
 BeiTig cross'd in conference by some senators. 
 
 Cas. Casca will tell us what th« matter is. 
 
 CiZS. Antonius. 
 
 Ani. Caesar. 
 
 Ci£s. Let me have men about me that are fat; 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o'nig^its; 
 Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerons. 
 
 Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous; 
 He is a noble Roman, and well gi\en. 
 
 Go's. 'Would he were fatter: — But I fear hira not 
 Vet, if my name were liable to fear, 
 I do not know the man 1 should avoid 
 So scon as tliat spare Cassius. He reads much; 
 He is a great observer, and lie looks 
 Quite thr(/ugh the deeds of men : he loves no plays, 
 As thou dost, Antoriy; he hears no music: 
 Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort. 
 As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 Such men as he be ne\er at heart's ease, 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; 
 And therefoie are they very dangerous. 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd. 
 Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. 
 Rome on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
 And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
 
 [Exeunt Caisar and his Train. Caica stays 
 behind. 
 
 Casca. You puU'd me by the cloak ; Would you 
 •peak with me r , 
 
 Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to day. 
 That Caesar looks no sad ? 
 
 Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not? 
 
 Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath 
 cbamc'd. 
 
 Casca. W hy, there was a crown offered him : and 
 being otlVred iiim, he put it by with the back of his 
 band, thus; and then the people fell a shouting. 
 
 Bru. What was the second noise for? 
 
 Casca. Why, lor that too. [for? 
 
 Cas. They shont< d thrice ; What was the last cry 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Bru, Was the crown otierd him thrice ? 
 
 Casca. Ay, marry, vviis't, and he put it by thrice, 
 pvery time gentler than the otner; and at every put- 
 ting by, Lune horifst neighbours sliouted. 
 
 Cos. Who otlered him the crown ? 
 
 Casca. Why, Antony. 
 
 Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 
 
 Casca. 1 can as well be kinged, as tell the mancef 
 of it: it was mere I'oolery, I did not mark it. 1 sa^ 
 Mark Antony offer him a crown; — yet 'twas not . 
 crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets ; — and, a,' 
 I told you, he put it by once : but, for all that, to uij? 
 thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered 
 it to him again ; then he put it by again : but, to nay 
 thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. 
 And then he offered it the third time ; he put it tha 
 third time by : and still as he refused it, the rabble- 
 ment hooted, and clapped their chopped hands, and 
 threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such 
 a deal of stinking breath oecause C;i)sar refused the 
 crown, that it had almost choked Caesar; for he 
 swooned, and fell down at it : And for mine own part. 
 I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, ana 
 receiving the bad air. 
 
 Cas. But, soft, I pray you: What? Did Caesar 
 swoon ? 
 
 Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
 foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 
 
 Bru. ' Tis very like ; he hath the falling-sickness. 
 
 Cas. No, Cajsar hath it not ; but you, and 1, 
 And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness. 
 
 Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, 
 I am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people 
 did not clap him and hiss him, according as he 
 pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the 
 players in the theatre, I am no true man. 
 
 Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself? 
 
 Casca. Marry., before he fell down, when he per- 
 cei\ed the common herd was glad he refused the 
 crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered 
 them his throat to cut. — An I had been a man of any 
 occupat'ion, if I would not tiave taken him at a word, 
 I would I might go to hell among the rogues; — ana 
 so he fell. Wiien he came to himself again, he said. 
 If he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired 
 their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or 
 four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, (jood soul! 
 — and forgave him with all tlieir hearts : But there's 
 no heed to be taken of them ; if Csesar had stabbed 
 their mothers, they would have done no less. 
 
 Bru. And after that, he came, thus .sad, away | 
 
 Casca. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Did Cicero say any thing ? 
 Casca. Ay, he spoke (3 reek. 
 Cas. To what effect? 
 
 Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look yoa 
 i'the face again : But those, t-iiat understood him, 
 smiled at one another, and shook their heads; but, 
 for my own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell 
 you more news too: Marullus and Flavins, lor pull- 
 ing scarfs otf Caesar's images, are put to silence. 
 Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I 
 could remember it. _ 
 
 Cas, Will you sup with me to-night, Ca.sca ? 
 
 Casca. No, 1 am promised forth. 
 
 Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 
 
 Casca. Ay, if 1 be alive, and your mind hold, and 
 your dinner worth the eating. 
 
 Cas. Good ; 1 will expect you. 
 
 Casca. Do so : Farewell, both. [Exil^ 
 
 Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be? 
 He was quick mettle, when he went to scbooL 
 
 Cas. So is he now , in execution 
 Of any bold or noble enterprise 
 However he puts on this tardy form. 
 This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit. 
 Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
 With better appetite. 
 
 Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave ye«^ 
 To-morroA', if yon please to speak with me, 
 I will come home to you ; or, if you will, 
 Come home with me, and I will wait for you. 
 
 Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of tlie world. 
 
 [Exit BrutHB 
 Wt'U, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
 Tiiy honouiabie metal may be wrought 
 
588 JULIUS 
 
 Prom that it is dispos'd • Therefore 'tis meet 
 
 That noble minds keep ever with their likes: 
 
 For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd? 
 
 Caesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus : 
 
 If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
 
 He should not humour me. I will this night. 
 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 
 Writings, all tending to the great opinion 
 
 That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely 
 
 Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: 
 
 And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure ; 
 
 For we shall shake him, or worse days endure. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Street. 
 
 Thunder and liyhtniny. Enter, from opposite sides, 
 Casca, with his sword drawn, and Cicero. 
 Cic. Good even, Casca : Brought you Caesar 
 home ? 
 
 Why are you breathless r and why stare you so? 
 Casca. Are not you mov'd, when nil the sway of 
 earth 
 
 Shakes, like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero, 
 I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
 Have riv'd the knotty oaks; and 1 have seen 
 The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam. 
 To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds : 
 But never till to-night, never till now, 
 Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven; 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
 Incenses them to send destruction. 
 
 Cic. Why, saw you any thing more w(mderful ? 
 
 Casca. A common slave (you know him well by 
 sight,) 
 
 Held up his left hand, which did flame, and burn 
 Like twenty torches join'd ; and yet his hand. 
 Not sensible o^" tire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
 Besides, (I have not since put up my sword,) 
 Against the Capitol I met a lion. 
 Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by. 
 Without annoying me : And there were drawn 
 Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, 
 Transformed with their fear ; who swore, they saw 
 Men, all in tire, walk up and down the streets. 
 And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit, 
 Even at noon day, upon the market-place. 
 Hooting, and shrieking. When these prodigies 
 Do so conjointly meet, let not men say. 
 These are their reasons, — They are natural; 
 For, I believe, they are portentous things 
 Unto the climate that they point upon. 
 
 Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
 But men nmy construe things after their fashion. 
 Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
 Comes CaiJjar to the Capitol to-morrow? 
 
 Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
 Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow. 
 
 Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky 
 Is not to walk in. 
 
 Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Cicero. 
 
 Enter Cassius. 
 
 Ca$. Who's there? 
 Casca. A Roman. 
 
 Cos. Casca, by your voice, 
 
 Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night 
 is this ? 
 
 Cas. A very pleasant night to honest men. 
 Casa',. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? 
 Cas. Those, that have known the earth so full of 
 faults. 
 
 For my part, I have walk'd about the streets. 
 
 Submitting me unto the perilous night; 
 
 And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see. 
 
 Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone : 
 
 And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
 
 The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
 
 Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
 
 CiESAR. Act I 
 
 Casca. But wherefore did you ao tnach tempt thf 
 
 heavens ? 
 
 It is the part of men to fear and tremble. 
 When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send 
 Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
 
 Cas. Vou are dull, Casca ; and those sparks <■ 
 life 
 
 That should be in a Roman, you do want, 
 Or else you use not : You look pale, and gase. 
 And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder. 
 To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
 But if you would consider the true cause. 
 Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
 Why birds, and beasts, from quality and kind ; 
 Why old men, fools, and children calculate ; 
 Why all these things change, from their ordinance. 
 Their natures, and pre-formed faculties, 
 To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find, 
 'J'hat heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits 
 To make them instruments of fear and warning. 
 Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, 
 Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night; 
 That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
 As doth the lion in the Capitol : 
 A man no mightier than thyself, or me, 
 In personal action ; yet prodigious ^rown, 
 And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
 
 Casca. *Tis Caesar that you mean : Is it not, Cas- 
 sius ? 
 
 Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 
 Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors , 
 But, woe the while ! our father's minds are dead, 
 And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
 Our yoke and sutterance shew us womanish. 
 
 Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to- morrow 
 Mean to establish Caesar as a king : 
 And he shall wear his crown by sea, and land. 
 In every place, save here in Italy. 
 
 Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then; 
 Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius ; 
 Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most stronjt; 
 Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: 
 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass. 
 Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron. 
 Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; 
 But life, being weary of these wordly bars. 
 Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
 If I know this, know all the world besides, 
 That part of tyranny that I do bear, 
 I can shake off at pleasure. 
 
 Casca. So can I ; 
 
 So every bondman in his own hand bears 
 The power to cancel his captivity. 
 
 Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant theo? 
 Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf, 
 But that he sees the Romans are but sheep : 
 He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
 Those that with haste will make a mighty fire, 
 Begin it with weak straws : What trash is Romef 
 W^hat rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
 For the base matter to illuminate 
 So vile a thing as Caesar? But, O grief! 
 Where hast thou led me ? I, perhaps, speak this 
 Before a willing bondman : then I know 
 My answer must be made : But I am arm'd. 
 And dangers are to we indifferent. 
 
 Casca. You speak to Casca ; and to such ft BMib 
 That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand: 
 Be factious for redress of all these griefs ; 
 And 1 will set this foot of mine as far. 
 As who goes farthest. 
 
 Cas. There's a bargain made. 
 
 Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
 Some certain of the noblest- minded Uomanif 
 To undeigo with me an enterprise 
 Of honourable-dangerous consequence; 
 And I do know, by this, they stay for me 
 In Pompey's porch : For now, this fearful nigh^ 
 There is no stir, or walking in the streets; 
 And the complexion of the element 
 
Act n. Scene 1. JULIUS 
 
 is favour*d, like the work we have in hand. 
 Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 
 
 Enter Cinna. 
 Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in 
 haste. 
 
 Ca$. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait ; 
 He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so? 
 Cin. To fiVid out you : Who's that ? Metellus 
 Cimber? 
 
 Cos. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 
 To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna ? 
 
 Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this ? 
 There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 
 
 Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna ? Tell me. 
 
 Cin. , Yes, 
 
 You are. O, Cassius, if you could but win 
 The noble Brutus to our party — 
 
 Cas. Be you content : (.Tood Cinna, take this paper, 
 And look you lay it in the praetor's chair. 
 Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this 
 in at his window : set this up with wax 
 Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done, 
 Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
 Is Uecius Brutus, and Trebonius, there ^ 
 
 Cin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone 
 To set- k you at your house. Well, I will hie, 
 And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
 
 Cas. Tliat done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
 
 [Exit Cinna. 
 Come, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day, 
 See Bi utus at his house : three parts of him 
 Is ours already ; and the man entire, 
 Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 
 
 Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts; 
 And that \vhich would appear olfence in us. 
 His countenance, like richest alchymy, 
 Will change to virtue, and to worthiness. 
 
 Cm. Him, and his worth, and our great need of 
 him. 
 
 You have right well conceited. Let us go, 
 
 For it is after midnight; and, ere day. 
 
 We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene 1. — The same. Brutus' s Orchard. 
 Enier Brutus. 
 Bru. What, Lucius! ho! — 
 I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say! — 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. — 
 When, Lucius, when ? Awake, I say : What Lu- 
 cius? 
 
 Enter Lucius^ 
 
 Ltic. Call'd you, my lord ? 
 
 Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: 
 When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 
 Luc. 1 will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
 I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd : — 
 How that might change his nature, there's the 
 question. 
 
 It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder: 
 And that craves wary walking. Crown him ? — 
 That ;— 
 
 And then, I grant, we put a sting in him. 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
 Remorse from power: And, to speak truth of Caesar, 
 I have not known when his affections sway'd 
 More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof. 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
 Whereto the climber- upward turns his face ; 
 But when he once attains the upmost round. 
 He ihen unto the ladder turns his back, 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 By which he did ascend • So Caesar may ; 
 
 Then, lest be may, prevent. <lnd, since the qaarrel 
 Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
 Fashion it thus : that what he is, augmented. 
 Would run to tliese, and these extremities: 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's egg. 
 Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mMfhwt 
 vous. 
 
 And kill him in the shell. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, ar* 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 This paper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure. 
 It did not lie there, when I went to bed. 
 
 Bru. Get you to bed again, it is now day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy , the ides of March ? 
 
 Luc. I know not, sir. 
 
 Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 
 Luc. I will, sir. ^ [Exit, 
 
 Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air. 
 
 Give so much light (hat I may read by them. 
 
 {Opens the letter ^ and read*.) 
 
 Brutus, thou sleep' st; awake, and see thyself. 
 
 Shall Rome, ^c. Speak, strike, redress ! 
 
 Brutus, thou sleep" st ; awake, — 
 
 Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
 
 Where I have took them up. 
 
 Shall Rome, §Cc. Thus must I piece it out; 
 
 Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What? 
 Rome ? 
 
 My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
 Speak, strike, redress !— Am I entreated then 
 'i'o speak, and strike? O Rumel I make thee 
 promise. 
 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. 
 
 {Knock tvithiiL) 
 
 Bru. Tis good. Go to the gate ; somebody knocks 
 
 [Exit Luciua. 
 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 
 Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
 
 The genius, and the mortal instruments. 
 
 Are then in council; and the state of man. 
 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then \ 
 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. Sir, tis your brother Cassius at the oor. 
 Who doth desire to see you. 
 Bru. Is he alone ? 
 
 Luc. No, sir; there are more with him. 
 Bru. Do you know them ? 
 
 Luc. No, sir ; their hats are pluck'd about theia 
 ears. 
 
 And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
 That by no means I may discover them 
 By any mark of favour. 
 
 Bru. Let them enter. 
 
 [Exit LuciuM. 
 
 They are the faction. O conspiracy ! 
 
 Sham'st thou to shew thy dangerous brow by nighl^ 
 
 When evils are most free ? O, then, by day. 
 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
 
 To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, wm- 
 
 spiracy ; 
 Hide it in smiles, and affability : 
 For if thou path thy native semblance on. 
 Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
 To hide thee from prevention. 
 
 Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Mgrmh 
 Lus Cimber, and 'fREBONius. 
 Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest: 
 
590 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act n. 
 
 Good morrow. Brutus ; Do we trouble you? 
 
 Hrti. I have been up this hour; awake, all nigb 
 K-uovv I thesf men, that come along with you ? 
 
 Cas. ^es, every man of them ; and no man her 
 But ho< ours ycu : and every one doth wish, 
 YoH had but that opinion of yourself, 
 Wliich every noble Roman bears of you. 
 This is 'IVebonius. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome hither. 
 
 Cas. This Decius Brutus. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome too. 
 
 Cas. This. Casca ; this, Cinna ; 
 And ihfs, Metellus Cimber. 
 
 Bru. They are all welcome. 
 
 What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
 Betwixt your eyes and night ? 
 
 Cas. Shall I entreat a word ? {They whisper.) 
 
 Dec. Here lies the east: Doth not the day break 
 
 Casca. No. [here? j 
 
 Cm. O, jiardon, sir, it doth ; and yon grey lines, ' 
 rii;it fret the clouds, are messengers of day. 
 
 Casca. You shall confess, that you are both 
 deceiv'd. 
 
 Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises ; 
 Wliich is a great way growing on the south. 
 Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
 Some two months hence, up higher to A'ard the north, 
 He first presents his fire: and the high east 
 Stands, as tiie Capitol, directly here. 
 
 Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
 (Jas. Ar.d let us swear our resolution. 
 Bru. No, not an oath : If not the face of men, 
 The sutlVraiice of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
 If these be motives weak, break off betimes. 
 And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
 So lot high sighted tyranny range on, 
 Till ea( h man drop by lottery. But if these. 
 As I am sure they do, bear fire enoiigii 
 To kiudle cowards, and to steel with valour 
 The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen, 
 V\lat need we any spur, but our own cause, 
 To prick us to redress? what other bond, 
 Than seciet Romans, that have spoke the word. 
 And will not palter? and what other oalh. 
 Than honesty to honesty engag'd. 
 That this shall be, or we will fall for it? 
 Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous, 
 Old feeble carrions, and such sutr'ering souls 
 That welcome wrongs ; unto had causes swear 
 Such creatures as men doubt: but do not stain 
 The even \irtue of our enterprise. 
 Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, 
 'I'o think, that, or our cause, or our performance, 
 Did need an oath; when every drop of blood, 
 'J'hat every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
 Is guilty of a several bastardy, 
 If he do break the smallest particle 
 Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 
 
 Cas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him? 
 I think he will stand very strong with us. 
 Casca. Let us not leave him out. 
 Cm. No, by no means. 
 
 Met. O let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
 Will purchase us a good opinion, 
 And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: 
 It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands; 
 Our youtlis, and wildm-ss, shall no whit appear. 
 But all be buried in his gravity. [him; 
 
 Bru O. name him not; let us not break with 
 For he *vill never follow any thing 
 That other men begin. 
 i'.as. Then leave him out 
 
 tJasca. Indeed, he ia not fit. 
 Dec, Shall no man else be touch'd, but only 
 Caesar ? 
 
 t>ajt. Deciiis, well urg'd : — I think it is not meet, 
 Mark AtitodV, so well belov'd of Ca^sur, 
 Shouta outlive Cccsar: We shall find of him 
 A "'arf'vv.^ contrwer; and, you know, his means, 
 If t« iruiH-ove tlieui, may we'" stretch so tar. 
 
 As to annoy us all : which fo prevent, 
 t. Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together. 
 
 Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Ca'uis 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 I To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs; 
 Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards : 
 For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. 
 Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Cains 
 We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; 
 And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
 O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, 
 And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, 
 Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends. 
 Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; 
 Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods. 
 Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds : 
 And let our hearts, as subtle masters do. 
 Stir up their servants to an act of ra^e. 
 And after seem to chide them. This shall make 
 Our purpose necessary, and not envious : 
 Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
 We shall be call'd purgers, not murdereri. 
 And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
 For he can do no more than Caesar's arm, 
 VVMieii Caesar's l>ead is off. 
 
 Cas. Yet I do fear hmi : 
 
 For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar, — 
 Bru. Al is. good Cassius, do not think of him 
 If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
 Is to himself; take thought, aiuj die for Caesar ; 
 And that were much he should; for he is given 
 To sports, to wildiaess, and much company. 
 
 Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die ; 
 For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 
 
 {Clock strikes^i 
 
 Bru. Peace, count the clock. 
 Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 
 
 Treb. 'Tis time to part. 
 
 Cas. But it is doubtf'il ye^ 
 
 Whe'r Caesar will come forth to-day, or no: 
 For he is superstitious grown of late ; 
 Quite from the main opinion he held once 
 Of fantasy, ofdreanis, and ceremonies* 
 It mi\y be, these apparent prodigies. 
 The uuaccustom'd terror of this night, 
 And the persuasion of hi^ augurers, 
 May hold him froni the Capitol to-day. 
 
 Dec. Never lear that; If he be so resolv'd, 
 I can o'ersway him : for he loves to hear, 
 That unicorns may be betray d with trees, 
 And bears with glasses, elephants with holet, 
 Lions with toils, and men with flattert^rs: 
 But, when 1 tell him, he hates llatterers, 
 He says, he does ; being then most flattered 
 Let me work : 
 
 For I can give his humour the true bent; 
 And I will bring hi:n to the Capitol. 
 
 Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him 
 Bru. By the eighth hour: Is that the uttermost? 
 Cin Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
 3Iet. Cains Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 
 Who rated liim lor speaking well of Pompey; 
 I wonder, none of you have thought of him. 
 
 Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him: 
 He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; 
 Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him, 
 
 Cas. The morning comes upon us: W^e'll lea? 
 you, Brutus; — 
 And, friends, disperse yourselves: but all remember 
 What you have said, and shew yourselves true Ro. 
 mans. 
 
 Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily ; 
 Let not our looks put on our purposes; 
 But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
 With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy . 
 And so, good-morrow to you every one. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Brutu 
 Boy I Lucius! — Fast asleep? It is no matter; 
 Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 
 Ttiou hast no f)j;ures, uur uo fuutasies, 
 
bCENE J. JULIUS 
 
 Which bufn- care draws in the brains of men ; 
 Therefore thou 8i:;ep'st so sound. 
 
 Enter Portia. 
 Por. Brutus, my lord ! 
 
 Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise 
 you now ? 
 It is not for your health, thus toconrait 
 Your weak condition to (he raw-r old morning. 
 Por. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, 
 Brutus, 
 
 Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper. 
 
 Von suddenly arose, and walk'd about, 
 
 Musing, and sighing, with your arms across: 
 
 And, when I ask'd you what the matter was. 
 
 You star'd upon me with ungentle looks: 
 
 I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd j^our head. 
 
 And too impatiently stainp'd with your foot: 
 
 Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not; 
 
 But, with an angry wafture of your hand. 
 
 Gave sign for me to leave you • So I did ; 
 
 Fearing to strengthen that impatience. 
 
 Which seem'd too much enkindled ; and, withal. 
 
 Hoping it was but an etfect of humour, 
 
 Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
 
 It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep ; 
 
 And eould it work so mucli upon your shape, 
 
 As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
 
 I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord. 
 
 Make me acquainted witli your cause of grief 
 
 Bru. I am not well in ijealth, arid that is all. 
 
 Por. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health. 
 He would embrace the means to come by it. 
 
 Bru. Why, so 1 do :— Good Portia, go to bed. 
 
 Por. Is Brutus sick ? and is it physical 
 To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours 
 Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick ; 
 And will he steal out of his wholesome bed. 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night? 
 And tempt the rheumy and impurged air 
 To add unto his sickness? Noj my Brutus^ 
 You have some sick offence within your mmd, 
 Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
 I ought to know of: And upon my knees 
 I charm you, by my once commended beauty. 
 By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
 VVhich did incorporate and make us one, 
 Tliat you (mfold to me, yourself, your half, 
 Why you are heavy ; and what men to night 
 Have had resort to you : for here have been 
 Some six or seven, who did hide their laces 
 Eve^i from darkness. 
 
 Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 
 
 Por. I should not need, if yon were gentle Brutus. 
 W^ithin the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
 Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
 1 nat appertain to you ? Am 1 yourself, 
 But, as it were, in sort, or limitation; 
 
 keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
 And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the 
 suburbs 
 
 Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, 
 I'ortia is Brutus' iiarlot, not his wife. 
 
 Bru. You are my true and honourable wife ; 
 As dvear to me, as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 
 
 Por, If tnis were true, then should I know this 
 Hecret 
 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
 A woman that lord Brutus took to wife : 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
 A woman well-reputed ; Cato's daughter. 
 Think you, I am uo stronger than my sex. 
 Being so father'd, ^nd so husbanded ^ 
 Tell nie your coimsels. 1 will not disclose them: 
 1 have made strong proof ot my constancy. 
 Giving myself a vuluniary vvoiuid 
 Here, in the thigh; Can I bear that with patience. 
 And not my husband's secrets ^ 
 Bru. O ye gods. 
 
 C^SAR. 591 
 
 Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 
 
 {Knocking withm ) 
 Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while; 
 And by iand by t.hy bosom ahall partake 
 The secrets of my heart. 
 All ray engagements 1 will construe to thee. 
 All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
 Leave me with haste. [Exit Portuu 
 
 Enter LuciDS and Ligarius. 
 
 Lucius, who is that knocks? 
 Luc. Here is a sick' man, that A'oidd spea*. with 
 you. 
 
 Bru. Cains Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. — 
 Boy, stand aside. — Cains Ligarius ! how ? 
 
 Lig, Vouchsafe good-morrow, from a feeble 
 tongue. [Caicia, 
 
 Bru. O, what a time have you chose onit, brave 
 To wear a kerchief? 'Would you were not sick I 
 
 Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
 Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 
 
 Bru. Such an exploit have 1 in hand, Ligarius, 
 Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 
 
 Lig. By all the gods, that Romans bow before, 
 I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome ! 
 Brave son, deriv d from honourable loins ! 
 Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 
 My mortified spirit. Now bid me run. 
 And I will strive with things impossible ; 
 Yea, get the better of them. What's to do ? 
 
 Bru, A piece of work, that will make sick mea 
 whole. [sick ? 
 
 Lig. But are not some whole, that vve must make 
 
 Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 
 I shall unfold to thee, as we are going 
 To whom it must be done. 
 
 Lig. Set on your foot : 
 
 And, with a heart new-tir'd, I follow you. 
 To do I know not what : but it sufficeth, 
 That Brutus leads me on 
 
 Bru. Follow me then. [ExeunL 
 
 Scene H. — The same. A Boom in Casar's 
 Palace. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter C^SAR, in his' 
 night-gown. 
 
 Cas. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peaee 
 to night : 
 
 Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 
 Help, ho! They murder Cdssar! Who's vvitiiin? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. My lord ? 
 
 Ccas. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice. 
 And bring me their opinions of success. 
 
 Serv. I will, my lord. [Exit, 
 
 Enter Calphurnia. 
 Cal. What mean you, Csesar ? Think you to walk 
 forth ? 
 
 You shall not stir out of your house to-day 
 Cas. Caesar shall forth: The things, that threa- 
 ts n'd me, 
 
 Ne'er look'd but ofi my back ; when they shall see 
 The face of Ciestir they are vanished. 
 
 Cal. Cassar, 1 oever stood on ceremonies. 
 Yet now they (right me. There is one within. 
 Besides the think; s that we have heard and sseo. 
 Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
 A lioness hath whelped in the streets; 
 And graves ha> t- yawn'd and yielded up their dead. 
 Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds, 
 In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war, 
 Which dnzzle-i blood upon the Capitol: 
 The noise of battle hurtled in the air, 
 Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan ; 
 And ghosts d«d shriek, and squeal about the rtrcdi 
 O Ca;sar' thrse things ere beyond all use, 
 And I do fear them. 
 
 Cces. What can be avoided. 
 
592 JULIUS 
 
 Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods ? 
 Yet Casar shall go forth ; for these predictions 
 Are to the world in general, as to Caesar. 
 
 Cal. When beggars die there are no comets 
 seen ] [princes. 
 The heavens themsel.rs blaze forth the death of 
 
 Ctes. Cowarda die many times before their deaths; 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 Of all the wonders, that I yet have heard. 
 It seems to me most strange, that men should fear 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 Will come, when it will corrte. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 What say the augurers ? 
 
 Airry.Tljey would not have yon to stir forth to-day. 
 Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
 They could not find a heart within the beast. 
 
 Cies. The gods do this in shame of cowardice ; 
 Csesar should be a beast without a heart. 
 If he sliould stay at home to-day for fear. 
 No, Caesar shall not: Danger knows full well, 
 Tbat Caesar is more dangerous than he. 
 We were two lions litter'd in one day, 
 And I the elder and more terrible : 
 And Caesar shall go forth. 
 
 Cal. Alas, my lord. 
 
 Your wisdom is consum'd in conhdence. 
 Do not go forth to-day: Call it niy fear. 
 That keeps you jn tlie house, and not your own. 
 W e'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house : 
 And he shall say, you are not well to-day : 
 Let me, upon niy knee, prevail in this. 
 
 Cdes. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well ; 
 And, ibr thy humour, I will stay at home. 
 
 Enter Decius, 
 Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 
 
 Dec. Caesar, all hail I Good morrow, worthy 
 
 Caesar : 
 
 ome to letch you to tho senate-house, 
 Ctes. And you are come in very happy time. 
 To bear my greeting to the senators, 
 And tell them, tiiat I will not come to-day; 
 Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser: 
 1 will not come to day; Tell them so, Decius. 
 Cal. Say, he is sick. 
 
 C<es. Shall Ca?sar send a lie ? 
 
 Have I in conquest stretch"d mine arm so far. 
 To be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth ? 
 Decius, go tell tlieni, Caesar will not come. 
 
 Dec. Most mighty Caisar, let me know some cause, 
 Lest I be laugh'd at, when I tell them so. 
 
 Cas. 'We cause is in my will, I will not come ; 
 That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
 But, for your private satisfaction. 
 Because I love you, 1 will let ycu know. 
 Calpliurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: 
 She dreamt to-night she saw iny statu , 
 Which like a fountain, with a hundred spouts. 
 Did run pure blood ; and many lus-ty Romans 
 Came smiling, and did batlie their hands in it. 
 And these doth she apply for warnings, portents, 
 And evil imminent; and on her knee 
 Hath begg'd, that 1 will stay at home to-day. 
 
 Dec. This drean» is all amiss interpreted; 
 It was a vision, fair and fortunate : 
 Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
 ft which so raauy smiling Romans bath'd. 
 Signifies, that from you great Rome shall suck 
 Reviving blood; and that great men shrill press 
 For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
 This by Calphurnia's dream is signified. 
 
 Cas. And this way have you well expounded it. 
 
 Dec. \ have, when you have heard what I can say : 
 And know it now: The senate have concluded 
 To give, this day, a crown to mighty Caesar, 
 ll'you shall send them word, you will not come, 
 Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
 Aiit to be render'd, for some one to say. 
 
 C^SAR. Act H 
 
 Break up the senate till another time, 
 
 W hen C<Bsar's wife shall meet with better drtam « 
 
 If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper, 
 
 XfO, CiBsar is afraid? 
 
 Pardon me, Caesar ; for my dear, dear love 
 
 To your proceeding bids me tell you this; 
 
 And reason to my love is liable. 
 
 CcBS. How foolish do your fears seem now 
 Calphurnia ? 
 I am ashamed I did yield to them. — 
 Give me my robe, for I will go: — 
 
 Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellds, 
 Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna. 
 
 And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 
 
 Pub. Good-morrow, Caesar. , 
 
 Cas. Welcome, Publiut.-— 
 
 What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ? — 
 Good-morrow, Casca. — Caius Ligarius, 
 Caesar was ne'er s«) nuich your enemy. 
 As that same ague which hath made you lean. 
 What is't o'clock ? 
 
 Bru, Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. 
 
 CiBS. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 
 See ! Antony, that revels long o'nights. 
 Is notwithstanding up: — 
 Good-morrow, Antony. 
 
 Ant. So to most noble Cnsar. 
 
 Ctes, Bid them prepare within : — 
 1 am to blame to be thus waited for. — 
 Now, Cinna :— Now, Metellus : — What.Trebonia* . 
 I have an hour's talk in store for you ; 
 Remember, that you call on me to day : 
 Be near me, that I may remember you. 
 
 Treb. Caesar, I will : — and so near will I be, 
 
 {Asid:\ 
 
 That your best friends shall wish 1 had been further. 
 Ctes. Good friends, go in, and taste some win* 
 with me ; 
 
 And we like friends, will jitraightway go together. 
 
 Bru. That every like is not the same, O Caesar, 
 The heart ol Brutus yearns to think upon ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Street near the 
 Capitol. 
 
 Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper. 
 Art. Ccesar, beware of Brutus; take heed oj 
 Cassias ; come not near Casca ; have an eye to 
 Cinna ; trust not Tre.boniiis ; mark ivell Metellus 
 Cimher ; Decius Brutus loves thee not ; thou hast 
 tvronged Cuius Liyarius. There is but one mind 
 in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. 
 If thou best not i7nmortal, look about you: 
 Security yives way to conspiracy. The mighty 
 gods defend thee ! Thy lover, AUTEMIDORUS. 
 Here will I stand, till Caesar pass along. 
 And as a suitor will I give him thi.s. 
 My heart laments, that virttie cannot live 
 Out of the teeth of emulation. 
 If thou read this, O Caesar, thou may'st live; 
 If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. Another part of the eanU 
 Street, before the House of Brutus, 
 
 Enter PoRTiA and Lucius. 
 Par. I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate ho'ise ; 
 Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone : Jj 
 Why dost thou stay ? ^| 
 Luc. To know my errand, mad^m 
 
 Por. I would have had thee there, and here again. 
 Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st dother* — 
 
 0 constancy, be strong upon my side ! 
 
 Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tonfTMi 
 
 1 have a man's mind, but a woman's mighty 
 How hard it is for women to keep couose! 
 Art thou here yet ? 
 
 Luc. Madam, what should 1 <f 
 
loT IIL Scene 1. JULIUS 
 
 Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ? 
 And so return to you, and nothing else ? 
 
 Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well. 
 For he went sickly forth : And take good note, 
 What Caess"' doth, what suitors press to him. 
 Hark, boy ! what noise is that? 
 
 Jjii-", I hear none, madam. 
 
 I'or. Pi 'ythee, listen well : 
 
 I heard a bi]s.tling rumour, like a fray. 
 And the wind brings it from thtt (!)apiti'' 
 
 Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 
 
 Enter Soothsayer. 
 Por. Come hither, fellow : 
 
 Which way hast thou been ? 
 Sooth. At mine own house, good lady. 
 
 Por. What is't o'clock ? 
 
 Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 
 
 Por. Is Cffisnr yet gone to the Capitol ? 
 
 Sooth. Madam, not yet ; I go to take my stand, 
 To see him pass on to the Capitol. 
 
 Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? 
 
 Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please Caesar 
 To be so good to Caesar, as to hear me, 
 I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 
 
 Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended 
 towards him ? 
 
 Sooth. None, that I know will be ; much, that 
 I fear may chance. 
 Good-morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: 
 The tiirong, that follows Caesar at the heels. 
 Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, 
 Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: 
 I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
 Speak to great Caesar as he conies along. [Exit. 
 
 Por. I must go in. — Ah me ! how weak a thing 
 The heart of woman is ! O Brutus ! 
 The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise ! 
 Sure, the boy heprd me : — Brutus hath a suit, 
 That Caesar will not granU — O, I grow faint : — 
 Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord ; 
 Say I am merry : come to me again. 
 And bring me word what he doth say to thee. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. The Capitol; the benate 
 sitting. 
 
 A crotvd of people in the street leading to the 
 Capitol ; among them Artemidorus, and the 
 Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter C^SAR, Brutus, 
 CAssitJS, Casca, Decius, Metellus,Trebonius, ! 
 CiNNA, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, i 
 md others. 
 
 Cas. The ides of March are come. 
 
 Sooth. Ay, Caesar; but not gone. 
 
 Art. Hail, Caesar ; Read this schedule. 
 
 Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read. 
 At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 
 
 Art. O Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit 
 Tiat touches Caesar nearer: Read it, great Caesar. 
 * Cats. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd. 
 
 Art. Delay not, Ci^sar : read it instantly. 
 
 Cas. What, is the fellow mad ? 
 
 Pub. Sirrah, give place. 
 
 Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street? 
 Come to the Capitol. 
 
 <!/iESAR enters the Capitol, the rest following. All 
 the Senators rise. 
 
 Pop. T wish, your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
 
 Cas. What enterprise, Popilius ? 
 
 Pop. Fare you well. 
 
 {Advances to Ctesar ) 
 
 Bru. What said Popilius Len i ? 
 
 Cas. He wish'd, to-d.iy our enterprise might thrive. 
 I fear, our purpose is discover'd. 
 
 Bru. Look, now he makes to Caesar: IVark him. 
 
 Cas. Casca, be sudden, for W( fear pre' entio'j. — 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 Brutus, what shall be done ': If this be 
 Caasius or Caesar never shall turn back. 
 For I will slay myself. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be constant 
 
 Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
 For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 
 
 Cas. Trebonius knows his time; for, look /o»% 
 Brutus, 
 
 He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony and Tmbonius. Ccisa* 
 and the Sena tors take their seals, 
 
 Dkc. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, 
 And presently prefer his suit to Cassar. 
 
 Bru. He is address'd : press near, and seconc) him 
 
 Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand* 
 
 Ca:s. Are we all ready? what is now amiss, 
 That Caesar, and his senate, must redress 'i 
 
 Met. Most high, most mighty, and must puis- 
 sant Caesar, 
 Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
 An humble heart: — {Kneeling^) 
 
 Cas. I must prevent thee, Cimber. » 
 
 These couchings, and th<»se lowly courtesies, 
 Might fire the blood of o dinary men ; 
 And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, 
 Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
 To think that C»sar bears such rebel blood, 
 That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
 With that which mclteth fools ; I mean, sweet wordi, 
 Low-crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning 
 Thy brother by decree is banished ; 
 If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him, 
 I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
 Know, Caesar doth not wrong; nor without cause 
 Will he be satisfied. 
 
 Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my owo. 
 To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear. 
 For the repealing of my banish d brother ? 
 
 Bru. I kiss thy hand, but u<>% in flattery, Ciesar ; 
 Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may 
 Have an immediate freedom ol repeal. 
 
 C<es. What, Brutus I 
 
 Cas. Pardon, Caesar ; Cajsar, parrfon 
 
 As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
 To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 
 
 C<es. I could be well mov'd, if I were as yoq* 
 If I could pray to move, prayers would move me 
 But I am constant as the northern star, 
 Of whose true fix'd, and resting quality. 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks 
 They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 
 But there's but one in all doth hold his place : 
 So, in the world ; 'Tis furnish'd well with men ; 
 And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive 
 Yet, in the number, I do know but one 
 That imassailable holds on his rank, 
 Unshak'd of motion : and, that I arn he. 
 Let me a little shew it, even in this ; 
 That I was constant, Cimber shou'ld be banish'd. 
 And constant do remain to keep him so. 
 
 Cin. O Caesar, — 
 
 C<Bs. Hence I Wilt thori lift up Olympus ? 
 
 Dec. Great Caesar, — 
 
 C(es. Doth not Brutns bootless kneel ? 
 
 Casca. Speak, hands, for me. 
 
 {Casca stabs Ceesar in the neck. Casar 
 catches hold of hit arm. He is then 
 stabbed by several other Conspirator*, 
 and at last by Marcus Brutus.) 
 Cas. Et tu. Brute ?- Then fall, C«sar. (l>iV». 
 The senators and people retire in confu- 
 sion.) 
 
 Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead ! — 
 Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 
 
 Cas. Some to the common pulpit, and cry out, 
 Liberty, ft eedotn, and enfranchisement ! 
 
 Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted , 
 Fly not; s'and .'till : — ambition's debt is paid. 
 
 Casca. Go U the pulpit, Brutus. 
 
 38 
 
594 
 
 JULIUS 
 
 C^SAR. 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 Dac, Aod CascHua too. 
 
 ^Vm. Where's Publius? 
 
 O n. Here, (juite confounded with this mutiny. 
 
 Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of 
 Bhoiild chance — [Caesar 
 
 Bru. Talk not of standing; Publius, good cheer ; 
 There is no harm intended to your person. 
 Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius. 
 
 Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, 
 Riisliiiig on us, should do your age some mischief. 
 
 Bru. Do so ; — and let no man abide this deed, 
 Hut we the doers. 
 
 Re-enter Trebonius. 
 Cas. Where's Antony ? 
 
 Ti e. Fled to his house amaz'd : 
 
 Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, 
 As it were doomsday. 
 
 But. Fates ! we will know your pleasures : — 
 Th;it we shall die, we know, 'tis but the time. 
 And drawing days out, that men stand upon, 
 » Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life. 
 Cuts oil' so many years of fearing death. 
 
 Bru. Grant thit, and then is death a benefit : 
 So are we Csesai's friends, that have abridg'd 
 His time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
 And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
 Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : 
 Tlien walk we forth, even to the market-place; 
 And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
 Lit's all cry, Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty! 
 
 Cas. Stoop then, and wash, — How many ages 
 hence. 
 
 Shall this our lofty scene be acted over 
 
 In states unborn, and accents yet unknown? 
 
 Biu. How many times shall Caesar bleed in 
 That now on Pompey's basis lies along, [sport. 
 No worthier than the dust ? 
 
 Cas. So oft as that shall be. 
 
 So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
 The m^n that gave our country libert;'. 
 
 Dec. What, shall we forth ? > 
 
 Cas. Ay, every man away : 
 
 Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels 
 With the ujost boldest and best liearts of Rome. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Bru. Soft, who comes here ? A friend of Antony's. 
 
 Serv. 'J'hus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 
 Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down : 
 And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say. 
 Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; 
 Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving; 
 Say, I love Brutus, and honour him ; 
 Say, I fear'd Caesar, honoar'd him, and lov'd him. 
 If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 
 May sarely come to him, and be resolv'd 
 How Cajsar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
 Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead. 
 So well as Brutus living; but will follow 
 The fortunes and atiairs of noble Brutus, 
 Thorough the hazards of this untrod state. 
 With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 
 
 Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ; 
 I never thought him worse. 
 'J ell him, so please him come unto this place. 
 He shall be satisfied : and, by my honour. 
 Depart untouch'd. 
 
 Serv. I'll fetch him presently. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Bru. I know, «r)at we shall have him well to 
 friend. 
 
 Cos. I wish, we may : but jet have I a mind, 
 That fears hint much; and njy misgiving still 
 P«ils shrewdly to the purpose. 
 
 Re-enter Antony. 
 Bru. But here comes Antony. — Welcome, Mark 
 Antony, 
 
 Ant. O mighty Caesar ! Dost thou lie so low ? 
 
 Are all thy conc|aests, glories, triumphs, 8p<41% 
 
 Shrunk to'thls little measure ? — Fare thee welI.<-> 
 
 1 know not, gentlemen, what you intend. 
 
 Who else must be let blood, who else is rank : 
 
 If I myself, there is no hour so fit, 
 
 As Caesar's death's hour ; nor no instrument 
 
 Of half that worth, as those your swords, made riek 
 
 With the most noble blood of all this world. 
 
 I do beseech ye, if ye bear me hard, * 
 
 Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and aismke^ 
 
 Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
 
 I shall not find myself so apt to die : 
 
 No place will please me so, no n?ean of deal^ 
 
 As here by Caesar, and by you cni off. 
 
 The choice and master spirits of this age. 
 
 Bru. O Antony I beg not your death of us. 
 Though now we must appear bloody and cruel. 
 As, by our hands, and this our present act. 
 You see we do ; yet see you but our hands, 
 And this the bleeding business they have done : 
 Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful; 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
 f As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar, tor your part. 
 To you our swords have leaden points, Mark 
 Antony : 
 
 Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts. 
 
 Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
 
 With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 
 
 Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's. 
 In the disposing of new dignities, 
 
 Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
 The mukitude, beside themselves with fear. 
 And then we will deliver you the cause, 
 Why 1. that did love Caesar when I struck him. 
 Have tnus proceeded. 
 
 Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom, 
 
 Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
 First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you:— 
 Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; — 
 Now, Decius Brutus, yours; — now yours, 
 tellus ; 
 
 Yours, Cinna; — and, my valiant Casca, yours; 
 Though last, not least in love, yours, good Tre- 
 bonius. 
 
 Gentlemen all, — alas ! what shall I say ? 
 My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
 That one of two bad ways you must conceit me 
 Either a coward or a flatterer. — 
 That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true : 
 If then thy spirit look upon us now. 
 Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death. 
 To see thy Antony making his peace. 
 Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes. 
 Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse? 
 Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds. 
 Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
 It would become me better, than to close 
 In terms at friendship with thine enemies. [hart ; 
 Pardon me, Julius! — Here wast thou bay'd, brave 
 Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters stand, 
 Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. # 
 O world ! thou wast the forest to this hart; 
 And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.— 
 How like a deer, stricken by many princes. 
 Dost thou here lie ! 
 Cas. Mark Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, Caius Caaoioit 
 
 The enemies of Caesar shall say this; 
 Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 
 
 Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so; 
 But what compact mean you to have with us? 
 Will you be prick'd in number of our friends : 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? [d»r4 
 
 Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, 
 Sway d from the point, by looking down on CnMff 
 Friends atn > with you all, and love you all ; 
 Upon tliis hope, that you shall give me reasons, 
 Why, and wherein, Cajsar was dangerous. 
 
 Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle* 
 
Scene 2. JULIUS 
 
 Our reasons are so full of good regard, ] 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
 You should be satisfied. 
 
 Ani. That's all I seek : 
 
 And am moreover suitor, that I may 
 Produce his body to the market-place ; 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 Bru, You shall, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cos. Brutus, a word with you. — 
 
 You know not '<rhat you do 5 Do not (y:;nsent, 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 That Antony speak in his funeral : 
 Kirow you how much the people may be mov'd 
 By that which he will utter ? 
 
 Bru. By your pardon ;— 
 
 i will myself into the pulpit first, 
 And shew the reason of our Cajsar's death : 
 What Antony shall speak, I v/ill protest 
 He speaks by leave and by permission ; 
 And that we are contented, Csesar shall 
 Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
 It shall advantage more, than do us wron^. 
 Cas. I know not what may fall ; 1 like it not. 
 Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Ca-sar's body. 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
 But speak all good j'ou can deviise of Cassar ; 
 And say you do 't by permission ; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral : And you shall speak 
 In the same pulpit whereto I am going. 
 After my speech is ended. 
 
 Ant. Be it so ; 
 
 I do desire no more. 
 Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Ardorty. 
 Ant. O pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth, 
 1 hat I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man. 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
 Over thy woimds now do I prophesy, — 
 Which, like dumb mouths, Jo ope their ruby lips, 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ; — 
 
 cwtm shall light upon the limbs of men; 
 Doftiestic fury, and fierce civil strife. 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use. 
 And dreadful objects so familiar. 
 That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
 Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war* 
 All pity choak'd with custom of fell deed : 
 j And Caesar's spirit, ranging lor revenge, 
 ! With Ate by his side, come hot from hell, 
 [ Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, 
 Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war ; 
 j That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
 j With carrion men, groaning for burial. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 You serve Octavius Cassar, do you not? 
 Serv, 1 do, Mark Antony. 
 Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. 
 Serv, He did receive his letters, and is coming : 
 j And bid me say to you by word of mouth, — 
 l! 0 Caesar I — {Seeing the body.) 
 
 Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep, 
 Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes. 
 Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine. 
 Began to water. Is thy master coming? [Rome. 
 ' Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of 
 I Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what 
 i hath chanc'd : 
 
 |H-'re is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
 No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; 
 Hie hence, and tell him vso. Yet, stay a while; 
 Thou shall not back, till I have borne this corse 
 into the market place : there shall I try. 
 In my oration, how the people take 
 lie cruel issue of tiiese bloody men; 
 
 CiESAR. " 5 or 
 
 ] According to the which, thou slialt discourse 
 To young Octavius of the state of things. 
 Lend me your hand. [Exeunt., with Ctesar's bodjf. 
 
 Scene II.— The same. The Forum. 
 
 Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of 
 Citizens. 
 
 Cit. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 
 Bru. Then follow me, and give me audienc«| 
 friends. — 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, 
 And part the numbers. — 
 
 Those that will hear me speak, let them stay bere; 
 Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
 And public reasons shall be rendered 
 Of Caesar's death. 
 
 1 Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 2 Cit. I w^ll hear Cpjfsius ; and compare their 
 reasons. 
 
 When severally we hear them rendered. 
 
 [Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizeni. 
 Brutus goes into the Rostrum. 
 
 3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 
 Bru. Be patit-nt till the last. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my 
 cause ; and be silent, that you may hear believe 
 me for mine honour; and have respect to mine 
 honour, that you may believe : censure me in your 
 wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the 
 better judge. If there be any in this assembly, 
 any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that 
 Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. If then 
 that friend demand why Brutus rose against C«sar, 
 this is my answer, — Not that I loved Caesai less, 
 but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather 
 Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; than that 
 Caesar were dead, to live all free men ? As Caesar 
 loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I 
 rejoice at it : as he was valiant, I honour him : 
 but, as he was ambitious, I slew him : There is 
 tears, for his love: joy, for his fortune; honour for 
 his valour; and aeath, for his ambition. Who is 
 here so base, that would be a bondman ? If any, 
 speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so 
 rude, that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; 
 for him have I offended. Who is here so vile, that 
 will not love his countiT? If any, speak; lor him 
 have I offended. I pause for a reply. 
 Cit. None, Brutus, none. 
 
 {Several speaking at once.) 
 Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no 
 more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The 
 question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol: his 
 glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor 
 his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 
 
 Enter Antony and others^ with Casar's body. 
 Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, 
 who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive 
 the benefit of his dying, a place in the common- 
 wealth ; As which of you shall not ? With this 1 
 depart ; That, as I slew my best lover for the good 
 of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, whea 
 it shall please my country to need my death. 
 
 Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! Hiouse. 
 
 1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto- hi» 
 
 2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him be Caesar. 
 
 4 Cit. Cesar's better parts 
 Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 
 
 1 Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts 
 and clamours. 
 
 Bru. My countrymen, — 
 
 2 Cit. Peace ; silence! Brutus speaks. 
 1 Cit. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart al(»ne, 
 And, for my sake, stay here with Antony: 
 Do grace to Cajsar's corp.se, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antoay 
 By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
 
596 
 
 JULIUS 
 
 CiESAR. 
 
 Act ni 
 
 I do entreat you, not a man depart. 
 Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 
 1 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair; 
 We ll hear him : — Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 A nt. For Brntns' sake, £ am beholden to you. 
 
 4 Cit. What doea he say of Brutus? 
 
 3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, 
 fie finds himself beholden to us all. 
 
 4 Cit. *Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 
 
 1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, that's certain : 
 
 We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 2 Cit. Peace ; let ns hear what Antony can say. 
 Ant. You gentle Romans, — 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your 
 ears; 
 
 I come to bnry Caesar, not to praise him. 
 
 'I'he evil, that men do, lives after them; 
 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 
 So let it be with Cajsar. The noble Brutus 
 
 Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious : 
 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault; 
 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
 
 (For Brutus is an honourable nmn ; 
 
 c»o are they all ; all honourable men ;) 
 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 
 But Brufus says, he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 
 He Iiath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 
 Whose ransoms did the general cofters fill: 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
 
 When that thii" poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stulF: 
 
 ^ et Brutus s lys, he was ambitious ; 
 
 Am] Brntns is an honourable man. 
 
 Vou all did see, that 0.5 the Lupercal, 
 
 I tlirice presented him a kingly crown, 
 
 \Vhi(;h he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? 
 
 \ et Brutus say,>, he was ambitious ; 
 
 And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
 
 But ht-re I am to speak what I do know 
 
 You all did love him once, not without cause; 
 
 What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 
 
 0 jiidgnient, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
 And men have lost their reason I — Bear with me ; 
 My lieart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 
 An 1 1 must pause, till it come back to me. 
 
 1 Cit. iMethinks, there is much reason in his 
 
 sayings. 
 
 2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
 Caesar has had great wrong. 
 
 3 Cit. Has he, masters ? 
 
 1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take 
 
 the crown ; 
 
 T herefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 
 
 1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 2 Cit. Poor soul I his eyes are red as fire with 
 
 weeping. [Antony. 
 
 3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than 
 
 4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
 Ani. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 
 
 Have stood against the world : now lies he there. 
 And none s / poor to do him reverence. 
 
 0 masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassias wrong. 
 Who, you all know, are honourable men; 
 
 I will not do them wrong; I rather choose 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you. 
 Than I will wrong such honourable men. 
 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Casar, 
 I found it in his oloset, 'tis his will : 
 Let but the commons hear this testament. 
 Which, pardon me^ 1 do not mean to read,) 
 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wound^ 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood: 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
 And. dying, mention it within their wills. 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
 Unto their issue. 
 4 Cit. We ll hear the will : Read it, Mark Antoay. 
 Cit. The will, the will; we will hear Caesar's will. 
 Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must nod 
 read it ; 
 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd yon. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; 
 And, being men, hearing the will of Csesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For if you should, O, what would come of it! 
 
 4 Cit. Read the mW ; we will hear it, Antony: 
 You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay a while? 
 I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
 I fear, I wrong the honourable men, 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar: I do fear it. 
 
 4 Cit. They were traitors : Honourable men I 
 
 Cit. The will ! the testament! 
 
 2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: The will! 
 read the will! 
 
 Ant. You will compel me then to read the will? 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 And let me shew you him that made the will. 
 Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? 
 
 Cit. Come down. 
 
 2 Cit Descend. {He comes down from thepulpit,^ 
 
 3 Cit. You shall have leave. 
 
 4 Cit. A ring; stand round. 
 
 1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the hotly 
 
 2 Cit. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony. 
 Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far oS. 
 Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 
 
 Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put in on ; 
 *Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; 
 That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
 Look I in this place ran Cassias' dagger through: 
 See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
 Through this, the v/ell beloved Brutus stabb'd; 
 And. as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ; 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: 
 Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him! 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart; 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar felL 
 O what a fall was there, my countrymen I 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 O. now you weep; and, 1 perceive, you feel 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
 Kmd souls, what, weep you, when yon out behold 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here. 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitoiVt 
 
 1 Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 
 
 2 Cit. O noble Caesar ! 
 
 3 Cit. O woful day! 
 
 4 Cit. O traitors, villains! 
 
 1 Cit. O most bloody sight ! 
 
 2 Cit. We will be revenged: revenge; abonty— 
 seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a traitor 
 
 Ant. Stay, countrymen. [livOt 
 
 1 Cit. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony. 
 
 2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll dio 
 with him. 
 
 Ant. Good friends, sweet friends let me not bH 
 you up 
 
A.CT IV. SCEl^ 1. 
 
 Tt» eiich a sodden flood of mutiny. 
 They, that have done this deed, are honourable; 
 What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
 That made tliem do it ; they are wise and honourable. 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is : 
 But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
 That love my friend ; and that they kno\v full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech. 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
 I tell you that, which you yourselves do know; 
 Shew you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb 
 mouths. 
 
 And bid them speak for me: But were T Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Csesar, that should move 
 1'he stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
 Cit. We'll mutiny. 
 
 1 Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
 
 3 Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 
 Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 
 Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not 
 what : 
 
 Wherein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves? 
 Alas ! you know not: — I must tell you then: 
 You ha\e forgot the will I told you of. 
 Cit. Most true the will ;—" let's stay, and hear 
 the will. 
 
 Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
 To every Roman citizen he gives, 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
 
 2 Cit. Most noble Caesar !— we'll revenge his 
 
 death. 
 
 3 C^t O royal Caesar! 
 
 Ant Ht^ar me with patience. 
 Cit. Peace, ho I 
 
 Ani Moreover, he hath left you all his walks. 
 His private arbours, and new-planted orchards, 
 On this side Tyber; he hath left them you, 
 And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures. 
 To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Caesar: When comes such another? 
 
 1 Cit. Never, never:— Come, away, away: 
 We ll burn his Ijody in the holy place. 
 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 Take up the body. 
 
 2 Cit. Go, fet( h fire. 
 
 3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 
 
 4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens with the body. 
 Ant. Now let it wo;k: Mischief, thou art afoot, 
 Take thou what course thou wilt! — How now, 
 fellow ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
 Ant. Wliere is he'' 
 
 Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 
 
 Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
 He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry. 
 And in this mood will give us any thing. 
 
 Serv. I heard hifn say, Brutus and Cassius 
 Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 
 
 Ant, Belike, they had some notice of the people, 
 How 1 bad mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene IW.—The Same. A Street. 
 Enter CiNNA, the Poet. 
 Cin. I dreamt to night, that I did feast with Caesar, 
 /Vnd things unluckily charge my fantasy: 
 I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
 Xti something leads nie forth. 
 
 Enter Citizens. 
 1 Cii. What is your name ? 
 
 2 Cit. Whither are vou going ? 
 
 3 Cit. Where do you dwell ? 
 
 4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelcff f 
 
 2 Qiit. Answer every man directly. 
 
 1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 
 4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 
 
 3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 
 
 Cin. What is my name ? Whither am I going ? 
 Where do I dwell ? Am I a married man, or a ba- 
 chelor? Then to answer every man directly, aud 
 briefly, wisely, and truly. Wisely 1 say, I am a ba- 
 chelor. 
 
 2 Cit. That's as much as to say, they are fools tha* 
 marry: — You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear 
 Proceed : directly. 
 
 Cin. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 
 
 1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy? 
 Cin. As a friend. 
 
 2 Cit. That matter is answered directly. 
 
 4 Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 
 Cin. Briefly I dwell by the Capitol. 
 
 3 Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 
 Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 
 
 1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. 
 Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. 
 
 4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his 
 bad verses. 
 
 Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 
 
 2 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna ; pluck 
 but his name out of his heart, and turn him going. 
 
 3 Cit. Tear him, tear him. Come, brands, ho! 
 fire-brands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. 
 Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's: some 
 to Ligarius' : away ; go. [Exeunt:, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. A Room in Antony'b Horn** 
 Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at 
 a table. 
 
 Ant. These many then shall die ; their names an» 
 prick'd. [Lepidus? 
 Oct. Your brother too must die; Consent you, 
 Lep. I do consent. 
 
 Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 
 
 Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live. 
 Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. thim. 
 
 Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot 1 dama 
 But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house ; 
 Fetch the wiU hither, and we determine. 
 How to cut ofl some charge in legacies. 
 
 Lep. What, shall I find you here V 
 
 Oct. ' Or hpre, or at 
 
 The Capitol. [Exit Lepiduto 
 
 Ant. Thi.s a slight unmeritable man. 
 Meet to be sent on errands : Is it fit. 
 The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
 One of the three to share it ? 
 
 Oct. So you thought him ; 
 
 And took his voice who should oe prick'd to die, 
 In our black sentence and proscription. 
 
 Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than yoa: 
 And though we lay these honours on this man. 
 To ease ourselves ol' divers slanderous loads. 
 He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold. 
 To groan and sweat under the business. 
 Either le 1 or driven, as we point the way; 
 And having brought our treasure where we will. 
 Then take we down his load, and turn him off. 
 Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, 
 And graze in common. 
 
 Oct. You may do your will , 
 
 But he's a tried and valiant soldier. 
 
 Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and, for that, 
 I do appoint him store of provender. ^ 
 It is a creature that I teach to fight, 
 'i o wind, to stop, to run directly on ; 
 His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
 And, ill some taste, is Lepidus biit so ; 
 He must be taught, and traiu'd, and bid go forth I 
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
m JULIUS 
 
 A bai iTii-spIrited fellow; one that feeds 
 Ou objects, arts, and imitations; 
 VVhicli, out of use, and stal'd by other men, 
 Begin his fashion : Do not talk of him, 
 Biit, as a property. And now, Octavius, 
 Listen great things. — Brutus and Cassius, 
 Are levying powers: we must straight make head : 
 Tlierefore, let our alliance be combin'd. 
 Our best friends made, and our best means stretch'd 
 And let us presently go sit in council, [out ; 
 
 How covert matters may be best disclos'd, 
 And open perils surest answered. 
 
 Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, 
 And bay'd about with many enemies , 
 And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear. 
 Millions of mischief. [Exeunt. 
 Scene If. — Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp 
 
 near Sardis. 
 Drum Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and 
 
 Soldiers, TiTiNiUS and PiNDARUS, meeting 
 
 them. 
 
 Bru. Stand here. 
 
 Luc. Give the word, ho! and stand. 
 
 Bru. What now, Lucilius? is Cassius near? 
 
 Luc. He is at hand ; and Pindfirus is come 
 To do you salutation from his master. 
 
 {Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus.) 
 
 Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pindarus, 
 In his own change, or by ill officers, 
 Hatii given me some worthy cause to wish 
 Tilings d.one, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 Pin. I do not doubt. 
 
 But that my noble master will appear, 
 Such as he is, full of regard, and honour. 
 
 Bru. He is not doubted. — A word. Lucilius: 
 Hi»\v Ue receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 
 
 Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough; 
 But B(*t with such familiar instances, 
 Nor witli such free and triendly conference. 
 As he hath us'd of old. 
 
 Bru. Thou hast describ'd 
 
 A hot friend cooling: Ever note, Lucilius, 
 When love begins to sicken and decay. 
 It useth an enforced ceremony. 
 'J'tiere are no tricks in plain and simple faith; 
 Biit hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
 Make gallant shew and promise of their niettle : 
 But, wlien they should endure the bloody spnr. 
 They fall their crests^ and, like deceitful jades. 
 Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? [ter'd; 
 
 Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quar- 
 The greater part, the horse in general, 
 A re come with Cassius. ( March within.) 
 
 Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd :-^ 
 
 March gently on to meet him. 
 
 Enter Cassius and Soldiers, 
 
 Cos. Stand, ho! 
 
 Bru. Stand, ho I Speak the word along. 
 Within. Stand, 
 Within. Stand 
 Within. Stand. 
 
 Cas. Most Dobie brother, yea have done roe 
 wrong. [enemies ? 
 
 Bru. Judge me, yoa gods! Wrong I mine 
 And, if xjot so, how should I wrong a brother? 
 
 Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides 
 And when you do them — [wrongs; 
 
 i?m. Cassius, be content, 
 
 Speak your griefs softly, — I do know you well : — 
 Before the eyes of both our armies here, 
 \\ hich should perceive nothing but love from us, 
 fjet us not wrangle : Bid them move away : 
 The.'j in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
 An'l I will give you audience. 
 
 Cas. Pindarus, 
 Bid cur commanders lead their charges otf 
 A little Irom this ground. 
 
 Bru. Lucilius, do tlie like • and let no man 
 
 k 
 
 C^SATL Act IY 
 
 Come to our tent, fill we have doi* our conference! 
 Let Lucius and Titinius guard oar door, [Exeui^ 
 
 Scene \U.— Within the Tent of Brutus, 
 
 Lucius and Titinius at some distance from it. 
 
 Enter B^iST\]s and Cassius. 
 
 Cas. That you have wrong 'd me, doth appear in 
 this : 
 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein, my letters, praying on his side. 
 Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 
 
 Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such 1 
 case. 
 
 Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
 That every nice offence should bear his comment 
 
 Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
 To sell and niart your offices for gold. 
 To undeservens. 
 
 Cas. 1 an itching palm ? 
 
 You know, that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 
 
 Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruptioSf 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 
 C«s. Chastisement ! [member! 
 
 Bru. Remember March, the ides of March re- 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab. 
 And not for justice? What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
 . But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes? 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honoursi. 
 For so much trash, as may be grasped thus?— 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon. 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, bay not me, 
 
 I'll not endure it: you forget yourself, 
 To hedge me in : 1 am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Bru. Go to ; you're not. Cassias* 
 
 Cas. I am. 
 
 Bru. I say, you are not. 
 
 Cas. Urge me no more ; I shall forget myself; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 
 Bru. \way, slight man! 
 Cas. Is't possible ? 
 
 Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
 Shall 1 be frighted, when a madman stares? 
 
 Cas. O ye gods ! ye gods! Must I endure ail this? 
 
 Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud 
 heart break; 
 Go, shew your slaves how choleric you are, 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? 
 Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humour? By the gods, 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
 Though it do split yoa ; for, from this day forth, 
 I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter. 
 When you are waspish. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this ? 
 
 Bru. You say, you are a better soldier: 
 Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true. 
 And it shall please me well: For mine own part, 
 1 shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong ni0f 
 1 said, an elder soldier, not a better: [Brutus{ 
 Did I say better ? 
 
 Bru. If you did, I care not 
 
 Cas. When Csesar liv'd, he durst not thus have 
 mov'd me. [him. 
 
 Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted 
 
 Cas. I durst not? 
 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cas. What? durst not tempt him ? 
 
 Bru. For your life you durat no^ 
 
ScEIsTJ 3. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 )9S 
 
 Cas. Do not presame too roncli upon my love ; 
 I may do (hat I shall be sorry for. [foe 
 
 Br*.. Yoa have done thit, you shonld be sorry 
 here is no terror, Cassias, m yonr threats ; 
 t or I am arui'd so strotig in honesty, 
 Thnt they pass by me as the idle wind, 
 \^ iiich I respect not. 1 did send to you 
 F 1 certain sums of gold, which you deny'd ;ne ; — 
 Fi 1 I can raise no money by vile means : 
 B) heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
 Ai «l drop my biood for drachmas, than to wring 
 I'l l m the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 
 B\ any indirection. I did send 
 Til you for gold to pay my legions, 
 Wl ichvou denied me: Was that done likeCassius? 
 bhi aid \ have ansvver'd Caius Cassius so ? 
 Wi en Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
 Da h him to pieces ! 
 
 Cas. I denied you not. 
 
 Bru. You did. 
 
 Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool, 
 
 That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd 
 
 my heart : 
 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than ihey are. 
 
 Bru. I do tjot, till yoi; practise them on me. 
 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 Brtu _ I do not like your faults. 
 
 Gas. A friendly eye co'ild never see such faults. 
 
 Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do ap- 
 As huge as high Olympus. [pear 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 For Cassius is a-weary of the world : 
 Hated by one lie loves ; biav'd by his brother; 
 Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd. 
 Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote. 
 To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
 My spirit froui (nine eyes I — There is my dagger, 
 And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Piutus' mine, richer than gold : 
 If t.hat thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 [ that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
 Strike, as tiiou didst at Caesar ; ibr, J know, 
 When tlion didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him 
 Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. [better 
 
 Bru. Sheath your dagger : 
 
 Be angi-y when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, 
 That carries anger, as the flint bears Are ; 
 Who, much enforced, shews a hasty spark. 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him? 
 
 Bru. When I spoke that, 1 was ill-temper'd too. 
 
 Ca», Do you conless so much? Give me your 
 
 Bru, And my heart too. [hand. 
 
 Cas. O Brutus!— 
 
 Bru. What's the matter ? 
 
 Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me. 
 When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, 
 Makes me forgetful ? 
 
 Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, henceforth. 
 
 When you are over earnest with your Brutus, 
 He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 {Noise ivithin,) 
 
 Poet. [fVithin.) Let me go in to see the general ; 
 There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet 
 They be alone. 
 
 Luc. [Wii/iin.) You shall not come to them. 
 
 Poei {Within.) Nothing but death shall stay me. 
 
 Enter Poet, 
 Cas. How now? What's the matter ? [mean? 
 Voet. For shame, you generals ; what do yi u 
 \e and be friends, as two such men should be ; 
 
 For I have seen more years, I ain sure than ye. 
 Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cvnic rhyme 
 Bru. Get you hence, sirrah ; saucy fe'llow, henc 
 Cas. Bear with him, Br-itus ; 'tis his fashion. 
 Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows 
 time : 
 
 What should the wars do with these jigging foola 
 Companion, hence. 
 
 (^^as. Away, away, be gone. 
 
 [Exit Po^ 
 Enter LuciLius and Titinius. 
 Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commandeis 
 Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 
 
 Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messai* 
 with you 
 
 Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. 
 
 Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 
 
 Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry. 
 
 Bru. O Gaasiu?, I am sick of many griefs. 
 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use. 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 Bru. No man bears sorrow better: — Portia is 
 
 Cas. Ha! Portia? [dead. 
 
 Bru. She is dead. 
 
 Cas. How 'cap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so I— 
 
 0 insupportable and touching loss ! — 
 Upon what sickness? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence ; 
 
 And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong; — for with he» 
 death 
 
 That tidings came ; — W^ith this she fell distract. 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 
 
 Cas. And died so ? 
 
 Bru. Even so. 
 
 Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 
 
 Enter Lucius, with wine and tapers. 
 Bru. Speak no more of her. — -Give me a bawl o{ 
 wine : — 
 
 In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks^ 
 
 Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge 
 Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; 
 
 1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. {Drinks, 
 
 Re-enter Titinius with Messala 
 Bru. Come in, Titinius : — Welcome, good Me* 
 sala. — 
 
 Now sit we close about this taper here. 
 And call in question our necessities. 
 
 Cas. Portia, art thou gone? 
 
 Bru. No more, I pray you.— 
 
 Messala, I have here received letters, 
 That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 Come down upon as with a mighty power. 
 Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 
 
 Mes, Myself have letters of the self-same tenouj; 
 
 Bru, With what addition? 
 
 Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlainy 
 Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
 Have put to death an hundred senators. 
 
 Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree 
 Mine speak of seventy senators, that died 
 By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
 
 Cas. Cicero one ? 
 
 Mes, Ay, Cicero is dead. 
 
 And by that order of proscription.— 
 Had you your letters from your wife, my lord i 
 
 Bru. ^o, Messala. 
 
 Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? 
 Bru. Nothing, Messala. 
 
 Mes, That, methioks, is strange 
 
 Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of hei h 
 Mes. No, my lord. [yoois^ 
 Bru, Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
 Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I teli: 
 For certain she is dead, and by strange manner 
 Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — We must die 
 Messala •. 
 
600 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act rV. 
 
 With meditating that site must die once, 
 I have th'=^ patience to endure it now. [dure. 
 Mes. Even so great men great losses should eo- 
 Cas. I have as much of this in art as you. 
 But yet iny nature could not bear it so. 
 
 Bru. VVell, to our work alive. What do you 
 think 
 
 Of inarclilng to Philippi presently? 
 
 Cas. I do not think it good. 
 
 Bru. Your reason? 
 
 Cas. This it is : 
 
 Tis better, that the enemy seek us : 
 So sliall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
 Doing himself olfence ; whilst we, lying still. 
 Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 
 
 Bru. (Jood reasons must, of force, give place to 
 better. 
 
 The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, 
 Do stand but in a forc'd affection ; 
 For they have grudg'd us contribution: 
 The enemy, marching along by them. 
 By them shall make a fuller number up, 
 Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd; 
 From which advantage shall we cut him off. 
 If at i*hilippi we do face him there. 
 These people at our back. 
 
 Cas. Hear me, good brother. 
 
 Bru. Under your pardon. — Yon must note beside. 
 That we have trv'd the utmost of our friends, 
 Otir legions are brim full, our cause is ripe : 
 The enemy increaseth every day; 
 We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 ; Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound it) shallows, and in miseries. 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat: 
 And we must take the currept when it serves. 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 Cas. Then, with your will, go on ; 
 
 We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philiopi. 
 
 Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our tallc, 
 And nature must obey necessity ; 
 Whicli we will niggard with a little rest. 
 Tiipre is no more to say ? 
 
 Cas. No more. Good night ; 
 
 Early tj-tiiorrow will we rise, and hence. 
 
 Bru. Lucius, mv gown. [Exit Lucius.] Fare- 
 well, good Messala ; — 
 Good oiglit, Titinius : — Noble, noble Cassius : 
 ' J.Kul night, and good repose. 
 
 6V/.S. O my dear brother ! 
 
 riiis was ail ill beginning of the night: 
 Never cduie such division 'tween our souls! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 Bni. Every thing is well. 
 
 C<<s. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Good night, good brother. 
 
 Til §' Mess. Good night, lord Brutus. 
 Bru. Farewell, every one. 
 
 [Exeunt Cas. Tit. and Mes, 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. 
 Give ine the ^uwn. Where is thy instrument? 
 Ltitc. Here in the tent. 
 
 B) u Weat, thou speak'st drowsily? 
 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd. 
 Ci.ll Ciaudiiis, and some other of my men; 
 I 11 have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 
 
 hue. Varro and Claudius ? 
 
 Enter Varbo and Claudius. 
 Luc. Cslls niy lord ? 
 
 Bru. \ prav you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep; 
 It may be, I sliall raise j^ou by and by 
 On business to my brother Cassius. 
 
 Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch 
 your pleasure. 
 
 Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; 
 it may be, I shall otherwise bethink uie. 
 
 Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; 
 I put it in the pocket of my gown. {Servantt lit 
 
 down.) 
 
 Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it we. 
 Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much fo^ 
 getful. 
 
 Canst thou hold up the heavy eyes awhile. 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two? 
 Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you. 
 Bru. It does, mjr Ley; 
 
 J trouble thee too macli, but thou art willing. 
 Luc. It is my duty, sir. 
 
 Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy mighk 
 I know, young blood look for a time of rest. 
 Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
 Bru. It is well done ; and thou sha'it sleep agait 
 I will not hold thee long : if! do live, 
 I will be good to thee. {Music, and a Sony.) 
 This is a sleepy tune : — O murd'rous slumber ! 
 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy. 
 That plays thee music ? — Gentle knave, good nigh' 
 I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
 If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; 
 I'll take it from thee ; and, good boy, good night. 
 Let me see. let me see : — Is not the leaf turn'd dowi^ 
 Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. 
 
 {He sits doHT^ 
 
 Enter the Ghost of C^sar. 
 How ill this taper burns ! — Ha I who comes here 
 I think it is the weakness of miue eyes, 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 It comes upon me : — Art thou any thing? 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 That mak'st my blood cold, and ray hair to starf ? 
 Speak to me, what thou art. 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus, 
 Bru. Why com'st thoa . 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at ^b'linra, 
 Bru. Well; " 
 Then I shall see thee again? 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. (Ghost vattnthet 
 
 Bru. Why, 1 will see thee at Philippi then — 
 Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest: 
 III spirit, I would hold more talk with l^ee. — 
 Boy I Lucius! — Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake I— 
 Claudius ! 
 
 Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 
 Bni. He thinks, he still is at his instrument.—- 
 Lucius, awake ! 
 Luc. My lord ? 
 
 Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thoa so 
 
 cry'dst out ? 
 Luc. My lord, I do not know that 1 did cry. 
 Bru. Yes, that thou didst : Didst thou see any 
 
 thing ? 
 Luc. Nothing, my lord. 
 Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius! 
 Fellow thou ! awake! 
 Var. My lord. 
 Clau. My lord. 
 
 Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleepP 
 Var §C clau. Did we, my lord ? 
 Bru. Ay ; saw you any thing? 
 
 Var. No, my lord, 1 saw nothing. 
 Clau. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassiotf; 
 Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
 And we vvill follow. 
 
 Var §f Clau. It shall be done, my lord. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene T. — The Plains of Philippi. 
 Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 
 Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are ar.swered: 
 
 You said, the enemy would not come down. 
 But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
 It proves not so: their battles are at hand; 
 They mean to warn us at Philippi here 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 JL'LIUS C^SAR. 
 
 601 
 
 Answering befiwe we do demand of them. 
 
 Ani. Tilt, I am in their bosoms, and I know 
 Wherefore they do it: they could be content 
 To visit other places ; and come down 
 With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face. 
 To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage , 
 But 'tis not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 Me^, Prepare you, generals: 
 
 The enemy comes on in gallant shew; 
 
 Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
 
 And something to be done immediately. 
 A*'f. Octavius, lead your battle softly o- 
 
 Up<«i the left hand of the even field. 
 Oct. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left 
 Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? 
 Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. {March.) 
 
 Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army; 
 LuciNius, TiTiNius, Messala, and others. 
 
 Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 
 
 Cos. Stand fast, Titinius : We must out and talk. 
 
 Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle ? 
 
 Ant. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. 
 Make forth, the generals would have some words. 
 
 Oct. Stir not until tke signal. [men? 
 
 Bru. Words before blows : Is it so, country- 
 
 Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 
 
 Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, 
 Octavius. [words : 
 
 Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
 Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart. 
 Crying, Long live! hail., Ccesar! 
 
 Cas. Antony, 
 The posture of your blows are vet unknown ; 
 But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees. 
 And leave them honeyless. 
 
 A nt. Not stingless too. 
 
 Bru. O, yes, and soundless too ; 
 For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
 And, very wisely, threat before you sting. 
 
 Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile 
 daggers 
 
 Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar : 
 
 You shew'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like 
 
 hounds, 
 
 And bow'd like loondmen, kissing Caesar's feet ; 
 Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind. 
 Struck Cae.sar on the neck. O flatterers ! 
 
 Cas. Flatterers ! — Now, Brutus, thank yourself : 
 This tongue had not offended so to-day. 
 If Cassius might have rul'd. 
 
 Oct. Come, come, the cause : If arguing make 
 us sweat, 
 
 The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
 Look; 
 
 I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
 
 When think you that the sword goes up again ? — 
 
 Never, till Caesar's three and twenty wounds 
 
 Be well aveng'd ; or till another Caesar 
 
 Hare added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 
 
 Bru. Caesar, thou can'st not die by traitors, 
 Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 
 
 Oct. So I hope ; 
 
 I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 
 
 Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain. 
 Young man, thou could'st not die more honourable. 
 
 Cas. A peevish schoolboy, wortliless of such ho- 
 nour, 
 
 Join'd with a masker and a reveller. 
 Ant. Old Cassius still ! 
 
 Oct. Come, Antony ; away. — 
 
 Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
 If you dare fight to-day, come to the field : 
 If not, when yon have stomachs. 
 
 [Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army 
 Cas. Why now, blow, wind ; swell, billow; and 
 swim, bark ! 
 1 he Rtorm is up, and all is on the hazard. 
 
 Bru. Hoi 
 Lucilius ; hark, a word with yea. 
 Luc. ' My lord. 
 
 {Brutus and Lucilius converse apart 
 Cas. Messala, — 
 
 Mes. What says my general ? 
 
 Cas. ^ Messala, 
 
 This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
 Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: 
 Be thou my witness, that, against my will. 
 As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
 Upon one battle all our liberties. 
 You know, that I held Epicurus strong. 
 And his opinion : now I change my mind. 
 And partly credit things that do presage. 
 Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 
 Two mighty eagles fell ; and there they perch'd. 
 Gorging and feeding from our soldiers nands; 
 Who to Philippi here consorted us : 
 This morning are they fled away, and gone ; 
 And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites. 
 Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on ns, 
 As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem 
 A canopy most fatal, under which 
 Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost, 
 
 Mes. Believe not so. 
 
 Cas, I but believe it partly ; 
 
 For I am fresh of spirit, and r-?solv'd 
 To meet all perils very constantly. 
 
 Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 
 
 Cas. Now, most noble Brutus^ 
 
 The gods to-day stand friendly ; that we may. 
 Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! 
 But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain. 
 Let's reason with the worst that may befall. 
 If we do lose this battle, then is this 
 The very last time we snail sjieak together* 
 What are you then determined to do ? 
 
 Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy, 
 By which I did blame Cato for the death 
 Which he did give himself: — I know not how, 
 But I do find it cowardly and vile. 
 For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
 The time of life: — arming myself with patience. 
 To stray the providence of some high powers. 
 That govern us below. 
 
 Cas, Then, if we lose this batUe^ 
 
 You are contented to be led in triumpa 
 Tttorough the streets of Rome ? [Roman, 
 Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou nobl« 
 That ever Brutus will go bound Jo Rome : 
 He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
 Must end that work, the ides of March began ; 
 And whether we shall meet again, I know not. 
 Therefore our everlasting farewell take : — 
 For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! 
 If we do meet again, why we shall smile ; 
 If not, why then this parting was well made, 
 
 Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus! 
 If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed ; 
 
 If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made. 
 Bru. Why then, lead on. — O, that 
 
 know 
 
 a man might 
 
 The end of this day's business, ere it come! 
 
 But it sufficeth, that the day will end. 
 
 And then the end is known. — Come, ho ! away. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II.— The same. The Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarum, Enter Brutus and Messala. 
 
 Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and givf these billi 
 Unto the legions <»n the other side : 
 
 {Lojid alarum.) 
 Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
 But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing, 
 And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
 Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. 
 
 [Exeunti 
 
602 
 
 JUL.US CMSAU. 
 
 Act T. 
 
 S CENE III. —The same. Another Pari of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 
 
 €as. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! 
 M\ self hav e to mine own turn'd enerry: 
 This ensign here of mine was turning back; 
 I slew the coward, and did take it frC m him. 
 
 Tit, O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early; 
 Who, iiaving some advantage on Octavius, 
 Took it too eagerly ^ his soldiers fell to spoil. 
 Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. 
 
 Enter Pindarus. 
 
 Pitt. Fly further off, ray lord, fly further off" ; 
 Mark Antony is in your teuts, my lord! 
 Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off". 
 
 Cas. This hill is far enough. — Look, look, Titinius ; 
 Are those my tents, where I perceive the fire ? 
 
 Tit. They are, my lord. 
 
 Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me, 
 
 Mount thou my horse, and hide tiiy spurs in him, 
 Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops. 
 And here again; that I may rest assur'd, 
 Whether yond' troops are friend or enemy. 
 
 Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 
 My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
 And tell me wiiat tliou nut'st about the field. — 
 
 [Exit Pindarus. 
 This day I breathed first: time is come round, 
 And where I did begin, there I shall end; 
 My life is run his compass. — Sirrah, what news? 
 
 Pm. {Above.) O my lord I 
 
 Cas. What news ? 
 
 Pin. Titinius is ^ 
 Enclosed round about with horsemen, that 
 Make to him on tite spur; — Yet he spurs on. — 
 Now they are alaK>st on him; now, 'J'itmius! — 
 Now some 'ligiit : — O, he 'lights too: — lies ta'en : — 
 and, hark ! [Shout.) 
 They shout for joy. 
 
 Cos. Come down, behold no more. — 
 
 O, cowaid that I am, to live so long, 
 To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 
 
 Enter Pindarus. 
 Come hither, sirrah : 
 In Partfii did I take thee prisoner; 
 And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, 
 That whatsoever I did bid thee do, [oath ! 
 
 Thou should'st attempt it. Come now, keep thine 
 Now be a fretman; and, with this good sword, 
 That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
 Stand not to answer: Here, take thou the hilts; 
 And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now, 
 Guid»* thou the sword. — Caesar, thou art reveng'd. 
 Even with the sword that kiil'd thee. {Dies.) 
 
 Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have beeo. 
 Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! 
 Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
 Wher« never Roman shall take note of him. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter TiTiNiUS, with Messala. 
 
 Meg. It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius 
 Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power. 
 As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 
 
 Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 
 
 Mes. Where did you leave him ? 
 
 JV' • . . • . , disconsolate, 
 With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 
 Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground ? 
 Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart ' 
 Mes. is not that he ? 
 
 '?'»^« . . No, this was he, Messala, 
 
 But Cassius is no more. — O setting sun! 
 As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night, 
 Ko in his red blood Cassius' day is set; 
 he sun ol Rome is set! Our day is gone; 
 
 Clouds, dews, and dangers come; oar deeds are 
 done ! 
 
 Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 
 
 Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this d«ed 
 
 0 hateful error, melancholy's child ! 
 
 Why dost thou shew to the apt thoughts of men 
 The things that are not ? O error, soon cofficeiv'd. 
 Thou never com"st unto a happy birth, 
 But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 
 
 Tit. What, Pindarus ' Where art thou. Pindivoi 
 Mes. Seek him, Titinius : whilst I go to meet 
 The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
 Into his ears : I may say, thrusting it ; 
 For piercing steel, and darts envenomed. 
 Shall be as welcome to the ears of BriUus, 
 As tidings of this sight. 
 
 Tit. Hie you, Messala, 
 
 And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 
 
 [Exit Mesaa*^ 
 VVhy didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? 
 Did I not meet thy friends ? and did not they 
 Put on my brows this wreath of victory. 
 And bid me give't thee? Didst thou not hear their 
 shouts ? 
 
 Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing. 
 But hold thee, take this garland on thy br®w; 
 Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and 1 
 Will do his bidding. — Brutus, come apace. 
 And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. — 
 By your leave, gods : — This is a Roman's part: 
 Rome, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart 
 
 [Dies 
 
 Alaru7n. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, youn 
 Cato, Strato, VoLUMNius, and Luciuus. 
 
 Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie; 
 
 Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning '\i 
 
 Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
 
 Cato. He is slain 
 
 Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet 
 Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 In our own proper entrails. (Low nlarumt.) 
 
 Cato. Brave Titinius ! 
 
 Look whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius! 
 
 Bry. Are yet two Romans living such as these?— 
 The last of all the Romans, fare thee well' 
 It is impossible, that ever Rome 
 Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, I owe more tears 
 To this dead man. than you shall see rae pay. — 
 
 1 shall find time, Ca.«!sius, I shall find time, — 
 Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body; 
 His funeral shall not be in our camp. 
 
 Lest it discomfort ns. — Liicilius, come ; — 
 And come, young Cato ; let us to the field.— 
 Lnbeo. and Flavius, set our battles on : — 
 'Tis three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere night 
 We shall try fortune in a second fight [Exeuni 
 
 Scene lY.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter, Jighti?ig, Soldiers of both Armie$i 
 then Brutus, Cato, Luciuus, and others. 
 Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads! 
 Cato. What bastard doth not ? Who will go with 
 me? 
 
 I will proclaim iny name about the field 
 1 am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 A i'oe to tyrants, and my country's friend; 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! 
 
 {Charges the enemy.) 
 Bru. And I an> Brutus, Marcus lirutus, 1 ; 
 Brutus, my country's friend: know me for Brutus. 
 
 [Exit, charging the enemy. Cato it ovt^. 
 powered, and falls. 
 Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? 
 Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinios; 
 And may'st be honoured, being Cato's son. 
 1 Sold, Yield, or thou diest. 
 Luc. Only I yield to diei 
 
 There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight. 
 
 Offering money.) 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 60S 
 
 Kill Brnfn?, anc! he lionour'd in his death. 
 
 1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner ! 
 
 2 Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 
 1 Sold. I'll tt-ll the news. — Here comes the ge- 
 neral : — 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 Brntns is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 
 Ant. Where is he? 
 
 Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough: 
 I dare assure thee, that no enemy 
 Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: 
 The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 
 When you do tind him, or alive, or dead. 
 He will be found like 13rutus, like himself. 
 
 Ant. This is not Brutus, frieiwl ; but, I assure you, 
 A prize no less in worth ; keep this man safe, 
 Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
 Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on. 
 And see whe'r Brntus be alive, or dead: 
 And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent. 
 How every thing is chanc'd. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENK V. — Another Pari of the Field. 
 Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and 
 
 VOLUMNIUS. 
 
 Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this 
 rock. 
 
 Cli. Statilins shew'd the torch light; but, ray lord, 
 He came not back ; he is or ta'en, or slain. 
 
 Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus : Slaying is the word ; 
 It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. — 
 
 {Whispering.) 
 
 Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the world. 
 
 Bru. Peace, then, no words. 
 
 Cli. I'd rather kill myself. 
 
 Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius; {Whispering him.) 
 
 T>ar. I do such a deedr 
 
 Cli. O, Dardanius ! 
 
 Dar. O, Clitus ! 
 
 Cli What ill request did Brutus make to thee? 
 Dar. To kill him, Clitus: Look, he meditates. 
 Ch. Now is tliat noble vessel full of grief. 
 That it runs over even at his eyes. 
 
 Bru Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word. 
 Vol. What says my lord? 
 
 Bru. Why this, Volumnius : 
 
 The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me 
 Two several times by night : at Sardis, once; 
 .And, this last night, here in Phihppi' fields. 
 1 know, my hour is come. 
 
 Vol. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
 Thou see'st the world, Volumnius, how it goes; 
 Our enemies have beat us to the pit; 
 It is iiore worthy to leap iu ourselves. 
 Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
 Thou know'st, that we two went«to school together ; 
 Even for that our love of old, i pray thee, 
 Hold Uion my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 
 
 yW> ThaVs not an office for a friend, my lord. 
 
 {.Alarum slili.) 
 
 Cli. Fly, fly, my lord; there is n iorryisig here. 
 Brti. Farewell to you ; — and you =— and you, Vo- 
 lumnius. — 
 
 Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; 
 
 Farewell to thee too. Strato. — Countrymen, 
 
 My heart doth joy, tnat yet, in all my life,_ 
 
 I found no man, but he was true to me. 
 
 I shall have glory by this losing day. 
 
 More than Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
 
 So, fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
 
 Hath almost ended his life's history : 
 
 Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest 
 
 That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 
 
 {Alarum. Cry within ; Fly, fly, fly,' 
 Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 
 
 Bru. Hence ; I will follow thee 
 
 [Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius 
 I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
 Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
 Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it 
 Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face. 
 While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato ? 
 Stra. Give me your hand first : Fare you well, my 
 lord. 
 
 Bru. Farewell, good Strato. — Caesar, now be etill" 
 I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. 
 
 {He runs on his sword, and diea.} 
 
 Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, ANfONY, 
 
 Messala, Lucilius, and their army, 
 Oct. What man is that ? [master f 
 
 Mes. My master's man, — Strato, where is thy 
 Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala ; 
 The conquerors can but make a fire of him; 
 For Brutus only overcame himself, 
 And no man else hath honour by his death. 
 
 liuc. So Brutus should be found. — I thank thee» 
 Brutus, 
 
 That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true, 
 
 Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them 
 
 Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 
 Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 
 Oct. Do so, Messala. 
 
 Mes. How died my master, Stral© I 
 
 Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it 
 Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee. 
 That did the latest service to my master. 
 
 Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them alU 
 All the conspirators, save only he. 
 Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 
 He, only, in a general honest thought, 
 And comnjon good to all, made one of them* 
 His life was gentle ; and the elements 
 So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up. 
 And say to all the world. This was a moMl 
 
 Oct. According to his virtue let us use nim. 
 With all respect, and rites of burial. 
 Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie. 
 Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. — 
 So, call the field to rest: and let's away. 
 To part the glories of this happy day. [M»9mii 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 This play keeps curiosity always busy, and the passions always interested. The continual hur^y of the action, the 
 ▼•rietf of incidents, and the quick sua session of one personage to another, call the mind forward without Inter- 
 mission, from the first act to the last. But the power of delighting is derived principally from the frequent changeg 
 of the scene c for, except the feminine arts, some of which are too low, which distinguish Cleopatra, no character is 
 ▼err strongly discriminated Upton, who did not easily miss what he desired to tind, has discovered that the languagt 
 of Antony is, with great skill and learning, made pompous and superb, according to his real practice. But I think 
 his diction not distinguishable from that of others : the most tumid speech in the play is that which CsBsar make* 
 to Oetavia. 
 
 The events, of which the principal are described according to history, are produced wltboat any art of eonne^ 
 tion or care of disposilion. Johnton. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 M. ANTO^JY, 
 OCTAVIUS CiESAR, 
 M. EMIL. LEPIDUS, 
 SEXTUS POMFEIUS. 
 DOMITIUS ENOBAllBUS, 
 VENTIDIUS, 
 EROS 
 SCAR US, 
 DERCETAS, 
 DIMETRIUS, 
 PIIILO, 
 MECENAS, 
 AGRIPPA, 
 DOIiVBELLA, 
 PROCULEIUS, 
 THYREUS, 
 GALLUS, 
 
 Triumvirs. 
 
 Friends of Antony. 
 
 Friends of Casar. 
 
 MENAS, . 
 
 MEN EC RATES, \ Friends of Pompey. 
 VARHIUS, ' 
 
 TAURUS, Lieutenant general of Catsar, 
 CANIDIUS, Lieutena?it general to Antony. 
 SILIUS, an Officer in Ventidius's Army. 
 EUPHRONIUS, an Ambassador from Antony to C/rsar^ 
 ALEXAS, MARDIAN, SELEUCUS, and DIOMEDES, 
 
 Atiemlants on Cleopatra. 
 A Soothsayer. 
 A Clown. 
 
 CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt. 
 
 OCT AVI A, Sister to Casar, and W{fe to Antony. 
 
 CHARJVIIAN and IRAS, Attendants on Cleopatra. 
 
 Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendant*. 
 Scene, — Dispersed; in several parts of the Roman Empire, 
 
 Scene I.~ 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra s 
 
 Palace. 
 Enter Demetrius and Philo. 
 Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's 
 O'erflows the nneasure : those liis goodly eyes. 
 That o'er the files and musters of the war 
 Have glow'd like plated Mais, now bend, now turn, 
 The office and devotion of their view 
 UlX)n a tawny front : his captain's heart. 
 Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst 
 The b'.:ck!es on his breast, reneges all teuiper; 
 And is become the bellows, and the fan, 
 To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come! 
 
 Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with 
 
 their Trains : Euauchs fanning her. 
 Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
 1 he triple pillar of the world transforni'd 
 Ijto a strumpet's fool : behold and see. 
 
 Cleo: If it be love, indeed, tell me how much. 
 Ant There's beggary in the love that can be 
 reekon'd. 
 
 Cleo. ['IJ set a bourn how far to be belov'd. 
 Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
 new earth. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 AH. News, my good lord, from Rome. 
 
 Ant. Grates me : — The sum. 
 
 01h<i», Nay, hear them, Antony : 
 P .5!via, perchance, is angry ; Or, who knows 
 l\ the scaece-bearded Caesar have not sent 
 His powerful mandate to you. Do this., or this : 
 Take in that kingdom, and franchise that ; 
 Perfovm't^ or else we damn thee. 
 
 Ant. How, my love ! 
 
 Cleo. Perchance, — nay, and most like. 
 You n\\\\ \ not stay here longer, your distnission 
 Is come \rom Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony. — 
 Where's F iilvia's process ? Caesar's, I would say — 
 Both ?— 
 
 Call in the messengers. — As 1 am Egypt's queen, 
 Thou blusliest, Anti)ny ; and that blood 
 Is Caesar's hornaarer : else so thy cheek pays shame. 
 When shrill-toogu'd Fulvia scolds. — Ihe mes- 
 sengers. 
 
 Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt ! and the wide arch 
 Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space , 
 Kingdoms are clayn our dungy eaith alike 
 Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life 
 Is, to do thus ; when such a mutual pair, 
 
 [Embracing.) 
 And such a twain can do't, in which, 1 bind. 
 On pain of punishnient, the world to weet, 
 We stand up peerless. 
 
 Cleo. Excellent falsehood ! 
 
 Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? — 
 I'll seem the fool I am not^ Antony 
 WLIl be himself. 
 
 Ant. But stirf'd by Cleopatra. — 
 
 Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, 
 Let's not confound the time with conference harsh 
 I'here's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
 Wifhont some pleasure now : Wliat sport to-night? 
 
 Cleo. Hear tne ambassadors. 
 
 Ant. Fy, wrangling queen ! 
 
 Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh. 
 To weep; whose every passion fully strives 
 To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd ! 
 No messenger; but thine and all alone. 
 To-night, we'll wander through the streets, 
 The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; 
 Last night you did desire it : Speak not to us. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. and Cleop. with their Train, 
 
 Dem. Is Caesar with Antonins priz'd so slight 
 
 Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
 He comes too short of that great property, 
 Which still should go with Antony. 
 
 Dem. I'm full sorry, 
 
 That he approves the common liar, who 
 Thus speaks of him at Rome : But I will hope 
 Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy : 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Another Room, 
 Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, and a Soothsayer 
 
 Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any 
 thing Alexas, almost most absolute A.lexas, where'a 
 the soothsayer that you praised so to the queen ? 
 O, that I knew this husband, which, you say, rausl 
 change his harns with garlands! 
 
 Alex. Soothsayer. 
 
 Sooth. Your will? [things'' 
 Char. Is this the man ? — la't yoa« sir U^at knoM 
 
 [note 
 and 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 ANTONl AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 605 
 
 Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy, 
 A liitle I can read. 
 
 Alex. Shew him your hand. 
 
 Enter Enobarbus. 
 
 jKno. Bring in the banquet quickly ; wine enough, 
 CJeopatra's liealth to drink. 
 
 Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 
 
 Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 
 
 Char. Pray then, foresee me one. 
 
 Sooth. Yoa shall be yet far fairer than you are. 
 
 Char. He means, in flesh. 
 
 Iras. No^ you shall paint when you are old. 
 
 Char. \S rinkles forbid ! 
 
 Alex. Vex not his prescience, be attentive. 
 
 Char. Hush ! 
 
 Sooth. You shall be more bcloving, than beloved. 
 Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 
 Alex. Nay, hear him. 
 
 Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let 
 nie be married to three kings in a forenoon, and 
 widow tliem all : let me have a child at fifty, to 
 wlioni Herod of Jewry may do homage : find me 
 to marry me with Octavius Caesar: and companion 
 me with my mistress. 
 
 Sooth. Vou shall outlive the lady whom you 
 serve. [figs. 
 
 Char. O excellent ! I love long life better than 
 
 Sooth. Vou have seen and proved a fairer former 
 fortime 
 
 Than that wliich is to approach. 
 
 Char. 1 hen, belike, my children shall have no 
 names; Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must 
 1 have ? 
 
 Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb, 
 And fertile every wish, a million. 
 
 Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 
 
 Alex. You think, none but your sheets are privy 
 to your wishes. 
 
 Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.. 
 
 Alex. Weil know all our fortunes. 
 
 Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
 •hall be — drtmk to bed. ^ ^ [else. 
 
 Iras, '['here's a palm presages chastity, if nothing 
 
 Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth 
 famine. [say. 
 
 Iras Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot sooth- 
 
 Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- 
 nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. — Pr'ythee, 
 tell her but a worky-day fortune. 
 
 Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 
 
 /m.9. But how, but how? give me particulars. 
 
 Sooth. 1 have said. [she ? 
 
 Iras. Am 1 not an inch of fortune better than 
 
 Char. \VelI, if you were but an inch ol' fortune 
 better than I, where would you choose it? 
 
 Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 
 
 Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! 
 Alexas! — come, his fortune, his fortune. — O, let 
 him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I 
 beseech thee ! And let her die too, and give him a 
 worse I and let worse follow worse, till the worst 
 of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a 
 cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though 
 thou deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis, 
 1 beseech thee ! 
 
 Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear thaf prayer of 
 the people ! for, as it is a heart-breaking f;o see a 
 hiindsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow 
 to behold a foul knave uncuckolded ; Therefore, 
 dear Isis, keep deciorum, and fortune him accord- 
 ingly'. 
 
 Char. Amen. 
 
 Alex. Lo, now ! If it lay in their hands to make 
 me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, 
 but they'd do t. 
 
 Eho. Hush ! here comes Antony. 
 
 Cliar. Not he, the queen. 
 
 Emter Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo Saw you my lord ? 
 
 Eno. No, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Was he not here ? 
 
 Char, No, Madam. [suddeu. 
 Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the 
 A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus,— 
 Eno. Madam. [Alexas? 
 Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's 
 Alex. Here, madam, at your service. — My lord 
 approaches. 
 
 Enter Antony, with a Messenge and Attt ndantt, 
 Cleo. We will not look upon him : Go with us. 
 [Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexa». 
 Iras, Charmian, SoothsayeVy ana 
 Attendants. 
 Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 
 Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 
 Mess. Ay : 
 
 But soon that war had end, and the time's state 
 Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst 
 
 Cajsar ; 
 
 Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, 
 Upon the first encounter, drave them. 
 
 Ant. Well, 
 What worst? 
 
 Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller. 
 
 Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward.-* 
 On : ^ [thus : 
 
 Things, that are past, are done, with me. — "Ti» 
 Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
 I hear him, as he flatter'd. 
 
 Mess. Labienus 
 (I'his is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian (jrce 
 Extended Asia from Euphrates; 
 His conquering banner shook, from Syria 
 To Lydia, and to Ionia: 
 Whilst— 
 
 Ant. Antony, thou would'st say,- 
 
 Mess. O, my lord! 
 
 Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
 tongue ; 
 
 Name Cleopatra as she's cali'd in Rome : 
 Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase : and taunt my faults 
 With such full license, as both truth and malice 
 Have power to utter. O, then we bring Ibrth weeds 
 When our quick winds lie still ; and our ills told us 
 Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while. 
 
 Mess. At your noble pleasure. [^Exii, 
 Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there. 
 
 1 Att. The man from Sicyon. — is there such an 
 
 one ? 
 
 2 Ait. He stays upon your will. 
 
 Ant. Let him appear:— 
 
 These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 Or lose myself in dotage, — What are you f 
 
 2 Mess. Fulvia, thy wife, is dead. 
 
 Ant. Where died she ? 
 
 2 Mess. In Sicyon : 
 Her length of sickness, with what else riiore serioas 
 Irnporteth thee to know, this bears. {Gives a letter. 
 
 Ant. Forbear me, — 
 
 [Exit Me.s8engef 
 There's a great spirit gone! Thus did 1 desire it ; 
 What our contenipts do often hurl from us, 
 We wish it ours again; the present pleasure. 
 By revolution lowering, does become 
 The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone: 
 The hand could pluck her back, that shov'd hei OB. 
 I must from this enchanting queen break off; 
 Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, 
 My idleness doth hatch.— How now ! Enobarbns 
 
 Enter Enobarbus 
 
 Etu- What's your pleasure, sir ? 
 
 Ant. I must with haste from hence. 
 
 Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women . We see 
 how uiortal an unkinduess is to them ; if they suffer 
 our departure, death's the word. 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act r. 
 
 Ant. I must be gone. 
 
 Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die : 
 ft were pity to cast them away for nothing-; thoiigli, 
 between them and a great c^use, they should be 
 esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least 
 noiiie of this, dies instantly ; I have seen her die 
 twenfy times upoa far poorer moment : I do think, 
 there is mettle in death, which commits some loving 
 ftct upon her, she hath such celerity in dying. 
 
 Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 
 
 Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her passions are made of 
 nothing but the finest part of pure love : We cannot 
 call her winds and waters, sighs and tears : they are 
 greater stornjs and tempests than almanacks can 
 report: This cannot be cnnnin^ in her, if it be, she 
 makes a shower of rain as well as Jove. 
 
 Ani. 'Would I had never seen her! 
 
 Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful 
 piece of work ; which not to have been blessed wifhal, 
 would have discredited your travel. 
 
 Ant Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Sir? 
 
 Ant. Fulvia is dead. 
 Eno Fulvia? 
 Ant. Dead. 
 
 Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. 
 When it pleaseth tiieir deities to take the wife of a 
 man from him, it shews to man the tailors of the 
 earth ; comibrting therein, that wlien old robes are 
 worn out, there are numbers to make new. If there 
 were no more women I>ut Fulvia, then had you 
 indeed a cut, and tiie case to be lamented : this grief 
 is crowned with consolation; your old smock brings 
 forth a new petticoat: — and, indeed, the tears live 
 in an onion, that should water this sorrow. 
 
 Ani. Tlie business she hath broached in the state, 
 Cannot endure my absence. 
 
 Eno. And the business you have broached here 
 cannot be without vou ; especially that of Cleopa- 
 tra's, which vvliolly aeijends on your atKxle. 
 
 Ant. No n>ore light answers. Let our officers 
 Rave notice what we purpose. I shall break 
 The cause of our expedience to the queen, 
 And get her love to part. For not alone 
 The (ieatli of FuK ia, with more urgent touches, 
 Dc strongly speak to us; but the letters too 
 Of nmny of our contriving friends in Rome 
 Petition us at home : Sextus Pompeius 
 Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands 
 The empire of the sea : our slippery people 
 ' Wliose love is never litik'd to the deserver, 
 Till his deserts are past,) begin to throw 
 Pompey the great, and all his dignities. 
 Upon his son ; who. high in namv and power, 
 Higher tlian both in blood and life, stands up 
 For the main soldier; whose quality, gointr on, 
 Tl\e sideso'the world may danger : iVincli is breeding, 
 Which, like the courser's hair, hath vtt but life, 
 And not a serpent poison. Say our pleasure, 
 To such whose place is under us, requires 
 Our quick remove from hence. 
 
 Eno. I shall do't. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, 
 and AiJSXAS. 
 Cleo. Where is he ? 
 
 Char. I did not see him since. 
 
 Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he 
 does : — 
 
 I did not send yoii : — If yon find him sad, 
 Say, f ara dancing; if in mirth, re|x>rt 
 That \ din guddensick: Quick, and return. 
 
 [Exit Alexas. 
 
 Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him 
 Vou do not iKvld the method to enforce [dearly. 
 The like from hinu 
 
 Cleo. What should I do, I do not ? 
 
 Char. In each thing ijive him way, cross him in 
 nothing. [him. 
 
 Cleo. Thoii teachest liko a fool; the way to lose 
 
 Char. Tempt him not so too far: I wish, forbcttri 
 In time we hate that which we often fear. 
 
 Enter Antony 
 But here comes Antony. 
 
 Cie@. I am sick, and sulieo. 
 
 Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose,-^ 
 
 Cleo. Help uie away,.dear Charmian, I shall fall ; 
 It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
 Will not sustain it. 
 
 Ajtt. Now, my dearest queen, — 
 
 Cleo. Pray you, stand further from rae. 
 
 Ant. What's the matter ? 
 
 Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good 
 news. 
 
 What says the married woman ? — You may go ; 
 'Would she had never given you leave to come! 
 Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here, 
 I have no power upon you ; her's you are. 
 
 Ant. The gods best know, — 
 
 Cleo. O, never was there queen 
 
 So mightly hetray'd ! Yet, at the first, 
 I sav/ the treasons planted. 
 
 Ant. ^ Cleopatra, — [true, 
 
 Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and 
 Tlioiif^h you in swearing shake the throned gods, 
 W^ho have been false to Fulvia! Riotous madness, 
 To be entangled with those moutii-made vows, 
 Which break themselves in sv.earing ! 
 
 Ant. Most sweet queen, — 
 
 Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, 
 B'lt by farewell, and go: when you sued staying, 
 Then was the time for words : No going then; — 
 Eten-iity was in our lips, and eyes ; 
 Bliss in our brow's bent ; none our parts so poor, 
 But was a race of heaven : They are so still, 
 Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world. 
 Art turn'd the greatest liar. 
 
 Ant. How now, lady ! 
 
 Cleo. I would, I had thy inches ; thou should'st 
 There were a heart in Egypt. [kaowr, 
 
 Ant. Hear me, queen: 
 
 The strong necessity of time commands 
 Our services a while ; but my lull heart 
 Remains in use with you. Our ltdy 
 Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius 
 Makes his approaches to the port of Rome; 
 Equality of two domestic powers [strength, 
 Breedji scrupulous faction: The hated, grown to 
 Are newly grown to lo\e : The condemn'd Pompey, 
 Rich in his father's horjour, creeps apace 
 Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd 
 Upon the present state, whose numbers tiireaten ; 
 And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
 By any desperate cJiange : My more particular. 
 And that which most with you should safe my going, 
 Is Fulvia's death. 
 
 Cleo. Thi)ugh age from folly could not give me 
 freedom, 
 
 It does from childisiiness. Can Fulvia die? 
 
 Ant. She's dead, my queen : 
 Look here, and, at thy sovereig^n leisure, read 
 The garboils she awak'd : at the last, best: 
 See, when, and where she dit^d. 
 
 Cleo. O most false ]ov<: 
 
 Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill 
 Will sorrowful water? Now I see, 1 see. 
 In Fulvia's deatii, how mine receiv'd shall be:. 
 
 Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to knoif 
 The purposes I bear: which are, or cease, 
 As you shall give the advice : Now, by the fire 
 That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence 
 Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war. 
 As thou atFect'st. 
 
 Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, coBUf^ 
 
 But let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well : 
 So Antony loves. 
 
 Ant. My precious queen, forbear; 
 
 And i^ive true evidence to his love, which standi 
 An honourable triah 
 
SCENB 4. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 607 
 
 Cko. 
 
 SoFalviatold 
 
 I pr'ytbee turn aside, and weep for her ; 
 Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears 
 Belong to Egypt : Good now, play one scene 
 Of excellent dissembling ; antf let it look 
 Like perfect Wuour. 
 
 Ant. You'll heat my blood ; no more. 
 
 Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly. 
 
 Ant. Now, by my sword, — 
 
 (Jleo. And target,-!-Still he mends ; 
 
 But this is not the best: Look, pr'ythee, Charoiian, 
 How this Herculean Roman does become 
 The carriage of his chafe. 
 
 Ant. I'll leave you, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 
 Sir, you and I must part, — but that's not it ; 
 Sir, you and I have lov'd, — but there's not it ; 
 That you know well : Something it is I would, — 
 O, my oblivion is a very Antony, 
 A.nd I aoi all forgotten. 
 
 Ant. But that your royalty 
 
 Holds idleness your subjprt, I should take you 
 For idleness itself. 
 
 Cleo. 'Tis weating labour. 
 
 To bear such idleness so near the heart 
 As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ; 
 Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
 Eye well to you: Your honour calls you hence; 
 'I'herefore be deaf to my uopitied folly, 
 And all the gods go with you ! upon your sword 
 Sit laurel'd victory ! and smooth success 
 Be strew'd before your feet! 
 
 Ant. Let us go. Come ; 
 
 Our separation so abides, and flies. 
 That thou, residing here, go'st yet witli me, 
 And I, hence fleeting, here remnui with thee. 
 Away. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENK IV. — Rome. An Apartment in Casar's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Octavius Caesar, Lepidus, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Cas.Yon may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, 
 It is not Cajsar's natural vice to hate 
 One great competitor : from Alexandria 
 This is the news ; he fishes, drinks, aud wastes 
 The lamps of night in revel : is not more manlike 
 Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen of Ptolemy 
 More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, or 
 Vouchsaf 'd to think he had partners : You shall find 
 A man, who is the abstract of all faults [there 
 That all men follow. 
 
 Lep. I must not think, there are 
 
 Evils enough to darken all his goodness : 
 His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven. 
 More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary. 
 Rather than purchas'd ; w hat he cannot change. 
 Than what he chooses. 
 
 Cas, You are too indulgent : Let us grant, it is not 
 imiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ; 
 
 1 give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
 And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ; 
 To reel the streets at noon, and stand tlie buffet 
 With knaves, that smell of sweat : say, this beconies 
 (As his composure must be rare indeed, [him, 
 VVhom these things cannot blemish), yet uiust Antony 
 Nfo way excuse his soils, when we do bear 
 Sr great weight in his lightness. If he fili'd 
 His vacancy with his voluptuousness. 
 Full snrlehs, and the dryness of his bones. 
 Call on him for't: but to confound such time, 
 That drums him from his sport, and speak as loud 
 As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid 
 ks we rate boys ; who, being mature in knowledge, 
 Pavrn their experience to their present pleasure, 
 And so rebel to judgment 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 hep. Here's more news. 
 
 A/e**.Thy biddings have been done;and every hour, 
 
 Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report 
 How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea^ 
 And it appears, he is belov'd of those 
 That only have fear'd Caesar : to the ports 
 The discontents repair, and men's r<»iJorts 
 Give him much wrong'd. 
 
 C<Ks. I should have known no less 
 
 It hath been taught us from the primal state. 
 That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were; 
 And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love 
 Comes dear'd, by being lack 'd. This common bodj^ 
 Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream. 
 Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
 To rot itself with motion. 
 
 Mess. Caesar, I bring thee word, 
 
 Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, 
 Make the sea serve them : which they ear and w(>und 
 With keels of every kind; Many hot inroads 
 They make in Italy ; the borders maritime 
 Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt 
 No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon 
 Taken as seen , for Pompey's name strikes more 
 Than could his war resisted. 
 
 Ctes. Antony, 
 Leave thy lascivious wassels. When thou once 
 Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
 Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, and thy heel 
 Did famine follow ; whom thou fought'st against. 
 Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
 l^ian savages could sulfer : Thou didst drink 
 The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle [deign 
 Which beasts would cough at : thy palate then did 
 The roughest berry on the rudest hedge , 
 Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets. 
 The barks of trees thou browsed'st ; on the Alps, 
 It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh, 
 Which some did die to look on : And all this 
 (It wounds thine"honour, that I speak it now,) 
 Was borne so hke a soldier, that thy che*k 
 So much as lank'd not. 
 
 hep. It is pity of him. 
 
 Cois. Let his shames quickly 
 Drive him to Rome : 'Tis time we twain 
 Did shew ourselves i' the field ; and, to that eoidy 
 Assemble we immediate council : Pompey 
 Thrives in our idleness. 
 
 hep. To-morrow, Caesar, 
 
 I shall be furnis'h to inform you rightly 
 Both what by sea and land 1 can be able. 
 To 'front this present time. 
 
 Cces, Till which encounter, 
 
 It is my business too. Farewell. [meantime 
 
 hep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know 
 Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir. 
 To let me be partaker. 
 
 Cces. Doubt not, sir ; 
 
 I knew it for my bond. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene V. — Alexandria, A Room in the Palace, 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Ch.'^rmian, Iras, and 
 Mardlan. 
 
 Cleo. CharmJan, — 
 
 Char. Madam. 
 
 Cleo. Ha, ha!— 
 Give me to drink mandragora. 
 
 C/iar. Why, madam? 
 
 Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time 
 My Antony is away. 
 
 Char. You think of him 
 
 Too much. 
 
 Cleo. O, treason ! 
 
 Char. Madam, I trust, net so 
 
 Cleo. Thou, eunuch! Mardian! 
 
 Mor. What's your highness' pi* isure? 
 
 Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing ; I take no pica- 
 In aught an eunuch has . 'Tis well for thee, [sure 
 That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts 
 May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou alfectiona?, 
 
 Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed? 
 
608 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act it. 
 
 Mar. Not in deed, madam: for I can do nothing 
 But what in deed is nonest to be done : 
 Yet have I fierce affections, and think. 
 What Venus did with Mars. 
 
 Cleo. O Charmian, 
 
 Where think'st thou he is now ? Stands he, or sits he? 
 Or does he walk ^ or is he on his horse ? 
 O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
 Do bravely, horse ! for wot st thou whom thou 
 mov'st ? 
 
 The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm 
 And burgonet of men. — He's speaking now, 
 Or miirmnring, Where's my serpent of old Nils I 
 For so he calls me ; Now 1 feed myself 
 With most delicious poison : — Think on me, 
 That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black. 
 And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Caesar, 
 When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
 A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
 Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow ; 
 There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
 With looking on his life. 
 
 Enter Alexas. 
 
 Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 
 
 Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony ! 
 Yet, coming from him. that great medicine hath 
 With his tinct gilded thee. — 
 How goes it witti rny brave Mark Antony? 
 
 Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen, 
 He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, — 
 This orient pearl : — His s}>eech sticks in my heart 
 
 Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 
 
 Alex. Good friend, quoth he, 
 
 Say, the ^rm Roman to great Egypt sends 
 This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot. 
 To mend the petty present, I will piece 
 Her opulent throne with kingdoms ; All the east. 
 Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded. 
 And soberly did mount a termagant steed, 
 Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke 
 Wv^s beastly dumb d by him. 
 
 Cleo. What, was he sad, or merry ? 
 
 Alex. Like to the time o'the year between the 
 extremes 
 
 Of hot and cold ; lie was nor sad nor merry. 
 
 Cleo. O well divided disposition ! — Note him. 
 Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man ; but note 
 him : 
 
 He was not sad ; for he would shine on those 
 'Hiat make their looks by his : he was not merry ; 
 Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay 
 In Egypt with his joy : but between both : 
 
 0 heavenly mingle! — Be'st thou sad, or merry, 
 The violence of either thee becomes; 
 
 So does it no man else. — Met'st thou ray posts ? 
 
 Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers : 
 Why do you send so thick ? 
 
 Cleo. Who's born that day 
 
 When I forget to send to Antony, 
 Shall die a beggar. — Ink and paper, Charmian. — 
 Welcome, my good Alexas. — Did I, Charmian, 
 Ever love Caesar so? 
 
 Char. O that brave Cassar! 
 
 Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis ! 
 Say, the brave Antony. 
 
 Char. The valiant Cafsar ! 
 
 Cleo. By I sis, I will give thee bloody teeth, 
 If thou with Caesar paragon again 
 My man of men. 
 
 Char. By your most gracious pardon, 
 
 1 sing but after you. 
 
 Cleo. My sallad days ; 
 
 When I was green in judgujent — Cold in blood. 
 To say, as I suid then I — But, come, away ; 
 Get me ink and paper: he shall have everyday 
 A (Peveral greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt 
 
 [Ex9unt. 
 
 ACT H. 
 
 Scene I. — Messina. A Room in Pompey's Houat, 
 Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas. 
 
 Pomp. If the great gods be just, they shall assist 
 The deeds of justest men. 
 
 Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 
 
 That what they do delay, they not deny. 
 
 Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decay* 
 The thing we sue for. 
 
 Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves^ 
 
 Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
 Deny us for our good ; so find we profit. 
 By losing of our prayers. 
 
 Pom. I shall do well : 
 
 The people love me, and the sea is mine : 
 My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope 
 Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony 
 In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
 No wars without doors : Caesar gets money, whert 
 He loses hearts: Lepidus flatters bt)th. 
 Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves, 
 Nor either cares for him. 
 
 Men. C«sar and Lepidas 
 
 Are in the field ; a mighty strength they carry. 
 
 Pom. Where have you this ? 'tis false. 
 
 Men, From Silvius, sir 
 
 Pom. He dreams ; I know, they are iu Rome 
 together, 
 
 Looking for Antonv : But all charms of love. 
 
 Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip! 
 
 Let witchcraft join'd with beauty, lust with both! 
 
 'i'ie up the libertine in a field of feasts. 
 
 Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks. 
 
 Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ; 
 
 That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honoar. 
 
 Even till a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius? 
 
 Enter VarRius. 
 
 Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver: 
 Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
 Expected ; since he went from Egypt, 'tis 
 A space for further travel. 
 
 Pom. I roidd have given less matter 
 
 A better ear. — Menas, I did not think, 
 This amorous surfeiter would have don'd his helm 
 For such a petty war: his soldieroliip 
 Is twice the other twain: But let us rear 
 The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
 Can from tlie lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
 The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. 
 
 Men. I cannot hope 
 
 Caesar and Antony shall well greet together : 
 His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Cscsar; 
 His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think. 
 Not mov'd by Antony. 
 
 Pom. I know not, Menas, 
 
 How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
 Were't not that we stand up against them all, 
 'Twere pregnant they should square between thei» 
 selves; 
 
 For they have entertained cause enough 
 
 To dravv their swords : but how the fear o! us 
 
 May cement their divisions, and bind up 
 
 The petty difference, we yet not know. 
 
 Be it as our gods will have it ! It only stands 
 
 Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands. 
 
 Come, Menas. [fSxemii, 
 
 Scene II. — Rome. A Room in the Hons* qf 
 
 Lepidus. 
 Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed 
 And shall become you well, to entreat your « 
 To soft and gentle speech. 
 
 Eno. I shall entreat him 
 
 To answer like himself : If Cas-sar move him, 
 Let Antony look over Caesar's head. 
 And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupitei, 
 Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard* 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 009 
 
 I wonld not shave to-day. 
 
 Jjep. 'Tis not a time 
 
 For private stomaching. 
 
 Kno. ^very time 
 
 Serves for the matter that is then born in it. 
 
 Lep. But small to greater matters must give way. 
 
 Eiio. Not if the small come first, 
 
 Lep. Your speech is passion : 
 
 But, pray yon, stir no embers up. Here comes 
 The noble Autouy. 
 
 Enter Antony and Ventidius. 
 
 Eno. And yonder, Caesar. 
 
 Enter C^SAR, Mec^nas, and Agkippa. 
 
 Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia: 
 Hark yoi5, Ventidius. 
 
 Cces. 1 do not know, 
 
 Mecieuas ; ask Agrippa. 
 
 Lep. Nob'? friends, 
 
 That which combined us was most great, and let not 
 A leaner action rend us. What's amiss, 
 May it be gently heard : When we debate 
 O'lr trivial difference loud, we do cjnmiit 
 Murder in healing wounds: Then, noble partners, 
 (The rather, for 1 earnestly beseech,) 
 Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, 
 Nor curstness grow to the matter. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis spoken well : 
 
 Were \ve before our armies, and to fight, 
 I should do this. 
 
 Ctes. Welcome to Rome. 
 
 Ant. Thank you. 
 
 Cies. Sit. 
 
 Nay, 
 
 Ant. Sit, 
 Ctes. 
 Tlien— 
 
 Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so; 
 Or. being, concern you not. 
 
 C<ts, I must be laugh'd at. 
 
 If, or for nothing, or a little, I 
 Slioul 1 say myself offended ; and with you 
 Chiefly i'the world : more laugh'd at, that I should 
 Once name you derogately, when to sound your 
 It not coi'cern'd me. [name 
 
 Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 
 
 What was't to you ? 
 
 Ctss. No more than my residing here at Rome 
 Might be to you in Egypt; Yet, if you tiiere 
 Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
 Might be my question. 
 
 Ani. How intend you, practis'd ? 
 
 Ctes. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent. 
 By what did here befal me. Your wife, and brother, 
 M;)de wars upon me; and their contestation 
 Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake yonr business ; my brother 
 never 
 
 Did urge me in his act : I did enquire it; 
 And have my learning from some true reports. 
 That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
 Discredit my authority with yours; 
 And make the wars alike against my stomach, 
 Having alike your cause ? Of this, my letters 
 Before did satisfy yon If you'll patch a quarrel, 
 As matter whole you have not to make it with. 
 It must not be wit'a this. 
 Cees You praise yourself 
 
 i By laying defects of judgment to me ; but 
 { You patch'd up your escuses. 
 1 Ant. Not so, not so ; 
 
 I I know you could not lack, I am certain on't, 
 j Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
 I Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, 
 ; Could not with gracefid eyes attend those wars, 
 I Which 'fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
 ! I would you had her spirit in such another : 
 i The third o'the world is yours ; which with a snaffle 
 Yon may pace eaay, but not si>eh a wife. 
 
 Eno. 'Would we had all such vvi les, tb^t the men 
 might go to wars with the women ! 
 
 Ant. So much uncurable, her garbolls, C»fKXTf. 
 Made out of her impatience, Cwhich not wante4 
 Shrewdness of policy too,.) I orieving grant. 
 Did you too much disquiet: for that, you must 
 But say, I could c 5t help it. 
 
 Cees. I wrote to yoa. 
 
 When rioting in Alexandria; you 
 Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
 Did gibe my missive out of audience. 
 
 Ant. Sir, 
 He fell upon me, ere admitted ; then 
 Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want 
 Of what J was i'the morning; but, next day, 
 I told him of myself; which was as much 
 As to have ask'd him pardon : Let this fellow 
 Be nothing of our strife ; if we contend, 
 Out of our question wipe him. 
 
 Cas. You have broken 
 
 The article of your oath ; which you shall never 
 Have tongue to charge me with. 
 
 Lep. Soft, Caesar 
 
 Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak ; 
 The honour's sacred which he talks on now, 
 Supposing that I lack'd it: But oq, CaiiSar; 
 The article of my oath, — [them: 
 
 Ciss. To lend me arms, and aid, when 1 rrquir'o 
 The which you both denied. 
 
 Anf. Neglected, rather; 
 
 And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up 
 From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
 I'll play the penitent to you ; but mine honesty 
 Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
 Work without it : Truth iji, that Fulvia, 
 To have me out of Egypt, made wars here ; 
 For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
 So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour 
 To stoop in sucli a 
 
 Lep. 'Tia sxsHly spoken* 
 
 Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no fartb^ 
 The griefs between ye : to forget them quite, 
 Were to remember, that the present need 
 Speaks to atone you. 
 
 Lep. Worthily spoke, Mecaenas 
 
 Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the 
 instant, you may, when yon hear no more words of 
 Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to 
 wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do. 
 
 Ant. Thou art a soldier only ; speak no more. 
 
 Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost 
 forgot. [more. 
 
 Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no 
 
 Eno. Go to then ; your considerate stone. 
 
 CiBs. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
 The manner of his speech : for it cannot be. 
 We sliall remain in friendship, our ccndilions 
 So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
 What hoop should hold us stanncn, froni edge to edge 
 O' the world I would pursue it. 
 
 Agr. Give me leave, CeBsar,--^ 
 
 Cees Speak, Agrippa. 
 
 Agr. Tn(ju hast a sister by the mother's side, 
 Admir'd Octavia : great Mark Antony 
 Is now a widower. 
 
 Cas. Say not so, Agrippa ; 
 
 If Cleopatra heard voii, your reproof 
 Were well deserv'd of rashness. 
 
 Ant. I am not married, Caesar: lei me hear 
 Agrippa further speak. 
 
 Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity. 
 To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 
 With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
 Octavia to his wife ; whose beauty claims 
 No worse a husband than the best of mff^n ; 
 Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak 
 That which none else ean utter. By this marriafe 
 All little jealousies, which now seemtgreat. 
 And all great fears, which now import their dangers 
 Would then be nothing- truth would be but tales 
 
 59 
 
610 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act n 
 
 Where now half tales be truths : her love to both, 
 Would, each to other, and all loves to both, 
 Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke ; 
 For 'tis a studied, not a present thought. 
 By duty ruminated. 
 
 Ant. Will Caesar speak ? 
 
 Cas. Not till he heirs how Antony is touch'd 
 Willi v'hat is spoke already. 
 
 Am. What power is in Agrippa, 
 
 If I would say, Aqr^.ppa, be it so. 
 To niake this good V 
 
 CiBs. The power of Caesar, and 
 
 His power unto Octavia. 
 
 Ant. May I never 
 
 To this good purpose, that so fairly shews. 
 Dream of impediment! — Let me have thy hand : 
 Further this act ot grace ; and, from this hour, 
 The heart of brothers govern in our loves, 
 And sway our great designs ! 
 
 Cczs. There is my hand. 
 
 A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
 Did ever love so dearly: Let her live 
 T»» join our kingdoms, and our hearts ; and never 
 Fly off our loves again ! 
 
 Lep. Happily, amen ! [Pompcy; 
 
 Ant. I did not think to draw my swurd 'gainst 
 For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great, 
 01" late upon me : I must thank him only. 
 Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; 
 At heel of that, defy him. 
 
 Lep. Time calls upon us: 
 
 Of us must Pompey presently be sought. 
 Or else he seeks out us. 
 
 Ant. And where lies he? 
 
 Ca;s. About the Moaul Misenum. 
 
 Ant. What's his strength 
 
 By land ? 
 
 des. Great, and increasing : but by sea 
 He is an absolute master. 
 
 Ant. So is the fame. 
 
 Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it: 
 V et, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
 The business we have talk'd of. 
 
 Cas. With nio.st gladness ; 
 
 A.nd do invite you to my sister's view, 
 Whither straight I will lead you. 
 
 Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 
 
 ^^ot lack your company. 
 
 Lep. Noble Antony, 
 
 Not sickness should detain me. 
 
 [Flourisfu [Exeunt Casar, Ant. and Lepidus. 
 
 Mec. V\'elcorae from Eeypt, sir. 
 
 Eno. Half the heart of Cajsar, worthy Mecaenas ! 
 —my honourable friend, Agrippa! — 
 
 Agr. Good Enobarbus ! 
 
 Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are 
 80 well digested. You stay'd well by it in Egypt. 
 
 Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance, 
 and iiiade the night light with drinking. 
 
 Mec. Eight wild boars roasted wliole at a break- 
 fevst, and but twelve persons there Is this true? 
 
 Eno. This was but as a fly by aii cugie • we had 
 much more inoustruous matter of feast, which wor- 
 thily deserved noting, 
 
 Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be 
 6<juare to her. 
 
 Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed 
 Bp his heart, u[)on the river of C\dnus. 
 
 Agr. There she appeared indeed; or my reporter 
 devised we l for her, 
 
 Eno. I will tell you : 
 The barge she sat io, like a burnish'd throne, 
 Burii'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; 
 Purple the sails, and so t>*:rtumed, that [silver; 
 Tije winds were love-sick with them : the oars were 
 Which to ihe tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
 'I'hc water, which they beat, to follow faster, 
 Ks amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
 It beggar'd all deMcription : she did lie 
 lii her jpavili la, 'cJoth *f fold, of tissue,) 
 
 O'erpictiiriug that Venus, where we see 
 The f ancy out- work nature : on each side her. 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With diverse-coloured fans, whose wind did seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
 And what they undid, did. 
 
 Agr . O, rare for Antony ] 
 
 Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
 So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. 
 And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
 A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle 
 Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
 That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
 A strange invisible perlimie hits the sens? 
 Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
 Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
 Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone. 
 Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy. 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too. 
 And made a gap in nature. 
 
 Agr. Rare Egyptian ! 
 
 Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her. 
 Invited her to supper: she replied, 
 It should be better, he became her guest; 
 Which she entreated: Our courteous Antony, 
 Whom ne'er the word of No wonmn heard speak, 
 Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast; 
 And, for his ordinary, pays his heart. 
 For what his eyes eat onJy. 
 
 Agr. Royal wench! 
 
 She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed ; 
 He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 
 
 Eno, I saw her once 
 
 Hop forty paces through the public street : 
 And having lost her breath, she spoke, and pantei^ 
 That she did make defect, perfection. 
 And, breathless, power breathe forth. 
 
 Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly, 
 
 Eno. Never; he will not; 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite varie ty : Other women 
 Cloy th' appetites they feed ; but she makes hungrjj 
 Where most she satisfies. For vilest things 
 Become themselves in her; that the holy priests 
 Bless her, when she is riggish. 
 
 Mec. If beauty, wisdom, njodesty, can settle 
 Tlie heart of Antony, Octavia is 
 A blessed lottery to him. 
 
 Agr. Let us go. — 
 
 Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest. 
 Whilst you abide here. 
 
 Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene III. — T/ie same. A Room in Casar's House, 
 Enter C^sar, Antony, Octavia betiveen tliem; 
 Attendants, and a Soothsayer. 
 
 Ant. The world, and my great office, will some- 
 Di\ide me from your bosom. [times 
 
 Octa. All which time. 
 
 Before the gods my knee shall bow niy prayers 
 To them for you. 
 
 Ant. : Good night, sir. — My Octavia, 
 
 Read not my blemishes in the world's report: 
 1 nave not kept my square ; but that to come 
 Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear 
 
 Octa. Good night, sir. [lady. — 
 
 Cits. Good night. [Exeunt Cces. and Octa. 
 
 Ant. Now, sirrah ! you do wish yoursel! in Kgypt ? 
 
 Sooth. 'Would 1 had never come from thence, nof 
 ThitKer! [yoo 
 
 Ant. If you can, your reason ? 
 
 Sooth. I see't in 
 
 My motion, have it not in my tongue : But yet 
 Hie ywi again to Egypt. 
 
 Ant. Say to r>e. 
 
 Whose fortunes shall rise hi|[her, Caesar's ot aisattl 
 
 Sooth. Caesar's. 
 Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side : 
 Tliy daemon, that s thy spirit which keeps thM, il 
 Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable. 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Where Cesar's ii not ; but, near him, tliy angel 
 Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpowered ; therefore 
 Make space enough between you. 
 
 Ant. Speak this no more. 
 
 Sooth. To noae but thee ; no more, but when to 
 ff thou dost play with him at any game, [thee. 
 Thou art sure tj lose ; and, of that natural luck. 
 He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy bistre thickens, 
 When he shines by ; I say again, thy spirit 
 Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 
 But, he away, 'tis noble. 
 
 Ant. Oet thee gone : 
 
 Say to Ventidius, 1 would speak with him : — 
 
 [Exit Soothsayer. 
 He shall to Parthia — Be it art, or hap. 
 He hath spoken true : The very dice obey him; 
 And , in our sports, my better cunning faints 
 Under his chance : if we draw lots, he speeds: 
 His cocks do win the battle still of mine. 
 When it is all to nought ; and his quails ever 
 Beat mine, inhoou'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: 
 And though I malie this marriage for my peace. 
 
 Enter Ventidius. 
 I' the east my pleasure lies: — O, come, Ventidius, 
 Von n>ust to Parthia; your commission's ready: 
 1 ollow me, and receive it. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Street. 
 Enter Lepidus, Mec^enas, and Agrippa. 
 
 Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you, 
 V^oin- generals after. [nasten 
 
 Jgr. Sir, Mark A y 
 
 Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow. 
 
 Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress, 
 Which will become you both, farewell. 
 
 Mec. We shall, 
 
 As I conceive the journey, be at mount 
 Bfcfore you, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Your way is shorter, 
 
 M7 purpos?8 do draw me much about; 
 Yju'U win two days upon me. 
 
 Mec. fir Agr. Sir, good success ! 
 
 Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 E/7^<?r Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 
 
 Vleo. Give me some music; music, moody food 
 Of us that trade in love. 
 
 Attend. The music, ho ! 
 
 Enter Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. Let it alone ; let us to billiards : 
 ConiP, Charmian. 
 
 Char. My arm is sore, best play with Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd, 
 As with a woman; — Come, you'll play with me, sir? 
 
 Mar. As well as I can, madam. 
 
 Cleo. And when good will is shew'd, though it 
 come too short. 
 The actor may plead pardon I'll none now: — 
 (i ve me mine angle. — We'll to the river: there. 
 My mnsir plaving far off, I will betray 
 rawny-finud fishes; my Ijeiided hook shall pierce 
 Tlieir slimv jaws; and. as I draw them up, 
 I'll think them every one an Antony, 
 And say. Ah, ha 1 you're caught. 
 
 Char. 'Twas merry, when 
 
 You wagor'd on your angling; when your diver 
 Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
 With fervency drew up. 
 
 Cleo. That time ! — O times ! — 
 
 I laugh'd him out of patience ; and that night • 
 1 laugh'd him into patience: and next niorn, 
 Ere the ninth hour, I drunk hint to his bed ; 
 Tlien put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
 ( wore his sword Pliilippan. O ! from Italy ; — 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Ram tliau thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
 
 That long time have been barren. 
 
 Mess. Madam » madam, 
 
 Cleo. Antony's dead ?- - 
 If ihou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress 
 But well and free, 
 
 If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
 My bluest veins to kiss; a hand, that king* 
 Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 
 Mess. First, madani. he's w«H 
 
 Cleo. Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark 
 We u.se 
 
 To say, the dead are well : bring it to that, 
 The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pour 
 Down thy ill-uttering throat. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Cleo. Well, go to, 1 will 
 
 But there's no goodness in thy face ; If Antony 
 Be free, and healthful, — why so tart a favour 
 To trumpet such good tidings ? If not well. 
 Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes 
 Not like a formal man. 
 
 Mess. Wiirt please you hear me 
 
 Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere flini 
 Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well, [speak'st 
 Or friends with Ca*sar, or not captive to him, 
 I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
 Rich pearls upon thee. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's well. 
 
 Cleo. Well said 
 
 Mess. And friends with Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man 
 
 Mess. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever 
 
 Cleo. Make thee a fortime from me. 
 
 Mess. But yet, madam^ - 
 
 Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay 
 The good precedence ; I'y upon but yet: 
 hut yet is as a gaoler to bring forth 
 Some monstrous malefactor, Pr'ythee, fiiend, 
 Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, 
 The good and bad together : He's friends with Csesar 
 In state of health, thou say'st: and, thou say'st, free^ 
 
 Mess. Free, madam ! no ; I made no such report 
 He's bound unto Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. For what good turn ? 
 
 Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 
 
 Cleo. I am pale, Charmian 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee ! 
 
 {Strikes him down .) 
 
 Mess. Good madam, patience. 
 
 Cleo. W hat say you ? — Hence, 
 
 (Strikes him again.', 
 Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes 
 Like balls before me ; I'll unhair thy head ; 
 
 [She hales him up and duwn.) 
 Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in 
 Smarting in ling'ring pickle. [brine, 
 
 Mess. Gracious madam, 
 
 I, that do bring the news, made not the match. 
 
 Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, 
 And make thy fortunes proud : the blow thou hadst 
 Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage; 
 And I will boot thee with what gift beside 
 Thy modesty can beg. 
 
 Mess. He's married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 
 
 {Draws a dagger ) 
 
 Mess. Nay, then I'll ran : — 
 What mean you, madam ? I have made no fault. 
 
 [Extt 
 
 Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yosir- 
 self, 
 
 The man is innocent. [bolt.-» 
 Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder 
 
 Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
 
 Turn all to serpents '.—Call tiie slave again ; 
 
 Though 1 am mad, I will not bit* him :— Call. 
 Char. He is ateard to come. ' 
 Cleo. I will not hurt bim 
 
 These hands do lack nobility, tliat they strike 
 
612 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPx\TRA. 
 
 Act II 
 
 A meaner than myself ; since I myself 
 
 Have given myse If the cause. — Come hither, sir. 
 
 Re-enter Messev^ger. 
 Thongh it be honest, it is never good 
 To bring bad news : Give to a gracious messager 
 An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell 
 Tfiemselvesi, when they be felt. 
 
 Mes. I have done my duty. 
 
 Cleo. Is he married ? 
 I cannot hate thee worser than I do, 
 If thou again say, Ves. 
 
 M'^ss. He is married, madam. 
 
 C/eo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold 
 there still? 
 
 Mess. Should 1 lie. madam ? 
 
 Cleo. O, I would thou didst; 
 
 So half niy Egypt were submerg'd, and made 
 A cistern for scal'd snakes ! Go, get thee hence; 
 Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
 Ttioi; would*st appear most ugly. He is married ? 
 
 Mess. F crave your highness' pardon. 
 
 Cleo. He is married ? 
 
 Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend 
 To punish me for what you make me do, [you: 
 Seems much unequal : He is married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. (), that his fault should make a knave of 
 thee, [hence : 
 
 That art not !— What? thou'rt sure oft?— Get thee 
 The mercliaiidise, which thou hast brought from 
 Rome, 
 
 Are all too dear for me : Lie they upon thy hand, 
 And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Mess. 
 
 Char Good your highness, patience. 
 
 Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Caesar. 
 
 Char. Many times, madam. 
 
 Cleo. I am paid for't now. 
 
 Lead me from hence, 
 
 r faint; O Iras, Charmian, — 'Tis no matter: 
 Go to the lellow, good Alexas: bid him 
 Report the feature of ()ctavia, her years. 
 Her inclination, let him not leave out 
 The colour of her hair: — bring me word (juickly.-^ 
 
 [Exit Alexas. 
 Let him for ever go : — Let him not — Charmian, 
 'I'hough he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
 Pother way he's a Mars: — Bid you Alexas 
 
 (To Mardian.) 
 
 Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Charmian, 
 But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI, — Near Misenum. 
 En.'er Pompey and Menas, at one side, with drum 
 and trumpet; at another, CvESAR, Lepidus, 
 Antony, Enobarbus, Mec^nas, with Soldiers 
 marching. 
 
 Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine ; 
 And we shall talk before we fight. 
 
 Cas. Most meet, 
 
 'I'hat first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
 Our written purposes before us sent: 
 Which, if thou hast considerd, let us know 
 If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword; 
 And carry back to Sicily much tall youth, 
 That else must perish here. 
 
 Pom. To you all three. 
 
 The senators alone ot this great world. 
 Chief factors for the gods, — 1 do not know. 
 Wherefore my father should revengers want. 
 Having a son, and friends; since Julius Cdesar, 
 Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, 
 There saw you labouring for him. What was it. 
 That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire ? And what 
 Made the all-honour d honest Roman, Brutus, 
 With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom. 
 To drench the Capitol ; but that they would 
 Have one man but a man? And that is it, 
 Hath made me rg my na\ y ; at whose burden 
 The anger'd oce».n foams; with which I meant 
 
 To scourge the ingratitude that despitefu. Rome 
 Cast on my noble father. 
 
 CcBs. Take your time. fsails, 
 
 Ant. Thon canst not fear us, Pompey, with thj 
 We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'at 
 How much we do o'er-count thee. 
 
 Pom. At land, indeed. 
 
 Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house : 
 But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, 
 Remain iu't as thou may'st. 
 
 Lep. Be pleas'd to tell as, 
 
 (For thi« is from the jjresent,) how you take 
 The offers we have sent you. 
 
 Cits. There's fhe poiut. 
 
 Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
 What it is worth embrac'd, 
 
 Cas. And what may follow, 
 
 To try a larger fortune. 
 
 Pom. You have made me ofter 
 
 Of Sicily, Sardinia; arc! I must 
 Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send 
 Measures of wheat to Rome : This 'greed upon. 
 To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
 Our targe undmted. 
 
 Cas. Ant. §f Lep. That's our offer. 
 
 Pom. Know then 
 
 I came before you here, a man prepar'd 
 To take this ofier : But Mark Antony 
 Put me to some impatience : — 'I'hough I lose 
 The praise of it by telling. You must know, 
 When Cajsar and your brothers were at blows. 
 Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
 Her welcome friendly. 
 
 Ant. I have heard it, Pompey . 
 
 And am well studied for a liberal thanks. 
 Which i do owe you. 
 
 Pom. Let me have your hand : 
 
 I did not think, sir, to have met you. fyco. 
 
 Ant. The beds i'the east are solt ; and thanks t* 
 That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither; 
 For 1 have gain'd by it. 
 
 Cois. Since I saw you last, 
 
 There is a change upon you. 
 
 Pom. Well, I know not, 
 
 What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face; 
 But in my bosom shall she never come, 
 To make my heart her wassal. 
 
 Lep. Well met here. 
 
 Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreed 
 I crave, our composition may be written. 
 And seal d between us. 
 
 Ctts. That's the next to do. 
 
 Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part; and 
 Draw lots who shall begin. [letma 
 
 Ant. That will I, Pompey. 
 
 Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first. 
 Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 
 Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius Cs«sar 
 Grew fat with feastmg there. 
 
 Ant, You have heard i^juch. 
 
 Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 
 
 Ant. And fair words to «9n. 
 
 Pom. Then so much have I heard : — 
 And I have heard, Apollodirus carried — 
 
 Eno. No more of that: — He did so. 
 
 Pom. What, I pray yoaT 
 
 Eno. A certain qaeen to Caesar in a mattress. 
 
 Pern. I know thee now ; How far'st thou, so T 
 
 Eno. I 
 And well am like to do ; for, I perceive, 
 Four feasts are toward. 
 
 Pom. Let me shake thy band ; 
 
 I never hated thee : I have seen thee fight, 
 When I have envied thy behaviour. 
 
 Eno. Sir, 
 I never lov'd you much ; but I have prais'd you, 
 When you have well deserv'd ten times as much 
 As I have said you did. 
 
 Pom. Enjoy thy plainness. 
 
 It nothing ill becomes thee — 
 
Scene 7. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 613 
 
 Aboard tny g;a!ley I invite you all: ' 
 W^iil you lectfl. lords? 
 
 Cets. Ant. ^* Lep. Shew us the way, sir. 
 
 Poftt. Come. 
 [Exeunt Pompey, Ctesar, Antony., Lepidus, 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Men. Thy father, Poinpey, would ne'er have made 
 
 s treaty. — {Aside.) — You and I have known, ^ir. 
 
 Eno. At sea, I tliink. 
 
 Men. VV" have, sir. 
 
 Eno. You have done we!! by water, ■ 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Eno. I will praise any man, tiiat w il! praise me : 
 thdu^h it cnunot be denied what I have ('one by land. 
 
 Men. Nor wliat I have done by water. 
 
 Eno. ¥^es, somethinsj you can deny for your own 
 salety : you liave been a j:;reat thief by sea. 
 
 Men. And yon by land. _ j 
 
 Eno. 'I'h."re 1 deny iny land service. But g-'V* nie 
 your hand, Menas : If our eyes liad autliority, here 
 they might take two thieves kissing. 
 
 Men. All men'.s faces are true, whatsoe'er their 
 bands are. [face. 
 
 Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true 
 
 Men. No glauder; they steal hearts. 
 
 Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 
 
 Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a 
 drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his 
 fortune. _ I 
 
 Eno. If he do, sure he cannot weep it back again. ' 
 
 Men. You have said, sir. We looked not for Mark [ 
 Antony here ; Pray you, is he married to Cleopatra ? ; 
 
 Eno. Caesar's sister is call'd Octavia. [cellus. 
 
 Men. True, sir, she was the wife of Caius Mar- 
 
 Env. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. 
 
 Men. Pray you, sir ? 
 
 Eno. 'Tis true. 
 
 Men, Then is Cffisar and he for ever knit together. 
 
 Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I 
 wot! Id not prophesy so. 
 
 Men. I think, the policy of that purpose made 
 B* vre in the marriage, than the love of the parties. 
 
 Eno. 1 think so too. But you shall find, the band 
 that seems to tie tlieir friendship together, will be 
 the vei7 siraijgler of their amity: Octavia is of a 
 holy, cold, aud still conversation. 
 
 Men. VVho would not have his wife so? 
 
 Eno. Nut he, Uiat himself is not so ; which is Mark 
 Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again : then 
 shall tiie sii^hs of Octa\ ia blow the fire up in Caesar: 
 and, as I said before, that which is tae strength of 
 their amity, shall prove the unuiediate author of 
 their vMriance. Antony will use his alfection where 
 it is : he married but his occasion here. 
 
 Men. And tiius it may be. Come, sir, will you 
 aboard ? I have a health for you. 
 
 Eno. 1 shall take it, sir: We have used our 
 throats in Egypt. 
 
 Men. Come; let's away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — On board Pompey s Galley, lying 
 near Misenum. 
 
 Music. Enter twe or three Servants, with a 
 banquet. 
 
 1 Serv. Here tliey'll be, man: Some o'their plants 
 fcre ill-rooted already, the least wind i'the world will 
 blow them down. 
 
 2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 
 
 1 Serv. Tlif'v have made him drink alms-drink. 
 
 2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the dispo- 
 sition, he cries out, no more ; reconciles them to his 
 entreaty, and himself to the drink. 
 
 \ Serv. Bni it raises the greater war between 
 hiin arid his discretion. 
 
 '2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great 
 laen's lt'llowshi[) : I had as liei liavea reed that will 
 dome no st^rvice, as a partizan I could not heave. 
 
 1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not 
 to be seen to n)0ve in't, are the holes where eyes 
 rijrtuJd be, whic'A pitifuilj disaster the checks. 
 
 A senet sounded. Enter C/Esar, Antony, Pom 
 PEY, Lepidus, Agf-»p\^ Mecenas, Enobar*u«^ 
 Men.^s, with other 'Japtains. 
 
 Ant. Thus do they, sir: (Tc C<esar.) Thej taki 
 the flow o'the Nile 
 By certain scales i'the pyramid ; they know. 
 By the height, the lowness, or (he mean, if desurth, 
 Or (bizon, follow: The higher Nilus swells, 
 The more it })romises: as it ebbs, the seedsman 
 Upon ttie slime and ooze scatters his graia. 
 And shortly comes to har\ est 
 
 Lep. You have strange serpents there. 
 
 Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Yoiu- serpent of Egypt is bred nowof yoot 
 mud by the operation of your sun; so is your cro 
 codile. 
 
 Ant. They are so. fdus. 
 Pom. Sit, — aud some wine. — A health to Lepi- 
 Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll 
 ne'er out. 
 
 Eno. Not till you have slept ; I fear me you'll be 
 in, till then. 
 
 Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemi 
 pyramises are very goodly things; without am- 
 tradiction, I have heard that. 
 
 Men. Pompey, a word. {Aside.) 
 
 Pom. Say in mine car : What is't? 
 
 Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, cap- 
 tain, [Aside ) 
 And liear me speak a word. 
 
 Pom, Forbear me till anon. — 
 
 This wine for Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. What manner o'thing is your crocodile ? 
 
 Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as 
 broad as it hath breadth : it is just so high as it is, 
 and moves with its own organs: it lives by that 
 which nourisheth it ; and the elements once out of 
 it, it transmigrates. 
 
 Lep. What colour is it of? 
 
 Ant. Of its own colour too. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent. 
 
 Ayit. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet 
 
 Ca:s. Will this description satisfy him ? 
 
 Ant. \V\i\i the health that Pompey gives hina, 
 else he is a very epicure. 
 
 Pom. <To Mejias aside.) Go, hang, sir, hang! 
 Tell me of that? away! 
 Do as I bid you. — Where's this cup I call'd for? 
 
 Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me, 
 Rise iroin thy stool. {Aside,\ 
 
 Pom. 1 think, thou'rt mad. The matter. 
 
 {Rises, and walks aside.] 
 
 Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. 
 
 Pom. Thou hast serv"d me with much faith* 
 What's else to s;iy ? 
 Be jolly, lords. ^ 
 
 Ant. These quick sands, Lepidus, 
 
 Keep off thenj, or you .sin.k. 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world? 
 
 Pomp. What say'st thou? 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of the wiiole world ? 
 I'hat's twice ? 
 
 Pom. How should that be? 
 Men. But entertain it, and, 
 
 Al h'digh thou think me poor, I am the man 
 Will give thee all the world. 
 
 Pom. Hast thou drunk well! 
 
 ]\[en. No, Pompey, I have kei)t me unui iht cap 
 Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove ; 
 Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips. 
 Is thine, if thou wilt have t. 
 
 Pom. Sliew me which way 
 
 Men. These three world-shaiers, these coojpa 
 titors. 
 
 Are in thy vessel : Let me cut the cable ; 
 And, wlien we are put off fall to their throats 
 All there is thine. 
 
 Pu/,?. Ah, this thou shouIsTst have dosH 
 
 And uut ha\e spoke on't! In uitj 'tis vilianyi 
 
6U 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Aci 
 
 In thee, it had beeu good service. Thou must 
 know, 
 
 Tis not ray profit that does lead mine honour; 
 Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tonj^ue 
 Hath SCI betray'vi tiiiuc act : Being done unknown, 
 I should have found it afterwards well done; 
 But. must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 
 
 Men. For this, (Aside.) 
 I i! never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. — 
 Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis 
 
 .flfer'd. 
 Shall never find it more. 
 
 Pom. This health to Lepidus, 
 
 Ant. Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him, 
 Ponipey. 
 
 Eno. Here's to thee, Menas. 
 
 Men. Enobarbus, welcome. 
 
 Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid. 
 
 Eno. There's a strong fellow, Menas. 
 
 [Pointinrj to the Attendant who carries 
 off Lepidus.) 
 
 Men. Why ? 
 
 Eno. He bears 
 
 The third part of the world, man ; See'st not? 
 
 Men. The third part then is drunk : 'Would it 
 were all. 
 That it might go on wheels ! 
 
 Eno. Drink thou ; increase the reels. 
 
 Men. Come. 
 
 Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 
 
 Ant. \i ripens towards it. — Strike the vessels, ho ! 
 Here is to Caesar. 
 
 CiBs. I could well tovbear it. 
 
 It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, 
 x\nd it grows fouler. 
 
 Ant. Be a child o'the time. 
 
 C<es. Possess it, I'll make answer: but I had 
 rather fast 
 
 From rtll, four days, than drink so much in one. 
 
 Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! {To Antony.) 
 Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
 And celebrate our drink ? 
 
 Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier. 
 
 Ant. Com, let us all take hands; (sense 
 •Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our 
 In soft and delicate Lethe. 
 
 Eno. All take hands. — 
 
 Make battery to our ears with the loud music : — 
 The while, 1 11 place you : Then the boy shall 
 singr* 
 
 The holding every man shall bear, as loud 
 As his strong sides can volley. 
 
 [Music plays. Enobarbus places them hand 
 in hand.) 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Come., thou monarch of the vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus., with pink eyne : 
 In thy vats our cares be drown' d ; 
 Wi(h thy grapes our hairs be crown' d; 
 Cup us, till the world go round; 
 Cup uSy till the world go round! 
 
 Ctes. VVhat would you more? — Pompey, good 
 night. Good brother, 
 liet me request you off: our graver business 
 Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords , let's part ; 
 Vou see, we have burnt our cheeks : strong Eno- 
 barbe 
 
 tti weaker than the wine; and mine own tongue 
 Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath 
 almost (night. — 
 
 Antick'd us all. What needs more words ? Good 
 G«K)d Antony, your hand. 
 
 Pom. I'll try you o'the shore. 
 
 Ant. And shall, sir: give's your hand. 
 
 Pom. O, Antony, 
 
 You have my father's housg,-.-BHt what ? we are 
 
 friends : 
 Uoaa, down into the boat. 
 
 ^^i<^' ^ Take heed you fall r„ot.— 
 
 [Exeunt Pompey, Casar, Antony, emd 
 Attendants. 
 Me-nas, I'll not on shore. 
 
 Men. No, to my cabin.— 
 
 These drums.'— these trumpets, flutes! what!— 
 Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
 To these great fellows: Sound, and be haug'd, 
 sound out. 
 
 {A flourish of trumpets, tvith drums) 
 Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There's my cap. 
 Men. Ho ! — noble captain ! 
 
 Come. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT in. 
 
 Scene I.-t-^ Plain in Syria. 
 Enter Ventidius, as after conquest, tvith SiLiUS, 
 and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the 
 dead body of Pacorus borne before him. 
 Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck; 
 and now 
 
 Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
 Make me revenger. — Bear the king's son's body 
 Before our army : — Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
 Pavs this for Marcus Crassus. 
 
 Sil. Noble Ventidius, 
 
 Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warna. 
 The fugitive Parthians follow ; spur through Media, 
 Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
 The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony 
 Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
 Put garlands on thy I'ead. 
 
 Ven. O Silius, Silius, 
 
 I have done enough : A lower place, note well, 
 May make too great an act: For learn this, Silins; 
 Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire 
 'J^oo high a fame, when him we serve's away. 
 Cfesar, and Antony, have ever won 
 More in their officer, than person: Sossius, 
 One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant. 
 For quick accumulation of renown, 
 Which he acliiev'd by the minute, lost his favour 
 Who does i'the wars more than his captain can, 
 Becomes his captain's captain : and ambition. 
 The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss. 
 Than gain, which darkens him. 
 I could do more to do Antonius good. 
 But 'twould offend him ; and in his offence' 
 Should my performance perish. 
 
 Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, 
 
 That without which a soldier, and his sword. 
 Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt wnte to An- 
 tony ? 
 
 Ven. ril humbly signify what in his name. 
 That magical word of war. we have affected ; 
 How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks^ 
 The ne'er-yet beaten horse of Parthia 
 We have jaded out o'the field. 
 
 Sil. Where is he nqw ? 
 
 Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither, with 
 what haste 
 
 The weight we must convey with ua will permit. 
 We shall appear before him. — On, there ; pass 
 along. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — Rome. An Ante-Chamber in Casar't 
 House. 
 
 Enter Agrippa, and Enobarbus, meeting. 
 Agr. What, are the brothers parted ? 
 Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is 
 gone ; 
 
 The other three are seaUn{% Octavia weeps 
 To part from Rome : Caesar is sad ; and Lepidus,, 
 Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
 With the green sickness. 
 A^r. 
 
 Eno. A very fine one ; 
 
 Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark A»« 
 tony I 
 
 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 
 : O, how he loves Canwrl 
 
Scene 3 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 G15 
 
 Eno. Ca?sar ? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. 
 
 Agr. What's Antony? The gf)d of Jupiter. 
 
 Eno. Spake you of Csesar ? How ? the nonpareil ! 
 
 Agr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! 
 
 Eno. Would jou praise Csesar, say, — Caesar; — 
 go no further. [praises. 
 
 Ayr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent 
 
 Em. But he loves Cajsar best; — Yet he loves 
 Antony : [cannot 
 11?! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, 
 Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his 
 love 
 
 To Antony. But as for Caesar, 
 
 Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 
 
 Ayr. Both he loves. 
 
 Eiio. They are his ahards, and he their beetle. 
 So, — {Trumpets,) 
 This is to liorse. — Adieu, noble Agrippa. 
 
 Ayr. (iood fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell. 
 
 Enter C^sAR, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia. 
 A)it. No further, sir. 
 
 CV.v. ^ on t;\ke froui me a great part of myself; 
 t'sc nie well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife 
 .A.s niy thoughts make thee, and as my furthest 
 band 
 
 Shall pass on thy approof. — Most noble Antony, 
 
 Let not the piece of virtue, whicli is set 
 
 Betwixt us, as the cement of our love. 
 
 To keep it biiilded, he the ram, to batter 
 
 The fortress of it : for better might we 
 
 Have !o\ed without this mean, if on both parts 
 
 This be «iot cherish d. 
 
 Ant. Make me not offended 
 
 111 your distrust. 
 
 t'trs. I have said. 
 
 Ant. You shall not find, 
 
 Thoiijih you be therein curious, the least causae 
 FcT what you seem to fear: So, tlie gods keep you. 
 And usake hearts of Romans serve your ends! 
 V\ e will here part. 
 
 Cit s Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well ; 
 The ehinenls be kind to thee, and make 
 Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well. 
 
 Octa. A?y noble brother I — 
 
 Aul. Tile April's in her eyes : It is love's spring. 
 And tlie.se tlie showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful. 
 
 Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's houjre ; 
 and— 
 
 CVat. What, 
 Octavia? 
 
 Oct. I'll tell you in your ear. 
 
 Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
 Her heart inform her tongue : the swan's down 
 feather, 
 
 That stands upon tlie swell at full of tide, 
 .And neither way inclines^ 
 
 Eno. Will Ca'sar weep ? {Aside to Agrippa.) 
 
 Agr. He has a cloud in's lace, 
 
 Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a 
 horse ; 
 So is lie, being a man. 
 
 Agr. Why, Enobarbus? 
 
 When Antony found Julius Ca;sar dead, 
 He cried almost to roaring: and he wept, 
 \\ hen at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 
 
 Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with 
 a rheum ; 
 
 What willingly be did confoupd, he wail'd : 
 Htlieve it, till i weep too. 
 ■| C<rs. No, sweet Octavia, 
 
 * ou shall hear from me still; the time shall not 
 
 t-go my tliinking on you. 
 
 Ant. Come, sir, come ; 
 
 I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love : 
 Look, here \ ha\ e you ; thus I let you go, 
 And C've you to the gods. 
 
 Ctes. Adieu ; be hafijjy ! 
 
 Lep. Let all the number of tlw stars give light 
 To thy fair way ! 
 
 CiBs. Farewell, farewell ! {Kisses Octcs»ia^ 
 Ant. Farewell! 
 
 [Trunip! Is sound. Exetsfit, 
 Scene III. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palac9, 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and 
 
 Ai.EXAS. 
 
 Cleo. Where is the f How? 
 
 Alex. Half afeard to comSb 
 
 Cleo. Go to, go to : — Co re hither, sir. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Alex. Good majesty, 
 
 Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you. 
 But when you are well pleas'd. 
 
 Cleo. That Herod's head 
 
 ni have : But how ? when Antony is gone, 
 Through whom I might command it. — Come thoa 
 near. 
 
 Mes. Most gracious majesty, — 
 
 Cleo. Didst thou behold 
 
 Octavia ? 
 
 Mess. Ay, dread queen. 
 
 Cleo. Where ? 
 
 Mess. Madam, in Romo 
 
 I look'd her in the face ; and saw her led 
 Between her brother and Mark Antony. 
 
 Cleo. Is she as tall as me? 
 
 Mess. She is not, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Didst hear her speak ? Is she shrill-tongo'd, 
 or low ? [voic'd. 
 
 Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; she is loiv- 
 
 Cleo. That's not so good : — ne cannot like her 
 loi'g. 
 
 Char. Like her? O Isis ! 'tis impossible. 
 
 Cleo. 1 think so, Charmian: Dull of tongue, aiad 
 dwarfish ! — 
 What majesty is in her gait? Remember, 
 If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 
 
 Mess. She creeps ; 
 
 Her motion and her station are as one : 
 She shews a body rather than a life ; 
 A statue, than a breather. 
 
 Cleo. Is this certain ? 
 
 Mess. Or I have no observance. 
 
 Char. Three in Egypt 
 
 Cannot make better note. 
 
 Cleo. He's very knowing, 
 
 1 do perceiv't : — There's nothing in her yet : — 
 The fellow has good judgment. 
 
 Char. Excellent. 
 
 Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Mess. Madam^ 
 She was a widow. 
 
 Cleo. Widow? — Charmian, hark. 
 
 Mess. And I do think, she's thirty. 
 
 Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind ? is it long or 
 round ? 
 
 Mess. Round even to faultiness. 
 
 Cleo. For the most part too. 
 
 They are foolish that are so. — Her hair, what co- 
 lour ? [low 
 
 Mess. Brown, madam : And her forehead is a* 
 As sl»e would wish it. 
 
 Cleo. There is gold for thee. 
 
 Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : — 
 I will employ thee back again ; I fmd thee 
 Most fit for business : Go, make thee ready; 
 Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit messengar. 
 
 Char. A proper man. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much, 
 That so I harry'd him. Why, methinks, by him, 
 This creature's no such thiag. 
 
 Char. O, nothing, madam. 
 
 Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, aod 
 should know. 
 
 Char. Hath he seen majesty ? Isis else defeat 
 And serving you so long ! 
 
 Cleo. I have one thing more to a.sk h!ni yet, goo4 
 Charmian : 
 
610 
 
 ANTONY AND 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act TTI 
 
 But tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me. 
 Where 1 will write : All may be well enough. 
 Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV, — Athens. A Room in Antony's house. 
 jBw^er Antony and Octavia. 
 AkI. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 
 '1 hat were excusable, that, and thousands more 
 or seinbhible import. — but he hath wag d 
 New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and 
 
 read it 
 To public far ; 
 
 Spoke scautly of me : when perforce he coulj not 
 But pay niP, Kavms of honour, cold and sickly 
 He vented them ; most narrow nieasure lent me : 
 When the best hint was given him, he not took't. 
 Or did it from his teeth. 
 
 Ocia. O ray good lord. 
 
 Believe not all ; or, if you must believe, 
 Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, 
 if this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
 Praying for both parts : 
 And the good gocfs will mock me presently, 
 When I shall [>ray , O, bless mi/ lord and husband! 
 Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
 0, bless my brother! Husband win, win brother. 
 Frays, and destroys the prayer; no midway 
 'Tvv'ixt these extremes at all. 
 
 Ant, Gentle Octavia, 
 
 Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks 
 Best to preserve it : If I lose mine honour, 
 I lose myself: better I were not yours, 
 Than yours so branchless. But. as you requested, 
 Yourself shall go between us : Ihe mean time, lady, 
 I'll raise the preparation of a war 
 Shall stain your brother; Make your soonest haste; 
 So your desires are yours. 
 
 Octa. Thanks to my lord. 
 
 The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak. 
 Ycur re( cuciler 1 VVars 'tvvixt you twain would be 
 As ii ihe world should cleave, and that slain men 
 Should solder up the rift. 
 
 Ant. Wlien it appears to you where this begins. 
 Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
 Can never be so eqiud, that your love 
 Can equally move wilh them. Provide your going ; 
 Choose your own company, and command what cost 
 \o\w heart lias mind to. [Exeunt. 
 
 .ScKNE V. — The same. Another Roofn in the same. 
 Enttr Bnobarbus and Eros, meeting. 
 Eno. Wow now, friend Eros? 
 E7-US. l liere's strange news come, sir. 
 Eno. What, man ? 
 
 Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon 
 Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Tins is old ; what is the success ? 
 
 Eros. C;Ksar, having made use of him in the 
 wars 'giiinst Pompey, preeeotly denied him rivality ; 
 would not let him partake in the glory of the action : 
 and not restii>g here, accuses him of letters he had 
 formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, 
 seizes iuiu : So the poor third is up, till death en- 
 large his confine. 
 
 Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no 
 more ; 
 
 4nd throw between them all the food thou hast, 
 They'll giiiid the one the other. Where's Antony? 
 Eros, lie's walking in the garden — thus ; and 
 spurns 
 
 The rush that lies before him ; cries, Fool, Lepidus ! 
 And threats the throat of that his officer, 
 'J hat tniirder d Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Oax great navy's rigged. 
 
 Eros. For Italy, and Caesar. More, Domitius ; 
 My lord, desires you presently : my news 
 I wight have told heieafter. 
 
 jii»o, 'Twill be naught : 
 
 Cut let it be. — Bring me to Antony. 
 
 Ero», Corae, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VT. — Rome. A Room in Casar's kout€ 
 Enter C^SAR, Agrippa, and Mec^nas. 
 
 Cces. Contemning Rome, he has done all this 
 And more : 
 In Alexandria, — here's the manner of it, — 
 r the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
 Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
 Wfre publicly euthron'd : at the feet, sat 
 Casarion, whom they call my father's son; 
 And all tlie unlawful issue, that their hist 
 Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
 He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt; made her 
 Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia. 
 Absolute queen. 
 
 Mec. This in the public eye ? 
 
 C<es. I' the common shew place, where thej 
 exercice. 
 
 His sons he there proclaim'd. The kings of kings: 
 
 Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
 
 He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd 
 
 Syria, Cicilia, and Phsenicia : She 
 
 In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
 
 That day appear'd : and oft before gave audience, 
 
 As 'tis reported, so. 
 
 Mec. Let Rome be thus 
 
 fnform'd. 
 
 Agsr. Who, queasy with his insolence. 
 Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 
 
 Ca. The people know it ; and have oovy receiv'd 
 His accusations. 
 
 Agr. Whom does he accuse? 
 
 Cas. Caesar : and that, having in Sicily 
 Sextus Poinpeius spoil'd, we had not rated him 
 His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me 
 Some shipping unrestor'd : lastly, he frets. 
 That Lepidus- of the triumvirate 
 Shor.ld be depos'd ; and, being, that we detain 
 All his revenue. 
 
 Agr. Sir, this should be answer" d. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone. 
 I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel; 
 That he his high authority abus'd. 
 And did deserve his change ; for what I've conquerd, 
 I grant him part ; but then, in his Armenia, 
 And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 
 Demand the like. 
 
 Mec. He'll never yield to that 
 
 Cas. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. 
 
 Enter Octavia. 
 
 Octa. Hail, Csesar, and my lord! hail, most dea 
 CsBsar ! 
 
 Cces. That ever I should call thee, cast-away ! 
 
 Octa. You have not cail'd me so, nor have yo 
 c;mse. [ccme no 
 
 Ci£S. Why have yon stol'n upon us thus ? Vo 
 Like, Caesar's sister: The wife of Antony 
 Should have an army for an usher, and 
 The neighs of horse to tell of her approach, 
 Long ere she did appear; tiie trees by the way 
 Should have borne men; and expectation fainted 
 Longing for what it had not ; nay, the du^t 
 Shoidd have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
 Rais'd by your popuktus troops ; But you are cona 
 A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented 
 The ostent of our love, which, left unshewn, 
 Is often left unlov'd : we should have n)et you 
 By sea, and land ; supplying every stage 
 VVith an augmented greeting. 
 
 Octa. Good my lord. 
 
 To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it 
 On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
 flearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
 My grieved ear withal : whereon, I begg'd 
 His pardon for return. 
 
 Cues. Which soon he granted 
 
 Being ar. obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 
 Octa. Do not say so, my lord, 
 Cans. I have eyes uiioaboi 
 
5CENE 7. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 617 
 
 A.n(^ his affairs come to me on the wind. 
 Where is he now ? 
 
 Octa. My lord, in Athens. 
 
 Cas. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleopatra^ 
 Halh nodded him to her. He hath given his empire 
 Up to a whore ; who now are levying 
 The kings o'the earth for war : He hath assembled 
 Bocchus, the king of Lybia ; Archelaus, 
 Of Cappadocia ; Philadelphos, king 
 Of Paphlagoiiia ; the Thracian I inn:, Adallas : 
 King Malciius of Arabia; king of Pont; 
 Herold of Jewry; Mithridates, king 
 Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amintas, 
 The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, with a 
 More larger list of sceptres. 
 
 Octa. Ah me, most wretched, 
 
 That have my heart parted betwixt two friends. 
 That do atflict each otlier ! 
 
 CiBs. Welconae hither : 
 
 Your letters did withhold onr breaking forth ; 
 Till we perceiv'd, both how you were wrong led, 
 And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart : 
 Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
 O'er your content these strong necessities 
 But let determin'd things to destiny 
 Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Ronae : 
 Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd 
 Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods. 
 To do you justice, make them ministers 
 Of us, and those th^it love you. Best of comfort ; 
 And ever welcome to us. 
 
 Agr. Welcome, lady. 
 
 Alec. Welconje, dear madam. 
 Each heart in Rome does love and pity you ; 
 Only the adulterous Ajitony, most large 
 In his abouiinations, turns you olf ; 
 And gives his potent regiment to a trull, 
 That noises it against us. 
 
 Octa, Is it so, sir? 
 
 Ctes. Most certain. Sister, welcome : Pray yon, 
 Be ever known to patience : My dearest sister ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VIL — Antony's Camp, near the Promontory 
 of Actium. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus. 
 
 Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 
 Eno. But, why, why, why ? 
 
 Cieo. Tlioii hast f jrspoke my being in these wars ; 
 And say'st, it is not fit. 
 
 Eno Well, is it, is it? 
 
 Cleo. [s'tnot? Denounce against us, why should 
 not we 
 Be there in person? 
 
 Eno [Aside.) Well. I could reply : — 
 If we should .starve with horse and mares together, 
 The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear 
 A soldier, and his horse. 
 
 Cho. What is't you say : 
 
 Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony ; 
 Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his 
 time. 
 
 What should not then be spar'd. He is already 
 Traduc'd ibr levity ; and 'tis said in Rome, 
 That Photitius an eunuch, and your maids, 
 Manage this war. 
 
 Cleo. Sink Rome ; and their tongues rot. 
 
 That speak against us ! A charge we bear i' the war, 
 And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
 Appear the rf for a man. Speak not against it ; 
 I will not stay behirjd. 
 
 Eno. Nay, i have done : 
 
 Here comes the emperor. 
 
 Enter Antony and Canidius. 
 
 Ant, Is't not strange, Canidius, 
 
 That Irouj Tarentum, and Brundusium, 
 He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, 
 kn^ take ia Tory ue ?--You have heard on't, sweet ? 
 
 Cleo. Celerity is never more adoiir'd, 
 Than by the negligent. 
 
 Ant. A good rebuke, 
 
 Wliich might have well becom'd the best of mio. 
 To taunt at slackness. — Cauidius, we 
 Will fight with him by sea. 
 
 Cleo. By sea ! V\ bat elM 
 
 Can. Why will my loid do so ? 
 
 Ant. For he dares as itti 
 
 Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fighi. 
 
 Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pliarsalia, 
 Where Caesar fought with Pompey : But thc^s 
 offers, 
 
 Which serve not for his vantage, he )*hakes off; 
 And so should you. 
 
 Eno. Your ships are not well manu'ds 
 
 Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people 
 Ingross'd by swift impress : in Caesar's Heet 
 Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey fought 
 Their ships are yare ; yours, heavy. No disgrace 
 Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 
 Being prepar'd for land. 
 
 Ant. By sea, by sea. 
 
 Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw awaj 
 The absolute soldiership vou have by land ; 
 Distract your army, which doth most consist 
 Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted 
 Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
 The way which promises assurance ; and 
 Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 
 From firm security. 
 Ant. I'll fight at sea. 
 
 Cleo. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. 
 Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn ; 
 And, with the rest full-maun'd, from the head ^ 
 Actium 
 
 Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 We then can do't at land. — Thy business ? 
 
 Mess. The news is true, my lord ; he is descried . 
 Caesar has taken Toryne. 
 
 Ant. Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; 
 Strange, that his power should be. — Canidiua, 
 Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
 And our twelve thousand horse : — We'll to our 
 ship ; 
 
 Enter a Soldier, 
 Away, my Thetis ! — How now, worthy soldier ? 
 
 Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea ; 
 Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt 
 This sword, and these my wounds? Let the Egyp- 
 tians, 
 
 And the Phoenicians, go a clucking ; we 
 I lave used to conquer, standing on the earth, 
 And fighting foot to foot. 
 
 Ant. Well, well, away. 
 
 Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, ana 
 Enobarbus. 
 Sold. By Hercules, I think, 1 am i'the right. 
 Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action 
 grows 
 
 Not in the power on't : So our leader's led. 
 And we are women's men. 
 
 Sold. You keep by land 
 
 The legions and the horse whole, do you not? 
 
 Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, 
 Publicola, and Cailius, are for sea: 
 But we keep whole by land. This speed of CBeiar*s 
 Carries beyond behet. 
 
 Sold. While he was yet in Roma 
 
 His power went out in such distractions, as 
 Beguil'd all spies. 
 
 Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear yoa? 
 
 Sold. They say, out Taurus. 
 
 Can. Well I know the maa 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. The emperor calls for Canidiua. 
 
618 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Aci HI 
 
 Can. With news the time's with labour; and 
 throes forth, 
 
 Sach minute, some. [Exeu7it. 
 Scene VIII. — A Plain near Actium. 
 Enter C^sar, Taurus, Ojfi.cers, and others. 
 Ctes. Taurus, — 
 Taur. My lord. 
 
 C(£s, Strike not by land ; keep whole : 
 
 Piovr>ke not battle, till we have done at sea. 
 Da not exceed the prescript of this scroll : 
 Our fortune lies upon this jump. [Exeunt. 
 
 EfUer Anthony and Enobarbus. 
 Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon side o'the hill, 
 [ii eye of Csesar's battle ; from which place 
 We may the number of the ships behold. 
 And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Canidius, marching with his land Army one 
 way over the stage; ^^?^a J'aurus, the Lieutenant 
 ofCoisar^ the other way . After their going in, 
 is heard the noise of a sea-fight. 
 
 Alarum. /Je-ewYer Enobarbus. 
 Eno, Naught, naught, all naught ! I can hshold 
 no longer : 
 
 The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral. 
 
 With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder; 
 
 To see't, mine eyes are blasted. 
 
 Enter Scarus. 
 
 Scar. Gods, and goddesses. 
 
 All the whole synod of them! 
 
 Eno. What's thy passion ? 
 
 Scar. The greater cantle of the world is lost 
 With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
 Kirgdoms and provinces. 
 
 Eno. How appears the fight ? 
 
 Scar. On onr side like the token'd pestilence, 
 Where death is sure. Yon' ribald-rid nag of 
 Egypt, 
 
 W horn le|)rosy o'ertake ! i' the midst o'the fight, — 
 When vantage like a pair of twins appear d, 
 Both as tile same, or rather ours the elder, — 
 The brize upon her, like a cow in June, 
 Hoists sails and flies. 
 
 Eno. That I beheld : mine eyes 
 
 Did sicken at the sight on't, and could not 
 Endure a furthe* view. 
 
 Scar. She once being looPd 
 
 The noble ruin < f her magic, Antony, 
 Claps on his sea wing, and, like a doting mallard. 
 Leaving the fight in height, flies alter her : 
 [ never .<<aw an action ut such shame ; 
 Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
 Did violate so itself. 
 
 Eno. Alack, alack! 
 
 Enter Canidius. 
 
 Can. Onr fortune on the sea is out of breathy 
 And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
 Been what he knew himself, it had gone well : 
 O, he has given example for our flight, 
 Most grossly, by his own. (night, 
 
 Eno, Ay, are you thereabouts? Why, then, good 
 Indeed. {Aside,) 
 
 Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 
 
 Scar. 'Tis eajy to't ; and there I will attend 
 What further comes. 
 
 Can. To Caesar will I render 
 
 My legicus and my horse; six kings already 
 
 hew me tV^e way of yielding. 
 • Eno. I'll yet follow 
 
 he wounded chance of Antony, though my reason 
 
 its ID the wind against me. [Exeunt. 
 
 CBNB IX. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Antony and Attendants. 
 Ant. Hark, the laud bids me tread no more 
 upon't, 
 
 It is asham'd to bear me .-'-Friends, come hith«r» 
 I am so lated in the world, that I 
 Have lost my way for ever: — I have a ship 
 Laden with gold; take that, divide it; fly. 
 And make your peace with Cajsar. 
 
 Ait. Fly ! not we. 
 
 Ant. I have fled myself ; and have instructed 
 cowards ^ [gone ; 
 
 To run, and shew their shoulders. — Friends, 
 I have myself resolv'd upon a course, 
 Which has no need of you; be gone. 
 My treasure's in the harbour, take it. — O, 
 I follow'd that I blush to look upon : 
 My very hairs do mutiny; for the white 
 Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
 For fear and doting. — Friends, he gone ; you shall 
 Have letters from rae to some friends, that will 
 Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, 
 Nor make replies of loathuesp take the hint 
 Which my despair proclaims ; let that be lelt 
 Which leaves itself : to the sea side straightway : 
 I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
 Leave uie, I pray, a little : 'pray you now : — 
 Nay, do so ; for indeed, I have lost command, 
 Therefore I pray you :— I'll see you by and by. 
 
 (.Sits dotvn.) 
 
 Enter Eros and Cleopatra, led by Charmian 
 and Iras. 
 
 Eros, Nay, gentle madam, to him : — Comfort 
 
 Iras. Do, most dear queen. [him. 
 
 Char. Do! Why, wliatelse? 
 
 Cleo. Let me sit down. O Ju&o! 
 
 Ant. No, no, no, no, no. . 
 
 Eros. See you here, sir? 
 
 Ant. O ly, fy, iy. 
 
 Char. Madam,— 
 
 Iras. Madam ; O good empress ! 
 
 Eros. Sir, sir, — ^ 
 
 Ant. Yes, my lord, yes :— He, aft Philippi, kept 
 His sword even like a dancer, while I struck 
 The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 'twas I, 
 That the mad Brutus ended : he alone 
 Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had 
 In the brave squares of war : Yet now — No matter. 
 
 Cleo. Ah, stand by. 
 
 Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 
 
 Iras. Go to him, maaam, .speak to him; 
 He is unqualitied with very sliame. 
 
 Cleo. Well then, — Sustain me :— O! 
 
 Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen ap- 
 proaches ; 
 
 Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her; bul 
 Your comfort makes the rescue. 
 
 Ant. I haveofl'ended reputation; 
 A most unnoble swerving. 
 
 Eros. Sir, the queen. 
 
 Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See 
 How I convey my shame out of thine eyes 
 By looking back on what I have left behind, 
 'Stroy'd in dishonour. 
 
 Cleo. O my lord, my lord 1 
 
 Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought, 
 You would have follow'd. 
 
 Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well. 
 
 My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, 
 And thou should'st tow me after: O'er my spirit 
 Thy full supremacy thou knew'st; and that 
 Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
 Command me. 
 
 Cleo. O, my pardon. 
 
 Ant. Now I must 
 
 To tlie young man send humble treaties, dodge 
 And palter in the shifts of lowness; who 
 With half the bulk o'the world play'd as I pleat'd, 
 Making and marring fortunes. You did know, 
 How much you were my conqueror; and that 
 My sword, made weak by my aflection, would 
 Obey it on all cause. 
 
 Cleo. O pardon, )mrdoB. 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 619 
 
 Ani. Pall mi a tear, I say ; one of them rates 
 All that is won and lost : Give me a kiss ; 
 Even this repays rae. — We sent onr schoolmaster, 
 Is he come back ? — Love, I am lul! of lead : — 
 Home wine, within there, and our viands .—Fortune 
 knows. 
 
 We scorn her most, when most she offers blows. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene X. — Caesar's Catnp, in Egypt. 
 Enter CjEsar, Dolabella, Tm^REUS, and others. 
 
 C<es. Let hin» appear that's come from Antony. — 
 Know you him? 
 
 Dol. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster : 
 
 A.n argument that he ispluck'd, when hither 
 He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, 
 Which had superfluous kings for messengers, 
 Not many moons gone by. 
 
 Enter Euphroniu-s. 
 
 Ctes. Approach, and speak. 
 
 Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony : 
 I was of late as petty to his ends. 
 As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf 
 To his grand sea. 
 
 C^es. Be it so ; Declare thine office. 
 
 Eup. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and 
 Requires to live in Eg}'pt : which not granted, 
 He lessens his requests; and to thee sues 
 Vo let him breathe between the heavens and earth, 
 \ private man in Athens : This for him. 
 Nest, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness ; 
 Submits her to thy might ; and of thee craves 
 The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, 
 Now hazarded to thy grace, 
 
 Ctrs. For Antony, 
 
 [ have no ears to his request. The queen 
 Of audience, nor desire, shall Aiil ; so she 
 From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, 
 Or take his lil'e there : This if she perform, 
 She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 
 
 Eup. Fortune pursue thee ! 
 
 Cas. Bring him throus^h the bands. 
 
 [Exit Euphronius. 
 To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time : Despatch; 
 From Antony win Cleopatra : promise, (TuThyreus.) 
 And in our name, what she requires; add niore. 
 From thine invention, offers : wosiien are not, 
 In their best fortunes, strong ; but want will per- 
 jure 
 
 The ne'er- touch'd vestal : Try thy cunning, Thyreus, 
 Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
 Will answer as a law. 
 
 Thyr. Cajsar, I go. 
 
 C<ss. Observe how Antony beconies his flaw ; 
 And what thou tliink'st his very action speaks 
 In every power that moves. 
 
 Thyr. Caesar, I shall. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene XL — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Cleopatka, Enobarbus, Charmian, and 
 Iras. 
 
 Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus ? 
 
 Eno. Think, and die. 
 
 Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this ? 
 
 Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
 Lird of his reason. What although you fled 
 From that great face of war, whose se\eral ranges 
 Frighted each other? why should he follow? 
 The itch of his ali'ection should not then 
 Htive nick'd his captainship; at such a point. 
 When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
 The mered question : 'Twas a shame no less 
 Thau wa? his loss, to course your flying flags, 
 A Dfl leave his navy gazing. 
 
 Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Enter Antony, with Euphronius. 
 Ani. \h this his acswer ? 
 Eup. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ani, The ^aee 
 
 Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield 
 Us up. 
 
 Eijp. He says so. 
 
 Ant. Let her A.now it.— 
 
 To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head. 
 And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
 With principalities. 
 
 Cleo. That head, my lord ? 
 
 Ant. To him again ; Tell hiii!, he wears (he ros« 
 Of youth upon him; from which the world shooUl 
 note 
 
 Something particular : hia coin, ships, legions, 
 
 May be a coward's; whose ministers would prrksil 
 
 Unaer the service of a child, as soon 
 
 As i' the command of Caesar r I dare hira therefor© 
 
 To lay his gay comparisons apart, 
 
 And answer me declin'd, sword against sword, 
 
 Ourselves alone : I'll write it; follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony and Euphronina 
 Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Ca;sar will 
 Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the shew 
 Against a sworder. — I see men's judgments are 
 A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward 
 Do draw the inward quality after them. 
 To suffer all alike. 1 hat he should dream, 
 Knovviiig all measures, the full Cajsar wiM 
 Answer his emptiness! — Caesar, thou hast subdu'd 
 His judgment too. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 Att. A messenger from Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. What, no more ceremony? — See, my 
 women ! — 
 
 Against the blown rose may they stop their nose. 
 That kneel'd unto the buds.— Admit nim, sir. 
 Eno. Mine honesty, and I, begin to square. 
 
 {Asid$, 
 
 The loyalty, well held to fools, does make 
 Our faith mere folly : Yet, he, that can endure 
 To follow with allegiance a fallen lurd, 
 Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
 And earns a place i' the story. 
 
 Enter Thyreus. 
 
 Cleo. Cassar's will ? 
 
 Thyr, Hear it apart. 
 
 Cleo. None but friends; say boldly, 
 
 Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 
 
 Eno. He neeas as many, sir, as C«tsar has ; 
 Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master 
 Will leap to be his friend : For us, you know. 
 Whose he is, we are ; and that's, Caesar's. 
 
 Thyr. So.— 
 Thus then, thou most renow'd : Caosar entreats. 
 Not to consider in what case thou stand'st. 
 Further than he is Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. Go on ; Right royal. 
 
 Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony 
 As vou did love, but as you fear'd him. 
 
 Cleo. O! 
 
 Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, h6 
 Does pity as constrained blemishes. 
 Not as deserv'd. 
 
 Cleo. He is a god, and knows 
 
 What is n»ost right : Mine honour was not yielded 
 But conquer'd aier^'Iy. 
 
 Eno. To be sure of that, [AsicU, 
 
 I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky. 
 That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
 Thv dearest quit thee. [Exit Enobarbu9 
 
 Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar 
 
 What you require of him? for he partly begs 
 To be desir'd to give. It much would please his^ 
 That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
 To lean upon : but it would warm his spirits, 
 To hear from me you had left Antony, 
 And put yourself under his shroud, 
 Tlie universal landlord. 
 
 Cleo What's y« or OBM? 
 
620 
 
 ANTONY AND 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act in 
 
 Thyr My name a. Thyre js. 
 
 Oleo, Most kind messenger, 
 
 Say to great Coesar this ; In disputation 
 I kiss his conqu'ring hand: tell liim, I am prompt 
 To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel : 
 Tell him, from his all-obeyiv.g breath I hear 
 The doom of Egypt. 
 
 Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. 
 
 Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
 If that the former dare but what it can. 
 No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
 My duty on your hand. 
 
 Cleo. Your Ceesar's father 
 
 Oft, when he hath rous'd of taking kingdoms in, 
 Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place. 
 As it rain'd kisses. 
 
 Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
 
 Ant. Favours, bv Jove that thunders ! — 
 
 What art thou, fellow ? 
 
 Thyr. One, that but performs. 
 
 The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
 To have command obey'd. 
 
 Eno. You will be whipp'd. 
 
 Ant. Approach, there: — Ay, you kite! — Now 
 gods and devils ! 
 Authority melts from me : Of late, when I cry'd, ho ! 
 Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth. 
 And cry, Your will? Have you no ears ? I am 
 
 Enter Attendants. 
 Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip him. 
 
 Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp. 
 Than with an old oiie dying. 
 
 Ant. Moon and stars! 
 
 Whip him :— Were't twenty of the greatest tribu- 
 taries 
 
 That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them 
 So saacy with the baud of she here, (What's her 
 name, 
 
 Since she was Cleopatra?) — Whip him, fellows, 
 Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face. 
 And whine aloud for mercy: Take him hence. 
 Th?/r, Ma) k Antony,— 
 
 Ant. Tug hiu» away : being whipp'd. 
 
 Bring him again : — This Jack of Caesar's sliall 
 Bear us an errand to him. — 
 
 [Exeunt Attend, with Thyr. 
 You were half blasted ere I knew you: — Ha! 
 Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
 Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
 And by a gem of women, to be abus'd 
 By one that looks on feeders? 
 
 Cleo. Good my lord, — 
 
 Ant. You have been a boggier ever: — 
 But wlien we in our viciousness grow hard, 
 (O misery on't!) the wise gods seel our eyes ; 
 in out- own filth drop our clear judgments ; make us 
 Adore our errors ; laugh at us, while we strut 
 To, our confusion. 
 
 Cleo. O, is it corae to tliis ? 
 
 Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon 
 Dead Cassar's trt-ncher: nay, you were a fragment 
 Of Cneius Poinpey's ; besides wnat hotter hours, 
 Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
 Luxuriously pick'd out : — For, [ am sure. 
 Though you can guess what temperance should be. 
 Yoii know not what it is. 
 
 Cleo. Wherefore is this ? 
 
 Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards. 
 And say, God quit you! be familiar with 
 My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal. 
 And plighter of high hearts ! — O, that I were 
 Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
 
 he tjo-ned herd ! for I have savage cause; 
 
 nd to prociaiin it civilly, were like 
 
 hall jr'a neck, which does the hangman thank 
 
 or being yare about him. — Is he whipp'd ? 
 
 Ri-enter Attendants uith Thyreus. 
 I Att. SoiindlVi my lord 
 
 Ant. Cry'd iieV and begg'd he pardcm? 
 
 1 Att. He did ask favour. 
 
 Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
 Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry 
 To follow Caesar in his triuniph, since 
 Thou hast been whipp'd for following h'm; hence* 
 The white hand of a lady fever thee, [forth, 
 Shake thou to look on't. — Get thee back to Caesar, 
 Tell him thy entertainment: Look, thou say, 
 He makes me angry with him : for he seems 
 Proud and disdainful ; harping on what I am ; 
 Not what he knew I was: He makes me angry; 
 And at this time most easy 'tis to do't ; 
 When my good stars, that were my former guide% 
 Have empty lel't their orbs, and shot their fires 
 Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
 My speech, and what is done ; tell him, he has 
 Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom 
 He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture. 
 As he shall like, to quit me : Urge it thou: 
 Hence, with thy stripes, begone. [Exit Thyrem* 
 
 Cleo. Have you done yet ? 
 
 Ant. Alack, our terrene moon 
 
 Is now edips'd ; and it portends alone 
 The fall of Antony ! 
 
 Cleo. I must stry his time. 
 
 Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes 
 With one that ties his points ? 
 
 Cleo. Not know me yet? 
 
 Ani. Cold-hearted toward me? 
 
 Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be ao; 
 
 From my cold heart let heaven engender hail. 
 And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
 Drop in my neck : as it determines, so 
 Dissolve my life ! The next Cajsarion smite ! 
 Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb. 
 Together with my brave Egyptians all. 
 By the discandymg of this pelleted storm. 
 Lie graveless; till the flies and gnats of Nile 
 Have buried tliem tor prey ! 
 
 Ant. I am satisfied 
 
 Caesar sits down in Alexandria: where 
 I will opf ose his fate. Our force by land 
 Hath nobly held ; our sever'd navy too 
 Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like 
 Where hast thou been, my heart? — Dost thou hear 
 lady ? 
 
 If from the field I shall return once more 
 To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood; 
 I and my sword will earn our chronicle ; 
 There is hope in it yet 
 
 Cleo. That's my brave lord I 
 
 Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, 
 And tight maliciously: for when mine hours 
 Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives 
 Of me lor jests; but now, I'll set my teeth, 
 And send to darkness all that stop me. — Coniie, 
 Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me 
 All my sad captains, fill our bowls ; once more 
 Let's mock the midnight bell. 
 
 Cleo. It is my birth day : 
 
 I had thought to have held it poor ; but, since my lord 
 Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 
 
 Ant. We'll yet do well. 
 
 Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 
 
 Ant. Do so, we'll speak to tiiem ; and to-nigtit 
 I'll force [queen; 
 The wine peep through their scars. — Come on, my 
 'I'here's sap in't yet. The next time I do light, 
 I II make death love me; for I will contend 
 Even with his pestilent scythe. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Attendantt* 
 
 Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To b« 
 furious, 
 
 Is, to be frighted out of fear: and, in that mcod, 
 The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see still, 
 A diminution in our cajjtain's brain 
 Restores his heart: Wlien valour preys on reaiKW, 
 It eats the sword it fights with, i will seek 
 tj?aie way to leave him. [Exik 
 
Act R'. Scene 4. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 62* 
 
 ACT. IV. 
 
 Scene h— Caesars Camp at Alexandria. 
 Enter Cjesar, reading a letter; Agrippa, 
 
 Mec^nas, and others. 
 Cces. He calls me boy; and chides, as he had 
 power 
 
 Vo beat me out of Egypt; my messenger 
 He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal 
 combat, 
 
 Csesar to Antony : Let the old rnffian know 
 I have many other ways to die ; mean time, 
 I^angh at his clialienge. 
 
 Mec. Csesar must think, 
 
 When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted 
 Even to falling-. Give him no breath, but now 
 Make boot of nis distraction: Never anger 
 Made good guard for itself. 
 
 Ctes, Let our best heads 
 
 Ki ow, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
 We mean to fight: — Within our files there are 
 Of those, that serv'd Mark Antony but late, 
 Erioiii^h to fetch him in. See it be d(me ; 
 And feast the army : we have store to do't. 
 And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — A lexandria. A Room in the palace. 
 Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Char- 
 MiAN, Iras, Alexas, and others. 
 
 Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 
 
 Eno. No. 
 
 Ant. Why should he not? [fortune, 
 
 Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better 
 He is twenty men to one. 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, soldier, 
 
 By sea and land I'll tight; or I will live. 
 Or bathe ray dying honour in the blood 
 Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well? 
 
 Eno. V\\ strike ; and cry. Take all. 
 
 Ant. Well said : come on. — 
 
 Call forth ray household servants ; let's to-night 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 Be bounteous at our meal. — Give me thy hand. 
 Thou hast been rightly honest ; — so hast thou ; 
 And thou, — and thou, — and thou : — You have serv'd 
 me well, 
 
 And kings have been your fellows. 
 
 Cleo. What means this ? 
 
 Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow 
 shoots {Aside.) 
 Out of the mind. 
 
 Ant. And thou art honest too. 
 
 I wish, I could be made so many men ; 
 And all of you clapp'd up together in 
 An Antony; that I might do you service. 
 So good as you have dene. 
 
 Serv. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night; 
 Scant not my cups; and make as much of me, 
 As when mine empire was your fellow too. 
 And sutfer'd my command. 
 
 Cleo. What does he mean ? 
 
 Eno. To make his followers weep. 
 
 Ant. Tend me to-night ; 
 
 May be, it is the period of your duty : 
 Ha(>Iy, you shall not see me more ; or if, 
 A mangled shadow: perchance, to-morrow 
 You'll serve another master. I look on yon. 
 As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
 1 turn you not away ; but, like a master 
 Married to your good service, stay till death: 
 Tend me to night two hours, I ask no more. 
 And the gods yield you fort! 
 
 Eno. What mean you, sir, 
 
 To give them this discomfort ? Look, they weep ; 
 Ana I, an ass. am onion-ey'd ; for shame, 
 Trausforni ns not to women ! 
 
 Am* Ho. ho ho ! 
 
 Now the witcn take me, if I meant it thns! 
 Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearti 
 
 friends, 
 
 You take me in too dolorous a sense 
 
 I spake to you for your comfort ; did desire you 
 
 To burn this night with torches: Know, ray hearts^ 
 
 I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you, 
 
 Where rather I'll expect victorious life, 
 
 Than death and honour. Let's to supper ; come 
 
 And drown consideration. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III. — The same. Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter two Soldiers, to their Guard. 
 1 Sold. Brother, good night: to mon-ow is the day 
 '2 Sold. It will deternune one way: fare you well. 
 Heard you of nothing strange about the streets ? 
 
 1 Sold. Nothing : What ne ws ? 
 
 2 Sold. Belike, 'tis but a rumour; 
 Good night to you. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, sir, good night. 
 
 Enter two other Soldiers. 
 
 2 Sold. Soldiers, 
 Have careful watch. 
 
 3 Sold. And yon : Good night, good night. 
 {The first two place themselves at their posts.) 
 
 4 Sold. Here we : {They take their posts.) and it 
 
 to-morrow 
 
 Our navy thrive. I have an absolute hope 
 Our landmen will stand up. 
 
 3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army. 
 And full of purpose. 
 
 {Music of hautboys under the stag$ ] 
 
 4 Sold. Peace, what noise ? 
 
 1 Sold List, UstI 
 
 2 Sold Hark! 
 
 1 Sold. Music i'the air 
 
 3 Sold. Under the earth. 
 
 4 Sold. It signs well, 
 Does't not ? 
 
 3 Sold. No. [mean ? 
 
 1 Sold. Peace, I say. What should this 
 
 1 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd, 
 Now leaves him. 
 
 1 Sold. Walk ; let's see if other watchmen 
 Do hear what we do. {They advance to another 
 
 post.) 
 
 2 Sold. How now, masters ? 
 
 Sold. How now? 
 
 How now ? do you hear this? 
 
 {Several speaking together.) 
 1 Sold. Ay ; Is't not stranger 
 
 3 Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you hear? 
 
 1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter; 
 Let's see how't will give of!'. 
 
 Sold. {Several speaking.) Content : 'Tis strange, 
 
 [Exeuni, 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter AtiTotiY and Cleopatra; Charml-vn, and 
 others, attending. 
 Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros I 
 Cleo. Sleep a little. 
 
 Ant. No, my chuck. — Eros, come ; mine armour, 
 Eros ! 
 
 Enter Eros, with armour 
 Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on : — 
 If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
 Because we brave her. — Come. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, I'll help took 
 
 What s this for? 
 
 Ant. Ah, let be, let be I thon ni 
 
 The armourer of my heart . — False, false ; this, this. 
 
 Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help: Thus t mnst be 
 
 Ant. Well,wer; 
 We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow? 
 Go, put on thy defences. 
 
 Eros. Briefly, sir. 
 
 Cieo. Is not this buckled well ? 
 
622 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act rv 
 
 Ant. Rarely, rarely : 
 
 He thnt unbuckles this, till vVe do please 
 To do5"'t for our repose, shall hea** a stortn. — 
 Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen's a squire 
 More tight at this, than thou : Despatch.— O love, 
 That thou could'st see ray wars to day, and knew'sf 
 The royal occupation ! thou should'st see 
 
 Enter an Officer, armed. 
 
 A workman in't. — ^^ood-morrow to thee ; welcome : 
 Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge ; 
 To business that we love, we rise betime. 
 Aiid go to it with delight 
 
 1 Off. A thousand, sir, 
 Early though it be, have on their riveted trim, 
 And at the port expect you. 
 
 {Shout. Trumpets. Flourish.) 
 
 Enter other Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 2 Off. The morn is fair. — Good morrow, general. 
 Alt Good-morrow, general. 
 
 Ant, 'Tis well blown, lads. 
 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes. — 
 So, so; come, give me that: this way ; well said. 
 Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becon)es of me : 
 This is a soldier's kiss, rebukable, {Kisses her.) 
 And vvortiiy shameful check it were, to stand 
 On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee 
 Now, like a man of steel. — Vou, that will fight, 
 Follow me close; Ml bring y<u« to't. — Adieu. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony, Eros, Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 Char. Please you, retire to your chamber? 
 
 Cleo. Lead me. 
 
 He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might 
 Determine this great War in single light! 
 Then, Antony — But now, — Well, on. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Antony's Camp near Alexandria. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros; a 
 Soldier meeting them. 
 
 Sold. The gods make this a happy day to An 
 tony ! [prevail'd 
 
 Ant. 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once 
 To make me fight at land ! 
 
 Sold. Had'st thou done so, 
 
 The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
 That has this morning left thee, would have still 
 Follow'd thy heels. 
 
 Ant. Who's gone this morning? 
 
 Sold. Who ? 
 
 One ever near thee : Call for Enobarbus, 
 He shall not hear thee ; or from Csesar's camp 
 Say, I am none of thine. 
 
 Ant. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Sold Sir, 
 He is with Caesar. 
 
 Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 
 
 He has not with him. 
 
 Ant. Is he gone? 
 
 Sold. Most certain. 
 
 Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after ; doit; 
 Detain no jot, I charge thee : write to him 
 (I will subscribe) gentle adieus, and greetings: 
 Say, that I wish he never find more cause 
 To change a master. — O, niy fortunes have 
 Corrupted honest men: — Eros, despatch. [Exeunt. 
 Scene Vl.—Ccesar's Camp before Alexandria. 
 Flourish. Enter C^sar, with Agrifpa, 
 Enobarbus, and others. 
 
 Cats. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: 
 Our will is, Antony be took alive ; 
 Make it so known. 
 
 Agr. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Agrippa. 
 
 C<es. The time of universal peace is near: 
 Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world 
 Shall bear the alive freely. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Anton) 
 Is come into the field. 
 
 Ca!s. Go, charge Agrippa • 
 
 Plant those that have revolted in the van, 
 That Antony may seem to spend his fury 
 Upon himself. (Exeunt Cassar and fiia Train.] 
 
 Eno. Alexas dia revolt; and went to Jewry 
 On affairs of Antony.: there did persuade 
 Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, 
 And leave his master Antony : for this pains, 
 Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest. 
 That fell away, have entertainment, but 
 No honourable trust. I have done ill ; 
 Of which I do accuse myself so sorely. 
 That I will joy no more. 
 
 Enter a Soldier of Ceesar's. 
 
 Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 
 
 Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
 His bounty overplus; The messenger 
 Came on my guard ; and at thy tent is now, 
 Unloading of his mules. 
 
 Eno. I give it you. 
 
 Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus. 
 
 I tell you true : Best that you sa'f'd the bringer 
 Out of the host ; I must attend mine office, 
 Or would have don't myself. Your emperor 
 Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier. 
 
 Eno. 1 am alone the villain of the earth, 
 And feel I am so most. O Antony, 
 Thou mine of bounty, how wonldest thou .lave j)a!d 
 My better service, when my turpitude 
 Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows my heart: 
 If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
 Shall outstrik.e thought : but thought will do't, I feel. 
 I fight against thee ! — No: I will go seek 
 Some ditch, wherein to die; th-e foul'st best fits 
 My latter part of life. [Exit. 
 
 ScEN". VII. — Field of Battle between the Camps, 
 Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa, 
 and others. 
 
 Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far; 
 Caesar himself has work, and our oppression 
 Exceeds what we expected. [Exeuntt 
 
 Alarum. Enter Antony and Scarus, wounded. 
 
 Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought, indeed ! 
 Had we done so at first, we had driven them home 
 With clouts about their heads. 
 
 Atet. Thou bleed'st apace. 
 
 Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T. 
 But now 'tis made an H. 
 
 Ant. They do retire. 
 
 Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes ; I have yet 
 Room for six scotches more. 
 
 Enter Eros. 
 
 Eros. They are beaten, sir ; and our advantage 
 For a fair victory. (serves 
 
 Scar. Let us score their backs. 
 
 And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind ; 
 'Tis sport to maul a runner. 
 
 Ant. I will reward thee 
 
 Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 
 For thy good valour. Come thee on. 
 
 Scar. I ll halt alter. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene VI H. — Under the Walls of Alexandria. 
 Alarum. Enter Antony, marching; Scarus, awd 
 Forces. 
 
 Ant. We have beat him to his camp ; Run one 
 before. 
 
 And let the queen know of our ( ftests. — To-morrow, 
 Before the surj shall see us, we'll spill the blood 
 That has to-day escap'd. I thark yon all : 
 For doughty-handed are you; and have fought 
 Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been 
 Each man's like mine ; you have shewn all Hectom 
 
Scene 10. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRi^ 
 
 023 
 
 Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, 
 Tell them your feats ; • vhilst they with joyful tears 
 \Vas»h the concealment from your wounds, and kiss 
 The honour'd gashes whole. — Give me thy hand ; 
 
 {To Scarus.) 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, attended. 
 To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts. 
 Make her thanks bless thee. — O thou day o'the 
 world, 
 
 Chain my arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and all, 
 n^hrough proof of harness to my heart, and there 
 Kide on the pants triumphing. 
 
 Cleo. Lord of lords ! 
 
 O infinite virtue ! com'st thou smiling from 
 The world's great snare uncaught ? 
 
 Ant. My nightingale, 
 
 We have beat them to their beds. What, girl, 
 though grey 
 
 Do something mingle with onr brown ; yet have we 
 A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
 (ret goal for goal of youth. Behold this man; 
 Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand ; — 
 Kiss it, my warrior: — He hatn fought to-day. 
 As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 
 "^esfroy'd in such a shape. 
 
 Cleo. I'll give thee, friend, 
 
 armour all of gold; it was a king's. 
 
 Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled 
 Like holy Phcebus' car. — Give me thy hand; 
 Through Alexandria make a jolly march; 
 Hear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them : 
 Had our great palace the capacity 
 To camp this host, we all would su[) together; 
 And drink carouses to the next day's fate, 
 Which promises royal peril. — Trumpeters, 
 With brazen din blast you the city's ear; 
 Make mingle with our rattfing tabourines ; 
 That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- 
 gether. 
 
 Applauding our approach. [Exeunt. 
 Scene IX.— Casar's Camp. 
 Sentinels on their posts. Enter Enobarbus. 
 
 1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour. 
 We must return to the court of guard : T'he night 
 Is shiny ; and, they say, we shall embattle 
 
 13y the second hour i'the morn. 
 
 2 Suld. This last day was 
 A shrewd one to us. 
 
 Enu. O, bear me witness, night, — 
 
 8 Sold. What man is this ? 
 
 2 Sold. Stand close, and list to him. 
 Eno. lie witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 
 
 \Vhen men revolted shall upon record 
 Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
 Before thy face repent ! — 
 
 1 Sold. Enobarbus ! 
 
 3 Sold. Peace ; 
 Hark further. 
 
 Efio. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, 
 The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me ; 
 That life, a very rebel to my will, 
 May hang no longer on me : Throw my heart 
 Agair<st the flint and hardness of m.y fault; 
 Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder. 
 And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
 Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
 Forgive me in thine own particular; 
 But let the world rank nie in register 
 A master-leaver, and a fugitive : 
 O Antony! O Antony! {Dies.) 
 
 2 Sold. Let's speak 
 To him. 
 
 1 Sold. Let's hear hi ii, for the things he speaks 
 May concern Caesar. 
 
 1 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 
 
 1 Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer as his 
 Was never yet for sleeping. 
 
 9 8<,,d. Go we to him. 
 
 3 Sold. Awake, awake, st; speak, to us. 
 2 Sold. Hear you, sir! 
 
 1 Sold. The hand of death hath raught hiau 
 
 Hark, the drums [Drums afar uff,) 
 Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
 To the court of guard : he is of note : our hour 
 Is fully out. 
 
 2 Sold. Come on then : 
 
 He may recover yet [Exeunt with the boffy. 
 
 Scene X. — Between the two Camps. 
 
 Enter Antony and Scarus, tvith Forces 
 marching. 
 
 Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea ; 
 We please them not by land. 
 
 Scar. For both, my lord. 
 
 Ant. I would, they'd fight i'the fire, or in the aii ; 
 We'd fight there too. But this it is ; Our foot 
 Upon the hills adjoining to the city, 
 Shall stay with us : order for sea is given ; 
 'i'hey have put forth the haven: Further on. 
 Where their appointment we may best discover. 
 And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt 
 
 Enter CiESAR, and his Forces, marchsHg. 
 Cees. But being charg'd, we will be still by land 
 Which, as I take't, we shall ; for his best force 
 Is forth to man his gallies. To the vales. 
 And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Antony and Scarus 
 Ant. Yet they're notjoin'd: Where yonder pia© 
 doth stand, 
 I shall discover all : I'll bring thee word 
 Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit, 
 Scar. Swallows have buJIJ 
 
 In Cleopatra's sails their nest: the augurers 
 Say, they know not, — they cannot tell ; — look grini'j 
 And dare not speak their knowledge. Antocy 
 Is valiant, and dejected ; and, by starts, 
 His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear, 
 Of what he has, and has not. 
 
 Alarum afar off, as at a seafighU 
 Re-enter Antony. 
 
 Ant. All is lost; 
 
 This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me ; 
 My fleet hath yielded to the foe ; and yonder 
 They cast their caps up, and carouse together 
 Like friends long lost. — Triple-turn'd whore ! 'l3f 
 thou 
 
 Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart 
 Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly ; 
 For when I am reveng'd upon my charm, 
 I have done all : — Bid them all fly, be gone. 
 
 [Exit Scarm, 
 O sun, thy uprise shall I see no »«)re : 
 Fortune and Antony part here; even here 
 Do we shake hands. — All come to this? — The hearts, 
 That spaniel d me at heels, to whom 1 gave 
 "^I'heir wislies, do discandy, melt their sweets 
 On blossoming Cajsar; and this pine is bark'd, 
 Tliat o\erU)pp'd them all. Betray'd I am: 
 O tliis false soul of Egypt! this grave charm, — 
 W hose eye beck'd forth my wars, and cal I'd tii«« 
 home ; 
 
 W^hose bosom was my crovrnet, my chief end. 
 Like a ri^ht gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 
 BpHuil'd me to the very heart of loss. — 
 What, Eros, Eros ! 
 
 Enter Cleopatra. 
 
 Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt 
 Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his lov© 7 
 Ant. Vanish ; or I shall give thee thy deserving, 
 And blemisli Caesar's triumph. Let him takethae, 
 And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: 
 Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot 
 Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be she«r» 
 For poor'st diminutives, to dolts ; and iet 
 
624 
 
 ANTONY AND 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act rV 
 
 Patient Octavia plongh thy visasfe ap 
 
 With her prepared nails. lExtt Cleo.] 'Tis well 
 
 thon'rt gone. 
 If it be well to live : But better 'twere 
 Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
 Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! 
 The shirt of Nessas is npon me : Teach me, 
 Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage : 
 Let me lodge Liclias on the horns o'the moon; 
 And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, 
 Subdue my worthiest self. The vk^itch shall die; 
 To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall 
 Under this plot : s'he dies for't. — Eros, ho ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene XL — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and 
 Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. Help me, my women I O, he is more mad 
 Than Telamon tor his shield ; the boar of Thessaly 
 Was never so emboss'd. 
 
 Char. To the monnment: 
 
 There lock yonrseIf,and send him word yon are dead. 
 The soul and body rive not more in parting, 
 Than greatness going off. 
 
 Cleo. To the monument: — 
 
 Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself ; 
 Say, that the last 1 spoke was, Antony, 
 And word it, pr'ythee, piteously : Hence, 
 Mardian ; and bring me how he takes my death. — 
 To the monument. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene XIT. — The same. A not her Room. 
 Enter Antony and Eros. 
 Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me ? 
 Eros. Ay, noble lord. 
 
 Ant. Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish; 
 A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 
 A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 
 A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
 With trees upon't, that nod unto the world. 
 And mock our eyes with air: Thou hast seen these 
 signs ; 
 
 They are black vesper's pageants. 
 
 Eros. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a 
 
 tllOUglit, 
 
 The rack dislinuis ; and makes it indistinct. 
 As water is in water. 
 
 Eros. It does, my lord. 
 
 Ant. My good knave, Erbs, now thy captain is 
 Even such a body : here I am Antony ; 
 Yet cannot liold tliis visible shape, my knave. 
 [ made these wars lor Egypt; and the queen, — 
 Whose heart, I thought, 1 had, for she had mine; 
 Which, wiiil.st it was mine, had annex'd unto't 
 A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has 
 Pack'd cards witii Cajsar, and false play'd my glory 
 Unto an enemy's triumph, — 
 Nay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us 
 Ourselves to end ourselves. — O, thy vile lady ! 
 
 Enter Mardian. 
 She hath robb'd me of my sword. 
 
 Mar. No, Antony; 
 
 My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
 With thine entirely. 
 
 Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ; 
 
 She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. 
 
 Mar Death of one person can be paid but once ; 
 And that slie has discharg'd : What thou would'st do, 
 Is done unto thy hand ; the last she spake 
 Was, Antony ! most noble Antony ! 
 Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
 The name of Antony ; it was divided 
 Between her heart and Hps : She render'd life, 
 Thy name so buried in her. 
 
 Ant. Dead then? 
 
 Mar. Dead. 
 
 Ant Eros, unarm ; the long day's task is done. 
 And we must sleep. — That thou depart'st hence safe. 
 
 Does pay thy labour richly; Go. — Off, pluck off.— 
 
 [Exit Mardian, 
 The seven- fold shield of Ajiix cannot keep 
 The battery from my heart. O, clea^•e, my sides 
 Heart, once be stronger than th^ continent ; 
 Crack thy frail case ! — Apace, Eros, apace. — 
 No more a soldier :— Bruised pieces, go ; 
 You have been nobly borne. — From me a while.— 
 
 [Exit Eros. 
 
 I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
 
 Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
 
 All length is torture : — Since the torch is out, 
 
 Lie down, and stray no further: Now all labour 
 
 Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles 
 
 Itself with strength: Seal then, and all is done.— 
 
 Eros ! — 1 come, my queen : — Eros ! — Stay for nte : 
 
 Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand 
 
 And with our sf)rightly port make the ghosts gaze : 
 
 Dido and her ^neas shall want troops, 
 
 And all the haimt be ours. — Come, Eros, Eros! 
 
 Re-enter Eros. 
 
 Eros. What would my lord ? 
 
 Ant. - Since Cieopatra died 
 
 I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods 
 Detest mv baseness. I, that with my sword 
 Quarter'di the world, and o'er green Neptune's bacJ> 
 VVith ships made cities, condemn mysell", to lack 
 The courage of a woman; less noble mind 
 Than she, which, by her death, our Csesar tells, 
 / am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn, Eros, 
 That, when the exigent should come, (which now 
 Is come, indeed) when I should see behind me 
 The inevitable prosecution of 
 Disgrace and horror, that, on my command. 
 Thou then would'st ki'll me : do't ; the time is come j 
 Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st. 
 Put colour in thy cheek. 
 
 Eros. The gods withhold m<! 1 
 
 Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts. 
 Though enemy, lost aim, and could not ? 
 
 Ant. Eros, 
 Would'st thou be window'd in great Rome, and see 
 Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending dow0 
 His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
 To penetrative shame ; whilst the wheel'd seat 
 Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded 
 His baseness that ensued ? 
 
 Eros. I would not see't. 
 
 Ant. Come then ; for with a wound 1 must be cur'd 
 Draw that tliy honest sword, whicii thou hast worn 
 Most useful for thy country. 
 
 Eros. O, sir, pardon me. 
 
 Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thoa 
 not then 
 
 To do this when 1 bade thee? Do it at once ; 
 
 Or thy precedent services are all 
 
 But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 
 
 Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance 
 Wherein the worship ol' the whole world lies. 
 
 Ant. Lo thee. {Turning from him. 
 
 Eros. My sword is drawn. 
 
 Ant. Then let it do at once 
 
 The thing why thou hast drawn it. 
 
 Eros. My dear master 
 
 My captain, and my emperor! let me say, 
 Before I strike this bloody -stroke, farewell 
 
 Ant. 'Tis said, man; — and farewell. 
 
 Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now.^ 
 
 Ant. Now, Mrys 
 
 Eros. Why, there then : — {Falls on his sword.) 
 
 Thus do I escape the sorrow 
 Of Antony's death. [Dies.) 
 
 Ant. Thrice nobler than myself! 
 
 Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what 
 I should, and thou could'st not. My queen and Eros 
 Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 
 A nobleness in record : But I will be 
 A bridegroom in my deatli, and run into't 
 As to a lover's bed. Come then ; and, £rrvi, 
 
Scene 18. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 625 
 
 Thy mafjter dies thy scholar ; to do thus 
 
 [Failing on his sword.) 
 I learn'd of ihee. How ! not yt t uead ? not dead 
 The guard I — ho ! — O, despatch rue. 
 
 Enter Dercetas and Guard. 
 
 1 Guard. What's the noise ? 
 Ani. I have done my work ill. friends; O, make 
 
 an end 
 Of what I ha\e begun. 
 
 2 Guard. The star is fallen. 
 J Guard. And time is at his period. 
 
 A/L Alas, and woe ! 
 
 AnL Let him, that loves me, strike me dead. 
 
 1 Guard. Not L 
 
 2 Guard. Nor L 
 
 3 Guard. Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard. 
 Der. Thy death and lbrtnr.es bid thy followers fly. 
 
 This sword but shewn to Ciesar, with this tidings, 
 Shall eater me witli him. 
 
 Enter DiOMEDES. 
 
 Dio. Where's Antony ? 
 
 Der. There, Diomed, there. 
 
 Dio. Lives he ? 
 
 Wilt thon not answer, man ? {Exit Dercetas. 
 
 Ant. Art thou there, Diomed ? Draw thy sword, 
 and give me 
 Sufficing strokes for death. 
 
 Dio. Most absolute lord. 
 
 My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
 
 Ant. When did she send tiiee ? 
 
 Dio. Now, my lord. 
 
 Ant. . Where is she? 
 
 Did. Lock'd in her monument. She had a pro- 
 phesying fear 
 Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw 
 (Which never shall be found,) you did suspect 
 She had dispos'd with Csesar, and that your rage 
 Would not be purg d, she sent you word she was 
 dead ; 
 
 But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
 Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
 f dread, iw late. 
 An t. Too late, good Diomed -.—Call my guard, 
 I pr'ythee. 
 
 Dio. What, ho! the emperor's guard! The 
 guard, vvhat, ho ! 
 Come, your lord calls. 
 
 Enter some of the Guard. 
 Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra 
 bides ; 
 
 Tis the last service that I shall command you. 
 
 1 Guard. Woe are we, sir, you may not live to 
 All your true followers out. [wear 
 
 ^//. Most heavy day. 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp 
 fate 
 
 To grace it with your sorrows : bid that welcome 
 Which comes to punish us, and we punish it 
 Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up: 
 I have led you oft : can y me now, good friends, 
 And have my thanks lor all, 
 
 , [Exeunt, bearing Antony. 
 
 Scene X\W.— The same. A Monument. 
 Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, ««c/1ras. 
 Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. 
 Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 
 Cleo. No, I will not : 
 
 All strange and terrible events are welcome, • 
 But comforts vve despise ; our size of sorrow, 
 Pivpoition'd to our cause, must be as great 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 As that which makes it, — How now ? is he dead ? 
 
 Dio. His death's ui)on him. but not dead. 
 Look out o'the other side yt)ur monument, 
 tils guard have brought him thithet 
 
 j Filter Antony, bor?ie by the Gnafil. 
 
 Cleo. , O thou sun, 
 
 I Burn me great sphere thou mov'st in! — darkling! 
 i stand 
 
 ! The varying shore o'the world ! — O Antony ! 
 Antony, Antony! — Charmian, help; help, Iras; 
 Help, friends below ; let's draw him hitiier 
 Ant. A'eac«S 
 
 I Not Ciesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
 
 I But Antony's hath triumphed on itself. 
 
 i Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antooy 
 Should conquer Antony; but woe 'tis so! 
 
 I Ant. I am dying, Ei^ypt, dying; only 
 
 ' I here impoiiune death a while, until 
 
 j Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
 1 lay Upon thy lips, — 
 
 Cleo. I dare not, dear, 
 
 (Dear my lord, pardon) I dare not. 
 Lest I be taken : not the imperious shevir 
 Of the full-fortun'd C^sar ever shall 
 Be brood; d with tne ; if knife, drugs, serpents, hsTe 
 Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe : 
 Your wile Octavia, with her modest eyes. 
 And still conclusion, shuU acquire no honour 
 Demuring upon me. — But come, come, Antony, — 
 Help me, my women, — we must draw tliee up;— 
 Assist, good friends. 
 
 Ant. O, quick, or I am gone, 
 
 Cleo. Here's sport, indeed ! — How heavy weigk, 
 my lord! 
 
 Our strength is all gone into heaviness. 
 That makes the weight! Had I great Juno's power 
 The strong-vving'd iVJercurv' should letch thee up. 
 And set thee by Jove's side. V^et come a little,— 
 Wishers were ever fools ; — O, come, come, corae ; 
 
 {They drato Antony up. 
 And welcome, welcome I die, where thou hast liy'd 
 Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power, 
 Thus would I wear them out. 
 
 All, A heavy sight! 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying : 
 Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 
 
 Cleo. No, let me speak ; and let me rail so high. 
 That the frdse housewife Fortune break her wheel 
 Provok'd by my offence. 
 
 Ant. One word, sweet queen 
 
 Of Caesar seek your honour with your safety. — O 
 
 Cleo. They do not go together 
 
 Ant. Gentle, hear we 
 
 None about Caesar trust, but Proculeius. 
 
 Cleo. My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust; 
 None about Caisar. 
 
 Ant. 'We miserable change now at my end. 
 Lament nor sorrow at : but please your thoughts. 
 In feeding them with these my former fortunes 
 Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o'the world. 
 The noblest: and do now not basely die 
 Nor cowardly ; put olf my helmet to 
 My couijiryman, a Roman, by a Roman 
 Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, ray spirit is going; 
 I can no more. (Di/m 
 
 Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't die '? 
 
 Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide 
 In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
 No better than a stye ? — O, see, my women, 
 The crown o'the earth doth melt: — My lord ! — 
 O, wither'd is the garland of the war, 
 The soldier's pole is fallen ; young boys, and girls. 
 Are level now with men; the odds is gone. 
 And there is nothing left remarkable 
 Beneath the visiting moon. {She fainiM^) 
 
 Char. O, quietness, lady ! 
 
 Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 
 
 Char. Lady,— 
 
 Iras. Madam^ 
 
 Char. O madam, madam, madam! 
 
 Iras. Royal Egypt! 
 
 Empress ! 
 
 Char. Peace, peace, Ira*» 
 
 40 
 
626 ANTONY AND 
 
 Clett, Nrt more, but e'en a woman ; and com- 
 roanded 
 
 By i»'ich poor passion as the maid that milks, 
 And Joes the meanest chares. — It were for rae 
 To throw my sceptn^ at the injurious gods; 
 To tell them, that this world did equal tlieirs. 
 Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but naught; 
 Patl<>nce is sottish; aud impatience does 
 Bec vnie a dog that's mad : Tlien is it sin, 
 To rush into tlie secret house of death, 
 Ere death dare come to -.is ? — How do you, women? 
 What, what ? good ciieer ! Wiiy, how now, Char- 
 luian ? 
 
 My noble girls! — Ah. women, women ! look, 
 
 Our hunp is spent, it's out : — Good sirs, take 
 
 lieart ; — ( To the Guard below.) 
 
 We'll bury him : and then, what's brave, what's 
 
 noble, 
 
 UeVs do it after the high Roman fashion. 
 
 And make death proud to take us. Come, away : 
 
 This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
 
 Ah, women, women 1 come ; we have no friend 
 
 But resolution, and the briefest end. 
 
 [Exeunt ; those above bearing off Antony's body. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Ccesar's Camp before Alexandria. 
 Enter C^sar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Mec^nas, 
 Oallus, Proculeius, and others. 
 
 Cces. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield ; 
 Being so frustrate, t<ell him, he mocks us by 
 The pauses that he makes. 
 
 Dol. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Dolabella. 
 
 Enter Dercetas, with the sword of Antony. 
 
 C<£S. Wherefore is that? and what art thou, that 
 Appear thus to us? [dar'st 
 
 J)er. I am call'd Dercetas ; 
 
 Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy 
 Best to be serv'd : whilst he stood up, and spoke, 
 Hi? was my master; and I wore my life, 
 To spend upon his haters : If thou please 
 r© take me to thee, as I was to him 
 I'll be to C»jsar ; if thou pleasest not, 
 I yield thee up my life. 
 
 6W. What is't thou say'st ? 
 
 JJer. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead, 
 
 Cas. The breaking of so great a thing should make 
 A gi^ater crack : The round world should have shook 
 Lions into civil streets. 
 
 And citizens to tiieirdens: The death of Antony 
 Is not a single doom; in the name lay 
 A moiety of the world. 
 
 Der. He is dead, Caesar; 
 
 Not Ity a public minister of justice. 
 Nor by a hired knife ; but that self hand 
 Wluch writ his honour in the acts it did, 
 Hath, witli ti»e courage which the heart did lend it, 
 Splitted the heart. — 'Fhis is his sword, 
 I rohb'd his wound of it ; behold it stain'd 
 Witii his most noble blood. 
 
 Cess. Look yon sad, friends? 
 
 The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings 
 To wash the eyes of kings. 
 
 Ayr. And strange it is, 
 
 Tliat nature must compel us to lament 
 Our most persisted deeds. 
 
 Mec. ^ His taints and honours 
 
 Waited *>qual with him. 
 
 Ayr. A rarer spirit never 
 
 Did steer humanity : but you, gods, will give ns 
 Some faults to make ns men. C*sar is touch'd. 
 
 Mec, When such a spacious mirror's set before 
 He netds must see himself. [him, 
 
 Cas. O Antony .' 
 
 I have followed thee to this: — But we do lance 
 Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce 
 Have siiewn to thee such a declining day, 
 Or look on thine ; we could not stall together 
 Id the whole world : But yet hi lut lameoi. 
 
 CLEOPATRA. Act V. 
 
 With tears as sovereign as the blond of hearU^ 
 
 That thou, my brother, my competitor 
 
 In top of all design, my mate in empire. 
 
 Friend and companion in the front of war, 
 
 The arm of mine own body, and tlie heart 
 
 Where mine his thoughts did kindle, — thatooratan^ 
 
 IJnreconcileable, should divide 
 
 Our equalness to this. — Hear me, good friends,— 
 
 But I will tell you at some meeter season; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. i 
 The business of this man looks out of him. 
 We'll hear him what he says. — Wlience are you ? 
 
 Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my mis- 
 Confin'd in ail she has, her monument, [tress 
 Of thy intents desires instruction ; 
 Tliat she preparedly may frame herself 
 To the way she's forced to. 
 
 Cifs. Bid her have good heart; 
 
 She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, 
 How honourable and how kindly we 
 Determine lor her: for Caesar cannot live 
 To be ungentle. 
 
 Mess. So the gods preserve thee. \Exit 
 
 Ctts. Come hither, Proculeius ; Go, and say. 
 We purpose her no shame : give her what comforts 
 The quality of her passion sliall require ; 
 Lest, in her greatness, by s>)me mortal stroke 
 She do defeat us : for her life in Rome 
 W ould be eternal in our triumph : Go, 
 And. with your speediest, bring us what she says. 
 And how you find of her. 
 
 Pro. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Proculeius, 
 
 Cas. Gallus, go you along.: — Where's Dolabella, 
 To second Proculeius? [Exit Gallus. 
 
 Ayr. §C Mec. Dolabella ! 
 
 Ctes. Let him alone, for I remember now 
 How he's employed ; he shall in time be ready. 
 Go with me to my tent ; where you shall see 
 How hardly I was drawn into tnis war; 
 How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
 In all my writings : Go with me, and see 
 What 1 can shew in this. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene II. — Alexandria. A Room in the 
 Monument. 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 
 Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
 A better life : 'Tis paltry to be Caesar ; 
 Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, 
 A minister of her will ; And it is great 
 To do that thing that ends all other deeds; 
 Which shackles accidents, and bolts up changi^i ; 
 Which sleeps, and never palates more the dutjg, 
 The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. 
 
 Enter, to the gates of the Monument, PROCULEirs, 
 Gallus, and Soldiers. 
 
 Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt; 
 And bids thee study on what fair demands 
 Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 
 
 Cleo. (Within.) What's thy name? 
 
 Pro. Mv name is Proculeius. 
 
 Cleo. [Within.) Antony 
 Did tell me of you, bade me trust you 
 I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd, 
 That have no use for trusting, if your master 
 Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell Uns 
 That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
 No less beg than a kingdom : if he please 
 To give me conquer'd l^gypt for my son, 
 He ^ives me so much of mine own, as I 
 Will kneel to him with thanks. 
 
 Pro. Be of good cheer. 
 
 You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing 
 Make your full reverence freely to my lord. 
 Who is so full of grace, that it flows over 
 On all that need : Let me report to hira 
 Your sweet dependency; and you s(.'t<ll find 
 A conqueror, that will pray iu aid for kindness. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 627 
 
 Wliere he for gjace is kneel'd to. 
 
 Cleo. {Within.) Pray you, tell him 
 
 f am his fbrtiine's vassal, and I send him 
 The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
 A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly 
 Look him i' the face. 
 
 Pro. This I'll report, dear lady. 
 
 Have comfort; for I know your plight is pitied 
 Of him that caus'd it. 
 
 Gal. You see how easily she may Ke sinpris'd; 
 {Here Proculeius, and two of the Guard, 
 ascend the Monument by a ladder 
 placed against a windotv, and having 
 descended, come behind Cleopatra. Some 
 of the Guard unbar and open the gates.) 
 Cruapd her till Caisar come. 
 
 ( To Proculeius and the Guard.) [Exit Gallus. 
 Iras. Royal queen ! 
 
 Char. O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen! 
 
 Cho. Quick, quick, good hands. 
 
 {Drawing a dagger.) 
 
 Pro. Hold, worthy Tady, hold : 
 
 {Seizes and disarms her.) 
 Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 
 Reliev'd, but not betray'd. 
 
 Cleo. What, of death too, 
 
 That rids our dogs of languish ? 
 
 Pro. Cleopatra, 
 Do not abuse my master's bounty by 
 The undoing of yourself : let the world see 
 His nobleness well acted, which your death 
 Will never let come forth. 
 
 Cleo. Where art thou, death ? 
 
 Oome hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen 
 Worth many babes and beggars ! 
 
 Pro. O, temperance, lady I 
 
 Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir ; 
 If idle talk will once be necessary, 
 I'll not Bleep neither: This mortal house I'll ruin. 
 Do Caasar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
 Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court; 
 Nor once be chastis'd with tlie sober eye 
 Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up. 
 And shew me to the shouting varletry 
 Of censuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in ]Elo[ypt 
 Be gentle grave to me ! rather on Nilus' mud 
 'Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies 
 Blow me intu abhorring I rather make 
 My country's high pyramides my gibbet, 
 And hang me up in chains ! 
 
 Pro. You do extend 
 
 These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
 Find cause in Cfesar. 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 Dol. Proculeius, , 
 
 What thou hast done, thy master Caasar knows, 
 And iie hath sent for thee : as for the queen, 
 I'll take her to my guard. 
 
 Pro. So, Dolabella, 
 
 It sliall content me best : be gentle to her. 
 To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, 
 
 ( To Cleopatra.) 
 
 If you'll employ me to him. 
 
 C/eo. Say, I would die. 
 
 [Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers. 
 Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ? 
 Cleo. I cannot tell. 
 
 Dol. Assuredly, you know me. 
 
 Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known. 
 Vou laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams; 
 ia't not yuur trick 'i 
 
 Dili I imderstand not, madam. 
 
 Cleo. I dream'd, tiiere was an emperor Antony ;-— 
 0, suci'i unother sleep, that I might see 
 Butsui'.h another man ! 
 
 Dol. If it might please you, — 
 
 Clea. His face was as tlie heavens j and therein 
 stuck _ [lighted 
 
 A cun and muon: which kept their course, and 
 
 The little O, the earth. 
 
 Dol. Most sovereign creature,— 
 
 Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd Him 
 Crested the world : his voice was propertied 
 As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; 
 But when he meant to quail anc shake the orb. 
 He was a rattling thunder. For his bounty. 
 There was no winter in't; an autunm 'twas, 
 That grew the more by reaping; His delights 
 Were dolphin-like: they shew'd his back abovt 
 The elenjent they liv'd in ; In his livery 
 Walk'd crowns, and crovvnets ; realms and islanda 
 As plates dropp'd from his pocket. [were 
 
 Dol. Cleopatra, — 
 
 Cleo. Tliink you, there was, or might be, such 9 
 As this I dream'd of ? [man 
 
 Dol. Gentle madam, no. 
 
 Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. 
 But, if there be, or ever were one such^ 
 It's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuff 
 To vie strange forms with fancy ; yet, to imagine 
 An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy. 
 Condemning shadows quite. 
 
 Dol. Hear me, good madams 
 
 Your loss is as yourself, great ; and you bear it 
 As answering to the weight : 'Would I might nevei 
 O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel. 
 By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots 
 My very heart at root. 
 
 Cleo. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Know you, what Caesar means to do with me ? 
 
 Dol. I am loath to tell you what 1 would youkneWi 
 
 Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — 
 
 Dol. Though he be honourable,— 
 
 Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph ? 
 Dol. Madam, he will ; 
 
 1 know it. 
 
 Within. Make way there, — Ciesar. 
 
 Enter C^sar, Gallus, Proculeius, MecjenaSi, 
 Seleucus, and Attendants. 
 Cas. Which is the queea 
 
 Of Egypt? 
 
 Dol. 'Tis the emperor, madam. 
 
 {Cleopatra kneels-) 
 
 Ciies. Arise, 
 You shall not kneel : — 
 1 pray you rise ; rise, Egypt. 
 
 Cleo. Sir, the gods 
 
 Will have it thus ; my master and my lord 
 I must obey. 
 
 Cces. Take to yqu no hard thoughts ; 
 The record of what injijries you did us. 
 Though written in our flesh, we shall remember 
 As things but done by chance. 
 
 Cle.0. Sole sir o'the world, 
 
 I cannot project mine own cause so well 
 To make it clear; but do confess, I have 
 Been I tden with like frailties, which before 
 Have often shani'd our sex. 
 
 Ctes. Cleopatra, kno^. 
 
 We will extenuate rather than enforce: 
 If you apply yourself to our intents, 
 (Which towards you are most gentle,) you shall fiadi 
 A benefit in this change ; but if you seek 
 To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
 Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 
 Of my good purposes, and put your children 
 To that destruction which I'll guard them from. 
 If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave. 
 
 Cleo. And may, through all the world : 'tis yoare { 
 and we, 
 
 Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall 
 Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. 
 
 C<es. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. This is the brief of nioney, plate, and jewels, 
 I am possess'd of : tis exactly valued ; 
 Not petty things admitted. — Where's Seleucus? 
 
 Sel. Here, madam. 
 
 Cleo. This is my treasurer ; lot him speak, my lor^ 
 
628 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act y 
 
 L j)'>n his periJ, that I have reserv'd 
 
 Vo myself notliing-. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 
 
 Sel. Madam, 
 I ^lad rather seel my lips, than, to my peril, 
 8j.e;\k that which is not, 
 
 Cleo. What have I kept back ? 
 
 Sel. Enough to purchase vyhat you have made 
 known. 
 
 Cess. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra ; I approve 
 Your wisdom in the deed. 
 
 Cleo. See, C«sar ! O, behold, 
 
 flow pomp is follow'd ! mine will now be yonr's ; 
 And, should we shift estates, your's would be mine. 
 The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
 Even make me wild :— O slave, of no more trust 
 Than love that's hir'dl^What, goest thou back? 
 thoa.shalt 
 
 Go back, I warrant thee ; but I'll catch, thine eyes, 
 Though they had wings : Slave, soul-less villain, dog I 
 
 0 rarely base ! 
 
 Cas. Good queen, let ns entreat you. 
 
 Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this ; 
 That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me. 
 Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
 To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
 Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
 Addition of his envy I Say, good Caesar, 
 That I some lady's trifles have reserv'd, 
 Imnioment toys, things of such dignity 
 As we greet modern friends withal ; and say. 
 Some nobler token I have kept apart 
 For Livia and Octavia, to induce 
 Their mediation; must I be unfolded 
 With one that I have bred ? The gods ! it smites me 
 Beneath the fall 1 have. Pr'ythee, go hence ; 
 
 ( To Seleucus.) 
 Or I shall shew the cinders of my spirits 
 Through the ashes of my chance ; — Wert thou a man. 
 Thou would'st have mercy on me. 
 
 C^BS. Forbear, Seleucus. 
 
 [Exit Seleucus. 
 
 Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are mis- 
 thought 
 
 For things that others do; and when we fall. 
 We answer others' merits in our name. 
 Are tlK'relore to be pitied. 
 
 Cois. Cleopatra, 
 Not wl>!it 5^ou have reserv'd, nor whatacknowledg'd. 
 Put we i'tlie roll of conquest: still be it yours, 
 Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe, 
 Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
 Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd ; 
 Make not your thoughts your prisons : no, dear 
 queen ; 
 
 For we intend so to dispose you, as 
 Yourself sliall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep : 
 Our care and pity is so much upon you, 
 'I'hat we remain your friend: And so adieu. 
 Cleo. My master, and my lord ! 
 des. Not so : Adieu. 
 
 [Exeunt Casar and his train. 
 Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I 
 should not 
 
 Be noble to myself: but hark thee, Charmian. 
 
 ( Whispers Charmian.) 
 
 Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done. 
 And we are ibr the dark. 
 
 Cleo. Hie thee again: 
 
 1 have spoke already, and it is provided; 
 Go, put it to the haste. 
 
 Char. Madam, I will. 
 
 Re-enter Dolabella. 
 Dol. Where is the queen ? 
 
 Char. Behold, sir. [Exit Char. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella? 
 
 Vol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command. 
 Which my love makes religion to obey, 
 I teli ycu this: Caesar through Syria 
 intend) his journey ; and, within three days. 
 
 You with your chil(5ren will he send btfore: 
 Make your best use of this: I have perform'd 
 Your pleasure, and my promise. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella. 
 I shall remain your debtor. 
 
 Dol. I your servant. 
 
 Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol] Now 
 Iras, what think'st thou ? 
 Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shewn 
 In Rome, as well as 1 : mechanic slaves. 
 With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
 Uplift us to the view ; in their thick breaths. 
 Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded. 
 And forc'd to drink their vapour. 
 
 Iras. The gods forbid! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras : Saucy lictors 
 Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymer* 
 Ballad us out o'tune : the quick comedians 
 Extemporally will stage us, and present 
 Our Alexandrian revels; Antony 
 Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
 Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 
 I'the posture of a whore. 
 
 Iras. O the good gods ! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, that is certain. 
 
 Iras. I'll iiever see it ; for, I am sure, my nails 
 Are stronger than mine eyes. 
 
 Cleo. Why, that's the way 
 
 To fool their preparation, and to conquer 
 Their most absurd intents. — Now, Charmian ? — 
 
 Enter Chahmian. 
 Shew me, my women, like a queen : — Go fetch 
 My best attires ; — I am again for Cydnus, 
 To meet Mark Antony : — Sirrah, Iras, go. — 
 Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed: 
 And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give the« 
 leave 
 
 To play till dooms-day. — Bring our crown and all. 
 Wherefore's this noise ? [Exit Iras. A noise withiiu 
 
 Enter one of the Guard. 
 
 Guard. Here is a rural fellow, 
 
 That will not be denied your highness' presence; 
 He brings you figs. 
 
 Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an instrument 
 
 [Exit Guard. 
 May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
 My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing 
 Of woman in me : Now from head to foot 
 I am marble-constant: now the fleeting moon 
 No planet is of mine. 
 
 Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a basket. 
 
 Guard. This is the man. 
 
 Cleo, Avoid, and leave him.— [Exit Guard. 
 Hast thou the pretty wonn of Nilus there, 
 That kills and pains not ? 
 
 Cloivn. Truly I have him : but I would not be the 
 party that should desire you to touch him, for his 
 biting is immortal ; those, that do die of it, do seldom 
 or never recover. 
 
 Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on't? 
 
 Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard 
 of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very 
 honest woman, but something given to lie ; as a wo- 
 man should not do, but in the way of honesty : ho\t 
 she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt.— 
 Truly, she makes a very good report o' the worm: 
 But he that will believe all that they say, shall never 
 be saved by half that they do : But this is most fal< 
 lible, the worm's an odd worm. 
 
 Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewell. 
 
 Clown. I wish you all joy o' the worm. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell. {Clown sets down the basket.) 
 
 Clown. You must think this, look you, that the 
 v^orm will do his kind. 
 
 Cleo. Ay, ay; farewell. 
 
 Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trustei^ 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 G29 
 
 bit in the keeping of wise people ; for, indeed, there 
 is no g-oodness in the worm. 
 
 Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shj;ll be heeded. 
 
 Clown. Very good : eive it nothing, 1 pray you, for 
 t is not worth the feeding. 
 
 Cleo. Will it eat me ? 
 
 Cloicn. You must not tliink I am so simple, but I 
 know the devil iiinisf 11' will not eat a W(>man : — I 
 kn;)w, that a woman is a dish for tlie gods, if tlie devil 
 dress her not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils 
 do the i>"ds sieat harm in their women ; for in every 
 ten that they nmke, the devils mar five. 
 
 Cleo. Well, get thee goiire ; f \rewell. 
 
 Clown. Yes, forsooth ; I wish you joy of the worm. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Iras, with a robe, crown, §fc. 
 
 Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have 
 Immortal longings in me : Now no more 
 The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: — 
 Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. — Methinks, I hear 
 Autouv call ; I see iiim rouse hiuiself 
 To praise my noble act; I hear him mock 
 Hie luck of CcEsar, which the gods give men 
 To excuse their after wrath : Husband, I come: 
 Now to that name my courage prove my title ! 
 I am fire, and air; my other elements 
 I give to baser life. — So, — have you done? 
 Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
 Farewell, kind Charnnan; — Iras, long farewell. 
 
 {Kisses them. Iras falls and dies.) 
 Ha\e I the aspick in my lips? Dost fall? 
 It thou and nature can so gently part, 
 The stroke of death is as a lover's pirtch, 
 Which hurts, and is desir'd.. Dost thou lie still ? 
 If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 
 It is not worth leave-taking. [say, 
 
 Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may 
 File guds themselves do weep! 
 
 Cleo. This proves me base : 
 
 It siie first meet the curled Antony, 
 lle"li make flemaad of her: and spend that kiss, 
 Wliicl: is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch, 
 [ To the asp, which she applies to her breast.) 
 W\i\\ thy sharp teeth this knot lutrinsicate 
 Of life at once untie : poor venomous fool. 
 Be angry, and despafch. O, could'st thou speak ! 
 That 1 might hear thee call great Caesar, ass 
 Unpolicied ! 
 
 Char. O eastern star I 
 
 Cleo. Peace, peace ! 
 
 Dost tliou not see my baby at my breast, 
 i hat sucks the nurse asleep ? 
 
 CLcr. O, break! O, break! 
 
 Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, — 
 O Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too: — 
 
 {Applying another asp to her arm.) 
 What .should I stay — {Falls on a bed and dies.) 
 
 Char. h\ this wild world ? — So, fare tiiee well — 
 Now boast thee, death! in thy possession lies 
 A lass unparatlel'd. — Downy windows, close ; 
 And golden Piioebus never Be beheld 
 Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; 
 f'll m^^nd it, and then play. 
 
 Enter the Guwd, rufhing in. 
 I Guard. Where ig the ^ueen ? 
 
 Char. Speak softly, wake her not< 
 
 1 Guard. Caesar bath sent — 
 
 Char. Too slow a messenger. 
 
 {Applies the asp.) 
 O, come ; apace, despatch : I partly leel thee. 
 
 1 Guard. Approach, ho ! All's not well : Caesar't 
 
 beguil'd. [call him. 
 
 2 Guard There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; — 
 1 Guard. What work is here ? — Charniian, is thig 
 
 well done ? 
 
 Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess, 
 Descended of so many royal kings. 
 Ah, soldier! ' iDiet.f 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 
 Dol. How goes it here ? 
 
 •2 Guard. All dead. 
 
 I^ol. Caesar, thy thoughto 
 
 Touch their eflfects in this : Thyself art coming 
 To see perform'd the dreaded act, which thou 
 So sough t'st to hinder. 
 
 Within. A way there, way for Csesar 
 
 Enter C-esar and Attendants. 
 
 Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer; 
 That you did fear, is done. 
 
 Cees. Bravest at the last: 
 
 She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal, 
 Took her own way. — The nmnner of their deaths? 
 I do not see them bleed. 
 
 Dol. Who was last with them ? 
 
 1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought her 
 This was his basket. , [fig»; 
 
 Cas. Poison'd, then. 
 
 I Guard. O Caesar, 
 
 This Charmian lived but now ; she stood, and spake 
 I found her trimming up the diadem 
 On her dead mistress ; tremblingly she .stood. 
 And on the sudden dropp'd. 
 
 Cas. O noble weakness 1— 
 
 If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear 
 By external swelling: but she looks like sleep. 
 As she would catch another Antony 
 In her strong toil of grace. 
 
 Dol. Here, on her breast. 
 
 There is a vent of blood, and something blown; 
 The like is on her arm. [leavei 
 
 1 Guard. This is an aspick's trail: and these fig 
 Have slime upon them, such as the aspick leaves 
 Upon the caves of Nile^ 
 
 C<K«. Most probable. 
 
 That so she died; for her physician tells me, 
 She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite 
 Of easy ways to die. — Take up her bed; 
 And bear her women from the monument: — 
 She shall be buried by her Antony : 
 No grave upon the earth shall clip in it 
 A pair so famous. High events as these 
 Strike those that make them : and their story is 
 No less in pity, than his glory, which 
 Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall 
 In solemn shew, attend this funeral ; 
 And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, 8e« 
 High order in this great solemnity. [Eteunt, 
 
CYMBELINE 
 
 This play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogue, and some pleasing scenes; but they are obtained at 
 Ihz espense of much incongruity. To remark the folly of the Hot ion, the absurdity of the conduct, the confusion oi 
 £!s® ne.TCfs, and manners of difterent times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to wast« 
 criticism on unresisting imbecility; upon faults, too evident for detection, too gross for aggravation. JoAmon. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 fY MBELINE, King of Britain. 
 CLOTEN, Son to the Queen hy a former Husband. 
 LEONATUS FOSTHUMUS, a Gentleman, Husband to 
 Imogen. 
 
 BELAllIUS, a banished Lerd, disguised under the name 
 of Morgan. 
 
 Sons to Cymbeline , disguised under 
 the names of Polydore and Cadwal, 
 . supposed Sons to Belarius. 
 PHILARIO, Friend to Posthumus, ♦ Ttr,i;r,«^ 
 lACaiMO, Friend to Philario, f Italians. 
 A French Gejitlemun, Friend to Philario. 
 CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman Forces. 
 
 GUIDERIUS, 
 ARVlilAGUS, 
 
 A Romati Captaitt. 
 Two British Captains. 
 PISANIO, Serva?it to Posthumus. 
 CORNELIUS, a Physician 
 
 Two Gentlemen. ■ 
 Tvw Gaolers. 
 
 QUEEN, Wife to CymbeJine. 
 
 IMOGEN, JJaiighter to Cymbeline by a former Queex. 
 HELEN, Woman to Imogeit. 
 
 Lords. Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribimes, Apparitions, 
 a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spa7iish Gentle^ 
 man. Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Met 
 sengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 ScENEj — Sometimes in Britain ; sometimes in Italy. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Britain. The Garden behind 
 Cymheline's Palace. 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. You do not meet a man, but frowns: our 
 
 bloods 
 
 No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers ; 
 Still seem, as dors the kiaig's. 
 
 2 Gent. But what's the matter? 
 
 1 Gint. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, 
 
 whom 
 
 -He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow, 
 
 That late he married,) hath referr'd herself 
 
 Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded; 
 
 Her husbatid banish'd ; slie iniprison d : all 
 
 's outward sorrow; though, I think, the king 
 
 lie touch'd at very heart. 
 
 2 Gent. None but the king? 
 
 J Gent. He, that hath lost her, too : so is the queen, 
 'J'hat most desir'd tl)e match : But not a courtier, 
 Although they wear their faces to the bent 
 Of the king's looks, hath a heart tl'iat is not 
 Glad at the thing they scowl at. 
 
 2 Gent. And why so? 
 
 1 Getit. He, that hath miss'd the princess, isa thing 
 Too bad for bad report: and he, that hath her, 
 
 (I mean, that married her, — alack, good man! — 
 And therefore banish'd) is a creature such 
 As, to seek through the regions of the earth 
 For one his like, there would be something failing 
 Jn him that shoiild compare. I do not think. 
 So fair an outward, and such stuff within. 
 Endows a man but he. 
 
 2 Gent. Yon speak him far. 
 
 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself: 
 Crush him together, rather than unfold 
 
 His measure duly. 
 
 2 Gbnt. What's his name, and birth? 
 
 1 Gctit, I cannot delve him to the root : His father 
 Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour 
 Against the Romans with Cassibelan; 
 But had his titles by Tenantius, whom 
 He serv'd with glory and admir'd success ; 
 So gaiu'd the sur-addition Leonatus : 
 And had, besides this gentleman in question. 
 Two other sons, who, in the wars o'tlie time, 
 Died with their swords in hand ; for which their 
 father, 
 
 (Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, 
 Ttiat he quit being ; and his gentle la^y. 
 Big of this gentleman, our theme, def as'd 
 As he was born. The king, he takes the babfe 
 To \.\s protection ; calls him Posthumus ; 
 Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber: 
 
 Puts him to all the learnings that his time 
 Could nmke him the receiver of; which he took. 
 As we do air, fast as 'twas niinister'd ; and 
 In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court, 
 (Which rare it is to do.) most prais'd, most lov'd: 
 A sample to the youngest ; to the more mature, 
 A glass that feated them ; and to the graver, 
 A child that guided dotards : to his mistress, 
 For whom he now is banish'd,. — lier own price 
 Proclaims how she esteeui'd him and his virtue; 
 By her election may be truly read, 
 VVhat kind ol man he is. 
 
 2 Gent. I honour him 
 
 Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me. 
 Is she sole child to the king? 
 
 1 Gent. His only child. 
 
 He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing, 
 I\lark it,) the eldest of them at three y^'ars old, 
 I'the swathing clothes the other, from their nurser 
 Were stolen ; and to this hour, no guess in kno^ 
 Wliich way they went. [iedg% 
 
 2 Gent* How long is this ago? 
 
 1 Gent. Some twenty years. {vey'd! 
 
 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con- 
 So slackly guarded! and the search so slow, 
 1'liat could nut trace them ! 
 
 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, 
 Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at. 
 Yet is it true, sir. 
 
 2 Getit. I do well believe you. [man, 
 1 Gent. We must forbear : Here comes the gentle- 
 
 The queen, and princess. [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene \\,— The same. 
 
 Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 
 
 Queen, No, be assur'd you sliall not find me 
 daughter. 
 
 After the slander of most step-mothers, 
 
 Evil-ey'd unto you : you are my prisoner, but 
 
 Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
 
 That lock up your restraint. For you, PosthumnSt 
 
 So sdou as I can win the olFended king, 
 
 I will be known your advocate : marry, yet, 
 
 The fire of rage is in him ; and 'twere good, 
 
 You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 
 
 Your wisdom may inform you. 
 
 Post. Please your highnesi^ 
 
 I will from hence to-day. 
 
 Queen. You know the peril 
 
 I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
 The pangs of barr'd aftections ; though tne kine 
 Hath charg'd you should not speak together. [JSxit 
 
 I mo. O. 
 Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 Can tickle where she wounds ! — My clearest hus- 
 band, 
 
 f something fear tny father's wrath, but nothing, 
 Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what 
 iiis rage can do o« me : You must be gone ; 
 And I shall iiere abii'e the hourly shot 
 Of angry eyes; not comforted to live. 
 But there is this jewel in the world, 
 Tliat I may see again. 
 
 Post. My queen ! my mistress 1 
 O, lady, weep no more ; lest I give cause 
 I'o be sus|)ected of nrore tenderness 
 Than doth become a ni^in ! I will remain 
 The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth. 
 My residence in Kome at one Philario's ; 
 Who to my father was a friend, to me 
 Known but by letter : thither write, my queen. 
 And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, 
 Though ink be made of gall. 
 
 Re-enter Queen. 
 Qmm. Be brief, I pray you : 
 
 If the knig come, I shall incur I know not 
 How mucii of his dis^^leasure : Yet 1 11 move him 
 
 [Aside.) 
 
 To walk this way : i never do him wrong, 
 But he does buy my iujuiies, to be friends; 
 Pays dt ar for my oUences. [Exit, 
 
 Post. Should we be taking leave 
 
 As long a term as yet we have to live. 
 The loathnfess to depart would grow: Adieu ! 
 
 Imo. Nay, stay a little : 
 Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 
 Such party were too petty. Look here, love; 
 This diamond was u\y mothei's". take it, heart; 
 But keep it till you woo another wife, 
 When Imogen is dead. 
 
 Post. How ! how ! another ? — 
 ^'ou gentle gods, give me but this I have, 
 And sear up niy entbracements froni a next 
 With bonds of death ! — Remain thou here, 
 
 [Putting on the ring.) 
 Whih; sense can keep it on ! And sweetest, fairest. 
 As J my poor self did exchange for you, 
 'J\) jour so infinite loss ; so, in our trifles 
 I still win of you : For my sake, wear this ; 
 It is 'a manacle of lo\e; l"ll place it 
 Upon this fairest jprisoner. 
 
 [Putting a bracelet on her arm.) 
 
 Imo. O, the gods ! 
 
 When shall we see again? 
 
 Enter Cymbeline and Lords. 
 
 Post. Alack, the king! 
 
 Cpn. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence from my 
 sight ! 
 
 If, after this command, thou fraught the court, 
 VVith thy un worthiness, thou diest: Away ! 
 Thou art poison to my blood. 
 
 Post. The gods protect you ! 
 
 And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
 I am gone. ^ _ [Exit. 
 
 Imv. There cannot be a pinch in death 
 More sharp than this is. 
 
 CyTTu O disloyal thing, 
 
 That should'st repair my youth ; thou heapest 
 A year's age on me ! 
 
 Ifno. I beseech you, sir, 
 
 Harm not yourself witli your vexation ; I 
 Am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare 
 ■Subdues all pangs, all iears. 
 
 fCym. Past grace? obedience? 
 
 Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past 
 grace. (queen! 
 Cym. Tiiiit might'st have had the sole son of my 
 hno. O biess'd, that I might not ! I chose an eagle, 
 And cid avoid a puttoik. 
 
 Cym. Thou took'st a beggar ; wonld'st have made 
 A srat for baseuesa. [my throne 
 
 imo. No; I rather added 
 
 A iustre to it. 
 
 631 
 
 Cym. O thou vile oue . 
 
 Imo. Sir, 
 It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumasj 
 You bred him as my play-fellow; and he is 
 A man, worth any woman ; overbuys me 
 Almost the sum he pays. 
 
 Cym. What!~art thou mad ? 
 
 Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me ! — 'WooU 
 I were 
 
 A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus 
 Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 
 
 Re-enter Queen. 
 
 Cym. Thou foolish thiijig! — 
 
 Thev were again together : you have done 
 
 [TotheQuetn, 
 Not after our command. Away with her. 
 And pen her up. 
 
 Queen. 'Beseech your patience : — Peace, 
 Dear lady daughter, peace ; — Sweet sovereign, 
 Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself som 
 Out of your best advice. [comfort 
 
 Cym. Nay, let her languish 
 
 A drop of blood a-day ; and, being aged, 
 Die of this folly! [Exit. 
 
 Enter PiSANio. 
 
 Queen. Fye ! — you must give way . 
 
 Here is your servant. — How now, sir? What news ? 
 
 Pis. My lord, your son, drew on my master. 
 
 Queen. fla; 
 No harm, I trust, is done ? 
 
 Pis. There might have been. 
 
 But that ray master rather play'd than fought. 
 And had no help of anger: they were parted 
 By gentlemen at hand. 
 
 Queen T am very glad on't. [pait. — 
 
 Imo. Your son'» my father's friend; he takes liis 
 To draw upon an exile ! — O brave sir ! — 
 I would they were in Afric both together; 
 Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
 The ^oer back. — Why came you from your mast' * 
 
 Pis. On his command : He would not snltf r nn 
 To bring him to the haven : lel't these notes 
 Of what commands I should be subject to. 
 When it pleas'd you to employ me. 
 
 Queen. This hath oeeu 
 
 Your faithful servant; I dare lay mine horn ur, 
 He will remain so. 
 
 Pis. I humbly thank your hig'iiiiehS. 
 
 Queen. Pray, walk a while. 
 
 Imo. About some half iionr hence, 
 
 I pray you, speak with me : you shall, at h- - st. 
 Go see my lord aboard : for this time, leave lur'. 
 
 Scene 111.— J public Place. 
 Enter Cloten and two Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; 
 the violence of action hath made you leek as a sa- 
 crifice : Where air comes out, air comes in : there's 
 none abroad so wholesome as that you \ ent. 
 
 Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it-* 
 Have I hurt him ? 
 
 2 Lord. No, faith ; not so much as his patience. 
 
 ( Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable carcass 
 if he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel, if s 
 be not hurt, 
 
 2 Lord. His steel was in ibbt ; it went o'the 
 backside the town. [Aside.) 
 
 Clo. The vilain would not stand me. 
 2 Lord, No; but he fled forward still, tovyard 
 your face. [Aside.) 
 
 1 Lord. Stand you! You have land enough 
 your own : but he added to your having ; gave you 
 some ground. 
 
 2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans; 
 Puppies! [Asirle] 
 
 Clo. I would, they had not come betwceii ax 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
CYMBELTNE. Act 1 
 
 682 
 
 2 Lord. So would T, tni yon had measured how i 
 lonff a fool von were upon the ground. [Aside.) 
 
 Clo. Ac\ that she should love this fellow, and 
 refuse me .' 
 
 2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, she 
 js danined. {Aside.) 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, as 1 told you always, her beauty and 
 her brain go not together : She's a good sign, but 
 \ have st-en smail rellection of her wit. 
 
 2 Lord. She shiiv-s nut upon fools, lest the re- 
 Secliiin should hurt iier. [Aside.) 
 
 Clo. Conie, I'!! to my chamber : 'Would there 
 bid b^eri sotne hin t done ! 
 
 2 Lord. I wish not so ; unless it had been the fall 
 cf an ass, which is no great hurt. [Aside.) 
 
 Clo. YouMl go with us ? 
 
 1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 
 Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 
 
 2 Lord. Well, my. lord. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 
 Enter Imogen and Pisanio. 
 Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o'the 
 haven, 
 
 And question'dst every sail : If he should write. 
 And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost 
 As offer'd mercy is. What was the last 
 That he spake to thee ? 
 
 Pis, 'Twas, His queen, his queen ! 
 
 Imo. Then wav'd his handkerchief? 
 
 Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 
 
 Imo. Senseless linen! happier therein than I ! — 
 And that was all ? 
 
 Pis, No, madam ; for so long 
 
 As he could make me with this eye or ear 
 Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
 The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief. 
 Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind 
 Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, 
 How swift his ship. 
 
 Imo, Thou sbould'st have made liim 
 
 As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
 To after-eye him. 
 
 Pis, Madam, so I did. 
 
 Imo, I would have broke mine eye-strings ; 
 crack'd them, but 
 To look upon him ; till the diminution 
 Of space had pointed him sharp as tny needle : 
 Nay, foUow'd him, till he had melted from 
 The smallness of a gnat to air ; and then [nio, 
 Have turn'd mine eye^ and wept. — But, good Fisa- 
 When shall we hear from him ? 
 
 Pis. Be assur'd, madam, 
 
 With his next vantage. 
 
 Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
 Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him, 
 How 1 would think on him, at certain hours. 
 Such thoughts, and such ; or I could make him swear. 
 The shes of Italy should not betray 
 Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him 
 At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
 To encounter me with orisons, for then 
 I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
 Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
 Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, 
 And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north. 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. The queen, madam, 
 
 Desires your highness' company. [patch'd. — 
 
 hno. Those things I bid you do, get them des- 
 I will attend the queen. 
 
 Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Rome. An Apartment in Philario's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Phila.rio. Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutch- 
 maw, and a Spaniard, 
 lach. Believe it. sic: I have .s^en him 'a Britain : 
 
 he was then of a crescent note* expected to proy« 
 so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name 
 of: but 1 could then have looked on him without 
 the help of admiration : though the catalogue of his 
 endowments had been tabled by his side, and 1 tj 
 peruse him by items. 
 
 Phi. You speak of him, when he was less fur- 
 nished, than now he is, with that which makes him 
 both without and within. 
 
 French. I have seen him in France : we had very 
 many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes 
 as he. 
 
 lach. This matter of marrying his king's daugh- 
 ter, (wherein he must be weighed rather by her 
 value, than his own,) words him, I doubt not, a 
 great deal from the matter. 
 
 French. And then his banishment : — 
 
 lach. Ay, and the approbation of those, that 
 weep this lamentable divorce, under her colours, 
 are wonderfully to extend him ; be it but to fortify 
 her judgment, which else an easy battery, might lay 
 flat, for taking a beggar without more qualitv. But 
 how comes it, he is to sojourn with you: How 
 creeps acquaintance ? 
 
 Phi. His father and I were soldiers together; to 
 whom I have been often bound for no less than my 
 life :— 
 
 Enter Posthumus. 
 
 Here comes the Briton : Let him be .so entertained 
 amongst you, as suits, with gentlemen of your know- 
 ing, to a stranger of his quality. — I beseech you all, 
 be better known to this gentlen)an; whom 1 com- 
 mend to you, as a noble friend of mine : How wor- 
 thy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather 
 than story him in his own hearing. 
 
 French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. 
 
 Post. Since when I have been debtor to you ibr 
 courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay 
 still. 
 
 French. Sir, you o'er- rate my poor kindness : I 
 was glad I did atone my countryman and you ; it 
 had been pity, you should have been put together 
 with so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon 
 importance of so slight and trivial a nature. 
 
 Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young 
 traveller; rather shunned to go even with what I 
 heard, than in my every action to be gnirh d by 
 other's experiences : but, upon my mended judgment, 
 (if I offend not to say it is mended,) my quarrel was 
 not altogether slight. 
 
 French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 
 of swords; and by such two, that would, by all 
 likelihood, have confounded one the other, or nave 
 fallen both. [difference ? 
 
 lach. Can we, with manners, ask what was the 
 
 French. Safely, 1 think ; 'twas a contention in 
 public, which may, without contradiction, suffer 
 the report. It was much like an argument that fell 
 out last night, where each of us fell in praisp of our 
 country mistresses : This gentleman at that time 
 vouching, (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,) 
 his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant- 
 qualified, and less attemptible, than any the rarest 
 of our ladies in France. 
 
 lach. That lady is not now living; or this geiv- 
 tieinan's opinion, by this worn out. 
 
 Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. 
 
 lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of 
 Italy. 
 
 Post. Being so far jirovoked as I was in France, 
 I would abate her nothing ; though I profess mysell 
 her adorer, not her friend. 
 
 lach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand in- 
 hand comparison,) had been something too fair, and 
 too good ibr any lady in Britany. If she went be- 
 fore others I hav^ seen, as that diamond of yourB 
 out-lustt;^s many . have beheld, 1 coidd not but be., 
 lieve she excelled many : but I have not seen tbt 
 most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. 
 
Scene 6. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 633 
 
 Posi. I praised lier as I rated her : so do I my 
 stone. 
 
 Jack. What do you esteem it at ? 
 
 Post. More than the world enjoys. 
 
 lack. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, 
 or she's outpriaed by a trifle. 
 
 Post. You are mistaken : the one may be sold, 
 or given : if there were wealth enough for the pur- 
 chase, or merit for the gift ; the other is not a thing 
 for sale, and only the gift of the gods. 
 
 lach. VV hich the gods have given you ? 
 
 Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep. 
 
 lacL You may wear her in title yours : but, you 
 know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. 
 Your ring may be stolen too : so, of your brace of 
 nnprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and 
 the other casual ; a cunning thief, or a that-way- 
 accomplislied courtier, would hazard the winning 
 both of first and last. 
 
 Post. Y'our Italy contains none so accomplished 
 a courtier, to convince the honour of my mistress; 
 if, in the nolding or loss of that, you term her frail. 
 [ do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves; not- 
 withstanding, 1 fear not my ring. 
 
 Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 
 
 Post. Sir, with all my lieart. This worthy signior, 
 I thank hiui, makes no stranger of me: we are fa- 
 miliar at 6rst. 
 
 Jack. With five times so much conversation, I 
 should get ground of your fair mistress ; make her 
 go back, e\en to the yielding; had I admittance, 
 and opportunity to fiiend. 
 
 Post. No. no. 
 
 lacA. I aaie, thereon, pawn the moiety of my 
 estate to your ring ; which, in my opinion, o'erva- 
 lues it SOUK thing : But I make my wager rather 
 against your confidence, than her reputation : and, 
 to bar your oti'ence herein too, I durst attempt it 
 against any lady in the world. 
 
 Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold a 
 persuasion ; and I doubt not you sustain what you're 
 wortljy of, bv your attempt, 
 
 lac/u Wliat's that? 
 
 Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you 
 call it, dost^rxes more; a punishment too. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this ; it came in too 
 suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, 
 be better acquainted. 
 
 lack. 'Would I had put my estate, and my neigh- 
 bour's, on the approbation ol' what I have spoke. 
 
 Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? 
 
 lack. Yours ; whom in constancy, you think, 
 stands so sale. I will lay you ten thousand ducats 
 to your ring, that, commend me to the court where 
 your lady is, with no more advantage than the op- 
 portunity of a second conference, and I will bring 
 from tlience that holQOur of hers, which you imagine 
 so reserved. 
 
 Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it : 
 my rinu I hold as dear as my finger; 'tis part of it. 
 
 lach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If 
 you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you can- 
 not preserve it fiom tainting : But, I see, you have 
 some religion in you, that you fear. 
 
 Post, 'fhis is but a, custom in your tongue; you 
 bear a graver pnipose, I hope. * 
 
 lach. I am tj,e master of my speeches ; and 
 would undergo what's spoken, I swear. 
 
 Post. Will you? — I shall but lend my diamond 
 till your return : — Let there be covenants drawn 
 between us : My mistress exceeds in goodness the 
 hugeness of yonr unworthy thinking : 1 dare you to 
 this match : here'* my rmg. 
 
 Pki. I will have it no lay. 
 
 lack. By the gods it is one : — If I bring j'ou no 
 sufficient testimony, that I have enjoyed thf dearest 
 bodily p^rt of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats 
 are yours ; so is your djamond too. li I ( ome otF, 
 and leave her in such honour as you have trust m, 
 ■i»e your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are 
 
 yonrs : — provided, I have your commendatitkn, foi 
 my more free entertainment. 
 
 Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us havt 
 articles betwixt us : — only, thus far you shall an- 
 swer. If you make your voyage upon her, and give 
 me directly to understand you have prevail'd, I am 
 no further your enemy, she is not worth our debate : 
 if she remain unseduced, (you not making it appear 
 otherwise,) for your ill opinion, a. id the assault you 
 have made to her chastity, you shall answer mo 
 with your sword. 
 
 lach. Your hand ; a covenant : we will have 
 these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight 
 away for Britain ; lest the bargain should catch cold, 
 and starve : I will fetch my gold, and have our two 
 wag:ers recorded. 
 
 Post. Agreed. [Exeunt Post humus and lac himo. 
 
 French. Will this hold, think you ? 
 
 Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. Pray, let 
 us follow 'em. [Exeunt* 
 
 Scene VI. — Britain. A Room in Ct^mbeline't 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 
 
 Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather 
 those flowers : , 
 Make haste ; W^ho has the note of them ? 
 
 1 Lady. I, madam. 
 
 Queen. Despatch. — [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Now, master doctor; have you brouglit those drugs ? 
 
 Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they are, 
 madam : {Presenting a small box.] 
 
 But I beseech your grace, (without offence ; 
 My conscience bids me ask ;) wherefore you have 
 Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds. 
 Which are the movers of a languishing death ; 
 But, though slow, deadly ? 
 
 Queen. I do wonder, doctor, 
 
 Thou ask'st me such a question : Have I not been 
 Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how 
 To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so. 
 That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
 For my confections? Having thus far proceeded, 
 (Unless thou think'st me devilish,) is't not meet, 
 That I did amplify my judgment in 
 Other conclusions ? 1 will try the forces 
 Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
 We count not worth the hanginj^, (but none human,) 
 To try tlie vigour of them, and apply 
 AUayments to their act; and by them gather 
 Their several virtues, and effects. 
 
 Cor. _ Your highness 
 
 Shall from this practice but make hard your heart: 
 Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
 Both noisome and infectious. 
 
 Queen. O, content thee.— 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him [Asidl.) 
 Will I first work: he's for his master. 
 And enemy to my son,— How now, Pisanio? — 
 Doctor, your service for this time is ended ; 
 Take your own way. 
 
 Cor. I do suspect you, madam ; 
 
 But you shall do no harm. {Aside.'\ 
 
 Queen. Hark thee, a word, — (To Pisanio.) 
 
 Cor. (Aside.) I do not like her. She doth think 
 she has 
 
 Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit. 
 
 And will not trust one of her malice with 
 
 A drug of such damn'd nature : Those, she has, 
 
 Will .stupity and dull the sense awhile : [dojSi 
 
 Which first, perchance, she ll prove on cats, JUftd 
 
 Then afterward up higher; but there is 
 
 No danger in what shew of death it makes, 
 
 More than the locking up the spirits a time. 
 
 To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
 
 With a most false eftect ; and I the truer. 
 
 So to be false with her. 
 
 Queen. No further {service, doctor 
 
684 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act t 
 
 Until I sen< for thee. 
 
 Cor. I humbly take my leave. [Exii. 
 
 Queen. \Vee\)s she still, say'st thou ? Dost thou 
 think, in time 
 She will not quench ; and let instructions enttr 
 Wheie folly now possesses? Do thou work; 
 When thou shalt bring me word, she loves my son, 
 I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then 
 As great as is thy master; greater ; for 
 flis fortiities all lie speechless, and his name 
 Is at last gasp : Return he cannot, nor 
 Continue where he is: to shift his being, 
 Is to exchange one misery with another; 
 And every day that comes, comes to decay 
 A day's work in him: What shalt thou expect, 
 To be depender on a thing that leans ? 
 Who cannot be new built; nor has no friends, 
 
 [The Queen drops a box ; Pisanio takes it up.) 
 So much as but to prop him ? — Thou tak'st up 
 
 hoii know'st not what; but take it for thy labour: 
 It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
 Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know 
 What is more cordial : — Nay, I pr'ythee, take it; 
 It is an earnest of a farther good 
 That 1 mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
 The case stands with her; do't, as from thyself. 
 Think what a chance thou changest on ; but think 
 Thou hast thy mistress still ; to boot, my son, 
 Who shall take.notice of thee: I'll move the king 
 To any shape of thy preferment, such 
 As thou'lt desire ; and then myself, I chiefly. 
 That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
 To load thy merit richly. Call my women : 
 Think on my words. {Exit Pisa.) — A sly and con- 
 stant knave ; 
 Not to be shak'd : the agent for his master; 
 And the remembrancer of her, to hold 
 The hand fast to her lord. — I have given him that, 
 Which, ii" he take, shall quite unpeople her 
 0/ liegers for her sweet; and which she, after. 
 Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd 
 
 Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies. 
 To taste of too. — So, so; — well done, well done : 
 The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, 
 Bear to my closet: — Fare thee well, Pisanio; 
 Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
 
 Pis. And shall do: 
 
 But when to my good lord I prove imtrue, 
 I'll choke myself : there's all I'll do for you. [Exit. 
 
 Scene Vll.— Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Imogen. 
 Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false; 
 A foolish suitor to a wedded lady. 
 That hath her husband banish d ; — O, that husband ! 
 My supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated 
 Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen, 
 As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable 
 Is the desire that's glorious : Blessed be those, 
 How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
 Which seasons comfort,- — Who may this be ? Fye ! 
 
 Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. 
 
 Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome; 
 Comes from my lord with letters. 
 
 lack. Change you, madam ? 
 
 The worthy Leonatus is in safety. 
 And greets your highness dearly. 
 
 {Presents a letter.) 
 
 Imo. Thanks, good sir : 
 
 You are kindly welcome. 
 
 lach. Ail of her, that is out of door, most rich ! 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, 
 
 She is alone the Arabian bird ; and I 
 
 Have lost the wager. Boldne.ss be my friend ! 
 
 Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! 
 
 Or. like the Parthian, I shall flying fight ; 
 
 nather, directly fly. 
 
 Imo. {Reads. ) He is one of the nobles I nofe^ to 
 whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Refiect 
 upon him accordingly/^ as you value your truest 
 
 Lbonatus, 
 
 So far I read aloud : 
 
 But e\ en the very middle of my heart 
 
 Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfullj.—* 
 
 Vou are as vvelcon»e, worthy sir, as I 
 
 Have words to bid you : and shall find it so 
 
 In all that 1 can do. 
 
 Inch. Thanks, fairest lady, — 
 
 What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eye« 
 To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
 Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'tvvixt 
 The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones 
 Upon the number'd beach ? and can we not 
 Partition make with spectacles so precious 
 ' Twixt fair and foul ? 
 
 Lno. What makes your admiration ? 
 
 lach. It cannot be i'the eye ; for apes and mon- 
 keys, 
 
 'Twixt two such shes, would ciiatter this was, and 
 Contemn with mows the other : Nor i'the judgment; 
 For idiots, in this case of favour, would 
 Be wisely definite ! Nor i'the appetite ; 
 Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, 
 Should make desire vomit emptiness. 
 Not so allur d to feed. 
 
 Imo. What is the matter, trow ? 
 
 lach. The cloyed will, 
 
 (That satiate yet unsatisfied desire. 
 That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first 
 I'he lamb, longs alter for the garbage. 
 
 Imo. What, dear sir, 
 
 Thus raps you ? Are you well ? 
 
 lach. Thanks, madam ; well : — 'Beseech you, 
 sir, desire {To Pisanio.) 
 
 My man's abode, where I did leave him : he 
 Is strange and peevish. 
 
 Pis. I was going, sir, 
 
 To give him welcome. [Exit Pisanio. 
 
 Imo. Continues well my lord? His lualth, be- 
 seech you? 
 
 lach. VVell, madam. 
 
 Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope, -.e is. 
 
 lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there 
 So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
 The Briton reveller. 
 
 Imo. Wlien he was here, 
 
 He did incline to sadness; and oft-times 
 Not knowing why. 
 
 lach. I never saw him sad. 
 
 There is a Frenchman his companion, one. 
 An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
 A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces 
 The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briloo 
 (Your lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, 
 cries, 01 
 
 Can my sides hold, to think, that man., — who knowt 
 By history, report, or his ovjn proof. 
 What tcoman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
 But must be, — will his free hours languish for 
 Assured bondage ? 
 
 Imo. Will my lord .say so? 
 
 lach. Ay, madam ; with his eyes in flood with 
 laughter. 
 
 It is a recreation lo be by, [know. 
 And hear him mock the Frenchman Put, heavens 
 Some men are nmch to blame. 
 
 Imo. Not he, I hope, 
 
 lach. Not he: But yet Heaven's bounty towards 
 him mi^ht 
 
 be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ; 
 In you. — which I count his, beyond all talents, — 
 Wliilst I am bound to wonder, 1 am bound 
 To pity too. 
 
 Imo. What do you pity, sir ? 
 
 lach. Two creatures, heartily. 
 
 Imo. Am I one, sir ? 
 
 You look on me : What wreck discern you in mflk 
 Deserves vour nitv. sir? 
 
Act TI. Scene 1. 
 
 CYMBELTNE. 
 
 635 
 
 lack. Lamentable! What! 
 
 To hide me- from the radiant sun, and solace 
 rthe dungeon by a snuff? 
 
 Imo. J pray you, sir, 
 
 De!iv*>r with more openness your answers 
 To niy demands. Why do you pity me ? 
 
 lack. That others do, 
 [ w!is about to say, enjoy your — But 
 rt is an office of the gods to venge it, 
 Not mine to speak on't, 
 
 Imo. You do seem to know 
 
 Something of me, or what concerns me ; 'Pray you, 
 (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more 
 Tnan to be sure they do: For certainties 
 E ther are past remedies ; or, timely knowing, 
 T;ie remedy then born,) disciver to me 
 What both you spur and stop. 
 
 lack. Had 1 this cheek 
 
 To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch, 
 Wnose every toucli, would force the feeler's soul 
 To the ojith of Royalty ; this object, which 
 Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye. 
 Fixing it only here: sImjuM I (damn'd then,) 
 Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
 That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands 
 Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood, as 
 With labour;) then lie peeping in an eye, 
 Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
 That's fed with stinking tallowyit were fit. 
 That al-1 the phigues of hell should at one time 
 Encounter such revolt. 
 
 Imo. My lord, I fear. 
 
 Has forgot Brifain. 
 
 lack. And himself. Not I. 
 
 Incliii d to this ii telligence, pronounce 
 The beggary of his change : but 'tis your graces. 
 That from my mi test conscience, to my tongue. 
 Charms this report out. 
 
 Imo. Let me hear no more. [heart 
 
 lack. O dearest soul' your cause doth strike my 
 With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
 So lair, and fasten'd to an empery, 
 Would make tne great'st king double ! to be 
 partner'd 
 
 With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition, 
 Which your own coffers yield I with diseas'd ven- 
 tures. 
 
 That play with all infirmities for gold. 
 
 Which rottenness can lend nature ; such boil'd stuff. 
 
 As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd : 
 
 Or she, til. it bore you, was no queen, and you 
 
 Recoil from your great stock. 
 
 hno. Reveng'd ! 
 
 How should I be reveng'd ? If this be true, 
 (As 1 have such a heart, that both mine ears 
 Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true. 
 How should I be reveng'd ? 
 
 lack. Should he make me 
 
 Live' like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets; 
 Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps. 
 In your despite, upon your i nrse ? Revenge it. 
 I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure ; 
 More noble than that runagate to your bed; 
 And will continue fast to your affection. 
 Still close, as sure. 
 
 Imo. What ho, Pisanio! 
 
 lack. Let me lay service tender on your lips. 
 
 Jmu. Away I — 1 do condemn mine ears, that have 
 So long attended thee. — If thou wert honourable. 
 Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not 
 For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange. 
 Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
 From thy report, as thou from honour; and 
 Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains 
 Th'jc and the devil alike —What, ho! Pisanio I— 
 The king my father shiill be made acquainted 
 Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit, 
 A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart 
 As ill a Komish stew, and to expound 
 His beastly mind to us ; he hatli a court 
 
 He little cares for, and a daughter whom 
 
 He not respects at all. — What ho, PisanioT - 
 
 lack. O happy Leormtus ! I may say ; 
 The credit t,ial: thy lady hath of thee, 
 Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodaCS* 
 Her assur'd credit I — Blessed live you long! 
 A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
 Country cali'd his ! and you his mistress, only 
 For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. 
 I ha\ e spoke this, to know if your alSance 
 Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord, 
 That which he is, new o'er: And he is one 
 The truest manner"d ; such a holy witch, 
 That he enchants societies unto him : 
 Half all men's hearts are his. 
 
 Imo. You make amends. 
 
 lack. He sits 'mongut men, like a descended god 
 He hath a kind of honour sets him off. 
 More tlian a mortal seeming. Be not angry. 
 Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd 
 To try your taking of a false report; which hath 
 Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment 
 In the election of a sir so rare, 
 Which you know cannot enr: The love 1 bear him 
 Made me to fan you thus ; but the gods made you. 
 Unlike all other, chaffless. Pray, your pardon. 
 
 Imo. All's well, sir: Take my power i'the couH 
 for yours. 
 
 lach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot ■. 
 To entreat your grace but in a small request. 
 And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
 Your lord ; myself, and other noble friends, 
 Are partners in the business, 
 
 Imo. Pray, what is't ? 
 
 lack. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, 
 (Ti)e best feather of our wing) have mingled sums, 
 To buy a present for the emperor: 
 Which 1, tiie factor for the rest, have done 
 In France : 'Tis plate, of rare device ; and jewels 
 Of rich and exquisite form ; their values great; 
 And I am something curious, being strange, 
 To have them in safe stowage: May it please you, 
 To take them in protection ? 
 
 Imo. Willingly ^ 
 
 And pawn mine honour for their safety: since 
 My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them 
 In my bed-chamber. 
 
 lack. They are in a trunk. 
 
 Attended by my men : I will make bold 
 To send them to you, only for this night; 
 I must aboard to-morrow. 
 
 Imo. O, no, no. 
 
 lack. Yes, beseech ; or 1 shall short my word, 
 By length'ning my return. From Gallia 
 I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise 
 To see your grace. 
 
 Imo. I thank you for your pain.<» ; 
 
 But not away to-morrow ? 
 
 lack. O, I must, madam : 
 
 Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please 
 To greet your lord with writing, do't to night, 
 I have outstood my time ; which is material 
 To the tender of our present. 
 
 Imo. I will write. 
 
 Send your trunk to me ; it shall safe be kept, 
 And truly yielded you: You are very welcome. 
 
 \_Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 Scene I.— Court before Cymbeline's Palace, 
 Enter Cloten and two Lords. 
 
 Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ! when 
 I kissed the jack upon an up-cast, to be hit away! 
 I had an lumdred pound on't : And then a whoreson 
 jackanapes must take me up forswearing: as if I 
 borrowed mine oaths of hin), and might not spend 
 them at my pleasure. 
 
 1 Lord. Wiiat got he by that? You aave broke 
 his pate with your bowl. 
 
636 
 
 CYMBELTNE. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 2 Lord.K his wit had been like, him that broke it, 
 it would haie ran all out (Aside.) 
 
 Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is 
 not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths : Ha ? 
 
 2 Lord. No, my lord ; nor [Aside.) crop the ears 
 ofth«m. 
 
 Clo. Whoreson dog! — I give him satisfaction? 
 'Would he had been one of my rank ! 
 
 2 Lord. To have sraelt like a fool, {Aside.) 
 
 Clo. 1 am not more vexed at any thing in the 
 ftarth, — A pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as 
 I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the 
 
 ?[ueen my uiotlier: every jack-slave hath liis belly 
 uU of fighting, and 1 must go up and down like a 
 cock that no body can match. 
 
 2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too; and you 
 crew, cock, with your comb on. (Aside.) 
 Clo. Shyest thou ? 
 
 1 Lord'. It is not fit, your lordship should under- 
 take every conipanion that you give offence to. 
 
 Clo. No, I know that : but it is fit, I should com- 
 mit olfence to my inferiors. 
 
 2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 
 Clo. Why. so I say. 
 
 1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger, that's come 
 to court to night ? 
 
 Clo. A stmnger! and I not know on't! 
 
 2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows 
 it not. {Aside.) 
 
 1 Lord. There's an Italian come ; and, 'tis thought, 
 one of Leonatus' friends. 
 
 Clo. Leonatus! a banished rascal ; and he's an- 
 other, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this 
 stranger ? 
 
 I Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 
 Cio. is it fit, I went to look upon him ? Is there 
 BO derogation in't? 
 
 1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 
 C/o. Not easuy I think. 
 
 2 Lord. You are a fool granted ; therefore your 
 issues being foolish, do not derogate. {Aside.) 
 
 Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian: What I have 
 lost to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. 
 Come, go. 
 
 2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 
 
 [Ex<^unt Cloten and first Lord. 
 That su<h a crafty devil as is his mother 
 Sliould }iel'l the world this ass ! a woman, that 
 Bears all down with her brain; and this her son 
 Cannot take two from twenty for his heait, 
 And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess. 
 Thou divine Imogen, what tliou endur'sti 
 Betwixt a fattier by thy step-dame goveru'd ; 
 A mother hourly coining plots; a wooer, 
 More hateful than the foul expulsion is 
 Of thy dear hustmnd, than that horrid act 
 Of the divorce he'd make ! The heavens hold firm 
 The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak'd 
 That temple, thy fair mind ; that thou may'st stand. 
 To enjoy thy bauish'd lord, and this great land ! 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Sc£N£ II. — A Bed-Chamber ; in one part of it a 
 trunk. 
 
 ImooEM, reading in her bed; a Lady attending, 
 hno Who's there ? my woman Helen ? 
 Lady. Please you, madam. 
 
 hno. What hour is it ? 
 
 Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 
 
 Imo. I have read three hours then : mine eyes are 
 weak : — 
 
 Fold down the leaf, where I have left: To bed: 
 Take not away the taper, leave it burning; 
 And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock, 
 I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. 
 
 \Exit Lady. 
 To your protectitm I commend me, gods! 
 From fairies, and the tempters of the night, 
 iiuard me, beseech ye ! 
 
 iSlesps. lachimo, from the trunk.) 
 
 lach. The crickel^ sing, and man's o'er laboar'd 
 
 sen.se 
 
 Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus 
 Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 
 The chastity he wounded. — Cytherea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresh lily ! 
 And whiter than the sheets ! That I might touch! 
 But kiss ; one kiss ! Rubies unparagon'd, 
 How dearly they do't. — 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o'the taper 
 Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids. 
 To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
 Under these windows: White and azure, lac'd 
 With blue of heaven's own tinct. — But my design? 
 To note the chamber : I will write all down : — 
 Such, and such, pictures : — There the window :— 
 Such 
 
 The adornment of her bed; — The arras, figures. 
 Why, such, and such: — And the contents o'the 
 story, — 
 
 Ah, but some natural notes about her body 
 
 Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
 
 Would testify, to enrich mine inventory: 
 
 O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! 
 
 And be her sense but as a monument, 
 
 Thus in a chapel lying! — Come off", come off ; — 
 
 {Taking off her bracelet.) 
 As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard ! — 
 'Tis mine ; and this will witness outwardly, 
 As strongly as the conscience does within. 
 To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
 A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
 rthe bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher, 
 Stronger than ever law could make : this secret 
 Will force him think I have picked the lock, and 
 ta'en [end ? 
 
 The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what 
 Why should I writfe this down, that's rivetted, 
 Screvv'd to my memory? She hati) been reading late 
 The tale of Tereus : here tne leaf's turn'd down, 
 Where Philomel gave up; — I have enough : 
 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night ! — that dawning 
 May bare the raven's eye : 1 lodge in fear : 
 Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 
 
 {Clock strikeg.) 
 
 One, two, three, — Time, time I 
 
 {Goes into the trunk. The scene closes.) 
 
 Scene III. — An Aide-Chamber adjoining Imogen^a 
 Apartment. 
 
 Enter Cloten and Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man 
 in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. 
 
 Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 
 
 1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble 
 temper of your lordship; You are most hot, and 
 furious, when you win. 
 
 Clo. Winning would put any man into courage 
 If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have 
 gold enough : It's almost morning, is't not? 
 
 1 Lord. Day, my lord. 
 
 Clo. I would this music would come : I am ad 
 vised to give her music o'mornings; they say, it will 
 penetrate. — 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 
 Come, on, tune r If you can penetrate her with youf 
 fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none will 
 do, let her remain ; but I'll never give o'er. First 
 a very excellent good- conceited thing ; after, 9 
 wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words t 
 it, — and then let her consider. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the larh at heaven's gate singt 
 
 And Photbus 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 On chalicd /lowers that iim; 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 637 
 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 To ope their golden eyes; 
 WUh every thing that pretty bin ; 
 My lady sweet, arise ; 
 Arise, arise, 
 ho. get you gone ; If this penetrate, I will consider 
 your music the bet(er: if it do not, it is a vice in her 
 ears, which horse-hairs, and cat-guts, nor the voice 
 f unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. 
 
 [Exeunt Musicians, 
 
 Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 
 
 2 Lord. Here comes the king. 
 
 C/o. I am glad, 1 was up so late ; for that's the 
 reason I was up so early : He cannot choose but 
 take the service I have done, latlierly.— -Good- 
 uiorrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mo- 
 ther, [daughler? 
 
 Cy7n. Attend you here the door of our stern 
 AVili she not forth ? 
 
 Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she 
 \OMclisafes no notice. 
 
 Cym. The exile other minion is too new ; 
 iSlie iiath not yet forgot him : some more time 
 JMnst wear the print of his remembrance out, 
 And then she's yorirs. 
 
 Queen. You are most bound to the king; 
 
 Who Id's go by no vantages, that may 
 Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself 
 j'j'n orderly solicits ; and be fiiended 
 \V itii aptness of tlie season : make denials. 
 Increase your services : so seem, as if 
 Y'oii were inspir'd to do those duties, which 
 Voii tender to her; that you in all obey her, 
 Sa\ e when command to your dismission tends. 
 And therein you are senseless. 
 
 Oio. Senseless ? not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome ; 
 The one is Caius Lucius. 
 
 Cym. A worthy fellow, 
 
 Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ; 
 But that's no fault of his: We must receive him 
 According to the honour of his sender; 
 And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us. 
 We must extend our notice. — Our dear son. 
 When you have given good morning to your mistress. 
 Attend the qneen, and us: we shall have need 
 To employ you towards this Roman.— Come, our 
 queen. 
 
 [Exeunt Cym. Qtteen, Lords, and Mess. 
 Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, 
 Let her lie still, and dreani.— By yoUi leave, ho! — 
 
 (Knocks.) 
 
 I know her women are about her ; What 
 If I do line one of their hands ? 'Tis gold, 
 Which buys adn)ittance ; oft it doth ; yea, and makes 
 Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
 Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold 
 Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the 
 thief; [What 
 Nay, sometimes, hangs both thief and true ipan : 
 Can it not do, and undo? I will make 
 One of her women lawyer to me ; for 
 I yet not understand the case myself. 
 By your leave. (Knocks.) 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Who's there, that knocks? 
 
 do. A gentleman. 
 
 Lady. No more ? 
 
 Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 
 
 Lady. That's more 
 
 •Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours. 
 Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's pleasare? 
 
 Clo. \ our lady's person : Is she ready ? 
 
 Lady. Ay, 
 To keep her chamber. {report. 
 
 Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good 
 
 Lady. How ! my good name ? or to report ol you 
 V\rhat I shall think is good ? — The princess — 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Clo. Good -morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet 
 hand, [pains 
 
 Imo. Good-morrow, sir: You layout too much 
 For purchasing but trouble ; the thanks 1 give, 
 Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, 
 And scarce can spare them. 
 
 Clo. Still, I swear, I love you. 
 
 Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me : 
 If you swear still, your recompense is still 
 That I regard it not. 
 
 Clo. This is no answer. 
 
 Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being 
 silent, 
 
 I would not speak. I pray you, spare me : i'faith, 
 I shall unfold equal discourtesy 
 To your best kindness ; one of your great knowing 
 Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 
 
 Clo.To leave you in your madness^ 'twere my sin . 
 I will not. 
 
 Imo. Fools are not mad folks. 
 
 Clo. Do you call me fool ? 
 
 Imo. As I am mad, I do : 
 If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad ; 
 That cures us both. I am nuich sorry, sir. 
 You put me to forget a lady's manners, 
 By being so verbal : and learn now, for all, 
 That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce. 
 By the very truth of it, I care not for you ; 
 And am so near the lack of charity, 
 (To accuse myself] I hate you : which I had rathet 
 You felt, than make't my boast. 
 
 Clo. You sin against 
 
 Obedience, which you owe your lather. For 
 The contract you pretend with that base wretch, 
 (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes. 
 With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none : 
 And tliougii it be allow'd in meaner parties, 
 (Yet who, than he, more mean ?) to knit their soak 
 
 iOn whom there is no more dependency 
 iut brats and beggary) in self Hgur'd knot ; 
 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 
 The consequence o'the crown : and must not soil 
 The precious note of it with a base slave, 
 A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
 A pantler not so emment. 
 
 Imo. Profane fellow, 
 
 Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more. 
 But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base 
 To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough, 
 Even to the point of envy, iftwere made 
 Comparative for your virtues, to be sty I d 
 The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated 
 For being preferr'd so well. 
 
 Clo. The south -fog rot him 
 
 Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than 
 conie 
 
 To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment. 
 That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer. 
 In my respect, than all the airs above thee. 
 Were they all made such men. — How now, Pisanio? 
 
 Venter PiSANio. 
 
 Clo. His garment? Now, the devil — 
 
 Imo. To Dorothy my wonmn hie thee present/y:-— 
 
 Clo. His garment ? 
 
 Imo. I am sprighted with a fool? 
 
 Frigiited, and anger'd worse : — Go, bid my woman 
 Searcti for a jewel, that too casually 
 Hath lelt mine arm ; it was thy master's : 'shrew in«^ 
 If 1 would lose it for a revenue 
 Of any king's in Europe. I do think, 
 I saw t this morning : confident I am, 
 Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it 
 I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord 
 That I kiss aught but he. 
 
 Pis. 'Twill not be lost. 
 
 Imo. I hope so: go, and search. [Exit Pss, 
 
 Clo. You have abus'd me-— 
 
638 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act n 
 
 His meanest garment ? 
 
 Imo. Ay ; I said so, sir. 
 
 If you will mak't an action, call witness to't. 
 
 Vio. 1 will inform your father. 
 
 Imo. Your mother too : 
 
 She's my good lady ; and will conceive, 1 hope, 
 But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, 
 To the worst of discontent. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. I'll be reveng'd : — 
 
 His meanest garment ? — Well. {Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — Rome. An Apartment in Philario's 
 House 
 
 Enter Posthumus and Philario. 
 
 Post. Fear it not, sir : I would, I were so sure 
 To win the king, as I am bold, her honour 
 Will remain hers. 
 
 Phi. What means do you make to him ^ 
 
 Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time; 
 Quake in the present winter's state, and wish 
 That warmer days would come: In these fear'd 
 I barely gratify your love ; they failing, [hopes, 
 I must die much your debtor. 
 
 Phi. Your very goodness, and your company, 
 O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 
 Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius 
 Will do his commission throughly : And, I think, 
 He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, 
 Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
 Is yet Iresh in their grief. 
 
 Post. I do believe. 
 
 (Statist though I am none, nor like to be,) 
 That this will prove a war; and you shall hear 
 The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed 
 In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings 
 Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 
 Are men more order'd, than when Jtduis Caesar 
 Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage 
 Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline 
 (Now mingled with their courages) will make known 
 To their approvers, they are people, such 
 ai mend upon the world. 
 
 Enter Iachlvio. 
 
 Phi. See ! lachimo ? 
 
 Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land: 
 And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
 To make your vessel nimble. 
 
 Phi. Welcome, sir. 
 
 Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made 
 The speediness of your return. 
 
 lach. Your lady 
 
 Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon. 
 
 Post. And, therewithal, the best ; or let her beauty 
 Look through a casement to allure false hearts, 
 And be Ihlse with them. 
 
 lach. Here are letters for you. 
 
 Post. Their tenor good, I trust. 
 
 lach. 'Tis very like. 
 
 Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court. 
 When you were there ? 
 
 lach. He was expected then, 
 
 But not approach'd. 
 
 Post. All is well yet*^ — 
 
 Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not, 
 Too didl for your good wearing ? 
 
 lack. If I have lost it, 
 
 I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
 I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
 A second night of such sweet shortness, which 
 Was mine in Britain : for the ring is won. 
 
 Post. The stone's too hard to come by. 
 
 lach. Not a whit. 
 
 Your lady being so easy. 
 
 Post. Make not, sir, 
 
 Your loss your sport: I hope, you know, that we 
 Must not continue friends. 
 
 lack. Good sir, we must, 
 
 li you keep covenant: Had I not brought 
 the. knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
 
 We were to question further : but 1 now 
 Profess myself the winner of her hooonr, 
 Together with your ring ; and not the wronger 
 Of her, or you, having | roceeded but 
 By both your wills. 
 
 Post. If you can make't appnrent 
 
 That you have tasted her in bed, my hand 
 And ring is yours: If not, the foul opinioa 
 You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, 
 Your sword, or mine ; or masterless leaves both 
 To who shall find them. 
 
 lach. Sir, my circumstances. 
 
 Being so near the truth, as I will make them, 
 M.ust first induce you to believe : whose strength 
 I vvill confirm with oath ; which, 1 doubt not. 
 You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
 You need it not. 
 
 Post. Proceed. 
 
 lach. First, her bed-chamber, 
 
 (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, 
 Had that was well worth watching,) It was hang'd 
 With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story 
 Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman 
 And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
 The press of boats, or pride : A piece of work 
 So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
 In workmanship, and value; which, 1 wonder 4 
 Could be so rarely and exactly wrought. 
 Since the true lil'e on't was — 
 
 Post. This is true; 
 
 And this you might have heard of here, by me, 
 Or by some other. 
 
 lack. More particulars 
 
 Must justify my knowledge. 
 
 Post. So they must. 
 
 Or do your honour injury. 
 
 lach. The chimney 
 
 Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece 
 Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw 1 figures 
 So likely to report themselves; the cutter 
 Was as another nature, dumb; outwent btr, 
 Motion and breath left out. 
 
 Post. This is a thing. 
 
 Which you might from relation likewise reap; 
 Being, as it is, much spoke of 
 
 lach. The roof o'the chamber: 
 
 With golden cherubimsis fretted: Her andirons 
 (I had Ibrgot them,) w^ere two winking Cupids 
 Oi" silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
 Depending on their brands. 
 
 Post. This is her honour !— 
 
 Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praisei 
 Be given to your remembrance,) the description 
 Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves 
 Tiie wager you have laid. 
 
 lach. Then, if you can, 
 
 {Pulling out the bracelet. 
 Be pale ; I beg but leave to air this jewel : See 
 And now 'tis up again : It must be married 
 To that your diamond ; I'll keep them. 
 
 Post. Jove!- 
 Once more let me behold it: Is it that 
 Which I left with her ? 
 
 lach. Sir, (I thank her,) that: 
 
 She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; 
 Her pretty action did outsell her gift. 
 And yet enrich'd it tou : She gave it me, aud said^ 
 Slie priz'd it once. 
 
 Post. May be, she pluck'd it off, 
 
 To send it me. 
 
 lach. She writes so to you ? doth she ? 
 
 Post. O, no, no, no ; 'tis true. Here, take this too 
 {Gives the ring. 
 
 It is a basilisk unto mine eye. 
 Kills me to look on't: — Let there be no honour. 
 Where there is beauty; truth, where semblaare 
 love, 
 
 Where there's another man : The vows of womeo^ 
 Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, 
 Than they are to vheir virtues; which is nothing: 
 
Act 111. Scene 1. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 639 
 
 O, above measure false ' 
 
 Phi. Have patience, sir, 
 
 And take your rin^ again ; 'tis not yet won : 
 It may be probable, sfie lost it; or, 
 Who knows, if one of her women, being corrupted, 
 Hath stolen it from her? 
 
 Post. Very true ; 
 
 And so, r hope, he came by't; — Back my ring; — 
 Render to me some corporal sign about her, 
 More evident than this ; for this was stolen. 
 
 lack. By .Jupiter, I iiad it from her arm. 
 
 Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears. 
 Tis true ; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true : 1 am sure, 
 She would not lose it: her attendants are 
 All sworn, and honourable : — They induc'd to steal 
 it! 
 
 And by a stranger ! — No, he hath enjoyM her : 
 The cogniaance of her incoiitinency 
 Is this, — she hath bought the nanie of whore thus 
 dearly. — 
 
 There, take thy hire ; and all the fiends of hell 
 Divide themselves between you! 
 
 Phi. Sir, be patient ! 
 
 This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
 Of one persuaded well of — 
 
 Post. Never talk on't ; 
 
 She hath been colted by him. 
 
 lach. If yoa seek 
 
 For further satisfying, under her breast 
 (Worthy the pressing,| lies a mole, right proud 
 Of that most delicate lodging: By my life, 
 I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger 
 To feed again, though full. You do remember 
 This stain upon her? 
 
 Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 
 
 Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 
 Were there no more but it. 
 
 loch. Will you hear more ? 
 
 Post. Spare your arithmetic : never count the 
 Once, and a million ! [turns ; 
 
 lach. I'll be sworn, — 
 
 Post. No swearing. 
 
 If you will swear yon have not done't, you lie ; 
 And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
 Thou hast made me cuckold. 
 
 lach. I will deny nothing. 
 
 Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her lin)b-meal I 
 I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before 
 Her father ; — I'll do something — [Exit. 
 
 Phi. Quite besides 
 
 The government of patience ! — You have won : 
 Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
 He hath against himself. 
 
 lach. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — The same. Another Room in the same. 
 Enter PoSTHUMUS. 
 Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women 
 Must be half-workers? We are bastards all ; 
 And that most venerable man, which I 
 Did call my father, was I know not where 
 When I was stamp'd ; some coiner with his tools 
 Made mo a counterfeit: Yet my mother seera'd 
 ^rhe Dian oftliat time: so doth my wife 
 The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance! 
 Me of my lawi'ul pleasure she restrain'd. 
 And pray'd me, ofl, forbearance: did it with 
 A prudency so rosy, the sweet view on't [her 
 Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought 
 As chftste as unsunn'd snow : — O, all the devils ! — 
 This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — was't not? — 
 Or less, — at first: Perchance he spoke not; but. 
 Like a full acorn'd boar, a German one, 
 Cry'd Oh ! and mounted : found no opposition 
 But what he look'd for should o|)pose, and she 
 Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
 The woman's part in me ! For there's no motion. 
 That tends to vice in man, hut I affirm 
 It is the woman's part : Be it lying, note it, 
 Tho tvumau's; fiitteritig, hers; deceiving, hers; 
 
 Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenger, hern* 
 
 Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, " 
 
 Nice longings, slanders, mutability. 
 
 All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knowa^ 
 
 Why, hers, in part, or all ; but rather, all : 
 
 For even to vice 
 
 They are not constant, but are changing still 
 
 One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
 
 Not half so old as that. I'll write against them. 
 
 Detest thera, curse them : — Yet 'tis greater stiu 
 
 In a true hate, to pray they have their will: 
 
 The very devils cannot plague them better. [E.titm 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Britain. A Room of State in Cymbt' 
 
 line's Palace. 
 Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at 
 
 one door; and at another, Caius Lucius and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Cym. Now, say, what would Augustus Caesar 
 with us? 
 
 Liic. When Julius Csesar (whose remembrance yet 
 Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, 
 Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, 
 And conqner'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
 (Famous in Ca?sar's praises, no whit less 
 Than in his feats deserving it,) for hiui, 
 And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, 
 Yearly three thousand pounds ; which by thee lately 
 Is left untender'd. 
 
 Queen. And, to kill the marvel. 
 
 Shall be so ever. 
 
 Clo. There be many Caesars, 
 
 Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
 A world by itself; and we will nothing pay. 
 For wearing our own noses. 
 
 Queen. That opportunity, 
 
 Wliich then they had to take from us, to resuras 
 We have again. — Beinember, sir, my liege. 
 The kings your ancestors ; together with 
 The natural bravery of your isle; which stands 
 As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 
 With rocks nnscaleable, and roaring wafers ; 
 With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats^ 
 But suck them up to the top mast. A kind of conqnest 
 Caesar made here ; but made not here his brag 
 Of", came, and saw, and a>jercame : with shame 
 (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried 
 From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his shipping 
 (Poor ignorant baubles I) on our terrible seas. 
 Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd 
 As easily 'gaii st our rocks: For joy whereof. 
 The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point 
 (O, gig lot fortune !) to master Ca;sar's sword, 
 Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, 
 And Britons strut with courage. 
 
 Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: 
 Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; 
 and, as I said, there is no more such Casars : 
 other of them may have crooked noses ; but, to owe 
 such straight arms, none. 
 
 Cym. S in, let your mother end. 
 
 Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as 
 hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one ; but 
 I have a hand. — Why tribute ? why should we pay 
 tribute? li'CaBsar can hide the snn frou) ns with 
 a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will 
 pay him tribute for light ; else, sir, no more tri- 
 bute, pray ycu now. 
 
 Cym. Vou must know, 
 Till the injurious Romano did extort [bition 
 This tribute from us, we were free : Caesars am- 
 ( Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretcil 
 Tlie sides o'the world,) against all cokuir, here 
 Did put the yoke upon us ; which to sliake ofi°, 
 Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
 Ourselves to be. We do say then to Caesar, 
 Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which 
 Ordain'd our laws ; (whose use the sword of Caesar 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act TH 
 
 Hath too much mangled; whose repair and fran- 
 chise, 
 
 Shall, by the j^ower we hold, be our good deed, 
 Though Rome be therefore angry ;) Miilmutius, 
 Who was the first of Britain, which did put 
 His brows within a golden crown, and call'd 
 Himself a king. 
 
 Luc. I am awry, Cymbeline, 
 
 That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar 
 (Cajsar, that hath more kings his servants, than 
 Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy: 
 Receive it from me, then : — War, ynd confusion, 
 In Csesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee; look 
 For fury not to be resisted : — Thus defied, 
 I thank thee for myself. 
 
 Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 
 
 Thy Cajsar knighted me : my yoHith I spent 
 Much under him ; of hmi I gather d honour ; 
 Which he, to seek of tne again, perforce, 
 Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfect. 
 That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for 
 Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent 
 Which, not to read, whould sliew the Britons cold : 
 So Csesar shall not find them. 
 
 Luc. Let proof speak. 
 
 Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pas- 
 time with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek us 
 afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our 
 salt water girdle : if you beat us out of it, it is yours ; 
 if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall lare the 
 better fur you ; and there's an end. 
 
 Luc. So, air. 
 
 Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: 
 All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene H. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter PiSANlO. 
 Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not 
 What monster's her accuser? — Leonatus ! 
 O, master! what a strange infection 
 Js fallen into thy ear? VVhat false Italian 
 (As poisonous tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd 
 On thy too ready iiearing * — Disloyal ? No: 
 She's puiiish'd for her truth ; and undergoes. 
 More goddess like than v^iie-like, such assaults 
 As would take in some virtue : — O, my master' 
 Thy mind to her is now as low, as were 
 Thy fortunes. — How! that I should murder her? 
 Upon the love, and truth, and vows which I 
 Have made to thy command ? — I, her ? — her blood ? 
 If it be so to do good service, never 
 Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, 
 That I should seem to lack humanity. 
 So much as this fact comes to? Dot: The letter 
 
 [Reading.) 
 
 That I have sent her, by her own command 
 Shall give thee opjiortunity: — O dauin'd paper! 
 Black as the ink that's on thee ! Senseless bauble ! 
 Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st 
 So virgin-like without ? Lo, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 I am ignorant in what I am commanded. 
 
 Imo. How now, Pioanio ? 
 
 Pis. Madiun, here is a letter from my lord. 
 
 Imo Who ? thy lord ? that is niy lord ? Leonatus ? 
 O. learn 'd indeed were thut astronomer. 
 That knew the stars, as 1 his characters; 
 He'd lay the future open. — Y'ou good gods. 
 Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 
 Of n)y lord's health, of his content, — yet not. 
 That we two are asunder, let that grieve hini, — 
 (Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them. 
 For it doth physic love*, — of his content, 
 A.I1 but in that ! — Good wax, thy leave : — Bless'd be 
 You bees, that make these locks of counsel ! Lovers, 
 And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike ; 
 Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet 
 You ciasp young Cupid's tables. — Good news, gods ! 
 Readi.) 
 
 Justice, and your /ather's wtath, should he take 
 me in his dominion, should not be so cruel to me, 
 as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even 
 renew me with your eyes. Take notice, tfuit I am 
 in Cambria, at Milford-Haven : What your own 
 love ivill, out of this, advise you, follow. So, 
 wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal tc 
 his vow and your, increasing in love, 
 
 Leonatus PosTHuasr*. 
 O, for a horse with wings! — Hear'st thou, Pisanio? 
 He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me 
 How far 'tis thither. If one of mean atfairs 
 May plod it in a week, why may not I 
 Glide thither in a day? — Then, true Pisanio, 
 (Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; who long'st,— 
 O, let me 'bate, — but not like me : — yet long'st, — 
 But in a fainter kind : — O, not like me ; 
 For mine's beyond beyondj say, and speak thick, 
 (Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing. 
 To the smothering of tlie sense,) how far it is 
 To this same blessed Milibrd : And, by the way, 
 Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as 
 To inherit such a haven : But, first of alt, 
 How we may steal from hence ; and, for the g'ap 
 That we shall make in time, frouj our hence-going, 
 And our return, to excuse : — but first, how get hence : 
 Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? 
 We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak. 
 How many score of miles may we well ride 
 'Twixt hour and hour. 
 
 Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and suq. 
 
 Madam, 's enough for you ; and oo much too. 
 
 Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man. 
 Could never go so slow: 1 have heard of riding 
 wagers. 
 
 Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
 
 That run i'the clock's behalf: — But this is foolery :-— 
 
 Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say 
 
 She'll home to her father ; and provide me, presently, 
 
 A riding suit; no costlier than would lit 
 
 A franklin's housewife. 
 
 Pia. Madam, you're best consider. 
 
 Imo. 1 see before me, man, nor here, nor here. 
 Nor what ensues ; but have a fog in tfeem. 
 That i cannot look through. Away, J pr'ythee 
 Do as I bid thee : There's no niore to say ; 
 i^ccessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt, 
 
 ScENS III. — Wales. A mountainous Country, ivith 
 a Cave. 
 
 Ew^er Belarius, Guiderius, anJ Arviragus. 
 
 Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
 Whose roof's as low as ours ! Stooj), boys : This gate 
 Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows 
 you 
 
 To morning's holy office : The gates of monarchs 
 Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through 
 And keep their impious turbans on, withoirt 
 Good morrow to the sun. — Hail, thou fair heaven.' 
 We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
 As prouder livers do. 
 
 Gui. Hail, heaven! 
 
 Arv. Hail, heaven 
 
 Bel. Now, for our mountain sport : Up to you hill 
 Your legs are young; f'll tread these flats. Consider 
 When you above i)erceive me like a crow. 
 That it is place which lessens, and sets off. 
 And you may then revoh e what tales I have told ya 
 Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: 
 This service is not service, so being done. 
 But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus. 
 Draws us a profit from all things w-e see : 
 And ofteri, to our comfort, shall we find 
 'J'he sharded beetle in a safer hold 
 Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life 
 Is nobler, than attending for a check ; 
 Richer, tnan doing nothing for a babe ; 
 Prouder, than rustling in unpaid for silk : 
 Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fin« 
 Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ourt. 
 
Scene d. 
 
 CYMBELIISE. 
 
 641 
 
 Gut. Ont of your proof you speak: we, poor nn- 
 
 lledg'd, _ [not 
 
 Have never wiug'd from view o'the nest; nor know 
 What airs from home. Haply, this lii'e is best, 
 ff quiet life be best: sweeter to you, 
 J'hat have a shijrper known ; well corresponding 
 Witli your stiff age : but, unto us, it is 
 A rell of ionorance ; travelling abed; 
 A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
 To stride a limit. 
 
 Aru. What should we speak of. 
 
 When we are old as you? when we shall hear 
 The rain and wind beat dark December, how. 
 In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
 The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing: 
 We are beastly; subtile a$ the fox, for prey; 
 Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat: 
 Our valour is, to chase what flies ; our cage 
 We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird, 
 And sing our bondage freely. 
 
 Bel. How you speak I 
 
 Did you but know the city's usuries. 
 And felt them knowingly: the art o the court. 
 As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb 
 Is certain falling, or so slij)pery, that 
 Tiie fear's as bad as falling : the toil of the war, 
 A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
 I'the name of fame, and honour; which dies i'the 
 And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, [search ; 
 As record of fair act; pay, many times, 
 Dotli ill deserve by doing well ; what's worse, 
 Must court'sey at the censure: — O, boys, this story 
 Tlie world may read in me : — My body's mark'd 
 With Roman swords ; and n)y re})ort was once 
 First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me ; 
 And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
 Was not far off: Then was 1 as a tree. 
 Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but, in one night, 
 A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, 
 Sliook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, 
 And left me bare to weather. 
 
 Gtd. Uncertain favour! 
 
 Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft,) 
 But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
 Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline, 
 I was confederate with tlie Romans: so, 
 Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years, 
 Tliisrock, and these demesnes, have been my world : 
 W^here I liave liv'd at honest freedom ; paid 
 More pious debts to heaven, than in all 
 The fore-end of my time. — But, up to the mountains ; 
 This is not hunters' language: — He, that strikes 
 The venison first, shall be the lord o' the feast; 
 To him the other two shall minister; 
 And we will fear no poison, which attends 
 fri place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. 
 
 [Exeunt Gui. and Arv. 
 How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature ! 
 These boys know little, they are sons to the king; 
 Nor Cyuibeline dreams that they are alive. 
 Tiiey tliiiik, threy are mine : and, though train'd up 
 thus meanly 
 
 f'the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
 The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them, 
 In -simple and low things, to prince it, much 
 Beyond tiie trick of others. This Polydore, — 
 The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom 
 The king his father called Guiderius. — Jove ! 
 When or my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
 The warlike feats I ha\e done, his spirits fly out 
 Into n)y story : say, — Thus mine enemy fell ; 
 And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then 
 I'he princely blood flows in liis cheek, he sweats. 
 Strains his young nerves, and puts iiimself in [wsture 
 That aots my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, 
 (Once, Arviragus, ) in as like a figure, 
 Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more 
 His own conceiving. Hark ! the game is rous'd ! — 
 O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows, 
 Tliou didst uiyustly banish me ; whereon. 
 
 At three, and two years old, I stole these babeg; 
 Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
 Thou rett'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
 Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for thelf 
 mother. 
 
 And every day do honour to her grave : 
 Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd. 
 They take for natural father. The ganie is up. [Exit 
 Scene lY.—Near Milford- Haven. 
 Enter Pisanio and Imogen. 
 Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horsey 
 the place 
 
 Was near at hand : — Ne'er long'd my mother so 
 To see me first, as I have now: — Pisanio ! Man ! 
 Nyhere is Posthunms? What is in thy mind. 
 That makes thee stare thus V Wherefore breaks that 
 sigh 
 
 From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus. 
 Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
 Beyond self explication : Put thyself 
 Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
 Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? 
 Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
 A look untender ? If it be summer news, 
 Smile to't before : if winterly, thou need'st 
 But keep that countenance still.— My husband's 
 hand ! 
 
 That drug-damn'd Italy hath out craffied him. 
 And he's at some hard point.— Speak, man; thy 
 tongue 
 
 May take olf some extremity, which to read 
 W^ould be even mortal to me. 
 
 Pis. Please you, read, 
 
 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
 The most disdain'd of fortime. 
 
 lino. {Reads.) Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath 
 played the strumpet in my bed; the testitnonies 
 whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out ofiveak 
 surmises ; but from proof as strong as my (jrief 
 and as certain as I expect my revenge. That par t 
 thou, Pisanio, must act forme, if thy faith Lh not 
 tainted icith the breach of hers. Let thine, oivri 
 hands take aivny her hfe : I shall (j/ve the oppor. 
 tunities at Milford-Haven ; she hatli my letter fo? 
 the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike.^ and to 
 make me certain it is done, t/iou art the pander 
 to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal. 
 
 Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword ? the 
 paper 
 
 Hath cut her throat already. — No, 'tis slander, 
 Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tungce 
 Outvenoms all the worms of Nile: whose breath 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 All corners oi'the world : kings, queens, and states 
 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
 This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, madam? 
 
 Imo. False to his bed ! What is it, to be i'alse 
 To lie in watch there and to think on him ? 
 To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge 
 nature, 
 
 To break it with a fearful dream of him, 
 
 And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed. 
 
 Is it? 
 
 Pis. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Imo. I false ? Thy conscience witness : — lachimo, 
 Thou didst accuse him of incontinency : 
 Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, 
 Thy favour's good enough. — Some jay of Italy, 
 Whose mother was her paintings hath hetray'd him 4 
 Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
 And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
 1 must be ripp'd : — to pieces with me ! — O, 
 Men's vows are women s traitors ! All good seeming. 
 By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
 Put on for villany ; not born, where't grows ; 
 But worn, a bait for la'dies. 
 
 Pis. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Imo. True honest men being heard, like false 
 .^neas, 
 
 41 
 
i642 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Were, i/i his time, tlioiiglit false : and Sinon's 
 
 weeping 
 
 Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity 
 From most true wretchedness : So, thou, Posthu- 
 rnus, 
 
 Wilt lay the leaven on ill proper men ; 
 Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd, 
 From thy great fail.--Come, fellow, be thou honest; 
 I>o thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st 
 him, 
 
 A little witness my obedience : Look! 
 I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit 
 The innocent mansion of my love, my heart : 
 Fear not ; 'tis empty of all things, bat grief: 
 Thy master is not there ; who was, indeed, 
 The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike, 
 Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause : 
 But now thou seem'st a coward. 
 
 Pis. Hence, vile instrument ! 
 
 Thou shalt not damn my hand. 
 
 Imo. Why, I must die ; 
 
 And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
 No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter 
 Tliere is a prohibition so divine, [heart ; 
 
 That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my 
 Something's afore't: — Soft, soft; we'll no defence; 
 Obedient as the scabbard. — Wliat is here ? 
 The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
 All turn'd to heresy ? Away, away, 
 Cov rupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
 Be stomacfiers to my heart ! Thus may poor fools 
 Believe false teachers : Though those, that are be- 
 tray'd. 
 
 Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitoi 
 
 Stands in worse case of woe. 
 
 And thou, Pasthumu-s, thou that did'st set np 
 
 My disobedience 'gainst the king ray father. 
 
 And make nie put into contempt the suits 
 
 Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
 
 It is no act of common passage, but 
 
 A strain of rareness : and 1 grieve myself, 
 
 To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
 
 That no vv, thou tir'st on. how thy memory 
 
 Will then he pang'd by me. — Pr'ythee, despatch : 
 
 'I'he lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife? 
 
 Thou art too slow to do thy master s bidding, 
 
 Wlien I desire it too. 
 
 Pis. O gracious lady. 
 
 Since I receiv'd command to do this business, 
 1 have not slept one wink. 
 
 Imo. Do't, and to bed then. 
 
 Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. 
 hno. Wherefore then 
 
 Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd 
 So many miles, with a pretence ? this place? 
 Mint-, action, and thine own? our horses' labour? 
 'J'he time irivlting thee? the perturb'd court. 
 For my being absent; whereunto I never 
 Purpose retiirn? Why bast thou gone so far, 
 'i'o be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 
 The elected deer before thee ? 
 
 Pis. But to win time 
 
 To lose so bad employment: in the which 
 I have consider'd of a course : Good lady. 
 Hear me with patience. 
 
 Imo. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak : 
 
 I have hear<3, I am a strumpet ; and mine ear, 
 Tiiereiu false strtick, can take no greater wound, 
 Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 
 
 Pis. Then, madam, 
 
 I thought you would not back again. 
 
 lino.. Most like ; 
 
 Bringing me here to kill me. 
 
 Pis. Not so, rsither! 
 
 But if I were as wise as honest, then 
 My purpose would prove well. It cannot be, 
 But that my master is abus'd : 
 Some villain, ay, and singular in his art. 
 Hath d{)ne yon both this cursed injury. 
 Imo. Some R '•man Courtezan. 
 
 Pis. No, on my life. 
 
 I'll give but notice you are deeid, and send hioi 
 Some bloody sign of it; lor 'tis commanded 
 I sl«)uld do so : You shall be miss'd at court, 
 And that will well confirm it. 
 
 iwo- Whv, good fei'ow, 
 
 What shall I do tU while V Whert.bide ? How U»«? 
 Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
 Dead to my husband ? 
 
 Pis. If you'll back to the couHr— 
 
 Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado 
 With that harsh, noble, simple nothinj^; 
 That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been tome 
 As fearful as a siege. 
 
 Pis, _ If not at court. 
 
 Then not in Britain must you bide. 
 
 Imo. Where then? 
 
 Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day, night. 
 Are they not but in Britain ? I'the world's volufija 
 Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; 
 In a great pool, a swan's nest ; Pr'ythee, think 
 There's livers out of Britain. 
 
 Pis. lam most glad 
 
 You think of other place. The embassador, 
 Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford -Haveu 
 To-morrow : Now, if you coii^-d wear a mind 
 Dark as your fortune is ; and but disguise 
 That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be 
 But by self danger; you should tread a course 
 Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near 
 The residence of Posthumus : so nigh, at least 
 That though his actions were not visible, yet 
 Report should render him hourly to your ear. 
 As truly as he moves. 
 
 Imo. O, for such means ! 
 
 Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 
 I would adventure. 
 
 Pis. Well, then, here's the j oin|: 
 
 You must forget to be a woman ; change 
 Command into o!jedif>nce ; fear, and niceness, 
 (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, 
 Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage 
 Ready in gibes, quick-answerd, saucy, and 
 As quarrellous as the weasel : nay, you must 
 Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 
 Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! 
 Alack, no remedy !) to the greedy touch 
 Of common kissing Titan ; and forget 
 Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
 You made great Juno angry. 
 
 Imo. Nay, be brief : 
 
 I see into thy end, and am almost 
 A man already. 
 
 Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 
 
 Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, 
 ('Tis in my cloak bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all 
 That answer to them : Would you, in their serviugi 
 And with what imitation you can borrow 
 From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lacius 
 Present yourself, desire h-is service, tell him 
 Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him 
 know. 
 
 If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless. 
 With joy he will embrace you ; for he's honourable, 
 And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroao 
 Yon have me, rich ; and I will never fail 
 Beginning, nor supplyment. 
 
 Itno. Thou art all the comfort 
 
 The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee away: 
 'J'here's more to be consider'd ; but we 11 even 
 All that good time will give us : Tliis attempt 
 I'm soldier to. and will abide it with 
 A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell 
 Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
 Your carriage from the court. My noble niistreaa, 
 Here is a box : I had it from the queen; 
 What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea. 
 Or stomuch-qualm'd at land, p. dram of this 
 Will drive away distemper. — To some shade, 
 
A n(J fit yon to j'our manhood —May the goas 
 Direct you to the best ! 
 Into. Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in Cymhe{ine''s Palace. 
 Enter Cymbeline, Qup.en, Cloten, Lucius, and 
 Lords. 
 
 Cymb Thus far; and so farewell. 
 
 Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 
 
 My emperor hath wrote ; I must from hence ; 
 And am rigfit sorry, that I must report ye 
 My master's enemy. 
 
 Cymb. Our subjects, sir, 
 
 Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself 
 To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs 
 Appear UHkinglike. 
 
 Luc. So, sir, T desire of you 
 
 A conduct over-land, to Milford-IJaven. — 
 Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you ! 
 
 Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office ; 
 The due of honour in no point omit : — 
 So, farewell, noble Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Your hand, my lord. 
 
 Clo. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth 
 I wear it as your enemy. 
 
 Luc. Sir, the event 
 
 !s yet to name the winner : Fare you well. [lords, 
 
 Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my 
 Till he have cross'd the Severn, — Happiness ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 
 
 Queen. He go<\s hence frowning: but it honours 
 That we ha\e given him cause. [us, 
 
 Clo. 'Tis all the better; 
 
 Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 
 
 Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
 flow it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely, 
 Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : 
 The powers, that he already hath in Gallia, 
 VVil! soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 
 His war for Britain. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ; 
 
 But must be look'd, to speedily, and strongly. 
 
 Cym. Our expectation, that it would be thus, 
 Hath made «s forward. But, my gentle queen, 
 Where is our daughter? She hath notappear'd 
 Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 
 The duty of the day : She looks us like 
 A tiling more made of malice, than of duty : 
 We have noted it. — Call her before us ; for 
 We have been too slight in sufferance. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Queen. Royal sir, 
 
 Shice the exile of Posthumus, most r^tir'd 
 Hath her life been ;^ the cure whereof, my lord, 
 'Tis time must do. 'Beseech yoijr majesty, 
 Forbear sharp speeches to her: She's a lady 
 So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes. 
 And strokes death to her. 
 
 Re-enter an Attendant. 
 
 Cym. Where is she, sir ? How 
 
 Can her contempt be en;swer'd ? 
 
 xitten. Please you, sir. 
 
 Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there's no answer. 
 That will he given to the loud'st of noise we make. 
 
 Queen. My lord, when Jast I went to visit her. 
 She praj'd me to excuse her keeping close; 
 Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, 
 She shcnld that duty leave unpaid to you. 
 Which daily she was bound ta proffer: this 
 She wish'd me to make known ; but our great court 
 Made me to blame in memory. 
 
 Cy.u. Her doors lock'd ? 
 
 Not oeen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, 
 Prove false w [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Soi I say, follaw the king. 
 
 Clo. Ttet man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
 I have not seen these two ays. 
 
 Queen. Go. look after. — [Exit Cloten. 
 
 P'saoio, tbm that stand'st so for Posthumus I — 
 
 643 
 
 He hath a drug of mine : T pray, his absence 
 
 Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes 
 
 It is a thing most precious. But for her, 
 
 Where is she gone ? Haply, despair hath seia'dkw 
 
 Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's fiowr 
 
 To her desir'd Posthumus : Gone she is 
 
 To death, or to dishonour ; and my end 
 
 Can make good use of either : Slie being down, 
 
 I have the placing of the British srown. 
 
 Re- enter Cloten. 
 How now, my son? 
 
 Clo. 'Tis certain, she is fled : 
 
 Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none 
 Dare come about him. 
 
 Queen. All the better: May 
 
 This night forestall him of the coming day ! [Exit, 
 
 Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal, 
 And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite 
 Than lady, ladies, woman ; from every one 
 The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 
 Outsells them all : I love her, therefore : But, 
 Disdaining me, and throwing favours on 
 The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment, 
 That what's else rare, is chok'd ; and, in that point, 
 I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, 
 To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 Shall — Who is here ? What ! are yon packing, 
 sirrah ? 
 
 Come hither: Ah, you precious pander! Villain, 
 Where is thy lady? In a word ; or else 
 Thou art straightway with the fiends. 
 
 Pis. O, good my lord ! 
 
 Clo. Where is thy lady? ox, by Jupiter, 
 I will not ask again. Close villain, 
 ril have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
 Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus ? 
 From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
 A dram of worth be drawn. 
 
 Pis. Alas, my lord. 
 
 How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? 
 He is in Rome. 
 
 Clo. Where is she, sir? Come neaper^ 
 
 No further halting: satisfy me home. 
 What is become of her? 
 
 Pis. O, my all- worthy lord. 
 
 Clo. All-worthy villaia! 
 
 Discover where thy mistress ia, at once. 
 At the next word, — No more of worfhy lord,— 
 Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
 Thy condemnation and thy death. 
 
 Pis. Then, sir, 
 
 This paper is the history of my knowledge 
 Touching her flight. {Presenting a letter.) 
 
 Clo. Let's see't : — I will pursue he/» 
 
 Even to Augustus' throne. 
 
 Pis. Or this, or perish, ^ 
 
 She's far enough; and what he learns by f j • j 
 this >Asiae. 
 
 May prove his travel, not her danger. y 
 
 Clo. Humph! 
 
 Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen. 
 Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again ! [A^ide.] 
 
 Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ? 
 
 Pis. Sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. It is Posthumus' hand ; I know't. — Sirrah, 
 if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true 
 service; undergo those employments, wherein 1 
 should have cause to use thee, with a serious indus- 
 try, — that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to 
 perform it, directly and truly, — I would think thee 
 an honest man : thou shouid'st neitlier want my 
 means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. 
 
 Pis. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For, since patientl'' 
 and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortu- 
 of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in ' 
 course of gratitude, but be a diligent folio we 
 mine. Wilt thou .s*»rve me ? 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
644 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Pis. Sir, I 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast 
 any of thy late master's garments in thy possession''' 
 
 Pis. 1 have, my lord, at my lodging, the same 
 unit lie wore, when he took, leave of my lady and 
 mistress. 
 
 Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that 
 suit hither : let it be thy first service } go. 
 
 Pis. I sliall, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Meet thee at Mil ford-Haven :— I forgot to 
 ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon: — Even 
 there, thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee.— 
 I would, these garments were come. She said 
 upon a time, (the bitterness of it 1 now belch from 
 my heart,) that she held the very garment of Posthu- 
 mus in more respect than my noble and natural 
 person, together with the adornment of my qualities. 
 With that suit upon my back, will 1 ravish her: 
 First kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see 
 my valour, which will then be a torment to her con- 
 tempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment 
 ended on his dead body, — and when my lust hath 
 dined, (wiiich, as I say, to vex her, I will execute 
 in the clothes that she so praised,) to the court I'll 
 knock her back, foot her home again. She hath 
 despis'd me rejoicingly, and I II be merry in my 
 revenge. 
 
 Re-enter Pisanio, tvith the clothes. 
 
 Be those the garments? 
 
 Pin. Ay, my noble lord. [Haven? 
 
 Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford- 
 
 Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 
 
 Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber ; that is 
 the second thing that 1 have commanded thee : the 
 third is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to mv 
 design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall 
 tender itself to thee. — My revenge is now at Milford ; 
 'Would 1 had wings to follow it! — Come, and be 
 true. [Exit. 
 
 Pis. Thon bidd'st me to my loss : for, true to 
 thee, 
 
 Were to prove false, which I will never be. 
 
 To him tliat is most true. To Milford go, 
 
 And find not her, whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, 
 
 You heavenly blessi.igs, on her! This fool's sueed 
 
 Be cross'd with slowness ; labour be his meed ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene VI. — Before the Cave of Belarius, 
 Enter Imogen, in boy's clothes. 
 
 Into. I see, a man's life is a tedious one : 
 I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together 
 Have made tlie ground my bed. I should be sick. 
 But that my resolution helps me. — Milford, 
 When from the mountain top Pisanio shew'd thee. 
 Thou wast within a ken : O Jove ! I think, 
 Foundations fly the wretched ; such, 1 mean, 
 Where tliey should be relieV'd. Two beggars 
 l)ld me, 
 
 I could not miss my way : Will poor folks lie, 
 That have -afflictions on them; knowing 'tis 
 A. punisliment, or tsial ? Yes; no wonder, 
 Vhen rich ones scarce tell true : To lapse in ful- 
 ness 
 
 ..s sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood 
 
 Is worse in kings, than beggars. — My dear lord I 
 
 Thou art one o'the false ones : Now I think on thee, 
 
 My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was 
 
 At point to sink for food. — But what is this? 
 
 Here is a path to it : "^i^is some savage hold : 
 
 I were best not call; I dare not call ; yet famine. 
 
 Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. 
 
 Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards ; hardness ever 
 
 Of hardiness is mother. — Ho! who's here? 
 
 If aoy thing, that s civil, speak; if savage, 
 
 Take, or lend. — Ho ! — No answer? then I'll enter. 
 
 Best draw my sword, and if mine enemy 
 
 But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. 
 
 Such a foe, good heavens ! {She goes into the Cave.^ 
 
 Enter BeIiARius, Cuimrfus, and Arviragi:.s. 
 
 Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman 
 and 
 
 Are master of the feast : Cadwal, and I, 
 Will play the c.xik and servant; 'tis otir match-. 
 The sweat of industry would dry, and die, 
 But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs 
 Will make what's homely, sa\ oury ; \\ eariness 
 Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth 
 Finds the down pillow liard. — Now, peace be here, 
 Poor house, that keep'st thyself! 
 Giii. I am thoroughly weary 
 
 Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appeiite. 
 Gui. There is cold meat i'the cave ; we'll browze 
 on that, 
 
 Whilst what we have kill'd be cook d. 
 
 Bel. Stay; come not in : [hookinij in., 
 
 But that it eats our victuals, 1 should think 
 Here were a fairy. 
 
 Gui. What's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Bel. By Jupiter, an angel I or, if not, 
 An earthly paragon! — Behold divineness 
 No elder than a boy ! 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Lno. Good masters, harm me not : 
 Before I enter'd here, I call'd ; and thought 
 To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took : Good 
 troth, 
 
 I have stolen nought; nor would not, though 1 had 
 found [meat ; 
 
 Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for my 
 I would have left it on the board, so soon 
 As I had made my meal ; and parted 
 With prayers for the provider. 
 
 Gui. ^ Money, youth? 
 
 Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! 
 As 'tis no better reckou'd, but of those 
 Who worship dirty gods. 
 
 Imo. I see, you are angry . 
 
 Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
 Have died, had I not made it. 
 
 Bel. Whither bound? 
 
 Imo. To Milford-Haven, sir. 
 
 Bel. What is your name T 
 
 Itno. Fidele, sir : I have a kinsman, who 
 Is bound for Italy; he embaik'd at Milford; 
 To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, 
 I am fall'n in this ofience. 
 
 Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, 
 
 Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds 
 By this rude place we live in, VV'ell encounter'd! 
 ''I'is almost night : you shall have better cheer, 
 lire you depart; and thanks, to stay and eat it. — 
 Boys, bid him welcome. 
 
 Gui. Were you a woman, youth, 
 
 I should woo hard, but be your groom. — in honesty, 
 I bid for you, as I'd buy. 
 
 Arv. ril make't my comfort, 
 
 He is a man; I'll love him as my brother : — 
 And such a welcome as I'd give to him. 
 After long absence, such as yours: — Most wel- 
 come ! 
 
 Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 
 
 Imo. 'Mongst friends ! 
 
 If brothers ? — Would it had been so, tluit \ 
 they [prize w 
 
 Had bieen my father's sons ? then had my \ Aside. 
 Been less; and so more equal ballasting* 
 To thee, Posthumus. / 
 
 Bel. He wrings at some distrcs* 
 
 Gid. 'Would, I could free't ! 
 
 Arv. Or I ; whate'er it b«, 
 
 What pain it cost, what danger I Gods ! 
 
 Bel. Hark, boys. {Whispering) 
 
 Imo. Great men. 
 That had a court no bigger than this cave. 
 That did attend themselveH, and had the virtue 
 Which their own conscience soal'd them, (laying 
 That nothing gift of dilTerinj; multitudes,) 
 
A-tTT lY. Scene 2. 
 
 CYMBELTNE. 
 
 645 
 
 Oonld not out peer these twain. Pardon me, gods ! 
 I'd chang^e my sex to be companion with them. 
 Since Leonatiis' false. 
 
 Bel. It shall be so : 
 
 Koys, we'll go dress our hunt. — Fair youth, come in : 
 Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd, 
 We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story. 
 So far as thou wilt speak, it. 
 
 Giii. Pray, draw near. 
 
 Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, 
 less welcome. 
 
 hno. Thanks, sir. 
 
 Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene Yll.— Borne. 
 Enter two Senators and Tribunes. 
 
 1 Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ; 
 That since the common men are now in action 
 'Gainst the Pannoniatis and Dalmatians ; 
 
 And that the legions now in Gallia are 
 Full weak to undertake our wars against 
 The fall'n-oti' Britons ; that we do incite 
 The gentry to this business: He creates 
 Lucius proconsul : and to you the tribunes. 
 For this immediate levy, he commands 
 His absolute commission. Long live Caesar! 
 Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces ? 
 
 2 Sen. Ay. 
 Tri. Remaining now in Gallia? 
 
 1 Sen. With those legions 
 
 Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
 Must be supplyant : The words of your commission 
 Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
 Of their despatch. 
 
 Tri. We will discharge our duty. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The Forest, near the Cave. 
 Enter Cloten. 
 Clo. I am near to the place where they should 
 meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit 
 his garments serve me! VVhy should his mistress, 
 who was made by hiui that made the tailor, not be 
 fit too'' the rather (saving reverence of the word) 
 for 'tis said, a wouian's fitness comes by fits. 
 Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it 
 to myself, (for it is not vain glory, for a man and 
 his glass to confer ; in his own chamber, I mean,) 
 the lines of my body are as well drawn as his ; 
 no less young, more strong, not beneath him in 
 forttmes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, 
 above him in birth, alike conversant in general 
 services, and more remarkable in single oppositions: 
 yet this imperseverant thing loves him in my des- 
 pite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, 
 which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall 
 within this houi be off; thy mistress enforced; 
 thy garments cut to pieces before thy face ; and all 
 this done, spurn her home to her ftither : who may, 
 haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage : 
 but mv mother, having power of his testiness, shall 
 turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied 
 op safe : Out, sword, and to a sore purpose ! For- 
 tune, put them into my hand ! This is the very 
 description of their meeting-place; and the fellow 
 dares not deceive me. [Exit. 
 
 Scene \\.— Before the Cave. 
 Enter^ from the Cave, Belarius, Guiderius, 
 
 AitviRAOUs. and Imogen. 
 BeLYon are not well : {To Imogen) remain here 
 in the cave ; 
 We'll come to you after hunting. 
 
 Arv. Brother, stay here : {To Imogen.) 
 
 Are we not brothers ? 
 
 Irno. So man and man should be ; 
 
 But clay and clay differs in dignity, 
 Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 
 Gui. Go you to hunting. I'll abide with hiio. 
 
 Imo. So sick T am not;— yet I am not well : 
 
 But not so citizen a wanton, as 
 
 To seem to die, ere sick : So please you, leave me' 
 
 Stick to your journal course : the breach of custom 
 
 Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by rue 
 
 Cannot amend me : Society is no comfort 
 
 To one not sociable : I'm not very sick. 
 
 Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me herej 
 
 I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, 
 
 Stealing so poorly. 
 
 Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it 
 
 How much the quantity, tlie weight as much. 
 As I do love my father. 
 
 Bel. What? how? how? 
 
 Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
 In my good brother's fault : I know not why 
 I love this youth; and I have heard you say, 
 Love's reason's without reason ; the bier at door 
 And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say. 
 Mi/ father, not this youth. 
 
 Bel. O noble strain ! {Aside.) 
 
 0 worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! 
 Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base : 
 Nature hath meal, and bran; contempt, and grace. 
 
 1 am not their father; yet who this should be. 
 Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. — 
 
 'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn. 
 Arv. Brother, farewell. 
 
 Imo. I wish you sport. 
 
 Arv. You healtl*. — So please you, sir. 
 
 Imo. {Aside.) These are kind creatures. Gods, 
 what lies I have heard! 
 Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court : 
 Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! 
 The imperious seas breed monsters ; for the dish, 
 Poor tributary rivers as sweet fislu 
 I am sick still ; heart sick : — Pisanio, 
 I'll now taste of thy drug. 
 
 Gui. I could not stir himi 
 
 He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate ; 
 Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 
 
 Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet said, hereaftei 
 I might know more. 
 
 Bel. To the field, to the field :— 
 
 We'll leave you for this time; go in, and rest. 
 
 Arv. We'll not be long away. 
 
 Bel. Pray, be not sick, 
 
 For you must be our housewife. 
 
 hno. Well, or ill, 
 
 I am bound to you. 
 
 Bel. And so shall be ever. [Exit Imogen, 
 
 This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had 
 Good ancestors. 
 
 Arv. How angel-like he sings? 
 
 Gui. But his neat cookery ! He cut our roots 
 in characters; 
 And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick. 
 And he her dieter. 
 
 Arv. Nobly he yokes 
 
 A smiling with a sigh : as if the sigh 
 Was that it was, for not being such a smile ; 
 The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 
 From so divine a temple, to commix 
 With winds, that sailors rail at. 
 
 Gui. I do note. 
 
 That grief and patience, rooted in him both, 
 Mingle their spurs together. 
 
 Arv. Grow, patience I 
 
 And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
 His perishing root, with the increasing vine ! 
 
 Bel. It is great morning. Come ; away. — WIuJ^ 
 there? 
 
 Enter Cloten 
 
 Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that villain 
 Hath mock'd me : — I am faint. 
 
 Bel. Those runagates I 
 
 Means he not us? I partly know him ; 'tis 
 Cloten. the son o'the queen. I fear some ambtiaife 
 I saw him not these many years, and yet 
 
646 
 
 f know 'tis he :--VVe are held as otitlaws : — 
 Hence. 
 
 Gui. He is but one: You and my brother search 
 What companies are near: pray yon, away ; 
 Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Bel. and Arv. 
 
 Clo. Soft; what are yoii 
 
 That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers? 
 I Inne heard of such. — What slave art thou? 
 
 Gui. A thing 
 
 Alore glr.vish did I ne'er, than answering 
 A slave, without a knock. 
 
 Clo. Thou art a robber, 
 
 A ]f\\v breaker, a villain: — Yield thee, thief. 
 
 Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Have 
 not I 
 
 An arm as big as thine ? a heart as big ? 
 Thy words, I grant, are bigger ; for I wear not 
 /,ly dagger in my month. Say, what thou art ; 
 Why I should yield to thee? 
 
 Clo. Thou villain base, 
 
 Know'st me not by my clothes ? 
 
 Giii. No, nor thy tailor, rascal. 
 
 Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes, 
 Which, as it seems, make thee ? 
 
 Clo. Thou precious varlet, 
 
 My tailor made them not. 
 
 Gui. Hence then, and thank 
 
 The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool ; 
 I am loath to beat thee. 
 
 Clo. Tliou injurious thief. 
 
 Hear but my name, and tremble. 
 
 Gut. What's thy name ? 
 
 Clo. Clolen, thou villain. 
 
 Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be fhy name, 
 1 cannot tremble at it ; were't toad, or adder, spider, 
 'Twould move me sooner. 
 
 Clo. To thy further fear. 
 
 Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou sliait know 
 I'm son to the queen. 
 
 GvL I'm sorry for't ; not seeming 
 
 So worthy as thy birth. 
 
 Clo. Art not afeard ? [wise : 
 
 Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear; the 
 At fools 1 laugh, not fear tiiem. 
 
 Clo. \ Die the death: 
 
 When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
 I'll follow those that even now fled heuce, 
 And on (lie gates of Lud's town set your heads: 
 Yields rustic nioiintaiueer. [Exeunt Jiyhting. 
 
 Enter Belakius and Arviragus. 
 
 Bel. No conipany's abroad. [sure. 
 
 Arv. None in the world : You did mistake him, 
 
 Bel. I cannot tell : Long is it since I saw him, 
 Biit time hath nothing bluiT'd those lines of favour, 
 Whicii then 'ne wore ; the snatches in his voice, 
 And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute, 
 'Twas very Cloten. 
 
 Arv. In this place we left them : 
 
 I wish my brother make good time with him. 
 You say he is so fell. 
 
 Bel. Being scarce made up, 
 
 I mean, to man, he had not apprehen.sinn 
 Of roaring terrors ; for the effect ot judgment 
 Is oft the cause of fear : But see, thy brother. 
 
 Be-enter GuiDERius, with Cloien's head. 
 
 Gui. This Cloten was a fool ; an empty purse. 
 There was no money in't : not Hercides 
 Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none : 
 \ et 1 not doing this, the fool had borne 
 My head, as I do his. 
 
 Bel. What hast thou done ? 
 
 Qui. I am perfect, what : cut off one Cloten's head, 
 Son to the qiieen, after his own report; 
 Who cali'd ine traitor, mountaineer; and swore, 
 With his own siit^le hand he'd take us in, 
 Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they 
 And set them on Lud's town. (grow, 
 
 BeL We are all undone. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Oui. Why,, worthy fattier, what have we to loM^ 
 But, tliat iie swore, to take our lives? The la^ 
 Protects not us : Then why should we be tender, 
 To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us; 
 Play judge, and executioner, all himself; 
 For we do fear the law ? What company 
 Discover you abroad ? 
 
 Bel. No single soul 
 
 Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason. 
 He must have some attendants. Though his ImmouT 
 Was nothing but mutation ; ay, and that 
 From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not 
 Absolute madness could so far have rav'd. 
 To bring him here alone : Although, perhaps, 
 It may be heard at court, that such as we 
 Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and time 
 May make some stronger head : the which he hearings 
 (As it is like him,) might break out, and swear 
 He'd fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 
 To come alone, eitlier he so undertaking, 
 Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear 
 If we do fear this body hath a tail 
 More perilous than the head. 
 
 Arv. Let ordinance 
 
 Come as the gods foresay it : howso'er, 
 My brother hath done well. 
 
 Bel. I had no mind 
 
 To liunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 
 Did make my way long Ibrth. 
 
 Gui. With his own sword. 
 
 Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en 
 His head from hiuj : 1 11 throvv't into tlie creek 
 Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea, 
 And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten. 
 That's all i reck. (ExzV. 
 
 Bel. 1 fear 'twill be reveng'd : 
 
 'Would, Polydore, thou had'st notdoue't! though 
 valour 
 
 Becomes thee well enough. 
 
 Arv. 'Would I had don't. 
 
 So tl)e revenge alone pursued me ! — Polydore, 
 I Kive thee brotherly; but envy much, 
 Thou hast robb'd me of this deed : I would, revenges 
 Tliat possible strength, might meet, would seek us 
 And put us to our answer. [through, 
 
 Bel. Well, 'tis done:— 
 
 We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
 Where there's no profit. I pr'ytiiee, to our rock ; 
 You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay 
 Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
 To dinner presently. 
 
 Arv. Poor sick Fidele I 
 
 I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour, 
 I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood. 
 And praise myself for charity, [Exit. 
 
 Bel. O thou goddess, 
 
 Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou biazon'st. 
 In these two princely boys! 'J'hey are as gentle 
 As zephyrs, blowing below the violet. 
 Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, 
 'J'heir royal blood enchai'd, as the rud'st wind. 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
 And make him stoop to the vale, "lis wonderful, 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To royalty unlearn'd : honour untaught; 
 Civility not seen from other; valour. 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crsxp 
 As if it had been sow'd I Vet still it's strangt.^ 
 What Cloten's being here to us portends ; 
 Or what his death will bring us. 
 
 Re-entet Guiderius. 
 
 Qui. Where's my brother ? 
 
 I have sent Cloten's clotpole down the stream, 
 In e»nbassy to his mother : liis body's hos!aj>e 
 For his return. {Solemn muti^ 
 
 Bel. My ingenious instrument ! 
 
 Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion 
 Hath Ciidwal now to give it motion ! Harli 
 
 Gui. Is he at borne 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 Hel. He went hence even now. 
 
 Gui. What does he mean ? since death of my 
 dear'st mother. 
 It did not speak before. All solemn things 
 Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? 
 Triumphs for nothing, and lanienting toys. 
 Is jollity for apes, and e^rief for boys, 
 2s Cadwal mad ? 
 
 Re- enter Akviragvs, bearing Imogen, asdaacU in 
 his arms. 
 
 Bel, Look, here he comes. 
 
 And brings the dire occasion in his arms, 
 Of what we blame him for! 
 
 Arv. The bird is dead. 
 
 That we have made so much on. I bad rather 
 Have skipp'd from sisteeen years of age to sixty. 
 To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, 
 Than have seen this. 
 
 Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily ! 
 
 My brother wears thee not the one half so well. 
 As when thou grew'st thyself. 
 
 Bel. O, melancholy ! 
 
 Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find 
 The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish care 
 Might easiliest harbour in? — Thou blessed thing! 
 Jove knows what man thou might'st have made."*but I, 
 Thou died'st, a most rare boy, of meUncholy !— 
 How found you him ? 
 
 Arv. Stark, as you see ; 
 
 Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, 
 Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at : his right cheek 
 Reposing on a cushion. 
 
 Gui. Where ? 
 
 Arv. O'the floor ; 
 
 His arms thus leagu'd : I thought, he slept; and put 
 My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness 
 Answer'd my steps too loud. 
 
 Gui, Why, he but sleeps : 
 
 If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed ; 
 With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, 
 And worms will not come to thee. 
 
 Arv. With fairest flowers, 
 
 W^hile summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave : Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor 
 The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor 
 The leaf of eglantine, w!iom not to slander, 
 Oiit-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would, 
 With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming 
 Those iicl>-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
 Without a monument 1) bring thee all this ; 
 Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none 
 To winter-ground thy corse. 
 
 Gut. Pr'ythee, have done ; 
 
 And do not play in wench-like words with that 
 Which is so serious. Let us bury him. 
 And not pr«)tact with admiration what 
 Is now due debt. — To the grave. 
 
 Arv. i>ay, where shall's lay him ? 
 
 Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 
 
 Arv. Be't so ; 
 
 And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
 Have got the mannish crack, sing hitn to the ground 
 As once our mother; use like note, and words, 
 Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 
 
 Gui. Cadwal, 
 I cannet sing : I'll weep, and word it with thee : 
 For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
 Than priests and fanes that lie. ' 
 
 Arv. VVe'll S;peak it then. 
 
 Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for 
 Gluten 
 
 la quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys : 
 And, though he came our enemy, remember 
 He was paid tor that ; Though mean and mighty, 
 rotting 
 
 Together, have one dust; yet reverence, 
 
 (That angel of the world,) doth make distincition 
 
 Of pmce 'tween \ng\\ and law. Our Ibe vv is pri.«cely; 
 
 647 
 
 And though you took his life, as being our foe, , 
 Yet bury him as a prince. 
 
 Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither, 
 
 Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, 
 When neither are alive. 
 
 Arv. If yoiT'll go fetch him. 
 
 We'll say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin. 
 
 [Exit Belariux 
 
 Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the eaat, 
 My father hath a reason for't. 
 Arv. 'Tis true. 
 
 Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 
 Arv, So,— Begin 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the heal othe sun^ 
 Nor the furious winter s rages ; 
 
 Thou thy wordly task hast done, 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: 
 
 Golden lads and girls all must 
 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Arv. Fear no more the frown dthe great, ' 
 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
 Care no more to clothe, and eat ; 
 
 To thee the reed is as the oak: 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 Allfollotv this, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the light' ning flask, 
 Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
 Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash: 
 Arv. Thou hast finish' d joy and moan: 
 Both. All lovers young, all lovers tnust 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. .No exerciser harm thee ! 
 Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
 Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
 Arv, Nothing ill come near thee! 
 Bortb. Quiet consummation have; 
 And renowned be thy grave ! 
 
 Re-enter Belarius, with the body cf Cloteu. 
 
 Gui. We have done our obsequies ; Come lay 
 him down. [more: 
 Bel. Here's a few flowers : but about midnightji 
 The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night. 
 Are strewings fitt'st for graves. — Upon their 
 faces : — 
 
 You were as flowers, now wither'd : even so 
 These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow. — 
 Come on, a*vay : apart upon your knees. 
 The ground, that gave them first, has them again : 
 Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 
 
 {Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus, 
 Imo. {Awaking.) Yes, sir, to Milford- Haven ; 
 
 Which is the way? — [ther? 
 I thank you. — By you bush ? — Pray, how far thi- 
 'Ods pittikins !— can it be six miles yet ? — 
 I have gone all night: — 'Faith, I'll lie down and 
 
 sleep. 
 
 But, soft! no bedfellow: — O, gods and goddesses I 
 
 {Seeing/ the body.) 
 These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; 
 This bloody man the care on't. —1 hope, I dream ; 
 For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, 
 And cook to honest creatures : But 'tis not so; 
 'Twas but a bolf of notliinjj, shot at notliing. 
 Which the brain makes of fumes : Our very eyes 
 Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Gottil 
 faith, 
 
 I tremble still with fear : But if there be 
 
 Yet left in heaven as small a drop of iDity 
 
 As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part ol itl 
 
 The dream's here still : even when 1 wake, it is 
 
 Without me, as with o me ; not imagin'd, fe!L 
 
 A headless man !— The garirt*^nts ol Poslhura 
 
 I know the shape of his leg : this is his hand ; 
 
 His foot Mercurial: his Martial thigh ; 
 
 The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial fac«— 
 
 CYMBELINE 
 
648 
 
 Murder i» heaven ? — How? — 'tis gone. — Pisauio, 
 Alfe:urses tnadded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
 And mine to boot, be daited on thee ! Thou, 
 Conspir'd with that irregnlous devil, Cloten, 
 Hast here cut oft' my lord. — To write, and read, 
 Be henceforth treacherous ! — Damn'd Pisanio 
 Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pisanio— 
 From this most bravest vessel of the world 
 Struck the main top ! — , O Posthnmtis! alas, 
 Where is thy htad ? where's that? Ah nie! where's 
 that? 
 
 Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, 
 And left this head on. — How sliould this be? Pisanio? 
 'Tis he, and Cloten : malice and lucre in them 
 Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant ! 
 The drng he gave me, which, he said, was precious 
 And cordial to me, have I not iound it 
 Murd'rons to the senses ? that coritirms it home : 
 This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten'sl O ! — 
 Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
 That we the horrid er may seem to those 
 Which chance to find us : 0, my lord, my lord ! 
 
 jSnter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers, and 
 a Soothsayer. 
 
 Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 
 After your will, have cross'd the sea ; attending 
 
 ou here at Milford-Haven, with your ships : 
 They are here in readiness. 
 
 Ijuc. But what from Rome ? 
 
 Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the coiifiners. 
 And gentlemen of Italy ; most willing spirits, 
 That promise iroble service ; and they come 
 Under the conduct of bold lachimo, 
 Sienna's broLlier. 
 
 hue. When expect you them? 
 
 Cap. With the next benefit o the wind. 
 
 Lzic, This forwardness 
 
 Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers 
 Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. — Now, sir, 
 What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur- 
 pose [vision : 
 
 Sooth. Last night the very gods shew'u me a 
 
 ?fast, and praj'd, for their intelligence.) Thus : — 
 saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 
 From the spungy south to this part of the west, 
 There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends, 
 (Unless my sins abuse my divination,) 
 success to the Roman host. 
 
 Luc. Dream often so, 
 
 And never false. — Soft, ho! what trunk is here, 
 Without his top? The ruin soeaks, tliat sometime 
 It was a worthy building. — How 1 a page ! — 
 Or dead, or sleeping on him ? But dead, rather: 
 For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
 With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. — 
 Let's see the boy's face. 
 
 Cap. He is alive, my lord. [one, 
 
 Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. — Young 
 Inform us of thy fortunes ; for it seems. 
 They crave to be demanded : Who is this, 
 Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he. 
 That, otherwise than noble nature did. 
 Hath alter'd that good picture ? What's thy interest 
 In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? 
 What art thou ? 
 
 Imo. I am nothing : or if not, 
 
 Nothing to be were better. This was my master, 
 A very valiant Britain, and a good. 
 That here by mountaineers lies slain : — Alas ! 
 There are no more such masters : 1 may wander 
 From east to Occident, cry out for service, 
 1'ry many, all good, serve truly, i«?ver 
 Find such another master. 
 
 Iduc. 'Lack, good youth ! 
 
 Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than 
 Thy master in bleeding ; say his name, good friend. 
 
 Im.0. Richard du Champ. If 1 do lie, and do 
 No ha oi by it. though the gods hear, 1 liope 
 They'll pardon it. Say you ^ sir ? {^Aside.) 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Imc. Thy name ? 
 
 Tmo. FVIele. 
 
 Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very samo 
 Thy name well fits thy faith ; Uiy failh, thy nanie. 
 Wilt take thy chance with me ? 1 will not say. 
 Thou shalt, be so well master'd ; but be sure. 
 No less belov'd. The Roman empercr's letters, 
 Sent by a consul to me, should not soon<-r 
 Than thine own worth prefer th- 1- ; Gx> wit): me. 
 
 Lno. I'll follow, sir. Uu\ tirst, an't please the gods, 
 I'll hide my master from thi* liies, as dr-ep 
 As these poor pickaxes can dig : and wh^n 
 With wild wood-leaves and weeds 1 have strew'd 
 
 his grave, 
 And on it said a century of j)rayprs, 
 Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh. 
 And. leaving so his service, follow you. 
 So please you entertain me. 
 
 imc. Ay, good youth; 
 
 And rather father thee, than master thee, — 
 My friends, 
 
 The boy hath taugiit us many duties: Let ut 
 
 Find out the prettiest dL>i2ied plot we can, 
 
 And make him with our pikes and partisans 
 
 A grave : Come, a.' rn liim, — Boy, he is preferr'd 
 
 By thee lb us; and he shall be iiiterr'd. 
 
 As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe tliine eyes: 
 
 Some falls are meaius the happier to arise. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene III. — A Room in Cymbfllne's Palace 
 Enter Cymbkline, Lords, and PlSANio. 
 
 Cym. Ai^ain : and hrmg me word, how 'lis with her, 
 A fevrr with the alt.si^ice of her son; 
 A madness, of which her life's in dai>ger : — Heavens 
 How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, 
 The great part of uiy comfort, gone ; my queen 
 Upon a desperate bi d ; and in a time, 
 When feariiil wars point at me, her son gone, 
 Sij needtul for tJiis present: It stiikes tnt, past 
 The hope of coniiort. — But for thee, fellow, 
 Who needs must know of her departure, and 
 Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from tliee 
 By a sharp torture. 
 
 Pis. Sir, my life is yours, 
 
 I humble set it at your will : But, fur my n)istress, 
 I nothing know where she remains, why gone. 
 Nor v.'hen she [)urposes return. 'Beseech your 
 
 highness. 
 Hold me your loyal servant 
 
 1 Lord. Good my liege,' 
 
 The day that she w'xs missing, he was here: 
 I dare be bound he's true, and shall {/eribrm 
 All parts of hi^ subjection ioyaliy. 
 For Cloten, — 
 
 There wants no diligence in seeking h'lm, 
 And will, no doubt, be found. 
 
 Cym. The time's troublesome; 
 
 We'll slip you for a season ; but our jealousy 
 
 {To Pisanio,) 
 
 Does yet depend. 
 
 1 Lord. So please your majesty. 
 
 The Roman legions, all from Gallia dravvn. 
 Are landed on your coast ; with a supply 
 Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 
 
 Cym. Now for t'he counsel of my son, and queen !— 
 I am amaz'd with matter. 
 
 1 Lo7d. Good my liege. 
 
 Your preparation can afiVotit no less 
 Than what you hear of : come more, for more you're 
 ready : 
 
 The want is, but to put those powers in motion. 
 That long to move. 
 
 Cym. I thank you : Let's withdraw; 
 
 And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not 
 What can from Italy annoy us ; but 
 We grieve at chances here.—Away. [Exzutd 
 
 Pis. I heard no letter from n^y niaster, since 
 I wrote him, Imogen was slain : 'Tis strange : 
 Nor hear I from my mistress who did pnunis* 
 To yi«i-id me /ten tidings: Neither know I 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
Act Y. Scene 3. 
 
 Wnat is betid to Cloten ; but remain 
 Perjjlcx'd in all. The heavens stiil must work: 
 Wherein [ am fals?, i am hooest ; tuit true, to be true. 
 These prese!;t wars shall iioa 1 h>ve my ccuntiy. 
 Even to thf note o'tli;^ king, or Ml fiiJl in them. 
 All otfier d'luhts, by ii-iie let them be clear'd : 
 Fortijoe brings ia some boats, that are not steer d. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — Before the (Jave. 
 Bnfer Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, 
 
 Gut. Tiie noi&e is round about us. 
 
 Hel. Let us from it. 
 
 Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in lite, to lock it 
 From action and adventure ? 
 
 Gut. Nay, what hope 
 
 Have we in hiding us? this way, tiit Romans 
 Must or lor Britons slay us, or receive us 
 For barbarous and unnatural rexolts 
 Durin" their use, and slay us alter. 
 
 Bel. Sons, 
 We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. 
 To the kind's p:^rty there';j nogcinji : t ewness 
 Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd 
 Among fhe bands) may drive ui, to a rt;nder 
 Where we iiave liv'd ; and so extort IVom us 
 Tiiat which we've done, whose answer would be 
 death 
 
 Drawn on with torture. 
 
 Gui. This is, sir, a doubt, 
 
 In such a time, nothing becoming you. 
 Not satisiyiiig us. 
 
 An;. It is not likely. 
 
 That when they hear the K-oit-an horses neigh, 
 Behold their quarter'd fires, have both tlieir eyes 
 And ears so cioy'd uiip'irtrtnlly as now, 
 'I'hat they will waste tlieir time upon our note. 
 To know fVom whence we are. 
 
 Bel. O, lam known 
 
 Of many in the army : many years, 
 'J'hough CU)ten then but young, yon see, not wore 
 him 
 
 From my remembrance. And, besides, the king 
 Hath not deserv'd Joy service, nor your loves ; 
 Who find in my exile the want of breeding, 
 The certainty o^" tiiis hard life ; aye hopeless 
 To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd. 
 But to be stiil hot summers tanlings, and 
 Tb-e slifiukiiig slaves of winter. 
 
 Gui. Than be so, 
 
 Better to cease to be. Pray sir, to the army: 
 I and my brother are not known ; yourself. 
 So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergroAvn, 
 Cannot be questioa'd. 
 
 Arv. By tliis sun that shines 
 
 I'll thither : What thing is it, that 1 never 
 Did see man die ? scarce ever look'd on blood, 
 But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison? 
 Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had 
 A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
 Nor iron on his heel ? I am asham'd 
 To look upon the holy sun, to have 
 The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining 
 So long a poor unknown. 
 
 Gui. By heavens, I'll go : 
 
 If you will bless me, sir, and giv e me leave, 
 I'll take the better care ; but if you will not. 
 The hazard therefore due fall on me, by 
 The hands of Romans I 
 
 Arv. So say I ; Antien. 
 
 Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set 
 So slight a valuation, should reserve 
 My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys : 
 If in your country wars you chance to die, 
 Tha-t is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie : 
 Lead, lead. — The time seems long; their blood 
 thinks scorn, (Aside.) 
 fill it fly out„ <»nd shew them princes bort lE.xeuni. 
 
 649 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I.— A Field between the British and 
 Roman Camps. 
 Enter Pos'rauMUS, with a bloody handk^-(.kief, 
 Post.Ycn, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee j for I wish'd 
 Thou should'st be colour d thus. You mai ried ones. 
 If each of you would take thia course, how many 
 Must murder wives much better tliau themselves, 
 For vvrying but a little ! — O, Pisanio ! 
 Every good servant does not all commands : 
 No bond, but to do just ones. — Gods ! it' you 
 Shoidd have ta'en vengeance on my ikults, - never 
 Had liv'd to put on this: so had you s:ned 
 Tl'.e noble Imogen to repent ; auH struck 
 Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack. 
 You snatch soTie henct for little faults ; that's love. 
 To have them fall no more : you some permit 
 To second ills with ills, each elder worse ; 
 And make them dread it to the doer's thrift. 
 But Imogen is your own : Do your best will, 
 And nuike me bless'd to obey ! I am brought hither 
 Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
 Against my lady's kingdom : ^Tis enough, 
 That, Britain, I have kill d thy mistress ; peace .' 
 I'll give no wound to tliee. Therefore, good heavens. 
 Hear patiently my purpose: I II disrobe me 
 Ot these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
 As does a Briton peasant: so I'll figlit 
 Against the part I come with ; so I'll die 
 For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
 Is, every breath, a death : and thus, luiknown, 
 Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
 Myself I II dedicate. Let me niake men know 
 More valour in me, than my liaoits shew. 
 Gods, pi;t the strength o'the Leonati in me ! 
 To shame the guis§ o'the world, 1 will begin 
 The fashion, le.ss without, and more witiiin. [Exit, 
 
 Scene II. — The same. 
 Enter, at one side, Lucius, Iaciiimo, and the Bo- 
 man army; at the other side, the British 
 army: Leonatus Posthumus Juliowinu it, like 
 a poor soldier. They march over., arid oo out. 
 Alarums. Then enter acjain in skirmish, Ia- 
 CHIMO and PosTHUi^iUS: he vonquisheth and 
 disarmeth lachimc, and then leaves him. 
 lach. The heaviness and guilt within nsy bosom 
 Takes off my manhood : I have behed a lady. 
 The princess of tiiis country, and the air on't 
 Revengingly enfeebles me ; Or could tltis carl, 
 A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me. 
 In my profession ? Knighthoods and honours, borne 
 As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
 If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
 This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odd.-* 
 Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit, 
 The battle continues ; the Britons Jiy ; Cymbelinb 
 is taken ; then enter, to his r<iACMe, Belarius, 
 Guiderius, and Arvir.^gus. 
 Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantage of the 
 ground ; 
 
 The lane is guarded : nothing routs us, but 
 The villany ot our fears. 
 
 Gui. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight ! 
 
 Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They 
 
 rescue Cymbeline^ and exeunt. Then, etiter 
 
 Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen. 
 
 Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save 
 thyself: 
 
 For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such 
 As war were hood-wink'd. 
 
 lachj 'Tis their fre.<ih supphes, 
 
 Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes 
 Let's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt 
 Scene III.— Another Part of the field. 
 ■ Enter PosTHUMUS and a British Lord. 
 Lord. Cam'st tbor frci«where they made the stand? 
 
 CYMBELTNE. 
 
650 
 
 P^n, I did : 
 
 Though fou, it seems, come from the fliers. 
 
 Jjord. I did. 
 
 Post. No blame be to yon, sir; for all was lost, 
 But that the heavens fought : The king himself 
 Of his wings destitute, the army broken. 
 And but the backs of Britons seen, all Hying 
 Through a straight lane ; th«=>. enemy full-hearted, 
 Lolling the toni^ue with slaughtering, having work 
 More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down 
 Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
 Merely through fesr; that the straight pass was 
 damm'd 
 
 Witlj dead men, htirt behind, and cowards living 
 To die with lengthen'd shame. 
 
 Lord. Wiiere wns this lane ? [turf ; 
 
 Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with 
 Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, — 
 An honest one, I warrant ; who deserv'd 
 So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, 
 In doing this for his country ; — athwart the lane. 
 He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run 
 The country base, than to commit such slaughter; 
 With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
 Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) 
 Made gr>od_the passage ; cry'd to those tliat fled. 
 Our Brilain's Juiris die flying^ not our men : 
 To darkness fleet, souls tliat fly backwards! Stand; 
 Or we are Romans, and will yive you that 
 Liike beasts, which you shun beastly; and may save, 
 But to look back infrawn: stand, stand! — These 
 Tliree thousand confident, in act as many, (three, 
 For three performers are the file, when ail 
 The rest do nothing,) with this word, stand, stand, 
 Aci;om;iit)dated by the place, more charming, 
 With their own uobleness,(which could have turn'd 
 A distaff to a lance), gilded pale looks, 
 Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd ; that some turn'd 
 But by exampte, (O, a sin in war, [coward 
 Damn'd in the first beginners! )'g'an to look 
 The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
 Upon the pikes o'the htmters. Then began 
 A stop i'the chaser, a retire ; anon, 
 A rout, confusion thick : Forthwith, they fly 
 Chickens, the way wliich they stoop'd eagles ; slaves. 
 The strides they victors made : And now our cowards 
 (Like fragments in hard voyages, ) became [open 
 The life o'the need ; having found the back-door 
 Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound ! 
 Some, siain before ; some, dying; some, their friends 
 O'er-borne i'the former wave : ten, chac'd by one, 
 
 re now each one the slaughter- man of twenty : 
 Those, that would die or ere resist are grown 
 The mt)rtal bugs o'the field, 
 
 Lord. This was strange chance : 
 
 A narrow lane ! an old man, and two boys ! 
 
 Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made 
 Rather to wonder at the things you hear, ■ 
 Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, 
 And vent it for a mockery V Here is one : 
 Tivo boys, an old man tivice a boy, a lane. 
 Preserved the Britons, was the jflomans' bane. 
 
 Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 
 
 Post. ' 'Lack, to what end ? 
 
 Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend: 
 For if he'll do, as he is made to do, 
 I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too. 
 You have put me into vhyrne. 
 
 Lord. Fari?vvell ; you are angry. [Exit. 
 
 Post. Still going !— This is a lord 1 O noble 
 misery ! 
 
 To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of mel 
 To-day, how many wo ave given their honours 
 lo have sav'd their carcasses ? took heel to do't, 
 And yet died too ? I, in mine own woe charm'd, 
 Could not find death, where 1 did hear him groan ; 
 Nor feel him, where he struck? Being au ugly 
 monster, 
 
 *Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
 Sweet words ; or hath more mimsters than we 
 
 Aci V. 
 
 That draw his krives i'lhe war.— Well, I will fiud 
 For being now a favourer to the Roman, [timi 
 No more a Briton, I have resuni'd again 
 The part I came in : Fight I will no more, 
 But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall 
 Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter M 
 Here made by the Romans ; great the answw be 
 Britons must take : For me, my ransom's death; 
 On either side I come to spencl my breath ; 
 Which neither here Til keep, nor bear again. 
 But end it by some means lor Imogen. 
 
 Enter Two British Captains, and Soldiers, 
 
 1 Cap. Great Jup iter be prais'd ! Lucius is 
 taken : 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were 
 angels. 
 
 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, 
 That g-ave the alFront with them. 
 
 1 Cap. So 'tis reported : 
 But none of them can be foimd. — Stand ! who is 
 
 Post. A Roman ; [there ? 
 
 Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
 Had answer'd him. 
 
 2 Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog ! 
 
 A leg of Rome shall not return to tell [service 
 What crows have peck'd them here : Hf brags his 
 As if he were of note : bring him to the king. 
 
 Enter Cymbeline, attended; Belarjujs. Gui- 
 DERius, Arviragus, PiSANio. and Roman 
 Captives. The captains present Pos i 'JUMUS to 
 Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler } 
 after which, all go out. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Prison. 
 Enter Posthumus, and two Gaolerr-. 
 J Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, yoM hav< 
 locks upon yon ; 
 So graze, as you find pasture. 
 2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. {Exeunt Gaolers, 
 Post. Most welcome, bondage ! ibr tiiou art a way, 
 I think, to liberty : Yet am 1 better 
 Than one that's sick o'the gout: since he had rather 
 Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd 
 By the sure physician, death; who is the key 
 To unbar these locks. My conscience ! tliou art 
 fettc r'd 
 
 More than my shanks, and wrists; You, good goiltj 
 give me 
 
 The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt. 
 Then, free for ever! Is't enouoh, I am sorry? 
 So children temporal fathers do appease ; 
 Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repeut? 
 I cannot do it better than in gyves, 
 Desir'd, more than constrain"d : to satisfy, 
 If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
 No stricter render of me, than my all. 
 I know, you are more clement tlian \ ile men, 
 Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
 A sixth, a tentii, letting them thrive again 
 On their abatement; that's not my desire . 
 For Imogen's dear life, tak\? mine ; and though 
 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it : 
 'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp 
 Though light, take pieces for tlie figure's sake : 
 You rather mine, being yours : And so, great 
 powers. 
 
 If you will take this audit, take this life, 
 
 And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen ! 
 
 I'll speak to thfee in silence. {He sleeps.) 
 
 Solemn Music. Enter as an appinntion, Siciliut 
 Leonatus, father to Posthumus. an old man^ 
 attired like a warrior ; leading in his hand an 
 ancient matron, his wife, and mother ia 
 Posthumus, with music before them,. Then^ 
 after other music, foUoiv the tivo young Leona- 
 ti, brothers to Posthumus, with n ounds, as they 
 died in the wars. They circle PosthumM 
 round, as he lies sleeping. 
 Sici. No more, thou thuude -master, siiew 
 
 CYMBfiLINE, 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 651 
 
 " • Thy spite on mortal flies: 
 
 With Mars fall out, with Juno chide. 
 
 That thy adulteries 
 
 Rates and revenges. 
 Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 
 
 \\ hose face I P^-ver saw ? 
 f died, whilst in the ^votnb he stay'd 
 
 Attending Nature's law. 
 Whose father then (as men report, 
 
 Thou orphans' father art,) 
 Thou shoiild'st have been, and shielded him 
 
 From this earth-vexing smart. 
 Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid. 
 
 But took me in my Cbroes ; 
 That from me was Posthumus ript 
 
 Carne crying 'mongst his foes. 
 A thing of pity ! 
 Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry 
 
 Moulded the stuff so fair, 
 That he deserv'd the praise o'the world 
 
 As great Sicilius' heir. 
 
 1 Bro. When once he was mature for raan, 
 In Britain where was he 
 
 That could stand up his parallel ; 
 
 Or fruitful object be 
 In eye of Imogen, that best 
 
 Could deem his dignity ? 
 Moth. With marriage wherefore was he niock'd, 
 
 To be exil'd, and thrown 
 Prom Leonati' yeat, and cast 
 
 From her his dearest one. 
 Sweet Imogen ? 
 SicL Why did you suffer lachimo, 
 
 Slight thing of Italy, 
 To taint his nobler heart and b»-ain 
 
 With needless jealousy ; 
 And to become the geek and scorn 
 
 O'the other's villany ? 
 
 2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, 
 Our parents, and us twain, 
 
 That, striking in our country's cause, 
 
 Fell bravely, and were slain; 
 Our fealty, and Tenantius' right, 
 
 VVith honour to niaintain. 
 
 1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 
 To Cymbeline perform'd ; 
 
 Then Jupiter, thou king of gods. 
 
 Why hast thou thus adjourn'd 
 The graces for his merits due ; 
 Being all to dolours turn'd ? 
 Sici. Thy crystal window ope : look out ; 
 No longer exercise, 
 Upon a valiant race, thy harsh 
 And potent injuries : 
 Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, 
 
 Take off his miseries. 
 Siai. Peep through thy marble mansion; help! 
 Or we poor ghq«t^ will cry 
 To the shining synod 6f the rest. 
 Against thy deity. 
 
 2 Bt o. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, 
 And from thy justice fly. 
 
 Jupiter descends inthunder and lightning, sitting 
 upon an eagle ; he throivs a thunder-holt. The 
 Ghosts fall on their knees. 
 Jitp. No more, you petty spirits of region low, 
 Otfend our hearing; hush! — How dare you, 
 ghosts, 
 
 A.conse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know. 
 
 Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? 
 Poor shadows of Elysium, hence ; and rest 
 
 Upon your never- withering banks of flowers : 
 Be not with niortal accidents opprest; 
 
 No care of yours it is ; you know, 'tis ours. 
 Whom best I love, I cross ; to make my gift. 
 
 The more delay'd, delighted. Re content; 
 Your h)vv-laid son our godhead will uphft: 
 
 His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. 
 Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 
 
 Our temple Tvas he mai /ied.— Rise, and fade.— 
 He shall be lord of lady Imogen, 
 
 And happier much by his affliction made. 
 This tablet lay upon his breast ; wherein 
 
 Our pleasure his full fortune doth rontine ; 
 And so, away : no furllier with your din 
 
 Express impatience, lest you stir up njine.— 
 
 Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. {AscendSx 
 
 Sici. He came in thunder: his celestial breath 
 Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle 
 Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is 
 More sweet than our bless'd fields : his royal bird 
 Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak. 
 As when his god is pleas'd. 
 
 All.^ Thanks, Jupiter! 
 
 Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd 
 His radiant roof: — Away! and, to be blest. 
 Let us with care perform his great behest. 
 
 (Ghosts vanish.) 
 
 Post. (Waking.) Sleep, thou hast been a grand- 
 sire, and begot 
 A father to me : and thou hast created 
 A mother, and two brothers : But (O scorn !) 
 Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were bona. 
 And so I am awake. — Poor wretches, that depend 
 On greatness' favour, dream as I have done ; 
 Wake and find nothing. — But, alas, I swerve: 
 Many dream not to find, neither deserve, 
 And yet are steep'd in favours ; so am I, 
 That have this golden chance, and know not why. ' 
 What fairies haunt this ground ? A book ? O, rare 
 Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment [one J 
 Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects 
 So follow, to be most unlik^e our courtiers. 
 As good as promise. 
 
 (Reads.) When as a lions whelp shall, to himself 
 unknown, without .seeking find, and be embraced 
 by a piece of tender air; and ivhen from a 
 stately c^dar shall he lopped branches, ivhichy 
 being dead many years, shall after revive, h% 
 jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; 
 then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain 
 be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty, 
 
 *Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen 
 
 Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing: 
 
 Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such 
 
 As sense cannot untie. Be what it is 
 
 The action of my life is like it, which 
 
 I'll keep, if but for sympathy. 
 
 Re-enter Gaolers. 
 
 Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death ? 
 
 Post. Over-roasted rather : ready long ago. 
 
 Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir ; if you be ready 
 for that, you are well cooked. 
 
 Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spec- 
 tators, the dish pays the shot. 
 
 Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: But the i 
 comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, 
 fear no more tavern bills ; which are often the 
 sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth : you 
 come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with 
 too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much 
 and sorry that you are paid too much ; purse and 
 brain both empty: the brain the heavier for being 
 too light, the purse too light, being drawn of hea- 
 viness : O ! of this contradiction you shall now be 
 quit. — O the charity of a penny cord ! it sums up 
 thousands in a trice : you have no true debitor and 
 creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the 
 discharge : — Your neck, sir, is pen, book, aud 
 counters; so the acquittance follows. 
 
 Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. 
 
 Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps ftels not the 
 tooth-ach : But a man that were to sleep your sleep, 
 and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would 
 change places with his officer : for, look you, sir, 
 you know not which way you shall go. 
 
 Post. Yes, indeed, do 1, fellow. 
 
 Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then ; I hav« 
 
 / 
 
652 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 not seen hirw so pictured : you miisf, either be (li- 
 rectt'd by sotiie tiiat take upon them to know; or 
 take upon yoiirseU that, which I am sure you do 
 not kn'jvv ; or jump the after-enquiry on your own 
 peril : and how you shall speed in your journey's 
 end, I think yoii'll never return to tell one. 
 
 Post. I t>ll tliee, fellow, there are none want 
 ej'es to direct them the way I am going, but such as 
 wmk, and will not use them. 
 
 Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man 
 would have tiie best use of eyes, to see the way 
 of blindness ! I am sure, hanging's the way of 
 winking. 
 
 Enter a Messager. 
 Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your pri- 
 soner to tlie kiiii^. (be made free. 
 Post. Tlioii brinoe;>t good news; — 1 am called to 
 Gcol. 1 11 be iiangid then. 
 
 Post. Thou shaK. he then freer than a gaoler, no 
 bolls for tlie dfiid. {E.xewit Posthumus and Mess. 
 
 Gaol. UnK ss a man woald marry a gallows, and 
 bet;et yunng gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, 
 on my conscience, tliere are verier knaves desire to 
 live, tor all he be a Roman ; and there be some of 
 tliem too, that die against their wills ; so should I, 
 if I were one. I vvould we were all of one mind, 
 and one miud good; O, there were desolation of 
 gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against my present 
 profit; but my wish hath a preferment in't. 
 
 Scene V. — Cymbeline's Tent, 
 Enter Cymbelins, Belarius, Gciderius, Arvi- 
 RAGUS, PiSAMO, Lords, officers, and Attendants. 
 Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have 
 made 
 
 Preservers of my tlirone. Woe is my heart, 
 That the poor tioldier, that so richly fought, 
 Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked 
 breast 
 
 Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found : 
 He sliall be- happy that can find him, if 
 Our grace can make him so. 
 
 Btl. I never saw 
 
 Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
 Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought 
 But beggary aud poor looks. 
 
 C'l'm. No tidings of him ? 
 
 Pis. He hotij been search'd among the dead and 
 But no trace of him. [living, 
 
 Cym. To my grief, I am 
 
 Tiie heir of liis reward ; which 1 will add 
 To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, 
 
 ( To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragvs.) 
 By whom, I grant, she lives : "I'ls now the time 
 To ask of whence you are : — report it. 
 
 Bel. Sir, 
 In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : 
 Further to boast, were neither true nor modest, 
 Unless I add, we are honest. 
 
 Cym. Bow your knees : 
 
 Arise, my knights o'the battle, I create you 
 Companions to our person, and will fit you 
 With dignities br-coming your estates. 
 
 Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies. 
 There's business in these faces : — Why so sadly 
 Greet you our victory ? you look like Romans, 
 And not o'the court of Britain. 
 
 Cor. Hail, great king ! 
 
 To sour your happiness, I must report 
 The queen is dead. 
 
 Cym. Whonri worse than a physician 
 
 Would this report become ? But 1 consider. 
 By medicine life niay be proloug'd, yet death 
 Will seize the doctor ttio. — How ended she ? 
 
 Cor. With horror, ma<liy dying, like her life ; 
 Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
 Most cruel to herself. What she coiifess'd, 
 
 will report, s<» please you : These her women 
 Can trii* me, if I err; wiio, with wet cheeks. 
 
 Were present when she finish d. 
 
 Cym. I'ry thee, say. 
 
 Cor. First, she confe«s'd she never I Jv'd you;oi»If 
 Atfected greatness got by you, not you : 
 Married your royalty, was wife to your place; 
 Abhorr'd your person. 
 
 Cym. She alone knew tiuv; 
 
 And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
 Believe her lips in opening. Proceed. 
 
 Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore io hand ta 
 With such integrity, she did confess [love 
 Was as a ,scorpion to her sight; Whose life, 
 But that her flight prevented it, she had 
 Ta'en off by poison. 
 
 Cym. O most delicate fiend ! 
 
 Who i,i't can read a woman ? — Is there more ? [ha<| 
 
 Cor. More, sire, and worse. Sue did confess, she 
 For you a moital mineral; which, being took, 
 Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring, 
 By inches waste you : In which time she purpos'd, 
 By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
 O'ercome you with her shew: yes, and in time,. 
 (When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work 
 Her son into the adoption of tl«e crown. 
 But failing of her end by his strange absence. 
 Grew shameless-desperate ; optn'd, in despite 
 Of heaven and uien, her purposes ; repented 
 The evils she hatch'd were not etiected : so, 
 Despairing, died. 
 
 Cym. Heard you all this, her women \ 
 
 Lady. We did so, please your highness. 
 
 Cym. Mine eyei 
 
 Were not in fault, for she was beautiful : 
 Mine ears, that heard her lluttery ; nor my heart. 
 That thought her like her seeming ; it had been 
 vicious. 
 
 To have mistrusted her : yet, O ray daughter ! 
 That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, 
 And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all ! 
 
 Enter Lucius, Tachimo, the Soothsayer, and other 
 Romaji prisoners, yuarded: Posthumus behind, 
 and Imogen. 
 Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that 
 The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss 
 Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made suit 
 That their good souls may be appcas'd with slaughte 
 Of you their captives, which ourself have granted : 
 So, tliink of your estate. 
 
 Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the day 
 Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us. 
 We .should not, when the blood was cool, have 
 threaten'd 
 
 Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 
 
 Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
 
 May be calTd ransom, let it come : sufficeth, 
 
 A Roman with a Roman's heart can sufter : 
 
 Adgustus lives to think on't : And so much 
 
 For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
 
 I will entreat ; My b«)y, a Briton born, 
 
 Let him be ransom'd : aever nmster had 
 
 A page so kind, so duteous, diligent. 
 
 So tender over his occasions, true, 
 
 So feat, so nurse-like : let his virtue join [ness 
 
 With my request, which, I'll make bold, your high 
 
 Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton harm, 
 
 Though he have serv'd a Roman; save him, sir, 
 
 And spare no blood beside. 
 
 Cym. I have surely seen liim 
 
 His favour is familiar to me. — 
 Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace. 
 And art mine own. — I know not why, nor wherefore 
 To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master ; live: 
 And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, 
 Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it; 
 Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, » 
 The noblest ta'en. 
 
 Lno. I humbly thank your highnesi 
 
 Lur, I . do not bid thee beg my life, good ladj 
 And yet, 1 know, thou wilU 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 CYMBELTNE. 
 
 653 
 
 Imo. No, no: alack, 
 
 There's other work in hand ; I see a thing- 
 Bitter to me as d( ntli : your life, good master, 
 Must sliutiie for itself. 
 
 LfUC. The boy disdains me, 
 
 fie jea\«s me, scorns nie : Briefly die their joys, 
 I'hat pliK e them on the truth of girls and boys. — 
 VVliy stands lie so perplex'd ^ 
 
 Cym. Wliat would'st thoii, boy? 
 
 t love thee more and more; think more and more 
 What's best to ask. Know'st him thoii look'st on ? 
 S|ieak, 
 
 Wilt ha\e him li\e V Is he thy kin? thy friend ? 
 
 Into. He is a Roman; no niore kin to me. 
 Than 1 to y(Mir highness ; who, being born your 
 Am sometiiiiig nearer. [vassal, 
 
 Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so ? 
 
 Imu. I ll tell yon, sir, in private, if you please 
 To give me hearijvg. 
 
 Cym. Ay, with all my heart. 
 
 And lend my best attention. What's thy name? 
 
 Into. Fide It', sir. 
 
 Cym. 'I'hon art my good youth, my page ; 
 
 I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely* 
 
 {Cyinin'l'niv and Imogen converse apart.) 
 
 Bel. Is not tiiis boy reviv'd from death? 
 
 Arv. One sand another 
 
 Not mnrr resembles : That sweet rosy lad, 
 Who died, and was Kidele : — What think you? 
 
 Giii. 'I he samr dead thing alive. [ibrbear; 
 
 Bel. Peacf. peacr I see further; he eyes us not; 
 Creatures may be alike: were't he, I arn sure 
 He would havf spoke to us. 
 
 G^it. But we saw him dead. 
 
 Bel. Be silent ; let's see further 
 
 Pis. It is my mistress; [Aside.) 
 
 Since she is living, Irt the time run on, 
 To good, or bad. [Cymh. and Imo. come forivard.) 
 
 Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; 
 
 Make tliv demand aloud. — Sir, {to lack.) step you 
 ■forth ; 
 
 Give answtr to this boy, and do it freely; 
 Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, 
 Which is our hwnour, bitter torture shall [him. 
 Winnow tlie trutli from falsehood. — On, speak to 
 
 Imo. My boon is. that this gentleman may render 
 Of whom lie had that ring. 
 
 Post. \V hat's that to him? (Aside.) 
 
 Cym. That diamond upon your linger, say. 
 How came it yours ? 
 
 lac/i, 'J'hou'll torture me to leave unspoken that 
 Wliich, to be spi>ke, would torture thee. 
 
 Cy7fi. How ! me ? 
 
 lar/i. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter tliat. 
 Torments tne to conceal. By viilany [which 
 1 got this ring ; 'twas Leonatus' jewel : 
 Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may 
 
 gne\e thee, 
 As it dotli me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 
 'Twixt sky an<l ground. Wilt thou hear more, my 
 
 Cym. All that belongs to this. [lord ? 
 
 lac/t. That paragon, thy daughter,— 
 
 For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits 
 Quail to remeinber, — Give me leave ;— 1 faint. 
 
 Cym. My daughter' what of her ? Renew thy 
 strength : 
 
 I had rather tliou should'st live while nature will, 
 Tiian die ere I iiear more : strive, man, and speak. 
 
 lack. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock 
 That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd 
 The mansion where !) 'tv/as at a feast, (O 'would 
 Jiir viands had been poison'd I or, at least, 
 Those which i heav'd to head!) the good Posthumus, 
 (What should 1 say ? he was too good to be 
 Where ill men were ; and was tlie best of all 
 Among'st tiie rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly 
 Hearing us praise our loves ol Italy 
 For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
 Of him that best could speak: for feature, laming 
 The shrine of Venus. o»- straight pight Minerva, 
 
 Postures beyond brief nature ; for condition, 
 A shop oi all the qualities that man 
 Loves woman ior : besides, that iiook of wiving. 
 Fairness which strikes the v.-ye : 
 
 Cym. I stand on fire ; 
 
 Come to the matter. 
 
 lac A. AlU too SOI I shall, 
 
 Unless thou would'st grieve qui -kly,— Th's Po* 
 (Most like a noble lord in love, and one cthumua, 
 That had a royal lover,) took his hint; 
 And, not dispraising whom we prais d ^therein 
 He was as calm as virtue) he began [made 
 His mistress' picture; which by his tongue b(ing 
 And then a mind put in't, either our bra>;s 
 Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
 Prov'd us unspeaking sots. 
 
 Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 
 
 lac/i. Your daughter's chastity — There itbegb«l 
 He spake of her as Dian had hot dri auis. 
 And she alone were cold : Wiiereat, I, wretch 
 Made scruple of his praise; and wnger d with him 
 Pieces of gold, 'gainst this, which tlien he wore 
 Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 
 In suit the place of his bed, and win tliis ring 
 By hers and mine adultery : he, true knight, 
 No lesser of her honour confident 
 Than I did truly find her, slakes this ring ; 
 And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
 Of Phoebus' wheel; and might f^o saieiy, had it 
 Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britaia 
 Post I in this design : Well may you. sir, 
 Remember me at court, where I was taiit:ht 
 Of your chaste daughter the wide dill'eren' e 
 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus queneVd 
 Of hope, not longing, mine Italian braia 
 'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
 Most vilely ; for my avantage, excellent; 
 And, to be brief, my practice so prevaiTd, 
 That I return'd with simular proof enough 
 To make the noble Leonatus mad. 
 By wounding his belief in her renown 
 With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes 
 Of chamber-hanging, pictures, tiiis her braceJet 
 (O, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some niHrka 
 Of secret on her person, that he could not 
 But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
 I having ta'en the forfeit. VVhereupon,— 
 Methinks, I see him now, — 
 
 Post. Ay, so thou dost, (Coming forward,) 
 Italian fiend ! — Ah me, most credulous tool. 
 Egregious murderer, thief, any thiiig 
 'i hat's due to all the villains past, in being. 
 To come ! — O, give me cord, or knii'e, or poisoni 
 Some upright jiisticer ! Thou king, send out 
 For torturers ingenious : it is I 
 That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend/ 
 By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
 That kill'd thy daughter: — villain-like, I lie ; 
 That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
 A sacrilegious thief, to do't : — the temple 
 Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself. 
 Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
 The dogs o'the street to bay me ; every villain 
 Be call'd, Posthumus Leonatus ; and 
 Be viilany less than 'twas I — O Imogen ! 
 My queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen ! 
 Imogen, Imogen ! 
 
 Imo. Peace, my lord : hear, hear— 
 
 Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scomnfl 
 page, 
 
 There lie thy part. (Striiing her: skefalh,\ 
 
 Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help 
 
 Mine, and your mistress : — O, my lord Posth'umuf I 
 
 You ne'er kilTd Imogen till now : — Help, help! — 
 
 Mine honour'd lady 
 
 Cym. Does the world go round ^ 
 
 Post. How come these staggers on me ; 
 Pis. Wake, my mistress! 
 
 Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 
 
 To death with mortal joy 
 
654 
 
 CYMBELTNE. 
 
 Act Y 
 
 Pis. How fares my mistress ? 
 
 Imo. O, get thee from my sight ; 
 Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence ! 
 Breathe not where princes are. 
 
 Cf/m. The tune of Imogen ! 
 
 Pis. Lady, 
 The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 
 That box I gave you was not thought by me 
 A precious thing ; I had it from the queen. 
 
 Cym. New matter still? 
 
 Jmo. It poison'd me. 
 
 Cor. Ogods!— 
 I left out one thing, which the queen confesstl, 
 Which must approve thee honest : If Pisanio 
 Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
 Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd 
 As I would serve a rat. 
 
 Cym. What's this, Cornelius ? 
 
 Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me 
 To temper poisons for her; still pretending 
 The satisfaction of her knowledge, only 
 In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs 
 Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose 
 Was of more danger, did compound for her 
 A certain stuff", which, being ta'en, would cease 
 The present power of life ; but, in short time, 
 All offices of nature should again 
 Do their due functions. — Have yon ta'en of it? 
 
 Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 
 
 Bel. My boys, 
 
 There was our error. 
 
 Gui. This is sure, Fidele. [you ? 
 
 Jmo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from 
 Think, that you are upon a rock ; and now 
 Throw me again. {Embracing him.) 
 
 Post. Hang there like fruit, niy soul. 
 
 Till the tree die ! 
 
 Ci/m. How now, my flesh, my child? 
 
 What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act ? 
 Wilt thou not speak to me ? 
 
 Itno. Your blessing, sir. {Kneeling.) 
 
 Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame 
 ye not ; {to Guiderius a?icl Arviragus.) 
 You had a motive for it. 
 
 Cym. My tears, that fall. 
 
 Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 
 Thy mother's dead. 
 
 Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord. 
 
 Cym. O, she was naught ; and 'long of her it was, 
 That we meet here so strangely : But her son 
 Is gone, we know not how, nor where. 
 
 Pis. My lord. 
 
 Now fear is from me, Til speak truth. Lord Cloten, 
 Upon my lady's missing, came to me [swore. 
 With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, and 
 If I discover'd not which way she was gone. 
 It was my instant death : By accident, 
 I had a feigned letter of my master's 
 Then in my pocket ; which directed him 
 To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; 
 VVhere, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, 
 Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts 
 With unchaste purpose, and with oaths to violate 
 My lady's honour: what became of him, 
 I furtlier know not. 
 
 Gtii. Let me end the story : 
 
 I slew him there. 
 
 Ci/m. Marry, the gods forefend ! 
 
 f would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
 Pluck a hard sentence : pr'ythee, valiant youth, 
 Deny't again. 
 
 Gtfi. I have spoke it, and I did it, 
 
 Ci/m. He was a prince. 
 
 Gui. A most uncivil one : The wrongs he did me. 
 Were nothing prince like ; for he did provoke me 
 VVith language, that would make me spurn the sea. 
 If it could so roar to me : I cut ofTs head ; 
 And am right glad, he is not standing here 
 To tell this tale of mine. 
 
 Cym. I am sorry for thee • ▼ 
 
 By thine own tongue thou art condemned, and mast 
 Endure our law : Thou art dead. 
 
 Imo. That headless man 
 
 I thought had been my lord. 
 
 Gym. Bind the offender. 
 
 And take him from our presence. ' 
 
 Bel. Stay, sir king; 
 
 This man is better than the man he slew. 
 As well descended as thyself ; and hath 
 More of thee merited, than a band of ClotetiS 
 Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone ; 
 
 [To the guard) 
 
 They were not born for bondage. 
 
 Cym. Why, old soldiert 
 
 Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, 
 By tasting of our wrath ? How of descent 
 As good as we ? 
 
 Arv. In that he spake too far. 
 
 Cym. And thou shalt die for't. 
 
 Bel. We will die all three* 
 
 But I will prove, that two of us are as good 
 As I have given out him. — My sons, I must. 
 For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech. 
 Though, haply, well for you. 
 
 Arv. Your danger is 
 
 Ours. 
 
 Gui. And our good his. 
 
 Bel. Have at it then. — 
 
 By leave ; — Thou hadst, great king, a subject, wliO 
 Was call'd Belarius. 
 
 Cym. What of him? he is 
 
 A banish'd traitor. 
 
 Bel. He it is, that hath 
 
 Assum'd this age : indeed, a banish'd man; 
 I know not how, a traitor. 
 
 Cym. Take him hence; 
 
 The whole world shall not save him, 
 
 Bel Not too hot ? 
 
 First pay me for the nui-sing of thy sons ; 
 And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
 As I have receiv'd it. 
 
 Cym. Nursing of my sons ? 
 
 Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy : Here's my knee ; 
 Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; 
 Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir. 
 These two young gentlemen, that call me father, 
 And think they are my sons, are none of mine ; 
 They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 
 And blood of your begetting. 
 
 Cym. . How ! my issue ? 
 
 Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, 
 Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd : 
 Your pleasure was my mere ofif'ence, my punishment 
 Itself, and all my treason; that I snffer'd, 
 Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes 
 (For such, and so they are,) these twenty years 
 Have I train'd up : those arts they have, as I 
 Could put into them ; my breeding was, sir, as 
 Your highness know.s. Their nurse, Euriphile, 
 Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these childrei 
 Upon my banishment : I mov'd her to't; 
 Having receiv'd the punishment before. 
 For that which I did then : Beaten for loyalty 
 Excited me to treason : Their dear loss, 
 The more of you 'twas felt, the more it ahap'd 
 Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir. 
 Here are your sons again : and I must lose 
 Two of the sweet'st companions in the world : — 
 The benediction of these covering heavens 
 Fall on their heads like dew ! for they are worthy 
 To inlay heaven with stars. 
 
 Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st 
 
 The se'* ice, that you three have done, is more 
 Unlike than this thou tell'st : I lost my children* 
 If these be they, I know not how to wish 
 A pair of worthier sons. 
 
 Bel. Be pleas'd a while.— 
 
 This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
 Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius; 
 This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd 
 In a most curious mantle, wrought by tli« hand 
 Of his qiieerr mother, which, for more probation, 
 1 can with ease produce. 
 
 Cym, Ginderins had 
 
 fTpon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ; 
 It was a mark of wonder. 
 
 Bel, This is he ; 
 
 Who hath upon him still that natural stamp : 
 It T7S18 wise nature's end in the donation. 
 To be his evidence now. 
 
 Cym. O, what, am I 
 
 A mother to the birth of three ? Ne'er mother 
 Rejoic'd deliverance more : — Bless'd may you be, 
 That, after this strange starting from your orbs, 
 You may reign in them now ! — O Imogen, 
 Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 
 
 Imo. No, my lord ; 
 
 I have got two worlds by't. — O, my gentle brothers, 
 Have we thus met? O never say hereafter, 
 But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother, 
 When I was but your sister; I you brother. 
 When you were so indeed. 
 
 Cym. Did you e'er meet? 
 
 Arv. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Gut. And at first meeting lov'd ; 
 
 Continued so, until we thought he died. 
 
 Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 
 
 Cym, O rare instinct! [ment 
 
 When shall I hear all through ? This fierce abridge- 
 Hath to it circumstantial branches- which [you ? 
 Distinction should be rich in. — Where? how liv'd 
 And when came you to serve our Roman captive ? 
 How parted with your brothers ? how first met them ? 
 Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, 
 And your three motives to the battle, with 
 [ know not how much more, should be demanded ; 
 And all the other by-depeudei>cies, 
 From chance to chance ; but nor the Ume, nor place. 
 Will serve our long intergatorios. See, 
 Posthumus anchors upon Imogen ; 
 And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
 On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting 
 Each object with a joy ; the counterchange 
 Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground. 
 And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. — 
 Thou art my brother ; so we'll hold thee ever. 
 
 {To Belarius.) 
 
 Imo. You are my father too ; and did relieve me. 
 To see this gracious season. 
 
 Cym. All o'er joy 'd. 
 
 Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too. 
 For they shall taste our comfort. 
 
 Imo. My good master, 
 
 I will yet do you service. 
 
 Luc. Happy be you ! 
 
 Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought. 
 He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd 
 The f bankings of a king. 
 
 Post. I am, sir. 
 
 The soldier, that did company these three 
 In poor beseeming ; 'twas a fitment for 
 The purpose I then foUow'd : — That I was he. 
 Speak, lachimo; I had you down, and might 
 Have made you finish. 
 
 laeh. I am down again, [Kneeling.) 
 
 But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee. 
 As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, 
 Which I so often owe : but your ring first; 
 And here tiie bracelet of the truest princess, 
 Hiat ever swore her faith. 
 
 Post. Kneel not to me ; 
 
 The power, that I have on you, is to spare you; 
 The malice towards you, to forgive you : Live, 
 And deal with otlxers better. 
 
 655 
 
 Cym. Nobly dooia'd : 
 
 We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; 
 Pardon's the word to all. 
 
 Arv. You help US, sir^ 
 
 As you did mean indeed to be our brother ; 
 Joy'd are we, tliat you are. [Borne, 
 Post. Your servant, princes. — Good my lord oJ 
 Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, niethougUt 
 Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, 
 Appear'd to me, with other spriteiy shews 
 Of mine own kindred ; when I wak'd, I found 
 I'his label on my bosom ; whose containing 
 Is so from sense in hardness, that I can 
 Make no collection of it; let hm» shew 
 His skill in the construction. 
 
 Luc. Pbllarmonus, — 
 
 iSuoth. Here, my good lord. 
 Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 
 
 Sooth. [Reads.) When as a lions whelp., shall to 
 himself unknown, without seeking find^ and be 
 embraced by a piece of tender air; and ivhen 
 from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, 
 ivhich, beiny dead many years, shall after revive, 
 be jointed to the old* stock, and freshly grotu ; 
 then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain 
 be fortunate, and Jiourish in peace and plenty. 
 'i'liou, Leonati'.s, art the lion's wiielp; 
 The fit and apt construction of thy name, 
 Bsing Leo-natus, doth import so much : 
 The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, ' 
 
 [To Cymbeline. 
 Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer 
 We term it mulier: which mulier, 1 divine, 
 Is this most constant wife ; who, even now. 
 Answering the letter of tiie oracle. 
 Unknown to you, unso^ight, were clipp'd about 
 With this most tender air, 
 
 Cy7n. This hath some seemioj} 
 
 Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cynibeiine, 
 Personates thee : and thy lopp'd branches point 
 Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen. 
 For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, 
 To the majestic cedar join'd ; whose issue 
 Promises Britain peace and plenty. 
 
 Cym. Well, 
 My peace we will begin: — And, Caii:s Lucius, 
 Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, 
 And to the Roman empire; promising 
 To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
 We were dissuaded by our wicked queen ; 
 Whom heavens, injustice, (both on her, and hera,^ 
 Have laid most heavy hand. 
 
 Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune 
 The harmony of this peace. The vision 
 Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
 Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant 
 Is full accomplish'd : For the Roman eagle. 
 From south to west on wing soaring alolt, 
 Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun 
 So vanish'd : which foreshew'd our princely eagle. 
 The imperial Caesar, should again unite 
 His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, 
 Wliich shines here in the west. 
 
 Cym. Laud we the gods; 
 
 And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
 From our bless'd altars ! Publish we this peace 
 To all our subjects. Set we forward : i^et 
 A Roman and a British ensign wave 
 Frieiidly together; so through Lud's town march j 
 And in the temple of great Jupiter 
 Out peace we'll ratify ; seal it with feasts.— 
 Set on there : — Never was a war did cease. 
 Ere bloody hands were wask'd, witL flucii l>eac . 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 A!I the editors and critics agree with Mr. Theobald in supposing this play spurious. I see no reason for diffurlBt 
 from them: for the colour of tlie style is wholly different from that of tne other p.ays; and there is an attempt at 
 regular versification and artificial closes, not always inelegant, yet seldom pleasing The barbarity of the spectacle*, 
 avd the general massacre, which are here exhibited, can scarcely be conceived tolerable to any audience ; yet "^e ar« 
 told by Jonsoa, that they were not only borne, but praised. That bhak-fpeare wrote any part, thouirh Tbeabfcy 
 eclares it iticoHtestable, I see no reason for believing. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 SATURNINUS, So7i to the UAe Emperor of Rome, and > 
 ajterwurds declared Emperor himself . 1 
 
 BASSIANUS, Brother to baturninus ; in love vnth \ 
 Ldvinia. \ 
 
 TITUS ANDilONICUS, a noble Roman, General against . 
 
 the Goths. I 
 
 MARCUS ANDilONICUS, Tribune of the People; and 
 Brother to Titus, 
 
 LUCIUS, 
 QUINTI 
 MARTIUS, 
 MUTIUS, 
 
 Young LUCIUS, a Boy, Son to Lucius. 
 
 JS, -) 
 
 rus, ( 
 
 lUS, ( 
 
 Sons to Titles Andro?ncus. 
 
 PUBLIUS, Son to Marcus the Tribune, 
 jEMILIUS, a noble Roman. 
 ALAR BUS, I 
 
 CHIRON, > Sons to Tamora. 
 DcMETRIUS, ) 
 
 AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. 
 A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; 
 Goths and Romans. 
 TAMORA, Queen of the Goths. 
 LAVIMA, Daughter to Titus Andronicus. 
 A Nurse, and a black Child. 
 Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Seh 
 diers, and Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — Rome ; and the. Country near it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. — Rome. Before the Capitol, 
 The tomb of the Andronici appearing; the Tri- 
 bunes and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. 
 Enter, belotv, Saturninus, and his Followers, 
 on one side ; and Bassianus and his Followers, 
 on the other ; with drum and colours. 
 Sat, Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
 ^Jefend tlie justice of my cause with arms j 
 Vnd, coantrymen, my lovinf^ followers, 
 i'lead my successive title with your swords : 
 I am his first-born son, that was the last 
 That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; 
 Then let my fathers honours live in me, 
 Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 
 
 Bas. liomans, — friends, followers, favourers of 
 If ever Bassianus, Csesar's son, (my right, — 
 
 Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
 Keep tiien this passage to the Capitol, 
 And suffer not dishonour to approach 
 riie imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, 
 To justice, continence, and nobility : 
 But let desert in pure election shine ; 
 And, Romans, light for freedom in your choice. 
 
 Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the 
 crotvn. 
 
 Mar. Princes, — that strive by factions, and by 
 
 friends, 
 
 Ambitionsly for rule and empery, — 
 
 Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand 
 
 A special party, have, by common voice. 
 
 In election ior the Roman empery, 
 
 Chosen Andronicus, surnamea Pius, 
 
 For many good and great deserts to Rome ; 
 
 A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
 
 Lives not this day within the city walls : 
 
 He by the senate is accited home. 
 
 From weary wars against the barbarous Goths ; 
 
 That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 
 
 Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arins. 
 
 Ten years are spent, since first he undertook 
 
 This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
 
 Our enemies' pride : Five times he hath retura'd 
 
 Hleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
 
 In coliins frorn the field; 
 
 And now, at last, laden with honour's spoils, 
 
 Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
 
 Renowned 'I'itus, flourishing in arms. 
 
 r<ot us entreat,— By honour of his name, 
 
 Wiiom, worthily, yor. would have now succeed, 
 
 Aad io the Capitol and senate's right. 
 
 Whom you pretend to honour and adore,— 
 That you withdraw you, and abate your strength; 
 Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, 
 Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 
 Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm mj 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy 
 In thy uprightness and integrity, 
 And so 1 love and honour thee and thine. 
 Thy noble brother Titus, and his sons, 
 And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all* 
 Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament. 
 That I will here dismiss my loving friends ; 
 And to my fortunes, and the people's favour. 
 Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. 
 
 [Exeunt the Followers of Bassianus 
 
 Sat. Friends, that have been thus tbrvvard in my 
 I thank you all, and here dismiss you all ; [fight 
 And to the love and favour of my country 
 Commit myself, my person, and the cause. 
 
 [Exeunt the Followers of Saturninus 
 Rome, be as just and gracious unto me. 
 As 1 am confident atad kind to thee. — 
 Open the gates and let me io. 
 
 Bas. Tribunes! and me, a poor competitor. 
 {Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, and exeunt 
 with Senators, Marcus ^c.) 
 
 Scene II.— The same. 
 Enter a Captain, and others. 
 Cap. Romans, make way : The good Andronicus 
 Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion. 
 Successful in the battles that he fights. 
 With honour and with Ibrtune is return'd, 
 From where he circumscribed with his sword. 
 And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 
 
 Flourish of trumpets, §fc. Enter MUTIUS ana 
 Martius ; after them, two men bearing a coffin 
 covered ivith black ; then QuiNTUS and Lucius. 
 After them, Titus Andronicus; and then 
 Tamora, ivith Alarbus, Chiron, Demetrius 
 Aaron, and other Goths., prisoners; So/di^i 
 o.nd People, following. The bearers set dots 
 the cojfm, and frrus speaks. 
 Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy tn'ntrniuf 
 weeds ! 
 
 Lo, as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fr? ight. 
 Returns with precious lading to the bay, 
 From whence at first she weigh'd her anchoragej 
 Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel bougt,'. 
 To re-Stilute his country with his tears : 
 Tears of true joy lor his return to Rones. 
 
IITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 65T 
 
 Thoci preat defender of this Capitol, 
 
 Stand gracious to the rites tliat we intend ! — 
 
 Romans, oJ' five and twenty valiant sons. 
 
 Half of the number that kina; Priam had, 
 
 Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead ! 
 
 These, that svjrvive, let Rome reward with love ; 
 
 These, that I bring unto their latest home. 
 
 With burial auiongst their ancestors ; 
 
 Here Goths have given :ne leave to sheath my sword. 
 
 Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, 
 
 Why sulFer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
 
 To hover on the dreadful shore ol"Styx ? — 
 
 Make wr.y to lay fham by their brethren. _ 
 
 {T/ie tomb is opened.) 
 There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, 
 A.nd sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 
 O sacred receptacle of my joys, 
 Sweet cell of virtue and nobility. 
 How many sons of mine hast thou in store, 
 That thou wilt never render to me more ? 
 
 Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, 
 Ad manes /m^rwrn sacrifice his flesh, 
 That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile. 
 That so the shadows be not unappeas'd. 
 Before this earthly prison of their bones ; 
 Nor we disturbed with prodigies on earth. 
 
 Tit. I give him you ; the noblest that survive.s. 
 The eldest son of this distressed queen. 
 
 Tam. Stay, Roman brethren; — Gracious con- 
 queror, 
 
 Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
 
 A mother's tears in passion for her son : 
 
 And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
 
 O, think my son to be as dear to me. 
 
 Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome, 
 
 To beautify thy triumphs, and return. 
 
 Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ; 
 
 But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets. 
 
 For valiant doings in their country s cause ? 
 
 O ! if to fight for king and common-weed 
 
 Were piety in thine, it is in these. 
 
 Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : 
 
 Wilt thou draw near the nature of tlie gods ? 
 
 Draw near them then in being merciful : 
 
 Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge ; 
 
 Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 
 Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. 
 
 These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld 
 
 Alive, and dead ; and for their brethren slain. 
 
 Religiously they ask a sacrifice : 
 
 To this your son is niark'd ; and die he must. 
 
 To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. 
 
 Luc. Away witii him! and make a fire straight; 
 And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, 
 Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consum'd. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucius^ Quintus, Martius, and 
 Mutt us, with Alar bus. 
 Tam, O cruel, irreligious piety ; 
 Chi. Was everScytliia half so barbarous? 
 Dem. O,)pose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
 Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive 
 To tremble under Tit(js' threatening look. 
 Then, madam, stand resolv'd : but hope withal. 
 The selfsame gods, that anii'd the queen of Troy 
 With opportunity of sharp revenge 
 Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent. 
 May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths, 
 (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) 
 
 , To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, andMvjivs, 
 toith their swords bloody, 
 
 Luc. See, lord and father,, how we have perform'd 
 Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd. 
 And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, 
 Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
 Remftiueth nought, but to inter our brethren, 
 ind with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 
 
 Tit, Let it be so, and let Andronicus 
 
 Make this his latest farewe'l to their sonlfl. 
 
 ( Trumpets sounded, and the coffima im^ 
 
 in the tomb.) 
 In peace and horour rest you here, my sons; 
 Rome's readiest champions, repose you heie. 
 Secure from worldly chances and mishap<< \ 
 Here lurks no (reason, here no envy swells. 
 Here grow no danmed grudges ; here are no stormy 
 No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. 
 
 Enter Lavinia. 
 In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! 
 
 Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long ; 
 My noble lord and father, live in fame ! 
 Lo! at this tomb my tributary tears 
 I render, for my brethren's obsequies ; 
 And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy 
 Shed on the eartii, for thy return to Rome: 
 O bless me here witli thy victorious hand, 
 Whose fortunes Ron;e's best citizens applaud. 
 
 Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingiy reserv'd 
 The cordial of mine age to glad my iieart ! — 
 Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days, 
 And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise ! 
 
 Enter Marcus Andronicus, Saturninus, Bas- 
 SIANUS, and others. 
 
 Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother ; 
 Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome I 
 
 Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Mar- 
 cus, [wars, 
 
 Mar. And welcome, nephews , from successful 
 You that survive, and you that sleep in fame. 
 Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, 
 Tliat in your country's service drew your swords : 
 But safer triumph is this funeral {K>mp, 
 That hath aspir'd to Solon's happjness, 
 And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed.— 
 T)tus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
 Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 
 Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust, 
 This palliament of white and spotless hue; 
 And name thee in election for the empire. 
 With these our late-deceased emperor's sous:, 
 Be candidatus, then, and put it on. 
 And help to set a head on headless Rome. 
 
 Tit. A better head her glorious body fits. 
 Than his tliat srhakes for age and feebleness: 
 What! should I don this robe, and trouble you? 
 Be chosen with proclamations to day ; 
 To-morrow, yield up rule, resign my life, 
 And set abroad new business for you all ? 
 Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years. 
 And led my country's strength successfully; 
 And buried one and twenty valiant sons. 
 Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms. 
 In right and service of their noble country 
 Give me a stafl' of honour for mine age, 
 But not a sceptre to control the world : 
 Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 
 
 Mar. 'J'ituf*, thou shatt obtain and ask the empery 
 
 Sat. Prond and ambitious tribune, canst tho 
 tell?— 
 
 Tit. Patience, prince Saturnkie. 
 
 Sat. Romans, do me right ;— 
 
 Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath, them not 
 Till Saturninus bo Rome's emperor : — 
 Andronicus, 'would thou were shipp'd to hell. 
 Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. 
 
 Lue. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
 That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 
 
 Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to tliev 
 The people's heart*!, and wean them from theuisekves. 
 
 Bas^ Andronicus, I do not flatter thee. 
 But honour thee, and will do, till 1 die ; 
 My faction, if thou strengthen vrith tJ>y friends, 
 I will most thankful be ; and thanks, to men 
 Of noble minds, is honourable meed. 
 
 Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes htre 
 ' ask your voices, and your suffrages; 
 
 Il2 
 
658 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Will vou he8<4. w ihera friendly on Andronicus? 
 
 Trlh, To gratify the good Andionicus, 
 And gratulate his safe return to Home, 
 The people will atxept whom he admits. 
 
 Tit. Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, 
 That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
 Lord Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope. 
 Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth. 
 Ana ripen justice in this common- weal : 
 Then il you will elect by my advice, 
 Crown iiim, and say, — Long live our etnperorl 
 
 Mar. With voices and applause of every sort. 
 Patricians, and plebeians, we create 
 Lord Saturninus, Rome's great ernperor ; 
 And say, — Long live our emperor Saturnine! 
 
 {A long flourish^) 
 
 Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done 
 Tg us in our election this day, 
 I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts. 
 And will with deeds requite thy gentleness : 
 And, for an onset, I'itus, to advance 
 Thy name, and honourable family, 
 Lavinia will I make my emperess, 
 Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart. 
 And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse : 
 Tell me, Aridronicus, doth this motion please thee ? 
 
 Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and, in tins match, 
 I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: 
 And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, — 
 King and commander of our conimon-weal, 
 ']^he wide world's emperor, — do I consecrate 
 My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners; 
 Presents well wortiiy Home's imperial lord: 
 Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, 
 Mine honour's ensigns humbled at tiiy feet. 
 
 Sat. I'hanks, noble Titus, father of my life ! 
 How proud I am ol' thee, and of thy gil Is, 
 Ronje shall record ; and when 1 do Ibrget 
 The least of tiiese unspeakable deserts, 
 Romans, Ibrget your fealty to me. 
 
 Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor : 
 
 (To Tamora.) 
 To him, that for your honour and your state, 
 Will use you nobly, and your followers. 
 
 Sat. A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue 
 That I v/ould choose, were I to choose anew. — 
 Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance; 
 Though chance of war hath wrought this change of 
 cheer, 
 
 Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome : 
 Princely sh It be thy usage every way. 
 Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
 Daunt all your hopes ; Madam, he comforts you, 
 tan make you greater than the queen of Goths. — 
 Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this? 
 
 Lav. Not 1, my lord ; sith true nobility 
 Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 
 
 Sat, Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Ronians, let us go; 
 Ransomless here, we set our prisoners free : 
 Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. 
 
 Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. 
 
 {Seizing Lavinia.) 
 
 Tit. How, sir? Are you in earnest (hen, my lord ? 
 
 Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal, 
 Tb do mysell' this reason and this right, 
 
 [The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb shew.) 
 
 Mar. Suum cuiqi^e is our Roman justice : 
 This priuce injustice seizeth but his own. 
 
 Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's 
 guard i 
 
 Treason, my lord ; Lavinia is surpris'd. 
 Sat. Surpris'd! By whom? 
 
 Bas. By him that justly may 
 
 Bear his betioth'd from all the world away. 
 
 [Exeunt Marcus and Bass ianus, with Lavinia. 
 
 Mut. brothers, help to convey her hence away, 
 And wiUi my sword I'll keep this door s;ife. 
 
 {Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martins. 
 
 THi, F»>)t'ow, my lord, and I'll soon briuj, her back. 
 
 Act L 
 
 # 
 
 Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 
 Tit. What, villain, boy! 
 
 Barr'st me my way in Rome ? [Titus kills Mutius.) 
 Mut. Help, Lucius, help! 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than ao« 
 In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 
 
 Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine • 
 My sons would never so dishonour me : 
 Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 
 
 Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, 
 That is another's lawful promised love. [MsU 
 
 Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her not. 
 Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 
 I'll trust, by leisure him that mocks me once; 
 Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons. 
 Confederates all thus to dishonour me. 
 Was there none else in Rome to make a stale of. 
 But Saturnine ? Full well, Andronicus, 
 Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine. 
 That said st, I begg'd the empire at thy hand. 
 
 Tit. O monstrous I what reproachful words ar 
 these ? 
 
 Sat. But go thy ways ; go, give that changing piec« 
 To him that tiourish'd for her with his sword* 
 A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; 
 One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons. 
 To ruffle in tfie commonwealth of Rome. 
 
 Til. These words are raz((rs to my wounded heart 
 Sat, And therefore, lovely Tamora, queea of 
 Gotiis, — 
 
 That, like the stately Phonbe 'mongst her nymphs. 
 
 Dost overshine thy gallant'st dames of Rome,— 
 
 If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice. 
 
 Beheld, I choose cliee, Tamora, for my bride, 
 
 And will create thee emperess of Rome. 
 
 Speak, queen of Gotlis, dost thou applaud my choice 7 
 
 And hert I swear by all the Roman gods, — 
 
 Sith priest and holy water are so near. 
 
 And tapers burn so bright, and every thing 
 
 In readiness ibr Hymeneus stands, — 
 
 I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
 
 Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
 
 I lead espous'd my bride along with me. [sweto* 
 
 Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I 
 If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, 
 She will a hand-maid be to his desii-es, 
 A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 
 
 Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon: — Lcrd«, a©- 
 company 
 
 Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride. 
 Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, 
 Whose wisdom hath her fortune coiiquer'd : 
 'I'here shall we consummate our spousal rites. 
 
 [Exeunt Saturninus, and his Followers ; Ta- 
 mora. and her Sons ; Aaron, and Ooths, 
 Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride • — 
 Titus, when vvert thou wont to walk alone, 
 Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? 
 
 Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, andMxRTiu*. 
 
 Mar. O, Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! 
 In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous sou. 
 
 Tit. No, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine,— 
 Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed 
 That hath dishonour'd all our family : 
 Unworthy brother, and unwortliy sons ! 
 
 Luc. But let tis give him buriu'l, as becoraeji; 
 Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb. 
 TJlis monument five hundred years hath stood, 
 Which I have sumptuously re-edified: 
 Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors. 
 Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: — 
 Bury him where you can, he conies not here. 
 
 Mar. My lord. Lliis is impiety in you : 
 My nephew Mutius' deeds do p'lead for him; 
 He must be buried with his brethren. Ipany 
 
 Quin. §f Mar. And shall, or him we will aucouti 
 
Act 11. Scene 1. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 659 
 
 Tit. And shall ? What villain was it spoke that 
 word ? 
 
 Qutn. He that would vonch't in any place but here. 
 
 Tit. VV'liat, would yoii bury liini in niy despite? 
 
 Mar. No, noble 'I'itns : but entreat of thee 
 fo pardon Mntiiis, and to bnry hiin. 
 
 Tit. Marcus, even tfion hast struck npon niy crest, 
 And, witii these boys, mine honour thou hast 
 
 wounded : 
 My foes I do repute you every one : 
 So trouble me no mure, but get you gone. 
 
 Alar, He is not wifli himself; let us withdraw. 
 
 Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 
 
 {Mnrcua and the sons of Titus kneel.) 
 
 Mtir. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead. 
 
 Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature speak. 
 
 Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will s{)eed. 
 
 Mar. lienowned "^ritiis, niore than half my soul, — 
 
 Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all, — 
 
 Mar. Siitfer thy brother Marcus to inter 
 His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, 
 That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. 
 Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous. 
 The Greeks, u|)on advice, did bury Ajax 
 That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son 
 Did graciously plead for his funerals. 
 Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy. 
 Be barr'd his entrance here. 
 
 Tit, Rise, Marcus, rise : — 
 
 The dismall'st day is this, that e'er I saw. 
 To be dishoiiour'd by my sons in Rome I — 
 Well, bury him, and bin-y nie the next. 
 
 {Mutius is put into the tomb.) 
 
 Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy 
 friends, 
 
 Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb I — 
 All. No man shed tears for noble Mutius: 
 
 He lives in fame, that died in virttie's cause. 
 
 Mar. My lord, — to step out of these dreary 
 dumps, — 
 
 How comes it, that tlie subtle queen of Goths 
 Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome? 
 
 Tit. \ know not, Marcus; but, I know, it is; 
 VV^hether by device, or no, the heavens can tell : 
 Is she not tht^n belioiden to the man 
 'I'hat brought her for this high good turn so far? 
 ^'es, and will nobly him remunerate. 
 
 Flourish. Re-enter at one side, SATURNrNUS, 
 ollended; Tamdra, Chiron, Demetrius, and 
 Aakon: At the other., Rassianus, Lavinia, and 
 
 others. 
 
 Sat. So Bassianus, you have (>lay'd your prize ; 
 God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. 
 
 Ban. And you of yours, my lord: 1 say no more, 
 Nor w ish no less : and so 1 take my leave. 
 
 Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, 
 TIkiu and thy faction shall repent this rape. 
 
 Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own. 
 My true-betrothed love, and now my wile? 
 But let tiie laws of Rome determine all : 
 Mean while I am possess'd ol" that is nfme. 
 
 Sat. 'Tis good, sir : Vou are very short with us ; 
 But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. 
 
 Bos. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, 
 Answer I nuist, and shall do with my life. 
 Only this nnich I give your grace to know, — 
 By all the duties which I owe to Rome, 
 This noble gentlenian, lord 'fitus here, 
 Is in opinion, and in honour, wrong'd; 
 That, in the rescue of Lavinia, 
 With his own hand did slay bis youngest son, 
 Fn zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath 
 'I'o be coHtroU'd in that he frankly gave : 
 Receive him then to favour, .Saturnine; 
 That hath express'd liimself, in all his deeds, 
 K father, and a iriend, to thee, and Rome. 
 
 Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds: 
 Tis thou, ansi those, that have dishonour'd nie : 
 Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge. 
 
 How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine < 
 Tani. My worthy lord, if ever Ta*nora 
 Were gracious in tliose princely eyes of thiiie, 
 Then hear me speak indilferently of all; 
 .And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 
 
 Sat, What! madam! be dishonour'd openly. 
 And bast-ly put it up without revenge ? [tend. 
 
 Taui, Not so, my lord; 'I'he gods of Rome for»- 
 I shoidd be author to dishonour you ! 
 But, on my honour, dare I undertake 
 For good lord Titus' iimocence in all, 
 Whose fury, not dissembled, sneaks his griefs 
 Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; 
 Lose not HO noble a friend on vain suppose. 
 Nor with sour looks aftlict his gentle heart. — 
 My lord, be rul'd by n>e, be won at last, 
 Dissemble ail your griefs and discontents : 
 ^'ou are but newly planted in your throne ; 
 Lest then the people, and patricians too. 
 Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
 And so supplant us for ingratituae, 
 (Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,) 
 Yield at entreats, and then let n»e alone: \Asidg 
 I'll find a day to massacre them all. 
 And raze their faction, and their family. 
 The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, 
 To whom I sued for n>y dear son's lii'e ; 
 And make them know, what 'tis to let a 
 queen [vain. — 
 
 Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in / 
 Come, come, sweet emperor, — come, Andronicus,— 
 'J'ake up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
 That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 
 
 Sat. Rise, 'I'itus, rise ; my empress hath prevail'd. 
 
 Tit. I thank jour majesty, and her, my lord: 
 These words, these looks, infuse new life io me. 
 
 Tarn. Titus, i am incorporate to Rome, 
 A Roman now adopted happily. 
 And must advise the eniperor lor his good, 
 'i'his day all quarrels die, .Andronicus ; — 
 .\ud let it be nune honour, good n»y lord. 
 That I have reconcil'd your friends and you,— 
 For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
 My word and promise to the emperor 
 That you will be more mild and tractable.—- 
 .And tear not, lords, — and you, Lavinia; — 
 By n»y advice, all humbled on your knees, 
 Vou shall ask pardon of his majesty. [highneMi 
 
 Luc. We do ; and vow to heaven, and to his 
 That, what we did, was mildly as we might, 
 'I'end'ring our sister's honour, and our own. 
 
 Mar. That, on mine honour, here I do protest. 
 
 Sat. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. — 
 
 Tain. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be 
 friends : 
 
 The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; 
 I w ill not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. 
 
 Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here. 
 And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
 I do remit these young men's heinous faults. 
 Stand up. 
 
 Lavinia, though you left nie like a churl, 
 1 loimd a friend ; and sure as death I swore, 
 I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
 Conie, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, 
 ^ on are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends: 
 This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 
 
 Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty, 
 To hunt the panther, and the hart with me, 
 With horn and hound, we'll give your grace boit' 
 jour. 
 
 Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gra mercy too. [E*9umt 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Scene I. — The same. Before the Palace, 
 Enter Aaron. 
 Aar. Now clin>beth 1 amora Olympus' top. 
 Sale out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloit, 
 Secure of thunder's crack, or lightuiug'f %«h: 
 
660 TITUS ANDRONTCUS. 
 
 Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach, 
 As when the goJden sun salutes the morn, 
 And having gilt the ocean with his beams, 
 Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, 
 And overlooks the highest-peering hills; 
 So, Tamora. — 
 
 Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, 
 An'l virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
 Thnn, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, 
 To mount aloft vvith thy imperial mistress. 
 And mount her pitch : whom thou in triumph long 
 Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains; 
 And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes, 
 Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
 Away with slavish weeds, and idle thoughts! 
 I wili be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
 To wait upon this new-made emperess. 
 To w«it, said I ? to wanton with this queen, 
 This goddess, this Seniiramis ; — this queen, 
 This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
 And see his shipwreck, and his commonweal's. 
 Holla ! what storm is this ? 
 
 Enter Chiron and Demetrius, braving. 
 Dem. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants 
 
 edge, 
 
 And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd ; 
 And may, for aught thou know'st, alfected be. 
 
 Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all ; 
 And 30 in this to bear me down with braves. 
 'Tis not the difference of a year, or two, 
 Makes me less gracious, thee more fortunate : 
 I am as able, and as fit, as thou, 
 To serve, and to deserve my mistress' love. 
 And that my sword upon thee shall approve, 
 And plead my passions for Lavinia"s love. 
 
 Aar. Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the 
 peace. 
 
 Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd, 
 CJave you a dancing-rapier by your side. 
 Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends ? 
 Go to ; have your lath glued witliin your sheath. 
 Till you know better how to handle it. 
 
 Chi Mean while, sir, with the little skill I have 
 Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. 
 
 Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave ? {They draw.) 
 
 Aar. Why, how now, lords. 
 
 So near the emperor's palace dare you draw. 
 And maintain such a quarrel openly? 
 Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge ; 
 I would not for a million of gold, 
 The cause were known to them it most concerns : 
 Nor would your noble mother, for much more, 
 Bt so dislionour'd in the court of Rome. 
 For shame, put up. 
 
 Dem. Not I ; till I have sheath'd 
 
 My rapier in his bosom, and, withal. 
 Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat, 
 That he hati) breath'd in my dishonour here. 
 
 Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd,— 
 Foul-spoken coward ! that thnnder st with thy tongue, 
 And vvith thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. 
 
 Aar. Away, I say. — 
 Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore. 
 This petty brabble will undo us all. — 
 Why, lords, — and think you not how dangerous 
 It is'tojut upon a prince's right? 
 What, is Lavinia then become so loose, 
 Or Bassiiuiiis so degenerate, 
 
 That fur her love such qurtrrels may be broach'd. 
 Without controlment, justice, or revenge ? 
 Young lords, beware ! — an should the empress know 
 This discord's ground, the music would not please. 
 
 Chi J care not, I, knew she and ail the world ; 
 I love Lavinia more tiian all the world. [choice : 
 
 Vem. Voungling, learn thou to make some meaner 
 Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 
 
 Aar. Why, are ye mad ? or know ye not, in Rome 
 How furious and impatient they be, 
 ▲lid cannot brook competitors in love ? 
 
 Act Tl 
 
 I tell yoH, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
 By this device. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 
 
 Would I propose to achieve her whom 1 love 
 
 Aar. To achieve her! — How? 
 
 Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange f 
 
 She is a womi»3^ therefore may be woo'd; 
 She is a woman, therefore may be won ; 
 She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. 
 What, man! more water glideth by the mill 
 Thau wots the miller of; and easy it is 
 Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know . 
 Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother. 
 Better than he have yet worn Vulcan's badge. 
 
 Aar. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. {Aside. 
 
 Dem. Then why should he despair, that knowi 
 to court it 
 With words, fair looks, and hberality ? 
 What, hast thou not full often struck a doe. 
 And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? 
 
 Aar. Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch Of 
 Would serve your turns. [ae 
 
 Chi. Ay, so the tuiu were serv'dL 
 
 Dem. Aaron^ thou hast hit it. 
 
 Aar. 'Would you had hit it tcof 
 
 Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. 
 Why, hark ye, hark ye, — And are you such fools 
 To square for this ? Would it offend you then 
 That both should speed ? 
 
 Chi. I'faith, not me. 
 
 Dem. Nor me 
 
 So 1 were one. 
 
 Aar. For shame, be friends ; and join for that yon 
 jar. 
 
 'Tis policy and stratagem must do 
 That yoa affect; and so must you resolve: 
 That what you cannot, as you would, achieve, 
 You must perforce accomplish as you may. 
 Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste 
 Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
 A speedier course than longering languishment 
 Must we pursue, and 1 have found the path 
 My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ; 
 Tliere will the lovely Roman ladies troop; 
 7'he forest walks are wide and spacious ; 
 And many unfrequented plots there are. 
 Fitted by kind for rape and villany : 
 Single you thither then this dainty doe. 
 And strike her home by force, if not by words*. 
 This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 
 Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wi^ 
 To villany and vengeance consecrate. 
 Will we acquaint vvith all that we intend; 
 And she shall file our engines with advice. 
 That will not suffer you to square yourselves. 
 But to your wishes' height advance you both. 
 The emperor's court is like the house of fame. 
 The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears: 
 'I'he woods are ruthless, dreadiul, deaf and dull; 
 There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take you» 
 turns : 
 
 There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye. 
 And revel in Lavinia's treasury, 
 
 Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. 
 
 Dein. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream 
 To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. 
 Per Styya, per manes vehor. [Exeunit 
 
 Scene U. — A Forest near Rome. A Lodge seen 
 at a distance. Horns, and cry of houndi 
 heard. 
 
 Enter Tnus Andronicus, with Hunters, gfa 
 Marcus, Lucius, Qointus, and Martius. 
 Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and gre|, 
 The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green: 
 Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, 
 And wake the emperor and his lovely bride, 
 And rouse the p-ance ; and ring a hunter's peal. 
 That all the court may echo with the noise. 
 Sons, let it be your charge, as it 9 ours, 
 
Scene 3. TITUS AN 
 
 To tenel the emperor's person carefully :' 
 f have been troubled in my sleep tliis night. 
 But dawning day new comfort hath inspi d. 
 
 Horns wind a peal. Enter Saturninus, Tamora, 
 Bassianus, Lavinia , Chikon, Deaietrius, and 
 A ttendants. 
 
 Tit- Many good-morrows to your majesty ; — 
 Madam, to you as many and as good. 
 [ promised your grace a hunters peal. 
 
 Sat. And you have runj? it lustily, my lords, ^ 
 Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 
 
 Bits. Lavinia, how say you ? 
 
 Lav. J say, no ; 
 
 I have been broad awake two hours and more. 
 
 Sat. Come on then ; horse and chariots let us have, 
 Atid to our sport: — Madam, now shall ye see 
 Our [Ionian hunting. [To Tamora.) 
 
 Mar. f have dogs, my lord. 
 
 Will rmise the proudest panther in the chase. 
 And climb the highest promontory top. 
 
 Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game 
 Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 
 
 Dem. {Aside.) Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse 
 nor lionnd. 
 
 But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt. 
 Scene \U.—A desert Part of the Forest. 
 Enter Aaron, with a bag of gold. 
 Aar. He that had wit, would think timt I had none. 
 To bi'.ry so much gold under a tree, 
 And never after to inherit it. 
 liet him, that thifks of me so abjectly. 
 Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem ; 
 Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
 A very excellent piece of villany : 
 And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest. 
 That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 
 
 {Hides the gold.) 
 
 Enter Tamoba. 
 Tarn- My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou 
 saa, 
 
 W^hen every thing doth make a gleeful boast? 
 The birds chaunt nielf>dy on evvry bush ; 
 The snake lir-s rolltd in the cheerful sun; 
 The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, 
 And uiake a checquer'd shadow on the ground : 
 Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit. 
 And wliiist the babbling echo mocks the hounds, 
 Replying shrilly to the well tun'd horns. 
 As il'a double hunt were heard at once, — 
 Let us sit down, and mark Ihcir yelling noise: 
 j.\nd — after conflict, such as was suppos'd 
 The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd. 
 When with a happy storm they were surpris'd. 
 And curfain'd with a counsel keeping cave, — 
 We may, each wreathed in the other's arms. 
 Our pastiutes done, possess a golden slumber; 
 Whilst hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious 
 birds. 
 
 Be unto us, as is a nurse's song 
 
 Of lullaby, to brinj her babe asleep, 
 
 Aar. Mudam, though Venus govern your desires, 
 Saturn is dominator over mine : 
 What signifies my deadly-standing eye. 
 My silence, and my cloudy melancholy ? 
 My fleece of woolly liair that now uncurls. 
 Even US an adder, when she dotli unroll 
 To do son.e fatal execution? 
 No, madani, tlwse are no venereal signs ; 
 Vengeance is in my he^rt, death in my hand. 
 Blood and re\ enge are hammering in my head. 
 Hark, Tamora, — the empress of my soul. 
 Which never hopes more heaven thau rests in 
 thee, — 
 
 This is the diy of doom for Bassianus ; 
 His Philomel must lose he*- tou^Tie to-day : 
 Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, 
 And/ wash their hands in Bassianus' b!aod. 
 Seest thou this letter ? take j1 up I pray thee, 
 
 )RONTCUS- RGl 
 
 And give the king this fatal plotted scroll : — 
 Now question me no more, we are espied; 
 Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty. 
 Which dreads not yet their lives' destrnctiou. 
 Tarn. Ah, ray sweet Moor, sweeter to me thta 
 life I 
 
 Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes: 
 Be cross with him ; and I'll go fetch thy sons 
 To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [SsiL 
 
 Enter Basslanus and Lavinia. 
 Bas. Whom have we here? Rome's royal ecsi> 
 press, 
 
 Uiifurnish'd of her well beseeming tro<>^' 
 Or is it Dian, habited like her, 
 Who hath abandoned her holy groves, 
 To see the general hunting in this forest? 
 
 Laif. Saucy controller of our private steps. 
 Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had, 
 Thy temples should be planted presently 
 With horns, as was Actseon's; and the hounds 
 Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs. 
 Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 
 
 Lav. Under your patience, gentle emperess, 
 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning ; 
 And to be doubted, that your Moor and you 
 Are singled forth to try experiments : 
 Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! 
 'Tis pity, they should take him for a stag, 
 
 Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimm^riaa 
 Doth make your honour of his body's hue, 
 Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
 Vvhy are you sequester'd from all your train? 
 Dismounted fi-bm your snow-white goodly steed 
 And waudpr'd hither lo an obscure plot, 
 Acoon'panied w;th a barbarous Moor, 
 If foul desire hud not conducted you ? 
 
 Lav. And. being intercepted in your sport. 
 Great reason that my noble ;ord be rated 
 For sauciness. — I pray you, let us hence, 
 And let her 'joy her raven-colour'd love ; 
 This va.'ley fits the purpose passing well. 
 
 Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note <r^ 
 this. 
 
 Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted 
 long : 
 
 Good king! to be so mightily abus'd ! 
 
 Ta7n. Why have I patieirce to endure all this? 
 
 Enter Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gr3» 
 eious mother. 
 Why does your highness look so pale and wan? 
 
 7Vitn. Have 1 not reason, tiiink you, to look pale ? 
 These two have 'tie d uie hither to this place, 
 A barren detested vale, you see, it is : 
 The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
 O'ercome with moss, and baleful misletoe. 
 Here ne\er shines the sun ; here nothing breeds, 
 Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. 
 And when they shew'd me this abhorred pit. 
 They told me here, at dead time of the night, 
 A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes. 
 Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins. 
 Would make such fearful and confused cr.ies. 
 As any mortal body, hearing it. 
 Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. 
 No sooner had they told tins hellish tale. 
 But straight they told me, they would biud me hem 
 Unto the body of a dismal yew; 
 Amd leave me to this nsiserable death. 
 Aud then they cali'd me, foul adulteress. 
 Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
 That ever ear did hear to sucli effect. 
 And, had you not by wondrous fortune corae^ 
 This vengeance on me had tney executed. 
 Revenge it, as you love your mother's life. 
 Or be yp not from henceforth cali'd my children. 
 
 Dem. This is a witness that 1 atn thy son. 
 
 {Stabs Bas8mnm4 
 
€62 
 
 TITUS ANDRONTCUS. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Cht. And this for me, strncif home to shew my 
 strength. [Stabbing him likewise.) 
 
 Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, — nay, barbarous Ta- 
 niora ! 
 
 Fcr no name fits thy nature but thy own ! 
 
 Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall know, nay 
 boys, 
 
 Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. 
 
 iDem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her ; 
 First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw; 
 Tills minion stood upon her chastity, 
 Lpon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, 
 And with that painted hope braves your mighti- 
 ness : 
 
 And shall she cari^ this unto her grave ? 
 
 Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
 Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, 
 And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 
 
 Tarn. But when you have the honey you desire, 
 I>et not this wasp out-live, us both to sting. 
 
 Chi. I warrant you, madam ; we will make that 
 sure. — 
 
 Come mistress, now^ perforce we will enjoy 
 
 That nice-preserved honesty of yours. 
 Lav. O Tamora I thou bear'st a woman's face, — 
 Tarn. I will not hear her speak ; a^/ay with her. 
 Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a 
 word. 
 
 Dem. Listen, fair madam : Let it be your glory 
 To see her tears; but be your heart to them. 
 As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 
 
 Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the 
 dam ? 
 
 O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee : 
 The milk thou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble ; 
 Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny — 
 Vet every mother breeds not sons alike; 
 Do thou entreat her shew a woman pity. 
 
 {To Chiron.) 
 
 Chi. Wiiat! would'st thou have me prove my- 
 self a bastard ? 
 
 Lav. 'Tis true ; the raven doth not hatch a lark: 
 Yet I have heard, (O could I find it now 1} 
 The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure 
 To have his princely paws par'd all away. 
 Some say, that ra\ens foster forlorn children. 
 The whilst their own birds famish in their nests; 
 O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no. 
 Nothing so kind, but something pitiful, 
 
 Tam. I know not what it means ; away with her. 
 
 Lav. O, let me teach thee ! for my father's sake. 
 That gave thee life, when well he might have slain 
 thee, 
 
 Be not obdurate, upon thy deaf ears. 
 
 Tam. Had'st thcu in person ne'er offended me. 
 Even for his sake am I pitiless : — 
 Remember, boys, 1 pour'd forth tears in vain, 
 1 o save your brother from the sacrifice ; 
 But fierce Androuicus would not relent: 
 Therefore away with her, and use her as you will ; 
 The worse to her, the better lov'd of me. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen. 
 And with thine own hands kill me in this place : 
 For 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long; 
 Poor I was slain, when Bassianus died. 
 
 Tam. What begg'st thou then ? fond woman, let 
 me go. [more. 
 
 Lav. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing 
 That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: 
 O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
 And tumble me into some loathsome pit: 
 W^here never man's eye may behold my body: 
 f)o this, and be a charitable murderer. 
 
 Tam. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee : 
 No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 
 
 Vem. Away, for thou hast staid us here too long. 
 
 Lav. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly 
 creature. 
 
 The blot and enemy to our general name! 
 Confusion fall — 
 
 Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouib : — Bring 
 thou her husband ; [Dragging off Lavinia?^ 
 This is tlie hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Tam. Farewell, my sons: see, that you make 
 her sure : 
 
 Ne'er let my heart know meny cheer indeed. 
 Till all the Andronici be made away. 
 Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 
 And let my spleeni'ul sons this trull devour. [JSsvft 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. 
 Enter Aaron, ivith Quintus and Martius. 
 Aar. Come on, my lord ; the better foot before: 
 Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit. 
 Where I espied the panther fast asleep. 
 
 Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 
 Mart. And mine, I promise you; wet't not fn* 
 shan>e. 
 
 Well could 1 leave our spK)rt to sleep awWle. 
 
 {Martius falls into the pit.) 
 Quin. What, art thou fallen ? What jubtle hole 
 is this. 
 
 Whose mouth is cover'd with rude growing briars; 
 Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood, 
 As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers? 
 A very fatal place it seems to me : — 
 Sptak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall ? 
 
 Mart. O brother, with the dismallest object 
 That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament. 
 
 Aar. [Aside.) Now will 1 fetch the king to find 
 them here ; 
 That he thereby may give a likely guess. 
 How these were they that made away his brother. 
 
 Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help ma 
 out 
 
 From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole ? 
 
 Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear : 
 A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joii*ts ; 
 My heart suspects more than mine eye can .see. 
 
 Mart. To prove thou hast a true-aiviniag heart, 
 Aaron and thou look down into this den. 
 And see a fearlul sight ol' blood and death. 
 
 Quin. Aaron is gone ; and my compassionate 
 heart 
 
 Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
 The thing, whereat it trembles by surmise ; 
 O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now 
 Was I a child, to fear I know not what. 
 
 Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed hen». 
 All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb. 
 In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 
 
 Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? 
 
 Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
 A precious ring, that lightens all the hole. 
 Which, like a taper in some monument, 
 Doth shine upon the dead man's earthly cheeks, 
 And shews the ragged entrails of this pit : 
 So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, 
 When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. 
 
 0 brother, help me with thy fainting hand, — 
 If tear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, — 
 Out of this fell devouring receptacle, 
 
 As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 
 
 Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help the* 
 out; 
 
 Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 
 
 1 may be pluck 'd into the swallc wing womb 
 Of this deep pit, poor liassiftnusi grave. 
 
 I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 
 Mart. Nor i no strength to climb without thy 
 help. [again, 
 Quin. Thy hand once more ; I will not ioo8« 
 Till thou art here aloft, or I below : 
 'ilhou canst not come to me, I come to thee. 
 
 [Falls iff.) 
 
 Enter Saturninus and Aaron. 
 Sat. Along with me : — I'll see what hole is bera^ 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 TITUS •ANDRONICUS. 
 
 663 
 
 And what he is, t}iat now is Icap'ol into it. — 
 Say, who art thoti, tliat lately didst descend 
 Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? 
 
 Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ; 
 Brought hither in a nio«t unlucky hour. 
 To find thy brother Bassiaiius dead. 
 
 Sat. My brother dead ? I know' thou dost but 
 jest ; 
 
 He and his lady both are at the lodge, 
 Ul>on the north side of this pleasant chase ; 
 "I'is not an hour since I left him there. 
 
 Mart. We know not where you left him al! alive, 
 Kut, out alas! here have we found him dead. 
 
 Eniet Tajmora, with Attendants ; Titus Andro- 
 nicus, and Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. Where is my lord the king ? 
 Sat. Here, Taaiora ; though griev'd with killing 
 grief. 
 
 Tarn. VVhere is thy brother Bassianus ? 
 Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my 
 wound ; 
 
 Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 
 
 Tarn. Tin n all too late I bring this fatal writ, 
 
 [Giviny a letter.) 
 Thf' contplot of tills timeless tragedy; 
 And wonder greatly that man's face can fold 
 In pleasing smiles sncli murderous tyranny. 
 
 Sat. {Reads.) An if we miss to meet niin hand- 
 somely. — 
 
 Sweet huntsman., Bassianus 'tis, we mean, — 
 Do thou so much as diy the grave for him ; 
 Thoic knoivst our meaniny : Look for thy reward 
 Amony the nHtles at the elder tree., 
 Which overshades the mouth of that same pit. 
 Where we decreed to bury Bassiafius. 
 Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends. 
 
 0„ l a 
 
 iiora : was ever 
 
 heard the like 
 
 This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. 
 Look, sirs, if you can find tlie huntsman out, 
 That should have murder'd Bassianus here. 
 Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 
 
 [Shewiny it.) 
 
 Sat. Two of thy whelps, {to Tit.) fell curs of 
 bloody kind. 
 Have here berei't my brother of his life : — 
 Sirs, drag tlieui from the pit unto the prison ; 
 There let tlieui bide, until we have devis'd 
 Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 
 
 Tarn. What, are they in tiiis pit ? O wond'rous 
 thing ! 
 
 How easily murder is discovered ! 
 
 Tit. High emperor, upon my f«eble knee 
 I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed. 
 That this fell fault of my accursed sons, 
 Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them, — 
 
 Sat. If it be prov'd ! you see, it is apparent. — 
 Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? 
 
 Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up. 
 
 Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail: 
 For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow, 
 They shall be ready at your highness' will. 
 To answer their suspicion with their lives. 
 
 Sat. I'hou shalt not bail them ; see, thou follow 
 me. 
 
 Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: 
 Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain ; 
 For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, 
 That end upon them should be executed. 
 Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king; 
 I Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. 
 
 Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with 
 i\iem. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Scene Y.— The same. 
 Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ra- 
 vished; her hands cut off and her tongue cut 'out. 
 Dem. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, 
 VVho 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. 
 
 Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean 
 ing so ; 
 
 And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. 
 Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she ran 
 
 scowl. [hands. 
 Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy 
 Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands ta 
 
 wash ; 
 
 And so let's leave her to her silent walks. 
 
 Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang my- 
 se.lf 
 
 Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit tho 
 cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron, 
 
 Enter Marcus. 
 
 Mar. Who's this, — my niece, that flies away so 
 fast ? 
 
 Cousin, a word ; where is your husband ? — 
 If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would w^ak« 
 me ! 
 
 If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
 That I may slumber in eternal sleep! 
 Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands 
 Have lo p'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bar 
 Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments. 
 Whose circling shadows kings have sought ^ < 
 sleep in ; 
 
 And might not gain so great an happiness, 
 
 As half thy love ? Why dost not speak to me ? — 
 
 Alas, a crimson river of warm blood. 
 
 Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, 
 
 Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips. 
 
 Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
 
 But, sure, some Tereiis hath deflour'd thee ; 
 
 And, lest tliou should'st detect him, cut thy tongvse 
 
 Ah I now thou turn st away thy face for shame ! 
 
 And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, — 
 
 As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,— 
 
 Yet do thy clieeks look red as Titan's face. 
 
 Blushing to he encounter'd with a cloud. 
 
 Shall I speak for thee ? shall I say, 'tis so? 
 
 O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, 
 
 That I might rail at him to ease my mind I 
 
 Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd. 
 
 Doth burn the heai t to cinders where it is. 
 
 Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue. 
 
 And in a tedious sampler sew'd her n)ind : 
 
 But, lovely niece, that nsean is cut from thee; 
 
 A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal, 
 
 And he hath cut those pretty fingers oti'. 
 
 That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
 
 O, had the monster seen those lily hands 
 
 Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute. 
 
 And make the silken strings delight to kiss them , 
 
 He would not then have touch'd them for his life: 
 
 Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony. 
 
 Which that sweet tongue hath made. 
 
 He would have dropi.'d his knife, and fell asleep. 
 
 As Cerberus at the I'hracian poet's feet. 
 
 Come, let us go, and make thy father blind : 
 
 For such a sight will blind a lather's eye : 
 
 One hour's storm will drown the fragrant mead.s; 
 
 What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes ? 
 
 Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee ; 
 
 O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I.— Rome. A Street. 
 Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, 
 with M artius and Quintus, bound, passing un 
 to the place of execution ; Titus going before, 
 pleading. 
 
 Tit. Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! 
 For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
 In dangerous-wars, whilst you securely slept; 
 Foi- all my blood in Botiie's great quarrel shed; 
 For all the frosty niglits that I have watch'd; 
 And for these bitter tears, which now you we 
 Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; 
 
664 
 
 TITUS ANDRONTCUS. 
 
 Act Til 
 
 Re pitiful to my condemned sons. 
 Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought! 
 For two and twenty sons I never wept, 
 because they died in honour's lofty bed. 
 For these, these tribunes, in the dust I write 
 
 {Throwing himself on the ground.) 
 My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. 
 Let luy tears staunch the earth's dry appetite ; 
 My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. 
 
 [Exeunt Sen., Trib., ^'c, with the prisoners. 
 Oeartli, I will befriend thee more with rain, 
 That shall distil from these two ancient urns, 
 Than youthful April shall with all iiis showers: 
 In summer's droiiglit.. I'll droi> upon thee still ; 
 In winter, wifh warm tears I'll melt the snow. 
 And keep eteriial spring-time on thy face, 
 So thou refuse to drink ray dear sons' blood. 
 
 Enter Lucius with his sword drawn. 
 O, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men! 
 Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; 
 And let me say, that never wept before, 
 My tears are now prevailing orators, 
 
 Li/c. O, noble father, you lament in vain; 
 The tribunes hear you not; no man is by, 
 And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: 
 Grave tribunes, once more 1 entreat of you. 
 
 Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you 
 speak. 
 
 Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did hear, 
 I'hey wotdd not mark nic ; or, if they did mark. 
 All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. 
 Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
 Who, though they cannot answer my distress, 
 Yet, in some sort, they're better than the tribunes, 
 Por that they will not intercept my tale : 
 When I do weep, they humbly at my feet 
 Receive my tears and seem to weep with me ; 
 And, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
 Aome could afford no tribune like to these. 
 A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than 
 stones : 
 
 A stone is silent, and offendeth not ; 
 And tribunes with their tongues doom men to 
 death. [drawn ? 
 
 But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon 
 
 Ijuc. To rescue my two brothers from their death : 
 For which attempt, the juda;es have pronounc'd 
 My everlasting doom of banishment. 
 
 Tit. O happy man ! they have befiiended thee. 
 Why foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive. 
 That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ? 
 Tigers must prey ; and Rome affords no prey, 
 But me and mine : How hapuy art thou then. 
 From these devourers to be nanished ? 
 But who comes with our brother Marcus here ? 
 
 Enter Marcus and Lavinia. 
 
 Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep ; 
 Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break ; 
 I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 
 
 Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it then. 
 
 Mar. This was thy daughter. 
 
 Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. 
 
 Luc. Ah me! this object kills me ! 
 
 Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her: — 
 Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand 
 flath made thee handless in thy fathers sight? 
 What fool hath added water to the sea ? 
 Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? 
 My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, 
 And Kow, like Nil us, it disdaineth bounds. — 
 Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too; 
 For they have fought for Rome, and ail in vain; 
 A.nd they have nurt^'d this woe, in feeding life ; 
 In bootk-ss prayer have they been held u-p. 
 And they have serv'd me to effectless use : 
 Now, hi\ the service 1 require of them 
 l»,that the one will help to cut the other.— 
 
 'TIS well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; 
 For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 
 
 Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'i* 
 thee? 
 
 Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts. 
 That blabb'd them with such pleashig eloquence. 
 Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage; 
 Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
 Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear I 
 
 Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done thA 
 deed ? 
 
 Mar. O, thus I found her, straying in the park, 
 Seeking to hide herself; as dolh the deer, 
 That hatl) receiv'd some unrecuring wound. 
 
 Tit. It was my deer; and he, that wotmded her, 
 Hath hurt me more, than had he kilfd me dead: 
 For now I stand as one upon a rock, 
 Environ'd with a wilderness of sea; 
 Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by vv'ave> 
 Expecting ever wlien some envious surge 
 Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
 This way to death my wretched sons are gone : 
 Here stands my other son, a banish'd man ; 
 And here n)y brother, weeping at ray woes ; 
 But that, which gives my soul the greatest spurn* 
 Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. — 
 Had I but seen thy picture in tliis plight, 
 It would have madded me : What shall I do 
 Now 1 behold thy lively body so? 
 Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; 
 Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: 
 Thy husband he is dead ; and, for his death. 
 Thy brothers are condemnM, and dead by this: — 
 Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her ! 
 When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
 Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey dew 
 Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 
 
 Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd 
 her husband : 
 Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 
 
 Tit. If Lhey did kill thy husband, then be joyful, 
 Because the law hath ta'eu revenge oin them. — 
 No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
 Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.— 
 Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 
 Or make some signs how I may do thee ease: 
 Shall tl)y good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
 And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain; 
 Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
 How they are stain'd ? Like meadows, yet not drj 
 With miry slime left on them by a flood ? 
 And in the fountain shall we gaze so long. 
 Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
 And made a brine pit with our bitter tears? 
 Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? 
 Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shews 
 Pass the remainder of our hateful days "i* 
 What shall we do ? let us, that have our tongues, 
 Plot some device of further misery. 
 To make us wonder'd at in time to come, 
 
 Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for, at joul 
 
 See, how my wretched sister sobs and weejis. 
 Mar. Patience, dear niece : — Good Titus, dry 
 thine eyes. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus I brotlier, well I 'yot, 
 Tby napkin cannot drink a tear of mine 
 For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it \ttth thine owOi 
 
 Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, i will wipe tliy cheeks. 
 
 Tit. Mark, Marcus, nuark ! I understand he» 
 signs : 
 
 Had she a tongue to speak, now would she »ay 
 That to her brother whicli I said to thee ; 
 His napkin, with his true tears all bevvet. 
 Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
 O, what a sympathy oi woe is tliis ? 
 As /'ar from help as limbo is froui bhss! 
 
 Enter Aaron. 
 Aar. Titus Andronicua, my lord theempero 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 665 
 
 Sends thee this word, — That, if thou love thy sons, 
 
 JUfit Marcns, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
 
 Or any one of you, chop off your hand, 
 
 And send it to the king : he for the same, 
 
 Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; 
 
 And that shall be the ransom for their fault. 
 
 Tit. O, gracious emperor! O, gentle Aaron! 
 Did ever raven sing so like a lark. 
 That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? 
 With all my heart, I'll send the emperor 
 My hand : 
 
 Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? 
 
 Luc. Stay, father: for that no.ble hai»d of thine. 
 That hath thrown down so many eot^mies. 
 Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: 
 My youth can better spare my blood than you; 
 And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 
 
 Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended 
 Rome, 
 
 And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, 
 Writing destruction on the enemies' castles? 
 O, none of both but are of high desert: 
 IVTy hand hath been but idle ; let it serve 
 To ransom my two nephews from their death: 
 Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 
 Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go 
 along, _ 
 
 For fear they die before their pardon come. 
 Mar. My hand shall go. 
 
 Luc. By heaven, it shall not go. 
 
 Tit. Sirs, strive no more ; such withe r'd herbs 
 as thfse 
 
 Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine, 
 Luc. Sweet father, if 1 shall be tliought thy son, 
 
 Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 
 Mar. And, for our father's saJ-.e, and mother's 
 care, 
 
 Now let me shew a brother's lave to thee. 
 
 Tit. Agree between you ; I will spare my hand. 
 
 Imc. Tlieu I'll go fetch an axe. 
 
 Mar. But I will use the axe. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. 
 
 Tit. Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both; 
 Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine, 
 
 Aar. If that be cali'd deceit, I will be honest. 
 And never, whilst I live, deceive men so; — 
 But I'll deceive you in another sort, ' 
 And that you'll say, ere half an hour can pass. 
 
 {Aside. He cuts off" Titus's hand.) 
 
 Enter Lucius ana? Marcus. 
 
 Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be, is 
 despatch'd. — 
 Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand; 
 Tell h.m, it was a hand that warded hinj 
 From ttiousand dangers: bid him bury it; 
 More hath it merited, that let it have. 
 As for my sons, say, I account of them 
 As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; 
 And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. 
 
 Aar. I go, Andronicus: and for tivy hand. 
 Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : 
 'i^heir heads, 1 mean. — O, how tiiis villany (Aside.) 
 Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! 
 Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
 Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit. 
 
 Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, 
 And bow tliis feeble ruin to the earth: 
 If any f>ower pities wretched tears, 
 To that I call : — What, wilt thou kneel with me ? 
 
 {To Lavinia.) 
 
 Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our 
 prayers ; 
 
 Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, 
 An.d stain tlse sun with fog, as sometime clouds, 
 When vliey do hug him in their melting bosoms. 
 
 Mar. O brother, speak with possihUities, 
 An-d do not, break into these deep extremes. 
 
 Tit. is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? 
 Then be Hiy passions bottomless with them. 
 
 Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament 
 Tit. If there were reason for these nnscries. 
 Then into limits could I bind my woes : [flow ? 
 When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'er- 
 If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
 Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln faee? 
 And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? 
 I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow I 
 She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
 Then must my sea be moved with her .sighs ; 
 Then must my earth with her continual tears 
 Become a deinge, overflow'd and drown'd : 
 For why ? my bowels cannot hide her woes. 
 But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
 Then give me leave ; for losers will have leave 
 To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 
 
 Enter a Messenger with two heads and a hand* 
 
 Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
 For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. 
 Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
 And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; 
 Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd : 
 That woe is me to think upon thy woes, 
 More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exiii 
 
 Mar. Now let hot JEtna cool in Sicily, 
 And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
 These miseries are more than may be borne ! 
 To weep with i^em that weep doth ease some deal. 
 But sorrow flouted at is double death. [wound 
 
 Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a 
 And yet detested life not shrink thereat! 
 That ever death should let life bear his name, 
 Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! 
 
 {Lavinia kisses him^ 
 
 Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless. 
 As frozen water to a starved snake. 
 
 Tit. When will tliis fearful slumber have an end? 
 
 Mar. Now farewell flattery : Die, Andronicus; 
 Thou dost not slumber ; see, thy two sons heads; 
 Thy warlike hand ; thy mangled daughter here ; 
 T hy other banish'd son, with this dear sight 
 Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brotiier, I, 
 Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
 Ah ! now no more will I control thy gi iefs; 
 Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
 Gnawing with thy teeth ; and he this dismal sight 
 The closing up of our most wretciied eyes ! 
 Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still ? 
 
 Tit. Ha, ha, ha ! [iiour. 
 
 Mar. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not with this 
 
 Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed: 
 Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
 And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes. 
 And make tliem blind with tributary tears; 
 Then which way shall I find revenge's cave ? 
 For these two heads do seem to speak to me; 
 And threat me, I shall never come to bliss, 
 Till all these mischiefs be return'd again. 
 Even in their throats that have committed them. 
 Come, let me see what task I have to do. — 
 You heavy people, circle me about; 
 That I may turn me to each one of you, 
 And swear unto my sonl to right your wrongs. 
 The vow is made. — Come, brother, take a head; 
 And in this hand the other will I bear : 
 Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things; 
 Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teetll 
 As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight; 
 Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
 Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there . 
 And, if you love me, as I think you do. 
 Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do, 
 
 [Exeunt Titus, yV/arcws, and LaviniA 
 
 Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father; 
 The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome! 
 Farewell, proud Rome ! till Lucius come agaift 
 He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. 
 Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; 
 O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast beeo! 
 
666 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act IV, 
 
 Bsit now nor Luciua, nor Lavinia lives, 
 But ill oblivion, and hateful griefs. 
 
 ff Lucius live, he will requite your wrougs ; 
 And make proud Saturninus and his empress 
 Beg at the gates, like 'I arquin and his queen. 
 Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
 To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II.— ^ Rootti in Titus's House. A Banquet 
 set out. 
 
 Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young 
 Lucius, a hoy. 
 
 Txt. So, so; now sit : and look, you eat no more 
 Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
 As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
 Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; 
 Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, 
 And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief 
 With folded arms. I^his poor right hand of mine 
 Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; 
 And when my heart, all mad with misery, 
 Beats in this hollow prison of ray flesh, 
 I'heu thus I thump it down.— 
 Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! 
 
 {To Lavinia.) 
 VV hen thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating. 
 Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
 Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ; 
 Or get some little knife between thy teeth. 
 And just against thy heart make thou a hole ; 
 That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fail, 
 May run into that sink, and, soaking in. 
 Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 
 
 Mar. Fy, brother, fy ! teach her not thus to lay 
 Such violent hands upon her tender lile. 
 
 Tit. How now ! has sorrow made thee dote 
 already ? 
 
 VVhy, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
 What violent hands can she lay on her life ? 
 Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; — 
 1 o bid vEueas tell the tale twice o'er, 
 How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? 
 O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands; 
 Lest we remember still, that we have none. — 
 Fy, fy, how franticly i square my talk I 
 As if we should forget we liad no hands, 
 If Marcus did not name the word of hands! — 
 Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this :— 
 Here is no drink ! Hark, Marcus, what she says;— 
 I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;— 
 She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, 
 Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks: — 
 Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; 
 In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, 
 As begging hermits in their holy prayers : 
 Thou shall not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 
 Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign. 
 But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet. 
 And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. 
 Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep 
 laments : 
 
 Make niy aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 
 
 Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, 
 Doth weep to 8e« his grandsire's heaviness. 
 
 Tit, Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made of 
 tears, 
 
 And tears will quickly melt thy life away— 
 
 {Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.) 
 What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife i 
 Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly. 
 Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill'st m 
 heart ; 
 
 Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny : 
 A deed of death, done on the innocent. 
 Becomes not Titus' brother: Get thee gone; 
 I see, thou art not for my company. 
 
 Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 
 
 Tit, But how, if that fly had a father and 
 mother ? 
 
 How would he hang his slender gilded wings. 
 
 my 
 
 And buz lamenting doings in the air? 
 
 Poor harmless fly ! 
 
 That with his pretty buzzing melody, 
 
 Came here to make us merry; and thui hast kill'd 
 
 Mar. Pardon me, sir ; 'twas a black ill-favour\l 
 Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. 
 
 Tit. 0,0,0! 
 Then pardon me for reprehending thee. 
 For thou hast done a charitable deed. 
 Give me thy knife, I will insult on him; 
 Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, 
 Come hither purposely to poison me. — 
 There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.— 
 Ah, sirrah! — 
 
 Yet I do think we are not brought so low, 
 But that, between us, we can kill a fly, 
 That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 
 Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought o 
 him, 
 
 He takes false shadows for true substances. 
 ^ Tit. Come, takeaway. — Lavinia, go with me : 
 I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee 
 Sad stories, chanced in the times of old— 
 Come, boy, and go with me ; thy sight is young. 
 And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. 
 
 [ExeunL 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene l.~The same. Before Titus s House. 
 Enter Titus and Marcus. Then enter young 
 Lucius, Lavinia runniny after him. 
 Boy. Help, grandsire, h^^lp ! my aunt Laviuia 
 Follows me every where, J know not why : — 
 (iood uncle Marcus, see how swift slie conies! 
 Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what yon mean. 
 Mar. Stand by me, Lucius ; do' not fear thine 
 aunt. 
 
 Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 
 
 Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. 
 
 Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these 
 sigris? [mean: 
 
 Tit. Fear her not, Lucius :— Somewhat doth sh9 
 See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: 
 Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
 Ah, boy, Cornelia never with riore care 
 Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, 
 Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator. 
 Canst thou not guess wherefort she flies thee thus? 
 
 Boy. My lord, I know not, I, noj can I guess, 
 Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her: 
 For I have heard my grandsire say f jll oft, 
 Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
 And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy 
 Ran mad through sorrow : That made me tofesf* 
 Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt 
 Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did. 
 And would not, but in fury, fright my youth : 
 Which made me down to throw my books, J| 
 Causeless, perhaps : But pardon me, sweet 
 And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
 I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
 Mar. Lucius, I will, 
 
 {Lavinia turns over the hooks which Luema 
 fMs let fall.) 
 
 Tit. How now, Lavinia ? — iVlarcus, what meaoa 
 this? 
 
 Some book there is that she desires to see :— 
 Which is it, girl, of these ? — Open them, boy.— 
 But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd; 
 Come, and take choice of all my li'brary. 
 And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
 Reveal the danin'd contriver of this deed. — 
 Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? 
 
 Mar. I think, she means, that there was mor* 
 than one 
 
 Confederate in the fact; — Ay, more there was :— 
 Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge, 
 lit. Lucius, v»hat book is that she tosseth so? 
 
ISCENE 2. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 m 
 
 Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis ; 
 My mother gave't me. 
 
 Mar. For love of her that's gone. 
 
 Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
 
 TU. Soft! see, how busily she turus the leaves! 
 iflelp her : — 
 
 What would she find? — Lavinia, shall I read? 
 This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
 And treats of Tereiis' treason, and his rap< ; 
 \iid rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy, [leaves. 
 Mar. See, brother, see ! note, how slie qviotes the 
 Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, 
 Ra\ ish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was, 
 .Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? — 
 | 6ee, see ! — 
 
 1 Ajs such a place there is, where we did hunt, 
 ((), had we never, never hunted there !) 
 rattern'd by that the poet here describes. 
 By nature made for murders and for rapes. 
 ! Mar. O, why should nature build so foul a den. 
 Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! 
 Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none 
 but friends, — 
 What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : 
 Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
 hat left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? 
 Mar. Sit down, sweet niece ; — brother, sit down 
 by me. — « 
 A.pollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, 
 Inspire me, that I may this treason find I — 
 My lord, look here ; — Look here, Lavinia : 
 Tliis sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, 
 This after me, when I have writ my name 
 W ithout the help of any hand at all. 
 [He writt^s his name vjith his staff, and guides 
 it ivith his feet and mouth.) 
 Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift! — 
 Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last. 
 What God Will have discover'd for revenge : 
 jjBeaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, 
 That we may know the traitors, and the truth ! 
 
 {She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides 
 it with her stumps, and writes.) 
 Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath 
 writ ? 
 
 Stuprum — Chiroji — Demetrius. 
 Mar. What, what! — the lustful sons of Taraora 
 
 Performers of this lieinous, bloody deed? 
 j Tit. Magne DoinirMtor poli, 
 I Tarn lentus audis scelera? tarn lentus vides? 
 i Mar. O, calm thee, gentle lord ! although I 
 ! know, 
 
 I There is enough written upon this earth, 
 I To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, 
 And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
 My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel ; 
 And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope ; 
 And swear with me, — as with the woful feere. 
 And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame, 
 Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,— - 
 That we will prosecute, by good advice, 
 Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
 And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 
 
 Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how; 
 But if you hurt these bear- whelps, then beware: 
 The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once, 
 She's with the lion deeply still in league, 
 And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back. 
 And, when lie sleeps, will she do what she list. 
 You re a ouug huntsman, Marcus; let it alone; 
 And, co(ne, I will go get a leaf of brass, 
 And with a gad of steel will write these words. 
 And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
 Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad, 
 And where's your lesson then ? — Boy, what say 
 you ? 
 
 Boy. I say, my lord, that if T were a nvan. 
 Their mother's bed chamber should not be safe 
 Foi these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 
 
 Mar. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft 
 
 For this ungrateful country done the like. 
 
 Boy. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. 
 
 Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury y 
 Lucius, ril fit thee ; and withal, my boy 
 Shall carry from me to the empress' sons 
 Presents, that I intend to send them both: 
 Conse, come ; thou'it do thy message, wilt thon nntt 
 
 Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosooii^ 
 grandsire. 
 
 Tit. No, boy, not so ; I'll teach thee anothet 
 course. 
 
 Lavinia, come : — Marcus, look to my hous6 ; 
 
 Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court; 
 
 Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on. 
 
 {Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy.] 
 Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan. 
 And not relent, or not compassion him? — 
 Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy; 
 That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, 
 Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield : 
 But yet so just, that he will not revenge : — 
 Revenge the heavens ior old Andronicus ! [Exii 
 
 Scene II. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius, at on* 
 door ; at another door, young Lucius, and an 
 Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and 
 verses ivrit upon them. 
 Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; 
 He hath some message to deliver to us. 
 
 Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad 
 grandfather. 
 
 Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, 
 I greet your honours from Andronicus; — 
 And pray the Roman gods confound you both ! 
 
 [Aside.) 
 
 Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius : What's the 
 news ? 
 
 Boy. That you are both decipher'd. that's !he news. 
 For villains mark'd with rape. {Aside.) May it 
 please you, 
 
 My grandsire, well-advis'd, hath sent by me 
 The goodliest weapons of his armoury. 
 To gratify your honourable youth, 
 The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say, 
 And so I do, and with his gifts present 
 Your lordships, that, whenever you liave need, 
 You may be armed and appointed well : 
 And so I leave you both, {Aside.) like bloody vil- 
 lains. [Exeunt Boy aiid Attendant, 
 
 Dem. What's here? a scroll ; and written round 
 Let's see : [about? 
 Integer vitte, scelerisque purus 
 Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu. 
 
 Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I know it well : 
 I read it in the grammar long ago. [have it, 
 
 Aar. Ay, just! — a verse in Horace; — right, you 
 Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! 
 Here's no sound jest! the old man hath 
 
 found their guilt; 
 And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with 
 
 lines, [quick. ^Astde, 
 
 That wound, beyond their feeling, to the 
 But were our witty empress well" a foot,' 
 She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. 
 But let her rest in her unrest awhile. 
 And now, young lords, was't not a happy star 
 Led u" to Rome, strangers, and, more than so. 
 Captives, to be advanced to this height ? 
 It did me good, before the palace gate, 
 To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 
 
 Dem. But me more good, to see so a great lord 
 Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. 
 
 Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius ? 
 Did you not use his daughter very iViendly? 
 
 Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman damei 
 At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 
 
 Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. 
 
 Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say 
 amen. 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. Act IV 
 
 MB 
 
 Vhi. /lud that would she for twenty thousand more. 
 DetA. Come, let us go! and pray to all the gods 
 For our beloved mother in her pains. 
 
 Aar. Pray to the devils ; the gods have given 
 OS o'er. {Aside. Flour is h.} 
 
 Dem Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thusr 
 Chi. Delike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 
 lietn. :^3ft ; who comes here ? 
 
 BfUer a Nurse, with a black a-moor child in her 
 arms. 
 
 Nnr. Good-morrow, lords : 
 
 O, tell me, did you see Aaron tlie Moor. 
 
 Aar. Well, more, or less or ne'er a wit at all, 
 Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now ? 
 
 Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! 
 Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 
 
 Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep? 
 What dost thou wrap and fumble in tliine arms ? 
 
 Nur, O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye, 
 Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace; — 
 She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd. 
 
 Aar. To whom ? 
 
 Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed. 
 
 Aar. Well, Cxod 
 
 Give her good rest ! What hath he sent her ? 
 
 Nur. A devil. 
 
 Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam ; a joyful 
 issue. [sue : 
 
 Nter. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful is- 
 Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
 Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. 
 The eujpress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal. 
 And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 
 
 Aar. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a hue ? 
 Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, siu-e. 
 
 Dem. Villain, what hast thou done ? 
 
 Aar. Done ! that which thou 
 
 Cansl not undo. 
 
 Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 
 
 Aar. Villain , I have done thy mother. 
 
 Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. 
 Woe to her chance, and damu'd her loathed choice ! 
 Accurs'd the oflspring of so foul a fiend ! 
 
 Chi. \\ shall not live. 
 
 Anr. It shall not die. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, it ntiist: the mother wills it so. 
 
 Aar. Wiiat, must it, nurse ? tlieu let no man, but 1, 
 Do execution on my flesh and blood. 
 
 Dem. I'll broach tiie tadpole on niy rapier's point : 
 Nurse, give it me ; my sword sliall soon despatch it. 
 
 Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. 
 {Takes the child from the nurse, and draws.) 
 Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your brother? 
 Now, by the burning tapers ol the sky, 
 That shone so brightly when this boy was got. 
 He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point. 
 That touches this my first-born son and heir! 
 I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 
 With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, 
 Niif great Alcides, nor the god of war, 
 Shall seize this prt- y out of his father's liands. 
 What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys ! 
 Ye wbite-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs! 
 Coal-black is better than another hue : 
 In that it scorns to bear another hue. 
 For all the water in the ocean 
 Can never turn a swan's black legs to white. 
 Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 
 Tell the emperess from me, I am of age 
 To keep mine own ; excuse it how she can. 
 
 Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? 
 
 Aar. My mistress is my mistress : tiiis, myself: 
 T^ne vigour, and ttie picture of my youth : 
 Tills, before all the world do I preiVr ; 
 This, nmiigre ail the world, will I keep safe, 
 Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 
 
 Dem By this our mother is for ever sh.-im'd. 
 
 Chi. Rome will des|iise her for tliis I'oul escape. 
 
 Mur The emperor, in his rage,w.ll d joia her deaUi. 
 
 Cki. I blush to think upon this iguouiiny. 
 
 Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears. 
 Fy, treacherous hue I that will betray with blushiqg 
 The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
 Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer: 
 Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father; 
 As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own. 
 He is your brother, lords ; sensibly fed 
 Of that self-blood that first gave life to you ; 
 And, from that womb, where you imprison'd vcet^. 
 He is enfranchised and come to light ; 
 Nay, he's your brother by the surer side, 
 Altliough my seal be stamped in his face. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, what shall I stay unto the empress^^ 
 
 Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done. 
 And we will all subscribe to thy advice ; 
 Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 
 
 Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult 
 My son and I will have the wind of you: 
 Keep there : Now talk at pleasure of your safety. 
 
 {They sit on the y round.) 
 
 Dem, How many women saw this child of his ? 
 
 Aar. Why, so, brave lords : When we ail joia 
 in league, 
 
 I am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor, 
 The chafed boar, the mountain lioness. 
 The oceans swells not so as Aaron storms. — 
 But, say again, how many saw the child ? 
 
 Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself, 
 And no one else, but the deliver'd empress. 
 
 Aar. The emperess, the midwife, and yourself: 
 Two may keep counsel, when the third's away: 
 Go to the empress ; tell her, this I said : — 
 
 {Slabbing her,) 
 
 Weke, weke ! — so cries a pig prepared to the suit 
 
 Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron ? Wherefosf 
 didst thou this ? 
 
 Aar. O lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy : 
 Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours? 
 A long-tongu'd babbling gossip ? no. lords, uo» 
 And now be it known to you my full intent. 
 Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman, 
 His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; 
 His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
 Go pack with him, and give the mother gold. 
 And tell them both tiie circumstance of all ; 
 And hovy by this their child shall be advanc'<l. 
 And be received for the emperor's heir. 
 And substituted in the place of mine, 
 To calm this tempest whirling in ihe court; 
 And let the emperor daurlle him for his own. 
 Hark ye, lords; ye see that I have givm her f hyekj, 
 {Pointing to the Nurti,) 
 And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
 The fields are near, and you are gallant groonftaj 
 This done, see that you take no longer days, 
 But send the niidwiie presently to me. 
 The midwife, and the nurse, well niade away, 
 Then let the ladies tattle what they [dease. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, I see, thou wilt not trust the air 
 With secrets. 
 
 Dem. For this care of Tamora, 
 
 Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Dem and Chi. bearing off the Nurao. 
 
 Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow fliesj 
 There to dispose this treasure in uune arms, 
 And secretly to greet the empress' iViends. — 
 Couie on, you thick-li,.p'd slave, I'll bear you hence; 
 For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
 I'll make you feed on berries and on roots. 
 And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
 And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up 
 To be a warrior, and command a camp. [E:^ii 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A public Place. 
 Enter Titus, bearing arrovjs, tvith letters at tk4 
 
 ends of them ; wit/i him Marcus, young Lvcim, 
 
 and other Gentkmen, with bows. 
 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, come Kinsmen, tliif is tilO 
 way :-— 
 
5CENE 4. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 669 
 
 Sir boy, now let me see yonr archery: 
 
 A<ook ye draw h tme enough, and 'tis there straight: 
 
 Terras Astraa reliauit : 
 
 B'; yon renieniber'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. 
 Sirs, take you to your tools. Yon, cousins, shall 
 Go sound the oceao, and cast your nets : 
 Happily you may find her in the sea ; 
 1 Yet there's as little justice as at land : 
 No ; Pnblius and Senipronins, yon must do it; 
 ''I'js you must dig with mattock, and with spade. 
 And pierce the inmost centre of the earth ; 
 Then, w hen you come to Pinto's region, 
 I pray you, deliver him this petition ; 
 Tell him, it is, for justice, and for aid ; 
 And that it coiner from oid Andronicus, 
 Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. — 
 Ah, Rome ! — Well, well: I made thee miserable, 
 What time I tlirew the people's suffrages 
 On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. — 
 Go, get you gone ; and pray he careful all, 
 And leave yon not a man of war unsearch'd ; 
 This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence, 
 And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 
 
 Mar. O, Pnbb'us, is not this a heavy case, 
 To see thy noble uncle thus distract ? 
 
 Pub. I'herefbre, my lord, it highly us concerns. 
 By day and night to attend him carefully; 
 And ffed his humour kindly as we may, 
 'nil time beget some careful remedy. 
 
 Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
 Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war 
 Ta e wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, 
 And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 
 
 I'it. Publins, how now? how now, my masters? 
 V\ hat, have yon met with her ? 
 
 Put, No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word. 
 If you wiil have revenge from hell, you shall : 
 Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd. 
 Be thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else. 
 So tliat perforce you must needs stay a time. 
 
 Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. 
 I'll dive into the burning lake below, 
 And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. — 
 Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we ; 
 No big-bou'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size : 
 But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back; 
 Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can 
 bear : 
 
 And, sith there is no justice in earth nor hell, 
 We will solicit heaven ; and move the gods. 
 To send dovvia justice for to wreak our wrongs: 
 Come, to this gear. You are an archer, Marcus. 
 
 {He gives t/ietn the arrows.) 
 AdJovem, that's for you : — Here, ad Apollinem : — 
 Ad Martem, that's lor myself : — 
 Here, boy, to Pallas: — Here, to Mercury: 
 To Saturn, Cainsi, not to Saturnine, — 
 You were as good to shoot against the wind.— 
 To it, boy. Marcus, loose when 1 bid : 
 
 my word, I ha«e written to effect: 
 '1'ii.pre's not a god left unsolicited. 
 
 Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court. 
 We will afJlict the emperor in his pride, 
 
 Tit. No^. masters, draw. {They shoot.) O, well 
 sata, Lucius! 
 («aod boy, io Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. 
 
 Mar. iVly lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon ; 
 Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 
 
 Tit. Ha ! Pnblius, Pnblius, what hast thou done ? 
 See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 
 
 Mar. This was the sport, my lord : when Pnblius 
 shot, 
 
 The bull bemg gall'd gaves Tries such a knock, 
 That down fell b(.th the Ram's horns in the court, 
 And who should find them but the empress' villain? 
 She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose 
 But give them to his master for a present. ' 
 
 TiL Why, there it goes : God give your lordship 
 joyl 
 
 Enter a Clown, with a baslet, and two pigeons. 
 
 News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post if 
 come. — 
 
 Sirrah, what tidings ! have you any letters ? 
 Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter? 
 
 Clo. Ho ! the gibbet-maker ? he says, that he 
 hath taken them down again, for the man must noi 
 be hanged till the next week. 
 
 Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ? 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank 
 with him in all my life. 
 
 Tit. Why, villain, art thou not the carrier ? 
 
 Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. 
 
 Tit. V^ hy, didst thou not come from heaven » 
 
 Cio. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there: 
 God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven 
 in my young days. Why, J am going with my 
 pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of 
 brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's 
 men. 
 
 Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve 
 for yonr oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons to 
 the emperor from you. 
 
 Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the 
 emperor with a grace? 
 
 Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in 
 all my life. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, come hither ; make no more ado. 
 But give your pigeons to the emj>eror: 
 By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
 Hold, hold ; — mean while, here's money for thj 
 
 charges. 
 Give me a pen and ink. — 
 
 Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication? 
 Clo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And 
 when you come to him, at ihe finst approach, yoQ 
 must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up 
 your pigeons; and then look for your reward: I'D 
 be at hand, sir; see yon do it bravely. 
 
 Clo. 1 warrant yon, sir; let me alone. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife ? Come, let me see Ht 
 Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; 
 For thou hast made it like an humble suppliants— 
 And when thou hast given it to the emperor, 
 Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 
 
 C/o. God be with you, sir; 1 will. 
 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go: — Publins, follow 
 me. [Exeuni, 
 
 Scene \Y.-—The same. Before the Palace, 
 
 Enter Saturninus, Tamora. Chiron, Demetrius, 
 Lords, and others. Saturninus, with the ar- 
 rows in his hand, that Titus shot. 
 Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these ? Was 
 ever seen 
 An emperor of Rome thus overborne, 
 Troubled, confronted thus ; and, for the extent 
 Of legal justice, us'd in such contempt ? 
 My lords, you know, as do tiie mightful gods. 
 However these disturbers of our peace 
 Bnz in the people's ears, there nought hath 
 But even with law, against the wiliul .sons 
 Of old Andi onicus. And what an if 
 His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, 
 Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks. 
 His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ? 
 And now he writes to beat en for his redress I 
 See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury; 
 This to Apollo ; this to the god of war : 
 Sweet scrolls to fiy about the streets of Ro^', 
 What's this, but libelling again.'st the sentuie^ 
 And blazoning c?ur injustice every where? 
 A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? 
 As w ho should say, in Rome no justice weer 
 But, if 1 live, his fieigned ecstacies 
 Shall be no shelter to "these outrages: 
 But he and his shall know, that justice live* 
 In Saturninus' health : whom, if she sleep. 
 
m 
 
 TITUS ANDRONTCUS 
 
 Act V 
 
 c'll so awake, as she iu fury shall 
 Cat off the proud"st conspirator that lives. 
 
 Tarn. My giacioiis lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
 Lord of my life, coiiuiiander of my thoughts. 
 Calm thee, and bear the fault of Titiis' age, 
 
 he effects of sorrow for his valiant sons. 
 Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his 
 heart ; 
 
 And rather comfort his distressed plight, 
 
 Than prosecute the meanest, or the hest. 
 
 For these contempts.— Why, thus it shall become 
 
 High-witted Tamora to gloze with all : {Aside.) 
 
 But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick. 
 
 Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise, 
 
 Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. — 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 How now, good fellow ? would'st thou speak with us ? 
 
 Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial. 
 
 7 vat/w. Empress [ am, but yonder sits the emperor. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis he. — God, and saint Stephen, give you 
 good den : I have brought you a letter, and a couple 
 of pigeons here. {Saturninus reads the letter.) 
 
 Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 
 
 Clo. How much money must I have ? 
 
 Tarn. Cotne, sirrah, you must be hang'd. 
 
 Clo. Hang'd I By'r lady, then I have brought up a 
 neck to a fair end. {Exit, guarded.) 
 
 Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs f 
 Shall I endure this monstrous villany ? 
 1 know from whence this same device proceeds ; 
 May this be borne ?— as if his traitorous sons, 
 That died by law for murder of our brother, 
 
 Ha\ e by my means been butcher'd wrongfully. 
 
 Go, drag the villain hither by the hair ; 
 
 Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege. 
 
 For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man ; 
 Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
 fn hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 
 
 Enter JEmhivs. 
 What news with thee, ^^milius? 
 jEmil. Arm, arm, my lords ; Rome never had 
 more cause ! 
 
 The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a power 
 
 Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil. 
 
 They hither march amain, under conduct 
 
 Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; 
 
 Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
 
 As much as ever Coriolauus did. 
 
 Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? 
 These tidings nip me; and J hang the head 
 As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with 
 storms. 
 
 Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 
 Tis he the common people love so nuich • 
 
 Myself hath often overheard them say, ' 
 When I have walked like a private man. 
 
 That Lucius' banishtnent was wrongfully. 
 
 And they have wish'd that Lucius were' their ew. 
 
 rp I ,j . [strong? 
 
 Tarn. Why should you fear? is not foui' city 
 Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius; 
 ^lid will revolt from me, to succour him. [name. 
 
 thy 
 
 Ta7n. Kmg, be thy thoughts impcricns. iike 
 Is the sun dimm'd, triat knats do fly it it ? 
 The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 
 \nd is not careful what they uean thereby • 
 Knowing that with the shadov of his wings*, 
 rie can at pleasure stint their mplody: " ' 
 Even so may'st thou the giddv men of Rome. 
 Then cheer thy spiriT : for know, thou emperor, 
 
 will enchant the old Andronicus 
 With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous 
 han baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep ; , ' 
 en as the o^e is wounded with the bait,' 
 e othtr rotied with delicious feed. 
 Sat, Bat he will not entreat his son for ns. 
 If Tamora entreat him, then he will: 
 r-/ I can smooth, and fill his aged ear 
 
 With golden promises : that were his heart 
 Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf. 
 
 Vet shoidd both ear and heart obey my tongue. 
 
 Go thou before, be our ambassador : {To jEmil.] 
 Say, that the emperor requests a parley 
 Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting, 
 Lven at his father's house, tfse old Andronicus, 
 
 Sat. vEmilius, do this message honourably : 
 Aiid if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
 Bid him demand what pledge will please him bes 
 
 ^m/. Your bidding shall I do effectually. 
 
 rr XT •,. X lExit Jblmilim 
 
 Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus : 
 
 And temper him, with all the art 1 hale. 
 
 To ijluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
 
 And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again. 
 
 And burjr all thy fear in my devices. 
 
 Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. 
 
 L Exeunt. 
 
 ACT. V. 
 Scene l.-^Plains near Rome. 
 Enter Lucius and Goths, with drum and colours. 
 
 Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, 
 1 have received letters from great Rome, 
 Which signify, what hate they bear their emperor. 
 And how desirous of our sight they are. 
 Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness 
 Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs : 
 And, wherein Rome hath done you any scath. 
 Let him make treble satisfaction. 
 1 Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great A> 
 dronicus. 
 
 Whose name was once our terror, now our coi .far* 
 Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds, 
 Ingrateful Rome requites with Ibul contempt. 
 Be bold in us: we'll Ibllow where thou leai'st,— 
 Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day. 
 Led by tlieir master to the fiower'd fields,— 
 And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. 
 
 Goths. And, as he saith, so sar^ we all with him. 
 
 Luc. I humbly thank him, and I tnank you all. 
 But who comes liere, led by & lusty Goth ? 
 
 Enter a Goth, leading Aaron, tvith his child in 
 his arvis. 
 
 2 Goth. Renowned Lucius 
 stray 'd. 
 
 To gaze upon a ruinous monastery : 
 And as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
 Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
 I heard a child cry underneath a wa 
 I made unto the noise 
 
 from our troops \ 
 
 wall : 
 
 - , when soon I heard 
 
 1 he crying babe coutroU'd with this discourse : 
 Peace, tcMny slave, half me, and half thy dam! 
 JJidnoi thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, 
 Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, 
 Villain, thou mighVst have been an emperor: 
 But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, 
 Ihey never do beget a coal-black calf. 
 Peace, villain, peace!— even thus he rates the 
 babe, — 
 
 For I must hear thee to a trusty Goth ; 
 ^^po, when he knows thou art the empress' babe, 
 Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake. 
 VV ith this, my weapon drawn, I ru.?h'd upon him 
 Surpns'd him suddenly; and brought him hither, 
 lo use as you think needful of tlie man. 
 
 Luc. O worthy Goth ! this is the incarnate devil, 
 rhat robb'd Andronicus of his good hand: 
 i ins is the pearl that pleas 'd your empress' eye ; 
 And here's the base fruit of his burning lust.— 
 Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither would'st thou convey 
 I his growing image of thy fiend-like face? 
 Why dost not speak ? What ! deaf? No ; not a word ? 
 A halter, soldiers: hang him on this tree, 
 And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 
 
 Aar, Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. 
 
 Luc. Too like the sire lor ever being good. 
 
 First hang the child, tliat he may see it sprawl; 
 
 % 
 
(Scene 2. 
 
 TTTUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 671 
 
 A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
 Get me a ladder. 
 
 ( J. ladder brought, which Aaron is obliged 
 
 to ascend.) 
 Anr. Lucius, save the child ; 
 
 And bear it from me to the emperess. 
 If thou do this, I'll shew thee wond'rous things, 
 That highly m?y advantage thee to hear : 
 If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
 I'll speak no more ; but vengeance rot you all ! 
 Luc. Say on ; and, it if please me which thou 
 speak'st, 
 
 Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. 
 Aar. An if it please thee ? why, assure thee, Lu- 
 cius, 
 
 Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak: 
 For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, 
 Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
 Complots of mischief, treason; villanies 
 Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd : 
 And this shall all be buried by my death, 
 Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live. 
 
 Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say, thy child shall live. 
 
 Aar. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin. 
 
 Luc. Who should I swear by ? thou believ'st no 
 god ; 
 
 That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 
 
 Aar. What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not : 
 Yet, — for I know thou art religious, 
 And hast a thing within thee, called conscience ; 
 And twenty popish tricks and ceremonies. 
 Which I have seen thee careful to observe, — 
 Hierefore I urge thy oatli : For that, I know. 
 An idiot hold his bauble for a god. 
 And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears ; 
 To that I'll urge him : — Therefore, thou shalt vovr 
 By that same god, what god soe'er it be. 
 That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, — 
 To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up; 
 Or else I will discover nought to thee. 
 
 Luc, Even by my god, 1 swear to thee, I will. 
 
 Aar. First, know thou, I begot him on the em- 
 press. 
 
 Luc. O most insatiate, luxurious woman ! 
 
 Aar. Tut, Lucius ! this was but a deed of charity, 
 To that which thou shalt hear of ine an(m. 
 *Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus : 
 They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, 
 And cut her hands ; and trimm'd her as thou saw'st. 
 
 Luc. O detestable villain ! cali'st thou that trim- 
 ming? [and 'twas 
 
 Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd ; 
 TiTin sport for them that had the doing of it. 
 
 Luc. O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself! 
 
 Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them ; 
 That codding spirit had (hey from their mother, 
 As sure a card as ever won the set ; 
 That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me. 
 As true a dog as ever fought at head. — 
 We!!, let my deeds !je witness of my worth. 
 I tiaiu'd thy brethren to that guileful hole, 
 Where the dead corpse of IJassianus lay : 
 I wrote the letter that thy father found. 
 And hid the gold within the letter mention'd. 
 Confederate with the queen, and her two sons; 
 And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, 
 Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it ? 
 I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand ; 
 And whi n 1 had it, drew myself apart, 
 And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. 
 I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall, 
 VVhen, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads: 
 Beh^^ld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, 
 That both mine eyes were rainy like to his ; 
 Aud when I told the empress of tliis sport. 
 She swouiided almoi?t at my pleasing tale, 
 And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses. 
 
 Goth. What! canst thou say all this, and never 
 bhsh ? 
 
 Aar. Ay like a black dog, as the saying v 
 
 Lue. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? 
 
 Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand m^re. 
 Even now I curse the day, (and yet, I think. 
 Few come within the compass of my curse,) 
 Wherein I did not some notorious ill : 
 As kill a man, or else devise his death; 
 Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; 
 Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; 
 Set deadly enmity between two friends ; 
 Make poor men's cattle break their necks ; 
 Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night. 
 And bid the owners quench them with thfdr tear* 
 Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their grave*, 
 And set them upright at their dear friends' doors. 
 Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; 
 And on their skins, as on the bark of trees. 
 Have with my knife carved in Roman letters. 
 Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead. 
 Tut, 1 have done a thousand dreadful things. 
 As willingly as one would kill a fly ; 
 And nothing grieves me heartily indeed. 
 But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 
 
 Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he nuist not dw 
 So sweet a death as hanging presently. 
 
 Aar. If there be devils, would I were a devil. 
 To live and burn in everlasting fire ; 
 So I might have your company in hell, 
 But to torment you with my bitter toneue ! 
 
 Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let Tiim speak M 
 more. 
 
 Enter a Goth. 
 
 Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome 
 Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
 
 Luc. Let him come near. — 
 
 Enter MmiAHS. 
 Welcome, iEmilius, what's the news from Rome? 
 
 j^mil. Lord Lucius, arid you princes of the Gothflb 
 The Roman eniperor greets yt)u all by me : 
 And, for he understands you are in arms, 
 He craves a parley at your father's house 5 
 Wilhng you to demand your hostages, 
 And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 
 
 1 Goth. What says our general ? 
 
 Luc. iEmilius, let the emperor give his pledge* 
 Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, 
 And we will come. — March away. [Exsuntt 
 
 Scene U.—Rome. Before Titus's House. 
 Enter Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, 
 disguised. 
 
 Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, 
 I will encounter with Andronicus ; 
 And say, I am Revenge, sent from below. 
 To join with him, and right his heinous wrongs. 
 Knock at his study, where, tliey say, he keeps. 
 To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; 
 Tell him, Revenge is come to join with him, 
 And work confusion on his enemies. {They knock*) 
 
 Enter Titus, above. 
 
 Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation? 
 Is it your trick, to make me ope the door; 
 That so my ^ad decrees may fly away. 
 And all my study be to no effect? 
 You are deceiv'd : for what I mean to do. 
 See here, in bloody lines I have set dov/n; 
 And what is written shall be executed. 
 
 Tarn. Titus, I am come to talk with thee 
 
 Tit. No, not a word : How can I grace nay talk* 
 Wanting a hand to give it action? 
 Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more. 
 
 Tarn. If thou did'st know me, thou would'st lalk 
 with nje. 
 
 Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : 
 Witness this wretched stump, these crimso.i linesf 
 Witness these trenches, made by grief and care; 
 Witness the tiring day, and heavy night ; 
 Witness all sorrow, that 1 know thee well 
 For our proud empress, mighty Tamora: 
 
6T2 
 
 TITUS ANDROXTCUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 fs not thy coming for my other hand ? 
 
 Tarn. Know thon, sad man, I am notTamora; 
 She is thy enemy, and I thy friend : 
 I am Revenge ; sent from the infernal kingdom. 
 To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, 
 By working wreakfiil vengeance on thy foes. 
 Come down, and welcome me to this world's light ; 
 Confer with me of murder and of death : 
 There's not a hollow cave, nor lurking-place, 
 No vast obscurity, or misty vale, 
 Where bloody murder, or detested rape. 
 Can couch for fear, but I will find them out; 
 And in their ears tell them my dreadful name. 
 Revenge, which makes the foul oftender quake. 
 
 Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent to me, 
 To be a torment to mine enemies? [me. 
 
 Tarn. I am ; therefore come down, and welcome 
 
 Tit, Do me some service, ere I come to thee. 
 Lo, by thy side where Rape, and Murder, stands; 
 Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, 
 Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels; 
 And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner. 
 And whirl along with thee about the globes. 
 Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet, 
 To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away. 
 And hnd out murderers in their guilty caves : 
 And, when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
 I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel 
 Trot, like a servile footman, all day long; 
 Even from Hyperion's rising in the east, 
 Until his very downfall in the sea. 
 And day by day I'll do this heavy task. 
 So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 
 
 Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 
 
 Tit. Are they thy ministers i what are they 
 call'd > 
 
 Tarn. Rapine, and Murder; therefore called so, 
 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 
 Tit.. Good lord, how like the empress' sons they 
 are ! 
 
 And you the empress! But we wordly men 
 Flave miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 
 
 0 sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee : 
 And, if one arm s embracement will content thee, 
 
 1 will embrace thee iu it by and by. 
 
 [Exit Titus, from above. 
 Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy : 
 Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits. 
 Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches. 
 For now lie firmly takes me for Revenge; 
 And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
 I'll make him send for Lucius, his son; 
 And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
 I'll find some cunning practice out of hand. 
 To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
 Or, at the least, nmke them his enemies. 
 See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. 
 
 Enter TiTUS. 
 
 Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee : 
 Welcome, dread fury, to my vvoful house; — 
 Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too : — 
 How like the empress and her sons you are ! 
 VV'ell are you fitted, had you but a Moor; — 
 Could not all hell afford you such a devil ? 
 i-'or, well 1 wot, the empress never wags. 
 Hut in her company there is a Moor; 
 And, would you represent our queen aright. 
 It were convenient you had such a devil : 
 But welcome, as you are. What shall we do? 
 
 Tton. VVhat would'st thou have us do, Andro- 
 
 IllCUS? 
 
 i)etn. Shew me a murderer, I'll deal with him. 
 (//«". Siiew me a villain, that hath done a rape. 
 And i am sent to be reveng'd on him. 
 
 Tani. Shew me a thousand, that have done thee 
 wrong. 
 
 And I will be revenged on them all. [Rome ; 
 
 Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of 
 &ad uhen thou find'st a man that's like thyself, 
 
 Good Murder, stab him he's a murderer. — 
 
 Go thou with him ; and wnen it is thy hap. 
 
 To find another that is like to thee, 
 
 Good Rapine, stab him ; he is a ravisher.— 
 
 Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's coart 
 
 There is a queen, attended by a Moor; 
 
 Well may'st thou know her by thy own proportl(»| 
 
 For up and down she doth resemble thee ; 
 
 I pray thee, do on them some violent death, 
 
 They have been violent to me and mine. 
 
 Tarn. Well hast thou lesson'd us ; this shall we do. 
 But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
 To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son, 
 Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, 
 And bid him come and banquet at thy house : 
 When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, 
 I will bring in the empress and her sons. 
 The emperor himself, and all thy foes ; 
 And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel. 
 And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
 What says Andronicus to this device ? 
 
 Tit. Marcus, my brother! — 'tis sad Titus calk 
 
 Enter Marcus« 
 
 Go, gentfe Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; 
 Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths; 
 Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
 Some of the cliiefest princes of the Goths ; 
 Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are : 
 Tell him, the emperor and the empress too 
 Feast at my house : and he shall feast with them. 
 This do thou for my love : and so let him. 
 As he regards his aged father's life. 
 
 Mar. This will I do, and soon return again, {Exit* 
 
 Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
 And take my ministers along with me. 
 
 Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me; 
 Or else I'll call my brother back again. 
 And cleave to no revenge but Lucius, 
 
 Tarn. {To her Sons ) What say you, boys? 
 you abide with him, 
 WTiiles I go tell my lord the emperor. 
 How I have govern'd our determin'd jest? 
 Yield to this humour, smooth and speak him fair, 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 And tarry with him, till I come again. 
 
 Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad j 
 And will o'er-reach them in their own devices; 
 A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and tbeir dam. 
 
 Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here. 
 Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goes 
 To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [Exii» 
 Tit. I know, thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, 
 farewell. 
 
 Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we beemploy'd ? 
 Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.— 
 Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine ! 
 
 Enter Publilts and others. 
 
 Puh. What's your will ? 
 
 Tit. Know you these two ? 
 
 Pub. "^I he empress* sobi^ 
 
 I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Tit. Fy, Publius, fy ! thou art too much deceiv'cl; 
 The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name : 
 And therefore bind them, gentle Publius; 
 Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them. 
 Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour> 
 And now I find it ; therefore bind them sare. 
 And stop their mouths, if thev begin to cry. 
 
 [Exit Titus. —Publius, §fc. lay ht.]d on 
 Chixijn and Demetrius. 
 
 Chi Villains, forbear ; we are the empress' sona 
 
 Pub. And therefore do we what we are com. 
 manded. — 
 
 Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word: 
 Is he sure bound ? look, that you bind them fast 
 
Scene 3 
 
 i2e-ew^er Titus Andronicus, with hAvisix; she 
 bearing a baain, and he a knife. 
 
 Tit, Come, come, Laviuia ; look, thy fees are 
 bound, — 
 
 ►Sirs, stop their months, let them not speak to me; 
 Cn< let thetn hear what fearful words 1 utter. — 
 
 0 villains, Chiron and Demetrius ! [niud ; 
 Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with 
 This g^oodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
 
 y^ou kill'd her husband ; and, fo"- that vile fault, 
 'i'wo of her brothers were conderan'd to death : 
 My hand cut off, and made a merry jest : [dear 
 Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, more 
 Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity. 
 Inhuman traitors, you constrained and forc'd. 
 What vrould you say, if I should let you speak? 
 Villains, for shame you could not beg lor grace. 
 Hark, wretches, how 1 mean to martyr you. 
 This ene hand yet is left to cut your throats ; 
 Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold 
 The basin, that receives your guilty blood. 
 You know, your mother means to feast with me. 
 And calls herself, Revenge, and thinks me mad. — 
 Hark, villains; I will grind your bones to dust. 
 And with your blood and it, I'll make a paste ; 
 And of the paste a coffin I will rear. 
 And make two pasties of your shameful heads; 
 And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, 
 Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. 
 This is the feast that I have bid her to. 
 And this the banauet she shall surfeit on ; 
 For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter. 
 And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd : 
 And now prepare your throats. — Lavinia, come, 
 
 {He cuts their throats.) 
 Receive the blood : and, when that they are dead, 
 Let me go grind their bones to powder small. 
 And with this hateful liquor temper it; 
 And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. 
 Come, come, be every one officious 
 To make this banquet ; which 1 wish may prove 
 More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
 So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook, 
 And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 
 
 [Exeunt^ bearing the dead bodies. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. A Pavilion^ with 
 tables, §fc. 
 
 .E'n^er Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, ivith Aaroih 
 prisoner. 
 
 Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind, 
 That I repair to Rome, I am content. 
 
 ] Goth, And ours, with thine, befall what fortune 
 will. 
 
 Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous 
 Moor, 
 
 This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
 Jjet him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
 Till he be brought unto the empress' face. 
 For ';estimony of her foul proceedings : 
 And see the ambush of our friends be strong: 
 
 1 fear the emperor means no good to us. 
 
 Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear. 
 And prompt nie, that my tongue may utter forth 
 The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 
 
 Luc. Away, inhiunan dog ! unhallow'd slave ! — 
 Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. — 
 
 [Exetmt Goths, with Aaron. Flourish. 
 The tiumpets shew the emperor is at hand. 
 
 Ente* Saturninus and Tamoka, ivith Tribunes, 
 Senators, and others. 
 Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than 
 one ? 
 
 Luc. What boots it thee, to call thyself a sun ? 
 Mar. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the 
 parle ; 
 
 These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
 The feast is ready, which the careful I'itus 
 
 G7fi 
 
 Hath 6rdain'd to an honourable end, 
 For peace, for love, for league, and good to Roiat' r 
 Plense you, therefore, draw nigh, and take yoi» 
 Sat. Marcus, we will. [places. 
 {Hautboys sound. The Company sit down at 
 table.) 
 
 EnterTnus, dressed like a cook, Lavinia, veiled 
 young Lucius, and others. Titus placet, ih 
 dishes on the table. 
 
 Tit. Welcome, y gracious lord ; welcome, drea 
 queen ; 
 
 Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lticiur; 
 And welcome, all . although the cheer he poor, 
 'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you, eat of it. 
 
 Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? 
 
 Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well 
 To entertain your highness, and your empress. 
 
 Tarn. We are beholden to you, good AndronicuB. 
 
 Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were. 
 My lord the emperor, resolve me this; 
 Was it well done of rash Virginius, 
 To slay his daughter with his own right hand. 
 Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deliour'd? 
 
 Sat. It was, Andronicus. 
 
 Tit. Your reason, mighty lord ? [shajue. 
 
 Sat, Because the girl should not survive her 
 And by "'":r presence still renew his sorrows. 
 
 Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual ; 
 A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant 
 For me, most wretched, to perform the like 
 Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 
 
 {He kills Lavinia.) 
 And with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die ! 
 
 Sat, What hast thou done, unnatural, and un- 
 kind? [me blind. 
 
 Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made 
 I am as woful as Virginius was ; 
 And have a thousand times more cause than he 
 'i'o do this outrage ; — and it is now done. 
 
 Sat. What, was she ravish'd ? tell, who did the 
 deed. [highness feed ? 
 
 Tit. Will't please you eat? will't please your 
 
 Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daught 
 thus ? 
 
 Tit. Not I; 'twas Chiron, and Demetrius: 
 They ravish'd her, and cutaway her tongue. 
 And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. 
 Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. 
 Tit, Why, there they are both, baked in that pi©,'; 
 Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 
 Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
 'Tis true, 'tis ti-ue ; witness ray knife's sharp point. 
 
 {Killing Tamora.) 
 Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed 
 (^Killing Titus.) 
 Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed ? 
 There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. 
 {Kills Saturninus. A great tumult. The peo- 
 ple in confusion disperse. Marcus, Lucius^ 
 and their partisans ascend the steps before 
 Titus's house.) 
 Mar. You sad-fac'd men, people and .sons oi 
 By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl [Romo, 
 Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
 O, let me teach you how to knit again 
 This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf. 
 These broken limbs again into one body. 
 
 Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself; 
 And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to, 
 Like a forlorn and desperate ca.st-away, 
 Uo shameful execution on herself 
 But if my frosty signs and chaps of age. 
 Grave vvitnesses of true experience, 
 Cannot induce you to attend my words, — 
 Speak, Rome's dear friend ; {To Lucius) as erst ou 
 ancestor, 
 
 When with his solemn tongue he did discourse, 
 To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, 
 The story of thit baleful burning night, 
 
 43 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS.^ 
 
674 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Wlien subtle Greeks surpris'd ki,jg Priam's Troy ; 
 
 Tell »8, what SinoTi hath bewitrch'd our eats. 
 
 Or who bath brought the fatal engine in. 
 
 That gi'-fs our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. — 
 
 My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel ; 
 
 Nor can I ter all our bitter grief, 
 
 But floods of tears will drown my oratory, 
 
 And break my very utterance ; even i'the time 
 
 VVlien it should move you to attend me most. 
 
 Lending your kind commiseration : 
 
 Here is a captain, let him tell the tale ; 
 
 Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 
 
 Lue. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you, 
 That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
 VVere they that murdered our emperor's brother; 
 And they it were that ravished our sister : 
 For their fell faults our brotliers were beheaded ; 
 Our father's tears despis'd ; and basely cozen'd 
 Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out, 
 And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
 Lastly, myself unkindly banished, 
 'i'he gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
 To beg relief among Rome'a enemies; 
 Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, 
 And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend : 
 And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you. 
 That I have preserv'd lier welfare in my blood; 
 And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
 Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. 
 Alas ! you know, I am no vaunter, 1 ; 
 IVly scars can witness, dumb although they are. 
 That my report is just, and full of truth. 
 But, suit; methinks, I do digress too much, 
 Citing iny worthless praise : O, pardon me ; 
 For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 
 
 Mar. Now is my turn to speak : Behold this child. 
 \Pointi7i(j to the Child in the arms of an At' 
 tendant.) 
 
 Of this was Tamora deliver'd : 
 The issue of an irreligious Moor, 
 Chief architect and plotter of these woes; 
 'J'he villain is alive in Titus' house, 
 Daufiti'd as he is, to witness this is true. 
 Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge 
 These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience. 
 Or more than any living man could bear. 
 Now you have heard the truth, what say you, 
 Romans? 
 
 Have we done aught amiss? Shew us wherein. 
 And, from the place where you behold us now, 
 'J'lie poor remainder of Andronici 
 Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, 
 And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains. 
 And make a mutual closurcof our house. 
 Speak, Romans, speak; and, if you say, we shall, 
 liO, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 
 
 JEmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, 
 And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
 Lucius oiu- emperor; for, well I know. 
 The corumon voice do cry, it sliall be so. 
 
 Rom. {^Several apeak.) Lucius, all hail ; Rome's 
 royal cmpernr! {Lucius, etc. descend.) 
 
 Mar. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house ; 
 
 {To an Attendant.) 
 And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
 To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, 
 As jjucishtnent for his most wicked life. 
 
 Rom. {Several speak.) Lucius, all bail ; Rotne'i 
 gracious governor ! 
 
 Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans ; May I govern BO, 
 To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ! 
 But, gentle people, give me aim a while, — 
 For nature puts me to a heavy task ; 
 Stand all aloof; — but, uncle, draw you near, 
 To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk : — 
 O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 
 
 {Kisses Titus) 
 
 These sorrowful drops upon the blood-staiu'd face, 
 The last true duties of thy noble son ! 
 
 Mar. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, 
 Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips : 
 O, were the sum of these (hat I should pay 
 Countless and infinite, yet would 1 pay them ! 
 
 Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and leara 
 of us 
 
 To melt in showers : Thy erandsire lov'd thee well : 
 
 Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee. 
 
 Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; 
 
 Many a matter hath he told to thee. 
 
 Meet, and agreeing with thine infancy; 
 
 In that respect then, like a loving child. 
 
 Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring. 
 
 Because kind nature doth require it so . 
 
 Friends should associate friends in grief and woe: 
 
 Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave ; 
 
 Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 
 
 Bor/. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all mj 
 heart 
 
 Would I were dead, so you did live again !— 
 
 0 lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping; 
 My tears will choke me, if lope my mouth. 
 
 Enter Attendants, with Aaron. 
 
 1 Rom. You sad Andronici. have done with woeS} 
 Give sentence on this execrable wretch. 
 That hath been breeder of these dire events, [hiro; 
 
 Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish 
 There let him stand, and rave and cry for fo»d • 
 If any one relieves or pities him. 
 For the offence he dies. This is our doom 
 Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. 
 
 Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and iury 
 dumb ? 
 
 1 am no baby, I, that with base prayers, 
 I should repent the evils I have done ; 
 Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did, 
 Would I perform, if I might have my w ill ; 
 If one good deed in all my life I did, 
 
 I do repent it from my very soul. 
 
 Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperoi 
 hence, 
 
 And give him burial in his fathers grave ; 
 
 My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith 
 
 Be closed in our household's monument. 
 
 As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
 
 No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds. 
 
 No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; 
 
 But throw her forth to beasts, and birds of prey*. 
 
 Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity ; 
 
 And, being so, shall have l^ke want of pity. 
 
 See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
 
 From whom our heavy h ips had their beginoisg 
 
 Then, afterwards, to order well the state ; 
 
 That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt. 
 
PEJaiCLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED, 
 
 ANTIOCHUS, King of Antioch. 
 PERICLES, Prince of Tyre. 
 
 fila^NES.^^' \ tmo Lords of Tyre. 
 SIMONIUES, King of Ppntapolis. 
 CLKON, Governor of Tharsus. 
 LYSIMACHUS, Governor of Mitylene. 
 CEHIMON, a Lord of Epkesus. 
 THALIARD, a Lord of Antioch. 
 PHILEMON, Servant to Cerimon. 
 LEONINE, Servant to Dionyza. 
 Marshal. 
 
 A Pander, and his Wife% • 
 
 BOULT, their Servant. 
 
 GOWER, as Chorus. 
 
 The Daughter of AntiochHS. 
 
 DIONYZA, Wife to Cleon. 
 
 THAISA, Daughter to Simonides. 
 
 MARINA, Daughter to Pericles and Tkaitm. 
 
 LYCHORIDA, Nttrse to Marina. 
 
 DLANA. 
 
 Lords, Ladles, Kjiights, Gentlemen, SailorSt 
 Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers, etc. 
 
 Scene, — Dispersedly in various Countries. 
 
 ACT I. 
 Enter GowER. 
 
 Before the Palace of Antioch. 
 To sing a song of old was sung, 
 Froiri ashes ancient Gower is come ; 
 Assuming man's infirmities, 
 To glad your ear and please your eyes. 
 It hath been sung at festivals, 
 On ember-eves, and holy ales ; 
 And lords and ladies of their lives 
 ITfive read it for restoratives : 
 'Purpose to make men glorious ; 
 Et quo antiquius., eo melius. 
 If you, born in these latter times. 
 When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes, 
 And that to hear an old man sing. 
 May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
 1 life would wish, and that I might 
 Waste it for you, like taper-light.— 
 This city then, Antioch the great 
 Built up for his chiefest seat ; 
 The fairest in all Syria ; 
 (I tell you what mine authors say:) 
 This king unto him took a pheere, 
 Who died, and left a female heir. 
 So buxom, blithe, and full of face, 
 As heaven had lent her all his grace; 
 With whom the father liking took. 
 And her to incest did provoke : 
 Bad father ! to entice his own 
 To evil, should be done by none. 
 By custom, what they did begin, 
 VVas, with long use, account no sin 
 The beauty oi' this sinful dame 
 Made many princes thither frame. 
 To seek her as a bed-fellow : 
 In marriage-pleasures play-fellow : 
 Which to prevent, he made a law, 
 To keep her still, and men in awe,) 
 That whoso ask'd her for his wife. 
 His riddle told not, lost his life : 
 So for her many a wight did die. 
 As yon grim looks do testify. 
 What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye 
 I give, my cause who best can justify. [Exit, 
 
 Scene I. — Antioch, A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants. 
 Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large 
 receiv'd 
 
 The danger of the task you undertake. 
 
 Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul 
 Emboldeo'd with the glory of her praise. 
 Think death no hazard in this enterprise. (Music.) 
 
 Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, 
 For the embracements even of Jove himself; 
 At whose conception (till Lucina reign'd,) 
 Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, 
 
 The senate-house of planets all did sit, 
 To knit in her their best perfections. 
 
 Enter the Daughter of Antiochus. 
 Per. See, where she comes, apparell'd like tbi 
 spring, 
 
 Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
 
 Of every virtue gives renown to men I 
 
 Her face, the book of praises, where is read 
 
 Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
 
 Sorrow were ever ras'd, and testy wrath 
 
 Could never be her mild companion. 
 
 Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love. 
 
 That have inflam'd desire in ray breast, 
 
 To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree. 
 
 Or die in the adventure, be my helps. 
 
 As I am son and servant to your will. 
 
 To compass such a boundless happiness! 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles,—- 
 
 Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 
 
 Ant, Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 
 With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd ; 
 For death-like dragons here affright thee hard : 
 Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view 
 A countless glory, which desert must gain : 
 And which, without desert, because thine eye 
 Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must dica 
 You sometime famous princes, Uke thyself. 
 Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire, [palft 
 Tell thee with speechless tongues, and senjblanc 
 That, without covering, save yon field of stars. 
 They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars ; 
 And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist 
 For going on death's net, whom none resist. 
 
 Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught 
 My frail mortality to know itself. 
 And by those fearful objects to prepare 
 This body, like to them, to what I must: 
 For death remember'd, should be like a mirror. 
 Who tells us, life's but breath ; to trust it, error 
 I'll make my will then ; and, as sick men do. 
 Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling woe 
 Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did 
 So I bequeath a happy peace to you. 
 And all good men, as every prince should do ; 
 My riches to the earth from whence they came; 
 But my unspotted fire of love to you. 
 
 (To the Daughter (f Antiochus]^ 
 Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
 I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus, 
 Scorning advice. 
 
 Ant. Read the conclusion then ; 
 
 Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed. 
 As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed. 
 
 Daugh. In all, save that, may'st thou prove 
 prosperous I 
 In all, save that, I wish thee happiness ! 
 
 Per. Like a bold champion, I aasame the lists, 
 Nor ask advice of any other though! 
 
PERICLES, 
 
 Act L 
 
 But fnitliruiness, and courage. [Hereaas the riddle.) 
 I am no viper, yet I feed 
 On mother's jiesh, which did me breed: 
 J souyht a husband, in which labour, 
 J found that kindness in a father. 
 He's father, son, and husband mdd^ 
 I mother, wife, and, yet his child 
 How they may be, and yet in two, 
 As you will live, resolve it you. 
 Sharp physic is tlie last, but, O you powers! 
 That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts. 
 Why clmu] they not their sights perpetually, 
 If this be true, which makes me pale to read it? ' 
 Fair glass of iight, I iov'd you, and could still, 
 
 {Takes hold of the hand of the Princess.) 
 Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill • 
 But I must tell you, — now, my thoughts revolt; 
 For he's. no man on whom perfections wait. 
 That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
 You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings ; 
 Who, finger'd to make man bis lawful music. 
 Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to 
 hearken ; 
 
 But, being play'd upon before your time. 
 Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime : 
 Good sooth, I care not for you. 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, 
 For that's an article within our law, 
 As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd ; 
 Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 
 
 Per. Great king, 
 Few love to hear the sins they love to act ; 
 'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it 
 Who has a book of all that monarchs do, 
 
 e's more secure to keep it shut than shewn ; 
 For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind. 
 Blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself ; 
 And yet the end of all is bought thus dear. 
 The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear: 
 To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole 
 casts 
 
 Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell, the earth is 
 
 wrong'd 
 
 By man's oppression : and the poor worm doth die 
 for't. 
 
 Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law's their will ; 
 And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill? 
 It is enough you Itnow ; and it is tit, 
 What being u)ore known grows worse, to smother it. 
 All love the womb that their first beings bred, 
 Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. 
 Ant. Heaven, that I had thy head ! he has found 
 
 the meaning ; — 
 But I will gloze with him. {Aside.) Y oung prince 
 
 of Tyre, 
 
 Though by the tenour of our strict edict, 
 
 Y^our exposition misinterpreting. 
 
 We might proceed to cancel of your days ; 
 
 Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
 
 As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise: 
 
 Forty days longer we do respite you ; 
 
 If by which time our secret be undone. 
 
 This mercy shews, we'll joy in such a son: 
 
 And until tlien, your entertain shall be. 
 
 As (loth befit our honour and your worth. 
 
 [Exeunt Antiochus, hisDauxjhter, and Attendants, 
 
 Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin! 
 When what is done is like an hypocrite, 
 The which is good in nothing but in sight. 
 If it be true that I interpret false, 
 Tlien were it certain, you were not so bad, 
 As with foiil incest to abuse your soul ; 
 Where now you're both a father and a son, 
 By your untimely claspings with your child, 
 (Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father;) 
 And she an eater of her mother's flesh. 
 By the defiling of her parent's bed ; 
 And both like serpents are, who though they feed 
 On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
 Antioch, farewell ! for wisdoui sees, those men 
 
 Blush not in actions blacker than the night. 
 Will shun no course to keep them from tiie light* 
 One sin, I know, another doth provoke; 
 Murder's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. 
 Poison and treason are the hands of sin. 
 Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame: 
 Then, lest my life be cropped to kee}) you clear^ 
 By flight I'll slum the danger, which 1 fear. [Mxii 
 
 Re-enter Antiochus. 
 Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the wliich 
 To have his head. [we mean 
 
 He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy. 
 Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin 
 In such a loathed manner: 
 And therefore instantly this prince must die; 
 For by his fall my honour must keep high. i 
 Who attends on us there ? 
 
 Enter Thaliard. 
 Thai. Doth your highness call? 
 
 Ant. Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and oar 
 mind 
 
 Partakes her private actions to your secresy ; 
 And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
 Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold ; 
 We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him 
 It fits thee not to ask the reason vvhy, 
 Because we bid it. Say. is it done ? 
 ^Thfil: Mj i^i 
 
 Tis doEj; 
 
 Ant. Ecc:zri ; 
 Lejst your breath cooi yourself, telling your haste. 
 
 Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exi':. 
 
 Ant As tho? 
 
 Wilt live, fly after : and as an arrow, shot 
 From a well-experienc'd archer, hits the mark 
 His eye doth level at, so ne'er return, 
 Unless thou say. Prince Pericles is dead. 
 
 T/««/. My lurd,if I_ 
 Can get him once within my pistol's length, 
 I'll make him sure : so farewell to your highness. 
 
 \Exii 
 
 Ant. Thaliard, adieu ! till Pericles be dead. 
 My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit, 
 
 Scene II. — Tyre. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Pericles, Helicanus, and other Lords. 
 Per. Let none disturb us: Why this change of 
 thoughts ? 
 
 The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy, 
 By me so us'd a guest is, not an hour, 
 In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night, 
 (The tomb where grief should sleep,) can breed 
 me quiet! _ fshun them. 
 
 Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes 
 And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch, 
 Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here : 
 Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, 
 Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 
 Then it is thus: the passions of the mind, 
 That have their first conception by mis-dread. 
 Have after-nourishment and life by care ; 
 And what was first but fear what might be done. 
 Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. 
 And so with me ; — the great Antiochus 
 (Gainst whom I am too little to contend. 
 Since he's so great, can make his will hifl act,) 
 Will think me speaking, though I swear to silextse} 
 Nor boots it me to say, I honour him. 
 If he suspect I may dishonour him: 
 And what may make him blush in being known, 
 He'll stop the course by which it might be known; 
 With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land. 
 And with the ostent of war will look so huge. 
 Amazement shall drive courage fiom the state; 
 Our men be vanqirish'd, ere tliey do resist. 
 And subjects punish'd, that ne'er tb ght ofTence 
 
SCENS 8. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 677 
 
 Wiiich care of them, not pity of myself, | 
 (Who ain no more btu as tiie tops of trees, ! 
 iVhich fence the roots they grow by, and defend 
 them,) 
 
 Wakes both my body pine, and soul to langwish, 
 And punish that before, that he would punish. 
 1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast! j 
 2 Lord. And keep your mind, till you return to us, 
 Peaceful and comfortable ! 
 Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give experience 
 tongue. 
 
 hey do abuse the king that flatter him: 
 or flattery is the bellows blows up sin; 
 he thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, 
 
 which that breath gives heat and stronger 
 glowing ; 
 
 Whereas reproof, obedient and in order, 
 Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. 
 When signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace. 
 He flatters you, makes war upon your life : 
 Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please ; 
 I cannot be much lower than my knees. [look 
 Per. All leave us else; but let your cares o'er- 
 What shipping, knd what lading's in our haven, 
 A-nd then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Helicanus, 
 thou 
 
 Hast moved us: whatseest thou in our looks? 
 
 Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 
 
 Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns. 
 How durst thy tongue move anger to our face ? 
 
 Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, 
 from whence 
 They have their nourishment? 
 
 Per. Thou know'st I have power 
 
 To take thy life. 
 
 Hel. {Kneeling.) I have ground the axe myself ; 
 Do you but strike the blow. 
 
 Per. Rise, pr'ythee, rise ; 
 
 Sit down, sit down ; thou art no flatterer: 
 I thank thee for it ; and high heaven forbid, 
 That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid ! 
 Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince, 
 Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant. 
 What would'st thou have me do ? 
 
 Hel. With patience bear 
 
 Such griefs as you do lay upon yourself. 
 
 Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus; 
 Who minister'st a potion into me, 
 That thou would'st tremble to receive thyself. 
 Attend me then : I went to Antioch, 
 Where, as thou know'st, against the face of death, 
 I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, 
 From whence an issue I might propagate. 
 Bring arms to princes, and to subjects joys. 
 Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ; 
 Tile rest (hark in thine ear,) as black as incest; 
 Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father 
 Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: but thou know'st 
 this. 
 
 Tis time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss. 
 Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled, 
 Under the covering of a careful nigiit, 
 Who seem'd my good protector; and being here, 
 Betliouglti me vvhat was past, what might succeed. 
 1 knew him tyrannous : and tyrants' fears 
 Decrease i;ot, but grow faster than their years: 
 And shoidd he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,) 
 That I should open to the listening air. 
 How m:u)y wortliy princes' bloods were shed, 
 To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, — 
 To lop that doubt, he'll All this land vvith arms, 
 And miike pretence of wrong that I have done him; 
 When for mine, if I nmy call't ofteuce. 
 Mast fee! war's blow, who spares not innocence : 
 Wiiich love to all (of which thyself art one, 
 Who i;ow reprov'st me for it) — 
 
 Hcl. Alas, sir I 
 
 Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from 
 my cheeks. 
 Musings ia.u my mind, a tliousand doubts 
 
 ow I might stop this tempest, e.^e it casae; 
 nd finding little coriifort to relieve them, 
 I thought it princely charity to grieve them. 
 
 Hel, Well, my lord, since you havo givCM GK 
 leave to speak, 
 Freely I'll speak. Antiochus you fear. 
 And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, 
 Who either by public war, or private treason. 
 Will take away your life. 
 Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, 
 Till that his rage and anger be forgot, 
 Or destinies do cut his thread of life. 
 Your rule direct to any ; if to me, 
 Day serves not light moi-e faithful than I'll be. 
 
 Per. I do not doubt thy faith ; 
 But should he wrong my liberties in absence — 
 
 Hel. We'll mingle bloods together in the earth. 
 From whence we had our being and our birth. 
 Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and U 
 Tharsus 
 
 Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee ; 
 And by whose lettei*s I'll dispose myself. 
 The care I had and have of subjects' good. 
 On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it 
 I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath ; 
 Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both: 
 But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe, 
 That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince, 
 Thou shew'dst a subject's sh'ne, I a true prince. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene III. — Tyre. An Ante-chamber in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Til\liard. 
 
 Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the couri, 
 Here must 1 kill king Pericles; and if I do not, | 
 am sure to be hanged at home : 'tis dangerous*— 
 Well, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and ha 
 good discretion, that being bid to ask what ii 
 would of the king, desired he might know none 
 his secrets. Now do I see he had some reason f« 
 it: for if a king bid a man be a villain, he is boun 
 by the indenture of his oath to be one. — Hush, her 
 come the lords of Tyre. 
 
 Enter Helicanus, Escanes, and other Lords. 
 
 Hel. You shall not need, my fellovv peers of Tyre 
 Further to question of your king's departure. 
 His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, 
 Doth speak sufliciently ; he's gone to travel. 
 
 Thai. How ! the king gone! (Asiafe. 
 
 Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied. 
 Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves, 
 He would depart, I'll give some light unto you. 
 Being at Antioch — 
 
 Thai. What from Antioch ? {Aside, 
 
 Hel. Royal Antiochus (on whatc&use I know not. 
 Took some displeasure at him ; at least he jiidg'd so 
 And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd. 
 To shew his sorrow, would correct himself; 
 So puts himself into the shipman's toil, 
 With whom each minute threatens life or death. 
 
 ThaL Well, I perceive (Asiek, 
 I shall not be hang'd now, although I would ; 
 But since he's gone, the king it sure must please^ 
 He 'scap'd the land, to perish on the seas. — 
 But I'll present nie. Peace to the lords of Tyre : 
 
 Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome* 
 
 Thai. From him I come. 
 With message unto princely Pericles; 
 But, since my landing, as I have understood 
 Your lord has took himf-elf to unknown travels. 
 My message must return from vvhence it came. 
 
 Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since 
 Commended to our master, not to us: 
 Yet, ere you shall depart, th's we desire,-— 
 As friends to Antioch. 'fe mav feast in Tyre. 
 
678 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act H 
 
 Scene IV. — Tkarsus. A Room tn the Governor's^ 
 House. 
 
 Enter CleoiN, Dionyza, and Attendants. 
 
 Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here. 
 And by relating tales of other's griefs, 
 See if 'twill teach us to forget our own? 
 
 Dio. That were to blow at fire, in hope to quench it ; 
 For who digs hi'.ls because they do aspire, 
 Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. 
 O my distressed lord, even such our griefs ; 
 Here they're but felt, and seen with mistful eyes, 
 But like to sroves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, 
 Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it. 
 Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish ? 
 'Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes 
 Into the air; our eyes do weep, till lungs 
 Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder ; that, 
 If heaven slumber, while their creatures want, 
 They may awake their helps to comfort them, 
 I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years, 
 And wanting breath to speak, help rae with tears. 
 
 Dio. I'll do my best, sir. 
 
 Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have government, 
 (A city, on whom plenty held full hand,) 
 For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets ; 
 Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the 
 clouds, 
 
 And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at; 
 Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd, 
 Like one another's glass to inm them by: 
 Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight, 
 And not so much to feed on, as delight ; 
 All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great. 
 The name of help grew odious to'repeat. 
 
 Dio. O, 'tis too true. [change, 
 
 Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this our 
 These mouths, whom but ol"late, earth, sea, and air, 
 Were all too little to content and please, 
 Although they gave their creatures in abundance. 
 As houses are defil'd for want of us'^. 
 They are now sfarv'd for want of exercise : 
 Those palates, who not yet two summers yonnger, 
 Must have inventions to delight the taste, 
 Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it; 
 Those tiufthers, who, to nousle up their babes, 
 Thought nought too curious, are ready now. 
 To eat those little darlings, whom they lov'd. 
 So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
 Draw lots, who first s!\all die to lengthen life: 
 Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping; 
 Here many sink, yet those which see them fall. 
 Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
 Is not this true ? 
 
 Die. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. 
 
 Cle. O, let those cities, that of Plenty's cup 
 And her prosperities so largely taste. 
 With their superfluous riots, hear these tears! 
 The misery ol Tharsus may be theirs. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 Lord. Where's the lord governor ? 
 Cle. Here. 
 
 Speak out thy sorrows, which thou bring'st in haste. 
 For comfort is too far for us to expect. 
 Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring 
 shore, 
 
 A portly sail of ships make hitherward. 
 
 Cle. 1 thought as much. 
 One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir. 
 That may succeed as his inheritor ; 
 And so in ours : some neighbouring nation. 
 Taking advantage of our misery. 
 Hath stuif d these hollow vessels with their power. 
 To beat us down, the which are down already; 
 And make a conquest of unhappy me, 
 W^hereas no glory's got to overcome. 
 
 Lord. That's the least fear; for, by the semblance 
 Of their white flags disi)lay'd, they bring us peace. 
 
 And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 
 
 Cle. Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repexit. 
 
 Who makes the fairest shew, means most deceit. 
 
 But bring they what they will, what need we fear? 
 
 The ground's the low'st, and we are half way there. 
 
 Go tell their general, we attend him here. 
 
 To know for what he coraes, and whence he come^ 
 
 And what he craves. 
 
 Lord. I go, my lord. [Exit, 
 Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on i)eace consist 
 
 If wars, we are unable to resist. 
 
 Enter Pericles, with Attendants. 
 Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are. 
 Let not our ships and number of our men 
 Be, like a beacon fir'd, to amaze your eyes. 
 We have heard your miseries as far as i'yje, 
 And seen the desolation of your streets : 
 Nor come we to add eorrrow. to your te \rs. 
 But to relieve them of their heavy load ; 
 And these our ships yon happily may think 
 Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stntFd within 
 With bloody views, expecting overthro v. 
 Are stor'd with corn, to make your nee ly bread. 
 And give ihem life, who are hunger-star v'd, half 
 dead. 
 
 All. The gods of Greece protect you! 
 And we'll pray for you. 
 
 Per. Rise, I pray yon, rise; 
 
 We do not look for reverence, but for 1 )ve. 
 And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men. 
 
 Cle. The which when any shall not gritify. 
 Or pay you with nnthankfulness in thought. 
 Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, 
 The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils. 
 Till when (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be aeen,) 
 Your grace is welcome to om- town and us. 
 
 Per. Which welcome we'll accept; feast heiea 
 while. 
 
 Until our stars, that frown, lend us a smile. [Exeuni^ 
 
 ACTH. 
 
 Enter GowER. 
 
 Goto. Here have you seen a mighty king 
 His child, I wis, to incest, bring: 
 A better prij)ce, an 1 benign lond, 
 Pro ye awful both in deed and word. 
 Be quiet then, as n»en should be. 
 Till he hath pass'd necessity. 
 I'll shew you those in troubles teign, 
 Losiiig a mite, a mountain gain. 
 The good in conversation 
 (To whom I give my benison.) 
 Is still at Tharsus, where each man 
 Thinks ail is writ he spoken can: 
 And, to remenjber what be does, 
 Gild his statue glorious: 
 But tidings to the contrary 
 Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I ? 
 {Dumb shetv.) 
 
 Enter at one door Pericles, taihing with Cleon; 
 all the train with them. Enter at another door, 
 a Gentleman., with a letter to Pericles ; Pericles 
 shews the letter to Cleon ; then gives the Ales- 
 senger a reward, and knights him. Exeuni 
 Pericles, Cleon, §Cc. severally. 
 
 Gow. Good Helicane hath staid at home. 
 Not to eat honey, like a drone, 
 From others' labours; forth he .strive 
 To killen bad, keep good alive: 
 And, to fulfil his prince' desire. 
 Sends word of all that haps in Tyre: 
 How Thaliard came full bent with sin. 
 And hid intent, to murder him ; 
 And that in Tharsus was not best 
 Longer for him to make his rest : 
 He knowing so, put forth to seas. 
 Where when men been, there's seldom euM, 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 PRINCE 
 
 OF TYRE. 
 
 For now the wind begins to blow; 
 
 Thunder above, and deeps below. 
 
 Make such unquiet, that the sliip 
 
 ►Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split; 
 
 And he. good prince, having all lost. 
 
 By waves from coast to coast is tost ; 
 
 All perishen of man, of pelf, 
 
 Ne aught escapen but himself; 
 
 Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad. 
 
 Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 
 
 And here he conies : what shall be nert. 
 
 Pardon old Gower; this long's the text. [£xit. 
 
 Scene I. — Pentapo2ts. An open Place by the Sea- 
 side. 
 
 Enter Pericles, wet. 
 Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven .' 
 Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
 Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
 And I, as fits my nature, do obey you : 
 Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
 Wash'd nie from shore to shore, and left me breath 
 Nothing to think on, but ensuing death : 
 Let it suffice the greatness of your powers, 
 To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; 
 And having thrown him from your wat'iy grave. 
 Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave. 
 
 Enter three Fishermen, 
 
 1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche ! 
 
 2 Fish. Ho ! come, and bring away the nets. 
 1 Fish. What Patch breech, I say.' 
 
 3 Fish. What say you, master ''f 
 
 1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now ! come away, 
 or ril fetch thee with a wannion. 
 
 3 Fisfi. 'Faith, master, 1 am thinking of the poor 
 uien that were cast away before us, even now. 
 
 I Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved niy heart to 
 hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help 
 them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help our- 
 selves, 
 
 3 Fish, Nay, master, said not I as much, when I 
 saw the porpus, how he bonnced and tumbled ? they 
 say, they are half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, 
 they ne'er come, but I look to be washed. Master, 
 I mar\'ei how the fishes live in the sea, 
 
 I Fish. Why, as men do a land ; the great ones eat 
 up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to 
 nothing so fitly as to a whale; 'a plays and tumbles, 
 driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours 
 tliern ail at a mouthliil. Such whales have I heard 
 on a the land, who never leave gaping, till they've 
 swallow'd the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, 
 and all. 
 
 Per. A })retty moral. 
 
 3 Fish. 13ut, master, if I had been the sexton, I 
 would have been tliat day in the bell'ry. 
 
 1 F'uih. Why, man ? 
 
 3 Fish. Because he should have swallowed me 
 too : and when I had been in his belly, I would have 
 kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should 
 never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, 
 and parish, up again. But if the good king Siinouides 
 were of my mind — 
 
 Per. Simonides ? 
 
 3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, 
 tliat rob the bee of her honey. 
 
 Per. How from the finny sabject of the sea 
 licse fishers tel) the infirmities of men ; 
 And from their watry empire recollect 
 All that may men approve, or rnen detect 1 — 
 peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 
 
 2 Fish. 1 lonest ! good fellow, what's that? if it be 
 a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, and no 
 body will look afti^r it. 
 
 Per. Nay, see, the sea hath cast upon your coast — 
 'i Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to 
 
 cast tiiee in our way I 
 
 Per. A nvrin, whom both the waters and the wind, 
 
 \a that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball 
 
 For them to play upon, entreats yon pity him ; 
 He asks of you. that never us'd to leg. 
 
 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here's thenj ia 
 our country of Greece, gets more with begging, than 
 we can do with working. 
 
 2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes, then ? 
 Per. I never practis'd it. 
 
 '2 Fish. Nay, then, thou wilt starve sure ; for here's 
 nothiiig to be got now-a-days, unless thou can'st fisi* 
 for't. 
 
 Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know ; 
 But what I am, want teaches me to think on ; 
 A man shrunk up with cold : my veins are chilly 
 And have no more of life, than may suffice 
 To give my tongue that heat, to ask your help; 
 Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead. 
 For I am a man, pray see me buried. 
 
 1 Fish. Die, quoth a ? Now gods forbid ! I have 
 a gown here; come, put in on; keep thee warm. 
 Now, afore me, a handsome fellow I Come, thou shalt 
 go home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for 
 fasting-days, and moreo'er, puddings and flap-jacks ; 
 and thou shalt be welcome. 
 
 Per. I thank you, sir. [not beg. 
 
 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could 
 Per. I did but crave. 
 
 2 Fish. But crave ? Then I'll turn craver too, and 
 so I shall 'scape whipping. 
 
 Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped, then ? 
 
 2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all ; for if all your 
 beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office, 
 than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go dinw up the 
 net. [Exeunt two of the Fishermen. 
 
 Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their 
 labour ! 
 
 1 Fish. Hark you, sir ! do you know where you 
 
 Per. Not well. fare ? 
 
 1 Fish. Why, I'll tell you: this is called Penta- 
 polis, and our king, the good king Simonides. 
 
 Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him ? 
 
 1 Fish. Ay, sir; and he deserves to be so called, 
 for his peaceable reign, and good government. 
 
 Per. He is a happy king, since from liis subjects 
 He gains the nanje of good, by his government. 
 How far is his court distant from this shore '( 
 
 1 Fish.^ Marry, sir, half a day's journey ; and I'll 
 tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is 
 her birth-day ; and there are princes and knights 
 come from all parts of the world, to just and tourney 
 for her love. 
 
 Per. Did but my fortunes equal my desires, 
 I'd wish to niake one there. 
 
 1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may; and 
 what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal lor-— 
 his wife's soul. 
 
 Re-enter the two Fishermen, drawing up a net. 
 
 2 Fish. Help, master, help ! here's a fish hongs 
 in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill 
 hardly come out. Ha! bots on't, 'tis come at last 
 and 'tis turned to a rusty armour. [see it 
 
 Per. An armour, friends! I uray you, let me 
 Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crojises. 
 Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself: 
 And, though it was mine own, part of mine h&ri 
 tage. 
 
 Which my dead father did bequeath to me, 
 With this strict charge, (even as he lelt his life,) 
 Keep it, tny Pericles, it hath been a shield 
 'Twixt me and death; (and pointed to this brace 
 For that it sav'dme, keep it ; in like necessity, 
 Which (J uds protect thee from! it may defend ihet 
 It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it; 
 Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, 
 Took it in rage, though calm'd, they give't agaia 
 I thank thee for't; my shipwreck's now no ill. 
 Since I have here my father's gift by will. 
 
 1 Fish. What mean you, sir ? [worth, 
 Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coai ol 
 For it was souietiiue target to a king ; 
 
680 
 
 I know it by this mark. He lov'd me dearly, 
 And for his sake, I wish the having of it ; 
 And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's (Ourt, 
 Where with't I may appear a gentleman ; 
 And if that ever ray low fortunes better, 
 I'll pay your bounties; till then, rest your debtor. 
 
 1 Fhli. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady? 
 
 Per. ril shew the virtue I have borne in arms. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, do ye take it, and the gods give 
 thee good on't ! 
 
 2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend ; 'twas we 
 that made up this garment through the rough seams 
 of the waters : there are certain condolements, cer- 
 tain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remem- 
 ber from whence you had it. 
 
 Per. Believe't, I will. 
 Now, by your furtherance, 1 am cloth'd in steel; 
 And spite of all the rupture of tlie sea. 
 This jewel holds his biding on my arm; 
 Unto thy value will I mount myself 
 Upon a courser, whose delightful s-teps 
 Shall make the gazer joy to see hitn tread. — 
 Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
 Of a pair of bases. 
 
 2 Fish. We'll sure provide : thou shalt have my 
 best gown to make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee 
 to the court myself. 
 
 Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will ; 
 This day 1 11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. A public ivay^ or platform, 
 leading to the lists. A pavilion bij the side 
 of it, for the reception of the King, Princess, 
 Lords, §fc. 
 
 Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph ? 
 
 1 Lord. They are, my liege ; 
 And stay your coming to present themselves. 
 
 Sim. Return them, we are ready; and our 
 daughter, 
 
 In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, 
 Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
 For men to see, and seeing wonder at. [Exit a Lord. 
 
 Thai It pleaseth you, my father, to express 
 My commendations great, whose merit's less. 
 
 Sim. "Tis tit it should be so; for princes are 
 A model, which heaven makes like to itself : 
 As jewels lose their glory, if neglected. 
 So princes their renown, if not respected. 
 'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain 
 The labour of each knight, in his device. [form. 
 
 Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll per- 
 
 Enter a Knight; he passes over the stage, and his 
 Sqnire presents his shield to the Princess. 
 
 Sim. Who is the lirst that doth prefer himself? 
 
 Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is a black vEthiop, reaching at the sun ; 
 The word, Litx tua viia mihi. 
 
 Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. 
 
 {The second Knight passes.) 
 Who is the second, that presents himsell ? 
 
 Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady : 
 The motto thus, in Spanish, Pitc per diilcura que 
 per fuerqa. {The third Knight passes.) 
 
 Sim. And what's the third ? 
 
 Thai. The third of Antioch; 
 
 And his device, a wreath of chivalry : 
 The word. Me pompa: provexit apex. 
 
 {The fourth Kfiight passes.) 
 
 Sim. What is the fourth ? 
 
 Thai. A burning torch, that's turned u|jside down ; 
 The word, Quod me alit, me extinguit. 
 
 Sim. Which !>hews, that beauty hath his power 
 and will, 
 
 Which can as v ell inflame, as it can kill. 
 
 The fifth Knight passes.) 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Thai. The fifth, an hand environed tvith clovds ; 
 Holding out gold, that's by the touclistone tried: 
 The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides. 
 
 {The sixth Knight passes^ 
 
 Sim. And what's the sixth and last, which tha 
 knight himself 
 With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd? 
 
 Thai. He seems a stranger; but his present fa 
 A wither'd branch, that's only green at top j 
 The motto, In hac spe vivo. 
 
 Sim. A pretty mora! ; 
 From the dejected state wherein he is. 
 He hopes by you his fortunes yet may f.ourish. 
 
 1 Lord. He had need mean better than hia oat> 
 
 ward shew 
 Can any way speak in his just commend t 
 For, by his rusty outside, he appears [lance. 
 To have praetis'd more the whipstock, than the 
 
 2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
 To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnished. 
 
 3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour rust 
 Until this day, to scour it in tlie dust. 
 
 Siin. Opinion's but a looi, that makes us scan 
 The outward habit by the inward man. 
 But stay, the knights are coming; we'll withdraw 
 Into the gallery. [Exeunt. 
 {Great shouts, and all cry, The mean knight.) 
 
 Scene III.— The same. A Hall of State. A 
 
 Banquet prepared. 
 Enter Simonides, 'J'haisa, Lords, Knights, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Knights, 
 To say you are welcome, were superfluous. 
 To place upon the volume of your d^eds. 
 As in a title-page, your worth in arms. 
 Were more than you expect, or more than's fit. 
 Since every worth in shew commends itself. 
 Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : 
 You are my guests. 
 
 IViai. But you, my knight and gneisi; 
 
 To whom this wreath of s ictory I give. 
 And crown you king of this day's happiness. 
 
 Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit. 
 
 Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours; 
 And here, I hojje, is none that envies it. 
 In framing artists, art hath thus decreed. 
 To make some good, hut others to exceed, 
 And you're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen 
 o'the feast, 
 
 (For, daughter, so you are,) here take your pla.ce : 
 Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 
 
 Kjiights. We are honour'd much by good Simo- 
 nide.s. [love, 
 
 Sim. Your presence glads our days ; honour we 
 For who hates honour, hates tlie gods above. 
 
 Marsh. Sir, yond's your place. 
 
 Per. Some other is more fit. 
 
 1 Knight. Contend not, sir ; for we are gentlemen, 
 That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes. 
 Envy the great, nor do the low despise. 
 
 Per. You are right courteous knigiits. 
 
 Sim. Sit, sit, sir; sit. 
 
 Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts, 
 These cates resist me, she not thought upon. 
 
 Thai. By Juno, that is queen 
 Of marriage, all the viands that I eat 
 Do seem unsavoury, wishing him my meat.' 
 Sure he's a gallant gentleman. 
 
 Sim. He's but 
 
 A country gentleman ; . [done; 
 He has done no more than other knights have 
 Broken a stalf, or so; so let it pass. 
 
 Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glas3. 
 
 Per. Yon king's to me, like to my father's 
 picture. 
 
 Which tells me, in that glory once he was; 
 Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne. 
 And he the sim, for them to reference. 
 None, that beheld him, but, like lesser lights 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYKE. 
 
 681 
 
 Did vail their crowns to his supremacy ; 
 Where now his son's a glow-worm in the night, 
 The witch hath fire in darkness, none in light ; 
 Wiierehy I see that Titne's tiie king of men, 
 For he's their parent, and he is fheir grave. 
 And gives them what he will, not what they crave. 
 
 S'tjn. VVhat, are you merry, knights ? 
 
 I Kni(jht. VVho can be other, in this royal pre- 
 sence ? [brim, 
 
 Sim. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the 
 (As you do love, till to your mistress' lips,) 
 vVe di ink this health to you. 
 
 Knights. We thank your grace. 
 
 Sim. Yet pause a while ; 
 Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy, 
 As if the entertainment in our court 
 Had not a shew mi^ht countervail his worth. 
 Note it not you, Thaisa ? 
 
 Tkcii. What is it 
 
 To me, my father? 
 
 Sim. O, attend, my daughter; 
 
 Princes, in this, should live like gods above. 
 Who freely give to every one that comes 
 I'o honour them : and princes, not doing so, 
 Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd 
 Are wonder'd at. 
 
 Thereiore to make's entrarfce more sweet, here say. 
 We drink this standing- bowl of wine to him. 
 
 Thai. Alas, niy father, it befits not me 
 Unto a sti anger knight to be so bold ; 
 He m;iy my proffer take for an offence, 
 Sii'.ce men take women' gifts for impudence. 
 
 Sim. How ! 
 Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else. 
 
 Tliai. Now, by the goda, he could not please me 
 better. _ [Aside.) 
 
 Sim. And fin ther tell him, we desire to know. 
 Of whence he is, his name and parentage. 
 
 Thai. The king my father, sir, has drunk to you. 
 
 Per. I thank him. 
 
 Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 
 Per. I thcink both him and you, and pledge him 
 freely. 
 
 Thai. And further he desires to know of you, 
 Of whence yon are, your name and parentage. 
 
 Per. A gentli uian of Tyre — (my name, Pericles; 
 My education being in arts and arms ;)— 
 Who, looking for adventures in the world, 
 VVas by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
 And, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore. 
 
 I'/iai. He thanks your grace; names himself Peri- 
 A gentleman of "i'y re, who only by [cles. 
 Misfortune of tl)e seas has been bereft 
 Of ships and men, and cast upon this shore. 
 
 Sim. Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune. 
 And will awake him from his melancholy. 
 Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles. 
 And wasre the time, which looks for other revels. 
 Even in your armours, as you are address'd, 
 Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
 [ will not have excuse, with saying, this 
 Loud music is tuo harsh for ladies' heads; 
 Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. 
 
 {The Knights dance.) 
 So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perforni'd. 
 Come, sir; 
 
 Here is a lady that wants breathing too : 
 And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre 
 Are excellent in making ladies trip; 
 And that their measures are as excellent. [lord. 
 Per. In those that practise them, they are, my 
 Sim. O, that's as much, as you would be denied 
 ( The Knights and Ladies dance.) 
 Of your f ur courtesy. — Uuulasp, unclasp ; 
 Thanks, gentlemen, to a'jl ; all have done well, 
 But you tiie best. {To Pericles.) Pages and lights, 
 conduct [sir, 
 IMtese knights unto their several lodgings : Yours, 
 IVe have given order to be next our own. 
 Per. 1 am at your grace's pleasure. 
 
 Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love. 
 For that's the mark I know you level at : 
 Therefore each one betake him to his rest; 
 To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exeuni, 
 
 Scene IV. — Ti/re. A Room in the Governor's 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Helicanus and Escanes. 
 
 Hel. No, no, my I3scanes ; know this of me,— 
 An-tiochus from incest li> 'd not free ; 
 For which, the most high gods not minding longer 
 To withhold the vengeance that they had in stfjre 
 Due to this heinous capital offence ; 
 Even in the height and pride of all his glory. 
 When he was seated, and his daughter with hhn. 
 In a chariot of inestimable value, 
 A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up 
 Their bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk. 
 That all those eyes ador'd (heirs, ere their fall. 
 Scorn now their hand should g' ve them burial. 
 
 Esca. 'Twas very strange. 
 
 Hel. And yet but just; for though 
 
 This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
 To bar heaven's shaft, but sid had his reward. 
 
 Esca. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Enter Three Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference, 
 Or council, has respect v.'ith him but he. [proof. 
 
 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without re- 
 
 3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not second it. 
 1 Lord. Follow me then : Lord Helicane, a word. 
 Hel. With me? and welcome : Happy day, my 
 
 lords. [top, 
 1 Lord. Know, that our griefs are risen to the 
 And novv at length they overflow their banks. 
 Hel. Your griefs, for what ? wrong ncjt the prince 
 
 you love. [cane ; 
 
 1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, noble Heli- 
 Biit if the prince do live, let us salute him. 
 
 Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. 
 If in the world he live, we'll seek liim out; 
 If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there; 
 And be resolv'd, he lives to govern us, 
 Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral. 
 And leaves us to our free election. 
 
 2 Lord. Whose deatii's, indeed, the strongert 
 
 in our censure : 
 And knowing this kingdom, if without a head, 
 (Like goodly buildings left without a roof,) 
 Will soon to ruin fall, your noble self. 
 That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign. 
 We thus submit unto. — our sovereign. 
 A/l. Live, noble Helicane ! 
 
 Hel. Try honour's cause ; forbear your suffrages i 
 If that you love prince Periclee, forbear. 
 Take I your wish, 1 leap into the seas, 
 Where's hourly trouble, for a minute's ease. 
 A twelvemonth longer, let me then entreat you 
 To forbear choice i'tlie absence of your kingi 
 If in which time expir'd, he not retm-n, 
 I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 
 But if I cannot win you to tliis love, 
 Go search like noblemen, like noble subjects, 
 And in your searcii spend your adventurous worth ; 
 Whom if you find, and win unto return, 
 You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 
 
 1 Lord. To wisdonj he's a fool tliat will not yield) 
 And, since lord Helicane enjoineth us. 
 We with our travels will endeavour it. [bands-; 
 
 Hel. Then you love us we you, and we'll clasp 
 When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene V. — Pentapolis. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Simonides, reading a h Iter; the Knights 
 meet him. 
 
 1 Knight. Good morrow to tl e good Simonides. 
 Sim. Knights from my daughter this I let yo« 
 know, 
 
682 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act hi. 
 
 That for this twelvemonth, she'll not undertake 
 A married life. 
 
 Her reason to herself is only known, 
 VV^hich from herself by no means can I get. 
 
 2 Kniykt. May we not get access to her, my lord ? 
 Sim. 'Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly 
 
 tied her 
 
 To her chamber, that it is impossible. 
 
 One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery; 
 
 This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd. 
 
 And on her virgin honour will not break it. 
 
 3 Knight. Though loath to bid farewell, we take 
 
 our leaves. [Exeunt. 
 Sim. So, 
 
 They're well despatch'd ; now to my daughter's 
 letter: 
 
 She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight, 
 Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
 Mistress, 'tis well, your choice agrees with mine; 
 I like that well : — nay, how absolute she's in't, 
 Not minding whether I dislike or no! 
 Well, I commend her choice ; 
 And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
 Soft, here he comes : — I must dissemble it. 
 
 Enter Pericles. 
 
 Per. All fortune to the good Simonides! 
 
 Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholden to you 
 For your sweet music tliis last night: my ears, 
 I do protest, were never better fed 
 With such delightful pleasing harmony. 
 
 Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend ; 
 Not my desert. 
 
 Sim. Sir, you are nmsic's master. 
 
 Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. 
 
 Sim. Let me ask one thing. What do you think. 
 My daughter _ [sir, of 
 
 Per. As of a most virtuous princess. 
 
 Sim. And she is fair too, is she not? 
 
 Per. As a i'air day in summer; wond'rous fair. 
 
 Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you; 
 Ay, so well, sir, that you must be her master. 
 And she'll your scholar be; therefore look to it. 
 
 Per. Unworthy I to be her schoolmaster. 
 
 Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing else. 
 
 Per. What's here ! 
 A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre? 
 'Tis the king's subtilty, to have my life. {Aside.) 
 O, seek not to inti ap, my gracious lord, 
 A stran><er and distressed gentleman, 
 That never aim d so high, to love your daughter, 
 But bent ail offices to honoin- hei. [art 
 
 Sim. Thou hast bevvitch'd my daughter, and thou 
 A villain. 
 
 Per. By the gods, I have not, sir. 
 Never did tiiought of mine levy offence ; 
 Nor never did n»y actions yet commence 
 A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure. 
 
 Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 
 
 Per. Traitor ! 
 
 Sim. Ay, traitor, sir. 
 
 Per. Even in his throat, (nnless it be the king,) 
 That calls me traitor, I return the lie. 
 
 Sim. Now, by the gods, I do applaud his couriage. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts, 
 That never relish'd of a base descent. 
 I came unto your court, for honour's cause, 
 And rwt to be a rebel to her state ; 
 And he that otherwise accounts of me, 
 I'his sword shall prove he's honour's enemy. 
 
 Sim. No!— 
 Here comes my daughter, sho can witness it. 
 
 Enter Thaisa. 
 
 Per, Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, 
 Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
 Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
 To any syllable that made love to you? 
 
 Thai. Why sir, say if you had 
 
 Who takes offence at that would mAke o*e glad 
 
 Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so pcn^'mptory ? — 
 I am glad of it with all my heart. {Asid€.) I'll tauu 
 I'll bring you in subjection. — [you/ 
 Will you, not having my consent, bestow 
 Your love and your affections on a straugei ! 
 (Who, for aught 1 know to the contrary. 
 Or think, may be as great in blood as I.) {Aude^ 
 Hear therefore, mistress; frame your will to miuc.*«» 
 And you, sir, hear you. — Either be rul'd by me. 
 Or I will make you — man and wife. 
 Nay, conie ; your hands and lips nmst seal it too* — 
 And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy ;— • 
 And for a further grief, — God give you joy I 
 What, are you both pleas'd ? 
 
 Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. 
 
 Per. Even as my life, my blood that fosters it. 
 
 Sim. What, are you both agreed 1 
 
 Both. Yes, plea.se your majesty. 
 
 Sim. It pleaseth me so well, I'll see you wed ; 
 Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT in. 
 
 Enter Gowbr. 
 
 Gow. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout; 
 No din but snores, the house about, 
 Made louder by the o'er-fed breast 
 01 this niost pompous marriage feast. 
 The ca<t, witli eyne of burning coal. 
 Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole ; 
 And crickets sing at th' oven's mouth. 
 As the blither for their drouth. 
 Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, 
 Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 
 A babe is moidded ; — Be attent, 
 And time that is so briefly spent. 
 With your fine fancies quaintly eche 
 What's dumb in shew. Til plain with sfieef h. 
 {Dumb shew.) 
 
 Enter Pericles and Simonides at <me door, with 
 Attendants ; a Messenger meets tliem, kneels, 
 and fjives Pericles a letter. Pericles sheics it 
 to Simonides; the Lords Jcneel to the former. 
 Then enter 'J'haisa with child, and liYCHOKinA 
 Simonides sheivs his daughter the latter ; she 
 rejoices : she and Pericles take leave of Aer 
 Father, and depart. Then Simonides, ^'c re^ 
 tire. 
 
 Gow. By many a dearn and painful perch, 
 Of Pericles the careful search 
 By the four opposing coignes, 
 Which the world together joins, 
 Is made with all due diligence. 
 That horse, and sail, and high expense, 
 Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre 
 (Fame answering the most strong inquire,) 
 To the court of king Simonides 
 Are letters brought, the tenour these: 
 Antiochus and his daughter's dead; 
 The men of Tyrus, on the head 
 Of Helicanus would set on 
 The crown of Tyre, but he will none: 
 The mutiny there he hastes t'appea.se; 
 Says to them, if king Pericles 
 Come not, in twice six nioons, home. 
 He, obedient to their doom, 
 Will take the crown. The sum of this. 
 Brought hither to Pentapolis, 
 Y-ravished the regions round. 
 And every one with claps, 'gan sound, 
 Our heir apparent is a. king ; 
 Who dream' d., who thought of auch a thing f 
 Brief, he must hence depart to Tyi e : 
 His queen with child makes her desire 
 (Which who shall cross ?) along to go ; 
 (Omit we all their dole and woe ;J 
 Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, 
 
 \ 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 683 
 
 And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 
 
 On N«5ptune's billow ; half the flood 
 
 Hatb their keel cut; bnt fortune's mood 
 
 Varies again; the grizzled north 
 
 Disgorges such a tempest forth, 
 
 'J'liat, as a duck for live that dives. 
 
 So up and down the poor ship drives. 
 
 The lady shrieks, and, well-a near! 
 
 Doth fall in travail with her fear: 
 
 And what ensues in this fell storm. 
 
 Shall, for itself, itsejf perform. 
 
 I nill relate, action may 
 
 Conveniently the rest convey: 
 
 Which rniglit not what by me is told. 
 
 In your imagination hold 
 
 This stage, the ship, upon whose deck 
 
 The sea-tost prince appears to speak. [Exit. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Enter Pericles, on a ship at sea. 
 Per. Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these 
 surges, [hast 
 Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou, that 
 pon the winds command, bind them in brass, 
 aving call'd them from the deep! O, still thy 
 deaf'ning, 
 
 hy dreadful thunders ; gently quench thy nimble, 
 ulphureous flashes ! — O how, Lychorida, 
 ow does my queen ? — Thou storm, thou, veno- 
 mously 
 
 ilt thou spit all thyself? — The seaman's whistle 
 s as a whisper in the ears of death, 
 nheard. — Lychorida ! — Lucina, O 
 ivinest patroness, and midwife, gentle 
 
 0 those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
 board our dancing boat ; make svviit the pangs 
 f my queen's travails ! — Now, Lychorida — 
 
 Enter Lychorida, with an infcQit. 
 
 Lye. Here is a thing 
 Too young for such a place, who, if it had 
 onceit, would die as I am like to do. 
 
 ake in your arms this piece of your dead queen. 
 
 Per. How! iiow, Lychorida, 
 
 Lyc. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the storm. 
 Here s all that is left living of your queen, — 
 A little daua liter; for the sake of it. 
 Be manly, and take comfort. 
 
 Per. O you gods ! 
 
 Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, 
 And suatch them straight away ? W e, here below. 
 Recall not what we give, and therein may 
 Vie honour with yourselves. 
 
 Lyc. Patience, good sir, 
 
 Even for this charge. 
 
 Per. Now, mild may be thy life ! 
 
 For a more blust'rous birth had never babe : 
 Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! 
 For thou'rt the rudeliest welcom'd to this world. 
 That e'er wws prince's child. Happy what follows ! 
 Thou hast as chiding a nativity. 
 As Are, air. water, earth and heaven can make, 
 To herald thee from the womb : even at the first. 
 Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit. 
 With all thou canst find here. — Now the good gods 
 Throw their best eyes upon it! 
 
 Enter two Sailors. 
 
 1 Sail. What courage, sir? God save you. 
 
 Per. Co;irage enough : I do not fear the flaw; 
 It hatli done to me the worst. Yet, for the love 
 Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, 
 
 1 would, it would be quiet. 
 
 1 Sail. Slack the bolins there; thou wilt not, wilt 
 thou '■. Blow, and split ttiyself. 
 
 2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy 
 billow kiss the moon, 1 care not. 
 
 1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard ; the sea 
 works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the 
 «hip be cleared of the dead. 
 
 Per. That's your superstition. 
 
 1 Scdl. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still 
 hath been observed; and we are .strong in trarneat. 
 Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard 
 straight. [queen 1 
 
 Per. Be it as you think meet. — Most wretched 
 Lyc. Here she lies, sir. 
 
 Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dearj 
 No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements 
 Forgot thee utterly; nor have 1 tinie 
 To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 
 Must cast thee, scarcely coiiin'd, in the ooze ; 
 Where, for a monument upon thy bones, 
 And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale, 
 And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse, 
 Lying with simple shells. Lychorida, 
 Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper. 
 My casket and my jewels ; and bid Nicander 
 Bring me the satin cofler: lay the babe 
 Upon the pillow ; hie thee, whiles ' .s:iy 
 A priestly farewell to her: suddeh.y, woman. 
 
 [Exit Lychorida, 
 
 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, 
 caulk'd and bitumed ready. 
 
 Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this? 
 
 2 Sail. We are near 'I'harsus. 
 
 Per. Thither, gentle mariner. 
 Alter thy course for Tyre. When can'st thou reach it? 
 
 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 
 
 Per. O make for Tharsus. 
 There will I visit Cleim, for the babe 
 Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I'll leave it 
 At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner; 
 I'll bring the body presently. [Exeuni, 
 
 Scene H. — Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's House. 
 Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some persons who 
 have been shipwrecked, 
 Cer. Philemon, ho! 
 
 Enter Philemml 
 
 Phil. Doth my lord call? 
 
 Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor nieni 
 It hath been a turbulent and stormy night. 
 
 Serv. I have been in many ; but such a night as 
 Till now, I ne'er endiir'd. [this, 
 
 Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return; 
 There's nothing can be minister'd to nature, 
 Tiiat can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary. 
 And tell nie how it works. [To Philemon,) 
 
 [Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and those whc 
 had been shipivrecked. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Good morrow, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. 
 
 Cer. Gentlemeo, 
 Why do you stir so early ? 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, 
 Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea. 
 Shook as the earth did quake ; 
 'I'he very principals did seem to rend, 
 And all to topple ; pure surprise and fear 
 Made me to quit the house. [early; 
 
 3 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you to 
 'Tis not our husbandry. 
 
 Cer. O, you .say well. 
 
 1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordship 
 having 
 
 Rich tire about you, should at these early hour» 
 Shake off" the golden slumber of repose. 
 It is most strange, 
 
 Nature should be so conversant with paia. 
 Being thereto not compell'd. 
 
 Cer. I held it ever 
 
 Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
 Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs 
 May the two latter darken and expend; 
 But immortality attends the former. 
 Making a man a god. 'Tis known, 1 «ver 
 
684 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Have studied physic, through vshich secret art, 
 Hy turning o'er authorities, I have 
 [Together with my practice,) made familiar 
 To me and to my aid, the blest infusions 
 That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; 
 And I can speak of the disturbances 
 That nature works, and of her cures ; which gives me 
 A more content in course of true delight 
 Than (o be thirsty after tottering honour, 
 C)i tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
 To please the ibol and death. [forth 
 2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd 
 Your charity, and hundreds call tliemselves 
 Your creatures, who oy you have been restor'd : 
 And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even 
 Vour purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon 
 Such strong renovvn as time shall never — 
 
 Enter tivo Servants^ with a chest. 
 
 Serv. So ; lift there. 
 
 Cer. What is that? 
 
 Serv. Sir, even now 
 
 Did tfie sea toss upon our shore this chest; 
 'Tis of some wreck. 
 
 Cer. Set it down, let's look on it. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. 
 
 Cer, Whate'er it be, 
 
 Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight; 
 If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold. 
 It is a goud constraint of fortune, that 
 It belches upon us. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis so, my lord. 
 
 Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd !— 
 Did the sea cast it up ? 
 
 Serv I never saw so huge a billow, sir, 
 As toss d it upon shore. 
 
 Cer. Come, wrench it open ; 
 
 Soft, sntt! — it smells most sweetly in my sense. 
 
 2 dnt. A delicate odour. 
 
 Cer. As ever hit my nostril; so, — up with it. 
 O yon most potent gf)^s ! What's here ? a corse ! 
 
 1 Gent. Most strange ! [trpasur'd 
 Cer. Shrouded in ctoth of state ; balm'd and en- 
 
 W^ith bags of spices full! A passport too! 
 Apollo, perfect me i'the characters I 
 
 ( Unfolds a scroll.) 
 Here I give to understand, {Reads.) 
 
 ilfeer this ccffin drive a land,) 
 \ king Pericles, have lost 
 This queen, worth all our mundane cost 
 W/io finds her, give her burying. 
 She ivas the daughter of a Icing : 
 Besides this treasure for a fee. 
 The guds requite his cjmrity ! 
 it thou liv'st, Pericles, ihou hast a heart, 
 That even cracks for woe ! — This chanc'd to-night. 
 
 2 Gent. Most likely, sir. 
 
 Cer. Nay, certainly to-night; 
 
 For look, how fresh she looks ! — They were too 
 rough, 
 
 That threw her in the sea. Make fire within; 
 Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. 
 Death may usurp on nature many hours, 
 And yet tlie fire of life kindle again 
 The over[)ressed spirits. 1 have heard 
 Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead, 
 By good appliance was re(X)vered. 
 Entt; a Servant, ivith boxes, napkins, and fire. 
 Well said, well said : the fire and the cloths. — 
 The rough and vvoful music that we have, 
 Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. [block ! 
 
 The vial once more; — How thou stirr'st, thou 
 The music tiiere. — I pray you, give her air : — 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 This queen will live : nature awakes; a warmth 
 Breathes our of her; she hath not been entranc'd 
 Above five hours. Sec, how she 'gins to blow 
 Into file's flower again ! 
 
 1 Gent. The heavens, sir, 
 
 Tlirough yon, increase our wonder, and set up 
 
 Your fame for ever. 
 
 Cer. She is alive ; behofd. 
 
 Her eye-lids, cases to those heavenly jeweUl 
 Which Pericles hath lost, 
 Begin to part their fringes of bright gold j 
 The diamonds of a most praised water 
 Appear, to make the world twice rich. O live. 
 And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creatire 
 Rare as you seem to be ! {She tnates^ 
 
 Thai. O dear Diana, 
 
 W^here am I ? Where's my lord ? What world ia 
 
 2 Gent. Is not this strange ? [this? 
 
 1 Gent. Most rare. 
 
 Cer. Hush, gentle neighbours; 
 
 Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber bear her. 
 Get linen; now this matter must be look'd to, 
 For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, come : 
 And iiSsculapius guide us ! 
 
 [Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away. 
 
 Scene III. — Tharsus. A room in aeon's House. 
 Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Lychorida, 
 and Marina. 
 
 Per. Most honour'd CleOn, I mu5;t needs be gone, 
 My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 
 In a litigious peace. You, and your lady, 
 'J'ake from my heart all thankfulness ! The gods 
 Make up the rest upon you ! 
 
 Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt yon 
 mortally, 
 Yet glance full wand'ringly on us. 
 
 Dion, O your sweet queen ! 
 
 That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought 
 
 her hither. 
 To have bless'd mine eyes ! 
 
 Per. We cannot but obey 
 
 The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
 As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
 Must be as 'tis. My babe Marina ( whom. 
 For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so, ) her* 
 I charge your charity withal, and leave her 
 The infant of your care ; beseeching you 
 To give her princely training, that she may be 
 Manner'd as she is born. 
 
 Cle. Fear not, my lord : 
 
 Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, 
 (For which the people's prayers still fall upon 3F0a)k 
 Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
 Should therein make me vile, the common body. 
 By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty : 
 But if to that my nature need a spur, 
 The gods revenge it upon me and mine. 
 To the end of generation ! 
 
 Per. I believe you ; 
 
 Your honour and your goodness teach me crediL 
 W ithout your vows. Till she be married, madam. 
 By bright Diana, whom we honour all, 
 Unscissor'd shall this hair of mine remain. 
 Though I shew will in't. So I take my leave. 
 Good n>adam, make me blessed in your care 
 In bringing up my child. 
 
 Dion. I have one myself. 
 
 Who shall not be more dear to my respect. 
 Than yours, my lord. 
 
 Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 
 
 Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge 
 o'the shore ; 
 Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and 
 The gentlest winds of heaven. 
 
 Per. I will embrace 
 
 Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. — O, no tears, 
 Lychorida, no tears : 
 
 Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
 You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene IV. — Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. 
 Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewe^ 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 II Lay with you in yotir cnfTer: which are now 
 At yonr command. Know jou the character ? 
 
 T/iai. It is toy lord's. 
 That I was shij'p'd at sea, I well remember, 
 Even on my yeariiin« time ; but whether there 
 Delivered or no, by th^ holy gods, 
 I cannot rightly say: But since king Pericles, 
 
 |i My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, 
 
 i A vestal li\ ery will I take me to, 
 And never more have joy. 
 
 I Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, 
 Diana's temj.le is not distant far, 
 Where yon may 'bide until your date expire. 
 
 I Moreover, if yon please, a niece of mine 
 Shall there atiend you. 
 
 j Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all ; 
 
 I Yet aiy good will is great, though the gift small. 
 
 [ExeurJ. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 Enter GoWER. 
 Gower. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, 
 Welcomed to h'S own desire. 
 His woful queen leave at Ephess, 
 To Dian there a votaress. 
 Now to Marirrj bend your mind, 
 Whom our fast growing scene must find 
 At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd 
 In music, letters ; who hath gain'd 
 Of education all the grace, 
 Which makes her both the heart and place 
 Of general wonder. But alack ! 
 'J'hat monster envy, of the wrack 
 Of earned praise, Marina's life 
 Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
 And in this kind hath our Cleon 
 One daughter, and a wench full grown. 
 Even ripe for marriage fight; this maid 
 Hight Philoten : and it is said 
 For certain in our story, she 
 Would ever with Marina be ; 
 lie't when she weav'd the sleided silk 
 With fingers long, small, white as milk ; 
 Or when she would with sharp neeld vvoxmd 
 The cambric, which she made more sound 
 By hurting it ; or when to the lute 
 She suug^, and made the night-bird mute, 
 That still records with moan; or when 
 She would with rich and constant pen 
 Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 
 'J'his Philoten contends in skill 
 With absolute M-arina : so 
 With the dove of Paphos might the crow 
 Vie feathers white. Marina gets 
 All praises, which are paid as debts, 
 And not as given. This so darks 
 In Philote-n all graceful marks, 
 That Cleon's wile, with envy rare, 
 A present murderer does prepare 
 For good Marina, that her daughter 
 Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 
 The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 
 Liychorida, our nurse, is dead; 
 And cursed Dionyza hath 
 The pregnant instrument of wrath 
 Prest for this blow. The unborn event 
 I do commend to your content: 
 Only I carry winged time 
 Post on the lame I'eet of my rhyme ; 
 Which never could I so convey. 
 Unless your thoughts went on my way. — 
 Dionyisa does appear. 
 
 With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit 
 Scene I. — Tharsus. An open Place ^ near t/u 
 Sea -shore. 
 Enter Dionyza and Leonine. 
 Dion» Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn t( 
 doit: 
 
 Tis hut a blow which never shall be known. 
 
 am 
 
 Thou canst not do a thing i'the world so soon, 
 To yield thee so much prcifit. Let not consci''^>^i«, 
 Which is but cold, infiame love in thy bosct»>. 
 Inflame too nicely ; nor lei pity, which 
 Even women have cast olf, melt thee, buf. 
 A soldier to thy purpose. 
 
 Leon. I'll do't; but yet she is a govd'y cri-aliir* 
 Dion. The fitter then the gods slyj^A have h^ 
 Here 
 
 Weeping she comes for her old nurv >J death. 
 Thou art resolv'd ? 
 
 Leon. I am resolvV^ 
 
 Enter Marina, with a baslrjf cf flowers. 
 Mar. No, no, 1 will rob Telluy of her weed, 
 To strew thy green with llowem /^he yellows, bluer 
 The puri)le violets, and marigifVa, 
 Shall, as a chaplet, hang upo^ thy grave. 
 While summer days do last. Ph me ! poor maid. 
 Born in a tempest, when wr raother died. 
 This world to me is like a /j'iting storm, 
 Whirring me from my frif aJs. 
 
 Dion. Hownow,Marii!?.i! why doyou keep alomj"; 
 How chance my daught.^/Ls not with you ? Do not 
 Consume your blood v J!i sorrowing : you iiave 
 A nurse ot me. Lord ! how your favour's ciiang'rf> 
 With this unprofitabJ:! woe ! Come, come ; 
 Give me your wreat'i of flowers, ere the sea mar iX 
 Walk forth with l/icnine ; the air is quick there, 
 Piercing, and sharpens well tiie stomacli. Come; — 
 Leonine, take her' uy the arm, vvalk with her. 
 
 Mar. No, I Y-{"*y y^^" ; 
 
 I'll not bereavu /ju of your servant. 
 • Dion. Come, conic; 
 
 I love the kinu your father, and yourself. 
 With more tVjrti foreign heart. We every day 
 Expect hiir he/e : when he shall come and find 
 Our paragon to all reports, thus blasted, 
 He will rG:^.^nt the breadth of his great voyage; 
 Blame bot i my lord and me, that we have ta'en 
 No car* ^,o your best courses. Go, I pray you, 
 Walk^ Jifld be cheerful once again ; reserve 
 Thater.celleiit complexion, which did steal 
 'i'he &yes of young and old. Care not for me ; 
 I c arj go home alone. 
 
 A/jT. ' Well, I will go; 
 
 Bjt yet I have no desire to it. 
 
 Dion. Come, come , I know 'tis good for you. 
 Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least; 
 Kemember what I have said, 
 
 Leon. / warrant you, madam, 
 
 Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a whiU; 
 Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood ; 
 What ! I must have a care of you. 
 
 Mar. Thanks, sweet madam. — 
 
 [Exit Dionysa. 
 
 Is this wind westerly that blows ? 
 
 Leon. South-west. 
 
 Mar. When I was born, the wind was north. 
 
 Leon. Was't so ? 
 
 Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, 
 But cry'd, good seamen ! to the sailors, galling 
 His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes ; 
 And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea 
 'J'hat almost burst the deck, and from the ladder- 
 tackle 
 
 Wash'd off' a canvass-climber : Ha! says one. 
 Wilt out / and, with a dropping industry, 
 They skip from stem to stern : the boatswaia 
 whistles. 
 
 The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 
 
 Leon. And vviien was this ? 
 
 Mar. It was, when I was bom • 
 
 Never was waves nor wind more violent. 
 
 Leon. Come, say your prayers speedily. 
 
 Mar. What mean you ? 
 
 Leon. If you require a little space for prayer 
 I grant it : Pray ; but be not tedious. 
 For the gods are quick of ear and 1 am avfon 
 To do my work with haste. 
 
PERICLES, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Mar. Why will you kill me ? 
 
 Leon To satisfy my lady. 
 
 Mar. Why would she have me kill'd ? 
 Now, as 1 can remember, by my troth, 
 \ never did lier hurt in all my life; 
 I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn 
 To any living creature : believe me, la, 
 I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : 
 I trod upon a worm against my will, 
 lint I wept for it. How have I offended. 
 Wherein my death might yield her profit, or 
 My life imply her danger? 
 
 Leon. My commission 
 
 Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 
 
 Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope. 
 Yoii are well favour'd, and your looks foreshew 
 You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, 
 When you caught hurt in parting two that fought : 
 Good sooth, it shewd well in you; do so now: 
 Your lady seeks my life; come you between. 
 And save poor me, the weaker. 
 
 Leofi. I am sworn, 
 
 And will despatch. 
 
 Enter Pirates, whilst Marina is struggling. 
 
 1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! {Leonine runs awat/.) 
 
 2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize I 
 
 3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's 
 have her aboard suddenly. 
 
 [Exeunt Pirates with Marina. 
 
 Scene IT. — The same. 
 Re-enter Leonine. 
 Leon. These roving thieves serve the great pi- 
 rate V^aldes ; 
 And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go : 
 There's no hope she'll return. I'll swear she's dead, 
 And thrown into the sea. — But 111 see further; 
 Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, 
 Not carry her abroad. If she remain, 
 Whom they have ravish'd, must by me be slain. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — Mytilene. A Room in a Brothel. 
 Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 
 Pand. Boult. 
 Buult. Sir. 
 
 Pand. Search the market narrowly ; Mytilene is 
 full of gallants. We lost too much money this 
 mart, by being too wenchless. 
 
 Bawd. We were never so much out of creatures. 
 We have but poor three, and they can do no more 
 than they can do; and with continual action are 
 even as good as rotten. 
 
 Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er 
 we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to 
 be us d in every trade, we shall never prosper. 
 
 Bawd. Thou say'st true ; 'tis not the bringing up 
 of poor bastards, as I think I have brought up 
 oome eleven — 
 
 Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down 
 again. But ^hall I search the market ? 
 
 Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have, a 
 strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so piti- 
 fully sodden. 
 
 Pand. Than say'st true ; they are too unwhole- 
 some, o'conscience. The poor Transilvanian is dead, 
 that Ihv with the little baggage. 
 
 Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him; she made 
 him roast-meat for worms : — but I'll go search the 
 market [Exit. 
 
 Pand. Three or four thousands chequins were as 
 pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. 
 
 Bated. VVliy, to give over, I pray you >* is it, a 
 shame to get when we are old ? 
 
 Pand. O, our credit conies not in like the com- 
 modity ; nor the commodity wages not with the 
 danger; therel'ore, if in our youths we could pick 
 ap 8on[»e pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our 
 door hatcti'd. Besides, the sore terms we stand 
 
 wpon with the gods, will be strong with us for pv« 
 ing over. 
 
 Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 
 
 Pand. As well as we? ay, and better too; w« 
 o'^end worse. Neither is our profession any trade; 
 —it's no calling : — but here comes Boult. 
 
 Enter the Pirates and BoULT, dragging in 
 Marina. 
 
 Boult. Come your ways. ( To Marina.) — My 
 masters, you say she's a virgin? 
 
 1 Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not. 
 
 Boult. Master, I have gone thorough for this 
 piece, you see : if you like her, so ; if not, I have 
 lost my earnest. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities ? 
 
 Boidt. She has a good face, speaks well, and has 
 excellent good clothes ; there's no further necessity 
 of qualities can make her be refused. 
 
 Bawd. What's her price, Boult? [pieces. 
 
 Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand 
 
 Pand. Well, follow me, my masters; you shall 
 have your money presently. Wife, take her in; 
 instruct her what she has to do, that she may not 
 be raw in her entertainment. 
 
 [Exeunt Pander and Pirates, 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her; the 
 colour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with 
 warrant of her virginity ; and cry, He that will give 
 most., shall have her first. Such a maidenhead were 
 no cheap thing, if men were as they have been. 
 Get this done as I command you. 
 
 Boult. Performance shall follow. [ExiL 
 
 Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow! 
 (He should have struck, not spoke ; ) or that these 
 pirates, 
 
 (Not enough barbarous,) had not overboard 
 Thrown me to seek my mother! 
 
 Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one ? 
 
 Mar. That I am pretty. [you. 
 
 Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part ia 
 
 Mar. I accuse them not. 
 
 Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you are 
 like to live. 
 
 Mar. The more my fault 
 To 'scape his hands, where I was like to die. 
 
 Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 
 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Bawd. Yes, indeed, shall you, and taste gentle- 
 men of all fashions. If ou shall fare well ; you shall 
 have the difference of all complexions. What ! do 
 you stop your ears ? 
 
 Mar. Are you a woman ? 
 
 Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be not 
 
 a woman? 
 
 Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 
 
 Bawd. Marry, whip thee, gosling : I think 1 shall 
 have something to do with you. Come you are a 
 young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I 
 would have you. 
 
 Mar. The gods defend me! 
 
 Bawd. If it pli»-^e the gods to defend you by 
 men, then men must comfort you, men must feei 
 you, men must st/r you up. — Boult's returned. 
 
 Enter Boult. 
 Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market ? 
 
 Boult. I have cried her almost to the number o( 
 her hairs ; \ have drawn her picture with my voice 
 
 Bawd. And I pr'ythee tell me, how dost thou 
 find the inclination of the people, especially of the 
 younger sort ? 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me, as they would 
 have hearkened to their father's testament. There 
 was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went 
 to bed to her very description. 
 
 Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with 
 his best rulf on. 
 
 Boult. To-night, to-night. But, tnistress, do yOQl 
 know the French knight that cower i'the hamsr 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 PRINCE 
 
 OF TYRE. 
 
 687 
 
 Bawd, Who? monsieur Veioles ? 
 
 JBoult, Ay ; he offered to cut a caper at the pro- 
 cloniatioa; but he made a groan at it, and swore he 
 would see her to-morrow. 
 
 Bated. Well, well ; as for him, he hrought his 
 disease hither: here he does but repair it. 1 know, 
 he will coaie in our shadow, to scatter his crowns 
 in the sun. 
 
 Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a tra- 
 veller, we should lodge them with this sign. 
 
 Baivd, Pray you, come hither awhile. Yon have 
 fortunes coming upon you. Mark me ; you must 
 seem to do that fearfully, which you commit wil- 
 lingly ; to despise profit, where you have most gain. 
 To weep that you live as you do, makes pity in your 
 lovers. Seldom, but that pity begets you a good 
 opinion, and that opinion a mere profit. 
 
 Mar. I understand you not. 
 
 Boult, O, take her home, mistress, take her 
 home : these blushes of hers must be quenched 
 with some present practice. 
 
 Baud. Thou say'st true, i'faith, so they must : 
 for your bride goes to that with shame, which is . 
 her way to go with warrant. 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, 
 mistress, if 1 have bargain'd for the joint, — 
 
 Bav:d. Thou may'st cut a morsel oft" the spit. 
 
 Boiilt. I may so. 
 
 Bau d. Who should deny it ? Come, young one, 
 I like the manner of your garments well. [yet. 
 Botdt. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed 
 Baiud. Boult, spend thou that in the town : re- 
 
 Eort wl.ata sojourner we have; you'll lose nothing 
 y custom. \Vhen nature framed this piece, she 
 meant ihee a good turn : therefore say what a para- 
 gon she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine 
 own report. 
 
 Boult, 1 warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not 
 80 awake the beds of eels, as my giving out her 
 beauty stir up the lewdly-inclined. Til bring home 
 some to-night 
 
 Bau d. Come your ways ; follow me. 
 
 Mar, If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, 
 Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 
 Diana, aid my purpose ! 
 
 Ban d. What have we to do with Diana ? Pray 
 you, wJl you go with us? [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Tharsus, A Room in aeon's House, 
 Enter Cleon and Dionyza. 
 
 Dion, Why, are you foolish ? Can it be undone ? 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter. 
 The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon ! 
 
 Dion, I think 
 
 You'll turn a child again. 
 
 Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious world, 
 I'd give it to undo the deed. O lady. 
 Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
 To equal any siajle crown o'the earth, 
 ['the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine, 
 Whom thou hast poison'd too ! 
 If thou hadst drunk to him, it had been a kindness 
 Becoming well thy feat: what canst thou say. 
 When noble Pericles shall demand his child ? 
 
 Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates. 
 To foster it, nor ever to preserve. 
 She died by night: I'll say so. Who can cross it? 
 Unless you play the impious innocent. 
 And for an honest attribute, cry out, 
 Slie died by foul play. 
 
 Cle. O, goto. Well, well. 
 
 Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
 Do like this worst. 
 
 Dion. Be one of those, that think 
 
 The petty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence. 
 And open this to Pericles. 1 do shame 
 To think of what a noble strain you are. 
 And of how cow'd a spirit. 
 
 Cle. To such proceeding 
 
 Who ever but his approbation added. 
 
 Though not his pre-consent, he did col flow 
 From honourable courses. 
 
 Dion. Be it so then: 
 
 Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead. 
 Nor none can know, Leonjne being gone. 
 She did disdain my cliild, and stood between 
 Her and her fortunes: None would look on her. 
 But cast their gazes on Marina's face ; ' 
 Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin, 
 Not worth the time of day. it pierced nie thorough 1 
 And though you call my course unnatural. 
 You not your child well loving, yet I find. 
 It greets me, as an enterprise of kindness, 
 Perforni'd to your sole daughter, 
 
 (^l<i' Heavens forgive it! 
 
 Dion. And as for Pericles, 
 What should he say? We wept after her hearse, 
 And even yet we mourn : her monument 
 Is almost fi'nish'd, and her epitaphs 
 In glittering golden characters express 
 A general praise to her, and care in us 
 At whose expense 'tis done. 
 
 Cle. Thou art like the liarpy. 
 
 Which, to betray, doth wear an angel's face. 
 Seize with an eagle's talons. 
 
 Dion. You are like one, that superstitiously 
 Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies; 
 But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Exeunt, 
 
 Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina 
 at Tharsus. 
 Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest league! 
 make short; 
 Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for't; 
 Making, (to take your imagination,) 
 From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
 By you being pardon'd, we commit no ciime 
 To use one language, in each several clime, 
 Where our scenes seem to live. 1 do beseech yoa. 
 To learn of me, who stand i'the gaps to leach yoQ 
 The st<igps of our story. Pericles 
 Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, 
 (Attended on by many a lord and knight,) 
 To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
 Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late 
 Advanc'd in time to great and high estate. 
 Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, 
 Old Helicanus goes along behind. [brought 
 Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have 
 This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought ; 
 So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,) 
 To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. 
 Like motes and shadows see them move awhile; 
 Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile. 
 
 {Dumb shew.) 
 
 Enter at one door, Pericles with his Tram, 
 Cleon and Dionyza at the other. Cleon shew* 
 Pericles the tomb of Marina; whereat Pericl&s 
 makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a 
 mighty passion departs. Then Cleon cLnd 
 Dionyza retire. 
 
 Gow. See how belief may snffer by foul shew! 
 This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe; 
 And Pericles, lu sorrow all devour'd, 
 With sighs shot throUj^h, and biggest tears o'er- 
 shower'd. 
 
 Leaves Tharsus, and again barks. He swesTB 
 Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs ; 
 He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
 A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, 
 And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
 The epitaph is for Marina writ 
 By wicked Dionyza. 
 
 {Reads the inscription on Marina's monnmenf.) 
 The fairest, sweefst, and best, lies here, 
 Who wither' d in her spring of year. 
 She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter, 
 On whom foul death haUi made this slaughter: 
 Marina was she called; and at her birth^ 
 
PERICLES, 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 Thetis, being proud, s wallow' d some part oHhe 
 earth : 
 
 Therefore the earth fearing to he o'erflowd. 
 Hath Thetis' hirth- child on the heavens bestow'' d: 
 Wherefore she does, ( and swears she'll never 
 stint,) 
 
 Make raging battery upon shores of flint. 
 
 No visor does become black villany, 
 
 So well as soft and tender flattery. 
 
 Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, 
 
 And beaphis courses to be ordered 
 
 By lady fortune ; while our scenes display 
 
 His daughter's woe, and heavy well-a-day, 
 
 [n her unholy service. Patience then. 
 
 And think you now are all in Mitylen. [ Exit. 
 
 Scene V. — Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. 
 Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as 
 this, she being once gone. 
 
 1 Gent. But to have divinity preached there ! did 
 you ever dream of such a thing? 
 
 2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy- 
 feoiises: Shall we go hear the vestals sing? 
 
 1 Gent. I'll do^any thing now that is virtuous; but 
 T=am out of the road of rutting, for ever. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — The same. A Room in the Brothel. 
 Enter Pander, Batvd, and BouLT. 
 
 Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth 
 of her, she had ne'er come here. 
 
 Batvd. Fy, fy upon her ; she is able to freeze the 
 god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We 
 must either get her ravished, or be rid of her. 
 When she should do for clients her fitment, and do 
 me the kindness of our profession, she has me her 
 quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers, 
 her knees ; that slie would make a puritan of the 
 devil, if he should clieapen a kiss of her. 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, 1 must ravish her, or she'll dis- 
 furnisli us of all our cavaliers, and make all our 
 swearers |)riests. [me! 
 
 Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for 
 
 Bawd. 'Faith, tiiere's no way to be rid on't, but 
 by the way to the pux. iiere comes the lord Lysi- 
 Vnachus, disguised. 
 
 Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the 
 peevish baggage would but give way to customers. 
 
 Eiiter Lv'siMACHUs. 
 
 Lys. How now ? How a dozen of virginities ? 
 
 Bated. Now, the gods to bless your lionourl 
 
 Boult. I arti glad to si e your iiouour in good health. 
 s. You uiay so; "tis the better for you that 
 your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, 
 wholesome iniquity '( Have you that a man may deal 
 withal, and dei'y the surgeon? 
 
 Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would — but 
 there never came her like in Mitylene. 
 
 Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou 
 would'st say. [enough. 
 
 Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, well 
 
 Lys. Well ; call forth, call forth. 
 
 Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, 
 yuu shall see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed, 
 if she had but — 
 
 Lys. What, pr'ythee ? 
 
 Boult. O, sir, I can be modest. 
 
 hys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less 
 than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 
 
 Enter Marina. 
 Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the 
 talk ; — never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is 
 she not a fair creature ? 
 
 Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage 
 At sea. Well, there's for you ; — leave us. 
 
 bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave : a 
 nrard, and I'll have done presently. 
 
 Lys. I beseech you, do. 
 
 Bawd. First, 1 would have you note, this is aa 
 honourable man. (7"o Mar. whom she takes aside.) 
 
 Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily 
 note him. 
 
 Bawd. Next, he's the governor of this country, 
 and a man whom I am bound to. 
 
 Mar. If he govern this country, you are bound 
 to him indeed ; but how honourable he is in that, I 
 know not. 
 
 Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virgina\ 
 fencing, will you use him kindly? he will line you» 
 apron with gold. 
 
 Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thank- 
 fully receive. 
 
 Lys. Have you done ? \ 
 
 Bawd. My lord, slie's not paced yet; you must 
 take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, 
 we will leave his honour and her together. 
 
 [Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult 
 
 Lys. Go thy ways. — Now, pretty one, how long 
 have you been at this trade ? 
 
 Mar. What trade, sir? 
 
 Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. 
 
 Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please 
 you to name it. 
 
 Lys. How long have you been of this profession •* 
 
 Mar. Ever since I can remember. 
 
 Lys. Did you go to it so young? Were you a 
 gamester at five, or at seven ? 
 
 Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 
 
 Lys. Why, the house you dwell in, proclaims yju 
 to be a creature of sale. 
 
 Mar. Do you know this house to be a plr^ce of such 
 resort, and will come into it? I hear say, you are of 
 honourable parts, and are the governor of tliis place. 
 
 Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto 
 you who I am ? 
 
 Mar. Who is my principal ? 
 
 Lys. Why, your herb-woman ; she that sets seeds 
 and roots of shame and iniq'-iity. O, you have heard 
 sometliing of my power, and so stand aloof for more 
 i serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, 
 : my authority shall not see thee, or else, look friendly 
 npon thee. Come, bring me to some private place^ 
 : Come, come. 
 
 I Mar. If you were born to honour, shew it now; 
 If put npon you, make tlie judgment good 
 That thought you worthy of it. 
 
 Lys. How's this? how's this? — Some more ;— 
 
 be sage. » 
 Mar. For me, 
 That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
 Has plac'd me here within this loathsome stye, • 
 Where, since 1 came, diseases have been sold 
 Dearer than physic, — O that the good gods 
 Woidd set me tree from this unliallovv'd place, 
 Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
 That flies i' the purer air! 
 
 Lys. I did not think 
 
 Thou could'st have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd 
 
 thou could'st. 
 Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, 
 Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold forthe®: 
 Persever still in that clear way thou goest, 
 And the gods strengthen thee ! 
 
 I Mar. The gods preserve you ! 
 
 I Lys. For me, be you thoughtea 
 
 That I came with no ill intent ; for to me 
 The very doors and windows savour vilely. 
 Farewell. Thou art a peace of virtue, and 
 I doubt not but thy training hath been nt.ble.— 
 Hold ; here's more gold for thee. — 
 A curse upon him, die he like a thief, [me. 
 That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou hear'st from 
 It shall be for thy good. 
 
 i {As Lysimachus is putting «^ kis pur»§, 
 
 ' Boult enters.) 
 
 I Boult, I beseech vour honour, one piece for me. 
 
Act "V. Scene 1. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 Ljfg, Avaimt, thor damned door-keeper! Your 
 bo'iee, 
 
 But for this virgin that doth prop it up, 
 Would sink, and overwhelm you all. Away ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Boult. How's this ? We must take another course j 
 with yon. If your peevish chastity, which is not ! 
 wortl^ a breakfast in the cheapest country under the 
 cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be geld- 
 ed like a spaniel. Come your ways. 
 
 Mar^ Whither would you have me? 
 
 Boult. 1 must have your maidenhead taken off, 
 or the common hangman shall execute it. Come 
 your way We'll have no more gentlemen driven 
 away. Come your ways, I say. 
 
 Re enter Bawd, 
 Bawd. How now ! What's the matter? 
 Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; she has here 
 spoken holy words to tfie lord Lysimachus. 
 Bawd. O abominable ! 
 
 Boult. She makes our profession as it were to 
 stink, afore the face of the gods. 
 
 Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever ! 
 
 Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her 
 like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a 
 enow-ball ; saying his prayers too. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take her away ; use her at thy 
 pleasure : crack the glass of her virginity, and make 
 the rest malleable. 
 
 Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
 than she is, she shall be ploughed. 
 
 Mar. Hark, hark, you gods ! 
 
 Bawd. She conjures: away with her. Would 
 she had never come within my doors ! Marry hang 
 you ! She's born to undo us. Will you not go the 
 way of women-kind ? Marry come up, my dish of 
 chustity with rosemary and bays! [Exit. 
 
 Boult. Corae, mistress: come your way with me. 
 
 Mar. Whither would you have me ? [dear. 
 
 Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so 
 
 Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first 
 
 B(mlt. Come now, your one thing. 
 
 Mar. What canst tJiou wish thme enemy to be? 
 
 Boidt. Why^ I could wish him to be my master, 
 or rather tny mistress. 
 
 Mar. Neitlier of these are yet so bad as thou art, 
 Since they do better thee in their command. 
 Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained st fiend 
 Of hell would not in repi^ation change : 
 Thon'rt the damn'd doorkeeper to every coystrel 
 That hither comes enquiring for his tib ; 
 To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear 
 Is liable : thy very fdod is stich 
 As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 
 
 Boult. What would you have me ? go to the wars. 
 Would you? where a man may serve seven years 
 for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough ioi 
 the end to buy him a wooden one ? 
 
 Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty 
 Old receptacles, common sewers, of filth ; 
 Serve by indenture to the common hanguian; 
 Any of these ways are better yet than this ; 
 For that which thou professest, a baboon. 
 Could he bat speak, would own a name too dear. 
 
 0 that the gods would safely from this place 
 Deliver me ! Here, here is gold for thee. 
 If that thy niAster would gain aught by me. 
 Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance. 
 With other virtues, which I'll kee4) from boast ; 
 And I will undertake all these to teach. 
 
 1 doubt not but this populous city will 
 Vield manv scholars. 
 
 Boult. But can you teach all tliis you speak of? 
 
 Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home agaio, 
 And prostitute me to the basest groom 
 That doth frequent your house. 
 
 Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for thee : 
 if I can place thee, \ will. 
 
 Mar. But, amongst honest women ? 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little among.it 
 them. But since my master and mistress have 
 bought you, there's no going but by Jieir consent; 
 therefore I will make them acquainted with you< 
 purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find theoi 
 tractable enough. Come, I'll do for thee what e 
 can ; come your ways. \Esitwii* 
 ACT V. 
 Enter Gower. 
 Goto. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, f nd chaoo«t 
 Into an honest house, our story says. 
 She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
 As goddess-like to her admired lays: 
 Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld cm- 
 poses 
 
 Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry; 
 That even her art sisters the natural roses , 
 Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry : 
 That pupils lacks she none of noble race. 
 Who pour their bounty on her ; and her gain 
 She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place j 
 And to her father turn our thought again, 
 Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost; 
 Whence, driven before the winds, he is arriv d 
 Here where his daughter dwells ; and on this coast 
 Suppose him now at anchor. The city stnv'd 
 God Neptune's annual feast to keep : from whence 
 Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies. 
 His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense; 
 And to him in his barge with fervour hies. 
 In your supposing once more put your sight; 
 Of heavy Pericles think this the bark : 
 Where, what is done in action, more, if might. 
 Shall be discover'd ; please you, sit and hark. [Exit 
 
 Scene \.—0n board Pericle.^' Ship, off Mitulene. 
 A clost pavilion on deck, with a curtain be/art 
 it ; Pericles within it, reclining on a couch. A 
 bayqe lying beside the Tyrian vessel. 
 Enter iwo Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian 
 vessel, the other to the barge : to them H elicanuS. 
 Tyr. Sail. Where is the lord Helican. s ? he caa 
 resolve you. ( To the Sailor of Mitylem ) 
 
 0 here he is. — 
 
 Sir, there's a barge put off from Mitylene ; 
 And in it is Lysimachus the gov ernor, 
 Who craves to come aboaid. What is your will? 
 Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentlemen, 
 Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 1 Gent. Doth your lordship call ? 
 Hel. Gentlemen, fyou, 
 There is some of worth would come aboard : 1 pray 
 To greet them fairly. 
 
 ( The Gentlemen and the two Sailors dexeendy 
 and go on board the barge.) 
 
 Enter, from thence., Lysimachus and Lords ; the 
 Tyrian Gentlemen, and the two Sailorg. 
 Tyr. Sail. Sir, 
 This is the man that can, in aught you would. 
 Resolve you. 
 
 Lys. Hail, reverend sir! The gods preserve foa) 
 Hel. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am, 
 And die as I would do. 
 
 Lys. Yon wish me well. 
 
 Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumpk% 
 Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 
 
 1 made to it, to know of whence you are, 
 Hel. First, sir, what is your place? 
 Lys. I am governor of this plac e you lie before. 
 Hel. Sir, 
 
 Our vessel is of Tyre, in it tht king ; 
 A man, who for this three months hath not spoken 
 To any one, nor taken sustenance, 
 But to prorogue his griel. 
 
 Ly9. Upon what ground is his distemneratuiw P 
 Uil. t^r, it would be too tedious* to i^peat ; 
 
 kk 
 
€90 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act V. 
 
 But the main grief of all springs from th« loss 
 Of a beioved daughter and a wife. 
 
 Lys. May we not see him, then ? 
 
 if^L You may indeed, sir. 
 
 Bu-t bootless is your sight : he will not speak. 
 To any. 
 
 IdVi. Yet, let me obtain mjf wish, 
 Hel, Behold him, sir: {PHricles disvovered.){h\% 
 was a goodly person. 
 Till the disaster, that, one mortal night, 
 8)rove him to this. 
 Lys. Sir, king, all hail I the gods preserve you ! 
 Hail, 
 
 Hail, royal sir! 
 
 Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to yoa. 
 
 J Lord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene, I durst 
 
 wager, 
 
 Would win some words of him. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis well bethought. 
 
 She, questionless, with her sweet harmony 
 And other choice attractions, would allure, 
 And make a battery through his deafen'd parts. 
 Which now are midway stopp'd : 
 She, all as happy as of all the fairest. 
 Is, with her fellow maidens, now within 
 The leafy shelter, that abuts against 
 The island's side. 
 
 {He whispers one of the attendant Lords.) 
 
 [Exit Lord, in the barge of Lysimackus. 
 Hel. Sure, all's effectless ; yet nothing we'll 
 
 omit [ness 
 rhat bears recovery's name. But, since your kind- 
 We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you 
 
 further. 
 
 That for our gold we may provision have, 
 Wherein we are not destitute for want. 
 But weary for the staleness. 
 
 Lys. O, sir, a courf^sy. 
 
 Which if we should deny, the most just God 
 ff'or every grati' would send a caterpillar. 
 And so inflict our province. — Yet once more 
 Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
 Of your king's sorrow. 
 
 Hel. Sit, sir, I will ret?ountit; — 
 But see, I am prevented. 
 
 Enter, from the barge, Lord, Marina, anld a 
 young Lady. 
 Lys. O, here is 
 
 The lady that T sent for. Welcome, fair one !— 
 Is't not a goodly presence ? 
 
 Hel. A gallant lady. 
 
 Lys. She's such, that were I well assur'd she 
 came 
 
 Of gentle kintl, and noble stock, I'd wish 
 No better choice, and think me rarely wed.— 
 Jair one, ail goodness that consists in bounty 
 Expect even here, where is a kingly patient: 
 If that thy prosperous-artificial feat 
 Can draw laim but to answer thee in aught. 
 Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
 As thy desires can wish. 
 
 Mar. Sir, I will use 
 
 My utmost skill in hus recovery. 
 Provided none but I and my companion 
 Be suffer'd to come neai him. 
 
 Lys. Come, let us leave her, 
 
 And the gods make her prosperous : 
 
 {Marina sings.) 
 
 Lys. Mark'd he your music : 
 
 Mar» No, vxm look'd on us. 
 
 Lys. See, she will speak to him. 
 
 mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear : — 
 
 /•er. Hum!ha! 
 
 Aierr. l am a maid. 
 
 My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes. 
 But have been gaz'd on. comet-like : she speaks, 
 Mjr lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief 
 Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
 though wayward fortune did malign my stacc, 
 
 Mv derivation was from ancestors 
 
 Who stood equivalent with mighty ki^^gus 
 
 But time hath rooted out my parentage, 
 
 And to the world and awkward casualties 
 
 Bound me in servitude. — I will desist ; 
 
 But there is something glows upon my cht«k, 
 
 And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speai, 
 
 (Asitii ) 
 
 Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parentage— 
 To equal mine! — was it not thus? what SE;y yoa'* 
 
 Mar. I said, ray lord, if you did know niy p«k 
 rentage. 
 You would not do me violence. 
 
 Per. I do think «a 
 
 I^ray you, turn yoar eyes again upon me. — 
 Y ou are like something that — What count7y-i»* 
 Here of these shores ? [man? 
 
 Mar. No, nor of any shores : 
 
 Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am 
 No other than I appear. 
 
 Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver 
 weeping. 
 
 My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one 
 My daughter might have been : my queen's square 
 brows ; 
 
 Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight ; 
 As silver-voic'd ; her eyes as jewel-like, 
 And cas'd as richly : in pace another Juno ; 
 Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them 
 hungry, [live? 
 The more •she gives them speech. — Where do you 
 
 Mar. Wliere I am but a stranger: from the deck 
 You may discern the plare. 
 
 Per. Where were you bred? 
 
 Aiid how achiev'd you these endowments, which 
 You make more rich to owe ? 
 
 Mar. Should I tell my history, 
 
 'Twouidseem like lies disdain'd in the reporting. 
 
 Per. Pr'ythee speak ; 
 Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st 
 Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palrice 
 For the crown'd truth to dwell in : I'll bielieve tliee, 
 And make my senses credit ttiy relation. 
 To points that seem impossible ; for thou look'st 
 Like one 1 lov'd indeed. What were thy fritnds? 
 Didst thou not say, when I did push tii«'e fc ack, 
 rVVhich was when I perceiv d thee,) that thou cam's4 
 From good descending ? 
 
 Mar. So indeed I did. 
 
 Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st 
 Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
 And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine, 
 If both were open'd ? 
 
 Mar. Some such thing indeed 
 
 I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
 Did warrant me was likely. 
 
 Per. Tell thy story ; 
 
 If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part 
 Of my endurance, thou art a man, and i 
 Have suffer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
 Like Patience, gazing on kings' graves, and smiling 
 Extremity out of act. What were thy friends ? 
 How lost thou them? Thy uame, my most kind 
 virgin ? 
 
 Recount, I do beseech thee : come, sit by me. 
 
 Mar. My name, sir, is Marina. 
 
 Per. O, I am mock'd. 
 
 And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
 To make the world laugh at me. 
 
 Mar. Patience, £Ood Ri; 
 
 Or here I'll -cease. 
 
 Per. Nay, I'll be patient ; 
 
 Thou little know'st how thou dost startl* me* 
 To call thyself Marina. 
 
 Mar. The name Marina, 
 
 Was given me by one that had some power ; 
 My father, and a king. 
 
 Per. How I a king's daughiw f 
 
 And call'd Marina ? 
 
 Mar. You said you would beiieTe iw 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 691 
 
 flut, uot to be a Iroiibler of your peace, 
 I will end herf . 
 
 Per. But are you flesh and bloud ? 
 
 Have yon a working pulse? and are no fairy? 
 No motion ? — Well • speak, on. Wbere were you 
 And wherefore call'a Mariaa ? [born ? 
 
 Mar, Call'd Marina, 
 
 For I was boru at sea. 
 
 Per. At sea ! thy mother? 
 
 Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king; 
 Who died the very minute I was born, 
 As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft 
 Dcliver'd weeping. 
 
 Per. O, stop there a little ! 
 
 This is the rarest dieam that e'er dull sleep 
 Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be. 
 My daughter's buried. {Aside.) Well: — where 
 
 were you bred ? 
 I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, 
 And never interrupt you. [give o'er. 
 
 Mar. You'll scarce believe me: 'twere best I did 
 
 Per. I will believe you by t-he syllable 
 Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave : — 
 How came you in these parts ? where were you 
 bred [me ; 
 
 Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave 
 Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife. 
 Did seek to murder me : and having woo'd 
 A villain to attempt it, who having drawn, 
 A crew of pirates came and rescued me ; 
 Brought me to Mytilene. But now, good sir. 
 Whither will you have me ? Why do you weep? 
 Ft may be, 
 
 You think me an impostor: no, good faith ; 
 I am the daughter to king Pericles, 
 If good king Pericles be. 
 Per. Ho, Helicanus ! 
 
 Hel. Calls my gracious lord ? 
 
 Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor. 
 Most wise in general : Tell me, if thou canst, 
 W hat this tiKud is, or wliat is like to be. 
 That thus liath made me weep ? 
 
 Hel. I know not ; but 
 
 Here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene, 
 Speaks nobly of lier. 
 
 Lys. She would never tell 
 
 Her parentage ; being demanded that. 
 She would sit still and weep. 
 
 Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'tl sir ; 
 Give nie a gash, |)ut me to present pain; 
 Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, 
 O'erbear tt»e shares of my mortality, ^hither. 
 And drown me with their sweetness. — O, come 
 Thou that beget'st hiui that did thee beget ; 
 Thou that wast born at sea, buried at 'I'harsus, 
 And found at sea again ! — O Helicanus, 
 Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud 
 As thunder threatens us: This is Marina. — 
 What was thy mother's name ? tell nie but that, 
 For truth can never be confirm'd enough. 
 Though doubts did ever sleep. 
 
 Mar. First, sir, I pray. 
 
 What is your title? 
 
 Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me now 
 (As in the rest thou hast been godlike perfect,) 
 My drowii'd queen s name, thou ^art the heir of 
 
 kingdoms. 
 And another life to Peiicles thy father. 
 
 Mar. Is it uo more to be your daughter, than 
 To say. my mother's name was Thaisa? 
 Thaisa was my mother, who did end, 
 Tbe minute I began. fohild. 
 
 Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise ; thou art m;f 
 fi»»f! • I'resli garments. Mine own, Helicanus, 
 Ifti't <>«ad at 'I'harsus, as she shoidd have been, 
 uj-tava^.r; Gleon,) she shall tell thee all; 
 VV'hen thou shalt kneel and justify in knowledge, 
 She is thy very princess. — Wlio is this ? 
 
 Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene, 
 Who, hearing >i your melancholy state. 
 
 Did come to see you. 
 
 Per. I embrace you, sir. 
 
 Give me my robes ; 1 am wild in my oeholdiuf. 
 
 0 heavens bless my girl ! But hark, what music?— 
 Tell Helicanus, my AJarina, tell him 
 
 O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt, 
 How sure you are my daughter. — Bwiwhat music 7— 
 
 Hel. My lord, 1 hear none. 
 
 Per. None ? 
 The music of the spheres: list, my Marina. 
 
 Lys. It is uot good to cross him : give him way,. 
 
 Per. Rirest sounds! 
 Do ye not hear ? 
 
 Lys. Music ? my lord, I hear— 
 
 Per. Most heavenly music : 
 It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber 
 Hangs on mine eye-lids ; let me rest. {He sleeps.) 
 
 Lys. A pillow for his head ; 
 
 ( The curtain before the Pavilion of Pericles 
 is closed.) 
 
 So leave him all. — Well, my companion-friends. 
 If this but answer to my just belief^ 
 I'll well remember you, 
 
 [ Exeunt Lysimachus, Helicanus., Marina^ 
 and attendant Lady. 
 
 Scene il.— The same. 
 
 Pericles on the deck asleep ; Diana appearing tt 
 him as in a vision. 
 
 Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus: hie (he#i 
 thither. 
 
 And do upon mine altar sacrifice. 
 
 I'here, when my maiden priests are met together 
 
 Before the people all, 
 
 Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
 To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call 
 And give them repetition to tlie life. 
 Pel form my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe : 
 Do't and be happy, by my silver bow. 
 Awake, aiid tell thy dream. {Diana disappeart.) 
 Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 
 
 1 will obey thee ! — Helicanus 1 
 
 Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. 
 
 Hel, Sir. 
 
 Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike 
 The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
 For other service first: toward Ephesus 
 Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons I'll tell thee why.— 
 
 {To Helicanw.) 
 Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore. 
 And give you gold for such provision 
 As our intents will need ? [ashore, 
 
 Lys. With all my heart, sir ; and when you come 
 i have another suit. 
 
 Per. Yoti shall prevail. 
 
 Were it to woo my daughter; for it stems 
 You have been noble towards her. 
 
 Lys. Sir, lend your arm. 
 
 Per. Come, my Marina. [Ex0U«A 
 
 Enter GowER, before the Temple of Diana ^ 
 Ephesus. 
 
 Gow. Now our sands are almost run ; 
 More a little, and then done. 
 This, as my last boon, give me, 
 (For such kindness nmst relieve n^e,) 
 That you aptly will suppose 
 What pageantry, what feats, what shews, 
 What minstresly, and pretty din, 
 l^litr regent made in Mitylin, 
 I o greet ine king. So he has thriv'd. 
 That he is proniis'd to be wiy'd 
 To fair Marina ; but no wise. 
 Till he hath done his SKCrifice, 
 As Dian bade - whereto being bound. 
 The interim, pray you, all confound. 
 
692 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 Act V 
 
 in feather'd briefness saiJs are fiiKd, 
 
 And wisbes fall out as they're will'd. 
 
 At Ephesiis, the temple see. 
 
 Oar king, and all his company. 
 
 That he can hither come so soon, 
 
 Ts by your fancy's thankful boon. [Exit. 
 
 KcENE lU.—T/ie Temple of Diana at Ephesus ; 
 Thaisa standing near the Altar, as lligh- 
 Priestess ; a number of Virgins on each side ; 
 Cehimon and other inhabitants of Ephesus at- 
 tending. 
 
 Enter Pericles, with his Train; Lysimachus, 
 Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady. 
 
 Per. Hall, DIan ! perform thy jnst command, 
 I here confess tnyself the king- of Tyre ; 
 Who, friglited from my country, did wed 
 Tlie fkirThaisa, at Pentafiolis. 
 At sea in child-bed died she, but brought forth 
 A maid-child cali'd Marina ; who, O goddess. 
 Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tharsus 
 Was nin s'd with Cleon ; whom at fourteen years 
 He sought to murder : but her better stars 
 Brought her to Mitylene ; against whose shore 
 Riding, her fortunes brought the n>aid aboard as, 
 Where, by her own most clpar remembrance, she 
 Made known herself my daughter. 
 
 Thai. Voice and favour! — 
 
 You are, you are — O, royal Pericles! — 
 
 {She faints.) 
 
 Per. What means the woman? she dies! help, 
 gentlemen ! 
 
 Cer. Noble sir. 
 If you Iiav e told Diana's altar true, 
 This is your wife. 
 
 Per. Reverend appearer, no ; 
 
 1 threw her o'erooard with these very arms. 
 
 Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 
 
 P(ir. 'Tis most certain. 
 
 Cer. Look to the lady ; — O, she's but o'erjoy'd. 
 Early, on blust'ring morn, this lady was 
 Thrown un this shore. I op'd the coffin, and 
 Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and plac'd 
 Here in Diana's temple. [her 
 
 Per. May we see them ? 
 
 Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to ray 
 house. 
 
 Whither I invite you. Look! Thaisa is 
 Recover'd. 
 
 Thai. O, let me look! 
 If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
 VVill to my sense bend no licentious ear. 
 But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord. 
 Are you not Pericles ? Like him you speak. 
 Like him you are : Did you not name a tempest, 
 A birth, and death ? 
 
 Per.^ The voice of dead Thaisa ! 
 
 Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead 
 And drown'd. 
 
 Per. Imuiortal Dian ! 
 
 Thai. Now I know you better.-— 
 
 When we with tears parted Pentapoiis, 
 The king, my father, gave you such a ring. 
 
 {Shews a ring.) 
 
 Pei : This, this . no more, you gods ! your pre- 
 sent kindness 
 Makes my past miseries sport: You shall do well, 
 That on the touching of her lips I may 
 Melt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried 
 A second time within these arms. 
 
 Ma,'. My beart 
 
 Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 
 
 {Kneels tQ TJtuisa.) 
 
 Per. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy fleA 
 Thaisa ; 
 
 Thy burden at the sea, and cali'd Marina, 
 For she was yielded there. 
 
 Thai. Bless'd, and mine own I 
 
 Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! 
 
 Thai. I know you not 
 
 Per. Yoo have heard me say, when I did S| 
 from Tyre, 
 I left behind an ancient substitute. 
 Can you remember what I cali'd the man ? 
 I have nara'd him oft. 
 
 Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then. 
 
 Per. Still confirmation : _ 
 Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. 
 Now do I long to hear how you were found ; 
 How possibly preserv'd ; and whom to thank 
 Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man, 
 Through whom the gods have shewn their power 
 
 that can 
 From first to last resolve you. 
 
 Per. Reverend sir, 
 
 The gods can have no mortal officer 
 More like a god than you. Will you deliver 
 How this dead queen re-lives ? 
 
 Cer. I will, my lord. 
 
 Beseech you, first go with me to my house. 
 Where shall be shewn you all was found with hwf 
 How she came placed here within the temple ; 
 No needful thing omitted. 
 
 Per. Pure Diana! 
 
 I bless thee for thy vision, and will otFer 
 My night oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
 This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter. 
 Shall marry her at Pentapoiis. And now. 
 This ornament that makes me look so dismal. 
 Will I, my lov'd Marina, clip to form ; 
 And what these fourteen years no razor touch'd. 
 To grace thy marriage-day, I'll beautify. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit. 
 Sir, that my father's dead. 
 
 Per. Heavens make a star of him ! Yet there, 
 my queen. 
 
 We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves 
 Will in that kingdom spend our following days : 
 Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 
 Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stiiy, 
 To hear the rest untold.— Sir, lead the way. 
 
 lExeuM, 
 
 Enter GowER. 
 Gotv. In Antioch, and his daughter, you ha?« 
 heard 
 
 Of monstrous lust the due and just reward ; 
 In Pericles, Iws queen and daughter, seen 
 (Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen, ) 
 Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast. 
 Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at la^ 
 In Helieanus may you well descry 
 A figure of truthj of faith, of loyalty : 
 In reverend Cerimon there well appears, 
 The worth that learned charity aye wears. 
 For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fiime 
 Had spread their cursed deed, and honoir'4 
 name 
 
 Of Pericles, to rage the city turn ; 
 
 That him and his fiiey in his palace burn. 
 
 The gods for murder seemed so content 
 
 To punish them ; although not done, but meant 
 
 So ou your patience evermore attending. 
 
 New joy wait or you ! Here our play lias ending 
 
KING LEAR 
 
 The Irag-edy of Lear is deservedly celebrated amon? the dramas of Sliakspeare. There is perhaps no play whick 
 keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which so much agitates our passions, and interests our curiosity. Tlie artful 
 uiv6!utions of distinct interests, the striking oppositions of contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and 
 Ihe q'liek sufcession of events, fill the mind with a oerpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no 
 tasne whirh does not contribute to the asjgravation or the distress or conduct to the action, and scarce a line which 
 does not conduce to the progress of tlie scene. So powerful is the current of the poet's im?.ginatiou, that tlie mind, 
 which once veiKures within it, is hurried irresistibly along. 
 
 On the seeming improbabili'y of Li^ar's conduct, it may be observed, that he is represented according to histories 
 at that time vulgarly rec<'ived as true. And, perhaps, if we turn our thoughts upon the barbarity and ignorance of 
 the age to which the story is reierred, it will appear not so unlikely as while we estimate Lear's manners by our own- 
 Such preference of one daughter to another, or resignation of dominion on such conditions, would be yet credible, 
 if told of a petty prince of Guinea or Madagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, by the mention of his earls end dukes, has given 
 us the idra of times more civilized, ami of life regulated by softer manners; and the truth is, that though he .so 
 nicely discriminates, and so minutely describes the characters of men, lie commonly neglects and confounds the cb»^ 
 characters of ^ges, by mingling customs ancient and modern, English and foreign. 
 
 My learned friend, Mr. Warton, who has iu The Adventurer very minutely criticised this play, remarks, that the 
 Instances of cruelty arc too savage and shocking, and that tlie Intervention of Edmund destroys the simplicity of 
 the story These objections may, I think, be answered, by repeating, that the cruelty of the daughters is an hisiorical 
 fact, to which the poet has added little, having only drawn it into a series by dialogue and action. But I am not 
 able to apologise with equal plausibility for the extrusion of Gloster's eyes, which seems an act too ho*Tid to be endured 
 in dramatic evhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve its distress by incredulity. Yet let it 
 be remembered that our author well knew what would fjlease the audience for which he wrote. 
 
 The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of ihe action is abundantly recompensed by the addition of variety, 
 by the art with which he is made to co-operate with the chief design, and the opportunity which he gives the poet 
 of combining perfidy, and connecting the wicked son with Ihe wicked daughters, to impress this important moral, 
 that villany is never at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. 
 
 But though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare has suffered the virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, 
 contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to Ihe hope of the reader, and what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. 
 Yet this conduct is justified by I'he Spectator, who blames Tate for givingCordelia success andhappiness in his alteration, 
 and declares, that in his opinion, (he tragedy has lost half its beauty. Dennis has remai-ked, whether justly or not, that, to 
 sectire the favourable reception of Catu, the town was poisoned with much false and abominable criticisvi and that en- 
 deavours had been used to discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which the wicked pro.sper, and the virtiiom 
 miscarry, may doubtless be good, because it is a just representation of the common events of human life : but smce 
 all reasonable be.ngs naturally love justice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the observation of justice makes a 
 play worse ; or that, if other excellencies are equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from the final 
 triumph of persecuted virtue. In the present case, the public has decided. Cordelia, from the time of Tate, has 
 always retired with victory and felicity. And, if my sensations could add anything to the general suffrage, I might 
 relate, I was many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's death, that I know not whether I ever endured to read again 
 the last scenes of the play, till I undertook to revise them as an editor. There is another controversy among the 
 critics concerning this play. It is disputed whether the predominant image in Lear's disordered mind be the loss 
 of his kingdom or the cruelty of his dHUghters. Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, has evinced, by indu< tion o/ 
 particular passages, that the cruelty of his daughters is the primaiy si. lit ce of his distress, and that the loss of royalty 
 affects him only as a secondary and subordinate evil. He observes, with great justness, that Lear would move oar 
 compassion but little, did we not rather consider the injured fatlier than the degraded king. The story of this play, except 
 the episode of Edmund, wiiich is derived, I think, from Sidney, is taken originally from Geotiry of Monmouth, whom 
 Holinshed generally copied; but (lerhaps immeiiiately from an old hi-torical hailad. My reason for believing that 
 the play was posterior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the plav, is, that the ballad has nothing of Shakspeare's 
 nocturnal temiest, which is too striking tn have been omitted, and tliat it follows the chronicle; it has the rudi- 
 ments of Ihe play, but none of its amplifications; it first hinted Lear's madness, but did not array it in circumstances. 
 The writer of the ballad added somcihing to the history, which is a proof that he would have added more, if mor« 
 tad occurred to his mind; and more must have occurred if he had sctn Shakspeare. Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 LEA R King of Britain. 
 
 KING OF FRANCE. — , 
 
 DLKE OF BLK GUNDY. 
 DL KE OF COHNWALL.-^ 
 
 DUKE OF ALBANY. . , 
 
 EAHL OF KENT 
 
 EARL OF GL0STEI^ij5r-__^ 
 
 ^DGMi, Son to Closter:-^ 
 
 EDidC .N D, Baitard Son to Gloster. 
 
 CLRAN, a Courtier. 
 
 Old Man, Tenant to Gloster. 
 
 I'hysiciaii. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 OSWALD, Steward to Goneril.-^K..,__^ 
 An Officer, employed by Edmund. \ 
 
 Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. \ 
 
 ^I'^^'^'^K^Daughters to Lear.. . /- ,^ . i t 
 
 ACT r. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room of State in King Learns Palace, 
 Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. 
 Keytt. I thought, the kingf had more affected the 
 duke ot Albany, than Cornwall. 
 
 It did always seem so to us : but now, in„^ 
 ion of, tlie kingd(mi, it appears not wiij ch_ 
 
 aio 
 
 the di\i 
 
 of tT Ie^'crukiis he values most ; {or eqna 
 vvei^lrd, that curiosity in neither can t 
 of either s ftiuiet]^. ~ {* ''-'^h H) 
 
 Kent. Is not tlii.s your son, my lord ? 
 
 Gio. His breeding,, sir, hath been at 
 ! have so offeir'lTlu.siTa to acknowledge him, tliat 
 now I am [)razed to it. 
 
 Kent I cannot conceive y on. 
 
 Gio. Su, t i M s.,y 0 11 n; >Ji4km^s ' ni ottlTT'^coii 1 d : where- 
 upon she grew roiind-wombed ; and .,h'a*J5^ indt^ed, 
 sir. a..auii-,i.or Iwr cuadi£»«tu:e„sb£. had a husband lor 
 *!«r bed. ^^'r yo'i» srwell a fault ? '-—-^^^■^'—--"^ 
 
 GONERI 
 REGANf 
 CORDELIA 
 
 Knights at\endi?ig on the King, Officers, Mettengtn, 
 I Soldiers, and Attendantrs. 
 
 Scene,— Britain. ^j^nMm^^'t . ff^H J '^'^^^'^^ '^^ 
 
 Kent. I cannot wish the fanlt undone, the issoe 
 of it being so proper. 
 
 Gio. But44H^mvsir,-a-s(Wii''&y"cn'der^ some 
 year elder than this, wil£^.el ^s-lto- differ. Jo my 
 a^cQOunt: though this knave came somewhat saucily 
 
 Ties are so 
 ake choice 
 
 ly charge ; 
 
 into £B'e world belbre he was sent for, 
 mother fay;:;., the|^_jaia^s^ at his making, 
 
 and the jvli o i:e spj^uin st Jj e a cli fro \v1e dge d.— 'D6~'ydir 
 kn6w~thts"noble getitlemanJ'Editnind ? 
 Edm. No, my lord. 
 
 Gio. My lord of Kent: remember him bereaftes 
 as my honourable friend. 
 
 Edm. My services to your lordship. 
 Kent. 1 must love you, and sue to know y«m 
 better. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I shall, study deservmg. 
 Gio. He hnth been out nine years, and away ha 
 sihall again ; — The king is coming. 
 
 (Trumpets sound wit Aim) 
 
694 
 
 KING LEAR, 
 
 « Act 1 
 
 Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, 
 Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants. 
 
 Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
 Gloster. 
 
 6?/o. I shall, uiy liege. [Exeunt Glo. and Edm. 
 hear. Meantime we sliall express our darker 
 purpose. [divided, 
 C^ive me the map there. — Know, that 5aig„^^Jiave 
 1 1) three, our kingd om ; and 'tis our fast intent 
 ■^^^°5irafeFlSTlcare§°and business from our age ; 
 Q.onferring them on younger strengths, while we 
 Uuburden'd crawl toward death. — (Jtuji„smi^XJora- 
 wally, 
 
 VS^e^nay^TRTi^^ a constajit wilL to puUlish. 
 UardaiJigJjlierjj" several dowers, that future strife 
 May be prevented now. Th^princes, France aud^ 
 Burgundy, J^V^V 
 Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, ^' 5^^' 
 Long in our court have made tlieir amorous sojourn. 
 And here are to be answer'd. — Tell uie, my daugh- 
 ters, _ M f^""'"^ 
 'Since now we will ai ye-s t us, both of rule, 
 Interest of territory, cares of state.) 
 W'hich of you, shall we say, doth love us most? 
 That we our largest b«iinty may extend 
 Where merit doth most challenge it. — Giinee%' 
 Qiu;j^r6l€«t4f6fn, speak first. 
 Iggw^ Sir, I 
 
 D^^Sejoiirooie than worci^ ca n wiel H'thejnatter, 
 Dearer than^eriLLgM^ space, and liberty^ ~ 
 Be^jtoiid^KE^t can be valued, rich or rare; 
 m) les^ tlian life, with grace, health, beauty, honour : 
 -^!IS^cli. 'tsxhild e!er lavid,- or father found. 
 A love, that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
 Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 
 
 Cor. What shall Cordelia do ? Love, and be 
 silent. {Aside.) 
 Lear. Of all, these bounds, even from this line to 
 this, 
 
 With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd; 
 \V ith plenteous rivers, and wide-skirted meads, 
 We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue 
 Be-this perpetual, — What says (Mtr secTHuf^^ 
 Our^ dearest Re^n, wife to Cornwall ? Speak. 
 ~ ' ?ia"e of that self metal as my sister. 
 
 Reg. I gju jiia' 
 
 And prize me at her worth. Tn my true hearf 
 I find, she names my very deed of love; 
 Only she comes too short, — tliat t^jrofejis 
 Myself an enemy to all other joys. 
 Which the most precious Mua re of seflse_posjes^^ 
 And find , 1. ann alone^^I^^^_>-,$^f,it;5 
 _Jln_your dear highness' love. 
 
 Cor. Then poor Cordelia ! {Aside.) 
 
 And yet not so ; since, I^am sure, my love's 
 ^^Vlore richer than my tongue, 
 ^^*TKeaf. Toi:hee,^nd thine, hereditary ever, 
 Remain this^anftjikJkkdaLauJ^^^ ; 
 No less in space, validity, and pleasure. 
 Than that confirra'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy. 
 Although the last, not least ; to whose young love 
 The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
 Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say, to draw 
 A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak, 
 Cor. .fiiulluag, my lord. 
 hear. Nothing ? 
 Cor. Nothing. 
 
 hear. Nothing can come of nothing : speak again. 
 /L^ Cor. Unhappy that I am, I^gaimist heave 
 -s^Jr^Al^iieaFt-iBto my-wioii^ lave your majesty 
 AacatAiiigJo my bond ; nor nwre, hdr less. 
 
 Lear. How, how, Cordelia ? mend your speech 
 a little, 
 
 Lpst it may mar your fortunes. 
 
 Cor Good my lord, 
 
 You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
 Return those duties buck as are rigiit fit, 
 Obey you, love you, and most honour you. 
 Why have luy sisters husbands, if they say, <t 
 
 They love yon, all ? Haply, when I shall wed, 
 Thjt iQrii whose, h^^ sha!l^ 
 cArry ,. -^•■■^ 
 
 Half my love witLiliya^ half ray care, and duly ; 
 Sure, I shajj_nevermarryjyi^ \ 
 
 Lear. But goes this with thy heart? 
 Cor. Ay, good my lord 
 
 Lear. So young, and so uotender ? 
 Cor. So young, my lord, and true, [dower : 
 Lear. Let it be so. — Thy truth then be thj 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun; 
 The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
 By all the operations of the orbs. 
 From whom we do exist, and cease to be; . 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care> 
 Propinqiiity, and property of blood. 
 And as a strahger to my heart and me 
 "old thee, from this, for ever. The barbaroos 
 Scythian, 
 
 Or he that makes his generation messes 
 To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
 Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved. 
 As thou, my sometime daughter. 
 
 Kent. Good my liegCi;^ 
 
 Lear. Peace, Kent! >. 
 Come not between thq(^agoa^nd his vPl^th 
 I1^rd1ier^mp.^^:;:and tl^^ 
 Ouiref'ldnd^hursery. — Hence, and avoid my sight ! 
 
 {To Cordelia.) 
 So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
 Her father's heart from her ! — CailJ£rarjce ; — Who 
 stirs ? 
 
 Call Burgundy- — Cornwall, and Albany, 
 ^^'?SL'JlX.i\YO fiaughters' dowers digest this tiiird 
 Let pride, wTircTi'slie calls plainness, marry !ier. 
 I do invest you jointly with my power, 
 Pre-eminence, and all the large effects, [course. 
 That troop with majesty. — Ojijp&eJii^by monthly 
 \Vith reservation of an hundred knights, 
 Kyjoii to be Mstain'^^ shall our abode [tain 
 Make with you bydne turns. Only we still re- 
 TKe nam°er~aiTd~aTrtlTe""srdditions'to a kiiig ; 
 The sway, 
 
 Revenue, execution of the rest, 
 
 Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm. 
 
 This coronet part between you. {Giving the crown.) 
 
 Kent. Royal Lear, 
 
 Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
 Lov'd as my father, as my master fbllow'd, 
 As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 
 
 Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make froa 
 the shaft. 
 
 Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
 The region of my heart : he. Kent unmannerly, 
 When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old 
 man ? 
 
 Think'giJt^u^that dutjr shalj^haye djead to speak, 
 Vyiien power to flatteiry^Bows? To plainness ho- 
 nour's bound, 
 When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ; 
 And, in thy best consideration, check 
 This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment. 
 Thy youngest daughter does not jove thee least: 
 Nor are tiiose^e«i|jty hearted,^^ v^^ low iiouiid 
 Reverbs no honowiiess. 
 
 Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 
 
 Kent. Myiife I never held but as a pawn " ~ 
 Towage against thine enemies; nor jrear,Ai) lose it,, 
 Thy safety being the motk^.^----------— 
 
 Leaf'. \Out of my sight ! y 
 
 Kent. See better, Lear^Ja^WiHTSe'slTtt'reTfiain 
 The true blank of thine ^ye.^ 
 
 Lear. Now, by Ap^JLu<«^ 
 
 Kent. Now, by Apollo, klu^ 
 
 Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 
 
 Lear. O, vassal! miscreant! 
 
 {Laying his hand on kia sworcLl 
 
 All. ^ Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 
 
 Kent. Do ; 
 
Scene 1. KING LEAR. 
 
 Kill thy ph xaddasL- and thc dee best ow '"^f"" 
 Upon the_foiiLdii*©a«|. Revoke thy gift; *^ 
 Or.'wKTlst 1 can ^bi'6ramour f\-om my throat, 
 I'll tell thee ^^tt ' — 
 hear. 
 
 d93. 
 
 rai evi ^ 
 
 Hear me, recreant ! 
 On Lbine allegiance hear me ! — 
 j§!(nce thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
 (Whicl< we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd 
 pr:de, 
 
 To come betwixt our sentence and our power; 
 (VVhich nor our nature nor our place can bear,) 
 Oui- potency made good, take thy reward. 
 
 oe gO( 
 
 Eve d ay s we d ojijixtt-thee-f for provision 
 "^Xq s^ilfd UpeTroni.di^.e.as,e&.£^ ; 
 A bHT^ onT "the s 1 xTH, to turn thy iiated"^BacTc 
 Upon our kiiYgdoih : ii', on the tenth day following, 
 'Iny banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 
 The moment is thy death : Away ! by Jupiter, 
 This sI'iaH not be revok'd. [appear, 
 Kent. Fare thee well, king : since thus thou wilt 
 Freedom lives liencjej^^and banishment is here.-:; 
 TfiFgo^sTo" their dear shelter take tliee, maid, 
 
 ( To Cordelia. 
 
 That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said \p>^ 
 And your large- speeches may your deeds approve, 
 
 ( To Regan rmd Gdneril. ) 
 That good effects may spnng from words of love. — ■ 
 Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; 
 He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. 
 
 Re enter Gloster ; with France, Burgundy, 
 and Attendants. 
 Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble 
 hear. My lord of Burgundy, [lord. 
 We first addn'«;j towards you, who with tliis king 
 Hath rivall'd for our daughter ; What, in the least, 
 Will you reqiure in present dower with her, 
 Ov ces se your quest of love ? 
 
 Btjr. Most royal majesty, 
 
 ( cravf no more tfian hath your highness offer'd, ; 
 Nor W ill you tender less. 
 
 Jiear. Right noble Burgundy, 
 
 'Vhen she was dear to us, we did hold her so; 
 ^Miow her price is falTn : Sir, there she stands; 
 If aTrfnTT^Evrnrirrft^^ seeming substance, 
 all of it, with our displeasure piec'd, 
 
 And nothing more, may fitly like your grace. 
 She's there, and she is yours. 
 
 Bur. I know no answer. 
 
 hear. Sir, 
 Will \ou, with those infirmities she owes, 
 Unfl•iende^,,'■fl^e#-a<^opfe^ hate,^ _ [oath, 
 
 Dower'd with "our curse, and stranger'd with our 
 Take her, or leave her? 
 
 Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ; 
 
 Election fltiakes^not up on such conditiopa. 
 "ir^ifr. FHen leave^errs^ for, by the power 
 that made me, 
 I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king, 
 
 (To France.) 
 I would not from your love make such a stray. 
 To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
 To avert your liking a more wortliier way. 
 Than on a wretch, whom nature is asham'd 
 Almost to acknowledge hers. 
 
 France. This is most strange ! 
 
 That she, that even but now was your best object, 
 The argument of your praise, balm oi" &^e. 
 Most belt, most dearest, should in this trice of time 
 Cortirait^ thing so nuinstroiiisX tcdismantle 
 ij^^^^^n^^lltr oi'fa vg^ Su re, her offence ^ 
 MusFEe^f 8 u c h tm u a t u ral degree~*^ " <|liX*' y^- 
 TEslV rnon'^'f eTs it, 'bryourtb r e 'r p wc h'd auction 
 Fall iiitn tiitit : which to believe of her, 
 Must he. a taith, tliat reason without miracle 
 Coul I utver plant in me. 
 
 Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, 
 
 fif for 1 want that glib and oily art, 
 To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, 
 I'll do"t bei'ore I speak,) that you make known 
 
 It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
 No'tp^haste-actiou, or dislionourd^Ufv- 
 Jlia£]M^^e|jriv'd me of your grace at. J favo'ir: 
 'B^t^iijOar„w:atiL of that, tor whirli I am riclMir 
 A still soiiciling eye, and such a tongue, 
 That T arn glad I have not, though not to" have 
 Hath lost me in your liking. 
 
 hear. Better thoa 
 
 Had'st not been born, than not to have p!*Bis^^| mt 
 better. 
 
 France. Is it but this ? a tardiness iu nature. 
 Which often leaves the history unspoke. 
 That it intends to do?— My lord of Burgundy, 
 What say you to the lady ? Love is not love. 
 When it is mingled with respe HsJJiliiand 
 Aloonrotn the enlirFpoinf. Will you have her? 
 Shelsjierse If "avowry. ' 
 
 iBur. ^' Royal Lear, 
 
 Give but that portion which yourself propos'd 
 And here I take Cordelia by the hand, y 
 Duchess of Burgundy. 
 
 hear. Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm. 
 
 Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father. 
 That you must lose a husband. 
 
 Cor. JF^ace j3e.sit,k.Burgu^^ I 
 Since that respects of fottuneliie h^^^^^ 
 t shall not be his wife. - Jins^porx, 
 
 ''France. Fairest CordeJja.^Jl3aJ^jj^ 
 Most choiceriorsalcen ; an3 mostjoy'd, despis'd i 
 Tiiee and thy vi rtues here I s^ii^e upon : . 
 BeiFlawfid, T take up what's cast away. 
 Gods, gods I 'tis strange, that from their cold'st 
 neglect 
 
 My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.— 
 
 Tliy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chancej 
 
 Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
 
 oh^aJJjyu^Jiii^jK^^ j^tM.£**^ » 
 
 Bid them faiTweUT^Cordelia, though unkind: 
 Thou lose.st here, a better where to find. 
 
 hear. Thou hast her, Frarice : let her be tMs®| 
 for we 
 
 Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
 That face of iiers again : — Therefore, be gone^ 
 Without our grace, our love, cur |)enizon.jr - 
 Corae, noble Burgundy. '"^ k f^^V^W 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt hear., Burgundy, Com*^ 
 wally Albany. G/oster, and Attendants, 
 France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 
 Cor. The jewels of our father, vvith wash'd eye» 
 Cordelia leaves you: I know you whatypiji, are ; , 
 And, like a sister, a^"moffToalF^t(rca^^ 
 Your faults, as they are nam'd. Use well our father* 
 To your professed bosoms I commit him; 
 But, j>et, alas [ stood 1 wi.thin his grace 
 I would prefer him to a better place. 
 So'fareWelT to you both. 
 
 Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. 
 Seg, Let your 8tr.df 
 
 Be, to content your lord ; who hath receiv'd you J I^^^jVa 
 At iortune's almSj. Yoo have obedience scanted, C*****^*^ ^ 
 And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 
 
 Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides; 
 WhiCLCQver faults, at Jajt=sl»aHi^44i€nL derides. 
 Well may yotr-prosper! 
 France, Come, my fair Cordeliac 
 
 [Exeunt France and Cordelia, 
 Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say, of what , 
 most nearly a ^ertain g^ to us both. I think, our ^CiA4 
 father will hence to-n^t. _ 0 
 
 Reg. That's most certain, and witi 
 month with us. 
 
 ^GWrYvrr^Seti how full of changes his age h ; 
 the observation we have made of it hath not be^s 
 little : heahva^^ 
 
 wdiatjpoS? judgment "^e^a^hjaoyy^^R^lktXiXi^-ap^ 
 pears '[oSoyo^iy;''"' 
 
 i?c^7'"n^7The~infirmity of his age : yet he hatk 
 ever but slenderly known himself. 
 
 iron. The best and soundest of his time hath beea 
 
696 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 but rash ; then must we look to receive from his 
 Lage, not alone tl>e imperfections of long-en^irafted 
 condition, but, therewithal, the unruly wajUiKaiiiiasii, 
 that inhrm and choleric years bring with them. 
 
 Rey. Such nnconstant starts are we like to have 
 from him, as this of Kent's banishment. 
 
 Gim. There in further compliment of leave-taKing 
 between France and him. Pray you, jbJU«feiut42^ 
 gvLh^jUi^^^w {ather_carry authority with such dis- 
 ^i)ositilUJS^as l5?Sel3S^tr^^ fast smrehder of Ins will 
 fnit otiend us. " " — - - 
 
 -nR^^TWFihall further think of it. 
 
 Con. We niust do someihing, and i' the,.he^. 
 
 "*"^ [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENB II.— Hall in the Earl of Glosiers Castle. 
 Enter Edmund, with a letter, 
 Edm. TJio^u, nature^ar^^ny^o ^^ss ^^_Uiy law 
 
 ^Sf^SiSSilp^iirof custom ; and permit, 
 VThe fi|ninfaty ot nations to deprive me, |jU4»Ci)(SI1l^"Si! 
 ^^Hf'or that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines 
 '^i-^J^-^ l^ag 0 fa b ro th e r ? WJ i vbastard ? wherefore base ? 
 When my dimensions are as well compact, 
 My mind as generous, and my shape as true, 
 As honest madam's issue ? why brand they us 
 With base ? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? 
 Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
 
 More conWVosition and„fijg,{;ce_ cjujji 
 Than dotli, within afdull, stale,^tired bed. 
 
 ^ y iJSi?i»4Jt£jGreati ng a w 
 
 Got 'tween asTeep"an(rvvaEe 
 i^egiti'nat e Edgar, I rnugL jjave your land : 
 Our rather^sTovelsToTheba'stard Edmund, 
 As to the legitimate : Fine word, — legitimate ! 
 J Well, my legitimate, ilj;hi£j£tterspeed, 
 A ndniijj^^ base 
 t?h7n'il^i»lhe legitimate. "I grow ; I prosper: — 
 
 j^V"^ ^taking his purpose, it would make a great gap 
 / vour own honour, and shake in r«eces the earth 
 
 N(j.v>l ,_^U s, sta;id„ u p_ fo rjbastai:; 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 Glo, Kent banish'd thus ! And France in choler 
 parted ! 
 
 And the king gone to night ! subscrib'd his power ! 
 Cocfin'd to exhibition! All this done 
 Upon the gad I — Edmund ! how now ! what news ? 
 Edm, i^o please your lords};! p, none. 
 
 {Putting up the kiter.) 
 Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that 
 letter? 
 
 Edm. I know no news, my lord. 
 Glo, WliajLpapeiL\!m:£^QiLreading ? 
 Edm. Nothingjjmyjord. 
 
 Glo. No ?^vvhat needecl then that terrible de- 
 spatch of it into your pocket ? thejiuality of nothing, 
 hath no such ne.ed ^jto^hide itself. IjetVsee": Come, 
 if it be nothingTl shall not need spectacles. 
 
 Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it . is a letter 
 fmmjnyJbiollifiiiiJhatJJiave^ 
 80 much as I have^ peruieHjTliiQd it not tit jor xQur 
 ovief^j[w)king(7 
 
 ^lo. Give me the letter, ''ir. 
 
 Edm, I shall offend, either to detain or give it. 
 yEheu,«X)nte«4s, as in part I understand them, areJiQ^ 
 
 ^jpS^o.^Let's see, let's see. 
 i Edm. I hope, for, jny brother's justification^he 
 
 fcrrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue, 
 \GIo. ( Reads. ) This policy^ and reverence of 
 ac/e, makes the ivorid bitter to the best of our 
 timet ; keeps our fortunes from us^ till our oldness 
 cannot relish them. I beain to find, uxtSdle und 
 fond bondage in the op^r.ission of aged tyranny ; 
 
 0 sways, not as tf hath pujver. bid as it is suf 
 fei ed. Come to me, that of this I tnny speak more. 
 j(j Our father ivould sleep till I waked him, you 
 ehoidd enjoy half his retienne for ever, and live 
 the beloved of your brother, SiDCAR. — Humph ! — 
 Conspiracy I — ^it'.epti.il I waked him. — you should 
 tnjoy lialj" his revenue. — My son Edgar 1 Had ne a 
 
 tiiisTa 
 
 Act t 
 
 hand to write this^ a heart and brain to hieed it in? 
 — When came this to you ? who brought it? 
 
 Edm, It was not brought n)e, niy lord, there's the 
 cunning of it ; I found it thrown in at the casemenf 
 of my closet. ™" 
 
 ~~^?fer¥t)tr ktjow the character to be your brother'at 
 Eidm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
 
 swear it were his ; but, in respect of that, \ would 
 
 fain think it were not 
 Glo. It is his. 
 
 Edm. (t is his hand, my lord, but, 1 bope, ius 
 heart is not in the contents. 
 
 G/oi Hath he never heretofore sounded you In 
 this business ? 
 
 Edm. Never, my lord : But I have often heard j 
 him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfe( t age, | 
 and fathers declining, the fatlier should be as ward ' 
 to the son, and the son manage his revenue. 
 
 Glo. O villain, villain] — His very opinion in the 
 letter! — Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, 
 brutish villain ! worse than brutish I — Go, sirrah, 
 seek him; I'll apprehend him: — Abominable vil- 
 lain r^Wnere is he ? 
 
 Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall 
 please you to suspend your indignation against my 
 brother, till you can derive from him better testi- 
 mony of his intent, you shall run a certain course ; 
 /.where, if you violently proceed against him, nais- 
 
 in 
 
 [«eces me eartn of-^j 
 his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for hiirt, 
 that he hath writ this to feel niy affection to your | 
 honour, and to no other pretence of danger. — — 
 Glo. Think you so? if 
 Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I wijljplace 
 you where you shall hear us coiifer^of ffiis, aiid by 
 an auricular asstirance have your satisfaction ; and 
 that without any further delay than this very evening. 
 Glo. He caimot be such a monster. 
 Edm. Nor is not, sure. | 
 Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and fJitirely 
 loves him. — Heaven and earth! — Edmund, seek 
 him out ; wind me into him, I pray you .;,ii.ame.Jhies 
 business after your own wisdom: I would uostato 
 myseTfTtJrbFtfi'TS "diie resol u tion. 
 
 Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently; c(cvey the 
 business as I shall find means, and acquaint yon 
 withal y " 
 
 Glo. These late feclipses,in the siin and moon por- 1 
 tend no good to us :MWilgh the wisdom of nature ' 
 can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itselt 
 scourged by the sequent effects : love cools, friend- 
 ship tails off", brotliers divide : in cities, mutinies; 
 in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the 
 .bond cracked between son and father, Tvjjiis villain 
 of mme comes under the prediction ; there*s' son 
 against father : the king falls from bias of nature; 
 there's father agaiiisf child. We have seen the best 
 of OUT time : iVlachihations, holloWness, treaohgpy, 
 and^'attTtrinous disorders, follow us disqiiietly to our 
 graves! — Find out this villain, Edmund; it shalj 
 lose thee nothing; do it carefully : — And the noble 
 and true-hearted Kent banished ! his offence, ho- 
 nesty ! — Strange I strange ! [Exit 
 Edm. This is the excellent foppery ofth(- 'vorldl 
 that, when we are sick in fortune, ( often fl)>- snrfeil 
 of our own behaviour, ) we jnake guilty of our disi— 
 asters, the- S'U«^-4he. moon, and t!ie stars : us if vv€ 
 vVei-FviTfains by necessity ; fools, by heavenly coin 
 pulsion ; knives, thieves, and treachers, by spherical 
 predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by 
 an enforced obedience of planetary influence ; and 
 all thajLVY,t3i!f ^^'1 by a divine thrusting on : A 
 ad'inirable'^evaMCff'of \vhbre-rnaster mnn, to lay hif>' 
 goatish disposition to the charge of a star I my fa-* 
 tilers Ciinpounded with my mother under the dragon' 
 tail ; and niy nativity was under ursa, major ; so that 
 it follows, 1 am rough and lecherous.— Tut, i .should 
 have been that J am, luid the fiuiidcnlit st star in the 
 firmament twinkled on my bastu "diyujii. Edj^ar— ' 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 r 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 
 KING LEAR, 
 
 697 
 
 •nd pat lie comes, like the catastrophe of the old 
 «oniedv : Myjcue is villanous melanchol^j, with a 
 sififi'. like 'i^m oTJedlam. — O, tliese eclipses do 
 portend these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. 
 
 Edg, How now, brother Edmund? What serious 
 contemplation are you in ? 
 
 Edm. J am thiDkia&, brother, of a prediction I 
 read this other day, what shpiildJtulliiw ther*e%lij^se|5 
 
 Bklg. Do you busy yourself with that ? 
 
 Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of, 
 succeed unhappily ; as of unnaturalness between 
 thg_cbil-d.*uid-ttt*-j^ftrerif ; death, dearth, dissolutions 
 of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and 
 maledictions against king and nobles; needless ditfi- 
 dence.s, banishment ol friends, dissipation of cohorts, 
 nuptial breaches, and 1 know not what. 
 
 Edg. How toug have you been a sectary astro- 
 nomical y [last ? 
 
 Edm. Come, come ; when saw you ray father 
 
 Edg. Why, the night gone by. 
 
 Edm. Spaji^guyott Avith~hira ? 
 
 Edg. AyTtwo hours together. 
 
 Edm. Parted you in good terms ? Found you no 
 ^|ispl«w<w re in him, by word, or countenance : 
 
 Ed^iT^qmMh^^-^ 
 
 Edm. Bethink^..vcM^ \idiierdtt jou, may have 
 lOll'end^d -him : ana at my entreaty, for&ear his pre- 
 semje^ till some little time hath qualified the heat 
 oi' his displeasure ; which at this instant so rageth 
 in him, that with the mischief of your person it 
 would scarcely allay. 
 
 Edg. Soiue-jv44iaujJiath-d«^ 
 
 Ecltn. iSiailsjmy^iir. I pray you, have a con- 
 tinent forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes 
 slower ; and, as I say, ji;etire with me to my lodging, 
 Irom whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord 
 speak : Fray you, go ; there's my key : — If you do 
 sfir abroad, go armed. >— 
 
 E,/p. Arrn"?d7"bnytlier ? 
 
 Brother, I adyjse_you to the best] go 
 armed ; I auf no honest n>an, if there be any good 
 meaning t)wards you: I have toW you what 1 have 
 seen and heard, but faintiy; nothing like the image 
 and liorror of it; Pray yon, away. 
 
 Edg. Shall I hear irom you anon ? 
 
 Edm. I do serve you in this business. — 
 
 [Exit Edgar. 
 A credidous father, and a brotlier noble,^^ 
 \ Vhftee riature is' so far'^roin doin g harms, 
 
 i'haOiin]!?^^35rr^^^™^^ 
 
 My practiceiTrTS^easy ! — 1 see theBusinels^^'' 
 
 Let me, if not by birth, liave lands by wit : 
 
 Air wiOf me's^ meet, that I can fashion fit [Exit. 
 
 Scene HL — A Room in the Duke of Albany's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter GoNERiL and Steward. 
 
 strike my gentleman for 
 
 With checks, as flatteries, — when they are seen 
 Remember wnat 1 have said. [^^bua'd* 
 Very well, madam. 
 Gon. And let^hiaJkjaights have colder looks amoT^ 
 yoa; '' ' ■ [aot 
 
 What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellow* 
 I would breed from hence occasions., and I shall. 
 'I'hat I may speak :— I'll write straight to my sister* 
 To hold my very course : prepare for dinner. 
 
 [ExeuHt» 
 
 Scene IV. — A Hall in the same. 
 Enter Kent, disguised. 
 Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow. 
 That can my speech diffuse, my good intent 
 May carry through itself to that full issue. 
 For which I raz'd my likeness. — Now, banish'ij 
 Kent, [demn'(]^ 
 If thou can'st serve where thou dost stand coo- 
 fSo may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st. 
 Shall find thee full of labours. 
 
 Horns within. Enter Lear, knights, and Attm» 
 
 Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner ; go, get 
 it ready. {Exit an AttendantTTiloyi now, what art 
 Kent. A man, sir. [thoa ^ 
 
 Lear. What dost thou profess? what would'st 
 thou with us? 
 
 Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; tgt 
 serve him trul^^that^ will put me in^trustj to love 
 EinTTEaTliTionetfT'toljo^^ fliatls wise^ 
 
 and says little; to fear judgment; to fight, when I 
 cannot choo.se ; and to eat no fish, /-t ' / ,r\ 
 
 Lear. What art tHoTT— t ^ 
 Kent. A .very honest- hearted fellow, and as poof 
 asjhe_ king. 
 
 Leaf^'tttbow be as poor for a subject, as he is foT 
 a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st thou f 
 Kent. Service. 
 
 Lear. W ho would'st thou serve n 
 Kent. You. ^ J 
 
 Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ? 
 Kent. No sir; but you have that in your coaia» 
 tenance, which I woukJ fain call master. 
 Lear. Whafs that? 
 Kent. Autliority. 
 
 Lear. What services canst thou do ? 
 
 Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar 
 a cur ious ta tH'^"Kinng it, and deliver a plain mes- 
 sag?*l)IiinfIy"rThat~wh7oh ordinary men are fit for, 
 I am qualilied^n; and th^best pf mj is diligence. - 
 
 Lear. How old art thou ? 
 
 Kent. Not 8o young, sir, to love a woman for 
 singing; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing : I 
 have years on my back forty-eight 
 
 Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : If I liko 
 thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee 
 yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner ! — Where's my knave ? my 
 fool ? Gro you, and call my fool hither: 
 
 Gon. Did my father 
 
 chiding of his fool ? j Enter Steward. 
 
 Stew. Ay, madam. (hour I 
 
 Gon. By day and night! h^ -v^ronp g^me ; every You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? 
 lie flaslies into one gross cririia^Z^bi&^ . | (S/ew;. So please you,— [Racit, 
 That sets us all at oddsT I'll mit en iure it: ' •/ -L^ Lear. What says the fellow there ? Call the clot- 
 His knights grow riotous, and hiniself Uj4)rai,ds HS-'jUiV'poll back. — Where's my fool, ho? — I think the 
 
 world's asleep. — How now ? where's that mongrel ? 
 
 Knight. He says, my lord, you daughter is not 
 well. 
 
 Lear. Why came not the slave back to me^ whs a 
 
 I call'd him ? 
 Knight. Sir, he answer'd me in the rQundeal 
 manner, be would not. ^*««— - 
 Lear. He would not! 
 
 Knight. My lord, 1 know not what the matter is; 
 but, to my judgment, your highness is not enter- 
 tained with that ceremonitnis atiectiou as you were 
 V. cnl ; t.4ncj^a°grea4^batemejat^yjiintigs_apppars, 
 ^*^i!^s]iji5-.i^.-..:^5fii^='^ the (liike 
 
 feirn^Tfaiso,'lSS°j^ir^^la«gMe*^ 
 
 On every tnrle : — V V U^n h e J:fctlu^ls..fc(^^iy^ u n ti ng, 
 I wUI not speak with him ;"say, I am sick : — 
 \f you come slack oi former services, 
 Won shall do well ; tiie fault of it I'll answer. 
 
 Stew. He's coming, madam ; I hear him. 
 
 {Hortis within.) 
 
 Qtm. Put on what we^ry negligence you please, 
 y ou and your fellows; I d have it come to question ; 
 If he dislike it, let iiini to my sister, 
 Wbotif inind and mine, I know, in that are one. 
 Not to be over-ruied. Idle old man. 
 That still would majiage those authorities, 
 
 h" hath given away ! — Now, by my life. 
 Old fouls es again ; and most be us'd 
 
698 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act L 
 
 Lesr. I?a ! say'st thou so ? 
 
 Kfiigkt. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if 1 
 be mistaken ; for my duty camiot be silent, wheu I 
 think your liighuess is wrong'd. 
 
 ii^ar. Thou but reniember'st me of mine own 
 roDceptlon: S have perceived a most faint nei^igjut 
 of i-<te ;. which I have_t-a tii£iuyaia£d.-a3 fi'l" ^ 
 jiealou s ctirios'iTy , than as a very pretence and pur- 
 s.cse "or^jk:ijfmt^ : I will look further into't— 
 l!ut whf rp'fi my ? I have not seen him tliis two 
 days. 
 
 Kniyht. SijicejiyL&aiingJjL^^^ 
 sir, the fool hath rnuch pined avyay. 
 
 X^rT^bnfnore oTT-Kat ; 1 havFnoted it well. — 
 Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with 
 her. — Go you, call hither my fool. 
 
 Re-enter Steward. 
 O, you sir, you sir^, come you hither : Who am I, 
 Stew, MxiadlifeibfiK, Tsir'i' 
 Ijear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : you 
 whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 
 
 Stew. I am none of tliis, my lord ; I beseech you, 
 pardon me. v 
 
 >andy looks with me, you rascal ? 
 
 SfntLTt/Y {Striking him.) 
 e struck, my'lord. 
 
 neither.; you base foot-ball 
 {Tripping up his heels.) 
 
 liee, fellow ; thou servest me, and 
 
 Lear. Do you 
 
 Steiv. I'll not 
 ; Kent. Nor t 
 
 ^^%7ar. I tlrfa 
 I'll love thee. 
 
 Kent. Come sir, arise, away ; I'll teach you 
 djt%rences ; away, away : If you will measure your 
 ^^^Iji's length again, tarry: but away: go to; 
 fTaveyou wisdom ? so. [Pushing the Steward out.) 
 
 Lear. Now, my friendly knave, 1 tliaiik tbee : 
 t]s£r(t's earnest of thy service. {Giving Kent money.) 
 
 Enter Fool. 
 
 Wool. Let me hire him too* — Here's my coxcomb. 
 
 {Giving Kent his cap.) 
 Lear. How now, my pretty knave ? how dost thou 
 Fuol Sirrah , you were best take my coxcomb. 
 KerU. Why, lool ? 
 
 FooL Why ? for taking one's part, that is out of 
 favour: Nay, r.ii thou canst not smile as the wind 
 sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly : There, take my cox- 
 comb : Why, thja.JjdkLiLJjil*iJ2a^'^^^^^ two of _ his 
 drtughters^auii md the third a blessing against his 
 Will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my 
 coxcomb. — How now, uuncle ? 'Would I had two 
 coxcombs, and two daughters I 
 
 Lear. Why, my boy ? 
 
 Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my 
 coxcombs myself: There's mine: h£g another of 
 ti>y daughters. — 
 
 Uear.^l^ke heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
 . Fool. Trutli's a dog that must to kennel ; he must 
 be whipiTd^olitT'wnith^Lad^^ stand 
 by tiie fire and stink. 
 
 hear. A pestilent gall to tue ! 
 
 Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speeclb 
 
 tdear. Do. 
 
 FooL Mark it, nuncle :— 
 
 Have more than thou shewest, ''^'yS^' 
 Speak less than thou knowest* 
 bentTTesTtimnlthwr?^^ 
 Ride more than thou goest. 
 Learn more -than JiwMi-tFowest, 
 Set less than tliou throwest; 
 / Ijeave thy drink and thy whore, 
 ^i^ey, i» a-doov. 
 And thou shalt have more 
 Than two tens to a seore, 
 Jiecir. Tins is nothing, fool. 
 ¥ool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd 
 lawyer; you gave me nothing for't: Can you make 
 no use oi^n(ithhig, nuncle? 
 
 J4ear. Why, no, boy ; (^nothing can be made pat 
 of uothing. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the reat of his \ 
 land comes to ,• he will not believe a fooL (To Kent.) 
 Lear. A bitter fool 1 
 
 Fool. Ilost thou know the differences^ my boy, 
 
 Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
 Fool. That lord, that counsell'd thee 
 To give away thy land. 
 Come place him here by me, 1 
 Or do tliou for him stand : { 
 The sweet and bitter fool I 
 
 Will piesently appear; 
 The one in motley here, 
 The other found out there. 
 Lear. Dost tliou call me fooj, boy ? 
 Fooh AH thy <)ther liJtJi?^ ,thoiUi9i,§i gi | 
 that thou wast b^wn with. 
 
 Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
 Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great aien will not let 
 me ; if I had a monopoly out. they A'ouid have part 
 on't : and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool 
 to myself ; they'll be snatcliing. — Give me an egg, 
 nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. 
 Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 
 Fool. Why, after J have cut the egg i'tlie middle, 
 and eat up the meat, tTie two crowns of the egg. 
 When thou clovest thy cfOwn i'tlie middle, and 
 gavest away boih parts, thou borest thine ass on 
 thy back over the dirt : Tii*«i.JhajJ^^itUe w^^ in thy 
 baid-£ro^vn, w|ieii tliou gavest Oiy golJen one away, 
 if I speak fike ihyseiriu this, L.t him be whipp'd 
 that first finds it so. 
 
 Fools had ne'er less grace in a year ; {Singing.) 
 
 For tvise men are groivn foppish ; 
 And Icnuw not how their wits to wear.," , 
 
 Their manners are so apish. 
 Lear. Wlicn were you wont to be so full ofsongiji, 
 /' sirrah? \J^^ 
 /Fool. 1 have used it, uuncle, ever since n(oa 
 hiadest tiiy daughters tliv mother: for vviienTirolr* 
 
 'puTsTdown tiiiue pvvn..J 
 
 H^gavesTTT 
 
 : iKeeches, 7 
 
 ^ Then they for sudden joy did weep, {Singing.) 
 And I for sorrow sung, 
 Thai such a king should play bo-peep. 
 And go the fools among. 
 Pr'ythee, nuncle, ke^ a shuol-master that can 
 teach tliy fool to lie; rwould fain learn to lie. 
 Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you wTnpped. 
 Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters 
 are : theyiljiav£_m^ for spealiing true, 
 
 thou'it have me_ whipp'd for lying ; and, so-.uetimefli, 
 r aiu whipp'd for bolaitigT h»y peace. I jjad rather 
 byajiy kind of thing, than a fool: and yet Tw^ 
 rUfit'tse- tliee, Buneifi^T^^ hast t.jared thy wit o'both 
 sides, and left iqothing^n the midme: Here cornea 
 
 Enter GovfBSnS. 
 X»elrr. How now, daughter? what makes that )( 
 frontlet on? Methinks, yoa are too much oi late 
 i' the frown. W 
 
 Fool. 'J'hon wast a pretty fellow, when thou had'at 
 DO need to care for her frowning ; now tiiou art an 
 
 0 without a figure : I am better than thou art now: 
 
 1 am a faol, thou art^ndtlu^>— Yes, forsooth, I will 
 hold my tongue ; so ytruf tace ( 3\? Gon.) bids me^, 
 though you say nothing. Mu.m. mum. 
 
 He that keeps nor cpust nor criim. 
 Weary of all, shall want some. — 
 That's a shealed peascod. )(. {Pointing to Leot*^ 
 
 Gon. Not only, sir, this your ail-licens'd fool. 
 But other of your insolent retinue. 
 Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
 In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
 I had thought, by raakii-g this well known untoyoaj^' 
 To have found a safe redress ; but now grow fearjlll| 
 By what yourself too late have spoke and done. 
 That you protect this course, and put it on 
 ^y your allowance ; which if you should, the fault 
 
Scene 1 /> > ✓ i i ,/ KING 
 
 Would not 'scape ceosnre, nor the redresses sie^p; 
 Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, I, 
 Might in their woiking do you that offence, f 
 Wliich else were shame, that then necessity 
 Will call discreet proceeding. i / 
 
 Fool. For you trow, nuncle, i/y 
 The hedge sparrow fed tlie cuckoo so long; 
 That it had its head hit ofT by its young. 
 So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 
 
 Lear. Are you our daughter ? 
 
 Gon. Come, sir, I would, you would mak.e-«afeof 
 that good wisdom whereoi' I know you ai'^jfeanghtfj 
 and put away these dispositions, which of lat^^trao^^ 
 form you from what you rightly are, i/^^A^^ 
 
 FooL May not an ass know, when the cart draws 
 the horse ? — Whoop, Jug ! I love thee. 
 
 Lear. Does any here know me ? — Why, this is 
 not Lear ;'~tJ^£reT"t]rear walk thus? speak thus? 
 Where are^iis eyesT Either his notion weakens, or 
 his discernings are lethargied. — Sleeping or waking? 
 «. — Ha! sure 'tigjK)i..aa>:r::W'ho is itjthat cap tell me 
 who I amlr-^^jear's shadowTl wbiiTd learn that; 
 foT'E^yTEe' mivrks of sovereignty, knowledge, and 
 reason, I sjiould be false persuaded I had daughters^ 
 / FooL Which they wHI rnake an obedient3[|iheE,., 
 
 Lear. l^rnriiara^^^ f 
 
 Gon. Come, sir; 
 This admiration is m;*©itjo'the favour 
 Of otlieQ'our jj&i^Jc^nk^ do beseech you v 
 To understand my purposes aright ; 
 As you are old a nd reverend, jou sh onld be wise : 
 Here do you keep"^ liundTed ifnights and^squu'es";"" 
 Men~1»o disorder'd, so dtbauch'd, and bold. 
 That this our court, infected with their raanjjm-s, / 
 Shews like a riotous inn : epicur mii and ^ st^/ yf 
 
 Thuu a ^rac'd palace. 'J'he shame'nseri'*3oth speak 
 For ii).st;uit remedy ; Re then desir'd 
 By hc-r, fhatelse will take tiiC tiling she begs, 
 i lit tie to d i.squantity your train; 
 f^jSDlIi^^ t'iiiHmdei^ tim^^ shall "still depend, 
 i"o he sucli 7^neTr^J^iJ5 
 Aiiiikiiow themselves and yon. 
 
 Lear. Darkness and devils !—- 
 
 Saddle my horses; call my train together. — 
 Degenerate ba^r^^LllLUiaLtjaiMble-tl^^ 
 ^^-^JdiaSjefU ~ - K t KW^rabble 
 
 ' Tiim. ToS°stnKe m/ peopre ; and you disorder d 
 Make servants of their betters. 
 
 Enter Albany. 
 Lear. Woe, that too late repents. — O, sir, are 
 you come ? [horses. 
 Is it your will ? [to Alb.) Speak, ^^fdrr^a^Prepare my 
 I.DI^mlitiide ! thoujimrbl^Jl^£te4N|end^ 
 More hioeousi w hen tHoushe w 's tteewin a child. 
 Than tfie tfea'-Ulifli^rJ 
 
 Pray, sir, be patient. 
 Lear. Deteste<l1iite/ thou liest: [To Goneril.) 
 My train are men oC-<iioice and rarest parts. 
 That all particulars of duty know ; 
 And in the most exact regard support 
 The worships of their name. — O most small fault. 
 How uglv uidst thou in CordeliaTsIiew 1^^^^^^^-^-=--= 
 Whu lijlike an engine7 vTre nch'd my frame of nature 
 From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love. 
 And added^ff the gall. O, Lear, Lear, Lear I 
 Beat at llm gate, that let thy folly in, _ 
 \ {Striking his head.) 
 
 l^Lnd Ihy dear judgment out! — Go, go, my people, 
 ) / Aib. My lord, 1 am guiltless, as I am ignorant J 
 / Of what hath mov'd you. • / 
 
 Lear. It may be so, my lord. — Hea^^'nature^hear; 
 Oear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if 
 Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful! 
 N Into her womb convey sterility! - ^-"XJ^^ &M^C 
 DrylTpTTTTierttr^TjrpTT?^ ; 
 And fioni her derogate body never spring 
 A babe to honour her ! It she inystj^em. 
 Create her c hdd ov*' -Sbl e e n ; "that it may ave. 
 
 LEAR. 
 
 And be a thwart di 
 
 tar'd tormenFfo.heci 
 
 : Tooth irTs' 
 Awaj, away'! [Exit 
 "ttTat we adore, wiiereof comes 
 
 Let it stamp wrinkles in "^ler brow of youth 
 With cadent tears I'ret cliannels in hei cnefka; 
 Turn all her rnotherpains, and benefits, ^ 
 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel M^H^tJ^ 
 How sharper i h an ^^eq^eiit's Tooth irts ' 
 ,T6"trave a thankless cTTild !— 
 "Alb. Now, gods 
 this? 
 
 Gon. Never afflict yourself to know th'e ciause', " 
 But let his disposition have that scope 
 That dotage gives it. 
 
 Re-enter Leak. 
 What, fifty of my followers, at a clap! 
 Within a fortnight? 
 Alb. What's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Lear. I'll tell thee ; — Life and death ! I am 
 ashana'd. 
 
 That thoii hast power to shake my manhood thus: 
 
 / {To Goneril.) 
 That these hot tearSj which break from me perlorce, 
 Shp-uld iSaKa^ wortly^he^n.— Bla^f^sTnd foga 
 
 upoin thee ! ✓ . -if 
 
 '^^^^^ gStenft^d^woundings of a father's curse ^''i H^'^"!', j 
 Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, dZ.'t^A 
 Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out; J'Tn I 
 And cast you, with the waters that you lose,^-«^.f^- 
 To temper clay. — Ha !_Js_it rgme to this ? r"^' 
 Let it be so : — Xit have J left a datightt^, "^ /^, // - J 
 Who, I am sure, is kind and comtoTt'able Z'-'*^^ ¥] 
 
 When she shallhe,a£jtljis of thee, with her nails 
 She'll Oay tliy/^y^fish \i^ge,, 'J'hou shalt find, 
 Tliat Ml resuiW-the-gtiape which thou dost think 
 I have cast off for ever; thou shall, J warrant t-he®j 
 [Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants. 
 
 Gon. Do you mark that, my lord ? 
 
 Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, , . ^ 
 
 Gon. Pray yon, content. — WRat, Oswald, hi ! 
 You, sir, more knave tlian fool, after your stef. 
 
 \To the Fq&LI 
 Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and 
 the fool with thee. 
 
 A foa, when one has caught her 
 And such a daughter. 
 Should sure to the slaughter. 
 If my cap would buy a baiter; 
 So the Ibol follows after. 
 Gon. This man hath had good counsel : — A huu' 
 dred knights! 
 'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep 
 At point, aJtuiadi-eji-kBifhts, Yes, that on everj 
 dream. 
 
 Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike. 
 He may enguard his dotage with their powers, 
 AnHlipld our lives in mercy^— Oswald, 1 say !— 
 
 Alb. Well, you may fear too far, 
 
 Gon. Safer than trastt 
 
 l4et me still takeaway the harms I fear, ^ > ^ 
 l^E3^iLitGMCEo[5£3akl.ii^^ know his heart :^ ■ 
 What he hath utter'd, I ha\e writ my sister; 
 If she sustain him and his hundred knights. 
 When I have shew'd the unfitness. — How now» 
 Oswald ? 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 What, have you writ that letter to my sister? 
 Stetv, Ay, madam. 
 
 Gon. Take you some company, and away to horsfl's 
 Inform her full of my particular fear; 
 And thereto add such reasons of your owTi, 
 As may compact it more. Get you gone ; 
 And hasten your return. [Exit Stew.\ No, no, m 
 lord. 
 
 This mijkyjentleness, and course of yours, ' ! 
 TKoupiT condemn it not,^y^ under pardon, 
 Xaa jirg "'"ch n iore^^ttasl^rTor v. ant of wisdom, 
 iHiaiPprais'dToniarr^ 
 
 "■^t^T^HcTvv far your fyes may pierce, J cannot 
 
 lEzif. 
 
 3 
 
TOO KING LEAR. 
 
 Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. 
 Grow. Nay, then — 
 
 Alh Weil, well: the event. [Exeunt, 
 Scene V. — Court before the same. 
 Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Lear, Go you before to Gloster with these let- 
 ters: acquaint my daughter no further with any 
 thing you know, than comes from her demand out 
 ©f the letter : If your diligence be not speedy, I 
 shall be there before you. 
 
 Kent I will not sleep, ray lord, till I have deli- 
 vered your letter. [Exit. 
 
 Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were't 
 not in danger of kibes ? 
 hear. Ay, boy. 
 
 Fuol. Ther^I pr'ythee; be merry ; thy wit shall 
 
 not go 4iP-.«hod) - .sluV2*^4y, aU"€le;> 
 Lear. fla7T^> ha! 
 
 Fool, Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee 
 kindly : f o r t b 0 " g h -ghp_gj',?. J i 1^ ^ this as a crab is like 
 an apple, yetXcaOirr^^fiat I can tell. 
 "Xe«r. Why, what '•an'st thou tell, my boy ? 
 
 Fool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does 
 to a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's tms£_j;tands 
 i ' tlie mi dd i e ofjhi s face ? 
 Jjenr, No. 
 
 Fool. Why, to keep his eves on either side his 
 nose ; thst what a man canaot.smeU jnit,^ he may 
 fpy into. 
 
 Jjear. I did her wrong : 
 
 Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Nor I neither: but I can tell why_ajjiail 
 Las a house. 
 Lear. Why? 
 
 Fool. Why, to,^ujL,hia .beadJi^-^^ 
 away to his daughters, and leave hi^norn^ wittout 
 
 Lear. I will forget n;y nature. — So kind a fa- 
 ^ h lather ! — Be my horses ready ? 
 C^^'^ Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The rea- 
 , ^ 'N, son why the seven stars are no more than seven, 
 ^)S^ lUs a pretty reason, 
 "■^^.t^ V Lear. Because they are not eight? 
 
 Fool. Yes, indeed Thou would'st make a good 
 
 fool. ^ "7 
 
 """^eatr. JjQ^_tete>^'^ again, perforce .'-^I'^onst^r 
 ^giatituder^ 
 \ Fom. TT''ttrrTrr°i:^ert^i^^ nnnr.ig,, T'd— iiaj^e 
 
 thee frgi^te 1 1 4iBHagTI^^^^°r&e ior^J^i^Il^ai&^-^ 
 'Lear, flow's thitt ? 
 
 Fuol. Xlli>" shoiild's t not have been old, before 
 
 thou had^bV'e'n wiseT"^ ' ^"-ir:: 
 
 '""°^^^^!^teEsmE:jjiot he , mad, not mad', sweet 
 heaven ! 
 
 lep^e^ifl-^npen^jvodld^n^ mad! ^ ---^ 
 Enter Gentleman, 
 
 \C How now ! Are the horses ready ? 
 
 Gent. Ready, my lord. 
 
 Lear. Come, boy. 
 y^' ^ Fool. She that is maid now, and laughs at my 
 J^x'- departure, , 
 
 ^ ^ Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut 
 shorter. . ,^it^i/'^^<M^J^ [Exeunt. 
 
 S(7ENE L — A Court wit /tin the Castle of the Earl 
 of Gloster. 
 
 Enter Edmund and Cur^n, meeting. 
 Edm. Save thee, Curan. <^AV;Vx€/ 
 C7ir And you, sir. I have been with yf>ur father ; 
 
 and given hitn notice, tliiit the d uke of Cornwa ll. 
 
 andl{,fegatt— his duchess, vviiiJbe_hsmlMtLium~to,, 
 
 . Ev/ How comes that? 
 
 You have fieard of the 
 
 Edn 
 Cur. 
 
 How comes that ? 
 Nay, I know not: 
 
 news abroad ; I jae^n/the whispered ones, for 
 they are yet but;|ar-ki^ng"li^Tmrer^ 
 Edm. Not I; 'Pi^y 7&ti;'^hiaT;-are-R5f^ 
 Cur. Have yon heard of no likely^aha toward* 
 'f wrivt r^hft duke, , o £ XlQraAVAl|^ _nd^Alj^T[^^^ 
 
 Edm. Not a word. 
 
 Cur, You may then, in time. Fare yoc ^-ell, 
 sir. [Exit, 
 Edm. The duke be here to-night? The ^etter 
 Best! ^«\^^^>VV'^ 
 This weaves itself 'pg^iji^e into my business! 
 
 MyJaih ^ hath s etjg:"ajd to^tak 
 
 i.|juardUo= 
 liner, of a q 
 
 brother; 
 
 Which I must act: — Briefness, and fortune,work!<-" 
 Brother, a word; — descend : — Bmth£av-I say; 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 My father watches : — Q^sir,_flv__ tKls--pla€^^ 
 Intelligence is giv^n where_you_ai:e-hid_;_ 
 iTou haVeTrowTHe'goocTad vantage of the night:— 
 Haxe -y atujuit»apikenjgai^^ 
 walJJ 
 
 He's conu5g_hjther4-«ow', i'the night, i'the haste. 
 And Regan with him : Have you nothing said 
 Upon bus party 'gai nst jh e^ duke of AlbaJxy? 
 Advise yourself.""^" 
 
 Edg. I am sure on't, not a word, 
 
 Edi7i. I hear my Tiither coming,^Pai'dbn me :— 
 III cunning I must draw my sword uuon you: — 
 
 nnjg defend youj^self : Now quit yoa 
 
 Draw 
 
 Yield ; come before my father : — Light, ho, here !— 
 Fly, brother: — Torches! 'torches !— -So, farewell.— 
 
 ^E^H Edgan. 
 Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 
 
 IMjiunds his arm)^ 
 Of my more fierce endeavour: Xhave seen drunk- 
 . ards- 
 
 Do mor£Jhm,JMMjSi Sport — Fathei ! father ! 
 
 Stop, stop ! No help 
 Enter Gloster and Servants, with Torches. 
 Glo. Now, Edmund, where's tha villain? 
 Edm. Here st oed. hejn the dark, his sharp sword i 
 
 lViimiblinj^=.o £. wicked cha rms, conjuring the moon 
 Tq, stand hisr^uspicioHslnt^rre^s^— 
 
 Edm. Look, sir, I bleeT 1 I'^^^^ ^^f^ t^f^^ HP 
 Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund? ' 
 
 Edm. Fled this vvay, sir. VVhen by no means 
 
 Glo. Pursue him, ho! — Go after. — [Exit Serv.] 
 
 By no means, — what? 
 Edm. Persuade me to the jaurder of your lord 
 ship ; 
 
 But that rt()ld him, the revenging gods 
 'Gainst pan-iciores"71td all tfueir tiiunders bend; , 
 Sp^ke, wit^hovv manif^ and strcng a bond , v&. 
 Tne child was bound to the father: — Sir, in fine! ^X^i^C 
 Seeing how loathly opposite I stood ' . 
 
 To his unnatural purpose, in felt motion, !f,\VvjW 
 With his prepared sword, he charges liorae \ 1,mWs 
 My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm: i C^'*''^-' 
 
 But when he saw my beat alarniti'd spirits, V « 
 Bold in the qujiigpl's right, rous d to ttie encountef,'*- 
 Or whether^aste^Jry ^ "ifi<ft?.. I 
 
 Pull sudden^T^fleaS li i^km 
 Glo. Lethim'-lly (ail: 
 
 Not in this land shall he remain uiicanght ; 
 And found — Despatch. — The noble duke my master, 
 My worthy arch and patron, comes to night 
 By his authority I will proclaiu) it, 
 That he, which finds him, shall deserve onr thanka. 
 Bringing tlie murderous coward to the stake ; 
 He thrit cooceaLs hi m, death. 
 "^^^fer VVlVFn I di^uaded Fiiti from his intent. 
 And flnind him^ighpto do it, witli curst speech 
 I t'nrpafp ri'd to oT ^over him : Hf replied, 
 Thou um)6ss~e'ssv^!l^istufU ' jhst-4hm i 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING LEAH. 
 
 701 
 
 IfUj^uId stand against thee, woiild the reposal 
 l^any trust, yirfm ^ or tvorth, in thee 
 MakeTh:yW6rdH jm^^^ No, tv hat I should deny , 
 [As tJris~i' mould ; ay.ihotcgh thou didst produce 
 My very character.) I d turn it all 
 To thy sug(jestion, plot, aTtd damned practice : 
 And thou mustjnake_a,^VardH)f the world, 
 itoTTIimiqTii the ^"UftTsm' niy death 
 
 were ill af- 
 
 WerelfiTfy pregnant andpotenrml spursj j# ^y. 
 7^0 makeThee^eelc it. 
 
 Glo. Strong- and faslen'd villain ! 
 
 Would he deny his letter ? — 1 never got him. 
 
 ( Trumpets within.) 
 Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why he 
 
 conies . ^ 
 AJlj) ortsjn ibar ; the villain shall not 'scape ; '^^^ 
 ThTdlT^e'nnTst'^grant nie that : besides, his piijture 
 I wiU.sejnd /ar near, that all tfie kingdom 
 IViay have dur nottLci' hi'n ; and of my land.^. 
 CtjQS Bl and natural hoy. 1 11 work the means 
 To make thee capabl&K^^ U ^ 
 
 Enter CoRNWALii, Regan, antTAttert^t 
 Cow?. How now, my noble friend ? since I came 
 hither, [news. 
 (Which I can call but now,) I have heard strange 
 Regan. If it be true, all vengeance comes too 
 sliot t, [lord ? 
 
 Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my 
 Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is 
 ci-ack'd I 
 
 Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your 
 
 ^ He, whom my father nanal4,? Your Edgar? 
 V Glo. 0 lady, lacj^jfjE^^g^vould have it hid ! 
 ^TKe^T" V^fis ■Ji&.,..njftC....c.ompaui on with the riotous 
 
 Glo. -=«>»-.^->-— T know not, roadam : 
 
 It is too bad, too bad.— ^-JK-^^LLli 
 Edm. ^esjn^^ 
 Reg. No marvel then^ though he 
 fected ; 
 
 Tis they have put him on the old man's death, 
 To have the waste and spoil of his revenues. 
 I Lave this present evenin g from my sister 
 Been well inform^2I^31euiT^n3^^ " ch cau- 
 " "flonsi ^ 
 That, if they come to sojourn at my house, 
 I'll not be there. 
 
 Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan, — 
 
 Edmund, 1 hear that you have shewn your father 
 A child-like office. 
 
 Edm. . JTyi?!^§JIlzA"^> sir. 
 
 Glo. He did b^l^y his pracITceTan^ receiv'd 
 This hurt you see, scfljdng to apprehend him. 
 
 Com. Is he pursueaN*^ ^'uiCs/^-J 
 
 Glo. Ay, mv good lord, he is. 
 
 Corn. ILhgJm.44sJk^JPiiJae shall never more_ 
 Be fe^r^dj>fjdoinjg^^ make your own purpose, 
 "How in my strengtK""you please. — For you, Ed- 
 ■mundj 
 
 Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
 So much con>mend itself, yf>w sha^^ bp «uirs^ 
 Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; 
 You we first seize on. 
 
 Edm. I s hall s ^ rye _yoiii. sir, 
 
 Truly, however else. - ' | 
 
 'Glo. jTor him I thank your grace. 
 
 Com. You know not why we came to visit you, — 
 
 Reg. Thus out of season; threading dark-ey'd 
 night. .. j 11 
 
 Occasions, noble Gloster, of somo^^^S^ - VJCj^|l)]T' 
 Wherein we must have use of your advice 
 Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, 
 Of differences, which I lest thought it fit 
 To answer from 04ir home ; the several messengers 
 From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend, 
 Laj conjforts to your bosom ; and bestow 
 V cir needful counsel to our business. 
 Which craves the instant use, 
 
 Glo. I serve yon, madam : 
 
 Your graces are right welcome. [ExttimU 
 
 Scene II. — Before Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Kent and Steward, severally. 
 Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend: Art ofth© 
 Kent. Ay. [house? 
 Stew. Where may we set our horses ? 
 Kent. I'the mire. 
 
 Stetv. Pr'ytliee, if thou love me, tell me. 
 Kent. I love thee not. 
 Stew. Why, then I care not for thee. 
 Kent. If 1 had thee in Lipsbury pinfv Id, I tvoQld 
 make thee care for me. 
 Stew. Why dost thou use me thus? I know 
 
 theejnot. j, 
 Kent. F^lkjws I kng^^ 
 Stew. VVhaTcTost thouTinow'me for ? 
 ^rs«/..A,kuave ; a rascal, an eater of broken meats; 
 ^ base , pr(jud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hun- 
 
 'fkfcS^PJJjldv^li'iL)^""!-^^^ knave ; a lilyli- 
 
 ver'd, actiorTljniingTtnave ;f^whore^ glass-gazing, 
 sjxpgrsef^vic^uible ^nical rogu e ; pne^i^mik.- i n h e ri ti ng 
 sl4ve; one that would'st be a bawd, in way of good 
 service, and art nothing but the cxxmpasition of a 
 knave, beg^ar,j:owartlj papder, and the .son and heir 
 of a mongrel bitch: one whom Twill beat into cla- 
 morous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of 
 thy additio!). 
 
 Sleiv. Why, what a monstrous fellow- art thou, 
 thus to rail on one, that is neither know.i of thee, 
 nor knows thee ? 
 
 Kent. What a brazen faced varlet art thou, to 
 deny thou know'st me? ^s it two days ago, since I 
 tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before tlie king ? 
 Draw, you rogue ; for, though it he night, the moon 
 shines; I'll make a sop o'the moonshine of you: 
 Draw, you whorson cullionly barber-monger, draw. 
 
 {Drawing his sword.) 
 Sleiv. Away; I have nothing to do with thee. 
 Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letters 
 against the king; and take vanity the puppet's part, 
 against the royalty of her father: Draw, you rogue, 
 or 1 11 so carbonado your shanks : — draw, you rascal; 
 come your ways. 
 
 Stew. H^elp, ho! murder! help I 
 Kent. Strike, you slave ; stand, rogue, stand; 
 you neat slave, strike. [Beating him.) 
 
 Stew. Help, ho! murder! murder I 
 
 Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, 
 
 and Servants. 
 Edm. How now? What's the matter? Part. 
 Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please j 
 come, I'll flesh you ; come on, young master. 
 
 Glo. Weapons! arms! What's the matter here? 
 Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; 
 H«-<iTrsr*hat.slnktLa.a^in : What is .he matter ' 
 Reg. Tl]Le,jj)e§sengers from our sister ajpH the 
 
 Corn. What is your difference ? speak. 
 Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 
 Kent. No marvel, you have so bestin'd your va- 
 lour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in 
 thee ; a tailor made thee. 
 
 Corn. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor make 
 a man ? 
 
 Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter, or a 
 painter, could not have made him so ill, though they 
 had been but two hours at the trade. 
 
 Com. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ? 
 Stew, lliis ancient ruffian, sir, whose life 1 have 
 
 spSr'd, " /^T^'^N 
 
 At suit of his grey beard,— ^ /t ^ /^^H— ^ 
 
 iCen^. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary ret^" 
 ter! — My lord, if you will give me leave. Twill 
 tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the 
 wall of a jakes with him. — Spare my grey beardi 
 you wagtail! 
 
 Corn. Peace, sirrah \ 
 
702 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 "1 
 
 Act II. 
 
 You beastly knave, ^novvjSJM»a.a:fi,XgreD^^ ? 
 Kent. Yes, siri^buTa^J^lhas a pnvflege. 
 Corn. Why art tKoifangry f — - 
 Kent. That such a slave as this sJiojiild weata^* 
 s\voxd,.„r [these. 
 Wh o wears ng^JigBestv. Sucli,^smiling--rogueja.^^ 
 JUt^^p^ft bite^e^^ cmds atwain ^ 
 Whk3h_aTer~{oo^"intrinse FunlooseTTmo'oth every 
 passion"" 
 
 That in the natures of their lord rebels ; 
 gjn^ oil snow to their colder moods S_ 
 
 affirm, and turn thetHira4g$ c^J 3 eak^ 
 'ith every gale and varY,of4h|'lf rfifflltersJJ 
 LS^knowing nought, like^ogs,^Diit following^ 
 rplague upon your epilepliG^isage I 
 Smile yon my speeches, as I were a fool ? 
 Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
 I'd drive ve cackling home to Camelot. 
 Corn, (VfeSP^liff%ou mad, old fellow? 
 Glo. How fell you out? 
 
 Say that. 
 
 Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, 
 Than I and such a knave. 
 
 Corn. Why dost thou call him knave ? What's 
 his offence ? 
 
 Kent. His countenance likes me not. 
 
 Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, , or his, 
 or lj€rs." "'^----«^^,,„,...~.,,»--»»«.»'''-™ \ 
 
 Kent. Sir] '^tis__myoccupation to be plain; I 
 Iliaieseen letteTTaei's-iB-flijhi^ 
 TKan-Sj^TlTfe'tm^^^ that I see 
 
 ipt^ ore me at this instan t. 
 
 UoTlt'. " ^ This is some fellow, 
 
 Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect 
 A saucy roughness ; and constrains the garb. 
 Quite from his nature : He cannot flatter, he ! — 
 An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth: 
 An they will take it, so ; if not, he's plain. 
 These kind of knave s I kno\ \^j\jiich_, in this p laiiU- 
 
 HadKmrjnai:e-xu3£t^i.aadJilfy^^ 
 Than t\veiity-J5iilLy|3ui4^ 
 TKat^et ch their tfu ties nicely. 
 
 ~K e«?7 SrfTl n good sooTRTiTrs i n c e re verity, 
 Under the allowance of your grand aspect, 
 Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire 
 On flickering Phoebus' front, — 
 
 Corn. What mean'st by this ? 
 
 Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis- 
 commend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: 
 he that beguiled you in a plain accent, was a plain 
 knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though 
 1 should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. 
 
 Corn. What was the offence you gave him ? 
 
 Stew. Never any : 
 
 It pieas'd the king his master, very late. 
 To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; 
 When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, 
 Trip[)'d me behind ; being down, insulted, rail'd, 
 And put upon him such a deal of man, 
 That worthy'd him, got praises of the king 
 For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ; 
 And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit. 
 Drew on me here. 
 
 Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, 
 Bnt Ajax is their fool. 
 
 Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! 
 
 You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart. 
 We'll teach you — 
 
 Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn ; 
 
 Call not your stocks for me : Lserye JLh^^in^' 
 On whose employment I was sent to you : 
 Yj^a,«hallJo 8nfiaJ[l_,.£S|>ect, shew too bold malice 
 Xgains^t4he^^£iIaS^pSsoia. of n»y master. 
 Blocking; his messenger. 
 
 Go*^, Fetch forth the stocks ! 
 
 As I've life and horionr, there shall he sit till noon. 
 
 Iteg. Till a<K»u ! till night, my lord ; and all 
 night lov^. 
 
 Kent. Why madam, if I were your father's dog, 
 
 You should not use lae so. 
 
 Rey. Sir, being hia k ia /e, I willL 
 
 {Stocks brought out) ^ 
 
 Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour 
 Our sister speaks ef : — Come, bring away the jlloclUL 
 
 Glo. Let me beseech your- grace not to do so : 
 His fault is much, and the good king his master 
 Will check him fort: your pnrpos'd low correctioa 
 Is suq^^.jas basest and contemned'st wretches, i 
 For^^^^fes and most common trespasses,^ , ^ * 
 Are punish'd with : theAiijgjn^ust take^^^^ 
 '^That he's so-stightiy-^^v^ in his m^essenger,f^*^'-'^ '''^ 
 Should have him thus restrain'd. 
 
 Corn. I'll answer that 
 
 Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse^ 
 To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted. 
 For following her affairs. — Put in his legs. — 
 
 {Kent is put in the stocks^ 
 Come, my good lord ; away. / 
 
 [Exeunt Regan and CormvalL 
 
 Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend : 'tis the duke's 
 pleasure. 
 
 Whose disposition, all the world well knows. 
 Will not be rnbb'd, nor stopp'd: I'll eutreal fts 
 thee, 
 
 Kent. Pray, do not, sir: I have watch'd, and 
 travell'd hard ; 
 Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. 
 A good man's, fortime may grow out at heels : 
 ©Te ymTgood-niorrow ! 
 Glo. The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be iU 
 taken. [Exit. 
 Kent Good king, that must approve the com- 
 mon saw ! 
 
 Thou out of heaven's benediction com^st 
 To the warm sun! 
 
 Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 
 That by thy comfortable beams I may 
 Peruse thi*: letter !-^NotTiu)g>tmost sees miraclei^ 
 But misety ; — I knowr"His-fForn GeT4#14a ; 
 Who hath, most fortvHtately been inform'd 
 Of my obscured course ; and shall find time 
 From this enormous state, — seeking to give 
 Losses thtir remedies: — All weary and o'ef- 
 watch'd. 
 
 Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
 TJija-Shaineiul lodging. 
 
 ^'ortun^) good nichti^ smile once raore-;^ iura jltf 
 ^'--^ wheel r " {He sleep*) 
 
 Scene III. — A Part of the Heath, 
 Ente- E^AR. 
 Edg. T heard myself proclaim'd ; 
 And, by the happy h^^^^^^^ 
 Escap'tf the luinlj^^' ,1^^ ; no place. 
 
 That guard, and mosVunusual vigilance, 
 Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape> 
 I will preserve myself : and am bethought 
 To take the ,|>^est and most poorest shape. _ 
 That ever j^^uj^^ in contempt of man, W^U *l 
 Brought near to beast: my face I'll gnme wife 
 filth; 
 
 Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots. 
 And with presented nakedness out-face 
 The winds, and persecutions of the sky. 
 The country gives me proof and precedent 
 tof Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, 
 Strike in their oumb'd and mortified bare arms 
 Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; 
 
 hat's;something*yet ;-r-Eilgar ilnothine^^^^^^ < 
 ^tlSRt lV.— Before GlosterVtfastle. 
 Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. „ 
 Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depat^ 
 from iiotoe. 
 And not send back my messenf er 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 Gent 1^ ' AallearnU 
 
 Tli3 night befort there was no purpose in thera 
 Of this remove. 
 Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 
 
 Lear. Haw ) 
 Mak'st thou this sbame thy pastime? 
 -^ "Kent. No, my lord. 
 
 Fool. Ha, ha ; look ! he wears cruel garters ! 
 Ht)rseisr"are tied by the heads; dogs,, and bears, by 
 the neck; motildes {ly the loins, and men by the 
 legs : when a^fftaTris-tnrer-lusty at legs, th^ti he wears 
 Nwoeden neither-stocks. [mistook, 
 Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place 
 To set thee here ? 
 
 Kent. It is both he and she. 
 
 Your son and daughter. 
 Lear. No. 
 Kenl. Yes. 
 Lear. No, I saj. 
 Kent, rsay, yea. 
 Lear. No, no ; they would not. 
 Kent. Yes, they KaveiT*"""""" 
 Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 
 Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 
 Lear. They durst not do't ; 
 They could not, would not do't , 
 To do upon respect such violent outrage' 
 Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
 Thou might'st deserve, ar they impose, this usage 
 Corning from us. 
 
 Kent. My lord, when at their homek 
 
 I did commend your highness' letters to them. 
 Ere I was risen from the place that shew'd 
 My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
 Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
 From Goneril his mistress, salutations; 
 Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission. 
 Which presently they read : on whose contents. 
 They surnraoa'd up their meiny, straight took horse; 
 Commanded me to follow, and attend 
 The leisure of tlieir answer; gave me cold look^: 
 And meeting here the other messenger, I 
 Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mioef 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 703 
 
 (Being the very fellow that of late 
 Display'' 
 
 d so saucily against your highness,) 
 Having more man than wit about me, drew; 
 He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries : 
 Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
 The shame_ which here it suffers. 
 ^oo/.<Wi liter's not gone yet, if the wild geese 
 fly that way. 
 Fathers, that wear rags, 
 
 Do make their children blind ; 
 But fathers, that bear bags. 
 Shall see their children kind. 
 ^OFt«ae^hat arrant whore, 
 
 'loor.- 
 
 S. Ne'er turn 
 
 > But for aH-ftits 
 
 4 
 
 thou shalt have as many dolours 
 ' for thy daugliters, as than canst tell in a year. , — ^ 
 Lear. 0jjjjiw4h«-~mather swells,.up toward my 
 _heart I ~" \ 
 
 -ff^&^wa^^assia. !— down, thou climbing sorrovv, ' 
 Thy-eTetrient s below' I Where is this daughter 
 ^ Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 
 
 Lear. Follow me not : 
 
 Stay here. "^"""'^""'[Exit. 
 Gent. Made yci no more offence than what you 
 
 speak of; 
 Kenl. None. 
 
 How chance the king comes with so small a train ? 
 
 Fool. An thou hadst been set i'the stocks for 
 that question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
 
 Kent. VVhv, fool? 
 
 Foul. We'll set tl»ee to school to an ant, to teach 
 thee there's no labouring in the winter. All, that 
 follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blind 
 men; tnd there's not a nose among twenty, but can 
 fmel him CfIfftV'sSnto^;"'"-k(-t' go thy- holi^^^ 
 a grrir^WhFet ru"ns down a hill, lest it break thy 
 aeck with 'bJiowingit; but the grcdt one that goes 
 
 up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wist 
 man gives thee better counsel, give r.e mine again: 
 I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool 
 gives it. 
 
 That, .sir, whi^-h serves and seeks for gjua, ' 
 
 And follows hut for form. 
 Will pack, when it begins to rain, 
 
 And leave thee in th^^urm.- 
 But I will tarry; tkeJbolt^wiifcswyj 
 
 AndJ£i.the wise man fly 
 The^fnaveliurnstbol, that runs away|^ 
 The fool no knave, perdy. 
 Kent Where learn'd you this, fool ? 
 Fool. Not i'the stocks, fool. 
 
 Re-enter Lear with Gloster. 
 Lear. Deny to speak with me ? 'i'hey are 
 they are weary ? 
 They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetchesf 
 The images of revolt and Hying oil'! 
 Fetch me a better answer. 
 
 Glo. My dear lord. 
 
 You know the fiery quality of the duke ; 
 How unremoveable and fiu'd he is 
 In his own course. 
 
 Lear. Vengeance! plague ! death! confusion! 
 Fiery ! what quality ? Why, Gloster, Gloster, 
 I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife 
 Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd tliena 
 so. (man ? 
 
 Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me» 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord. 
 Lear. 1liie^kinsjemLd-,speakjwith^ 
 dear lather 
 
 Would withJiis daughter sgeg^fc^ her 
 servicejL.__ ' jblood !— 
 
 Are they iu.'brm'd of this? My breath and 
 
 Fiery? the fiery duke ?— Tell the hot duke, that-- 
 No, but not yet : — may be, he i* not well ; 
 Infirmity doth atill neglect all office, 
 Whereto our health is bound ; we are not our- £ 
 selves, 
 
 J, com 
 
 the 
 
 When nature, bei ng oppresa'd *. comma 
 To"Cuffer wlTh~llie"^d^ I'll forbear ; 
 And am fallen out with my more headier will; 
 To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
 For the sound man. — Death on my state ! where- 
 fore ^ {Looking on Keni] 
 Should iie sit here ? This act persuades nie, 
 That this remotioa of the duke and her 
 Is practice only. Give nie my servant forth: I 
 Go, tell the diMie and his wife, I'd speak with thean. 
 Now, presently ; bid them come forth and hear me, 
 Or at their cjiauiber door I'll beat the drum, 
 Till it cry-^Slefp to death, 
 Glo. I'd iiave all NveU bet\vixt^yoT^ [Exit. 
 Lear. O nre, niy" heart, my rising heart! — but, 
 down. 
 
 Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to 
 the eels, when she put them i'the paste alive ; she 
 rapp'd 'em o'the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, 
 Doivn, wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that, U» 
 pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay. 
 
 Enter Cornwall, Regan, Glosier. and 
 Servants. 
 Lear. Good morrow to you both. 
 Corn. Hail to your grace 1 
 
 {Kent is jijet at lihertjf,] 
 Reg, I am glad to see your highness| 
 Lear. Regan, I think you are ; l| know wkaj 
 reason ""^ 
 I have to thinit so : i£tbou.^hould'stjriiot_be ^d^ 
 I ,\Yod4illvoixejn^ 
 SeipulcFring~a^^ 
 
 — - — {To Kent.) 
 
 Some other time for that. — Beloved Regan, 
 Thy sister's naught : O Regan, she hath tied 
 --SMip^footii^uukmdnesg^tike a vulture, here,— 
 — " {Points to his heari^ 
 
 J 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 1.. 
 
 I can »caroe speak to thee ; thon'lt not believe, 
 Of how deprav'd a quality. — O Regan ! 
 
 Reg. I pray yoM, sir, take patience ; I have hope, 
 Ynii Ipss kntvwr hovv to value her desert, 
 Than she t<>^?affl|hei^"3uty. " 
 - Jbmf. '^ Say, how is that ? 
 
 Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least 
 Would fail her obligation : If, sir, perchance, 
 She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
 Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
 As clears her froni all blame*., 
 Lear. My curses on her ! 
 
 Reg. 0, sir, you are old ; 
 
 f Natl ire i&' you stanch very verge 
 
 Of her confine: you should be rul'd, and led 
 Ry some discretion, that discerns your state 
 Better than you yourself : Therefore, I pray you. 
 That to our sister you do make return ; 
 Sav, you have wrong'd her, sir. 
 
 liear. Ask her forgiveness ? 
 
 Do you but mark how this beconies the house : 
 Dear daughter, J confess that I am old: 
 Age is unnecessary: on my knees T beg, [Kneeling.) 
 That you'll vouchsafe me rai7nent, bed, and food. 
 , Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly 
 ^Hj^ -Return you to my sister. [tricks: 
 ..W ""Lear. Never, Regan : 
 
 I She hath abated me of half my train ; 
 / I Loo^Sbiaatop^^nriT;' slrOT her tongue, 
 
 ' Mo^^£X|iejiLliLerupon the very heart. — 
 
 ( ihe «tor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
 
 Gfl4je4Ungratefiil top ! Strike her young bones, 
 -¥oH-4ak.iug_airs. with lameness ! 
 
 Corn. ^Fy, fy, fy! 
 
 2/eflir.-¥o« «ixnye lightnings,, dant, your blinding 
 
 flames y^^"^ ' -(^\k^ ''. ^ 
 
 ~^«tfl her scornfiiLfij^J Infect her beauty, 
 \ YojlJen-snck'^Tio^^flravvn by the powerfriT sufl, 
 yEofall anci blast'her pride ! 
 
 Reg. ' O the blest gods! 
 
 So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. 
 Lear. No^ Regan, thou shalt never have my 
 
 Thy-ten"ftw>4*eftedjiaJ,iire_shall uot^^'e 
 
 Thee o'er to ^iarshness; - hef''eji^r%TS_^eix but 
 
 thine ^ — 
 
 Doconil^ftJ^wiHieiJaiirp : 'Tis not in thee 
 i To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, 
 ^ V=w=. To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, 
 ' And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
 
 Against my cotiiing in : t|iou better kno^JIsfr 
 ^ t^l The (L(Sce§.jQ£j2ai[m:B5xboi 
 I ; Effects of cCurtesj. . dues of gratittgl^;_^ . 
 
 Thy half (Hlrrlungdom liast thou uottorgot, 
 Wherein I thee endow'd. 
 
 Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 
 
 [Trumpets within.) 
 Lear. Who put my man i'the stocks ? 
 Corn. ' What trumpet's that? 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 Reg. I know't, my sister's : this approves her 
 letter, 
 
 That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come ? 
 
 Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrovv"d pride 
 Dwel.s in the fickle grace of her he follows: — 
 Out, varlet, from my sight! 
 
 Corn. What means your grace ? 
 
 Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have 
 good hope [heavens. 
 Thou didst not know oft. — Who comes here ? O, 
 
 Enter GoNERlL. 
 If yen do love old men, if your sweet sway 
 Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. 
 Make it your cause ; send down, and take my 
 part! — 
 
 Art not asham'd to look upon this beard ? — 
 
 [To Goneril.) 
 O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 
 
 Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I 
 offended ? 
 All's not offence, but indiscretion finds. 
 And dotage terms so 
 
 Lear. O, sides, you are too tough! 
 
 Will you yet hold ?~-How came my man i'the stocks? 
 
 Corn. I set him there, sir: but his own disorder* 
 •Deserv'd much less advancement. 
 
 liear. You! did yon I 
 
 Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
 IC, till the expiration of your month, 
 Yiiu will return and sojourn with my sister, 
 Dismissing half your train, come then to me ; 
 [ am novv from home, and out of that provision. 
 Which shall be needful for your entertainment, 
 
 Lear. Return to lier, and fifty men dismiss'd? 
 No, rather I ^n^>ll roofs, and choose fprn^^'*^^ 
 To wage again^tKe enmity o'the air ; \^<*^ 
 To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 
 Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her? 
 Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 
 0;ir youngest born, I could as well be brought 
 To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
 To keep base life a-foot :— Return with her? 
 Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 
 To this detested groom. {Looking on the Steward^ 
 
 Gon. At your choice, sir. 
 
 Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad: 
 I will not trouble th^-c, my child ; farewell; 
 V\i£Ulno moremeet, no more see one another:- 
 Bjjt^eEalKHcareS^piejsh., mjTb'loocJ; my dau^^^^^^ , 
 Q^^-^catiier^_a disease jhaJLjs.ijn my flesh, 
 VVhich I ra'ist needslcan mine : tRou art a boij/^ 
 A<;plagJl£ig^, an embossed carbuncle, y 
 In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide t^f e; 
 Let shame come when it will, I do not call it: 
 I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot. 
 Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
 Mend when thou canst ; be better, at thy leisure 
 1 can be patient ; I can>taf-wTtlT~Reg:an, 
 
 ^Rf^g^ Not al together so, sir; 
 
 I l5rok^jdjQolioii.yxiU^ nor am pro v i deSf 
 Ftk-ytMMufit welcome -."ti i ve ear, sir, to my sister, 
 For tiiose that mingle reasoiT'witti'your passion, 
 "iVIust be content to think you old, and so — 
 But she knows what she does. 
 
 Lear. ^ Is this well spoke i novv? 
 
 Reg. I dare avouch it, sir : What, fifty folio vers ? 
 Is it not well? WJiiil-^htTnl^d-T^^H-av^e^^ 
 Yea, or so many T sith that both charge and dange 
 Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house 
 Should many people, under two commands. 
 Hold amity? tis hard; almost impossible. 
 I Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive atten* 
 i dance 
 
 From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? 
 Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they chanc'd to 
 slack you. 
 
 We could control them: If you vvill corne^to me 
 (For now I spy a danger,) LHutreaf you ""^"^-^ 
 'l^Q- brip iLbtit five-and tvventy ; to no more 
 Will I give place, or notice. 
 Lear. I gave you all — 
 
 Reg. And in good time you gave it* 
 
 Lear. Made jronxny guardians, my deposi caries; 
 But kept a'TesCrvation to be follow'd 
 With such a number: What, must I come to yon 
 With five-and-twenty, Regan? said you so? 
 Reg. And speak it again, my lord : no mor© 
 with me. 
 
 Lear. Those wicktd creatures yet do look well. 
 favour'd. 
 
 When others are more wicked ; not being the worsts 
 Stands in some rank of praise :->-ril go wij^h thee; 
 \f^- [ToGonerii.) 
 Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, 
 Atid thou art twice her love. 
 ...^Gnn. Hea^ me, my lord J 
 
 What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five. 
 
Corn. Let us withdraw . 
 
 {Storm heard at-a^drftance.) 
 
 Reg. This hou^e 
 
 Is little ; the old man and his people cannot i;- 
 Be well bestow'd. | 
 
 Gon. 'Tis his own blame ; he haOip^itl 
 
 Himself from rest, and must needs taste his mm *^ 
 
 Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladTy, 
 Biit not one follower. 
 
 Gon. So am I purpos'd. 
 
 Where is my lord of Gloster ? 
 
 Re-enter Gloster. 
 
 Corn. Follow'd th^ldman forth : — he is return'd. 
 
 Glo. Tlie king- is in high rage.^ 
 
 Corn. Whither is he going;? 
 
 Glo. He calls to horse; but will I know not 
 whither. [self 
 
 Corn. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads him- 
 
 Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.^ 
 
 Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak wind" 
 Do sore)^' rofiie ; for many miles about / 
 There's scarce a bush. 
 
 Reg. O, sir, to wilful menp"""^' 
 
 The injuries, that they themselves procure, V 
 Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your door| 
 He is attended with a desperate train.; ^ 
 Andjgthat ,tb#y>^ayjncense^l^ to, being apt 
 To havfiji»-e4&-ab«§!H^^stlom^^ 
 
 Corn. Shut up your "doors, my ToTd; '^a wild 
 night ; 
 
 My Regan counsels well : come out o'the storm. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A Heath 
 
 A storm is heard, with thunder and lightning. 
 Entsr Kent and a Gentleman^ meeting. 
 Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather i 
 Gent. One minded like the weather, most un- 
 qnietly. 
 
 Kent. I know you ; where's the king? 
 
 Gent. Contending with the fretful element: 1 
 Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, \ 
 Or swell the curved waters 'bove the mai!i,^_ 
 That things might change, or cease ; tears "nlswnite 
 hair; 
 
 Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage. 
 Catch in their fury, and make nothing of: 
 Strives in- his littLe world of map to put-scorn 
 T&e to and- fro-conflicting wind and raiu. ' 
 
 Thi 
 
 Act III. Scene 2. ^ q^^^^^-^'^G^ LEAR. 
 
 To follow in a house, where fwice so many 
 Have a command to tend yon ? 
 
 Meg. What need one? 
 
 Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars 
 Are in the poorest thing su[)erfluous : 
 Allow not nature morgthannatu^^ 
 Man*s 1 ife is cheajg_ai2ea^^Ttiv^ art a lady ; 
 If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
 Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, 
 Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true 
 need, — 
 
 You heavens, give me th^£LtleB«^e»4JAiifi«c^^ • 
 jLou-flee-me liere, you go3s7a poor old man. 
 
 As full of grief, as age ; wretched in both j _ ^ ? 
 
 If it be you, that stir these daughters' hearts \ 
 Against'their father, fool me not so much ,^, 4* 
 To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble'lKger ! 'j 
 O, let not women's weapons, water-drops, 
 Stain my man's cheeks! — No, you unnatural hag! 
 I will have such revenge.s on you both, . li^ 
 
 'J'hat^U the world shall— f will do such things,—^/ 
 What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall b^j 
 Tlie terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep ; ■ 
 No, I'll not weep : — _ _ ^ \ 
 
 I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart \ \ / 
 Shall break into a hundred t}-;ousand flaws, V'W 
 Or ere I'll weep : — O, tool, 1 shall go mad ! w 
 [Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kej^rmd Fool. 
 
 r. 'twill be sf^storm. \ 
 
 705 
 
 night, wherein th3 cub-drawn be?r would 
 cou ;h. 
 
 The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
 Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs. 
 And bids what will take all. \ 
 Kent. But who is with him? \ 
 
 Gent. None but the fool ; who labours to outjest | 
 His heart-struck injuries. - .- W 
 
 Kent. Sir, I do know you ; 
 
 And dare, upon the warrant of my art, 
 Commend a dear thing to you. There is division. 
 Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 
 With.JJ44^4ua,l cu Albany and Cornwall; 
 
 VYJiaiiave (as"\v'Ko'"^ave rTof, "that-4i*eir~^retit-stars- 
 Thron'd and set high ?j servants v/ha,seem no les^j-^ 
 Which are to France the .spies and spechlations 
 Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen. 
 Either in snuiis and parkings of the dukes ; 
 Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
 Against the old kind king ; or something deeper, 
 Whereof, perchance, these are but fiirnisliings ; — 
 But, true it is, from France there comes a power 
 Into this scattered kingdom ; who already, 
 Wise in our negligence, have secret feet_„ 
 In some of our best ports, and are at point 
 To shew their open banner. — Now to you : 
 If on m.y credit you dare build so far 
 To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
 S(mie that will thank you, niaking just report, 
 Oj' ho\v uimatural and bemadding sorrow 
 The kti-fgiiath causH "to 'plain. ' 
 I am a gentlenjan of Wood and breeding; 
 And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer 
 This office to you. 
 
 Gent. I will talk further with you. 
 Kent. No, do not 
 
 For confirmation (hat I am much more 
 Than my out- wall, open this purse, and take..,—^ 
 What it contain^,: If you shall see Corddiii; / 
 (As fear not but yor shall,) shew her ring; 
 And she will tell you who your fellow il^ 
 That yet you do not know. Fie on this storra ! 
 1 will go seek the king. [gay ? 
 
 Gent. Give me your hand : Have you no n>ore to 
 Kent. Few words, but, to effect,' more than all 
 yet; [pain 
 That when we have found the king. Cm which your 
 That way ; I II this;) he that first lights on him, 
 Holla the other. [Exeunt severally.) 
 
 Scene 11.— Another part of the Heath. Storm 
 continues. 
 
 Enter Lear and Fool. 
 
 Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage! 
 blow ! 
 
 You cataracts, and hnrricanoes, spout 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the 
 cocks ! 
 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
 Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
 Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder, 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o'the world ! 
 Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once. 
 That make ingrateful man ! 
 
 Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is 
 better than this rain-water out o'door. Good nuncle, 
 in, and ask thy daughter's blessing; here''s a pjght 
 pitte-s-Tieither wise m©»'-i*®i5«fo0l».~ 
 
 'Lear. Runrtble thy belly-full ! Spit, fire ! spout, raial 
 N!ar,rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkind ness, 
 I never gave you kingdom, call d you children, 
 You owe me no subscription ; why then let fall 
 Y'our horrible pleasure; here I starid, your slaTI^ 
 A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man:— 
 
 yfiiJLSEL'^'**^.^^''*'''^ ministers 
 That hare>^fIiTwo i)ernicioHs danghtersjiiin,'4- 
 Your high-etrgehder'd battles 'gi,i.,st a head 
 So btd und; white as this. 0 10 ! 't^s fbiil I 
 
 /i5 
 
700 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Fool. He, that has a house to put his head in, has 
 B good head piece. 
 
 *J'ne cod-piece that will house, 
 
 Before the head has any, 
 The head and he shall louse I— 
 %^ So beggars marry many. 
 
 J \ \ The man that makes his toe 
 .1 1 1 What he his heart should make, 
 I ] Shall of a co rn cry ivoe, 
 i i^^^^^^nc? turn his sleep to ivake. 
 
 forth^Muj^as^^nev^Xjet fair woman, but she made 
 mouth in a glass. — ™* 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 Lear. No, T will t e the pattern of all patience, I 
 M'ill sav nothing. 
 
 Kent. Who's there ? 
 
 Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece ; that's 
 wise man, and a fool. ^ [n>^^iila^ 
 
 Kent. Alas, sir, are you h e re ?^4|iin£s ^th at lo ve^ 
 Ijovjg„jiotHSwek«i|»^frt^-s~thPB^ the wratl^rrrrsines 
 CTallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
 •And make them keep their caves : Since I was man, 
 Such sheets (>lt:jffi^i-e",''snch %iirs>^ of Jforri'd thnndeP) 
 Such groans ofl-oaring wind andrafiv I never 
 Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry 
 Tfip aflliction, nor the fear. 
 
 Lear. X<£jUJie_^rea^tgojis, 
 
 That keep this dreadful pother o'er ourtreiids, 
 Find out tlieir enemies novv, Trcmhlo, th n u wr e tch, 
 Ti3atTi"asl"°yTtW 
 
 UnwTnpp'd~o i'^ustr^^^ hand | 
 
 Thou perjurd, and thou ^^irtiiilar man ITf virTOe^" 
 'I'hat art incestuous : Caitiff', to pieces shake, 
 That under covert and convenient seeming 
 Hast practised on man's life : — Close pent-up guilts. 
 Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
 These dreadful summoners grace. — I am a man, 
 More sinn!d a^amstj tha^^ 
 
 Kent. Ittack, bare-headed ! 
 
 Gracious my lord, hard by here is ^JiQxei4 
 Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest; 
 Repose you there : while I to this hard house, 
 (More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
 Which even but now, demanding after you, 
 Denied me to come in,) return, and force 
 Their scanted courtesy. 
 
 Lear. M>y--w'4ts-b«g«i4oJ}irii. — 
 
 ome on, my boy : How dost, my boy ? Art cold ? 
 am cold myself. — Where is tiiis straw, my fellow? 
 ^ The art of .our necessities-is strange, [hovel, 
 
 That can make vile_thu)gs_j3recio^ Come, your 
 
 oor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
 vj-^p^ 'x That's sorry yet for thee. 
 ■ --jh" Foul. H.& tJiaLJiMS a little tiriy tmt;,— 
 ^ \/ With heigK^fWTffie ivind and the rain, — 
 
 ' \^ \ M^t^t make contmtivith his fortunes Jit; 
 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 liertrr True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to 
 tlis hovel [Exeunt Lear and Kent. 
 
 Fool. This is a brave niglit to cool a courtezan. — 
 I'M speak a-4wop^ii=e£y. ere I go : 
 • When priests are more in word than matteir^, 
 \Vhen brewers mar their malt with water; \ 
 Wiien nobles are their tailors' tutors; \ 
 No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors: 
 When every case in law is right; 
 No squire in debt, nor no poor knight, 
 When slanders do not live in tongues ; 
 Nor cutpurses come not to throngs ; 
 When usurers tell their gold i'the field; 
 ,A lid bawds and whores do churches build 
 Then ohall the realm of Aibion 
 Come to great confusion. 
 Then comes the time, who lives to see't, 
 That going sh^H be us'd with feet. 
 This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before 
 his time. [Exit, 
 
 Scene III.— ^ Room in Gloster's Casile. 
 Enter Gloster and Edmund. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, 1 like not this xm~. 
 natural dealing : When I desired their leave that I 
 might pity him, they took from me the use of mine!^: 
 own house ; charged me, on pain of their perpetual ! 
 displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat fcrf 
 him, nor ^ny way sustain him. 
 
 Edm. Most savage and unnatural ! 
 
 Glo. Go to ; say you nothing : There ^ division 
 between the dukes ; and a worse matte? than that : 
 J_liax£-£eceived a^h;Jipr this ni;- lit : — 'fs dangetcus 
 to be spoken;--! haveTocked the letter in my clo- 
 set : these injuries the king now bears will be re- 
 venged athome ; ath^ere is part of a power already 
 footed: we inust incline to the king. I will seek 
 him, and privily relieve him : go you, and maintain 
 talk with the duke, that my-charity be not of him 
 
 Eerceived : If he ask for me, 1 am iU, and gone to 
 ^ed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened*" me, 
 the king, my old master, must be relieved. There 
 is some strange thing toward, Edmund ; pray you, 
 be careful. [Exit. 
 
 Edm. This courtesy forbid thee, shall the duke 
 Instantly -know.; and of that letter too : — 
 This seems a fair deserving, and n)ust draw me 
 That which my father loses ; no less than all : 
 Thfij^oun^er rises, when the old doth lalt. [Exii 
 
 Scene IV. — A part of the Heath, tvith a Hovel, 
 Enter Lear, ICent, and Fool. 
 Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord 
 enter : 
 
 The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
 For nature to endure. {Storm stilL 
 
 Lear. Let me alone. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 Lear. Wilt break my heart? 
 
 Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my lord, 
 enter. [tious storta 
 
 V Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this couteo- 
 |[nvades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; I 
 feut where the greater Jaaalady is fix'd, f 
 iThe lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear; i 
 ^But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 
 Thou'dst meet the bear i'the mouth. When the 
 
 mind's free^- , ; 
 
 The body's delicate >JLk|_tgmp est in m y mind^Vi | 
 DotkikTrnTtTy senses t^^ I 
 Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude / 
 IsTt'TorasllirsltiotTtls should tear this hand, , / ' 
 For lifting food to't? — But I will punish homer- 
 No, I wiilw^efijijp more. — Iiysuch a night 
 To shut me out! — Pour on ; I will endure : — 
 In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! 
 Your old kin,d,iktber, whose fr«»nk heart gave all,—. \ 
 O, that wajrvnjadn^^lies ; let me shun that; 
 No morve"3f°ttrar,~ 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Pry thee, go in thyself; seek thine owo 
 ease ; 
 
 his tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 n things would hurt me more — BiiL I'll go in : 
 n^bjXJp-1ifst^{TojA^-^l.) You liomleM 
 
 Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. 
 
 {Fo^il goes 
 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoeVe you ate. 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storu», 
 How shall yottc houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd anBTwindiow'drraggedni-ss, defend you 
 From seasons such as these ? 0>-J Ji^^e ta'ea 
 ^'ooHttje care of this ! Take physic, pomp; ^ 
 '^^^goselE^eif to feel what wretches feel ; ^ 
 Thartnotimay'st shake the superfliix to them, | 
 And shew the heavens more just. 
 
 Edg. {Within.) Fathom and half, fathom, an 
 half! Poor Tom! 
 
 {The Fool runs out from the hovtt) 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 4 ^vaM ^ 
 
 707 
 
 Fool. dSine not in here, D"ocle, here's a spirit. 
 Helivme, help me ! 
 Kent. Give me thy hand.— Who's there ? 
 Fcol. A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor 
 Tom. [i'the straw ? 
 
 K&nt. What art thou that dost grumble there 
 
 ■ • ;i 
 
 wind.-* 
 
 1 
 
 ighters 1 
 ? whomV 
 
 f oaig forth. 
 
 ~ -JJa/er Edgar, disguised as<a^dm^^ 
 
 Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me! — 
 Tliroiigh the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind, 
 Humph ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee, 
 
 Lear. Hast thou given all to tinr two daughte; 
 And art thou come to this ? gjlwu**^ 
 
 Eda,.JtS^iui gives iihy thing to poor Tom? 
 fhe 'm^fien^ hath led through fire and through 
 flame, nirottfh ford and whirlpool, over bog and 
 qiiasrmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, 
 and halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge ; 
 made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting- 
 horse over fourinched bridges, tf ii >x nM . cg fi .4i is own 
 BlfitdflAV-ftCa^aitor :— Bless thy five wits ! Tom's 
 a-cold. — 07ao'"d«^ do de, do de. — Bless thee from 
 whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking ! Do poor 
 Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes : 
 There could I have him now, — and there, — and 
 there,— and there again, and there. 
 
 [Storm continues.)] 
 
 Lear. What, havefiis daughters brought him toj 
 this pass?— [all? 
 Could'st thou save nothing? Did'st thou give them 
 
 Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had 
 been all shamed. [air 
 
 Lear. Now, all the plagu^eJS, that inJLhe pendulojis 
 Han^r fated o'er men's fanif.^, Ijgbf on fjiy Han^hfprsl^ > 
 
 natiiire 
 
 Tasuch a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
 Ts itTTTriastff(^^ 
 
 Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ? | 
 Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's-hill ; — 
 Halloo, halloo, loo, loo! 
 
 Fool. Tliis cold night will turn us all to 
 madmen. 
 
 Edg. Take heed o'the foul fiend : Obey thy pa- 
 rents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit 
 not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet 
 heart on proud array : Tom's a cold. 
 Lear. What hast thou been ? 
 Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; 
 that curled my hair ;ywore gloves in my cap, sj,rved 
 the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of 
 dflrkness with her; swore as many oaths as [ spake 
 words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven : 
 one that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked 
 to do it : Wine loved I deeply ; dice dearly; and in 
 woman, out-paramoured the Turk : False of heart 
 light of ear, bloody of hand ; Hog ijj-jloth. 
 
 steal tJu woIfjiLgre^^ nmi 
 ';)rey.iLeTnot the creaking'^ shoes, noirihe rustling 
 of sUks, betray thy poor heart to women .• Keep thy 
 fool out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy 
 pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. — 
 otill through the hawthorn blows the cold wind : 
 Says suum man, ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, my 
 boy, sessa ; let him trot by. 
 
 (Storm still continues.) 
 Lear. Whv, thou were better in thy grave, than\ 
 to answer wifh thy uncovered body this extremit^ 
 thc=r.jd[^iaSte=rJs man no more than this? Consider 
 him weTTfThou owest the worm no silk, the beast 
 no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume : — 
 Ha! here's three of us are sophisticated ! Thou art 
 the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more 
 butTUch a poor, )^aL!:e*_forktd animal as thou art — 
 OflF, off, y«^.kn(}ings ;— TlonTeT'iTfihTitton here. — ,n 
 ^i^^-j {Tearing off his clotke^^ 
 
 flfuiwjq >M,)vJk^ 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nnncle, be contented ; this h 3 
 naughty night to swim in.— Now a little fire in a wild 
 field were Hke an old lecher's heart; a small spark, 
 all the rest of his bo^y cold. — l^ool^^Jbfitfi-ciuiiea*-^ 
 wajy ing fire. ~ L\/ V] 
 
 EdgTT^xs IS the fouV fiend Flibbertigibbcl : he 
 begins at curfew, and walks till the first c >clr ; he 
 ■igives >tbje-i££jj-aJadJitft pin, ^quints the eye, and 
 makes the hare-lip rmTTiSewsthe white wheat, and 
 hurts the poor creature of earth. 
 
 Saint Witkold footed thrice the wold; 
 He met the night-mare^ and her Hine-fold ; 
 Bid her alight, 
 And her troth plight, 
 And<lroint thee, witch, aroint thee! 
 Kent. How fares your g»-ace ? 
 
 Enter Glostkr, vjith a Torek 
 Lear. What's he ? 
 
 Kent. Who's there ? What is't you seek ? 
 
 Glo. What are you there ? Your names ? 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, thft 
 toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the wafer; 
 that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend 
 rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old 
 rat, and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle ol 
 the standing pool ; wiio is wiiipped from tything to )^ 
 tything, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; 
 \yho hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to 
 his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear, — 
 But mice, and rats, and such small deer. 
 Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
 Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin; peace, X 
 thou fiend ! 
 
 Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ? 
 
 Kent. He hath no daughters, "sirT^— — ^ Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman; 
 
 Lear. Y)js>aih.,JjeM^ij^^ Modo he's called, and Mahu. f\ ile, 
 
 Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown 
 That it doth hate what gets it. 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. 
 Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer 
 To obey in all your daughters' hard commands : 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors. 
 And let this tyrannous dight take hold upon you ; 
 Yet have 1 ventur'd to come seek you out, 
 And bring you where both fire and ibod is ready. 
 
 Lear. Eij:.^ let me talk with this philosopher c- 
 What is the cause of thunder? 
 K^nt. Good my lord, take his offer; 
 
 Go into the house. [Theban : 
 
 Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned 
 
 V^liat is your study ? „ 
 
 ^dg. Hovv taprevent thejfiend, and to kill vermia 
 
 Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 
 
 Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord, 
 H isu WJ ts begirv to unsettle, 
 
 ' C^n'st tjipu blanje him ? 
 
 His daughters seek, his .-d^afF: —^ that 'goodl' 
 
 He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man ! — 
 Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell tJiee, 
 friend, 
 
 w'd from mr hlniirl • Vim sri'r 
 
 1'^ 
 
 outlaw^dyV^^ ; he^ soilght my Ufop 
 
 But lately, veryTali ; jTlov'd him7 friend,— 
 No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, 
 
 {Storm €oniit»tu9.)i f\' 
 The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night'sl 
 this ! 
 
 I do beseech your grace, — 
 
 Lear. O, cry ym mercy. 
 
 Noble philosopher, your company. 
 
 Edg. Tom's a-cold. [warm. 
 
 Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel keep tlie« 
 
 Lear. Come, let's in all. 
 
 Kent. This way, my lord. 
 
 Lear. • With himj 
 
 I will keep still with my philosopher. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, sooth him ; let him take tiiC 
 fellow. 
 
 4 
 
70S 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 ^to. Take dun yon on. 
 Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
 Jteai Come, good Athenian. 
 Qh, No words, no words : 
 
 8]ii.oh 
 
 Edfl,. Child Rowland to the dark toiver came. 
 
 His word was still, — Fie, fuh, and fum, 
 I small the btoodofa British t7tan. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Bootn in Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter CoRNWALLongL^ 
 
 Corn. I will have m y revenge ., ere I depart his 
 House. 
 
 Edtn, How, my lord, I may be censured, that 
 nature thus gj vgs way t£ lojalty, something Tears me 
 to think ol. 
 
 Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
 brother's fc\il disposition made him seek iiis death; 
 but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable 
 badness in himself, 
 
 j?c//«.,4jiii5Ljiialicious is my fortune, that I must 
 j:ep.exit to._lae_jnst ! Tin's is the letter he spoke oK. 
 \}niich_ap proves h im'--ajQ— i nfeliia-ent j >arty to^ 
 jdvantages of France. O heavens! thatTITis treason' 
 
 were nTrC7-~e«^Bot-I-tiie detector! 
 ^ Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 
 * Edm. II" the matter of this paper be certain, you 
 have mighty business in hand. 
 
 Corn. Truej or false, it hath made thee earl of 
 Gioster. ^eek out where thy father is, that he may 
 be rf-ady for o»ir apprehension. 
 
 Edm. [Aside.) If I find him cottiforting the king, 
 it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I willq^SXSi?- 
 rere in my course of loyalty, though the conflict b6 
 BOre between that and my blood. c'-^-^ ht^m s&.Jih.i 
 Corn. 1 will lay trust upon thee; and thou shaft 
 find a dearer father in ray iove. ^[Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — A Chamber in a Farm-House, 
 adjoininythe Castle. 
 
 ^ter Glosteu, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. 
 Gio. Here is better than the open air ; take it 
 thankfully • I will piece out the comfort v/ith what 
 addition I can : I will not be long from you. 
 i Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to 
 ' liis impatience : — The gods reward yoivr kindness I 
 
 [Exit Gioster. 
 
 Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me, ^^m?is 
 an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, infJC^ent, 
 ftDjl beware the foul fiend. 
 
 r" Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a mad- 
 man be a gentleman, or a yeoman ? 
 I ^f^^' A kinjr, a king ! 
 
 X/Fool. No ; he's a yeoman, that has a ger>tleman 
 to his son : foir he's a mad yeoman, that sees his son 
 a. ger) tie u>an before him. 
 
 Lear. To liave a thousand with red burning spits 
 come hizzing in upon them: — 
 Edg. 'I'he foul fiend bites my back, 
 r" * ' Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a 
 \ wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's 
 
 Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them 
 straight : — 
 
 C Onue, sit thou here, most learned justicer ; — 
 
 [To Edgar.) 
 
 Thou, sapient sir, sit here. {To the Fool.) — Now, 
 you she-foxes I — 
 Mdg. Look, where he stands and glares !— 
 Waiitest thou eyes at trial, madam ? 
 Corne o'er the bourn, Bessy ^ to me 
 Fool, tier boat hath a leak. 
 And she must not speak 
 Why she dares not come over to thee, 
 £dcf . 'i'he foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice 
 of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly* 
 for two white herrings. ,Croak noty b lack angel; I 
 have no food for thee. '*"'^°°""--~~----.~«- 
 
 ^ Act III 
 
 Kent. How da you, sii- ? Standi you not so amaa'd : 
 
 Will you lie down nnd rest upon the cushions^. ^ 
 
 Lear. I'll see their trial first : — Brin^ in the?" \ 
 evidence : — ^...^^ 1 \ 
 
 Thou robed man of justice, take thy place I \ 
 
 -"^ — - (ToWarlJ""^ 
 And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, (To the Fou.) 
 Bunch by his side: — You are of the comniissioD, 
 Sit you too. {Tc Kent,^ 
 
 Edq. Let us deal justly. 
 
 ^leepest, or wakest thou. jolly shephkid? 
 
 Thy sheep be in the corn , 
 And for one blast of thy minikin mouth. 
 Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
 Pur ! the cat is grey, 
 
 Lear. PiSxm^l\lSsJS3iA^&zJ^SS^^- ^ ^^^^ 
 my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked 
 the poor king her father. 
 
 Fool. Come hither, mistress; Is your name 
 Goneril ? 
 
 Lear. She cannot deny it. 
 
 Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint- stool. 
 ' Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looka 
 
 proclaim \ ; 
 
 What store her hearjHs made of. — Stop her there ! 
 Arms, arms, swordnir?;J — Corruption in the place !^ 
 Falsejusticer, M'hy liaSt thou let her 'scape^l. ^^'^ 
 "Edg. TIlemhy'ftviFwttsI — ~- — , i4vci-^1 
 
 Kent. O pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now. 
 That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 
 
 Edg, My tears begin to take his part so much, 
 They'll mar my counterfeiting. {Aside.) 
 
 Lear. The little dogs and all, 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see they bark at me, 
 Edg. Tom will throw his head at them : — Avaunt, 
 iyou cnrs ! 
 
 Be thy mouth or black or white. 
 Tooth that poisons, if it bite ; 
 Mastif, grey-hound, mongrel grim. 
 Hound, or spaniel, brich, or lyra ; 
 Or botbail tike, or trundle-tail ; 
 Tom will make them weep and wail: 
 For, with throwing thus my head. 
 Dogs leap the hatch, and ail are fled. 
 Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wa(£es and 
 fairs, and market towns : — -Poor Tom, thyehorn l«» dry. ^ 
 
 Lear. Then let them a"natomIze~Kegan, see vvhat 
 breed-s about her heart: Is there any cause iu na- 
 ture, that makes these har^EMiiear^t*— Yon. sir, I 
 entertain you for one of my hundred; only, I do not „^ 
 like the fashion of your garments: you will say, they 
 are Persian attire ; but let them be changed. 
 
 {To Edgar.) 
 
 Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest 
 
 awhile, ' 
 Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw the 
 ciu'tains: So, so, so: VV e'U go to supper i' the 
 - mornltig : So. so, so. ~~ """" ^' — — 
 ""C Fool. Ana I'll go to bed at noon. 
 
 ' Re-enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king, my 
 master ? [are -gone. 
 
 Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not,^ 3 ■wjt a^ 
 Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take hina in "tKy^ 
 arms : 
 
 B<2th_WeS5me^nii^otec^^ Take np thy mastex i 
 If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life. 
 With thine, and all that offer to defend him, 
 Stand in assured loss : Take up, take up; 
 And follow me, that will to some provision 
 Give thee quick conduct. 
 
 Kent. Oppress'd nature skeps: — 
 
 This rest might yet have balca'd thy broken seuseii 
 Which, if convenience will not allow, 
 
Scene 7. ' KING LEAR. ji^-- 709 
 
 Stand In b>i d cure. — Come, (lelp io bear thy master ; 
 1'hou muirt, not stay behind. (To the Fool.) 
 
 Qlu. Come, come, ;i\vay. 
 
 [Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, 
 hearing off the King. 
 Edg. Wl en \ve our betters see bearing our woes, 
 VVe scarcery think unr miseries biir foes. Y 
 VVTio alone giit ieis, suffers most i' the mind'; ':/ 
 t7<^aTing tree"nTrngs, ;Viid ha i p she ws^iSBiTui^: 
 But then tlie mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, 
 When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
 How light and portable my pain seems novY,„__ 
 When tiiat, w hich makes lue bend, makes the king 
 bow ; 
 
 Hg-c Jj i 1 de d ^ as I fat h e r'd !— Tom, away : 
 MarktHe liigh rioTseSTtrad thyself bewray. 
 When false opinion, whosf wrong thought defiles 
 thee. 
 
 In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
 What will hap more to-night, safe scapeUj^JijjagJ.--- 
 liurk, lurk. -"""^"'[Exii. 
 
 Scene VII.-— ^ Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, 
 and Servants. 
 
 Corn. Post speedily to ray lord your husband ; 
 fihew him this letter : — ^he army of France is landed : 
 Seek out the villain Gidstfefr"""™"' 
 
 [Exeunt some of the Servants. 
 
 Reg. Hang him instantly. 
 
 Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Corfi. Leave him to my displeasure. — Edmuod.^ 
 kee,/ yau^our si&ter company ; the revenges we" are 
 boCmd to take uuon your traitorous father, are not 
 fit f(»r your beholding. Advise the duke, where you 
 are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are 
 bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift,and intel- 
 ligf ut betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister; — farewell, 
 Diy lord of Gloster. 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 How now? Where's the king? [hence: 
 Stew. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him 
 S. nie five or six and thirty of his knights, 
 Hr)t questrists after him, met him at gate ; 
 VVho, with some other of the lord's dependants, 
 Are gone with hitn towards Dov^; where they 
 -■■^f;gr{^-'~-—- - 
 
 To have well-armed friends. 
 
 iJorn, Get horses for your mistress. 
 
 Gon, Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 
 
 [Exeunt Goneril and Edmund. 
 Com. Edmund, farewell. — Go, seek the traitor 
 Gloster, 
 
 Pinion him like a thief, bring him before ns : 
 
 [Exeunt other Servants. 
 Though well we may not pass upon his life 
 Without the form of justice : yet our power 
 Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
 May blame, but not control. Who's there ? The 
 traitor ? 
 
 Re-enter Servants, tviih Gloster, 
 Reg. Ingrateful fox! 'tis he. 
 
 Corn. Hind fast his corky arms. [consider 
 
 Glo. What mean your graces ? — Good my friends, 
 Vou are my guests : d;) me no foul play, friends. 
 
 Com Bmd him, I say. [Servants bind him.) 
 
 Reg. Hard, hard :— O filthy traitor! 
 
 do. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none. 
 
 Com. To this chair bind him : — Villain, thou shalt 
 find — {Regan fflucks his beard.) 
 
 Glq. By tlie kind gods,--'tis aibsngtidbljr done 
 To piuck me by the beard. 
 
 Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! 
 
 Gio. Naughty lady, 
 
 These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin. 
 Will quicken, and accuse thee : 1 am your host; 
 jobi»ers' hands, my hospitable favourg 
 
 You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? 
 Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late iuxesk 
 
 France ? 
 
 Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the tmth* 
 Corn. And what confederacy have you with 
 traitors, 
 
 Late footed in the kingdom ? [kJngf 
 Reg. To whose hands have you sent the luuHtai 
 Speak. 
 
 Glo. I l|ave aletter juessingly set down. 
 Which came from orie that's of a neutral heart. 
 And not from one oppos'd. 
 
 Com. Cunning. 
 Reg. And false. 
 
 Corn. 
 Glo. 
 Reg. 
 
 Where hast thou sent the k 
 
 ing 
 
 1 
 
 To Dover,^ 
 
 Whereforo 
 
 To Dover? Wast thou not charg'd at thy peril, — 
 Corn. Wherefore to Dover ? Let him first answer 
 
 Glo. 
 Reg. 
 Glo. 
 
 1 4/ 
 
 that. [course. 
 I am tied to the stake, and I must stand tlie 
 Wherefore to Dover? 
 Because Lwonld C2i.!'^-'^-^*^y C"*'^ nails 
 Pluck out his roor old eyes ; nor thy fier^ " 
 In his anointed fiesh stick boarish tangs. 
 The seajjivlth sjjch a storm as his bare head 
 IiiJbeHj:i.ladijiigl»t endur'd, would have buoy'd up, 
 Ana quench'd the stelled fires: yet, poor^oW hearty •Sv^ivT^^ ' 
 He holp the heavens to rain. j^^P 
 If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time, * 
 Thou should'st have said. Good porter, turn th* 
 
 key ; 
 
 All cruels else subscrib'd : — But I shall see 
 "The vvinged vengance overtake such children. 
 Corn. ~Sipe-it~shalt thou never: — Fellows, hold 
 the chair: 
 
 Ujgtgfljhese eyes of thine I'll set my foot. X 
 
 ™l:^0MMt:is held doton in his chair, while 
 * Cornivatl plucks out one of his iye4^ ^ 
 
 and sets his foot on it.) 
 Glo. He, that win think to live till he be old, 
 Give me some help: — O cruel ! O ye gods ! 
 
 Reg. One side will mock another ; the other too* 
 Corn. If you see vengeance, — 
 Serv. .JSpld your hand, my lord: 
 
 I have serv'd you ever siri^ceTl^ra^tAiMji^ --^^ 
 But better service have I never done you. 
 Than now to bid you hold. 
 
 Reg. How now, you dog? 
 
 Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, 
 I'd shake it on tliis quarrel : What do yon niean ? 
 Corn. My villain ! [Draws, and runs at him.) 
 Serv. Nay, then come on, and take the cliance of 
 anger. 
 
 [Dratvs. They fight. -,Coi^vallis.zooundedi^ 
 Reg, Give me thy sword. (Tolznoiher Servant.) 
 A peasant stand up thus! 
 
 [Snatches a sword, cornet behind^ and 
 stabs hitn.) 
 
 Serv. O, I am slain I — My lord, you have one eye 
 left 
 
 To see some mischief on him : — O ! [Dies.) 
 Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it : — (Jltt, vil« 
 jelly : 
 
 Where is thy lustre now ? 
 
 [Tears out Glostet^s other ei/iej^,jmd throtsi 
 "^Tton The groundi^ 
 Glo. All daj.k.ai3iU^,«jLl£^^^ my ton 
 
 Tlclmund ? 
 Edmtmd, enkindle all the sparks of nature. 
 To quiflrtus horrid act. 
 
 Reg Out, treacherous villaia! 
 
 . Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he 
 T^KfrHnacTeTTiFov^frfre^ to la» ; 
 
 "Who 1S"t6o"good to pity thee. 
 
 Glo. O my folliea! 
 
 Then_EdgarjKa8,„abAiJ^^^ 
 KTn^ goi^^JW^ 
 
 ^B?g7''€r^'TnnIst«im out at gates, and kid fcim/ 
 arneil f 
 
His w ay to Dover. — How is't, my lord ? How look 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 yon f 
 
 Cotn. I have receiv'd a hurt: — Follow me, lady. — 
 T\i.rxt out that eyeless villain ; — throw this slave 
 Upon the diingliill.— Regan, I bleed apace : 
 tJutimely cornes this hurt : Give me your arm. 
 
 [Jixit Cornwall, let by Regan ; — Servants 
 unbind Oloster, and lead him out. 
 ] Strv. I'll never care what wickedness I do, 
 li' this man come to good. 
 
 i! •%^rv. If she live long, 
 
 Ar.«, in the end, meet the old course of death, 
 
 ] W<jmi^n will all turn monsters. 
 
 1 Scrv. Let's follow tlie old earl 
 To lead him where he Would 
 AJJ;6W!i itself to anv thing. 
 
 2 A'erv. lIoTTiW^-i'lj Jetch some 
 Tq apply to his bleeding'Tace". ""'Wow 
 
 h i ii i ! 
 
 [Bedlam 
 the 
 
 diifil 
 [of e"^" 
 Xj.^aadx^Hles- 
 heaven help 
 
 - [Exeunt severally 
 
 1 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene \.—The Heath. 
 Enter Edgar. 
 Edg. yxi better thus, and known to be contemn'd, 
 'Than still ioiitemii'd and flatter'd. To be worsts 
 The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune. 
 Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear; 
 The lam»Mitable change is from the best ; 
 The woi st returns to laughter. Welcome, then, 
 Thou unsubstautiHl air, that I embrace I 
 The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
 Owes ^jtoti'.ing to thy blasts. — But who comes 
 ITere ? — 
 
 Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man. 
 v^My father, poorly led? — World, world, O world! 
 But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
 Lifp vvo'ild not yield to age. 
 
 O'd Man. O my good lord, I have been your 
 tenant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore 
 J-ears. 
 
 Glo. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone : 
 IThy comfo ts can do me no good at all, 
 ali'^e they may hurt. 
 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, yon cannot see your way. 
 
 Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; 
 ( stumb'ed when 1 saw: Full oft 'tis seen, 
 Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects 
 Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son lidgar. 
 The food of thy abused father's wrath ! 
 IViigiit I but live to see thee in my touch, 
 
 Old Man. How now ! Who's there? 
 
 Edg. ( Aside. ) O gods ! Who is't can say, I am 
 at the worst f 
 <J[ am worse than e'er I was. 
 
 Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 
 
 Edg. ( Aside ) And worse I may be yet : 'I'he 
 worst is not, 
 iSo long as we can say, This is the worst. 
 O'd Man. Fellow, where goest ? 
 Olo. Is it a beggar-man" 
 
 Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 
 Glo. He has s(,ine reason, else he could not beg. 
 V I' th*i last ui^'ht's storm I such a fellow saw; 
 1 Which made me tiiink a man a worm ; My son 
 M3s.a)e then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
 VVaa then scarce friends with him : I have heard 
 
 more since : 
 Aa.fli8.g to wiAntoa^hc^s^re we to the gods ; 
 They kill us for their^nyrt: -— 
 — should this be ? — 
 Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, 
 Ang'riivg itself and others. {Aside.) — Bless thee, 
 master ! 
 Glo. 1.4 that the naked fellow ? 
 Old Man. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Gh. Ttien, pr'ythee, get thee gone : If, for my sake, 
 Ybuu Wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain. 
 
 I'the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
 And brin^ some covering for this naked soni, 
 
 r' liom I'll entreat to lead me. 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad 
 
 ^^0- '■^h.J^i&^^^E^&£,,,^^E,^^> when madmen lea4 
 
 Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
 Above the rest, be gone. [hav^ 
 
 Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel thai I 
 Come on't what will. ^JSjrti* 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. ^ 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold.— I cannot ^aub it far- 
 ther. . ''^^ Aside.) 
 
 Glo. Con.e hither, fellow. i< 
 
 Edg. {Aside.) And yet I must. — Bless thy sweet 
 eyes, they bleed. 
 
 Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover ? 
 
 Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot- 
 path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good 
 wits ; Bless the good nmn irom the foul fiend ! Five 
 fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, a& 
 Obidicut ; Huhbididance, prince of dumbness ; 
 Muhu, of stealing ; Modo, of murder ; and Flib- 
 bertigibbet, of mopping and mowing ; who since 
 possesses chamber-maids and waiting-women. So, 
 bless thee, master ! [ven's plagues 
 
 Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the hea- 
 Have humbled to all strokes: th.at 1 any wretched. 
 Makijs thee the hapjjier : — Heavens, deal so still 
 Let the superfluous", and lust-dieted man, 
 I'hat slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
 Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; 
 So distribution shoidd undo excess, [ Dover r 
 
 And each man have enough. — Dost thou TTuow 
 
 Edg. Ay, master. 
 
 Glu. There is a clifi', whose high and bending head 
 Looks feaTltTtiy*itrtbr confined deep: 
 Bring nie but to the very br im of 'it. 
 And I 11 repair tlie nusery tlioii dost bear, 
 VVithisanie thing ricli about me: from that place 
 I shall no^eacfiOg ueedr ' '~ 
 
 Edq. Give me thy arm ; 
 
 Poor Tom shall lead thee, \Exeuwt 
 
 Scene II. — Before the Duke of Albany's Pnlaot, 
 
 Enter GONERIL and Ed:\iu>id; Steward tneeting 
 them. 
 
 Gon. Welcome, my lord : 1 marvel, our mild 
 husband [master? 
 Not met us on the way : — Now, where's your 
 Slew. Madam, within ; but never man so chang'd: 
 told him of the army tiiat was landed ; 
 -le smild at it: I told him, you were coming; 
 His answer was, The ivo^rse : of Gloster's treachery. 
 And of the loyal service of his son, r 
 When I inform'd \va\\, then he cali'd mep)t;) Ci .|^| 
 And told me. 1 had turn'd the wrong side~oiit: — * ^ 
 What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him; 
 What like, oti'eusive. 
 Gon. Then shall you go no further. 
 
 (To Edmund.) 
 
 I ^^J^" th? fin"''''h terror of lijs jpl£il^ 
 TJSjlLdares not unHei he'll not feel wrongs, 
 VVhicK'Tle~Tiim to an answer: Our wishes, on the 
 way. 
 
 May prove efi'ects. Back, Edmund, to my brother; 
 
 Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers: 
 
 1 niust change arms at ho ni£>-a"d give tiit distaff 
 
 Into my Husband's handsT This trusty servant 
 
 Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to heiur. 
 
 If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
 
 A mistress's command. We.siLilii^S;;-J4^e-fpe£<Dh^ 
 
 {Giving a JaMOiiaKifZr- 
 Decline your head : -^tlji»_k.iss, if it dTusrspeak, 
 VV ould stre tch thy sbirits_up into the air ; — - 
 Cone ei ve , ^nd TareTnee we ITT — - 
 
 Edm. Yours in the r^^ksc|_deil.t]J. 
 
 Gon. — ^'"''■'''""''^^'lilym d«'ar Gloster! 
 
 iEmt Kdjiiund 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 711 
 
 O, the difFerence of n.an, and man ! To thee^ 
 A woman's servires are due ; my fool | 
 Csiirps my bed. | 
 
 Stffv. xMadam, here comes my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter ALBANY. 
 
 Gen. I have been worth the whistle. 
 
 Alb. O Goneril ! 
 
 Von are not \vorth tljLii-.dtt st. which the rude wind, 
 BiovvdirTy^lfOiiiEf^ feaLlSii£.^P^^^ir""^ 
 
 1 hl\tliature, which contemns its ongm, 
 Ca/Miot be border'd certainjif itself ; V 
 Sne, that 'uerself wTmTTver anB!(fisbranch 
 EruaL'E&-.uiatPFial sap^pjerfo 
 And come to deadly Jiga u._-.'Z° , _ V 
 
 Alb. \Visd(im.a Ji£Lgo£dness to tlie vile s eern v ilg,: 
 FUtjjsjaijiyi^^Sihem^telilsr"^^ you d^neV 
 
 Tiji^M-s, notdau^hter^ what have yon perform'd? 
 A j'affigrlJiSSCr^^^^LS aged man, . 
 V\Tirisf- reverence tii£T^CiGig^!^ 
 AiosrHal^HaToTi!?; niost degeneratej have yon madded. 
 CoiiHl iny good brother suffer yon to do it ? 
 A man, a prince, by him so benefited i 
 H'that tlie lieavens do not their visible spirits^ 
 Send quickly down to tame these vile offeilces^_^^ 
 'Twill come, 
 
 Humanity nmst perforce prey on itfielf^ v"^' 
 Like5(n'i»islers of the deep. 
 
 That b&ar»st--freh#^"fe<»-*4a^ ; 
 Who hast not in thy brovvs an eye discerning 
 Thine honour from thy suffering ; that not know'st, 
 fools do those villains pity, who are pnnish'd 
 Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy 
 drimi ? 
 
 Fi-smce spreads his banners in our noiseless land ; 
 With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats; 
 WhUst thou, m oral ,, fool , s i t' s t still, and cry'st, 
 Aia^'k ! why does he so? 
 Alb. ^ rfSeeJixrf, devil ! 
 
 Proper deformity seems noi in the 
 So horri<l, as in woman. 
 
 Gon. O vain fool ! 
 
 Alb. Than changed and self-covert thing, for 
 shame, 
 
 Be-iiionster not thy feature. Were it my fitness 
 To let thfse hands obey my blond, 
 They are apt enough to dislocate and tear. 
 Thy flesh and bones; — Howe'er thou ar^ fiend, 
 A 'woman's sha^g,jlath»'«?iTPl^ tlimer 
 GwtrM^rfi^oar man now ' 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 
 Alb. What news ? [dead ;| 
 
 Mess O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's^ 
 Slain by his servant, going to put out | 
 The other eye of Gloster. ' 
 
 Alb. Glohter's eyes ! [morse. 
 
 Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with re- 
 Oppos'd. against the act, bending his sword 
 'I'o his great master; who, thereat enrag'd. 
 Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead: 
 But not without that harmful stroke, which since 
 Hath pluck'd him after. 
 
 Alb. Thisshews^^jLi^ 
 You justicers, that these ouinneClTeTTriines 
 So spee4iiy..©aii venge I — But, O poor Gloster ! 
 Lost he his other eye ? 
 
 Mess. Both, both, my lord.-^ . 
 
 This, letter, madam, craves a speedy answer jRjli^NP 
 'TIS ironj your sister. * . 
 
 Gon. [Aside.) One way [ like this well; 
 But beinj; widow, and my Gloster with her. 
 May all the building in my fancy pluck 
 Upon my hateful life: Anodier way, 
 The news is not so tart. — I'll read and answer. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his 
 eyes ? 
 
 Meis. Come with my lady hither. 
 
 r|^e 
 
 r' 
 
 Alb. He is not here. 
 
 Mess. No, my good lord ; I njet him back again. 
 Alb. Knows he the wickedness? 
 Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he ioforia'd 
 
 against him ; 
 
 And quit the house on purpose, that their punishaiearf 
 Might have the freer course. 
 
 Alb. aioster^JJive 
 To thank thee fojj^ifeJaviBjhou she w 'd st TTie°k i ng, 
 ATulToTevenge thine eyes.— rSohie hither, rrientf; 
 .JelTme^Vvliat rmTFTtheff knowest. [Exeunt 
 
 Scene HI. — The French Camp, near Dover. 
 Enter Kent and a Gentleman. 
 
 Kent. Why fiie king of France is so suddenly 
 'gone back know you the reason I 
 
 Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state. 
 Which, since his coming forth, is thought of ; which 
 Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger. 
 That his personal return was most requir'd, 
 And necessary. 
 
 Kent. Who hath he left behind him general ? 
 
 Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Per. 
 
 Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any 
 demonstration of giief ? [presence : 
 
 Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my 
 And now and then an ample tear trill'd duwu 
 Her delicate cheek : it seem'd she was a queen 
 Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like, 
 Sought to be king o'er her. 
 
 Kent. O, then it mov'd her, 
 
 Gent. Not to a rage ; patience and sorrow strove 
 Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
 Siinshine and rain at once ; her smiles and tears 
 Were like a better day: Those happy smiles. 
 That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
 What guests were in her eyes ; which parted 
 thence. 
 
 As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow* 
 Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all 
 Could so become it. 
 
 Kent. Made she no verbal qnestim? 
 
 Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd tiie 
 name of father 
 Pant^ngly forth, as if it press'd her heart ; 
 Cried, Sisters! sisters I — Shame of ladies ! sisters! 
 Kent! father! sisters! What'/ i'the storm'i ttk4 
 night ? 
 
 Let pity not be bcliev'd! — There she shook 
 'I'he holy water trom her heavenly eyes. 
 And clamour moisten'd : then away she started 
 To deal with grief alone. 
 
 Kent. It is the stars, 
 
 The stars above us, govern our conditions ; 
 Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
 Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? 
 
 Gent. No. 
 
 Kent. Was this before the king return'd ? 
 Gent. No, sirjce. 
 
 Kent. Well, sir; the poor distress'd Lear is j tiia 
 town : 
 
 Who sdfiietime, in his better tune, remembers 
 What we are come about, and by no means^ 
 Will yield to see his daughter. -"--"'"""^ 
 
 Gent. ' Whv. good sir ? 
 
 Kent. A §overejgasliaine.sjo-elbows htm : his r.wa 
 nnkindness, 
 
 That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn d her 
 To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
 To his dog hearted oaughters, — these tinngs sting 
 His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
 Detains him from Cordelia. 
 
 Gent. Alack, poor gentlemaa ! 
 
 Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you 
 heard not ': 
 
 Gent. "I'is so ; they are afoot. 
 
 Kent. W ell. sir, I'll bring you to oirr maater LeaTi 
 And leave you to attend him: some dt^ai cause 
 Will in cOnVeaimeut wrap me upawlnle, 
 When I am kuowij aright, you shall not grieve 
 
 I %■ tdJ^ ^ 9KjLl}r ] 
 
712 
 
 KING 'LEAR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Lending me this acqnamtance. I pray you, s;o 
 Aioifg witn me. ' [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. A Tent. 
 Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers. 
 
 Cor. Aiack, 'tis he ; why^Jie was met even now 
 Asji)ad aS:tiieJt£x'd sea: singin» aloud; 
 C ro \v n j| \v it h xap k fumiter, and furrow weejds, 
 V^^Tiarlocks, liemToct., nettles, Quckoo-flowers,;- 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds, that grow 
 In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth ; 
 Search every acre in the high-grown fif.ld, 
 Ar}(3 bring him to our eye. lExit an Officer. 
 
 What can man's wisdom do, 
 In the restoring his bereaved sense? 
 jle, that helps him, take all my outward worth. 
 
 Phy, There is means, madam : 
 Our ijijsler-nurse of nature is repose^- N|v > 
 t!hg-Vvh icli he lacks ; that to provoke in him, 
 Are marTy^sTmptes operative, whose power 
 Will close the eye of anguish. 
 
 Cor. All hless'd secrets. 
 
 All you nnpublish'd virtues of the earth, 
 Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate, 
 In the good man's distress! — Seek, seek for him; 
 Let his unjovern'd rage dissolve the life 
 That wants the means to lead it. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Madam, news: 
 
 JTWi^rtfiab .mLviers are marchinoLhLthexwMd, 
 
 Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands 
 In expectation of them. — O dear father. 
 It is thy business that I go about; 
 Xhere fore great France 
 
 My; mourn iiig^, aud iiniJorlani.i.fcar.s. hatlLjiliied. 
 No blown aiubiLiun doth oiuLaiins-iocite^^ 
 But love, dear love, and our ag d father's-right: 
 SBoh may I hear, and see him I [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in Gloster\ Castle. 
 Enter R'EGAN and Steward. 
 Beg. liut are my brother's powers set forth ? 
 Stew. A}', madam. 
 
 Reg. Himself 
 
 Steto. Madam, with much ado; 
 
 i'Qur sister is the better sobiier. [home ? 
 
 Reg. Lord Ed,j3aund spake not with your lord at 
 Stew. No, madam. t'lhii ? 
 
 Reg. What might import my sister's letteP^ 
 Stew. I know not, lady. 
 
 Reg. "Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. 
 It 4Kas^,great ignorance, Gloster's eyes berng out, 
 To let hinrTTvF;~where he arrives, he moves 
 AlChearj^ agamst'u^^ think, is gone 
 
 In pity of his misery, to despatch^ ^ ji tM^tV '* ^4 
 Hjg^nigh ted life ; nioroever, to^aescr^ , <'^^ 
 Tiie'slrength o'the enemy, ' ^j, ,3Wkt .^vyetter. 
 
 Stew. I must needs after hirn, ^ladam, with my 
 
 Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow; stay with us ; 
 The ways are dangerous. 
 
 Steia. I may not, madam ; 
 
 My lady charg'd my duty in this business. 
 
 Reg. Why should she write to Edmund ? Might 
 not yoti 
 
 Transport her purpose by word ? Belike, 
 Something — I know not what : — I'lMove thee mueh, 
 Let nie unseal the letter. 
 
 St6io. ~^adam, I had rather— 
 
 Reg. I knoWj^our lady ch)es not love he 
 I am sure""orthat : an^, at her late beingTiere, 
 She_gavej«trange oeiliads, and most speaking looks 
 To nobje Bduiund : I know, you are of her bosom. 
 Slew. r,~njiadam ? 
 
 Reg. I speak in understanding; you are, I know it: 
 Therefore, I do advise you, take this note: 
 My lord is dead ; Edjijiind and 1 ha\ e talk'd : 
 
 jl^;^n(l uiorf (■ouvenient is he for Thil'liaiiid, 
 "iJiiauJoi^ youj jady^ :— You may gatlier more. 
 
 If you do find him, pray yon, give hint! this ; 
 
 Aud when your mistress hears thus mi> ch irons yOV^ 
 
 I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. 
 
 So, fare you well. 
 
 If you do chance to hear of that b)Ind traitor. 
 Preferment falls on him that cuts him olf. 
 
 Stew. 'Would 1 could meet him, madam! I wonld 
 What party I do follow. [shew , 
 
 Reg. Fare thee well. [ExeimU 
 
 Scene VI. — Th^jOquntry near Dover, 
 Enter Gloster, and E^ar dressed like a 
 peasm^ 
 
 Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same 
 hill? [labour. 
 
 Edg. Yo« do climb up it now; look, how we 
 
 Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 
 
 Edg. Horrible steep: 
 
 Hark, do you hear the sea? 
 
 Glo. No, truly. 
 
 Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imper- 
 By your eye's anguish. ffect 
 
 Glo. So may it be, indeed : 
 
 Methinks, thy voice is aiter'd; andtboii speak'st 
 In better phrase, and matter, than tliou didst. 
 
 Edg. \ovi are fnuch deceiv'd ; in nuffiing'am I 
 But in my garments. [chang'd, 
 
 Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken. 
 
 Edg. Come on, "sir; here's the place: — stand 
 still. — How fearful 
 ^nd dizzy 'tis,^ to cast one eyes so low! 
 The crows, and chougns, that Vv'ing the midway ail> 
 Shew scarce so gross as beetles : half way down, 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire; dieadfnl trade! 
 Methinks, he seems no bigger than his iseatl : 
 The fishermen, that walk upon tlie jjeach, 
 Appear like inice ; and you' fatf ahcTioring bark, 
 Diminish'd to her cock: her cock, a buoy 
 Almost too small for sight: The murmuring .surj^^ 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafef^ 
 Cannot be heard so high : — I'li look n > morfe*^ 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 Topple down headlong. 
 
 Glo. Set me where you stand* 
 
 Edg. Give me your hand : Y'aB_ax£!,ai0^mitliiu a 
 foot 
 
 Of the e_xti:,e!a£_V£Jrge™: for all beneath the moon 
 WouTH 1 not leap upright 
 
 Glo. Let-go my -hand. 
 
 V^ce^4r^mA,^&jim^ihet .pjirse i n i t . a j e we 1 
 WjeU worth a poor nian's_tjikjng_: Fairies and gods. 
 ProspeTiTwHlhTheTTIGo thou further off; 
 Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee sioing 
 
 Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seems to oo.) 
 
 Glo. With all my heart 
 
 Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, 
 Is done to cure it. 
 
 Glo. 0 YOU mighty gods ! 
 
 Thia..ffi£ild4Jj^2J££2M^^6,^ and, in your sights, 
 Shak e p_atienn£ myRreat affliction oli'; 
 If I coul(ri)earirk)nger, and not fall 
 To quarrel with your great opposeless wills. 
 My snutf, and loathed part of n.iture, should 
 Burn itself out. lX.^g:aLlivJvO, bless him !— • 
 
 [He leaps ana jails along,} 
 Edg. '~~'Gonersrr7'mte^^^ 
 
 And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
 
 The treasury of life, when life itself 
 
 Yields to the theft : Had he been where h« thought 
 
 By this, had thouglit been past. — Alive, or dead? 
 
 Ho, you sir! fiiend! — Hear yon, sir? — speak! 
 
 Thus might he pass indeed: — Yet ne revive*. 
 
 What are you, sir? 
 Glo. Away, atxd let me dia. 
 
 Edg. Had'st thou been aught but gossamefj 
 feathers, air, 
 
 So mary fathom down precipitating, 
 
 Thou had'st shiver'd like an egg : luit thon doat 
 breathe; 
 
Scene 6. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 ^ y'nz 
 
 Hast heavj' substance ; bleed'st not; speak'st ; art 
 jfen masts at each make nTft the altitude, [sound ; 
 Which thou hast perijendicniarly fell; 1 
 life's a tiiiracle : Speak yet again. 
 
 _ ave I fallen,. or J)o? _ ffionr^ : 
 
 Edg. From ike diead summit of this cliaTky 
 
 Look up a heiglit ; — the shrill -trorg'd lark so tar 
 Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 
 
 Gh. Alack, I have no eyes. — 
 In wrelchedness depriv'd that benefit, 
 To end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some comfort. 
 When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage. 
 And frustrate his proud will. 
 
 Edg. Give me your arm : 
 
 Tp : — So ; — How is't ? Feel you your legs ? You 
 stand. 
 
 Glo. Too well, too well. 
 
 Edg. This is above all strangeness. 
 
 (Jpon the crown o'the cliff, vvbatj^jing was that 
 which parted from you ? 
 
 beg^gar. 
 
 Edf,: A.sJ.jtoModJiereb^ 
 Were l,mJIl.iiiO(>T^^ 
 
 HornfCv^he^^. anowav^d like the enridged sea ; 
 It„w.as soiiieliend : Therefore, thou happy father, 
 ThinF7~tnrjt~~FIie" clearest ,go(jsj who make them 
 
 f/u#*^ft"i>ours 
 Of hien's impossibilities, h ave preser v 'd th ee. 
 
 G/o. I du reujeuiber nowT liencetorthT^bear 
 .Afrlictiou. till it do cry out itself, 
 Enough, enoiKjh, and die. Tbat thing you speak ilfL. 
 Ijtoojk. j fur a man ; o^n 'twmiTiLSiilr. 
 TTi'eJ^mt to that place- 
 
 Eclg. HeMr i i ee and patient thoughts. — But who 
 comes here ? 
 
 Enter LiF.\v..fatitasticaUy dressed up with flowers. 
 The safer senfe will ne'er accommodate 
 His master thus. 
 
 I/^.ar. No, they cannot toiich me for coining; 
 I am tiie kiiy ?>im^sd[t. 
 
 "Ed^gi^^XTl\\(.\i side-piercing sight! 
 
 Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's 
 rour press money. That fe.llow handles his bowX 
 like a crow keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. — 
 Look, iook^a moiise ! Peace, peace; — this piece of 
 toasted cheese'""wnr*do't. — There's my gauntlet ; 
 I'll prove it on a giant — Bring up the brown bills 
 — O, vvsli flown, bird! — i'the clout, i'the clout: 
 hevvoh I — Give the word. ' 
 
 Edg. Sweet marjoram. 
 
 Lear. Pass. 
 
 Glo. I know that voice. 
 
 Lear. Tf1r^■^"^^grferH^with a white J)eard !— 
 They flatter'd meTTEe°TTfog; and toT3 me iTiad 
 white hatrs m '^fyTJearHT'ST^'*^'^ black ones were 
 there. '1 o aay, ay, and no, to every thing I said ! — 
 Ay and no, too, was no good divinity. When the 
 Tain came to w et me once, and the wind to make 
 me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at 
 my bidding; there I found them, there 1 smelt 
 them out. Go to, they are not men o'their words ; 
 they told me I was every^^ingj^^^is a 
 not agiVe-priBC 
 
 G/o. Trie Iff of that voice I do well remember : 
 Is't not the king ! 
 
 Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 
 
 W^hen I do stare, see, how the subject quakes. 
 I p»fdon tiiar rn^'g life : What was thy cause ? — 
 'Adultery. — 
 
 Thou shait not die: EU fcJbr adulter y! No: 
 The wren goes to't, andtlie small"'fHtlfU fly ' 
 Does lecher in my sight. 
 
 L£.t cojiijdatijuii. tiirive, f^^ son 
 
 V\^g kinder tohisTauTelvfE^ 
 
 Go T!w^]TitrF'1ir\vtufsKe^ 
 
 T6^t71uxr-ry7]K^ll-mel^ 1 lack soldiers.— 
 
 Bebord^yoiV siiiiperiiig dahie. 
 
 Whose tace between her forks presagefh snow; 
 
 l^hat Qiiuces virtue, and does shake the head 
 
 To hear ol pleasure's name ; 
 The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes tot 
 With a more riotous appetite. 
 I>QA m from the wfiist they are centaurs, 
 
 Thougn women all above :" ™'" ■"■ 
 
 "^^^ESr£R'^^*^?:?^^^od.s inherit, _ 
 
 Beneath is all tlj^Hends^ there's hell, there's daifc" 
 ness, there is the sTil^pTIxtforre pit, biirning, scalding, 
 stench, consumption; — Fy, fy, f y ! pah; pah! 
 Give me an ounce of civet, good auothecary, to 
 sweet my imagination : there's inoney (or thte.. 
 
 Glo. O'^^^Lxo&^^^Sl^^Js^^]' 
 
 Lear. kt£t. mp vv ipe it first ; it smells of mortality. 
 
 Glo. O rHuT^^piecFotTrat^^ 'J'hrs greart^vorld— 
 Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me'^^ 
 
 Lear. I remember thine eyes wt-ll enouyh. Dost 
 thou'?qriiny at me ? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid ; 
 rii not love. — Read thou this challenge ; mark but 
 the penning of it. 
 
 Glo. Were ail the letters suns, I could not see one. 
 
 Edg. I would not take this from report: — it is, 
 And my heart breaks at it 
 
 Lear. Read. 
 
 Glo. Wliat, with the case ofeyes_? 
 
 hear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No eyes 
 in your head, nor no money in your purse ? Your 
 eyes are in a heavy case, your purse iu a light: Yet 
 yon see how tins world goes. 
 
 Glo. I see it feelingly. 
 
 Lear. What, art mad ? A man may see how thig^ 
 Kprld goes, wifli' hoTyes.' CooTi TviflTTnfhe ears : 
 see how yon" justice rails upon yon' sini|'le thieii 
 Hark, in thine ear: Ciiange phices ; and, handy-, 
 dandy, which is the jusfice, which is the thief ?—' . 
 '^Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar V 
 
 Glo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Lear. And the creature run from the cur ? 
 There thou might'st behold the great image of ae- 
 thority: a dog's obeyed in office. — 
 Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand ; 
 Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thiue C Wl] 
 back ; 
 
 Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind, 
 
 For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hang^t 
 
 the cozener. 
 Tlifougb talter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
 Robes, and iui I 'd go vvns, hide atih^^^ 
 
 "" gold, ' 1. ■ €T'y^''^^^lCZ-' AcK 
 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 None does offend, none, I say, none ; I'll able 'em : 
 Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
 To seal the accuser's lips. the glass eyes ; 
 And, like a scurvy politician, seem [now i 
 
 To see the things thou dost not, — Now, now, now, 
 Pull ofi'my boots : — harder, harder; so. 
 
 Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
 Reas,an i n madn ess ! 
 
 uear I f thPiUsdlli^^^ P "^^ fortunes, take my eyes. 
 I know thee well enorigffjntiy^nivme is^^^G 
 Thou must be patient; we came ciying hither. 
 Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air. 
 We wawl, and cry: — I will preach to thee ; mark me. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack the day! 
 
 Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are corae 
 To^is gFe|t^^ oflbols ;— Th a"good block?—* 
 It were a delicate ^stratagem, to shoe 
 A troop of horse with felt : I'll put it in proof; 
 And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-la 
 Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.- 
 
 Enter a Gentleman^ with Attendants, 
 
 Gent. O, here he is: lay hand upon him. — Sii, 
 Your most dear daughter — 
 
 jCeaEif?rTesetreT*--Wiiat, a prisoner? l_am-^Kfia» 
 The natur^JaoLoIibrtune.— Use me well ; 
 Ydu'sKair:iave ransom. Letjnejjiave a surgeon 
 I am cut to the brains. 
 
 Gent. You shall have any thing 
 
 Lear, No seconds? all myself ? 
 
714 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Why, tViis would make a man, a man of salt. 
 
 To use his eyes for garden water-pots. 
 
 Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 
 Gent. Good sir,. — 
 
 hear. I i^l d^e Joaelyr like a bridegroonj; 
 What ? 
 
 I will be jovial ; come, come ; I am a king, 
 Aly masters, know you that? 
 Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 
 hear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get 
 st^ you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 
 
 Mxit, running; Attendants follow. 
 Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ; 
 Past speaking of in a king] — Thou hast one 
 daughter, 
 
 ^-JWiwi. re-deems aatuTP ^rom the general curse 
 3y^jicii twain have brought hre to. 
 Edy. Hail, gentle sir. 
 
 Gent. Sir, speed you : What's your will ? 
 
 Edfj. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward ? 
 
 Gent. Most sure, and vulgar : every one heart that. 
 Which can distinguish sound. 
 
 Ed(j. But, by your favour, 
 
 How near's the other army ? 
 
 Gent. Near, and on speedy foot ; the main descry 
 Stands on the hourly thought. 
 
 Edij. I thank you, sir: that's all. 
 
 Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is 
 Her army is mov'd on. [here, 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 
 
 Glo. Yoa^ever-gentle gods, take my breath from 
 
 '^■^e.-; " ' ' " '{"" 
 
 Let not my worser spririt tempt me again 
 To die beibre you please ! 
 
 Edg. Wellj^ray you, father. 
 
 Glo. Now, good sir, what are you~?~°°"^-~— — — 
 
 Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's 
 blows : 
 
 Who, hy the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
 Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
 I'll h ad you to soMe biding. 
 
 Glo. Hearty thanks : 
 
 The bounty and the benison of heaven 
 To boot, and boot ! 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 Stew. A.procJaira'd prize ! Most happy I 
 
 Ihai-e^^^le &g head of th ine was first fran i'd flesh y 
 J]o^nusfijj^E3S5sU T^??)' unhappy traitox,^ 
 
 Pj'ffly ^hyspir rpTTif ry{Rpr ; — Thp "sworcl IS OUt 
 
 That must destroy thee. 
 
 Glo. Now let thy friendly hand 
 
 Put strength enough to it. {Edgar opposes.) 
 
 Sietv. Wherefore, bold peasant, 
 
 Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; 
 l^est that the infection of his fortune take 
 Like liold on thee. Let go his arm. 
 
 Edg. drill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. 
 
 Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. 
 
 Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor 
 volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out ol' my 
 life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vort- 
 night. Nay, come not near the tdd man ; keep out, 
 che vor'ye, or ise try whetiier your costard or my 
 bat be the harder: Ch'ill be plain with you. 
 
 Stew. Out, dunghill ! 
 
 Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir; Come ; no matter 
 for your foins. 
 
 ^ ' [They fight t and Edgar knocks him down.) 
 
 Stew SLIa.vejtJthouJiast^ take 
 my purse; 
 If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; 
 Andgisai.ihe..letter8, which thou find'st about me, 
 TcLEdraiind earl of Gloster; seek him out 
 lJp(«l thZHritisli-nacty :— O untimely death ! [Dies.) 
 
 Edg. i know thee well: A serviceable villain; 
 As duteous to the vices of thy mistress. 
 As badnefs would desire. 
 K^___Glo. What, is he dead ? 
 
 Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. — 
 
 pockets : Oi&SfeJfelkrs, that lie s};eaks of, 
 --Ma^h£Juy„Meiulac-^t^^^^^^^ «"ly sony 
 He had no other death's man. — Let us see : — 
 Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blavne us not: 
 To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts; 
 Their papers, is more lawful. 
 
 >aj\ 
 
 {Reads.) I'et our reciprocal 
 
 he 
 
 bered. Yjm have many opportunities to cut him i 
 o^JJ^ifour will want not., time and place will he\ 
 Jrui^uTty offered. There is nothing done, if k* \ 
 retwn the conqueror : Then am I the prisonsry 
 and his bed my gaol ; from thFldai/ied warniih 
 v^'er^f^^MSMi^'^fie, supply the place for your 
 
 fahofif. 
 
 Ydiir~ wife, {so 1 would say,) and t/our af- 
 fectionate servant, GoiNeril. 
 
 0 undistingtiish'd space of woman's wiil! 
 
 Aiid4h*b^3tSKa.iig.eCffiSi^2l?l^^ ^^^e sands 
 
 Thee I'll rake up, the post unsaTictified 
 
 Of auuderous lechers : and, in the mature time, 
 
 VVi»th this ungracious pager strike tlie sight 
 
 Of the death-practis'd duke : For him 'tis well, 
 
 I'hat of thy death and business I can tell. 
 
 [Exit Edgar, dragging out the body. 
 Glo. The king is mad: How stitf is mv vile sense, 
 That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
 01' my huge sorrows! Better 1 were di.stract 
 „^_should my thoughts be sever'd from my^riefs, 
 And vvoes, by w rong imaginations, lose - — ' 
 The knowledge of theuiselves. 
 
 Re-enter Edgar. 
 Edg. Give me your hand : 
 
 Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. 
 Come, father, I'll bestow you with a frieiid. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — A Tent in the French Camp. I. ear 
 
 on a bed, asleep; Physician, Ge.ntlemen, aiid 
 
 others, attending. 
 
 Enter Cordelia, and Kent. 
 
 Cor. O thou, good Kent, how shall I live, and work. 
 To niatch tiiy goodness ? My life will be too slioit 
 And every measure fail me. ^ 
 
 Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. ) 
 All my rei^oPtTgcTWitrth^'Tnode'^^ ^ / 
 
 Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 
 
 Cor. Be better suited : 
 
 These weeds are memories of those worser hours; 
 
 1 pr'ythee, put them off. 
 
 Kent. Pardon me, dear nmdam ;i 
 
 Yet to be known, shortens my made intent : 
 Mv boon I make it, that you know me n©t,^"\, 
 Till time and J tliink meet. >^ 
 
 Cor. Then he it .so, my good lord. — How does the 
 
 nig 
 
 (!Z'o the Physician.] 
 
 Phys. Madamysleeps still : 
 Cor. O you kind gods, ; f 
 
 Cure this great breach in his abused nature !| 
 'I'lie untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up ' 
 Oftlw^^iiii^^.aijgedja^^ 
 
 Phys. So please your majesty, 
 
 That we may wake the king? he hath slept long. 
 
 Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
 I'the sway of your own will. Is he array'd r 
 
 Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, 
 We put fresh garments on him. [hwu: 
 Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do av\ak« 
 I doubt not of his temperance. 
 
 Cor. Very well. 
 
 Phys, Please you, draw near. — Louder the mu^ic 
 there. 
 
 Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang 
 Th^jjiejdiiarT^ju^^ and let thw kisi" 
 
 Repairthosev^ that my two sister* 
 
 Have in thy reverence made ! 
 
 Kent. Kind and dear piincess! 
 
 Cur. Had you not been their father, theae white 
 flakes 
 
 Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
 
Act V Scene 1. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 715 
 
 To be expos'd against the warring- winfLs? 
 
 To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? 
 
 In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
 
 Of quick, cross-lightnino^? to watch (poor perdu !) 
 
 With this thin helm? MiBte.eil^m^L!^ 
 
 Thon^4e had bit me, shonld haye stood that night 
 
 Agairist injr tire : And wast thou fain, poor father. 
 
 To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
 
 /n short and musty straw? Aiack, alack ! 
 
 'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
 
 Had not concluded all. — He wakes ; speak to him. 
 
 Pkys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest. 
 
 Cor. H ow does m y royal lord ? liow fares your 
 eiajesty T' ~ ~ - [gxave :— - 
 
 hear. Yon._dp me wrongj jto_take,rn^^ 
 Thou art a soul inljliss; but I am bound 
 (fpon a wheel of tire, that mine own tears 
 Do scald like molten lead. 
 
 Cor. Sir, do you know me ? 
 
 hear. .Y!oii are a spirit,. I Jcnow ; When did you die ? 
 
 Cor. Still, still, far wide! 
 
 Phys. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile. 
 hear. VVhere have I been? Where am I? — Fair 
 day-light ? — 
 
 I am mightily abus'd. — 1 should even die with pity, 
 To see another thus. — I know not what to say.— • 
 I will not swear, these are my hands : — let's see ; 
 I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd 
 Of my condition. 
 
 Cor. O, look upon me, sir, 
 
 And hold your hands in benediction o'er me : — 
 No. sir, you must not kneel. 
 
 'hear. Pray, do not mock me : 
 
 I am a very foolish fond old man. 
 Fourscore and upward ; and, to deal plainly, 
 I fear, I am not in my p|erfect mind, 
 Mel}»itfk's7 T sh'ouId"lin^ k now this man 
 
 V^t 1 am douhtj'ut : tor T am mainly iiinorant 
 What place this is; and all the skill I have 
 Reujernbers not these garments; nor I know not 
 VVhere I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me ; 
 For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
 To ise Ujy child Cordelia. 
 
 Cor. And so I am, I am 
 
 hear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'taith. I pray, 
 wet-p not ; 
 
 If yoli have uuis^in £3«nfi,.Jjftill^^ v 
 1 know you do not love me : for your sisters 
 Ha~re; asTTto remember, done- me wrong" r--^ 
 V'pu have soiiielcMs^^ have not. 
 
 Cor. No cause, no cause. 
 
 hear. Am T in Fiance ? 
 
 Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 
 
 Lear. Do not abuse me. 
 
 Phys. Be comforted, good* madam : the great rage, 
 Vou see, is cur'd in hini : and yet it is danger 
 To m.Tke him even o'er the time he has lost. 
 Desii f him to go in ; trouble liim no more. 
 Till furtlier settling. 
 
 Cor. Wirt please your highness walk ? 
 
 J^ar. You must bear with me : 
 
 Pray now, forgetjuidJb*^^JUiW-l^^ 
 
 [Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Cent. Holds it true, sir. 
 Thiit the duke of Cornwall was so slain? 
 
 Kent. Most certain, sir. 
 
 Gerd. Who Is conductor ,a£,,bi§!4?.gSiiiie ? 
 
 Kent. As 'tis said. 
 
 The bastard son of Glo5ter. 
 
 Gent. They say, Edgar, 
 
 U s baniyh'd son, is with the earl of Kent 
 l.i Germany. .' 
 
 Kent. Report is changeable. 
 
 *Tis time to look about; the powers o'the kingdom 
 Approach apace. 
 
 Gent. Tlie krbitrement is like to be a bloody. 
 Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Kent. My goint and period wil] _be_ Jiiflmughly 
 
 Or well, or ill. as this day's battle's fought [Exit 
 
 ACT. V. 
 
 Scene I. — The Camp of the Br ii sh Forces, near 
 Dover. 
 
 Enter^ with drum and colours, Edmund, IlsoM^ 
 Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Mdm. Know of the duke, if his Isst purpose hold } 
 Or, whether since he is ad\is'd by aught 
 To change the course; He's full of alteration, 
 And self-reproving: — bring his constant pleasure. 
 
 {To an Officer., who goes ok/^) 
 
 Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 
 
 Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 
 ^ Reg. Now, sweet lord. 
 
 You kuQAi^ -thp ^f)odnpss T intend upon you : 
 '/ell me, — but truly, — but then speak the truth, 
 Do vou apt love my sister ? 
 
 Edm. ■ Itt-bfl n ^ w '-d-l o xe, 
 
 Reg. But have you never found my brother's way 
 To the forfended place ? 
 
 Ed7n. That thought abuses yoo. 
 
 Reg. I am doubtful, that you ha» e been conjunci 
 And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 
 
 Edm. Nojjby niine honajir^ madam. 
 
 Reg. rTTever shall endure her: Dear my lord. 
 Rfe„;jot Jiimiliar with her. 
 
 Edik. " Fear me not ; 
 
 She, and the duke her husband, — 
 
 Enter Albany, GoNERiki, and Soldiers. 
 
 Gon. J^liad rather Jose Uie^ baUle^,^^ that si#fie,_„_ 
 %9'4i=-&sES..%oLin£* ' [Aside.) 
 
 Aio. Our very loving sister, well be met. — 
 Sir, this I hear, — The king is come to his daughter. 
 With others, whom the rigour ol our state 
 Forc'd to cry out. WhereJ^cauldaj^^ / 
 I a£Jt:je£4;.eLtjia:as.A:aJiaiiJ^^ for this business, ' 
 It touches us as France invades our land, 
 Not holds the king ; with others, whom, I fear. 
 Most just and heavy causes make oppose. 
 
 Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 
 
 Reg. Why is this reaaon'd t 
 
 Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy; 
 For these domestic and particular broils 
 Are not to question here. 
 
 Alh. Let us then determine 
 
 With the ancient of war on our proceedings. 
 
 Edm. 1 shall attend you presently at your tenU '^"i 
 
 Reg. Sister, you'll go with us ? ? 
 
 Gon. No. 
 
 Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us* 
 
 Gun. O, ho, I know the riddle : {Aside.,)— \ will i 
 As they are going out, enter Edgar, dTsgv^^t^L 
 
 Edg. If e'er your grace Tia^rsj5&etTk'1,HtTrn^^^^ 
 poor. 
 Hear me one word. 
 
 Alb. I'll overtake you. — Speak 
 
 [Exeunt Edmund. Regan, Goneril, Officert, 
 Soldiers, and Atteyidants. 
 ■ Edg. t^Afr^rf: y ou fight tlie battle, op e Ihis letter. 
 If you have victory, let thetnTmpeismTnc^ " 
 For him that brought it: wretched though I seem, 
 I can p.'-oduce a champion, that will prove 
 What is avouched there : If you miscarry. 
 Your business ol" the world liath so an end, 
 And machination ceases. Fortune love you I 
 
 Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. 
 
 Edg. 1 was forbid it. 
 
 When time shall serve, let but the herald cry. 
 And I'll appear again. [J^jrtl. 
 
 Alb. Why, fare thee well ; I will o'erlook thy papec 
 Re-enter Edmund. 
 
 Edm. Thjj..eae.niy:aJnjdeAy^ d^^^^^^ 
 Here is the guess of their true strengtn and nroet 
 By diligent discovery; — but your haste 
 Is now urg'd on you. 
 
 Alb. ' We will greet the tim/-. [Exdi ^ / 
 
 Edm. Ta..bothJjiese sisters have I sworn my lovev^ 
 ^ch jealous of the other, as the stung 
 Are-ot'ttre-' aTrde^^^^^^^^ of them shall 1 take^? -x^ 
 
 llolh fone? or neither? Neither can be eujoy'd. 
 
T16 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 if 
 
 Act 7 
 
 Ifb^thjremain^I^ 
 
 KHsj^eFal^^ mad her sister Goneril ; 
 
 And [laFdTy sliair r carry out my side, 
 El^J-^imakaM-Jbilill^. alive. Now then, Wll use 
 Hiaj;xiuatexjaj3G&ior tlie batye ; which being "^3^6, 
 Let her, who w on Id bsj d^^jaLMiiL^ devise 
 H'is speedy tnking off. As for the mercy ^ 
 Wh*ich he iDtends to L«ar, and to Cordelia, 
 The battle titoDe, and they withia our power, 
 Shall nevf r see his pardon : for my state 
 Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit, 
 
 Scene II. — A Field between the two Camps. 
 Alarum within^ Enter, witn druni arid colours, 
 
 Lear, Cordelia, and their Forces : and exeunt. 
 Enter Edgar and Gloster. 
 
 Edg. Here father, take the shadow of this tree 
 For yoiir good host ; pray that the right may thrive : 
 if ever I return to you again, 
 rii br^ng you coinfjrt. 
 
 Glo. Grace go with you, sir! 
 
 [Exit Edgar. 
 
 Alarums; afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter 
 Edgar. 
 
 Edy. Away, old man, give me thy hand, away; 
 King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter tft'eu: 
 Give nje thy hand, come on. 
 
 Glo. No further, sir; a man may rot even here. 
 
 Edg. What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must en- 
 dure 
 
 Their going hence, even as their_coming_hU 
 Kipeness is all : CdiEe~bn. 
 
 Gio. And that's true too. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The British Camp near Dover, 
 ^nter, in conquest, with drum and colours, Ed- 
 mund; Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners; 
 Officers, Soldiers, etc, 
 Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard ; 
 Until their greater pleasures first be known, 
 That are to censure them. 
 
 Cor. We are not the first. 
 
 Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. 
 Vor thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
 Myself could else out-frown fake fortune's frown. — 
 Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters? 
 
 Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison : 
 -WiS. t.\vo^alone will sing like birds i th&.^;age : 
 When thoij"lIosf"asFTi^~EIe^Hig^ I'll kneel ^own, 
 'XitT9"asir-«f4We"forgit^er^ 
 
 Ai)3"pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
 
 At gilded buttfrflies, and hear poor rogues 
 
 Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too, — 
 
 Who loses, and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; — 
 
 And take upon us the mystery of things. 
 
 As if we were God's spies : And we'll wear out, 
 
 In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones. 
 
 That ebb and flow by the moon. 
 
 Edm. Take them away. 
 
 Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
 Tile gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught 
 thee? 
 
 He that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven. 
 And fire us hence, like foxes. Wifie thine eyes; 
 Thefjoujeers shall devour them, flesh and fell. 
 Ere they shall make us weep : we'll see them starve 
 first. 
 
 Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 
 
 Edm. Come hither, captain ; bark. 
 Take thou this note ; {Giving a paper.) go, follow 
 
 them to prison : 
 One step I have advanc'd thee; iCj ^u do.st 
 makSHvIJuSj 
 
 _^ to^lenderu 
 Dijej, not become a ij^ord : — Thy great employment 
 Will not bear question ; either say, thou'lt do't. 
 Or thrive by other means. 
 Qffi, I'll do't, ray lord. 
 
 Edm. About it, ancf write happy, when thou hast 
 done. 
 
 Mark, — I say, instantly ; and carry it so, 
 As I have set it down. 
 
 Offi. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats ; 
 If it be man s work, I will do it. [Exit Officer, 
 
 Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
 
 Officers, and Attendants. 
 Alb. Sir, you have shewn to-day your valiant 
 strain. 
 
 And fortune led you well : You have thejcaptives, 
 Who were the opposites of this day's strife : — 
 We do require them of you ^o to use them 
 As we shall find their m'erifTan^ bW safeW 1 
 
 May eqxradly detemitne: 
 Edm: 
 
 Sir, I thought it fit 
 
 To send the old and miserable king 
 To some retention, and appointed guard ; 
 Whose age has charms in it, whose title more. 
 To pluck the common bosom on his side. 
 And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 
 Which do command them. With him I sent the 
 queen ; 
 
 My reason all the same ; and they are ready 
 To-morrow, or at farther space, to appear 
 VVTiere you^hall hold your session. At this time. 
 We sweat, and Bleed : the friend hath lost his friend ; 
 And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 
 , By those that feel their sharpness : — 
 ■ The question of Cordelia, and her father, 
 ^Requires a fitter place. 
 
 Alb. Sir, by your patience 
 
 I hold you but a subject of this war. 
 Not as a brother. 
 
 Reg. That's as we list to grace him. 
 
 Methmks our pleasure might have been demanded, 
 Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers; 
 Bore the commission of my place and person; 
 The which immediacy may well stand up. 
 And call itself your brother. 
 
 Gon. Not so hot ; 
 
 In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
 More than in your advancement. 
 
 Reg. In my rkhts^ 
 
 By me invested, he compeers the best. T [yoa. 
 i, Gon. That were the most, if he should huabaa 
 k Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 
 iGon. Holla, holla I 
 
 That eye, that told yon so, look'd but a-squint 
 
 Reg. Lady, I am not well ; else 1 should answer 
 From a full-flowing stomach. — General, 
 Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony 
 Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine : 
 Witness the world, that ^^eate thee here 
 My lord and, inaster. / 
 
 (?£>n. Mean you to enjoy him? 
 
 Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will. 
 
 Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 
 
 Alb. Half-blooded fellow, jres. 
 
 ^ Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title 
 thine. (To Edmund.) 
 
 Alb. Stay yet; hear reason :-^£dmund, I arrest 
 
 the£_. ^ — 
 
 QlLgjlfijja l treason ; and , in thy arrest, 
 'rhis,giIc!QUg£j^J^(i^om?5«^^ 
 
 c laim Jpr sis ter. 
 I^Mn it in the interest oT my wifej 
 'Tis^lfie iaj?ii^^rontrrac£ed^ thlsTord, 
 And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
 If you will marry, make your love to me. 
 My lady is bespoke. 
 
 Gon. An interlude ! 
 
 Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster ; — Let the trnrapel I 
 sound ; ; 
 Jfuone appear to prove upon thy person. 
 Thy heinous, manifest, and many treason, | 
 There is my pledge : {Throwing down a glove.) I'D t 
 
 prove it on thy heart. 
 Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothiT^rless 1 
 Than I have here proclaim'd thee 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 717 
 
 Reg. Sick, O sick 1 
 
 j Gotu If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. lAside.% 
 Edm. 'I'here's my exchange : {Thi owing dotvn a' 
 giove) what in the world he is, 
 Th:it natnes me traitor, villain-like he lies: 
 Call by thy trumpet: he, that dares approach, 
 |0n him, on yon, (who not?) IjuiUauailjta^ 
 
 II Edm, 
 Alb. T 
 
 A 
 
 ho! 
 
 A herald, hot, a herald ! 
 st to tby singlp virtue; fof thysoldierSj,,., 
 A lliteA ied in mv ^Jaul!e u■i*a^ye4a■JI^L■^aa^lt!!^ ^ 
 'i^^li their discb^eijCge* 
 j Reg, " This sickcess grows upon me. 
 
 !j Enter a Herald. 
 
 I Alb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent. 
 PlI [Exit Regan, led. 
 
 Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, — 
 And read out this. 
 Offi.. Sound, trumpet. {A Trumpet sounds.) 
 
 Herald reads. v,,,... 
 If any man of quality, or degree, tvithin thei\ 
 lists of the army, will maintain upon Edmund^t 
 isupposed earl of Gloster, that he is a manif old 
 traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the 
 trumpet : He is bo(d in his defence. 
 Edm. Sound. (1 Trumpet.) 
 
 Her. Again. (2 Trumpet.) 
 
 Har. Again. (3 Trumpet.) 
 
 {Trumpet answers within.) 
 
 Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a Trumpet. 
 Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
 Upon this call o'the tnuupet. 
 
 Her. What are yon ? 
 
 Your name, your quality ? and why you answer 
 This present summons ? 
 
 Edg. Know, my^ name is lost ; 
 
 By treason\Jgo.th=fea*#-ginawn,j^^^ canker-bif ; 
 Teram"Tm)ble, as the ad\ersary 
 I come to cope witlial. 
 Alb. Which is that adversary? 
 
 Edg. What's he, that speaks for Edmund earl of 
 Gloster? 
 
 EJm. Himself; — what say'st thou to him ? 
 Kdg- Draw the swerd ; 
 
 'Tfeat, if my speech offend a nob'e heart, 
 Ttfy arm may do justice : here is mine. 
 B'-hold, it is the privilege of my honours, 
 AJy oath, and my profession : I protest, — 
 Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, 
 j Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune, 
 'i1iy varonf7ar)jdt:fe 
 
 False to tIiy„^Q.(l8, thy brother, and'lliy'ianier ; y^' 
 i Couspirant 'gainst this higK Tltuslrious pfincrT 
 I And, from the extreme.st upward of thy head, 
 i To the descent and dust beneath thy feet, 
 ! A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou. No, 
 This sword, tiiis arm, and my best spirits, are bei^ 
 'J'o prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, , / 
 Thou liest. tiX'W U^i 
 
 Edm. In wisdom, I shoulSf ask thy name ; ; , ^ 
 But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike. 
 And that thy tongue some 'say of breeding breathe 
 What safe and nicely I might well delay \ 
 By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn : 
 Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
 With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; 
 Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,) 
 This sword of mine shall give them instant way. 
 Where they shall rest for ever. — Trumpets, speak. 
 
 (Alarums. T-hey^Jight. Edmund falls.) 
 Alb. O save him, save him ! 
 Gon. This is mere practice, Gloster: 
 
 By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer 
 An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish'd, | 
 But cozen'd and beguil'd. I 
 
 Alb. ^hut your mouth, dame. 
 
 Or with tliis paper shall I <|i> it : — Hold^ sir : — 
 
 Thou worse tban any name, read thine ovm evil:— 
 No tearing, Lady; 1 perceive you know it. 
 
 {Gives the letter to Edmund] 
 Gon. Say, if I do ; the laws are mine, not tluDs: 
 Who shall arraign me for't? 
 
 Alb. ^ M©st monstrous.' 
 
 Know'st thou this paper? 
 
 Gon. Ask me not what 1 krow. fJ?»iA 
 
 Alb. Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.'> 
 
 ( To an Officer, who goes oitt.\ 
 Edm.. W\\?A, you have charg'd me w ith, that have 
 I done ; 
 
 And more, much more ; the time will bring it out; 
 'Xis-pas4-aju Lso am I : Bu t what art thou. 
 That hast this fortune on me ? If thou nrt noble, 
 I do forgive thee. 
 
 Edg. Let's exchange charity. 
 
 I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund! 
 If mure, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 
 My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. . 
 'i'll£..gads_arej£st^3nd_p 'rMJ~~ 
 Mjk£..iLD^Ojm£nts^scou rge u s : AT 
 Tl^^jiark. an where thee he got, 
 
 Cost him his eyes. ' ' .^ 
 
 Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true; J^'^- 
 
 The wheel is come full circle; I am here. <-» f..J-' p^VvVsi 
 
 ■-^Z^. MfthouilrttirreTy^TO^ \| ^^^ ^^ 
 
 A royal nobleness : — I must embrace thee ; 
 Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I 
 Did hate thee, or tliy father! 
 
 Edg. Worthy prince, 
 
 I know it well. 
 
 Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 
 
 How have you known the miseries of your father? 
 
 Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief 
 tale ;— 
 
 And, when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst !— > 
 
 The bloody proclamation to escape. 
 
 That foUow'd me so near, (O our lives' sweetness 
 
 That with the pain of death we'd hourly die. 
 
 Rather than die at once !) taught me to shift 
 
 Into a madman's rags ; to assume a semblance 
 
 That very dogs disdain'd : and in this liabit 
 
 Met I my father with his bleeding rings. 
 
 Their precious stones new lost ; berame his gui.Ifl^ 
 
 Led him. begg'd for him, sav'd him fiom despau", 
 
 NpverJJQ.^Auit.J) rfvpal'd myself nnto hiiHL- 
 
 iUritil some half hour past^ when I was arm'd|_ 
 
 NTrrsure, iliough hopTirg,' of this gboiJ sijccess, 
 
 1 ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
 
 ToTd him my pilgrimage: But liig^fhrv^'xl-hjeart, 
 
 (Alack, too weak the conflict to support !) /, 
 
 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, » 
 
 Burst smilingly. ' 
 
 Ed7n. This speech of yo'jrs hath mo"'d nv-?. 
 And shall, perchance, do good : but speak you ot j 
 You look as you had something more to say. 
 
 Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in; 
 For 1 am almost ready to dissolve. 
 Hearing of this. 
 
 Edg. This would have seem'd a period 
 
 To such as love not sorrow ; but another, 
 
 o amplify too much, would make much more. 
 And lop extremity. 
 
 Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man. 
 
 Who haying seenjne^ my \vcrrst"e«tate-,-- -y" 
 
 Sbunn'd my abhorr^ socjefy ;1)iit then, finding 
 
 Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms > 
 
 He fasfen'd on my neck, and bellow'dout 
 
 As he'd burst heaven ; threw him on my father; \ < 
 
 ToTd the hibsf pilebii^ 1 
 
 'iTiat ever ear receiv'd : which in recounting 
 
 His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
 
 Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet spuncli?<l, 
 
 And there I left him tranc'd. 
 
 Alb But who was this? 
 
 Ed^. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who, ia dl» 
 guise, ^ , * 
 
 FoUow'dhis enemy king, and did him service 
 Improper for a .slave 
 
718 
 
 KING LEAR. f Q|4WU(. 
 
 Act Y 
 
 Enter a Gcttfleman hastily, wtih a bloody knife. 
 
 Gent. Help! help! O help! 
 
 Edg. What kind of help ? 
 
 Alb. Speak, man. 
 
 Edg. What means that blood v knife ? 
 
 Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ; 
 
 It came even from the heart of— 
 
 Alb. Who, man ? speak. 
 
 Gent. Y£uHady»_sir,jour^^^^^^^ 
 B^Jrer^ison'd ; she cotifesses li _ 
 
 ESTT was confracf^ to them both ; all three 
 Now marry in an instant. 
 
 Alb. Produce their bodies, be they ahve or dead!— 
 /This judgment of the heave»s, that makes ns tremble, 
 <(TJWhes lis fitjt with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 Edg. Here comes Kent, sir. 
 
 Alb. O ! it is he. 
 The time will not allow the compliment. 
 Which very manners urges. 
 
 Kent. I am come 
 
 To bid my king and master aye good night ; 
 Is he not here ? 
 
 Alb. Great thing of us forgot ! — 
 
 Speak, Edmund, whe re's the kingX^M<]l.^J^^ 
 
 Cordelia?— 
 See'st thou this object, Kent ? 
 
 \/ ( The bodies of Goneril and Regan are 
 brought in.) 
 Kent. Alack, why thus ? 
 Edm. Yet Edmund was belo>^d: 
 
 The one the other poisoned for my sake. 
 And after slew herself. ~ 
 Alb. Even so.— Cover their faces. 
 Edm. I pant for lil'e :— Some good I mean to do, 
 Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, — 
 Be brief in it, — to the castle," for myAvrit 
 Is ou tlie life of Lear, and on Cordelia - 
 ^ay, send in time.,. 
 ~Alh. Run, run, O, run ! 
 
 Edg. To who, my lord ?— Who has the office ? send 
 Thy token of reprieve. 
 
 Edm. W ell tliought on ; take my sword. 
 Give it the captain. 
 Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgar. 
 Edm. He hath commissio n from thy wife aadi me 
 To lian 
 ToTiy 
 
 ig C ordefia in tt)"e pnsonTan cT 
 the^Hlame iu) on jier own despair. 
 
 TTiatWeToFH^h^nel 
 .A'ifd. Thegods delend her ! Bear him hence awhile. 
 
 {Edmund is borne off.) 
 
 Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms ; 
 
 Edgar, Officers, and others. 
 Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl !— O, you are men 
 of stones ; 
 
 Had I your tonguesanj^yftS^T'd iiSfi,A£m.m. 
 'l]iat^2Tjn^^^22^llld.^^ '—O, she is gone 
 
 I know, when one is dead, and when one lives: 
 ■She's iifi ad as_ e,a £th=ksfLend me a looking-glass ; 
 if that her breath will mist or stain the stone. 
 Why, then she lives. 
 
 Kent. Is this the promis'd end? 
 
 Edg. Or image of that horror ? 
 
 Alo. Fall, and cease ! 
 
 i^em: , JIhiaJeaJthoLMrs4^^ 
 •It is a charye th at does redeem all sorrows 
 
 Kent. O my good master ! {hneehng.) 
 hefit. Pr'ythee, away. 
 
 Mdg. , 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 
 
 Xitear. .A plague upon you, murderers, traitors aii I 
 
 r might have sav'd her ; now she*s gone for ever ; — 
 Corddiav^ordeliii7 slay a little. Ha ! 
 What is't thou say'st f— Her voice was ever soft. 
 CJenneram} low ; an excellent thing in woman 
 I kiird the slave, that was a hinging thee. 
 
 Off". 'T-is - tr ue> ray lords, he did. 
 
 Jbear. Did I not, frllow? 
 
 I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion 
 i would have made them skip: I am old now. 
 And these same crosses spoil me. — VVho are yotif 
 Mine eyes are none o'the best: — I'll tell you straight 
 
 Kent. li^r^i^e brag of two she lov'ft and hated, 
 One of thefrTWebehold^^^^^^^^^ -^Ct 
 ""i/gwr.' This is a dull sight : A^re you not Kent? 
 
 Kent. ^ The same ; 
 
 Your servant Kent : Where is your servant Caius ? 
 
 Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
 He'll strike, and quickly too: — He's dead and rotten. 
 
 Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man ; — 
 
 Lear. I'll see that straight. 
 
 Kent. That, from your tirst of difference and decay. 
 Have follow'd your sad steps. 
 Lear. You are welcome hither. 
 
 Kent, Nor no man else ; all's cheerless, dark, and 
 deadly.— 
 
 Your eldest daughters have fore -doom'd them8e?v2s, 
 And desperately are dead. 
 
 Lear. Ay, so I think. 
 
 Alb. He knows not what he says ; and vain it is, 
 That we present us to him. 
 
 Edg. Very bootless. 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 Off. Edmpnd is dead, my lord. 
 
 Alb. ■ That's but a trifle here.— 
 
 You lords, and noble friends, know our iritent. 
 What comfort to this great decay may com^. 
 Shall be applied: For us, we will resign. 
 During the life of this~ola majesty. 
 To him our absolute power :— You, to your rights ; 
 
 {To Edgar and Kent) 
 With boot, and such addition as your honours 
 Have more tlian merited. All friends shall taste 
 The wages of their virtue, and all' foes 
 The cup of their deservings, — O, see j„«ee ! 
 
 Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ICNojio, no life : ' 
 '^Why shoTndVd(5^'^^o^se, "a- r^^^^ 
 >And tliou no breath at all ? O, tiiou wilt coaie njb more^ 
 iJfimiiJSevejv 1^^^ AJ f^^h A 
 
 Pray you, uikTo this button: Thank yon, feir.— V ^ 
 Do you see tliis ? l|-£fjrr:l.fttf-!^j^~.rh^'" ''jps, — 
 Loftk4h££&.Jijok therej— ' '""{Medtes: 
 
 Edg. ^HeTalnFs !— My lord, my lord,— 
 
 Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break! 
 
 Edg. Look up, my lord. 
 
 Kent. Vgji nothia^osi.j4^ kt4im. pass J Jje^^^^ 
 him, — 
 That would upon the rack of this tough world/ L 
 
 StFeTc-hTimi3upo^rr ^ "^m*! 
 
 -"-■"EdgT" " """" O^he is gone, indeed. ^ 
 
 Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long : 
 He but usurp'd his life. 
 
 Alb. Bear them from hence. — Our prespnl 
 business 
 
 Is general woe. Fxignds^of my sonil, you twain 
 
 '~{Td Kent and Edgar J 
 Rule in tlu's realm, and the gor'd sUde sustain. 
 '^'Kent. I have a jotirney, sir, shortly to go ; 
 My master calls, and I must not say, at). 
 
 Alb. 'Ihe weight of this sad time we mast obey,* 
 Speak what we feel, not what we ought to my ; 
 The oldest hath borne most, we, that are y»aiig. 
 Shall never see so much, nor live so lone. 
 
 [Exeunt, with <\ oUad mwcL 
 
KOMEO AND JULIET» 
 
 Tills play is one of the most p1ee.sin^ of our author's performances. Tne scenes are busy and rarious, tTie inci- 
 dents nomerous and important, the catastrophe irresistibly afrectliijr, and the process of the action earned oa vi(h 
 such prolmbility. al least with snch ct nsruity to popular opinions', as tragedy requires. 
 
 Here is one of the few attempts of J^h^kspeare to exhibit the conversation of gentlemen, to represent the airy 
 .^prightliness of juvenile elegance. Mr. Dryden mentions a tradition, which might easily reach his time, of a decla- 
 ration made by Shakspeare, that he wrc> ohiioed to kill M-rcntio in the third act, lest he should have, been killed 
 by him. Yet he thinks him no such formidable person, but that he might have lilted through (hp play, and died 
 in his bed, without danger to the poet. Drvden well knew, h;ul he been in quest of truth, a poimed sentenre, 
 tiiHt more regard is commonly had to the words than the thought, arul that it is very seldom to be rigorously undf-rstocd. 
 Mercutio's wit, eaicty and coiirare, will rlways procure him tnends that wish him a longer life; but his death is not 
 precipitated, be has lived out the time allotted him in the construction of the olay; nordo I doubt the ability of Shak.- peare 
 to have continued his existence, though s( me of his sallies are perhaps out of the reach of Dryden ; whose genius was not 
 verr fertile of merriment, nor ductile to humour; but acute, argumentative, comprehensive, and sublime. 
 
 Tne Nurse is one of the characters iu which the author delighted : lie has, with great subtility of distinction, 
 drawn lier, at once, loquacious and seciet, obsequious and insolent, trusty and dishonest. 
 
 His comic scenes are happily wrought, but his pathetic strains are always polluted with some unexpected depra- 
 vations. His persons, however distressed, have a conceit left them in their misery, a miserable conceit. 
 
 Johnson 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ESCALUS, Prince of Verona. 
 
 PARIS, a young Nobleman, Kinsman to the Prince. 
 MONTAGUE. » Heads of two Houses, at variance with 
 CAPULKT, f each other. 
 An old Man, Uncle to Capulet. 
 ROIMEO, Son to Montague. 
 
 flIERCUTIO, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to 
 Romeo. 
 
 BENVOLIO Nephew to Montague, and Friend to 
 Romeo. 
 
 TYBALT, Nephew to lady Capulet. 
 FRIAR LAURENCE, a Franciscan. 
 FRIAR JOHN, of the same order. 
 BALTHAZAR, Servarit to Romeo. 
 
 ABRA.M, Servant to Montague. 
 
 An Apntheca<y. • 
 Three Musicians. 
 
 Chorus. ■ 
 
 BOT/. 
 
 Paae to Paris. 
 I'ETER. 
 
 An Officer. 
 
 LADY M">NTAGUE, Wife tc Montague. 
 LADY CAPULET, Wife to Capulet. 
 JULIET, Daughter to Capulet. 
 Nurse to Juliet. 
 
 Citizens of Verona; several M^n and Women, rela" 
 tions to both houses ; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 GREGOR^, } Servants to Capulet. 
 
 ScBNE, — During the greater Part of the Play, in Verona ; once, in the Fifth Act, at Mantua. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Two households, both alike in dignity. 
 
 In fair Verona, where we lay our sceiic, 
 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. 
 
 Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
 Frosn forth the fatal loins of these two foes 
 
 A. pair of stars-cross'd lovers take their life ; 
 Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 
 
 Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. 
 The fearful passage of their death mark'd love. 
 
 And the continuance of their parents' rage. 
 Which, but their children's end, nought could re- 
 move. 
 
 Is now the two hours' traffick of our stage ; 
 Thf i which, if you with patient ears attend, 
 What here shall miss, our toil shall stiive to mend. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene l.—A public Place. 
 
 Enter Samfson and Gregory, armed with swords 
 and bucklers. 
 
 Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals. 
 
 Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 
 
 Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. 
 
 Gre. Xy, while you live, draw your neck out of 
 Ibe collar. 
 
 Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 
 
 Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 
 
 Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. 
 
 Gre. To move, is — to stir; and to be valiant, is 
 »-to stand to it : therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou 
 run'st away. 
 
 8am. A dog of that house shall move me to 
 itand : I will take the wall of any man or maid of 
 Montague's. 
 
 Gre. That shews thee a weak slave; for the 
 weakest goes to the wall. 
 
 SaiH. True; ind therefore women, being the 
 weaker vee*»els, are ever thrust to the wall ; — there- 
 
 fore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and 
 thrust his maids to the wall. 
 
 Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and al 
 their men. 
 
 Sam. 'Tis all one, I will shew myself a tyrant; 
 when I have fought witlt the men, I will be cruel 
 with the maids ; ] will cut oli" their heads. 
 
 Gre. The heads of the maids ? 
 
 Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or the 
 maidenheads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. 
 
 Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it, 
 
 Sam. Me they sh=ill feel, while I am able to stands 
 and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh. 
 
 Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fi.sh ; if thou hadst, Ihoa 
 hadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool ; here cornea 
 two of the house of the Montagues. 
 
 Enter Abram and Balthasar. 
 Sap My naked weapon is out; quarrel, 1 wfll 
 back thee. 
 
 Gre. How? turn thy back, and rim? 
 Satn. Fear me not. 
 
 Gre. No, marry ; 1 fear thee ! [begin, 
 Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let them 
 Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them 
 
 take it as they list. 
 
 Sam. Nay, as they dare, I will bite my thumb 
 
 at them; wiiich is a disgrace to them, if they 
 
 bear it. 
 
 Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
 Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir, 
 Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
 Satn. Is the law on our side, if 1 say — ay? 
 Gre. No. 
 
 Sam. No. sir, I do not bite my thumb ai yOU 
 sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. 
 Gre. Do you quarrel, sir i 
 Abr. l^uarrel, sir? no, sir, 
 
 Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I as 
 good a man as you. 
 Abr. No better. 
 
720 
 
 Sam. Well, sir. 
 
 Enter Benvolio, at a distance. 
 Ore. Say — better; here comes one of ruy master's 
 kinsmen. 
 Sam, Yes, better, sir. 
 Abr. Yon lie. 
 
 Sam. Draw, if you be men.— Gregory, remem- 
 b. r thy swashing blow. {They fight.) 
 
 Ben. Part, fools; pnt np your swords; you 
 k low not what you do. {Beats down their swords.) 
 
 Enter Tybalt. 
 Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart- 
 less hinds ? 
 Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. 
 
 Ben, I do but keep the peace ; put up thy sword, 
 Or manage it to part these men with me. 
 
 Tyb. What, drawn and talk of peace? I hate 
 the word, 
 
 As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: 
 
 Have at thee, coward. {They fight.) 
 
 Enter several partizans of both Houses, who join 
 the fray ; then enter Citizens, with clubs. 
 1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans! strike! beat 
 them down! [tagues! 
 Down with the Capulets ! Down with the Mon- 
 
 Ertter CAPUX.ET in his gown; and Lady Capulet. 
 Cap. What noise is tliis? — Give nae my long 
 sword, ho! [a sword? 
 
 ha. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! — Why call you foi 
 Ci^'p. My sword, I say ! — Old Montague is come, 
 
 And nourishes his blade in spite of me. 
 
 Enter MoNTAGUE, and Lady Montague. 
 Man. Thou villain, Capulet, — Hold me not, let 
 me go. [foe. 
 La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a 
 
 Enter Prince, with Attendants, 
 Prince. Uebellions subjects, enemies to peace, 
 Prolnners of tliis neiohhour-stained steel, — 
 Will they not hear? — What, ho! you men, you 
 beasts, — 
 
 That qnencli the fire of your pernicious rage 
 
 Witli [;ur|)lp tbuntaiiis issning from your veins, 
 
 On paui of torture, tVorn those bloody hands 
 
 'J'hrosv yo'u- mis teniper'd weapons to the ground. 
 
 And hear the sentence of your moved prince. — 
 
 Those civ-l liravvis, bred of an airy word, 
 
 By thee old Cispnlet, and Montague, 
 
 H t»e liistiirb'd the quiet of our streets ; 
 
 And Mia'le V^eiona's ancient citizens 
 
 Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 
 
 To wield ohi partizans, in hands as old, 
 
 Canker'd with i;eace, to part your cankej-'d hate : 
 
 If ever you distm h our s^treets again, ' 
 
 ^'our lives shall pay tlie forfeit of the peace. 
 
 For this time, all the rest depart away: 
 
 Vou, Capnlet, shall go along with me : 
 
 And, Montague, come you this afternoon, 
 
 To know our further pleasure in this case. 
 
 To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. 
 
 Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 
 
 [Exemit Prince, and Attendants; Capulet, 
 Ladu Capidet, Tybalt, Citizens, and 
 Servants. 
 
 ftfow.Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? — 
 S^peak, nephew, were you by, when it began? 
 
 Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary. 
 And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : 
 I drew to part them; m the instant came 
 The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'tl ; 
 Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears. 
 He swung about his head, and cut the wiuds. 
 Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd kiim in scorn: 
 While we were interchanging thrusts an<^ blows. 
 Came nurre and more, and fonght on pai ^ an*} i(>art. 
 Till the prince came, who parted either Jf Vt. 
 
 Act L 
 
 La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? — saw you him 
 to-day ? 
 
 Right glad 1 am, he was not at this frsy. 
 
 Bvn. Madam, an hour before the worsbipi'^'d sui 
 Peer'd forth the golden window of tlie ea-rt, 
 A troubled mind drave me to walk ^xbroad ; 
 Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore, 
 That westward rooteth from the city's side,— 
 So early walking did 1 see your son: 
 Towards him I made ; but he was 'ware of me, 
 And stole into the covert of the wood : 
 I, measuring his affections by my own, — 
 Tliat most are busied when they are most alone — 
 Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his. 
 And gladly shuna'd who gladly fled from me. 
 
 Mon. Many a morning hath he there been scenj 
 With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew. 
 Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs % 
 But all so soon as the all cheenng sun 
 Should in the furtliest east begin to draw 
 The shady curtains from Aurora's bed. 
 Away from light steals home my heavy son, 
 And private in his chamber pens himself; 
 Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out. 
 And makes himself an artificial night; 
 Black and portentous must this humour prove. 
 Unless goon counsel may the cause remove. 
 
 Ben. My noble uncley do you know the cause ? 
 
 Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. 
 
 Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means ? 
 
 Mon, Both by myself, and many other friends : 
 But he, his own affections' counsellor. 
 Is to himself — I will not say, how true — 
 But to himself so secret and so close, 
 So far from sounding and discovery, 
 As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 
 Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air. 
 Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
 Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. 
 We would as willingly give cure as know. 
 
 Enter Romeo, at a distance. 
 Ben. See where he comes: So please you, step 
 aside ; 
 
 I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. 
 
 Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay. 
 To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's awny, 
 
 [Exeunt Montague and Lady 
 
 Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 
 
 Ro7n. Is the day so young ? 
 
 Ben, But new struck nine. 
 
 Rom. Ah me ! sad horrs seem long 
 
 Was that my father that went hence so fast ? 
 
 Ben. It was: — What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
 hours ? [them siiort. 
 
 Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes 
 Ben. In love ? 
 Rom. Out — 
 Ben. Of love 
 
 Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. 
 
 Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, 
 Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! 
 
 Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
 Should without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
 Where shall we dine ? — O me! — What fray was 
 here ? 
 
 Yet tell me not, for I have heard it al)» 
 Here's much to do with hate, but more with love :— 
 WTiy then, O brawling love ! O loving hate ! 
 O any thing, of nothing first create i 
 O heavy lightness .' senous vanriy ! 
 Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forma ! 
 Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fir«, 
 health! 
 
 Still- waking sleep, that is not what it isl— 
 This love feel I, that feel no love in thi» 
 Dost thou not laugh V 
 
 Ben. No, coz, 1 rather weep. 
 
 Rom. Good heart, at what 
 
 Beru At thy good heart's opprewi^* 
 
 ROMEO AND JULTET. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 721 
 
 Rom. Why, 3nch is love's transgression. — 
 Griefs of mine jwn lie heavy in my breast ; 
 VVhich thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
 With more of thine : this love, that thou hast 
 shewn, 
 
 I>oth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
 Jiove is a smoke, rais'd with the fume of sighs; 
 H<*rng purg'd, a fire, sparkling in lovers' eyes; 
 Being vex'd, a sea, nourish'd with lovers' tears: 
 What is it else ? a madness most discreet, 
 A choakin^; gall, and a preserving sweet. 
 Farewell, my coz. (Going.) 
 
 Ben. Soft, I will go along; 
 
 And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 
 
 Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here ; 
 This is not Romeo, he's sonje other where. 
 
 Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. 
 
 Rom. What, shall 1 groan, and tell thee? 
 
 Ben. Groan ? why, no ; 
 
 But sadly tell me, who. 
 
 Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will : — 
 Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill ! — 
 In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 
 
 Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd, 
 
 Rom. A right good marksman ! — And she's fair 
 1 love. 
 
 Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 
 
 Rom. Well in that hit you miss : she'll not be hit 
 With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; 
 And, in strong proof of chastity well aruj'd, 
 Froai love's weak childish bow she lives ui:»l»arined. • 
 She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
 Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
 Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
 O, she is rich in beauty ; only poor, 
 
 hat, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 
 
 Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live 
 chaste? I waste; 
 
 Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge ' 
 f or beauty, starv'd with her severity, 
 (luts beauty off from all posterity. 
 She is too i'air, too wise ; wisely too fair. 
 To merit bliss by making me despair : 
 She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow, 
 Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 
 
 Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 
 
 Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think. 
 
 Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 
 Examiiie other beauties. 
 
 Rom. 'Tis the way 
 
 To call her's, exquisite, in question more : 
 These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, 
 Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ; 
 He, that is struck blind, cannot forget 
 The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: 
 Shew me a mistress, that is passing fair. 
 What doth her beauty serve, but as a note, 
 Wliere I may read, who pass'd that passing fair ? 
 Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget. 
 
 Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— A Street. 
 Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. 
 
 Cap. And Montague is bound, as well as I, 
 In penalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think. 
 For men so old as we to keep the peace. 
 
 Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; 
 And pity 'tis, you lived at odds so long. 
 But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? 
 
 Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before : 
 My child is yet a stranger in the world. 
 She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; 
 liet two more summers wither in their pride, 
 Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 
 
 Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. 
 
 Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early 
 made. 
 
 The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, 
 Stae is the hopel'ul lad) of my earth :' 
 
 But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
 
 My will to her consent is but a part; 
 
 An she agree, within her scope of choice 
 
 Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
 
 This night I hold an old accustom'd feaat, 
 
 Whereto 1 have invited many a guest. 
 
 Such as I love ; and you, among the store, 
 
 One more, n>ost welcome, makes my nuniLer DIOT*! 
 
 At my poor house look to behold this night 
 
 Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light 
 
 Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel. 
 
 When well apparell'd April on the heel 
 
 Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
 
 Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
 
 Inherit at my house ; hear all, all see. 
 
 And like her most, whose merit most shall be : 
 
 Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one. 
 
 May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
 
 Come, go with me : — Go, sirrah, trudge about 
 
 Through fair Verona ; find those persons out, 
 
 Whose names are written there, {Gives a pap^r.) 
 
 and to them say, 
 My house and welcome on their pleasure stay, 
 
 7? 
 
 Serv. Find them ont, whose names are written 
 here? It is written— that the shoemaker should 
 meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, 
 the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his 
 net ; but I am sent to find those persons, whose 
 names are here writ, and can never find what names 
 the writing person hath here writ. I must to the 
 learned : — In good time. 
 
 Enter Benvolio and Rojmeo. 
 Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out auotherV 
 burning, 
 
 One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; 
 Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; 
 One desperate grief cures with another's Ian. 
 guish : 
 
 Take thou some new infection to thy eye. 
 And the rank poison of the old will die. 
 
 Rom. Your piaintain leaf h t \:;ellent for that. 
 
 Ben. For what, I pray thee ? 
 
 Rom. For your broken shi*,, 
 
 Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ? 
 
 Rom. Not mad, butbotmd more than a madman isc 
 Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 
 Whippd, and tormented, and — Good-e'en, good 
 fellow. (read ? 
 
 Serv. God gi' good-e'en. — I pray, sir, can yo 
 
 Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 
 
 Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book; 
 But I i»ray, can you read any thing you see ? 
 
 Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language 
 
 Serv. Ye say honestly ; Rest you merry ! 
 
 Rom. Stay, fellow : 1 can read. (Reads,) 
 
 Signor Martino, and his wife, and dauyhiers ; 
 County Ansehne, and his beauteous sisters ; The 
 lady tvidotv of Vitruvio; Signor Placentio, and 
 his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother 
 Valentine ; Mine uncle Cajmlet, his wife, and 
 daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; 
 Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Luciog 
 and the lively Helena. 
 
 A lair assemblv ; ( Gives back the note. ) Whither 
 should they come i 
 Serv. Up. 
 Rom. Whither? 
 Serv. To supper ; to our house. 
 Rom. Whose house ? 
 Serv. My master's. 
 
 Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that beforOi 
 Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking : My 
 master is the great rich Capulet ; and if you be not 
 of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush 
 a cup of wine. Rest you merry. [Exii, 
 
 Ben. At this same ancient feast ofCapulefs 
 Suos the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st ; 
 With all the ad mi ed beauties of Verona : 
 
 Ivi 
 
T22 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Go thither ; and, with unattainted eye, 
 Compare her face with srme that I shall shew, 
 And I will make thee thii-k thy swan a crow. 
 
 Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 
 
 Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires ! 
 And these, — who, often drown'd, could never die, — 
 
 Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! 
 One fairer than my love ! the all seeing sun 
 Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begim. 
 
 Ben. Tut ! you saw her fair, none else being by, 
 Herself pois'd nith herself in either eye : 
 But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd 
 Your lady's love against some other maid 
 That I will shew you, shining at this feast. 
 And she shall scant shew well, that now shews best. 
 
 Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn. 
 But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENB III. — A Room in Capulefs House. 
 Enter Lady Capi^let and Nurse, 
 ha. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter ? call her 
 forth to me. 
 
 Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, — at twelve 
 year old,— 
 
 I bade her come. — What, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! — 
 Ood forbid ! — where's this girl? — what Juliet! 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Jul How now, who calls? 
 
 Nurse. Your mother. 
 
 Jul. Madam, I am here. 
 
 What is your will ? [awhile, 
 
 La Cap. This is the matter: — Nurse, give leave 
 We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again; 
 I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. 
 Thou know'at my daughter's of a pretty age. 
 
 Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 
 
 La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 
 
 Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, 
 
 And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, — 
 She is not fourteen ; how long is it now 
 To Lammas-tide ? 
 
 La Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 
 
 Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
 Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen, 
 iiiisan and she, — God rest all Christian souls ! — 
 Were of an age, — Well, Suzan is with God; 
 She was too good for me : But, as I said, 
 On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; 
 That shall she, marry ; I remember it well. 
 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; 
 And she was wean'd, — I never shall forget it, — 
 Of all the days of the year, upon that day : 
 For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
 Sitting in the stin under the dove-house wall, 
 My lord and you were tiien at Mantua : — 
 N y, I do bear a brain : — but, as I said, 
 VV^hen it did taste the ^vormwood on the nipple 
 Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool ! 
 To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. 
 Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, 
 To bid me trudge. 
 
 And since that time it is eleven years : 
 For then she could stand alone : nay, by the rood, 
 She could have run and waddled all about. 
 For even the day before, she broke her brow: 
 And then my husband — Ood be with his soul ! 
 *A was a merry man: — took up the child : 
 Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face ? [wit; 
 Thou wilt fall bactivard, when thou hast more 
 Wiit thou not, Jule 'f and, by my holy dam, 
 The pretty wretch left crying, and said — Ay : 
 To see now, how a jest shall come about! 
 I warrant, an 1 should live a thousand years, 
 I nft\er should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? 
 quoth he : 
 
 ind, pretty lool, it stinted, and said. — Ay. 
 La Cap. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy 
 peace. [laugh. 
 Nurse. Ves. madam; yet I cannot choose but 
 
 To think it should leave crying, and say— .Ay. 
 
 And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow 
 
 A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone,; 
 
 A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly. 
 
 Yea, quoth mv husband, fall'st upon thy facet 
 
 Thou wilt fall backtoard, when thou com'st to ag^ 
 
 Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said — A^. 
 
 Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thc-e, nurse, say I. 
 
 Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mar thee 
 his grace ! 
 
 Tlion wast the prettiest bab(. that e'er I nurs'd: 
 An I might live to see thee married once, 
 I have my wish. 
 
 La Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme 
 I came to talk of : — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
 How stands your disposition to be married ? 
 
 Jul. It is an honour! that I dream not of. 
 
 Nurse. An honour ! were not 1 thine only nnrsc, 
 I'd say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 
 
 La Cap. Well, think of marriage now ; younger 
 than yon. 
 Here in Verona, ladies of esteem. 
 Are made,already mothers: by my count, 
 I was your mother much upon these years 
 That you are now a maid. Thus then, in biief;— 
 The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 
 
 Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a ma , 
 As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. 
 
 La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 
 
 Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. 
 
 La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gen- 
 tleman ? 
 
 This night you shall behold him at our feast; 
 Read o'er the volume of youn^ Paris' face. 
 And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; 
 Examine every married lineament. 
 And see bow one another lends content; 
 And whatobscur'd in this fair volume lies. 
 Find written in the margin of his eyes. 
 This precious book of love, this unbound lever, 
 To beautify him, only lacks a cover: 
 The fish li\es in the sea ; and 'tis much pride. 
 For fair without the fair within to hide : 
 That book in many's eyes doth share the glory_. 
 That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; 
 So shall you share all that he doth possess, 
 By having him, making yourself no less. 
 
 Nurse. No less ? nay, bigger ; women grow by 
 men. 
 
 La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? 
 Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: 
 But no more deep will I endart mine eye. 
 Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv- 
 ed up, you called, my young lady asked for, the 
 nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in ex- 
 tremity. 1 must hence to wait; 1 beseech you, 
 follow straight. 
 
 La. Cap. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county 
 stays. [days. 
 Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Street. 
 Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five 
 
 or six Maskers, Torch-Bearers, and othett. 
 
 Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for out 
 excuse ? 
 Or shall we on svithout apology ? 
 
 Ben, The date is out of such prolixity : 
 We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf^ 
 Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 
 Scaring ti)e ladies like a crow-keeper; 
 Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spc4c 
 After the prompter, for our entrance: 
 But, let them measure us by what they will. 
 We'll measure them a measure, and be cjone. 
 
 Rom. Give rae a torch, — I am not for toi* am 
 biing ; 
 
Scene _5, 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 723 
 
 Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 
 Mer, Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you 
 dance. 
 
 Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing shoes, 
 With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead, 
 So stakes me to the ground, I cantiot move. 
 
 Mer. You area lover; borrow Cupid's wings, 
 And soar with them above a coiimion bound. 
 
 Rum. \ am too sore empierced with his shaft, 
 To sour with his light featliers ; and so bound, 
 I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: 
 IJnder love's heavy burden do I sink. 
 
 Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; 
 Tdo great oppression for a tender thing. 
 
 Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough. 
 Too rude, too boist'rous ; and it pricks like thorn. 
 
 Mer, If love be rough with you, be rough with 
 love ; 
 
 Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. — 
 (iive me a case to put my visage in. 
 
 {Putting on a mask.) 
 A visor for a visor ! — what care I, 
 What curious eye doth quote deformities? 
 Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me, 
 
 Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, 
 Hut every maq betake him to his legs. 
 
 Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, light of heart, 
 Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; 
 For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, — 
 I'll be a candle holder, and look on, — 
 Tlie gan»e was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 
 
 Mer. Tut 1 dun's the mouse, the constable's own 
 word : 
 
 If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire ^ 
 Oi this ( save reverence ) love, wherein thou stick'st 
 Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho. 
 Rom. Nay, that's not so. 
 
 flier. I mean, sir, in delay 
 
 Wf waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. 
 Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits 
 Kive times m that, ere once in our live wits. 
 
 Rufn. And we mean well, in going to this mask; 
 Bsit 'tis no wit to go. 
 
 Mer. Why, may one ask? 
 
 Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 
 
 Mer. And so did I. 
 
 Rotn. Well, what was your's ? 
 
 Mer. That dreamers often lie. 
 
 Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things 
 true. [you. 
 
 Mer. O. then, I see, queen Mab hath been with 
 She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 Ou the fore-Hnger of an alderman. 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 
 Athwart men's noses as tliey lie asleep : 
 Her waggun-spokes made of long spinners' legs; 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
 I'he traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
 The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams: 
 Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film: 
 Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
 Her chariot is an empty hnzel-nut. 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub. 
 Time out of mind the fairies coach makers. 
 And in this state she gallops night by night 
 'J'hrough lover's brains, and then they dream of 
 love; 
 
 On conrtiers' knees, thr\t dream on court'sies straight : 
 O'er lawyers' 6ngers, \\ho straight drt-ani on fees: 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
 Which Oil tlie angry Mab with blisttrs plagues, 
 liecaiise their breaths with sweet meats tainted are. 
 Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: 
 And sometimes comes slie with a tithe-pig's tail. 
 Tickling X parson's nose as 'a lies asleep. 
 Then dreams he of anoth&'' b<en€fice: 
 
 Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neol p 
 And then dreaujs he of cutting foreign thrtMte^ 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. 
 Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
 Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes; 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or tvye. 
 And sleeps again. This is thai very Mab, 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night; 
 And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
 Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
 This is the ha^, when maids iie on their l»ack8, 
 That presses tliem, and learns them first to bear. 
 Making them women of good carriage. 
 This, this is she— ^ 
 
 Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, pence; 
 
 Thou talk'st of nothing. 
 
 Mer. True. I talk of dreamc J 
 
 Which are the children of an idle brain, 
 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
 Wluch is as thin of substance as the air ; 
 And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
 Even now the frozen bosouj of the north, 
 And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, 
 Turning his face to the dew-dro)jping south. 
 
 Ben. Tills wind, you talk of, blows us froi* «WHri 
 selves ; 
 
 Supper is done, and vve shall come too lata. 
 
 Ilo?n. I tear, too early : for my mind misgives. 
 Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 
 Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
 With this niglit's revels ; and expire the term 
 Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, 
 By some vile forfeit of untimely death : 
 But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 
 Direct my sail I — On, lusty gentlemen. 
 
 Ben. Strike, drum. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Hall in Capulat's House. 
 Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 
 
 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he hel[. s not to talo 
 away ? he shift a trencher ! he scrape a trenciier.' 
 
 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all iu oi e 
 or two men's hands, and they unwanhed too, 'tis a 
 foul thing. 
 
 1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remo\e the 
 conrt-cupboard, look to the plate : — good than, 
 save me a piece of marchpane ; and as thuu lovest 
 me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and 
 Nell. — Antony I and Potpan ! 
 
 2 Serv. Ay, boy ; ready. 
 
 1 Serv. V'ou are looked for, and called for, asked 
 for, and sought for, in tiie great chamber. 
 
 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there, too. — ■ 
 Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer 
 liver take all. {Theij retire behind.) 
 
 Enter Capulet, tcith the Guests, and i/i3 
 M askers. 
 
 Cap. Gentlemen, welcome ! ladies, that have 
 tlieir toes 
 
 Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you : — 
 Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all 
 Will now deny to dance? she. that makes dainty, she, 
 I'll swear hath corns; Am I come near you now ? 
 Y"ou are welcome, geritlemen ! I have secQ the day, 
 "^rhat 1 have worn a visor; and could tell 
 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. 
 Such as would please : — 'tis pone, 'fis gone, 'ti« 
 gone: , fp^ay- 
 
 You are welcome, gentlemen r — Come, musiciuriM, 
 A hall ! a hall ! give room, and foot it, girls. 
 
 {Music plays, and ihey danci ) 
 More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, 
 And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot--. 
 Ah. sirrah, this nnlook'd for sport comes weiL 
 Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; 
 For you and I are past our dancing days; 
 How long is't now, since last yourself and I 
 Were in a mask ? 
 i: Cap By'r lady, thirty year* 
 
724 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Aqt It 
 
 1 Cap. What, Man ! 'tis not so much^ His no* 
 so much ; 
 
 is since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
 Cotne pentecost as quickly as it will, 
 Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. 
 
 5 Cap. "Vis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir; 
 IWs son is thirty. 
 
 1 Cap. Will you me that? 
 
 Hlh son was but a Ward two years ag-o. [hand 
 
 Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the 
 Of yonder knight ? 
 
 Serv, I know not, sir. 
 
 Ro?n. O, she doth teacli the torches to burn bright I 
 Her beauty han^s upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! 
 So shews a snowy dove trooping with crows. 
 As yonder lady o'er her fellows shews. 
 The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand. 
 And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 
 Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! 
 For 1 ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 
 
 Ti/b. This, by his \ oice, should be a Montague : — 
 Fetch me my rapier, boy: — What! dares the slave 
 Come hither, cover'd with an antick face. 
 To lieer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
 Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, 
 To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 
 
 1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore 
 storm you so? 
 
 Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe: 
 A villain, that is hither ceme in spite, 
 To scorn at our solemnity this nigtit. 
 
 1 Cr/p. Young Romeo is't ? 
 
 Tyh. 'Tis he, that villain Rorneo. 
 
 1 Cap Content thee, gentle coz, let hirn alone. 
 He bears him like a portly gentleman; 
 And, to say truth, Verona brags of him. 
 To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : 
 I would not, for the wealth of all this town, 
 Here in my house, do him disparagement: 
 Therefore be patient, take no note of him. 
 It is my will ; the which if thou respect. 
 Shew a fair presence, and put oti" these frowns. 
 An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 
 
 Tyb. It (its, when such a villain is a guest; 
 I'll not endure him. 
 
 1 Cap. He shall be endur'd : 
 
 What, ijroodman boy! — I say, he shall ; — Go to; — 
 Am I tlve master here, or you ? go to. 
 You'll not endure him I — God shall mend my soul— 
 You'll make a mutiny among my guests! 
 You will set cock-a-hoop! you II be the man! 
 Ti/b. Why, uncle, 'tis a shanie. 
 1 Cap. Go to, go to. 
 
 You are a saucy boy : — Is't so, indeed ? — 
 This trick may chance to scathe you ; — I know what. 
 You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time — 
 Well said, n)y hearts : — You are a princox ; go :— 
 Be quiet, or — More light, more light, for shanae !— 
 I'll makre you quiet; What! — Cheerly, my hearts. 
 
 Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting. 
 Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
 I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, 
 Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit. 
 Bom. If 1 profane with my unworthy hand 
 
 {To Juliet.) 
 This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,— 
 My lips, two' blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
 
 To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
 Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too 
 much, 
 
 Which mannerly devotion shews in this ; 
 For saints have hands, that pilgrims' hands do 
 touch, 
 
 And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 
 Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too ? 
 Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in 
 prayer. [do j 
 
 Rom. O then, dear saint, let lip* do what hands 
 
 They pray, grant tbon, lest faith tuni to des 
 pair. [sake» 
 Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 
 Rom. Then move not, wlxile my prayer's effect 
 I take. 
 
 Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is pnr^'d. 
 
 {Kissing her.) 
 
 Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they havs 
 took. furg'dJ 
 
 Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly 
 Give me my sin again. 
 
 Jul. You kiss by the book. 
 
 Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word 
 with you. 
 
 Rom. What is her mother^ 
 
 Nurse. Marry, bacheliMrf 
 
 Her mother is the lady of the house. 
 And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous : 
 1 nurs'd her daughter, tiiat you talk'd withal; 
 I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her, 
 Shall have the chinks. 
 
 Rom. Is she a Capulet ? 
 
 0 dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
 Ben. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 
 Rom. Ay, so 1 fear; the more is my unrest. 
 
 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone: 
 We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. — 
 Is it e'en so? Why, then 1 thank you all : 
 
 1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night : — 
 More torches here! — Come on, then let's to bt'd. 
 Ah, sirrah, {To 2 Cap.) by my fay, it waxes late; 
 I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse. 
 
 Jul. Come hither., nurse ; What is yon gentleman ? 
 Nurse. The son and heir of old 'I'iberio. 
 Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? 
 Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 
 Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would 
 
 not dance ? 
 Nurse. 1 know not. 
 
 Jul. Go, ask his name : — if he be married. 
 
 rave is like to be my wedding bed. 
 
 daiV 
 
 Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 
 The only son of your great enemy. 
 
 Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate! 
 Too early seen unknown, and known too late! 
 Prodigious birth of love it is to ine, 
 That I must love a loathed enemy. 
 Nurse. What's this? what's this? 
 Jul, A rhyme I learn'd even now 
 
 Of one I danc'd withal. {One calls J uliet.) 
 
 Nurse. Anon, anon: — 
 
 Come, let's away ; the strangers all are gone. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Now old desire doth in his death-bed He, 
 
 And young affection gapes to be his heir; 
 That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die, 
 
 With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. 
 Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, 
 
 Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; 
 But to this foe suppos'd he must complain. 
 
 And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful 
 hooks : 
 
 Being held a foe, he may not have access 
 
 To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear ; 
 
 And she as much in love, her means much less 
 To meet her new-beloved any where : 
 
 But passion lends them power, time means to mee^ 
 
 Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exii. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — An open Place, adjoining Capulett 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? 
 Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. 
 
 (He climbs the wall, and leaps down wiifUn,\ 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 KOMEO AND JULIEl 
 
 Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 
 
 Ben, Komeo ! my cousin Romeo ! 
 
 Mer. He is wise ; 
 
 And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. 
 
 Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard 
 Call, good Mercutio. [wall: 
 
 Mer. Nay, 1 11 conjure too. — 
 
 Romeo! humours ! madman I passion ! lover! 
 Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh. 
 Speak but one rhyme, and f am satisfied ; 
 Cry but — Ah me! couple but — love and dove; 
 Speak to my gossip Venus one lair word. 
 One nickname lor her p(jrblind son and heir. 
 Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, 
 When king Copiietua lov'd the beggar-maid. — 
 He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not ; 
 The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. — 
 1 conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes. 
 By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, 
 By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh. 
 And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, 
 That in thy likeness thou appear to us. 
 
 Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. 
 
 Mer. This cannot anger him : 'twould anger hira 
 To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle 
 Of some strange nature, letting it there stand. 
 Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down; 
 That were some spite : my invocation 
 Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, 
 
 I conjure only but to raise up him. [trees, 
 Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those 
 
 To be consorted with the humourous night : 
 Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. 
 
 Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. 
 Now will he sit under a medlar tree, 
 And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, 
 As maids call medlars, whf^n they laugh alone. — ■ 
 Romeo, good night: — I'll to my truckle-bed; 
 This field bed is too cold for me to sleep; 
 Come, shall we go 
 
 Ben. Go, then ; for 'tis in vain 
 
 To seek him here, that means not to be found. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Capulefs Garden. 
 Enter Romeo. 
 Rirtn He jests at scars, that never felt a wound, 
 {Juliet appears above, at a icinduiv.) 
 But, soft! wtiat light through yonder window 
 breaks ! 
 
 II is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — 
 Arise, fair sun. and kill the envious moon. 
 Who is already sirk and pale witii grief, 
 That thou her maid art far uiore fair than she: 
 Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
 
 Her vestal livery is but sick and green, 
 And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. — 
 It is my lady ; O, it is my love. 
 O, that she knew she were ! — 
 She speaks yet she says nothing; What of that? 
 Her eye discodrses, I will answer it. — 
 I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : 
 Two of the lairest stars in all the heaven. 
 Having sorfie business, do entreat her eyes 
 To t\vinkl«- in their spheres till they return. 
 What if her eyes were there, they in her head? 
 I'he brightness of her cheek would shame those 
 stars, 
 
 As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven 
 W^)uld tlnoiigh the airy region stream so bright. 
 That birds would sing, and think it were not night. 
 See, h-M\v she leans her cheek upon her hand! 
 O, th«? 1 were a glo\e upon that hand, 
 1'hat I might touch that cheek ! 
 
 uL Ah me ! 
 
 Rom. She speaks : — 
 
 O, speak •As;'^m, bright angpl ! for thou Hrt 
 As gioHoiKS to tki^ night, l)eirig o'er my head. 
 As is a winge d messenge- of heaven 
 
 Unto the white-upturned vvond'ring eyes 
 
 Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
 
 When he bestrides the lazy-pacing chnids, 
 
 And sails upon the bosoni of the air. (meo? 
 
 Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thau Yi^ 
 Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: 
 Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
 And rU no longer be a Capulet. 
 
 Rom. Shall 1 hear more, or shall I speak at this? 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Jul. Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ; — 
 Thou art tiiyself though, not a Montague. 
 What's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot. 
 Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
 Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ? 
 What's in a name ? that, which we call a rose. 
 By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
 So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd. 
 Retain that dear perfection wliich he owes, 
 Without that title : — Romeo, doff thy name ; 
 And for that name, which is no part of thee. 
 Take all myself. 
 
 Rom. I take thee at thy word : 
 
 Call me but love, and Til be new baptiz'd ; 
 Henceforth \ never will be Romeo. 
 
 Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd m 
 night. 
 
 So sturpblest on my counsel? 
 
 Rom. By a name 
 
 I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
 My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself. 
 Because it is an enemy to thee ; 
 Had I it written, I woidd tear the word. 
 
 Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred wotdf 
 Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound ; 
 Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? 
 
 Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike, 
 
 Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me ? anil 
 wherefore ? 
 
 The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; 
 And the place death, considering who thou art. 
 If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 
 
 Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch 
 these walls: 
 For stony limits cannot hold love out : 
 And what love can do, that dares love attempt; 
 Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 
 
 Jul. If they do see thee, they w ill nnirder thee. 
 
 Rom. Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye. 
 Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet. 
 And I auj proof against their enmit.y. 
 ■ Jul. 1 would not for the world, they saw thee 
 here. [sight; 
 
 Rom. 1 have night's cloak to hide me from their 
 And, but thou love me, let them find me here : 
 My life were better ended by their hate, 
 Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 
 
 Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this 
 
 glare ? [quire ; 
 
 y love, who first did prompt me to in- 
 He leut me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
 I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far 
 As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea^ 
 I would adventure for 8uch merchandise. [face; 
 
 Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on iny 
 Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek. 
 For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. 
 Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
 What 1 have spoke ; but farewell compliment! 
 Dost thoii love n)e? i know, thou wilt say — Aj ; 
 And I will take thy word : yet, if lh()u swear'st. 
 Thou may'st | rove'false; at lovers" perjuries, 
 7^hey say, Jove lauglis. O, gentle Romeo, 
 If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
 Or if thou tiiink'st I am too quickly won, 
 I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee Bay. 
 So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the vvorlil. 
 In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; 
 And tliereiore tlii.u may'st think my haviour light; 
 But trust u»e, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
 
T26 
 
 Than those that have more cunning to be strange, 
 I should have been more strange, I niust coni'ess, 
 But that thou overheard'st, ere 1 was ware, 
 My true love's passion : therefore pardon me ; 
 And not impute this yielding to light love, 
 VVhicli the dark night hath so discovered. 
 
 Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, 
 That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, — 
 
 Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
 moon, 
 
 1"hat monthly changes in her circled orb, 
 Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
 
 Rom. What shall I swear by ? 
 
 Jul. Do not sweur at ali ; 
 
 Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self. 
 Which is the god of my idolatry. 
 And I'll believe thee. 
 
 Rom. If my heart's dear love — 
 
 Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in thee, 
 I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
 It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
 Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be. 
 Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night ! 
 This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. 
 May prove a beauteous flower, whea next we meet. 
 Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest 
 Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 
 
 Ro7n. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? 
 
 Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? 
 
 Bom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for 
 mine. 
 
 Jul. I gave thee mine before thou did'st request it: 
 And yet I would it were to give again. 
 
 Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it ? for what pur- 
 pose, love ? 
 
 Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
 And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
 My bonnty is as boundless as the sea. 
 My love as deep 5 the more I give to thee, 
 The more I have, for both are infinite. 
 
 {Nurse calls tvithin.) 
 [ hear some noise within : Dear love, adieu ! 
 Anon, good nurse ! — Sweet Montague, be true. 
 Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit. 
 
 Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard. 
 Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
 Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 
 
 Re-enter Juliet, above. 
 Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, 
 indeed. 
 
 If that thy bent of love be honourable. 
 
 Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow 
 
 By one that I'll procure to come to thee, 
 
 VVhere, and what time, thou wilt perlorm the rite ; 
 
 And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, 
 
 And follow thee, my lord, throughout the worid. 
 
 Nurse. { Within.) Madam ! [well, 
 
 Jul. I come, anon: — But if thou mean'st not 
 I do beseech thee, — 
 
 Nurse. {WitMn.) Madam ! 
 
 /«/. By and by, T come : — 
 
 To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
 To-morrow will 1 send. 
 
 Rom. ^ So thrive my soul, — 
 
 Jul. A thousand times good night ! [Exit. 
 
 Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thv 
 light.- 
 
 l<ove goes toward love, as school-boys from their 
 books ; 
 
 B it h)ve from love, toward school with heavy loolis. 
 
 {Retiring slowly.) 
 
 Re-enter Juliet, above. 
 Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist I — O, for a falconer's 
 voice. 
 
 To hire this tassel gentle back again ! 
 Boud-ige is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
 Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 
 And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine 
 
 Act IL 
 
 Witli repetition of my Romeo's name. 
 
 Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon ray name: 
 How silver-sweet sound lo\ers' tongues by night. 
 Like softest music to attending ears ! . 
 Jul. Romeo 1 
 
 Rom. My sweet ! 
 
 Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow 
 
 Shall I send to thee ? 
 
 Rom. At the hour of nine. 
 
 Jul. I will not fail ; 'tis twenty years till then 
 1 have forgot why I did call thee bark. 
 
 Rom. Let me stand here, till thou remember it i 
 Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, 
 Rememb'ring how I love thy company. 
 
 Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, 
 Forgetting any other home but this. [gone r 
 
 Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee 
 And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
 Wiio lets it hop a little from her hand. 
 Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 
 And with a silk thread plucks it back again. 
 So loving-jealous of his liberty. 
 Rom. 1 would, I were thy bird. 
 Jul. Sweet, so would I -. 
 
 Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
 Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet 
 sorrow, 
 
 That I shall say— good night, till it be morrow. 
 
 [Exit,[ 
 
 Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace iu thy 
 breast I — 
 
 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ' 
 
 Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell; 
 
 His help to crave, and my dear hap to te'i. [E.iif. 
 
 Scene III.— Friar Laurence's Ceil. 
 Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket. 
 Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the i'ruwni 
 night, 
 
 Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of li- iit , 
 And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
 From Ibrth day's path-way, made by Titan's whet-is 
 Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye. 
 The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
 I must up-fi!I this osier cage of ours. 
 With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
 The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; 
 What is her burying grave, that is her womb : 
 And Irouj her womb children of divers kind 
 We sucking on her natural bosom find; 
 Many ibr many virtues excellent, 
 None but for some, and yet all diflerent, 
 O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 
 In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
 For nought so vile, that on the earth doth live 
 But to the earth .some special good doth give ; 
 Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use. 
 Revolts from true birth, stimibling on abu.se : 
 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
 And vice .sometime's by action dignified. 
 Within the infant rind of this small flower 
 Poison hath residence, and med'cine power 
 For this, being smelt, with that part cheers eacl: 
 part; 
 
 Bemg tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
 Two such 0[)posed foes encamp them still 
 In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will 
 And, where the worser is predominant, 
 Full soon the canker death eats up that plant 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Good morrow, father! 
 
 Fri. Benedicite ! 
 
 What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? — 
 Young son, it argues a distemper'd head. 
 So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
 Care keeps his watch in e\ery old man's eye, 
 And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; 
 But where unbruised youth with unstuflM brain 
 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reiga 1 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 727 
 
 Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, 
 rhou art up rous'd by some distenip'rature ; 
 Or if not so, then here I hit it right — 
 Our Uoineo hath not been in bed to-night. 
 
 Rom. That last is true, tlie sweeter rest was 
 mine. 
 
 Fri. God pardon sin ! wast thou with Rosaline ? 
 
 Ro7n. With llosaline, my ghostly lather? no; 
 \ have ibrgol that name, and that name's woe. 
 
 Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou 
 been, then ? 
 
 Mom, I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
 I have been feasting with mine enemy; 
 Where, on a sudden, one hath wounued me. 
 That's by me wounded ; both our remedies 
 Within thy help and holy physic lies : 
 [ bear no hatred, blessed man ; for lo, 
 My intercession likewise steads my foe. [drift; 
 
 Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy 
 Riddling confession finds but riddling shriit. 
 
 Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is 
 On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : [set 
 As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; 
 And all combined, save what thou must combine 
 By holy marriage : When, and where, and how. 
 We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, 
 1 11 tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, 
 That thou consent to marry us this day. 
 
 Fri. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here! 
 Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 
 So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies 
 Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
 Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine 
 Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline I 
 flow much salt water thrown away in waste, 
 To season love, that of it doth not taste! 
 The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears. 
 Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
 Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
 Of an old tear, that is not wash'd off yet : 
 If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine. 
 Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline ; 
 And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence 
 then — • 
 
 Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. 
 
 Ro?n. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 
 
 Fri, For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 
 
 Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 
 
 Fri. Not in a grave, 
 
 To lay one in, another out to have. [now, 
 
 Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom I love 
 Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; 
 The other did not so. 
 
 Fri. O, she knew well, 
 
 Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. 
 But come, young waverer, come go with me, 
 In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 
 For this alliance may so happy prove. 
 To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 
 
 Rom. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 
 
 Fri. Wisely aud slow; They stumble, that run 
 fast. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Street 
 Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 
 
 Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? — 
 Came he not home to-night ? 
 
 Ben. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his man. 
 
 Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, 
 that Rosaline, 
 -Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 
 * Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
 flath sent a letter to hij father's house. 
 
 Mer A challenge, on my life. 
 
 Ren. Romeo will answer it. [a letter. 
 
 Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer 
 
 Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how 
 he dares, being dared. 
 
 Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is al/eady . dead I 
 stabbed wih a white wench's black eye ; shot 
 
 through the ear with a love-sting ; tlie \ery pin of his 
 heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft; And 
 is he a man to encounter Tybalt? 
 
 Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? 
 
 Mer. More than prince oi' cats, I can tell you, 
 O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. 
 He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, dis- 
 tance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, 
 one, two, and the third in your bosom : the very 
 butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist ; si 
 gentleman of the very first house, — of the first and 
 second cause : Ah, the immortal passado ! the 
 punto reverso! the hay! 
 
 Ben. The what ? 
 
 Mer. The pox of such antic^ lisping, affecting 
 fantasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! By Jesu, 
 a very good blade ! — a very tall man ! — a very 
 good whure ! — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, 
 grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these 
 strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these /)ar</o?3- 
 nez-moy's, who stand so much on the new form, 
 that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O 
 their bons, their bons ! 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 
 
 Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring:—. 
 O, flesh, flesh, how art thou fishifled ! — Now is hp 
 for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura, Ut 
 his lady, was but a kitchen-wench ; — marry, she had 
 a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy: 
 Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hil<iii)[;s ana 
 harlots; '^J'liisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the 
 [jurpose. — Signior Romeo, bonjour .' there's a French 
 salutation to your French slop. You gave tss tlie 
 counterfeit fairly last night. 
 
 Rain. Good inoi row to you both. What couii' 
 terleit did 1 give you ? [cei^ef 
 
 Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; Can you not coa- 
 
 B.om. Pardon, good Mercutio, my (jusiness waa 
 great ; and, in such a case as mine, a man may straia 
 courtesy. 
 
 Mer. That's as much as to say— such a case 9 
 yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 
 Ro7n. Meaning— to court'sy. 
 Mer. I'hou hast most kindly hit it. 
 Rom. A most courteous exposition. 
 Mer. Nay, I am the very pink ol" courtesy. 
 Rom. Pink for flov/er. 
 Mer. Right. 
 
 Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 
 
 Mer. Well said : Follow me this jest now, till 
 thou hast worn out thy pump ; that, when the 
 single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after 
 the wearing, solely singular. 
 
 Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the 
 singleness ! [wits fail. 
 
 Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my 
 
 Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; oi 
 I'll cry a Mtch. 
 
 Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, 
 I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose 
 in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in niy 
 whole five : Was I with you there for the goose ? 
 
 Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, 
 when thou wast not there for the goose. 
 
 Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 
 
 Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 
 
 Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting ; it is n 
 most sharp sauce. 
 
 Rom. And is it not well served in to a sw«p4 
 goose ? 
 
 Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches 
 from a« inch narrow to an ell broad \ 
 
 Ro7n. I stretch it out for that word— -broad; 
 which added to the goose, proves thee far and 
 wide a broad goose. 
 
 Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning 
 for love ? now art thou sDciable, now art thou Ro- 
 meo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well 
 
728 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 by nature : for this drivelling love is like a great 
 natural, than runs lolling up and down to hide his 
 bauble in a hole. 
 
 Ben. Stop there, stop there. 
 
 Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against 
 the air. 
 
 Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large. 
 
 Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made 
 it short ; for I was come to the whole depth of my 
 tale : and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument 
 uo longer. 
 
 Rom. Here's goodly geer ! 
 
 Enter Nurse and Peter. 
 Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 Ben. Two, two ; a shirt, and a smock 
 Nurse. Peter ! 
 Peter. Anon? 
 Nurse. My fan, Peter. 
 
 Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face ; 
 for her fan's the fairer of the two. 
 
 Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. 
 Mer. Gfxl ye good den, lair gentlewoman. 
 Nurse. Is it good den ? 
 
 Mer. 'Tis no less, I'll tell you ; for the bawdy hand 
 of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. 
 
 Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are you? 
 
 Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made 
 himself to mar. 
 
 Nurse. By my troth, it is well said; — For him- 
 self to mar, quoth'a? — Gentlemen, can any of you 
 tell me where I may find the young Romeo ? 
 
 Rom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will be 
 older when you have found him, than he was when 
 you sought him : I am the youngest of that name, 
 for 'fault of a worse. 
 
 Nurse. Vou say well. 
 
 Mer. Yea, is tne worst well? very well took, 
 rfaith ; wisely, wisely. 
 
 Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence 
 K»ith you. 
 
 Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 
 
 Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a ba\yd ! So ho ! 
 
 Rom. What hast thou found 
 
 Mer. No hare, sir ; unless a hair, sir, in a lenten 
 pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be 
 spenti 
 
 An old hare hoar. 
 And an old hare hoar. 
 Is very good tneat in lent 
 But a hare that is hoar. 
 Is too much for a score. 
 When it hoars ere it be spent. — 
 Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we'll to 
 dinner thither. 
 Rom. I will follow you. 
 
 Mer, Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, 
 lady, lady. 
 
 [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. 
 fiuree. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what 
 saucy merchant was this, that was so lull of his 
 ropery. 
 
 Rom, A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear 
 bim.4elf talk ; and will speak more in a minute, 
 than he will stand to in a month. 
 
 Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll 
 take him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and 
 twenty like Jacks; and, if he cannot, I'll find those 
 that shall. Scurvy knave 1 I am none of his flirt- 
 girls ; I am none of his skains-inates : — And thou 
 must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use 
 H)e at his pleasure f 
 
 Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; if I 
 tad, my weapon sliould q lickly have been out, I 
 ivarrant yon : I dare draw as soon as another man, 
 tf I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on 
 my side. 
 
 Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that 
 rvery part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! — 
 Pray you, '»ir, a word : and as I told you, my 
 
 young lady bade me inquire yo t out ; what she bade 
 me say, I will keep to myself; hni fust Iv^t m© tell 
 ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as 
 they say, it were a very gross kind of hehavioar, 
 as they say : for the gentfewonian is young ; and, 
 therefore, if you should deal trouble with her, 
 truly, it were an ill tiling to be offered to any gen- 
 tlewoman, and very weak dealing. 
 
 Rom. Nurse, conunend me to thy lady and mis- 
 tress. I protest unto tliee, — 
 
 Nurse. Good heart! and, i'fuith, I will tell hei 
 as much : Lord, loid, she will be a joyful woman. 
 
 Ro7n. What wilt thou tell her, nurse ? tliou dost 
 not mark me. 
 
 Nurse. I will tell her, sir — that you do protest j 
 which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like olier. 
 
 Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to 
 This afternoon ; [shrift 
 And there she shall, at friar Laurence' cell, 
 Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy paina. 
 
 Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. 
 
 Rom. Go to ; I say, you shall. 
 
 Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall bc 
 there. [wall*. 
 
 Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey 
 Within this hour my man shall be with thee ; 
 And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair: 
 Which to the high top gallant of my joy 
 Must be my convoy in the secret ni^iit. 
 Farewell I — Be trusty, and 1 11 quit thy pains. 
 Farewell ! — Commend me to thy mistress. 
 
 Nurse. Now God in heaven bless tliee ! — Hark 
 you, sir. 
 
 Rom. VVhat say'st thou, my dear nurse ? 
 Nurse. Is your man secret ? Did you ne'er hear 
 say — 
 
 Two may keep counsel, potting one away ? 
 
 Rom. I warrant tliee ; my man's as true as steel. 
 
 Nurse. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest 
 lady — Lord, lord ! — wtien 'twas a littiv prating 
 thing, — O, — there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, 
 that would fain lay knife aboard ; but she, good 
 soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see 
 him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that 
 Paris is the properer man; but, Ml warrant you, 
 whei I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the 
 varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Rouieo begia 
 both with a letter? 
 
 Rom. Ay, nnrse; What of that? both with an R. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R. 
 is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some 
 other letter : and she hath the prettiest sententious 
 of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you 
 good to hear it. 
 
 Rom. Commend me to thy lady, [Exit 
 
 Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter! 
 
 Pet. Anon ? 
 
 Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene V. — Capulefs Garden. 
 Enter J uuet. 
 Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send tht 
 nurse ; 
 
 In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
 Perchance, she cannot meet him ;— that's not so. — 
 O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thougJits, 
 Which ten times faster glide tlian tne siin's beams. 
 Driving back shadows over low'rini; hilU: 
 Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love. 
 And therefore hatli the wind-swift Cupid wings* 
 Now is the sun upon the higiunost hill 
 Of this day's journey ; and trom nine till tweivfl 
 Is three long liours, — yet she is not come. 
 Had she affections, and warm youthful biood, 
 She'd be as swift in motion as a ball ; 
 My wonds would bandy her to niy sweet love. 
 And his to me : 
 
 But old* folks, many feign as they were dea^; 
 Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 Enter Nurse and Peter. 
 
 O Glod, she comes ! — O honey nurse, what news ? 
 HǤt thou met with him ? Send thy man away. 
 
 Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter. 
 
 Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, — O lord ! why 
 look'st thou sad ? 
 Thoujrh news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; 
 It' good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 
 By playing it to me with so sour a face. 
 
 Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave a while ; — 
 Fye, how my bones ache ! What a jaunt have I had ! 
 
 Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy 
 news ; [speak. 
 Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; — good, good nurse, 
 
 Nurse. Jesn, what haste ? can you not stay 
 awhile ? 
 
 Do you not see, that I am out of breath? 
 Jul. How art thou but of breath, when thou hast 
 breath 
 
 To say to me— that thou art out of breath !* 
 The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay. 
 Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
 Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; 
 Say either, and F'll stay the circumstance : 
 Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad? 
 
 Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; 
 you know not how to choose a man : Romeo ! no, 
 not he ; though his face be better than any man's, 
 yet his leg excels all men's : and for a hand, and a 
 foot, and a body, — though they be not to be talked 
 on, yet they are past compare : He is not the flower 
 of courtesy. — but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a 
 lamb. — Go tliy ways, wench ; serve God ; — What, 
 have voii dined at home? 
 
 Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before: 
 What says he of our marriage ? what of that? 
 
 Nurse. Lord, how my head aches ! what a head 
 have I ! 
 
 It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. 
 
 My back, o't other side,— O, my back, my back! — 
 
 B+^shrew your heart, for sending me about. 
 
 To catch my death with jaunting up and down.' 
 
 Jul. I faith, 1 am sorry that thou art not well : 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my 
 love ? 
 
 Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman, 
 And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, 
 And, I warrant, a virtuous : — Where is your mo- 
 ther ? 
 
 Jul. Where is my mother? — why, she is within ; 
 Where should she be ? How oddly thou reply'st ? 
 Your love says like an honest gentleman, — 
 Where is your mother ? 
 
 Nurse. O, God's lady dear ! 
 
 Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow; 
 Is this the poultice for my aching bones? 
 Henceforward do your messages yourself. 
 
 Jul. Here's such a coil; — Come, what says 
 Romeo ? [day ? 
 
 Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to- 
 
 Jul. I have. [cell. 
 
 Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' 
 There stays a husband to make you a wife : 
 Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, 
 They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. 
 Hie you to church ; I must another way. 
 To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
 Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark : 
 I am the ririsrige, and toil in your delight ; 
 But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
 Go, I'll to ditmer; hie you to the cell. 
 
 JuL Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, fare- 
 well. [Exeunt. 
 
 ScEfSTE VI. — Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo, 
 Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act. 
 That after hours with sorrow chide us not! 
 
 M&m, Aiflevi, amen I Ir ut come what sorrow can. 
 
 729 
 
 It cannot countervail the exchange of joy. 
 That one short minute gives me in her sight 
 Do thou but close our hands with holy wordi, 
 Then love-devouring death do what he dare. 
 It is enough I may but call her mine. 
 
 Frt. These violent delights have violent endi 
 And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder^ 
 Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweet honef 
 Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. 
 And in the taste confounds the ajjpetite: 
 Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth ftoj 
 Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Here comes the lady ; — O, so light a foot 
 Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint 
 A lover may bestride the gossamers. 
 That idle in the wanton summer air. 
 And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 
 
 Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 
 
 Fri. Romeo shall thank tliee, daughter, for ui 
 both. [much. 
 
 Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too 
 
 Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
 Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
 To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
 This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue 
 Unfold the imagin'd happiness, that both 
 Receive in either by this dear encounter. 
 
 Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words. 
 Brags of his substance, not of ornament : 
 They are but beggars that can count their worth; 
 But my true love is grown to such excess, 
 1 cannot sum up half my sum of wealth, 
 
 Fri. Come, come with me, and we will makf 
 short work ; 
 For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, 
 Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunin 
 
 ACT in. 
 
 Scene T.— J. public Place. 
 Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servonte. 
 
 Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire ; 
 The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, 
 And, if we meet, we shall not 'scafie a brawl ; 
 For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. 
 
 Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, 
 when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me 
 his sword upon the table, and says, God send me 
 no need of thee ! and by the operation of the se- 
 cond cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, 
 there is no need. 
 
 Ben. Am I like such a fellow? 
 
 Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy 
 mood as any in Italy : and as soon moved to be 
 moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 
 
 Ben. And what to? 
 
 Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should 
 have none shortly, for one would kill the other. 
 Thou ! why, thoi? wilt quarrel with a man that hatb 
 a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thoo 
 hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking 
 nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast 
 hazel eyes : What eye, but such an eye, would spy 
 out such a quarrel ? Thy head is as full of quarrels, 
 as an egg is full of meat ; and yet thy head hatli 
 been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrellinpc. 
 Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing m 
 the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that 
 hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out 
 with a tailor, for wearing his new doublet hefo 
 Easter? with another, for tying his; new shoes wit 
 old ribband V and yet thou wilt tutor me from quar- 
 rellmg ! 
 
 Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, 
 any man should buy the lee-simple of my life tor Ml 
 hour and a quarter. 
 
 Mer. The fee-simple ? O simple ! 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
V30 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act III, 
 
 Enier Tybalt, and others. 
 
 Ben, By my head, here come the Capnlets. 
 
 Mer, By my heel, I care not. 
 
 Tj-^. Follow me (iose, for I will speak to them. — 
 Gentlemen, ^ood den : a word with one of you. 
 
 Mer. And but one word with one of us ? Couple 
 it with somethiiig; make it a word and a blow. 
 
 'J'yb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if 
 yc*« will give me occasion. [giving? 
 
 Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 
 
 Tvb. Mercutio, thou'consort'st with Romeo, — 
 
 Aier. Consort ! what, dost thou make us min- 
 strels ? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear 
 nothing bit discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's 
 that shall make you dance. 'Zound'j, consort ! 
 
 Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: 
 Either withdraw into some private place, 
 Or reason coldly of your grievances. 
 Or else depart; here ail eyes gaze on us. 
 
 Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let 
 them gaze ; 
 ] will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 
 
 Enter RoMEO. 
 
 Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes 
 my man. [livery : 
 
 Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your 
 Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower ; 
 Your worship, in that sense, may call him — man. 
 
 Ti/b. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can atibrd 
 No better term than this — Thou art a villain. 
 
 Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee 
 Doth niuch excuse the appertaining rage 
 To such a greeting: — Villain am I none; 
 Therefore farewe'.l; 1 see, thou know'st me Hot. 
 
 Tyb. Boy, this shall nut excuse the injuries 
 That tliou h ist done me ; therefore turn and draw. 
 
 Rom. 1 do protest, I never injur'd thee ; 
 But love thee better than thou canst devise, 
 Tdl thoii shalt know the reason of niy love : 
 And so, good Capulet, — which name I tender 
 As dearly as mine own, — be satisfied. 
 
 Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! 
 A la s toccata carries it away. — {Draivs.) 
 Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ? 
 
 Tyb. What would st thou have with me ? 
 
 Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your 
 nine lives: that I mean to make bold witlml, and, 
 as you shall use me hereafter, dry beat the rest of 
 the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his 
 pilcher by the ears ? make haste, lest mine be about 
 your ears ere it be out. 
 
 Tyb. I am for you. {Drawing.) 
 
 Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 
 
 Mer. Come, sir, your passado. {They fight.) 
 
 Rom. Draw, Benvolio ; 
 Beat down their weapons : — Gentlemen, for shame, 
 Forbear this outrage ; — Tybalt— Mercutio — 
 The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying 
 [n Verona streets : — hold, Tybalt; — good Mercutio. 
 
 [Exeunt Tybalt and his Bartizans. 
 
 Mer. I am hurt ; — 
 A plague o' both the houses ! — I am sped : — 
 Is tie gone, and hath nothing? 
 
 Ben. What, art thou hurt ? 
 
 Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 'tis 
 enough, — 
 
 VVheie is ray page? — Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Rom. Courage, man ; the hurt cannot be much. 
 
 Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide 
 as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ask 
 fdr me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave 
 man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world : — 
 A plague o' both your houses I — 'Zounds, a dog, a 
 rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death ! a 
 braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book 
 of arithmetic ! — Why, the devil came you between 
 us ? I was hurt under your arm. 
 
 Rom^ I thought all for the best. 
 
 Mer. Help me into some house, BenvoHo^, 
 Or I shall faint. — A plague o' both your houses 1 
 They have made worm's meat of me ; 
 I have it, and soundly too : — Your houses! 
 
 [Exeunt Mercutio and BenmliuK 
 
 Roin. This gentleman, the prince s near ally, 
 My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
 In my behalf ; my reputation stain d 
 With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an houl 
 Hath been my kinsman : — O sweet Juliet, 
 Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, 
 And in my temper soften'd valour's steel. 
 
 Re-enter Benvolio. 
 
 Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, bra^ve Mercutio's dead*. 
 That gallant spirit hath asjiir'd the cloud.'<, 
 Whicli too untimely here did scorn the earth. 
 
 Roiti. This day's black fate on more days dot' 
 depend ; 
 
 This but begins the woe, others must end. 
 
 Re-enter Tybalt. 
 
 Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 
 
 Rom. Alive ! in triumph ! and Mercutio slain ! 
 Away to heaven, respective lenity. 
 And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now ! — 
 Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, 
 Tlrat late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul 
 Is but a little way above our heads. 
 Staying for thine to keep him company ; 
 Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 
 
 Tyb. Thou, wretched buy, that didst consort hisa 
 Shalt with him hence. [here. 
 
 Rom. This shall determine that. 
 
 ( T/i(^y fight : TyhaU folia, ) 
 
 Ben. Romeo, away, be gone 1 
 The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain: — 
 Stand not amaz'd ; — the prince will doom thf-e deatb^ 
 If thou art taken : — hence ! — be gone ! — av^'ay ] 
 
 Rom. O ! I am fortune's fool ! 
 
 Ben. Why dost tliou stay ? 
 
 [Exit Rome^x 
 
 Enter Citizens, ^c. 
 
 1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio? 
 Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he ? 
 
 BeJi. There lies that 'J'ybalt. 
 
 1 Cit. Up. sir, go with me ; 
 
 1 charge thee in the prince's name, obey. 
 
 Enter Prince, attended; IVIontague, Capulet, 
 their Wives, and others. 
 Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this frayf 
 Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
 The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
 There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, 
 That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 
 
 La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! — O my brother*! 
 child ! 
 
 Unhappy sight ! ah me, the blood is spill'd 
 Of my dear kinsman ! — Prince, as thou art true. 
 For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. — 
 O cousin, cousin I 
 
 Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray ? 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hnnd did 
 slay ; 
 
 Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink 
 How nice the quarrel was, and u-r'd withal 
 Your high displeasure : — All this — uttered 
 With gentle breath, calm look, knees buui 
 bow'd. — 
 
 Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
 Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
 With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breaai; 
 Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point. 
 And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beat* , 
 Cold death aside, and with the other sends ; 
 It back to Tybalt, whose d 'xt ^r\ty ^ 
 Retorts it: nomeo be cries al^wd, 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET.^ 
 
 73: 
 
 Hold, friends ! friends, pari! and, s\vifter than 
 his tongue, 
 
 His agile anii beats down their fatal points, 
 And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm 
 An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
 Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled : 
 But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
 Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, 
 And lo't they go like ligiitning- for, ere 1 
 Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain ; 
 And, 33 he fell, did Romeo turn and fly: 
 This is the trutii, or let Benvolio die. 
 
 La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague, 
 Affection makes him i'alse, he speaks not true : 
 Some twenty of them fought in this black strife. 
 And all those twenty could but kill one life : 
 I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give ; 
 Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 
 
 Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; 
 Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe ? 
 
 Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's 
 friend ; 
 
 His fault concludes but, what the law should end. 
 The life of Tybalt. 
 
 Prin. And, for that offence, 
 
 Immediately we do exile him hence : 
 I have an interest in your hates' proceeding. 
 My blood, for your rude brawls, doth lie a-bleeding ; 
 But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine, 
 That you shall all repent the loss of mine: 
 I will be deaf to pleading and excuses ; 
 Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses. 
 Therefore use none : let Romeo hence in haste. 
 Else, when he's louud, that hour is his last. 
 Bear hence his body, and attend our will : 
 Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in CapideVs House. ♦ 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds. 
 Towards Phoebus' mansion; such a waggoner 
 As Phaeton would vvhip you to the west, 
 And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 
 Spread thy close curtain, love-perfonning night ! 
 That run-away's eyes may wink ; and Romeo 
 Leap to these arms, untalk"d of, and unseen I — 
 Lovers can see to do tiieir amorous rites 
 By their own beauties : or, if love be blind, 
 It best agrees with night. — Come, civil night, 
 Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
 And learn me how t') lose a winning match, 
 Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : 
 Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, 
 With thy black mantle; till strange love, grovk'n bold, 
 Think true love acted, simple modesty. 
 Come, night ! — Come, Romeo ! come, thou day in 
 night ! 
 
 For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 
 
 Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. — 
 
 Come, gentle night ; come, loving, black-brow'd night. 
 
 Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die, 
 
 Take him, and cut him out in little stars, 
 
 And he will make the face of heaven so fine. 
 
 That all the world will be in love with night, 
 
 And pay no worship to the garish son. — 
 
 O, I have bought the mansion of a love, 
 
 Bat n-it possess'd it; and, tiiough I am sold. 
 
 Not J et enjoy'd : So tedious is this day. 
 
 As is the night before some festival 
 
 To an impatient child, that hath new robes, 
 
 And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse. 
 
 Enter Nurse, with cords. 
 And she brings news ; and every tongue that speaks 
 But Romeo's name, speaks heaven'y eloquence. — 
 Now, nurse,, what news ? Wliat hast thou there ? the 
 That Romeo bade thee fetch ? [cords, 
 Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. 
 
 {Throws them down.) 
 
 Jul. Ah me ! what news ? why dost thoa wring thy 
 hands? [dead! 
 
 Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he'» 
 We are undone, lady, we are undone!— 
 Alack the day! — he's gone, he's kilTd, he's deadi 
 
 Jtd. Can heaven be so envious ? 
 
 Nurse. Romeo can. 
 
 Though heaven cannot: — O Romeo, Komeo ! — 
 Who ever would have thought if'* — Romeo! 
 
 Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment m« 
 thus ? 
 
 This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
 
 Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but/. 
 
 And that bare vowel / shall poison more 
 
 Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : 
 
 I anj not I, if there be such an /; 
 
 Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I 
 
 If he be slain, say — /; or if not, no: 
 
 Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe. 
 
 Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-* 
 God save the mark ! — here on his manly breast: 
 A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; 
 Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood. 
 All in gore blood ; — I swooned at the sight. 
 
 Jul. O break, my heart! — poor bankrupt, breaK 
 at once ! 
 
 To prison, eyes ! ne'er look on liberty ! 
 
 Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
 
 And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier! 
 
 Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend 1 had! 
 O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 
 That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 
 
 Jid. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? 
 Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? 
 My dear-lov'd cousin, and iny dearer lord ?- 
 Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom I 
 For who is living, if those two are gone ? 
 
 Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banish'd ; 
 Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. 
 
 Jul. O God !— did Romeo's hand shed Tyba)l'9 
 blood? 
 
 Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day ! it did. 
 
 Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering facel 
 Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? 
 Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical ! 
 Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish ravening Iambi. 
 Despised substance of divinest shew ! 
 Just opposite to what thou jijstly seeni'st, 
 A damned saint, an honourable villain! — 
 O, nature ! wliat hadst thou to do in hell, 
 When thou did'st bovver the spirit of a fiend 
 In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ? 
 Was ever book, containing such vile matter. 
 So fairly bound O, that deceit should dwell 
 In such a gorgeous palace ! 
 
 Nurse. There's no trust. 
 
 No faith, no honesty in men; all perjnr'd. 
 All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. — 
 Ah, where's my man? give me sonje aqua viiac—^ 
 These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me ok^ 
 Shame corae to Romeo! 
 
 Jul. Blister'd be thy tongoe. 
 
 For such a wish ; he was not born to shame : 
 Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; 
 For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd 
 Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
 O, what a beast was I to chide at him ! 
 
 Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kilitt 
 your cousin ? 
 
 Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? 
 Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy n&tn©. 
 When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it? 
 But, whereiore, villain, didst thou kill n\y cousin? 
 That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband 
 Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; 
 YoiH" tributary drops belong to woe. 
 Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
 My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slasn; 
 And Tybalt's dead, that woul^l have slaia my h«i» 
 band: 
 
732 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 Act Ul 
 
 All this IS comfort ; WK arefore weep 1 then ? 
 Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
 I'hat murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
 But, O ! it presses to my memory. 
 Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 
 Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished; 
 Thdit-^anished, that one word — banished. 
 Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
 Was woe enough, if it had ended there: 
 Or, — if our woe delights in fellowship. 
 And needly will be ratik'd with other griefs, — 
 Why follow'd not, when she said — Tybalt's dead. 
 Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 
 Which modern lamentation might have mov'd ? 
 But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
 Romeo is banished, — to speak that word, 
 is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
 All slain, all dead : — Romeo is banished, — 
 There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 
 In that word's death ; no words can that woe 
 sound. — 
 
 Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ? 
 
 Nnrse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : 
 Will yon go to tliem? I will bring you thither. 
 
 Jul. Wash tliey his wounds with tears ? mine 
 shall be spent, 
 Wlifn tlieirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
 Take up those cords • — Poor ropes, you are beguil'd. 
 Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd : 
 He tnade you for a highway to my bed: 
 But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 
 Come, cords ; come, nurse ; I'll to my wedding bed; 
 And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead ! 
 
 Nurse. Hie to your chamber : I'll find Romeo 
 To comfort you : — I wot well where he is. 
 Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; 
 I'll to iiim : he is hid at Laurence' cell. 
 
 Jul. O find him ! give this ring to my true knight ; 
 And bid him come tc take his last farewell. [Exeunt, 
 Scene IH. — Friar Laurence's Cell, 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
 
 Fri. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful 
 Affliction is enamoiir'd of tliy parts, [man ; 
 
 And thou art wedded to calamity. [doom ? 
 
 Ro7n. Father, what news? what is the prince's 
 What s<irrow craves acquaintance at my hand, 
 •Hiat I yet know not ? 
 
 Fri. Too familiar 
 
 ?s my dear son with such sour company: 
 I bring thee tidings of the [)rin(;e's doom. 
 
 Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's 
 doom ? 
 
 Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips. 
 Not body's death, but body's banisfiinent. 
 
 Rofn. Ha! banishment! be merciful, say — death: 
 For exile hath more terror in his look, 
 Much more than death : do not say — banishment. 
 
 Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished: 
 jBe patient, for the world is broad and wide. 
 
 Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, 
 Bat purgatory torture, hell itself. 
 Hence -banished is hanisli'd from the world, 
 And world's exile is death : — then banishment 
 Is death mis term'd : calling death — banishment, 
 Thou cut'st my head olf vvith a golden axe. 
 And .srnil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 
 
 Frt. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfuiness ! 
 Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince. 
 Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, 
 And turn'fl that black word death to banishment: 
 This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 
 
 Rotn. "Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, 
 Whf.re Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, 
 And little mouse, every unworthy thing. 
 Live here in heaven, and may look on her. 
 But Romeo may not. — More validity. 
 More honourable state, more courtship h'-es 
 In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seizr 
 Ou tikt white wonder ol dear Juliet's hand, 
 
 And steal immortal blessing from her lips; 
 
 Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, 
 
 Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin 5 
 
 But Romeo may not ; he is banished ; 
 
 Flies may do this, when I from this mtist fly: 
 
 They are free men, but I am banished. 
 
 And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death ? 
 
 Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knift. 
 
 No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean 
 
 But — banished — to kill me ; banished ? 
 
 0 friar, the damned use that word in hell ; 
 Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart, 
 Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
 
 A sin-absolver, and a friend profess'd. 
 
 To mangle me with that word — banisnraent? 
 
 Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but S][)e9.k a 
 word. 
 
 Rom. O thou wilt speak again of banishment. 
 
 Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word • 
 Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. 
 To comfort thee, though thou ail banished. 
 
 Rom. Yet banished ?— hang up philosophy ! 
 Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
 Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom ; 
 It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more. 
 
 Frt. O, then I see, that madmen have no ears 
 
 Rom. How should they, when that wise men 
 have no eyes? 
 
 Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
 
 Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost 
 not feel : 
 
 Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 
 An hour but married, Tybalt murdered. 
 Doting like me, and like me banished 
 Then might'st thou speak, then might'st tliou tear 
 thy hair, 
 
 And fall upon the ground, as I do now, 
 Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 
 
 Fri, Arise ; one knocks ; good Romeo, hide thy * 
 self. {Knocking within.) 
 
 Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart sick 
 groans. 
 
 MLft like, infold me from the search of 
 
 {Knocking.) 
 
 Fri. Hark, how they knock! Who's tliere . - 
 Romeo, arise ; 
 Thou wilt be taken: — Stay awhile : — stand up ; 
 
 [Knocking.) 
 Run to my study : — By and by : — God's will I 
 What wilfulness is this? — I come, I come. 
 
 {Knc.»king.) 
 
 Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what's 
 your will ? 
 
 Nurse. ( Within.) Let me come in, and you shall 
 know my errand ; 
 
 1 come from Lady Juliet. 
 
 Fri. Welcome then. 
 
 Enter Nufse. 
 
 Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar. 
 Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? 
 
 Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears 
 made drunk. 
 
 Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, 
 Just in her case ! 
 
 Fri. O woeful sympathy ; 
 
 Piteous predicament! 
 
 Nurse. Even so lies she. 
 
 Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering 
 Stand up, stand up; stand, an you he a man: 
 For Juliet's sake, tor her sake, rise and stand ; 
 Why should you fall into so deep an O 
 
 Rom. Nurse! [ot dl. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, sir ! ah, sir ! — Well, death's the end 
 
 Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? 
 Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
 Now 1 have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
 With blood remnv'd but little frotn her own? 
 Where is she ? and how doth she ? and what sajra 
 My conceal'd lady' to our canceli'd love ' 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET, 
 
 731 
 
 • Nurte. O she say* DothiDg, sir, but weeps and 
 
 weeps; 
 
 And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up. 
 And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries. 
 And then down fails again. 
 
 Jiom. As if that name. 
 
 Shot from the deadly level of a gtin, 
 Did minder her; as that name's cursed hand 
 Miirder'd her kinsman.— O tell me, friar, tell me. 
 In what vile part of this anatomy 
 Doth my name lodge ? tell me, that I may sack 
 The hateful mansion. [Drawing his sword.) 
 
 Fri. Hold thy desperate hand : 
 
 Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art; 
 Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote 
 The unreasonable fury of a beast : 
 Unseemly woman, in a seeming man ! 
 Or ill beseeming beast, in seeming both ! 
 Thou hast amaa'd me: by my holy order, 
 I thought thy disi)Osition better temper'd. 
 Hasttliou slain 'VyhAii't wilt thou slay thyself? 
 And slay thy lady too that lives in thee. 
 By doing damnt^d hate uPon thyself? 
 Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? 
 Since birtii, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 
 In thee at once; which thou at once would'st lose. 
 Fye, fye ! tliou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit; 
 Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all. 
 And usest none in that true use indeed 
 Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. 
 Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, 
 Digressing from the valour of a man : 
 Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury, 
 Killing that love, which thou hast vovv'd to cherish : 
 Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 
 Mis-shapen in tlie conduct of theni both, 
 Like pov;der in a skill-less soldier's flask, 
 Is set on tire by thine own ignorance, 
 And thou dismember'd witii thine own defence. 
 What, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive, 
 For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; 
 There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee. 
 But thou slevv'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too: 
 The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend. 
 And ti:rns it to exile ; there art thou happy : 
 A pack, ol blessings lights upon thy back; 
 Happiness courts tnee in her best array ; 
 But, like a misbeliav d and sullen wench. 
 Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and tliy love: 
 Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
 Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
 Ascend her ciiaml»er, hence and coinibrt her; 
 But look, thou stay not till the watch be set. 
 For then ttiou ciinst not pHss to Miintua; 
 ^Vhere tiioti shall live, till we can hod a time 
 To blaze yuin mairiage, reconcile your Irieuds, 
 Beg pardon of tlie prince, and call thee back 
 With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
 Than thou wenfst fortti in lamentation. — 
 Go befoic, nurse ; commend ini- to thy lady; 
 And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 
 Which heavy sorrow niakes tliem apt unto: 
 Romeo is CO iiing. [night, 
 
 Nurse. O, Lord, I could have staid here ail the 
 To hear good counsel • O, what learning is ! — 
 My lord, i ll tell n>y lady you will come. 
 
 Horn. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 
 
 ffurse. Here, sir, a ring she bade me give you, sir: 
 Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 
 
 [Exit Nurse. 
 
 Jtom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! 
 
 Fri, Oo hence: Good night; and here stands all 
 your state ; — 
 Either begone before the watch be set. 
 Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
 Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man, 
 And he shall siL;nify IVom time to time 
 Every good hap to you, that chances here : 
 Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farewell ; good night. 
 
 Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me. 
 
 It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
 Farewell. [jfari 
 
 Scene IV. — A Room in Capulefs House. 
 
 Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and PARig. 
 Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily. 
 That we have had not time to move our daughter. 
 Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly. 
 And so did I ; — Well, we were born to die.— 
 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night; 
 I promise you, but for your company^ 
 I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 
 
 Par. These times of woe alford no time to woo: 
 Madam, good night: commend me to your daughtei 
 
 La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to- 
 morrow ; 
 
 To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. 
 
 Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
 
 Of my child's love : I think, she v\'ill be rul'd 
 
 In all respects by me ; nay more, I doubt it not. 
 
 Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; 
 
 Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; 
 
 And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next— 
 
 But, soft; What day is this? 
 
 Par. Monday, my lord. 
 
 Cap. Monday ? ha ! ha ! Well, Wednesday is too 
 soon, 
 
 O'Thursday let it be ;— o'Thnrsday, tell her. 
 She shall be married to this noble earl : — 
 Will yon be ready? do you like tliis haste? 
 We'll keep no ^reat ado ; — a frimd, or two : — 
 For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late. 
 It may be thought we held it carelessly. 
 Being our kmsman, if we revel much : 
 Therelbre we'll have some half a dozen friends. 
 And there an end. But what say you to Thursday 7 
 
 Par, My lord, I would that Thursday were to- 
 morrow, [then :— 
 
 Cap. Well, get you gone : — O' Thursday be '& 
 Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, 
 Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. — 
 Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, bo! 
 Afore me, it is so very late, that we 
 May call it early by and by : — Good night. [Ejcwmt^ 
 
 Scene V. — Juliet's Chamber, 
 Enter Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day; 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark. 
 That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear: 
 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: 
 Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 Rum. it was the lark, the herald of the morn. 
 No nightingale: look, love, what envious streak* 
 D<f lace the severing clouds in yonder east: 
 Night's casidles are burnt out, and jocund day 
 Stands tijjtoe on the misty mountain tops; 
 I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 
 
 Jul. V on light is not day-light, 1 know it. I: 
 It is some meteor, that the sun exhales, 
 'i'o be to thee this night a torch- bearer. 
 And light thee on thy way to Mantua ; 
 Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 
 
 Rom, Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death{ 
 I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
 I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; 
 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
 The vanity heaven so high above our heads: 
 I have more care to stay, than will to go ; — 
 Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so.— 
 How is't, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 
 
 Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be sone, away; 
 It is the lark that sings so out of tune. 
 Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing abarpi 
 Some say, the lark makes sweet division ; 
 This doth not so, for she divideth us : 
 Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eytt^^ 
 O, now I would they had chang'd vrices too! 
 Since arm irom arm that voice doth us afl'ray. 
 
m ROMEO A 
 
 Hunting thee hence, with hunts-u.p to the day. 
 O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 
 Rom. Aiore light and light ? — more dark and dark 
 onr woes. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 Nurse. Madam I 
 
 Jul. Nurse ? [ber : 
 
 Nurse. Yonr lady mother's coming to your cham- 
 I'he day is broke ; be wary, look about. 
 
 [Exit Nurse. 
 Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 
 Jtom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll de- 
 scend. {Romeo descends.) 
 Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord ! my 
 friend ! 
 
 I must hear from thee every day i'the hour. 
 For In a minute there are many days: 
 O ! by this count I shall be much in years, 
 Ere I again behold my Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity 
 That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 
 
 Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again ? 
 
 Rom. I doubt it not ; and all these woes shail serve 
 For sweet discourses in our time to come. 
 
 Jul. O God ! I have an ill-divining soul; 
 Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below, 
 As one dead in the bottom of a tomb : 
 Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. 
 
 Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: 
 Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu ! adieu ! 
 
 [Exit Rvmeo. 
 
 Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call tliee fickle : 
 If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him, 
 That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune j 
 For then I hope, thou wilt not keep him long. 
 But send hitn back. 
 
 La Cap. {Within.) Ho, daughter! are you up? 
 
 Jul. VVho is't that calls ? is it my lady mother? 
 .18 she not down so late, or up so early ? 
 What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither ? 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet" 
 Jul. Madam, I am not well. 
 
 La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's 
 death ? 
 
 What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? 
 An if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him live : 
 iherefore, have done: Some grief shews much 
 of love ; 
 
 But much of grief shews still some want of wit. 
 
 Jul. Yet let uie weep for such a feeling loss. 
 
 La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the 
 Which you weep for. [friend 
 
 Jul. Feeling so the loss, 
 
 I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 
 
 La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for 
 his death, 
 
 A-s that the villain lives which slaughter'd him, 
 
 Jul. What villain, madam ? 
 
 La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 
 
 Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. 
 God pardon him ! I do, with all my heart; 
 And yet, no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. 
 
 La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer 
 lives. 
 
 Jul. Ay, madam,from the reach of these my hands. 
 'Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death ! 
 La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou 
 not : 
 
 Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, — 
 Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, — 
 That shall bestow on him so sure a dauglit. 
 That he shall soon keep Tybalt company ; 
 And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. 
 
 Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 
 With Romeo, till I beliold liim — dead-^ 
 Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd ~- 
 Madam, if you could find out but a man 
 
 ND JULIET. Act IH 
 
 To bear a poison, I would temper it; 
 That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 
 Soon sleep in quiet. — O, how my heart abhon " 
 To hear him nam'd, — and cannot come to hiia^— 
 To ^^Teak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt 
 Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him I 
 La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find eocfc 
 a man. 
 
 But now I'll tell the joyful tidings, girl. 
 
 Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful time ; 
 What are they, I beseech your ladyship? 
 
 La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, 
 child; 
 
 One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness. 
 
 Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy. 
 
 That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. 
 
 Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that? 
 
 La. Cap. Marry my child, early next Thursday 
 morn. 
 
 The gallant, young, and noble gentleman. 
 The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church, 
 Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. 
 
 Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Petertoo, 
 He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
 I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed 
 Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
 I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam. 
 I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear. 
 It shall be Rouieo, whom you know I hate, 
 Rather, than Paris : — 'Fhere are news indeed ! 
 
 La. Cap. Here comes your f'^ther; tell him ap 
 vourself, 
 
 And see now he will take it at your hands. 
 
 Enter Capulet and Nurse. 
 
 Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dewj 
 
 But for the sui:set of my brother's sou, 
 It rains downright. — 
 
 How now? a conduit, girl ? what, still in tears? 
 
 Evermore showering? in one little body 
 
 Thou conterfeit's a bark, a sea, a wind ; 
 
 For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, 
 
 Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is. 
 
 Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds, thy sighs ; 
 
 Who,— raging with thy tears, and they with them,— 
 
 Without a sudden calm, will overset 
 
 I'hy tempest-tossed body. — How now, wife? 
 
 Have you deliver'd to her our decree ? 
 
 La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives 
 you thanks. 
 I would the fool were married to her grave ! 
 
 Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, 
 wife. 
 
 How ! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? 
 Is she not proud ? doth she not count her bless'd, 
 Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
 So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ? 
 Jul. Not proud, you have ; but thankful, that yoa 
 have : 
 
 Proud can I never be of what I hate ; 
 
 But thankful even for hate, that is meant love 
 
 Cap. How now I how now, chop-logic ! What 
 is this ? [not ;— 
 
 Prond, — and, I thank you, — and, I thank you 
 And yet not proud ; — Mistress minion, you, 
 Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds. 
 But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, 
 To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church. 
 Or 1 will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
 Out, you green-sickness cttrrion ! out, you baggage . 
 You tallow-face ! 
 
 La. Cap. Fye, fye ! what are you mad? 
 
 Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees. 
 Hear me with patience but to ^peak a word. 
 
 Cap. Hang thee, young baggage I disobedient 
 wretch ! 
 
 I tell thee what,— get thee to church o Thursday, 
 Or never after look me in the face : 
 Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; 
 
Act IV. Scene 1 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 785 
 
 My fingem itch. — Wife, we scarce thougtit us 
 
 blc3s d, 
 
 That God hath sent us but this only child : 
 But now I see this one is one too ninch. 
 And that we have a curse in having her: 
 Out on her, hilding! 
 
 Nurse. God in heaven blesa her ! 
 
 Von are (o blatne, my lord, to rate her so. 
 
 Cap. And why, my lady wisdom ? hold your 
 tongue, 
 
 Good prudence ; smatter with your gossips, go. 
 
 Nurse, I speak no treason. 
 
 Cap. O, God ye good den ! 
 
 Nurse. May not one speak ? 
 
 Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool ! 
 
 Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, 
 For here we need it not. 
 
 La. Cap. You. are too hot. 
 
 Cap. God's bread ! it makes me mad : Day, 
 night, late, early, 
 At home, abroad, alone, in company, 
 Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been 
 To have her match'd: and having now provided 
 A gentleman of princely parentage. 
 Of fair demesnes, youthftil, and nobly train'd, 
 StuflTd ^as they say,) with honourable parts, 
 Proportion'd as one's heart could wisii a man, — 
 And then to have a wretched puling fool, 
 A whining nvainmet, in her fortune's tender, 
 To answer — Pll not wed, — / cannot love, 
 I am too young, — / prai/ you pardon me; — 
 But, an you will not wed, t'll pardon you: 
 Graze where you will, you shall not house wit-h me; 
 Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. 
 Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: 
 An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend ; 
 An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets. 
 For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee. 
 Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 
 'IVust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit, 
 
 Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds. 
 That sees into the bottom of my grief? 
 
 0, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 
 Delay this marriage for a month, a week; 
 Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
 In that dim monument, where Tvbalt lies. 
 
 La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word ; 
 Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. 
 Jul. O God ! — O nurse ! how shall this be pre- 
 vented? 
 
 My husband is on heart, my faith in heaven ; 
 How shall that faith return again to earth, 
 Unless that husband sent it me from heaven 
 By leaving earth? — comfort me, counsel me. — 
 Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems 
 Upon so soft a subject as myself: — 
 What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy ? 
 8i)inp comfort, nurse. 
 
 Nurse. 'Faith, here 'tis : Romeo 
 
 1. 'i banished ; and all tworld to notiiing, 
 
 That he dares ne'er come back to challenge yon ; 
 Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
 Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
 I think it best you married with the county. 
 O, he's a lovely gentleman ! 
 Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam. 
 Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye, 
 As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
 I think you are happy in this second match. 
 For it excels your first : or if it did not, 
 Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were, 
 As living here, and you no use of him. 
 
 Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart ? 
 
 Nurse. From my soul too ; 
 
 Or else beshrew them both. 
 
 Jul. Amen. 
 
 Nurse. To what ? 
 
 Jul. Well, thon hast comforted me marvellous 
 mucb. 
 
 Go in ; and teil my lady I am gone 
 
 Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell. 
 To make confession, and to be absolv'd. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, I will ; and this is wisely done. 
 
 [Exit* 
 
 Jul. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend.' 
 Is it more sin — to wish me thus forsworn. 
 Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongne. 
 Which she hath prais'd him with above compare 
 So many thousand times T — Go, counsellor ; 
 Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain,— 
 I'll to the friar, to know his remedy : 
 If all else fail, myself have power to die. [JEjfil 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene T. — Friar Laurence''s Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 
 
 Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. 
 
 Par. My father Capulet will have it so; 
 And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. 
 
 Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind : 
 Uneven is the course, I like it not. 
 
 Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's deaillf 
 And therefore haves little talk'd of love ; 
 For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
 Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, 
 That she doth give her sorrow so much sway: 
 And in his wisdom hastes our marriage. 
 To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
 Which, too mucli minded by herself alone, ' 
 May be put from her by society : 
 Now do you know the reason of this haste. 
 
 Fri. I would 1 knew not why it should be slov'd. 
 
 [Asitk,) 
 
 Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife ! 
 
 Jid. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 
 
 Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday 
 
 Jut. What must be sliall be. [ncit 
 
 Fri. 'I'hat's a certain text | 
 
 Par. Come you to make confession to this father* 
 
 Jtd. To answer that, were to confess to you. 
 
 Par. Do not deny to him, that you love'me. 
 
 Jul. I will confess to you, that 1 love him. 
 
 Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. 
 
 Jul. If 1 do so, it will be of more piice, 
 Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. 
 
 Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tear*. 
 
 Jul. The tears have got small victory by that ; 
 For it was bad enough, before their spite. 
 
 Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that 
 report. 
 
 Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth ; 
 And wliHt 1 spake, I spake it to my face. 
 
 Par. Thy iace is mine, and thou hast slander'd it 
 
 Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. 
 Are you ;»t leisure, holy father, now ; 
 Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? [novi'.— 
 
 Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, 
 My Ktrd, we must entreat the time alone. 
 
 Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion.' — 
 Juliet, on 'i'hursday early will I rouse you : 
 Till then, adieu ! and keep this holy kiss. [Exit, 
 
 Jul. O, shut the door.' and when thou hast done so, 
 
 Come weep with me : Past hope, past cure, past help 
 
 Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief ; 
 It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
 I hear thou nmst, and nothing must prorogue it, 
 On Thursday next be married to this count v. 
 
 Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
 Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: 
 If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help. 
 Do thou but call my resolution wise. 
 And with this kniie I'll help it presently. 
 God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou om hands| 
 And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd. 
 Shall be the label to another deed. 
 Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
 
736 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act rV. 
 
 Turn lo another, this shall slay them both : 
 Therefore, out ol thy long-experienc'd time. 
 Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 
 'Twixt my extremes and nie this bloody knife 
 Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that. 
 Which the commission of thy years and art 
 Could to no issue of trne honour bring. 
 Be not so long to speak. ; I long to die, 
 W what thou speak'st speak, not of remedy. 
 
 Fri. Hold, daughter i I do spy a kind of hope 
 Which craves as desperate an execution 
 As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
 If, rather than to marry county Paris, 
 Thou hadst the strength of will to slay thyself ; 
 Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 
 A thing like death to chide away this shame, 
 That cop'st with death himself to scape from it ; 
 And, if thou diir'st, I'll give thee remedy. 
 
 Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
 From off the battlements of yonder tower ; 
 Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk, 
 Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ; 
 Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
 O'er-cover d quite with dead men's rattling bones. 
 With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless-skuUs ; 
 Or bid me go into a new-made grave, 
 And hide me with a dead man in hs shroud ; 
 Things that, to hear them told, have made me 
 tremble ; 
 
 And I will do it without fear or doubt, 
 To live an nnstain d wife to my sweet love. 
 
 Fri. Hold, then ; go home, be merry, give consent 
 To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-raorrow ; 
 To-morrow night look that thou lie alone. 
 Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: 
 Take thou this phial, being then in bed, 
 And this distilled liquor drink thou oli": 
 When, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
 A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize 
 Kach vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep 
 His natural progress, but surcease to beat : 
 No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st ; 
 The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
 To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall, 
 like death, when he '.shuts up the day of life ; 
 Each part, depriv d of supple government, 
 Shall stitf, and staik, and cold, appear like death: 
 And in tliis borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
 Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours. 
 And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
 Now when the bridegroom in tlie moriiuig comes 
 To rouse thee from thy bed, there art tliou dead : 
 Then, (as tlie manner of our country is,) 
 In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, 
 Thou'shalt be borne to that saM)e ancient vaiilt, 
 Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
 In the mean time, against thou slmlt awake. 
 Shall Romeo by my letters know our drilt; 
 And hither shall he come ; and tie and 1 
 Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
 Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
 And this shall free thee from this present shame ; 
 If no unconstant toy, nor w oinanisii fear, 
 Abate thy valour in the acting it. 
 
 Jul. Give, 0 give me! tell me not of fear. 
 
 Fri. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous 
 In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed 
 To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 
 
 Jul, Love, give me strength 1 and strength shall 
 help alFord. 
 
 Farewell, dear father! [Exeunt. 
 Scene II. — A Moom in Capulefs House. 
 Enter Capdlet. Lady Capulet, Nurse, and 
 Servants. 
 
 Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. — 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 t?irrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 
 
 •2 Serv. Vou shall have none ill, sir : for I'll try if 
 ti*fy Cull liciv tiieir hngers 
 
 Cap. How canst thou try them so^ 
 
 2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that caiK A lick 
 his own fingers ; therefore he, that cannot lick his 
 fingers, goes not with me. 
 
 Cap. Go, begone.— [Exit Servant 
 
 We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.— 
 What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence ? 
 
 Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Cap.WeW, he may chance to do some good on hen 
 A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift with 
 merry look. 
 
 Cap. How now, my headstrong ? where have you 
 been gadding ? 
 
 Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the s'n 
 Of disobedient opposition 
 To you, and your behests ; and am enjoin'd 
 By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, 
 And beg you pardon: — Pardon, I beseech you! 
 Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you. 
 
 Cap. Send for the county ; go tell him of this; 
 I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 
 
 Jtd. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; 
 And gave him what becomed love I might, 
 Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty, [up. 
 
 Cap. Why, I am glad on't ; this is well, — stand 
 This is as't should be. — Let me see the county ; 
 Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. — 
 Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar, 
 All our whole city is much bound to him, 
 
 Jul. Nurse, will yon go with me into ray closet. 
 To help me sort such n«edful ornaments 
 As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 
 
 La. Cap. No, not till Thursday ; there is time 
 enough. 
 
 Cap. Go, nurse, go with her: — we'll to church 
 to-morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse 
 La. Cap. We shall be stiort in our provision ; 
 *Tis now near night. 
 
 Cap. Tush ! I will stir about, 
 
 And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: 
 Go thou to .luliet, help to deck up her; 
 I'll not to bed to-night ; — let me alone ; 
 I'll play the housewife tor this once. — What, ho I— 
 They are all *brth : Well, I will walk myself 
 To county Paris, to prepare him up 
 Against to-morrow: my heart is wortd'rous light. 
 Since this .same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. 
 
 [Exetmt, 
 
 ScETvE III. — Juliefs Chamber. 
 Enter Juliet and Nurse. 
 Jtd. Ay, those attires are best : — But, gentle nurse, 
 I pray tliee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
 For 1 have need ot many orisons 
 To ino\e the lieavens to smile upon my state, 
 Which, well thou kiiow'st, is cross and full Oi' sin. 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet; 
 Sta. Cap. VViiat, are you busy ? do you need my 
 Ijelp? 
 
 Jul. No, madam ; we have cuU'd such necessaries 
 As are behoved for our state to morrow : 
 So please you, let me i>ow be left alone. 
 And let the nurse this night sit up with you; 
 For, I am sure, you have your hands full all. 
 In this so sudden business. 
 
 La. Cap. Good night ! 
 
 Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurat. 
 
 Jul. Farewell ! — God knows, when we shall mff«< 
 again. 
 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
 
 That almost freezes up the heat ot life : 
 
 I'll call them back again to comfort me ; — 
 
 Nurse !— What should she do here ? 
 
 My dismal scene I needs must act ^lom^^ 
 
 Come, phial. — 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 EOMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 737 
 
 What if this mixture do not work at all ? 
 Must I on'orce be married to the county? — 
 No, no; — this shall forbid it : — lie tliou there. — 
 
 [Laying down a dagger. 
 What if it be a poison, whicli the friar 
 Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead ; 
 Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, 
 fiecanse he married me beibre to Romeo ? 
 I fear, it is : and yet, methinks, it should not, 
 For be hath still been tried a holy man: 
 I will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
 How if, when I am laid i.ito the tomb, 
 i wake before the time that Romeo 
 Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! 
 Shall { not then be stifled in the vault, 
 To \vhos£ foal mouth no healthsome air breathes in. 
 And there die strangled ere my Roiiseo comes? 
 Or, \\ I live, is it not very like, 
 
 liorrible conceit of death and night, 
 Togetiier with the terror of the place, — 
 As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 
 VVliere, for these many hundred years, the bones 
 0( all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
 Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
 Liest fest'ring in his shroud : where, as they say, 
 At some hours in the night spirits resort; 
 Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, 
 So early waking, — what with loathsome smells; 
 And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, 
 'V\\r\i living mortals, hearing them, run mad; — ■ 
 O I if I wake, shall I not be distraught, 
 Environed with all these hideous I'ears ? 
 And madly play with my orefathers' joints ? 
 And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ? 
 And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
 As v\ ith a club, dash out my desperate brains ? 
 O, look ! methinks, I see rny cousin's ghost 
 S'.eking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
 
 a rapier's point : — Stay, 'J'ybalt, stay ! 
 Uomeo, I como ! this do I drink to thee. 
 
 {She thro ws herself upon the bed.) 
 
 Scene lY.—Capulet's Hall. 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more 
 
 spices, nurse. [pastry. 
 Nurse, fhey call for dates and quinces in the 
 
 Enter Capulet. 
 Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hath 
 crow'd, 
 
 The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: — 
 Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica : 
 Spare not for cost. 
 
 Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go, 
 
 Get you to bed ; 'faith, you'll be sick to-morrow, 
 For this night's watching. [now 
 
 Cap. No, not a whit; What! I have watch'd ere 
 All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
 
 La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in 
 your time ; 
 
 But I will watch you from such watching now. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood I — Now, fel- 
 What's there ? [low, 
 
 Enter Servants, with spits, logs, and baskets. 
 1 Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but 1 know not 
 what. 
 
 Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Serv. 
 — Sirrah, fetch drier logs; 
 Call Peter, he will shew thee where they are. 
 
 3 .Slerv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs. 
 And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. 
 
 Cup. 'Mass, and well said ; A merry whoreson ! ha. 
 Thou shalt be logger-head. — Good faith, 'tis day: 
 The county will be here with music straight, 
 
 {Music within.) 
 For so he said he would. I hear him near: — 
 Nurse ! — Wile 1 — what, ho!— what nurse, I say ! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her np ; 
 I'll go and chat wit|i Paris:— Hie, make haste. 
 Make haste! the bridegroom he is come already : 
 Make haste, I say ! [Exeunt, 
 
 Scene V". — JulieVs Chamber; Juliet on the bed 
 Enter Nurse. 
 Nurse. Mistress I — what, mistress ! — Juliet ! — 
 
 fast, I warrant her she: — 
 Why, lamb I— why, lady !— fy, you slug-a bed !— 
 Why, love, I say! — madam! sweetheart !— why, 
 
 bride !— [now : 
 
 What, not a word ! — you take your pennyworths 
 Sleep for a week ; for the next night, I warrant. 
 The county Paris hath set up his rest, 
 That you shall rest but little. — God Ibigive me, 
 (Marry, and amen !) how sound is she asleep ! 
 I needs must wake her:— Madam, madam, madasnj 
 Ay, let the county take you in your bed ; 
 He'll friglit you up, i'faith. — Will it not be ? 
 What, drest ! and in your clothes ! and down again! 
 I must needs wake you . — Lady ! lady ! lady ! 
 Alas ! alas !— Help ! help I my lady's dead ! 
 O, well-a-day, that ever I was born I — 
 ' Some aqua-vitae, ho ! — my lord ! my lady ! 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 
 La. Cap. What noise is here ? 
 
 Nurse. O lamentable day ! 
 
 La. Cap. What is the matter ? 
 
 Nurse. Look, look ! O heavy day ! 
 
 La. Cap. O me, O me !— my child, iny only liff. 
 Revive, look up, or I will die with thee !-— 
 Help, help! — call help. 
 
 Enter Capulet. 
 Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth: her lord is 
 
 come. [the day ! 
 
 Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead ; alac k 
 La Cap. Alack the day ! she's dead, she's dead, 
 
 she's dead. 
 
 Cap. Ha ! let me see her : — Out, alas ! she's cold . 
 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stifi"; 
 Life and these lips have long been sei)arated; 
 Death lies on her, like an untimely Host 
 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
 Accursed time ; unfortunate old man ! 
 
 Nurse- O lamentable day ! 
 
 La. Cap. O wofal time ! [wail. 
 
 Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me 
 Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 
 
 Enter Friar LAURENCE and Paris, toith Mu- 
 sicians. 
 
 Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church ? 
 Cap. Ready to go, but never to return 
 O son, the night before thy wedding day 
 Hath death lain with thy bride . — See, there she lies. 
 Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
 Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; 
 
 My daughter he hath wedded 
 
 ill di 
 
 And leave him all; life leaving, all is death's. 
 Par. Have I thought long to see this morving's 
 face. 
 
 And doth it give me such a sight as this 
 
 La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretcbjd, h&itfvi 
 day! 
 
 Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw 
 
 In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 
 
 But one, poor one, one poor and loving child. 
 
 But one thing to rejoice and solace in, 
 
 And cruel death hath catch'd it from my si^hi. 
 
 Nurse. O woe ! O wotul, woful, wofuiday! 
 Mast iau^entable day ! most wofnl day, 
 'I'hat ever, ever, I did yet behold ! 
 O day ! O day ! O day ! O hatelul day ! 
 Never was seen so blark a day as this 
 O woful (lay, O woful day! 
 
 47 
 
73S 
 
 KOMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act Y. 
 
 Pur, BigvaVdf divorced, wronged, spited, slain ! 
 Most detestable death, by tiiee beguil'd, 
 By cruoi cruel thee quite overthrown ! — 
 O love ! O life ! — not Life, but love in death ! 
 
 Cap. Despis'd, distressed, Ijated, martyr'd, 
 kiil'dl— 
 
 Unconifoi table time ! why ci in V thou now 
 
 To murder murder our solemnity — 
 
 O child ! O child ! — my soul, and not my child ! — 
 
 Dead art thou, dead ! — alack. ! my child is dead ! 
 
 And, with my child, my joys are buried ! [not 
 
 ^ri. Peace, ho, for shame ! confusion's cure lives 
 lu these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
 Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven liath all, 
 And all the better is it for the maid : 
 Your part in her you couhi not keep from death; 
 But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
 The most you sought was — hs-r promotion; 
 For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced : 
 And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd, 
 Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
 O, in this love, you love your child so ill. 
 That you run mad. seeing that she is well : 
 She's not well married, that lives married long; 
 But she's best married, that, d.es married \ou.,^« 
 Dry up your tears, and stick, your rosemary 
 Oa this fair corse; ai'd, as the custom is, 
 In all her best array bear her to church ; 
 For though fond natiue bids us all lament. 
 Yet nature's tearo a^e reason's merriment. 
 
 Cup. All things^ l'A[j^t we ordained festival, 
 Turn from their olKco to black luneral : 
 Our in.>struiMepts, to nielancholy bells; 
 Our vveddiufj cheeij to a sad burial feast; 
 Our so!em:i hymns to sullen dirges change; 
 Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse. 
 And all tilings change them to the contrary. 
 
 Fri. Sir, go you in — and, madam, go with him; — 
 A.nd j;o, sir Paris; everyone prepare 
 I o follow this fair corse unto her grave : 
 The heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill; 
 Mtrve them no more, by cros.sing their high will. 
 
 [Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and 
 Friar. 
 
 1 Mw.. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be 
 gone. 
 
 Nurte. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up ; 
 For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit. 
 1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 
 
 Enter Peter. 
 Pet. Musicians, O musicians, Heart's ease, 
 heart's ease : O, an you will have me live, play — 
 heart's ease. 
 
 1 31iis. Why /leart's ease? 
 
 Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 
 —My heart is full of tvue : O, play me some 
 jierry dump, to comfort me. 
 
 2 Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to play now. 
 Pet. Yun will not then ? 
 
 Mus. No. 
 
 Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 
 
 1 3Jus, What wUl you give us? 
 
 Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek; I 
 will give you the minstrel. 
 
 1 Mus. Then will I i;ive you the serving-creature. 
 
 Pet. 'i'hen will! lay the serving-creature's dagger 
 on your pate. I will carry no crotchets; I'll re you, 
 I'll fa yon: Do you note me? 
 
 1 miis. An you re us, and fa us, you note ns. 
 
 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put 
 oat your wit. 
 
 Pet. Then have at you with my wit; I will dry- 
 beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dag- 
 ger : — Answer me like men : 
 
 When griping griff the heart doth wound, 
 And doleful au?nps the mind oppress, 
 Then music with her silver sound; 
 Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver 
 
 What say you, Simon Catling? [sound. 
 
 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
 Pet- Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 
 
 2 Mus. I say — silver sound, because nrjusicians 
 sound lor silver. [post? 
 
 Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Sound* 
 
 3 Mus. 'i'aitu, I know not what to say. 
 
 Pet. O, 1 cry y(ju irierry ! you are the singer : J 
 will say ior you. It is — music tvUh her silver sound, 
 because such fellows as you iiave seldom gold k« 
 sounding : — 
 
 Then tmisic, with her silver sound., 
 With spe-fdy help doth Lend redress. 
 
 [Exit, singmg, 
 
 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same? 
 
 2 AIus. H^ng In. 11, Jack! Come,- we'll in here; 
 tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exemit 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Mantua. A Street. 
 Ent'T^ Romeo. 
 Rofn. Tf I may trust the flattering eye of sleep. 
 My dreams presage some joyful news at haod : 
 My bosom's lord sits lightly in his thnne; 
 And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit 
 Lilts me above the ground with cheerful thoughtsi. 
 1 dreamt, my lady came and found me dead; 
 (Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave ^ 
 think,) 
 
 And breath'd such life with kisses in ray Iipa> 
 That 1 reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
 Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd. 
 When but love's shadows are so lich in joy! 
 
 Enter Baltiiasar. 
 News from Verona! — How now, BaUhasar? 
 Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? 
 How doth my lady? Is my father well? 
 How fares toy Juliet? That 1 ask again 
 I For nothing can be ill, if she be well. " 
 
 Bal. Then she is well, and notliing e.nn be ill; 
 Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, 
 And her immortal part with aiigela lives, 
 I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault. 
 And presently took post to tell it you : 
 
 0 pardon me for bringing these ill news. 
 Since you did leave it for my office, sin, 
 
 Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!— 
 Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper. 
 And hire post-horses; I will hence to-nighl 
 
 Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus : 
 Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
 , Some misadventure. 
 
 i Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd; 
 
 Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do ; 
 Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 
 Bal. No, my good lord. 
 
 Rom. No matter; get thee gojM^ 
 
 And hire those horses ; I'll be with thee straight 
 
 [Exit Balthasar ■ 
 Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
 Let's see for means : — O, mischief! thou art swift 
 To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! 
 
 1 do retnembt^r an ap;)thecary, — 
 
 And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted 
 
 In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brow8» 
 
 Culling of simples ; meagre were his looks, 
 
 Sharp misery fiad worn him to the bones; 
 
 And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
 
 An alligator stulfd, and other skins 
 
 Of ill shap'd fishes; and about his shelves 
 
 A beggarly account of empty boxes. 
 
 Green earthen pots. Madders, and musty seeds, 
 
 Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,' 
 
 Were thinly scatterd, to make up a shew. 
 
 Notint; tills penury, to myself I said — 
 
 An if a man did need a poison now. 
 
 Whose sale is present death in Mautna, 
 
 Here lives a caitifl' wretch wonld »eU it him. 
 
Scene §. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 789 
 
 O, this same thought did but forerun my need ; 
 And this same needy man must sell it me. 
 As I remember, this should be the house : 
 Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. — 
 What, ho! apothecary! 
 
 Entet Apothecary, 
 
 Ap. Who calls so loud ? 
 
 Rom. Come hither, man. — I see that thou art pi 
 Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
 A dram of poison ; such soon-speeding geer 
 As will disperse itself through all the veins. 
 That the life-weaiy taker may fall dead ; 
 And that the trunk may be discharg d of breath 
 As violently, as hasty powder fir'd 
 Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 
 
 Ap. Such mortal drugs I have^ but Mantua's law 
 Is death, to any he that utters them. 
 
 Bom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, 
 And fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks. 
 Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes. 
 Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, 
 I'he world is not thy friend, nor the world's law : 
 The- world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
 'J'hen be not poor, but break it, and take this. 
 
 Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 
 
 Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 
 
 Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 
 And drink it off: and, if you had the strength 
 Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 
 
 Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to men's 
 souls, 
 
 Doing more murders in this loathsome world. 
 Than these poor conipounds, that thou may'st not sell * 
 1 sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
 Farewell ; ouy food, and get thyself in tiesh. 
 Come, cordial, and not poison ; go with me 
 To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar JoHN. 
 
 Jokiu Jloly Franciscan friar! brother, ho! 
 Enter Friar Laurence. 
 
 hati. This same should be the voice of friar John.— 
 Welcome from Mantua: What says Romeo? 
 ^r, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 
 N/f)Aw. Going to find a bare-fbot brother out, 
 One^ of our order, to associate me. 
 Here in this city visiting the sick, 
 And finding him, the searchers of the town, 
 Suspecting that we both were in a house 
 Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
 Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth ; 
 So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 
 
 Lati. Who bare my letter then to Romeo? 
 
 John. I could not send it, — here it is again, — 
 Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
 So fearfid were they of infection. 
 
 Lan, Unhsppy fortune ! by my brotherhood. 
 The letter was not nice, but fnll of charge. 
 Of dear import; and the neglecting it 
 May do much danger : Friar John, go hence j 
 Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 
 Unto my cell. 
 
 John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit, 
 
 hau. Now must I to the monument alone; 
 Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake ; 
 She will beshrewme much, that Romeo 
 Hath had no notice of these accidents : 
 But I will write again to Mantua, 
 Acd keep her at my cell till Romeo come ; 
 Poor living corse, cios'd in a dead man's tomb I 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Scene III. — A Church-Yard; in it, a Monument 
 
 belonging to the Capulets. 
 tinier Paris, and Ms Page^ beaririy flowers, and 
 a torch. 
 
 Par. Give me thy torch, boy : Heuce, and stand 
 aloof; — 
 
 Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. 
 Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along. 
 Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
 So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread, 
 (Being loose, unfirra, with digging up of gravea^) 
 But thou shalt hear it ; whistle then to me, 
 As signal that thou hear'st something approac*L 
 Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 
 
 Paje. I am almost afraid to stand alone 
 Here in the churchyard ; yet I will adventure. 
 
 {Retires) 
 
 Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bri« 
 dal bed : 
 
 Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain 
 The perfect model of eternity ; 
 Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain. 
 Accept this latest favour at my hands; 
 That living honour'd thee, and, being dead. 
 With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb ! 
 
 {The boy tvhistle^,) 
 The boy gives warning, .something doth approach. 
 What cursed foot wanders thi| way to-night. 
 To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites ? 
 What, with a torch !— muffle me, night, awhile. 
 
 {Retires] 
 
 Enter Romeo and Baltiiasar with a Torch, 
 Mattock, ^c. 
 
 Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenchiog 
 iron. 
 
 Hold, take this letter; early in the morning 
 
 See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
 
 Give me the light : Upon tiiy life I charge thee, 
 
 Whate'er thou hearstor seest, stand ali aloof. 
 
 And do not interrupt me in my course. 
 
 Why I descend into this bed of death, 
 
 Is, partly, to behold my lady's face : 
 
 But, aliiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
 
 A precious ring ; a ring, that 1 must use 
 
 In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone « 
 
 But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
 
 In what I further shall intend to do. 
 
 By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint. 
 
 And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs : 
 
 The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
 
 More fierce, and more inexorable far. 
 
 Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 
 
 Bal. I will De gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Rom. So shalt thou shew me friendship. — Take 
 thou that : 
 
 Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. 
 
 Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout ; 
 His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. {Retires.^ 
 
 Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death 
 Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth. 
 Thus 1 enforce thy rotten jaws to open. 
 
 {Breaking open the door of the Monument.] 
 And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 
 
 Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague, 
 That murder'd my love's cousin ; — with which grie^ 
 It is supposed, the fair creature died, — 
 And here is come to do some viJlaooiis, shame 
 To the dead bodies : I will apprehend him. — 
 
 {Advances,] 
 Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ; 
 Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ? 
 Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
 Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 
 
 Rom. I must, indeed, and therefes-e came I hither, - 
 Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; 
 Fly hence and leave me: — think upon these gone: 
 Let them affright thee. — I beseech thee, youth, 
 Heap not another sin upon my head. 
 By urging me to fury : — O, be gone ! 
 By heaven, I love thee better than myself; 
 For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
 Stay not, be gone : — live, and hereafter say— 
 A madman's mercy bade thee run away, 
 
 Par. I do defy thy conjurations. 
 And do attach thee as a felon here. 
 
740 
 
 ROMEO AND JULTET. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Rom. VVilt thou provoke me ? then have at thee, 
 boy, Theyjiyht.) 
 Pag. O lord ! they fight: I will go call the watch. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Par. O, I am slaiu ! {Falls.)— li thou be mer- 
 ciful, 
 
 Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. {Dies.) 
 
 Rum. In laith, I will :— Let me peruse this face; — 
 Merciitio's kinsman, noble county Paris ! — 
 What said niy man, when my betussed soul 
 l>id not attend him as we rode ? I think. 
 He told me, Paris should have married Juliet: 
 Said he not so ? or did I dream it so ? 
 Oram I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
 To think it was so ? — O, give me thy hand, 
 One writ with me in sour mislbrtune's book! 
 I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave. — 
 A grave ? O, no; a lantern, slaughter'd youth, 
 For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
 This v ault a feasting presence fu-11 of light. 
 Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 
 
 {Laying Paris in the Monu7nent.) 
 How oft, when men are at the point ol' death, 
 Have they been merry ? which their keepers call 
 A lightning before death : O, how inay I 
 Cail this a lightning? — O, my love ! my wife ! 
 Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
 Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 
 Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
 Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 
 And death's pale flag is not advanced there. — 
 Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? 
 O, vvliat n)oie favour can I do to thee, 
 Than with that hand, that cut thy youth in twain. 
 To sunder his, that was thine enemy ? 
 Forgive me, cousin ? — Ah, dear Juliet, 
 VV^hy art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe 
 'J'hat unsubstantial death is amorous ; 
 And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
 Thee here in dark to be his paramour ? 
 For fear of that, I will still stay with thee ; 
 And never from this palace of dim night 
 Depart again ; here, liere will I remain 
 With worms tiiat are thy chamber-maids ; O, here 
 Will I set <ip my everlasting rest; 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars [last! 
 From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look your 
 Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you, 
 The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
 A dateless bargain to engrossing death I — 
 Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 
 Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
 The dashing rocks thy sea-siv k weary bark! 
 Here's to my love ! {Drinks.) O. true apothecary! 
 Thy drugs are quick. — Thus witn a kiss I die. 
 
 {Dies.) 
 
 Efiter, at the other end of the Churchyard., Friar 
 Laurence, with a Lantern, Croiv, and Spade. 
 
 Fri. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to-night 
 Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! — Who's there? 
 Who is it, that consorts, so late, the dead? 
 
 Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows 
 you well. 
 
 Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend, 
 What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light 
 'J'o grubs and eyeless skulls ? as 1 discern. 
 It burneth in the Capels' monument. 
 
 Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and there's my master, 
 
 Fri. Who is it ? 
 
 Bal. - Romeo. 
 Fri. How long hath he been tltere ? 
 Bal. Full half an hour. 
 
 Fri. Go with me to the vault 
 Bal. I dare not, sir : 
 
 My master knows not but I am gone hence ; 
 And fearfully did menace me with death. 
 If I did stay to look on his intents. [me : 
 
 Fri. Stay, then, I'll go alone : — Fear comes upon 
 
 O, much I fear some ill u lucky thing 
 
 Bal. As I did sleep under this yew tree here, 
 
 I dreamt my niaster and another louglit, 
 
 And that my master slew him. 
 
 Fri. Romeo ! — {Advances.) 
 
 Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
 
 The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? — 
 
 What mean these masterless and gory swords 
 
 To lie discolour'd by this place of peace ? 
 
 {Enters the Monument.] 
 
 Romeo ! O, pale I — Who else ? what, Paris too? 
 
 And steep'd in blood ? — Ah, what an unkind hour 
 
 Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! 
 
 The lady stirs. {Juliet wakes and stin , 
 
 Jul. O, comfortable friar, where is n^y lord i 
 
 I do remember well where I should be, 
 
 And there 1 am : — Where is my Romeo ? 
 
 {Noise within.) 
 
 Fri. \ hear some noise. — Lady, come from that nest 
 Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ; 
 A greater Power than we can contradict 
 Hath thwarted our intents ; come, come away : 
 Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
 And Paris, too : come, I'ii dispose of thee 
 Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
 Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; 
 Come, go, good Juliet,— (iVoise again.) I dure stay 
 no longer. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — 
 What's here ? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand? 
 Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end : 
 O churl ! drink all ; and leave no friendly drop, 
 To help me alter ? — 1 will kiss thy lips: 
 Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, 
 Ts make me die witli a restorative. [Kisses him, 
 Thy lips are warm ! 
 
 1 Watch. {Within.) Lead, boy .-—Which way ? 
 
 Jul. Yea, noise ?— then I'll he brief.— O happy 
 dagger ! (Snatching Romeo's dagger,) 
 This is thy sheath ; {Stabs herself.) there rust, and 
 let me die. 
 
 {Falls on Romeo's hody, and dies,) 
 
 Enter Watch with the Page of Paris. 
 Page. This is the place ; there, where the torch 
 doth bum. 
 
 1 Watch. The ground is bloody: Search about 
 
 the churciiyard : 
 Go, some of you ; whoe'er you find, attach. 
 
 [Exeunt some% 
 Pitiful sight! here lies the c^iunf-y slain ; — 
 And J(diet bleeding; warm, and newly 'dead. 
 Who here hath lain these two days buried. — 
 Go tell the prince,— run to the Capulets, — 
 Raise up the Montagues, — some others search ; — 
 
 [Exeunt other Watchmen. 
 We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ; 
 But the true ground of all these piteous woes. 
 We cannot without circumstance descry. 
 
 Enter some of the Watch, with BalthasaB. 
 
 2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man, we found him i 
 
 the churchyard. [hither 
 1 Watch. Hold him in safety, till the prince comd 
 
 Enter another Watchman with Friar Laurbncb. 
 
 3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sigha^ 
 
 and weeps : 
 
 We took this mattock and this spade from hira, 
 As he was coming from this churchyard side. 
 1 Watch. A great suspicion : Stay the friar too. 
 
 Enter the Prince and Attendants. 
 Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 
 That calls our person from our morning's rest? 
 Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and othert. 
 Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek 
 abroad ? 
 
 La. Cap. The people in the street cry— Romeo, 
 Some — Juliet, and some — Pans ; and all run. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 711 
 
 With open ouicry, toward our mcmurnent. 
 Princi:. >V liat fear is this, w hich startles in our 
 ears? [slain; 
 1 Watch. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris 
 And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before, 
 VVarin and new kill'd. 
 Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul 
 murder comes. [man ; 
 
 1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Ron»eo's 
 With instruments upon them, fit to open 
 These dead men's tombs. 
 
 Cap. O, heavens !— O, wife ! look how our daugh- 
 ter bleeds ! 
 
 This dagger liath mista'en, — for, lo ! his house 
 is empty on the back of Montague, — 
 And'is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom. 
 
 La. Cap. O me! this sight of death is as a bell, 
 That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 
 
 Enter Montague and others. 
 
 Prince. Come, Montague ; for thou art early up, 
 To see thy son and heir more early down. 
 
 Man. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night ; 
 Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath : 
 What further woe conspires against mine age ? 
 
 Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. 
 
 Mon. O thou untaught ! what manners is in this, 
 To press before thy father to a grave ? 
 
 Prince. Seal .up'the mouth of outrage for a while, 
 Till we can clear these ambiguities. 
 And know their spring, their head, their true 
 descent; 
 
 And then will I be general of your woes. 
 And lead you even to death : Mean time forbear, 
 And let mischance be slave to patiejice. — 
 Bring {brth the parties of suspicion. 
 
 Fri. i am the greatest, able to do least, 
 ^Tet most suspected, as the time and place 
 Doth make against me, of this direful murder; 
 And here 1 stand, both to impeach and purge 
 Mvself condemned and myself excus'd. 
 
 Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know 
 ' rn-tliis. 
 
 Fri. I will be brief, for my short date of breath 
 Is not so long ap is a tedious tale. 
 Romeo, tliere dead, was husband to that Juliet, 
 And she, the r6 dead, that Romeo's faithfid wife : 
 ^T~ma r r i e hjMm ^ and their stolen marriage-day 
 VVasTybalt's cfooms day, whose untimely death 
 Banish"d the new-made bridegroom from this city; 
 For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. 
 You — to remove that siege of grief from her, — 
 Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce, 
 To couiity Paris :— Then comes she to nse ; 
 And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
 To rid her from this second marriage. 
 Or, in my celt there would she kill herself. 
 Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 
 A sleeping potion; which so took effect 
 As 1 intended, for it wrought on her 
 The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, 
 That he should hither come as this dire night. 
 To help to take her from her borrovv'd grave, 
 Beuig the time the potion's Ibrce should cease.. 
 
 But he which bore my letter, friar Johu, 
 
 Was staid by accident; and yesternight 
 
 Return'd my letter back: Tlien all atooe. 
 
 At the prefixed hour of her waking, 
 
 Came I to take her from her kindred's vault* 
 
 Meaning to keep her closely at my cell. 
 
 Till I conviently could send to Romeo: 
 
 But, when I came (some minute ere the time 
 
 Of her awakening,) here untimely lay 
 
 The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead. 
 
 She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth. 
 
 And bear this work of heaven with patience: 
 
 But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; 
 
 And she, too desperate, would not go with me. 
 
 But (as it seems,) did violence on herself. 
 
 All this I know ; and to the marriage 
 
 Her nurse is privy : And, if aught in this 
 
 Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
 
 Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time. 
 
 Unto the rigour of severest law. [man.-— 
 
 Prince. We still have known thee for a holy 
 Where's Romeo's man ? what can he say in this? 
 
 Bal. 1 brought my master news of Juliet's death* 
 And then in post lie came from Mantua, 
 To this same place, to this same monument. 
 This Iftter he early b'id me give his father; 
 And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault, 
 If I departed not, and left hiHi there. 
 
 Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it. — 
 Where is the county's page, that rais'd the watch ?— 
 Sirrah, what made your master in this place ? 
 
 Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's 
 grave ; 
 
 And bid me stand aloof, and so I did : 
 Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb; 
 And, by and by, my master drew on him ; 
 And then I ran away to call the watch. 
 
 Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's 
 words, 
 
 Their course of love, the tidings of her death : 
 
 And here he writes — that he did buy a poison 
 
 Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal 
 
 Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. — 
 
 Where be these enemies ? Capulet ! Montague !— 
 
 See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate. 
 
 That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love ! 
 
 And I, for winking at your discords too. 
 
 Have lost a brace of kinsmen : — all are punish'd. 
 
 Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand:. 
 This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 
 Can I demand. 
 
 Mon. But I can give thee more i 
 
 For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
 That, while Verona by that name is known, 
 There shall no figure at such rate be set. 
 As that of true and faithful Juliet, 
 
 Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie ; 
 Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! [brings ; 
 
 Prince. A glooming peace this morning wit£ it 
 The sun, for sorrow, will not shew his head: 
 Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; 
 Some sha-ll be pardon'd, and some pncished : 
 
 IFor never was a story of more woe. 
 Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [tSsffunt 
 
HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 If the dramas of Shakspeare were to l)e characterised, each by tlie particular excellence which distinguishes i( 
 from tlie rest, we must allow to the tragedy of Hamlet the praise of variety. The incidents are so numerous, that 
 the argument of tlie play would make a long tale The scenes are interchangeably diversified with merriment and 
 solemnity: with merninent that includes judicious and instructive observations; and solemnity not strained by poc' 
 tical violence above the natural sentiments of man. New characters appear from time to time in continual succession, 
 exhibiting various forms of life, and particular modes of conversation. The pretended madness of Hamlet cauae* 
 much mirth, the mournful distraction of Ophelia fills the heart with tenderness, and every personage produces the 
 efltct intended, from the apparition that, m the tirst act. chills the blood with horror, to the fop in the last, that 
 exposes atlectation to just contempt. 
 
 The conduct is, perhaps, not wholly secure again.«t objections. The action is indeed for the most part, in continual 
 projfression ; but Int-ie are some scenes Wrtich neither forward nor retard it. Of the feigned madness of Hamlet 
 there appears no adequate cause, for he does nothing which he might not have done with the reputation of sanity, 
 lie i)lays tlie madman most, wheJJ he treats Ophelia with so much rudeness, which seems to be useless and wantua 
 cruelty. 
 
 Hamlet is, through the whole piece, rather an instrument than an agent. After he has, by the stratagem of tha 
 play, convicted the king, he makes no attempt to punisli him ; and his death is at last effected by an incident which 
 Hamlet liad no part in producing. 
 
 The catasdophe is not very happily produced, the exchange of weapons is rather an expedient of necessity, than 
 astroke of urt. A scheme might easily be fnnned, to kill Hamiet with tlie dagger, and Laertes with the bowl. 
 
 The poet is accustd of having .shewn little regard to poetical justice, and may be chaiged with equal neglect of 
 poetical probability The apparition left the regions of the dead to little purpose: the revenge which he demands 
 IS not obtained, but by the death of him that was required to take it; and the gratiticalion, which would aiise front 
 the destruction of an usurper and a niuidercr, is abated by the untimely death of Ophelia, the young, the hei.utifu2^ 
 the harmless, and the pious. Johnson 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 CLAUDIUS, Ki7ig of Denmark. 
 
 WAMLET, Soil (0 the J'urmtr, and Nephew to the present 
 King. 
 
 POLONHJS, Lord Chanibn-luin. 
 HOKATIO, Vriend lo H unlet. 
 LAERTES, Sun lo i^ulonius. 
 VOLTIMAND, 
 
 GUH.I)ENSTEiiN, > 
 OSKIC, a Cuurlier. 
 Another Courtier. 
 A Priest. 
 
 Officers. 
 
 M.^KCELLUS, 
 HEKNAKDO, 
 FRANClbCO. a Soldier. 
 RE'i NALUO, Servant to Poloniiis. 
 A Capt<uii. 
 An Ainhassculvr 
 ahvsl of HamifVs Father. 
 FOK'n.\»R.\S, Vrutce of Nor lo ay. 
 
 Oi^RTRLDr., Qiit-en of Denmark, and Mother 0/ 
 Ha M let. 
 
 OPHELIA, Daughter of roluniiis. 
 
 Lords, Lut/ies, Officers. S<dd/er.s, Players, Gra?)e- diggers 
 Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 Scene, — E/si 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene T.— E/siwor«. A Platjann hefure t.he Ca.sf.le.. 
 Francisco un his post. Enter lo hnn liEKNAKDO. 
 Rer. Who's tht-ie 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer ine : stand, dii(i uiii'olil 
 
 Yonrseii". 
 
 Ber. Long live the king! 
 Fran. Bernari^o? 
 Ber. He. 
 
 Fran. You come most carefully njion your hour. 
 Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; ^et tliee to bed, 
 Francisco. 
 
 Fran. Foi this l elief, much thanks : 'tis bitter cold, 
 And I am sick at hf^art. 
 
 Ber. H.ive you had quiet guard ? 
 
 Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 
 
 Ber. Well, good night. 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marreiltis, 
 The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 Fta*i. I think, I hear them.— Stand, ho ! Who is 
 there ? 
 
 Hor. Friends to this ground. 
 
 Mar. ^ And liegemen to the Dane. 
 
 Fran. Give you good night. 
 
 Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier : 
 
 Who hath reliev'd you? 
 
 Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 
 
 Give you good night. [Exit. 
 
 Mar Holla ! Bernardo ! 
 
 Ber. Say, 
 What, is Horatio there? 
 
 Mor. A piece of him. 
 
 Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Mar- 
 celjus. 
 
 iWo?-. W'hat, has this thing nppear'd again to-night? 
 Ber. 1 uiive aeeu nothing. 
 
 Mar. iJoi-atio says, 'tis but our fantasy; 
 And will not let behel take iiold of him, 
 Toiicliiiig this dreadei; sigiit, twice seen of us: 
 Theretore i have entreated him. along 
 Witli us to watch tiie minutes of tins night; 
 'fiiat, ii again this apparition come, 
 He may a})prove our eyes, and speak to it. 
 
 Hor. Tush! tush! 'twill not appear. 
 
 Ber. Sit down awhile; 
 
 And let us once again assail your ears, 
 That are so toitiHed ag:ni)st our story, 
 What we two nights iiave seen. 
 
 Hor. Well, sit we down. 
 
 And let us hear Bernardo .speak of tliis. 
 
 Ber. Last night of all, 
 When yon same star, tliat's westward from the pole^ 
 Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
 Where now it biiriLs, Marcellus, ana myself, 
 The bell then beating one, — [again! 
 
 Mar. Peace, break thee olf ; look, where it comes 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. 
 Mar. '\ \iou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 
 Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark \\, Horatio. 
 Hor. Most like : — it harrows nie with fear, and 
 
 wonder. 
 Ber. It would be spoke to. 
 
 Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. What art thou, that nsurp'st this time ot night, 
 Together with that fair and warlike (orm 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark [speak. 
 Did sometimes march? by heaven, 1 charge thee, 
 
 Mar. It is offended. 
 
 Ber. See ! it stalks away. 
 
 Hor. Stay ; speak : speak, I charge thee, speak. 
 
 [Exit Chf/fi. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. (pale: 
 Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 ! s not tnis something more than fantasy i 
 U hat think you of it? 
 
 Hor. Before my Ood, I might not this believe, 
 Without the sensible and true avouch 
 i)" mine own eyes. 
 
 Is it not like the king? 
 Hiyr, As thou art to tliyself : 
 Such was the very arriioiir he had on, 
 VVliea he the ambitious Norway combated ; 
 So fi owo'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
 
 smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 
 'T\i strange. _ [hour, 
 
 Mrrr. Tims twice before, and jump at this dead 
 With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 
 Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know 
 not; 
 
 But. in the gross and scope of mine opinion, 
 Th\s bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
 Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that 
 
 knows, 
 
 Why this same strict and most observant watch 
 So nightly toils the subject of the land? 
 And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
 * And foreign mart for implements of war; 
 Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
 Does not divide the Sunday from the week : 
 What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
 Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day ; 
 Who is't, that can ini'orm rae ? 
 
 Hor. ^ That can I; 
 
 At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, 
 W'liose image even but now appear'd to us, 
 Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
 Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
 Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet 
 (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,) 
 Did slay (his Fortinbras ; who, by a seal'd compact. 
 Well ratified by law and heraldry, 
 Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands. 
 Which he stood seia'd of, to the conqueror: 
 Against the which, a moiety competent 
 Was gaged by our king ; which had return'd 
 To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
 Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-mart, 
 And carriage of the article design'd, 
 His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
 Of unimproved mettle hot and full. 
 Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
 Shark'd up a list ol landless resolutes. 
 For food and diet, to some enterprise 
 That iiath a stomach in't : which is no other 
 (As it doth well appear unto our state,) 
 But to recover of us, by strong hand. 
 And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands. 
 So by his father lost: And this, I take it. 
 Is the main motive of our preparations ; 
 The source of this our watch ; and the chief head 
 Of this post haste and roinage in the land. 
 
 Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so: 
 Well may it sort, that this portentous figure 
 Comes armed throiigh our watch ; so like the king 
 That was, and is, the question of these wars. 
 
 Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye. 
 In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
 A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
 The graves stood^tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 
 
 If. jf. ^ ]^ * If ♦ Jf jf. if. Jf :f )(. If 
 
 As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood. 
 Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star, 
 l![)on whose influence Neptune's empire stands. 
 Was iiick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. 
 And even the like precurse of fierce events, — 
 As harbingers preceding sti'', the fates. 
 And prologue to the omen coming on, — 
 Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
 Unto our climat'ures and countrymen. — 
 
 He-enter Ghost. 
 6xit, soft ; behold ! lo, where it comes again I 
 
 I'll cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusdoal 
 If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If there be any good thing to be done, ''^ 
 That may to thee do ease and grace to me, 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If thou ait privy to thy country's fate. 
 Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
 O, speak ! , 
 Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life, 
 Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 
 For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 
 
 {Cock crowx^ 
 
 Speak of it: — stay, and speak. — Stop it, Marcellas. 
 
 Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan ? 
 
 Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 
 
 Ber. 'Tis here ! 
 
 Hor. 'Tis her* ^ 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone ! ^ [Exit Ghost 
 
 We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
 To offer it the snew of violence; 
 For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 
 And our vain blows malicious mockery. 
 
 Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew 
 
 Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing 
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard. 
 The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn. 
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
 Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning. 
 Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
 The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
 To his confine : and of the truth herein 
 This present object made probation. 
 
 Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
 Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes. 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long: 
 And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
 The nights are wholesome; then no planets strikci 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to &harm, 
 So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 
 
 Uor. So have 1 heard, and do in part believe it 
 But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad. 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill: 
 Break we our watch up ; and, by my advice. 
 Let as impart what we have seen to-night 
 Unto young Hamlet: for, uoon my life. 
 This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him : 
 Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it. 
 As needful in our loves, fitting our duty ? 
 
 Mar. Let's do't, I pray ; and I this morning knoxji 
 Where we shall find him most convenient. [Exeuni. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. A Room of State in tM 
 same. 
 
 Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laer- 
 TES, VoLTiMAND, CoRNELius, Lords, and At- 
 tendants. 
 
 King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brocn*^r's 
 death 
 
 The memory be green ; and that it us bc;itted 
 
 To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kii'gtiowR 
 
 To be contracted in one l)row of woe ; 
 
 Yet so far hath discretion f ought with nature 
 
 That we with wisest sorrow think on him. 
 
 Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
 
 Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen. 
 
 The imperial jointress of this warlike state. 
 
 Have we, as "twere, with a defeated joy, — 
 
 With one auspicious, and one dropping eye; 
 
 With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriaf*^ 
 
 In equal scale weighing delight and dole, — 
 
 Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd v 
 
 Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
 
 With this affair along : — For all, our thanks. 
 
 Now follows that you know, young Fortinbras^- 
 Holding a weak supposal of our worth ; 
 Or thinking, by our late dear brothers death. 
 Our state to be disjoint and out of fra ne, 
 Colleagued witli this dreaui of his advantage 
 
744: 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Aci I 
 
 Me hath not failM io pester us with message, 
 lyipurting the snrreuder of those lands. 
 Lost by his lather, vvitli ail bands of law, 
 To our most valiant brother. — So much for him. 
 Now for ourseif, and for this time of meeting. 
 Thus much the business is . We have here writ 
 I'o Norway, uncle of youngf Fortinbras, — 
 VVlio, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
 Of this [lis nephew's purpose, — to suppress 
 idis further gait herein; in that the levies, 
 The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
 Out of his subject: — and we here despatch 
 Yon, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
 For bearers of this greetmg to old Norway ; 
 Giving to you no further personal power 
 To business with the king, more than the scope 
 Of these dilated articles allow. 
 Farewell ; and let your haste commend your duty. 
 Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we shew 
 our duty. 
 
 King. We doubt it nothing : heartily farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
 And now, Laertes, wiiat's tiie news with you ? 
 Yon told us of some suit; What is't. Laertes ? 
 Yon cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
 And lose your voice: What wouldst thou beg, 
 Laertes, 
 
 That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
 The head is not more native to tlie heart, 
 The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 
 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
 What would'st tlioii have, Laertes ? 
 
 Laer. My dread lord. 
 
 Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
 From whence, though willingly, I came to Denmark, 
 To shew my duty in your coronatii-n; 
 Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 
 My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 
 And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 
 
 King. Have you your father's leave ? Wliat says 
 Polonius ? [lea\ e, 
 
 Pol. He hath, my lord, wrunii: f'om me my slow 
 By laboursoine petition ; and, at last, 
 Upon his will I seal d ir.y hard consent : 
 I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
 
 King. Take thy fair hour, Laertrs ; time be thine. 
 And thy best graces: spend it at thy will. — ^ 
 But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 
 
 Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 King. How is it, tliat the clouds still hang on you ? 
 
 Ham. Not so, my lord, I ain too much i'the sun. 
 
 Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy in^hted colour oif, 
 And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
 Do not, forever, with thy vailed lids 
 Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
 Thou know'st, 'tis common ; all, that live, must die, 
 Passing through nature to eteniity. 
 
 Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
 
 Queen. If it be. 
 
 Why seems it so particular with thee ? [seems. 
 
 Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; T know not 
 'l^is not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
 Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath. 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. 
 Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, 
 Together with all forms, modes, shews of grief. 
 That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem, 
 For they are actions that a man might play: 
 But I liave that within, which passetli shew; 
 These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 
 King. 'Tis .sweet and commendable in your na- 
 ture, Hamlet, 
 To give these mourning duties to your father: 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
 That father lost, lost his ; ar)d the survivor bound 
 In filial obligation, for some term 
 To do obsequious sorrow: Bui to persever 
 Ib ob.sMnate coirdolemtnti is a tour.sc 
 
 Of impious stjibbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief: 
 
 It shews a will ntost incorrect to heaven; 
 
 A heart unfortified, or mind impatient: 
 
 An understanding simple and unschool'd : 
 
 For what, we know, must be, and is as couiosoa 
 
 As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
 
 Why should we, in our peevish opposition. 
 
 Take it to heait ? Fye ! 'tis a fault to heaveo, 
 
 A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
 
 To reason most absurd; whose common tbeisso 
 
 Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, 
 
 From the first corse, till he that died to-day, 
 
 This must be so. We pray you, throw to tr.nttt 
 
 This unprevailiug woe; and think of us 
 
 As of a lather: for let the world take note. 
 
 You are the most immediate to our throne; 
 
 And with no less nobility ot" love, 
 
 Than that which deare.st father bears his son, 
 
 Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
 
 In going back to school in Wittenberg. 
 
 It is most retrograde to our desire: 
 
 And, we beseech you, bend you to remain 
 
 Here, in the crieer and comfort of our eye, 
 
 Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
 
 Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
 Hamlet ; 
 
 I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg. 
 
 Hatn. I shall in all my best obey \ou, madam. 
 
 King. Wfiy, tis a loving and a Tair reply; 
 Be as ourseif in Denmark. — Madam, come; 
 7'his gentle and unforc'd accord ol Hamlet 
 Sits smiling to my heart: in grate whereof. 
 No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day. 
 But the great cannon to the clouds shall lell, 
 And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again 
 Re-speaking earthly tiiunder. Cfuiie away. 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen., Lords, ^'c. Pola 
 nius, and Laertes. 
 
 Hatn. O. ttiat this too too solid flesh would melt 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Ev ei lasting had not lix d 
 His canon 'gainst self slauv'hter I O CJod ! O Ood 
 How weary, stale, liat, and unprofitable, 
 Seem to me all the uses of this worUl I 
 Fyeon t! O fye ! 'tis an unweeded garden, 
 Tliat grows to seed ; tilings rank, and gross in nature^ 
 Possess it merely. Tiiat it should come to this! 
 But two months dead 1 — nay, not so much, not two? 
 So excellent a king; that was, to this, 
 Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother, 
 I'tiat he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 Must I remember? vvhy, she would hang on hini, 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 By what it fed on: And yet, within a month, — 
 Let me not think on't; — Frailty, thy name is wo- 
 man ! — 
 
 A little month ; or ere those shoes were old, 
 With which she follovv'd my poor father's body 
 Like Niobe, all tears, — vvhy she, even she, — 
 O heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason. 
 Would have mouru'd longer, — married with my 
 uncle, 
 
 My father'.*" brother; but no more like my father, 
 
 Than 1 to Hercules: within a month; 
 
 Ere yet tli* salt of most unrighteous tears 
 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
 
 She married: — O most wicked speed, to post 
 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets I 
 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 
 
 But break, my heart ; for I njust iioid my tojigne. 
 
 Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and MAho.Li.us. 
 Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 
 Ham. I am elad to si e you 
 
 Horatio. — or I do forget myself. le-f^ 
 Hor. The same, my lord, and youi })oor ser\oat. 
 Ham. Sir. my good friend; I II ch;ui^e tiiat n.^isja 
 with you. 
 
 And what make you from VV^ittenhei ^i, Hoi atio?— 
 
bOENE 3. 
 
 PRINCE OF 
 
 DENMARK. 
 
 745 
 
 Marcellus ? 
 
 Mar. My good lord, — 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see yon ; good even, sir. — 
 Rut what, in faith, make you fiom Wittenberg? 
 
 Hor. A truant disposition, good tny lord. 
 
 Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so; 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence. 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself : I know, you are no truant. 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
 We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I came to see your father s funeral. 
 
 Ham. I pray thee, do not mo<',k rae, fellow-stu- 
 dent; 
 
 I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 
 Ham. Thrift, ttirift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd 
 
 meats 
 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 'VVould 1 had met my dearest foe in heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio I — 
 My father, — Methinks, I see my father. 
 
 Hor. VVhere, 
 My lord ? 
 
 Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 
 
 Ham. He was a man, take him lor all iu all, 
 [ shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 H'im. Siw! wiio? 
 
 Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Hum. The king my father! 
 
 Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
 Witii an attent ear ; till I niay deliver, 
 Upon ttie witness of these gentlemen. 
 This ni ir\ el to you. 
 
 Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 Marct'llus and Bernardo, on their vvatc^i. 
 In the d(-ad waist and middle of the night, 
 Been tints encounter'd. A fii^ure like your father, 
 Armed at pomt, exactly, cap-a pie. 
 Ap ears hei'ore them, and, with solemn march. 
 Goes slow, and stately by them: thrice he walk'd. 
 By tiieir oppress'd and (ear-surprised eyes, 
 Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear. 
 Stand dumb, atid speak not to him. This to rr^e 
 In dreadful secrecy \ni ait they did; 
 And I vvifli them, the third nigiit kept the watch: 
 Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time. 
 Form of the thing, each word nmde true and good. 
 The ap|)arition comes: I knew your father; 
 Tiiese hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this ? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform, where we 
 watch'd. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did ; 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once, methought. 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak: 
 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud-. 
 And at the sotmd it shrunk in haste away. 
 And vanish'd from our sight. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true ; 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty. 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night ? 
 
 All. We do, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 
 
 All. Arm'd, ray lord. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe ? 
 
 All. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Hain. Then saw you not 
 
 His face? 
 
 Hor. O yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
 Ham. W"hat, look'd he frowningly ? 
 
 A countenance mora 
 Pale, or red ? 
 
 Hor. 
 
 In sorrow than in anger. 
 Ham. 
 
 Hor. Nay, very pale. 
 Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon yoa? 
 
 Hor. Most constantly. 
 
 Ha?n. I would, I had beciQ tbcrau 
 
 Hor. It would have much amaz d you. 
 Ham. Very like. 
 
 Very like: Stay'd it long? 
 
 Ilor. While one with moderate haste might Ull 
 
 a hundred. 
 Mar. &" Ber. Longer, longer. 
 Hor. Not when I saw it. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizzl'd ? noT 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silver'd. 
 
 Ha?n. I will watch to-night ; 
 
 Perchance, 'twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant, it vvill. 
 
 Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
 I'll speak to it, though hell itself shoidd gape, 
 And bid me hold my peace, I pray you all. 
 If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight. 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
 Give it an imderstanding, but no tongue; 
 I will requite your loves: So, fare you well: 
 Upon the platibrfn, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 I'll visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honour. 
 
 Ham. Your loves, as mine to you; Farewell. 
 [Exeunt Horatio, Marcellt(S, and Bernardo, 
 My fathers spirit in arms I all is not well ; 
 I doubt some loul play : would, the niglit were come ! 
 Till then sit still, my soul : Foul d«eds will rise. 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Scene III. — A Room in Polonins's House, 
 Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 
 
 Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell; 
 And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
 And con.voy is assistant, do not sleep. 
 But let me hear from you. 
 
 Oph. Do you doubt that? 
 
 Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favoar. 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting. 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 No more. 
 
 No 
 
 but 
 
 Oph. 
 
 Laer. Think it n« more; 
 
 For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
 In thews, and bulk; but. as this temple waxes, 
 'I'he inward service of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he lo\es you now; 
 And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch 
 The virtue of his will : but, you must fear. 
 His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own; 
 For he himself is subject to his birth: 
 He may not, as unvalued persons do. 
 Carve for himself; for on his choice depends 
 The safety and the health of the whole state ; 
 And therefore must his choice be circurascrib'd 
 Unto the voice and yielding of that body, 
 Whereof he is head : Then, if he says he lovea yo% 
 It fits your wisdom so far to believe it. 
 As he in his particular act and place 
 May give his saying deed ; which is no furllier 
 Than the main voice of Denmark goes witfial. 
 Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain. 
 If with too credent ear you list his songs ; 
 Or lose your heart ; or your chaste treasure opea 
 To his unmaster'd importunity. 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; 
 And keep you in the rear of your atlection. 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough. 
 
HAMLET, 
 
 Act 1 
 
 If she aninask her beauty to the moon : 
 Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : 
 The canker galls the infants of the spring. 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd: 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth, 
 Contagious biastments are most imminent. 
 Be wary then : best safety lies in fear ; 
 Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
 
 Oph. I shall the eH ect of this good lesson keep, 
 As watchman to my heart : But, good my brother. 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Shew me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
 Whilst, like a puff"'d and reckless libertine. 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
 And recks not his own read. 
 
 Laer. O fear me not. 
 
 I stay too long; — But here my father comes. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 A double blessing is a double grace ; 
 Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
 Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for 
 shame ; 
 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
 And you are staid for: There, — my blessing with 
 you : {Laying his hand on Laertes' head.) 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue. 
 Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
 Be tlu»u familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The triends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapj'le them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 G'ltie every man thme ear, but few thy voice : 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 But not expresa'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 And they in France, of the best rank and station. 
 Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, — To thine ovvnself be true ; 
 And it must follow, as the night the day. 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 Farewell; my blessing season this in thee! 
 
 Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants tend. 
 
 Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remenjber well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, 
 
 And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 
 
 Laer. t'arewell. [Exit. 
 
 Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you ? 
 
 Oph. So please you, something touching the lord 
 Handet. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well bethought: 
 'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
 Given private time to you ; and you yourself 
 Have of your audience been most free and boun- 
 teous : 
 
 If it b« so, (as so 'tis put on me. 
 And that in way of caution,) I must tell you, 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly. 
 As it behoves my daughter, and your honour: 
 What is between you r give me up the truth. 
 
 Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders 
 Of his atiection to me. 
 
 Pol. Affection ? puh ! you speak like a green girl, 
 Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
 Do you beliexe his tenders, as you call them' 
 
 Oph. I do not know, my lord, what 1 should think. 
 
 Pol. Marry, I II teach you : think yourself a baby : 
 That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay. 
 Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more 
 dearly ; 
 
 Or, (not to crack the w ind of the poor phrase, 
 Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool. 
 
 Oph. My lord, he hath importuu'd me with love. 
 In honourable fashion. 
 
 Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. 
 
 Oph. And hath given countenance to his speedy 
 my lord, 
 
 With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 
 
 Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do kfiOWy 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter. 
 Giving more light than heat, — extinct in both. 
 Even in their promise, as it is a making, — 
 You must not take for lire. From this time, 
 Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence ; 
 Set your entreatments at a higher rate. 
 Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
 Believe so much in him. That he is young; 
 And with a hirger tether may he walk. 
 Than may be given you: In levy, Ophelia, 
 Do not believe his vows : for they are brokers 
 Not of that die which their investments shewr, 
 But mere implorators of unholy suits, 
 Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, 
 The better to beguile. This is Ibr all, — 
 I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth. 
 Have you so slander any moment's leisure, 
 As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet 
 Look to't, I charge you ; come your ways. 
 
 Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exetmt. 
 
 Scene l\.—The Platform. 
 Enter VixMLKT, Horatio, and Marceilus, 
 Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 
 Hor. ft is a nipping and an eager air. 
 Ham. What hour now ? 
 
 Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed I I heard it not; it then draws una 
 the season. 
 Wherein the spirit held is wont to walk. 
 
 {A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance iksA 
 off within.) 
 What does this mean, my lord ? 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and take« 
 his rouse. 
 
 Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up-spring reels J 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor. Is it a custom ? 
 
 Ham. Ay marry, is't: 
 But to my mind, — though I am native here, 
 More to the manner born, — it is a custom 
 More honour'd in the breach, than the observance. 
 This heavy-headed re\el, east and west, 
 Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations: 
 They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
 Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
 From our achievements, though peribrm'd at heigbtp 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 So, oft it chances in particular men, 
 That, for some vicious mole of nature in them. 
 As, in their birth (wherein they are not guilty. 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin). 
 By the o'ergrowth of some complexion. 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er- leavens 
 The form of plausive manners ; — that these mes>' 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
 Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace. 
 As infinite as man may undergo), 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 From that particular lault : 'J'he dram .)f baw 
 Doth all the noble substance often dout, 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Hor. 
 
 Enter Ghosi. 
 l^ook. my lord, it comes! 
 
Scene 5. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 741 
 
 tiam. Angels and ministers of grace defend us I — 
 Be thou a spirit of healtli, or goblin damn'd, 
 Bring with thee a » s from heaven, or blasts fronj hell, 
 Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
 'I'liou com'st in snch a questionable shape, 
 'I'hc.,; \ will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet, 
 King, father, royal Dane : O, answer nie : 
 \4^t me not burst in ignorance! but tell, 
 Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, 
 Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre, 
 VVfierein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
 Hath op'dhis ponderous and marble jaws, 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
 'I'hat thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, 
 Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. 
 Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature. 
 So horridly to shake our disposition, 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
 Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? 
 
 lior. It beckons you to go away with it. 
 As if it sonie impartment did desire 
 'I'o you alone. 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
 
 It waves you to a more removed ground : 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Hor. No, by no means. 
 
 Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it 
 
 Hor. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Haiti. Why, what should be the fear? 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 Being a thing iininortal as itself? 
 It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 
 
 Hor. What, if it tempt you tow'ard the flood, my 
 lord. 
 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff. 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sea ? 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 W^hich might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
 And draw vou into madness? think of it: 
 Tiie very place puts toys of desperation, 
 Without more motive, into every brain, 
 Thjif looks so many fathoms to the sea. 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Uitm. It waves me still : — 
 
 (1 . ..n, 1 11 follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Hold off your hands. 
 
 Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 
 
 Ham. My fate cries out. 
 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. — 
 
 * {Ghost beckons.) 
 
 Still am I caird ; — unhand me, gentlemen; — 
 
 {Breaking from them.) 
 Hy heaven, I'll make a ghost of hiui that ^;ts me : — 
 I say, away ;— Go on, I'i! follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Hor. He waxes desperate vvilii imagination. 
 
 Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. 
 
 Hor. Have after : — To what issue will this come ? 
 
 Mar. Something is rotten in tiie state of Denmark. 
 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 
 Mar, Nay, let's follow liim. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A more remote Part of the Platform. 
 Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. 
 Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me ? speak, I'll go 
 
 no further. 
 Ghosi. Mark me. 
 Ham. I will. 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost come, 
 
 When 1 to sulphurous and tormeoting flames 
 Must render up nsyself. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
 To what I shall unibld. 
 
 Ham, Speak, I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghoai. So art thou to revenge, when thou sbalt 
 hear. 
 
 Ha7n. What? 
 
 Ghost. I anj thy father's spirit; 
 Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night. 
 And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires. 
 Till the Ibul crimes, done in my days of nature. 
 Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forhid 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 ^Vould harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ^ 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from theur 
 spheres; 
 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
 
 And each particular hair to stand an-end, 
 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine: 
 
 But this eternal blazon must not be 
 
 To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list!— 
 
 If thou didst ever thy dear father love, — 
 
 Ham. O heaven ! [der. 
 
 Ghost, llevenge his foal and most unnatural raur- 
 
 Ham. Murder? 
 
 Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings ai 
 swift 
 
 As meditation, or the thoughts of love, 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. I fi-nd thee apt ; 
 
 And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed 
 That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
 Would 'st thou not stir in this? Now, Hamlet, hrarf 
 'Tis given out, that, sleeping in mine orchard, 
 A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark 
 Is by a forged process of my death 
 Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth, 
 The serpent, that did sting thy father's life, 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Ham. O, my prophetic soul I my uncle ! 
 
 Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
 (O, wicked wit, and gifts, that hive the power 
 So to seduce !) won to his shameful lust 
 The will of my most seeming- virtuous queen; 
 O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
 From me, whose love was of that dignity. 
 That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
 I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
 '\ o those of mine ! 
 
 But virtue, as it never will he mov'd. 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed. 
 And prey on garbage. 
 
 But, soft! metliinks I scent the morning air; 
 Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard, 
 My custom always of the afternoon. 
 Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
 With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial. 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 The leperous distilment; whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man. 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset 
 And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
 Tlie thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine; 
 And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 
 Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome cruit. 
 All my smooth body. 
 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand. 
 
 Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd • 
 
 Cut oft' even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 
 Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd; 
 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 
 With all my impeifections on my head : 
 
 O, horrible! O, horrible! most horriblis ! 
 
 i If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for hixury and damned incest 
 
 I But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act. 
 
748 
 
 Taint not thy nnnd, nor let thy soul contrive 
 Against tl.-y rnolher auoht; leave her to heaven, 
 Atud to those tiuriis that in her bosom lodge, 
 To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once ! 
 The glow worm shews the matin to be near. 
 And 'gitis to [>a!e his nnetfectiial fire: 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. [Exit. 
 Ham. O all you host of heaven ! O earth ! W hat 
 else? [heart; 
 A ad shall I couple hell?— O fye!— Hold, hold, my 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old. 
 Bat bear me stiiiiy up! — Reuiember thee ? 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 n tfiis distracted globe. Remember thee? 
 Ik ea, from tlie table of my memory 
 I'll wipe away ail trivial loud records, 
 A 'I saws oi" books, all tortus, all pressures past, 
 'I'hat youth and observation copied tiiere ; 
 And thy commandmeut all alone shall live 
 VVitiiin the book and \ olume of my brain, 
 Unniix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven. 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 0 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain I 
 My tablet, — meet it is, I set it down, 
 
 Ttiat one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; 
 At least, 1 am sure, it may be so in Denmark.: 
 
 ( Writing.) 
 
 So, uncle, there you are. Now, to my word ; 
 It is, Adiim, adieu! remember me, 
 
 1 have svvorn t. 
 
 Hur. ( Within.) My lord, my lord,— 
 
 Mar. { Wtt/tin.) Lord Hamlet,— 
 
 Hur. {Within.) ileaven secure him j 
 
 Ham. So be it ! 
 
 Mar. {Within.) I lie, ho, ho, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Marcsllus. 
 Mar: How is't, my noble lord ? 
 Hur. What news, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. O, wonderful! 
 Hor. Good my lord, tell it 
 
 Ham, No ; 
 
 Voii will reveal it. 
 Hor. Not 1, my lord, by heaven. 
 31ar. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. How say yon then; would heart of man 
 once think it? — 
 But you'll be secret, — 
 
 Hor. ^ Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Ha^n. Tliere's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all 
 Denmark, 
 But he's an arrant knave. 
 
 Hor. There needs no ghost, ray lord, come from 
 tlie grave, 
 To tell us this. 
 
 Ham. Why, right ; you are in the right ; 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 
 I hold it (it, that we shake liands, and part: 
 You, as your business, and desire, shall point you; 
 For e\ery man hath business and desire, 
 
 Such as it is, — and, for my own poor part. 
 
 Look you, \ will go pray. [lord. 
 
 Hur. 'I'hese are but wild and whirling words, my 
 
 Ham. 1 am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 
 'Faith, heartily. 
 
 Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Yes^_bv^Sl.Jial^cA^i>^lt there is, Horatio, 
 And much~oTFence too. Tttuching this vision here, — 
 
 II is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; 
 
 K r your desire to know what is between us. 
 O'er master it as you may And now, good friends, 
 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
 me one poor request. 
 
 Hor. What is't, nvy lord? 
 
 We will. [to-night. 
 
 Ham. Never make known what you have seen 
 
 Uor §C Mar. My lord, we will not. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but swear't. 
 
 Uof> In faith. 
 
 Act II 
 
 My lord, not I. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Ham. Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. We have sworn, my lord , alread}. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 Ghost. {Beneath.) Swear. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha, boy ! say'st tho»i so ? art ih>m 
 there, true-penny ? 
 Come on, — you hear this fellow in the cellarage- 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Never to speak of this that you have 8cel^ 
 Swear by niy sword. 
 
 Ghost. {Beneath.) Swear. [ground :— 
 
 Ham. Hie et ubique? then we will shift oar 
 Come kither, gentlemen, 
 And lay your hands again upon my swoxd : 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Never to speak of this that you have heard. 
 Ghost. {Beneath.) Swear by his sword. 
 Ham. Well said, old mole ! can'st work i'the 
 earth so fast? 
 A worthy pioneer! — Once more remove, good 
 friends. 
 
 Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous 
 strange ! [come. 
 
 Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it wel- 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of m your philosophy. 
 But come ; — 
 
 Here, as before, never, so help you mercy! 
 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself. 
 
 As 1, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 
 To put an antic disposition on — 
 
 That you, at such tunes seeing me, never shall, 
 
 With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, 
 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase. 
 
 As W ell, well, we know ;— or. We could, an if we 
 
 would ; — or. If we list to speak; — or. There be^ an 
 
 if they might ; — 
 
 Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 That you know aught of me : — This do you swear. 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 
 Ghost. {Beneath.) Swear. 
 
 Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit ! So, gentlemen. 
 With all my love 1 do commend me to you; 
 And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to yon, 
 God willing, shall not lack. Let ns go in together; 
 And still your fingers on your lips, 1 pray. 
 The time is out ofjoint;— O cursed spite ! 
 That ever I was born to set it right I 
 Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A Room in Polonius's House, 
 Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. 
 Pol. Give him this money, and these notes, Rey- 
 naldo. 
 
 Rey, I will, my lord. [oaldo, 
 
 Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- 
 Before you visit him, to make inquiry 
 Of his behaviour. 
 
 Rey. My lord, I did intend it. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well said : very well said. Look 
 you, sir, 
 
 Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ; 
 And how, and who, what means, and where thty 
 keep, 
 
 What company, at what expense ; and finding; 
 By this encompassment and drift of question, 
 That they do know my son, come you more nearer 
 Than your particidar demands will touch it: 
 Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; 
 As thus, — / know his father., and his friends. 
 And, in part, him ; — Do you mark this, Reynaldo? 
 Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. [well: 
 Pol. And. in port, him , —but, vou may say, not 
 But, if t be he I mean, he's very tvild; 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 PRINCE OF 
 
 DENMARK. 
 
 719 
 
 Addicted so an^to; — and there put on him 
 VVljat foiHjenes you please; marry, none so rank 
 As may dislionotir him; take heed of that; 
 But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips. 
 As are companions noted and most known 
 To youth and liberty. 
 
 Rey. As gaming, my lord. 
 
 Pfjl. Ay, or drinking, i'encing, swearing, quarrel- 
 Drahbino : — You may go so far. [liug> 
 
 Jtfey. My lord, tliat would dishonour him. 
 
 Pol. 'Faith, no ; as you may season it in the charge. 
 You must not put another scandal on him, 
 That br is open to incontinency ; 
 Tiiat s not my meaning: but breathe his faults so 
 quaintly. 
 
 That they may seem the taints of liberty: 
 The flash and out-break of a fiery mind; 
 A savage neas in unreclaimed blood, 
 Of general assault. 
 
 Rey. But, my good lord, — 
 
 Put. Wherefore should you do this ? 
 Rey. Ay, my lord, 
 
 I would know that. 
 
 Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; 
 
 And, 1 believe, it is a fetch of warrant : 
 You laying these slight sullies on my son, 
 As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'the working, 
 Mark you. 
 
 Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
 Having ever seen in the predominate crimes, 
 'J'he youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd. 
 He closes v\'ith you in this consequence; 
 Good sir, or so ; or friend, or gentleman, — 
 According to the phrase, or the addition, 
 or man, and country. 
 
 Rey. Very good, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And then, sir, does he this, — he does — 
 What was 1 about to say ? By the mass, 1 was about 
 to say something: — Where did I leave? 
 
 Rey. At, closes in the consequence. 
 
 Pol. At, closes in the consequence, — Ay, marry; 
 He closes with you thus: — I know the gentleman ; 
 I saiv him yesterday, or f other day, 
 Or then, or then, with such, or such; and, as you 
 say. 
 
 There was he gaming ; there overtook in his rouse: 
 There falling out at tennis ; or, perchance, 
 1 saw him enter such a house of sale, 
 {Videlicet, a brothel,) or so forth. — 
 See you now; 
 
 Your bait ol' falsehood takes this carp of truth; 
 And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, • 
 With windlaces, and with assays of bias, 
 By indirections find directions out: 
 So, by lay former lecture and advice. 
 Shall you_ my son : You have me, have you not? 
 Rey. My lord, I have. 
 
 Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well. 
 
 Rey. (Jood my lord, — 
 
 Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 
 
 Rey. I shall, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Ami let hira ply his music, 
 
 Pcey. Well, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Ophelia. 
 Pol. Farewell! — How now, Ophelia? what's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so af- 
 frighted ! 
 
 Pol. With what, in the name of heaven ? 
 
 Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet. 
 Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all nnbrac'd ; 
 No hat upon his head ; his stockings fonl'd, 
 Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle; 
 Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; 
 And with a look so piteous in purport, 
 As if he had been loosed out of hell. 
 To sfieak of horrors, — he comes before me. 
 
 Pol. Mad for thy love? 
 
 Opk. My lord, I do not know ; 
 
 But, truly, I do fear it. 
 
 Pol. What said he ? 
 
 Oph He took me by the wrist, and held me kard} 
 Thrn goes he to the length of all his ariii ; 
 And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
 He i'alls to such perusal of my face, 
 As he would draw it. Ijong stay'd he so ; 
 At last, a little shaking of mine arm, 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down,— 
 He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound, 
 At it did seem to sliatter all his bulk, 
 And end his being : 'i'hat done, he lets me go; 
 And, with his head over his shoulder turned. 
 He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
 For out o'doors he went without their helps. 
 And, to the last, bended their light on me. 
 
 Pol. Home, go with n;e ; I will go seek the V'iRgm 
 This is the very ecstasy of love ; 
 Whose violent property foredoes itself, 
 And leads the will to desperate undertakings. 
 As oft as any passion under heaven. 
 That does afflict our natures. I am sorry, — 
 What, have you given him any hard words of late ? 
 Opn. No, my good lord; but, as you did com- 
 mand, 
 
 I did repel his letters, and denied 
 His access to me. 
 
 Pol. That hath made him mad. 
 
 I am sorry, that with better heed and jndgnient, 
 1 had not quoted him : 1 tear'd, he did but trifle. 
 And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my jealousy! 
 It seems, it is as proper to our age 
 To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions. 
 As it is connnon for the younger sort 
 To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king : 
 This must be known; which, being kept close, 
 
 might move 
 More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. 
 Come. [Exeuni' 
 
 Scene li.—A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildkm- 
 STERN, and A^'tendants. 
 
 King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guii- 
 denstern ! 
 
 Moreover that we much did long to see you. 
 The need, we have to use you, did [)rovoke 
 Our hasty sending. Something ha\e you heard 
 Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it, 
 Since not the exterior nor the inward man 
 Resembles that it was: What it should be, 
 More than his father's death, that thus hath put him 
 So much from the understanding of himself, 
 1 cannot dream of: I entreat you both. 
 That, — being of so yoimg days brought up wirfi 
 him ; [mour,— 
 And, since, so neighbour'd to his youth and hu- 
 That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
 Some little time : so by your companies 
 To draw him on to pleasures ; and to gather. 
 So much as from occasion you may glean. 
 Whether aught, to us unknown, afllicts him thus. 
 That, open'd, lies within our remedy. fyon : 
 
 Queen. Good gentlemen he hath much talk'd of 
 And, sure I am, two men there are not li\ ing. 
 To whom he more adheres. If it will please yoa 
 To shew us so much gentry, and good will. 
 As to expend your time with us a while. 
 For the supply and profit of our hope, 
 Yonr visitation shall receive such thanks 
 As fits a king's remembrance. 
 
 Ros. Both your majestiftt 
 
 Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
 Put your dread pleasures more into command 
 Than to entreaty. 
 
 Guil. But we both obey ; 
 
 And here give up ourselves, in tlie full bent. 
 To lay our service freely at your feet, 
 To be commanded. 
 
750 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Ring. Thanks, Roseucranfz, and gentle Guilden- 
 stein. [crantz: 
 Qt£€€n. Thanks, Ouildenstern, and gentle Rosen- 
 And I beseech you instantly to visit 
 Bily too much changed son. — Go, some of yo'ti, 
 Anii bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
 i Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our prac- 
 leasant and helpful to him. [tices. 
 Queen. Ay, amen ! 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and 
 some Attendants. 
 Enter PoLONius. 
 Pel. The embassadors from Norway, my good 
 lord, 
 
 Are joyfully return'd. [news. 
 
 King. Thou still hast been the father of good 
 
 Pol. Hav e I, my lord ? Assure you, my good liege, 
 I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
 Both to niy God, and to my gracious king : 
 And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
 Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
 As it hath us'd to do.) that I have found 
 The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
 
 King. O, speak of that ; that do T long to hear. 
 
 Pol. Give first admittance to the embassadors; 
 My news shall be the fruit to that great least. 
 
 King. 'J'hyself do grace to them, and bring them 
 in. [Exit Polonius. 
 
 He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
 The head and source of all your son's distemper. 
 
 Queen. 1 doubt, it is no other but the main ; 
 His lather's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. 
 
 Re enter Polonius, ivith Voltimand and Corne- 
 lius. 
 
 King. Well, we shall sift him. — Welcome, my 
 good friends] 
 Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? 
 
 Volt. Most fair return of greetings, and desires. 
 Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
 His nephew's levies ; which to nim appear'd 
 To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack ; 
 But, better look'd into, he truly found 
 It was aoainst your highness : Whereat griev'd, — 
 That so his sickness, age, and impotence. 
 Was falsely borne in hand, — sends out arrests 
 On Fortiubras; which he, in brief, obeys; 
 Receives rebuke I'rom Norway; and, in fine, 
 Makes vow before his uncle, never more 
 To give the assay of arn»s against your majesty. 
 Wiiereon old Norway, overcome with joy, 
 Gi\es him three thousand crowns in annual fee; 
 And his commission, to employ those soldiers, 
 So levied as before, against the Polack; 
 With an entreaty, herein further shewn, 
 
 {Gives a paper.) 
 That it miiiht please you to give quiet pass 
 Tlirou^h your dominions for this enterprise ; 
 On such rt-gards ol' safety, and allowance. 
 As therein are set down. 
 
 King. It likes us well ; 
 
 And, at our more consider'd time, we'll read, 
 Answer, and think upon this business. 
 Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour: 
 Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together: 
 iMost welcome home ! 
 
 [Exeutit Voltimand and Cornelius. 
 
 Pol. This business is well ended. 
 
 My liege, and madam, to expostniate 
 V\'hat niajesty should be, what duty is, 
 \^ hy day is day, night night, and time is time, 
 Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
 Therefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit, 
 And tedioMsncss the limbs and outward flourishes, — 
 1 will be brici : Your noble son is mad : 
 Mad, call i it ; for to define true madness. 
 What is't, but to be nothing else but mad? 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen. More matter, with less art 
 
 Pol. Madam, I swear^ i use no art at all. 
 
 That he is mad, 'tis true : 'tis true, 'tis pity ; 
 And pity "tis, 'tis true: a foolish figure ; 
 But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
 Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, 
 That we find out the cause of this effect; 
 Or, rather say, the cause of this defect; 
 For this effect, defective, comes by cause : 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 Perpend. 
 
 I have a daughter ; ha^e, while she is mine; 
 
 Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
 
 Hath given me this: Now gather, and surmiM, 
 
 — To the celestial^ nr.d my soul's idol., the most 
 
 beautified Ophelia, — 
 
 That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; beautified is • 
 
 vile phrase; but you shall hear. — Thus: 
 
 In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.— 
 Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her? 
 Pol. Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.-— 
 Doubt thou, the stars are fire ; {Reada.) 
 
 Doubt, that the sun doth move : 
 Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
 But never doubt, I love. 
 0 dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; 1 
 have not art to reckon my groans : but that I love 
 thee best, 0 most best, believe it. Adieu. 
 
 Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 
 this machine is to him, Hamlep, 
 This, in obedience, hath my daugliter shewn me: 
 And more above , hath his solicitmgs, 
 As they fell out by time, by means, and place. 
 All given to mine ear. 
 
 King. But how hath she 
 
 Receiv'd his love ? 
 
 Pol. What do you think of me? 
 
 King. As of a man faithful and honourable. 
 Pol. I would fain prove so. But wliat might you 
 think. 
 
 When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
 (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, 
 Before my daughter told me,) what might yon, 
 Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
 If! had play'd the desk, or table-book; 
 Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb; 
 Or look'd upon this love with idle sight; 
 What might you think? no, I went round to work. 
 And my young mistress thus did I bespeak ; 
 Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere ; 
 This must not be : and then I precepts gave her. 
 That she should lock herself from his resort, 
 Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
 Wiiich done, she took the fruits of my advice ; 
 And he, repulsed, ( a short tale to make,) 
 Fell into a sadness ; then into a feat; 
 Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 
 Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension. 
 Into the madness wherein now he raves. 
 And all we mourn for. 
 
 King. Do you think, 'tis this ? 
 
 Queen. It may be, very likely. 
 
 Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I'd faia know 
 that,) _ 
 
 That I have positively said. 'Tis so, 
 When it prov'd otherwise ? 
 
 King. Not that I know. 
 
 Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise : 
 {Pointing to his head and shoulder. 
 If circumstances lead me, I will find 
 Where truth is hid, though it were lild indeed 
 Within the centre. 
 
 King. How may we try it further? 
 
 Pol. You know sometimes he walks four hours 
 Here in the lobby. _ [together. 
 
 Queen. So he does, indeed. 
 
 Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to hsBt 
 Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
 Mark the encounter: if he love her not. 
 And be not from his reason fallen thereon 
 Let me be no assistant for a state, 
 But keep a farm, and carters. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 7n: 
 
 Kmg, We will try it. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, reading. 
 Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch 
 
 comes reading. 
 Pol. Away, I do beseech yon, both away; 
 I'll board him presently: — O, give me leave. — 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants, 
 IIow does my good lord Hamlet? 
 Ham. Well, god-'a mercy. 
 PoL Do you know me, my lord? 
 Hatn, Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 
 PoL Not I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then 1 would you were so honest a man. 
 Pol. Honest, my lord ? 
 
 Ham, Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, 
 is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. 
 
 Pol. That's vei7 t^ne, my lord. 
 
 Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, 
 being a god, kissing carrion, — Have you a daughter? 
 
 Pol. I have, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is 
 a blessing; but as your daughter may concfive, — 
 friend, look to't. 
 
 Pol. How say you by that {Aside.) Still harping 
 on my daughter: — yet he knew me not at first; he 
 said, I was a fishmonger: He is far gone, far gone : 
 and, truly, iu my youth I siitiered much extremity 
 for love ; very near this. I'll speak to him again. — 
 What do you read, mv lord ? 
 
 Ham. Words, words, M'ords ! 
 
 PoL What is the matter, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Between who ? 
 
 PoL I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 
 
 Ham,. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says 
 here, that old men have grey beards ; that their 
 faces are wrinkled ; their eyes purging thick amber, 
 and plum-tree gum ; and that they have a plentiful 
 lack of wit, together with most weak hams: All of 
 •which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently 
 believe, yet 1 hold it not honesty to have it thus set 
 down ; for yourself, sir, shall be as old as I am, if, 
 like a crab, you could go backward. 
 
 PoL Though this be madness, yet there's method 
 in it. [Aside.) Will you walk out of the air, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Into my grave ? 
 
 Pol. Indeed, tliat is out o'the air. — How preg- 
 nant sometimes his replies are ] a happiness that 
 often madness hits on, which reason and sanity could 
 not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave 
 him, and suddenly contrive the means of meeting 
 between him and my daughter. — My honourable 
 lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. 
 
 Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing 
 that I will more willingly part withal ; except my 
 life, except my life, except my life. 
 
 Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. These tedious old fools ! 
 Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 
 PoL You go to seek the lord Hamlet; there he is. 
 
 Ros. God save you, sir I [To Polonius.) 
 
 \Exit Polonius. 
 
 Guil. My honour'd lord ! — 
 Ros. My most dear lord ! 
 
 Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost thou, 
 Ouildenstern ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good lads, how 
 do ve both? 
 
 itos. As the indifferent children of the earth. 
 
 Guil. Happy, in that we are not over-happy ; 
 On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 
 
 Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ? 
 
 Ros. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
 Eiiiddle of her favours ? 
 
 Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 
 
 Ham. In the secret parts of fortune ? O, most 
 ti uf^ ; she is a strumpet. What news ? 
 
 Ros. None, ray lord ; but that the world's grown 
 aonest. 
 
 Ham, Then is dooms day near : But your news 
 
 18 not true. Let me question more in particular 
 What have you, my good friends, deserved at the 
 hands of fortune, that she sends you to priaoa hithei ? 
 
 Guil. Prison, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Denmark's a prison. 
 
 Ros. Then is the world one. 
 
 Ham. A goodly one ; in which there ar*? innny 
 confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one 
 of the worst. 
 
 Ros. We think not so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you ; for there is 
 nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so ; 
 to me it is a prison. 
 
 Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one ; 'tis 
 too narrow for your mind. 
 
 Ham. O God ! i could be bounded in a nut-shell, 
 and count myself a king of infinite space ; were it 
 not that I have bad dreams. 
 } Gtiil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ; for 
 the \ery substance of the ambitious is merely the 
 j shadow of a dream. 
 
 I Ha?n. A dream itself is but a shadow. 
 
 j Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and 
 
 I ligiit a quality, that it is but a sliadow's shadow. 
 
 I Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies ; and our 
 monarchs, and outstretch'd heroes, the beggars' 
 shadows : Shall we to the court ? for, by my fay, I 
 cannot reason. 
 
 Ros. Guil. We'll w^ait upon you. 
 Ham, No such matter: I will not sort you with 
 the rest of my servants; for, to si>eak to you like 
 an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, 
 in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at 
 Elsinore ? 
 
 Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 
 
 Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; 
 but I thank you : and sure, dear friends, my thanka 
 are too dear, a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? 
 Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? 
 Come, come; deal justly with me: come, come| 
 nay, speak. 
 
 Guil. What should we say, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Anything — but to the purpose. You were 
 sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your 
 looks, which your modesties have not crai't enough 
 to colour: I know, the good king and queen have 
 sent for you. 
 
 Ros. To what end, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. That you must teach me. But let me con- 
 jure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the 
 consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our 
 ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a bet- 
 ter proposer could charge you withal, be even and 
 direct with me, whether you were sent for, or no ? 
 
 Ros. What say you ? {To Guildenstern.) 
 
 Ham. Nay, then, I have an eye of you ; {Aside.) 
 — if you love me, hold not off. 
 
 Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 
 
 Ham. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipa- 
 tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to 
 the king and queen moult no feather. I ha\ e of 
 late, ( but, wherefore^ I know not, ) lost all my mirth, 
 forgone all custom ol exercises : and, indeed, it goes 
 so heavily with my disposition, tiiat this goodly 
 frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory; 
 this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this 
 brave o'er-hanging firmament, this majestical roof 
 fretted witli golden fire, why, it appears no other 
 thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation 
 of vapours. What a piece of work is a man ! How 
 noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form, 
 and moving, how express and admirable I in action, 
 how like an angel! in apprehension, how h'ke a god! 
 the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! 
 And yet, to me, what is this quintessence oi'dust? 
 man delights not me, nor woman neither ; though, 
 by your smiling, you seem to say so. 
 
 Ros. My lord, there is no such stuff in my thonghta. 
 
 Ham. VVhy did you laughtthen. when I said, man 
 delights not me ? 
 
752 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act II 
 
 Ros. To tliink, my lord, if you delight not in man, 
 wliat lenten entertainment the players shall receive 
 from you : we coted them on the way ; and hither 
 are they coming, to oft'er you service. 
 
 Ham. tie that plays the king, shall be welcome ; 
 his majesty shall have tribnte of me : the adven- 
 turous knight shall use his and target: the lover 
 shall not sigh gratis ; the humorous man shall end 
 his part in peace : the clown shall make those laugh, 
 whose lungs are tickled o'the sere ; and the lady 
 shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall 
 halt for't. — What players are they? 
 
 Ros. Even those you were wont to take such de- 
 light in, the tragedians of the city. 
 
 Hmn. How chances it, tliey travel ? their resi- 
 dence, both in reputation and profit, was better both 
 ways. 
 
 Jios. I think, their inhibition comes by the means 
 of the late innovation. 
 
 Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did 
 when 1 was in the city ? Are they so followed V 
 
 Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 
 
 Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? 
 
 Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted 
 pace : But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little 
 eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are 
 most tyrannically clapped for't : these are now the 
 fashion ; and so berattle the common stages, ( so 
 they call them,) tliat many, wearing rapiers, are 
 afraid of goose-quills, and nare scarce come thither. 
 
 Ham. What, are they children? who maintains 
 them ? how are they escoted ? Will they pursue 
 the quality no longer than they can sing? will they 
 not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves 
 to common players, ( as it is most like, if their means 
 are no better, ) their writers do them wrong, to 
 make them exclaim against their own succession? 
 
 Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both 
 sides ; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them 
 on to controversy : there was, for a vvhile, no money 
 bid f )r argument, unless the poet and the player went 
 to cuffs in Jthe question. 
 
 Ham. Is it possible ? 
 
 Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of 
 brains. 
 
 Ham. Do the boys carry it away ? 
 Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and 
 his load too. 
 
 Ham. It is not very strange: for my uncle is king 
 of Denmark ; and those, that would make mouths 
 at him while my father lived, gi\e twenty, forty, 
 fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece, for his picture in 
 Utile. 'Si)!u()d, there is something in this more than 
 natural, if philosophy could find it out. 
 
 {P/ouris/i of trumpets within.) 
 
 Guil. There are the players. 
 
 Ham. Gi ntlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
 Your hands. Come then : the appurtenance of 
 welcome is fashion and ceremony : let me comply 
 with you in this garb; lest my extent to the players, 
 which, I tell you, must shew fairly outward, should 
 more appear like entertainment than yours. You 
 are welcome ; but my uncle-father, and aunt-mother 
 are deceived. 
 
 Gtiil. In what, my dear lord ? 
 
 Ham. I am but mad north-north-west: when the 
 ■wind is southerly, I knew a hawk from a hand saw, 
 
 Enter PoLONius. 
 
 Vol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Ham. Hiuk you, Guildenstern ? — and you, too; 
 -—at each ear a hearer : that great baby, you see 
 there, is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts. 
 
 Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them 
 for, they say, an old man, is twice a child. 
 
 Ham. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of the 
 players ; mark it. — Vou say right, sir : o'Monday 
 morning; 'twas then, indeed. 
 
 Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 
 Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When 
 
 Roscius was an ai tor in Rome, — 
 
 Pol. The actors are come hither, mj lyra. 
 
 Ham. Buz, buz! 
 
 Pol. Upon my honour, — 
 
 Ham. Then came each actor an hit ass.,^ 
 
 Pol. The best actors in the world, either fj)r tra» 
 gedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comtftat 
 historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical- fto 
 mical-historical-nastoral, scene individable, or poem 
 unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus 
 too light. For the law of writ, and the liberty, 
 these are the only men. 
 
 Ham. 0 Jephthak, judge of Itrael^ — what a trea- 
 sure hadst thou ! 
 
 Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and no more. 
 The which he loved passing well. 
 
 Pol. Still on my daugliter. {Aside^ 
 
 Ham. Ami not i'the right, old Jephthah ? 
 
 Pol. If yon call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a 
 daughter that I love passing well. 
 
 Ham. Nay, that follows not 
 
 Pol. What follows then, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, and then, you 
 know. It came to pass, As most like it was, — The 
 first row of the pious chanson will shew you more; 
 for look, my abridgment comes. 
 
 Enter Four or Five Players. 
 You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all : — I am 
 glad to .see thee well : — welcome, good friends.— 
 O, old friend ? Why, thy face is valanced since 1 
 saw thee last; Com'st thou to beard me in Den- 
 mark ? — What ! my young lady and mistress ! By-'r- 
 lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven, than when 
 I saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine. Pray 
 God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be 
 not cracked within the ring. — Masters, you are all 
 welcome. VTs-'U e'en to it like French falconers, fly 
 at aay thing V9 see : We'll have a speech straight . 
 Come, give us a tasta of your quality ; come, a pas. 
 sionate speech. 
 
 J Play. What speech, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, — 
 but it was never acted ; or, if it was, not above 
 once : tor the play, I remember, pleased not tlie 
 million ; 'twas caviare to the general : bat it was 
 ( as I received it, and others, whose judguients, in 
 such matters, cried in the top of niine, ) an exc 1- 
 lent play ; well digested in the scenes, set down with 
 as mucli modesty as cunning. I remember, one 
 said, there were no salads in the lines, to make the 
 matter savoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that 
 might indite the author of affection : but calle it, 
 an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by 
 very much more handsome than fine. One speech 
 in it I chiefly lov'd : 'twas y^ineas' tale to Dido ; 
 and thereabout of it especially, where he s. eaks of 
 Priam's slaughter : if it live in your memory, begin 
 at this line ; let me see, let me see ; 
 
 The ru(jged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian heast^ — • 
 'tis not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus. 
 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, — he, whose sable arms, 
 
 Black as his jmrpose, did the night resemble, 
 When he lay couched in the ominous horse. 
 
 Hath notv this dread and black complexion 
 smear'd 
 
 With heraldry more dismal; head to foot 
 Notv is he total gules ; horridly tricked 
 With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, son^ 
 Bak^d and i7npasted with the parching streets. 
 That lend a tyi annous arfd a damned light 
 To their lords murder: Roasted in tvrnth,and 
 fire. 
 
 And thus o'er sized with coagulate gore. 
 With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhua 
 Old grandsire Priam seeks; — So, proceed you. 
 Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken ; with good 
 accent, and good discretion, 
 1 Pity. Anon he finds him 
 
Act ITT. Scexe 1. 
 
 PRTNCE OF DENMAP.K 
 
 Strilcing too short at Greehs ; his antique sivord. 
 Rebellious to his artn, lies where it falls. 
 Repugnant to command : Unequal match' * 
 Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage, strikes wide; 
 But with the whif and tvind of his fell sivord 
 The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
 Seeming to fell this blow, with flaming top j 
 Stoops to his base ; and with a hideous crash \ 
 Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear : for, lo ! his sword ' 
 Which ivas declining on the mdlcy head 
 Of reverend Priam, seem' din the air to stick : 
 So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood; 
 And, like a neutral to his will and matter^ 
 Did nothing. 
 
 But., as ive often see, against some storm, 
 
 A silence in the heavens, the rack stand stilly 
 
 The hold winds speechless, and the orb below 
 
 As hush as death : anon the dreadful thunder 
 
 Doth rend the region : So, after Pyrrhus' pause, 
 
 A roused vemjeance sets him T/etv a work ; 
 
 And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
 
 On Marss armour, forg'd for proof eterne, 
 
 tp ith less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding 
 
 sivord 
 Now falls on Priam. — 
 
 Old, out, thou strumpet. Fortune! All yon gods. 
 In general synod, take aivau her power ; 
 Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel. 
 And bowl the round nave down the hill of 
 
 heaven, 
 As low as to the fiends ! 
 Pol. This is too long. 
 
 Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. 
 --Pr'ythee, say on: — He's for a jig, or a tale 
 of bawdry, or he sleeps: — say on : come to He- 
 cuba 
 
 1 Play. But who, ah woe ! had seen the mohled 
 
 queen — 
 Ham. The mobled queen ? 
 Pol. That's good ; mobled queen is good, 
 ] Play. Run barefoot up and down, threat ning 
 
 the flames 
 
 With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head. 
 Where late the diadem stood; and, for a robe , 
 About her lank and all o'er-teeming loins^ 
 A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ; 
 Who this had seen, with to7igue in venom steep' d, 
 ^Gainst fortune'' s si ate would treason have pro- 
 noun c'd: 
 
 But if the gods themselves did see her then, 
 When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport. 
 In mincing with his sword her husbands litnbs; 
 The instaiit burst of clamour that she made, 
 (Unless things mortal move them not at all,} 
 Would have made rnilch the burning eye of 
 
 heaven. 
 And passion in the gods. 
 
 Pol. Look, whether he has not turned his colour, 
 and has tears in's eyes. — Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis well ; I'll have thee speak out the rest 
 of this soon. — Good my lord, will you see the players 
 well bestowed ? Do you hear, let them be vvell 
 used ; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles, 
 of the time : After your death you were better have 
 a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you live. 
 
 Po^. My lord, I will use them according to their 
 desert. 
 
 Ham. Odds bodikin, man, much better: Use 
 every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape 
 whipping? Use them after your own honour and 
 dignity : The less they deserve, the more merit is in 
 your bounty. Take them in, 
 
 Pol. Come, sirs. 
 
 1 Exit Polonius, with some of the Players. 
 
 Ham. Follovy him, IViends : we'll hear a play to- 
 morrow. — Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you 
 pl?y the murder of Gonzago ? 
 
 1 Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, 
 ^or a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen, 
 
 lines, wliich 1 would set down, and insert in't ? 
 could yon not? 
 
 1 Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Very well. — Follow that lord ; and look 
 you mock him not. [Exit Player.] My good friends, 
 [To Ros. andGuil.) I'll leave you till night: yoi? 
 are welcome to Elsinore. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord ! [Exeunt Ros. and Guild. 
 Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now 1 am alone. 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am 1 
 Is it not monstrous, tliat this player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. 
 Could force his soul to his own conceit, 
 l^hat from her working, all his visage wann'd; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! 
 For Hecuba ! 
 
 What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
 That he should weep for her? What would he do. 
 Had he the motive, and the cue for passion, 
 That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears. 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ; 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free. 
 Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed. 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
 Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my 'jau.?e. 
 And can say nothing ; no, not ibr a king. 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? 
 Who calls nie villain? breaks my pate across? 
 Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
 Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'tia* 
 throat. 
 
 As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me thit ? 
 Ha! 
 
 Why, I should take it: for it cannot be. 
 But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall 
 To make oppression bitter : or, ere this, 
 1 should have fatted all the region kites 
 With this slave's offal : Bloody, bawdy villaio I 
 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindlesfl v2 
 lain ! 
 
 Why, what an ass am I? This is most brave; 
 That I, the son of a dear father murder'd. 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. 
 Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words 
 And fall a cursing, like a very drab, 
 A scullion! 
 
 Fye upon't! foh ! About my brains! Humph! I have 
 
 heard, 
 
 That guilty creatures, sitting at a play. 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 Been struck so to the soul, that presently 
 They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
 With most miraculous organ. I'll liave these playeiO 
 Play something like the murder of my father, 
 Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; 
 I'll tent him to the q-uick; if he do blench. 
 I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen, 
 May be a devil ; and the devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps. 
 Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 
 (As he is very potent with such spirits,) 
 Abuses me to damn me : I'll have grounds 
 More relative than this : The play's the thing, 
 Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. [JSIactl. 
 
 ACT III. 
 Scene I. — A Room in the Castle, 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rqs]0«' 
 CRANTZ, and Guildenstern. 
 King. And can you, by no drift of conference, 
 Get from him, wiiy he puts on this confusion ; 
 Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
 With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? 
 
 1 LXO 
 
754 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Act IIL 
 
 Eos. He does confess, he feels himself distracted; 
 15 lit from what cause he will by no means speak, 
 
 Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ; 
 But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof. 
 When we would bring him on to some confession 
 Of his true state. 
 
 Queen. Did he receive you well ? 
 
 Jlos. Most like a gentleman. 
 
 Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 
 
 Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands. 
 Most free in his reply. 
 
 Queen. Did you assay him 
 
 To any pastime ? 
 
 Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
 We o'er-raught on the way : of these we told him ; 
 And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
 To hear of it: They are about the court ; 
 A^nd, as I think, they have already order 
 This night to play before him. 
 
 Pol. 'Tis most true : 
 
 \nd he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, 
 To hear and see the matter. 
 
 King. With all my heart; and it doth much con- 
 tent me, 
 To hetir him so inclin'd. 
 Jrood gentlemen, give him a further edge, 
 knd drive his purpose on to these delights. 
 
 Ros. Wii shall, my lord. [Exeunt Ros. andGuild. 
 
 King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too: 
 
 Por we have closely sent for Hamlet hither; 
 That iie, as 'twere by accident, may here 
 Affront Ophelia : 
 
 Her father, and n)V'self (lawful espials,) 
 
 Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 
 
 We may of their encounter frankly judge ; 
 
 And gather by him, as he is behav'd, 
 
 If 't be the affliction of his love, or no. 
 
 That thus he suffers for. 
 
 Queen. T shall obey you : 
 
 And, for your part, Ophelia^ I do wish, 
 That your good beauties be the happy cause 
 Of Hamlet's wildness : so shall I hope, your virtues 
 Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
 To both your honours. 
 
 Gph. Madam, I wish it may. 
 
 [Exit Queen. 
 
 Pol. Ophelia, walk you here: — Gracious, so 
 please you, 
 
 We will hestow ourselves: — Read on this book; 
 
 (To Ophelia.) 
 That shew of such an exercise may colour 
 Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this,. — 
 *Tis too much proved, — that, with devotion's visage, 
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
 The devil himself 
 
 King. O, 'tis too true ! how smart 
 
 A lash that speech doth give my conscience! 
 The harlot's cheek, beantied with plastVing art. 
 Is not ii.ore ugly to the thing that helps it, 
 'i~han is my deed to my most painted word : 
 O heavy burden ! {Aside.) 
 
 Pol. I hear him cotiiing; let's withdraw, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt King and Polonius. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question: — 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 Ttie slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
 And, by opposing, end them? — To die, — to sleep, — 
 No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, — to sleep; — 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the rub ; 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 Must give us pause : there's the respect, 
 That makes calamity of so long life : 
 7or who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 
 TTje oppressor's wrong, tne proud man's contamcly. 
 
 The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 
 The msolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear. 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
 But that the dread of something after death,— 
 The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, — puzzles tlie will ; 
 And ri|.kes us rather bear those ills we have. 
 Than tly to others that we know not of? 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment. 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 And lose the name of action. — Soft you, now! 
 The fair Ophelia: — Nymph, in thy orisons 
 Be all my sins remeraber'd. 
 
 Oph. Good my lord, 
 
 How does your honour for this many a day ? 
 
 Ham. 1 humbly thank you ; well. 
 
 Oph. My lord, I "have remembrances of yours. 
 That I have longed long to re-deliver; 
 I pray you, now receive them. 
 
 Ham. No, not I ; 
 
 I never gave you aught. [did ; 
 
 Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well you 
 And, with them, words of so sweet breath c-ompos'd 
 As made the things more rich : their perfume lost. 
 Take these again ; for to the noble mind. 
 Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 
 There, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest ? 
 
 Oph. My lord ? 
 
 Ham. Are you fair? 
 
 Oph. What means your lord.ship? 
 
 Ham. That if you be honest, and fair, you shouH 
 admit no discourse to your beauty. 
 
 Oph. Cou>Id beauty, my lord, have better com- 
 merce than with honesty ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will 
 sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, 
 than the force of honesty can translate beauty into 
 his likeness ; this was some time a parados, but now 
 the time gives it proof I did love you once. 
 
 Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 
 
 Ham. You should not have believed me ; for 
 virtue cannot so inoculate our ."id stock, but we shall 
 relish of it: I lov'd you not. 
 
 Oph. I was the more deceived. 
 
 Ham. Get thee to a nunnery; why would'st thou 
 be a breeder of siniiers ? i am myself inditt'erent 
 honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things, 
 that it were better my mother had not borne me: 
 I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more 
 offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put 
 them in, imagination to give them shape, or time 
 to act tiiem in : What should such fellows as I do 
 crawling between earth and heaven 1 We are arrant 
 knaves, all; believe none of us: Go thy ways to a 
 nunriery. Where's your father ? 
 
 Oph. At home, my lord. ' 
 
 Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him ; that he 
 may play the fool no where but in's own house. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens ! 
 
 Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague 
 for thy dowry; Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as 
 snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a 
 nunnery; farewell: Or, if thou wilt needs marry, 
 nmrry a fool ; for wise men know vvell enough, what 
 monsters you make of them. Go a nunnery, go ; and 
 quickly too. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. Heavenly powers, restore hiui ! 
 
 Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
 enough ; God hath given you one i'ace, and you make 
 yourselves another: you jig, you arable, and you 
 lisp, and nick name Gods creatures, and make youi 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 PRINCE OF 
 
 DENMARK. 
 
 755 
 
 wantonness youi ignorance : Go to ; I'll no more oft ; 
 it liath made me mad. I say, we will have no raore 
 marriages: those that are married already, all but 
 one, shall live ; the rest shall keep as they are. To 
 a nunnery, go. [Exit. 
 
 Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, 
 sword : 
 
 The expe<;tancy and rose of the fair state. 
 The glass of fashion, and the mould of form. 
 The observ'd of all observers ! quite, quite down ! 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
 That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
 That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth, 
 Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me! 
 To have seen what I have seen, seen what I see ! 
 
 Re-enter King and PoLONiUS. 
 
 King. Love ! his affections do not that way tend ; 
 Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, 
 Was not like madness. There's something in bis soul, 
 O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
 And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, 
 Will be some danger: Which, for to prevent, 
 I have, in quick determiuntionj 
 Thus set itflown : He shall with speed to England, 
 For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
 Haply, the seas, and countries different. 
 With variable objects, shall expel 
 This sometliing-settled matter in his heart ; 
 Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus 
 From fashion of himseli'. What think you on't? 
 
 Pol. It shall do well : but yet I do believe, 
 The origin atid commencement of his grief 
 Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia? 
 You need not tell us wliat lord Hamlet said ; 
 We heard it all. — My lord, do as yuu please ; 
 But, if you hold it tit, after the play, 
 Let his queen mother all alone entreat liiiii 
 To shew his grief; let her be round with him," 
 And I'll he pTac'H, so please you, in the ear 
 Of all tlieir cfuiference: if she find him not, 
 To England send him : or confine liiin, where 
 Vour wisdom best shall think. 
 
 King. It shall be so : 
 
 Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Hall in the same. 
 Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 
 
 Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pro- 
 nounced it to you, trippingly hn the tongue : but if 
 you mouth it, as tunny of our players do, 1 had as lief 
 the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the 
 air too uiiich w i(h your hand, thus ; but cse al' gently : 
 for in tiie veiy torrent, tempest, and (as 1 may say) 
 whirlwind oi your passion, you must acquire and 
 beget a temperance, that may gi\e it smoothness. O, 
 itolfeuds Hie lo the soul, to hear a robustious periwig- 
 pated lellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, 
 to split tiie ears of the groundlings; who, for the 
 most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
 dumb shews, and noise : I would have such a fellow 
 whipped ibr o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods 
 Herod: Pray you, avoid it. 
 
 1 Play. 1 wai rant your honour. 
 
 Ham. lie not too tame neither, but let your own 
 discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, 
 the word to the action ; with this special observance, 
 that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature : for any 
 thing 80 overdone is from the purjiose of playing, 
 w hose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, 
 ta hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to shew 
 virtue her own feature, ecorn her own image, and 
 the very age and body of the time, his form and pres- 
 gi!re. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though 
 it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the 
 judicsjas grieve; the censure of which one must, in 
 
 your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. 
 O, there be players, that I have seen play, — and heard 
 others praise, and that highly, — not to speak it pro- 
 fanely, that, neither having the accent of christians, 
 nor the gailt of christian, pagan, nor man, have so 
 strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of 
 nature's journeymen had made men, and not m-:^de 
 them well, they imitated humanity so abominablv. 
 
 1 Play. I hope, we havo reformed that indiflfV re'ntly 
 with us. 
 
 Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, thai 
 play your clowns, speak no more than is set down 
 for them : for there be of them, that will themselves 
 laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to 
 laugh too; though, in the mean time, some necessary 
 question of the play be then to be considered : that's 
 villanous ; and shews a most pitiful ambition in the 
 fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 
 
 [Exeunt players. 
 
 Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guilde>- 
 
 STERN. 
 
 How now, my lord ? will the king hear this piece of 
 work ? 
 
 Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 
 Ham. Bid the players make haste. — 
 
 [Exit Polonius. 
 
 Will you two help to hasten them ? 
 
 Both. Ay, my lord. [Exeunt Ros. and Guild. 
 Ha7n. What, ho ; Horatio ! 
 
 Enter Horatio. 
 Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
 Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 
 Hor. O, my dear lord, — 
 
 Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter : 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee. 
 That no revenue hast, but thv good spirits, 
 To feed, and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be 
 flatter'd ? 
 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; 
 
 Anel crook the {)regnant hinges of the knee. 
 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? 
 
 Since my dear sold was mistress of her choice, 
 
 And could of men distinguish her election. 
 
 She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been 
 
 As one, in suffering all, tliat suffers nottiing: 
 
 A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 
 
 Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are those, 
 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 
 To sound what stop she please : Give me that maO( 
 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 
 In uiy heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
 
 As I do thee. — Something too much of this.— 
 
 There is a play to-night before the king ; 
 
 One scene of it comes near the circumstance, 
 
 Wiiich I have told thee of my father's death. 
 
 1 pr'ythee, when thou seest that act afoot. 
 
 Even with the very comment of thy soul 
 
 Observe my uncle : if his occulted guilt 
 
 Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 
 
 It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
 
 And my imaginations are as foul. 
 
 As Vidcan's stithy. Give him heedful note: 
 
 For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 
 
 And, af ter, we will both our judgments join 
 
 In censure of his seeming. 
 
 Hor. Well, my lord 
 
 If he steal aught, the whilst this play is playing. 
 And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 
 
 Ham. They are coming to the play ; I most b« 
 Get you a place. [idle : 
 
 Danish march. A Flourish. Enter King, Queen, 
 Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildbk- 
 STERN, and others. 
 
 King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? ^ . 
 
 Ham. Excellent, i'faith; of the c^ielion's diih; 
 
756 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act ITI 
 
 I eat the air, promise-crammed: You cannot leed 
 
 capons so. 
 
 King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet ; 
 these words are not mine. 
 
 Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord,— you played 
 ance in the university, you say? {To Polonius.) 
 
 Pol. That did I, ray lord ; and was accounted a 
 good actor. 
 
 Ham. And what did you enact i ,.„,., 
 
 Pol. I did enact Jnlms Ca>sar : I was killed I'the 
 Cajjitol; Brutus killed me. 
 
 Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital 
 a cjiir there.— Be the players ready ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience. 
 
 Qne^n. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 
 
 Ham No, good mother, here's metal more at- 
 
 * VoFb ho ! do you mark that? {To the King.) 
 Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 
 
 {Lying down at Ophelia s feet.) 
 Oph. No, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Do you tliink, I meant country matters f 
 
 Oph. I think nothing, my lord, [legs. 
 
 Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' 
 
 Oph. What is, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Nothing. 
 
 Oph. You are merry, my lord. 
 
 Ham. VVlio. I ? 
 
 OoA. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. O ! your only jig-maker. What should a 
 mail do, but be merry ? for, look vou, how cheer- 
 fully my mother looks, and my lather died within 
 these two hours. 
 
 Oj)h. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 
 Ham. So long ? Nay, then let the devil wear 
 black, for I II have a suit of sables. O heavens! die 
 two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's 
 hope, a great mans memory may outlive his life 
 half a year: But, bv'r-ladv, he must build churches 
 then: or else shall" he suffer not thinking on, with 
 the hobby-horse ; vvhose epitaph is, For, 0, for, 0, 
 the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Trumpets sound. The dumb shew follows. 
 Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly ; the 
 Queen eynbracing him, and he her. She kneels, 
 and mak es shew of protestation tmto him. He 
 takes her up, and declines his head upon her 
 neck: lays him dotvn upon a bank of flowers ; 
 she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes 
 in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and 
 pours poison in the King's ear, and exit. The 
 Queen rettirns ; finds the King dead, and 
 7nakes passionate action. The poisoner, with 
 some tico or three Mutes, comes in again, seem- 
 ing to lament with her. The dead body is car- 
 ried away. The poisoner ivooes the Queen with 
 gifts; she seems loath and unwilling awhile, 
 hut, in the end, accepts his love. [Exeunt. 
 Oph. VV'hat means this, my lord ? 
 Hain. Marry, this is miching mallecb^ it means 
 uiischiff. [the play. 
 
 Oph. Belike, this shew imports the argument of 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the players 
 t anuot keep counsel ; they'll tell all. 
 
 Oph. Will he tell us what this shew meant? 
 Ham. Ay, or any shew that you'll shew him ; 
 Be not you ashamed to shew, he'll not shame to 
 lell you what it means. [the play. 
 
 Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark 
 Pro. For us, and for our tragedy. 
 
 Here stooping to your clemency. 
 We beg your hearing patiently. 
 Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? 
 Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 
 Mam. As woman's love. 
 
 Enter a King one! a Queen. 
 P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart 
 gone round 
 
 Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground ; 
 And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sh^en, 
 About the world have times twelve thirties been ; 
 Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands. 
 Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 
 
 P. Queen. Somany journiesmay thesunandjEltWSa 
 Make us again count o'er, ere love be done 1 
 But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, 
 So far from cheer, and from your former state, 
 That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust. 
 Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
 For women fear too much, even as they love; 
 And women's fear and love hold quantity ; 
 In neither aught, or in extremity. 
 Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know; 
 And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so. 
 Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear: 
 Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. 
 
 P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and 
 shortly too ; 
 
 My operant powers their functions leave to do: 
 And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
 Honour'd, belov'd ; and, haply, one as kind 
 For husband shalt thou — 
 
 P. Queen. O, confound the rest ! 
 
 Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
 In second husband let me be accurst 
 None wed the second, but who kill'd the first 
 
 Ham. That's wormwood. > 
 
 P. Queen. The instances, that second marriage 
 move. 
 
 Are base respects of thrift, but none of love ; 
 A second time I kill my husband dead. 
 When second husband kisses me in bed. 
 P. King. I do believe, you think what now yon 
 
 speak ; 
 
 But, what we do determine, oft we break. 
 Purpose is but the slave to memory : 
 Of violent birth, but poor validity : 
 Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree; 
 But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
 Most necessary 'tis, that we forget 
 To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt: 
 What to ourselvea in passion we propose. 
 The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
 The violence of either grief or joy 
 Their own enactures with themselves destroy : 
 Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; 
 Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
 This world is not for aye ; nor 'tis not strange. 
 That even our loves should with our fortunes Chang's ; 
 For, Itis a question left us yet to prove. 
 Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 
 The great man down, you mark, his favourite flies. 
 The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies. 
 And hitherto doth love on fortune tend : 
 For who not needs, shall never lack a friend; 
 And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 
 Directly seasons him his enemy. 
 But, orderly to end where I begun, 
 Our wills, and fates, do so contrary rua. 
 That our devices still are overthrown; 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of oar own: 
 So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
 But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. 
 P. Queen. Nor earth to give me food, ncr hea\ea 
 light ! 
 
 Sport and repose lock from me, day and night i 
 
 To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
 
 An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
 
 Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, 
 
 Meet what I would have well, and it destroy? 
 
 Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife. 
 
 If, once a widow, ever I be wile ! 
 
 Ham If she should break it now, — {To OpheUa.\ 
 P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave m*. 
 here a while ; 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 767 
 
 My spirits grow dull, and fain 1 would begtiile 1 
 The tedious day with sleep. {Sleeps.) 
 
 P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain ; 
 
 And never come mischance between us twain! [Exit. 
 
 Ham. Madam, how like you this play? 
 
 Queen. The lady doth protest too nuicV methinks. 
 
 Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 
 
 King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no 
 offence in"t? 
 
 Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest ; no 
 ofience i'the world. 
 
 King. What do you call the play ? 
 Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how ? Tropically. 
 This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna : 
 Gouzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista : 
 you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: 
 But what of that ? your majesty, and we that have 
 free souls, it touches us not: Let the galled jade 
 wince, our withers are unwrung. — 
 Enter LuciANUs. 
 This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
 Oph. Yoa are as good as a chorus, my lord. 
 Ham. I could interpret between you and your 
 love, if I could see tiie puppets dallying. 
 Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
 Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off 
 my edge. 
 
 Oph. Still better, and worse. 
 Ham. So you mistake your husbands. — Begin, 
 murderer; — leave thy damnable faees, and begin. 
 Come ; — 
 
 The croaking raven 
 
 Doth bellow for revenge. 
 Luc. Thoughts black , hands apt, drugs fit, and 
 time agreeing; 
 Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
 Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected. 
 With Hecat'8 ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
 Thy natural magic and dire property, 
 Ou wholesome life usurp immediately. 
 
 [Pours the poison into the Sleeper's ears.) 
 Ham. He poisons him i'the garden for his estate. 
 His name's Gonaago ; the story is extant, and 
 written in very choice Italian: You shall see anon, 
 how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
 Oph. The king rises. 
 Hran. What ! frighted with false fire ! 
 Queen. How fares my lord ? 
 Pol. Gixe o'er the play. 
 King. Give me some light: — away! 
 Po/. Lights, lights, lif,hts ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. 
 Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, 
 The hart ungalled play . 
 For some must watcb. wHUti some must sleep ; i 
 Thus runs the world away.— 
 Would not this, sir, and a foresi of feathers, (if the 
 rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two 
 Prove ncia! roses on my razed shoes, get me a fei- 
 >jwship in« cry of players, sir? 
 Hor. Half a share. 
 Ham. A whole one I. 
 
 For thou dost know, O Damon dear, 
 
 This realm dismantled vva)» 
 Of Jove himself; and now reigns hers 
 A very, very — peacock, 
 ifor. You might have rhymed. 
 Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's wofd 
 for a thousand pound. Didst perceive ? 
 Hor. Very well, my lord. 
 Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, — 
 Hor. I did very well note him. 
 Ham. Ah, ha! — Come, some music; come, the 
 recorders. — 
 
 For if the king like not the comedy. 
 Why then, belike, — he likes it not, perdy. 
 Enter ivOSENCRANTZ and Gltidenstern. 
 jJome, some music. 
 
 Guil ^ iood my lor/, vouchsafe ray word with you. 
 
 j^am. Sir, a whole history. 
 Guil. The king, sir, — 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? ' fpered 
 
 Hull. Is, in his retirement, marvellous (iistem 
 
 Gam. With drink, sir? 
 
 Guil. No, my lord, with choler. 
 _ Ham. Your wisdom should shew itself mow 
 richer, to signify this to the doctor; for, ibi me to 
 put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plonge 
 him into more choler. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some 
 frame, and start not so wildly frou) my affair. 
 
 Ham. I an> tame, sir : — pronounce. 
 
 Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great 
 affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 
 
 Ham. You are welcome. 
 
 Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of 
 the right breed. If it shall please you to make me 
 a wholesome answer, 1 will do your mother's com- 
 mandment : if not, your pardon, and my return, shall 
 be the end of my business. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I cannot. 
 
 Guil. What, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit's 
 diseased: But, sir, such answer as 1 can make, you 
 shall command: or, rather, as you say, my motber: 
 therefore no more, but to the matter •. My mother, 
 you say, — 
 
 Ros. Then, thus she says . Your behaviour hath 
 struck her into amazement and admiration. 
 
 Ham. O wonderlul son, that can so astonish a 
 mother ! — But is there no sequel at the heels of this 
 mother's admiration ? impart. 
 
 Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, 
 <?re you go to bed. 
 
 Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our 
 mother. Have you any further trade with us'-* 
 
 Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 
 
 Ha?n. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of dig- 
 temper? you do, surely, but bar the door upon your 
 own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
 
 Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice 
 of the king himself lor your succession in Denmark? 
 
 Ham. Ay,, sir, but. While the grass grows, — the 
 proverb is something musty. 
 
 Enter the Players, with Recordsrs. 
 O, the recorders : — let me see one. — To withdraw 
 with you. — Why do you go about to recover the 
 wind of me, as ii you would drive me into a <oil ? 
 
 Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my 
 love is too unmannerly. 
 
 Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you 
 play upon ti)is pipe ? 
 
 Guil. My lord, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I pray you. 
 
 Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I do beseech you. 
 
 Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 
 
 Ha7n. 'Tis as easy as lying : govern these ven- 
 tages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath 
 with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent 
 music. Look you, these are the stops. 
 
 Guil. But these cannot I command to any utter- 
 ance of harmony ; I have not the skill. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a 
 thing you make of me. You would play upon me ; 
 you would seem to know my stops; you would 
 pluck outUhe heart of my rnystery ; you would 
 sound me from my lowest liole to the top of ray 
 compass : and there is much music, exceUent voice, 
 in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 
 'Sblood, do you' think, I am easier to be played ou 
 than a pipe ? Call me what instrument you will 
 though you can fret me, you cannot play upOH tne. 
 
 Enter PoLONIUS. 
 God bless you, sir 1 
 
758 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Aci III 
 
 Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, 
 and presently. 
 
 Ham. Do you ee yonder cloud , that's almost in 
 sliape of a camel ? 
 
 Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. 
 
 Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 
 
 Pol. ft is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Ham. Or, like a whale ? 
 
 Pol.' Very like a whale. 
 
 Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by. 
 —The y fool me to the top of my bent. — I will come 
 by and by. 
 
 Pol. I will say so. _ [Exit Polonius. 
 
 Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me, 
 friends. [Exeunt Ros. Guil. Hor. §^c, 
 
 Tis now the very witching time of night ; 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes 
 out [blood, 
 Contagion to this world : Now could i drink hot 
 And do such business as the bitter day 
 Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mo- 
 ther.— 
 
 O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
 
 The soul of Nero enter this tirm bosom : 
 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural ; 
 
 J will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
 
 My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites : 
 
 How iu my words soever she be shent. 
 
 To give them seals, never, my soul, consent! 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 ScF.NE III. — A Room in the same. 
 Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 
 
 King. I like him not ; nor stands it safe with us. 
 To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you ; 
 I your commission will forthwith despatch, 
 And he to England shall along with you: 
 The terras of our estate may not endure 
 Hasard so near us, as doth hourly grow 
 Out of his lunes, 
 
 Guil. We will ourselves provide : 
 
 Most holy and religious fear it is. 
 To keep those many many bodies safe, 
 That live, and feed, upon your majesty. 
 
 Ros. The single and pecuhar life is bound. 
 With all the strength and armour of the mind. 
 To keep itself from 'noyance ; but much more 
 That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest 
 The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
 Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
 What s near it, with it : it is a massy wheel, 
 Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
 To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
 Are niortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls. 
 Each small annexment, petty consequence. 
 Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone 
 Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 
 
 King. Arm you, I pray you, to tliis speedy voyage ; 
 For we will fetters put upon this fear, 
 Which now goes too free-footed. 
 
 Ros. Guil. We will haste us. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: 
 Behind the arras I'll convey myself, 
 To hear the process; I'll warrant, she'll tax him 
 home : 
 
 And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
 'Tis meet, that some more audience, than a mother, 
 Since nature makes them partial, should o'er-hear 
 The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
 1 11 call upon you ere you go to bed. 
 And tell you what I know. 
 King. Thanks, dear my lord. 
 
 [Exit Polonius. 
 O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
 It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, 
 A brother's n)urder ! — Pray can 1 not, 
 i ttough inclination be as sharp as will; 
 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
 Were tliicker than itself with brother's blood? 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavenB, 
 To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves vuemf. 
 But to confront the visage of offence ? 
 And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,— 
 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 
 Orpardon'd, being down? Tlien I'll look up; 
 1 My fault is past. But O, what form of nrayer 
 I Can serve ray turn? Forgive me my foul murder!-* 
 i That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
 i Of those effects for which I did the murder ? 
 { My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 ■ May one be pardon'd, and retain the olfence ? 
 ^ In the corrupted currents of this world. 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; 
 And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law : But 'tis not so above : 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd. 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 To g'ive in evidence. What then ? what rests ? 
 Try what repentance can : What can it not ? 
 Yet what can it, when one can not repent? 
 O wretched state ! O bosom, black as death 1 
 O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 
 1 Art more engag'd ! Help, angels, make assay ! 
 j Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart, with strings of 
 I steel, 
 
 j Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! — 
 1 All may be well ! {Retires,, and kneels.) 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying; 
 And now I'll do't ; — and so he goes to heaven : 
 And so am I reveng'd? That would be scannd: 
 A villain kills my father; and, for that, 
 I, his sole son, ao this same villain send 
 To heaven. 
 
 Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
 He took my father grossly, full of bread ; 
 With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May : 
 And, how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven r 
 But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 
 'Tis heavy with him : And am I then reveng'd, 
 To take him in the purging of his soul, 
 When he is fit and season'd for his passage ? 
 No. 
 
 Up, sword ; and know thou a more hoTid hent: 
 When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage; 
 Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed ; 
 At gaming, swearing ; or about some act 
 That has no relish of salvation in't: 
 Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven: 
 And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black. 
 As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays: 
 This physic but prolongs thy sickly day% [Esit, 
 
 The King rises, and advancet. 
 
 King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain 
 below: 
 
 Words, without thought, never to heaven go. [Exit, 
 Scene IV. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Queen and Polonius. 
 Pol. He will come straight. Look you, lay home 
 to him ; 
 
 Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear 
 with : [tweea 
 And that your grace hath screen'd and stood be- 
 Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him.' 
 
 Queen. I'll warrant yon; 
 
 Fear me not ; — withdraw, I hear him coming. 
 
 ( Polonius hides himȤlf^ 
 
BCENE 3. 
 
 Enttr Hamlet. 
 
 /lam. Now. mother ; what's the matter ? 
 Queen, Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of- 
 fended. 
 
 Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 
 twngue. 
 
 Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? 
 
 Ha7n. What's the matter now ? 
 
 Qjieen. Have you forgot me ? 
 
 Ham. No, by the rood, not so : 
 
 V on are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
 A.nd, — 'would it were not sol — you are my mother. 
 
 Queen. Nay, then I'ii set those to you that can 
 speaL [not budge ; 
 
 Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall 
 You go not, till I set you up a glass. 
 Where you may see the inmost part of you. 
 
 Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder 
 Help, help, ho! [me? 
 
 Pol. [Behind.) What ho! help! 
 
 Ham. How now ! a rat? [Draws.) 
 
 Dead, for a ducat, dead. 
 
 [Hamlet makes a pass throtigh the Arras:\ 
 
 Pol. {Behind.) O, I am slain. [Falls and dies.) | 
 
 Queen. O me, what hast thou d^ne ? I 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not : 
 
 [s it the king? 
 [Lifts up the Arras, and draws forth Polonius.) 
 
 Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 
 
 Ha7n. A bloody deed; — almost as bad, good 
 mother. 
 
 As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
 Queen. As kill a king ! 
 
 Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — 
 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
 
 [To Polonius.) 
 I took thee for thy better ; take thy fortune: 
 'I'hou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger.— 
 lieave wringing o^ your hands : Peace ; sit you 
 down, 
 
 And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff ; 
 If damned custom hath not braz'd it so. 
 That it be proof and bulwark against sense. 
 
 Queen. What have I dune, that thou dar'st wag 
 thy tongue 
 In noise so rude against me? 
 
 Ham. Such an act. 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; 
 Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forel'iead of an innocent love, 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
 As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 The very soul ; and sweet religidn makes 
 A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow; 
 Vea, this solidity and compound n«ass. 
 With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me, what act, 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 
 
 Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; 
 The counterfeit presentment ot two brothers. 
 See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
 Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
 A station like the herald Mercury, 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; 
 A combination, and a form, indeed,^ 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 To give the world assurance of a man: [follows. 
 This was your husband. — Look you now what 
 Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear. 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
 And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? 
 Vou canDot caii it, love : for at your age. 
 
 759 
 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble. 
 And waits upon the judgment ; and what judgmeut 
 Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have, 
 Else could you not have motion : But, sure, that seoa* 
 Is apoplex'd : for madnv.'ss would not err; 
 Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd. 
 But it reserv'd some quantity of choice. 
 To serve in such a difference. What dev'I was'i 
 That thus hath cozen'd you at hood man-blind? 
 Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 
 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, 
 Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
 Could not so mope. 
 
 O shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious hell. 
 
 If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones. 
 
 To tlaming youth let virtue be as wax. 
 
 And melt in her own fire ; proclaim no shame. 
 
 When the compulsive ardour gives the charge; 
 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn 
 
 And reason panders will. 
 
 Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more : 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots. 
 As will not leave their tinct. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed ; 
 Stew'd in corruption ; honeying, and making love 
 Over the nasty stye ; — 
 
 Queen. O, speak to me no more ; 
 
 These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
 No more, sweet Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. A murderer, and a villain; 
 
 A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe 
 Of your precedent lord : — a vice of kings : 
 A cutpurse of the empire and the rule; 
 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
 And put it in his pocket I 
 
 Queen. No more. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Ham. A king; 
 
 Of shreds and patches :— 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
 You heavenly guards! — What would your gracioua 
 figure ? 
 
 Queen. Alas ! he's mad. 
 
 Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
 That, laps'd in time and passion, let's go by 
 The important acting of your dread command? 
 O, say f 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation 
 Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 Bui, look ! amazement on thy mother sits: 
 O, step between her hnd her fighting soul ; 
 Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works ; 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 
 
 Queen. Alas, how is't with you ? 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy. 
 And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? 
 Forth at your eyes' your spirits wildly peep ; 
 And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm. 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
 Starts up, and stands on end, O gentle son, 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ] 
 
 Ham. On him I on him ! — Look you, how pale 
 he glares I 
 
 His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stoneai 
 
 Would m;ike them capable. — Do not look upon met 
 
 Lest with this piteous action, you convert 
 
 My stern eftects : then what I have to do 
 
 Will want true colour ; tears, perchance, for bloo<L 
 
 Queen. To whom do you t>peak this ? 
 
 Ham. Do you see nothing there? 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I see. 
 
 Ham. Nor did you nothmg hear? 
 
 Queen. No, nothmg, but ourselves. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you there ! look* how it steala 
 awayi 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
HAMLET. 
 
 Ac- TY 
 
 My father, in his habit as he liv'd ; 
 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 
 
 [Exit Ghost. 
 
 Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstasy ! 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time. 
 And makes as healthful music : It is not madness. 
 That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, 
 And I the matter will re- word ; which madness 
 VV ;uld gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 1'hat not your trespass, but my madness, speaks: 
 It wilt but skin and fihn the ulcerous place ; 
 Whiles rank corruption, mining all within. 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
 Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; 
 And do not spread the compost on the weeds. 
 To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue : 
 For in the fatness of these pursy times. 
 Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg; 
 Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. 
 
 Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft ray heart in 
 twain. 
 
 Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, 
 And live the purer with the other half. 
 Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed ; 
 Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
 That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat 
 Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this; 
 That to the use of actions fair and good 
 Ke likewise gives a frock, or livery, 
 Tliat aptly is put on: Reirain to-night: 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence : the next more easy : 
 For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
 And either cuib the devil, or throw him out 
 With wondrous potency. Once more, good night; 
 And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
 I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 
 
 {Pointing to Polonius.) 
 I do repent : But heaven hath pleas'd it so, — 
 To punish me with this, and this with me, 
 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
 I wi 1 bestow him, and will answer well 
 The death I gave him. So, again, good night! — 
 I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
 Tluis bad begins, and worse remains behind. — 
 But one word more, good lady. 
 
 Queen. ^ What shalll do ? 
 
 Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do : 
 Let tlie bloat king tempt you again to bed : 
 Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you, his mouse ; 
 And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, 
 Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers. 
 Make you to ravel all this matter out, 
 That I essentially am not in madness. 
 But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know : 
 For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, 
 Would from a i addock, from a bat, a gib, 
 Such dear concernings hide? who would do so? 
 No, in despite of sense and secrecy. 
 Unpeg the basket on the house's top, 
 Let the birds (ly ; and, like the famous ape, 
 To try conclusions, in the basket creep. 
 And break your own neck down. [breath, 
 
 Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of 
 And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
 What thou hast said to me. 
 
 Ham. I must to England ; you know that ? 
 
 Queen. Alack, 
 I had forgot ; 'tis so concluded on. 
 
 Ham. There's letters seal'd : and my two school- 
 fellows, — 
 
 VV^hom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd, — 
 
 They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my way. 
 
 And marshal me to knavery ; Let it work; 
 
 For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer 
 
 Hoist with his own petar : and it shall go hard, 
 
 But I will delve one yard below tlieir mines. 
 And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most swee^ 
 When in one line two crafts directly meet. — 
 This man shall set me packing. 
 I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room : 
 Mother, good night. — Indeed, this counsellor 
 Is now most still, most secret, and most grav». 
 Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
 Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you: 
 Good night, mother. 
 
 [Exeunt severally; Hamlet dragging JR 
 Polonius. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I.— The same. 
 Enter King, Queen., Rosencrantz, and 
 
 GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 King. There's matter in these sighs; these pm 
 found heaves 
 You must translate ; 'tis fit we understand them : 
 Where is your son ? 
 
 Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while.— 
 ( To Rosencrantz and Guildemtern, who go out,) 
 Ah, my good lord, what hav e I seen to-night ! 
 
 King. \Vhnt, Gertrude ? How does Hamlet ? 
 
 Queen. Mad as the sea, and wind, when both cob 
 tend 
 
 Which is the mightier : In his lawless fit. 
 Behind the anas hearing somethinjj stir. 
 Whips out his rapier, cries, A rat! a rati 
 And, in thin brainish apprehension, kills 
 The imseen good old man. 
 
 King. O heavy deed ! 
 
 It had been so with us, had we been there : 
 His liberty is full of threats to all ; 
 To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
 Alas ! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd ? 
 R will be laid to us, whose providence 
 Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt. 
 This mad young man ; but, so much was our love, 
 We would' not understand what was most fit; 
 But, like the owner of a foul disease, 
 To keep it from divulging, let it feed, 
 Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? 
 
 Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kiU'd : 
 O'er whom his very madne.ss, like some ore, 
 Among a mineral of metals base, 
 Shews itself pure ; he weeps for what is done 
 
 King. O, Gertrude, come away! 
 The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
 But we will ship him hence : and this \iie deed 
 We must, with all our majesty and skill, 
 Both countenance and excuse. — Ho; CJuildenstevn! 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz and Guilden stern. 
 
 Friends both, go join you with some further aid ; 
 Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain. 
 And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him • 
 Go, seek him out ; speak fair, and bring the body 
 Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 
 
 {Exeunt Ros. and QuU, 
 Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends; 
 And let them know, both wliat we mean to do, 
 And what's untimely done: so, haply, slander — 
 Whose whisper o'er the world s diameter. 
 As level as the cannon to his blank, 
 Transports his poison'd shot, — may miss our natiMj, 
 And hit the vronndless air. — O come away ! 
 My soul is full of discord, and dismay. {ExetmL 
 
 Scene II. — AnotherRoom in the House. 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 Ham. Safely stow'd, — [Ros. ^c. within. Ham- 
 let ! lord Hamlet!) But soit,— what noise? wha 
 calls on H.imlet? O, here they come. 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz and Guildens teriw. 
 
 Ros. What have you done, my \ordj with thfl 
 dead body ? 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 7C1 
 
 jSam. Corapounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. 
 Ros. Tell us where 'tis ; that we may take it thence, 
 Ajid bear it to the chapel. 
 Ham. Do not believe it. 
 Itos. Believe what? 
 
 Hatn. Tiiat I can keep your counsel, and not 
 piine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge ! 
 r- what replication should be made by the son of a 
 king: ? 
 
 Mos. Take you me for a sponge my lord ? 
 . Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's counte- 
 nance, his rewards, ills authorities. But such olB- 
 cers do the king best service in the end : He keeps 
 them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw ; first 
 mouthed, to be last swallowed : When he needs 
 what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, 
 spong-e, you shall be dry again. 
 
 Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 
 
 Hatn. I am glad of it: A knavish speech sleeps 
 in a foolish ear. 
 
 Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body 
 is, and go with us to the king. 
 
 Ham. The body is with the king, but the king is 
 not with tlie body. The king is a thing — 
 
 Gull. A thing, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide fox, 
 and all after. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene HI. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter King, attended. 
 
 King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the 
 body. 
 
 How dangerous is it, that this man goes loose ? 
 Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
 He's lov'd of the distracted multitude, 
 Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes ; 
 And, where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is weigh'd, 
 But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, 
 This sudden sending him away must seem 
 Deliberate pause : Diseases, desperate grown. 
 By desperate appliance are reliev'd, 
 
 Enter Rosen crantz. 
 
 Or not at all. — How now ? what hath befallen ? 
 
 Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lords. 
 We cannot get from him. 
 
 King. But where is he ? 
 
 Ros. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know your 
 pleasure. 
 
 King. Bring him before us. 
 
 Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. 
 
 King. Now, Hamlet, where*s Polonius? 
 
 Ham. At supper. 
 
 King. At supper ? where ? 
 
 Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten ; 
 a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at 
 him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet : 
 we fat all creatures else, to fat us ; and we fat our- 
 selves for maggots : Your fat king, and your lean 
 beggar, is but variable service ; two dishes, but to 
 one table ; that's the end. 
 
 King. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath 
 eat of a king; and eat of the fish that hath fed of 
 that worm. 
 
 Ki7ig. What dost thou mean by this ? 
 
 Ha7n. Nothing, but to shew you how a king may 
 go a progress tlirou^h the guts of a beggar. 
 
 King. Where is Polonius ? 
 
 Ham. In heaven; send thither to see : if your 
 messenger find him not there, seek him i'the other 
 place yourself But, indeed, if you find him not 
 within tiiis month, you shall nose him as you go up 
 the stairsi into the lobby. 
 
 King. Go se^k him tliere. {To some Attendants.) 
 
 Ham He will stay till you come. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine ei?pecial 
 safety, — 
 
 Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
 
 For that which thou hast done, — must send the-.e hence 
 
 With fiery quickness : Therefore, prepare thyself; 
 
 The bark is ready, and the wind at help, 
 
 I'he associates tend, and every thing is rent 
 
 For England. 
 
 Ham. For England ? 
 
 King. Ay, Hamlet 
 
 Ham. Good 
 
 King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 
 
 Ham. I see a cherub, that sees them. — But, come ; 
 for England ! — Farewell, dear mother. 
 
 King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. My mother; Father and mother ia maa 
 and wife; man and wife is one flesh; an^ so, my 
 mother. Come, for England. [Exit. 
 
 King. Follow him at foot ; tempt him with speed 
 aboard ; 
 
 Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night : 
 
 Away : for every thing is seal'd and done 
 
 That else leans on the afiair: Pray you, make haste. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. 
 And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught, 
 (As my great power thereof may give thee secse ; 
 csince yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
 After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
 Pays homage to us,) thou may'st not coldly set 
 Our sovereign process; which imports at full. 
 By letters conjuring to that effect, 
 The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England ; 
 For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
 And thou must cure me : Till I know 'tis done, 
 Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin. [Exit, 
 
 Scene IV. — A Plain in Demnark. 
 Enter Fortinbras, a7td Forces, marching. 
 For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king ; 
 Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras 
 Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march 
 Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
 If that his majesty would aught with us. 
 We shall express our duty in his eye. 
 And let him know so. 
 
 Cap. I will do'tj my lord. 
 
 For. Go softly on. 
 
 [Exeunt Fortinbras and Forceg* 
 
 Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, 
 Guildenstern, ^c. 
 
 Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these ? 
 
 Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 
 
 Ham. How purpos'd, sir, 
 
 I pray you ? 
 
 Cap. Against some part of Poland. 
 
 Ham. Who 
 Commands them, sir ? 
 
 Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortiubras. 
 
 Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir. 
 Or for some frontier ? _ 
 
 Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no additio 
 We go to gain a little patch of ground. 
 That hath in it no profit but the name. 
 To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; 
 Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, 
 A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 
 
 Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. 
 
 Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd. [ducats. 
 
 Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousana 
 Will not debate the question of this straw: 
 This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace; 
 That inward breaks, and shews no cause withoot 
 Why the man dies.— I humbly thank you, sir. 
 
 Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [Exii. 
 
 Ros. Wiirt please yoi) go, my lord? 
 
 Ham. I will be with you straig/it. Go a little 
 before. [Exeunt Ros. and GutL 
 
 How all occasions do inform against me. 
 And spur ray dull revenge ! What is a maia# 
 
T62 
 
 If his ch'ef good, and market of his time, 
 Be but to sleep, and feed ? a beast, no more. 
 Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse, 
 Looking b«'fore, and after, gave us not 
 That capaljility and godlike reason 
 To fust in us unus'd. Now, vvhether it be 
 Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 
 Of thinking too precisely on the event, — 
 A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part 
 wisdom, 
 
 And, ever, three parts coward, — I do not know 
 
 Why yet 1 live to say, This thing's to do; 
 
 Sith 1 have cause, and will, and strength, and means. 
 
 To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me : 
 
 Witness, this army of such mass, and charge. 
 
 Led by a delicate and tender prince; 
 
 Whose spirit, with divine ambition puflF'd, 
 
 Makes months at the invisible event; 
 
 Exposing what is mortal, and unsure. 
 
 To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, 
 
 Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, 
 
 I^, not to stir without great argument; 
 
 But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 
 
 vVhen honour s at the stake. How stand I then. 
 
 That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, 
 
 Excitements of my reason, and my blood. 
 
 And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see 
 
 The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 
 
 That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, 
 
 Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot 
 
 Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause. 
 
 Which is not tomb enough, and continent. 
 
 To hide the slain ? — 0, trom this time forth. 
 
 My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! [Exit. 
 
 Scene V. — Elsinore. A Boom in the Castle. 
 Enter Queen and HoRATlO. 
 
 Quee7t. — I will not speak with her. 
 
 Hoi: She is importunate; indeed, distract; 
 iler mood will needs be pitied. 
 
 Queen. What would she have ? 
 
 Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she 
 hears, [heart ; 
 
 There's tricks i'the world ; and hems, and beats her 
 Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in doubt, 
 That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing. 
 Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
 The hearers to collection ; they aim at it. 
 And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ; 
 Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield 
 them. 
 
 Indeed would make one think, there might be 
 thought. 
 
 Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
 
 Queen. 'Twere good she were spoken with ; for 
 she may strew 
 Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds ; 
 Let her come in. [Exit Horatio. 
 
 To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
 Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss: 
 So full of artless jealousy is guilt. 
 It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 
 
 Re-enter Horatio, with Ophelia. 
 Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Den- 
 Queen. How now, Ophelia ? [mark? 
 Oph. Hoiv should I your true love know [Sings.) 
 From another one ? 
 By his cockle hat and staff, 
 And his sandal shoonl 
 Queen. Ala\i, sweet lady, what imports this song ? 
 Opk. Say you 'i* nay, pray you, mark. 
 
 He 7 f dead and gone, lady, (Sings.) 
 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 At his head a grass-green turf, 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 0,ho! 
 
 Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, — 
 
 Oph. Pra^ you, mark. 
 
 While his shroud as the mountain snow, {Sinqs.) 
 
 Act it, 
 
 Enter King, 
 Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
 Oph. Larded all with s weet Jiowers ; 
 Which bewept to the grave did go. 
 With true love showers. 
 King. How do you, pretty lady? 
 Oph. VVell, God'ield you! They say, the 
 was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we 
 are, but know not what we may be. God be al 
 your table ! 
 
 King. Conceit upon her father. 
 Oph. Piay, let us have no words of this ; but 
 when they ask you what it means, say yon this : 
 
 Good morrow^ 'tis Saint Valentine's day, 
 
 All in the morning betime, 
 And I a maid at your window 
 
 To be your Valentine : 
 Then up he rose., and don'd his clothes, 
 
 And dupp'd the chamber door : 
 Let in the maid, that out a maid 
 t^ever departed more. 
 King. Pretty Ophelia ! [on't : 
 
 Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end 
 By Gis, and by saint Charity, 
 
 A lack, and Jy for shame I 
 Young men ivill do't, if they come td't ; 
 
 By cock, they are to blame. 
 Quoth she, before you tumbled me, 
 You promts' d me to wed: 
 (He answers,) 
 So ivould I ha' done, by yonder sun, 
 An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
 King. How long hath sh<^ been thus ? 
 Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa- 
 tient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they 
 should lay him i'the cold ground: My brottier shall 
 know of it, and so I thank you for your good coun- 
 sel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies: good 
 night, sweet ladies ; good night, good night. {Exit. 
 King. Follow her close; give her good watch, 1 
 pray you. {Ekit Horatio. 
 
 O ! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
 All from her father's death : And now behold, 
 O Gertrude, Gertrude, 
 
 When sorrows come^ they come not single spies. 
 But in battalions ! First, her father slain; 
 Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author 
 Of his own just remove : The people muddied, 
 Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 
 whispers, (greenly, 
 For good Polonius' death ; and we have done bul 
 In hugger-mugger to inter him : Poor Ophelia 
 Divided from herself, and her fair judgment : 
 Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts. 
 Last, and as much containing as all these. 
 Her brother is in secret come from France; 
 Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds. 
 And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
 With pestilent speeches of his father's death; 
 Wherein necessity, of matter beggar d, 
 Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
 In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this. 
 Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
 Gives me superfluous death. \A noise within.) 
 
 Queen. Alack ! what noise is this ? 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. Attend : 
 Where are my Switzers ? Let them guard the door : 
 What is the maiker ? 
 
 Gent. Save yourself, my lord ; 
 
 The ocean, overpeering of his list, 
 Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste. 
 Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
 O'erbears your officers ! The rabble call him, lord ; 
 And. as the world were now but to begin. 
 Antiquity forgot, custom not known, 
 The ratifiers and props of every word. 
 They cry, Choose we ; Laertes shall be king \ 
 Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the cloudj). 
 
 IIAMLET, 
 
Scene (5. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENjVIARK. 
 
 761 
 
 haertes shall he hing^ Laertes king 
 
 Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry ! 
 O, this is counter, you lalse Danish dogs. 
 
 King. The doors are broke. {Noise within.) 
 
 Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. 
 . Laer. Whei e is this king ? — Sirs, stand you all 
 
 Van. No, let's come in. _ [without. 
 
 ^ Laer. I pray you, give n»e leave, 
 
 f Dan. We will, we will. 
 
 {They retire without the door.) 
 
 Laer. 1 thank you : — keep the door. — O thou vile 
 Give me my father. [king, 
 
 Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 
 
 Laer. That drop of blood, that's calm, proclaims 
 me bastard ; 
 Cries, cuckold, to my father ; brands the harlot 
 Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow 
 Of my true mother. 
 
 King. What is the cause, Laertes, 
 
 That thy rebellion looks so giant- like? — 
 Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person ^ 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
 That treason can but peep to what it would, 
 ^Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes, 
 Why thou art thus incens'd? — Let him go, Ger- 
 Speak, man. [trude •— 
 
 Laer. Where is ray father ? 
 
 King. Dead. 
 
 Queen. But not by him. 
 
 King. Let him demand his fill. [with : 
 
 Laer. How came he dead ? I'll not be juggled 
 To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil ! 
 Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
 I dare damnation : To this point I stand, — 
 That both the worlds I give to negligence. 
 Let come what comes ; only I'll be reveng'd 
 Most throughly for my father. 
 
 King. Who shall stay you ? 
 
 Laer. My will, not all the world's : 
 And, for my means, I'll husband them so well 
 They shall go far with little. 
 
 King. Good Laertes, 
 
 If you desire to know the certainty 
 Of your dear father's death, it's writ in your revenge. 
 That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, 
 Winner and loser ? 
 
 Laer. None but his enemies. 
 
 King. Will you know them then ? 
 
 Laer. To his 'good friends thus wide I'll ope niy 
 arms ; 
 
 And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican. 
 Repast them with my blood. 
 
 King. Why, now you speak 
 
 Like a good child, and a true gentleman. 
 That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
 And am most sensibly in grief for it, 
 It shall as level to your judgment 'pear. 
 As day does to your eye. 
 
 Danes. {Within.) Let her come in. 
 
 Laer. How now ! what noise is that ? 
 
 Enter OviiEiAX, fantastically dressed with straws 
 
 and flowers. 
 O heat, dry up my brains ! tears, seven times salt, 
 Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! — 
 By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight 
 Till our scale turn the bea'm. O rose of May 1 
 r)ear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! — 
 O heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
 Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
 Nature is fine in love : and, where 'tis fine, 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Oph. They bore him barefaced on the bier ; 
 
 Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny : 
 And in his grave rain'd many a tear ;— 
 Fare you well, my dove ! [revenge, 
 
 Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, aad didst persuade 
 It could not move thus. 
 
 Oph. Yon must sing, Dotvn a-down, nn ym call 
 him a-down a. O, how the wheel becomes it! 14 
 is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
 Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
 Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance 
 pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, 
 that's for thoughts. 
 
 Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and 
 remembrance fitted. 
 
 Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines i 
 there's rue for you ; and here's some for me : — wa 
 may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays : — you ma 
 wear your rue with a diflerence. — There's a dais 
 — I would give you some violets ; but they wither 
 all, when my father died : They say, he made 
 good end, — 
 
 For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy, (Sings.) 
 Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itscJf, 
 She turns to favour, and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. And will he not come again? {Singt ) 
 And will he not come again ? 
 No, no, he is dead, 
 Go to thy death- bed. 
 He never will come again. 
 
 His beard ivos as white as snow. 
 All flaxen was his poll : 
 He is gone, he is gone, 
 And we cast away moan ; 
 God 'a mercy on his soul ! 
 And of all christian souls! I pray God. God l» 
 wi' you ! [Exit Ophelia, 
 
 Laer. Do you see this, O God ! 
 King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief. 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
 Make choice of whom your wisest iriends you will. 
 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and naes 
 If by direct or by collateral hand 
 They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
 Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours. 
 To you in satisfaction ; but, if not. 
 Be you contwit to lend your patience to-us. 
 And we shall jointly labour with your soul. 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Laer. Let this be so; 
 
 His means of death, his obscure funeral, — 
 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his boneSy 
 No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, — 
 Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth. 
 That I must call't in question. 
 
 King. So you shall ; 
 
 And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
 I pray you, go with me. » [Exeufd, 
 
 Scene VI. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Horatio, and a Servant. 
 Hor. What are they, that would speak with me ? 
 Serv. Sailors, sir ; 
 
 They say, they have letters for you. 
 Hor. Let them come in. 
 
 [Exit Servant, 
 I do not know from what part of the world 
 I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. 
 
 Enter Sailors, 
 
 1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Let him bless thee too. 
 
 1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a 
 letter for you, sir; it comes from the ambassador 
 that was bound for England ; if your name be Ho- 
 ratio, as I am let to know it is. 
 
 Hor. {Reads.) Horatio, when thou shalt have 
 overlooked this, give these fellows some means to 
 the king ; they have letters for him. Ere we were 
 two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike ap- 
 pointment gave us chase : Finding ourselves too 
 slow of sail, we put on a comjpelled valour ; and 
 in the grapple I boarded them : on the instant, the^ 
 gut clear of our ship ; so I alone became their prt' 
 soner. They have dealt ici^h me like thieves of 
 mercy ; but they knew what they did; J am to do 
 
T64 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act 1Y; 
 
 a good turn for ihem. Let the Icing have the letters 
 I nave sent; and repair thou to me with as much 
 haste as thou would'st tiy death. I have words to 
 speak in thine ear, will make thee dumb ; yet are 
 they much too light for the bore of the matter. 
 These good fellows will bring thee where I am. 
 Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course 
 for England; of thetn I have much to tell thee. 
 Farewell. 
 
 He that thou knoivest thine, Hamlet. 
 Come, I will give you way for these your letters ; 
 And do't the speedier, that you may direct me 
 To him, from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter King and Laertes. 
 King. Now must your conscience my acqurt- 
 tance seal, 
 
 And you must put me in your heart for friend ; 
 Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear. 
 That he, which hath your noble father slain, 
 Pursa'd my life. 
 
 Laer. It well appears : — But tell me, 
 
 Why you proceeded not against these feats. 
 So crimeful and so capital in nature, 
 As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things 
 You mainly were stirr'd up. [else. 
 
 King. O, for two special reasons ; 
 
 Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, 
 But yet to me they are strong. The queen, his 
 mother, 
 
 Lives almost by his looks; and for myself, 
 (My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,) 
 She is so conjunctive to my life and soul, 
 That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
 I could not but by her. The other motive. 
 Why to a public count I might not go, 
 is, the great love the general gender bear him : 
 Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, 
 Work like the spring tliat turneth wood to stone, 
 Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows. 
 Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind. 
 Would have reverted to my bow again, 
 And not where I had aim'd tiiem. 
 
 Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; 
 A sister driven into desperate terms; 
 Whose worth, if praises may go back again. 
 Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
 For her perfections : But my revenge will come. 
 
 King. Break not your sleeps for that : you must 
 not think, 
 
 That we are made of stuff so flat and dull. 
 That we can let our beard be shook with danger, 
 And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more : 
 I loved your father, and we love oorself j 
 And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, — 
 How now? what news ? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Letters, tny lord, from Hamlet: 
 
 This to your majesty; this to the queen. 
 
 King. From Hauilet ! Who brought them ? 
 
 Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say : I saw them not ; 
 They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them 
 Of fiiui that brought them. 
 
 tiing. Laertes, you shall hear them : 
 
 Leave us. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 [Reads ) High and mighty , you shall know, I am 
 set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall 
 I beg leave to see your kingly eyes : when I shall, 
 first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the 
 occasion of my suadt n and more strange return. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 What should this mean ? Are all the rest come 
 back ? 
 
 Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ? 
 jLaer. Know you the hand ? 
 
 Ring. 'Tis Hamlet's character. Naked, — 
 
 And, in a postscript here, he says, alone : 
 Cau ytm advise me ? 
 
 Laer. T am lost in it, my lord. But let hka COttMy 
 
 It warms the very sickness in my heart, 
 That I shall live and tell him to his teeth. 
 Thus diddest thou. 
 
 King. If it be so, Laertes, 
 
 As how should it be so? how otherwise ?— 
 Will you be rul'd by me ? 
 
 Laer. Ay, my lord; 
 
 So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. 
 
 King. To thine own peace. If he be now re- 
 turn 'd, — 
 
 As checking at his voyage, and that he raeana 
 No more to undertake it, — I will work hira 
 To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 
 Under the which he shall not choose hut fall : 
 And for his death no wind of blame shall broathe; 
 But even his mother shall uncharge the practice. 
 And call it, accident. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd. 
 
 The rather, if you could devise it so, 
 That I might be the organ. 
 
 King. It falls right 
 
 You have been talk'd of since your travel much. 
 And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
 Wherein, they say, yoa shine : your sum of parts 
 Did not together pluck such envy from hira, 
 As did that one ; and that, in my regard. 
 Of the unworthiest siege. 
 
 Laer. Wliat part is that, my lord ? 
 
 King. A very ribband in the ciip of youth, 
 Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
 The light and careless livery that it wears, 
 Than settled age his sables, and his weeds. 
 Importing health and graveness. — Two moutha 
 since. 
 
 Here was a gentleman of Normandy, — 
 
 I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, 
 
 And they can well on horseback : but tiiis gallant 
 
 Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat ; 
 
 And to such wond'rous doing brouglit his horse, 
 
 As he had been incorps'd and detni-natur'd 
 
 With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my thought, 
 
 That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 
 
 Come short oif what he did. 
 
 Laer, A Norman, was't? 
 
 King. A Norman. 
 
 Laer. Upon my life, Lamord. 
 
 King. The very same. 
 
 Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch, io- 
 And gem of all the nation. [deed, 
 
 King. He made confession of you ; 
 And gave you such a masterly report. 
 For art and exercise in your defence. 
 And for your rapier most especial, 
 That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed. 
 If one could match you : the scrimers of theii 
 nation. 
 
 He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye. 
 If you oppos d them : Sir, this report of his 
 Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, 
 Tliat he could nothing do, but wish and beg 
 Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. 
 Now, out of this, — 
 
 Laer. What out of this, my lord? 
 
 King. Laertes, was your father dear to you 
 Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
 A face without a heart ? 
 
 Laer. Why ask you this ? 
 
 King. Not that I thiak, you did not love yoM 
 father; 
 
 But that 1 know, love is begun by time ; 
 
 And that I see, in passages of proof, 
 Time qualities the spark and fire of it. 
 There lives within the very flame of love 
 A kind of wick, or snufl', that will abate ii; 
 And nothing is at a like goodness stills 
 For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, 
 Dies in his own too much: That we would do. 
 We should do when we woul-. ' ; for this would 
 changes. 
 
Act y. Scene 1. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 765 
 
 And hath a atements and delays as many, 
 
 As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ; 
 
 And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh, 
 
 That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o'the ulcer : 
 
 Hamlet conies back; What would you undertake, 
 
 To shew yourself indeed your fathers' son 
 
 More than in words ? 
 
 haer. To cut his throat i'the church. 
 
 Kimj. No place, indeed, should murder sanc- 
 tnarize ; 
 
 Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, 
 VV^ill you do this, keep close within your chamber: 
 Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home : 
 We'll ()ut on those shall praise your excellence. 
 And set a double varnish on the fame 
 Tiie Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, to- 
 gether. 
 
 And wager o'er your heads : he, being remiss, 
 Most generous, and free from all contriving, 
 "^A^ill not peruse the foils; so that, with ease. 
 Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
 A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice. 
 Requite him for your father. 
 
 Laer. I will do't : 
 
 And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword. 
 I bought an unction of a mountebank, 
 So mortal, that, but dip a knife in it. 
 Where it draws blood, no cataplasm eo rare. 
 Collected from all simples that have virtue 
 Under the moon, can save the thing from death. 
 That is but scratch'd withal : Til touch' my point 
 With this contagion ; that, if I gall him slightly, 
 ft any be death. 
 
 K ing. Let's further think of this ; 
 
 Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means, 
 May fit us to our shape: if this should fail. 
 And that our drift look through our bad performance.^ 
 'Tvvere better not assay 'd ; therefore this project. 
 Should have a back, of second, that might hold. 
 If this should blast in proof. Soft ; — let me see : — 
 We"ll make a solenin wager on your cunnings, — 
 I ha't: 
 
 When in your motion you are hot and dry, 
 (As make your bouts more violent to that end,) 
 And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him 
 A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping. 
 If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck. 
 Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise ? 
 
 Enter Queetu 
 How now, sweet queen ? 
 
 Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
 So fast they follow : — Your sister's drowu'd, Laertes. 
 
 Laer. Drown'd ! O where ? 
 
 Queen. 'I'here is a willow grows ascauat the brook. 
 That shews his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; 
 Tlierewitii fantastic garlands did she make 
 Of crow flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples. 
 That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them : 
 There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 When down her weedy trophies, and herself, 
 Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; 
 And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: 
 Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes : 
 As one incapable of her own distress. 
 Or like a creature native and indn'd 
 Unto that element : but long it could not be, 
 'J'ill that lier garments, heavy with their drink, 
 Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
 To muddy death. 
 
 Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd ? 
 
 Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 
 
 X«er.Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
 And therefore 1 forbid my tears : But yet 
 It is our trick ; nature her custom holds. 
 Let shame say what it will : when these are gone. 
 The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord ! 
 I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze. 
 
 But that this folly drowns it. (fiVt/ 
 
 King. Let's follow, Gertiode ; 
 
 How much I bad to do to calm his rage ! 
 Now fear I, this will give it start again; 
 Therefore, let's follow. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I.— A Churchyard. 
 Enter Tivo Clowns^ with spades, §Cc, 
 
 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that 
 wilfully seeks her own salvation? 
 
 2 do. I tell thee, she is ; therefore make her 
 grave straight : the crowner hath set on her, and 
 finds it christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned her- 
 self in her own defence ? 
 
 2 Clo. Why, 'tis lound so. 
 
 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo ; it cannot be else, 
 Fo" here lies the point : If I drown niyself wit- 
 tingly, it argues an act : and an act hath three 
 branches ; it is, to act, to do, and to perform : Argal, 
 she drowned herself wittingly. 
 
 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver 
 
 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: 
 here stands the man ; good : If the man go to tbe 
 water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he 
 goes ; mark you that : but if the water come to him, 
 and drown him, he drowns not himself : Argal, he, 
 that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his 
 own life. 
 
 2 Clo. But is this law ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's-quest law. 
 
 2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't ? If this had not 
 been gentlewoman, she should have been buried out 
 of christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st : and the more 
 pity, that great folks shall have countenance in this 
 world to drown or hang themselves, more than theit 
 even christian. Come, my spade. There is no an- 
 cient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave- 
 makers ; they hold up Adam's profession. 
 
 S Clo. Was be a gentleman ? 
 
 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 
 
 1 Clo. What, art a heathen ? How dost thou un- 
 derstand the scripture? The scripture says, Adam 
 digged : Could be dig without arms? I'll put anothei 
 question to thee : if thou answerest me not to the pur- 
 pose, confess thyself — 
 
 2 Clo. Go to.' 
 
 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either 
 the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter ? 
 
 2 Clo. The gallows- maker ; for that frame outlives 
 a thousand tenants. 
 
 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the 
 gallows does well : But how does it well ? it does 
 well to those that do ill: now than dost ill, to say, the 
 gallows is built stronger than the church: argal, the 
 gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; come. 
 
 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a ship 
 Wright, or a carpenter ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and anyoke* 
 
 2 Clo. Marry, now I can teil. 
 
 1 Clo. To't. 
 
 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance 
 
 1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your 
 dull ass will not mend his pace with beating : and 
 when you are asked this question next, say, a grave- 
 maker ; the houses that he makes, last till doomsday. 
 Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup o 
 liquor. [ Exit 2 Clown. 
 
 (1 Clotvn digs, and sings*) 
 In youth., when I did love, did love, 
 
 Methought. it tvas very sweet. 
 To contract, 0, the time, for, ah, my behoV9, 
 0 meihought, there ivas nothing meet.. 
 
HAMLET, 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Ham, Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? 
 he siogs at grave-making. 
 
 Hor. Ciistcm hath made it in him a property of 
 easiness. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment 
 hath the daintier sense. 
 1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, {Sings.) 
 Hath clatv'd me in his clutch, 
 And hath shipped me into the land. 
 As if £ had never been such. 
 
 {Throws up a skull.) 
 Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing 
 once : How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it 
 were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! 
 This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass 
 now o'er-reaches ; one that would circumvent God, 
 might it not? 
 
 Hor. It might, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say, Good- 
 morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord? 
 This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my 
 lord such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; 
 mi^^ht it not? 
 
 ttor. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my lady Worm's ; 
 chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a 
 sexton's spade: Here's fine revolution, and we had 
 the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the 
 breeding, but to play at loggats with them ? mine 
 ache to thi^ik on't. 
 
 1 Clo. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, {Sings.) 
 For — and a shrouding sheet : 
 0, a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 {Throws up a skull.) 
 
 Ham. There's another : Why may not that be the 
 skull of a'lawyer? Where be his qtiiddits now, his 
 quillets, his cases, his tenures, and iiis tricks? why 
 does he suffer this rude knave now to knock hitn 
 about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell 
 him of his action of battery ? Humph! This fellow 
 might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his 
 statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vou- 
 .^hers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of his fines, 
 and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine 
 pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch hiui no 
 more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the 
 length and breadth of a pair of indentures ^ The 
 very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this 
 bos; ; and must the inheritor himself have no more ? 
 ha? 
 
 Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord, and calves-skins too. 
 
 Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek out 
 assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow : — 
 Whose grave's this, sirrah ? 
 
 1 Clo. Mine, sir.— 
 
 0, a pit of clay for to he made {Sings.) 
 For .such a guest is meet. 
 
 Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest in't. 
 
 1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not 
 yours : for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is 
 hine : 'tis for the dead, and not for the quick ; there- 
 fore thou liest. 
 
 1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away again, from 
 one o you. 
 
 Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 
 
 I Clo. For no man, sir. 
 
 Ham. What woman, then? 
 
 J Clo. For none, neither. 
 
 Ham. Who is to be buried in't? 
 
 ] Clo. One that was a woman, sir ; but, rest her 
 soul , she's dead. 
 
 Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak 
 by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the 
 lord, Horat'o, these three years I have taken note of 
 al ; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of the 
 peasant oonies so near the heel of the courtier, he 
 
 galls his kibe. — How long hast thou been a grare- 
 maker ? 
 
 1 Clo. Of all the days i'the year, I came to't tfaa< 
 day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbraa. 
 
 Ham. How long's that since ? 
 
 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell 
 that: It was that very day that young Hamlet wna 
 born : he that is mad, and sent into England. 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 
 ^ ] Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall recovei 
 his wits there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great mattti 
 there. 
 
 Ham. Why? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; there the 
 
 men are as mad as he. 
 
 Ham. How came he mad ? 
 
 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Ham. How strangely ? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 
 
 Ham. Upon what ground ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sexton 
 here, man and boy, thirty years. 
 
 Ham. How long will a man lie i'the earth ere he 
 rot? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as 
 we have many pocky corses now-a days, that will 
 scarce hold the laying in,) he will last you some 
 eight year, or nine year: a tanner will last you nine 
 year. 
 
 Ham. Why he more than another ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his 
 trade, that he will keep out water a great while ; and 
 yonr water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead 
 body. Here's a skull now hath lain you i'the earth 
 three-and-twenty years. 
 
 Ham.. Whose was it ? 
 
 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was ; VVho9« 
 
 do you think it was ? 
 Ham. Nay, I know not, 
 
 1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he 
 poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This 
 same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester. 
 
 Ham. This? {Takes the sk?dl.) 
 
 1 Clo. E'en that. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor Yorick ! — I knew him, Horatio; 
 a fellovv of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he 
 hath borne tne on liis back a thousand times ! and : 
 now, how abhorred in my imag-ination it is ! nly gorge 
 rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kissed 
 I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? 
 your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merri- 
 ment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? 
 Not one now, to mock your own grinning ? quite 
 chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, 
 and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour 
 she must come ; make her laugh at that. — Pr'ythee, 
 Horatio, tell me one thing. 
 
 Hor. What's that, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o'thif 
 fashion i'the earth? 
 
 Hor. E'en so 
 
 Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! 
 
 {Throws down the skull.) 
 
 Hor. E'en so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio? 
 Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of 
 Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung hole ? 
 
 Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider 
 so. 
 
 Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither 
 with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: As 
 thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, 
 Alexander returneth to dust; the dust is earth; ol 
 earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto 
 he was converted, might they not stop a beer- 
 barrel ? 
 
 Imperious Cassar, dead, and turn'd to clay, 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
 O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe. 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw! 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 767 
 
 Biit soft I but soft! aside ! — Here comes the king. 
 
 Enter Priests, in procession ; the Corpse of 
 
 Ophelia ; Laertes, and Movrners, following ; 
 
 King, Queen, their Trains, §fc. 
 The queen, the courtiers : Who is this they follow ? 
 And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken, 
 The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand 
 Fordo its own life. 'Twas of some estate . 
 Couch we awhile, and mark. 
 
 {Retiring with Horatio.) 
 
 haer. What ceremony else ? 
 
 Ham. That is Laertes, 
 
 A very noble youth: Mark. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else? 
 
 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd 
 As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful ; 
 And, but that great command o'ersways the order. 
 She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
 Till the last trumpet: for charitable prayers, 
 Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her: 
 Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants, 
 Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
 Of bell and burial. 
 
 Laer. Must there no more be done ? 
 
 1 Priest. No more be done ! 
 
 We should profane the service of the dead. 
 To sing a requiem., and such rest to her 
 As to peace-parted souls. 
 
 Laer. Lay her i'the earth ; — 
 
 And from her fair and unpolluted fiesh, 
 May violets spring! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 A minister'ing angel shall my sister be, 
 When thou liest howling. 
 
 Ham. What, the fair Ophelia ! 
 
 Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell ! 
 
 {Scattering fioivers.) 
 I hop'd thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife ; 
 I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, 
 And not have strew'd thy grave. 
 
 Laer. O, treble woe 
 
 Fall ten times treble on that cursed head. 
 Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
 Depriv'd thee of! — Hold off the earth a while. 
 Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 
 
 {Leaps into the grave.) 
 Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead ; 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made. 
 To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
 Of blue Olyiripus. _ 
 
 Ham. {Advancing.) What is he, whose grief 
 Bears sucn an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow 
 Conjures the wander'ing stars, and makes them 
 stand 
 
 liike wonder- wounded hearers? this is I, 
 
 Hamlet the Dane. {Leaps into the grave.) 
 
 Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 
 
 {Grappling with him.) 
 
 Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
 1 pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat; 
 For, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
 \et have I in me something dangerous, 
 VVhich let thy wisdom fear: Hold off thy hand. 
 
 King. Pluck them asunder. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet! 
 
 All. Gentlemen, — 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 
 
 {The Attendants part them, and they come 
 out of the grave.) 
 Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme. 
 Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
 Queen. O, my son ! what theme ? 
 Ham. I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
 Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her? 
 King. O. he is mad, Laertes. 
 Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
 Ham. 'Zounds, sliew me vvliat thou'lt do: 
 Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear 
 thyself? 
 
 i Woul't drink up Esil ? eat a crocodile ? 
 
 I'll do't. — ^.Dost thou come here to whine ? 
 
 To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
 ; Be buried quick with her, and so will I : 
 ' And, if thou prate of mountains, let them tbr 
 ! Millions of acres on us ; till our ground. 
 
 Singeing his pate against the burning zone. 
 
 Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, 
 
 I'll rant as well as thou. 
 
 Queen. This is mere madne ; 
 
 And thus a while the fit will work on him • 
 I Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 j When that her golden couplets are discWd, 
 I His silence will sit drooping. 
 I Ham. Hear you, sir, 
 
 What is the reason that you use me thus? 
 ! I lov'd you ever : But it is no matter ; 
 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may. 
 
 The cat will mew, and dog will 'have his day. lExiS. 
 King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. — 
 [Exit Horatio. 
 
 Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech : 
 
 {To Laertes.) 
 We'll put the matter te 4he present pi:sh. — 
 Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 
 This grave shall have a living monument: 
 An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
 Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II.— J. Hall in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you see the 
 other ; — 
 
 Yo do remember all the circumstance ? 
 
 Hor. Remember it, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, 
 That would not let me sleep : methought, I lay 
 Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly, 
 And prais'd be rashness for it. — Let us know. 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well. 
 When our deep plots do pall ; and that should teac^ 
 us. 
 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends. 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 Hor. ^ That is mosf certaio. 
 
 Ham. Up from my cabin, 
 My sea-gown scarf'd about me, iti the dark 
 Grop'd I to find out them : had my desire ; 
 Finger'd their packet; and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again : making so bold. 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission ; where I found, Horatio, 
 A royal knavery; an exact command, — 
 Larded with many several sorts of reasons. 
 Importing Denmark's health, and England's too. 
 With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life.— 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
 My head should be struck off. 
 
 Hor. Is't possible ? 
 
 Ham. Here's the commission . read it at 
 leisure. 
 
 But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed ? 
 Hor. Ay, 'beseech you. 
 
 Ham. Being thus benetted round vvith villanieg, 
 Or I could make a prologue to my brains, 
 They had begun the play : — I sat me down; 
 Devis'd a new commission ; wrote it fair : 
 I once did hold it, as our statists do, 
 A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much 
 How to forget that learning: but. sir, now 
 It did me yeoman's service : Wilt thou know 
 The effect of what I wrote ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king,~» 
 As England was his faithful tributary ; 
 As love between them like the palm might flourisli, 
 As peace should still her wheaten garland wear. 
 And stand a comma 'tween their amities; 
 
768 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act Y 
 
 And many such like us's of great charge, — 
 That, on the view and knowing of these contents, 
 Without debatenient further, more, or less, 
 He should the bearers put to sadden death, 
 Not shriving-time allow'd. 
 
 Hor, How was this seal'd ? 
 
 Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant; 
 I had my father's signet in my purse, 
 Which was the model of that Danish seal : 
 Folded the writ up in form of the other; 
 Sabscrih'd it ; gave't tlie impression ; plac'd it 
 safely. 
 
 The changeling never known: Now, the next day 
 Was our sea-fi,3,ht: and what to this was sequent 
 Thou know'st already. 
 
 Hor. So Gnildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. 
 
 Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this 
 employment; 
 They are not near my conscience ; their defeat 
 Does by their own insinuation grow: 
 'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 
 Hor. Why, what a king is this I 
 
 Ham. Does it not, tiiinil thee, stand me now 
 upon? _ [ther; 
 
 He, that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mo- 
 Popp'd in between the election and my hopes ; 
 Thrown out his angle for niy proper life. 
 And with '4ich cozenage ; is't not perfect conscience. 
 To quit him with this arm ? and is't not to be damn'd. 
 To let this canker of our nature come 
 Id further evil ? 
 
 Hor. It must be shortly known to him from 
 England, 
 
 What is the issue of the business there. 
 
 Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine; 
 A-nd a man's life's no more than to say, one. 
 But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
 That to Laertes I iorgot myself ; 
 m For by the image of my cause, I see 
 The portraiture of his : I'll count his favours: 
 But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
 Into a towering passion. 
 
 Hor. Peace ; who comes here ? 
 
 Enter OsRic. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to 
 Denmark. 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know this 
 water- tly ? 
 Hor. No, my good lord. 
 
 Ham. Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a 
 vice to know him : He hath much land, and fertile ; 
 let a beast be lord oi' beasts, and his crib shall stand 
 at the king's mess : 'Tis a chough ; but, as I say, 
 spacious in the possession of dirt. 
 
 Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were of leisure, 
 I should lu!part a thin>; to you from his majesty. 
 
 Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of 
 .spirit: Your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the 
 Lead. 
 
 Osr. 1 thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. 
 
 Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold ; the wind 
 18 northerly. 
 
 Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 
 
 Ham. But yet, methinks, it is very sultry and 
 liot ; or my complexion — 
 
 Our. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sultry, — 
 as 'twere, — I cannot tell how. — My lord, his ma- 
 jesty bade me signify to you, that he has laid a 
 great wager on your head : Sir, this is the matter, — 
 
 Ham. I beseech you, remember — 
 
 {Hamlet moves him to put on his hat.) 
 
 Osr. Nay, good niy lord ; for my ease, in good 
 faith. Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes: 
 beliave me, an absolute gentleman, full of most ex- 
 cellent differences, of very soft society, and great 
 shewing; Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is 
 the card or calendar of gentry, for you shall find 
 
 in him the continent of what part a gentletuao 
 would see. 
 
 Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition is 
 you ; — though, I know, to divide him irsventorially, 
 would dizzy the arithmetic of memory; and yet but 
 raw neither, ivi respect of his quick sail. But, in the 
 verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great 
 article ; and his infusion of such dearth and rareness, 
 as, to make true diction of him, his semblable is his 
 mirror ; and, who else would tra?ce him, his umbrage, 
 nothing more. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of hi:.**. 
 
 Ham. Tho concernancy, sir? why do we wrap 
 the gentleman in our more rawer breath ? 
 
 Osr. Sir? 
 
 Hor. Is't not possible to understand in anothei 
 tongue? You will do't, sir, really 
 
 Ham. What imports the nomination of this gen- 
 
 Osr. Of Laertes ? [tiemau ? 
 
 Hor. Hia purse is empty already ; all his golden 
 words are spent. 
 
 Ham. Of him, sir. 
 
 Osr. I know, you are not ignorant — 
 
 Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if yon 
 
 did, it would not much approve me ; — Well, sir. 
 Osr. You are not ignorant ol' what excellence 
 
 Laertes is — 
 
 j Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- 
 ; pare vvith him in excellence ; but, to know a man 
 
 well, were to know himself. 
 ! Osr. I mean, sir, lor his weapon ; but in the im- 
 j putation laid on him by them, in his meed he's 
 ! iiYifellowed. 
 
 Ham. What's his weapon ? 
 Osr. Rapier and dagger. 
 Ham. That's two of his weapons: but, well. 
 Ors. Tiie king, sir, hath wagered with him six 
 { Barbary horses : againgt the which he has impawned, 
 j as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with 
 their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so: Three oj 
 the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very 
 responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and 
 1 of very liberal conceit. 
 
 Ham. What call you the carriages ? 
 i Hor. I knew, you must be edified by the margent, 
 ere you had done. 
 
 Osr. 'We carriages, sir, are the hangers. 
 Ham. The phrase would be more german to the 
 matter, if we could carry a cannon by our sides; I 
 would, it might be hangers till then. But, on: Six 
 Barbary horses against six French swords, their 
 assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages ; that's 
 the French bet against the Danish : Why is this im- 
 pawned, as you call it ? 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a doaen 
 passes between yourself and him, he shall not ex- 
 ceed you three hits; he hath laid, on twelve for 
 nine ; and it would come to immediate trial, if yoiur 
 lordship would vouchsafe tlie answer. 
 Ham. How, if I answer, no ? 
 Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your 
 person in trial. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall : If it 
 please his majesty, it is the breathing time of day 
 ! with me ; let the foils be brought, the gentleman 
 ■ willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win 
 for him, if I can; if not, I wilJ gain nothing but my 
 1 shame, and the odd hits, 
 j Osr. Shall I deliver you so? 
 ! Ham. To this effect, sir; after what flourish your 
 nature will. 
 
 ' Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [ExiU 
 Ham. Yours, yours. — He does well, to commend 
 
 it himself : there are no tongues else for's turn. 
 Hor. Tnis lapwing runs away with tlie shell OD 
 
 his head. 
 
 Ham. He did comply with his dug, before he 
 sucked it. Thus has he ^and many more of tb« 
 same breed, that, I know, tne drossy age dotes on,) 
 only got the tune of the time, and outward habit ol 
 
bCENE iJ. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 T69 
 
 encounter; a kind of yesty collection, whicli carries 
 them through and throiigli the most fond and win- 
 nowed opinions; and do but blow tbein to their 
 trial, the bubbles are out. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to 
 you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that 
 vou attend him in the hall : He sends to know, i 
 our pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you 
 ill take longer time. 
 
 Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they follow the 
 kini^'s pleasure : if his fitness speaks, mine is ready ; 
 now, or whensoever, provided 1 be so able as now. 
 
 Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming 
 
 Ham. In hapt)y time. [down. 
 
 Lord. 'I'he queen desires you, to use some gentle 
 entertainment to Laertes, beiore you fall to plav. 
 
 Ham. She well instr\icls n)e. [Exit Lord. 
 
 Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I do not think so ; since he went into 
 France, I have been in continual practice; I shall 
 win at the odds. But thou Would'st not think, how 
 ill all's here about my heart: but it is no matter. 
 
 Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 
 
 Ham. It is but foolery.; but it is such a kind of 
 gain-giving, as would, perha{)S, trouble a woman. 
 
 Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it : I 
 will forestal their repair hither, and say, you are 
 not fit. 
 
 Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury ; there is a 
 special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be 
 now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be 
 now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readi- 
 ness is all: Since no man, of aught he leaves, 
 knows, what is't to leave betimes? Let be. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, OsRic, and 
 Attendants, with foils, ^c. 
 King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand 
 from me. 
 
 {T/ie King puts the hand of Laertes into 
 that of Hamlet. 
 Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I have done 
 you wrong; 
 But pardon it, as you are a gentleman. 
 This presence knows, and you must needs have 
 heard. 
 
 How I am punish'd with a sore distraction. 
 What I liave done, 
 
 That miglit your nature, honour, and exception. 
 
 Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
 
 ^Vas't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes ? Never, Hamlet: 
 
 If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away. 
 
 And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes, 
 
 Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
 
 Who does it then? His madness: If't be so, 
 
 Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; 
 
 His infidoegs is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
 
 Sir, in this audience. 
 
 Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
 
 Free me so far in your most generous thoughts. 
 
 That I have shot my arrow o'er the house. 
 
 And hurt my brother. 
 
 Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 
 
 Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
 To my revenge : but, in my terms of honour, 
 I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement. 
 Till by some elder masters, of known honour, 
 I have a vo ce and precedent of peace. 
 To keep my name ungor'd : But till that time, 
 I do receive your oft'er'd love like love, 
 And will Dot wrong it. 
 
 Ham. I embrace it freely ; 
 
 And will this brother's wager frankly play. — 
 Give us the foils ; come on. 
 
 Laer. Come, one for me. 
 
 Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes ; in mine ignorance 
 Vour skill shall, like a star in the darkest night, 
 Stick fiery off indeed. 
 
 Laer. You mock me, air. 
 
 Ham. No, by this hand. 
 
 King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cousiv 
 Hamlet, 
 You know the wager? 
 
 Ham. ^ Very well, my lord ; 
 
 Your grace hath laid the odds o'the weaker side. 
 
 King. I do not fear it: I have seen you both: — 
 But since he's better'd, we have thereibre odds. 
 
 Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 
 
 Ham. This likes me well : These foils have all a 
 length ? {They prepare to play.) 
 
 Osr. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that ta- 
 ble :— 
 
 If Hamlet give the first or second hit, 
 Or quit in answer of the third exchange. 
 Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
 The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath; 
 And in the cup an union shall he throw, 
 Richer than that which four successive king^ 
 In Denmark's crown have worn : Give me the cupa; 
 And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
 The trumpet to the cannoneer vvithout, 
 The cannons to tlie hea\ens, the heaven to eartn, 
 Now the king drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin;— - 
 And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 
 Ham. Come on, sir, 
 
 Laer. Come, my lord, {They play.) 
 
 Ham. One. 
 Laer. No. 
 Ham. Judgment 
 Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 
 Laer. Well, — again. 
 
 King. Stay, give me drink : Hamlet, this pearl is 
 thine ; 
 
 Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup. 
 
 {Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off within) 
 
 Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by awhile. 
 Come. — Another hit ; What say you ? {They play.) 
 
 Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 
 
 King. Our son shall win. 
 
 Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath.— 
 
 Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows ; 
 The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Good madam, — 
 
 King. Gertrude, do net drink. 
 
 Queen. 1 will, my lord ; — I pray you, pardon me. 
 King.. It is the poison'd cup ; it is too late. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and by. 
 
 Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. 
 
 King. I do not think it. 
 
 Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Ham. Come, for the third, Ajaertes ; :' ou do but 
 dally; 
 
 I pray you, pass with your best violence 
 I am alieard, you make a wanton ot me. 
 Laer. Say you so? come on. {They ptny.) 
 
 Osr. Nothing neither way. 
 Laer. Have at you now. 
 
 {Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuf- 
 fling, they change rapiers, and Hamlet 
 wounds Laertes.) 
 King. Part them, they are incens'd. 
 
 Ham. Nay, come again. {The Queen falls.) 
 Osr. Look to the queen there, ho! 
 
 Ho^. They bleed on both sides : — How is it, niy 
 lord? 
 
 OsT. H,ow is't, Laertes? 
 
 Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own springe., 
 Osric ; 
 
 I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery 
 Ham. How does the queen ? 
 King. She swoons to see them bleed. 
 
 Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my dear 
 Hamlet !— 
 
 The drink, the drink ;— I am poison'd ! {Vies.) 
 Ham. O villany! — Ho! let the door be lock'd : 
 
 49 
 
rro 
 
 Treachery! seek it out. {Laertes falls.) 
 
 Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slaiu ; 
 Ivo medicine in the world can do thee good, 
 In thf?e there is not half an hour's life ; 
 The tr«acherous instrument is in thy hand, 
 (Jnbated, and envenom'd : the foul practice 
 Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie, 
 Nevor to rise again. Thy mother's poison'd ; 
 
 can no more; the king, the king's to blame. 
 
 Ham. The point 
 Envenom'd too !— Then, venom to thy work. 
 
 {Stabs the King.) 
 
 Osr. Lords. Treason, treason ! 
 
 King. O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt. 
 
 Ham. Here, thou incestuous, niurd'rous, damned 
 Daiie, 
 
 Drink off this potion : — Is the union here ? 
 
 Pol low my mother. _ ^ {King dies.) 
 
 Laer. He is justly serv'd ; 
 
 It is a poison temper'd by himsell'". — 
 Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: 
 Mine and my father's death come not upon thee; 
 Nor thine on me ! {Dies,) 
 
 Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. 
 I am dead , Horatio : — Wretched queen, adieu ; — 
 You that look pale and tremble at this chance. 
 That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
 Had I bii time, (as this fell sergeant, death. 
 Is strict in liis arrest,) O, I could tell you, — 
 But let it be : — Horatio, I am dead ; 
 Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright 
 To the unsatished. 
 
 Hor. Never believe it; 
 
 I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. 
 Here's yet some liquor left. 
 
 Ham. As thou'rt a man, — 
 
 (Jive me the cup ; let go ; by heaven I'll have it, — 
 
 0 God ! — Horatio, what a wounded name. 
 Tilings standing thus unknown, shall live behind me ? 
 If thou didst ever hold jne in thy heart. 
 
 Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
 
 ^nd in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
 
 To tell my story. — 
 
 {March afar off, and shot wiihi».) 
 What warlike noise is this ? 
 
 Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from 
 Poland, 
 
 To the ambassadors of England gives 
 This warlike volley. 
 
 Ham. O, I die, Horatio; 
 
 The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit ; 
 
 1 cannot live to hear the nevvs from England : 
 But I do prophecy, the election lights 
 
 On Fortinbras ; he has my dying voice ; 
 
 So tell him, witii the concurrents, more or less. 
 
 Which have solicited, — The rest is sileiirce. ( 
 
 '^'iw heart; — Good night, 
 
 Act V. 
 
 And flights of angels sing thee to thy rv^x' 
 
 Why does the drum come hithert {%l^^.sh miAitil 
 
 Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambas^sad&rsf 
 and aihertt. 
 
 Fort. Where is this sight ? 
 Hor. What is it, you would see ? 
 
 If aught of woe, or wonder, rease your search. 
 Part. This quarry cries on havoc ? — O proud 
 death ! 
 
 What feast is toward m thine eternal cell. 
 That thou so many princes, at a shot. 
 So bloodily hast struck ? 
 
 1 Amb. The sight is dismal ; 
 
 And our affairs from England come too late : 
 The earg are senseless, that should give us hearing, 
 To tell him, his commandment is fuliill'd, 
 That Rosencrantz and Guildenstein are dead : 
 Where should we have our thanks ? 
 
 Hor. Not from his mouthy 
 
 Had it the ability of life to thank you ; 
 He never gave commandment for their death. 
 But since, so jump upon this bloody question, 
 You from the Polack wars, and you from England, 
 Are here aniv'd; give order, that these bodies 
 High on a stage be placed to the view ; 
 And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world. 
 How tliese things come about : So shall you hear 
 Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ; 
 Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters ; 
 Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause ; 
 And, in this upshot, purposes mistook 
 Fall'n on the inventors' heads: all this cant 
 Truly deliver. 
 
 Fort. Let us haste to hear it. 
 
 And call the noblest to the audience. 
 For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune; 
 I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, 
 Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 
 
 Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, 
 And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more. 
 But let this same be presently perf'orm'd, 
 Kven while men's minds are wild ; lest more mis- 
 chance. 
 On plots, and errors, happen. 
 
 Fort. Let four captains 
 
 Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, tc* the stage ; 
 For he was likely, had he been put on, 
 To have prov'd most royally : and, for his passage. 
 The soldier's music, and the rites of war, 
 Speak loudly tor him. — 
 'i'ake up the bodies: — Such a sight as this 
 Becomes the field, but here shews much amiss. 
 Go, bid the soldi^^ s shoot. {A dead march.) 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies ; ajlai 
 which^ a peal ( » ( 
 
 HAMLET,. PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
OTHELLO, MOOR OF VENICE 
 
 The beauties of this play impress themselves so strongly upon the attention reader, that they can draw 
 
 BO aid from critical illustration. The fiery openness of Othello, magnanimous, artless, and credulous, boundless in his 
 eonfidence, ardent in his atfection, inflexible in his resolution, and obdurate in his revenge; ihe cool malignitv of 
 lago, silent in his resentment, subtle in his designs, and studious at once of his interest and his vengeance; the 
 Boft simplicity of Desdemona, confident of merit, and conscious of innocence, her artless perseverance in her suit, 
 and her slowness to suspect that she can be suspected, are such proofs of Shakspeare's skill in human nature, as, 
 I suppose, it is vain to seek in any modern writer. The gradual progress which lago makes in the Moor's con 
 viction, and the circumstances which he employs to inflame him, are so artfully natural, that, though it will, perhaps, 
 lot be said of him as he says of himself, that he is a man not easily jealous, yet we cannot but pity him, when 
 It last we find him perplexed in the extreme. 
 
 Titre is always danger, lest wickedness, conjoined with abilities, should steal upon esteem, though it misses 
 Spprohation; but the character of lago is so conducted, that he is, ft-om the first scene to the last, hated and despised. 
 
 Even 'he inferior characters of this play would be very conspicuous in any other piece, not only for their justness, 
 but th« T strength. Cassio is brave, benevolent, and honest, ruined only by his want of stubbornness to resist an 
 insidious invitation. Roderigo's suspicious credulity, and impatient submission to the cheats which he sees practised 
 Dpunhim, and which, by persuasion, he suffers to be repeated, exhibit a strong picture of a weak mind betrayed, 
 by unlawful desires, to a false (riend; and the virtue of Emilia is such as we often find, worn loosely, but not caal 
 oflf; easy to commit small crimes, but quickened and alarmed at atrocious villanies. 
 
 The scenes, from the beginning to the end, are busy, varied by happy interchanges, and regularly promoting the pro- 
 gression of the story ; and the narrative in the end, though it tells but what is known already, yet is necessary to 
 produce the death of Othello. 
 
 Had the scene opened in Cyprus, and the preceding incidents been occasionally related, there had bc^n little 
 wanting to a drama of the most exact and scrupulous regularity. Jo'iuson, 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED, 
 
 DUKE OF VENICE. 
 
 BRABANTIO, a Senator. 
 
 Two othe'>' Senators. 
 
 GRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio. 
 
 LODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio. 
 
 OTHELLO, the Moor. 
 
 CASSIO, his LifUtenatit. 
 
 lAGO, his Ancient. 
 
 RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman. 
 
 MONTANO, Othello's Predecessor in the Government of 
 
 Cyprus. 
 
 Clown, Servant to Othello. — Herald. 
 
 DESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife to 
 
 Othello. 
 EMILIA, Wife to lago 
 BIANCA, a Courtezan, Mistress to Cassio 
 Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors, 
 
 Attendants, etc. 
 
 Scene, for the First Act, in Venice ; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-port in Cyprus. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Venice. A Street. 
 Enter RoDERiGO and Iago. 
 
 Rod. Tush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly. 
 That thou, Ia»o, — who hast had my purse, 
 As if the strings were thine, — sliould'st know of this. 
 
 Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me :— r 
 If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
 Abhor me. [hate. 
 
 Rod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy 
 
 Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones 
 of the city. 
 In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
 Oft capp'd to him ;— and, by the faith of man, 
 I know my price, 1 am worth no worse a place % 
 But he, as loving his own pride and purposes. 
 Evades th sm, with a bomba.st circumstanee. 
 Horribly .••«>uft''d with epithets of war; 
 And, in conclusion, nonsuits 
 My mediators ; for, certes, says he, 
 I nave already chose my officer. 
 And w4Kit was he ? 
 Forsooth, a great arithmetician, 
 
 One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, ^ . ^ | 
 
 A fellow almost^damti'd^in a fair wife ; .-at ^QHf^ 
 That never set a sqiTa^tTron in the field, 
 Nor the division of a battle knows 
 More than a spinster ; unie.ss the bookish theoric. 
 Wherein the toged consuls can propose 
 As masterly as he : mere prattle, without practice. 
 Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: 
 And I, — of whom his eyes had seen the proof, 
 At Rhodes, at Cyprus ; and on other grounds, 
 Christian and heathen, — must be be-lee'd and calm'd 
 By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster; 
 JHe, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
 And 1, (God bless the mark!) his Moorship's 
 ancient. 
 
 \ Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been hi.s 
 \ > hangman. [service; i 
 
 lago. But there's no remedy ; 'tis the curse of j 
 
 Preferment goes by letter, and affection. 
 Not by the old gradation, where earh second 
 Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself- 
 Whether I in any just term am affin'd 
 To love the Moor. ' ' 
 
 Rod. I would not follow him theB. 
 
 Iago. O, sir, content you ; 
 I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
 Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
 That, doting on his own obsequious bondage. 
 Wears out his time, much like his master's ass. 
 For nought but urovender; and, when he's oldl, 
 cashier'a ; 
 
 Whip me such honest knaves : Others there are, 
 Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 
 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves ; 
 And, throwing but shews of service on their lords. 
 Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd 
 
 their coats, [soui;\ 
 Do themselves homage : these fellows have noma )t. 
 And such a one do I profess myself. 
 For, sir, 
 
 It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
 ; Were I the Moor, I would not l>e Iago : 
 [ In following him, i follow but myself > 
 ^ Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
 But seeming so, for my peculiar end : 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 For daws to peck at; I am not what I am. 
 
 Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips cw» 
 If he can carry't thus ! • 
 
 Iago. Call up her father : 
 
 Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, 
 Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kiusmen, 
 And, though he in a fertile climate dwell. 
 Plague liitn with fiies : though that his joy be joy, 
 i Yet throw such changes vexation ou't. 
 
772 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act I 
 
 Aa it may lose some colour. 
 
 Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. 
 !a(jo. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire 
 yell. 
 
 As when, by night and neglig'ince, the fire 
 
 Is spied in populous cities. tho ! 
 
 Rod. What, ho! Brabantio ! signior Brabantio, 
 lago. Awake ! what, ho ! Brabantio ! thieves ! 
 thieves! thieves! 
 
 Luok to your house, your daughter, and your bags ! 
 
 Tiiievp.--! thieves! 
 
 Brabantio, above, at a window. 
 Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons ? 
 What is the matter there? 
 
 Rod. Signior, is all your family within ? 
 lago. Are your doors lock'd ? 
 Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this? 
 
 lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are robb'd ; for shame, 
 put on your gown ; 
 Vonr heart is burst, you have lost half your soul ; 
 Even now, very now, an old black ram 
 Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise 
 Awake the snorting citizens with the bell. 
 Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you : 
 Arise, T say. 
 
 Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? 
 
 /fog^_MiisjL_i:e4iefeBd_.sig^^ do you know my 
 v oi^ ? 
 
 Bra. Not n What arpj^u 
 
 Rod.J^^^me is— rBoderigo. 
 Bra. - worse welcome : 
 
 f have charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors : 
 111 honest plainness thou hast heard me say, 
 My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in madness, 
 Being fidl of supper and distempering draughts, 
 Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come A^r^ 
 To start my quiet. ^ ^ ^\>2i*^ 
 
 Sir, sir, sir^Cv:r_^ " 
 ByTrr—- But thou must needs be sure. 
 
 My spirit, and my place, have in them power 
 To make this bitter to thee. 
 
 Rod. Patience, good sir. 
 
 Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? this is 
 Venice ; 
 My house is not a grange. 
 
 Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 
 
 In simple and pure soul I come to you. 
 
 lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that 
 will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because 
 we come to do you service, you think we are ruf- 
 fians : You'll have your daughter covered with a 
 Barbarj horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to 
 you ; you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets 
 for gcrr\ians. 
 
 Bra. W hat profane wretch art thou ? 
 lago. \ am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your 
 daughter and the Moor are now making the beast 
 with two backs. 
 
 Bra. Thou art a villain. 
 lago. are— a^ ge»ator. 
 
 Bra. This thoii^s halt answe r^; I kfiow thee, 
 
 detisi;" _ ^ ~ Tyom, 
 
 Rod. Sir, I will answer aliy thing. But I beseeclr 
 Ift be your pleasure, and most wise consent 
 f As partly, 1 find, it is,) that your fair daughter. 
 At this odd-even and dull watch o'the night, 
 Transported — with no worse nor better guard, 
 But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, — 
 To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, — 
 If this be known to you, and your allowance. 
 We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; 
 But, if you know not this, my manners tell nie, 
 W^e have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe, 
 That, from the sense of all civility, 
 [ thus would play and trifle with your reverence : 
 Vour daughter, — if you have not given her leave, — 
 I say again, hath made a gross revolt; 
 Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes, 
 Ea an extravagant and wheeling stranger. 
 
 Of here and every where : Straight satisfy yourself; 
 If she be in her chamber, or yonr house, 
 Let loose on me the justice of the state 
 For thus deluding you. 
 
 Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho 
 
 Give me a taper; — call up all my people ; — 
 This accident is not unlike my dream, 
 Belief of it oppresses me already : — 
 Light, I say! light! [Exit from abovt 
 
 lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you 
 
 It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, 
 To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall,) 
 Agaiiist the Moor: For, I do know, the state, — 
 However this may gall him with some check, — 
 Cannot with safety cast him ; for he's embark'd 
 With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars, 
 (Which even now stand in act,) that, for their souls. 
 Another of his fathom they have not. 
 To lead their business : in which regard, 
 Though I do hate him a" I do hell-pains. 
 Yet, for necessity of present life, 
 I must shew out a flag and sign of love, 
 Which is indeed but sign. That you siiall sarely 
 find him. 
 
 Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search ; 
 
 And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants, with 
 torches. 
 
 Bra. It is too true an evil • gone she is; 
 And what's to come of my despised time. 
 Is nought but bitterness. — Now, Roderigo, 
 Where didst thou see her? — O, unhappy girl ! — 
 With the Moor, say'st thou? — Who would be a 
 father ? fme 
 How didst thou know 'twas she ? — O, thou deceiv'st 
 Past thought ! — What said she to you ? — (let more 
 typers; [you? 
 Raise all my kindred. — Are they married, think 
 
 Rod. Truly, I think, they are. 
 
 Bra. O heaven! — How got she out? — 0 treason 
 of the blood ! — 
 Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds 
 By what you see them act. — Are there not charms, 
 By which the property of youth and maid hood 
 May be abus'd ? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
 Of some such thing? 
 
 Rod. Yes, sir; I have indeed. 
 
 Bra. Call up my brother. — O, that you had had 
 her! — 
 
 Some one way, some another. — Do you know 
 Where we may apprehend her and the Mofjr? 
 
 Rod. 1 think, I can discover him; if you please 
 To get good guard, and go along with me. 
 
 Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call ; 
 I may command at most; — Get weapons, ho! 
 And raise some special officers of night. — y.^ 
 On, good Roderigo ; — I'll deserve your pains. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The same. Another Street. 
 Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants. 
 
 lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, 
 Yet do I hold it very stuff o'the conscience, 
 To do no contriv'd murder; I lack iniquity 
 Sometimes to do me service : Nine «>r ten times 
 I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs 
 
 0th. 'Tis better as it is. - 
 
 lago. Nay, but he prated. 
 
 And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
 Against your honour. 
 That, with the little godliness I have, 
 I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir, 
 Are you fast n\arried? for, be sure of this,— 
 That the magnifico is much beloved ; 
 And hath, in his effect, a voice potential 
 As double as the duke's; he will divorce yon; 
 Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
 The law (with all his might, to enforce it on,) 
 Will give him cable. 
 
Scene 3. 
 
 THE MOOR 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 773 
 
 i)tn. ^ Let him do his spite : 
 
 My services, which I have done the signiory, 
 Shall out- tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, 
 
 i Which, u'hen I know that boasting is an lionour, 
 shall promulgate,) [ letch my life and being 
 From men of royal siege; and my demerits 
 May speak, nnbonneted, to as proud a fortune ^ 
 As this that I have reach'd : For know, lago, jja' , 
 But that I love the gentle Desdemona, , ^ ^ 
 I w^d_£oljjiy .unhoii&ed-fl:efi,ja^^ ^ , 
 PuLiiit^i-citcnniscription and confine / V^* 
 For the^ea's wortli. But look! what lights come 
 yotider? > 
 
 Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers 
 with torches. 
 
 lago. I'hese are fhe raised father, and his friends : 
 Voii were best go in. 
 
 Oih. Not I : I must be found j 
 
 My parts, my title, and my perfect soul, 
 Shall niasifest me rightly. Is it they? 
 
 lago. By Janus, I think no, 
 
 0th. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. 
 The goodness of the night upon you, friends'. 
 What is the news ? 
 
 Cas. The duke does greet you, general ; 
 
 And he requires your haste- post-haste appearance, 
 Even on the instant. 
 
 0th. What is the matter, think you? 
 
 CVav , Something from Cyprus, as I may divine ; 
 It is a business of some heat: the galleys 
 Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
 This very night at one another's heels; 
 And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met, 
 Are at the duke's already : You have been hotly 
 call'd for; 
 
 When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
 Tlie senate hath sent about three several quests, 
 To search you out. 
 
 0th. 'Tis well I am found by you. 
 
 I will but spend a word here in the house, 
 Arucl go with you. [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? 
 
 Jago. "Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land 
 carack ; 
 
 if it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. 
 Cas. 1 do not understand. 
 Jago. He's married. 
 
 Cas. To who? 
 
 Re-enter Othello. 
 lago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? 
 oih. Have with you. 
 
 Cajt. Here comes scaother troop to seek for you. 
 
 ^nter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers of 
 night, with torches and weapons. 
 
 lago. It is Brabantio : — General, be advis'd : 
 He comes to bad intent. 
 
 0th. Holla ! stand there ! 
 
 Mod. Signior, it is the Moor. 
 
 Bra. Down with him, thief! 
 
 [They dra/w on both sides.) 
 
 lago You, Roderigo! come, sir, lam for you. 
 
 0th. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew 
 will rust them. — 
 Good signior, you shall more command with years. 
 Than with your weapons. 
 
 Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd 
 my daughter? 
 Damn'd as thou art, thou hagt enchanted her : 
 For I'll refer me to all things of sense. 
 If she in chains of magic were not bound. 
 Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy; 
 So opposite to marriage, that she shunu'd 
 The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
 Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
 Run from her giiardage to the sooty bosom 
 Of such a thing as fhou : to fear, not to delight. 
 Jud^e mo the world, if 'tis not gross In sense, 
 
 That thou hast pracfis'd on her with foul charms; 
 Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs or mineraia^ 
 That waken motion : — I'll have it disputed onj 
 'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. 
 I therefore apprehend and do attach thee. 
 For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
 Of arts inhibited and out of warrant : — 
 Lay-bold upon him; if he do resist. 
 Subdue him at his peril. 
 
 0th. Hold your hands, 
 
 Both 5'ou of my inclining, and the rest : 
 W^ere it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
 Without a prompter.— Where will yoa thul l go 
 To answer this your charge ? 
 
 Bra. To prison : till fit tin* 
 
 Of law, and course of direct session. 
 Call thee to answer. 
 
 0th. What if I do obey? 
 
 How may the duke be therewith satisfied. 
 Whose messengers are here about my side, 
 Upon some present business of the state, 
 To bring me to him ? 
 
 Off. 'Tis trne, most worthy signior, 
 
 The duke's In council ; and your noble self, 
 lam sure, is sent for. 
 
 Bra. How! the duke in council! 
 
 In this time of the night! — Bring him away : 
 Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself, 
 Or any of my brothers of the state, 
 Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own: 
 For if such actions may have passage free, 
 Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be, 
 
 [Exewil 
 
 Scene III.— The same. A Council-Chambet^. 
 The Duke and Senators, sitting at a fable ; 
 Officers attending. 
 
 Duke. There is no composition in these news, 
 That gives them credit. 
 
 1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportiou'd ; 
 My letters say, a hundred and seven galleys. 
 
 Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty, 
 
 2 Sen. And mine^ two hundred I 
 But though they jump not on a just account, 
 
 (As in these cases, where the aim re{)ort.s, 
 'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm 
 A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 
 
 Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment; 
 I do not so secure me in the error, 
 But the main article 1 do approve 
 In fearful sense. 
 
 Sailor. [Within.) What ho! what ho! what ho! 
 
 Enter an Officer, with a Sailor, 
 
 Off. A messenger from the galleys. 
 
 Duke. ^ Now ? the business* 
 
 Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes^ 
 So was I bid report here to the state. 
 By signior Angelo. 
 
 Dule. How saj you by this change ? 
 
 1 Sen. This cannot be, 
 
 By no assay of reason ; 'tis a pageant, 
 To keep us in false gaze : When we consider 
 The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ; 
 And let ourselves again but understand, 
 Tliat, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
 So may he with more facile question bear it. 
 For that it stands not in such warlike brace, 
 But altogether lacks the abilities [(his. 
 That Rhodes is dress'd in :— if we make thought ol 
 We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful, 
 To leave that latest which concerns him firsl ; 
 Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, 
 To wake, and wage, a danger profitless. 
 
 Duk$. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rh(»des. 
 
 Off. Here is more news. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
 Stet rinj; with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, 
 
OTHELLO, 
 
 Act t 
 
 Htive there injointed them with an aflcT-Heev. 
 i Sen. Ay, so I thought: — How many, as you 
 guess? 
 
 Me^a. Oi' thirty sail : and now do they re-stem 
 Their backward course, bearing with frank ap- 
 pearance 
 
 Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Montano, 
 Vour trusty and most vahant servitor, 
 With his free duty recommends you thus. 
 And prays you to believe him. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus. — 
 Marcus Lucchese, is he not in town? 
 
 1 6Vn. He's now in Florence. 
 
 Duke. Write from us ; wish him post-post-haste : 
 despatch. [Moor. 
 
 1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant 
 
 - Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, 
 and Officers. 
 Duke, Valiant Othello, we must straight employ 
 you / 
 Ajjainst the general enemy Ottoman. 
 I did not see you; welcome, gentle signiot ; 
 
 {To Brabantio.) 
 We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 
 
 Bra So did I yours : good your grace, pardon me ; 
 Nt^ither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
 I lath rais'd me from my bed; nor doth the general 
 care 
 
 Take hold on me ; for my particular grief 
 I s of so flood-gate and o'erdearing nature, 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
 And it is still itself. 
 
 Duke. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
 
 Sen. Dead ? 
 
 Bra. Ay, to me ; 
 
 She is abus'd, stolen from me, and corrupted 
 By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : 
 For nature so preposterously to err. 
 Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
 Sans witchcraft could not — [ing, 
 
 Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceed- 
 Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, 
 A.nd you of her, the bloody book of law 
 ifou shall yourself read in the bitter letter, 
 After your own sense ; yea, though our proper son 
 Stood in your action. 
 
 Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 
 
 Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it seems, 
 Your special mandate, for the state atfairs, 
 H^th hilhei brought. 
 
 \J^uke §f Sen. We are very sorry focJv 
 
 Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to 
 this ? ^ {To Othello.) 
 
 Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 
 0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors. 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, — 
 That I iiave ta'en away this old man's daughter. 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her; 
 The very head and front of tn^ ofiending 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech. 
 And little bless'd with tlie set phrase of peace ; 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
 Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
 Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause. 
 Id speaking for myself :/Yet, by your gracious pa- 
 tience, 
 
 I will a round uuvarnish'd tale deliver 1 
 Otiny whole course of love ; what drugs, what 
 charms, 
 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic.* 
 
 IFor such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 
 wou his daughter with. 
 
 Bra. A maiden never bold ; 
 
 Of spirit «o still and quiet, that her motion 
 Bliish'd at her^-'lf ; and she, — in spite of nature, 
 
 Of years, of country, credit, every thing, — 
 To lall in love with what she fear'd to look ou ? 
 It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect. 
 That will confess — perfection so could err 
 Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven 
 To find out practices of cunning hell. 
 Why this should be. I therefore vouch agair. 
 That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood. 
 Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect. 
 He wrought upon her. 
 
 Duke. To vouch this, is no {iroof ; 
 
 Without more certain and more overt test. 
 Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods 
 or modern seeming, do prefer against him. 
 
 1 Sen. But, Othello, speak;— 
 Did you, by indirect and forced courses. 
 Subdue and poison this young maid's aftections' 
 Or^ame it by request, and such fair question 
 As soul to soul aflbrdeth ? 
 
 0th. I do beseech you. 
 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
 And let her speak of me before her father: 
 ]f you do find me foul in her report. 
 The trust, the office, I do hold of you. 
 Not only take away, but let your sentence 
 Even fall upon my life. 
 
 Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 
 
 0th. Ancient, conduct them ; you best know the 
 place. — [Exeunt lago and Attendanis, 
 And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
 I do confess the vices of my blood. 
 So justly to your grave ears I'll present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love. 
 And she in mine. 
 
 Duke. Say it, Othello. 
 
 0th. Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life. 
 From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes. 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days. 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
 Wherein 1 spoke of most disastrous chances. 
 O f moviug: acci dents, by flood and field ; 
 QiLhail^bjxadUi scap deadly breach; 
 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe. 
 And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, \> 
 And portaiice in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres vast, and .d^^Kects.- idle. 
 RougJij^««meSj,_rocl^^ heads touch 
 
 Jigayen, 
 
 It was my hinTRTSpeak, such was the process; 
 And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. These tmngs to 
 hear. 
 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline: 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence; 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse : Which I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour; and found good means 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart. 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard. 
 But not intentively : I did consent; 
 And often did beguile her of her tears. 
 When I did speak of some disti-essful stroke. 
 That my youth suffer'd. My story beinfif done. 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sigbs : 
 She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas paefing 
 strange ; 
 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 
 She wish'd, she had not heard it; yet she wish'd 
 That heaven had made her such a man: she thank 4 
 me ; 
 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 I .sHiould but teach him how to tell niy story. 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake { 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
 
fCENE 8. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 77?l 
 
 This only is the witchcraft I have iis'd; \ 
 Here comes the lady, let her witness it. -"""^ 
 
 Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 
 
 Ouhe. I think, this tale would win my daughter 
 Good Brabantio, [too. — 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at tho best: 
 Men do their broken weapons rather use, 
 Than their bare hands. 
 
 Bra. I pray you, hear her speak ; 
 
 If siie cosfess, that she was half the wooer, 
 Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
 Ijight on the man ! — Come hither, gentle mistress : 
 Do you perceive, in all this noble company, 
 Where most you owe obedience ? 
 
 Des. My noble father, 
 
 [ do perceive here a divided duty: 
 To you, I am bound for life, and education; 
 My life, and education, both do learn me 
 How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
 lam hitherto your daughter: But here's my husband ; 
 And so much duty as my mother shew'd 
 To you, preferring you before her fatiier, 
 So much I challenge that I may profess 
 Due to the Moor, my lord. 
 
 Bra. God be with you ! — 1 have done : — 
 
 Please it your grace, on to the state affairs ; 
 I had rather to adopt a child^ than get it. — 
 Come hither, Moor: 
 
 I here do give thee that with all my heart, 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 i would keep from thee.— For your sake, jewel, 
 r am glad at soul I have no other child; _ 
 For thy escape would teach me tyranny. 
 To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord. 
 Duke. Let me speak like yourself ; and lay a sen- 
 tence, 
 
 Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers 
 [nto your favour. 
 
 When remedies are past, the griefs are ended. 
 
 By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended.- 
 
 To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, ' 
 
 Is the next way to draw new mischief on. - 
 
 What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 
 
 Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
 
 The robb'd,that smiles, steals something from the thief; 
 
 He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 
 
 Bra. 80 let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
 We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
 He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears 
 But the i'ree comfort which from thence he hears: 
 But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow. 
 That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow 
 These sentences, to sugar or to gall. 
 Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
 But words are words; I never yet did hear 
 That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear. 
 I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. 
 
 Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparatioir? 
 makes for Cyprus : — Othello, the fortitude of the'' 
 place is best known to you: And though we have 
 there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet 
 opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more 
 safer voice on you : you must therefore be content to 
 slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more 
 stubborn and boisterous expedition. 
 
 0th. The tyrant custom, most grave senators. 
 Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
 My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize 
 A natural and prompt alacrity. 
 I find in hardness: and do undertake 
 These present wars against the Ottomites. 
 Most humbly therefo:? bending to your state, 
 r crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
 Due reference of place, and exhibition ; 
 With such accommodation, and besort. 
 As levels with her breeding. 
 
 Duke. If you please 
 
 Be't at her father's. 
 
 Bra. I'll not have it so. 
 
 0th. Nor I. 
 
 Des. Nor I ; I would not there rcttd*. 
 
 To put my father in impatient thoughts. 
 By being in his eye. Most gracious duke. 
 To my unfolding lend a gracious ear; 
 And let me find a charter in your voic«. 
 To assist my simpleness. 
 
 Duke. What would you, Desdemona ? 
 
 Des. That 1 did love the Moor to live with Uffi, 
 My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
 May trumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued 
 Even to the very quality of my lord : 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 And to his honours, and his valiant parts, 
 Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
 So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
 A moth of peace, and he go to the war. 
 The rights, for which 1 love him, are bereft me. 
 And I a heavy interim shall support 
 By his dear absence : Let me go with him. 
 
 0th. Your voices, lords : — 'beseech you, let hef 
 Have a free way. [will 
 Vouch with me, heaven ; I therefore beg it not. 
 To please the palate of my appetite ; 
 Nor to comply with heat, the young affects, 
 In my distinct and proper satisfaction ; 
 But to be free and bounteous to her mind : 
 And heaven defend your good souls, that you think 
 I will your serious and great business scant. 
 For she is with me : No, when light wing'd toys 
 Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dulness 
 My speculative and active instruments, 
 That my disports corrupt and taint my business. 
 Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, 
 And all indign and base adversities 
 Make head against my estimation I 
 
 Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine. 
 Either for her stay, or going : the affair cries— haflti5» 
 And speed must answer it ; you must hence to-night. 
 
 Des. To-night, my lord ? 
 Vuke. This night. 
 
 0th. _ _ With all my heart. 
 
 Duke. At nine i'the morning here we'll meet again. 
 Othello, leave some officer behind. 
 And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
 With such things else of quality and respect. 
 As doth import you. 
 
 0th. Please your grace, my ancient ; 
 
 A man he is of honesty, and trust; 
 To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
 With what else needful your good grace shall think 
 To be sent after me. 
 
 Duke. Let it be so. — 
 
 Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, 
 
 {To Brabantio.) 
 
 If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
 
 1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor! use Desden)ona w^ell. 
 
 Bra. Look to her, Moor ; have a quick eye to see ; 
 She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, Senators., Officers, §fc. 
 
 0th. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago, 
 My Desdemona must f leave to thee; 
 I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
 And bring them after in the best advantage.- 
 Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour 
 Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 
 To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 
 
 [Exeunt Othello and Deadewt&Ha, 
 
 Rod. Iago. 
 
 Iago. What say'st thou, noble heart? 
 
 Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou? 
 
 Jago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 
 
 Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 
 
 Iago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thea 
 after it. Why, thou silly gentleman ! 
 
 Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a tor- 
 ment: and then have we a prescription to die, vehea 
 death is our physician. 
 
 laqo. O villanous ! I have looked i\pon the worM 
 
776 
 
 OrHELLO, 
 
 Act 11 
 
 for four titnea se-^Ti years ; and since 1 could dis- 
 tinguish between a benefit and an injury, I never 
 found a man that knew how to love himself. Ere 
 I would say, I would drown myself for the love of 
 a Guinea hen, I would change my humanity with a 
 baboon. 
 
 Rod. What should I do ? I confess, it is my 
 Bhame to be so fond ; but it is not in virtue to 
 amend it 
 
 lauo. Virtue? a fig ! 'tis in ourselves, that we 
 are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens; to 
 the which, our wills are gardeners: so that if we 
 wTir plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; Set hyssop, and 
 weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, 
 or distract it with many; either to have it steril with 
 Idleness, or manured with industiy; why, the power 
 and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If 
 the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason 
 to poise another of sensuality, the blood and ba*se- 
 ni-ss of our natures would conduct us to most pre- 
 j)osterous conclusions : But we have reason to cool 
 our rjiging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted 
 lusts; whereof I take this, that you call — love, to 
 be a sect, or scion. 
 
 Rod. It cannot be. 
 
 Ia(jo. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per- 
 mission of the will. Come, be a man: Drown thy- 
 seli ? drown cats, and blind puppies. I have pro- 
 fessed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy 
 deserving with cables of perdurable toughness ; I 
 could never better stead thee than now. Put money 
 ill thy purse; follow these wars; defeat thy favour 
 with an usurped beard; I say, put money in thy 
 purse. It cannot be, that De?demona should long 
 continue her love to the Moor, — put money in thy 
 purse; — nor he his to her: it was a violent com- 
 mencement, and thou shalt see an answerable se- 
 questration; — put but money in thy purse.— These 
 Moors are changeable in their wills; — fill thy purse 
 with money : the food, that to him now is as luscious 
 -/as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as colo- 
 quintida. She must change for youth : when she is 
 sated with hIsTody7 she will find the error of her 
 choice. — Slie must have change, she mugt: there- 
 fore put money in thy purse. — irthou wilt needs 
 damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drown- 
 ing. Make all the money thou canst: If sanctimony 
 and a frail vow, betwixt an erring barbarian and a 
 supersubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, 
 and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her ; there- 
 fo.ce make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it 
 is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be 
 hanged in compassing thy joy, than to be drowned 
 and go without her. 
 
 Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend 
 on the issue ? 
 
 lago. Thou art sure of me; — Go, make money: 
 — I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again 
 and again, 1 hate the Moor: My cause is hearted ; 
 thine liath no less reason: Let us be conjunctive 
 in our revenge against him: if thou canst cuckold 
 him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, and me a sport. 
 There are many events in the womb of time, which 
 will be delivered. Traverse; go; provide thy 
 money. We will have more of this to-morrow. 
 Adieu. 
 
 Rod. Where shall vve meet i'the morning? 
 
 lago. At my lodging. 
 
 Hod. I'll be with thee betimes. 
 
 lago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo ? 
 
 Rod. Wiiat say you ? 
 
 Jago. No more of drowning, do you hear. 
 
 Rod. I am changed. I'll i«ell all my land. 
 
 lago. Go to ; farewell : put money enough^ in 
 your purse. [Exit Roderigo. 
 
 Thus do I ever make my f)ol my purse : 
 For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane. 
 If I would time expend with such a snipe, 
 6ut for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor; 
 And it is thought abroad, that 'tvvixt niy sheets 
 
 He has done my office : I know not if it be true; 
 
 But I, for mere sus.picion in that kind. 
 
 Will do, as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
 
 The better shall my purpose work on him. 
 
 Cassio's a proper man : Let me see now; 
 
 To get his place, and to plume up my wiU ; 
 
 A double knavery, — How? how? — Let me 
 
 Alter some time, to abuse Othello's ear. 
 
 That he is too lamiliar with his wife : — 
 
 He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, 
 
 To be suspected : fiam'd to make women fal«e. 
 
 The Moor is of a free and open nature, 
 
 That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so; 
 
 And will as tenderly be led by the nose. 
 
 As asses are. 
 
 I have't; — it is engender'd :— Hell and night ~~~~| 
 Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.\ 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — A Sea-port Town in Cyprus A Plat- 
 form. 
 
 Enter Montano and Two Gentlemen. 
 Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea ? 
 
 1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high-wrought 
 
 flood ; 
 
 I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main. 
 Descry a sail. 
 
 Mon. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at 
 land ; 
 
 A fuller blast ne'er shook our b«ttlemeHts : 
 
 If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, 
 
 What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, 
 
 Can hold the mortise ? what shall we hear of this? 
 
 2 Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet: 
 For do but Stand upon the foaming shore, 
 The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds; 
 
 The wind-shak'd surge with high and monstroaa 
 raaio, 
 
 Seems to cast water on the burning bear, 
 Anal quench the guards ol the ever fixed pole; 
 I never did like molestation view 
 On the enchafed flood. 
 
 Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 
 
 Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are diown'd; 
 It is impossible they bear it out. 
 
 Enter a Third Gentleman. 
 
 .3 Gent. News, lords ! our wars are done ; 
 The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
 That their designment halts : A noble ship of Venice 
 Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufterance 
 On most part of their fleet. 
 
 Moti. How I is this true ? 
 
 3 Ge7it. The ship is here put in, 
 A Veronese ; Michael Cassio, 
 Lieutenant to tiie warlike Moor, Othello, 
 
 Is come on shore: the Moor himself 's at sea, 
 And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 
 
 Mon. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. 
 
 3 Gent. But this same Cassio, — though he speak 
 of comfort. 
 
 Touching the Turkish loss, — yet he looks sadly, 
 And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted 
 With foul and violent tempest. 
 
 Mon, Pray heaven he be ; 
 
 For I have serv'd him, and the man commands 
 Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho 
 As well to see the vessel that's con.e in. 
 As throw out our eyes for brave. Otteelio ; 
 Even till we make the main, and the aeriai bke 
 An indistinct regard. 
 
 3 Gent. Come, let's do 80 
 
 For e\ery minute is expectancy 
 Of m«re arrivance. 
 
 E7iter Cassio. 
 
 Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike i§le. 
 That so approve the Moor ; O, let tlie heaveua 
 Give him defence against the elements. 
 
Scene 1. THE MOOR 
 
 For Iha^e lost hlrn on a dangerous sea, 
 Mon. Is he well shipp'd? 
 
 Cus. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
 Of very expert and approv'd allowance ; 
 Therel fore my hopes, not surfeited to death. 
 Stand in bold cure. 
 
 ( Within.) A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 
 Enter another Gentleman. 
 Cas. What noise ? 
 
 4 Geni. The town is empty ; on the brow o'the sea 
 Stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail. 
 Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 
 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy ; 
 
 {Guns heard.) 
 
 Our friends, at least. 
 
 Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 
 
 And s:ive us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 
 
 2 Geni. 1 shall. [Kvit. 
 
 Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd? 
 
 Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid, 
 That paragons description, and wild fame ; 
 One, that excels the quirks of blazoning pens. 
 And in tiie essential vesture of creation, [in ^ 
 
 Does bear all excellency. — How now ? who has put 
 
 Re-enter Second Gentleman. 
 2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 
 Cas. He has had most favourable and happy 
 speed : 
 
 Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds. 
 The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, — 
 Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, — 
 As having sense of beauty, do omit 
 Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
 The divine Desdeinona. 
 
 Mon. What is she? 
 
 Cas. She, that I spake of, our great captain's 
 captain, 
 
 Left in the conduct of the bold lago; 
 Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, 
 A se'nnight's speed. — Great Jove, Othello guard, 
 -^nd swell his sail with thine own powerful breath; 
 That he may bless this bay with his tall ship. 
 Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, 
 Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits,. 
 And bring all Cyprus comfort ! — O, behold, 
 
 Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo, 
 and Attendants. 
 The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
 Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees: — 
 Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
 Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
 Enwheel thee round! 
 
 Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 
 
 What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 
 
 Cas. He is not yet arriv'd ; nor know I aught 
 But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 
 Des. O, but I fear; — How lost you company? 
 Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
 Parted our fellowship But, hark ! a sail. 
 
 {Cry wit fun . A sail, a sail! Then guns heard.) 
 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the r.itadel ; 
 Thiis likewise is a friend. 
 (^Jas. See for the news. 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 Good ancient, you are welcome ; — Welcome, mis- 
 tress : — {To Emilia.) 
 Lf»t it not gall your patience, good lago, 
 That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding | 
 That gives me this bold shew of courtesy. I 
 
 {Kissing tier.) 
 
 Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, 
 As of her tongue she oft bestows on me. 
 You'd have enough. 
 
 Des. Alas, she has no speech. 
 
 Iago. In faith, too much ; 
 I find it still, when I have list to sleep: 
 Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
 
 OP VENICE. ' ^/^'j^'^^C-M 777 
 
 She puts her tongue a little in her heart. 
 And chides with thinking. • 
 
 Emit. You have little caitse to say so. 
 
 Iago. Come on, come on ; you are pictures out of 
 doors. 
 
 Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens. 
 Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, 
 Players in your housewifery, and housewi\»s ta 
 your beds. 
 
 Des. O, fy upon thee, slanderer I 
 
 Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; 
 You rise to play, and go to bed to work, 
 
 Emil. You shall not write my praise. 
 
 Iago. No, let me not, 
 
 Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou 
 should'st praise me ? 
 
 Iago. O, gentle lady, do not put me to't; 
 For i am nothing, if not critical. 
 
 Des. Come on, assay : — There's one gone to the 
 harbour? 
 
 Iago. Ay, madam. 
 
 Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
 The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — 
 Come, how would'st thou praise me ? 
 
 Iago. I am about it ; but, indeed, my invention 
 Comes from my fiate, as birdlime does from frize, 
 It |)lucks out brains and all : But my muse labours. 
 And thus she is deliver'd. 
 If she be fair and wise, — fairness and wit. 
 The one's for use, the other usfth it. [witty? 
 
 Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and 
 
 Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit. 
 She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. 
 
 Des. Worse and worse. 
 
 Emil. How, if fair and foolish ? 
 
 Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair; 
 For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 
 
 Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools 
 laugh i'the alehouse. What miserable praise hast 
 thou for her that's foul and foolish ? 
 
 Iago. There's none so foul, and foolish there 
 unto. 
 
 But does foul pranks, which fair and wise ones do. 
 
 Des. O heavy ignorance! — thou praisestthe worst 
 best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a 
 deserving woman indeed ? one, that, in the autho- 
 rity of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very 
 malice itself? 
 
 Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud; 
 Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ; 
 Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay; 
 Fled from her wish, and yet said,— «o?y / ma}j , 
 She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
 Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly ; 
 She that in wisdom never was so frail. 
 To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail ; 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind. 
 See suitors following, and not look behind ; 
 She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — 
 
 Des. To do what ? 
 
 Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 
 
 Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! — Do 
 not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. 
 — How say you, Cassio ? is he not a most profane 
 and liberal counsellor ? 
 
 Cas. He speaks home, madam ; you may relish 
 him more in the soldier, than in the scholar. 
 
 Iago. {Aside.) He takes her by the palm : Ay, well 
 said, whisper : with as little a web as this, will ] 
 ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, 
 do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You 
 say true: 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip 
 you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you 
 had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now 
 again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; 
 well kissed ! an excellent courtesy ! 'tis so, indeed. 
 Yet again your fingers to your lips? would, they 
 were clyster-pipes lor your sake ! {Trumpet.) The 
 Moor, I know his trumpet, 
 
 Cas. 'Tis truly so. 
 
r78 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act II 
 
 l)es. Let's meet him, and receive him. 
 Cas. Lo, where he cosnes I 
 
 Enter Othello, and Attendants. 
 
 0th. O tny Aiir warrior ! 
 
 Des. My dear Othello ! 
 
 0th. It gives me wonder, great as my content. 
 To see yoa here before rae. O my soul's joy 
 if after every tempest come such calms, 
 May thf; winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
 And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, - 
 Olympus-high ; and duck again as low 
 As hell's from heaven ! If it were now to die, 
 n\vere now to be most happy ; for, 1 fear. 
 My soul liath her content so absolute. 
 That not another comfprt like to this 
 Sttcceeds in unknown fate. 
 
 l)es. The heavens forbid, 
 
 But that o<ir loves and comforts should increase, 
 Even as our days do grow ! 
 
 0th. Amen to that, sweet powers I — 
 
 ! cannot speak enough of this content, 
 [t stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 
 And this, and this, the greatest discords be, 
 
 {Kissing her.) 
 
 That e'er our hearts shall make ! 
 
 lago. O, you are well tun'd now ! 
 
 But rll set down the pegs that make this music, 
 Aa honest as I am. {Aside.) 
 
 Oih. Come, let's to the castle. — 
 
 News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are 
 drown'd. 
 
 How do our old acqviaintance of this isle ?— 
 
 Honey, you sha)l be well desir'd at Cyprus, 
 
 I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, 
 
 I prattle out of Ikshion, and 1 dote 
 
 In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good lago, 
 
 (ro to the bay, and disembark my coffers : 
 
 Bring tbou the master to the citadel ; 
 
 He is a goi)d one, and his worthiness 
 
 Does challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, 
 
 Once more well met at Cyprus. 
 
 [Exeunt 0th. Des. and Attend. 
 
 lago. Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. 
 Come hither. If Uiou be'st valiant, as (they say) 
 base men, being in love, have tlien a nobility in their 
 natures more tlian is n ttive to them, — list me. . The 
 lieutenant to-night watches on the court of guard : — 
 First, [ must tell thee this — Desdemona is directly 
 fn love with hini. 
 
 Rod. With him! why 'tis not possible. 
 
 lago. Lay tliy tinger — thusj and let thy soul be 
 instructed. Mark me with what violence she first 
 loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling tier fan- 
 tastical lies: And will she love him still for prating? j 
 let not thy discreet he;u-t think it. Her eye must j 
 be fed ; and what delight shall she have to looli on 
 the devil ? When the blood is made dull with the I 
 act of sport, there should be, — again to inflame it, ' 
 and to give satiety a fresh appetite, — loveliness in 
 favour; sympathy in years, manners, and beauties ; 
 all which the Moor is defective in: Now, for want of 
 these required conveniences, her delicate tenderness 
 w'ill find itself abused, begm to heave the gorge, 
 disrelish and abhor the Moor; very nature will 
 instruct her in it, and compel her to some second 
 choice. Now, sir, this granted, (as it is a most 
 pregnant and unforced position,) who stands so emi- j 
 nently in tiie degree of this fortune, as Cassio does ? I 
 a knave very voluble; no further conscionable, than I 
 in putting on the mere form of civil and humane ! 
 seeming, for the better compassing of his salt and ^ 
 niost hidden loose affection ? why, none ; why, none: 
 A slippery and subtle knave; a finder out of oc- 
 easioas; that hi.s an eye can stamp and counterfeit 
 advantages, though true advantage never present 
 itself : A devilish knave ! besides, the.,k.nave ishand- 
 ■ome, young; and hath all those requisites in him, 
 that fully and green minds look after: A pestilent 
 
 complete knave ; and the woman liath fouwd hiia 
 already. 
 
 Rod, I cannot believe that iu her ; she is full of 
 most blessed condition. 
 
 lago. Blessed fig's end ! the wine she drinks is 
 made of grapes : if she had been blessed, she would 
 never have loved the Moor : Blessed pudding ! Didst 
 thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand ? 
 didst not mark that ? , 
 
 Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but courtesy. ^ 
 
 Jago. Lechery, by this hand ; an index, and ob- 
 scure prologue to the history of lust and fpul thoughts. 
 They met so near with their lips, that their breatiis 
 embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo ! 
 when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at 
 hand comes the master and main exercise, the incor- 
 porate conclusion : Pish ! — But, I ir, be you ruled by 
 me : I have brought you from Venice. Watch you 
 to-night ; for the command, I'll lay't upon you : 
 Cassio knows you .not; — I'll not be far from you : 
 Do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by 
 speaking tou loud, or tainting his di5ci[>line ; or 
 from what other course you please, which the time 
 shall more favourably minister. 
 
 Rod. Well. 
 
 lago. Sir. he i§ rash, and very sudden in choler ; 
 and, haply, \vith his truncheon may strike at you: 
 Provoke him, that he may: for, even out of that, will 
 I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny ; whose qualification 
 shall come into no true taste again, but by the 
 displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter 
 journey to your desires, by the means I shall then 
 have to prefer them ; and tiie impediment most pro- 
 fitably removed, without the which there were no 
 expectation of our prosperity. 
 
 Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any op- 
 portunity. 
 
 lago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 
 the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Rod. Adieu. [Exit 
 lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it ; 
 That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit: 
 The Moor — hovvbeit that ! endure him not, — 
 Is of a constant, loving, noble nature ; 
 And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona 
 A most dear husband. Nyw 1 do love her foo ; 
 Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradveuture, 
 I stand accountant for as great a sin,j 
 But partly led to diet my revenge, 
 For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
 Hath leap'd into my seat : the thought whereof 
 Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards » 
 And nothing can or shall content my soul, 
 Till I am even with him, wife for wife : 
 Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
 At least into a jealousy so strong. 
 That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,— 
 If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash 
 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
 I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip; 
 Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb, — 
 For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too; 
 Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me, 
 For making him egregiously an ass, 
 And practising upon his peace and quiet 
 Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet coufus'd ; 
 Knavery's plain face is never seen, till us'd. \ExiL 
 
 Scene II.— ^ Street. 
 Enter a Herald, with a proclamation ; People 
 following. 
 
 Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and va- 
 liant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, 
 importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, 
 every man pnt himself into triumph ; some to dance, 
 some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and 
 revels his addiction leads him; for, besides these 
 beneficial news, it is the celebratioo of his nuptials: 
 So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All 
 
Scene 8. THE MOOR 
 
 offices are open ; and there is full liberty of feasting;, 
 fmm this present hour of five, till the bell hath told 
 rtleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus, and our 
 noble general, Othello ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — A Hall in the Castle. 
 Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
 Attendants. 
 0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- 
 night : 
 
 LiH a teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
 Niit to out-sport discretion. 
 
 Cas. lago has direction what to do ; 
 But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
 Wi.l I look to't 
 
 0th. lago is most honest. 
 Michael, good-night : To-morrow, with our earliest. 
 Let me have speech with you. — Come, my dear 
 love. 
 
 The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ; 
 
 {To Desdemona.) 
 That profit's yet to come 'twixt me and you. — 
 Good-night. [Exeunt 0th. Des. and Attend. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Cas. Welcome, Iago : We must to the watch, 
 
 Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet ten 
 o'clock : Our general cast us thus early, for the love 
 of his Desdemona ; whom let us not therefore blame ; 
 he hath not yet made wanton the night with her : and 
 she is sport for Jove. 
 
 Cas. She's a most exquisite lady. 
 
 Iago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 
 
 Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate 
 creature. 
 
 Iago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds a 
 parley of provocation. 
 
 Cas. An inviting eye ; and yet, methinks, right 
 modest, [love? 
 
 Iago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarm to 
 
 Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 
 
 Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, 
 lieutenant, 1 have a stoop of wine : and here without 
 are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have 
 a measure to the health of the black Othello. 
 
 Cas. Not to-night, good Iago; I have very poor 
 and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well 
 wish courtesy would invent some other custom of 
 entertainment. 
 
 Iago. O, they are our friends ; but one cup : I'll 
 drink for you. 
 
 Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and 
 that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what 
 innovation it makes here : I am unfortunate in the 
 infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any 
 more. 
 
 Iago. What, man! 'lis a night of revels; the gal- 
 lants desire it. 
 
 Cas. Where are they ? 
 
 Iago. Here at the door: I pray yon, call them in. 
 
 Cas. I'll do it, but it dislikes me. [Exit. 
 
 Iago. If J can fasten but one cup upon him. 
 With that which he hath drunk to-night already. 
 He'll be as full of quarrel and oftence 
 As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, 
 Roderigo, [ward, 
 Whoia love has turn'd almost the wrong side out- 
 To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
 Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch : 
 Three lads of Cyprus,— noble swelling spirits^ 
 That hold their'honours in a wary distance, 
 I'he very elements of this warlike isle, — 
 Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups. 
 And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 
 
 drunkards, 
 Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
 That may offend the isle : — But here they come : 
 If consequence do but approve my dream. 
 My boat sails freely both with wind and stream. 
 
 OF VENICE. 77S 
 
 Re enter Ckssio, with Kim MoNli^o, and GeK» 
 tlemen, 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse 
 already. 
 
 Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, u 
 I am a soldier. 
 
 Iago. Some wine, ho ! 
 
 And let me the canakin clinh, clink ; [Sings^ 
 And let we the canakin clink: 
 
 A soldiers a man ; 
 
 A life's but a span ; 
 Why then, let a soldier drink. 
 
 Some wine, boys ! [Wine brought iiC 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 
 Iago. I learned it in England, where (indeed) they 
 are most potent in potting : your Dane, your German, 
 and your swag-bellied Hollander, — Drink, ho ! — are 
 nothing to your English. 
 
 Cas. Is your Englishman so expert hi his drinking ? 
 Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your 
 Dane dead dmnk; he sweats not to overthrow your 
 Almain ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the 
 next pottle can be filled. 
 
 Cas. To the health of our general. [justice. 
 Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do yoa 
 Iago. O sweet England ! 
 
 King Stephen was a worthy peer. 
 
 His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
 He held them sixpence all too dear 
 With that he caWd the tailor — imin. 
 
 He was a wight of high renown, 
 
 And thou art but of low degree: 
 *Tis pride that pulls the country down. 
 Then take tktne auld cloak about thee. 
 Some wine, bo ! 
 
 Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than thd 
 other. 
 
 Iago. Will you hear it again ? 
 
 Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his 
 place, that does those things. — Well,- -Heaven's 
 above all; and there be souls that must be saved, 
 and there be souls must not be saved. 
 
 Iago. It's true, good lieutenant. 
 
 Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the g««. 
 neral, nor any man of quality, — I hope to be saved. 
 
 Iago. And so do 1 too, lieutenant. 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, by your lea\ e, not before me : the 
 lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Lefa 
 have no more of this; let's to our affairs. — Forgive 
 us our sins! — Gentlemvn, let's look to our business. 
 Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk ; this is my 
 ancient : — this is my right hand, and this is my le/i 
 hand: — I am not drunk now; I can stand welJ 
 enough, and speak well enough. 
 
 All. Excellent well. 
 
 Cas. Why, very well, then: you must not thi«k 
 then that I am drunk. [Exit, 
 
 Mon. To the platform, masters ; come, let s sei 
 the watch. 
 
 Iago. You see this fellow that is gone before 
 He is a soldier, fit to stand by Csesar 
 And give direction ; and do but see his vice ; 
 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, 
 The one as long as the other : 'tis pity of him. 
 I fear, the trust Othello puts him in. 
 On some odd time of his infirmity, 
 Will shake this island. 
 
 Mon. But is be often tbua? 
 
 Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: 
 He'li watch the horologe a double set, 
 If drink rock not his cradle. 
 
 Mon. It were v«?ell. 
 
 The general were put in mind of it. i 
 Perhap s, he sees it not ; or his good nature 
 Prizes the virtue that apptars in Cassio, 
 A nd looks not on his evils : Is not tlu? true ' 
 
OTHELLO. 
 
 Aside.) 
 
 Enter RoDERiGO. 
 lago. How now, Roderigo ? 
 I pray you, after the lieutenant ; go. 
 
 {Exit Roderigo.) 
 Mon. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor, 
 Should hazard such a place, as his own second 
 With one of an ingraft infirmity : 
 It were an honest action, to say 
 So to the Moor. 
 
 lago. Not 1 , for this fair island : 
 
 I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
 To cure him of this evil. But hark ! what noise ? 
 
 {Cry within, — Hc!p ! help !) 
 Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 
 Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! 
 Mon. What s the matter, lieutenant 
 Cas. A knave ! — teach me ray duly ! 
 ■ I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. 
 
 Rod. 
 Cas. 
 
 Beat 
 
 Dost thou prate, rogue ? 
 
 {Striking Moo^ rir :) 
 Mon. Nay, good lieutenant; {Si iy% , 
 I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 
 
 Cas. Lnti p:.e g^, s'r. 
 
 Or I'll knock you o'er the mazpSt'.r'^i. 
 Mon. Corv z^, • -5, you're drunk. 
 
 Cos. Drunk! (They fight.) 
 
 lago Away, I say! go o\.,% and 'rj' -a mutiny. 
 
 {Aside, U Rod. who goes Out.) 
 Nay, good lieutenant, — alas gentlemen, — 
 Help, ho! — Lieutenant, — sir. Montano, — sir; — 
 Help, masters I — Here's a godly watch, indeed! 
 
 {Bell rings.) 
 Who's that that rins;s the bell ?~-Diable, iio ! 
 The town will rise: God's will, lieutenant! hold; 
 1 ou will be shatn'd for ever. 
 
 Enter Othello, and Attendants. 
 0th. What is the matter here ? 
 
 Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death ; — he 
 dies. 
 
 0th. Hold, for your lives. 
 
 iayo. Hold, hold, lieutenant, — sir, Montano, — 
 gentlemen, — 
 Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
 Hold, hold! the general speaks to you; hold, for 
 shame '. [this ? 
 
 0th. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth 
 Are we turn'd Turks; and to ourselves do that. 
 Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
 For christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl : 
 He that stirs next to carve for his own rage. 
 Holds hi« soul light ; he dies upon his motion. — 
 Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle 
 From her propriety. — What is the matter, mas- 
 ters ? — 
 
 Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving. 
 Speak, who began this? on thy love I charge thee. 
 lago. I do not know; — friends all but now, even 
 now, 
 
 fn quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
 Divesting them for bed : and then, but now 
 fAs if some planet had unwitted men,) 
 Swords out, and tilting one at other's breastj. 
 In opposition bloody, I cannot speak 
 Any beginning to this peevish odds; 
 And 'would in action glorious I had lost 
 These legs, that brought me to a part of it! 
 
 0th. How comes it Michael, you are thus forgot? 
 
 Cas. 1 pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak. 
 
 0th. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil ; 
 The gravity and stillness of your youth 
 The world hat-h noted, and your name is great 
 In mouths of wisest censure ; What's the matter, 
 That you unlace your reputation thus, 
 And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
 Of a night-brawler ? Give me answer to it. 
 
 Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hnrt to danger ; 
 Your officer fago, can inform you~ [me — 
 
 Wbile 1 spaie speech which somethiugnow offends 
 
 Of all that I do know : nor know I aught 
 By me that's said or done amiss this night 
 Unless self-charity be sometime a vice ; 
 And to defend ourselves it be a sin, va. \>j 
 When violence assails us. 
 0th. Now, 
 
 Act n. 
 
 ■4 
 
 , by heave% | . 
 
 My blood begins my eafer guides to rule ; 
 And passion, havmg roj best judgtnent colliedfl 
 Assays to lead the ij-ay : iC I once stir, ■ 
 Or do but lift thii arm, the best of you ^J" 
 Shall sink in tfj re'suke. Give me to kuow^'''"^ Jjj^ c 
 How this fc-^l r3:.t began, who set it on ^"nT 
 And he thaf approv'd in this off(!nce, ^ 
 Thout-h hie hf»d twinn'd with me, both at a birtu 
 Shall !cse p*. — W"hat ! in a town of war. 
 Yet wiK, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
 To n>';iiag? private and domestic quarrel, 
 In sight, and on the court and guard of safety J 
 'Tis aionstrous. — I^go, who began it ? 
 
 Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in oflSce, 
 Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
 Thou art no soldier. 
 
 lago. Touch me not so near : 
 
 I had rather have this tongue cut from my nu>uf. 
 Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
 Vet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
 Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, genera 
 Montano and myself being in speech, 
 There comes a fellow crying out for help; 
 And Cassio following him with determin'd swor''. 
 To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman 
 Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause ; 
 Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 
 L^st, by his clamour, (as it so fell out,) 
 The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
 Outran my purpose ; and I return'd, the rather 
 For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, 
 And Cassio high in oath ; which, till to-night, 
 I ne'er might say before : When I came back, 
 (For this was brief,) I found them close togetheit 
 At blow and thrust ; even as again they were, 
 When you yourself did part them. 
 More of this matter can I not report: — 
 But men are men ; the best sometimes forget :-»- 
 Tho+Jgh Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
 As men in rage strike those that wish them best,-— 
 Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, receiv'd. 
 From him that fled, some strange indignity. 
 Which patience could not pass. 
 
 0th. I know, lago, 
 
 Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter. 
 Making it light to Cassio : — Cassio, I love thee ; 
 But never more be officer of mine. — 
 
 Enter Desdemona, attende 
 Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up ;- 
 I'll make thee an example. 
 
 Des. What's the matter, dear ? 
 
 0th. A Il's well now, sweeting ; Come away to bed. 
 Sir, for your hurts, 
 
 Myself will be your surgeon : Lead him off. 
 
 (To Montano, who is led off.) 
 lago, look with care about the town ; 
 And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. — 
 Come, Desdemona ; 'tis the soldiers' lite. 
 To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 
 
 [Exeunt all but lago and Cassio. 
 
 lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? 
 
 Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 
 
 lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 
 
 Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I 
 have lost my reputation ! I have lost the immorta\ 
 part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. — ■ 
 My reputation, lago, my reputation. 
 
 letgo. As I am an honest man, I thought you had 
 received some bodily wound; there is more offence 
 in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and 
 most false imposition; oft got without merit, and 
 lost without deserving: You have- tost no reputation 
 at all, unless you repute yourser i'lch a loser 
 
 r 
 
TIL Scene 1. THE MOOR 
 
 IVhaf., man ! there are ways to recover the general 
 ngain ; You are but now cast in his mood, a punish- 
 ment more in policy tt.an in malice ; even so as 
 one would beat his offenceless dog, to affright an 
 imperious iioo sue to him again, and he's your's. 
 
 Cas, I wil' rather sue to be despised, than to 
 deceive so j;Ood a commander, with so slight, so 
 drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk ? and 
 speak pairot? and squabble? svvagger ? swear? and 
 discourse fustian with one's own shadow? — O thou 
 invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
 known by, let us call thee — devil I 
 
 larjo. What was he that yon followed with your 
 sword ? What had he done to you i 
 
 Las. I know not. 
 
 tagnTls '\i possible ? 
 
 Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing 
 distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefors.-^O, 
 that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to 
 steal away their urains! that we should, with joy, 
 revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves 
 into beasts ! 
 
 lafjO. Why, but you are now well enough : How 
 came you thus recovered ? 
 
 Cas. it hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to 
 give place to the devil, wrath : one imperfectness 
 shews me another, to make me frankly despise my- 
 self. 
 
 lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler : As 
 the time, the place, and the condition of this coun- 
 try stands, I could heartily wish this had not be- 
 fallen ; but since it is as it is, mend it for your ovvn 
 good. 
 
 Cas. I will ask him for iny place again ; he shall 
 tell me, 1 am a drunkard ! Had J as many mouths as 
 Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To he 
 now a sensible man, by and by a Ibol, and presently 
 a beast ! O strange ! — Every inordinate cup is un- 
 blessed, and tlie ingredient is a devil. 
 
 lago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar 
 creating, if it be well used ; exclaim no more against 
 it. And, good lieutenant, I think, you think I love 
 you. 
 
 Cas. I have well approved it, sir. — I drunk ! 
 
 lago. Vou, or any man living, may be drunk at 
 some time, man. J 11 tell you what yoa shall do. 
 Our general's wife is now the general I may say 
 -JO in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given 
 up himself to the contemplation, mark, a denote- 
 metit of her parts and graces: — Confess yourself 
 freely to her ; importune her; she'll help to put you 
 in your place again : she is of so free, so kind, so 
 apt, so blessed a disposition, that she holds it a vice 
 in her goodness, not to do more than she is requested : 
 This broken joint, between you and her husband, 
 entreat her to splinter ; and, m^ fortunes against any 
 lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow 
 stronger than it was before. 
 
 Cas. You advise me well. 
 
 lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love, and ho- 
 nest kindness. 
 
 Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morn- 
 ing, { will beseech the' virtuous Desdemona to un- 
 dertake for me : i am desperate of my fortunes, if 
 they check me here. 
 
 lago. Vou are in the right. Good-night, lieute- 
 unnt ; I must to the watch. 
 
 Cas. G(K)d-uight, honest lago. [Exit. 
 
 iago. And what's he then, that says,— I play the 
 villain? 
 
 When this advice is free, I give, and honest, 
 
 Probal to thinking, and (indeed) the course 
 
 To win : he Moor again ? For 'tis mosl easy 
 
 The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
 
 In any honest suit; she's fram'd as fruitful 
 
 As the tree elements. And then for her 
 
 To win tlue Moor, — vvere't to renounce his r aptism. 
 
 All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,— 
 
 His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, 
 
 Tl'a\ she may make, unmake, do what she list. 
 
 OF YENTCE. 791 
 
 Even as her apprciie shafl play flie god 
 
 With his weak function. How am 1 then a villa!^ 
 
 To counsel Cassiotothis parallel course. 
 
 Directly to his good ? Divinity of hell I 
 
 When devils will their blackest sins put on. 
 
 They do suggest at first with heavenly showi, 
 
 As I do now : For while this honest fool 
 
 Plies Desdemona to repair 1ms fortunes, 
 
 4nd she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
 
 I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, — 
 
 That she repeals him for her body's lust ; 
 
 And, by how much she strives to do him gooti, 
 
 She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
 
 So will I turn her virtue into pitch ; 
 
 And out of her own goodness make the net. 
 
 That shall enmesh them all. — How now, Roderigo? 
 
 Enier Roderigo. 
 
 Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
 hound that hunts, but one that tills up the cry. My 
 money is almost spent; I have been to-night ex- 
 ceedingly well cudgelled ; and, I think, the issue 
 will be — I shall have so much experience for my 
 pains: and so, with no money at all, and a little 
 more wit, return to Venice. 
 
 Iago. How poor are they, that have not patience! — 
 What wound did ever heal, bnt by degrees ? 
 Thou knovv'st we work by wit, and not by witch- 
 craft; 
 
 And wit depends on dilatory time. 
 Does't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee. 
 And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd Cassio : 
 Though other things grow fair against the sun, 
 Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe : 
 Content thyself awhile. — By the mass, 'tis morning; 
 Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short.-^ 
 Retire thee ; go where thou art billetted : 
 Away, I say ; thou shalt know more hereafter. 
 Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rod.] Two things are to 
 be done, — 
 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
 I'll set her on ; 
 
 Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart. 
 
 And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
 
 Soliciting his wife : — Ay, that's the way ; 
 
 Dull not device by coldness and delay. [ExiL 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Before the Castle. 
 Enter Cassio, and some Musicians. 
 Cas. Masters, play here, I will content your pains, 
 Something that's brief; and bid — good-morrow 
 general. [Music.) 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been 
 at Naples, that they speak i'the nose thus? 
 
 1 Mus. How, sir, how ? [ments? 
 
 Clo. Are these, T pray you, called wind instru- 
 
 1 Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 
 
 Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail. 
 
 1 Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir? 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that 
 I know. But, masters, here's money for you: and 
 the general so likes your music, that he desires you 
 of all loves, to make no more noise with it. 
 
 1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 
 
 Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, 
 to't again : but, as they say, to hear music, the general 
 does not greatly care. 
 
 I Mus. We have none such, sir. 
 
 Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for J'U 
 away : Go ; vanish into air ; away. 
 
 [Exeunt Musiciam 
 
 Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ? 
 
 Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend • I hear you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There's a 
 poor piece of gold for thee ; if tiie gentlewoman, that 
 atten<i.s tiie generaTs wife, be stirring, tell her there'i 
 
782 
 
 one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech : 1 
 Wilt thoii do this? 
 
 Clo. Siie is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I , 
 shall seem to notify unto her. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Cas. Do, good my friend. — In happy time, Iago. 
 
 Iago. You have not been a bed, then ? 
 
 Cas. Why, no ; the day had broke 
 Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, 
 To send in to your wife : My suit to her 
 Is, that she wdl to virtuous Desdemona 
 Procure me some access. 
 
 Jago. I'll send her to you presently; ' 
 
 And 1"K devise a mean to draw the Moor 
 Out of the way, that your converse and business 
 May be more free. [Exit. 
 ' Cas. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew 
 A Florentine more kind and honest. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 Emil. Good nforrow, good lieutenant: I am sorry \ 
 For your displeasure ; but all will soon be well. 
 The general, and his wile, are talking of it; 
 And she speaks for you stoutly: The Moor replies, 
 That he, you hurt, is of great fame iu Cyprus, 
 And great affinity; and that, in wholesome wisdom, 
 He might not but rel'use you : but, he protests, he 
 loves you ; 
 
 And needs no otiier suitor, but his likings, 
 To take the saf st occasion by the front, 
 To bring you in again. 
 
 Cos. Yet, 1 beseech you,— 
 
 If you think fit, or that it may be done, — 
 Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
 With Desdemona alone. 
 
 Einil. Pray you, come in ; 
 
 I will bestow you where you shall have time 
 To speak your bosom freely. 
 
 Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 
 Oik. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; 
 And, by him, do my duties to the state: 
 That done, I will he walking on the works; 
 Repair there to me. 
 
 Iago. Well, my good lord, I'll do't. 
 
 O^A.This fortification,gentiemen,— shall we see't? 
 Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Before the Castle. 
 Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia 
 
 Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
 All my abilities in thy behalf [husband, 
 
 Emil. Good madam, do; I know it grieves my 
 As it' the case were his. [Cassio, 
 
 Ves. O, thafs an honest fellow.— Do not doubt, 
 But I will have my lord and you again 
 As friendly as you were. 
 
 Cos. Bounteous madam, 
 
 W^hatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
 He's never any thing but your true servant. 
 
 Des. O, sir, I thank you : You do love my lord : 
 You have known him long ; and be you well assur'd^ 
 He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
 Than in a politic distance. 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, lady 
 
 That policy may either last so long, 
 Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
 Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
 That, I being absent, and my place supplied. 
 My general will forget my love and service. 
 
 Des. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here, 
 I give thee warrant of thy place : assure thee 
 If I do vow a friendship, 1 11 perform it 
 To the last article: my lord shall never rest; 
 I'll watch him tame, a'nd talk him out of patience ; 
 His bed sliall seem a school, his board a shrift; 
 4 ii intermingle e\ ery thing he does 
 
 Act ni 
 
 With Cassio's suit: Therefore be raeny, Casaio, 
 For thy solicitor shall rather die, 
 Than give thy cause away. 
 
 Enter Othello Iago, at a distance, 
 
 Etnil. Madam, here coiaea 
 
 My lord. 
 
 Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. 
 
 Des. Why, glay, 
 
 And hear me speak. 
 
 Cas. Madam, not now ; T am very ill at ease, 
 Unfit for mine own purposes. 
 
 Des. Well, well. 
 
 Do your discretion. [Exit CasstOk 
 
 Iago. Ha ! I like not that. 
 
 I Ot/i. What dost thou say ? 
 
 I Iago. Nothing, ray lord : or if— I know not what 
 
 Ot/i. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ? 
 
 Iago. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think it, 
 That he would steal away so guilty-like. 
 Seeing you coming. 
 
 OtL I do believe 'twas he. 
 
 Des. How now, my lord ? 
 I have been talking with a suitor here, 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
 
 Oth. Who is't you mean ? 
 
 Des. Why, your lieutenant Cassio, Good my lord, 
 If I have any grace, or power to move you. 
 His present reconciliation take ; 
 For, if he be not one that truly loves you, 
 Tiiat errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
 I have no judgment in an honest face : 
 I pr'ythee, call him back. 
 
 Ot/i. Went he hence now? 
 
 Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled. 
 That he hath left part of his grief with me; 
 I suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 
 
 Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some other time 
 
 Des. But shall't be shortly ? 
 
 Oth. The sooner, sweet, for yoiv 
 
 Des. Shall't be to night at supper? 
 
 Oth. No, not to-night, 
 
 Des. To-morrow dinner then 
 
 Oth. I shall not dine at home; 
 
 I meet the captains at the citadel. [morn; 
 
 Des. Why then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday 
 Or Tuesday noon, or night; or Wednesday morn ;— 
 I pray thee, name theJime ; but let it not 
 Exceed three days: in fiith, he's penitent; 
 And yet his trespass, in our common reason, 
 (Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
 Out of their best,) is not almost a lault 
 To incur a private check: When shall he come''* 
 Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, 
 What you could ask me, that I should deny. 
 Or stand so mammeringon. What! Michael Cassio^ 
 That came a wooing with you ; and many a time. 
 When 1 have spoke of you dispraisiogly. 
 Hath ta'en your part; to have so n)uch to do 
 To bring him inl Trust me, I could do much, — 
 
 Oth. Prythee, no more; let him come when he 
 I will deny thee nothing. [will; 
 
 Des. Why, this is not a boon ; 
 
 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves. 
 Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm; i 
 Or sue to you to do peculiar profit " 
 To your own person : Nay, when I have a suit. 
 Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed. 
 It shall be full of poise and difficulty. 
 And fearful to be granted. 
 
 Oth. I will deny thee nothing 
 
 Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this. 
 To leave me but a little to myself 
 
 Des. Shall I deny you ? no : Farewell, my lord 
 
 Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona • I will come to 
 thee straight. ^ lyon; 
 
 Des. Emilia, come: — Be it as your fancies teach 
 Whate'er you be, I am obedient. / - , 
 
 lExit, with Emilia. 
 
 Oth. Excellent wretch! Perditi n catch my soul. 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
SCENH 8. 
 
 tl do iove thee ! and, when I lovg^ep nvtp'^ 
 
 THE MOOPt OF VENICE. 
 
 78f 
 
 aosis come a^ain. ^ J 
 
 famr^y nobleToTcl,-^.^-^.-. h /vt ^ / 
 O^. What dost thou say, la^? 
 
 lago Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my 
 lady, 
 
 Know of your love ? [ask ? 
 
 OiA. He did, from first to last : Why dost thou 
 
 lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; 
 No further harm. 
 
 0th. Why of thy thought, lago ? 
 
 lago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with 
 her. 
 
 Ol/i. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 
 
 lago. Indeed? [in that? 
 
 Otk. Indeed ! ay, indeed: — Discern'st thou aught 
 Is he jiot honest? 
 
 Togo.' " HoncBt, my lord ? 
 
 Otk. Ay, honest. 
 
 lago. My lord, for aught I know. 
 
 0th. What dost thou think? 
 
 lago Think, my lord ? 
 
 0th. Think, my lord ! 
 
 By heaven, he echoes me, 
 As if there were some ^onsle^ in his thought. 
 Too hideous to be shewn. — Thou dost mean some- 
 thing : 
 
 1 heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that, 
 When Cassio left my wife : What did'st not like ? 
 And, when I told thee — he was of ray counsel 
 In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, Indeed? 
 And'did'st contract and purse thy brow together, 
 As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit: If thou dost iove me, 
 Shew me thy thought. 
 
 lago. My lord, you know I love you. 
 
 Oih. I think, thou dost ; 
 
 And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty. 
 And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them 
 breath, — 
 
 Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : , 
 For such things, in a false disloyal knave, y' 
 Are tricks of custom ; but, in a man that's just, 
 They are close denotements working from the heart, 
 That passion cannot rule. 
 
 lago. For Michael Cassio. — 
 
 I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 
 
 0th. I think so too. 
 
 lago. Men should be what they seem ; 
 
 Or. those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! 
 
 0th. Certain, men should be what they seem. 
 
 lago. Why, then, 
 
 [ think that Cassio is an honest man. 
 
 0th. Nay, yet there's more in this : 
 I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
 As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of 
 The worst of words. [thoughts 
 
 fago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 
 
 Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
 I am not bound to that all slaves are free to! 
 Utter ray thoughts ! Why, say they are vile and 
 false, — 
 
 As where 's that palace, whereinto foul things 
 Sometimes intrude not? whp has a breast so pure. 
 But some uncleanly apprehensions 
 Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit 
 With meditations lawful ? 
 
 0th. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago. 
 If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
 A stranger to thy thoughts. 
 
 lago. I do beseech you, — 
 
 Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess. 
 As, I confess, it is my nature's pla V 
 To spy into abuses; and oft, my jealousy 
 Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then, 
 From one that so imperfectly conjects. 
 You'd take no notice : nor build yourself a trouble 
 Out of his scattering and unsure observance : — 
 It were not for your quiet, nor your good, 
 Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom. 
 
 To let you know my thoughts. 
 
 0th. What dost tho\i mran ? 
 
 lago. Good came, in man, and womian, dear mj 
 lord, 
 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, 
 
 nothing ; 
 
 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousand?' 
 But he, that filches from me my goon rianae, 
 Robs me of that which not enriches hira, / 
 And makes me poor indeed. / 
 
 0th. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. 
 
 lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your baud; 
 Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
 
 0th. Ha! 
 
 lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 
 
 It is tlie green-ey'd monster, which doth mock 
 The meat it feeds on : That cuckold lives in bliss. 
 Who. certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; 
 But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er. 
 Who dotes, yet doubts ; suspects, yet strongly loves I 
 
 0th. O misery ! 
 
 lago. Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough ; 
 But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, 
 To him that ever fears he shall be poor: — 
 Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
 From jealousy ! 
 
 Oih. Why? why is this? 
 
 Think'st thou, I'd make a lile of jealousy, 
 To follow still the change's of the moon 
 With fresh suspicions ? No : to be once in doubt. 
 Is — once to be resolv'd : Exchange me for a goat. 
 When I shall turn the business of my soul 
 To such exsufllicate, and blown surmises, 
 Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make nie jealous. 
 To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 
 Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; 
 Wiiere virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
 Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
 The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt; 
 For sh§ had eyes, and c me : No, lago; 
 ril see, before I douht ; when I doubt, prove 
 And, on the proof, there is no more but this,— 
 Avcay„atouce .with love, or jealousy. 
 
 lago. I am glad of this ; for now I shall have reason 
 To shew the love and duty that I bear you 
 With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound, 
 Receive it from me : — I speak not yet of proof. 
 Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio ; 
 Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
 I would not have your free and noble nature, 
 Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look to't : 
 I know our country disposition well ; 
 In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
 They dare not shew their husbands ; their best cob. 
 science 
 
 Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown. 
 0th. Dost thou say so ? 
 
 lago. She did deceive her father, marrying yon ; 
 And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looksik. ' 
 She lov'd them most. 
 
 0th. And so she did. 
 
 lago. Why, go to, then ; 
 
 She tliat, so young, could give out such a seeming, 
 To seel her father's eyes up, close as oak, — 
 He thought, 'twas witchcraft : — But 1 am much to 
 blame ; 
 
 I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, 
 For too much loving you. 
 
 Oih. I am bound to theg for ever. 
 
 lago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your .««pirit8. 
 
 0th. Not a jot, not a jot . 
 
 lago. Trust me, I fear it 
 
 I hope, you will consider, what is spoke 
 Comes from my love ; — Buti do see you are mov'd • 
 I am to yrray you, not to strain my speech 
 To grosser issues, nor to larger reach, 
 Than to suspicion. 
 
 Oih. I will not. 
 
 lago. Stiould you do so, m lor^ 
 
784 
 
 OTHELLO-. 
 
 ACT in 
 
 My speech should fall into such vile success 
 
 As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy 
 
 friend : — 
 RIy lord, I see you are mov'd. 
 
 0th. No, not mtich mov'd : 
 
 I do not think but Desdemona's honest. ^ ^-J^l^ 
 lago. Long live she so! and long live j^u to 
 thinlc so ! 
 
 0th. And yetj'hovv nature erring from itself, — 
 lago. Ay, there's the point : — As, — to be bold 
 with you, — 
 Not to affect many propose d matches, 
 Of her own c liraey^m pJexTOTl^nd degree; 
 Whereto, we see, uTan things nature tends ; 
 Foh ! one may smell, in such, a will most rank. 
 Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
 iBut pardon me ; I do not, in position. 
 Distinctly speak of her: though J may fear. 
 Her will, recoiling to better judgment, 
 May fall to match you with her country forms. 
 And (happily) repent. 
 
 0th. Farewell, farewell : 
 
 If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; 
 Set on thy wife to observe : Leave me, lago. 
 
 IfHjo. My lord, T take my leave {Going.) 
 Olh. Why did I marry? — This honest creature, 
 doubtless, 
 
 Sees and knows more, mtich more, than he unfolds. 
 lago. My lord, I would, 1 might entreat your 
 honour 
 
 To scan this thing no further; leave it to time : 
 And though it be fit, that Cassio have his place, 
 (For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
 Yet, if you please to hold him olF awhile. 
 You shall by that perceive him and his means: 
 Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
 With any strong or vehement importunity; 
 Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, 
 Let me be thouglit too busy in my fears, 
 (As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,) 
 And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 
 0th. Fear not my government. 
 lago. I once more take my leave. [Exii. 
 0th. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
 And knows all qualifies, with a learned spirit, 
 Of human dealings: If I do prove her haggard. 
 Though that her .j^s&eg were my dear heart-strings, 
 I'd whistle her off, find let her down the wind, 
 To prey at fortune. Haply, (qt X-Am-bdack ; 
 Ana have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberers have : Or, for I am declin'd 
 Into the vale of years ; — yet that's not much ; — 
 She's gone ; I am abiis'd ; and my relief 
 Must be — to loath her. O curse of marriage. 
 That we can call these delicate creatures ours. 
 And not their appetites I 1 had rather be a toad 
 J^nd live upon the vapoui of a dungeon, 
 ll^lian keep a corner in the thing I love, 
 fFor others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones; 
 Prerogativ'd are they less than the base : 
 *Tis destiny unshunnable, like death; 
 Even then tfiis forked plague is fated tons. 
 When we do quicken. Desdemona comes: 
 
 Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
 ff she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself !- 
 ril not believe it. 
 
 Des. How now, my dear Othello ? 
 
 Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
 By you invited, do attend your presence. 
 
 Otk. I am to blame. [well ? 
 
 Des. Why is your speech so faint ? are you not 
 * Otk. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 
 
 Des. Faith, that's with watching ; 'twill away 
 again : 
 
 Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
 ^t-Avi!l be well. 
 
 0th. Your napkin is too little ; 
 
 {He puts the handkerchief from him, and it 
 drops.) 
 
 Let it aione. Come, I'll go in with you. 
 Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 
 
 [Exeunt Ot/u and D9§ 
 Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin ; 
 /rhis was her first remembrance from the Moor; 
 My wayward husband hatha hundred times 
 Woo'd me to steal it ; but she so loves the token,\ 
 (For be conjur'd her she would ever keep it.) , 
 That she reserves it evermore about her, 
 To kiss, and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out 
 And give it lago : 
 
 What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I; 
 I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 
 
 Enter \hGO, 
 
 lago. How now ! what do you here alone? 
 
 Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for yoo 
 
 lago. A thing for me ? — It is a common thing. 
 
 Emil. Ha ! 
 
 lago. To have a foolish wife. 
 
 Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me now 
 For that same handkerchief? 
 
 lago. What handkerchief? 
 
 Emil. What handkerchief ? 
 Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona: 
 That which so often you did bid me steal. 
 
 lago. Hast stolen it from her ? 
 
 Emil. No, faith : she let it drop by negligence \ 
 And, to the advantage, I being here, took't up. 
 Look, here it is. 
 
 lago. A good wench ; give it me. 
 
 Emil, What will you do with it, that you ha^e 
 been so earnest 
 To have me filch it ? 
 
 lago. Why, what's that to you ? 
 
 {Snatching i1 ) 
 
 Einil. If it be not for some purpose of import. 
 Give it me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
 Wheu she s.hall lack it. 
 
 lago. Be not you known oft; I have use for it. 
 Go, leave me. [Exit Ert\L 
 
 I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin. 
 And let him find it : Trifles, light as air, • 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
 As proofs of holy writ.^ This may do something. 
 The Moor already changes with my poison:- — 
 Dangerous conceits are, in their naturesr-poisons. 
 Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste ; 
 But, with a little act upon the blood. 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. — I did say so: — 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 Look, where he comes ! Not pop})y, nor mandragora. 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups oi'the world. 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep. 
 Which thou ow'dst yesterday. 
 
 0th. Ha ! ha ! false to lae ? 
 
 Tome? 
 
 Ingo. Why, how now, general ? no more of that 
 0th. A vaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on tii« 
 rack ; — 
 
 I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd. 
 Than but to kuow't a little. 
 
 lago. How now, my lord? 
 
 0th. VYhat sense had 1 of her stolen hours of lust? 
 I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
 T slept the next night well, was free and merry; 
 I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips: 
 He that is robb'd, not wanting what is.stolen. 
 Let him not know it, and he's not roBb'd at alZ. 
 
 lago. I am sorry to hear this. 
 
 0th. I had been happy, if trie general camp. 
 Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body. 
 So 1 had nothing known : O now, for ever, 
 Farewell the tranquil mind: farewell content! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars. 
 That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! 
 Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump 
 The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife. 
 The royal banner; and all quality, 
 i^ride, pomp, and circ mstance of glorious war J 
 
Scene 4. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 And O, yon mortil engines, whose rude throats 
 The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
 V'arewell ! Othollo's occu| nation's gone ! / 
 
 lago. Is it pk)ssible ? — My lord. — "A 
 
 Oih. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore^ 
 Be sure of it ; give hie the ocular proof ; 
 
 (Taking him by the throat.) 
 V)x, by the worth of mine eternal soul, 
 rhpu had'st been better have been born a dog. 
 Than answer my wuk'd wrath. 
 
 lago. Is it come to this? 
 
 0th. Make me to see it ; or (at the least) so prove it, 
 That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, 
 To hang a doubt on ; or, woe upon thy life .' 
 
 lago. My noble lord, — 
 
 0th. If thou dost slander her, and torture me^ 
 Never pray more r abandon all remorse 
 On horror's head, horrors accumulate : 
 Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd, 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add. 
 Greater than that. 
 
 lago. O grace ! O heaven defend me ! 
 
 Are you a man ? have you a soul or sense ? — 
 God be wi' you ; take mine office. — O wretched fool, 
 That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice I— 
 
 0 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world, 
 To be ili-<*ct and honest, is not safe. — 
 
 "I thank yon for this profit ; and, from hence, 
 ril love no friend, since love breeds such offence. 
 0th. Nay, stay : — Thou should'st be honest. V 
 lago. I shouid he wise ; for honesty's a fool, ^ 4 
 And loses that it works for. ' ^ 
 
 0th. By the world, 
 
 1 think my wife be honest, and think she is not; 
 r think that thou art just, and think thou art hot; 
 
 I'll have some proof: Her name, that was as fresh ] 
 
 As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
 
 As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives. 
 
 Poison, or fire, or suftbcating streams, 
 
 I'll not endure it — Would I were satisfied ! 
 
 lago. 1 see, sir, you are eaten up with passion ; 
 f do repent me, that iuut it to you. 
 You would be.«actisfie^? V 
 
 0th. ~— / Wouldl na£jwill. 
 
 lago. And may : But, how ? how^lis^J^my lord? 
 Would you, the supervisor, grosslyg^pgon ? 
 Behold her tupp'd ? 
 
 0th. Death and damnation ! O ! 
 
 lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think. 
 To bring them to that prospect . Damn them then. 
 If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster. 
 More than their own ? What then ? how then? . ' 
 What shall 1 say ? Where'^i^afiSfartioh? . ' ^ 
 It is impossible you should leethisr~""~~"" 
 Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
 As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
 As ignorance made drunk. But yet I say. 
 If imputation, and §trong circumstances, — 
 Which lead direcUj^,^^ door of truth,— - X 
 Will give yo^^^satisfactiojl', you may have it. 
 
 0th. Give^e aTIving reason she's disloyal. 
 
 lago. I do jot like the office : 
 But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,— 
 Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love, — 
 I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately ; 
 And being troubled with a raging tooth, 
 I could not sleep. 
 
 There are a kind of men so loose of soul, 
 
 That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs ; 
 
 One of this kind is Cassio : 
 
 In sleep I heard him say, — Stveei Desdemona, 
 
 Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ! 
 
 And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand. 
 
 Cry, — 0, siveet creature ! and then kiss me hard. 
 
 As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, 
 
 That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg 
 
 Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then, 
 
 Cry'd, Cursed fate! that gave thee to the Moor! 
 
 OtL O monstrous I monstrous ! 
 
 lago. Nay, this was but his dream. 
 
 Oth. But this denoted a foregonft conclusion ; (* 
 'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 
 
 lago. And this may help to thicken other proofs^ 
 That do demonstrate thinly. 
 
 Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces 
 
 lago. Nay, but be wise ; yet we see nothing done 
 She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, — 
 Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief, ' 
 Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand? 
 
 Oth. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my fiist gift. 
 
 lago. I know not that : but such a handkerchief, 
 (I am sure it was y( nr wife's,) did I to day ( 
 See Cassio wipe his beard with. 
 
 Oth. If it be that,— 
 
 /apo. If it be that, or any that was her's, 
 It speaks against her with the other proofs. ■ 
 
 Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives } 
 One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
 Now do I see 'tis true. — Look, here, lago; 
 All my fond love thus 1 do blow to heaven: 
 'Tis gone^ J / 
 
 Arise,^la^ vengeance, from thy hollow cell! ylAO^hC-^ 
 Yield npj^ love, thy crown and hearted throne ' 
 To tyrannous hate I swell, bosom, with thy fraught. 
 For 'tis of aspics' tongues ! 
 
 lago. Pray, be content 
 
 OtJi. O, blood, lago, blood! 
 
 lago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, may 
 change. 
 
 Oth. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea. 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
 To the Propontic, and the Hellespont ; 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 Till that a capable and wide revenge 
 Swallow them up. — Nov/, by yond' marble heaven. 
 In the due reverence of a sacred (Kneeli 
 I here engage my words. 
 
 lago. Do not rise yet - (Kneelsj} 
 
 Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! *' 
 You elements that clip us round about! 
 Witness, that here lago doth give up 
 The execution of his wit, hands, heart, . 
 To wrong'd Othello's ser\ice I let him command J pnX^HC / 
 And to obey shall be in me remorse, J I e 
 
 What bloody work soever. 
 
 Oth. I greet thy love, 
 
 Not with vain thanks,but with acceptance bountooiu. 
 And will upon the instant put thee to't: 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say, 
 That Cassio's not alive. [quest: 
 
 lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your re- 
 But let her live. 
 
 Oth. 
 
 Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her 
 
 Come, go with me apart : 1 will withdraw, 
 To furnish me with some swiit means of death 
 For the fair devil. Now art thou n)y lieutenant 
 lago. 1 am your own for ever. [Exeuntm 
 
 Scene IV. — The same. 
 Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 
 Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant 
 Cassio lies ? 
 
 Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where. 
 Des. Why, man ? 
 
 Clo. He is a soldier; and for me to say a soldier 
 lies, is stabbing. 
 
 Des. Go, to ; where lodges he ? 
 
 Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell ytw 
 where 1 lie. 
 
 Des. Can any thing be made of this? 
 
 Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for roe to 
 devise a /odging, and say— he lies here, oi he li?« 
 there, were to lie in my own throat 
 
 Des. Can you enquire him out, and be eclified by 
 report ? 
 
 Ch. 1 will catechise the world for him • that is 
 make qu stions, and by them answer. 
 
 Des. Seek him, bid him come hither : tell \vM., I 
 50 
 
786 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act in 
 
 moved mj lord in his behalf, and hope, all 
 will be well. 
 
 Glo, To do this, is within the compasa of man's 
 \ and therefore 1 will attempt the doing it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 DeS'. Where should I lose that haRdkerchief, 
 
 Emilia? 
 EmtL 1 know not, madam. 
 
 Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
 Full of crusadoes;/ And, but my noble Moor 
 Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
 As jeaioiis creatures are, it were enough 
 To put him to ill thinking. 
 
 Emil. Is he not jealous ? 
 
 Des. Who, he ? I think the sim,wbere he was born, 
 Drew all such humours from him. 
 
 Emil. Look, where he comes. 
 
 Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
 Be call'd to him. — Bow is't with you, ray lord? 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 th. Well, my good lady: — {Aside.) O, hard- 
 ness to dissemble ! — 
 How do you do, Desdemona? 
 Des. Well, my good lord. 
 
 0th. Gi\e me your hand: This hand is moist, 
 my lady. [row. 
 
 Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sor- 
 
 0th. This argues frnitfulness, and liberal heart ; — 
 Hot, hot, and moist: This hand of yours requires 
 A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer. 
 Much castigation, exercise devout; 
 For here's a young and sweating devil here, 
 That ccMnmonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
 A frank one. 
 
 Des. You may, indeed, say so; 
 For 'twas fhat hand that gave away my heart. 
 
 0th. A liberal hand : The hearts, of old, gave 
 hands ; 
 
 Out our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts. 
 
 Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 
 promise. 
 
 0th. What promise, chuck ? [you. 
 Des. I have seat to bid Cassio come speak with 
 0th. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me ; 
 Lend me thy handkerchief. 
 Des. Here, my lord. 
 
 0th. That which I gave you. 
 Des. I have it not about me. 
 
 0th. Not? 
 
 Des. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 0th. That is a fault : 
 
 1'hat handkerchief 
 I>jd an Egyptian to my mother give : 
 She was a charuier, and could almost read [it, 
 The thoughts of people : she told her, while she kept 
 'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father 
 Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it, 
 Or rnade a gift of it, my father's eye 
 iShould hold her l<>athly, and his spirits should hunt 
 Alter; jew fancies : She, dying, gave it me : 
 And ,id me, when my fate would have me wive. 
 To give it her. I did so: and take heed oft, 
 Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
 To losf or giv't away, were such perdition. 
 As nothing else could match, 
 
 Des. Is it possible ? 
 
 0th. 'Tis true : there's magic in the^e^f it : 
 A sibyl, that had number'd in the worm^'''^ 
 The sun to umke two hundred compasses^ 
 In her propiietic fury sew'd the work: 
 Tjifivjfvwms-v^ere halloed, that did breedjh^ilk-^ 
 Aiid it was died^n mumTfiyji^which 
 Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. 
 
 Des. Indeed ! is't true ? 
 
 Oih. Most veritable ; therefore look to"t well. 
 
 Des. Then would to heaven, that I had never 
 seen it. 
 
 0th. Ha ! vherefore ? 
 
 l)es. Whj do yon speak so startingly and ra»h ? 
 
 0th. Is't lost ? is't gone ? speak, is't out of the 
 Des. Heaven bless us ! Iway f 
 
 0th. Say you? 
 
 Des. It is not lost: but what an' if it were? 
 0th. Hal 
 
 Des. I say, it is not lost. 
 
 0th. Fetch't, let me tee it 
 
 Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now ; 
 This is a trick, to pnt me from my suit ; 
 I pray, let Cassio he receiv'd again. [gireat 
 
 0th. Fetch me that handkerchief ; my mind vma- 
 
 Des. Come, come ; | 
 You'll never meet a more sufficient man. | 
 The handkerchief !— 
 
 Des. I pray, talk to me of Cassia ^ 
 
 0/^ The handkerchief !— 
 
 Dev A man that, all his time*- 
 
 Hath founded his good fortune on your love ; 
 Shai-'d dangers with you ; — 
 
 0th. The handkerchief!— 
 
 Des. In sooth. 
 You are to blame. 
 
 0th. Away ! [Exit. 
 
 Emil. Is not this man jealous ? 
 
 Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
 Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief: 
 I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 
 
 Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shews us a mun : 
 They are all but stomachs, and we all but Hind ; 
 They eat us hungrily, and when they are lull. 
 They belch us. Look you ! Cassio, and my husband. 
 
 Enter Iago and Cassio. 
 lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must do't; 
 And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. 
 Des, How now, good Cassio ? what's the news 
 with you ? 
 
 Cas. Madam, my former suit. I do beseech yoo. 
 That by your virtuous means, I may again 
 Exist, and be a member of his love, 
 Whom I, with all the duty of my heart. 
 Entirely honour; I would not be delay'd; 
 If my offence be of such mortal kind. 
 That neither service past, nor present sorrows. 
 Nor purpos'd merit in futurity. 
 Can ransome me into his love again, 
 But to know so must be my benefit; 
 So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content, 
 And shut myself up in some other course. 
 To fortune's alms. 
 
 Des. Alas! thrice-gentle Cassio,' 
 
 My advocation is not now in tune ; 
 My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
 Vvere he in favour, as in humour, alter'd. 
 So help me, every spirit sanctified. 
 As I have spoken for you all my best; 
 And stood within the blank of his displeasure, 
 For my free speech! You must a while be patient: 
 What I can do, I will ; and more I will. 
 Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 
 
 Iago. Is my lord angry ? 
 
 Emil. He went hence but now. 
 
 And, certainly, in strange unquietness. 
 
 Iago. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon, 
 When it hath blown his ranks into the aii ; 
 And, like the devil, from his very arm 
 Puff'd his own brother; — And can he be angry? 
 Something of moment, then: I will go meet him ; 
 There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 
 
 Des. I pr'ythee, do so. — Something, sure of 
 state, — [Exit Iago* 
 
 Either from Venice ; or some unhatch'd practice. 
 Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, — 
 Hath puddled his clear spirit: and, insuchcase», 
 Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
 Though great ones are their objects. 'Tis eren flo, , 
 For let our finger ache, and it endues 
 Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense 
 Of pain : Nay, we must think, men are not £ode 
 , Nor of them look for such observaucee 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 THE MOOR OP VENICE. 
 
 As fit the bridal. — Bi ahrew me much, Emilia, 
 I M'as (unhandsome warrior as 1 am,) 
 Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ; 
 But now I find, I had suborn'd the witness. 
 And he's indited falsely. 
 Emil. Pray heaven^ be state matters, as you 
 tbiink ; 
 
 And no conception, nor no jealous toy, 
 Concerning; you. 
 
 Des. Alas, the day! I never gave him cause. 
 
 Emil. Bat jealous souls will not be answer'd so ; 
 They are not ever jealous for the cause. 
 But jealous, for they are jealous : 'tis a monster. 
 Begot upon itself, born on itself. 
 
 J)es. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's 
 mind ! 
 
 Emil. Lady, amen ! [about : 
 
 Des. I will go seek him. — Cassio, walk here- 
 
 If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, 
 
 And seek to effect it to my uttermost, 
 Cns. I humbly thank your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 
 
 Enter Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 
 
 Cas. V yhat make you from home ? 
 
 How is it with you, my most fair Bianca ? 
 rfaith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 
 
 Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
 What ! keep a week away ? seven days and nights? 
 Eight score eisjht hours ? and lovers' absent hours. 
 More tedious than the dial eight score times i 
 
 0 weary reckoning I 
 
 Cas. Pardon me, Bianca ; 
 
 1 have this while with leaden thoughts been 
 
 press'd ^ 
 
 But I shall, ill a more continuate time. 
 
 Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca,^ 
 
 {Giving her Desdemona' s handkerchief^ 
 Take me this work out. 
 
 Bian. O, Cassio, whence came this ? 
 
 Tiiis is some token from a newer friend. 
 To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
 Is it come to this? Well, well. 
 
 Cos. Woman, go to ! 
 
 Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth. 
 From whence you have them. You are jealous 
 now, 
 
 That this is from some mistress, some remembrance : 
 No, in good troth, Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Why, whose is it ? 
 
 Cas. I know not, sweet: I found it in my cham- 
 ber. 
 
 I like the work well ; ere it be demanded, 
 .As like enough it will,) I'd have it copied: 
 Tuke it, and do't ; and leave me for this time. 
 
 Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ? 
 
 Cas. I do attend here on the general; 
 And think it no addition, nor my wish. 
 To have him see me woman'd. 
 
 Hian. Why, I pray you ? 
 
 Cas. Not that I love you not. 
 
 Bian. But that you do not love me. 
 
 I pray you, bring me on the way a little; 
 And say, if I shall see yon soon at night. 
 
 Vas. 'Tis but a little way, that I can bring you, 
 For I attend here : but I'll see you soon. 
 
 Bian. 'Ti'' very good ; I must be circumstanc'd. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene L — The same. 
 Enter Othello and Iago. 
 lago. Will you think so ? 
 Oeh. Think so, Iago? 
 
 layo. ^ What, 
 To kiss in private ? 
 0th. An unauthoria'd kiss. 
 
 layo. Or to be naked with her friend abed 
 
 An hour, or more, not mtaning any barm r 
 
 0th. Naked abed, Iago, and not mean harm? 
 It is hypocrisy against the devil : 
 They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, 
 The devil their virtue tempts and they tempi 
 heaven. 
 
 Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip : 
 But if 1 give my wife a handkerchief,—- 
 Oth. What then? 
 
 Iago. Why, then 'tis hers, my lord ; and, beiuj , 
 hers. 
 
 She may, I think, bestow't on any man. 
 
 Oth. She is protectress of her honour too , 
 May she give tiiat? 
 
 Iago. Her honour is an essence that's not seen ; 
 They have it very oft, that have it not: 
 But, for the handkerchief, — 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have fqrj 
 got it:— 
 
 Thou said'st, — O, it comes o'er my memory, 
 As doth the raven o'er the infected house, 
 Boding to all, — he had my handkerchief. 
 Iago. Ay, what of that? 
 
 Oth. ^ That's not so good, now* 
 
 Iago, What, if I had said, I had seen him do 
 you wrong? 
 
 Or heard him say,— As knaves be such abroad. 
 Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
 Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
 Convinc'd or supplied them, cannot choose 
 But they must blab — 
 
 Oth. Hath he said any thing ? 
 
 Iago. H hath, my lord ; but be you well assur'd. 
 No more than he'll unswear. 
 
 Oth. What hath he said? 
 
 Iago. 'Faith, that he did,— I know not what ha 
 
 Oth. What, what? [did. 
 
 Iago. Lie — 
 
 Oth. With her? 
 
 Iago. With her, on her; what you will. 
 
 Oth. Lie with her! lie on her! — We say, lie oe 
 her, when they belie her: Lie with her I tiiat's 
 fulsome. — Handkerchief, — confessions, — handker- 
 chief. — To confess, and be hanged for his labour. 
 — First, to be hanged, and then to confess : — I 
 tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in 
 such shadowing passion, without some instruction. 
 It is not words, that shake me thus: — Pish! — 
 Noses, ears, and lips :— Is it possible ? — Con- 
 fess! — Handkerchief! — O devil! 
 
 {Falls in a trance.) 
 
 Iago. Work on, 
 My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are 
 caught; 
 
 And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus. 
 All guiltless meet reproach. — What, ho ! my lord ! 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 My lord, I say I Othello! — How now, Cassio? 
 
 Cas. What is the matter ? 
 
 Iago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy ; 
 This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 
 
 Iago. No, forbear 
 
 The lethargy mnst have his quiet course : 
 If not, he foams at mouth ; and, by and by, 
 Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs. 
 Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
 He will recover straight; when he is gon^, 
 I would on great occasion speak with you.—' 
 
 [Exit Cass^6, 
 
 How is it, general ? have you not hurt your head t]."^' 
 
 Oth. Dost thou mock me ? 
 
 Iago. I mock you ! no, by heavca 
 
 'Would, you would bear your fortunes like a man. 
 
 Oth. A horned man's a monster, and a beast. 
 
 Iago. There's many a beast then in a popdodi"^"*' 
 city, 
 
 And many a civil- monster. 
 Oth. Did he confess it? 
 
T88 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act 17. 
 
 Iago» Good sir, be a man ; 
 
 Ihink, every bearded fellow, that's but yok'd, 
 M-Ay draw with yon : there's millions now alive, 
 f' ; at nightly lie in those nnproper beds, 
 VViiit b they dare swear peculiar ; your case is 
 better. 
 
 O, '(is the spite of hell, the fiend's arcb-mock. 
 To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
 Anrl to suppose her chaste ! No, let me know ; 
 &n<l, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 
 
 0th. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. 
 
 logo. Stand you awhile apart ; 
 
 ConHne yourself but in a patient list. 
 Whilst you were here, erewhile mad with your 
 grief, 
 
 A passion most unsuiting such a man,) 
 ! assio came hither : I shifted him away 
 And laid good 'sense upon your ecstasy; 
 iViiie him anon return, and here speak with me; 
 Tiie which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself, 
 And n)ark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns. 
 Thai dwell in every region of his face ; 
 For 1 will make him tell the tale anew, — 
 Wliere, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
 He hath, and is again to cope your wife; 
 1 say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience j 
 Or I shall say, you are all in all in spleen, 
 nnH nothing of a man. 
 
 0th. Dost thou hear, Tago? 
 
 I will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
 But (dost thou hear?) most bloody. 
 
 layo. That's not amiss ; 
 
 But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? 
 
 [Othello withdraws.) 
 NTow \v'}U I question Cassio of Biauca, 
 A hoiis^-wife, that, by selling her desires, 
 Buys herself bread and clothes ; it is a creature. 
 That dotes on Cassio, — as 'tis the strumpet's plague, 
 To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one ; — 
 He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
 From the excess of laughter : — Here he comes: 
 
 Re-enter Cassio. 
 As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ; 
 And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
 Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour 
 Quite in the wrong. — -How do you now, lieute- 
 nant? 
 
 Cas. The worser, that you give me the addition. 
 Whose want even kills me. 
 
 lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure oft. 
 Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power, 
 
 {Speaking lower.) 
 
 H.1W quickly should you speed ? 
 Cas. Alas, poor caitiff! 
 
 0th. Look, how he laughs already ! {Aside.) 
 lago. I never knew a woman love man so. 
 Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, i'faith, she loves 
 me. 
 
 0th. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 lago. Do you hear, Cassio ? 
 0th. Now he importunes him 
 
 To tell it o'er: Go to ; well said, well said. 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 lago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her : 
 Do you intend it ? 
 Crs. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 0th. Do you triumph, Roman ? do you triumph ? 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Cas. I marry her! — what? a customer! I pr'y- 
 Ihee, bear some charity to my wit; do not think it 
 to luiwholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Oih. So, 80, so, so : They laugh that win. 
 
 (Aside.) 
 
 lago. 'Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry 
 her. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. 
 
 /<j!^r. I am a very villain else. 
 
 0th. Hav8 yon sconed me ? Well. {Aside.) 
 
 Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out : she 
 is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own lor* 
 and flattery, not out of my promise. 
 
 0th. lago beckons me : now he begins the story. 
 
 {Aside,) 
 
 Cas. She j^as here even now ; she haunts me in 
 every place. I was, the other day, talking on the 
 sea-bank with certain Venetians : and thither comet 
 this bauble ; by this hand, she falls thus about caj 
 
 neck ; — 
 
 0th. Crying, O dear Cassio ! as it were : hia 
 gesture imports it. {Aside.) 
 
 Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps npon me ; so 
 hales, and pulls me: ha, ha, ha! — 
 
 0th. Now he tells, how she plucked him to my 
 chamber: O, I see that nose of yours, but not that 
 dog I shall throw it to. {Aside.) 
 
 Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 
 
 lago. Before me ! look, where she comes. 
 
 Enter Bianca. 
 Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a per- 
 fumed one. — What do you niean by this haunting 
 of me ? 
 
 Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you ! 
 What did you mean by that same handkerchief, you 
 gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. 1 
 must take out the whole work ?— A likely piece of 
 work, that you should find it in your chamber, and 
 not know who left it there ! This is some minx's 
 token, and I must take out the work ? There, — give 
 it your hobby-horse : wheresoever you had it, I'll 
 take out no work on't. 
 
 Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca? how now? 
 how now ? 
 
 0th. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief! 
 
 {Aside.) 
 
 Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, yon 
 may: an you will not, come when you are next 
 prepared for, [Exit, 
 
 lago. After her, after her. 
 
 Cas. 'Faith I must, she'll rail in the street else. 
 
 lago. Will you sup there ? 
 
 Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 
 
 lago. Well, I may chance to see you ; for 1 would 
 very fain speak with you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, come ; Will you? 
 
 lago. Go to ; say no njore. [Exit Cassio, 
 
 0th. How shall I murder him, lago? 
 
 lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his 
 vice 
 
 0th. O, lago! 
 
 lago. And did yon see the handkerchief? 
 0th. Was that mine? 
 
 lago. Yours, by this hand: and to see how he 
 prizes the foolish woman, your wife! she gave it 
 him, and he hath given it his whore. 
 
 0th. I would have him nine years a killing : — 
 A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 
 
 lago. Nay, you must forget that. 
 
 0th. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damne 
 to-night; for she shall not live: No, my heart i 
 turned to stone : I strike it, and it hurts my hand 
 O, the world hath not a sweeter creature: sW: 
 might lie by an emperor's side, and command him 
 tasks. 
 
 lago. Nay, that's not your way. 
 
 0th. Hang her! I do but ^.-.y what she is: — So 
 delicate with her needle ! — An aamirable musician ! 
 O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear ! — O 
 so high and plenteous wit and invention ! 
 
 lago. She's the worse for all this. 
 
 0th, O, a thousand, a thousand times :— And thei^ 
 of so gentle a condition! 
 
 lago. Ay, too gentle. 
 
 0th. Nay, that's certain : But yet the pity of it 
 lago ! — O, lago, the pity of it, Tpgo ! 
 
 lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, g 
 her patent to offend ; for, if it touch not yo«, 
 comes nej».r nobody. 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 THE MOOR CF VENICE. 
 
 783 
 
 Oth» I will cliop her into messes: — Cuckold me! 
 lago. 0, 'tis foul in her. " 
 0th. With mine officer ! 
 lago. I'hat's fouler. 
 
 Otk, Get me some poison, lago; this night: — 
 Ml not expostulate with her, lest her body and 
 beauty unprovide my mind again: — this night, 
 
 layo. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her 
 bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 
 
 0th. Good, good: the justice oi it pleiises; very 
 goo-d. 
 
 lagu. And, for Cassio, — let me be his undertaker : 
 Vou shall hear more by midnight. 
 
 [A trumpet within.) 
 OtL Excellent good. — What trumpet is that 
 same ? 
 
 lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodo- 
 vico, ^ [him. 
 
 Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is with 
 
 Enter LoDOVico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 
 Lod. 'Save you, worthy general ! 
 0th. With all my heart, sir. 
 
 Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. 
 
 {Gives him a packet.) 
 0th. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 
 
 [Opens the packet, and reads.) 
 Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodo- 
 vico ? 
 
 lago. I am very glad to see you, signior , 
 Welcome to Cyprus. 
 Lod. £ thank you : How does lieutenant Cassio V 
 lago. Lives, sir. 
 
 Des. Cousin, there's fallen between hira and my 
 lord 
 
 An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. 
 0th. Are you sure of that ? 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 Oih. This fail you not to do, as you will — 
 
 [Beads.) 
 
 Lod. II? did not call ; he's busy in the paper. 
 Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio? 
 
 Des. A most unhappy one ; I would do much 
 To atone them, for the love 1 bear to Cassio. 
 
 Oih. Fire and brimstone I 
 
 J)es. My lord ? 
 
 0th. Are you wise ? 
 
 Des. What, is he angry ? 
 
 Lod 'May be, the letter mov'd him; 
 
 For, as I think, they do coujaiand him home, 
 Deputing Cassio in his government. 
 
 Des. By my troth, I am glad on't. 
 
 0th. Indeed ? 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 0th. I am glad to see you mad. 
 
 Des. How, sweet Othello ? 
 
 0th. Devil ! [Striking her.) 
 
 Des. I have not deserv'd this. 
 
 Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in Ve- 
 nice, 
 
 Though I should swear I saw it: 'Tis very much; 
 Make her amends, she weeps. 
 
 0th. O devil, devil! 
 
 If th;»t the earth could teem with woman's tears, ) 
 Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile: — - 
 <)ut of my sight! 
 
 Des I will not stay to offend you. 
 
 [Going.) 
 
 Lod. Truly, an obedient lady : 
 I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 
 Oih. Mistress — 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 0th. What would you with her, sir? 
 
 Lod. Who, I, my lord ? 
 
 Dth. Ay ; you did wish, that I would nsake her 
 turn : 
 
 Sir, she cap turn, and turn, and yet go on. 
 And turn again : and she can weep, sir, weep; 
 And she's obedient, as you liay. — obedient.— 
 
 Very obedient; — Proceed you in your tears.— 
 Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted passion! 
 I am commanded home : — Get you away; 
 I'll send for you anon. — Sir, I obey the mandais. 
 And will return to Venice ; — Hence, avaunt! 
 
 [Exit Desdemona, 
 Cassio shall have my place. And, — Sir, to-night, 
 I do entreat that we may sup together. 
 You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. — Goats mii 
 monkeys ! [Exit. 
 
 Lod. Is tliis the noble Moor whom our fidl se- 
 nate [ture. 
 Call — all-in-all sufficient? — This the noble na- 
 Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue, 
 The shot of accident, nor dart of chance. 
 Could neither graze, nor pierce? 
 
 lago. He is much chang'd. 
 
 Lod. Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain? 
 
 lago. He is that he is ; I may not breathe my 
 censure. 
 
 What he might be, — if, what he might, he is not, — 
 I would to heaven, he were. 
 
 Lod. What, strike his wife ! 
 
 lago. 'Faith, that was not so well ; Yet 'would 
 I knew. 
 
 That stroke would prove the worst. 
 
 Lod. Ts it his use ? 
 
 Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
 And new-create this fault ? 
 
 lago. Alas, alas! 
 
 It is not honesty in me, to speak [him; 
 What I have seen and known. You shall observ* 
 And his own courses will denote him so. 
 That I may save my speech : Do but go after. 
 And mark how he continues. 
 
 Lod. I am sorry, that I am deceiv'd in him 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Othello and Emilia. 
 
 0th. You have seen nothing then ? 
 
 Emil. Nor ever heard ; nor «^ver did suspect. 
 
 0th. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. 
 
 Emit. But then I saw no harm; and then 1 heard 
 Each syllable that breath made np between them. 
 
 0th. What, did they never whisper? 
 
 Emil. Never, my lord, 
 
 0th. Nor send you out o'the way ? 
 
 E^nil. Never. 
 
 0th. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nw 
 nothing? 
 
 Emil. Never, my lord. 
 
 0th. That's strange. 
 
 Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest. 
 Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other. 
 Remove your thought it doth abuse your bosom. 
 If any wretch hath put this in your head. 
 Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse! 
 For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true. 
 There's no man happy; the purest of their wive« 
 Is foul as slander. 
 
 0th. Bid her come hither : — go.— 
 
 [Exit Emilia, 
 She says enough ; — yet she's a simple bawd. 
 That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
 A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets . 
 And yet she'll kneel, and pray; I've seen her dot. 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, with Desdemona. 
 
 Des. My lord, what is your will ? 
 
 0th. Pray, chuck, conie hittei. 
 
 Des. What is your pleasure ? 
 
 0th. L >t me see your eyee j 
 
 Look in my face. 
 
 Des. What horribfp fancy's this? 
 
 0th. Some of your function, mistress: 
 
 {To Emilta^ 
 Leave procreants alone, and shut the door ; 
 Coutih, or cry — hem, if any body come: 
 
790 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 ACJT 
 
 Vonr mysteiy, yoar mystery ; — nay, despatch/ 
 
 [Exit Emilia. 
 
 Des. Upon my knees, what doth your s, each 
 import ? 
 
 I understand a fury in your words. 
 But not'the words. 
 Olh. Why, what art thou ? 
 
 Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 
 
 And loyal wife. 
 
 0th. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 
 
 /.est, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 
 fiaould fear to seize thee : therefore be donble- 
 
 damn'd. 
 Swear — thou art honest. 
 
 Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 
 
 0th. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as 
 hell. 
 
 Des. To whom, my lord ? with whom ? How am 
 I false ? 
 
 0th. O Desdemona ! — away ! away ! away ! 
 
 Des. Alas, the heavy day! — Why do you weep? 
 Am I the occasion of t'nese tears, my lord? 
 If, haply, you my father do suspect 
 An instrument of this your calling back, 
 Lav not vour blame on me ! if you have lost him. 
 Why, I Lave lost him too. 
 
 0th. Had it pleas'd heaven 
 
 To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd 
 Ail kmd of sores, and shames, on my bare head; 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
 Given to captivity ine and my utmost hopes; 
 I should have found in some part of my soul 
 A drop oi' patience : but (alas !) to make me 
 A tixed figure, for the time of scorn 
 To point his slow unmoving finger at, — 
 O! O! 
 
 Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : 
 
 But there, where I have garner'd up my heart; 
 
 W here either I must live, or bear no life ; 
 
 Tht fountain, from the which my current runs. 
 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence I 
 
 Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads 
 
 To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion there! 
 
 Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubim ; 
 
 Ay, there, look grim as hell I 
 
 Des. i hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. 
 
 0th. O, ay; as suuiuier flies are in the shambles. 
 That quicken even with blowing, O thou weed, 
 W^ho art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet. 
 That tlie sense aches at thee. — 'Would, thou hadst 
 ne'er been born ! 
 
 Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed ? 
 
 0th. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, 
 iMade to write whore upon? What committed? 
 Committed ! — O thou public commoner! 
 I sliould make very forces of my cheeks, 
 'i'hat would to cinders ourn up modesty, 
 Did i but speak tliy deeds. — What committed! 
 Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks ; 
 'I'he bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, 
 Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
 And will not hear it:— What committed! 
 Impudent strumpet ! 
 
 Des. By heaven, you do me wrong, 
 
 0th. Are not you a strumpet? 
 
 Des. No, as I am a christian : 
 
 If to preserve this vessel for my lord. 
 From any other fonl unlawful touch, 
 Be — not to be a strumpet, I am none. 
 
 0th. What, not a whore ? 
 
 Des. No, as I shall be saved. 
 
 Oih. Is it possible ? 
 
 Des. O, heaven forgive us ! 
 
 0th. I cry you mercy, then ; 
 
 i took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 
 That married with Othello. — You, mistress. 
 
 Re-enter Emilia. 
 That have the office opposite to St. Peter, 
 &ud keep the gate of hell ; You ! you! ay, you 
 
 We have done /»ar eourse ; there's money for youn 
 pains ; 
 
 I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive ?— 
 How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady? 
 Des. 't aith, half asleep. [lord ? 
 
 Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with mv 
 Des. With who ? 
 
 Emil. Why, with iny lord madam. 
 
 Des. Who is thy lord ? 
 
 Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady 
 
 Des. I have none: Do not talk to me, Emilia; 
 I cannot weep ; nor answer I have none. 
 But what should go by water, Pr'ythee, to-night, 
 Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, — remember;-^ 
 And call thy husband hither. 
 Emil. Here is a change, indeed ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. 
 How have I been behav'd, that he might stick 
 The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse ? 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, with Iago. 
 
 lago. What is your pleasure, madam? How is 
 it with you ? [babes, 
 
 Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young 
 Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks : 
 He might have chid me so; for, in good faith, 
 I am a child to chiding. 
 
 Iago. What's the matter, lady ? 
 
 Eijiil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her, 
 Thrown such despite and heavy terras upon her. 
 As true hearts cannot bear. 
 
 Des. Am I that name, Iago? 
 
 layo. What name, fair lady ? 
 
 Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I wa.s. 
 
 Emil. He call'd her, whore; a beggar, in his 
 drink, 
 
 Could not have laid such terras upon his callet. 
 
 laijo. Why did he so ? [such, 
 
 Des. [ do not know; I am sure, I am non« 
 
 Iago. Do not weep, do not weep ; Alas, the day! 
 
 Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches. 
 Her father, and her country, and her friends, 
 To be called — whore ? would it not make one weep? 
 
 Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
 
 Iago. Beshrew him for it ! 
 
 How comes this trick upon him ? 
 
 Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 
 
 Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain. 
 Some busy and insinuating rogue. 
 Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office. 
 Have not devis'd this slander: I'll be hang'd else. 
 
 Iago. Fy, there is no such man : it is impossible. 
 
 Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! 
 
 Emil. A halter pardon him I and hell gnaw his 
 bones ! [coiiipany f 
 
 Why should he call her whore ? who keeps her 
 What place ? what time ? what form ? what likeli 
 hood? 
 
 The Moor's abus'd by some most villanoHs knave 
 Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow:* 
 O heaven, that such companions thou'dst unfold ; 
 And put in every honest iiand a whip. 
 To lash the rascal naked through the world. 
 Even from the east to the west ! 
 
 Iago. Speak within door. 
 
 Emil. O, fy upon him ! some such squire he wai 
 That turn'd your wit the seamy side without. 
 And matie you to suspect me with the Moor. 
 
 Iago. You are a fool ; go to. ' 
 
 Des. O good Iago, 
 
 What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
 '"Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of he 
 J know not how 1 lost him. Here I kn^el :— • 
 If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love. 
 Either in discourse of thought, ot actual deed ; 
 Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense. 
 Delighted them io an other form; 
 
 ...WW 
 
Scene 3, 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 Y91 
 
 Or that I do not yet, and ever did, 
 
 And ever will,— though he do shake me off 
 
 To beggarly divorcement,— love him dearly, 
 
 Comfort forswear me ! Unkiudness may do much; 
 
 And liis uukindaess may defeat my life, 
 
 Bat never taint my love. I cannot say whore ; 
 
 Jit d\)e3 abhor me, now I speak the word ; 
 
 V ^ do the act that might the addition earn, 
 
 N )t the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
 
 laoo. I pray you, be content ; 'tis but his humour ; 
 The business of tixe state does him otience, 
 And he does chide with you. 
 
 Des. If 'twere no other,— 
 
 lago. It is but so, I warrant you. {Trumpets.) 
 Hark, how these instruments summon to supper! 
 And the great messengers of Venice stay : 
 
 o ia, and weep not ; all things shall be well. 
 
 [Exewit Desdemona and Emilia. 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 How now, Roderigo ? [rne. 
 
 Rod. I do not find, that thou deal'st justly with 
 
 la(jo. What in the contrary ? 
 
 Rod. Every day thou doff'st me with some device, 
 lago; and rather (as it seems to me now,) keep'st 
 from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the 
 least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no longer 
 endure it: Nor anj I yet persuaded, to put up in 
 peace what already 1 have foolishly suffered. 
 
 lago. Will vou hear me, Roderigo? 
 
 Rod. 'Faith,' I have h*ard too much; for your 
 words, and perl'onnance, are no kin together. 
 
 lago. You charge me most unjustly. 
 
 Rod. With nought but truth. 1 have wasted my- 
 self out of my means. The jewels yon have had 
 from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have 
 corrupted a vota ist: You have told me— she has 
 received them, and returned me expectations and 
 comfort:! of sudden respect and acquittance ; but 1 
 find noLe. 
 
 lago. Well; go to; very well. 
 
 Rod. Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; 
 nor 'tis not very well : By this hand, I say, it is very 
 scurvy ; and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 
 
 lago. Very well. 
 
 Rud. \ UA\ you, 'tis not very well. I will make 
 myself known to Desdemona: If she will return me 
 my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my 
 unlawful solicitation : If not, assure yourself, I will 
 seek satisfaction of you. 
 
 lago. You have said now. 
 
 Rod Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I 
 protest intendment of doing. 
 
 lago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; 
 aad even, from this instant, do build on thee a bet- 
 ter opini(m than ever before. Give me thy hand, 
 Roderigo : Thou hast taken agamst me a most just 
 exception ; but, yet, I protest, I have dealt most 
 directiv in thy affair. 
 
 Rod. It hath not appeared. 
 
 lago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared ; aod 
 your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. 
 But, Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee indeed, 
 which I have greater reason to believe now than 
 ever, — I mean, pur ose, courage, and valour, — 
 this night shew it ; if thou the next night following 
 enjoyest not Desdemona, take me from this world 
 with treachery, and devise engines for nov life. 
 
 Rod. Well, what is it ? is it within rpason, and 
 
 comitass 
 
 lago. Sir, there is especial commission come from 
 Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 
 
 od. Is that true ? Why, then Othelio and Des- 
 demona return again to Venice. 
 
 lago. O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes 
 iway with hiui the fair Desdemona, unless bia 
 abode be lingered here by some accident; wherein 
 none caa be so detei-mlnate as the removing of 
 Cassio. 
 
 Rod. How do you mean— removing of him . 
 
 lago. Why, by making him incapable of Othello'a 
 place ; knocking out his brains. 
 
 Rod. And that you would have me do? 
 
 lago. Ay ; if you dare do yourself a profit, and a 
 right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thithef 
 will I go to him ; — he knows not yet of his honour- 
 able fortune : if you will watch his going thence, 
 (which I shall fashion to fall out between twelve 
 and one,) you may take him at your pleasure; 1 
 will be near to second your attempt, and he shall 
 fall betwe-en us. Come, stand not amazed at it, bu( 
 go along with me ; I will shew you such a necessity 
 in his death, that you shall think yourself bound ta 
 put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the 
 night grows to waste : about it. 
 
 Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 
 
 lago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt > 
 
 Scene III. — Another Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no 
 further. 
 
 0th. O pardon me ; 'twill do me good to walk. 
 Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your 
 ladyship. 
 
 Des. Your honour is most welcome. 
 
 0 th. Will you walk, sir?— 
 
 O, — Desdemona, — 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 0th. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be 
 returned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; 
 look, it be done. 
 
 Des. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt 0th. Lod. and Attendants. 
 
 Ewt/. How goes it now? he looks gentler than 
 he did. 
 
 Des. He says he will return incontinent; 
 He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
 And jade me to dismiss you. 
 
 Emil. Dismiss me ! 
 
 De*. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
 Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
 We must not now displease him. 
 
 Emil. I would, you had never seen him ! 
 
 Des. So would not 1 ; my love doth so approve 
 him, , [frowns,— 
 
 That even his stubbornness, his checks, and 
 Pr'ythee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in 
 them. [bed. 
 
 Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the 
 
 Des. All's one: — Good father! how foolish are 
 our minds ! 
 If 1 \o die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me 
 In one of those same sheets. 
 
 Emil. Come, come, you talk 
 
 Des. My mother had a maid call'd— Barbara ; 
 She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad, 
 And did forsake her : she had a song of— willow ; 
 An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune 
 And she died singing it : That song, to-night, 
 Will not go from ray mind ; I have much to do. 
 But to go hang my head all at one side, 
 And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatcli. 
 
 Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ? 
 
 Dgg^ No, unpin me here.— 
 
 This Lodovico is a proper man. 
 
 Emil. A very handsome man. 
 
 And he speaks well. 
 Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who wouM have 
 walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch ol 
 nether lip, 
 
 I 
 
 nes The poor sou. sat sighing by a sycamore 
 tree, . 
 Sing all a green willow; {binging.) 
 Her hand on hf.r bosom, her head on her k nee. 
 Sing willow, willotVs willow : 
 
792 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Acrr V 
 
 The fresh streams ranby her, and murmur' d 
 her moans; 
 Sing willow, etc 
 Her salt tears fell from her, and softened 
 the stones ; 
 La^ by Uiese : 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow; 
 
 lV\thee, 'lie thee ; he'll come anon. — 
 
 Sing all a green willow must be my gar- 
 land. 
 
 II 
 
 Let nobody blame him his scorn I approve^ — 
 Nay, that's not next. — H jrk ! who is it that knocks ? 
 Emil, It is the wind. 
 
 Des. I call d my love, false love; but what said 
 Sing willow , etc. [he then ? 
 
 If I court mo wofiren, you'll couch with mo men. 
 So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch ; 
 Doth that bode weeping ? 
 
 Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there. 
 
 Des. I have beard it said so. — O, these men, 
 these men ! 
 
 Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me. Emilia, — 
 That there be women do abuse their husoands 
 Id such gross kind ? 
 
 Emil. There be some such, no question. 
 
 J)es. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the 
 world? 
 
 Emil. Why, would not you ? 
 
 Des. No, by this heavenly light! 
 
 Emil. Nor I neither, by this heavenly light; 
 I might do't as well i'the dark. [world ? 
 
 Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the 
 
 Emil. The world is a huge thing : 'Tis a great 
 price 
 For a small vice. 
 
 Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not. 
 
 Emil. By my troth, I think I should; and un- 
 do't, when I had done. Marry, I would not do 
 aucn a thing for a joint-ring ;* nor for measures of 
 lawn; nor fov gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor 
 any petty exhibition : but, for the whole world, — 
 Why, who would not make her husband a cuckold, 
 to make him a monarch? I should venture purga- 
 tory for't. 
 
 Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong 
 for the whole world. 
 
 Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'the 
 world ; and, having the world for your labour, 'tis 
 a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly 
 make it right. 
 
 Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 
 
 Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many [for. 
 To the vantage, as would store the world they play'd 
 But, I do think, it is. their husbands' faultSj^^^ 
 If wives do fall : Say, that they slack their duties. 
 And pour our treasures into foreign laps; 
 Or else break out in peevish jealousies. 
 Throwing restraint upon us; or, say, they strike us, 
 Or scant our former having in despite ; 
 Why, we have galls ; and, though wc have some 
 grace. 
 
 Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know. 
 Their wives have sense like them: they see, and- 
 smell. 
 
 And have their palates both for sweet and sour, 
 
 husbands have. What is it that they do^ 
 ^hen they change us for others? Is it sport? 
 I think it is ; And doth aftection breed it : 
 I think it doth ; Is't frailty that thus errs ? 
 U is so too : And have not we affections ? 
 Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have ? 
 Then, let them use us well : else, let them know. 
 The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. 
 
 Dss. Good night, good night : Heaven me such 
 usage send, 
 
 Iffot to pick bad from bad ; but, by bad, mend ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 ScBNE I. — A Street 
 Enter Iago and Roderigo. 
 
 lago. Here, stand behind this bulk; strEUghi 
 will he come : 
 Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home ; 
 Quick, quick; fear nothing : I'll be at thy elbow: 
 It makes us, or it' mars us ; think on that, 
 And fix most firm thy resolution. 
 
 Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in't, 
 Iago. Here, at thy hand ; be bold, and take tbj 
 sword. {Retires to a little distance^ 
 Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
 And vet he lias given me satisfying reasons : — 
 'Tis but a man gone : — forth, my swot d ; he dies. 
 
 {Goes to his stands) 
 Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to 
 the sense, 
 
 And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio 
 
 Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other. 
 
 Every way makes my gain : Live Roderigo, 
 
 He calls me to a restitution large 
 
 Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd from him. 
 
 As gifts to Desdemona ; 
 
 It must not be : if Cassio do i^main, 
 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life, 
 
 That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the oor 
 
 May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much peril : 
 
 No, he nmst die : — But so, I hear him coming. 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he : — Villain, thou diest. 
 {Rushes from his post, and makes a pass at 
 Cassio. 
 
 Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed. 
 But that my coat is better than thou think'st; 
 I will make proof of tliine. 
 
 {Draws, and wounds Roderigo.) 
 Rod. O, I am slain ! 
 
 {Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio bihina 
 
 in the leg, and exit.) 
 Cas. I am maim'd for ever: — Help, oh mur- 
 
 dei 
 
 lurdt 
 
 [Falls.) 
 
 Enter Othello, at a distance. 
 0th. The voice of Cassio: — Iago keeps hie 
 word. 
 
 Rod. O, villain that I am^ 
 
 Otli. Hark ! 'tis even so 
 
 Cas. O, help ! oh ! light ! a surgeon ' 
 0th. 'Tis he; — O brave lago, honest, and just, 
 That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong.' 
 Thou tearhest me, — Minioh, your dear lies dead. 
 And your fate hies apace : — Strumpet, I come : 
 Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are 
 blotted ; 
 
 Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with Inst'fs blood be 
 spotted. [Exit Othello^ 
 
 Enter LoDOVico and Gratiano, at a distance. 
 
 Cas. What, ho ! no watch ? no passage '? mur- 
 der I murder! 
 
 Gra. 'Tis some mischance ; the cry is very dire 
 ful. 
 
 Cas. O help! 
 
 Lod. Hark! 
 
 Rod. O wretchpt* vi? n ! 
 
 Lod. Two or three groans; — it is a heavy night: 
 These may be counterfeits ; let's think't unsafe 
 To come in to the cry, without more help. 
 
 Rod. No body comes? then siiall 1 bleed to deeth. 
 
 Enter Iago, with a light. 
 W. Hark! 
 
 Gra. Here's one comes in 8 shirt, with light 
 
 and weapons. 
 lago. Wiio's tlife ? whose noise is this, that 
 
 cries on murder? 
 Lod. We do not know. 
 
SCKNE 2. 
 
 lago. Did yoti not hear a cry ? 
 
 das. Here, ere ; for heaven's sake, help me. 
 
 lago. What's the matter ? 
 
 Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as 1 take it. 
 
 hod The same, indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 
 
 lago. What are you here that cry so grievously? 
 
 Cas. lago? O, I am spoil' d, undone by villains! 
 Give me home help {this ? 
 
 iago. O me, lieutenant! what villains have done 
 
 Cas. 1 think that one of them is hereabout, 
 And cannot make away. 
 
 lago. O treacherous villains ! — 
 
 What are you there? come in, and give some help. 
 
 ( To Lodovico and Gratiano.) 
 
 Rod. O, help me here I 
 
 (Jas. That's one of them. 
 
 Iago. O murderous slave ! O villain ! 
 
 {Iago stabs Roderigo.) 
 Rod. O damn'd Iago ! O inhuman dog! — 
 O! O! O! 
 
 Iago. Kill men i'the dark! — Where be these 
 bloody thieves ! — 
 How silent is this town! — Ho ! murder! murder] 
 What may you be? are you of good, or evil? 
 
 Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 
 
 Iago. Signior Lodovico ? 
 
 Lod. He, sir. 
 
 Iago. I cry you mercy : Here's Cassio hurt 
 
 By villains. 
 Gra. Cassio? 
 
 Iago. How is it, brother ? 
 
 Cas. My leg is cut in two. 
 
 Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! — 
 
 Light, gentlemen ; I'll bind it with my shirt 
 
 Enter Bianca. 
 
 Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is't that cry'd? 
 
 lago. Who is't that cry'd ? 
 
 Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio I 
 O Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio ! [suspect 
 
 Iago. O notable strumpet! — Cassio, may you 
 Who they should be, that have thus mangled you? 
 
 Cas. No. 
 
 Gra. 1 am sorry to find you thus : I have been 
 to seek yoif. 
 
 Iago. Lend me a garter : So. — O, for a chair. 
 To bear him easily hence ! 
 
 Bian. Alas, he faints : — O Cassio! Cassio! Cassio! 
 
 Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
 To be a party in this injury. — 
 Patience a while, good Cassio.— Come, come; 
 Lend me a light. — Know we this face, or no? 
 Alas! my friend, and my dear countryman, 
 Roderigo? no ; — Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo. 
 
 Gra. What, of Venice ? 
 
 Iago. Even he, sir; did you know him? 
 
 Gra. Know him ? ay. 
 
 Iago. Signior Gratiano? 1 cry you gentle par- 
 don ; 
 
 These bloody accidents must excuse ray manners. 
 That so neglected you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad to see you. 
 
 Iago. How do you, Cassio? — O, a chair, a chair ! 
 
 Gra. Roderigo! 
 
 Iago. He, he, 'tis he: — O, that's well saidj — 
 the chair : — {A chair brought m.) 
 
 Sfjme good man bear him carefully from hence ; 
 
 I'll fetch the general's surgeon. — For you, mis- 
 tress, {To Bianca.) 
 
 Save you your labour. — He that lies slain here, 
 Cassio, 
 
 Was my dear friend : What malice was between 
 you ? 
 
 Cas. None in the world; nor do I know the man. 
 lago. [To Bian.) What, look you pale? — O, 
 bear him out o' the air. — 
 
 {Cassio and Rod. are borne off.) 
 Stay you, good gentlemen : — Look you pale, mis- 
 tress? {To Bianca.) 
 Po you perceive the ghastness of her eye? — 
 
 793 
 
 Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon :— 
 Behold htr well; I pray you, look upon her; 
 Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak. 
 Though tongues were out of use. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 Emit. 'Las, what's the matter? what's the matter, 
 husband ? 
 
 Iago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark, 
 By Koderigo, and fellows that are scap'd , 
 He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
 
 Emil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cassio! 
 
 Iago. This is the fruit of whoring. — Pr'ythe*, 
 Emilia, 
 
 Go kno%v of Cassio where he supp'd to-night : — 
 What, do you shake at that ? [shake,not 
 
 Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I therefore 
 
 Iago. O, did he so? I charge you go with me. 
 
 Emil. Fy, fy upon thee, strumpet ! 
 
 Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest. 
 As you that thus abuse me. 
 
 Emil As I? fob! fy upon thee ! 
 
 Iago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassia 
 dress'd : — 
 
 Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale.— 
 Emilia, run you to the citadel, 
 And tell my lord and ladv what has happ'd.— 
 Will you go on, I pray? This is the night, {Aside.) 
 That either makes me, or fordoes me quite. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Scene II. — A Bedchamber: Desdemona in bedt 
 asleep. A light burning. 
 Enter Othello. 
 0th. It is the cause, it i» the cause, my soul,-— i 
 Let me not name it to you, you cha.ste stars !— 
 It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow. 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 
 .Takes off his sworfcL] 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 I^)toiiUJie-4ifh%-a^^ , 
 irTquench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore, 
 Should I repent me : — but once put out thine. 
 Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 
 I know not where is that Promethean heat, 
 That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd 
 
 thy rose, 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, 
 It needs must wither: — I'll smell it on the tree. — 
 
 {Kissing her. 
 
 0 balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one 
 
 more. — 
 
 Be thus when thou a^^ will kill thee, 
 
 KuS^'W\eJ^e%_^^T>^^ this the last 
 
 ^6" sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. 
 But they are cruel tears ; This sorrow's heavenly 
 It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes — 
 
 Des. Who's there? Othello? 
 
 0th. Ay, Desdemona. 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 
 
 0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? 
 
 Des. Ay, my lord. 
 
 0th. If yon bethink yourself of any crime, 
 Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace. 
 Solicit for it straight. 
 
 Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that? 
 
 0th. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by; 
 
 1 would not kill thy unpiepared spirit; 
 
 No, — Heaven forefend ! — I would not kill thy soul ' 
 
 Des. Talk you of killing ? 
 
 0th. Ay, I do. 
 
 Des. Then, heaven 
 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 
 0th. Amen, with all my heart! 
 
 Des. If you say so, I hope yon will not kill me. 
 
 0th. Humph! 
 
 Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then. 
 
 /?/-€.: 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
T94 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 When youi syes roll so ; Why T should fear, I 
 
 kno> V not, 
 
 S'nu.<s guiltiness [ know not; but yet, I feel, I fear. 
 
 Ci/i. riiiuk oh Ihy sins. 
 
 'Jes. They are loves I bear to you. 
 
 Oi/i. Ay, and for that thou diest. [in"-.- — 
 
 De^. That death's unnatural, that kills for lov- 
 
 las, why ^naw yon so your nether lip? 
 iouie bloody passion shakes your very frame: 
 
 hese at e portents ; but yet I hope, I hope, 
 
 hey did not point on me. 
 
 0th. Peace, aod be still ! 
 
 Des. I will so; What's the matter? 
 
 Ot/i. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd, and 
 gave thee, 
 Thou gav st to Cassio. 
 
 Des. No, by ray life and soul: 
 
 Send for the man, and ask him. 
 
 Ot/i. Sweet soul, take heed, 
 
 Take heed of perjury ; thou'rt on thy death-bed. 
 
 Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 
 
 OtA. Yes, presently : 
 
 Therefore confess thee free'.y of thy sin; 
 For to deny each article with oath. 
 Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception. 
 That I do groan witiial. Thou art to die. 
 
 Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me ! 
 
 Olh. I say, amen. 
 
 Des. /^ud have you mercy too ! — I never did 
 Oft'eud you in my life : never lov'd Cassio, 
 Bu' with such general warranty of heaven 
 A-^ I might love: I never gave him token. 
 
 Oih. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his 
 hand. 
 
 0 perjiir'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart. 
 And iiitik'st me call, what I intend to do,— 
 /k murder, which i thought a sacrifice : 
 
 1 saw tiie handkerchief. 
 
 Des. He found it then ; 
 
 I never gave it him : — Send for him hither, 
 And let him confess a truth. 
 
 Ot/i. He hath confess'd. 
 
 Des. What, my lord ? 
 
 OfJi. That he hath— us'd thee. 
 
 Des. How ? unlawfully ? 
 
 0th. Ay. 
 
 Des. He'll not say so. 
 
 Oik. No, his mouth is stopp'd : 
 
 f 'k nest lago hath ta'en order for't. ^ [dead ? 
 
 Des. My fear interprets then, — What, is he 
 
 Oik. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
 Bad stomach for them all. 
 
 Des. Alas! he is betray'd, and I undone. 
 
 Otk. Out, strunipet! Weep'st thou for him to 
 my tace ? 
 
 Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 
 
 Otk. Down, strumpet ! 
 
 Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night 
 
 Otk. Nay, if you strive, — 
 
 Des. But half an hour. 
 
 Oth, Being done, 
 
 There is no pause. 
 
 Des. But while I say one prayer. 
 
 Oth. It is too late. {He smothers her.) 
 
 Emil. {Within.) My lord! my lord! what ho! 
 my lord i ray lord ! [quite dead ? 
 
 Oth. What noise is this ?— Not dead ? not yet 
 I, that am cruel, am yet nierciful; 
 } would not have thee linger in thy pain. — 
 So, so. 
 
 Emii. ( Within.) What ho ! my lord ! ray lord ! 
 Oik. Who's there ? 
 
 Emil. { Within.) O, good ray lord, I would speak 
 
 a word with you. 
 Oth. Yes ; — 'tis Emilia : — by and by. — She's dead. 
 Tis like she comes to^ieak of Cassio's death ; 
 
 The noise was high. 
 
 no fivore movjng 
 
 Still as the grave. Shall she come in ? Were't good ? 
 I think, she stirs again :— No. — Wliat's the best? 
 il she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : 
 
 My wife ! my wife'! what wife?— I have no wifp! 
 
 O, insupportaLrflt? ! O heavy hour! 
 
 Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 
 Of sun and moon ; and that the atfrighted globe 
 
 Should yawn at alteration. [with yoo, 
 
 Einil. {Within.) 1 do beseech you, I may speak 
 O, good niy lord I 
 
 Oth. I had forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia :— 
 Soft, — by and by : — Let me the curtains draw. — 
 Where art thou ? What's the matter with thee 
 now ? ( Unlocks the door.^ 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emil. 0, good my lord, yonder's foul murder 
 
 Oth. What? now? (done. 
 
 Emil. But now, my lord ! 
 
 Otk. It is the very error of the moon ; 
 She comes more near the earth than she was wont, 
 And makes men mad. [netiao, 
 
 Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Ve- 
 Call'd — Roderigo. 
 
 Otk. Roderigo kill'd I 
 
 And Cassio kill'd ? 
 
 Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 
 
 Otk. Not Cassio kill'd ? Then murder's out of 
 And sweet revenge grows harsh. [tune 
 
 Des. Oj falsely, falsely murder'd ! 
 
 Emil. Alas ! what cry is that ? 
 
 Otk. That! what? 
 
 Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice :— 
 Help! help! ho! help! — O lady, speak again ! 
 Sweet Desdemona! O, sweet mistress, speak! 
 
 Des. A guiltless death 1 die. 
 
 Emil. O, who hath done 
 
 This deed ? 
 
 Des. Nobody, I myself ; farewell : 
 
 Commend me to my kind lord; O, farewell . {Dies.) 
 
 Otk. Why, how should she be murder'd ? 
 
 Emil. Alas, who knows ? 
 
 Otk. You heard her say herself, it was not [. 
 
 Emil. She "mid so ; I must needs report the trutli. 
 
 Otk. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell • 
 'Twas I that kill'd her. 
 
 Emil. O, the more angel she, 
 
 And you the blacker devil ! 
 
 Otk. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 
 
 Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. 
 
 Otk. She was false as water. 
 
 E?nil. Thou art rash as fire, to s-ty 
 
 That she was false ; O, she was heavenly true ! 
 
 Oth, Cassio did tup her: ask thy husband else. 
 O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell. 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity : Thv husband knew it all. 
 
 Emil. My husband r 
 
 Oth. Thy husband. 
 
 Emil. That she was false to wedlock ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, with Cassia. 
 
 Nay, had she been true. 
 If heaven would make me such aaother world 
 Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, M 
 I d not have sold her for it 
 
 Emil. My husband ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first; 
 
 An honest man he is, and hates the alime 
 That sticks on filthy deeds. 
 
 Emil. My husband ? 
 
 Oth. What needs this iterance, woman ? I say, 
 thy husband. [love !— 
 
 Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks witk 
 My husband say. that she was false ? 
 
 Oth. He, woman J 
 
 I say, thy husband: Dost understand the word? 
 My friend,, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 
 
 Emil, If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
 Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart; 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
 
 Otk. Ha! 
 
 Emil. Do thy worst ; 
 This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven* 
 
Scene 2. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 795 
 
 Thau thou wast worthy her. 
 
 0th. Peace, you were best. 
 
 Emil. Thou hast not half the power to do me 
 harm. 
 
 As I have lo be hurt. O gull ! O dolt ! 
 As ignorant as dirt! thoii hast done a deed, — 
 I care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee known. 
 Though I lost twenty lives : — Help ! help, ho ! help ! 
 The Moor has kill'd my mistress ; Murder ! murder ! 
 
 Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago. 
 JV/on. What is the matter ? — How now, general ? 
 Emil. O, are you come, Iago ? you have done well. 
 That men must lay their murders on your neck. 
 Qra. What is the matter ^ 
 
 Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man: 
 
 fe says, thou told'st him that his wife was false : 
 know, thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain ; 
 Speak, for my heart is full. [more 
 Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no 
 Than what he found himself was apt and true. 
 E?niL But did you ever tell him, she was false ? 
 Iago. I did. 
 
 Emit. You told a lie ; an odious, damned lie ; 
 Upon my soul, a lie ; a wicked lie : — 
 She false with Cassio ! — Did you say with Cassio ? 
 
 Iago. With Cassio, mistress : Go to, charm your 
 tongue. [to speak ; 
 
 Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; I am bound 
 My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed. 
 
 All. O heavens forefend ! 
 
 Emil. And your reports have set the murder on. 
 0th. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true, indeed, 
 Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. 
 Mon. O monstrous act ! 
 
 Emil. Villany, villany, villany ! — 
 
 i think upon't,— I think, — 1 smell't; — O villany ! — 
 1 thought so then ; — I'll kill myself for grief. — 
 
 0 villany, villany! ,^ 
 
 Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you get 
 you home. fsp^^l^ 5 
 
 E7nil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 
 'Tis proper I obey hi in. but not now; — 
 Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. 
 
 0th. 01 01 01 [Hanging over his wife.) 
 
 Emil. Nay, lay tiiee down, and roar; 
 
 For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent. 
 That e'er did lift up eye. 
 
 Otk. O, she was foul ! — 
 
 (Rising.) 
 
 1 scarce did know you, uncle : There lies your 
 
 niece, [stopp'd : 
 
 Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 
 I know, this act shews horrible and grim. 
 
 Gh^a. Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father's 
 
 dead ; 
 
 Thy match was mortal to him, and pure griof 
 Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now. 
 This sight would make him do a desperate tarn. 
 Yea, curse his better angel from his side. 
 And fall to reprobation. 
 
 0th. 'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows, 
 That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
 A thousand times committed : Cassio confess'd it: 
 And she did gratify his amorous works 
 With that recognizance and pledge of love 
 Which I first gave her ; i saw it in his hand; 
 It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
 My father gave my mother. 
 
 Emil. O heavens! O heavenly powers! 
 
 Iago. Come, hold your peace. 
 
 Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out ; — I hold my peace, 
 sir ? no ; 
 
 No, I will speak as liberal as the air; 
 
 Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all, 
 
 Ail. ail, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. 
 
 lu'jo. Be wise, and get you home. 
 
 Einil I will not. 
 
 (Iago offers to stab his tvife.) 
 
 Gra. Fyi 
 
 Your sword upon a woman ? 
 Emil. O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief tko« 
 
 speak'st of, 
 
 I found by fortune, and did give my husband; 
 For often, with a solemn earnestness, 
 (More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,) 
 He begg'd of me to steal it. 
 
 Iago. _ _ Villanous whore ! 
 
 Emil. She give it Cassio! no, alas ; I found it, 
 And I did give't my husband. 
 
 Iago. Filth, thou liest, 
 
 Emil. By heaven, I do not ; I do not, gentlemen 
 O murderous coxcomb! what should such a fool 
 Do with so good a wife ? 
 
 [Iago stabs Emilia, then runs out, 
 
 0th. Are there no stones in heaven, 
 
 But what serve for the thunder ? — Precious villain ! 
 
 Gra. The woman falls ; sure, he has kill'd his 
 wife. 
 
 Emil. Ay, ay; O, lay me by my mistress' side ! 
 Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. 
 Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this 
 weapon. 
 
 Which I liave here recover'd from the Moor: 
 Come, guard the door without ; let him n-ot pass. 
 But kill him rather; I'll after that same villain. 
 For 'tis a damned slave. 
 
 [Exeunt Montano and Gratiano, 
 
 0th. I am not valiant neither 
 
 But every puny whipster gets my sword : — 
 But why should honour outlive honesty ? 
 Let it go all. 
 
 Emil. What did thy song bode, lady? 
 
 Hark, can'st thou hear me ? 1 will play the swan. 
 And die in music ; — Willoiv, willoiv, ivillow.— 
 Moor, she was chaste ; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor^ 
 So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ; 
 So speaking as I think, I die, — I die. [Dies,] 
 
 0th. I have another weapon in this chamber. 
 It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper;— 
 O, here it is : — Uncle, I must come forth. 
 
 Gra. [Within.) If thou attempt it, it will cost the® 
 dear; 
 
 Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 
 
 0th. Look in upon me then, attd speak with me 
 Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 
 
 Re-enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. What is the matter ? 
 
 0th. Behold I I have a weapon^ 
 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day. 
 That, w this little arm, and this good sword, 
 I have made my way through more impediment* 
 Than twenty times your stop: — But, O vain boait! 
 Who can control his fate ? 'tis not so now.— 
 Be not afraid, though yon do see me weapon'd; 
 Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, 
 And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
 Do yon go back dismay'd ? 'tis a lost fear; 
 Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 
 And he retires: — Where should Othello go?— 
 Now, how dost thou look now ? O ill starr'd wencbl 
 Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt. 
 This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven. 
 And fiends will snatch at it Cold, cold, my girl r 
 Even like thy chastity. — 
 O cursed, cursed slave! — Whip me, ye devils. 
 From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
 Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 
 Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire !— 
 O Desdemona ! Desdemona! deadf 
 Dead? O! 010! ] 
 
 Enter LoDovico, Montano, Cassio, carried in a 
 chair, and Officers, ivith Iago, prisoner, 
 Lod. Where is this rash and most uufortunat* 
 man? 
 
 0th. That's he, that was Othello; here I am 
 Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain fortli 
 
796 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 Act Vv 
 
 0th. I look djwn tov^ards his feet; — but that'a 
 a fable : 
 
 l^fthat thou be'st a devil^ I cannot kill thee. 
 
 {Othello wounds lagot^ 
 
 Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 
 
 lago. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. 
 
 Jth. I am not sorry neithei ; I'd have thee U>e ; 
 For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 
 
 Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good, 
 Fall'n in the practice of a cursed slave. 
 What shall be said to thee ? 
 
 0th. Why, any thing . 
 
 An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
 For uoiiglit I did in hate, but all in honour. 
 
 Lod. This wretch hath part coofess'd his villany : 
 Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ? 
 
 OtI). Ay. 
 
 Cas. Dear general, 1 never gave you cause. 
 
 Otk. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
 Will you, I pray you, demand that demi devil, 
 Wliy he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body ? 
 
 lago. Demand me nothing: What you know, you 
 know ; 
 
 From this time forth I never will speak word. 
 Lod. What ? not to pray ? 
 
 Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 
 
 0th. Well, thou dost best. 
 
 Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n. 
 Which, as I think, you know not: Here is a letter, 
 Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo; 
 And here, another: the one of them imports 
 The death of Cassio to be undertook 
 By Roderigo. 
 
 0th. O villain ! 
 
 Cas. Most heathenish, and most gross ! 
 
 Lod. Now here's another discontented paper, 
 Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems, 
 Roderigo mt-ant to have sent this daumed villain; 
 But that, belike, lago in the interim 
 Came in and satisfied him. 
 
 0th. O the pernicious caitiff I — 
 
 Bow came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
 That was my wif-s's? 
 
 Cas. I found it in my chamber: 
 
 And he himself confess'd, but even now. 
 That there lie dropp'd it, for a special purpose. 
 Which wrought to his desire. 
 
 Qih. O fool! fool! fool! 
 
 €aM. There is, besides, in Roderigo's letter. — 
 J[|0W be raids (ago, that he made him 
 
 Brave me upon tfte watch ; whereon it came 
 That I was cast: And even but now he spake. 
 After long seeming dead, — lago hurt him, 
 lago set him on. 
 
 Lod. Yon must forsake this room, and go with m; 
 Your power and your command is taken off. 
 And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,— 
 If there be any cunning cruelty, 
 That can torment him much, and hold him long. 
 It shall be his: You shall close prisoner rest. 
 Till that the nature of your fault be known 
 To the Venetian state :— Come, bring him away. 
 
 0th. Soft you ; a word or two, before you go. 
 I have done the state some service, and they know it; 
 No more of that: — I pray you, in your letters. 
 When you s these unlucky deeds relate. 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down augf-^t in malice : then must you spea* 
 Of one, that lov'd not wisely, but too well ; 
 Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought, 
 Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand, 
 Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away, 
 Richer than all his tribe ; of one, whose subdu'd ^jrei, 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood. 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian tre s 
 Their medicinal gum: Set you down this; , 
 And say, besides, — that in Aleppo once, | 
 Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk f 
 Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state, | 
 I took by the throat the circumcised dog, I 
 And smote him — thus. {Stabs htmse^,) 
 
 Lod. O bloody period ! 
 
 Gra. All, that's spoke, is marr'd. 
 
 0th. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd tliee : — No way 
 but this, {Failing upon Desdemona,) 
 Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies.] 
 
 Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had nc 
 weapon ; 
 For he was great of heart. 
 
 Lod. O Spartan dog. 
 
 More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea! 
 Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; {To lago.) 
 This is thy work . the object poisons sight • — 
 Let it be hid. — Gratiano, keep the house. 
 And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, / 
 For they succeed to you. — To you, lord goveriaor, 
 Remains the censure of this hellish villain; 
 The time, the place, the torture, — O enforce it! 
 Myself will straight aboard ; and, to the state. 
 This heavy ;ict with heavy heart relate. [Bx 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 OF OBSOLETP WORDS, AND OP WORDS VARYING FROM THEIR ORDINARY SIONIFICATUMIi 
 
 A. 
 
 tMia, in depress, sink, subdue. 
 
 1 B C, a catechism. 
 Ahbor.to protest against. 
 Afyects, debased servile persons. 
 A.b e, to qualify or uphold. 
 Ab irtive, issuing heiore its time. 
 Abs olute, complete, perfect. 
 Abuse, deception. 
 Abused, deceived. 
 
 Abv. to pay dear for, tome, to suffer. 
 
 Abysifi, abyss. 
 
 Accile, to cite orsumuon. 
 
 Accuse, accusation. 
 
 A<'hieve, to obtain. 
 
 Aconitum, wolfs bane. 
 
 Acfluittauce, requital. 
 
 Action, direction by mute signs, charge 
 
 or accusation. 
 Action taking, litigious. 
 Actures, actions. 
 Addiiious, titles or characters. 
 Address, to prepare, to make ready. 
 Addressed, oraddresi, ready. 
 Admittance, favour 
 Advance, to prefer. 
 Advertising, attentive. 
 Adversity, contrariety. 
 AdTertisemeiil, a<hnonition. 
 Advice, consideration, discretion, 
 
 thought. 
 
 Advise, to consider, to recollect. 
 Aery or Aiery. a hawk's or eagle's nest 
 Aftect the letter, to practise alteration. 
 Affect, love. 
 
 Affectioa, affectation, imagination. 
 Affect ioned, affected. 
 Affects, affections. 
 Affcered, confirmed. 
 Allied, betrothed. 
 .Vffined, joined by af&nity. 
 Affront, to onfront. 
 .^ffv, to betroth. 
 
 Aglet habv, a diminutive being, not 
 exceeding the tag of a point, from 
 aiffiiiiiettes. 
 gnize, acknowledge, confess, vow. 
 -good, in >;iiod earnest. 
 
 Aim, Kue.ss, suspicion. 
 
 Airy VAmf , mere verbal eulogy. 
 
 Aider liefest, best beloved. 
 
 Ale, a merry-meeting. 
 
 /I 'life, at life 
 
 lllow, to approve. 
 
 illow&nce, approbation. 
 
 imaze, to perplex. 
 
 Amazonian chiu, a beardless chin. 
 
 imes ace, the lowest chance of the 
 dice 
 
 Amiss, misfortune. 
 Amort, dispirited. 
 An, as if 
 Anchor, a hermit. 
 
 Ancient, au ensign,or standa'/d-bearer. 
 
 Angle, a lishirig-rud. 
 
 Anight, in :be night. 
 
 Answer, retaliation. 
 
 Anthropophagi, caunibflla. 
 
 Antick, the too' of the old play. 
 
 Autiquity , old age 
 
 Antres, caves and dens. 
 
 Appeact, io impeach. 
 
 Appeal, to accuse 
 
 Appeared, made apparent. 
 
 Ikpple john, an apple that will keep 
 
 for two vear.s. 
 Apply, to attend to, consider. 
 Appointntent, preparation. 
 Apprehension opinion. 
 .Apprehensive, quick of comprehension 
 Approt)atioii. entry or probation. 
 Approof, approbation, proof. 
 Approve, t(- justify, prove, establish. 
 Approved, experienced. 
 Approvers, those who try. 
 Aqua vita;, strong waters, probably 
 
 usqiiehaiigb. 
 Arabian bird, (he phoenix. 
 Arch, chief. 
 Argentine, silver. 
 Argectiiie, the goddess Diana. 
 Argier, Alg ers. 
 
 /irgosies, ships laden with great wealth 
 Argument, subject for conversation, 
 
 evidence, proof. 
 Arm, to take up in the arms. 
 Aroint, avaunt, begone. 
 A row, successively. 
 Art, practice as distinguished from 
 
 theory ; also, theory. 
 Articiilale, to enter in o articles, 
 rtif-i ial i;ikenious. artful. 
 
 As, as if. 
 
 Ascauut, askew, sideways. 
 Aspect, countenance. 
 Aspersion, sprinkling. 
 As point, completely armed. 
 Assay, test. 
 Ascapart, a giant. 
 Assinego, a male ass. 
 Astrmger, a gentleman falconer. 
 Assurance, convevance or deed. 
 Assured, affiancecf. 
 
 Ates, instigate from hit, the goddess 
 
 of bloodshed. 
 Atomies, minute particles T'sible in 
 
 the sun's rays. 
 Attasked, taken to task. 
 Attended, waited for. 
 Attent, attentive. 
 Alone, to reconcile. 
 Af^st, attestation. 
 Attonjey, deputation. 
 Attorneyship, the discretional agency 
 
 of another. 
 Attornied, supplied by substitution of 
 
 embassies. 
 Audacious, spirited, animated. 
 Audrey, a corruption of Ethelrea. 
 Augurs prognostications. 
 Aukward, adverse. 
 Aunis, strumpets. 
 Authentic, learned. 
 Awful, reverend. 
 Awless, failing to produce awe. 
 
 B. 
 
 Baccare, stand back, give place. 
 
 Bairn, brushwood. 
 
 Baldrick, a belt. 
 
 Bale, misery. 
 
 Baleful, baneful. 
 
 Balked, bathed or piled up. 
 
 Ballase, ballast. 
 
 Balm, the oil of consecration. 
 
 Ban, curse 
 
 Band, bond. 
 
 Bando};, village dog. 
 
 Bandy, to exchange smartly. 
 
 Bank, to sail along bank.s. 
 
 Banning, cursing. 
 
 Banquet, a slight repast. 
 
 Bar, barrier. 
 
 Barbason, the name of a demon. 
 
 Barbe, a kind of veil. 
 
 Barbed, warlikely caparisoned. 
 
 Barber- monger, an associate of barbers. 
 
 Bare, to shave. 
 
 Bare, mere 
 
 Earful, full of impediments. 
 
 Barm, yeast 
 
 Barn, or baini, a child. 
 
 Barnacles, h shell fish. 
 
 Barns, keeps in a barn. 
 
 Barren, ignorant. 
 
 Base, dishonoured. 
 
 Ba,se. a rustic game called prison-ba.se. 
 Bases, a kind of loose breeches worn 
 
 by equestrian knights. 
 Basilisks, h species of cannon. 
 Basfa, 'tis enough. 
 Bastard, raisin wine. 
 Bat, a club 
 Bate, st rife 
 
 Bate to flutter as a hawk. 
 
 Batlet ,aii instrument with which wash- 
 ers used to beat clothes. 
 
 Batten, to grow fat. 
 
 Battle, army. 
 
 Bawcock , a jolly fellow. 
 
 Bay , tne %y ice between thejmain 
 beams of n house. 
 
 Bay cui tal, a bay docked horse 
 
 Bay window , a bow-window. 
 
 Beadsmen, religious persons, main 
 tainei* to ()ray for their benefactor. 
 
 Beak, liie forecastle. 
 
 Bear a brain, perfectly resemble. 
 
 Beard, to defy. 
 
 Bearing, demeanour. 
 
 Bearing clnth, a mantle osed at christ- 
 eniigs. 
 
 Beat , (in falconry) to flutter. 
 
 Beating, hammering, dwelling upon. 
 
 Beaver, helmet in general. 
 
 Beck, a snlutation made with the head. 
 
 Becomed, becoming. 
 
 Beetle, to hang over the base. 
 
 Behave, to manage. 
 
 Behests, commands. 
 
 Beholding, viewing with regard. 
 
 Behov.l, to howl at. 
 
 Be ng, abode. 
 
 Beidami;. aacient mother. 
 
 Be lee'd, becalmed. 
 
 Belongings, eudowmeots. 
 
 Be-mete, be- measure. 
 
 Be- moiled, bedraggled, bemb«4 
 
 Bending, uneqnalto the weigM. 
 
 Benefit, beneficiary. 
 
 Bent, utmpst degree of any pmlia 
 
 Benumbed, inflexible. 
 
 Beshrew, may ill befall. 
 
 Besmirch, to foul or dirty. 
 
 Best, bravest. 
 
 Bestowed, stowed awaj, lodged. 
 
 Bestraught, distracted. 
 
 Beteem, to give, pour out. pemiii 
 
 suffer. ^ 
 Bewray, betray. 
 Bezoniam, a mean fellow. 
 Bias cheek, swelling out like the biai 
 
 of a bowl. 
 Bid, to invite. 
 
 Bid the base to challenge in a contest 
 
 Bifold, two-fold 
 
 Bigfein, a cap. 
 
 Bilberry, the hortleberry. 
 
 Bilbo, a Spanish blade, made at Bilboa. 
 
 Billioes. fetters. 
 
 Bill, articles of accusation. 
 
 Bill, a weapon, formerly carried Oy 
 
 watchmen. 
 Bin. is. 
 
 Bird- bolt, an arrow shot at birds from 
 
 a cross-bow. 
 Bisson, blind. 
 
 Blank, the white mark in a target. 
 Blank and level, mark and aim (ternu 
 
 of gunnery). 
 Blaze of youth, the spring of early life. 
 Blear, to deceive. 
 Blench, to start off, to fly off. 
 Blent, blended 
 
 Blind -worms, the caecilia, or slot». 
 worm. 
 
 Blood b iltered, daubed with blooflL 
 
 Blown, puffed up. swollen. 
 
 Blows, swells. 
 
 Bloody, sanguine. 
 
 Blue caps, the Scftrh. 
 
 Blunt stupid, insensible. 
 
 Blurt, blurted, au expressioa 0/ 6Ci)> 
 
 tempt. 
 Board, to accost. 
 Bobb, to trick. 
 Bodged, boggled clumsy. 
 Bodkin, a small dagger. 
 Bolted, silted 
 
 Bolting hutch, the receptacle ]jt whick 
 
 the meal is bolted 
 Bombard, or bombard, a barrel. 
 Bombast, the sfuthna of clotljes 
 Bona robas, strumpets 
 Bond, houndeu duty 
 Bony or bonny, handsome. 
 Book, paper of conditions. 
 Boot, profit, something over and abovS 
 Bore, demeaned. 
 Bore, the calibre of a gtju. 
 Bores, stabs. 
 Bosky, woody. 
 Bosom, wish, heart's desire. 
 Bots, wonns i,i a l.orse's stonaaelk 
 Bourn, boundarj , rivulet. 
 Bow, yoke 
 Botds, emboldens 
 Boltered, bedaubed. 
 Borne in hand, deceived. 
 Bottled spider, a large bloated spider. 
 Boulted, sifieu. 
 
 Bowlins, or bowlines, tackle of a shiih 
 
 BoHen, swollen. 
 Bordered, restrained. 
 Bower, a chamber. 
 Brace, armour for the arm. 
 Brach, a hound. 
 Brack, to salt. 
 Braid, crafty, deceitful. 
 Brain's flow, tears. 
 
 Brake, an instrument of torture; atoi 
 
 a thicket 
 
 Brands, a part ofthe andirons ot<whTCfc 
 the wood for I he fire was supported. 
 
 Brasier, a manufacturer of brass ; also, 
 a vessel in which .;harcoalis b irned* 
 
 Brave, to defy, also to make fine 
 
 Bravely, splendidly, gallantly. 
 
 Bravery, finery 
 
 Brawl, a kind of dance. 
 
 Braying, harsh, grating. 
 
 Break, to begin. 
 
 Break up, to carve. 
 
 Break with, to break the mattei to. 
 
 Breast, voice. 
 
 Breath, speech. 
 
798 
 
 :}LOSSART. 
 
 Breath sng ctJtJrtesy, more verbal eoi» i 
 
 plimeat. 
 
 Breeched, foaUy sheathed, mired. 
 
 Breeching, liable to be flogged. 
 Breathed , inured by constant practice. 
 Breathe, to utter. 
 Ilrerd-bate, an exciter of qaarreli. 
 Bribe buck, a buck sent as a bribe, 
 bridal, tiie auptial feast, 
 dring, to attend or accompany. 
 Brize, the gad, or horse-fly. 
 Brosch, to put ou the spit, to transfix. 
 Brock, the badger. 
 Brogues, a kind of shoes. 
 Broken, communicated. 
 Broker, a match-maker, a procures*. 
 BroocLed, adorned. 
 Brought , attended. 
 Brow of youth, the height youth. 
 Brown bill, a battle axe. 
 Brownist, a follower of Brown, sec- 
 tarian. 
 
 Bruising irons, an allusion to the au- 
 
 cie it mace. 
 Bruit, report with clamour. 
 Brush of time, decay of time. 
 Bug, bugbears, false terrors. 
 Bumbanl, a large drinking vesseL 
 Bung, a cut purse. 
 Bunting, a bird. 
 Burgoaet, a helmet. 
 Busky^ woody. 
 
 BuU-shaft, an arrow to shoot at shafts 
 
 with. 
 Buxom, obedient. 
 By'rUiken, by our lady. 
 
 C. 
 
 Caddis, worsted lace. 
 Cade, a barrel. 
 Cadent, falling. 
 Cage, a prison. 
 Caiii-( oloured, yellow. 
 Caitiff, a scoundrel. 
 Cjalculatf, to foretoU. 
 Caliver, a nmsket. 
 Call, to visit. 
 Callet, a woman, a witch. 
 Calling, apnellation. 
 €alm, qualm. 
 
 Cameiot, a place where King Arthur ia 
 
 supposed to have kept his court. 
 Canary, a dance. 
 
 Candle wa^^ters, tboise who sit up aH 
 
 nigJit to drink. 
 
 Canker, the dog rose. 
 
 Cauntitk, candlestick. 
 
 Cantons, cantos. 
 
 Canvas, to sift. 
 
 Canvas climber, a sailor. 
 
 Cap. the top, the chief. 
 
 Cap.- to salute by taking off the cap. 
 
 Capable impressure, hollow mark. 
 
 Capitulate, to make head against. 
 
 Capoi chia, a sot. 
 
 Capon, metaphor for a letter. 
 
 Capricious, lascivious. 
 
 Captions, capacious. 
 
 Carack, a ship of great balk. 
 
 Caracts, characters. 
 
 Carbotiado, a piece of meat cut cross- 
 ways for the gridiron. 
 
 Card, a sea -chart, perhaps also the 
 compass. 
 
 Carded, mixed. 
 
 Care, iuclioation. 
 
 Careires, the motion of a horse; to 
 pass the c^reires.means to overstep 
 thp boiinds of decorum. 
 
 Carkanet, a necklace. 
 
 Carl, clown, boor. 
 
 Carlnt, peasant. 
 
 Carnal, sanguinary. 
 
 Carowses, drinks. 
 
 Carriage, import. 
 
 Ca— ied, conducted. 
 
 Carry, to prevail over. 
 
 Cart, a chariot. 
 
 Case, skin, outward garb. 
 
 Case of lives, a set of live,*. 
 
 CasQue.s, helmets. 
 
 Cassodi, a horseman's loose coat. 
 
 Cast, to empty ; also dismiss, reject. 
 
 Cast, reckoned. 
 
 Jastilian, an opprobrious term. 
 
 Casvilianc vulgo, a cant term of con- 
 tempt . 
 
 Cast- hps, left- off lips. 
 
 Hast the wn 'pa , to finrf out disorders by 
 iiispectiag the uriue. 
 
 f^fcfaian, a liai . 
 
 Catling, a small lutestring, made of 
 
 catgnt. 
 
 CavRlero justice, a cant term. 
 
 Cavaleroes, gay fellows. 
 
 Caviare, too jood for, or above the 
 coinpreheijsion of ; »:o called from 
 a rieiicac? made of I »e roe of stur- 
 
 geons, eaten by the quality. 
 
 Cautel, subtlety. 
 
 Cautel or cantle, the comer, or piece 
 
 of anything. 
 
 Cantelous, insidious, cautious. 
 
 Cearment. the wrapping of an em- 
 balmed body. 
 
 Cease, decease. 
 
 Censure, to give an opinion. 
 
 Centuries, companies of an hundrra 
 men each. 
 
 Ceremonious, superstitious. 
 
 Certes, certainly. 
 
 Cess, measure, tax or subsidy. 
 
 Chair, throne. 
 
 Chaliced, 1. e. flowers, with cups, from 
 
 ca/ix 
 
 Challenge, the right of reftisinga \urym 
 man, 
 
 Chamber, ancient name fo London ; 
 also, a piece of ordnance. 
 
 Chamberers, intriguers. 
 
 Champian, an open country. 
 
 Chantry, a small chapel in a cathedral. 
 
 Character, hand-writing. 
 
 Charactery, the matter with which let- 
 ters are made. 
 
 Chares, task- work. 
 
 Charge-house, free school. 
 
 Chariest, most cautious. 
 
 Chariness, caution. 
 
 Charitable, dear, endearing. 
 
 Charles- wain, the constellation called 
 the bear. 
 
 Charm your tongue, be silent. 
 
 Charmer, one who deals in magic. 
 
 Ciiarneco, a sweet wine. 
 
 Chance, fortune. 
 
 Chary, cautious. 
 
 Chases, a term in tennis. 
 
 Chaudron, entrails. 
 
 Cheater, for escheatour, an officer in 
 the Exchequer. 
 
 Checks, probably for ethics. 
 
 Cheer, couuienauce. 
 
 Cherry pit, a game with cherry-stonea, 
 
 Clieveril, soft leather ; also, conscience. 
 
 Chew, to ruminate, consider. 
 
 Chewet, a i hattering bird. 
 
 Chide, to resound, to echo; also, te 
 scold, be clamourous. 
 
 Chiding, sound; noisy. 
 
 Child, a knight, a hero. 
 
 Child, a female infant. 
 
 Childing, unseasonably prcgnaa^u 
 
 Chopine, a high shoe. 
 
 Chough, a bird of the daw species 
 
 Christom or chrisom, the white cloth 
 put on a new baptized child. 
 
 Chuck, cliicken,atcrm of endearment. 
 
 ChuS", rich, avaricious. 
 
 Chopping, jabhe'-ing. 
 
 Cicatrice, the scar of a wound. 
 
 Circummured, walled round. 
 
 Circumstance, conduct, detail, circum- 
 locution. 
 
 Cite, incite. 
 
 Cital, recital. 
 
 Civil, grave, solemn. 
 
 Civi-1, human 
 
 Cittern, a nmsical instrument. 
 Clack dish a beggar's dish. 
 Camour, a term in bell -ringing 
 Clap in, !all to. 
 
 CIh jiprd iv he clout, hit the white mark. 
 
 Cl ip, to join hands. 
 
 Claw, !o flatter. 
 
 Clean, completely. 
 
 Clean kam, awry. 
 
 Clear, pure. 
 
 Clearest, purest. 
 
 Clepe, to call. 
 
 Clerkly, learned, scholar-like 
 Cling, todry, oi-shrink up. 
 Clinquatii, glittering. 
 Clipt, embraced. 
 
 Clout, the white mark at which archers 
 
 shoot. 
 Clouted, hobnailed. 
 Coach fellow, one who draws with a 
 
 confederate. 
 Coasting conciliatory. 
 Codling, an unripe apple. 
 Cob loaf, a crusty, uneven loaf. 
 Cock, cock boat. 
 Cock- and pye, a vulgar oath. 
 Cockshul time, twilight. 
 Cockle, a corn-weed. 
 Cockle hat, a pilgrim's hat. 
 Codding, nmorous. 
 Codpiece, a part of the dress. 
 Coffin, the cavity of a raised pie. 
 Cog, to cheat with dice, to lie. 
 Cognizance, badge or token. 
 Cogging, lying. 
 
 Coigne of vantage, convenient corner. 
 Coignes, corners. 
 Coil, bu.stle.atir. 
 
 Cold, o^ed 
 
 Collection, consequenoe« « Mllary 
 Collied. black, smutted. 
 Colt, to trick. 
 Co-mart, a joint bargMilt, 
 Come of, to pay. 
 Come of will, to succeed. 
 Co meddled. mingletL 
 Combinate, betrothed. 
 Comfort, to aid. 
 Comforting, abetting. 
 Comma, connection. 
 Commission, 'authority. 
 Commend, commit. 
 Committed, lain with. 
 Commodity, self interest. 
 Common ty, a comedy. 
 Compact, made up of. 
 Companies, companioni. 
 Compare, comparison. 
 Comparative, a dealer in comparisons. 
 Compassed, round. 
 Compassed cape, a round cape. 
 Compassed window, a bow-window. 
 Compassionate, plaintive. 
 Compose, to come to a composition. 
 Composturo, composition. 
 Composition, bargain; also, cenaic 
 tency. 
 
 Competitors, con' derates. 
 CompJeraents, accomplishment^ 
 Coinpievion, humour. 
 Comply, to compliment; 
 Comptible, submissive. 
 Conceit, imagination, wit, idea. 
 Conceited, ingenious. 
 Concent, connected harmony. 
 Conclusions, experiments. 
 Concupy, concupiscence. 
 Condolement, sorrow. 
 Conduct , conductor. 
 Coney catched. tricked. 
 Coney-catcher, a cheat. 
 Confession, profession. 
 Confineless, boundless. 
 Confound, to destroy. 
 Conjecl, conjecture. 
 Consent, will, conspiraoJ« 
 Consider, reward. 
 Consigned, -sealed. 
 Consist, staad. 
 Consort, company. 
 Conspectuity , sight. 
 Constancy, consistency. 
 Constant. y, certainly. 
 Contemptible, contemptnoiUi 
 Continuate, uninterrupted. 
 Continue, to spend. 
 Continent, containing. 
 Contraction, marriage-contnwt* 
 Contrarious, different. 
 Contrary to contradict 
 Contrive, to spend, to wear out. 
 Control, confute 
 Convents, agrees, is convenient. 
 Convented summoned. 
 Conversion, change of condition. 
 Converse, associate, iutercLange 
 Convertite, a convert. 
 Convey, to steal. 
 Conveyance, slight of hand, theft. 
 Conveyers thieves. 
 Conveyed hiin.self, derived his title. 
 Convicted, overpowered, batlled. 
 Convince to convict, to subdue. 
 Convive, to feast. 
 
 Copatain hat, a hat with a conicw 
 
 crown. 
 Cope, encounfer, covering. 
 Copped, rising to a top or head. 
 Copy, theme. 
 
 Coragio, courage, be of good cheer. 
 
 Corinth, a brothel. 
 
 Corinthian, a wencher. 
 
 Corky, dry, withered. 
 
 Corollary, suiplus. 
 
 Corporal, corporeal. 
 
 Corrigible, corrected 
 
 Costaro- monger, a dealer in cogten 
 
 apples. 
 Cote, to ox ertake, 
 Coted, qnoced, regarded. 
 Cotsale, Cotswood in Gloucsi 
 Couch, to lie with. 
 Count, to reckon upon. 
 Countenance favour; also, falae i9> 
 
 pearance, hypocrisj . 
 Counter, a hunting term. 
 Counter-caster, one who reckoiM 
 
 counters. 
 Counter-check, a term it chest. 
 Counterfeit, a portrait. 
 Counterpoints, counterpanes. 
 Country, count, earl. 
 Couplement, a couple. 
 Courses the mainsail and fnrnmiit 
 Court-cupboard sid board. 
 Court coufe a spurious uob 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 799 
 
 Ooort holr-water, flattery. 
 
 Gorered, noilow. 
 
 Cowed, awed. 
 
 Cover, to siuk down. 
 
 CJowlstRfT, a staff used in carrying a 
 
 basket. 
 Coy, to soothe. 
 Coyed, yielded reluctantly. 
 Coystril, a coward cock, a poltroon. 
 Cozier, a tailor, a botcher. 
 Crack, dissolution ; also a boy-child. 
 Cranks, windings. 
 
 Cranking or crankling, the rush of a 
 fiver. 
 
 Craut^, garlands. 
 
 Crare, a small trading vessel. 
 
 Crash, to be merry o\ er. 
 
 Craven, a cowardly cock, mean, cow- 
 ardly. 
 
 Create, compounded, made up of. 
 Credent, credible. 
 
 Credit, account, information, credu- 
 lity. 
 
 Cressets, lights set upon a beacon. 
 Cressive, increasing. 
 Crest, the summit. 
 
 Crestless, those who have no right to 
 
 armorial bearings. 
 Crewel, worsted. 
 Crisp, curled, winding. 
 Critic, cynic. 
 Critical, censorious. 
 Crone, a very old woman. 
 Crosses, money stamped with a cross. 
 Crow-keeper, a scarecrow. 
 Crownet, last purpose. 
 Crulentious. cruel. 
 Crusado, a Portuguese coin. 
 Crush, to dririk. 
 Crush a cup, to crack a bottle. 
 Cry, a pack of hounds. 
 Cry aim, to t-ncourage. 
 Crystals, the eyes. 
 
 Cub-drawn, alluding to a bear who.«e 
 dags are dry. 
 
 Cue, a theatrical term, the last word 
 of the preceding speech. 
 
 Cuisses, armour for the thighs. 
 
 Cullion, a paltry fellow. 
 
 Cunning, knowledge. 
 
 Curb, to bend or truckle. 
 
 Curiosity, curiousness, tinical delicacy. 
 
 Curious, scrupulous. 
 
 Curled, ostentatiously dressed. 
 
 Currents, occurrences. 
 
 Cursed, under the influence of a male- 
 diction 
 
 Curst, petulant, ill-tempered, crabbed, 
 
 harsh. 
 Cufstness, ill-humour. 
 Curtail, a little cur. 
 Curtal, a docked horse. 
 Curtle-axe, a cutlass, broad-sword. 
 Customer, a strumpet. 
 Cut, a horse. 
 
 Cut and longtail, poor and rich. 
 Cuttle, a knife used by sharpers. 
 Cyprus, a transparent stuff. 
 
 D. 
 
 Daff, or doff, to put off. 
 
 Dally, to trifle. 
 
 Damn, to condemn. 
 
 Danger, controul. 
 
 Dank, we.t, rotten. 
 
 Daiiskers, natives of Denmaric. 
 
 Darkling- in the dark. 
 
 Darraing. to arrange. 
 
 Daub, to disguise. 
 
 Daubery lalsehood, counterfeit. 
 
 Day bed, a couch. 
 
 Day-light, broad day. 
 
 Day- woman, dairymaid. 
 
 Dealt, fought by proxy. 
 
 Dear, immediate, consequential. 
 
 Dearn, direful, lonely, solitary, 
 
 Dea h-tokeus, spots on those infected 
 
 with ti.e plague. 
 Death's-man, executioner. 
 Debitor, debtor. 
 Deboshed, debauched. 
 Decay, poverty, misfortunes. 
 l>eck of cards, a pack. 
 Decked, sprinkled. 
 
 Decline, to run through (as in gram- 
 mar) from first to last 
 Declined, the fallen. 
 Deem, opinion, surmise. 
 Deer, animals in general. 
 Dt fault (in the), at a need. 
 Defeat, to free, to disembarass. 
 T)efeature, alteiation of features. 
 i»efence, art of fencing. 
 Defend, to forbid. 
 Deftly, adroitly, dexterously. 
 Defy, to reject. 
 Dogrecs, steps. 
 Xtauur. to let slip. 
 
 Demerits, meritA 
 
 Demurely, solemn.f. 
 
 Denay, denial. 
 
 Denayed, denied. 
 
 Denier, a coin. 
 
 Denude, to strip, divest. 
 
 Deny, to refu.se. 
 
 Depart, to part. 
 
 Departing, separation. 
 
 Depend, to be in service. 
 
 Deprive, to disinherit. 
 
 Deracinate, to root up. 
 
 Derogate, degraded. 
 
 Descant, to harangue upon; also, a 
 
 term in music. 
 Deserved, deserving. 
 Design, to mark out. 
 Despatched, bereft. 
 Detected, suspected. 
 Dich, do it. 
 Dickon, Richard. 
 Die, gaming. 
 Diet, to compel to fast. 
 Diffused, wud, irregular. 
 Digress, to deviate from what is right. 
 Digression, transgression. 
 Dilfios, the burthen of a song. 
 Dint, impression. 
 Disable, to undervalue. 
 Disappointed, unprepared. 
 Discandy, to dissolve. 
 Disclose, to hatch. 
 Di.scontentents, malcontents. 
 Discourse, rea.son. 
 Disease, uneasiness, discontent. 
 Diseases, sayings. 
 iJisgrace, hardship, injury. 
 Disfaabited, dislodged. 
 Dislike, di.splease. 
 Dislimn, to uupaint, obliterate. 
 Disine, tenth, or tithe. 
 Disoatured, wanting natural affection. 
 Dispark, to destroy a park or inclo- 
 
 sure. 
 
 Disperge, to sprinkle. 
 Disponge, to discharge as a sponge. 
 Dispose, disposal, command. 
 Dispose, to make terms. 
 Disposition, frame. 
 Disseat, displpce, depose. 
 Dis.semble, lo glossover, disguise. 
 Dissembling, putting dissimilar things 
 
 together- 
 Distained, un.<itained. 
 Distaste, to corrupt. 
 Distemper, intoxication. 
 Distemperature, perturbation. 
 Distempered, out of humour. 
 Di.straught, distracted. 
 Distractions, detachments, separate 
 
 bodies. 
 Divert, to turn aside. 
 Division, a term in music. 
 Doff, to put off. 
 Dole, alms, distribution, lot. 
 Dolphin, the dauphin. 
 Don, to put on, to do on. 
 Done to death, killed. 
 Done, expended, consumed. 
 Done upon the gad, suddenly. 
 Dotant, dotard. 
 Double, lull of duplicity. 
 Double vouchers, a law term. 
 Doubt, to fear. 
 Dout, to do out, extinguish. 
 Dowle, a feather. 
 
 Down gyVed, hanging down, like what 
 
 confines the fetters round the 
 
 ancles. 
 Draught, the takes. 
 Draw, to withdraw. 
 Drawn, embowelled. 
 Drawn fox, one which is trailed over 
 
 the ground, to deceive the hounds. 
 Drachmas, a Greek coin. 
 Dressings, appearances of virtue. 
 Drew, assrinhled. 
 Drive, to fly with impetuosity. 
 Drollery, a puppet-shew. 
 Drugs, drudges. 
 Drunibie, to act lazily. 
 Ducdame, (due ad me) bring him to 
 
 nie, the burthen of a song. 
 Dudgeon, the handle of a dagger. 
 Due, to endue, to deck. 
 Dullard, a stupid person. 
 Dump, a mournful elegy. 
 Dup, to do up, to lift up. 
 Dull, gentle soothing. 
 Dumb, to make silent. 
 Duke, a leader. 
 
 Durance, some lasting kind of stuff. 
 £. 
 
 Eager, (from aigre, Fr.) sour, harsh. 
 
 Eanlings, lambs. 
 
 Ear, to plough. 
 
 Eai -kiiung, whisperias. 
 
 Easy, flUgbt, inconsideraMo. 
 
 Eche, to eke out. 
 Ecbtasy, madness. 
 
 Efiects, aflcctions ; also, actions, deeds 
 
 effected. 
 Eflcfjt, readiest. 
 E^ypt, a gipsy. 
 
 Eld, old time; also, aged penmuu 
 
 Element, iniliatjon. 
 
 Elf, done by elvex. or fairiea. 
 
 Elvish marked, marked by elYca. 
 
 Embiilling, distinguished by the 
 the emblem ot royalty, 
 
 Embare, to expose. 
 
 Embarquemeiits, impediments 
 
 Embossed, inclosed, swollen, pxJh, 
 
 Embowelled, exhausted. 
 
 Embraced, indulged in. 
 
 Empericutick, empirical, 
 
 Empery, sovereign power. 
 
 Emulous, envious, jealous. 
 
 Emulation, envy. 
 
 Encave, to hide, 
 
 Endart, to dart forth. 
 
 Enfeoff, to invest with possessiom. 
 
 Engross, to fatten 
 
 Engaged, delivered as an hostage. 
 
 Engrossments, accumulation. 
 
 Enkindle, to stimu ate. 
 
 Enmesh, to inclose, as in meshea. 
 
 EnniPW, (in falconry) to force to lie is 
 cover. 
 
 Enridged, bordered. 
 
 Ensconce, to secure in a safe place, to 
 foitify. 
 
 Enseamed, greasy, 
 
 Eiiseer, to dry up. 
 
 Enshield, concealed, 
 
 Enste('ped, immersed. 
 
 Entertainment, pay; also, being re- 
 ceived into service. 
 
 Entreatinents, favours; also. objects of 
 entieaty. 
 
 Enrvy, aversion, malice. 
 
 Enviously, angrily. 
 
 Ephesian, a rant term. 
 
 Erring, errant, wandfring. 
 
 Escape, illegitimate child. 
 
 Escoted, paid. 
 
 Esil, or Eisel, a river. , 
 Esperance, motto of the Percf fcal^ 
 
 E.spials, spirs. 
 Essential, existent, real. 
 Estimate, price. 
 Estimation, conjecture. 
 Estridges, ostriches. 
 Eteme, eternal. 
 
 Even, to make even, or evident. 
 Even christian, fellow christian. 
 Evils, jakes. 
 Examined, doubted. 
 Excellent differences, distingoished ex- 
 cellencies. 
 Excrement, the beard. 
 Execute, to use or employ. 
 Executors, executioners. 
 Exercise, exhortation. 
 Exhale, to breathe one's last. 
 Exhaust, to draw forth. 
 Exhibition, allowance. 
 Exigent, end, exigency. 
 Exorcism, the raising ot spixViBm 
 Expect, expectation. 
 Expedience, expedition. 
 Expedient, expeditious. 
 Expediently, expeditiously. 
 Expostulate, to discuss. 
 Exsufflicate, bubble-like. 
 Extend, to seize. 
 Extent, violence, seizure. 
 Extern, external. 
 Extremity, calamity. 
 Expiate, to end. 
 Exposture, exposure. 
 Express, to reveal, 
 ExpuLsed, expelled. 
 Extracting, distracting. 
 Extravagant, wandering. 
 Eyas musket, a young tum^ 
 Eyases, nestlings. 
 Eyliads, eyes. 
 
 Eyne, eyes. / 
 Eyry, a nest of hawks. 
 Eysel, vinegar. 
 
 F, 
 
 Face, to carry a foolish appfl ^ 
 
 Face royal, a prjvilegod ftaot. 
 
 Facinorous, wicked. 
 
 Fact, guilt. 
 
 Factious, active. 
 
 Faculty, exercise of poWer. 
 
 Fadge, to suit. 
 
 Fadings, a dnnce. 
 
 Failh, fidelity. 
 
 Faithfully, ferventljr. 
 
 Fain, fond. 
 
 Pair» for fairaesa. 
 
800 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Pidters, frsrtoTs. 
 
 Falsing, falsityinir. 
 
 Falsely, illegally, dishonestly. 
 
 ParaiUar, a demon. 
 
 Fancies and good-nightt, little poems 
 
 so called. 
 Fancy, love. 
 Fancy free, clear of love. 
 Pang, to seize. 
 Fans, ancient. 
 Fantastical, imaginative. 
 Fantasticoes, afiTected person* 
 Fap, beaten, drunk. 
 Farced, stutfed. 
 Fardel or Farthel, a burthen. 
 Fa.shion$,tfae farcenii.a disease ofhorses. 
 Fat, dull. 
 
 Favour, countenance. 
 
 F'avnurs, features. 
 
 Feai , to intimidate, danger. 
 
 Teaied, afniid. , 
 
 Fearful, timorous ; also, formidable. 
 
 Feat, dexterous. 
 
 Feated, raade neat. 
 
 Feature, beauty. 
 
 Federacy, c()nfedcrate. 
 
 Fee grief, a peculiar sorrow. 
 
 Feeder, a dependant. 
 
 Feeding, mtinte nance. 
 
 Feere, or plieere, a companion. 
 
 Feet, footing. 
 
 Fell, skin. 
 
 Pell of hair, capilitium, any part co- 
 vered with hair. 
 
 Fell feats, savage actions. 
 
 Fence, the art of self defence. 
 
 Feodary, a confederate. 
 
 Festinateiy, hastily. 
 
 Festival lei ms, elegant phrase. 
 
 Fet, fetched. 
 
 Pew, in brief. 
 
 Fico, a term of contempt. 
 
 Fielded, iu the field of battle. 
 
 Fighti, clothes hung round a ship to 
 conceal the men from the enemy. 
 
 File, a list. 
 
 ?iled, defi'ied 
 
 Filed, gone an equal pace with. 
 Fills, Ihe shafts. 
 Filths, common sewers. 
 Finch egg, a gaudy fellow. 
 Fine, the couclusion, to make shewy, 
 jirtful. 
 
 Fine issues, gre* conse«aence8. 
 Finelajs, houEdk^s, endless, 
 riner, fi al 
 Firago for Virago. 
 
 Fire drake, will- o'- the wisp, ora fire- 
 work. 
 Fire-new, quite new. 
 Firk, to chastise. 
 
 First tiouse, chief branch of the family. 
 
 FirstJincs, first produce. 
 Fit, a (Jivisiozi of a song. 
 Fitchew , a polecat 
 Fit o' the face, a grimac. 
 Fits o the season, disorders of the 
 season. 
 
 Fives, a distemper In horses. 
 Frxure, position. 
 
 Flap-dragou, intlaramakle stuff swal- 
 
 loucd by topers. 
 Flap-ja- k, a pancake. 
 Fiaw, a sudden gust ofvind. 
 Flecked, spiitted, streaked. 
 Fleet, tor float. 
 Fleshirienl, performance. 
 Flewed, <le^p mouthed. 
 Flibbertigibbet, a fiend. 
 Flickering, fluttering. 
 Flight, a sort oi shooting. 
 Flote, wave. 
 
 Flouri.sh, to ornament ; also, to sanc- 
 tion 
 
 Flout, to wave in mockery. 
 
 Flush, mature. 
 
 Foemau, an enemy in war. 
 
 Foin, to thrust in fencing. 
 
 Foizon, (d-'iity. 
 
 Folly, depravity. 
 
 ?on<i, fioiish. 
 
 'ools' /.anies, baubles surmounted with 
 
 a fi/oi's head. 
 Foot-cloth houe covering. 
 For. bi^( a.^se. 
 Force, to ttulT. 
 Forced, tulse. 
 Forbid, accursed. 
 Fordid, destroyed. 
 Fordo, io undo. 
 Foredone, overcome. 
 Forfeudtrd, forVidden. 
 Forepast, already had. 
 Pore-ilow to loiter. 
 Forgelive. inv^^ntive. 
 Forked, horned. 
 Forma!, in form. 
 I'oraier. foremon*. 
 
 Korspent, exkausted. 
 Forspoke, contradicted. 
 
 Forslow, delay. 
 Forweai ied, worn oat. 
 Fox, a sword. 
 Foxship, mean, cunning.' 
 Frainpold, peevish. 
 Frank, a sty. 
 
 Franli^in, a small freeholder. 
 Frayed, frightened. 
 Free, artless. 
 
 Fret, the stop of a musical instrument. 
 Friend, a lover. 
 
 Friend, for friendship, to befriend. 
 Frippery, an old clothes shop. 
 Prize, a Welch cloth. 
 Prom, in opposition to. 
 Fronted, opposed. 
 Frontier, forehead. 
 Frontlet, a forehead cloth. 
 Frush, to break or bruise. 
 Fulham, false dice. 
 Fuisom*', obscene. 
 Purnishitigs, colours, pretences. 
 Pustilarian. fusty fellow. 
 Fulfilling, tilling to the brim. 
 Pull, comptete. 
 Pumiter, fumitory. 
 Furnished, dressed. 
 
 G. 
 
 Gabardine, a loose cloak. 
 
 Gad, a sharp-pointed instrument. 
 
 Gain giving, misgiving. 
 
 Gamester, a wanton. 
 
 Gaitj passage. 
 
 GaUiard, a dance. 
 
 Galliasst-s, ships. 
 
 Gfillimaufry , a medley. 
 
 Gallow, to scare. 
 
 Gallow glasses, Irish foot-soldiera. 
 Garboils, commotions. 
 Gaping, shouting. 
 Garish, gaudy. 
 Garnered, treasured up. 
 Gasted, frighted. 
 Gaudy , a festival. 
 Gaunt, meagre. 
 Gawd, a bauble. 
 Gaze, attention. 
 Gear, things or matters. 
 Geek, a fool. 
 General, generality. 
 Generosity , high birth. 
 Generi.us, nobly born. 
 Gennets, Spanish horses. 
 Gentle, nobie, high born. 
 Gentry, complaisance. 
 German, akin 
 
 Germins, seeds begun to sprout. 
 
 Gest, a stage or journey. 
 
 Gib, a cat. 
 
 Giglot, a wanton. 
 
 Gilder, a coin, value 2s. 
 
 Gilt, gold money. 
 
 Girainal, a ring or engine. 
 
 Ging. a gang. 
 
 Gird, a sarcasm. 
 
 Glaire, a sword. 
 
 Gleek, to joke. 
 
 Glib, togeid. 
 
 Glooming, gloomy. 
 
 Gloze, to expound. 
 
 Glut, to swallow. 
 
 Gnarled, knotty. 
 
 God 'ield you, God yield you. 
 
 Gongarian, Hungarian. 
 
 Good-deed, indeed. 
 
 Good-den, good evening. 
 
 Good-jer, the venereal disease. 
 
 Gorbellied, corpulent. 
 
 Gospelled, puritanic. 
 
 Goss, furze. 
 
 Gossamei atoms that float In the sun 
 
 beams. 
 Goi.rda, dice. 
 Gouts, drops. 
 Go your gait, go away. 
 Grained, furrowed, like the grain of 
 
 wood; also, died ingrain. 
 Gramercy, great thanks 
 Gr ange, a lone farm-house. 
 Gratdlity^ gratuity. 
 Grats, pleases. 
 Gratulate, to be rejoiced in. 
 Grave, to entomb. 
 Grave man, a man in his grave. 
 Graves or Greaves, leg armoar. 
 Greasily, grossly. 
 Greek, a bawd. 
 Greenly, unskilfully 
 Green sleeves, an old song. 
 Gri.se or Grize, a step. 
 Grossly-, palpably, 
 
 Oroundlings, those who sat or st^od on 
 the gr<nind in the old theatres; tht 
 common people. 
 
 Onard. t.» frince- 
 
 Guarded, oniassea 
 Guerdon, a reward. 
 Gules, (in heraldry) r@S. 
 Gulf, the swallow, tlkS 
 Guiled, treacherous. 
 Guinea-hen, a prostitvtie. 
 Gun stones, cannon bsiikk 
 Gurnet, a fi^h. 
 Gust, to taste. 
 Gyve, to shackle. 
 Gyves, shackles. 
 
 H. 
 
 Hack, to become cheap. 
 Haggard, wild; also, wild 
 Hair, complexion, orcbara 
 Hall ! make rdom. 
 Happily, accidentally. 
 Happy, accompiishOT. 
 Hardinient, bravery. 
 Harlocks, wild mustard. 
 Harlot, a male cheat. 
 Harness, armour. 
 Haj'rows, subdues. 
 Harry , to harrass. 
 Having, pos.sessions. 
 Haviour, beiiaviour. 
 Haught, haughty. 
 Haughcy, elevated. 
 Halcyon, a bird. 
 
 Hallidon, doom at jud|rment-day. 
 Handsaw, hernshaw, (a hawk.) 
 Hangers, that which suspends the 
 
 sword. 
 Harlotry, vulgar, filthy. 
 Hatch, to engrave. 
 Haunt, company. 
 Hay, a fencing term. 
 Heat, healed. 
 Hebynon, henbane. 
 Hefted, !iea\ed, agitated. 
 Hell, a dungeon in a prison. 
 Helmed, steered through. 
 Hence, hencc.'orward. 
 Henchman, a page of honour* 
 Hent, to seize. 
 Herb of grace, ."-ue. 
 Hermits, bead.sraen. 
 Hest, command. 
 Hight, called. 
 Hilding. a poltroon. 
 Hir. n, a harlct. 
 His, ofieu used for its. 
 Htiar, hoary, mouldy. 
 Hob nob, as it may happen 
 Hoist, hoisted. 
 Hold, to esteem. 
 Hold taking, bear handling. 
 Holla ! a term of the manege. 
 Holy, faithful, 
 Hoodnian blind, blindman's 
 Horologe, clock. 
 Hot house, a bagnio, 
 Hox, to ham string, 
 Huggermt.gger, secretly. 
 Hull, luiloai without guidance. 
 Humming, o'erwhelming. 
 Humorous, humid. 
 Hungi-y, unprolitic. 
 Hunt counter, worthless dog. 
 Hunts up. a hunting tune. 
 Hurty, noise. 
 Hurtle, to 'lash against. 
 Hurtling, boisterous merrimeoL 
 Husbandry, thriftiness. 
 Huswife, a jilt. 
 Hyen, hyu;na. 
 
 I. 
 
 Icebrook, temper. 
 
 Idle, barren 
 
 Ifecks, in faith. 
 
 Ignomy, ignominy. 
 
 Ill inhal)ittd, ill lodged. 
 
 Illu.strious, without lustre. 
 
 Images, children, rcpresentatw* 
 
 Imbare, to expose. 
 
 Immanity, barbarity. 
 
 Immediacy, close connexion. 
 
 Imp, progeny. 
 
 Impair, unsuitable, unequaL 
 
 Impartial partial. 
 
 Impawned, vt^agered. 
 
 luiperious, imperial, 
 
 Impetticos, to impetticoat, V iui 
 
 pocket. 
 Importance, importunity. 
 Important, importunate. 
 Impose, injunction. 
 Impositions, commands. 
 Impossible, incredible. 
 Imp out, to suoply the deflo 
 Impress, a device or motto. 
 Incapable unintelligent. 
 Incarnadine, to dye red. 
 Incensed, incited, 
 liiclip, to embrace. 
 Include, to conclude. 
 Inclusive, enclosed. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 801 
 
 lacompt, snhjert to account. 
 Incony orKony, aelicate, pretty. 
 Incorrect, ill regulated. 
 Indent, to si^n an indenture. 
 Index, something preparatory. 
 Indilferent, impartial. 
 Indigest, shapeless. 
 Indite, to convict. 
 Induction, preface, prelude. 
 Indurance, delay. 
 Informal, deranged. 
 Infinite, extent or power. 
 Ingaged, unengaged. 
 Ingraft, rooted 
 Inhabitable, not habitable. 
 Inherit, to posses.*;. 
 Inhibit, to forbid, decline. 
 In his eye, in his presence. 
 Inhooped, inclosed. 
 Ink-horn mate, a book- mate. 
 Inkle, worsted Lape. 
 Initiate, young. 
 Inland, civilized. 
 Innocent, a fool. 
 In place, present. 
 Insane, that which makes insane. 
 Insanie, in.sauity. 
 Insonce, to frn'tify. 
 Insculped, engraven. 
 Inseparale, inseparable. 
 Instances, motives. 
 Insuit, solicitation. 
 Integrity, consistency. 
 Intend, to pretend. 
 Intending, regarding. 
 Intendment, intention. 
 Intention, eager desire. 
 Intentively, attentively. 
 Interessed, interested. 
 Intergatories, interrogatories. 
 In that, because. 
 
 Intrenchant, which cannot be cut. 
 Intrinse, intricate. 
 Inwardness, intimacy. 
 Iron, clad in armour. 
 Irregulous, licentious. 
 Issues, consequences. 
 Iteration, repetition. 
 Itination, recitation. 
 
 J. 
 
 .ack-a-Lent, a puppet thrown at in 
 Lent. 
 
 Jack-guardant, a jack in office. 
 Jack sauce, a saucy fellow. 
 Jaded, worthless. 
 
 Jar, the noise made by the pendulum of 
 
 a clock. 
 Jaunce jaunt. 
 Jauncing, jaunting. 
 Jay, a wanton. 
 
 Jesses, straps of leather, festeued round 
 
 hawk's legs. 
 Jest, to play a part in a mask. 
 Jet, to strut. 
 
 Jig, a ludicrous dialogue inverse. 
 
 Journal, daily. 
 
 Jovial, belonging to Jove. 
 
 Jump, to suit, just. 
 
 Justicer, a judge. 
 
 Jut, to encroach. 
 
 Jutty, to project. 
 
 Juvenal, a youth. 
 
 K. 
 
 Kam,awTy. 
 
 Keech, a lump of tallew. 
 Keel to coo J 
 Keisar, Caesar. 
 
 Kernes, light armed Boldiera. 
 
 Key-cold, cold as iron. 
 Kicksy-wicksy, term* endearment for 
 
 a wife. 
 Kindly, natural. 
 Kinged, ruled. 
 Kirtle, a woman's garment. 
 Knap, to break short. 
 Knave, servant. 
 K.not.«, figures planted in box. 
 Know, to acknowledge. 
 Know of, to consider. 
 
 L. 
 
 Labras, lips, 
 
 Laced mutton , a prostitute. 
 Lackeying, moving like a lackey. 
 Lag , ihe rabble. 
 Lakin, ladykin, or little lady. 
 Lances huice men. 
 Lands, landing-places. 
 Land-rakers, wanderers on foot. 
 Large, licentious. 
 
 Lass lorn, forsaken by his mistress. 
 
 Latch, to lay hold of. 
 
 Latched or Letched, licked over. 
 
 Lated, beniglited 
 
 Latten, thin as a lath. 
 
 Launch, lance. 
 
 Laund, lawn. 
 
 laundering, wetting. 
 
 LavoUas, a kind of dances. 
 Lay, a wager. 
 Leaguer, a camp. 
 Leasing ,' falsehood. 
 Leather-coats, apples. 
 Leavened, matured. 
 Leerh, a phyitician. 
 I^eer, ieatun , complexio . 
 Leet, petty court of justice. 
 Leg, obeisance. 
 Legerity, nimbleness. 
 Leges, alleges. 
 Leiger, resident. 
 Leman, a lover or mistress, 
 licno, a pander. 
 Lenten, spare. 
 Let, to hinder. 
 Lethe, death. 
 L'Envoy, end of a poem. 
 Lewd, idle. 
 
 Libbard, or Lubbard, a leopard. 
 
 Liberal, licentious in speech. 
 
 Liberty, liberiinism. 
 
 License, licentiousness. 
 
 Liefest, dearest. 
 
 Lieger, an ambassador 
 
 Lifter, a thief. 
 
 Light o'love, a dance tunc. 
 
 Lightly, commonly. 
 
 Like, to compare. 
 
 Liking, condition of body 
 
 Likelihood, similitude. 
 
 Likeness, speciousness. 
 
 Limbeck, a vessel used in distilling. 
 
 Linibo, a place supposed near hell. 
 
 Lime, bird lime ; to cement. 
 
 Limited, appointed. 
 
 Limits, estimates. 
 
 Lined, delineated. 
 
 Linstock, the statf to which the match 
 
 is fixed when ordnance is fired. 
 Li.st, limit. 
 Lither, flexible. 
 Little, miniature. 
 Livelihood, appearance of life. 
 Livery, a law phrase. 
 Living, estate, property. 
 Living, speaking, manifest 
 Loach, n small prolific fish. 
 Lob, a dullard, a looby. 
 Lockram, a kind of linen. 
 Lode-!*tar, the polar star. 
 Loft'e, to laugh. 
 Lo>;gats, a game. 
 Long purpies, a flower. 
 Longing, Belonging. 
 Longly, longingly. 
 Li>-.)ted, brought close to the wind. 
 Loon, a base fellow. 
 Looped, full of apertures. 
 Lop, the branches. 
 Lordling, a little lord. 
 Lot, a prize. 
 Lottery, allotment. 
 Love in idleness, a flower. 
 Lover, sometimes for mistress. 
 Lowt,aclown. 
 
 Lowted, treated with contempt. 
 Lozel, a worthless fellow 
 Lubbar, a leopard. 
 Lullaby, cradle. 
 Lunes, lunacy. 
 Lurch, to win, to purloin. 
 Lure, a decoy for a hawk. 
 Lush, rank, luscious 
 Lust, inclination, will. 
 Lustic, lusty, cheerful. , 
 Lusty, saucy. 
 Luxurious, lascivious. 
 Luxury, lust. 
 
 Lym, or Lyme, a bloodhound. 
 M. 
 
 Mace, a sceptre. 
 Mad, wiid, inconstant. 
 Magot pie. a magpie. 
 Magnifico, r. Venetian potentate. 
 Magnificent, Ijoasttul. 
 Mailed, wrapt in armour. 
 Make, to bar, to shut. 
 Makele.ss, mateless, widowed* 
 Male, a bag. 
 Malkiu, a irull. 
 Malleclio, m.schief. 
 Maltworms, tipplers, 
 Mammeniig, stammering. 
 Manimets, puppets. 
 Mammock, lo tear. 
 Man, to la trie a hawk ; the devil. 
 Maiidragora, a soporific plant. 
 Mandrake, a root. 
 Mankind, a wizard. 
 Manacle, a handcuff. 
 Manner, in the fact. 
 Man Que Her, a man-killer. 
 Mat che.s, confines. 
 Marchpane, a sweetmeat. 
 Margent, margin. 
 
 Martial hand, a careless scrawl. 
 Martlemas, tlie latter spring. 
 Mated, confounded. 
 Material, full of matter. 
 Maugre,in spite of, notwithstandinf. 
 Maund, a basket. 
 Meacocl., a dastard. 
 Mealed mingled. 
 
 Mean, the middle, the tenor in music. 
 Means, interest. 
 
 Measure, the reach ; a solemn dance; 
 
 means. 
 Meazels, lepers. 
 Medal, portrait. 
 Meddle, to mingle. 
 Medicine, a she-physician. 
 Meet, a match. 
 Meiney, domestics. 
 Memories, memorials. 
 iVlemory, memorial. 
 Mends, the means. 
 Mephistophilus, a familiar spirit. 
 Mercatante, a merchant. 
 Merchant, a low fellow. 
 Mere, entire, absolute. 
 Mered question, the sole question 
 Merely, entirely. 
 Merit, a reward. 
 Mermaid, a syren. 
 Metaphysical" supernatural. 
 Mete jard, measuring yard. 
 Mewed, confined. 
 M:cher, a truant. 
 
 Miching Malleclio, a secret mlMfcltf, 
 Mince, to walk atfectedly. 
 Minding, reminding. 
 Minnow, a very small fish. 
 Minstrelsy, office of minstrel. 
 Minute jack. Jack- 'o- lantern. 
 Miscreate, illegitimate, sporisSfr 
 Misdoubt, to suspect. 
 Mi.ser, a miserable being. 
 M'sery, avarice. 
 Misprised, mistaken. 
 Misprising, despising. 
 Missives, messengers!, 
 Mistempered, angry. 
 Mistful, ready to weep, 
 Misthink, to think ill. 
 Mistress, the jack m bowlii^. 
 Mo, more. 
 
 Mobled, veiled, muifled. 
 
 Model, mould. 
 
 Modern, new-fang-led. 
 
 Modesty, moderation. 
 
 Module, model. 
 
 Moe, to make mouths 
 
 Moiety, a portion. 
 
 Moist star, the moon. 
 
 Mollification, softening. 
 
 Mome, a blockhead. 
 
 Momentany, momentary. 
 
 Monster, to make monstrous. 
 
 Month's mind, a popish anniveiflcy. 
 
 Mood, anger, manner. 
 
 Moody, melancholy. 
 
 Moouish, variable. 
 
 Mops and Moes, ludicrous anticka. 
 
 Moral, secret meaning. 
 
 Morisco, Moorish. 
 
 Morris pike, Moorish pike. 
 
 Mort of the deer, a tune on tlie deaft 9 
 
 the deer. 
 Mortal, murderous, fatal. 
 Mortal, abounding, 
 .'dortal staring, killing by a 1 ok. 
 Mortified, ascetic. 
 Most, greatest. 
 Mot, a motto. 
 
 Mother, the hysteric passion. 
 Motion, divinatory agitation. 
 Motion, desires. 
 Motion, a puppet, 
 Motions, inoignation. 
 Motive, a mover. 
 Mouldwarp, the mole 
 Mouse, to tear to pieces. 
 Mouse, a term of endearment. 
 Mouse hujit, a weasel. 
 Moy , a piece of money; also a meagre 
 ) of corn. 
 
 ' Much, strange, wonderful. 
 
 j Muck water, drain of a dunghill. 
 
 Muffler , a wrapper for the lo\r«r pall 
 of the face. 
 
 Muleters, muleteers. 
 
 Mulled, soffened. 
 
 Multi|tlied multitudinous. 
 
 Multiplying, multiplied. 
 
 Multitudinous, full of raultitndea. 
 
 Mure, a wall. 
 
 Murky, dark. 
 
 Must, a scramble. 
 
 N. 
 
 Napkin, handkerchief 
 Napless, threadbare. 
 Native, naturally. 
 
802 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Natare, natural parent. 
 NauKbty, unfit. 
 Nay- word, a by-word. 
 Neb, the mouth. 
 Neelds, n wiles. 
 Neelijction, neglect. 
 Near, the Pst. 
 
 Nept?ew, any lineal des«<,eDclKlt. 
 Nethe'-st<H-Kf , stockings. 
 Newness, innovation 
 Newt, the eft. 
 Nettj nefjrest. 
 Nice, trifling. 
 
 Nick, to set the mark of fol 7 ot j 
 
 reckoning. 
 Si^h: rule, frolic of the nigh . 
 NiehteU, made dark as night. 
 N!T1, shall not. 
 ?flne men's morris, a game. 
 Noble, a coin. 
 Nobless, nobleness. 
 Noble-touch, unalloyed meta". 
 Noddy, fool, a game at cards. 
 Noise, music. 
 Nonce, on purpose. 
 Non com, nonplus. 
 
 Nook-sbotter, that which shoots intr 
 
 c«pes. 
 Northern man, a clown. 
 Note, notice. 
 
 Nott j)ated, round-headed. 
 Nourish, to nurse. 
 Nonsle, to fondle as a nurse. 
 Novum, a game at dice. 
 
 Sow), a head, 
 ut-houk, a thief. 
 
 O. 
 
 Odd- even, the interval between twelve 
 
 at night and one in the moreing. 
 Od'9 oitikins, God me pity. 
 Oeliads, glances of the eye. 
 O's, circles, pockmarks. 
 Obligations, bonds. 
 Obsequious, funereal. 
 Observation, celebration. 
 Obsfacie. obstinate. 
 Occurrents, incidents 
 Occupation, mechanics. 
 O'er-r.uight, over-reached. 
 O ercrow, overcome. 
 O'erlooked, fascinated. 
 Of, through. 
 Offering, the assailant. 
 Oilice, service. 
 Olficcft, culinary apartments 
 Of all loves, by all means. 
 Old. frequent. 
 ©Id age, ages past. 
 Once, sotnetime. 
 Oneyers, bankers. 
 Opal, a preciou" stone. 
 Of>eraut, active. 
 Opinion, obstinacy, conceit 
 Opposite, adverse. 
 Opposition, combat. 
 Or e'er, belore. 
 Orbs, fairj' circles. 
 Orchard, a garden. 
 Ordioisnce, rank. 
 Order, nteasures. 
 l>T>jHlous, haughty. 
 0^T9y, nil eagle. 
 Oflletit, ostentation, appearance. 
 Ostentation, appearance. 
 Overblow, to dnve away. 
 Overscntched, whipped at a cart's tail. 
 Overtur-, opening, discovdy 
 Ounce, a tiger-cat. 
 Ouph, fairv. 
 
 Ousel cock, the cock blackbird. 
 
 Out, full, complete. 
 
 Out vie.i, defeated, a term at the game 
 
 of gleck. 
 Outward, not in the secret. 
 Owe, fo possess, to own. 
 O'Jip. the great cowslip. 
 
 P. 
 
 Pack, to bargain witfc. 
 
 Pack, an accomplice. 
 
 Packing, plotting, fraud. 
 
 paddock, a toad. 
 
 Pagan, a dissolute person. 
 
 Paseant, a dumb shew. 
 
 Pain, punished. 
 
 Palahras, words. 
 
 Paie, tiomiiiions. 
 
 Pale to encircle with a crown. 
 
 Pall, to wrap ti> invest. 
 
 Pallf'd, vapid, 
 
 Palmer.s, (ii'grims. 
 
 Palmy, victorious. 
 
 Paly, pale. 
 
 Palier, to iuggle, to cheat. 
 Pnrie. to afflu-t. 
 P.iper. to commit to writing. 
 Paixel. part, to reckon up. 
 Parcel, bawd, half- bawd. 
 
 Parcel-gilt, partially gilt. 
 
 Parish top, a large top, formerly keot 
 
 in every village, to be whipped for 
 
 exercise. 
 Parle, parley. 
 Parlous, perilous, shrewd. 
 Part, to depart. 
 Parted, endowed, shared. 
 Particular, private. 
 Partizan, a pike. 
 Parts, party. 
 Pash, to strike ; a head. 
 Pashed, crushed. 
 Pass, to d ide, assure, convey. 
 Pass on, to decide. 
 Pas?ed, em ent. 
 Passing, surpassing. 
 Passion, sutiering. 
 Passionate, grieving. 
 Passioning, being in a passion. 
 Pas.qy iVleasure, a dance. 
 Paritor, an apparitor, or officer of the 
 
 bishop's court. 
 Pastry, the pastry room. 
 Patch, a tool. 
 Patched, in a fool's coat. 
 Path, to walk. 
 PatheticaJ, promise -breaker. 
 Patient, to soothe. 
 
 Pavine, a dish used with the chalice in 
 
 administering the Eucharist. 
 Paucas, few. 
 Pavin, a dance. 
 Pay, to beat. 
 Peat, pet, darling. 
 Pedascule, a pedant. 
 Peer-out, to jieep out. 
 Peevish, foolish. 
 
 Peize, to weigh, keep in suspense. 
 Penthesilia, Amazon. 
 Pelting, paltry. 
 Pennons, small flags. 
 Perdu, one of the torlornhope. 
 Perdurable, lasting. 
 Perdy, (Par Dieu) a French oath. 
 Perfect, certain; well-informed. 
 Perfections, liver, brain, ai.d hearS. 
 Periapts, charms worn about the neck. 
 Perjure, a perjurer. 
 Person, parson. 
 Perspectives, spy-glasses 
 Pervert, to avert. 
 P stileiice. poison. 
 P. -v follow, a companion 
 Pheere, companion. 
 Phinnomy, physiognomy. 
 Pheeze, to tease, to currycomk 
 Phill-horse, shaft-horse. 
 Pick, to pitch. 
 Picka-xcs, fingers. 
 Picked, fopiiish. 
 Pickers, the hanils^ 
 Picking, insignificant. 
 Pickt-hatch, a place noted for brothels. 
 Pick-thank, a parasite. 
 Piece, a contemptuous term for a wo- 
 man. 
 Pied ninny, a fool. 
 Pieled, shaven. 
 Pigbt, pitched, fixed. 
 Pilcher, the scabb-ard. 
 Piled, deprived of hair. 
 Pilled, pillaged. 
 Pin, a term- in archery. 
 Pin and web, disorder of the eye. 
 Pinfold, a pound. 
 
 Pix, the box that contains the host 
 
 Place, a mansion. 
 
 Pl^^cket, a petticoat. 
 
 Plague, punish. 
 
 Plainly, openly. 
 
 Plaited, complicated. 
 
 Plantage, plantain. 
 
 Planched. made of planks 
 
 Plant, the foot. 
 
 Plates, silver m'ney. 
 
 Platforms, schemes. 
 
 Plausive, gracious, applauded. 
 
 Pluerisy, plethory. 
 
 PI ched, folded. 
 
 Plot, portion. 
 
 Poiut, negative. 
 
 Point, hooks used to fasten uj» bree- 
 ches 
 
 Point-de-vice, eiiactljr 
 Points, fags to laces 
 Poize, weight. 
 
 Polack, a Polander • 
 
 Polled, bared. 
 
 Pomander, a perfume kali. 
 
 Pome water, an apple 
 
 ro©r-j|i>hn, salted fi^. 
 
 Popinjay, a parrot. 
 
 Popularity, iutercourse w th the vul- 
 gar. 
 
 Porjicntine, porcupine. 
 Port, deportment. 
 Port, a gate. 
 
 Portable, bearable. 
 
 Porlance, behaviour. 
 
 Possess, to Inform. 
 
 Potch, to push. 
 
 Potents, potentates. 
 
 Poulter, poulterer. 
 
 Pouncet box, a perfume-bot. 
 
 Power, an army. 
 
 Practise, stratagems. 
 
 Prank, to adorn. 
 
 J^erccjit, a justice's warrant 
 
 Percisian, a puritan. 
 
 Preeches, flogged. 
 
 Prefer, to offer. 
 
 Pregnant, ready. 
 
 Prenominate, fore-named. 
 
 Prcst, ready. 
 
 Pretend, to intend. 
 
 I'revent, to anticipate. 
 
 Pricket, a buck of the second .'W, 
 
 Prig, pilfevw 
 
 Prime, sprightliness of yowtlfc 
 Primer, of more consequenoo. 
 Priinero, a game at cards. 
 Princox, a coxcomb. 
 Probal, prolwible. 
 Prodigious, portentous. 
 Protace, much good may it doystt. 
 Profane, grossly talkative. 
 Progress, a royal journey of state 
 I'roguostication, almanack. 
 Project, to shape. 
 Proiixious, coy, delaying. 
 Proof, puborty. 
 Prompturc, suggestion. 
 Prone, humble, also prompt 
 Propagate, to advance, to improT9. 
 Proper, handsome. 
 Proper- false, deceitfuL 
 Propertied, possessed. 
 Properties, incidental necessaries t* 
 
 theaire. 
 Property, due performance. 
 Fropcse, to ir-.agine, to converse. 
 Proposing, conversing. 
 Provaiid, provender. 
 Provost, sberitl' or gaoler. 
 Prune, to nlume. 
 Pugging, tnievish. 
 Puke , a sort of russet colour. 
 Purchase, stolen gotids. 
 Purchased, unjustly acquired. 
 Purl, to curl. 
 Purlieu, border. 
 Pursuivants, heralds. 
 l-^is..s€t, a low wench. 
 Put to know, foicfcti to acknowle^^?^ 
 Putter-out, ouewhf> leud* monej M 
 
 interest. 
 Puttiug-on, Incitement. 
 Puttock, a hawk. 
 
 Q- 
 
 Quail, to sink, to faint, to be Tajf 
 qulshed. 
 
 Quaint, fantastical, also graceful. 
 
 Ouaintly, sklUuily. 
 
 Quaint mazes, ag<une . 
 
 Quaked, terrified. 
 
 Quality, confederates , condition. 
 
 Quarrel, a quarrtUer. 
 
 Quarry, the game after it is killed. 
 
 Quart d'6cu, the fourth of a French 
 
 criiwu. 
 Quat, a scab. 
 Qut asy, squeamish. 
 Quell, to murder. 
 Quench, to grow cool. 
 Quern, a hand-mill. 
 Quest, pursuit. 
 Question, conversation. 
 Questrist, one who seeks another. 
 Quests, reports. 
 Quiddits, subtleties. 
 Quietus, discharge. 
 Quiltets, law chicane. 
 Quintain, a post sel up for TWkm 
 
 exercises. 
 Quips, scoffs. 
 Quire, to play in concert. 
 Quiver, mmbie, active. 
 Quote, to observe. 
 
 R. 
 
 R, dog's letter. 
 
 Rabato, a neck ornament. 
 
 Race. original disposition,also JavolUr* 
 
 Rack, wreck. 
 
 Rack, to exag-gprafe. 
 
 !?ack", to harass by exactions. 
 
 Hack, the fleeting away of the clowli 
 
 Racking, in rapid motion. 
 
 Rag, an opprobrioi's epithet. 
 
 Ragged, ruirged. 
 
 Kake, to cover. 
 
 Kam, ram, 
 
 Kampallion, a strumpet. 
 Rank, rate o\ pace. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 803 
 
 RRiik, rapidly ^rown. 
 Rapt, earap ured. 
 Rapture, a fit. 
 Rarr-Iy, curiously. 
 Rascal, lean deer 
 
 Rash, remonstrance, premature dis- 
 covery. 
 
 Rauffht, reached. 
 
 Ravin, to devour eagerly. 
 
 Ravined, grlutted with prey. 
 
 Rawly, suddenly. 
 
 Rayed, betrayed. 
 
 Razed, slashed. 
 
 Raze, a bale. 
 
 Rear-mouse, a bat. 
 
 Reason, discourse. 
 
 Rebeck, a musical instrument. 
 
 Recheat, a horn, a tune to call the 
 dogs back. 
 
 Receipt, receptacle. 
 
 Receiving, ready apprehension. 
 
 Receate, a hunting terra. 
 
 Reck, to care for. 
 
 Reckless, careless. 
 
 Record, to sing 
 
 Recorders, a kind of flute. 
 
 Recure, to recover. 
 
 Red lattice phrases, alehouse talk. 
 
 Red plague, the St. Antony's fire. 
 
 Reechy, discoloured with smoke. 
 
 Reels, wheels 
 
 Refel, to confute. 
 
 Refer, to reserve to. 
 
 Regard, look. 
 
 Regiment, government. 
 
 Eegreet, exchange of salutation. 
 
 Reguerdon, recompense. 
 
 Rheuiriatic, capricious. 
 
 Relume, to relight. 
 
 Remorse, pity. 
 
 Remotion, removal. 
 
 Removes, journies. 
 
 Render, to describe. 
 
 Renege, to renounce. 
 
 Reports, reporters. 
 
 Reproof, confutation. 
 
 Repugn, to resist. 
 
 Reputing, boasting. 
 
 Reserve, to preserve. 
 
 Resolve, to he fssured. 
 
 Resolve, to dissolve. 
 
 Respective, respectful. 
 
 Respectively, respectfully. 
 
 Resty, mouldy. 
 
 Retailed, handed down. 
 
 Retort, to refer back. 
 
 Reverb, to reverberate. 
 
 Revolt of mien, change of complexion. 
 
 Revolts, rebels. 
 
 Rib. to enclose. 
 
 Ribald, a lewd fellow. 
 
 Sid, to destroy. 
 
 Rift, split. 
 
 Riggisli, wanton. 
 
 R»gol, a cii cle. 
 
 Rim, money. 
 
 Ringed, encircletJ. 
 
 Rivage, I lie bank or sb»7e. 
 
 R-ivality, equa*' rank. 
 
 ilivals, parfners. 
 
 S.ive, to burst, to fire, 
 .omage, rummage, bustle. 
 Roayon, a drab. 
 ?tco<3, the cross. 
 Rook, to squat. 
 Hoper) roguery. 
 
 tope-irlcks, abusiveness. 
 ound a diadem. 
 Hound, roush. 
 Iflounded, whispered. 
 Roundel, a country dance. 
 Rounding, wh sparing. 
 Uouiidure, a circle. 
 Rouse, carousal. 
 Roynish, mangy. 
 Royal, a coin. 
 Ruddock, red-breast. 
 Ruft", the folding of the tops of boots. 
 Ruffle, to be no sy. 
 Rufiiiug, rus ling. 
 Rump-;"ed, fed with offals. 
 Ruth, pity. 
 
 S. 
 
 Sacarson, the n.irae of a bea 
 
 jiacred, accurseti. 
 
 hacrifictal, \«orshij»ping. 
 
 Sacring hell, the bell announcing the 
 
 approach of the boat- 
 Sad ostent, grav*. a pi>.'*trance. 
 Fagg, or Swagg, to siiut 4 own. 
 Sallet, a heUntt. 
 Bail, UyArs. 
 Saftiers, satyrs. 
 Samirij^o, Si. Domirnc-v 
 Sandieii. .sandy co^ft^' 
 Sans, w 'lihou... 
 Saury, IriN^i ivM. 
 Savage, ^mki^a. 
 
 Savageness, wildnegs. 
 Saw, tenor of a discourse. 
 Say, silk. 
 Say, a sample. 
 
 Scattbldage, the gallery of a theatre. 
 Scald, beggarly. 
 Scale, to disperse. 
 Scaled, overreached. 
 Si-aling, weighing. 
 Scall, scab. 
 Scamble, to scramble. 
 Scan, to examine nicely. 
 Scantling, proportion. 
 Scarfed, decorated with flags. 
 Scath, destruction 
 Scathfui, mischievous. 
 Sconce, the head. 
 Sconce, a fortification. 
 Scotch, to bruise. 
 Scrimers, fe ers. 
 Scrip, a writing, a lift. 
 Scroyles, scurvy fellows. 
 Scrubbed, stunted. 
 Sculls, shoals of fish. 
 Scutched, whipped. 
 Seat, to strengtiien, or complete. 
 Seam, lard. 
 Seamels, a bird. 
 Sear, to stigmatize, to close. 
 Season, to temper, to infix, to impress. 
 Seat, throne. 
 
 Sect, a cutting in gardening. 
 Seel, to close up. 
 Seeling, blinding. 
 Seeming, seemly. 
 Seen, versed, practised. 
 Sold, seldom. 
 Semblably^ resemblingly. 
 Seniory, seniority. 
 Sennet, a flourish on cornets. 
 Sen.se, sensual desires. 
 Septentrion, the north. 
 Sequestration, separation. 
 Sere, or sear, dry. 
 Serpigo, a tetter. 
 Serve, to fulfil. 
 Setebos, a demon. 
 Set of wit, a term at tennis. 
 Sessa, be quiet. 
 Several, separated. 
 
 Several, or severell, a field set apart 
 
 for corn and grass. 
 Sewer, the placer of the dishes. 
 Shame, modesty. 
 
 Shard-borne, borne on scaly wings. 
 Shards, be tie's wings. 
 Shards, broken pots or tiles. 
 Sitark up, to pick up. 
 Shaven Hercules, Samson. 
 Sheen, shining, gay. 
 Sheer, transparent. 
 Shent, to scold, rebuke 
 Sherris, sherry. 
 Shive, a slice. 
 Shog, to go off. 
 Sbotten. pioiected. 
 Shotien herring, a herring that has 
 
 spawned. 
 Shoulder cl ipper, a bailiff. 
 Shoughs, shocks, a species of dog. 
 Shove groat, a game. 
 Sl'<«vel boards, shillings used at the 
 
 game of shovel board. 
 Shrewd, shrewish. 
 Shritt, auricular confession. 
 Shrive, to i all to confession. 
 Side, purpose. 
 Side-sleeves, long sleeves 
 Siege, a stool. 
 Sieve, a common voider. 
 Sightless, unsightly. 
 Sights, the perforated parts of a helmet. 
 Sinew, strei gth. 
 Single, weak. 
 
 Sink-a pace, cirvque pace, a dance. 
 Sir, the tit'e of a parson. 
 Sister, to imitate or re-echo. 
 Sithence, ihence. 
 Sizes, allowances of victuals. 
 I Skain's-tnates, kin's-mates. 
 Skill, reason. 
 
 Skills not, is of no importance. 
 
 Skinker, a tapster. 
 
 Skirr, to scour. 
 
 Slave, to treat with indignity. 
 
 Sleave, the knotty part of silk. 
 
 S ed<le't, cpir.cd on a sledge. 
 ! Sleide l, luitwisted. 
 
 Slighls. tricks. 
 
 Slip, comit'.'rfeil coin. 
 
 Slips, a ( oiitrivance in leather, to start 
 two diitrs at the same lime. 
 
 Sl.'ver, to .slice. 
 
 Slops, loo.se breeches. 
 
 Sloujh, the .skin which the serpent an 
 nualiy throws off. 
 
 Slc«ver, more serious. 
 1 Slubber *f* do carelessly, to obscure. 
 
 ' Shlggabed. .slusgar.J. 
 Smirched, soiled. 
 Sneapt, rebuke. 
 Sneaping, nipping. 
 Sn. ck-u|). go liang yourself. 
 Snipe, a poltroon. 
 Snuff, anger. 
 Snuffs, dislikes. 
 Soil, spot, turpitude, reproacil. 
 Solicit, courtship. 
 Soliciting, information. 
 Solidares, a coin. 
 Sometimes, formerly. 
 Sooth, truth. 
 Sooth, s.weetness. 
 Sorel, a deer d.iring his third year. 
 Sort, to happen, to agree. 
 Sort and suit, figure and rack. 
 Sot, a fool. 
 So\jd, sweet. 
 
 Soul- fearing, soul appaling.v 
 Sound, to publish. 
 Soused gurnet, a gudgeon. 
 Sowl, to pull by the ears. 
 Sowle, to drag down. 
 Sowter, the name of a houirt 
 Spanielled, dogged. 
 Specialty, particular rigbti. 
 Speculation, sight. 
 Speculative, seeing. 
 Sped, the fate decided. 
 Speed, event. 
 
 Sperr, to shut up, defend by hem, 
 
 Spill, to desiroy. 
 
 Spotted, wicked. 
 
 Spiag, apt to learn, alert. 
 
 Sprighted, haunted. 
 
 Sprights, spirits. 
 
 Springhalt, a di.sease of horiiei. 
 
 Spurs, the greater roots of trees. 
 
 Square, to quarrel. 
 
 Squarer, a quarreller. 
 
 Squash an immature peascod. 
 
 Squiney, to look asquint. 
 
 Squire, a rule, or square. 
 
 Stage, to place conspicuously 
 
 Stale, a decoy for birds. 
 
 Stannyel, a hawk, or stallion. 
 
 Star, a sear. 
 
 Stark, still". 
 
 Starred, destined. 
 
 Statists, statesmen 
 
 Statue, a portrait. 
 
 Stay, a hinderer, a supporter. 
 
 Siicking-place, the stop in a machin*. 
 
 Sticklers, arbitrators, judges, paril* 
 
 sans, umpires. 
 Stigmatic, marked with defcrmitjl 
 Stigmatical stismatisei 
 Stilly, gladly, lowiy, 
 Stinied, stopped. 
 Stith, an anvil. 
 
 Stfthied, forged at the furnace. 
 Stithy, a smith's shop. 
 Stoccata, a slab. 
 Stork, a slocking. 
 Stomach, pride. 
 Stone-bow, a cross bow. 
 Stover, thatch. 
 Strain, de.scent, lin age. 
 Strain, diliiculty, doubt. 
 Strait, narrow, avaricious. 
 Strange, shy. 
 
 Stratagem, great or dreadful exeat. 
 
 Strawy, stiaj ing. 
 
 Striker, a borrower. 
 
 Stuck or Stock, a term in fencing.v 
 
 Stuti", baggape. substance or es.Mcoee* 
 
 Stuffed, sufficiency, ample abilities. 
 
 Subscription, obedience. 
 
 Success, succession. 
 
 Sufticiency, abilities. 
 
 Suggest, to tempt. 
 
 Suggestion, temptation. 
 
 Suited, dressed. 
 
 Sumpter, a horse that carries neMs 
 
 ries on a journey. 
 Superfluous, over clothed. 
 Supposed, counterfeit. 
 Sur reined, over ridden. 
 Suspire, to breathe. 
 Surcease, an end. 
 Swart, dark brown. 
 Swashing, bullying. 
 Swath, grass cut at one strc&S. 
 Swav, weight. 
 Sweeting, an apple. 
 Sweher^il, weltered. 
 Sw inge-biicklers, riotous fellow^. 
 Swounded, swooned. 
 Swoop, the descent of a bird of BfOT* 
 T. 
 
 Table, the pahn of the hand. 
 Table, a picture. 
 Tables, tablets, memorandnm b© 
 Tabourine, a small ilrinn. 
 Take, to strike with diseaae, lo blast, 
 i Take-in, to cunauer 
 
804 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Take-up, to co^ radic* 
 Talent, lalon. 
 Tall, courageous. 
 Tallow keech, tub of tallow. 
 Tame, ineffectual. 
 Tame-snake, a poltroon 
 Tarre, to excite, provoke. 
 Tartar, Tartarus. 
 
 Task, to keep busied with scruples. 
 Tassel Gentle, or Tercel Gentle, a spe- 
 cies of hawk. 
 Tasked, taxed. 
 
 Taurus, sides and heart in medicaj 
 
 astrology. 
 Tawdry, necklacea •worn by country 
 girls. 
 
 Tawn- y coat, the dress of an apparitor. 
 
 Taxation, censure, satire. 
 
 Tear a cat, to blusier. 
 
 Teen, grief, trouble. 
 
 Temperance, temperature. 
 
 Tender, to regard with affection. 
 
 Teut, to take up residence, to search. 
 
 Tercel, the male hawk. 
 
 Terras, the phraseology of courij. 
 
 Tested, attested, brought to the test. 
 
 Testerned, gratified with a tester, or 
 
 sixpence. 
 Tetchy, touchy, peevish. 
 Tether, a string by which any animal is 
 
 fastened. 
 Tharborougb, a constable. 
 Theonck, theory. 
 Thewes, muscuiar strength. 
 Thick, pleached, thickly interwoven. 
 Thill, the shatis of a cart. 
 Thin helm, thin cov ering of hair. 
 Thrasonical, boasting. 
 Thread, to pass. 
 
 Three niau-beetle, an implement for 
 
 driving piles. 
 Three pile, rich velvet. 
 Thrift, prosperity, economy. 
 Thrum, the extremity of a weaver's 
 
 warp 
 
 Thrummed, made of coarse woollen. 
 
 Tib, a sti umpet. 
 
 Tickle, licklish. 
 
 Tickle hrain, a strong drink. 
 
 Tilly-valiy, pooh! 
 
 Tilth, tiila.s^e. 
 
 Timeless, untimely. 
 
 Tire, »o fiwten. 
 
 Tire, to he idly employed on. 
 
 Tired, adorned. 
 
 Tire-valiaat, a head-dress. 
 
 Tirra-lirra, the song of the lark. 
 
 Toged. habited. 
 
 Tokened, spotted. 
 
 Topiess, supreme. 
 
 Touches, features. 
 
 Toward, in readiness. 
 
 Toys, whims, rumours. 
 
 Toze, to unravel. 
 
 Trade, established custom. 
 
 Trail, scent left by game. 
 
 Ti a tress, a terra of endearment. 
 
 Trammel, to catch. 
 
 Trailed, a ferry or sluice. 
 
 Translate, to transform 
 
 Trash, to check. 
 
 Traversed, across. 
 
 Truy trip, a game at drafts. 
 
 Treachers, traitors. 
 
 Trenclied, carved. 
 
 Trick, peculiarity of feature. 
 
 Trick, to dress out. 
 
 Tricksy, adroit. 
 
 Tfigoii, Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius in 
 Ihe Zodiac. 
 
 Trip, to defeat. 
 
 Triple, one of three. 
 
 Triumphs, revels. 
 
 Trojan, cant term for thief. 
 
 Trol Hiy-dames, the game of nine holes. 
 
 Troll, to sing trippingly. 
 
 Tr'Hsers, trousers. 
 
 Trjt, a term of contempt. 
 
 Trow, to imagine. 
 
 Iruly good, or turlupin, a gipsy. 
 
 Trumile-tail, a dog. 
 
 Trusted, thrusted- 
 
 Trv conclusions, try experiments. 
 
 Tub fast . the sweating process in the 
 
 venereal disease. 
 Tuckel , or tucket sonnuance, a flou- 
 rish on a trumpet. 
 
 Turre, to whisper. 
 
 Turlvgood, or Turlupin, a gipsy. 
 
 Twangiine jack, a scurvy musician. 
 
 Twicken- bottle, a wickered bottle. 
 Twisgiiig, wickered. 
 Tythiiig, a district. 
 
 U. 
 
 Umbpr, a dusky colourerj earth. 
 Unaneled. without extreme unction. 
 Unavoided, ujiavoidable 
 
 Unbarbed, beardless, nnsbavea. 
 Unbated, not blunted. 
 Unbitted, unbridled. 
 Unbolt to explain. 
 Unbolted, coarse. 
 Unbonetted, without dignities. 
 Unbookish, unlearned. 
 Uubreathed, unpractised. 
 Uncape, to dig out, a term in fox-hunt- 
 ing. 
 
 Uncharged, unattacked. 
 Unclew, to unwind. 
 Uncoined, unrelined, unadorned. 
 Uncontirmed, unpractised in wordly 
 craft. 
 
 Uncurrent, irregular. 
 Undercraft, to wear beneath the crest. 
 Under skinker, a tapster. 
 Understand, stand under. 
 Undertaker, the defender of another's 
 quarrel. 
 
 Underwrite, to subscribe, to obey. 
 Uneath, scarcely. 
 Unexpressive, inexpressible. 
 Unfair, to deprive of beauty. 
 Un-enitured, without genitals. 
 Unhaired, youthful. 
 Unhappy, unlucky, mischievous. 
 Unhoused, free from domestic cares. 
 Unhouselled, without having the sacra- 
 ment. 
 
 Union, a species of pearl. 
 Unlived, lifeless. 
 Unlustrous, without lustre. 
 Unmanned, a term in falconry. 
 Unmastered, licentious. 
 Unowed, unowned. 
 Unpregnant, not quickened. 
 Unproper, common. 
 Umiualitied, unmanned. 
 Unquestionable, averse to conversation. 
 Unready, undrest. 
 Unrcspective, inconsiderate. 
 Unrough, beardless. 
 Unsistmg, unresisting, unfeeling. 
 Unsmirthed, undefiled. 
 Unsquared, uiiadapted. 
 Unsiancheil, incontinent. 
 Untempering, not softening. 
 Unientcd, not probed, virulent. 
 Uutraded, not in common use. 
 Untrimmed, undrest. 
 Upspriug, a dance. 
 
 V. 
 
 Vail, to bow, to sink, to condescend *o 
 
 look. 
 Vailing, lowering. 
 Vaiii, vanity. 
 Vain, lying. 
 
 Valance, fringed with a beard. 
 Vaniiy, illusion. 
 
 Vantage, opportunity, advantage. 
 
 Van brace, armour for the arm. 
 
 Varlet, a servant. 
 
 Vast, waste, dreary. 
 
 Vaunt, theavaiit, the fore-part. 
 
 Vaward, the fore part. 
 
 Velure, velvet. 
 
 Venetian, admittance. 
 
 Veiit, rumour. 
 
 Venti^es, holes of a flute. 
 
 Verbal, verbose. 
 
 Verify, to bear witness. 
 
 Venew, a bout (in fencing.) 
 
 Vengeance, mischief. 
 
 Veneys, hits. 
 
 Veronese, a ."^hip from Verona. 
 
 Versing, writing verses. 
 
 Very, immediate. 
 
 Via, a (;ant phrase of exultation. 
 
 Vice, the fool of the old moralities. 
 
 Vice, grasp. 
 
 Vie, to brag. 
 
 Viewless, invisible. 
 
 Villain, a worthless fellow, a servant. 
 
 Vild, vile. 
 
 Violenteth, rageth. 
 
 Virginal, a kind of spinnet. 
 
 Virtue, vaiour. 
 
 Virtuous, healthy. 
 
 Virtuous, weil-bred. 
 
 Vixen, or Fixen, a female fox. 
 
 Vizameni, advisement. 
 
 Vox, tone or voice. 
 
 Vulgar, common. 
 
 Vulgarly, commonly. 
 
 W. 
 
 Waft, to bee 
 
 Wage, to com at. 
 
 Wages, IS equal to. 
 
 Waist, that part of a ship between the 
 
 quarterdeck and the forecastle. 
 Waist, the middle. 
 Walk, a district in a forest. 
 Wannrd, pale. 
 
 Wannion, vensrenncp. 
 Ward, postur e of deference. 
 Ward, guardianship. 
 Warden, a pear. 
 Warn, suinin(m. 
 
 Wasselscandle,candleused at festirali 
 Wassels, rustic re^elry. 
 Watch, a wntch-light 
 Water work, water coloui«. 
 Wax, to grow 
 axen, incref ^se. 
 axen, soft, yielding 
 Wanton, a 'eeble or effeminate maa. 
 Wappened. decayed, diseased. 
 Warder, a sentinel. 
 Warp, to change from thenataral lUlte 
 Wee, very little. 
 Weeds clothing. 
 Ween, to imagine. 
 Weigh, to value or esteem. 
 Weird, prophetic. 
 Welkin, the sky. 
 Welkin-eye, blue eye. 
 Weli-a near I lack-a-dayl 
 Well liking, plump. 
 Wend, to go. 
 
 Westward hoe, the name of • pl8| 
 
 acted in Shakspeare's time. 
 Wether, used for a rain. 
 Wear, the fashion. 
 
 Whe'ked, varied with protuberanoet. 
 
 Whe'r. whether. 
 
 Where, whereas. 
 
 Whifiler, an olficer in processions 
 
 Whiles, until. 
 
 Whinidst, mouldy. 
 
 Whip, she crack, the best. 
 
 Whipstock, the carter's whip. 
 
 Whirring, hurrying. 
 
 Whist, being silent. 
 
 White, the white mark in the target. 
 
 White death, the green sickness. 
 
 Whiting-time, bleaching time. 
 
 Whitsters, linen bleachers. 
 
 Whittle, a pocket knife. 
 
 Whooping, measure and reckoning. 
 
 Wide, remote from. 
 
 Wilderness, wildness. 
 
 Will, wilfulness. 
 
 Wimple, a hood or veil. 
 
 Winchester goose, a strumpet. 
 
 Winking-^ates, gates hastily elocwd 
 
 from tear of diinger. 
 Winnowed, examined. 
 Winter ground, to protect aganut 
 
 winter. 
 Wis, to know. 
 
 Wise woman, a witch, a fortune-tellei; 
 
 Wish, to recommend. 
 Wit, to know. 
 Witch, to bewitch. 
 Withy, judicious, cunning. 
 Wits, senses. 
 
 Wittol, knowing, conscious of. 
 Wittol, a contented cuckold. 
 Woe, to be sorry. 
 Woman, to aftect deeply. 
 Woman tired, lienpecked. 
 Wondered, able to perform wondcn. 
 Wodd, crazy, frantic 
 Wooden thing, awkward businesB, 
 World to see, wonderful. 
 Woodman, an attendant on the forestall 
 Woolward, wearing wool. 
 Work, fortification. 
 Workings, thoughts. 
 Worm, a serpent. 
 Worth, wealth. 
 Worship, dignity. 
 Wreak, to revenge; resentment. 
 Wrest, an instrument for tunillg 
 harp. 
 
 Wrested, obtained by force. 
 Wretch, a term of fondnew. 
 Writ, writing. 
 
 Write, to pronounce confidently* 
 
 Writhled. wrinkled. 
 Wry, to deviate- 
 Wrong, hurt. 
 Wrotli, misfortune. 
 Wrought, agitated. 
 Wrung, pressed, strained. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Yare. nimble, handy. 
 Yarely, i.itnVily, adroitly, 
 Yearn, to grieve or vex. 
 Yei!d, to inform of. 
 Yellowness, jealousy. 
 Yeoman, a bailiffs follower. 
 Yerk, to kick. 
 Yesty foaming, frothy. 
 Young, early. 
 
 Z. 
 
 '';Hny,abuti"oon. 
 
 Zealous, pious. 
 
 Zed, a term of contempt. 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 * A rotten carcass of a boat. "—Act I. Sc. 2. 
 Snakspeare might liave read the following in Holinshed : 
 After this, was E^dwin, the king's brother, accused of 
 lome roiispiracie by him begun against the king: where- 
 upon he was banished the land; and sent out in an oid 
 rotff?i vessel, witliout rowers or mariner, onlie accom- 
 panied with one esqiiier, so that being launched forth 
 n om tlie shore, through despaire, Edwin leapt into the sea, 
 and drowned himself." 
 
 « Setehos.'^—KvX I. Sc 2. 
 We learn from ^InsellanVs Voyat'ps. ^hn^ Sefoho'^ was the 
 supn-me god of the fatagons. This' fabulaus deity is also 
 mentioned in Hackluyt's Voyages, 155*8. Barbet says, 
 ''The Putaaotis are reported todread a great horned devil, 
 called Setebos." And, in Eden's Historye of Travayle, 
 !577, we are told, that the (liajites, when they found theni- 
 nelves fettered, roared like bulls, and cried upon Setebos to 
 help them. 
 
 « For no kind of traffic 
 
 Would I admit, no name of magistrate. "—h-ci II. Sc, 1. 
 Shakspeare has here followed a passage in Montaigne, 
 •s ti-ansiat'd by John Florio, 1603:— "It is a nation that 
 hath no kind of trafficke, no knowledge of letters, no in- 
 telligence of numbers, no name of magistrate, no, of politic 
 tuperioritie ; no use of service, qj riches or of povertie ; 
 HO contracts, no successions, no partitions, ko occupation, 
 but idle; no respect of kindred but common ; no apparel but 
 natural ; no use of wine, corn, or metal. The very words 
 that import lying, falsehood, treason, dissimulations, cove- 
 tousncss envie, detraction, and pardon, were never heard 
 (imongst them." 
 
 &vvietiiR£ like apes, that mow and chatter at me. 
 And after bate me; then like hedge hogs, which 
 Lie ( HmLling in my bare foot way."— Act II, Sc. 2. 
 Perlups taken from a passage in Harsnet's Declaration 
 OJf Popish Impostures. "They make antike faces, grin, 
 n^i I mop, like an ape ; tumble like an hed(]e-hogJ>— 
 
 * A dead Indian Ac\ II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Sir Martin Frobisher, when he returned from his voyage 
 ?f discovery, brought with him some native Indians. In 
 his History of the First Voyage for the Discoverie of Ca- 
 tayn, we have the folhiwing account of a savage taken by 
 bim:— " Whereupon, when he found'" himself in caplivitie, 
 for very choler and disdain, he bit his tong in twaine, 
 Vtthin his mouth . notwithstanding, he died not thereof, 
 feet Uved iintill he came in Em/lande. and then he died 
 tfcolde, which he had taken at sea."- STEEVENS. 
 "Nor scrape trencher ing," — Act HI. Sc. I. 
 
 In our author's time, trench- rs were in general use, and 
 male domestics were employed in cleansing ihem. « I have 
 helped, (sa>s Lyly in his History of his Life and Times, 
 1^20,) to carry eighteen tubs of water in one morning ; all 
 Kuanner of drudgery, 1 willingly performed; scrape- 
 trenchers," ^-f.- IVIALONE. 
 
 " He were n brave monster indeed, if they were set in his 
 tail."— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 Probably in allusion to Stowe. It seems in the year 
 1574 a whale was thrown a.shore near Ramsgate, " a mons- 
 trous fish, but not so monstrous as some reported, for 
 his eyes were in his head, and not in his hack." 
 "This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of 
 Nobody."— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 A ridiculous figure, sometimes painied on .signs. West- 
 
 TWO GENTLEM 
 
 * Nn>/, give me not the boots."— Act. I. Sc. I. 
 
 Th*i hoot was an instninient of torture used only in 
 Scotls.id. Bi.shop Burnet mentions one Maccacl. a prea( her, 
 :yho being suspected of treason, underwent the punishment 
 go late as If^ " Ke was put to the torture, which, in Scot- 
 land, they cf<\\ the boots; for they put a pair of iron boots 
 rlose oi' the Isg, and drive wedges betweea these and the 
 kc. The common torture was only to drive tliese on the 
 mil Mft'Je leg, hut \ have been toM they were sometimes 
 ihii / n upon the shin boas."— R.ERD. 
 
 « A i need mutton "—.Act |. 8c. I. 
 
 A tacsd nuitwu was. in our auf linr'.s time, so usual a term 
 Ibra courtezan, that a .street in Clerkenwell much frequent- 
 ed fey prostitutes, was called M^'fon Laiie.—MALOISE. 
 
 " 1 see yiM have a month''s mind to them."—Ac\. I. Sc. 2. 
 
 A month's mind was an anniversary in times of po- 
 pery ; or a less solemnity diiectt-d by will. There was 
 also a year's mind, and a week's mind. So in Strype's 
 Rlemorials, " July 1556, was the month's mind of Sir Wil 
 Uam Saxtrn, who died the last month, his hearse burning 
 
 waid for Sinelts, a book which our poets seems tohave read, 
 was printed for John Trundle, in Barbican, at the sign or 
 the No hod// ; or the allusion may be to the print of 
 body, an prefixed to the anonymous coinedv of No-body 
 auff S.ome body, without date, but printed before the vear 
 1606 — MALOiXE. 
 
 " One tree, the Phanix' throne."— Act III. Sc. 3. 
 In Holland's Pliny, the following passage occurs : " I 
 myselfe verily have heard stt aunge things of this kind of 
 tree : an;!, namely, in regard of the bird Phosnix, which is 
 supposed to have taken that name of this Dr.te Tres ; fov 
 it was assured unto me, that the said bird died with that 
 tree, and revived of itselfe as the tree sprung ajfalc." 
 
 Mountaineers, 
 
 Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them 
 Wallets of flesh ?"—Act HI, Sc. 3. 
 
 Whoever is curious to know the particulars relative to 
 these mountaineers, may consult Maundeville s Travels, 
 printed in l.'jOS : but it is yet a Xnown truth, that the inha- 
 bitants of the Alps have been long accustomed to such 
 excrescences or tumours. — STEEVENS. 
 
 "Each putter-out of one for five. "—Act III. Sc. 3. 
 The custom here alluded to was as follows:— It was a 
 practice of those who engaged in long and hazardous ex- 
 peditions, to place out a sum of money, on condition oi 
 receiving great interest for it at their return home. So in 
 Ben Jcnson's Every Man in his Humour :—" I do intend 
 this year of jubilee coming on, to travel; and (because I 
 will not altogether go upon expence) I am determimed to 
 put awwfive thousand pounds, to be paid me five for one, 
 upon the return of ray wife, myself, and my dog, frcm tlio 
 Turk's court, in Constantinople." 
 
 * Like poison, given to work a great time after."* 
 Act HI. Sc. 3. 
 Tlie natives of Africa were supposed to he posses.sed of 
 the secret how to temper poisons with such ait, as not t» 
 oi)erate till several years after they were administered. 
 Italian travellers relate similar effect's of the aqua tofana, 
 a subtle, colourless and tasteless poison, which ladies carry 
 about them, and have at their toiiets, among their pei fumed 
 waters, for the purpose of administering in the drink ol 
 : faithless lovers. In the chapel at Arundel, is the eliigy ol 
 a nobleman of flie Howard family, who, having incurred 
 the.jeahmsy of an Italian lady during his travels, was poi- 
 soned in this manner, and died after lingering many yeari. 
 The effigy represents him nearly naked, his bones scarcely 
 I covered by his skin, and presenting altogether a most de- 
 I plorable spectacle. 
 
 ''And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes.— Act IV. Sc. 1 
 Caliban's barnacle is the clakis or tree- goose. Collins 
 very sinyjly tells us, that the barnacle wliich grows on 
 ships was meant, and quotes the following passage to 
 support liis o|)inion ,—" There are, in the n^rt'-' parts of 
 i Scotland, oertaim. tr^es, whereon do grow stjei'. ashes, 
 ' which, falling in the water, do become fowls, whom we call 
 I barnacles; in the north of England, brant-neese j and in 
 ': Lancashire, tree-geese."— DOVCE. 
 
 I « Some subtiltie o' the isle."— Act V. Sc. 1. 
 
 I Thi.s is a phrase adopted from ancient cookery and con- 
 fectionery. When a dish w;is so contrived as to appear 
 unlike what it renlly was, they called it a subtilty. Dra- 
 eons, cnstlefc, trees, 8tc. made out of suiiar, had the like 
 denomiiial ion. —STEEVENS. 
 
 EN OF VERONA. 
 
 witii wa\, and tiie morrow mass celebrated. Km a cermoa 
 
 preached."— GllEY. 
 
 « Sir Valenti^ie and setvarA » — Act II. Sc. 1. 
 Here Silvia calls her lovtr servant, and again bela«r« 
 l^er gentle servant. This was the language of l»iie» t« 
 their lovers when Shakspeare wrote.— HAW KINS. 
 "A waxen image ^gamst a fire^AcX II. Sc. 4. 
 AllUdin;; to the fifpires made by witches, as r6?iri-2i?«l4 
 lives of those whom 1 hey de.signed to toitnent or destroy. 
 King James ascribes these images to the devil, in his Trfa- 
 lise of Daemonologie : " to some others at these lime.s he 
 tearheth kow to make pictures of waxe or claye, that by 
 the masting thereof, the persons that they bear the nf,me 
 tfrnay be contiiiunily tnelted, and dried away by continual 
 birknesse."- W ESTON. 
 
 " With a end pifCf-."—Act II. Sc. 7. 
 Wlioever wishes to be informed res|)ec(iiis thi.s par/ieular 
 relative todn ss, may consult Bnliver's Artili< ial Ch:inge- 
 lin^. It is mentioned, too, in Tyro's Roaring Megge, 15b<J.— 
 
806 
 
 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 * fyro^i rovnd breeches have a cliffe behind. 
 And that same perking longiludf before; 
 Whick,forapincase, antique plowmen wore." 
 
 Ocular instruction may be had from the armour shewn as 
 f<»lin of Gaunt's, in the Tower of London. The custom of 
 slicking pins in this ostentations piece of indecency was con- 
 tinued by the Tower-wardens, till forbidden by authority. 
 —STEVENS. ^ 
 
 * Saint Nicnolas be thy speed'.»—kci III, Sc. 1. 
 That tbss saint presided over young scholars, may be 
 
 fathered from Knight's Life of Dean CoUett ; for by the 
 statutes of Paul's School there inserted, the chiWren 're 
 (-quired to attend divine service at the cathedral c«i his 
 jimveisk.ry. The jeason, probably^ was, that the legend 
 69 this sai)it makes him to have been a bishop, while he was 
 boy.-iLlWKINS. 
 
 « The cover of the salt hides the sa/f."— Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 The ancient English salt-cellar was very different from 
 L'ie modern, being a large piece of plate, fjenerally much 
 croaniented, with a cover to keep the salt clt an. ! 
 
 MERRY WIVES 
 
 ^ How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say he 
 was out-ruji on Cotsale." — Act I. Sc. 1. 
 He means Cotswold, in Gloucestershire. In the be- '■ 
 
 finning of James the First's reign, by permission of the 
 ing, one Dover, a public-spirited attorney ofBarton-on 
 the-Hcath, in Warwickshire, instituted on the hills of 
 Cotswold an annual celebration of games, consisting of 
 rural sports and exercises. The.se he ccmstantly conducted 
 in person, well mounted and accoutred in a suit of his ma- 
 jesty's old clothes; and they were frequented above forty 
 years by the nobility and gentry for sixty miles round, till 
 the ?:rand rebellion abolished every liberal establishment. 
 T. WARTON. 
 
 " Mill- sixpences." — Act I. Sc. I. 
 It appears from a passage in Sir William D'Avenant's 
 Nows irom Pliratruth, that these mill sixpences were used 
 b r way of counters to cast up money : 
 
 « a few miWd sixpences, with which 
 
 My purser casts accompt. STEEVENS. 
 Edward sJt.ov el-boards." — Act I. Sc. 1. 
 " Edward shovel boards " were the broad shillings of 
 fji'lward VI. Taylor, the water-poet, in his Travel of 
 rwelve-peuce, makes him complain: 
 
 « the tmthrift every day 
 
 With my face downwards do at shoave-board play ; 
 That had J had a beard, you ntay suppose, ' 
 th^y had jooine it nff, as they have done my nose" 
 
 FARMER. 
 
 K Go, sin-ah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my 
 ^jushi Shallow .'^—kcX I. Sc I. 
 
 This passa^2:e shews that it was formerly the custom in 
 ?!^iand, as k is now in France, for persons to be attended 
 ^it dinner by their own servants, wherever they dined. 
 ■"MASON. 
 
 ''A master offence." — Act I. Sc. 1. 
 Fencing was taught as a regular science. Three degrees 
 were usually taken rn this art, a master's, a provost's, and 
 a scholar's. For each of these a prize was played, as exer- 
 cises are kept in universities foi similar purposes. The 
 T.-eapons they used were the axe, the pike, rapier and tar- 
 get, rapier and cloaJi., two swords, the two hand sword, 
 (he ba-stard sword, the dagger and stall", the sword and 
 buckler, tlie rapier and dagger, &c. The places where 
 they exercised were, comimjcly, theatres, halls, or other 
 enclosures sufficient to contain a number of spectators , as 
 Ely place in liolborn ; the Belle Sauvage, onLudgate-hlU; 
 Hamilton-court, the Artillery-garden, STEEVENS. 
 « Sackerson "—Act I. Sc. 2. 
 Sackerson or Sctcarson was the name of a bear, exhibited 
 in our author's time, at Paris Garden. See an old book of 
 l^igrams by Sir John Dav.es : 
 
 « Puhlitts, a student of the common law. 
 To taris Garden doth himself withdraw ; 
 Leaving old Floy den. Dyer, and Broke, alone. 
 To vee old Harry Hunkes, and Sacarson." — MALONE. 
 * She -iiscourses, she carves, she gives the leer ofinvitU" 
 en."— Act < Sc. 3. 
 
 Anciently, tiie young of both sexes were instructed in 
 carving, as a necessary accomplishment, tt seems to have | 
 been considered a mark of kindness when a lady cnrvfd to 
 a gentleman. So in Vittoria Corombona : * Your husband 
 is wondrous discontented. I did nothing to di.splease him; 
 \ carved to him at supper-time."— STEEVENS and BOS- 
 WELL. 
 
 for gourd andfullam holds. 
 
 And high and low beguile the rich and poor." 
 
 Act I, Sc. 3. 
 
 Gourds were, probably, dice in which a secret cavity had 
 oeen made : FuUams. (so called bc ause chiefly made at 
 Fulhani,) those which had been loaded with a small bit of 
 lead. High men and low men. which are also cant terms, 
 explain themselves. High numbers on the dice, at hazard, 
 are from five to twelve inclusive ; low, from aces to four.— 
 MALONE. 
 
 "Flemish drunkard." Act II. Sc 1. 
 
 It is not without cause that this reproachful phrase is 
 
 " Upon whose grace tlou vow'd'st pure chastity. >* 
 
 .-iit IV. .5c i 
 
 It was common informer ages for widowers and wido^'v* 
 to makt» vowsof chastity, in honour of their deceased wives 
 or husbands. luDugdale's Antiquities of Warwickshire, 
 there is the form of a commission by the bishop of the dio- 
 cese for taking a vow of chastity by a widow. It seems that 
 besides observins thevow, the widow w»<s for ifeto wear a 
 veil, andamourmngflatit. The seme distinction we insy 
 suppose to have been made in respect of male YttarMt* 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 " But .ii?ice she did neglect her looking gtass, 
 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away." — Act FV. So. 4. 
 
 "When they use to ride abroad, they have masks or vi- 
 zors, made of velvet, wherewith they cover all their faces 
 having holes made in them against their eyes, whereow 
 they look ; so that if a man that knew not their guise be- 
 fore, should chance to meet one of them, he would think ha 
 met a monster or a devil, for face he can shew (see) none, 
 but two broad holes against their eyes, with glasses io 
 ♦hein.''-ANATOMIE OF ABUSES, 1595, 
 
 OF WINDSOR. 
 
 used. Sir John Smythe, in Certain Discourses, 4to. l»9fl 
 says, that the habit of drinking to excess was introduced 
 into Kiigland from the Low Countries, "by some of our 
 such men of warre within these verie few years: whereof 
 it is come to passe that now- a dayes there are very few 
 feast es where our said men of warre are present, but they 
 do invite and procure all the companje, of what calling 
 soever they be, to carowsing and quaifmg ; and because 
 they will not be denied their challenges, they, with manie 
 new conges, ceremonies, and reverences, drinke to the 
 healthe and prosperitie of princes; to the liealthe of coun- 
 sellors, and unto the healthe of their greatest friends, both 
 ai home and abroad : in which exercise they nevei cease till 
 they be deade drunke, or, as the Flemings say, doot 
 dronken," He adds, « and this aforesaid detestable vice 
 hath, within these six or seven years, taken wonderful 
 roote amongst our English nation, that in times past was 
 wont to be of all other nations in Christendome one oftSie 
 soberest. "—REED. 
 
 " 3Iy long sword."— Act II. Sc. 1. 
 Before the introduction of rapiers, the swords in qs* 
 were of an enormous length, and sometimes raised with 
 both hnn-d.^. Shallow, with an old man's vanity, censures 
 the ini;ovation by which lighter weapons were introtluced, 
 tells what he could once have done with h s Ic'd su'ord, 
 and ridicules the terms and rules of the rapie.r. Shak.spear® 
 commits a great anachronism in making Shallow lalJs ot tag 
 rapier in Henry IV. 's reign, an hundred and seventy years 
 before it was used in England.— JOH^J SON. 
 
 " WAeti Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan," 
 
 Act II. Sc.S 
 
 It should be remembered that in our authjt 's time, 
 were more costly than they are at present, as well as of « 
 difierent construction. They consisted of ostrich feathers, 
 (or others of equal leng h and fleiibility,) which were stucK 
 into handles. The richer sort of these were composed ol 
 gold, silver or ivory, of curious workmanship, and fre- 
 quently ornamented with precious stones. Mention U 
 made in the Sydney Papers, of a fttn presented to Queet 
 Elizabeth, for a new year's gift, the handle of which was 
 studded with diamonds. It was not uncommon among tiiA 
 foppish young noblemen of that age, to carry fnns of this 
 splendid description ; a singular piece of effeminacy for 
 that early period.— STEEVENS, &c. 
 
 " Red lattice phrases."— Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Red lattice at the doors and windows were forjnerly the 
 <*xternal denotements of an ale-house. Hence the present 
 chequers. In one of Shackerley Marmion's plays we read 
 * a waterman's widow at the signe of the Rt d Lattice in 
 Southwark." It is a curious circumstance, that the sign ol 
 the Chequers was common among the Romans. It waa 
 found in several of the streets excavated at Pompeii. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 " Amaimon—Barbaton'.— Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Reginald Scott informs us, that " the demon Amaimon 
 \rm king of the East, and Barbatos a great countie or 
 earle." Randle Holme, however, in his 4kcademy of Ar- 
 mory and Blazon, tells us that, " Amaymon is the chief 
 whose dominion is on the north side of the infernal gulpb ; 
 and Uiat Barbatos is like » Sagittarius, and hath thirty 
 legions under him."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " That becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire 
 of Kf7iitian admittance."— Act III. Sc. 3 
 
 The extravagance of female dress is here satirized. Wi 
 shall give an extract or two on this subject from contem- 
 porary authors ; 
 
 " Their heads, with their top and top gallant lawne baby 
 caps, and snow-resembled silver curlings, tliey make a 
 plain puppet stage of. Their breasts embushe up on 
 hie, and their round roseate buds they immodestly lay 
 forth, to shew at their hands there is fruit to be hoped.'' 
 Nashe's Christ's Teares, 04 — "Oh, what a wonder it is to 
 see a ship under saile wiih her tacklings and her masts, 
 and her tops and her top gallants, with her upper d. cks 
 and nether decks, and so bedeckt, with her streamers, flags 
 and ensignes, and I know not what; yea, but a world ol 
 wonders it is to see a woman created in God's image, s* 
 miscreate oft limes and deformed with her French, her 
 Spanish, and her foolish fashions, that he who made bet 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 807 
 
 wksn de looks upon her, shall hardly know her with her 
 plumes, her fans, and her silken vizard, with a rutte like a 
 saile ; yea, aruffe Like a rainbuv), v:ilh a feather in her 
 sap. like a fliig m her top, tu teii {I thiuke) which ivny the 
 wind v)ill hlutr. It is proverbially said, that far- feti ht and 
 dear bought is fittest for ladies : as now a-daies what 
 groweth at home is base and lioniely ; and what everie one 
 eates is meate for dwgs ; and wee must have breade from 
 another ; aiifl \^ ee must liave meate from Spaine, and sauce 
 out of Italy; and if wei' « fare anyihing, ii must be pure 
 Veniiian. Roman, or barht?iian ; but the !a:hion of all 
 miist be Frencli.'' The M^rvkani Roy ail, asernuiu preached 
 at VVIiiie hall, before tlu; kings maiestie, at the nuptialls 
 of Lord Hay and his la<Iy, Twelfth day, 1607 —REED. 
 " And smell like Buckler sbury, in simple time." 
 
 Act in. Sc.. 3. 
 
 B'icklfrsbury, in the time of Shakspcare, was chiefly in- 
 halii.i dby druggists, who sold all kinds of /ier6s, greenas 
 weii as dry.— UTEEW El>iS. 
 
 " Let the sky rain potatoes ; hall kissing-conijits, and 
 snow erinyoes ; let there come a tempest of provocation," 
 
 ActV. Sc. 5. 
 
 Potaloes, when they were first introduced in England, 
 were supposed to be stroiig provocatives. Kissing -unijita 
 were sugar-plums, perfumed to make the breaiii sufct. 
 Eringues. like potatoes, were esteemed to be stimulaiires. 
 But Shakspcare, probably, had the iollowing artifuia.1 
 temjiest in iiis thoughts, when lie wrote the above pass;ige 
 Holinshr d informs us that in the year 1583, for the enter- 
 tainment of Prim e Alasco, was performed " a verie statelie 
 tragedie, namt d Dido, wht-reiu the queen's banket (with 
 jEneas's description of the destruction of Troie,) was lively 
 described in a marchpane patterne ; the tempest wherein 
 it hailed small conjects, rained rose-water, and snew an 
 artificial kind of snow, all strange, marvellous, and ahun- 
 dant."— STEEVENS. 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 * Taou shatt present me as an eunuch to him. — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 WTien the practise of castration was adopted first, solely 
 to improve the voice, is \incertain. The first regular opera 
 was performed at Florence, in 160O. Till about 1633, musical 
 dramas were only occasionally performed in the palaces 
 of princes, and cons- quently before that period eunuchs 
 could not abound. The first euuucli that was .sutfered to 
 sing in the Pope's rha!)ei was in KiOO. So early, liowever, as 
 1604, eunuchs are mentioned by Marston in the IMalcontent, 
 as excelling iu singing. «Yes, i can SiUg, fool, if you'll 
 bear the burden ; an 1 i can niay upon instruments scurvily, , 
 as gentlemen do. O that I had been gelded ! I should then ; 
 have been a fat fool for a chamber, a squeaking fool for a i 
 tavern, and a private fool for all the ladies."— MALONE. 
 
 " Like a parish top." — Act I. Sc. 3. i 
 A large top was formerly kept in every village, to be 
 whipped in frosty weathi-r, that the peasants might be kept 
 warm by exercise and out of mischief when they could not i 
 work.-^TEEVENS. I 
 " Mistress MalPs picture." — Act I. Sc. 3. | 
 The real name of the woman here alluded to was Mary ! 
 Frith. The title slie was commonly known by v/as Mall 
 Cutpurse. She was at once an hermaphrodite, a prostitute, 
 a bawd, aiba.ly. a thief, a receiver of stolen goods. &c. 
 On the books of the Stationer's Company, August, 1610, is 
 entered, «A Booke cailed the Madde Prancks of Merry 
 Mall of the Bankside, with her walkes in Men's Apparel, 
 and to wliat purpose. Written by John Day » Middleton 
 and Becker wrote a play oalied the Roaring Girl, of which 
 she is the heroine, ami the frontispiece of this drama, 
 puhlislied in 1611, contains a full length portrait of her in 
 man's cloihes, smokiiig tobacco. There is a MS. in the 
 British Museu^B. iu which au account is given of Mall's 
 doing penance at St. Pa il's Cross. Her extrava,gant con- 
 duct and shameless vices seem to have rendered her infa- 
 mously public. 
 
 " A most ivfak pia-mater." — Act 1. Sc. 5. 
 The via mater is th<.> mi^mhrane which immediately covers 
 tlie substance of the brain.— STEEVENS. 
 " Stand at ymrdoor like a sheriff's post." — Act I. Sc. 5. 
 It was the custom Cor that officer t o have large posts set 
 up at his door as an aidicatioti of his office, tlie original of 
 w*ich was. that the king's proclamations and other public 
 acts might be atixed thereto.— WARBURTON. 
 " lyid you never see the picture of we three ?" — Act II. Sc. 3. 
 
 An ftilusion to an o^d print frequently pasted on country 
 ale house walls, representing two, but under which the 
 spectator reads. We three are asses. — MALONE. 
 
 " Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall 
 be no mure cakes and ale ?" — Act II, Sc. 3. 
 
 It was the custom on saint's days and holidays, to make 
 cakes in honour of the day. The Puritans thought this a 
 superstition, and Maria -says, that *Malvolio is sometimes a 
 kind of Puritan. "-LETHERLAND. 
 
 ''Rub your chain with crums." — Act II, Sc. 3. 
 
 Stewards in great families were formerly distinguished by 
 wearing a gold chain. The usual mode of cleaning this or- 
 nament was by nibbing it with bread crumbs. See Web 
 ster's Duchess ofMalfy, 1623. "Yea, and the chippings of 
 the buttery fly after him, to scouer his gold chain."— S'lEE- 
 
 " Having come from m day bed." — Act II. Sc. 5. 
 
 It was usual in Shakspeare's time, for the rich to have 
 ilay-beds or couches. Spenser, in his Fairy Queen, has 
 irupped a stroke of satire on this lazy fa.shion : 
 " So v>as that chamber clad in goodly wize 
 And round about it many beds were dight. 
 As wkilome was the antique worldes guize, 
 S<)mefor untimely ease, some for delight," 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 ^ * Wind up my watch." — Act II. Sc. 5. 
 
 Pocket watches were first brought from Germany about 
 'the year ir*0, go that in Shakspeare's time they wer^ very 
 Bncoiuinon Wlieii Guy Faux was taken, it was urged as 
 ft circatDstr^nce of suspicion, that a watch was found upon 
 him.-JOHNSON. 
 
 « Yellow stockings.^— KciW. Sc. 5. 
 Before the. civil wars, yellov) stockings were mnch worn. 
 We quote two passages to prove this : — 
 
 « . , xhice she cayinot 
 
 Wear her own linen yellow, yet she shows 
 
 Her love to't, and makes kirn weare yellow hose." 
 
 THE WORLD TOSS'l) Al TENNIS. 
 And in the Honest Whore, by Decker : " What stockings 
 have you put on this morning, madam? if they he not yel- 
 low, change them."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " Clovmwith a tabor."— Act III. Sc. 1. 
 Tarleton, the celebrated fool or clown of the stage before 
 Shakspeare's time, is exhibited in a print prefixed to his 
 jests, IfiH , with & tabor. Perhaps, in imitation of him, the 
 sub.«equeat dramatic clowns usually appeared with one, 
 
 MAL NE. 
 
 " If thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss. " 
 
 Act H. Sc. 2. 
 
 Alluding to a passage in the speech of the attorney general 
 Coke, at the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh. «A!1 that he did 
 was by thy instigation, thou viper; for i tkou thee, thou 
 traytor. "—THEOBALD. 
 
 " He does smile his face into more lines, than are in t^e 
 new map, with the augmentaiion of the hidies. " 
 
 Act III. Sc. 3. 
 
 A clear al'usion to a map engraved for Linschoten's 
 Voyages, an English translation of which was publi.'ilied iu 
 1598. This map is multilineal in the extreme, and is the 
 first in which the Eastern Islands are included. 
 
 STEEVENS, 
 " Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so olt 
 
 Act. IH. Sc. 4. 
 
 This fantastical custom is taken notice of by Barnaby 
 Rice, in Faults, and Nothing but Faults, 1606.—'' And these 
 Fiov)ers of Conrtesie, as they are full of aftectation, so are 
 they no less formal in their speeches, full of fustian phra 
 ses, many times delivering such sentences as do betray 
 an(i lay open their masters' ignorance ; and tliey are so fre- 
 fl^ue7it with the kiss on the hand, that word shall not passe 
 tuf-ir moutiies, till they have clapt their fingers over their 
 lippes."— REED. 
 
 " He is a knight, duhb'd with unhatch'd rapier, and o* 
 carpet consideratio7t." — Act HI. Sc. 4. 
 
 That is, he rs no soldier by profession, not a knight ban- 
 neret, dubbed on the field of battle, but on carpet conside- 
 ratinn, at a festi^ ify, or on some peaceable occasion, whea 
 knights receive their dignity kneeling; not in war, but on 
 a carpet. This is, I believe, the original of the contemo- 
 tuous term, a carpet knight, whc was naturally held ia 
 scorn by the men of war — JOHNSON 
 
 " Are empty trunks, o'erflourished &j, the devil.^ 
 
 Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 In the time of Shakspeare, trunks, which are now depo- 
 sited in lumber rooms, were part of the furniture in apart- 
 ments where company was received. They were rii hly or- 
 namented on the top and sides with scroll work and emble- 
 matical devices, and were elevated on feet.— STEEVENS. 
 " Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. 
 
 Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death. 
 
 Kill what Hove."— \ct\. Sc. I. 
 This Egyptian thief was Thyamis, who was a native of 
 Memphis, and at the head of a band of robbers. Theagene* 
 and Chariclea falling into their hands, Thyamis fell «fespe- 
 rately in love with the lady, and would have married hrr. 
 Soon after, a strong body of robbers coming down upon 
 Thyamis's forty, he was in such fears for his mistress, tnat 
 he nad her shut in a cave with his treasures. It was cus- 
 tomary wi'ih those barbarians, " when they despaired oi 
 their own safety, first to make away with those whom thev 
 held dear," and desired for companions in the next life. 
 Thyamis, therefore, benetted round with his enemies, 
 raging with love, jealousy, and anger, went to Hie cave, 
 and c-illiug aloud in the lEgyptian tongue, as soon as he 
 hrard himself answered towards the cave's mouth by a 
 Grecian, making to the person by tlie direction of the voice, 
 he caught her by the hair with his left hand, and (sur)posin.? 
 her to lie Chariclea,) with the right hand plunged liis .swoni 
 into her breast. This story is taken from Heliodorus'i 
 .(Ethiopics, of which a translation by Thomas Unde.'dowtte 
 appeared in 1587.— THEOBALD. 
 
 " Af ter a passy measure, or a pavin — Act V. Sc. 1* 
 The pavan, from pavo a peacocK, is a grave and majestic 
 dance. The method of dancing it was by gentlemen dressed 
 with ca 1 and sword, bj those of the long robe in theit 
 gowns, by princi-s in iheir nianties, and liy ladies in gowns 
 with long trains, the in.tion whereof, jn the dance, rc 
 sembied thai of r : t ^sui J. HAWKINS. 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act n. Sc I. 
 
 " Some run from brakes ofvioe 
 The brake v^ns an engine of torture ; we fiiKUherolfowing 
 passage m Hoims-bed :— " Tlie sai(i I«awkiiff,s was cast 
 
 !I!*lVi^i,T°.'r'"n'''?''''''®','?'*' ^'""ff^' to the brake, cal ed 
 in (Jprision llie Duke or Exeter's daughter ;» that noble 
 
 n 'n« n?!n^V'^^"*"'^ / ^""'^ '^'>^ ^orVi,! engine still 
 r, n f/ K V ' of a i^trong iron frame 
 
 ?l P . i,^l nn' '7'.^' ""l''.hree I oilers of wood within it; 
 (he middle one of these, which has iron teeth at each end 
 m.^r^T,")*^ f>y two stops of iron and was, probably, that 
 pa t ot ihe mnchiiie which suspended (he povvers of the 
 ^^'fi'''> t"; "I'll'appy sutferer was sufficiently strained 
 10 tlie cords, &,c. to begin confession.— STEEVENS. 
 " Greateat thing about you."— Act II. Sc. I. 
 Mai nson, m his description of Britain, condemns the ex- 
 of apparel among his countrymen, and thus proceeds • 
 — Neither can we be more .j ustly burdened with any re- 
 proche than laordinate behaviour in apparell, for which 
 most nations deride us ; as also for l/iat we men doe seeme 
 10 bestow most cost upon our arses, and much more upon 
 all the rest of our bodies, as women do likewise upon their 
 heads and shoulders." Wide breeches were extremely fa- 
 
 SSt ;n»S ''''' ^ '''''' 
 
 ' As novj, of /ate, in lesser (hinges, 
 To furMijskeforthe tkeare pryde ; 
 With woole, witkftaxe, with hare also, 
 Fo make theare bryches wirfe."— DOUCE. 
 
 V 1 • " .t —merely, thou art death's fool i 
 
 r or Aim thou labour est. by thy flight to shun, 
 And yet rmis't toward him still."— Act IH. Sc. 1. 
 J." ^J'' ^'17"*'^" the /oo/ of the piece, in order to 
 Sov Jin, rJi^f approaches of death, is made to em 
 \J his stratagems to avoid him ; which, as the matter 
 
 ordered, bring the fool at every turn into his very jaws. 
 
 RTON. 
 
 WARBU 
 
 And his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish 
 „, ^ Act III. Sec. 2, 
 
 1 he beggars, two or three centuries ago, used to oro- 
 clairn t leir svanls by a vwoden dish with a moveable co- 
 em pt^.l^^STEE^ENS.*'^' ''"^ ''''''' '''''' 
 " And tie the beard."— Act IV. Sec. 2. 
 The Revival recommends Simpson's emendation, die the 
 D.-ard, but the present reading may stand. Perhaps it was 
 usuHl to tie up (he b ard before decollation. It .should 
 ho'^^e.'er, be remembered that it Aas usual to die beards. 
 So in the old couiedy of Ram Alley, 1611 : "cdius. 
 
 " What colui/r'd beard comes next by the 'joindow ? 
 .1 Hack man's, I think. 
 
 I .kink a red ; for that is most in fashion." 
 
 And in the Silent Woman ' 1 have fitted my divin, \n4 
 canomu, dyed their beards and all."-iiTEE\ms 
 
 " Vou knovj the course is comnion.»~ii cl IV. Sec 2 
 H^l'-vf ^".^"^ Herovke Life and Oeplorable Death of 
 
 Henry the t ouri he of France, says, that Ravailb.c in tha 
 n.idst of his ortures lifted up his head and shil^k a sua k 
 or tire from his beard " This unprofitable care (he add ) to 
 save It, being noted, afforded matter to divers to praise tl'e 
 c^^^tome m Germany, Switzerland, and divers other 
 places, t o shave off, and then to burn all the from all 
 
 Sus crt e^"S^t'^"^' ^^'^ '^""^•^^^^ -V no- 
 
 1 outlaw, 
 Adam 
 Cloudesle, 
 
 '"' At the bird- bolt: '—Act I. Sc. 1. 
 
 * short thick arrow without a point, and 
 ^r^ading at t le extremity so much as to leave a ftat sur- 
 fece about the breadth of a shilling. -STEEV ENS. 
 
 'I"," ^''!f ''Y' ^''Z i'"* clapped on the shoulder, 
 ami calieii Ailani."— Act I. Sc. 1. 
 
 Why should he. be called Adam ? A quotation or two may 
 l^',- 1 Who Would have Thought It ? 
 
 we f.(.d this ..peech . " Adam Bell, a substantial outlaw. 
 
 Pnsstng good archer, yet no tobacconist." 
 Bell, Clyme ..f the Cloughe, and Wyllyam of CI. 
 were, says Dr. i^ijrcy. three noted out;aws, whose skill in 
 Z'unuV'\^ :Z''^ ;s famous in the north of England, 
 " -I'-S^Svl^v'if anJ fHEOBALl).'" '"''^'^"^ 
 " //; do, hang me in a bottle tike a cat."— Act I. Sc I 
 Ir some counties of England, a ca< was formerly closed 
 DP w th a quantity of soot in a wooden bottle, (such as that in 
 Mil'^wi'' T'l t'>fir 'i'l^o'-) and was suspended on 
 oJh - T]^" bottom as he ran under it, 
 
 *^1"T* ''Vr'^''; to escape its contents, was re 
 
 garde 4 as the hero of this inhuman diversion. 
 
 c, ,. STEEVENS. 
 !>moking a musty room."— Act. I. Sc. 3. 
 
 a vl'i "^^'e<=t of cleanliness among our ancestors ren- 
 dered such precautions too often necessary. In a paper of 
 ?r«inftMt ^^^'^''^l ^""t/,^^", ^bickering's stewardVelative 
 ^i't.'^fh ^ Place, before Ehzabelh's visits to it in 1594, the 
 ftfteenfh article vi, " The swetynyug. of the house in all 
 
 te.^^n^"^^'Q^^"^V,: Burton Anatomie o f 
 
 lelancholie, 1632 : « The smoake of juniper is in great re- 
 «B8et with OS at Oxford, to sweeten our chambers ^' 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 * Hundred merry tales."— Act II. Sc. 1. 
 In the London Chaunticleres, 1659, this work, amoiir 
 others, is cried for sale by a ballad man.— « The Seven 
 ivise Men of Gothaw ; a Hundred Merry Tales; Scog 
 gin's Jests, Sec." Of this collection there are frequent en- 
 tries in the register of the Stationers' Company. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 " Carving the fashion of a new doublet."— Act II Sc. 3. 
 
 "We are almost as fantastic as the Engli^ll gentleman 
 that is pnimed naked, with a pairc ot sheares m his liHiidi 
 Bs not being resolved after what lasliion to have his cjat 
 •ut" R'^REWELL TO FOJ T ^' (617. 
 
 REED. 
 
 "fi"^^' here's young master Rash ; he's in for a com- 
 modity oj brown paper and old ginger, ninescore andtfi- 
 veuittn pounds."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 An allusion is here made to the abominable practices of 
 money- enders in our poet 'sage, of which an nccoant is given 
 by Nashe in a pamphlet called Christ's Tears over Jerusa- 
 lem, 1594. He (a usurer) tails acquainted with .genliemen. 
 Irequents ordinaries and dancing bouses dayly, where 
 when some of them at play have lost all their money he ii 
 very diligent at hand, on their chaines, bracelets, or jewels, 
 to lend them half the value. Now this is the nature of 
 young gentlemen, that where thev have broke the ice, and 
 borrowed «nce, they will come againe the second time; and 
 that these young foxes know as well as the beggar knows 
 bis dish But at the second time of their crmmg, it i« 
 doubttui to say whether they shall have money or no The 
 world goes hard, and wee all are mortal ; let him make nnj 
 assurance before a judge, and thev shall have some hundred 
 pound per consequence, in silks and velvets. The third 
 time If they come, they shall have baser commodities ; the 
 tourth time, licte strings and gray paper."— MAhOi^E. 
 " Shew your shiQi biting face, and be hang'd an hour.** 
 
 Act V. Sc. I 
 
 The poet evidently refers to the ancient mode of pH- 
 nishing by collistrigium, or the original pillory, made like 
 mat part ot the pnlory at present, which receives the 
 neck, only it was placed horizonlally, so that (be culprit 
 hung suspended .in it by his chin, and tlte back of his head. 
 
 *' Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop. 
 As much in mock as mark." — Act V. Sc. 1. 
 Barbers' shops were at all times the r- sort of idle vet> 
 pie ; formerly with us the better sort of folks went to t3w 
 barber's to be trimmed, who then practised the rinder parti 
 01 surgery, so that he had occasion tor numerous instfu, 
 ments, which lay there ready for use; and the idle per- 
 sons, with whom his shop was crowded, would be perpe- 
 tually handling and misusing them. To remedy wldch, 
 there was placed up against the wall a table offorft liuTca, 
 adapted to every ofience of this sort; which it is fioi 
 lik'-iy would lomg preserve its authority,— WARBUliTON, 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Her hair shall be of what colour it please God." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 3. 
 
 • V?r- P'f ctice of dying the hair was so common a fashion 
 in Elizabeth's reign, as to be thought a fit subject of ani- 
 inadyer.sion from the pulpit. In a homily aerain.st gaudy au- 
 parel, 1547, (he preacher breakes out into Ihe foUowing 
 invective : "Who can pnynt her face, !>nd curie her heere, 
 ana <./tange it into an unnatural colu-tr, hut there n doth 
 work reprofe toaer Maker who made her? as tlioughe she 
 could make herselfe more comelye than d d h^th ap- 
 pointed the measure of her beautie. What do these wo- 
 men, but go about to rcforme that which God hath made ? 
 not knowinge that all things naturall istheworkeof God; 
 devyl REED '^"^ unnatural be the workes of the 
 
 " Press me to death."— Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 The allusion is to an ancient punishment of our law, 
 calledp«??f'yor/<f^';rf?/r«, which was formerly inflicted on 
 those persons, who, being indicted, refused to p,ead. In 
 coiiiequence of their silence, they were pre.s.sed to death by 
 a heavy weight laid on the stomach —MALON E. 
 
 Or in the shape 0/ two countries at onae "—A^ t III. Sc 2. 
 u u ^1 Englishman's suit is like a traitor's bodie thai 
 tiatn been hanged, drawne, and quartered, and is set up in 
 several places; his codpiece is in Denmarke. thfcollorol 
 hisdublet and the belly in France, the wmg and narrow 
 sleeve in Italy, the .shi^rt waste hangs o'er a Dutch bot- 
 cher s staU in Utrich, his huge sioppes speaks Spanish; 
 lolonia gives him the bootes; and thus we m^-rke eurie 
 nation for keeping one fashion, yet steale patches froia 
 eurie one of them, to peece out our pride, and are nSw 
 laughmg-stocks tothein, because (heir cut so sciirvilv bp 
 ^COe*^^ "-SEVEN DEADLIE SlNNbS OF LONDON, 
 
 "Have a care that your bills be not stolen ' 
 Act III. Sc. 3. 
 
 A bill is still carried by the watchmen at Lichfield It wm 
 the 3ld weapon of the English infantry, ^^ hich savs Te nn^ 
 aave the most gastly and deplorable JOiiNSOll' 
 '' Side-sleeves:'— Act \\l. Sc. 4. 
 
 " This time was used exceeding pr'de in garment* 
 gowns with deepeand broad sleeves'comnionlv cfuerpoki 
 sleeves; the servants ware tliem as we.l as ilieir masters 
 which might well nave been called (he receptacle" the 
 devil, tor what they stole they hid in their sleeve, 
 whereof some hung dowue to the feete. and at least to ui 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 BOf 
 
 knees, fuV of cuts and jagges, whereupon were made these 
 verses (by Tho. Iloccleve) : 
 
 " Now hath this landc. little neede of broomes, 
 Tf^weepe away the filthe out of the streete ; 
 Sen side- sleeves of ventiyless grumes 
 Wile it up licke be it drie or vjeete." 
 • He wears a key in. his ear, and a lock hanging by it." 
 
 Act. V. Sc. 1. 
 
 In Shakspeare's age, fashicnable persons of the male 
 itic wore ear-rings ; there was also a silly custom of wear 
 lag a single lock of hair ipreposterously long, which was 
 
 called a love-lock. Fynes TVforyson, in his account of Lor4 
 
 Montjoy's dress, says. " That his haire was thinnt on the 
 heade, where he wore i( short, except a locke wider hit 
 left ear, which he nourished the time of the warre, and 
 being woven up, hid it in his necke under his rufl«.* 
 When he was not on service, he probably wore it in a 
 ditterent fashion. The portrait of Sir Edward Sackville, 
 Earl (if Dorset, painted by Vandyke, exhibits this lock, 
 with a large knotted riband at the end of it ; it hangs 
 under the ear on the left side, and reaches as low »■ 
 where th<' star is now worn by the knights of the garter.w. 
 1V1 ALONE. 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGUrS DREAM. 
 
 * Your eyes are lode-stars."— Act I. Sc. 1. 
 This was a compliment not unfrequent among the old 
 poc'ts. The lodestar is the /eadhia or guiding star, that 
 is, the pole-siar. The magnet is for tlie saitie reason c;ill;rd 
 the lode st.uie. eitlier because it leads iron, or because 
 it guides thf sailor.— JoArtsoM. 
 
 « Gawds."— ..\ct. I. Sc. I. 
 In th^ nonh, a gravd is a child's p'aytning, and a baby- 
 bouse is called a gawdy house. 
 
 " Or to her death ; according to our lavj." — 
 
 Act I. Sc. 1. 
 
 By a law of Solon's, parents had an absolute power of 
 iife and death over their children. 
 
 "Robin Gooc^ellow."— \ct II. Sc. 1. 
 
 * Your grandame's maids were wont to set a bowl 
 of milk for him, for his pains in grinding malt and mus- 
 tard, and sweeping the house at midright ; this white 
 bread and bread and milk was his standing fee.* — DIS- 
 COVERIE OF WITCHCRAFT, 1584. 
 
 « Puck."— Act II. Sc. 1. 
 
 In the Fairy Mythology, Puck, or Hobgoblin, was the 
 trusty son/ant of Oberon, and always employed to watch 
 or detect he intrigues of queen Mab. Mab has an amour 
 with Pigwiggen : Oberon being jealous, sends Puck to 
 catch them, and one of Mab's nymphs opposes him by 
 a spell. In DrHyton's Nymphidia, we find a close re- 
 nemblance to much of the fairx machinery employefl by 
 Shakspeare in (his play.— JOHNSON. 
 
 " In maiden meditation fancy free." — Act. II. Sc 2. 
 
 Thus in Queen Elizabeth's Entertainment in Sutfolke 
 and Norfolke, written by Churchyard Chastity deprives 
 Cupid of his bow, and pre.sents it to her majesty :— « and 
 bycause that the queene had chosen the best life, she 
 ?ave the queene t!upid's bow, to learne to shoote at 
 Whome lihe pleasad ; since naij«^ could wound her high 
 aessf hart, it vjha mcete (said Chaslitie) that she should 
 ak "i^ith Cupid's bowe and aiTowes what she pleased." 
 
 ^ STEEVENS. 
 * Goa shield us ! a lion amorirj ladies is a most dreadful 
 thing.''— Act. ill. Sc. I. 
 
 There is an odd coincidence between what our author 
 &tt« here written for Bottom, and a real occurrence at the 
 
 (this stinckyng idol rather), which is couered all oner 
 with fiuwers and hearbes, bounde rounde ahoute with 
 s'rynges, from the too to the botlome. and some tym$ 
 painted u ith variable co/oKrs."— STEEVENS. 
 " Tv:o of the first, like coats in heraldry. 
 Due but to one and crowned with one crest.^ 
 ^ ^ Act in. Scl 
 
 In heraldry, every branch oi a family is called a bouse 
 and none hut the first of the first house can bear the arai 
 ot the family without some distinction. Tivo of the Irst 
 therefore, means two coats of the first house, whic^ nni 
 properly due but to one."— MASON. *™ 
 " The rite of Mzy. '—kci IV. Sc. 1. 
 The rite of this month was oiace so univeri-ally observed, 
 that even authors thought their works would obtain a monn 
 favourable reception, if published on May day. The fol- 
 lowing is the title page to a metrical performance by ■ 
 once celebrated poet, Thomas Churchyard :— 
 * Come bring in Maye with me, 
 My Maye is frei h and greene ; 
 A subiect's haste, an humble mind. 
 To sente a may den queene." 
 " A Discourse of Rebellion, »b'awne forthe for to wame 
 the wanton wittes how to kfcepe their heads on their 
 shoulders. Imprinted at London, in Fletestreet, bv Wil- 
 liam Griffith, Auno Domini 1570. The first of Maye »• 
 
 ''TheTong..."-Actiy. Sc. l.^^^^^^^^' 
 The old rustic music of the tongs and key. The folic 
 has^ this |^''^|,y^^^^'°" Musicke totigs, Rurall MU" 
 
 " Dian's bud, o'er Cupid's flower."— Act IV. Sc. L 
 Dian's bud is the bud of the aqnus cas*us, or cJiati* 
 tree. Thus in Marer's Herball, « The vert ue ofthisberbft 
 is, that he wyll keepe man and women chaste." Cupnts 
 flower is the viola tricolor, or love in idleness 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 * Good .itrings to your beards."— Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 As no false beard could be worn without a ligature t«» 
 fasten it in. Bottom's caution must mean more than the 
 mere security of his comrade's beards. The good springs 
 he recommends, were probably ornamentail, and emph, yed 
 
 asis tidce written lor bottom, ana a reai occurrence at tne to give an air of novelty to (he countenances of the aer 
 S*^ofti.sh court, in I59t.-Prm(-e Henry, the eldest son of 1 formers. Thus, in Measure for Measure, (where the wa^ji- 
 
 Jamcsl., was christened in August in that year. While 
 the king and qaeen were ut dinner, a triumphant chariot, 
 with several Hlieg^oricai personnges on it, was drawne iu 
 by " a black-moore. This chariot should have been drawne 
 in by a /yon, hut b-^-cause his presence might have brought 
 some feare tn the nearest, or that the sight of the lighted 
 torches might liave comr^oved his taineness, it was thought 
 meetr that t e mom-e should supply that room."— A true 
 Account n( i.l-e most triumphal and royal Accomplishment 
 of (he Baptism of the most excellent righ high, and 
 raighiv Pniic(\ Slenrv Frederick, 8tc. asit was solemnized. 
 the.3«(h ot A iigust, 1594. 8vo. 1603.— MALONE. 
 
 * Of hin(Pri}ig knot-grass made."— Act III. Sc. S 
 
 It appears that knot grass was anciently supposed to 
 preveiii the growth of any animal or cj ild. Beaumont 
 and Fletcher mention this property of it tn the Knight of 
 the Burning Pestle ;—" Should they put him. in a straight 
 pair of gaskins, 'twere worse than knot grass; he would 
 never grow after it."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " Thou painted 7n ay pole."— Act HI. Sc. 2. 
 
 So in St tbbe's Anvtomie cf Abuses, 1583 .— « But their 
 Chiefest iewell thei brvng from thence is \\\e\r Mai -pole, 
 whiche the^i bryng home with great veneration, as thus : 
 Thei havf- twentie or fourtie yoke of oxen, everif, oxe 
 tiauym? a sweele nosegaie of flowers placed on the tippes 
 of his hemes ; and these oxen drawe home this Afrtj<' pc/e 
 
 ral beard is spoken of,) the Duke, intent on disfiguring the 
 head of Ragozine, says, " O, death's a great disauiser,- 
 and you may add to it Shave the head, and tie the heard. '• 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 « To the best bride-bed will we, 
 
 Which by us shall blessed be."~Act V. Sc. 2. 
 
 We learn from artii;1es ordained by Henry Vfll. forth© 
 regulation of his household, (hfit the ceremony of blessing 
 the bridal lied was thus observed at the m'ar» iage of a 
 princess: "AH men at her coming in to bee voided, except 
 woemen, till shee bee bromiht to her hedd; and the man 
 both, he sitting in his bedd in his shirte, v/ith a gowne 
 cast about him. Then the bishoppe, with the chaplaines, 
 to come iu and bless the bedd ; then everie man to avoide 
 without any drinke, save the twoe estates if they liste, 
 privilie." A similar ceremony was performed at all mar- 
 riages in that age —STEEVENS. 
 
 « Hare-lip."— Act V. Sc. 2. 
 
 This defect in children seems to have been so mncb 
 dreaded, that numerous were the charms applied for its 
 prevention. The following might be as efficacious as apy 
 of the rest: « If a woman with chvlde have her smoct.e 
 slvt at the neather ende or skyrt thereof, &c. the sarr e 
 chylde that .she then goeth withall, shall be safe from 
 having a cloven or hare lippe " Thomas Lupton's Fourth 
 Book of Notable Things.— STEEVENS. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 The dancing horse." — Act 1. Sc. 2. 
 
 A kori^p taught by one Bankes, to play many singular 
 tricks. Sir Walter llaleigh, in his History of (he World, 
 W}8 " If Bankes had lived in older limes, he would Lave 
 sb**mtd all tlie enchanters in the world; for whosoever 
 w~s most fatuous amongst them could never master or in- 
 struct any beast as he did his horse." And Sir Kenelm 
 Digby observes. " Thai bis horse would restore a glove to 
 the due owner, after the tn s er had whispered the man's 
 -name in hi< ear ; wculd i -ll the just number i f pence m 
 any piece of silver com newly showed him by his master ; 
 and even obey presently his command, in discharging him- 
 self of hi.s excr(ments, wiiensoever he had bade him." 
 Among other exploits of this celebrated bi ast, it is ^aid, 
 liiaf he went up to the top of St. Paul's. His end and his 
 
 master's was tragical ; Travelling in France, Bankes ex- 
 cited the anger of the priests, and only escaped its efftctd, 
 in the manner following: — " Bankes came into su^pitioa 
 of niagicke, because of the strange feates which his horse 
 Morocco plaied at Orleance; where he, to redeem hit 
 credit, promised to manifest to the world tliat his herse 
 was nothing Icsse tlian a devill. To (his er.d, he com- 
 manded his horse (o seeke out one in the preasse of the 
 people who had a cruciiix in his hat ; which done, he bade 
 him kneele down unto it ; and not this o»ily, but also to 
 rise up againe, and kisse it. And now, gentlemen (quotte 
 he), I thinke my horse hath acquKted both me uud himst Ife: 
 and so his adversaries rested satisfied; coiicei\iiig (as it 
 might seeme.) that the divell had no power (o come neare 
 the crosse.'' In Italy, hou ever, they were lesi> fortunate, 
 since at Rome, to the disgrace of the aj^e, of the country 
 
810 
 
 EXPL kNA TORY NOTES. 
 
 and of Humanity, they were burnt by order of ti e Pope, 
 for magiciaas. 
 
 « The hobby horse is forgot.'^— Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 KTthe celebration of May-day, besides the sports now 
 used of hanging a pole with garhuids, and dancing round 
 it, lonnr.rly a boy was ".ressfd up, representing Maid 
 Marian ; another like a friar ; and another rode on a 
 hubhy korsf;, with bells jingling and painted streamers. 
 Ai'trr the Reformation took place, and precisians multi- 
 plied, these latter rites were looked upon to savour of 
 paganism, and Maie Marian, the friar, and the poor hob by- 
 kijrst, were turned out of the games.— THEOBALD. 
 ' A won'-an that is like a Oerman clock." — Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 In a book called tfe« Artificial Clockmaker, 1714. we find 
 th& following remarks: « Clock making was supposed to 
 have had its begirinius in Germany within less tlian these 
 two hundred years. It is very probable that our balance 
 flocks or watches, and some other automata, might have 
 tAd their beginning there." Little worth remark is to be 
 fo md till towards the ICth century, and then clock-work 
 was revived or wholly invented anew in Germany, as is 
 generally thought, because the ancient pieces are of Ger- 
 man work. The mechanism of these clocks was extremely 
 complicated, and cotisi-queutly they frequently wanted re- 
 pairing.-STEEVENS. 
 
 " where is the hush 
 
 That "^e must stand and play the murderer i)t 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 How familiar the amusement of deer-shootiny once was 
 to ladies f>f quality, may be known from a letter addressed 
 fay Lord Wharton to the earl of Shrewsbury, dated from 
 Alnewick, Aug. 14, 1555. « I besiihe yor lordesliipp to 
 tayke some sporte of my litell gmuude there, and to com- 
 mand the same even as yor lord^hippes owne. My lady 
 may shote with her cross bow,'' &c.— STEEVENS. 
 " Here, good my glass.'" — Act. IV. Sc. I. 
 
 To understand how the princess hiis her glass so ready at 
 hand in a common conversation, it must be remembered, 
 that in those days it was the fashion among the French 
 ladies to wenr n lookh/ff g(-jss, as Bayle coarsely represents 
 It. Oft thrir bellies , that is, to have a small mirror set in 
 gold hanging at their girdle, by which they occasionally 
 viewed tlieir faces, or adjusted their hair. — JOHNSON. 
 
 * But, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head, 
 
 'twas a prickf t "—Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 la the Return f. om Parnassus, IfiiM), we find the. follow- 
 ing account of the different appeilations of deer, at their 
 different ages :— " I caused the keeper to sever the raxcal 
 deer from the bud s of the first head. Now, sir, a Imck 
 is, the first year, a fawn; the second year, a pricket; 
 the third year, asorrell; the fourth year, a soar ; the 
 fifth year, a buck of the fir.'.t hi-ad ; the sixth year, a 
 compleaie buck. Lik(nvise your hart is, the first year, a 
 ciilf ; the second year, a brochet ; the third year, a 
 tpade : the fourth year, a stag ; the sixth year, a hart. 
 A roebuck i.<;, the fir.st year, a kid ; the second year, a 
 gird; the t/iird year, a heiause ; anid these are your 
 «p»cial beasts for the chase."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " He comes in like a perjure " — Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 Perjury was punished by affixing a paper to the breast, 
 expressing the crime. Holaished says of Wolsey, « he so 
 punished a perjurie with open punishment, and open 
 ^aper wearing, that in his time it was less used." Again, 
 lu Leicester's Commouvvealth : " Tlie gentlemen were all 
 taken and cast into prison, and afterwards were sent down 
 to Ludlow, there to wear papers of perjury.'' 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 * Ete lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice." 
 
 Act I. Sc. 3. 
 
 « It is almost incredyble what gaine the Venetians re- 
 ceive by the usury of the Jewes, both privately and in 
 eommou. For in everie citie the Jewes kepe open shops 
 of usurie, taking gaiges of ordinarie for xv in the hun- 
 tlred by the yere ; and if at the yere's end the gaige be 
 not redeemed, it is forfeite, or at the least dooen away 
 to a great disadvantage, by reason whereof the Jewes are 
 oat of measure wealihie in those parts." 
 
 THtJMAS S HISTORY OP ITALY, 1561. 
 
 * But let us make incision for your love, 
 
 To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 1. 
 
 Rfd blood has been considered a proof of courage. 
 ^ Baritiolomew Glanville says, " clothes ben layd upon 
 deed men, in remembrance of their hardyness and bold- 
 ness, whyle they were in theyr bloudde." On which, his 
 •commentator, Btitinan, remarks : — " It appeareth in the 
 iime of the Saxons, that the manner over their dead was 
 s red cloath, as we now use blacke. The red o{ valiauncie, 
 »nd that was ov<='r kings, lords, knights and valyant soul- 
 f jiours "—DOUCE. 
 
 JTiTj more ; while grace is saying, nood mine eyes, 
 Tiv-s with my hat, and sig^. and say. Amen." 
 
 Act 11. Sc. 2. 
 
 It should be remembered, that in .Shakspeare's time, they 
 wore Ihi^ir hats on during the time of dinner.— MALOiNE. 
 
 My nose fell a bleeding on Black- Monday last." 
 
 Act n. Sc. 5. 
 
 * Black Monday is Easter Monday, and v as so calK d 
 •a this occasion. In the 34th of Edward Ul !i360; the 
 
 " Like Muscovites, or Russians, as J guns.*' 
 
 Act V.Se.t 
 
 A Mask of Muscovites was no uncommon recreation r% 
 ccurt, long before Shakspeare's time, in the first year 
 of kiiig Henry VlII. at a banquet made for ihe foieign 
 ambassadors in (be parliament chamber at Wesimtnstej 
 " came the lorde ilenry, earlt of Wilt>hire, aiid the loide 
 Fitzwater.in twoo long gounes ef yelh wssfio traversed 
 \yhh white satin, and in e\ery ben of white was abend 
 of crimson satin, afier the fasi ion oi Huss.a or RusliUide, 
 with (urred hattes of giey on (heir h< drs, eill.er of thtm 
 bavvng an hatchet in their hamies, f^nd bootes with pyko 
 turned up.» Hall's Henry VltL— ill! SON 
 
 " Seller wits have u>urn plain statute ccps." 
 
 Act V. Sc. 1. 
 
 Woollen caps were enjoined by act of parliament, ia 
 
 ! the year 1.571, the 15th of queen Elizabeth. ''Besides the 
 bills passed into acts this parliament, there was one which 
 I judge not amiss to be taken notice of ; it concerned 
 the queen's care for employment for her poor fiortB of 
 subjects. It was for continuance of making and rearing 
 woollen caps, in behalfe of the trade of cappers; provid- 
 insr that all abn%'e the age of six yeares, (except the 
 nobility and some others,) should, on sahbath days ar.'J 
 holy days, wear caps of wool, knit, thicked, and drest 
 in England, upon penaltv of ten groats."— STRYPE'S 
 ANNALS OF ELIZABETH. 
 
 " Lord have mercy 071 us." — ActV. Sc. 2. 
 This was the inscription put on the doors of houses 
 infected with the plague. So in Sir Thomas Overbury's 
 Chara' ters, 1632 -.—Lord hare mercy on us m^»y well stand 
 over their d"ors, for debt is a most dangerous city pes/i- 
 /enc^-.-JOHNSON. 
 
 I " And if these four worthies i7i their firs:t show thrive. 
 These four will change habits, and present the other five.'* 
 
 i Act V. Sc. 2. 
 
 Shakspcare here alludes to the shifts to which (be actors 
 were reduced in the old theatres, one person often per- 
 forming two or three pai ts. — MA LONE. 
 
 i « Some Dick.— Act V. Sc. 2. 
 
 ! Out roaring Dirk was a celebrated sinprer, who with 
 William Wimbars, is said by Henry Chf-ttle, in his Kind 
 Harts Dreame, to have got twenty sliilliags a day by 
 singing at Braintree fair, in Essex.— MALONS. 
 
 j " Pageant of the nine ivorthies."— .kci V. Sc. 2. 
 
 ■ Among the Harleian MSS. we find the f'llowmg: "The 
 order of a Shone intended to be mide Aug. I, 162L 
 First, Iwo woodmen, &c. St. George I'ghting with the 
 Dragon. The nine Woi thies in ci niplete armor with 
 cronnes of eould on their heads, every (uie having his 
 esquires to beare before him his sliield and penon of 
 armes, dressed according as these lords were accustomed 
 to be. 3Assaralits. 3 Infidels 3 Christians. After them, 
 a Fame, to declare the rare virtues and noble deedes ol 
 the 9 worthye women —STEEVENS. 
 
 " It was eiijoined in Rome for want of linen.'* 
 
 Act V. Sc. 2. 
 
 A Spaniard fell in a duel. .As he lay expiring, a friend 
 ; approached, and offered his services. The dying man mad» 
 but one request, which was, not to sidfer his body to be 
 striid, but to bury him in the habit he hud on. Jlie friend 
 promised cnmpliauce, the Spaniard expired in peace ; bat 
 curiosity prevailed over good faith : the body wks stript, 
 and found to be without a shirt.— WARBURTOti. 
 
 OF VENICE. 
 
 I 14th of AprM. and the morrow after ! aster day, king Ed- 
 I ward, with his host, iay before tlie city of Paris; which 
 ] day was full dark of niist and hail, and so bitter cold, 
 that many men died on their horses' backs with the cold 
 Wherefore, onto this day, it hath been called the Blacke 
 Monday."— STO WE. 
 
 " It was my turquoise." — Act III. Sc. 1. 
 A turquoise is a precious stone found iu the veins of the 
 mountains on the confines of Persia "to the east, subject 
 to the Tartars. It was said of this stone, that it faded 
 or brightened in its colour, as the health of the wearer 
 increased or grew less. So Edward Fenton, in his Secret 
 Wonders of Nature, 1569, says, " The Turkeys doth move 
 when there is any perill prepared to him that weai eth it." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 * Snaky golden locks ."—Act III. Sc. 2. 
 Periwigs were universally worn in Sliakspeare's age. 
 This will be best shewn by an extract frcm an old pam- 
 phlet, entitled The Honestie ot this Age, by Barnabe 
 
 ■ Riche ; 1615.— " My lady holdeth on her way, perhaps to 
 the tire maker's shop, where she shaketh hsr crownes to 
 
 I bestow upon some new fashioned attire, upon such arti- 
 ficial deformed periwigs, that they were fitter to furnish 
 a theatre, or for her that in a stage play should repre- 
 sent some hag of hell, than to be use ! by a phristian 
 woman. These attire makers, within the e forti'e yeares, 
 
 ; were not knowne by that name ; and hut now very lately 
 they kept their lowsie commodity of periwips, and their 
 
 ' monstrous attires, closed in boxes,- and those wcmies 
 that used to weare them would not bu; them but ii, secret. 
 
 ' But now they are not ashamed to set (hem t'ortli upof 
 their stalls, such monstrous mop povi les of ,i0 pro- 
 portioned and deformed, that but within tli»«e twcnt] 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTt:S. 
 
 «r tliirtj yeares would liave drawne the passers by to 
 «tand and gaze, and to wonder at them — MALONE. 
 « Like cift/t-r's pbelr^."— Act V Sc. 1. 
 Knives were t'otmerly inscribed, by means cf acqua 
 partis, with short sentences in rhyme. In Decider's Sau- 
 
 romastlx.we have the following alluflon to tit J custom] 
 — '< Ydu shall swear by Phoebus, who is your poet's goo4 
 lord ami n.aster, that hereafter you will not hire Horace 
 to give you poesies for rings, or handkercliiefs, of knives, 
 which >ou understand not."— KEED 
 
 AS YOU LIRE IT. 
 
 « In the forest Arden^—kci I. Sc. 1. 
 
 Ardetine is a forest of considerable extent in French 
 Flanders, Iving near the Meuse, and between Charlemont 
 and Kocroy,— MALONE. 
 
 « In biit a qir.iitain, a mere lifeless hiock." — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 The ouintain was a stake driven into a field, upon which 
 were h'ung a shield and otlier trophies of war, at which 
 they shot, darted, or rode, with a lance. When the tro- 
 phies aiKl shield were all thrown down, the quintain re- 
 mained -GUTHRIE. 
 
 * Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous. 
 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head."— Act 11. Sc. 1. 
 
 " There is found in the keades of old and great toades, 
 a stotie, which they call borax or steloa : it is most com- 
 toonly fonad in the head of a hee toade, of power to re- 
 pulse poysons, and that it is a most soveraigne medicine 
 for the stone."— WONDERS OF NATURE, 1569. 
 
 *You shall know whether the tode stone be the right 
 Bnd perfect stone or not. Hold the stone before a toad, 
 Bo thai he msy see it ; and if it be a ryght and true stone, 
 the tode will leape towarde it, and make as though he 
 would snatch it. He cnvieth so much that man should 
 »aave that stone."— LUPTON'S NOTABLE THINGS. 
 " To the which place a poor sequestered stag 
 
 Did come to languish— 
 
 ■ and (he big rovnd tears. 
 Coursed one another down his innocent nose 
 In piteous chase." — Act II. Sc. 1. 
 The stag is said to possess a very large secretion of tears. 
 
 * When the hart is arered, he fleethe to a river or ponde, 
 enrl roret'j, cryeth, and weepf/h when he is taken." — 
 "WhKH the hart is sick, and hath eaten many serpents for 
 his recoverie, he is brought into so great a heat that he 
 hasleth tt the water, and there covereth his body unto 
 the very eares and eyes, at which time distilleth many 
 teares, from which the bezoar atone is engendered." — 
 
 BATEMAN, and DOUCE. 
 
 * Iwas never so be rhymed since Pythagoras^ time, that 
 
 I was an Irish rat." — Act III. Sc. 2. 
 Rosalin<I is a very learned lady. She alhides to the 
 S^f.hagorean doctrine, which teaches that souls transmi- 
 arale from one animal to another, and relates that in his 
 si© e she was an Irish rat, and, by some metrical charm, 
 Xrsxi rhymed to death. The powf r of killing rats with 
 fliymtvs, Donne mentions in his Satires, and Temple in 
 ^is Ti eatises. Dr, Grey produces a like passage from llan- 
 tiolph :— 
 
 " my poets 
 
 Shall Kith a satire, steeped in gall and vinegar. 
 Rhyme them to death as they do rats in Ireland." 
 
 JOHNSON. 
 " Garagantua's mouth."— AcA HI. Sc. 2. 
 fiaraganiua is the giant of i?rtie/«i.9.~J0[fNS0N. 
 
 " But I answer you right painted cloth " — Act 1 11. Sc. 3. 
 
 This alludes to the fashion in old tapestry hangin£:9, oS 
 mottos and moral sentencei? from the moxiths cf the figurea 
 worked or painted in fbem — THEOBALD. 
 
 Then your hose should be ungartur^d."— Act III. Sc. 8. 
 
 Inattention to personal appearances was one of the 
 established symptoms of being in love. So in the Fair 
 Maid of the Exchange by Heywood. 1637 :~« Shall 1. that 
 have jested at love's sighs, now raise whirlwinds ? Shall I, 
 that have flouted ah me's once a quarter, now practice ah 
 me's every minute ? Shall I dejy hatbands, and tread 
 garters and shoe strings under my feet ? Shall 1 fall to 
 "falling bands, and be a ruffian no lonser? I must: I am 
 now Cur)id's liegeman, and have read all these informations 
 in the book of his statutes."— MALONE. 
 
 " Somethhig browner than Jiidas's." — ^Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 Judas was constantly represented in old paintings or 
 tapestry, with red hair and beard. So in the Insatiate 
 Covmtess, 161."? :~" I ever thought by hia red beard he 
 would prove a /wr/as."- STEEVENS, 
 " The comman executioner 
 
 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck." 
 
 Act UI. Sc. 5. 
 
 There is reason to believe, that during Elizabeth's reign 
 the punishment of decapitation was occasionally inflicted 
 by an instrument resembling the French guillotine. The 
 Earl of Morton, when condemned as an accomplice in the 
 murder of Darnley, seems to have suffered in this way. 
 The criminal's head and neck being laid cn a block, the 
 axe, which was .suspt^nded over him, was released from the 
 cord which confined it, by the executioner, and fell with 
 sufficient force to separate the head from the bodv. 
 " I will weep for nothing, like Diana In the fountain.''^ 
 
 Ati IV. Sc.l. 
 
 An allusion to the Cross in Cheapside ; the religions 
 iirages, with which it was ornamented, being defaced, (as 
 we learn from Stow) in 1596:— "There was then set up a 
 curious wrought tabernacle of gray marble, and in the 
 same an alabaster image of Diana, and water conveyed 
 from the Tliames, pj-iliing from her naked breast." 
 
 STEEVENS, 
 " Good wine needs no hush." — Act V. Sc. 4. 
 It appears formerly to have been the custom to hangs 
 tuft (if ivy at the door of a vintner: ivy was rather useg 
 than any oti er plant, because it had relation to Bacchus. 
 The subjoined passages prove the custom. 
 
 " 'Tis like the ivy bush unto a tavern." 
 
 Rival Friendt 163S» 
 " Green ivy-bushes at the vintners' doores." 
 
 Summer's Last Will and Testament. IfiOft, 
 1 STEEVENS. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, 
 
 «* Tih*s rush for Tom's forefinger."— Act II. Sc. 2. 
 2n France there was formerly a custom of placing a rush 
 ring on the lady's linger, when a m:irriai;e whs finally 
 agreed upon. But in England, ru.sh ring's were employed 
 to abuse the simplicity of young girls, by deluding them 
 Into a state of concubinag^e with a pretended marriage. 
 Richard Poore, Bishop of Snlistiury, in his Constitutions, 
 1217, forbids the putting of rush rings, or any of the like 
 matters, on women's fingers, in order to the debauching 
 them more readiiy, and he insinuates, as a reason for the 
 prohibition, that there were some people weak enough 
 to believe, that what was thus done in jest, was a real mar- 
 riage. 
 
 " Like him that leaped into the custard. — Act II. Sc. 5, 
 It was a foolery practised at city entertainments, whilst 
 the .jester or zany was in vogue, for him to jump into a 
 large deep custard, prepared for the purpose. 
 
 THEOBALD. 
 
 " Pa/wers."— ActllL Sc.5. 
 Pilgrims that visited holy places, so called from a staff, 
 or bough of palm, they were wont to carry, especially such 
 BS kad visited Jerusalem. " A pilgrim and a palmer dif- 
 ^red thus : a pilgrim had some dwelling, the palmer, none; 
 the pi/grim travelled to some certain place, the palmer 
 to all, not one in particular; the pi/grim might bear his 
 Bwa charges, the palmer must profess wilful poverty; the 
 idlgHm might reii]:qui.sh his vocation, the palmer must 
 ©e Qftuatant till he won the palm, that is, victory over his 
 ftacstly enemies, and life 
 
 BLOUNT'S GEOGRAPHY. 
 
 " John Drum's entertainment."— kci III. Sc. 6. 
 Hohnshed, in his History of Ireland, speaking of Patrick 
 Sarsetield, a mayor of Dublin, and of his extravagant hos- 
 pitalit.y , says, that *■ no guest had ever a cold or forbidding 
 soke from any part ot his family : so that his porter, or 
 a7ip other officer, durst not. for both his eares, give the 
 simplest ?riair. that resorted to his house, Tom Drum his 
 entertayiicmrnt, which is to hale a man in by the heade, 
 end thrust .kirn out by both the shoulders."— THEOBAJaD. 
 
 " The sheriff's fool."— Act IV Sc. 3. 
 We are not to suppose that this was a foul, kept Yy the 
 sheriff for his diversion. The custody of all idiot:s pos- 
 sessed of land, belonged to (he king, who was entitled t* 
 their income, but was obliged to provide them necessaries. 
 When the property was large, this, prerogative was ge- 
 nerally given to some favourite, or other person, who made 
 suit for and had interest enough to obtain it, which was 
 called begging a fool. But where the land w as of smali 
 value, the natural was supported out of the profits, by the 
 sheriff, who accounted for tncm to the crown — As for those 
 unhappy creatures, who had neither possessions nor rela- 
 tions, they seem to have been considered as a species of 
 
 firoperty, being sold or given, with as little ceremony, 
 reated as capriciously, and very often, it is tobefeareai 
 left to perisli as misersibly, as dogs or cats. — RITSON. 
 *• Villainous saffron." — Act IV. Sc. 5. 
 This alludes to a fantastic fashion, of using yellow star^'k 
 for bands and ruffs. Yellow stan b was invented by one 
 Turner, a tire-woman, a court bawd, and in all respects of 
 so infamous a character, that her invention deserve h© 
 name of " villainous saffron." This woman was after- 
 wards among the miscreants concerned in the murder of 
 Sir Thomas Overburv, for which she was hanged at Tyburn-, 
 and would die in a yellow ruff of her own invei\lion ; wbicil 
 made yellow starch so odious, that it imiDediately went CiSt 
 ef fashion." Stai ch was used of various colous, and is 
 dt'claimed against most bitterly by StubbcJs in his Auaiomte 
 of .'\bii.ses. 
 
 •Plutut himself 
 That knowt tlie tinct and multiplying u.edicine." 
 
 Act V. Sc. S. 
 
 In the reign of Henry IV. a law wa.<! made (o forbid 
 thenceforth to multiply gold, or use any craft of multipli- 
 cation, of which law, Boyle, when he was waivn with the 
 hope of transmutation, procured a repeal. —JOHNSON. 
 « i?X(;rci.s7."— Act V. Sc 3. 
 
 By an exorcist we now mean one who can lav spirit*. 
 
819 
 
 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 but IB Shafcspeare's aw, exorcist implied a person who 
 could v/ise spirits. The difference between a conjuror, a 
 witch, and an inchanter, is as follows " The conjuror 
 seemetii by praiers and invocations of God's powerful 
 names, to compell the devill to say or doe what he com- 
 mandeth him. The witch dealeth rather by a friendlie and 
 Toluntary conference or agreement between him or iier 
 
 and the devill or familiar, to hare his or her fume serre* 
 m heu or stead of blood or other gift unto him ; especially 
 of his or her soule. 4nd both these differ from inchantert 
 or sorci-rers, because the former two have personal con- 
 ference with the devill, and the other meddles but with 
 medicines and ceremonial formes of words called charmes, 
 without apparition."— MINSHEU'S DICT. 1617. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 ** Taie them to the bult^ —Induction 
 *• llie top of the profession were then mere players, not 
 geetlemen o( the stage,- they were led into the buttery It's 
 ihe steward ; not placed at the lord's table, or the lady's 
 Cellette ROWE. 
 
 *' Marian llacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot." 
 
 Induction. 
 
 Wilnecotte is a village in Warwickshire, near Stratford, 
 with which Shakspeare was well acquainted. The house 
 kept by our menial hostess still remains, but is at present a 
 aiiTl.-WARTON. 
 
 ** Be she as foul as was Florentius' /ove."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 " A Florentine youn^ gentleman was so deceived by the 
 lustre and orieritness ot her jewels, pearles, rings, lawns, 
 scarfes, lace?, gold, spangles, and other devices, (hat he 
 was ravished overnight, and was mad till the marriage was 
 solemnized. But next morning by lisrht viewing her before 
 she was gorgeously trimmed up, she was such a leane, 
 vellow, riveled, deformed creature, that he never lay with 
 her, nor lived with her afterwards; and would not sajr that 
 he had married himself to a stinking house of office, painted 
 over, and set out with fine garments; and so for grief con- 
 sumed away iti melancholy, and at last poysoned himself." 
 Gomesius lib. III. de SaC. Gen. cap. 22.— FARMER. 
 " And for your love to her, lead apes in hell." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 1 . 
 
 To lead Apes, was anciently, as at present, one of the 
 beanvard's employments, who often carries one of those 
 animals about with his bear; but it does not appear how 
 this phrase came to be applied to old maids. There is a 
 similar passage in Much Ado about Nothing. " Therefore, 
 (says Beatrice) I will even take sixpence in earnest of the 
 hearward, and lead his apes in hell."— M ALONE. 
 
 " This small packet of Greek and Latin books." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 1. 
 
 A strange present from a lover I It might be thought so 
 BOW, but in Elizabeth's time the young ladies of quality 
 were usually instructed in the learned languages, if any 
 attention was paid to their minds at all. Lady Jane Grey 
 and eier sisters. Queen Elizabeth, &c. are trite instances. 
 
 PERCY. 
 
 " Counterpoints."— kci II, Sc. 1. 
 
 t^oVKterpoints, or, as we now say, CounterpaneSy were 
 iaancient times extremely costly. In Wat Tyler's rebel 
 lioa, Stowe informs us, when the iii.surgeiits broke into 
 the waTdrobe in the Savoy, they destroyed a coverlet worth 
 ti tiioasftnd marks —M ALONE. 
 
 " Pewter "—Xct II. Sc. 1. 
 
 We may suppose (hat pewter was, even in the reign of 
 Elizabeth, too costly to he used in common. It appears 
 from the regulations and establishment of the hou.sehold 
 of Henry Algernon Percy, the fifth Earl of Northumber- 
 land ; that vessels of pewter were hired by the year. This 
 kousehold book was begun in the year 1512.— STE EVENS. 
 " Quaffed off thf mirscadfl "— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 The fashion of introducing a bowl of wine at church at 
 a wedding, to be drurik by the bride ami bridegroom and 
 persons present, was very anciently a cotisfant ceremony ; 
 tsorwas it abolished in the poet's time. We find it practised 
 
 at the magnificent marriage of Queen Mary and Phllifc 
 in Winchester Cathedral, 1554. •'^The trumpets soand«(L 
 and they both returned to their traverses in tl« quii e, ana 
 there remayned untill nias.se -vas done, at which ty^ns, 
 wi/ne and sopes were hallowed and delyvered to tnew 
 both."— T. WARTON. 
 
 " An old hat, and the humour of forty fancies pricks int 
 for a feather."— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 Fancy appears to have been some ornament worn for- 
 merly in the hat. So, Peacham, in his Worth of a Penny, 
 describing "an indigent and discontented soldat," says, " he 
 walks with his arms folded, his belt without a sword or 
 rapier, that perhaps being somewhere in trouLle; a iaf 
 without a band, hanging over his eyes, only :";t- bears a 
 weatherbeaten/a;if,y for fashion sake."— MALONE. 
 " Their blue coats bnesh'd."— Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 Blue was commonly worn by servants at the time. So,' 
 in Decker's Bellman : " The other act lhei« oarts in blew 
 coatfs, as they were their servinq men, though indeed they 
 be all fellows ;" and in The Curtain Drawer of the World : 
 " Not a serving man dare'appeare in a blew coat, not 
 because it is the livery of charity, but lest he should be 
 thought a retainer to their enemy."— REED. 
 
 " The carpers laid."~Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 In our author's time, it was customary to cover tablet 
 with carpets. Floors were commonly strewed with raf'Mt. 
 
 MALONli. 
 
 *' At/, but the mustard is too hot, a little." 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 This is agreeable to the doctrine of the times. In The 
 Glass of Humours, it is said : " But note here, thai the 
 tirst diet is not only in avoiding superfluity of meat, and 
 surfeits of drinks, but also in eschewing such as are nost 
 obnoxious, and least agreeable with our hai)py temperate 
 state ; as for a cholerick man to abstain from alt salt, 
 scorched, dry meats, from mustard, and such like tfaingj 
 as will a^rgravate his malignant humours."— REE!>. 
 " Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments.*" 
 
 Act If. S. A 
 
 Formerly women's gowns were made by men. So in Vs* 
 Epistle (0 the Ladies, prefixed to Eupbues and his England,, 
 by .John Lyly, 1.580 ; " If a tailor make your gown too 
 little, you cover his feult with abroad stomacher; if t«v> 
 great, with a number of pleights ; if too short, with a fair 
 guard ; If too long, with a false gathering."— MALONE. 
 " Custard-coffin."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 A coffin was the ancient cnlinarv term for the raised cniflt 
 of a pie or c?«^arrf.— STEEVENS. 
 
 " Censer."— Act IV. S c. 3. 
 
 We learn from an old print, that hese censers resevt^ble^ 
 in shape our modern brasieres. They had pierced convex 
 covers, and stood on feet. They not only ser\ ed to sweeten 
 a barber's shop, but to keep his water warm, and dry his 
 clothes on.— STEEVENS. 
 
 " My banquet."— Act V. Sc. 2 
 
 A banquet, or an afterpast, was a slight refection, like 
 our modern desert, consisting of cakes, sweetmeats, &u4 
 fruif.-STEEVENS. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 " TTappy man be his dole." — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 The alms immemorially given to the poor by the arch- 
 bishops of Canterbury, is still called the rfo/e — NICHOLS. 
 " Lower messes." — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 Formerly, at the tables of the great, a large .salt cellar 
 was placed in the middle, the noble guests sat above it; 
 the retainers and per.sons of low rank, below it. At the 
 upper end of the bonrd. the viands were delicate and costly ; 
 at the lower, plain and yuhstautial. Wine was drank above 
 the salt , beer only, below it An allusion is made to this 
 custom iti The Honest Whore, by Decker, 1604. ' Plague 
 Bim, set him bfueath thf salt, and let him not touch a bit 
 till every one has had his full cut. 
 
 " Still virf/inalling — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 A virginal is a very small kind of spinet. Queen Eliz- 
 Ateth's virginal book is st 11 in t)eing, and many of the 
 fessona ii it have proved so difficult, as to b^ffie our most 
 t2j»srt players on tie hHrpsichord —STEEVENS 
 « Like his medal."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 It should be remembered, that it was customary for gen- 
 tleiiien.. in our aulhor's age. to wear jewels appended to a 
 ribbon round the neck. So in Honour in Perfection, or 
 » Treatise in CommetidHtii n of Henrie, Earl of Oxenforde, 
 Henrie, Earl of .Southampton, &c. by Gervais Nasliham, 
 1624; ''He liath hxng .ahoxt thi' neck of his noble kins- 
 man. Sir Horace Vere, like a rick jewel." Th - knights 
 of the e-arier wore the Geortce, in this manner till the 
 time of Charles I.— MA LONE. 
 
 " Tl/frc may he in the cup, 
 
 A spiiier steep'd. and one nu/7/ drink."— Act 11. Sc. 1. 
 
 .That spiders were thought venomous appears by the 
 
 evidenie of a person who was examined in Sir Thomas 
 Overbury's affair. " TheCountesse wished me to get the 
 strongest poyson I could , accord! glv, I bought ^even great 
 spiders, and cantharides.'*— HENDERSON. 
 
 " A boy, or a child."— Act III Sc 3, 
 
 In some of our inland counties, a female infant, in 
 contradistinction to a male one. is still termed among the 
 peasantry, a cAi/rf —STEEVENS. 
 
 " With trol my -> lames. "—Act TV. Sc. 2. 
 
 In Dr. Jones's old treatise on Buckstone Bafl.es, he says, 
 *' (he ladyes,' gentle w omen, wyves, maydes. if he weather 
 be not agreeable, may have in the ende of a bei che, elevca 
 holes made, intoo the which to troule pummit.' , either wy- 
 olent or softe, after their own discretion: the pastime 
 troule in madame is termed." — F.4RMER. 
 
 " Fadings."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 A rural Irish dance. This dance is .still practised on re- 
 joicing occasions in many parts of Ireland A king and 
 queen are chosen from amongst the young persons who 
 dance best ; the queen carrii s gai land, composed of two 
 hoops placed at right ang es, and fastened to a handle; 
 the hoops are covered with flowers and rihbons. Frequent' 
 ly, in the cou se of the dance, the king and queen lift up 
 their joined hands as high as they can. she still holding the 
 garland in the other. The most remote couple fVom the 
 king and queen first pass under: all the rest of the line, 
 linked together, follow in succession; when the last has 
 passed, the king and queen suddenly face about and front 
 their companions: this is often repeated in tlie course of 
 the dance, and the various undulations are pret(> enough, 
 rese.mbiiiig (he movements of a serpent. The daricers, on 
 the first of May , visit such newly married pairs of a certain 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 rank, as have teen married since last May day in the neigh- 
 bomi'.ood, who commoTily bestow on them a stuffed ball, 
 richly ked with smd and silver lace, and accompanied 
 wiih a present of mcuey to regale themselves after the 
 dance. This dance is practised when the bonfires are 
 I sliU'i up, the (|ueen Iiailing the return of summer, in a 
 popular Irish song, beginning : 
 
 We Uad on Summer — see ! she. folloios in onr train. " 
 
 BOSWELL. 
 
 " Lawn a.i vjfdte as driven smm. etc."— Act. IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 Antolvcus here enumerates, in his assumed character of 
 
 pedl ir, sucii articles as being on sale as were likely to 
 al tract customers. What these were we can onlv guess at. 
 fie has " unliraided wares. " This probably means of the 
 best mnnufactuie undamaged. " Points more (^an all the 
 lawyers in Bohemia, ean learnedly handle. " These were 
 laces with metal tags to them. " Caddices :" Caddis, ac- 
 tording to Maione, is a narrow worsten ferret. " Inkle : " 
 Inkle, as we learn from the .same authority, is a kind of 
 laj-e. •■ roKiiig sticks of steel :"Stowe informs us, that 
 
 about the sixteenthe ."eare of the Queen Elizabeth, be- 
 gan the iriakingo steel poking sticks, and until that time 
 all laundi esses used setting sticks made of wood or bone." 
 These poking slicks were Tiea-ted in the fire, and made use 
 of to adjust the plaits of rufis. " Pomander :" a Pomander 
 was a little ball made of perfumes, and worn in the pocket, 
 or about the neck, to prevent infection when the plague 
 waa prevalent. 
 
 " A pair of sweet glooes "— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 Stowes' continuator, Edmund Howes, informs us, that 
 Uw English could not" make any costly washe or perfume. 
 
 until aboute the fourteenth or fifteenth of the Qne9i« £1isa. 
 
 beth, the Right Honourable Edward Vere, Ear c<" Os- 
 fiirde, came from Italy, and brought with hin glovct^ 
 sweet bagges, a perfumed leather jerkin, and other plea- 
 sant things ; and that the Queene had a payre of perfumed 
 gloves trimmed only with fonre tufts or roses of cullereil 
 silke. The Queene tooke such pleasure in those glovea, 
 tn«.t she was pictured with those gloves upon her hands : 
 and for many years after it was called the Erie of Oxfofde% 
 p<fr/>rwf."— WARTON. 
 
 " Here's another ballad; Of a fish. "—Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 Whoever was hanged or burnt a merry or lamentable 
 ballad was immediately entered on the books ot the Sta- 
 tioners' Company ; among the entries for HK)!, we find the 
 following, to which, no doubt, Antolyrus alludes : " A 
 strange reporte of a monstrous fi.sh that appeered in the 
 shape '^f a woman, from her waiste upward, scene in the 
 sfle. •' 
 
 " All men of Aair."-^Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 Sfen of hair, are hairy m«n, or satyrs. A dsnce of 
 satyrs was no unusual entertainment m the middle hjes. 
 At a great festival celebrated in France, the king and 
 some of the nobles personated satyrs dressed in close habits, 
 tufttd or shagged all over, to imitate hair. They began a 
 wild dance; and in the tumult of iheir merriment, one ol 
 them went too near a candle and set fire to his satyr's garb, 
 the flame ran instantly oxer the loose tufts, and spread 
 itself to the dress of those who were next to him ; a great 
 number of the dancers were cruelly scorched, being neithei 
 able to throw oft their coats, nor extinguish them. The 
 King had set himself in the lap of the Dnches.s of Burgundy, 
 who threw her robe over him and saved him.— JOHNSON, 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 " Carkanel."— Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 A carkanet seems to have been a necklace set with stones, 
 or strung with pearls. Thus, in Partheneia Sacra, I(i33 : 
 
 * £k!eke not vermillion or ceruse in the face, bracelets of 
 oriental pearls on the wrists, rubie carkanets on the neck, 
 and a most exquisite fan of feathers in the hand." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 " An everlasting garme?it."— Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 The sergeants or sheriffs' officers, in Shakspeare's time, 
 were clad m butf. Buff is also a cant expression for a man's 
 «kin, a covering which lasts him as long as his life. 
 
 MASON. 
 
 * One that before the judgment carries poor souls to hell." 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 jBc/ore judgment ; that is, on what is called mesne pro- 
 Cf.is : whin a man is arrested after judgment, he is said 
 to be taken in execution. Heel was the cant name for au 
 Bbicure dungeon in any of our prisons. — MALONE. 
 
 have you gut the picture of old Adam new appa- 
 
 reli'dP'-Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 eems to be an allusion to some well known con- 
 
 temporary painting, perhaps of a sign. " Adam, whom 
 
 God (iyd fyrst create, made the fyrst lether cnates fovhim- 
 seif; and hiswyfeEve, our old mother; leavyng thereby 
 a patron to al his posteritie of that crafte." Polydore Fir- 
 gil, translated by JLangley.— DOUCE. 
 
 * Thou peevish officer. '> — Act IV. Sc. 4. 
 
 Peevish, 2is\\ere used, is synonimous to foolish, and tha 
 word was frequently so employed by our old writers; so 
 in The Curse of Corn Holders, by Charles Fifx Geoliry, 
 1633 : " The Egyptians relieved the Israelites in the famine, 
 though it were an abomination to the Egypt 'an-t, in theij 
 peevish superstition, to eate hreade with the liebrewes.* 
 " His man with scissors nicks him like a fool." —Act V. Sc.l. 
 
 There is a penalty often .shillings in one of king Alfred'^ 
 ecclesiastical laws if one opprobriously sArtve a co». imoa 
 man like a fool. Fools were certainly .shaved or nicked in 
 a peculiar manner in Shakspeare's time, as we learn front 
 The Choice of Change, 1598 " lliree things used by mord«, 
 which provoke other men to laugh at their follies ; 1. Tfeev 
 are shaven and notched on the head likey'oo/cs."— TOLLE'S 
 and VIALONE. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 " Ktrnes and Gallowg lasses." — Act I. Sc. 2 
 
 \\c have the following account of Kernes and Gallow- 
 glas.ses, in Ba'naby Riche's new Irish Prognostication : 
 ♦The Gal'oglas succeedeth the horseman, and he is com- 
 Monh arme l Nvitb a scull ; a shirte of maile, and a Galio- 
 glas fi.xe. His service in the field is neither §ood against 
 aorsemen, nor able to endure an encounter ot pikes: yet 
 ibe Irish io make great account of them. Tho Kerve of 
 Ireland are next in request, the very dross and scum of the 
 country, a Tenerat ion of villaines not fit to live: these be 
 they that live by robbing and spoyling the poor countrey- 
 man, that maketh him many times to buye bread to gire 
 onto them, thouge he want for himselfe and his pbore 
 children. These are they that are ready to run out with 
 everie rebelt, and these are the verie hags of hell, fit for 
 nothing but for the gallows. "—BOSWELL. 
 
 <* Saint Colmes' Inch."— Act. I. Sc. 2. 
 
 Colmes' Inch, now called Inchcomh, is a small island in 
 the Firth of Edinburgh, with an abbey upon it, dedicated 
 to Saint Calomb, called by Camden Inch Colm, or the Isle 
 of St.Cohimha. Holinshed thus relates the circumstance 
 alluded to in the plav : " The Danes that escaped, and got 
 once to their ships, obtained of Rlakbeth for a great summe 
 of gold, that such of their friends as were slaine, might be 
 buried in Saint Colmes' inch. In memorie whereof many 
 old sepultures are yet in the said inch, there to be scene, 
 graven with the amies of the Danes. » 
 
 " The rump fed rony on." Act I. Sc. 3 
 
 The chief cooks, in noblemen's familie.'?, colleges, and 
 iio,<!pitals, anciently claimisd the emolumenN or kitchen 
 (fees of kidneys, fat trotters, rumps, &c. which they sold to 
 the poor. The weird sister, in this scene, as an insult on 
 the poverty of the woman who had called her vntvh, re- 
 pro.tches her poor abject state, as not being able to procure 
 better provision than offals.— COLEPEPER. 
 
 " In a sieve Vll thither sail." Act I. Sc. 3. 
 
 Ileginald 3c )tt says, it was believed that witches " could 
 gail in an rgg shell, a cockle or muscle shell, through and 
 urder the tnHjjestuous seas." And in a book, " declaring 
 the damnable life ofDoci or Pian," is the following passage: 
 " All they (the witches) together went to sea, each one in a 
 riddle or c'ce.and went in the .same very substantially with 
 fiaggoaa of wine, making merrie and drinking by the way. 
 In the kaoie ritidles or civet." 
 
 " And like a rat tmtkovt a tail.— Act I. Sc. 3. 
 It was imagined, that though a witch could assume th« 
 form of any animal she pleased, the tail would still be 
 wanting. This deficiency has been thus accounted for^ 
 though the hands and feet, hy an easy change, might be 
 converted into the four paws of a beast, still mere was no 
 part about a woman which corresponded to the length ol 
 tail common to almost all our tour footed animals. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 " /'// give thee a wind."— Act I. Sc. 3, 
 This gift of a wind must be hmked upon as an act of sifr 
 terly friendship, for witches wrre supposed to sell them. 
 So in Summer's Last Will and Teslamejit, 1600. 
 
 " in Ireland and in Denmark both, 
 
 Witches for gold will sell a man a winde ,• 
 Wliick in the corner of a napkin larap'd, 
 Shall blow him safe unto what coast he will." 
 It may be hoped that our witches behaved more hatvd 
 somely than one of their relations, as described in an ap 
 pendix to the old translation of Marco Paulo, l&7d : " the^ 
 demanded that he should give them a winde ; and )if. 
 shewed, setting his bands behinde, from whence the windi 
 should cowe."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " The insane root."— -Act. I. Sc. 3. 
 " You gaz'd against the sun, and so blemished your sight; 
 or else you have eaten of the roots of hemli.ck, that »;J*ke« 
 men's eyes conceit unseen objects."— GREENE'S NEVER 
 TOO LATE, 1616. 
 
 *• The prince of Cumberland.*'— Act 1. So . 4. 
 *' Duncan having two sonnes, he made the elder of thon, 
 called Malcolm, prince o.' Cumherla'Hd, as it was theretoy 
 to appoint him successor in his kmgdome iminedialeh« 
 after his decease. Mackbeth, sorely troubled herewith, for 
 that he saw by this means his hope .sore hindered vWlert 
 by the old laws of the realme the ordinance was, that 7* 
 he that should succeed was not able of age to take the 
 charge upon himselfe, he tV.at was next of blo<v<J «nto hUtt 
 should be admitted) he began to tak-- counsel Low he 
 might u.surp the kingdmn by force, hs^v^ a ,f"«t '4.iarrel 
 so to doe (as he toote the matter,) for fLat Dunraoe did 
 what in him lay todefraude him of t;il n.flinner oi title an« 
 claime, which he might, in tyme to come, oreteBw to w 
 crowne.^'-HOLINSHED. 
 
814: 
 
 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 * / have rugg'd their possets."— " Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 £t was a general custom to eat possets just before bed 
 lime. Raudle Holmea in his Academy of Armory, says: 
 " Posset hoi inuK poured on ale or sack, having sugar, 
 KSTfttejU bisket, aad eggs, with other ingredients boiled in it, 
 VtrioQ goes all to a curd."— MALONE. 
 
 Co/jwe-ifciV/.''— Act IL Sc. 3. 
 
 Colme-kill is the famous lona, the burying place of the 
 •Oicieot Scottish kings, one of the Western Isles, described 
 ky Johnson in his Tour.— STEEVEWS. 
 
 " The pit of Acher on. "—A.ct Ul. Sc. 5. 
 
 Shakspeare seems to have thought it allowable to give 
 the name of Acheron to any fountain, lake, or pit, through 
 which there was vulgarly supposed to be any communica- 
 tion between this acd the infernal world. The true origi- 
 nal Acheron was a river in Greece, and yet Virgil jjives 
 this name to his Lake in the valley of Aimanctvs, in fialy. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 « Enter the Three Witches'^— kc\. IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 Sbakspeare has chosen every circumstance of his infer- 
 9^1 ceremonies with great judgment. A cat was the usual 
 interlocutor between witches and familiar spirits. A 
 witch, who was tiled about fifty years before the bard's 
 lime, v/as said to have had a cat named Rutterkin and 
 when any misciiief was to be done she would bid Rutterkin 
 go and fly. The comn on afflictions attributed to the malice 
 l>f witches, were melanohoiy, tits, and loss of Heeh. Tticy 
 likewise destroyed th^ cattle of their neighbours, and the 
 farmers have, to this day, many ceremonies to secure their 
 Bcrds from witchcraft. They were very malicious to 
 Bwin?;; one of Shakspeare's hags, says, she has been kil- 
 ling swine ; and Dr. Harsnet observes, that in his time " a 
 sow could not be tl! of the measles, nor a girl of the sul- 
 lens, but some old woman was charged with witchcraft. 
 Toads have long been reproached as the abettors of witch 
 r raft. When Vaninus was siezed at Tholouse, there was 
 found in his lodgings, « great toad shut in a phial upon 
 which, those that prosecuted him, denounced him as a 
 wizard. The ingredients of Shakspeare's cauldron are se- 
 lected according to the toniiuiai ies prescribed in books 
 of magick. Wiiciies were supposed to take up bodi s to 
 a')e ill eiichajitmcuts, which was confessed Iiy the woman 
 whom king James examined, and who had of a dead body 
 that was divided in one of tii'-ir assemblies, two fingers tor 
 her share. A passage from Camden explains and.justifies 
 ©ur author in some other particulars: " Wiien any one 
 fets a fall, he stands up, and turning three times to the 
 rigk'., digs a hole in the earth ; for they imagine tliat there 
 f« t iipirit in the ground, and if he falls sick in two or three 
 dayH, they send one of their- women that is skilled in tliat 
 way, to the place, where she says, ' I call tiiee from the 
 e8«t, west, north, and south, from the sroves, the woods, 
 Che rivers, and the fens, Jrom the fairies, red black, and 
 tM»<«.'— JOrfNSON. &c. 
 
 And yet the eighth appeals, who hears a - 
 
 A'-t IV. WtSm 
 
 Magicians, in the superstitious age of our atithor* pro- 
 fessed to have the power of shewing future events by 
 means of a cAamprf glass or mirror. So, in an exrt 
 from the Penal Laws against Witches, it is said, "ITief 
 do answer either by voice, or else do set Ufore thei'- eyes 
 in glasses, crystal stones, &c. the pictures or images of 
 persons or things sought for." Spenser has given a very 
 circumstantial account of the glHss which Merlin made fop 
 king Ryence. A mirror of the same kind was presented to 
 Cambuscan in The Squire's Tale of Chaucer ; and in -John 
 Alday's translation of Pierre Boi'steau's Theatrtim Mundi. 
 " A certain philosopher did the like to Pompey, the which 
 shewed him in a glass the order of his enemies' joarc);. * 
 
 STEEVENb. 
 
 * The mere despair of surgery he fures." —\.ct IV. S«. .1. 
 
 The power of curing the king's evil was claimed by vttmj 
 of the Plantagenets. Dr. Borde, who wrote in the time 
 of Henry Vlll. says: "The kynges of England, by the 
 power that God hath given unto them, doyth make sycU 
 men whole of a syckness called the kyng's evylL" In 
 lianeham's account of the Entertainments of Kenelworth, 
 it is said : " And also by her highnesse (queeri Elizabeth) 
 accustemed mercy and charilee, nyne cured of the payn- 
 fiil and dangerous deseaz called the king's evil, for 
 that kings and queens of this realme without oother 
 mcdsin (save only by handling and prayer) only doo it.* 
 This practice was continued so late as queen Anne's 
 time : Dr. Johnson, when a child, was touched for the evil 
 by that princess. 
 
 " English epicures.*~\ct V. Sc. 3. 
 
 Of the ancient poverty of Scotland, the following men- 
 tion is made by Froissart: — " They be like wylde and 
 savage people — they dought ever to iese that they have, 
 for it is a poore countrey. And when the Englishmen 
 maketh any rood or voyage into tin; countrey, if they 
 thynke to lyve, they must cause thf;ir provysion and 
 vitayleto follow them at their backe, for tiiey shall find 
 nothing in that countrey." Surh a people, who made but 
 one meal a day, envying the " EiigH.ih likerous delicats," 
 would be ready enough to brand their ancient enemies 
 
 with the name o{ epicures STEEVENS. 
 
 " Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
 In such an honour nain'd:" — Act V. Sc. 7. 
 
 " Malcolm, im»nediately after his coronaticn, called a 
 parlement at Forfair, in the which he reward* d them with 
 lands and livings that had assisted him againbt Macbeth. 
 Manie of them that were before thanes, were at this iim& 
 made enfr/^.v, as Fife, Menteith, Atb.oll, Levenox, Mar'-er, 
 Cathness, Rnsse. and Angus,"— HOLINSHEDS HIS- 
 TORY OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 EING JOHN. 
 
 « With that half-face.''— KqX. I. Sc. 1. 
 rhe poet sneers at the meagre sharp visage of the elder 
 biother, by comparing him to a silver groat that hore he 
 king's face In profile, so shewing but half the fac?. ; the 
 groats ot' all our English kings, and indeed all their other 
 silver coins, with one or two exceptions, had a full face 
 crowned ; till Henry VII, coined groats and half groats, as 
 filso some shillings with half faces, as all our coin has now. 
 The first groats of Henry Vlll. were like his father's, 
 thou,jh he afterwards returned to the broad faces again. 
 These groats, w ith the impression in profile, are here al- 
 luded to; thovfgh the author is guilty of an anachronism ; 
 for in John's time there were no groats at all,lh( y being 
 first coined in the reign of Edward III.— THEOBALD. 
 
 ■My face so thin. 
 
 That in mine ear / durst not stick a rose. 
 Lest men should sat/, look where three farth'ngs goes." 
 
 Act i. Sc. 1. 
 
 Te Elizabeth's time there were three farthing silver 
 pieces ; they were impressed with her head, w ith a full 
 blown rose behind it; these pieces were of course ex- 
 tremely thin. In this age, fashionables of both sexes wore 
 flowers, especially roses, behind their ear.s. Combine 
 these circumstances, and the allusion is obvious. 
 
 THEOBALD. 
 
 " Plantagenet." — Act I. Sc. 1. 
 
 P^^antagenet was not a family name, but a nick-name, by 
 Whick a grandson of Geffrey , the first earl of Anjou was 
 distinguished, from his vnemng a broom stalk in his bonnet. 
 " Now your traveller.'" — Act. I. Sc. 1. 
 Travelling, in Elizabeth's time, was the fashionable re- 
 Murce of those who had no fixed occupation; as to have 
 teen foreign countries enabled a man to assume airs of 
 surieriority over his untravelled companions. " A fra- 
 veller was a good thing after dinner ;" a constant occasion 
 of wonder and amusement. Yet travellers fell into strange 
 iarjifirti-iences. Sir Thomas Overbury, speaking of one, 
 cajs : — •* He censures all thmg.^ by countenances and 
 ^ii(igs, pnd speaks his own language with shame and lisp- 
 ing; he will choke rather than confess beere good driuke, 
 lind his tooth pick is a main part of his behaviom " Tra- 
 vellers brought home many rid:*~ulous fashions. Gascojgne 
 4b ais Poems, 1572, describes some of these : — 
 " Sow, sir, if I shall see your mastership 
 Come home disguis'd, and clad in quaint array : 
 A with a pike tooth byiing on your lippe ; 
 Ymr brave mustachioi iurt- 'd the Turkie way: 
 
 A coptankt hat made on a Flemish blocke ; 
 A night gowne cloake dovni traynng to your toeSf 
 A slender slop close couched to your dock, 
 A curtolde slipper, atid a short silk hose." 
 " Colbrand."— Act I. Sc. 1. 
 Colbrand was a Danish giant, whom Guy of Warwick 
 discomfited in the presence of king Atheistan. The com- 
 bat is very pompously described by Drayton in his Polyol- 
 bion.— JOHNSON. 
 
 " Richard, that robh'd the l^on of his heart."— Act U. Sc. 1. 
 
 So Rastal in his Chronicle : ^ It is sayd that a lyon was 
 put to kynge Richard, beynge in prison, to have devoured 
 him, and when the lyon was gapyiige he put his arme into 
 his mouth, and pulled the lyon by the harte so hard that 
 he slew the lyon, and therefore some say he is called 
 Richard Cure de Lyon ; but some say he is cafled Cure 
 de Lyon, because of his boldness and hardy stomake." 
 
 GREY. 
 
 * By this brave duke came early to his grave." 
 
 Act II. Sc. I. 
 
 Richard was not killed by the duke of Austria; he lost 
 his life at (he siege of Ch^luz, long after he had been ran- 
 somed out of the hands of this petty potentate. Ths pro- 
 ducing Austria on the scene is also contrary to the truth 
 of history. Leopold, duke of Austria, bv whom Kichardl. 
 had been thrown into prison in 1193, died in consequence 
 of a fall from his horse, in 1195, some years before the 
 commencement of the pr'-sent play. The original causff 
 of quarrel between Austria and Richard is variously re- 
 lated. Harding in his Chronicle says, that the source of 
 enmity was Ri/;hard s taking down the duke cf Austria's 
 arms and banner, which he had set up above tho.se of the 
 king of France and the king of Jerusalem. The afi'rout 
 was given when they lay before Acre in Palestine. 
 
 MALONB 
 
 * That thou may'st be a queen, and check the worli." 
 
 Act. IL So I. 
 
 " Surely queen Eleanor, the kyng's mother, was sore 
 against her nei)hew Arthur, rather moved thereto by envye 
 concevved against his mother, than upon any just occa- 
 sion, given in (he behaife of the chihle ; for that she saw, 
 if he were kynge, AowAiA OTO?A-!;r Constance would looks 
 to beare the most rule within the realme of Englande, iiM 
 her Sonne should come to a lawful age to governe himselfe. 
 So hard a thing it is to bringe women to a^tree in on* 
 minde, their natures commonly being so contrary." 
 
 HOLJNSHEa 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 " Tfie lady Blanch:'— \ci II. Sc. 2. 
 The lady Blmich was dau^lter to Alphonso IX. king of 
 r»astile, and whs niece to king John, by his sister Eleanor." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 " A widow."— A-ct III. Sc. 1. 
 This was not the fact. Constance was, at this time, mar 
 ried to a <Air(i husband, Guido, brother to the viscount of 
 Touars. She bad been divorced from her .vec-c/«fZ husband, 
 Rarnulph, earl of Chester.— MALONE. 
 " Soma airy devil hovers in the sky " — Act III. Sc. 2. 
 " be spirits of the aire wil'l mixe themselves with 
 thunder and lightning, and so iiift-ct the clynie wliere tliey 
 raise any tempest, that sodainely great inortalitie shall 
 ensue to the inhabitants. The spirits of fire have their 
 man.sions under the regions of the moone."— FIERCE 
 PENNILESSE, HIS SUPPLICATION , 1592. 
 
 Bell, book, and candle, shall ?iot drive me back." 
 
 Act IJI. Sc. 3 
 
 in Archbishop Wincbelsea's Sentences of Exrommuni- 
 
 caitioii, anno 1208, it is directed, that the sentence against 
 the infringers of certain articles should be " throughout 
 explained in order in English, with hells tolling and can- 
 dles I ig filed, that it may cause the greater dread; for lay- 
 men have greater regard to this solemnity, than to the 
 effect of such sentences."— REED. 
 
 " Yonng gentlemen would be as sad as night. 
 Only for wantonness " Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 It was once fashionable to affect melancholy in company. 
 Ben Jonson ridicules this folly in Every Man in his Hu- 
 mour; again, in Questions concernyng Conie hood, and 
 the Nature of the Conie:—" That conie hood which pro- 
 ceed.", of melancholy, is, when in feastings appointed fc-r 
 merriment, this kind of conie man sits like Mopsus or 
 Corydon, blockish, never laughing, never speaking, hut so 
 l-carishlie as if he would devour all the companie, which 
 he ilotb to this end, that the guests might mutter how 
 
 3, 
 
 this his deep melancholy argueth grpat learning in Mm, 
 
 and an iniendmeiit to most, \veiglj;v atfaire.s and heavenlf 
 speculations.^' Again in Lyiy's Midas, \:m : "Melan- 
 choly? is melanchiiit/ a word for a b rber's iiioutl\? Thou 
 should'st say, heavy, dull, and d()lti.sh : melmi .hnly is the 
 crest of courtiers, and now every base companion says. 
 Wis ?)telanc/io/y." And in the life and Death of the Lord 
 Cromwell, Hi 1.3 :— 
 
 " My ti'ibilily i.9 u ondrrf)il melancholy. 
 
 Is it not most gentleman like to be meiajichnly 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 " And here's a prophet:''— kci IV. Sc. 2. 
 This man was a hermit in great repute wiih the common 
 people. Notwithstanding the event is said to have falle- 
 oul as he prO|)hecied. the poor fellow was inhumanly 
 d agged at horses' tails through the streets of VVarhain, 
 and together with his son, who appears to have been eve 
 more innocent than his father, hsnged afterwards upon 
 gibbet— DOUCE. 
 
 " The wall is high, and yet I will leap duvn ,-- 
 
 Act I' . Sc. i 
 
 In what manner Arthur was deprived of life i.f uncerttua 
 it seems that John conducted the assassination with im' 
 penetrable secrecy. The French writers, however, say 
 that John coming m a boat, during ihe night time, to to* 
 castle of Rouen, where the young prince was confined, 
 ordered him to be brought forth, and having stabbed him, 
 while supplicating for mercy, the king fastened a stone to 
 tlie dead body, and threw it into (he Seine in order to give 
 some colour, which he afterwards caused to be spread, 
 that tlie prince, attempting to escape out of a window 
 of the tower of the castle, fell into the rivet and waa 
 drowned.— MALONE. 
 
 " At Worcester must his body be inter r\L"-^\ct V. Sc. 7. 
 
 A stone coflin, containing the body of king John, wxa 
 di.scoveri'd in the cathedral church of Worcester. July 17. 
 1797.— STEEVENS 
 
 RING RICHARD II. 
 
 " Old John of Gaunt time-honour''d Lancaster r 
 
 Aot I. Sc. 1. 
 
 John of Gaunt, who is here supposed to be extremely 
 old,waNat this time only tifty-eight years of age. But it 
 was usual with our old authors to attribute senility to per- 
 lons whom we should only think in their middle age. 
 King Henry is represented by Daniel as extremely oid, 
 when he had a child by the lady Rosamond. This monarch, 
 at his death, was only fifty six. The earl of Leicester is 
 called an old man, by Spenser, when he was not fifty ; 
 and the French admiral Coligny, is represented by his 
 biographer as a very old man, though at tlie time of bis 
 death he was but fiitj;-three. This might arise, in some 
 ftieasure, from its being usual to enter life much earlier 
 than we do at present ; those who were married at fifteen 
 ftiad been, at fifty, masters of a house and family far thirty- 
 tve years.— MALONE. 
 
 «' The duke of Qloster's rfea/A."— Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 Thomas of WoodstorJc, the youngest son of Edward III 
 Who was murdered at Calais, in 1397 —MALONE. 
 
 " Since last I went to France to fetch his queen." 
 
 Act I, Sc. 1. 
 
 Isabel, the daughter of Charles VI. was, at the time of 
 her marriage with Richard II. not more than eight years 
 old. Consequently, the part ^he is made to take in this 
 plav, is a palpable deviation from historical truth, as she 
 was' .still a mere child at her husband's death.— MALONE. 
 " Lions make leopards tame "—Act I. Sc. 1. 
 The Norfolk crest was a golden leopard.— MALONE. 
 
 " Duchess of Gloster."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 The duchess of Gloster, was Eleanor Bohun, widow of 
 dake Thomas, son of Edward III —WALPO.LE. 
 
 " Aumerle:'— Act I. Sc. 3. 
 Edward, duke of Aumerle, so created by bis cousin- 
 germaii, Richard 11. in 1397. He was the eldest son of 
 SkJward of Langley, duke of York, fifth .son of king Ed- 
 Ward III. ; and was killed in 141:), at the battle of Agin- 
 court. He cfMciaied at the lists of Coventry, as high con- 
 stRble cf England.— M-iLONE. 
 
 " Mowbray's waxen coat.*' — Act I. Sc. 3. 
 TliebrigantuJies, or coats of mail, then in use, were com- 
 posed of small pieces of .steel quilted over one another, 
 and yet so flexibie as to accommodate the dress they form 
 to every motion of the body ; of these many are still to be 
 seen in the Tower of London.-STEEVENS. 
 
 " Warder.''— Act. I. Sc. 3. 
 Awarder appears to have been a kind of truncheon, 
 (SSnied by the peruon who presided at these .°ingle combats. 
 
 SX EE VENS. 
 « The duke of York."- Act II. Sc. I. 
 Edmond. duke Df York, was the fifth son of Edward HI. 
 and was born in 1441, at Langley, near St Albans in 
 Herf^rd.fro.'svN hence he had his surname. This pnnce, 
 fs bishop Lowth has observed, « was ot an indolent dispo- 
 sition, a lover of pleasure, and averse to business ; easi y 
 Drevai.ed upon to lie still, and consult his own quiets 
 and never acting with spirit upon any occasion. 
 
 « - This land 
 
 Is novj teas'd out f I die pronovncing it,) 
 Like to a tenement, or pelting J arm," ,„ „ , 
 Act II. Sc. J. 
 
 " In this twenty-second year of King Richard, the 
 common fame ranne that the king had lelten to farme 
 the realme unto Sir Willam Scroope, earle of Wiltshfje, 
 and then treasurer of England, to Sir John Bushcy, Sir 
 John Bagot, and Sir Henry Grene, knightes."— FABIAN. 
 '* Nor the prevention of poor Baling broke, 
 About his marriage:* Act II. Sc. I. 
 
 When the dake of Hereford, after his banishment, wcHi 
 into France, he was lionourably entertained at that court, 
 and would have obtained in raarriage the only child i f (its 
 duke of Berry, uncle to the French king, had not Riciar^ 
 pre-eited the match.— STEEVENS. 
 
 *' to sue 
 
 His livery." Act II. Sc. I. 
 
 On the death of every person who held by knights' ser- 
 vice, the escheator of the court in \vl;ich he d ed, sum- 
 moned a jury, who enquired what estate he died seiaed of, 
 and of what age his next heir was. if he was under age, 
 he became a ward of the king's ; but if he was found to ha 
 of full age, he then had a right to sue out a writ of ouster- 
 le-main, that is, his livery, that tl\e king's band might b« 
 taken off, and the land delivered to him. — M ALONE. 
 " As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what.*' 
 
 Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Stowe records, that Richard II. " compelled all the re- 
 ligious, gentlemen, and commons, to set their sealcs to 
 biankes, to the end he might, if it pleased him, oppress 
 them severally, or all at once : some of the commons paid 
 a Uiousand marks, some a thousand pounds." &c. — HOLT 
 and WHITE. 
 
 " Archbishop late of Canterbury." — Act II. Sc. 1. 
 Thomas Arundel, archbishop of Canterbury, brother to 
 the earl of Arundel, who v.as beheaded during this reign, 
 had been banished by the parliament, and was afterwards 
 deprived by the pope of his see, at the request of the iiing ; 
 whence he is here called "late of Canterbury." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz*d upon. 
 Shew nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry^ 
 Di-tiinguish form." Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Amongst OTrt^A(?/wfl«(7«/ recreations, there is one in op- 
 tics, \r\ which a figure is drawn, wherein all the rules of 
 perspective are inverted, so that if held in the same poa 
 tion with those pictures which hxe drawn according 
 the rules of perspective, it can present nothing but con- 
 fu.sio7i : and to be seen in form and under a regular mp 
 pearance, it must be looked upon from a contrary .static a: 
 or, as Shakspeare s..ys, " eyed awry."— WARBURTOK, 
 • The bay trees .V OUr country all are wither',!.** 
 
 Act II. Sc 4. 
 
 « In this yeare, in a manner throughout all the realme 
 of England, old baie-trees withered."— HOLIN.^HED. 
 " From my own windows torn my household coat." 
 
 Act III. Sc. I 
 
 It was the practice, when coloured glass was in use, ot 
 which there are still some remains in old seats an4 
 churches, to anneal the arms of the family in the windows 
 of the house.-JOHNSON. 
 
 " My gay apparel:' — Act III. Sc. 3. 
 
 King Richard's expense in dress was very extraordl 
 
«I6 
 
 EXPL A x\ A 10 n V NOTES. 
 
 nary : Holinshel says, " he bad one cote, wliich be caused 
 to be made for bim of gold and stone, valued at 30,000 
 marks,"— STKEVENS. 
 
 ' Westmitmter hall."— Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 The re building of Westminster ball, which Richard 
 had begun in 13&7, being finished in 1399, the first meeting 
 of parliament in the new edifice was for the purpose of de- 
 posing him."— MALONE. 
 
 " In Go(Vs name, I'll ascend the regal throne." 
 
 ^ Act. IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 The words actually spoken by Henry, on this occasion, 
 were as follows, standing upright, that every one might 
 »ee him ; after he had crossed himwlf on the forehead and 
 breast, and called on the name of Christ he said; "In 
 the nam-e of Fadher,- Son, and Holy Ghost, I-, Henry of 
 Lancaster, challenge the rewme of Ynglande, and the 
 croun, with all the inembres and the appurtenances, and 
 al.s I, that am de^cendit by right line of the blode, coming 
 from the goode king Henry Tnerde, and throge that right 
 that God of his grace hath sent me, with help of kyn, and 
 of my friendes to recover it, the which rewme was in poynt 
 to be undone, by defaut of governaunce, and oadoyng of 
 the gude lawes."— MALONE. 
 
 " Did keep ten thousand men." — Act IV. Sc. 1, 
 
 Richard II. was very magnificent in his household. The 
 
 old chronjcles say, " that to his household came even 
 day to meate ten thousand men." ' 
 
 " To Julius Ccesar's ill-erected tower."— kci V. Sc. J. 
 
 The Tower of London is traditionally .said to have been 
 the work of Julius Ciesar. Ste< vens sr{y s,m-erected meaii« 
 erected for bad purposes.— JOHNSON . 
 " Thus play I, in one person, many people."— \ci V. Sc. 5, 
 
 This alludes to the neccssitits of our early theatres. Th» 
 fitlc-pages of some of our Moralities, shew, that tAree »f 
 /owr cAa»w:/^r« were frequently represented by one pet- 
 tow.— ST£EVE^S. 
 
 " Here to t/l«."— let V. 8e. R, 
 
 King Richard's body was publicly exposed in St. Paul's, 
 
 and as no marks of violence eppeered, he could not have 
 been assassinated, as represented in (he drama ; though 
 a similar account is given in Hall's Chronicle, and Sir 
 Pierce Exton's Narrative was to the same efiect. Stow's 
 account seems the most probable, and is confirmed by 
 many other authors. He says, "he wa-s emprisoned in 
 Pomfract castle, where fifteen days and nightes they vexed 
 him with continual hunger, thirst, and cold, and finally 
 bereft him of his life with such a kind of death as never 
 before that time was knowen in England." 
 
 KING HENRY IV. Part I. 
 
 " The gallant Hotspur there, 
 
 Young Harry I'ercy." Act I. Sc 1. 
 
 " This Harry Percy was surnamed, for his often prick 
 htg, Henry Hotspur ; as one that seldom times rested, 
 if there were anie service to be done afcroad." 
 
 HOLINSHED. 
 " The prisoners.".— Act. I. Sc. 1. 
 
 By the law of arms, every man who had taken any cap- 
 tive, whose ransom did not exceed ten thousand crowns, 
 had him clearly for himself, either to redeem or retain at 
 his pleasure.— TOLL ET. 
 
 " A hare."— Act I. Sc 2. 
 
 A hare may be considered as melancholy , because she 
 is upon lier form, always solitary; and according to the 
 physic of the limes, the flesh of the hare was supposed to 
 generate melancholy. The Egyptians, in their hierogly- 
 phics expressed a melancholy man by a hare sitting in 
 her torm.— .JOHN.SON, and STEEVENS 
 
 " The melancholy of Moor-ditch."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 It appears from Stow's Survey, that a broad ditch called 
 Deep-ditch, once parted the hospital from Moorfields; 
 sad wli^t has a rnore melancholy aspect than stagnant 
 water? It is mentioned in Taylor's Pennylesse Pilgrim, 
 1618. " My body being tired with travel, and my mind 
 altered with moody, muddy, Mooredilch melancholy." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 " Lincolnshire bagpipe."— Aci 1. Sc. 2. 
 
 " At a Chri.stmas time, when great logs furnish the hall 
 fire ; when biawne is in season, and indeed all reveJling 
 is regarded, this gallant knight kept open house for all 
 cominers, where beefe, beere, and bread was no niggard. 
 Amongst all the pleasures provided, a noyse of minstrells 
 and a Lincolnshire bagpipe was prepared: the minsirells 
 for the great chamber, the bagpipe for the hall; the min- 
 strells to serve up the knightes meafe, and the bagpipe for 
 the common dancing."-A NEST OF NINNIES, BY R. 
 AHMIN, 1608. 
 
 " Sir John Sack-and- Sugar." — Act I. Sc. 2, 
 
 There has been much discussion as to what wine or 
 liquor FalstalFhas immortalized by the name of sack. The 
 commentators, as usuil when they diller, have left the 
 affair more obscure than they found it. Yet it seems pro- 
 bable that Sherry, Canary, and Mountain Malaga, were 
 drank indifferently under that appellation.— The fat knight 
 mixed sugar with his sack, but this will not be thought ex- 
 traordinary , since we know that in our poet's time, it was 
 a common practice to "pwi sugar in all wines. '* Clownes 
 and. vulgar men (says Fynes Moryson) only use large 
 drinking of beere or ale, but gentlemen garrawse only in 
 wine, with vMch they mix mgar, which I never observed 
 in any other place or kingdom to be used for that purpose." 
 It was customary for the waiters in taverns, to have small 
 parcels of white sugar about them, in order to supply those 
 who took sr/rA:. SoinThe Guls' Horn Bookc, 1609. " En- 
 quire what gallants sup in the next roome, and if they be 
 any of your acquaintance, do not you ( after the cHy fash- 
 ion,) send them in a bottle of wine, and your name sweet- 
 ened in two pitiful papers of sugar, with some filthv 
 apology crammed into the mouth of a drawer." Falstaff 
 romptains that there was lime in his sack. This was a 
 common mode of adulterating this almost national drink. 
 Allot, in his Orthoeapia, speaking of sack and rhenish, 
 saj^s. "The vinters in London put in /f;we, and thence 
 proceed infinite malidies, specially the gouttes." It was 
 nstial, as a token of kindliness, in Shatspeare's day, for 
 lb« guests in taverns, to .send presents of which was 
 lometimes mulled, from one to the other. An anachronism 
 
 tk committed, by furnishing the hosts of Henry IV's reiXD 
 ■" "■ - - - — om Taylor's Life 
 
 of Pair will shew; « The vintners sold no other sacks. 
 
 with this wine, as the following extract from ' 
 
 muscadels, malmsies, bastards, alicants, nor any other 
 wines, hot white, and claret, till the 33d year of Henry I 
 VIII. 1543, and then was old Parr 60 years of age. All | 
 those sweet wines were sold till that time at the apothe 
 cary's, for no other use but for medicines. « Two gallons 
 of sack cost Falstaff 5s Sd.;" and from the annexed uas- \ 
 
 sa?e, our poet's computation will be fotmd very accurate. 
 "Claret wine, red and white, is sold for five pence the 
 quart, and sac* ior six-pence : muscadel and malmsey for 
 eight." Florio's First Fruites, 1.578.— Twenty years after- 
 wards, sack had probably risen to eight-pence or eight- 
 pence half penny a quart, aA which rate two gallons would 
 cost .OS. 8d. What Sir John says of the excedent effect of 
 sack on the intellect, was seriously believed. * These 
 wines are goode for men of cold and & gmaticke com. 
 plexion ; for suche wines redresse and amende the cold- 
 nesse of complexion." Regiment of Health, 
 « All-hallown summer."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 All hallows \a All-hallow n-tide, or All saints-day, -wh'^ch 
 is the first of November. All-hallown summer is that short 
 period of fine, bright weather, which frequently occurs 
 ahout the commencement of November. 
 
 "A pouncet box." — .\ct I. Sc. 3. 
 
 A small box for musk or other perfumes then in fashion; 
 the lid of which, being cut with open work, gave it its 
 name, from poinsoner, to prick, pierce, or engrave. 
 
 WAKBURTON. 
 * Heir to the crown."— Aci I. Sc. 3. 
 
 Roger Mortimer, earl of March, who was bcrn in 1371, 
 was declared heir apparent to the crown in the ninCh year 
 of king Richard II. He wss killed in rre!a)id, 1308. Th« 
 person, who was proclaimed by Rkbard heir apparent, 
 previous to his last voyage to Ireland, was Edmund Mor- 
 timer, (the son of Roger,) who was then but seven yeart 
 old; but he was not Percy's wife's brother, but her nephew. 
 
 IVIALONE. 
 " Sword-ajid-buckler." — Act I. Sc. 3. 
 
 The following extract from Stowe is worth notice: 
 "This field, commonly called West Smithfield, was for 
 many years called Ruthan's hall, by reason it was the usua* 
 place of frayes and common fighting, during the time that 
 swords and bucklers were in use. W^hen every sertying- 
 man, from the base to the best, carried a buckler at his 
 back, which hung by the hilt or pomel of his sword.* 
 
 HENLY, 
 
 " We have the receipt of fern seed, wi walk invisible." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 1. 
 
 Fern is one of those plants which have their seed on 
 the back of the leaf, so .«mall as to escape the sight. Those 
 who perceived that fern was propagated by semination, 
 and yet could never see the seed, were much at a loss for 
 a solution of the difficulty ; and as wonder always endea- 
 vours to augment itself, they ascribed to fern seed many 
 strange properties, some of which the rustic virgins have 
 not yet forgotten or exploded —JOHNSON. 
 
 « Out of all cess. "—Act II. Sc. 1. 
 
 That is, out of all meaisure ; the phra.se being taken 
 from a cess or tax; which being by regular and moderate 
 rates, when anything was exorbitant it was said to be 
 out of all c«ss.— WAKBURTON. 
 
 « Gadshill."— Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Gadshill, the scene of the robbery in this play, is on th» 
 Kentish road. Steevens informs us, that as early as 1558, 
 a ballad, entitled. The Robbery at Gadshill, was entered oo 
 the books of the Stationers' Company. The poet, however, 
 on whom the more noted facts of his time were never lost, 
 probably alluded to the conduct of a particuLir gang, who 
 appear, in l.o90, to have infested Gadshill and its ireighbour- 
 bood with more than common boldness, and who, like ouf 
 author's robbers, were mounted and wore vikirs. 
 
 BOSWELL. 
 
 ^ Look down into the Pomegranate." — Act II. Sc. 4. 
 To have windows or loop-holes looking- into the roofld 
 beneath them was, anciently, a general custom. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 « Crystal-button."— Act II. Sc. 4. 
 Pavjnhrokers former.ly wore a peculiar dress, the buttoyg 
 of which were of crystal. " A black talfafa doublet, anri a 
 spruce leather Jerkin with crystal buttons. I inquired ol 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 817 
 
 •rhal occupation ; marry , sir, quoth he, a broker."— Grene'a 
 Quip for an L'pstan Courtier. 
 
 *' Caddis t/arter."— Act II. Sc. 4. 
 Caddis wa« a kind of coarse Jcrretl. In Sliakspeare's 
 time, the fnr ers were worn iu sight, and were- often very 
 costly. He who wore a plainer sort was probably called 
 
 • caddis garti^r" in contempt. " At this day, (about l(>25j 
 sajs tlie continuator of Stow's Chronicle, 7nen of vifune 
 fanke wi'are garters and shoe roses of more than five 
 pound p7 tee." In a inemorandum book kept by Henslowe, 
 «tep father to the wife of Alle\ n the pla>er. is tbe following 
 itenn: "Leal unto Thomas Hewode, (the dramatic writer) 
 the ) of September, 16U2, lo bye liim a payre of silver gar- 
 ters, y 8. vi d."— IMALONE, and STEEVENS, 
 
 « The strappado."— Act II. Sc. 4. 
 ' The strappado is when the person is drawn up to his 
 height, and then suddenly to let him fall half way with a 
 jerk, which not only breaketh his arms to pieces, but also 
 shaketh all his Joints out <>f joint, whicli punishment is bet- 
 ter for a man lo be hanged than to undergo. — HANDLE 
 HOLME'S ACADEMY OF AllMES AND BLAZON. 
 
 * / could have crept itito any alderman's thumb ring. » 
 
 Act II. Sc. 4. 
 
 An alderman's thumb ring is mentioned by Broome, in 
 Tlie Antipodes, 1641. " Item, a distich graven in his thumb 
 rine." Again, in The Northern Lass, I()32. " A good man 
 in the city, &c. wear*; nothing rich about him, but (he gout 
 or a. thumb ring;" and in The Wit's Constat)le, 1640, "No 
 more wit than i he rest of the beach ; what lic» in his thumb 
 riMi/.»— STEEVENS 
 
 « A Welsh hook."— Act II. Sc. 4. 
 
 The Welsh hook was pointed like a spear, to push t)r 
 thrust with ; and, below, had a hook to se ze the enemy, if 
 he should attempt to escape by flight.— WHALLEY. 
 * Manningtree ox.'»— Act II. Sc. 4. 
 
 Manningtree in Essex, and its neighbourhood, are famous 
 for rich jvastures. The farms are chiefly tenanted by 
 graziers. Some ox of an uriusual size was probably roasted 
 there on some occasion of public festivity, or exposed for 
 niouey to public show.— STEEVENS. 
 
 * Hide thee behind the arras "—Act II. Sc. 4. 
 
 When arms was first used in England, it was suspended 
 on hooks driven into the bare walls; this practice was soon 
 changed, for after the damp of the wall had been found t{) 
 rot the tapestry, it was fixed on wooden frames, at sn h a 
 distance from the wall, as to prevent its being injured. In 
 old mnnsious, therefore, sufficient space could have been 
 easily found, to conceal even one of Falstaff's bulk. — 
 MALONE. 
 
 * As if thou never walked'st further than Finsbury." 
 
 Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 Open walks and fields near Chiswell street, London- 
 will, by Moorgate, the common resort of the citizens, as 
 appears from many of our ancient comedies. — STB} EVENS. 
 
 " Holland of eight shillings an ell."— Act HI. Sc. 3, 
 FalstaJ'^s shirts, according to tki*; calculation, wocld 
 come (o about 22s. each, and we Icain from Stubb's Auato- 
 mie of Abuses, that the shirt of the meanest man cost •! 
 least &s. He thus concludes his invective on this .subject; 
 " Insomuch as I have heard of shirts that 1 ave cost sobi« 
 ten shillings, some (tceniie, some for tie, some Jhfe pound, 
 some twenlie nobles, and (whiche is horrible to hearej som<9 
 ten pound a piece, yea the meanest shirt that commonly ie 
 worn of any doe^t cost a crovjne. or a noble at the least § 
 and yet this is scarcely thought fine enough for the simpleirt 
 persoathat is."— .vjALONE. 
 
 * Maid Marian."— Act III. Sc. 3. 
 It appears from the old play of Robert, Earl of Huntt-ng. 
 don, 1601, that Maid Marian was originally a nameassum^ 
 by Matilda, the daughter of Robert, Lord Fitzwater, whil# 
 Kobiu Hood remained in a state of outlawry : 
 
 * Next Uis agreed ( if thereto shee agree ) 
 
 That f aire Matilda henceforth change her names 
 
 And while it is the chance of Robin Hoode 
 
 To live in Skerewodde a poore outlawes life. 
 
 She by maide Marian's name be only caWd. 
 
 MAT. / am contented; reade on, little John : 
 
 Henceforth let me be nam'd maide Marian." 
 This lady was poisoned by king John, at Dunmow priory, 
 after he had made several fruitless attempts on herchasiity. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 * I saw young Harry vjith his beaver on."— Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 The beaver of a helmet is the lower part of it, adapted to 
 the purpose of giving the wearer an opportunity of taking 
 breath when oppressed with heat ; or, without putting on 
 the helmet, of taking his repast.— DOUCE. 
 
 * They'll find linen enough on every hedge."— Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 This propensity of soldiers on a march to purloin, is no. 
 
 ticed by a writer contemporary with Shakspeare, Barnaby 
 Richesays: "Fyr.steby the way as they travayle through 
 the countrey where thf y chance to lye all night, the good 
 wyfe hath spedde well if she fynde hyr sheets in the morn- 
 ing, or if this happe to layle, yet a coverlet or curtena 
 from the bed, or h carpet from (he table, some bed clothes, 
 or table napkins, or some other thing, must needs packe 
 away with tliein ; there comes nothing amisse if it will 
 serve to by drinke." — REED. 
 
 * Twrit Gregory never did such deeds in arms." 
 
 Act V. Sc. a. 
 
 Meaning Gregory VII , called Hildcbrand. This furioiw 
 friar surmounted almost invincible obstacles to deprive th« 
 emperor of his right of investiture of bishops, which his p»e' 
 decessors had long attempted in vain.— VVARBURTON. 
 « If Percy be alive. I'll pierce him."— Act. V gc. 3. 
 
 The name of Percy, according to Boetius, was derived 
 from piercing the king's eye: a most extraordinary etyniA. 
 logy.-SKINNER. ' ' 
 
 RING HENRY lY. Put 11. 
 
 • Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 
 ForelelU the nature of a tragic volume." — Act I. Sc 1. 
 
 It may not l)e pmiss to observe, that in the time of our 
 poet, the title page to anelegv, as well as every interme- 
 diate leaf, was to' ally black, t have -several in my posses 
 sion. written by Chapman, the translator of Homer, which 
 are ornamented in this manner.— STEEVENS. 
 
 * Fillip me with a three man beetle." — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 A diversion is common with boys in Warwickshire, on 
 finding a toad, to lay a board, about two feet long, over a 
 ■tick about three inches in diameter, at right angles; then 
 placing the toad on ti e lower end of the board, the upper 
 end is struck by a bat or large stick, which throws the 
 reptile forty ortifty feet perpendicular from the earth, and 
 (he violence of the fall usually kills it ; this is caUedJilliping 
 the toad. A three-man beetle was an implement used for 
 driving piles; it was made of a log of wood about twenty 
 incheti in diameter, and filteen in thickness, with one short 
 and two long handles. A man at each of the long bandies 
 manag^es the fall of the beetle, and a third man at the short 
 handle assists in raising it to strike the blow. Such an im- 
 plement was very suitable for filliping so corpulent a 
 •ubject as FaAs fa/. "—STEEVENS. 
 
 « A parcel gilt goblet ."— Act II, Sc. 1. 
 
 A "parcel gilt goblet" is a goblet gilt only on such part« 
 of it as are embossed. On the books of the Stationers* 
 Company, among their plate 1560, is the following entry: 
 " Item, nine spoynes <>f silver, whereof viigylte andiipar- 
 Ktl-gylte. "-STEEVENS. 
 
 * / must be fain to pawn my plate." 
 
 " Glasses, gla.^ses, is the only drinking."— Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Mrs. Quickly is here in the .same state as the earl of 
 Shrewsbury, who, not having been paid for the diet of 
 Mary, queen of Scots, while she was in his custody in 1.580, 
 writes as follows to Thomas Bawdewyn :— " I wold have 
 you bye me glasses to drink in. Send me word what old 
 plat yelds tbe ounce, for I will not leve me a cuppe of 
 tylvare to drink in, but I wvlle see the next terme my 
 •reditors paydt."-STEEVENS. 
 
 '* Boar's Head tavern in Eastcheap." — Act II. Sc. 4. 
 
 The historical Sir John Fastolf was a considerable bene- 
 ftetoi lo Maedaleu Colleae, Oxford, for which he u cele- 
 
 brated in an annual speech, andthou|iwe cannot obtain 
 the particulars at large, the Boar's Hend, in Southtvark. 
 which still retains (hat name, though divided into tene- 
 ments, yielding £1!50 per annum; and CuhU-cct Manor, in 
 Sutt'olk, were part of the lands he bestowed. The Boar'i 
 Head was very properly selected as the scene of Princa 
 Henry's revellings, as it was close to his residence. Rymer 
 says: "A mansion called Cold Harbour, (near Allhallows 
 church. Upper Tliatnes street.) was granted to the Prince 
 of Wales, 11th Henry IV. 1410" Shakspeare must have 
 passed this tavern daily, in his way to the Globe Theatre. 
 
 • Thou whorson little tidy Bartholomew boar pig." 
 
 Ac t fl. Sc. 4, 
 
 From Ben Jonson's play of Bartholomew Fair, we learo 
 that it was the custom formerly to have booths in Bartho- 
 lomew fair, in which pigs were roasted, and to these, it is 
 probable, an allusion is here made STEEVENS. 
 
 « Do not speak like a death's head."— Act II. Sc. 4. 
 It appears from a passage in Marston's Dutch Courtezan, 
 1605, that it was the ru.stom for the bawds of that ,ige to 
 wear a death's head in a ring, very probably with the com- 
 mon motto. Memento Mori. Cocledemoy speaking of some 
 of these, says : " As for their death, how can it be bad, since 
 their wickedness is always before their eyes, and h death't 
 head most commonly on their middle finger?" 
 
 STEEVENS 
 * Skogan's head."— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 There has been much dispute about a John Scogan, 
 lived in the reign of Edward IV., and n Henn Scogan, wba 
 wrote some poetical trifles during the time o*"^ Henrv Iv, [■ 
 a masque by Ben Johnson, Wid, we find the following : 
 
 " .... methinks yowthoxdd enquire nc\l afterSkelton, 
 
 And master Scogan. 
 
 .... Scogan ? what was he ? 
 
 Oh, a fine gentleman, and a master of arts 
 
 Of Henry the Fourth's times, that made disguiset 
 
 For the king's sons, and writ in ballad royal 
 
 Daintily well." 
 
 Scogan's Jests were published by Andrew Borde, A phy- 
 sician in the reig'i of Henry VIII. Shakspeare had pruliabi} 
 met with this book; and as be was careless about auachro* 
 
 52 
 
18 
 
 EXPLANATORY I^^i-A 
 
 •lusas, this person might have been in his thoii«hts. Cer- 
 Matjr, however, cannot be arrived at on such a subject. 
 " Harry ten shillings." — Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 This is an anachronism ; there were no coins of fen 
 •hillings value in the reign of Henry IV. Slinkspeare's 
 Harry ten skUlings were tho*e of Henry VII. or VIII ; but 
 he thought those might dofoi any oiher Henry. — DOUCE. 
 •** / was then S/rDagonet inArthur^s show."— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 The story of Sir Dagonet is to be found in La Morte 
 4'AJihure, ati old romance, mach read in our author's line, 
 or a litt e before it. " When papistry, (says Ascham,) as a 
 Btniidiug pool, overflowed all Enjr'and, few books were read 
 in our tongu •, saving certain books (if chivalry , as they said, 
 for pastime and p easurc; which books, as some say, were 
 made in mo:iasl> ries by idle monks. As one for exaniple. 
 La Mor»e d'Ai thun-." la this romance Sir Dagonet is King 
 Arthur's fool. Sliakspeare would not have shewn his Jus- 
 lice capable of taking any higher character. — .JOHNSON. 
 " T/o nhull street."— Avt III. Sc. 2. 
 
 Turjibnll or Tiirmill-street, is near Cow Cross, West 
 Smithfn Id: it was infamous on account of the debauched 
 characters, of both sexes, with which it abounded. 
 
 " Philosopher's two .stones." — Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 One of which {says Warburton) was an universal medi- 
 cine, and the other a transnmter of base metals into gold. 
 This interpretation has been ridiculed, an«l various others 
 offered. We shall content ourselves with giving an extract 
 I from a letter on the subiecf of the Grand Klixir, written by 
 Villiers, Duke ot Buckingham, to James I. ** I confesse, so 
 long as lie conaeied the meHues he wrought by, f iiespi.s8d 
 all ne said . but wht-n he told me that which he tiaMi given 
 VQur sovcrainsliip to preserve you from all .sicknesever 
 hereafter, was extracted out of a t — d. I admiied tiiefelow, 
 and for ttieis rrasons : that bein? a slrangt- r to yen, yeit he 
 hath found out the kind you are come < f, and your natural 
 affections and apf^fis : and so, like a skilful inan, liath given 
 you natural tisioke, which is the onlie means to preserve 
 the nviica: humotirs; and thus I conclude : My sow is 
 bealthf.ill, rnv di\ ill's luckie, myself is liappie, and needs 
 BO more than your blessing, which is my trew feJosovhrr's 
 »tone, upon which I build as upon a rocke. Your mafesties 
 most humble slav> and doge,— 5/i/<j«."— S TEEVENS 
 " Whose v}hiteinvfstmf'jitsfi(jvre iniiocevce." — Act IV Sc. 1. 
 
 Formerly, all bishops wore white, even when they tra- 
 velled; but irhile invstment here meant must be the 
 episcvpnl rochet, which should be worn by the theatric 
 arohbishop-G;{EY, and TOLLET. 
 
 Kfp' f>y a devil."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 It was anciently supposed, and is still a viilgar super- 
 •tition of the east, that mines, containing precious metals, 
 were guarded by evil spirits. So, in certaitie Secrete 
 Wonder,-! of Nature, by Edward Fenton, InCO, '• There 
 tppeareat ihi^day muny strange vi-ions and wicked spirites 
 \ti the nii-tnl mines of the Greate Turke. In the min.- at 
 Annebu g wns a metnl sprite which killed twelve workmen ; 
 the same causing the test to forsake the myne, albeit it 
 was very rich ■.•'—STEEV ENS. 
 
 ' Therefore, thov best of gold, art vforst of gold; 
 O'hfr, lc\sflfie in carat, is more precious, 
 Freserviiiy /iff. in med'cine potable "— .\ct IV. Sc. 4. ■ 
 
 There has iong prevailed an opinion, thai a solution of 
 eold h^s i;rcHl mt-dicirul virtues, and that the inc orrnpti 
 Bility of gold might ^>e communicated to the bi dy impreg- 
 nated with it. So lie h ve pretend' d to make polnlile t/oid, 
 among other frauds practised on credulity.— JOHNSON. 
 " Land he to God ! even there my life must end." 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 4, 
 
 ** At length he recovered his speech, and 'uuierstanding 
 and perc iri.ig himself to be in a strange place which he 
 knew not. he wii:ed to know if the chamber had any par- 
 ticular name, whereunto answer was toad • that it was 
 CHMeiSi Jerusalem. Then said the kinir, La ids be given to the, 
 Father of heaven, f»r now I know I shall die here in this 
 chamber, according lo the prophesie of me declared, that 
 I should depirt this life in Jerusalem."— HOIASSH^D 
 
 " If I cannot once or tivice in a quarter hear out a. knave 
 Against an honest man, J have very little crrdit with your 
 lordship."— Act V Sc. I. 
 
 This is no exaggerated picture of the course of justice in 
 those days. The lord keeper. Sir Nicholas Bacon, in liis 
 
 •peech to both bouses of parliament, 1559, says : " I« H ■«! 
 
 a monstrous disguising, to have a .iu.stice a maintftineT, 
 acquitting some for gain, enditing others for malice, bearr 
 ing with him as his servant, ovtrthrowin.g the other as hit 
 enemy ?" A member of the bouse of commons in 1601, 
 says: "A justice of peace is a living creature, that for 
 half a dozen of chickens will dispense with half a dozen of 
 penal statutes. If a warrant comes from tlie lord of the 
 council to levy a hundred men, ho will levy two hundred, 
 and wlvat with chopping in and chusing out, he'll gain a 
 hundred pounds by the bargain: nay. he will write the 
 warrant himseif, and you must put two shillings in hia 
 pocket as his clerk's fee, (when Oodkwyvs be keeps but two 
 or three hindes) for bis better maiBteaauce." 
 
 BLAKEWAY. 
 
 " With a dish of carrawaifs , and so forth." — Act V. Sc. 3. 
 
 It seems to have been usual to serve up carraway seeds 
 in sugar, as a part of the dessert. This custom is evident 
 from a passage in Cogan's Haven of Health ; '* This is a 
 confirmation of our use in England, for the serving of 
 apples and other fruites last after meals. How be it we are 
 wont t't tut carrawies or biskets, or some other kind of 
 comfits or seeds, together with apples, thereby to breake 
 winde engendered by them: and surely it is a very good 
 way for students."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " Afid toelcome merry Shrovetide." — Act 5. Sc. 3. 
 
 Shrovetide was formerly a season of extraordinary sport 
 and fea-sting In the Romish church there was a (east 
 immediate y previous to Lent, which lasted niany days. 
 In some c ties of France, an officer " as annually chosen to 
 preside over the spori's for six days before As}; Wednesday. 
 Some traces of these festivities "mny be still found in our 
 universities. In the Prrcv Household Uook. 1.t12 it ai)pears, 
 " that the ele gy and officers of Lord Percy's chapel per- 
 formed a play befo -e his lordship upon Shrofwtewesday at 
 night."— T. VVAllTON. 
 
 " Fiq me like 
 
 The bragging Spaniard." — Act V. Sc. 3. 
 
 To fig, in Spanish, higas dar, is to insult by putting the 
 thumb between the fore and middle fiiigf-r This phrase is 
 of Italian origin. VVton the i\li!a i';se revolted asrainst the 
 Emperor Frederick Harbaros<a, they idaced the Eirtpress, 
 his wife, upon a mule, with her head towat'fls the tni!, -^iid 
 ignoininiously exj>elled her their city. Frethrick after- 
 wHrds hes eged and took the place, and compelled every 
 one i!f his prisoners, on pain of dea h to take with his teeth 
 a fig from the nosteriors of a mule. The pir'y wms at the 
 SJime time obliged to rene-it to the executioner the wonis, 
 " Ecco la fica >. " (Behold the fig!) From this circuinstHjice, 
 " /r<r /rt/ca" became H fer'o of derision, and was adopted 
 by other nations.— JOHNSON, and DOUCE. 
 
 " Censers."— Act V. Sc. 4. 
 
 The sluttery of ancient houses rendered cen.Sfrs or fire 
 pans, in which coarse perfiunes were bu' n', most iivcessnrA 
 utensils. Lodge tells us. that Lord Pnget's house was so 
 small, that " after one month it would wt.x u)isaifr'/ i'or 
 hym to contynue in it." In a letter of the earl «».' Shteivs- 
 biiry's, respecting his prisoner Mary queen of Scots, we 
 read, "that her majesty was to be removed for fyve or 
 sixe dayes. to klense h^r chamber, being kept n-ry nti- 
 klenly." And in the Memoirs of Anne. Cotintess of Dorset, 
 we are informed of a party of lords and ladies, who ' were 
 all hiw.'-y hi/ sitting in Sir Thomas Emkin's chamber." — 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 " To pray for the 9?/^^/i."— EPILOGUE 
 
 It was usual, at the end of a play, for the actors to pray 
 for their patrons. We will an give instance or two : 
 ''Preserve our noble. queenElizabeih, andher anincf/l all." 
 
 New Custom. 
 
 *• This skoivs like kneeling after the play ; I praying for 
 my lord Owemuch and his good countess, our honoirrahle 
 lady and mistress " Middleton's Mad World my Masters 
 " As duty bids us, for our noble queene lei us pray. 
 
 And for her honourable councel, the truth that they may 
 use. 
 
 To practise justice, and defend her grace eche day ; 
 
 To maintain e Quil's word they may not refuse. 
 To correct nil those that would her grace and grace's laws 
 abuse, 
 
 Bes'eching God over us she may reign long. 
 
 To be guided by trveth and dt-f ended from VDTong. 
 
 Amen, q. Thomas Preston." CambystS, 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 " Gun- stones."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 When ordnance was tirst used, they discharg d balls, not 
 ©f iron, but of stone. So, Holiashed: ' .About seven of the 
 clocke, marched forward the light pieces of ordnance, with 
 Mftone and powder." In the Brut of England, it is said, that 
 when Henrr V before Hare flete, received a taunting mes- 
 sage fraio the daiiphin" of France, and a ton of tennis hulls 
 bf wjf of eonfempt, " he anone lette make tenes balles for 
 the Dolfiii (Henry's ship), in all the hayste that they 
 myjht.and they were great gonnestones for the Doifiri to 
 pjaye with alle. Hut this game of tennis was too rough for 
 Ibe besieged, when Henry pJayed at the tennis with his 
 hard gonnestones."— STEE,Vt:NS. 
 
 " The man that was his bedfellow." — Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 Holinshed says: 'The said lord Scroop was in such 
 tevour w ith the king, that he admitted him sometime to be 
 Mb bedfellow " The familiar name of bedfellow, which 
 leeBu Btrwage to us, was rommon with the ancient nobility. 
 
 There is a letter from the sixth earl'of Northumberland, 
 (still preserved in the collecti'.m of the pre.sent <lnke,) ad- 
 dressed y To his l>eloveU co isyn, Thomas AruruJel," which 
 begins, "B^'f/ZeAow, after my most liarie recmtnuendacion." 
 This unseemly custom contiui^ed common till the middle 
 of last century, if not hier. Cromwell iJhtaii.ed much of 
 his intelligence during tlie cti^il wars from the mean inea 
 with whom he slept.— SI EEVENS. and M ALONE. 
 
 '* Isaw him fumble with the sheets."— Act II. Sc. .3. 
 Catching and pulling at the bed clothes has a. l ays been 
 considered as a sign ol approaching dis.s(dution Pliny ip 
 his Chapter on the Signs ot Death, mentions, " a lumhli>ig 
 and pleitingof the »>ed clothes," So also m the Ninth Book 
 of Notable Things, by Thomas Lnpton ; " If the foreJieade of 
 the sicke wax redde, and his nose waxe sliarpe; if br soUa 
 straws, or the cloalhes of his htdtU, these are most cert^l 
 tokens of death."— STEEVENS. 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 "At tutning of the tidey^Kct II. Sc. 3. 
 It fefts been a very old opinion, which Mead, de imperio 
 to/w.qjioies, as if he believed it, that nobody dies but in the 
 Sim* of eb'ii : h .If the deaths in London confute the notion ; 
 but it wfis common in Shakspeare's age.— JOHNSON. 
 A pix."—\ct III. Sc. 6. 
 In Henry V'llliirs will, we read: " Forasmoch as we 
 have often and m-iny tvmes to our inwarde regrete and 
 displeasure, seen at our jen, in diverse inanie churches of 
 our reame.the holie sacrament of the aulter, kept in full 
 •implc and inhonest pixex, specially pixfix of copre and 
 tymbre : have appointed and conimaunded the treasurer 
 of our chair<l)re, and maistre of our juell houss, to cause to 
 be made furthwifh. p/xes of silver and gilt, in a great 
 noml)re, for the keeping of the holie sacrament of the aulter, 
 ttfier the faction of a which we have caused to be de- 
 lifered to theim. Every of the said pixes to be of the value 
 of lail. garnished with our armes, and rede roses and poart- 
 colis crowned."— K,KED. 
 
 " A heard of the general's cut."— Act III. Sc. 6. 
 It appears from an old ballad, inserted in a miscellany, 
 entitleil Le Frince d'Amour, Svo. ICCO. that our ancestors 
 were very curious in the fashion of their beards, and that 
 a certain cut or form was appropriated to the soldier, the 
 bishop, the judge, the clown, &c. The spade-heHrd and the 
 itilettu beard bcloiigi d to the military profession. The carl 
 of Southampton, our author's patron, who passed much 
 of his time in camps, is drawn with (he latter of these 
 feeards, and his huo'ess friend, lord Essex, is represented 
 with the former. The ballad is worth transcribing : 
 " Now of beards there be 
 Such a companie. 
 
 Of fashions such a throng ; 
 Thai it is xjery hard. 
 To treat of the beard, 
 Though it be ne'er so long. 
 
 " The steeletto beard, 
 0, it makes me afeard. 
 
 It is so sharp beneath ; 
 For he that doth place, 
 A dagger in his face. 
 
 What vjears he in his sheath f 
 
 " The soldiers beard 
 Doth match in this herd. 
 In figure like a spade { 
 With which he mil make 
 His enemies quake. 
 To think their grave is made." 
 
 MALONE. 
 " The feast of Crispian."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 T>e battle of .\gincourt was fought upon the 25th of Octo- 
 l*r (1415), St. Crispin's day. The legend upon which this 
 It foiuided, follows: — "Crispinus and Crispianus were 
 
 brethren, born at Rome ; from \rni,zxjc they travelled t« 
 Soissons in France, about the year 303, to propngate th« 
 Christian religion ; but becau.se they would not be clmrge- 
 able to others for their maintenance, they exercised tha 
 trade of shoemakers ; but the governor of the town dis- 
 covering them to be Christians, ordered them to be be- 
 headed. From which time, the shoemakers made cnoice ot 
 them for their tutelar saints,"— GREY. 
 
 " 2'his day shall gentle his condition." — Act IV. Sc 3. 
 
 King Henry V. inhibited any person but such as had 
 right by inheritance, or grant, to assume coats of arms, 
 except those who fought with him at (he battle of Agin- 
 court, and these last were allowed the chief seats of honour 
 at all feasts and public meetings.— TOLLET. 
 •* Thou hast unwished five thousand men."— Act IV Sc. 3. 
 
 The numbers efigaged at the battle of Asiucourt ar© 
 variously stated ; Holin.shed makes the English army consist 
 of 15,000, and the French of 60,000 horse, besides foot, in all 
 100,000; while Walsingham and Hardinse represent the 
 English but as 9,000; and other authors say that the number 
 of the French amounted to 150,000.— STEEV ENS. 
 
 " Monmouth caps."— Act IV. Sc. 7. 
 
 Monmouth caps were formerly much worn. " The best 
 caps (says Fuller, in his Worthies of Wales,) were former- 
 ly made at Monmo2ith, where (he Capper's chapel dolh 
 still remain. If (he add.s) at (his day, (lf>60) the phrase of 
 ' wearing a Monmouth rap,' be taken in a bad accep(ion, | 
 hope (he inhabitants of that town will endeavour to dis- 
 prove the occasion thereof."— MALONE. 
 
 " When Alencon and myself were down together." 
 
 ^ Act IV. Sc. 7. 
 
 This circumstance is not an invention of SLakspeare's. 
 Henry whs feiled to the ground at the battle of Agincourt, 
 by the duke of Alenqon, but recovered and s ew two of (he 
 duke's attendants. Afterwards, Alencon was killed by the 
 king's guard, contrary to Henry's intention, who wished to 
 have saved him.— MALONE. 
 
 " Davy Gam, esquire."— Act IV. Sc. 8. 
 
 This gentleman being sent by Henry, before the battle, 
 to reconnoitre the enemy, and to lind out their strength, 
 made this report : — ' Mriy it please you, my liege, (here aie 
 enough to be killed, enough to be taken prisoners, and 
 enough to run away." He also saved the king's life during 
 the engagement —MALONE. 
 
 "Do we all holy rites."— Act IV, Sc. 8. 
 
 "Tlie king, when he saw no appearance of enemies, 
 caused the retreat to be blowen, and ^-adiering his army 
 together, gave thanks to Almighty God fi>r so happy a vic- 
 tory, causing his prela es and chapclineg to sing this psalme, 
 In'exilu Israel df Ef/ypto ; and commaunding every matt 
 to kneel downe at this verse,— ATo/i nobis, domine, non no- 
 bis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam ; which done, he caused Tt 
 Devm and certain anthems to be sung, giving laud and 
 prai.se to God, and not boasting of his owL.e force, or an» 
 huinaine i)ower."— HOLINSHED. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. Part!. 
 
 Hung be the heavens with black."— Act I. Sc. 1 
 ding to our ancient stage pra( 
 was to be performed. So in Sydne 
 
 Alluding to our ancient stage practice, when a tragedy 
 "ydney's Arcadia: "There 
 even with the sunne, a vaile of darke cloudes, before 
 
 his fecc ; which shortly had blackened over all the face of 
 heaven, preparing (as it were; a mournfull stage for a tra- 
 gedie to be played upon."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " Sir John Fastolfe."— Act I. Sc. 1. 
 The historical Fastolfe, here introduced, was a lieutenant- 
 general, deputy regent to the Duke of Redford, in Nor- 
 mandy, and a knight of the garter. Hall and Hoiinshed 
 sajr that he was degraded for cowardice ; but Heylin, in his 
 Saint George for England, tells, that " He was afterwards, 
 upon good reason by him alledged in his defence, restored 
 to his honour." "This Sir John Fas(olfe," continues he, 
 "was, without doubt, a valiant and wise captain." 
 
 FARMER. 
 
 " England all Olivers and Rowlands bred " — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 These were two of the most famous in (he list ofCharle 
 ma^ne's twelve peers ; and such an extravagant detail of 
 their exploits is given by the old romancers, that from 
 thence arose the saying, of ' giving one a Rowland for his 
 Oliver,' to sianify the rn;ttching one incredible lie with 
 another."— WARBUliTON. 
 
 Enter the Bastard of Orleans."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 Bastard, in former times, was not a (erm of reproach. 
 Bishop Hurd, speaking of the agreement between the 
 heroic and Gothic manner, says, (hat " Bastardy was in 
 credit with both;" and one ol William the Conqueror's 
 charters begins," Ego Gulielmus, cgnomento Bastardus." 
 (I. William, .surnamcd the Bastard.)— VAILLANT. 
 — Here is my keen edg'd sword, 
 
 Deck'd lOith five floxaer-de -luces on each side." Act I. Sc.J. 
 In a secret plrice tuere among old iron, appointed she 
 hir sword io he .<iought out and broudit her, that with Jive 
 foure de luces was graven on both HOLINSHED. 
 " Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ?"—Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 Mahomet had a dove, " which he used to feed with wheat 
 out of his ear; whi h dove, when it was hungry, lighted on 
 his shoulder, and thrust its bill in to find its breakfast ; 
 Mnbuniet persu-i led (he rude and simple Arabians, that it 
 was ttie Holy Ghost that gave him advice."— LIFE OF 
 MAHOMET, by Dr. FRIDEAUX. 
 
 " This he Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
 To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt."— Act I. Sc. > 
 About four miles from Damascus is a high hill, reported 
 to be (he same on which Cain slew his brother i4 
 
 POPE. 
 
 The terror of the French, 
 
 The scare-crow that affrights our children so." 
 
 Act I. Sc. 4. 
 
 "This man (Talbot) was to the French people a very 
 scourge, and a daily terror, insomuch, that as his person 
 was fearful, and terrible to his adversaries, so his name and 
 fame was spiteful and dreadful to the commcm people ab- 
 sent ; insomuch that women ix\ France to feare their yong 
 children, would crye. The Talbot comnieth, the Talbot 
 comme(h."-HALL'S CHRONICLE. 
 " Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens." — Act I. Sc . 6. 
 
 The gardens of Adonis, so frequently mentioned by Greek 
 wri(ers, Plato, Plutarch, &c. were nothing but portable 
 earthen pots, with some lettuce or fennel growing in them. 
 On his yearly fes ival, every woman carried one ofthem for 
 Adonis's worship, because Venus had orce li<i>t him in a 
 lettuce bed. The next day they were thrtfwn away. It w«l 
 be seen bv the text, (hat the poet has totally misapplied this 
 circumstance.— BENTLEY, &c. 
 
 " Rhodope."— Act I. Sc. 6. 
 
 /?Ao(/opf was a famous strumpet, who acquired immense 
 riches by her trade. The least, but most Mnished of the 
 Esyi tian pyramids, was built at her cost. She is said after- 
 wards to have married Psammetichus, king of F gypt 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 " Coffer of Darius,"— Act I. Sc. 6. 
 
 When Alexander the Great took the city of Gnz.a. (he 
 metropolis of Syiia, amidst the other sports and we;ii(h of 
 Darius, treasured up there, he found an exreedio? rich and 
 beautiful little chi-st or caske-', and asked (ho.se about him 
 what they thought lit est to be laid up in it. Wh' n they 
 had severally delivered their opinions, he told them, he 
 esteemed nothing so worthy to be preserved in it as Ho- 
 mer's Iliad —THEOBALD. 
 
 « The Parliamejtt house."— kct III. Sc. I 
 
 This parliament was held in 1426, at Leicester, (hongl 
 the author of this play has represented it to have f uen held 
 in LondoD. King Henry was now in the fifth year of ida 
 
V 
 
 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 ■re. lu the first parliament which was held in London, 
 ■fiortlj' I ter his father's death, his mother Queen Kalherine 
 brought (h vouiig kitis; I'roin Windsor to the metropolis, 
 aud sat on the ihrone of the parliament house with the 
 tafant in her lap — MaLONE. 
 
 * Thou bastard of my grandfatim- '."—^ci III. Sc. 1. 
 Tlie Bishop of Winchester was an illegitimate son of John 
 
 KING HENrxY 
 
 "Margery Jourdain."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 It appears from Rymer, that in the tenth year of Henry 
 VI, Maraery Jourdemayn, John Virley. clerk, and friar 
 John Ashwctl. were, on the 9th of May, 1433, brought from 
 Windsor by the constable of the castle, to which they were 
 committed for sorcery, before the counsel at Westminster, 
 and afterwards, by ati order of council, delivered into the 
 custody of the lord chancellor. The same day it was order 
 ed by the lords of council, that whenever the said Vi'-ley and 
 Ashwell should find security for their good behaviour, they 
 should be set al liberty; and in like mantier, that Jourde- 
 
 ayn should be discharged, on her husband's finding secu- 
 rity. This woman was atterwards burned in StnithCield. 
 
 DOUCE. 
 
 *A sand baff."— Act II. Sc. 3. 
 As, according to the old laws of duel, knights were to 
 fight with the lance and sword, so those of an inferior rank, 
 fought with an ebon stair or battoon, to the farther end of 
 Which was fixed a bag crammed hard with 
 
 * A cup of charneco." — Act U. Sc. 3. 
 
 *Some drinking the neat wine of Orlea7ice, some the Gas- 
 eony, some the Bordeaux. There wanted neither sherry, 
 •ack, nor charneco, maligo, nor amber coloured candy, 
 nor liquorice ipccras, brown beloved bastard, fat Alicant, 
 or any quirk spirited liquor." — THE BLACK DOG OF 
 NEWGATE, 1612. 
 
 « This knave's tongue begins to double."— Act. II. Sc. 3. 
 
 Hoiinshed's account of this combat between the armourer 
 and his man is curious : " In the same yeare also, a cerleine 
 armourer was appeached cf treason by a servant of his 
 owne. For proofe whereof a dale was giuen them to fight 
 in Smithfield, insomuch that in conflict ihesaid armourer 
 was overcome and slaine ; but yet by misgouerning of him- 
 nelf. For on the morrow when he should have come to the 
 field fresh and foisting, his neighbours came to him. and gaue 
 him wine and strong drinke in sue h excessive sort, that he 
 was therewith distempered, and reeled as be went ; and so 
 was slaine without guilte. As for the false servant, be liued 
 »ot lonj." The original exchequer record of expenses at- 
 tending the combat has been preserved, from yhence it 
 appears, that the armourer was not killed by his opponent, 
 but conquered, and immediately afterwards hanged The 
 following is the last at tide in the account, and was struck 
 off by the barons of the exchequer, because it sontained 
 charges unauthorised by the sheritls : — 
 
 *Also paid to ofBcers for watching of ye 
 ded man ia Smith felde ye same day and ye 
 nyghte after yt ye battail was doon, and tori 
 liors hyre for the officers at the cxecuciou L s d 
 
 ioyng.and for ye hangman's labour v.js. vid. Vcum vii viL 
 
 *Also paid for yeclolh yat lay upon ye ded ' *'"^'^J> 
 men in Smj;th felde, \\i\d. 
 
 "AJso paid for 1 pole and naylis, and for 
 settyng up of ye said mannys hed on Lon- 
 don Briga:e, \d. 
 
 The sum (otal of expence incurred on this occasion was 
 rflO. 18*. 9rf.-STE£VENS. 
 
 * Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan." 
 
 Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 Bulleine, in his Bulwarke of Defence against Sicknesse. 
 speakinj; of mandragora, says,— "They doe affyrme that this 
 herbe cometh of the seede of some convicted dead men, and 
 also without the death of some lyvinge ttiinge it cannot he 
 drawne out of the earthe to man's use. Therefore they did 
 lye somme dogge or other lyvinge beast unto the roote 
 thereof with a corde, and digged the earth in compasse round 
 about, and in the meane ijme stopped iheir own cares for 
 leare of the terreble shriek and cry of this mandrack. In 
 whych cry it doth« not only dye itselfe, but the feare thereof 
 kylleththe dosce or beast which pulleth it out of the earth." 
 
 REED. 
 
 EING HENRY 
 
 •* Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas.'* 
 
 Act I. Sc. 1. 
 
 The person here meant was Thomas Nevil, bastard son 
 to the Lord Faulconbridge ; " a man/' says Hall, "of no less 
 courage then andacitie, who for his euel condicions was 
 iuch an apt person, that a more meter could not be chosen 
 to set all the worlde in a broyle, and to put the estate of the 
 realm on an yl hazard." He was appointed by Warwick 
 vice admiral, and had in charge to keep the passage between 
 Dover and Calais. On Warwick's death he fell into poverty, 
 and robbed, both by sea and land, from friends and foes. He 
 once brought his ships up the Thames, and made a spirited 
 attack on the city. After a roving life, he ventured to land 
 at Southampton, where he was tak«n and beheaded. 
 
 RITSON. 
 
 •* /* he dead already ? Or is it fear 
 That makes him. close his eyes ?"— Act I. Sc. 3. 
 Whilst this battail was fighting, a priest called Sir Ro- 
 
 of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, by Katherine Swriifori, wtal 
 
 the duke aftei wards married. — MALONE. 
 
 " Ye charming spells and periapts."— Act V. Sc. 3. 
 Periapts were portions of sciipture enclosed in bags of 
 silk or velvet, and worn round the neck; they were some- 
 times quilted on parts of the dress. They were esteenu4 
 preservatives from disease.— STEii-VENS, &c. 
 
 . Paet II. 
 
 " If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,* 
 
 Act HI. Sc. S. 
 
 In Hall's Chronicle, Beaufort's last moments are thui 
 described : « Daring these doyngs, Heury Beauford. I'.yshop 
 of Winchester, and called the riche cardynall, dr^ parted oat 
 of this worlde. This man was haunt in .-^(omacb and hygh in 
 countenance, ryche above measure of all men and to fewo 
 liberal; disdaynlul lo his kynne, and drea<!f'.il to his lovers. 
 His covetous insaciable and hope of lon^ lyfe m'ide hitn botho 
 to forget God, his pr\ nee, and hymselfe. in his latter dayes ; 
 for Doctor John Baker his privie counsHiler and his chapel- 
 layn, wrote, that lying on his death bed he said (hese words : 
 * Why should I dye, having so muche rychi s ' If the whole 
 realme would save my lyte, I am abell either by policie to 
 get it, or by riches to buy it. Fye, wi l no( death be hired, 
 nor will mon.^y do nothing ? When my nephew of Bedforde 
 died, I thought myself half up the whele, but when I saw 
 mine other nephew of Gloucester disceased, then 1 thought 
 my.selfe able to be equal with kinges, and so thought to in- 
 crease my trea.sure,in hope to have worn a irypple croune. 
 But 1 see now the world fayleth me, and so I am deceyrcd; 
 praying you all to pray for me." — MALONE, 
 
 • The sea-shore near Dover."— Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 *But fortune would not that this flagitious person (thfl 
 duke of Sutfolk,) should so escape ; for when he shipped intc 
 Suftolk, entendynge to be transported into France, he was 
 encountered with a shippe of warre aimcrtalning to th« 
 duke of Excester, the constable of the Towre of Loudon, 
 called the Nicholas of the Towre. The c aptain of the sam« 
 bark, with small tight, entered into the duke's shyppe, and 
 perceyying his person present, brought him to lover rode, 
 and there, on the one syde of a cocke bote, caused his head 
 to be stryken off, and left his body, with th<- head upon the 
 sandes of Dover; which corst- was there found by a chape- 
 layne of his, and conveyed to Wyngfielde ci'llefje in Suffolke, 
 and there buried."— HALL'S CllRONICLtt;. 
 
 « This monument of the victory will I hear." — Act IV. Sc. 5. 
 
 * Jack Cade, upon his victory against ihe Staffords, ap- 
 parelled hiiaseif Ui Sir Humphrey's brigatuiine, set full of 
 gilt nails, and so in some glory returned again towards 
 Loudon."— HOLIN SHED. 
 
 " The pissinq-conduit run nothing hut claret.* 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 6. 
 
 This pissiug-conduit was the stcmdardf in Cheape, 
 which, as Stovve relates, " John Wels, grocer, niaior, 1430, 
 caused to be made with a stnall cesierne for fresh water, 
 having one cock continually running " — RITSON. 
 « Set London bridge on fire."— Act IV. Sc. 6. 
 At that time, London bridge was made of wood. " Aftet 
 that," says Ball, "he entered Limdoa, and cut the roper 
 of the drau- b idge." In tliis rebellion, the houses on Lon- 
 don brid^fe were l>urut, atulmauy of the inliabitauts perished. 
 
 MALONE 
 
 " That the lams of England may come out of you% 
 mouth."— \ct. IV. Sc. 7. 
 
 Holinshed .-Jays of Wat Tyler, " It was reported, indeed- 
 that he should saie v, ith great pride, putting his hand to his 
 lips, that witliiii four days a// the laws of England should 
 comefoorth of his mouth." 
 
 " Matthaw Gongh."— Act IV. c. 7. 
 " A man of great wit and much experience in feats of 
 chivalrie, the which in conliiuiall wai res had spent his time 
 in serving of the king and of his father."— Mt) LIN SHED. 
 " Kent. Iden's garden.— Kct IV. Sc. 10. 
 " A gentleman of Kent, named Alexander fJf/^n, awaited 
 so his time, that he took the said Cade, in a garden in Sus- 
 sex, so that there he was slaiue at Hothtield " 
 
 HOLINSHED. 
 
 Part III. 
 
 bert Aspall, chappcllaine and schole master to the jonge 
 earle of llutlande, ii sone to the above-named duke of York, 
 scarce of the age of xii yeres, a fair gentleman, and a may* 
 denlike person, r)€rcyving that flyght was more safe gard 
 than tarrying both for hym and his master, secretly con- 
 veyed the crieout ofthefe!de,by the lord Ciiffcrdf 'sbande, 
 toward Ihe towne; but or he could entre into a house, ha 
 was by the sayd lord Clifford espied, followed, and taken, 
 and by reason of his apparell, demanded what he was Tho 
 young gentleman, dismayed, had not a word to speke, but 
 kneled on his knees, imploring mercy, and desiring grace, 
 both with holding up his hands, and making dolorous coun- 
 tenance, /«r his speache was gone for feare. 
 
 HALLS Cl»RONICLE. 
 " Putting a paper crown on his head."— Act. 1. Sc. 4. 
 " Some write that the duke was taken aliTe, and, in deri- 
 sion, caused to stand upon a mole hill; on whose bead the} 
 pul a garlaude instead of a crowne, which they had fa 
 
EXPLANATORY ^OTES. 
 
 en 
 
 sliioned and made of seggos or bnlrnshes ; and having so I 
 crowned hiin with that garlande, they kneeled downe afore j 
 bim, as the jews did to Christe in sconie, sayin? to him, 
 ' hayle king without rule, hayle king without heritage, 
 hayle duke and prince w ithout people or possessions.' And, 
 It length, having thus scorned him with these and dyverse 
 Dther the like despiteful woordes, they strooke oft' his head, 
 which (as ye have heard) they presented to the queen.* 
 
 HOLINSHED. 
 " Off" vnth his head, and set it on York gates ; 
 So York may overlook the town of York."— Act I. Sc. 4, 
 This gallant prince fell by his own imprudence, in conse- 
 quence of leading an army of only five thousand men to 
 engage with twenty thousand. He and Cecily his wife, with 
 his son Edmond.earl of Rutland, were originally buried in 
 the chancel of Foderingay church, -md (asPeacham informs 
 us in his Complete Gentlen.an, 1627), '• when the chancel, 
 in that fune (if knocking churches and SMcred monuments 
 iu the head was also felled to the ground," they were re- 
 moved into the church yard; and afterwards '' lapped in 
 lead; they were buried in the church, by the command- 
 ment of queen Elizabeth, and a mean monument of plais- 
 ter, wrought with the trowel, erected over thetn, very 
 homely, and far unfliting so noble princes. I remember," 
 adds the same author, ' master Creuse, a gentleman and 
 my worthy friend, who dwelt at the college at ihesame time, 
 told me, that their colHns being opened, their bodies ap- 
 peared very plainly to be discerned, and withal, that the 
 duchess of Cicely had about her necke, hanging in a silken 
 ribbande, a pardon from Rome, which, penned in a very tine 
 Roman hand, was as faire and freshetobe reade, as it had 
 been written yesterday."— .MALONE. 
 
 " Do I see three suns ?"— Act II. Sc. 1. 
 •* At which tyme the sou (as some write) appeared to the 
 erleof Blsirche like three sonnes, andsodainely joyned al- 
 
 togither in one ; upon whiche sight hee took such couraiie, 
 that he, fiercely setting on hiseiiemyes, put them to flight ^ 
 and for (his cause mene ymagined that he gave the son ia 
 his full brightness for his badge or co^nisctiice * 
 
 HOLINSHED. 
 " Sir John Gray."— Act. III. Sc. 2. 
 Sir John Gray is here stated to have ditd fghtinr for tho 
 bouse of York, than which nothing can be mor e opposed to 
 ';ruth He fell in the second bat«tle of St. Alhaiis, which war 
 fought on Shrove Tuesday. Feb. 17, 1460, fi^'htiiig on tlk 
 side of kiftg Henry. In Richard III. the manner ot hii 
 death is truly stated.— MALONE. 
 
 " I was not ignoble of descent."— Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 Lady Elizabeth. Edward IV. 's queen, was the daughter ol 
 Sir Richard Widvilie afterwards earl of Rivers ■ her mothei 
 was Jaqueline, duchess dowager of BediVrd, who wa$ 
 daughter to Peter of Luxeniburgh earl of St. Paul, and 
 widow of John, duke of Bedford, the brother of Henry V. 
 
 MALONE. 
 
 " This pretty lad will prove our country's b/iss." 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 6. 
 
 When Richmond, whose future grandeur is here prophe- 
 cied, became king, hisgralitude to Henry VI. lor his early 
 presage in his favour, made him solicit pope Julius to ca- 
 nonize him as a saint ; but either Henry V/I would not pay 
 the money demanded, or, as Bacon supposes, (he pope re- 
 fused, lest " as Henry was reputed in the world abroad 
 but as a simple man, the estimation of that kind of honour 
 might be diminished, if there were not a distance kept be- 
 tween innocents and saints."— MXIjONE. 
 
 During the contest between the houses of York and Lan- 
 caster, sixteen battles were fought, and upwaids of ninety 
 thousand per.sonE were slain. This carnage, though con- 
 siderable, sinks into insigniticance when we remember the 
 battles of Moskwa, Leipsic, and Waterloo. 
 
 RING RICHARD III. 
 
 " He hearkens after prophecies and dreams."— Act I. Sc. 1. 
 
 " Some have reported, that the cause of this nobleman's 
 death (the duke or Clarence,) rose of a foolish prophecie, 
 which was, that after king Edward, should raigne one 
 w hose first letter of his name should be a G ; w herewith the 
 king and queen were sore troubled, and began to conceive 
 a grievous grudge against this duke, and couid not be quiet 
 till they had brought him to his end."— HOLINSHED, 
 
 Some historians say, that when Clarence endeavoured to 
 obtain in marriage Mary, the daughter and heiress of the 
 duke of Burgundy, his brother, king Edward, was dis- 
 pleased, because he wished to unite that lady with Rivers, 
 ihe queen's brother; and in this' wav the breach betweea 
 the tif others has been explained.— MALONE. 
 
 " ■ See ! dead Henry's wounds. 
 
 Open their congealed mouths, and bleed afresh." 
 
 Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 It is a tradition very generally received, that the mur- 
 dered body bleeds on the touch of the murderer. This was 
 so much believed by Sir Kenelm Digby, that he has en- 
 deavoured to explain the cause .JOHNSON. 
 
 " Pattern of thy butcheries."— Act 1. Sc. 2. 
 
 " The dead corps, on the Ascension even, was conveied 
 rith bills and glaives, pompouslie, (if you will call that 
 i funeral pompe) from the Tower of the church of Saint 
 ?aule, and there laid on a beire or coffin b ire-facced; the 
 same in the rjresence of (he beholders, did bleed, where it 
 rested the space of one whole dale. From thence he was 
 carried to Blackfriars, and bled there likewise. 
 
 HOLINSHED. 
 " Crosby place." — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 Crosby-place is now Crosby square, in Bishopsgate- 
 street; part of the house is yet remaining, and is a meet- 
 ing-place for a presbyterian congregation. This magnifi- 
 cent nr. ision was built in the year 14^6, by sir John Crosby, 
 grocer and woolman. Sir J. Crosby's tomb is in the neigh- 
 bouring church of St. Helen the Great — STEEVENS. 
 " Th^ Countess Richmond." — Act I. Sc. 3. 
 
 Margaret, daughter to John Beaufort, first duke of So- 
 merset, after the death of her first husband, Edmund 
 Tudor, earl of Richmond, half brother to king Henry VI, 
 by whom she had only one son, afterw ards king Henry VII.; 
 she married first sir Henry Stafford, uncle to Humphrey, 
 duke of Buckingham.— MALONE. 
 
 " Wert thoii not banished on pain of death ?" — Act I. Sc. 3. 
 
 Margaret fled into France after the battle of Hexham, in 
 1461, and Edward thereupon issued a proclamation, pro- 
 hibiting any of his subjects from aiding her to return, or 
 harbouring her, should she revisit England. On the 14th of 
 April, 1471, she landed at Weymouth. After the battle of 
 Tewskbury, in the same year, she was confined in the Tower, 
 where she continued till 1475, when .she was ransomed by 
 her father. Regnier, and removed to France, where she 
 died in 1482. The present scene is in 1477, so that her ap- 
 pearance here is a mere poetical fiction. — MALONE. 
 " Your brother Gloster hates you," — Act I. Sc. 4. 
 
 Gloster hated Clarence, because he would not share with 
 him that moiety of the estate of the great earl of Warwick, 
 to which Gloster was entitled on his marriage with the 
 younger sister of the duche.ss of Clarence, lady Ann Nevill, 
 who had been Iv-trothed to Edward, prince of Wales. This 
 ■eems proved by a letter from Sir John Paston to his bro- 
 ther, dated Feb. 14, 1471: " Yesterday, the king, the 
 ifueene, my lords of Clarence an i Gloster, went toShene 
 t« porduB; men say, not all in charity. Tbe king en- 
 
 treateth my lord of Clarence for my lord of Gloster; and 
 as it is said, he answereth, that he may well have my lady 
 his sis(erinlaw, but they sha/l part no Hvi-Iihood, as he 
 saith ; so what will fall can I not say."— MALONE. 
 " Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber." 
 
 Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 London was anciently cal'ed Cameja Regis. So in Hey- 
 wood's If you know not Me, you know Nobody, 1633; 
 " This city, our great chamber."— 
 
 " Enter Buckingham."— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 
 The jesting remarks here given to Buckingham were 
 '•eally made by Sir Thomas Howard, afterwards intro- 
 duced in this play as earl of Surry. " The same morning 
 ere he (Hastings) were up from his bed, where Shore's 
 1 wife lay with him all night, there came to him sir Thomajl 
 Haward, [Howard] sonne to the lord Howard, as it werj 
 of courtesie, to accompaignie him to counsaill ; but 
 forasmuche as he the lord Hastings 'ffttf not readie, he 
 taried awhile for him, and hasted him away. This sir 
 j Thomas, while the lord Hastings stayed awhile com- 
 munyng with a priest whom he met in the Tower strete, 
 ' broke the lord's tale, saying to him merrily, ' What, my 
 lord, I pray you come on, wherefore talk you so long with 
 the priest ? you have no need of a priest yet ; and laughed 
 upon him, as thoushhe would saye, you shalThave nede ol 
 one soone." Continuation of Harding's Chronicle. 
 
 " Bishop of Ely."— Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 Dr. John Morton, elected bishop of Ely in 1478, advanced 
 to the see of Canterbury in 1486, appointed lord chancellor 
 in 1487, died in 1500. He deserves the gratitude of pos- 
 terity as having first suggested a marriage betw ecn Henry 
 VII. and Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of Edward IV., 
 which union terminated the long and bloodv contest be- 
 tween the hou.ses of York and Lancaster.— MALONE. 
 " Put to death a citizen."— Act III. Sc. 5. 
 
 This person was one Walker, b substantial citizen and 
 grocer, at the Crovm, in Cheapside. — GREY. 
 
 " Baynard's Castle."— Act III. Sc. 5. 
 
 It was originally built by Baynard, a nobleman, wTio, 
 according to Stowe, came in with the Conqueror. This 
 edifice, which stood in Thames street, has long been pulled 
 down, though part of its strong foundations are still visible 
 at low water. The site of it is now a timb r yard. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 Doctor Shaw."— Act II. Sc. 5. 
 
 Shaw and Penker were two popular preachers. Instead 
 of a pamphlet being published to furnish the advocates of 
 the administration with plausible arguments cn great po- 
 litical measures it was formerly usual to publi.sh the 
 court creed from the pulpit of Saint Paul's cross. At 
 Richard now employed doctor Shaw to support his claim 
 to the crown, so about fifteen years before, the great earl 
 of Warwick employed his chaplain, doctor Godard, ta 
 convince the people that Henry VI. ought to be restored, 
 and that Edward IV. was an usurper.— MALONE. 
 " The brats of Clarence."— Act HI. Sc. 5. 
 
 Edward, earl of Warwick, who, after (he batt'e of Bos- 
 worth, was sent, by Richmond, to the Tower, withoutevea 
 the shadow of an allegation against him, and executed, 
 with equal injustice, on Tower-hill, Nov. 21, I4!)9; and 
 Margaret, afierwards married to sii Richard Pole, the last 
 princess of the house of Lancaster, who was restored to her 
 honours in the fifth year of Henry VII [. and in the thirty- 
 first year of his reign, (1.540,) at the age of seventy, was put 
 to death by that sanguinary tyrant The immediate caust 
 
n 
 
 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 »f Warwick's l.e\ng pnt to death was, tliat the king of 
 Bpaiii would iidt marry his daughter Katherine to Arfhur, 
 prince of Wales, during his life <ime. This murder (for it 
 aeserves no other name,) made such an imi)ressioii on Ka- 
 Iheriiie, that when she was informed of Henry's intention 
 torepudia e her, she exclaimed, " I have not offended. but 
 it is a just ju>!gment of God, for my first marriage was made 
 ia blood."— MALONE. 
 
 " Wil/i Ms contract with Lady Lttcy."— Act III. Sc. 7. 
 
 The kins; had been familiar with this lady before his mar- 
 riage, to ol)-.truct which, his mother aili ged a precunlract 
 between tlienn: Wheretipon dame Elizabeth Lucy whs sent 
 for, and albeit she was by the kyng his mother, and many 
 other, put in goode comfort to aihnne that she was assured 
 to the kyiige, jet when she was solemnly sworn to saye the 
 truth, she confessed she was never ensured. Howbeit, she 
 sayed iiis grace spake such lovyiMge wonles to her, that she 
 verily hiipedhe woulde have married htr, and that yfsuche 
 kinde wordes had not bene, she would never have .shi-wed 
 such kinduesse to hym to kt hyui so kyudely gette her with 
 «fcylde."-iJALL S CHRONICLE. 
 ■* 0, woulri to God, that thf iyiciusivf vfrge 
 Of golden metal, that must round nty broiv. 
 
 Were red hot-steel, to sear me to the hr 
 
 Act IV. §8. I* 
 
 An allusion to the ancient mode of punishing a regicidei 
 or any other egregious criminal, by placing a cro'i!»n of 
 iron, ht att'd red hot, upon his head.— MALONE. 
 
 " The earldom of Hereford."— \ct IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 !"hakespeare makes Richard refuse to grant (he Hereford 
 estate to Buckingham, and their quarrel is tlie consequence 
 in the tragi dy. This is contrary to the truth of history. 
 Buikin^lLam actually obtained fromRicha d IH. when h« 
 usurped the throne, the earidom of Hereford, and the 
 olhce of constable of England, which had lon^ been an- 
 nexed by inheritance to that earldom — MALONE. 
 " Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, 
 Be exectitedr Act V. Sc. 3. 
 
 " The lord S'anley lodged in the same town, (Stafford) 
 and heaving that the earle of Richmond was marching thi- 
 therward, gave to him place, dislodging him and his to 
 avoide ail suspicion, being afraide least being seen openly 
 to be a factor or aydcr lo the earle, his .son in-law, before 
 the day of battyle, that king Richard, which yet not utterly 
 put him in diiiidence and mistrust, would put to some evil 
 demh his son and heir-apparent."— HOLINSUED. 
 
 RING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Butcher's cur."— Act I. Sc. 1. 
 When the duke of Buckingham's death was reported to 
 the emperor Charles V. he said, " The first buck of England 
 was worried to death by a butcher's dug.'' — .STEEVKNS. 
 " The duke being at the rose. "—Act I. Sc. 2. 
 Tliis house was piirchased about the year I5fil, by Richard 
 Hill, soni' time master of the Merchant- Tailors' Com|)any, 
 and is now the Merchant-Tailors' School, in Suffolk lane. 
 
 WHALLEY 
 
 " Leave these remnants 
 
 Of foul, and feather." Act I. Sc. 3. 
 
 "At that time (in tVie court of Henry VHI.) I was no 
 Ciomniou squire, no under trodden torch brarer; I had my 
 
 i'eaihcr in rny cap as big as a /lag in (he fore top, my 
 '"rench duubiet gelt in the belly, as though (lik ■ a pig 
 readie to be spitted. ) all my guts had been plucked out ; 
 a paire of .side-naned hose thai hung dovv n like two scales 
 filled with f to. iHiid cheeses ; my long stock ihat sate close 
 10 niy dock, my rapier pendent like a round sticke, &c. ; 
 iriy bfacie clnake of black cloth, ouerspreadLng my backe, 
 iyfce a thornbacke on an elephant's eare ; and in con 
 iumniation of my curiositie, my handes without gloves, 
 miia more Frem h." 
 
 NASHE'S LIFE OF JACKE WITTON, 1594. 
 " Enter, the King, and mvelve others, as maskers." 
 
 Act I. Sc. 4. 
 
 "Before the king began to dance, they requested leave 
 io accompany the ladies at mumchance. Leave being 
 erunted, ihen went the masquers and fiist saluted all the 
 dames, and tuen returned to the most worthiest, and then 
 opened the great cup of gold, filled with crownes and 
 other pieces, to cast at. Thus perusing all the gentle- 
 women, tf some they wonne, and lo some they lost. And 
 having viewed all (he ladies, they returned to the cardinal 
 with great reverence, pouring downe all their gold, which 
 was above two hundred crowns. At all, quoth the car- 
 dinal, and casting the die, he won it ; whereat was made 
 great joy "— CAV EiNDISii'S LIFE OF VVOLSEY. 
 " J vJi-re unmannerly to take you out, 
 And not to kiss you." Act 1. Sc.4 
 
 A kiss v\'as ancieiitly the established fee of a lady's 
 partner. So, in A Dia'logue between Custom and Veritie, 
 on the Use and Abuse of Dauncing and Minslrelsie, no 
 date, " imprinted at London, at the long shop, adjoining 
 unto Saint Mildred's church in the Tultrie, by John Alide," 
 we hud ilie following stanza. 
 
 " But some reply, what foole would daunce, 
 
 if that when daunce is doon. 
 He may not have at ladyes lippes 
 
 That which in daunce he ivoon STEEVENS. 
 
 " . Your grace, 
 
 I fear, with dancing is a little heated.— .\ct I. Sc. 4. 
 
 The king, on being discovered, and desired by Wolsey to 
 tske his place, said tliat he would " lirst go and shift him; 
 aud, theresipon, went into the cardinal's bed chamber, 
 where was a great fire ptepared for him, and there he new 
 appareled himself with riclie and princelie garments. And 
 in the king's absence the dishes of tbe banquet were cleane 
 taken away, and the tables covered wit) ?w and per./'umed 
 clothes. Tli'Mi tlie king took his seat under the cloath of 
 estate, commanding every person to sit still as before . and 
 men catne in a new banquet before his majestie of tivo 
 hundred dishes, and so ihey passed the night in banqueting 
 lUld dancing till morning." 
 
 CAVENDISH'S LIFE OF WOLSEY. 
 
 • Norfolk opens a folding door : the king is discovered 
 sitting, and reading petisiuely. Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 The stage direction in the old copy is a singular one. 
 " Exit lord Chcmherlain, and the king draivs ihi' cirrtaiji, 
 and sits reading pensirely and it v ill enable us to as- 
 certain ur* cisely the state of tlie theatie ii> Shakspeare's 
 time. V\'liei> a ].>erson was to be discovered in a dilferent 
 apartmetii from that in which the original speakers in the 
 »f.ene are exhibited, the method was to place .such person 
 in tilt* liark (lari of the stage, behind the curtains which 
 Were, otcusionally, suspended across it These the person 
 
 who was to he discovered (as Henry in the present case,) 
 drew back just at the fit moment. Rowe, looking no fur- 
 ther than the modern stage, changed the directii n thus: 
 " The scene opens, and discovers th" king " &c. but besides 
 the f(dly of introducing scenes when there were none, such 
 an exhibition would be improper, for Norfolk has just said 
 " Let's in," and, therefore, should himself do some act in 
 order to visit the king. This, indeed, in the simple state of 
 the old stage, was not attended to; the king, very civilly, 
 discovering Aew/se//'.— MALONE. 
 
 " That he ran mad and died."— Act II. Sc. 2. 
 " Aboufe this time the king received into favour Dr. Ste- 
 phen Gardiner, whose service he used in matters of greal 
 secrecie and weighte, admitting him in the roome of doctof 
 Pace, the which, being continually abrode in ambassades, 
 and the same oflentymes not much necessarie, by the car- 
 dinalle's appointment, at lengthe he tooke such greefe 
 therewithe, that he fell out of his right wittes." 
 
 HOLINSHED. 
 " Two gentlemen, bearing two great silver pillars 
 
 ActIL Sc.4, 
 
 Wolsey had one pillar borne before him as cardinal, and 
 another as legale. So in The Treatous, an ancient satyrica? 
 poem, by William Roy : 
 
 " With worldly pompe incredible. 
 Before him rydeth two prestes stronge : 
 And they bear two crosses right longe, 
 
 Gapynge in every man's face : 
 After them folowe ttvo laye men secular. 
 And each C(f' theym holdyn a pillar. 
 In their hondes steade of a mace." — STEEVENS. 
 * The queen, and some of her women, at work " 
 
 Act III. Sc.l. 
 
 Her majesty, (says Cavendish,) on being informed that 
 the Cardinals were corning to visit her,_ * rose up. having a 
 skein of red silke about her necke, being 'it work with her 
 maidens." Cavendish at tended Wolsey, on this visit, and 
 the Queen's an.swer in the play is exactly conformable to 
 that wliicli he has recorded, an.i which he appears to have 
 heard her pronounce."— MALONE. 
 
 " 0, good my Lord, no Latin." — Act III. Sc. 1. 
 *Then begane the cardinallto speake to her in latine. 
 Naie.goodmy lord, (quoth she,) speak to me in English." 
 
 HOLINSHED. 
 " Worse than the sacring bell "— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 Tlie little bell which is rung to give notice of the host ap- 
 proaching, when it is carried in proce.ssion, as also in other 
 otlices oflhe Romish church, is called tlie sacring, or co«- 
 secration bell ; from the French word, sacrer." 
 
 THEOBALD. 
 
 « Ipswich."- Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 * Tlie foundation-stone of the college, which the cardinal 
 founded in this place, was discovered a few years ago. It 
 is now in the chapter-house of Chri.st cliurcli. Oxf-rA." 
 
 SEWARD'S ANECDOTES. 
 
 * You'd spare your spoons." — Act V. Sc. 2. 
 
 It was the custom, long before Sliakspeare's time, for the 
 .sponsors at chri.stenings to offer gilt spoons as a pre.sent to 
 tne child. Tti'-se spoons were called apostlf spoons, because 
 the figures of the apostles were carved on the handles. Such 
 as were opulent atid generousgave the %Oi';le twelve ; tho.se 
 who were less rich or liberal escaped at tJie exfienseof the 
 four evangelists • and some ga\e one spoon only, which 
 exhibited "the 'igure of f t e saint in honour of whom the 
 child was named.— STEEVENS. 
 
 « Varis garden."— Act V. Sc. 3. 
 
 This ce]ebrB.^e(\ Bear garden, on \he Bankside, was nc 
 called from Robert de Paris, who had a hnt house and 
 garden then^ in the time of Richard U. The globe theatre _ 
 in which Shakspeare was an actor, stofid on the southern' 
 side of the Thames, and v/as contiguous to this noted 
 place of tumult. [See the Account of the Theatres in 
 Shaksi.eare s Time, in the former part of this ToliUBeJ 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 829 
 
 OILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 « Thou stovlfor a witch ''—Act II. Sc. 1. 
 
 la one way of iryiiiR a witch, they wsed to place Ler on 
 BChair or stool, with her legs tied across, that all the weight 
 ^ her liodv might rest upon her seat, and by that means, 
 after some "time, the circu'.ation of the blood would be much 
 stuppod, nml her ailtiug would be as painful as the wooden 
 horse.— OkEY. 
 
 " The elephant."— kct II. Sc. 3. 
 
 It was an old opinion xhat ^/V?jArt?/^.<; had no joints. Hence, 
 in The DialoRues of Creatures Moralysed, mention is made 
 of* the olefawnte that bowyih nut (he kneys ;" a curious 
 gpecimen of our early natural history.— STEEVENS. 
 
 « the death-tokens of it 
 
 Cry, No recovery.'' Act II. Sc. 3. 
 
 Dr. Hodges, in his Treatise on the Plague, says, " Spots 
 of a dar k complexion, usual! v called tokens, and looked on 
 a.s\ the pledges or forewarniiigs of deoth, are minute and dist- 
 inctblasts, which have theiroriginal tromwitiun, and rise up 
 with a little |)yraiiiidal protuberance, the pestilential poi- 
 son chietiy cOllfCied at their bases, taintintr the neigh- 
 bouring parts, and reaching to the surface."— RE liD. 
 
 « Keep this sleeve."— Act V. Sc. J. 
 
 The custom of wearing a lady's sleet^e for a favonr ti men* 
 fioned in Hall's Chronicle : "One ware on his head-piMce 
 his lady's ,</^«s');e?, and another bare on his belme the giw* 
 of his deareling.''-STEEVENS. 
 
 « The dreadful sagiltary.'^kci V. Sc. 5. 
 
 « Beyonde the royalme of Ama.sonne came an auncyea< 
 kynge, wyse and dyscreete, named Epystrophiis, and 
 brought u > knyghfes, and a mervallouse beste thiit wa» 
 called sagittayre, that behynde the middes was an horse, 
 and to fore a man: this beste was heery like an horse, 
 and had his eyn rede as a cole, and sliotte well with i; 
 bowe: this beste maile the Grekes sore aferde, and slew 
 many of them with his bowe." 
 
 THE THREE DESTRUCTIONS OF TROIE<, 
 * Some galled goose of Winchester." — Act V. Sc. II. 
 
 As the pitblic stews were under the controul of thebishof 
 of Winchrxtcr, a strumpet was called a Wiiichester nvuse, 
 and a galled Winchester goosemay mean.eithera strumpet 
 alliictcd with disease, or one that felt offended by the re- 
 marks of Pandarus in the play. — MASON. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 *' In a wide sea af wax," — Act I. Sc. 1. 
 Anciently they wrote upon waxen tables with an iron 
 style.— HANMER. 
 
 " Methinks they should invite them without knives." 
 
 Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 It w.<js the cu.stom in our author's time for every guest to 
 bring his own knife, which he occasionally whetted on a 
 stone that \\\in^ beiilnd the door. One of the.se whetstones 
 mav be seen in Parkinson's Museum. They were strangers, 
 at that period, to the use of /ort«.— RITSON. 
 
 "So soon as dinner's done we'll forth again." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 It TPay here be noticed, that in Shakspeare's day, it was 
 usual Lo hunt as well after dinner, as before Thus, in 
 Laneliam's Account of the Entertainment at Keuelworth 
 Cafslle, we find that Queen Elizabeth always, while there, 
 hunted in the afternoon. " Monday was Lot, and therefore 
 her highness kept in till fine o'clock in the evening, M'hat 
 time it pleased her to ryd for h into the chase ; to hunt the 
 hnrte ot furs ; which found anone, and after sore chased, 
 8-C.-REED. 
 
 " I dreamt of a silver bason and ewer to-night." 
 
 Act HI Sc. 1. 
 
 A basin and ewer were things of importance formerly. 
 They were usually of silver, and probably very costly 
 srot kmanship was bestowed upon them, as they were exhi 
 felted to the quests before and after dinner, it being the 
 fa.ihion to wash at both tho.se times. In The Retunie from 
 Parnassus, we have the following passage;—" Iminerito 
 
 his gifts have appeared in as many colours m fheraynbow; 
 first, ti> tnaister Amoretlo, in colours of the sattine suit 
 he weares ; to my lady in the similitude of a loose gowne; 
 to my maisler in the likeness of a silver bason and ewer ■'^ 
 
 MALONE. 
 
 Let molten coin be thy damnation.^* — Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 In The Shepherd's C-ilendnr, Lazarus declares himsell 
 to have seen in hell "a great number of wide cauldrons 
 and kettles, full of boyling lead and oyle, with other hot 
 metals molten, in the which were plunged and dipped the 
 covetous men atid women, for to fulfill and replenish them 
 of their insatiate covetise."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " Enter— Phrynia." 
 
 Phrynia was an Athenian courtezan, so exquisitely 
 beautiful, that when her jud>res were proceeding to con- 
 denuiherfor numerous and enormous offences, a sight ol 
 her bosom (which, as we learn from Quintillian, had been 
 artfully denuded by her advocate,) di.sarmed the court ol 
 its severitv, and secured her life from the sentence of the 
 law.— STEEVENS. 
 
 " The wticorn."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 Tlie account of the unicorn is this : That he and the lion 
 being enemies by nature, as soon as the lion sees tlig 
 unicorn, he betakes himself to a tree ; the unicorn in hia 
 fury, and with all the swiftness of his course, running e( 
 him, sticks his horn fast in the tree, and then the lion lalS 
 upon him and kills him.— GESNER'S HISTORY 09 
 ANIMALS. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 " BrovJs bound with oat."— Act I. Sc. 3 
 The crown given by the Romans to him who saved the 
 life of a citizen, which was accounted more honourable 
 than any other, was compo.sed of oak leaves.— JOHi'iSON. 
 " Those centuries." — Act I. Sc. 7. 
 Centuries were companies, each consisting of a hundred 
 men.— STEEVENS. 
 
 Towards the napes of your necks."— kci 11. Sc. I. 
 In allusion to the fable, which .says, that every man has 
 a bag hanging before him in wliich he puts his neiifhbour's 
 faults, and another behind him, in which he stows his own. 
 
 JOHNSON. 
 The kitchen malkin.—Xct II. Sc. 1. 
 A maukin, or malkin, is a kind of mop made of clouts for 
 
 the use of sweeping ovens; thence a frightful figure of 
 clouts dressed up ; thence a dirty wench. — HANMER. 
 " The breath of garlick -eaters." — Act IV^. Sc. 6. 
 To smell of garlick was once such a brand of vulgarity, 
 that garlick was a food forbidden to an ancient order oi 
 Spanish knights, mentioned by Guevara.— JOHNSON. 
 " As is the osjjrey." — Act IV. Sc. 7. 
 The osprev is a rare, large, hlacki.sh hawk, with a long 
 neck and blue legs. It commonly feeds on fish. 
 
 STEEVENS 
 *' To have a temple built you." — ^Act V. Sc. 3. 
 Plutarch informs us, that a temple dedicated to the For- 
 tune of the Ladies, was built on this occasion by order 
 of the senate.— STEEVENS. 
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 " That unicorns may be betrayed with trees, 
 And bears with glasses, elephants with holes." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 1. 
 
 Unicorns are said to have been taken by one, who, 
 runniqg behind a tree, eluded the violent push the animal 
 was making at him, so tha' his horn spent its force on the 
 trunk, and stuck t'a.'it, ch'^iining the heast till he was dis- 
 patched by the hunter. He n s were surprised by mean-; of 
 a wtrror, wliich they would gaze on, affording their pur- 
 suers an opportunity of taking a surer aim. EiepUants 
 vere seduced into pitfnlLs, lightly covered with hurdles 
 
 and turf, on which a proper bait to tempt them wa» tXr 
 
 posed.-STEEViSNS. 
 
 '• When beggars die, there are no comets seen ; 
 The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.** 
 
 Act 11 . Sc. 2. 
 
 This mijjht have been suggested by what Suetonius sayg 
 of the blazing star, which appeared for .seven days together, 
 during tlie celebration of games instituted by Augastu* 
 in honour of Julius. The common people believed that 
 the comet indicated his reception amcwig the gods. 
 
 DOUCE, 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 " Like the courser's hair." — Act I. Sc. 2. 
 Holin.shed says, " a horse kaire laid in a full i)ale of the 
 like water will in a short time stirre and become a living 
 crea^ture. But «ith the certamtie of theae things is rather 
 proved by few."— STEEVENS. 
 
 Gilded puddle."— .Kct I. Sc. 2. 
 There is frequently observable on the surface of stagnant 
 jools, that have remained long undisturbed, a reddish 
 j{old coloured slime : to this atipearance the poet here 
 Wfe .-aENLEY. 
 
 " Mandragora." — Act I. Sc. 5. 
 
 Gerard, in his Herbal, says of the mandragoras t 
 " D oscorides dothe particuUirly set downe many farultte 
 hereof, of which noi withstanding there be none prope 
 unto it, save those that depend upon the drowsie an 
 sleeping power thereof."— PERCY. 
 
 " That gr'>at medicine hath 
 With his tinct gilded thee." — Act 
 
 Sc. r>. 
 
 Alluding to the philosopher's stone, which, by its to 
 converts base metal into £old. The alchemista call t 
 
824 
 
 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 Batter, D»ha(ever it be. by which they perform transmuta- 
 tiou, a medioiiie.—SOA'S^ON. 
 
 " Vll set ihee in a shower of gold, and hail 
 Mich p'urls upon thee. — Act fl. Sc. 5. 
 St is an eastern ceremony, at the coronation of their 
 klBfs, to powder them with gold-dust anrf .'ted pearl. 
 
 WARBUJiTON. 
 *'' A certain queen to Casar in a mattress." 
 
 Act II. Sc. 6. 
 
 *' Cleopatra trussed up in a mattrasse, and so brought 
 iQ Cdtsar, upon ApoUodonts backe." 
 
 NORTH'S PLUTARCH, 1579. 
 " The goddess Act III. Sc. 6. 
 
 "Now for Cleopatra, she did not only weare at that time 
 (Imt al otiier times els, when slie came abi oadj the apparell 
 Off the yoddesse Isis, and so gaue audience vnto ail her 
 *ubjects, as a new Isis."— NORTH'S PLUTARCH. 
 " Whom leprosy overtake.'— Act III. Sc. 8. 
 Pliny, who says, the white leprosy, or elephantiasis, was 
 
 not seen in Italy before the time of Pompt j the Oreata 
 adds, it is " a peculiar maladie, and naturull to the Rgyp' 
 tiaiis; but looke when any of their ki/igs fell into it, woe 
 worth tlie subjects and poor people: for then were th|i 
 tubs and bathing vessels wherein ihey saie in the baiue, 
 tilled with men's bloud for their cure." — REED. 
 
 « It was a king's."— Act IV. Sc 8. 
 * Then came Antony again to the palace greatly boastiwjj 
 of this victory, and sweetiy kissed CleopatrH, armed as he 
 was when he came from the fight, recommending one of his 
 men of arms unto her, that had valiantly fought mi thi» 
 skirmish. Cleopatra, to reward his manliness, gave hini aa 
 armour and head piece of clean gold."— NORTH'S PLJ- 
 TARCH. 
 
 * The pretty worm of Nile."— Act V. Sc. 2. 
 Worm is the Teutonick word for serpent ; we have th« 
 blind worm and s/ow-wor»« still in our language, and tbe 
 Norwegians call an enormous monster, sometimes seen 
 in the iNorihern ocean, the sea-worm. — JOHNSON. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 * Tenantius." — Act I. Sc. 1. 
 Tenantius was the father of Cymbeline, and nephew of 
 C^ssibelan, being the younger son of his elder brother 
 Lud, king of the southern part of Britain ; on whose death, 
 Gassibelan was admitted king. Cassibelan repulsed the 
 Romans on their lirst attack, but being vanquished by 
 Julius Caesar, he agreed to pay an annual tribute to Rome. 
 After his decease, Tenantius was established on the throne. 
 According to some writers, he quietly paid this tribute, 
 others say he refused it, and warred with the Romans. 
 Shakspeare supposes the latter to be true, and loUows 
 Holinshed, from whom he got the name of Sicilius. Leo- 
 oatus is a name which occurs in Sydney's Arcadia. 
 
 MALONE. 
 
 * All sworn and honourable.^ — Act II. Sc. 4 
 It was anciently the custom for the attendants on our 
 nobility, and other great personages, (as it is now for the 
 
 servants of the king) to take an oath of fidelity on their 
 
 entering Into oiiice.— PERCY. 
 
 " The ruddock would 
 
 With charitable bill,— bring thee all this; 
 
 Yea, and furred moss besides, when flowers are none. 
 
 To winter-ground thy corse." — Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 The ruddock is the redbreast, and is so called by Spensor 
 and Chaucer. T< e office of covering the dead is ascribed 
 to this bird by Drayton : 
 
 " f'ov'ring vnlh moss the dead's unclosed eye. 
 The little red-hrrast teacheth charitie." 
 And in an old book called Cornucopia, it is said: "The 
 Robin Rfdbreast, if he lind a man or woman dead, will 
 coverall his face with mosse, fand some ihinke that if the 
 bodye should remaine unburied, that he would cover the 
 whole boilye also." We all remember *' The Children in 
 the Wood." 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 " Ay, come, Semiramis." — Act. II. Sc. 3. 
 Queen Semiramis loved a great horse that she had, so 
 terre forth, that she was content he should doe his kind 
 W]thher."-PLINY'S NAT. HIST. 
 
 " A precious ring."— Act. II. Sc. 4. 
 There is supposed to be a gem called a carbuncle, which 
 fmits not reflected, but native light. Boyle believed in its 
 Wtistence.— JOHNSON. 
 
 " As far from help as litnbo is from bliss." 
 
 Act. III. Sc. 1. 
 
 The limbtis patrum, as it was called, is a place that the 
 schoolmen fancied to be in the vicinity of hell, where the 
 souls of the patriarchs, and of those good men who died 
 before our Saviour's resurrection, were detained. 
 , " Honey stalks to sheep." — Act IV. Sc. 1. 
 
 Honey slalks are clover flowers, which contain a sweet 
 juice. It is common for cattle to overcharge themselves 
 with clover, and die."— JOHNSON. 
 
 " Bring down the devil."— Act, V. Sc. 1. 
 It appears from these words, that the audience were 
 amu<;ed with part of the apparatus of an execution, and 
 that Aaron was mounted on a ladder, as ready to be turned 
 ©tf.— STEEVENS. 
 
 "Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred." — Act.V. Sc.3. 
 
 The additions made l)y Ravenscroft to this scene, are so 
 much of a piece with it, that we cannot omit shewing the 
 reader how he continues the speech before us : — 
 
 "Thus cramm'd, thou'rt bravely fattened up for hell. 
 
 And thus to Pluto 1 do serve thee up.^ 
 
 [Stabs the EmpereM.] 
 And then—* A curtain drawn discovers the heads and hands 
 of Chiron and Demetrius hanging up against the wall; their 
 bodies in chains in bloody linen." — STEEVENS. 
 
 « Some stay t6 see him fastened in the earth. " 
 
 Act V. Sc. 3. 
 
 That justice and cookery may go hand in hand to tb« 
 conclusion of this play, in Ravenscroft 's alteration ol it, 
 Aaron is at once racked ani\ roasted on the stage. 
 
 We have already given specimens of the changes made 
 in this piece by Ravenscroft, who revised it successfully 
 in the year 1087; and may add, that when the empress stalls 
 her child, he has supplied the Moor with the following lines : 
 
 " She has outdone me, ev'n in mine own art. 
 Outdone me in nnirder. kill'd her own child ; 
 Give it me. III eat it." STEEVENS. 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 That the reader may know through how many regions the 
 scene of this drama is dispersed, it is necessary to observe, 
 that Anlicch was the metropolis of Syria ; Tyre, a city of 
 Phoen cia in Asia; Tarsus, the metropolis of Cicilia, a 
 ct)uu ry of Asia minor ; Mitylene, the capital of Lesbos, an 
 island in (he iEgean sea; and Epliesus, the capital of Ionia, 
 a country of tlie Lesser Asia.— STEEVENj. 
 * When 1 saw the porpus, how he bounded and tumbled." 
 
 Act II. Sc, 1. 
 
 Captain Cook, in his .second voyage to the South Seas, 
 mejitlons the jilaying of porpusses round the ship as a cer- 
 tain sign of a violent gale of wind. MASON. 
 " A pair of bases."— Act II. Sc. 1, 
 
 VMiat bases mean is quite uncertain, but from a passage 
 in Sydney's Arcadia we may suppose they were a kind of 
 breeches. " His bases (which he ware so long as thf y almost 
 came to his ankles) were embrodiered onley w.th Wacke 
 wormes, which seemed to crawle upanddowne, as readie 
 Blreadie to devour him.»— STEEVENS. 
 
 « Till the ship be cleared of the dead."— Act III. Sc. 1. 
 
 There was an ancient superstition, that a ship at sea 
 wodid ^ink if a corpse remained on board. So Fuller's 
 Historic of'the Holy Warre:— "His body was carried into 
 France, there to be buried, and was most miserably tossed; 
 it being observed, that the sea cannot digest th^ crudity of 
 a dead corpse being a due debt to be interred where it 
 dieth; and a ship cannot abide to be made a bier of." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 « These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes." 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 Tfae Spanish.A*rmada probably furnished tbf HUthor with 
 
 this name. Don Pedro de Valdes was an admiral in that 
 fleet, and had the command of the great gaileon of Anda- 
 lusia. His slii)) being disabled, he was takeri by Sir Francis 
 Drake, on the22d of July, 1.%S, and .sent toDartmouth The 
 making one of this Spaniard's ancestors a pirate, was pro- 
 bably relished by the audience in hose days.— IVIALONE. 
 * To keep our door hatched."— Act IV. Sc. 2. 
 
 The doors or hatches of brothels seem to have had some 
 distinguishing mark. So in Cupid's Whirligig. 1607: "Set 
 some picks upon your hatch, and, I pray, profess to keep a 
 bawdy house." 
 
 " And cry, he that will give most, shall have her first. " 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 The prices of first and second prostitution were exactly 
 settled ; so in an old prose romance : — "Go thou and make 
 a crye through the citie, that of all men that shall eiilmbyte 
 with her carnally, the fyrst shall give me a pounde of golde, 
 and after that echone a peny of golde." — STEEVENS. 
 " / have drawn her picture with my voice."— Act IV. Sc. 3« 
 
 It was formerly the custom at Naples to hang up the 
 pictures of celebrated courtesans in the public parts of the 
 town, to serve as directions where ibey livfed.— MASON. 
 
 * Crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest mal" 
 leabte."—Act iV. Sc. 6. 
 A skilful workman, who had discovered the art of making 
 glass malleable, carried a specimen of it to Tiberius, who 
 asked liirn if he alone was in possession of the secret. H« 
 replied in the aliirmative ; on which the tyratit ordered hii 
 head to be struck oft' instantly, lest the invention should 
 injure th» workers in precious metals. — DION CASSiUS. 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 825 
 
 RING LEAR 
 
 • And tpeea no JlBh."— Act I. Sc. 4. 
 
 ftiElifshfth's time, the papists were thought, and with 
 reason, enemies to tlie government. Hence the proverbial 
 expression of, he's an honest man, and eats no fish, to 
 •igttify he's a friend to the government, and a protestant ; 
 the eating of fish being considered such a badge of popery, 
 hat when it was en.jonied by parliament to encourage the 
 fish towns, it was held proper to declare the reason ; hence 
 It was called Cecil's fast— W XRBURTOfi . 
 
 « That frontlet. "—Act I. Sc. 4. 
 
 A frontlet was a forehead cloth, used formerly by ladies 
 •t night, to render that part smooth.— MALONE, 
 " That's a shealed peascod."— Act I. Sc. 4, 
 
 The robeing of Richard II. 's effigy in Westminster Ahbey, 
 \» wron^ht with peascod$ op^n, and the peas out; perhaps 
 an allusion to his once being in possession of full sovereignty, 
 but soon reduced to an empty title.— TOLLET. 
 
 * Stocks brottffht out." — Act II, Ac. 2. 
 
 This was not the first time of introducing stocks on the 
 stage. In Hick Scorner, which was printed early in the 
 reign of Henry VIII., Pity is put into them, and left there 
 till he is freed by Perseverance and Content viae yon, 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 * Of Bedlam beggars."— Act II. Sc. 3. 
 
 In the Bell man of London, by Decker, 1640, is an account 
 of one of these characters, under the nanie of an Abraham 
 Man. "He sweares he hath been in Bedlam, an 1 wil! taike 
 frantickly of purpose : you see pinnes stuck in sundry places 
 of his naked liesh; especially in his amies, which paine he 
 gladly puts himself fo, only to make you believe he is out 
 of his wits. He calls himiielf by the name of Poore Tom, 
 and coming near any body crys out, Poore Tom is a-cold; 
 of these Abraham iMen, some be exceeding merry, and doe 
 nothing but sing songs fa.shioned out of their own braines : 
 some will dance, some will doe nothing but either laugh or 
 weepe ; others are dogged, and so sullen both in looke and 
 speech, that spying but a small company in a house, they 
 boldly and bluntly enter, compelling the servants, through 
 fear, to give theta what they demand."— STEEVENS. 
 
 * The?i he wears vwoden nether-stocks."— Act II. Sc. 4. 
 
 Nether-stocks is the old word for stockings. Breeches 
 being at that time called overstocks.— STEEVENS. 
 
 " Who. gives anything to Poor Tom ? whom the foul fiend 
 katk led through fire and through flaitie ."—Act HI. Sc. 4. 
 
 Edgar's ravings may be explained by reference to a pas- 
 sage in Harsnet's book:-" This Examt. further sayeth,that 
 one Alexander, an apothecary, having brought with him 
 from London to Denham, on a time, a new halter, and two 
 blades of knives, did leave the same upon the gallerie floore, 
 in her master's house : a great search was made in the house 
 to know how the said halter and knife-blades came thither, 
 till Ma. Mainy, in his next tit said, it was reported that the 
 devil lay'd them in the gallerie, that some of those that 
 were possessed might either hang themselves with the hal- 
 ter, or kill themselves with the 6/a</es."— MALONE. 
 " Wore gloves in my cap." — Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 It was anciently the custom to wear gloves in the hat, on 
 three ditferent occasions, viz : as the favour of a mistress; 
 the memorial of a friend ; and as a mark to be challenged by 
 an enemy. A passage or two may be given to prove the 
 usage. 
 
 In the play called Campaspe : ''Thy men turned to wo- 
 men, thy soldiers to lovers, gloves worn in velvet caps, 
 instead of plumes in graven helmets." 
 
 And in Decker's Satiromastix : "Thou shalt wear her 
 glove in thy worshipful hat, like to a leather brooch."^ 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 « Web and the pin."— Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 Tie Lapland method of cure for "a disease of the eyes 
 called the pin and vjeb, which is an imperfect stage of a 
 cataract," is given by Acerbi,in his travels. — BLAKEWAY. 
 " Winpped from tything to tything." — Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 A tything is a division of a place, a district ; the same in 
 the country, as a ward in the city. In the Saxon times, 
 every hundred was divided into (ythings. By a statute of 
 Elizabeth, it is enacted, that every vagabond shall be 
 publicly whipped, and setit from parish to parish." — 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 "Peace, Smolkin, peace."— Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 The demons here mentioned by Edgar, were the popular 
 fiends of the poet's age, and were well known among the 
 superstitious of every class. Even the learned and noble 
 fell into the same grovelling delusion ; King James was a 
 
 staunch believer, not merely in their existence, but In fio 
 
 every day agency which was ascribed to them by the viilf«r. 
 Shakspeare has made Edgar, in his feigned madness, allude 
 to an imposture of some Engli.sh Jesuits. The tnck was in 
 substance as fo lows :— While the Spaniards were preparing 
 their armada against Ensland, the Jesuits were busy t9 
 promote it, by making converts: one method they em- 
 ployed was to dispossess pretended demoniacks, by which 
 artifice they made several hundred converts among tlie 
 common people. The principal scene of this faice ivaj 
 laid in the family of one Peckham, a catholic; <ihere Mar- 
 wood, (a servajit of Antbony Babinglon, who wasaflerward.? 
 executed for treason,) Trayibrd, an attendant on Feckbain, 
 and three chamber maid.\, in that family, came into the 
 priest's hands to be cured.; but the discipline ot the patients 
 was so long and severe, and the priests were so tlate and 
 careless with success, that the plot was discovered on tlw 
 confession of the parties, and the contrivers of it deservedly 
 punished. The devils mentioned by Edgar, are those wno 
 were made to act in this farce upon tlie chambermaids, 
 and they w re generally so ridiculously nick-named, thai 
 Harsnet has one chapter " On the strange names of theii 
 devils; lest, (says he) meeting theni otherwise by chance, 
 you mistake them for names of tapsters or jugglers." 
 
 WAUBURTON. 
 
 * Hopdance cries in Tom's belly."— Act III. Sc. 6. 
 
 In Harsnet's book, one of the pretended demoniacs de- 
 poseth— " that if at anytime she did belch, as often times 
 she did by reason that shee was troubled with a wind in her 
 stomacke, the priests would say at such times, that then 
 the spirit b gan to rise in her, and that the wind was the 
 devil;" and, "as she saith, if they heard nny croakifig in 
 her belly, then they would make a wonderful matter of that.* 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 ''Poor Tom, thy horn is dry."— Act III. Sc. 6. 
 
 A horn was usually carried about by every Tom of Bed- 
 lam, to receive such drink as the charitable might afibrd 
 him. See A Pleasant Dispute between a Coach and a he- 
 dan, 16.36. "l have observed when a coach is appendant 
 but two or three hundred pounds a yeere, marke it, the 
 dogges are as leane as rakes ; you may tell all their ribbes 
 lying by the fire : and a Tom-a-Bedlam may sooner eat his 
 home, than get it filled with sw«//</riM*e; and tor his old 
 alms of bacoii there is no hope in the world."— MA LONE. 
 "Upofi these eyes of thine, Pll set my foot."— Act III. Sc- T. 
 
 In helimus. Emperor of the Turks, one of the sons o1 
 Bajazet pulls out the eyes of an Aga on the stage, and 8aj8» 
 
 * Yes, thou shalt live, but never see that day. 
 Wanting the tapers that should give thee light." 
 
 Immediately after, his hands are cutoff. In MarstoB'f 
 Antonio's Revenge, 1602, Piero's tongue is turn out upon 
 the stage. We give these instances of depraved faste, to 
 prove that Shakspeare's drama was not more sanguinary 
 than that of his contemporaries. "—STEEVENS and MA- 
 LONE. 
 
 " Half vjay dovm 
 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade !" 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 6. 
 
 Samphire ^ows in great plenty on most of the sea 
 cliffs in this country : it is terrible to see how the people 
 gather it, hanging by a rope several lathom from the top of 
 the impending rocks, as it were in the air."— SMITH'S 
 HISTORY OF WATERFORD, 1774. 
 
 * That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper." 
 
 Act IV.Sc.4. 
 
 In several counties, to this day, they call a stutt'ed figure, 
 representing a man, and armed with a bow and arrow, set 
 up to fright the crows from the fruit and corn, a croW' 
 keeper, as well as a scare-crow. — THEOBALD. 
 * It were a delicate stratagem, fo shoe 
 A troop of horse with felt."— Act I .Sc. 6. 
 
 This ''delicate stratagem" had actually Wen put in prac- 
 tice about fifty years before Shukspeare was born, as w« 
 learn from Lord Herbert's Life of Henry VIII.; "And now," 
 says that historian, "having feasted the ladies royally for 
 divers days, he (Henry) departed from Tournay to Lisle, 
 Oct. 13, 1513; whither he was invited by the Lady Marga- 
 ret, who caused there a juste to be held in an extraordinary- 
 manner; the place being a fore room, raised high from the 
 ground by many steps, and paved with black square stones, 
 like marble; while the horses, to prevent sliding, were 
 shod with felt or flocks; after which the ladies danced «11 
 night."— MALONE. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 "We'll net carry coals."— Act I. Sc. 1. 
 One that would carry coals, formerly meant a mean- 
 gpirited fellow, who would submit to any indignity without 
 resentment. A passage or two from old plays will abun- 
 dantly prove this. 
 
 « Now my ancient being a man of an tin coal carrying 
 
 spirit."— Chapman's May-Day, 1610. 
 " Here ernes one that vnll carry coals, ergo, will hold my 
 
 dog " — Every Mu7i out of his Humour. 
 « He kas had wrong, and if I vjere he, I would beare no 
 
 vo<iUe.$."^AHtoHio andMellida, 1002. 
 
 " I will bite my thumb at them."^Ac\ I. Sc. I. 
 This mode of quarrelling appears to have l)een commoa 
 in our author's time. "What swearing is there, (.says Dec- 
 ker, describing the various groups that daily frequented the 
 walks of St. Paul's Church) what shouldering, what justlinjf, 
 what jeering, what bytinq oj thumbs to beget quarrelsl*— 
 The Dead Term, 1608— 31 ALONE. 
 
 "Your plantain leaf is excellent for that." 
 
 Act I. Sc. SI, 
 
 Tachius tells us, that a toad, before she engages wiUiiJ 
 «pider, will fortify herself with som.e of this plant ; and tMl 
 
6 
 
 EXPLANAl'ORY NOTES. 
 
 e comes off wounded, she cures herself aftemards with 
 GREY. 
 
 * Conrt-cupboard. — Act I. Sc. 5. 
 A. vourt-eapboard was a moveable, a boufet, a fixture, 
 The Ibrraer was open, and made of plain oak; the latter 
 had folding di-ors, and was both painted and gilded ou the 
 :asi<ie.— STEEVENS. 
 
 - Turn the tables wp."— Act I. Sc. 5. 
 [t should be observed, that ancient tables were flat leaves, 
 joined by hinges and placed on tressels. When they were 
 So be removed, they were therefore turned up. 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 " Like powder in asMIl-less soldier'sJlask '>— Act III. Sc. 3. 
 
 To understand this allusion, it should be remembered, 
 that the ancient English soldiers, using matchlocks, instead 
 of locks with flints as at present, were obliged to carry a 
 lighted match hanging at their belts, very near to the 
 wooden flask in which they kept their powder. 
 
 STEEVENS, 
 "Lie thou there."— kci IV. Sc. 3. 
 It apiiears from several passages in our old plays, that 
 
 knives were fomnerly part of the bride's accoutreraentiL 
 and every thing bzhoveful for .Juliet's state had been just 
 left with her. So in Decker's Match Me in Loudon, 1631. 
 
 * See at my girdle hang my wedding knivzs,* 
 And in King Edward HI. 1599 : 
 
 'Here by my side do hang my wedding knives.* 
 "And shrieks like mandrakes drawn out of the earth* 
 
 Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 The mandrake (says Thomas Newton, in his Herball to 
 the Bible, 8vo. 1587) has been idly represented as "acrea 
 ture having life, and engen iered under the earth of the 
 seed of some deade person that bath been convicted and put 
 to deathe for some felonie or murther; and that they had 
 the same in such dampishe and funerall places where the 
 saide convicted persons were buried."— STEEVENS. 
 
 " One of our order, to associate me.^—Kct V. Sc. 2. 
 Each friar has always a companion assigned him by his 
 superior, when he asks leave to go out ; and thus they aro 
 a check upon each other.— STEEVENS. 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 « Tk« morning cock crew loud."— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 Bourne, of Newcastle, in his Antiquities of the Common 
 People, informs us,—" It is a received tradition among the 
 vulgar, that at the time of cock crowi?ig, the midnight 
 spirits forsake these lower regions, and go to their proper 
 places. Hence it is, (says hej that in country places, where 
 the way of life requires mure earlv labour, they always go 
 cheerfully to wo.rk at that litne ; whereas, if I hey are called 
 abroad sooner, tliev imagine every thing they see a wander- 
 ing ghost."— FARMER. 
 
 " They clepe'us, drunkards."— Act I. Sc. 4. 
 
 And well our Englishmen might ; for in Elizabeth's time, 
 there wajs a Dane in London, who is thus nientioned in a 
 collection of characters, entitled Looke to It, for He Slab 
 Ye: 
 
 " You that will drink Reynaldo unto deth. 
 The Dane that would carowse out of his boote." 
 And It appears from one of Howell's Letters, dated at 
 Hnmburgh, in the year 1632, that the then king of Denmark 
 had not degenerated from his jovial predecessors. In his 
 account of an entertainment given by his majesty to the earl 
 of L>:'icester, he tells us, that the king, after beginning 
 thirty-Jive toasts, was carried away in his chair, and that 
 Bll t'ue officers of the court were drunk.— STEEVENS. 
 " Doomed for a certain term towalk the night, 
 And, for the day, cotijin'd to fast in fires." 
 
 Act I. Sc. V. 
 
 Amoag the other punishments of hell and purgatory, con- 
 cinual hunger and thirst were enumerated. Chaucer says, 
 —"And moreover th-i misese of hell .shall be ii Jefaut of 
 meat and drinke.'^ Nashe, in his Pierce Penniless, „.is fbe 
 same idta : "Whether it be a place of horror, stench, and 
 darkness, where men see meat, but can get none, and are 
 ever thirsty," So, likewise, at the conclusion of an ancient 
 pamphlet, called The Wyll of the Devyll : 
 
 " Thvu shalt lye in frost and fire 
 With sicknesse and aunger." 
 " In her excellent white bosom, these." — Act IT. Sc. 2. 
 
 It was customary for ladies to have a pocket at the bosom 
 of (heir dress, in which they kept letters, or any other va- 
 Vuable which they desired to have constantly about them. 
 "An eyry of children."— Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 This relates to the young singing men of the Chapel- 
 Royal, or St. Paul's, of the former of whom mention occurs 
 in a puril-anical pamphlet so early as lf,69 : " Plais will 
 never be supprest, while her Majesties unfledged minions 
 flaunt it in silkes and sattens. They had as well be at their 
 popish service in the iJevill's garments. Even in her Ma- 
 lestie's chapel do these pretty upstart youthes profane the 
 Lonlft's day by the lascivious writhings ot their tender 
 litn'rH's. inii gorgeous decking of their a.pparell, in feigning 
 bawtlie fables gathered from the idolatrous heal hen poets,." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 « By the altitude of a chopine." — Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 «A thing made of wood, and covered with leather of 
 sundrj colours, some with white, some with redde, some 
 yellow. It is called a ckapiney, which they wear under 
 their shoes. Many of thcia are curiously painted, some also 
 of them have I seen fairly gilte. There are many of these 
 chapineys of great height, evtn half a yarde highe, whiche 
 mfd^-eth many of their women, whiche are very short, seeme 
 much taller than the tallest woman we have.in Eugland- 
 Also, 1 have heard it observed among them, that by how 
 much the nobler a woman is, by so much the higher are her 
 chapineys. All their gentlewomen, and most of their 
 wives and widows that are of any wealth, are assisted and 
 supported, eyther by men or women, when they waike 
 abroade, to the end lliey may not fall. They are borne up 
 most commonly by the left arme, otherwise they might 
 quickly take a fall."-C()RYAT'S CRUDITES, 16il. 
 " Like Ftenckfalcoiiers." — Act II. Sc. 2. 
 
 The amusement of falconry was much cultivated in 
 pTHnce. In Sir Thomas IJrowne's Tracts, we are told, that 
 "the French st^m to have been the first and noblest ya/- 
 coners in the western p in of Europe." And, that "the 
 Vrench king sent over his falconers to shew that sport to 
 Mng lames the First."— STEEVENS. 
 
 * / have heard of your paintings, too, well enough.* 
 
 Act HI. Sc. 1. 
 
 Painting the skin was very common anciently, and wag 
 frequently alluded to by Shakspeare's contemporaries. So« 
 in Drayton's Mooncalf : 
 
 " No sooner got the teens, 
 
 But her oton natural beauty she disdains ; 
 With oyls and broths most venomous and base. 
 She plaisters over her well- favoured place ; 
 And those sweet veins by nature rightly placed. 
 Wherewith she seems that white skin to nave iac'd. 
 She soon doth alter, and, with fading blue. 
 Blanching her bosom, she makes others new." 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 * Out-herods Herod."— Act III. Sc. 2. 
 The character of Herod in the ancient mysteries was al- 
 ways a violent one. The following language is put into bit 
 mouth in an old play. 
 
 "Now Ireig?i lyk a king array'dfull rych, 
 Rollyd in rynggs and robys of array, 
 Duki/s with Dentys I drive into the dych. 
 My dedys be fitll dowty demyd be day." 
 " Of bewte and of boldnes I ber evermore the ieSe, 
 Of mayn and of myght I master every man ; 
 I dynge with my doivtiness the devyl down to kelle. 
 For bathe ofhevyn and of earth lam kynge certann.* 
 STEEVENS and MALONE» 
 "Lying down at Ophelia'' s feet."— kct HI. Sc. 2. 
 To lie at the feet of a mistress, during any dramatic re- 
 presentation, seems to have been a common act of gal- 
 lantry. So in the Queen of Corinth, by Reaumont auJ 
 Fletcher : 
 
 " Ushers her to her coach, lies at her feet 
 At solemn masques, applauding what she laughs at.* 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 * Behind the arras Pll convey myself "—Act III. Sc. 3. 
 
 The arras hangings, in the poet's time, were hung at 
 such a distance from the wall, tnnt a person might easily 
 stand behind them unperceived.— MALONE. 
 "Look here, upon this picture, and on this." — Act III. Sc. 4. 
 
 The introduction of miniatures in this place is a modern 
 innovation. A print prefixed to Rowe's edition of Ham- 
 let, 1709, proves this. There the two royal portraits are 
 exhibited as half lengths, hanging in the queen's closet; 
 and either thus, or as whole leiigths, they were probably 
 exhibited from the time of the original performance of this 
 tragedy, to the death of Betlerton. We may also learn, 
 from this print, that the trick of throwing down the chair, 
 on the appearance of the ghost, was adopted by modern 
 Hamlets, from the practise of their predecessors. 
 
 MALONE, and STEEVENS. 
 
 * Thunders in the index." — Act HI. Sc. 4. 
 
 In many old books we find the index inserted at the be* 
 ginning instead of the end, as is now usual. 
 
 « Hide fox, and all after."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 There is a play among children, called, hide fox and all 
 after, which Decker seems to allude to in his Satiroraas- 
 tix :— " Our unhandsome-faced poet does play at bo-peep 
 with your grace, and cries, — 'All hid, as bo'js do." 
 
 HANMER. 
 
 * By his cockle hat and staf. 
 
 And his scandal shoon." — Act IV. Sc. 5. 
 This is the description of a pilgrim Wliile this kind of 
 devotion was in favour, love intrigues were carried oo 
 under that ma.sk. The cockle-shell hat was one of the es- 
 sential badges of this vocation ; for the chief places of 
 devotion being beyond sea, or on the coastjt, the pilgrima 
 were accustomed to put cockle-shells in heir hats, to denote 
 the due performance of their vows.— WARBURTON. 
 
 " The owl was a baker's daughter."— Act IV. Sc. 6. 
 This is a common story among the vulgar ia Glouces- 
 ter.shire, and is thus related : " Our Saviour went into • 
 baker's shop, where they were baking, and a.sked for som* 
 bread to eat. The mijtress of the shop immediately pul 
 
EXPLANATORY ^iOTES. 
 
 . piece of Aorsxh into the oven to bake for him ; but "was " 
 epriroaDdcd by her daughter, who insisted tiiat the piece 
 of dou?b was too large, and reduced it to a vei y small size. 
 "Tae douftii, however, iimnedialely afterwards began to 
 swell. aaJ presently became of a most enormous size. 
 ^Vnci«£poa, the baker's daughter cried out.— " Jietigh, 
 heugh, neu^**.'* which owl-like noise probably induced 
 our Saviour, for he^ wickedness, to transform her into 
 that bird.»— DOCCF, 
 
 « Sy S&int Charity."— Act IV. Sc. 5, 
 In the sceiw between the bastard Faulconbridge and the 
 friars and nun, in The First Part of the Troublesome 
 Raigne of Kinsr John, — " the nunne swears by Gis, and the 
 friiis prays to Sabit Withold, (another obsolete saint 
 mentioned in King Lear) and adjure him by Saint Cha- 
 ntie to hear them."— BLACKSTONE. 
 
 * There's rosemary, that's for remembrance." — Act IV .Sc. 5, 
 Rosemary was anciently supposed to strengthen the me- 
 mory, and was not only carried at funerals, but worn at 
 weddings. Thus, in the Noble Spanish Soldier, 1034: "I 
 meet few but are stuck with rosemary : every one asked 
 me who was to be married." Pa?iszes is for thoughts, 
 because of its name pensees ; so, in All Fools, a comedy 
 by Chajiraan, 1605 : 
 
 « WJiat flowrh ane these ? 
 The pansit thii 
 
 0, that's for /overt* thoughts . " 
 Greene, in Ms Qnin for an Upstart Cowrtiei, m?0, calls 
 fennel, women's w^eds, "fit generally for that sex, siih 
 while they are maidens, they wish wantonly." Columbines 
 arc thus mentioned by Cliapman in his All Fools ; 
 
 * What's that ?—a columbine > 
 
 No : that liiankless flower grows not in my garden.'* 
 Ophelia calls rue, the herb qf grace : the following passage 
 from a Quip for an Upstart Courtiev , is much to tlie pur- 
 pose :— Some of them smiled and said, rue wfci called herbe 
 grace, which, though they scorned in their youth, they 
 might weare in their age, and that it was never too late to 
 sav miserere." In the .same work, the emblematical cha- 
 racter of the daisy is thus given : " Next them grew the 
 assembling daisy, to warue suchlight-of love wenches not 
 to trust every faire promise that such amorous bachelors 
 make them." llie violet is thus characterised in an old 
 cjilection of sonnets, printed 1584. 
 
 * Violet isforfaithfulnesse. 
 
 Which in me shall abide ; 
 Hoping likewise that from your heart 
 
 You will not let it slide.** 
 
 » To play at loggats with them."— Act V. Sc. 1. 
 This is a ga)ne still played in several parts of England. A 
 
 OTHELtO 
 
 stake IS fixed into the ground; those who play, ttrow lo^ 
 gats at it, ai d he that is nearest the stake, wins : we havt 
 seen it played at sheep shearing ff asts, where thewinncs 
 was entitled to a black (lecce, which he afterwarda pre- 
 sented to the farmer s maid to spin, for the purpose of mak- 
 ing a petticoat, and on condition that she kuelt down on the 
 fleece, to be kissed by all the rustics present.— STEE\£NS. 
 
 « The age is grown so picked."— Act V. Sc. 1. 
 
 This alludes to a very absurd fashion. Shoes with pointed 
 toes, of a monstrous length, Avere so generally worn ia 
 England, that it was restrained at last by proclamation, to 
 long ago as the 5th of Edward IV. when it was ordered 
 "that the beaks or pykes of shoes and boots should not pas,i 
 two inches, upon pain of cursinij by the clergy, and for- 
 feiting twenty shillings, to be paid, one nohle to the king, 
 another to the Cordwainers of London, and the third f^.c tea 
 chamber of London: and for other countries and tuwus 
 the like order was taken. Before this time, and since (ho 
 year I4S2, the py kes of shoes and boots were of such length, 
 that they were fain to be tied up to the knee with chains of 
 silver, and gilt, or at least silken laces. — STEEVENS. 
 
 « In the bilboes."— Act V. Sc. 2. 
 The bilboes is a bar of iron with fetters annexed to it, hj 
 which disorderly or mutinous sailors were ancientl^y linkpS 
 together. The word is derived from Bilbao, a [jlace in 
 Spain, famous for its steel manufactures. The legs ofper- 
 lons suttVring the punishment were connected .«o closely 
 (hat it was impossible for one to move without di.stresaing 
 the other; so that any attempt to rest under such circum- 
 stances was wholly tniitless. The bilboes are still shewn in 
 the Tower of London, among the other spoils of the Spanish 
 A rm ada . —STEE V ENS . 
 
 " I once did hold it, as our statists do, 
 A baseness to write fair."— Act V. Sc. 2. 
 * I have in my time (says Montaigne), scene some, who, by 
 writing, did earnestly get both their titles and living, to 
 disavow their apprenlissage, marre their pen, and atiect the 
 ignorance of so vulgar a qnalilie. " So, in Fletcher's 
 Woman-Hatei : " 'Tis well, and you have learned to write 
 a bad hand, that the readers may take |);iins for it. Vour 
 lordship haih a secretary that can write fair when you pui • 
 pose to be understood. ^'-BOSWELL. 
 
 « Hangers. "—Act V. Sc. 2. 
 Under this term were comprehended four grailuate«i 
 straps, &c. that hung down in a belt cn each side of itg 
 receptacle for the sword. I have sern a most gorgeous belt 
 of this description, at least as old as the time ol James I. 
 It was of common velvet, embroidered with gold, and had 
 belonfrcd to the Sommerset family. Pope mistook the 
 meaning of this term, conceiving it to signify " short uen- 
 dulou.s broadswords "—STEEVENS. 
 
 ' Special officers qf night.**— Act I. Sc. 2. 
 
 Shaksptare must have read the Commonwealth and Go- 
 vernment of Venice, translated by Lewkenor ; in which the 
 fbilowing passage occurs: "For the greater expedition 
 lliered", of these kinds ofjudgements, the heads or chieftains 
 of the officers by night do obtain the authority of which the 
 advocators are deprived. These officers of the night are six, 
 and six likewise are those meane officers, that have only 
 power to correct base vagabonds and trifling offences."— 
 
 MALONE. 
 
 * Valiant Othello, we must straight employ yvfx. 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman." — Act I. Sc. 3. 
 It was part of ihe policy of the Venetian state, never to 
 entrust the command of an army to a native. To exclude 
 therefore (says Contareno, as translated by Lewkenor, 
 1599), from the Venetian state, the danger or occasion of 
 ambitious enterprises, our ancestors held it a better course 
 to defend the dominions on the continent with foreign mer- 
 cenary soldiers, than with the home bred citizens. Their 
 charges and yearly occasions of disbursement are likewise 
 very great; for alwaise they do entertain in honorable sort 
 with great provision a captaine generalie, who alwaise is 
 a stranger 6or«e.— MALONE, 
 
 " The Antropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grois ber.fat.h their shoulders— Act. 1. Sc. 3. 
 The Cannibals and Anthropophagi were known to an 
 English audience before Shakspeare introduced them. In 
 The History of Orlando Furioso, played before Elizabeth, 
 they are naentioned; and Raleigh speaks of. people whose 
 heads appear not above their shoulders. Histories, says 
 Gilpin, in a sermon before Edward IV. notice a "people 
 called Antropophagi, eaters of men." In Hackluyt's 
 Voyages, K'jOS, we tind this passage :— "On that branch 
 I'.'bich is called Caora, are a nation of people whose heades 
 appear net above their shoulders : they are reported to have 
 their eyes in their shoulders, and their mouthes in the 
 middle of their breastes."— REED, and STEEVENS, 
 
 « Thrice urtven bed of down. "—Act I. Sc. 3. 
 A driven bed is a bed for which the feathers are selected, 
 by Invino witJt a fan, which separates tu> light from the 
 heavy.— JOHNSON. 
 
 • As luscious as locusts. "—Act 1. Sc. 3. 
 of the locust tree is a long black pod, tliat/con- 
 
 tams the seeds, among which there is a very sweet Inicioya 
 juice, of mucli the same consistency as fresh honey.— 
 
 STEEVENS. 
 
 " Though that her jesses were my dear heart strings." 
 
 Act III. Sc. 3. 
 
 Jesses are short straps of leath..f tied about the foot of a 
 
 hawk, by which s,he is held on the fist HAJS3IER. 
 
 " 4fthe general camp. 
 
 Pioneers and all. "—Act Hi. Sc. 3. 
 Pioneers were generally degraded .soldiers, appointed to 
 the ■ If.ve of pixoieer as a punishment for misbehaviour. 
 " A soidier ought ever to retaine and keepe his annes ia 
 saftie and forthcoming, for he is more to be detested than 4 
 cowaid, that will lose or play away any part thereof, or 
 refuse it for his ease, or to avoid panics; wherefore such a 
 one is to be demissed with punishment, or to be made some 
 abject pio7ieer." The Art of War, by E. Davies. Jfil'J. 
 
 GROSE. 
 
 " Crusadnes."— Act III. Sc. 4. 
 The crnsado is so called from the cross which is stamped 
 upon it; it is a Portuguese coin, in value about three 
 shillings of our money.— GREY. 
 
 "And it was died in mummy." — Act III. Sc. 4. 
 The balsamic liquor running from mumnties, was formerly 
 celebrated for its anti epileptic virtues. We are now wise 
 enough to know that the qualities ascribed to it are all 
 imaginary. Mummy, however, is still much coveted bj 
 painters, as a transparent brown colour which throws a 
 warmth into their shadows.— STEEVENS. 
 " If that the earth could teem ivith woman's tears 
 Each drop she falls, would prove a crocodile." 
 
 Act IV. Sc. I, 
 
 Shatispeare here alludes to the fabulous accounts of cro- 
 codiles. " It IS written (says Bull(Jiar), that lie jhall weep 
 over a man's head, when he hath devoured the bodv, and 
 then Will eat up the head too. Wherefore, in Laiin there ii 
 a proverb, cro(70f/?Vi lacrynice, cmcodile's te^rs t" signify 
 such tears as are fained." It app''ars, that a dc«dc ocodile, 
 "but in perfect forme," of about nine feet Ii'/^i-,, ad been 
 exhibited i^i London in our poet's time.— MALON . 
 " For a joint ring."— Act IV. Sc. 3. 
 
 The n?/ureof a joint ring will be best explained by « 
 passage in Dryden s Don Sebasiiau : 
 
EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 * ^^0**' artist iorought them, 
 ^Ufi joints so close as not to be perceived; 
 Vet are they both each othei-'s counterpart : 
 Mer part had Juan mscrib'd, and his had Zayda, 
 I row know those names are theirs) and in the midst, 
 A ke»rt divided in two halves wasplac'd. 
 Now ^tke rivets of those ring$ inclos'd, 
 Fii mitfich other, I have forged thi* ige • 
 
 But if they Join, you must fer ever pavt^ 
 ' Chrysolite.'— Act V. Sc. 1. 
 Pliny informs ns, that Ptolemy PhilBrielphMtaaa 
 of his wife, Arsmoe. made of one topaa, fam 
 length. Topaz and chrystolite were tmoe mpm^ 
 nyHiouiterms.-PLUMTREE. 
 
1 
 
/