0*^ K* *V CC <<. " ex Pi 3 -_ < c< rr«r cM IF ^ ^M£ ^S "^^-^y^^^MjSxm Wm~ -f>'Wk PM\?^ & f v^^P k^HE»^E ~-J^ siftr |.^- ~7 ^4« i- -r-^ ;' ^a*5 13 ■Sx-,^ _-. • from the 32 >ooks of I "/] CDary J. £. C DcDonald P| ?5SSife^ C ■' : ^BBasssrv $pa Mary J. L. Mc Donald CC *m C€ ff> : ■'-*. 4 ■ ~0 Ir 7^/L P / / Co 4& CJ<. Sa COV&CsdC /t*r &fi <°c Ci-rt/xJyCt. p i-f £ t '-( fi"f> Tf'SLtJ' / Ul J, &*ts*srtt*t e<~j tt J^Ji^/f/o- "7 \ r THE DRAMATIC WORKS WILLIAM SHAKSPEAEE. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/campbellshakespeaOshakrich >« 1 I «rai W.ITLl IPEilE. LONDON, GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SOUS, BROADWAY; LUDGATE HILL. I) K A. iVI AT I C WO R THE DEAMATIC WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEAEE. REMARKS ON HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. A NEW EDITION", LONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE; NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET. I ft 1 ' LONDON ! BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEKRIARS. * TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ., ®l)fe unrttfon OP THE DRAMATIC WORKS OK WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, IS MOST GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED, THE PUBLISHER. MAY, 1838. 978587 CONTENTS. PAGE THE LIFE « THE PLAYERS' PREFACE lxxiii ANCIENT COMMENDATORY VERSES lxxv THE TEMPEST / 1 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA . . . . 20 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 39 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL 63 MEASURE FOR MEASURE 85 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 109 MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 131 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 150 MERCHANT OF VENICE 174 AS YOU LIKE IT 196 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 219 TAMING OF THE SHREW 244 V WINTER'S. TALE , . . . . . .267 COMEDY OF ERRORS 294 MACBETH 310 KING JOHN 331 KING RICHARD II 354 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV 379 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 405 KING HENRY V 433 viii CONTENTS. PAGE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. . . 461 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI 486 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. . . ' 514 KING RICHARD III 542 KING HENRY VIII 575 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 603 TIMON OF ATHENS 633 CORIOLANUS 655 JULIUS CESAR 687 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA * . . . . 709 CYMBELINE 740 TITUS ANDRONICUS 771 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE .793 KING LEAR 815 ROMEO AND JULIET . ... 845 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 872 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE 905 GLOSSARY 935 INDEX 947 REMARKS ON ©fje %itt antr azartttuss OP WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. CHAPTER I. TT is justly regretted by the present age that so little information has come down to us respecting the personal history of Shakspeare. The Genius of Biography neglected him in his own days, — she gave records of men comparatively uninteresting, and said nothing about the paragon of nature, — she embalmed the dwarfs of our literature, but left its Colossus to be buried in oblivion. Perhaps our baulked curiosity can fix upon no individual more strangely responsible for this misfortune than Shakspeare himself. He retired from the business of life, to enjoy its leisure and domestic happiness, probably at the age of forty-eight, with his public honours all thick and fresh upon him. The Poet, who saw so deeply into the minds of others, could not have looked into himself without prognosticating his own favour with futurity. Even if the praises of his contemporaries had been less emphatic than they were, he could no more have been unconscious of his own greatness than of his own existence. How can we imagine him blind to the destined love of posterity, or account for his omitting to tell us what manner of man the Poet personally was, whose works were to charm unborn ages — to sweeten our sympathies — to beguile our solitude — to enlarge our hearts, and to laugh away our spleen. Yet Shakspeare has told us nothing of himself individually in any plain and direct manner ; and, after closing his dramatic career, he took no pains to leave his dramas in a corrected state for publication, so that they have reached us with more uncertainties of text than even those of the Greek tragedians. Such seeming unconcern, either about his own fame, or about the interest 6 REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS which the world was to take in him, is almost as much a matter of wonder as his genius itself *. It would be tedious to enumerate the individuals, including antiquaries, writers of lives, and professed lovers of literature, who were either his contemporaries, or so nearly so, as to have had access to abundant information respecting him ; but who have either slightly noticed him, or not at all. Coeval tradition has no doubt given a general and most pleasing outline of his personal character. Drummond of Haw- thornden contrasts his gentleness with the rough assumingness of Ben Jonson ; and Ben, himself, says of him, "I loved the man and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any ; he was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free nature." For this noble testimony one is sorry that Drummond was a less generous witness of Jonson's convivial manners and confidential conversation. All who addressed "William Shakspeare seem to have uniformly connected his name with the epithets — worthy, gentle, and heloved. " He was verie good company," says Aubrey, " and of a verie ready and smooth wit." The same John Aubrey says, that he was a handsome and well made man ; a tradition at all events acceptable to our belief,' although Aubrey did not write till about sixty years after the great Poet's death. It is unfortunate, however, that we have not complete assurance as to his personal appearance. The bast over his monument at Stratford must have been placed there (according to Malone) earlier than 1623, seven years after Sliak. speare's death, as it is mentioned in the verses of Leonard Digges, written at that period. It gives us the idea of a tolerably good-looking, though not of a handsome man ; but it is an indifferent piece of sculpture, and may have done him no justice. The Chandos portrait of him affords a much finer conception of his physiognomy, and Malone and Boswell, I think, have shown the great probability of this portrait being authentic; but still it differs widely from the Stratford bust. These are the two mo3t probable of Shakspeare's extant likenesses. In fact, all the traditions respecting Shakspeare are but scraps to our curiosity. Sir William Dugdale, a native of Coventry, about twenty miles from Stratford- upon-Avon, who published the " Antiquities of Warwickshire," only thirty years after the Poet's death, and who might have seen a score of persons once familiar with him, did not trouble himself to make a single inquiry on the subject. Fuller was equally careless. That Anthony Wood should have collected few anecdotes about the great Bard, may be partly accounted for by the circumstance that his main object, in the " Athenae Oxonienses," was to give an account of men bred at Oxford. It * It is worth noticing, however, that the accident of fire has combined with the sloth of his contemporaries to destroy, in all probability, several memorials respecting Shakspeare. In the year 1613, his own theatre, the Globe, was burnt down, and in that conflagration, it can scarcely be doubted, that many of his manuscripts were consumed. Soon after there was a great fire in the town of Stratford, on which occasion, it is probable, that some of his letters to his native townspeople were lost. Ben Jonson must have also possessed some letters of Shakspeare ; but Ben's house and library were partially destroyed by fire towards the end of his lifetime. To crown all, the great fire of London, in 1666, may well be supposed to have deprived us of documents respecting the Poet that would have otherwise existed. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. is true that he has introduced names that were never enrolled at Oxford ; but, as his aim was to glorify a great university, it was, perhaps, his policy to say but little about the greatest of men who had never been at a university at all. Thomas Heywood, Shakspeare's contemporary and fellow comedian, contem- plated writing a History of Poets, which would have included the Bard of Avon, but, unfortunately, the work, if ever written, was never published. Browne, the pastoral poet, also intended a similar work, but his design also was left unfulfilled. Hell, they say, is paved with good intentions. The very booksellers who republished our Poet's plays in 1664 and 1685, employed no person to write his life. Almost a century after Shakspeare's death, the poet Rowe wrote his account of him. That it is meagre must be owned; but that it is so very incorrect as Malone, and his Editor, Bos well, assert, may be doubted. The remainder of the 18th century produced a succession of writers on the subject of Shakspeare, among whom we are chiefly indebted to Dr. Farmer for his Essay on the Learning, or rather, on the No Learning of Shakspeare, and to the indefatigable and truth -loving, though sometimes mistaken, Malone. In our own times Mr. J. P. Collier has made some interesting discoveries respecting the personal history of Shakspeare, as regards his connexion with the theatre. The Rev. Alexander Dyce is also an estimable living writer on the Shakspearian and pristine literature of England. From fear of prolixity, I shall not enter into all the disputations that have been maintained about the true spelling of the poet's name, which has been variously written, Shaxpeare, Shackspeare, Shakspeare, and Shakspere. I adhere, in compliance with modern fashion, to writing it Shakspeare, though Sir Frederick Madden, in a small tract lately published, makes out a strong case that the poet's autograph was always Shakspere. Sir Frederick's letter to the Society of Antiquaries on this subject was drawn forth by the discovery of a copy of Montaigne's Essays, translated by Florio, which can be traced back to have been in the possession of our poet, who has written on a blank leaf Wm. Shakspere. This copy, for the sake of its auto- graph, has been lately sold for 100 guineas. In the whole world of authors there is not one whom we should wish to see Shakspeare reading sooner than Montaigne; and he has shown his regard for the naif old Frenchman by copying him in a passage of the Tempest, (Act ii. Sc. 1.) in the discourse of Gonzalo, Antonio, and Sebastian. The speech of Gonzalo is a palpable imitation of a passage in Book I. p. 102, of Montaigne's work. Florio, who translated Montaigne into English, was probably known to Shakspeare, and there is a tradition that he was the prototype of Holofernes, the schoolmaster in " Love's Labour 's Lost." Rowe gave out that the poet was sprung of a good family by the fathers side, of which, however, there is no proof; in fact, nothing has been discovered respecting Shakspeare's grandfather. Malone expresses his belief that the poet's father, John Shakspeare, was not a native of Stratford ; if so, it is not probable that his grand- father was born in the same place, and, accordingly, his birth has no record in the parish register of Stratford. This certainly proves that Rowe made a mistake when l»e referred to the above register, but it proves nothing more; it furnishes nothing like >>2 REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS evidence that the poet's grandsire could not have possessed any landed property. " If he had had lands," says Malone, " we should have known how they came to him, and to whom they were transmitted." But, is it not notorious, that there have been innumerable transmissions of landed property of which all records have been lost ? It is true that the rolls of Henry the Seventh's Chapel contain no record of the alleged grant of lands from that monarch to the Poet's paternal ancestor, they certainly seem to refer to a grant received by his mother's father ; but, it does not follow necessarily thence, that the Poet's paternal family could by no possibility have ever possessed any landed property. Malone sought in vain all over "Warwickshire for documents to this effect ; but did he know in what part of Warwickshire they were exactly to be sought for — no ! he acknowledges that he knows nothing about Shakspeare's paternal grandfather, neither where he was born, nor where he lived, nor where he died, nor by what means he subsisted ; but of this he assures us, that he could not have been a gentleman, — the Poet's father, having been the first of his family who, among the citizens of Stratford, received the title of "Mayster" in consequence of his magistracy. But Shakspeare's paternal family, to all appearance, were not Stratfordians, and their names, if they had been landed gentry, would not have appeared in the civil records of Stratford. The question about such a Poet's gentility of birth is of unspeakable unimportance ; but I cannot help comparing Mr. Malone's logic on the subject, to that of the hackney-coachmen who, when you refuse them an exorbitant fare, pronounce an opinion before your face that you can be no gentleman. Shakspeare's father, John Shakspeare, was a glover in Stratford ; that this was his main trade has been completely ascertained by Mr. Malone. He seems, however, to have been a speculative tradesman ; he farmed meadow-land, and may possibly have traded in wool and cattle as has been alleged ; but the tradition of his having been a butcher is entitled to no credit, for, if he sold gloves, it is not very likely that he had, either another shop, or the same shop with shambles before it. Mr. Malone tells us that in those days the glover's trade was more lucrative than at present, because gloves were then perfumed, trimmed with gold, and worn by gallants as well as by bishops and judges. Few minds, I suppose, will require this perfuming apology for Shakspeare's father's vocation. Mr. Malone thinks that John Shakspeare settled in Stratford not long after the year 1550 ; in 1565 he was elected alderman, and, in 1568, he was made chief magistrate. His glove-selling business is no proof of meanness in his descent ; for has no man been a glover in Great Britain whose father possessed landed property ? In the last century, a peer of Scotland, who regularly voted in the convention of Scottish lords, and whose progenitors had been rich and powerful, sold both gloves and leathern small-clothes in the High Street of Edinburgh. If John Shakspeare's trade be not direct evidence of mean descent, still less is his marriage ; glover as he was, he espoused Mary Arden, the daughter of a gentleman whose family had received grants of land from Henry the Seventh, and she brought him the estate of Asbies, a small one to be sure, but containing fifty acres of arable and six of pasture land, besides the right of commonage. Such a match, in an age when the landed gentry were still OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. more shy than they are at present to intermarry with shopkeepers, speaks volumes for the respectability of Shakspeare , s father as a tradesman. Mr. Malone decides positively that the fee simple of this landed property, brought to John Shakspeare by his wife, was worth only one hundred pounds, because the average rent of land was, at that time,, only three shillings the acre per annum. Even at this estimate, Mary Arden's portion was a larger one than was usually given to the daughter of a landed gentleman. But we find that the said John Shakspeare also farmed the meadow of Ington, containing sixteen acres, at the rate of eleven shillings per acre. Now what proof has Mr. Malone adduced that the acres of Asbies were not as valuable as those of Ington ? and if they were so, the former estate must have been worth between three and four hundred pounds. The Poet's father, in his best pros- perity, may be easily supposed to have had one hundred and fifty pounds or more additional property ; and thus, in the year 1568, when he was high bailiff of Stratford, and when he obtained a grant of arms from the Clarencieux (Cooke) of the Heralds' College, he might have said truly, as he did say, that he was worth five hundred pounds, and might, with no great stretch of truth, have alluded to that property having come to him mainly from his ancestors. But John Shakspeare, I may be told, had no right to call his wife's ancestors his own ; not strictly, to be sure, but in those days names of relationship were freely assumed from connexion by marriage. Even in our own times the goodly custom is not quite dropt, and my niece-in-law addresses me as her dear uncle, though she is only my nephew's wife. At all events, whether John Shakspeare put a perfumed and easy glove upon his conscience in speaking at that time of his circumstances, the divine Poet cannot be suspected of any collusion with the misrepresentation of his father's wealth, for he was then a little cherub only four years old, toddling about, and thinking more of sugar-plums than of the Heralds' College. It is too true that John Shakspeare, a flourishing man in 1568, fell into difficulties, not a great many years afterwards. In 1578 he was excused from paying the weekly assessment levied on aldermen for the relief of the poor ; in 1579 his name is found among the defaulters in the payment of taxes, and, in the former of those years, it is proved that he had, for some time, owed to Roger Sadler, a baker of Stratford, a debt of five pounds, for which he had been obliged to bring a friend as security. In the same year, 1578, he had also been forced to mortgage the small estate of Asbies for forty pounds to Mr. Edmond Lambert, apparently to pay for the purchase of two houses in Stratford, for which that sum precisely was disbursed. These forty pounds were certainly not half the value of the estate of Asbies, even according to Mr. Malone's computation ; but, can we be sure, that the value of the land was not still more disproportioned to the loan for which it was mortgaged ? In such transactions, and especially in times when money is hard to bo raised, the sanguine borrower will be glad to have his loan on any terms, and the lender will take great care that the pawn deposited, if it should be forfeited, shall usuriously repay him. But, it appears, that John Shakspeare owed other moneys to Edmond Lambert, besides the forty pounds above mentioned. The extent of those other debts is not known, but from their existence it is clear that Lambert trusted Shakspeare REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS senior beyond the extent of the mortgage ; and that he trusted him on the faith of his landed property appears from this circumstance, namely, that when John Shakspeare waited on Lambert and offered forty pounds to relieve the mortgage on Asbies, his creditor said — " No ! you shall not have back your land till you pay me all the rest that you owe me." A chancery lawsuit ensued, in the course of which, Shakspeare's father styles himself a poor man. But that is a very general expression. Many a man com- paratively poor lives in credit and respect ; and as the Poet's father died soon after- wards, leaving tenements to his son, his poverty could not have been that of destitution. He seems, as I have observed, to have been an enterprising trader, and his speculations drew him into difficulties. The writer of Shakspeare's life, in Lardner's Cyclopaedia, says, that the Poet's father in his old age must have been almost a pauper; but men who are almost paupers seldom leave houses and orchards to their heirs, and we know that two houses in Stratford, each having an orchard, were inherited by "William Shakspeare from his father. If the latter was ever insolvent, he could not have died so. As to his difficulties, were they not such as we often see men involved in, who, though they have in the main real substance, are unable, from the perplexed state of their affairs, to settle the debt of the day that is passing over their heads ? If he was in difficulties, however, in 1597, it may be asked why he had applied in 1596 to the College of Arms for a renovated grant of arms ? My answer is, that John Shakspeare, wishing to blend his arms with those of his wife, (a very natural wish,) applied for a new patent on the strength of the old one granted in 1568 ; and might very well say to himself, " They granted me a coat of arms when I was in the palmiest state of my prosperity, I am now asking only for a change in that coat, and why ibould they refuse it, — because I have fallen into the sere and yellow leaf?" Such a refusal, on account of the change in his circumstances, would have been little less cruel than a revocation of the former grant. There is every reason to suppose that Shakspeare might be concerned in this second application for a renewed coat of arms, from a wish to record his mother's pedigree. But the imputation adduced by the writer of his life, in Lardner's Cyclopaedia, who taxes him with conniving at his father's misrepresenta- tion of his circumstances, and by his powerful friends having influenced the Heralds' College to confirm the new grant in 1599, is unsupported by the slightest evidence. The two tenements in Henley Street, Stratford, already alluded to, were purchased by John Shakspeare in 1574, when our Poet was only ten years old. Whether his father, antecedent to his purchase of these houses, had lived in either of them as a tenant, is uncertain ; and consequently, the money levied on visitors for the sight of the particular house in which the Poet was bora, is a mere tax on their credulity *. * In this house a book is kept in which visitors, if they choose, write their names. A pompous Frenchman, for the time being ambassador at London, made a journey to Stratford, and went to see the alleged birth -house of the mighty Poet. He wrote in the book, that this day, in the year of our Lord 17 — , the place of Shakspeare's nativity had been visited by the two Messrs. De * * *, father and son, and signed Monsr. Le Pere Atonsr. Le Fils. A wag wrote below — el Monsr. Le Saint Esprit. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. Our great Poet, the eldest son and the third child of his parents, was born at Stratford in the month of April, 1564 *, probably on the 23rd of the month, says Mr. Malone, because he was baptized on the 25th. It seems to be far from a self-evident truth that a child must have been born exactly two days before its christening ; but, if Mr. Malone be right, the nativity of Shakspeare occurred on the day consecrated to England's patron saint, George of Cappadocia. It distresses our enthusiasm, however, to find that this great saint was a still greater sinner. St. George was born at Epiphania, a town of Cilicia, in a fuller's shop, and his character through life retained a trace of his earthy origin. By the arts of a parasite he obtained patrons, who got him a lucrative commission to supply the Roman army with bacon ; but George defrauded the soldiers of their bacon, and, in order to save his own, was obliged to fly from the pursuit of justice. Afterwards he professed Arianism, and mounted, by force and bloodshed, the archiepiscopal throne of Athanasius, which he stained with cruelty and avarice. At last, in the capital of Egypt, public vengeance rose up against him, and he was committed to prison, (a.d. 361,) but the populace saved him the tedium of a trial ; they put him to death, and threw his body into the sea. It belongs to those who study church history to explain how this swindler and cut-throat has been transformed into the renowned St. George of England, the patron of arms, of chivalry, and of the garter. Our Poet, Mr. Malone thinks, derived his christian name either from William Smyth, a mercer, and one of the aldermen of Stratford, or from William Smi£h, a haberdasher in the same town, one of whom probably was his godfather. When he was but nine weeks old the plague visited Stratford, and carried off more than a seventh part of the population, but the door-posts of our sacred infant, like those of the Israelites in Egypt, were sprinkled so as to be passed by by the destroying angel, and he was spared. How momentous are the results of apparently trivial circum- stances ! When Mahomet was flying from his enemies he took refuge in a cave, which his pursuers would have entered if they had not seen a spider's web at the entrance ; not knowing that it was freshly woven, they passed by the cave, and thu3 a spider s web changed the history of the world. In like manner, a breath of wind wafting contagion to Shakspeare^ cradle, would have altered the destinies of our literature. No anecdotes of his earliest years have been preserved. All the education he ever received was probably at the free school of Stratford ; but at what age he was placed * Dr. Drake and others have burthened John Shakspeare, the glover, with a larger family than he ever had, from confounding him with another John Shakspeare, a shoemaker, in Stratford. The poet's father had four sons and four daughters — Joan, Margaret, William, Gilbert, another Joan, Anne, Richard, and Edmund. The elder Joan, Margaret, and Anne, were cut off at an immature age J Gilbert, according to Oldys, lived to a good old age, and saw the dramatist perform a character in one of his own plays, which, from the description of it, must have been Adam, in "As You Like It." The second Joan became the wife of William Hart, a hatter, in Stratford, and died in 1646. Of Richard nothing is known, but that he was buried in 1612-13, aged nearly 39. Edmund embraced the profession of an actor, played at the Globe Theatre, and was interred in the church of St. Saviour ('the parish \rhere he resided) on the 31st of December, 1607, in his 28th year. REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS there, or how long he remained, are points that can be only conjectured. His father, it appears, was no great scholar, for he put his mark, something like the letter A, instead of his signature. That circumstance, however, was in those days no proof of mean descent, for, only thirty years before Elizabeth's ascent to the throne, Fitzherbert advises those gentlemen in the country who could not write, to aid their memory by notches on a stick. Nor was Shakspeare's father's conscious deficiency in instruction likely to make him obstruct his son's education, but the contrary. That Shakspeare was not a classical scholar, may be taken for granted ; but, that he learned some Latin at the free school of Stratford, is conceded even by those who estimate his classic acquirements at the lowest rate ; even allowing, as seems to be ascertained, that he derived his plots, in the main, from translations of books. Instead of being surprised that Shakspeare had, to all appearance, great genius with small erudition, I am inclined to ascribe the greatness of his genius to his good fortune in having so small a portion of his youthful powers absorbed in the forced fatigue of acquiring learning. By learning I mean not the knowledge he got from general reading, but the knowledge which he missed acquiring from grammars and dictionaries. I have elsewhere expressed my belief as to the influence of deep scholarship on poetic genius. If learning could come intuitively, I have no doubt that it would enrich genius, but the toil and absorption of mind bestowed in acquiring it, the unoriginal habits of thinking, nay, the prejudices liable to accompany its acquisition, the cramping of the soul from its natural impulses and meditations, these, I apprehend, are the drawbacks on whatever advantages to inspiration may accrue from laboriously acquired erudition. It was predicted of a young man lately belonging to one of our universities, that he would certainly become a prodigy because he read sixteen hours a day. " Ah ! but," said somebody, " how many hours a day does he think ? " It might have been added, " How many hours does he feel ? " Still we have evidence that Shakspeare revelled in the fictions of antiquity, and understood its characters and moral truths. There is not a doubt that he lighted up his glorious fancy at the lamp of classical mythology : — 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 — Who can read these lines without perceiving that Shakspeare had imbibed a deeper feeling of the beauty of Pagan mythology than a thousand pedants could have imbibed in their whole lives ? How many years he was at the grammar-school has not been determined ; they may have been three, or they may have been six. At the lowest supposition he acquired some, though small Latin ; but, before we conclude that it was very small, let us recollect that Shakspeare was here the schoolboy, and not a common-place lout. I grant that, after entering into the cares of life, it is not very probable he should have cultivated his classic acquirements. The best scholars hold their tenure of erudition on a repairing lease, and many who have been once OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xvh learned have given up their lease to avoid the trouble of repairs. The little tenement of his schoolboy learning it can scarcely be imagined that Shakspeare afterwards mended ; nevertheless, I suspect that he had much reading, how far soever it might fall short of erudition. There are symptoms of his having known something of French, and, if he knew anything of Latin, a certain acquirement of Spanish and Italian was of easy access to him. Whether the latter suspicion be true or not, is it possible to conceive Shakspeare, in quest of his plots, not to have been an active reader ? and supposing his reading to have been desultory, it is not inexplicable that desultory reading should have been a mighty element to his fancy. His mind was an alembic of sweets. The bee is not fed on fields of sugar-cane, but on the bitter herbs of the mountains ; and on those mountains the most beautiful and best-tasted wild birds are better nourished than are our caged and crammed domestic fowls. I once examined the stomach of a wild bird killed in the Highlands ; its feathers were splendid, and its flesh was white, firm, and plump, but in its crop there was nothing but heather-bells. I had been reading the works of Burns, and could not help saying to myself — " Well, poor thing ! thou seemest to me a Burns among birds, since in the wild air of nature thou couldst fatten upon heather-bells ! " Shakspeare's learning, whatever it was, gave him hints as to sources from which classical information was to be drawn. The age abounded in classical translations ; it also teemed with public pageants, and Allegory itself might be said to "have walked the streets. He may have laughed at the absurdity of many of those pageants, but still they would refresh his fancy. Whether he read assiduously or carelessly, it should be remembered that reading was to him not of the vulgar benefit that it is to ordinary minds. Was there a spark of sense or sensibility in any author, on whose works he glanced, that spark assimilated to his soul, and it belonged to it as rightfully as the light of heaven to the eye of the eagle. CHAPTER II. Malone calls in question Rowe's assertion that our Poet was recalled from school merely on account of his father's circumstances, and in order to assist him in his own trade ; and says, it is more likely that he was taken away with a view to his learning some business, in which he might afterwards maintain himself. My own suspicion however is, that his father recalled him in order to assist him in his own business. There is a tradition, that our poet was bound apprentice to an attorney ; and I have never mentioned this hypothesis to one of the legal fraternity who has not jumped to the same conclusion, arguing that Shakspeare's knowledge of legal phrases seems not to be merely such as might have been acquired by accident, but that it has all the appearance of technical skill. The lawyers will even make out a case to you without a fee, showing that our Poet's barefaced improbabilities, audacious fictions, sly evasions, xvm REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS and quips and rogueries, could have proceeded from none but an apprentice-bred lawyer. So ambitious are they to make us believe that our bird of Paradise was bred in their black rookery ! But what is Mr. Malone's argument on this point ? He surmises that the youthful Poet's ardent curiosity, about the age of fourteen, led him frequently to attend the Court of Record, which sat in Stratford once a fortnight. Here is a fine fiction to be sure, worthy of the law itself; the forms of a petty court of law kindling an ardent interest in the mind of a boy poet ! George Steevens's argument in favour of his having been bred a butcher, deduced from the Poet's supposed allusion to the wooden pins of the shambles is a stupid joke, though Aubrey's tradition that he was a butcher's boy had given occasion to it. Others have alleged that he was a schoolmaster between his fourteenth and eighteenth year : a most improbable vocation for such an age, and supported by no evidence. But that he was learning some business or other, during those years, must necessarily be supposed. We have no direct evidence that his father ever plied any other trade than that of a glover, and therefore nothing forbids us to conjecture that he assisted his father in that trade. It is surprising that conjecture in its fertility has never sent Shakspeare on foreign voyages in his youth, and made him a sea-boy on the high and giddy mast; for I am told that he never mentions nautical matters without an appearance of correct skill*. "Whatever his occupation was between the time of his leaving school, and his going to London, it is certain that he married in the interim. His choice was Anne Hathaway, who was then in her twenty-sixth year, he, the boy poet, being only eighteen years and some months, and, consequently, nearly eight years younger than his spouse. * This remark was conveyed to me in a note from my friend Captain Glascock, R.N., who further observes, " that our Poet draws a nice but palpable distinction between the fishermen and the veritable blue-water mariners. The fishermen in Pericles are the seafaring folk of the coast. One of them says, Act II. Scene I. — 'When I saw the porpoise, how he bounced and tumbled 1 They say they are half flesh, half fish. A plague on them, they never come but I look to be washed.' How true the appearance of the tumbling porpoise, which is always portentous of a gusty gale ! How could he have picked up this seafaring fact — a man born and bred in a perfectly inland county 1 " Then on the blue-water," my friend continues, " the boatswain in The Tempest, delivers himself in the true vernacular style of the forecastle." Nevertheless, Captain G. conceives that the boatswain's order, " Set her two courses off," is a mis- take in the punctuation, and that the reading should be, "Set her two courses — off to sea again." 11 Set the two courses, and lay her off, is perfect. It means that the ship's head is to be put seaward, and that the vessel is to be drawn off the land under that canvas nautically denominated ' the two courses.' Were I in command of a vessel to-morrow, on a lee shore, I should say, ' Set the two courses — we must claw off under that canvas.' How differently does Dryden make his mariners speak! In his translation of Virgil's ^Eneid, b. iii. 1. 525, we find the following nautical nonsense : — 1 Where proud Peloris opes a readier'way, Tack to the larboard and tack off to sea, Veer starboard. Sea and land.' The last of these lines is sh*eer absurdity. " Swift, when he described a storm, in the ' Voyage to Brobdignag,' must have been laughing in his sleeve at the credulity of those whom he anticipated gulling by his sea-gibberish. Dibdin himself is often ridiculously incorrect." OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xix On this point of our Poet's history, a most important document was discovered in the archives of the Consistorial Court of Worcester, by Mr. Wheeler, who has published it in " The Gentleman's Magazine, September, 1836," with this prefatory notice : — " It is well-known that the Bard of Avon married unusually early in life ; and in the first biographical account of him, founded by Howe, from information obtained by Betterton on the spot, it is mentioned that his wife was the daughter of one Hathaway, a substantial yeoman in the neighbourhood of Stratford." Mr. Malone correctly observes that they were not married at Stratford, no entry of their marriage appearing in the register of that parish. "Nor have I," says that com- mentator, " been able to ascertain the day or place of their union, though I have searched the registers of several of the neighbouring parishes for that purpose. The tradition, however," continues Mr. Malone, "concerning the surname of his wife, is confirmed by the will of Lady Barnard, our Poet's grand-daughter, for she gives several legacies to the children of her kinsman, Mr. Thomas Hathaway, formerly of Stratford." This tradition is decisively confirmed by the document now sent to " The Gentleman's Magazine," which contains the earliest notice of the youthful Bard except his baptismal register; and is the bond entered into, on the 28th of November, 1582, by two sureties, on his applying for a licence to be married to Ann Hathaway, of Stratford, maiden. The bondsmen, Fulk Sandells and John Richardson, were two farmers of this town, Stratford, marksmen*, apparently friends of the poet, but no otherwise remarkable ; and it may reasonably be inferred that he accompanied them to Worcester on the occasion, though, being under age, he did not join in the bond. That he was married soon afterwards is very clear, and also that the union, which was to be celebrated with once asking of the banns, and not without the consent of her friends, took place within the diocese of Worcester, which includes Stratford- upon-Avon ; probably in some church in its neighbourhood, and not, as Mr. Malone supposes, at Weston-upon-Avon, three miles from Stratford, which lies in the county and diocese of Gloucester. Shakspeare's marriage bond is dated, as we have seen, the 28th of November, 1582. In May, 1583, our Poet's wife brought him a daughter, who was named Susanna, and was baptized the 26th of May of the same year. — (Malone; Boswell's edition, vol. ii. p. 118; and Dyce, in the Aldine Poets, vol. xx. p. 12.) If this was the case, the poet's first child would appear to have been born only six months and eleven days after the bond was entered into. If Mr. Malone be correct, as to the date of her birth in the Stratford register, Miss Susanna Shakspeare came into the world a little prematurely f. * That is, men who signed their marks. t I have not inserted in my main text the rest of Mr. Wheeler's Letter to Mr. Urban, in the 11 Gentleman's Magazine," for September, 1836, but I here subjoin it in a note. M The conjecture of Mr. Malone that our poet's wife was not of Shottery, a village in this parish, and about a mile from the town, is strongly supported by her description in the bond ; but it is how- ever certain that the Hathaways held, if not resided in, the old and much-frequented house at Shottery previous to the birth of Anne Hathaway, which took place before the commencement of our register ; but they did not become its proprietors until the beginning of the seventeenth century. The cottage, REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS From Mr. Malone's inquiries about the ancestors of the Poet's wife, they seem to have been farmers. Her father appears to have had some landed property of his own. Yet we have no proof that Shakspeare got any dowry with his wife. About eighteen months after Susanna's birth, Mrs. Shakspeare was delivered of twins, a son and a daughter, who were baptized, February 1584-5, by the names of Hamnet and Judith. " Shakspeare's friend, Mr. Hamnet Sadler, and his wife, Judith," says Mr. Malone, fc ' were without doubt sponsors to these children." Our author's wife never appears to have brought him another child. One of the first misfortunes that is alleged to have befallen our Poet in his married life, has certainly no appearance of having originated in his marriage. " Shakspeare," says his biographer, Rowe, " had, by a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill company, and amongst them some that made a practice of deer- stealing engaged him more than once in robbing a park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote near Stratford. For this," continues Rowe, " he was prosecuted by that gentleman, and in revenge he made a ballad upon him. The ballad itself is lost; but it was so very bitter that it redoubled the prosecution against him, insomuch that he was obliged to leave his business and family in "Warwickshire, and to shelter himself in London." Of this lampoon, only one passage that is extant is believed to be genuine*, and then perhaps a comfortable farmhouse, with other property at Shottery subsequently sold off', formed part of the manor of Old Stratford belonging to John Dudley, duke of Northumberland, upon whose attainder in the first year of Queen Mary's reign it was forfeited to the crown ; and it appears from the Warwickshire Survey Book (temp. Phil. & Mar.) in the possession of William Staunton, Esq. of Long- bridge House, near Warwick, that John Hathaway held by copy of court, dated 20 April, 34 H. VIII. a messuage (the house in question) and half a virgate in Shottery, called Hewland, and one messuage and one virgate previously in the tenure of Thomas Perkyns, and one toft and half a virgate called Hewlyns, at 23 shillings and eightpence rent. In the same Survey Book it also appears that Richard Hobbins and George Hathaway then held one messuage, one toft, and two virgates in Shottery, by copy of court dated 12 April, 34 H. VIII. at 21 shillings and fourpence rent. By letters patent 22 March, 8 James I. this property, at least that which was held by John Hathaway, was granted by the crown to William Whitmore, of London, Esq. and John Randoll, of Preston Bagot, in Warwickshire, gentleman f ; from whom it was purchased on the 1st of April, 1610, by Bartholomew Hathaway, of Shottery, husbandman, and to the descendants of this person it has continued uninterruptedly. in a direct line to the present period. " R. B. Wheeler." * A parliament member, a justice of peace, At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse. If lousie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, Then Lucy is iowsie, whatever befall it. He thinks himself greate ; Yet an asse in his state, We allow by his ears, but with asses to mate. If Lucy is Iowsie as some volke miscalle it, Sing Iowsie Lucy whatever befall it. \ " In the Antiquities of Warwickshire, 1st edit. p. 591, Dugdale in his account of Preston Bagot, near Henley in Arden, observes that there wa3 " upon a gravestone in the church this epitaph :— Here lyeth John Randoll, by birth a Somersetshire man, some time a student of the law, regardfull of his own and publique peace ; who on the Purification of ». Alary, in the jeare of our redemption, dyed. 14BV OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. that one would do no great honour to the muse even of a poacher. Mr. Malone dis- credits the whole story of the deer-stealing, and he is probably right in scouting Daviess exaggeration of it, namely, that our Poet was whipt for the offence. But, false as the alleged punishment may be, it by no means follows that the anecdote of the theft, and of a threatened prosecution, must needs be incredible. Mr. Malone's argument is, that Shakspeare could not have stolen deer from the deer-park of Sir Thomas Lucy, because Sir Thomas possessed no deer-park, and therefore our Poet could not have been amenable for deer-park robbery. No! but Sir Thomas might have had deer on his own grounds, though not in a legally constituted deer-park; and for making free with such venison the offender was liable to an action of trespass. The story is not one that we should exactly wish to be true, but still it was only a youthful frolic, and a prank very common among young men of those days. Most probably for that reason he removed from Warwickshire to London, unac- companied by wife or child, a few years after his marriage ; it is generally thought in 1586 or 1587. He now embraced the profession of a player. Plays he must have seen acted at Stratford, and some of the best of the then living actors, such as the elder Burbage, Heminge, and Thomas Green, who were in all probability personally known to him. The first of these Thespian heroes were the countrymen of Shakspeare, the last was certainly his townsman, and perhaps his relation Rowe says that Shakspeare was received into the company in a very mean rank. It has also been said, probably on the faith of Rowe's assertion, that he was employed as the call-boy *, whose business is to give notice to the performers when their different entries on the stage are required. Another tradition is, that he used to hold the horses of those who rode to the theatre without attendants. This latter story first appeared in Cibber's " Lives of the' English Poets," in 1753. Sir William Davenant, we are there informed, told it to Betterton, who communicated it to Rowe, who told it to Pope, and Pope told it to Dr. Newton, the editor of Milton. The gentleman who heard it from Dr. Newton was undoubtedly either Dr. Johnson, who relates it himself, or his amanuensis, Shield, who wrote no small part of Cibber's " Lives of the Poets." But the probability of Shakspeare's ever having been either a call-boy or a horse- holder, has never, in latter years, received much belief; and it has been completely put to discredit by Mr. Collier, who has proved by documents of his own discovery, that Shakspeare, in 1589, a very few years after the earliest date that can be assigned to his arrival in London, was among the proprietors of the very theatre in which he is alleged to have been once a call-boy ; and from this fact it must be at least concluded, that if he was at first received in a mean rank, he made a rapid acquisition of theatrical consequence. But this fact carries us back into farther and fair inferences. * Shakspeare had two brothers, younger than himself, who were both players ; the time of their entrance on that mode of life is not known, but, if either of them was connected with the theatre when very young, he may have been a call-boy, and that circumstance may have given rise to a tradition respecting William Shakspeare, which his manly age makes so improbable. REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS It is clear that before 1591, or even 1592, Shakspeare had no celebrity as a writer of plays : he must therefore have been valuable to the theatre, chiefly as an actor ; and if this was the case, namely, that he speedily trode the stage with some respect- ability, Mr. Rowe's tradition that he was at first admitted in a mean capacity must be taken with a bushel of doubt. My own suspicion is quite adverse to his having been a novice, and meanly received, on the London stage. The inhabitants of Stratford were great lovers of theatrical amusements ; companies of the best comedians visited them during the youth of our Poet, at least, on an average, once a year. From childhood to manhood, Shakspeare's attention must have been drawn to the stage, and there is every probability that he knew the best actors. He was probably a handsome man, and certainly an exquisite judge of acting ; he was past the age at which we can conceive him to have been either a call-boy, or a horse-holder : what should forbid us then to suppose that lie speedily ranked among the respectable actors ? It has been alleged in proof of his mediocrity, that he enacted the part of his own Ghost in "Hamlet." But is the Ghost in " Hamlet " a very mean character ? No : though its movements are few, they must be awfully graceful; and the spectral voice, though subdued and half monotonous, must be solemn and full of feeling. It gives us an imposing idea of Shakspeare's stature and mien to conceive him in this part. The English public, accustomed to see their lofty nobles, their Essex's, and their Rawleighs, clad in complete armour, and moving under it with a majestic air, would not have tolerated the actor Shakspeare, unless he had presented an appearance worthy of the buried majesty of Denmark. Dr. Drake * quotes some lines from a poem by John Davies of Hereford, published about 1611, which make it appear that Shakspeare was accustomed to perform kingly parts. This indicates that he had at least risen above a mean rank on the stage. It is true that in one of his Sonnets he complains of his vocation as a player, but I have heard both Mrs. Siddons and John Kemble make the same complaint. Upon the whole it may be presumed that he was a good actor, though not of the very highest excellence ; a circumstance perhaps not to be regretted, for if he had performed as well as he wrote, his actorship might have interfered with his authorship. * Drake's " Shakspeare and his Times," vol. i. p. 425. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. CHAPTER III. An interesting subject of inquiry in Shakspeare's literary history, is the state of our dramatic poetry when he began to alter and originate English plays. Before his time mere mysteries and miracle plays, in which Adam and Eve appeared naked, in which the devil displayed his horns and tail, and in which Noah's wife boxed the patriarch's ears before entering the ark, had fallen comparatively into disuse, after a popularity of four centuries ; and, in the course of the sixteenth century, the clergy were forbidden by orders from Rome to perform in them. Meanwhile " Moralities," which had made their appearance about the middle of the fifteenth century, were also hastening their retreat, as well as those pageants and masques in honour of royalty which, nevertheless, aided the introduction of the drama. At the same time, it must not be understood that such entertainments took a sudden and final departure: the " Chester Mysteries" were revived for the last time in 1574, and the Passion of Christ was exhibited for the last time, in the reign of James the First, on a Good Friday. The title of "Masques," as we see by Milton's " Comus," was attached to a species of dramatic entertainments at a still later period. But we owe our first regular dramas to. the universities, the inns of court, and public seminaries. The scholars of these establishments engaged in free translations of classic dramatists, though with so little taste, that Seneca was one of their favour- ites. They caught the coldness of that model, however, without the feeblest trace of his slender graces ; they looked at the ancients without understanding them, and they brought to their plots neither unity, design, nor affecting interest. There is a general similarity among all the plays that preceded Shakspeare in their ill-conceived plots, in the bombast and dulness of tragedy, and in the vulgar buffoonery of comedy. Of our great Poet's immediate predecessors, the most distinguished were Lyly, Peele, Greene, Kyd, Nash, Lodge, and Marlowe. Lyly was not entirely devoid of poetry, for we have some pleasing lyrical verses by him, but in the drama he is cold, mythological, and conceited ; and he even polluted for a time the juvenile age of our literature with his abominable euphuism. Peele has left some melodious and fanciful passages in his " David and Bathsheba." Greene is not unjustly praised for his comedy " Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay." Kyd's "Spanish Tragedy" was at first admired, but, subsequently, quoted only for its samples of the mock sublime. Nash wrote no poetry except for the stage, but he is a poor dramatic poet — though his prose satires are remarkably powerful. Lodge was not much happier on the stage than Nash ; his prose works are not very valuable ; but he wrote one satire in verse of considerable merit, and various graceful little lyrics. Marlowe was the only great man among Shakspeare's precursors ; his conceptions were strong and original ; his intellect grasped his subject as a whole : no doubt he dislocated the thews of his language by overstrained efforts at the show of strength, but he delineated character with a degree of truth unknown to his predecessors : his xxiv REMARKS ON THE LJFE AND WRITINGS " Edward the Second " is pathetic, and his " Faustus" has real grandeur. If Marlowe had lived, Shakspeare might have had something like a competitor. Shakspeare commenced his career twenty years after our drama had acquired a local habitation, as well as a name ; after scholars and singing-boys had ceased to be exclusive performers, and when school-rooms, university-halls, the inns of court, the mansions of nobility, and the palaces of royalty, were no longer the only theatres of exhibition. Plays it is true were still acted, even at a late period of Elizabeth's reign, in churches, chapels, and noble houses, and even regularly licensed comedians exhibited their theatrical glories in the court-yards of inns. I never enter an old-built place of this kind without thinking of our pristine theatres. But when Shakspeare came to London, our metropolis had regular licensed theatres and theatrical companies. The first building in England dedicated exclusively to the purposes of the drama, and entitled the theatre, was erected about 1570 in Blackfriars, near the present Apothecaries"' Hall. The number of theatres rapidly increased. A playhouse in "Whitefriars, in or near Salisbury Court, and another called the Curtain in Shoreditch, were raised previous to 1580. It is clear, also, says Mr. Collier, that there were theatres on the Bankside, near the foot of London Bridge, prior to 1587, for in the October of that year, some of the inhabitants of Southwark complained that plays and interludes were still represented on the Sabbath *. I shall not enter into the antiquarian question as to the exact number of theatres which existed at the date of Shakspeare's arrival in London ; it is sufficient to say that there must have been several. Between that time and his final retirement to Stratford, many other new theatres sprung up ; it must be understood, however, that they were never all open at the same time. ** Nearly all these buildings," says Mr. Dyce, " were probably constructed of wood. Those," he adds, M which for some undiscovered reason were termed private theatres were entirely roofed in from the weather, while the public theatres were open to the sky, except over the stage and galleries. On the outside of each theatre was exhibited a sign indicative of its name, and on the roof, during the time of exhibition, was hoisted a flag ; their interior arrangements resembled those of the present day ; there were tiers of galleries or scaffolds ; beneath these there were boxes or rooms intended for persons of the highest class ; and which, at the private theatres, were secured with locks, the keys being given to the individuals who engaged them ; and there was the centre area (separated it seems from the stage by pales) at the private theatres, termed the pit, and furnished with seats ; but at the public theatres, the same space was called the yard, and afforded no such accommodation. " Cressets, or large open lanterns, served to illuminate the body of the house, and two ample branches, of a form similar to those now hung in churches, gave light to the stage. The band of musicians, which was far from numerous, sat, it is supposed, in an upper balcony, over what is now called the stage-box. The instruments chiefly used were trumpets, cornets, hautboys, lutes, recorders, viols, and organs. "The amusements of the audience previous to the commencement of the play, * Collier's •< Annals of the Stage," vol. Hi., p. 316. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. were reading, playing at cards, smoking tobacco, drinking ale, and eatir.g nuts and apples ; even during the performance it was customary for wits, critics, and young gallants, who were desirous of attracting attention, to station themselves on the stage, either lying on rushes, or seated on hired stools, while their pages furnished them with pipes and tobacco *. " At the third sounding or flourish of trumpets, the exhibition began. The curtain, which concealed the stage from the audience, was then drawn, opening in the middle, and running upon iron rods. Other curtains, called traverses, were used as a substi- tute for scenes. At the back of the stage was a balcony, the platform of which was raised about eight or nine feet from the ground ; it served as a window gallery or upper chamber : from it a portion of the dialogue was sometimes spoken, and in front of it curtains were suspended, to conceal if necessary those who occupied it from the audience. The internal roof of the stage, either painted blue, or adorned with drapery of that colour, was termed the heavens. The stage was generally strewed with rushes, but on extraordinary occasions was matted. Moveable painted scenery assuredly there was none ; a board containing the name of the place of action in large letters was displayed in some conspicuous situation. Occasionally, when a change of scene was necessary, the audience were required to suppose that the performer, who had not quitted the boards, had passed to a different spot ; a bed thrust fortli showed that the stage was a bed-chamber, and a table with pen and ink intimated that it was a counting-house. Rude contrivances were employed to imitate towers, walls of towns, hell mouths, trees, dragons, &o. ; trap-doors had been early in use, but to make a celestial personage ascend to the*roof of the stage, was more than the mechanists of the theatre could always accomplish. " The best theatrical wardrobes at the better theatres were of a costly kind. The performers of male characters occasionally wore periwigs ; female parts were played by boys or young men, who sometimes used vizards ; the speaker of the prologue was usually dressed in a black velvet cloak : an epilogue was often dispensed with. During the play, the clown would break forth into extemporaneous buffoonery ; there was dancing and singing between the acts ; and at the end of the piece there was a song or a jig, a farcical rhyming composition, of considerable length, sung or said by the clown, and accompanied with dancing and playing on the pipe and tabor. A prayer for the queen, offered by the actors on their knees, concluded the whole. " The price of admission appears to have varied according to the rank and estimation of the theatres ; a shilling was charged for a place in the best boxes, the entrance money to the pit and galleries was sixpence, twopence, and sometimes a penny : the performance commenced at three o'clock. During the reign of Elizabeth, plays were acted on Sundays as well as on other days of the week ; but during that of her suc- cessor, dramatic exhibitions on the Sabbath appear to have been tolerated only at court." There is every reason to believe that Shakspeare commenced his career as a dra- matic author, by adapting the works of preceding writers to the stage. Before the end of 1592, he had certainly been thus employed j in that year Greene died, and * This nuisance of stage intruders continued down to the time of Garrick. c REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS left for publication his " Groat's- worth of Wit," in which, alluding evidently to Shakspeare, he says, " There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers ; in his own conceit, the only Shakescene in a country." It is probable, however, that Shakspeare had already made some, though few, attempts as an original dramatist ; in the mean time, there is reason to suspect that he may have written some of those undramatic poems which apparently raised his reputation very high, whilst his dramatic renown was yet in the dawn. He himself calls his " Venus and Adonis" the first heir of his invention : that poem appeared in 1593, and the " Rape of Lucrece" in the following year. The luxuriance of the former poem is prurient — the morality of the latter is somewhat dull ; yet they acquired him reputation, not only before some of his better dramas had appeared, but even afterwards. Both of them were dedicated to the Earl of Southampton, who according to Rowe, presented our bard with a thousand pounds. The truth of this anecdote has been called in question ; but our hearts, at least, lean to the belief of it. Having entered on his undramatic poems, I am tempted to continue the subject, and to bring them under one view — postponing for the present the consideration of some of his dramas, that were written earlier than some of those untheatrical pieces. His " Sonnets," and " A Lover's complaint," were published together in 1609. Several of his sonnets had certainly been composed many years before that date, for Meres, in 1598, alludes to " Shakspeare's sugared Sonnets among his friends." They appear to have been thrown off at different periods of his life. Some of those effusions, though not all, seem to me worthy of Shakspeare. Among the most admirable are the eighth, the thirtieth, and, above all, the hundred and twenty- third — Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments, &c. This, of a truth, is Shakspeare's own : it is Love looking at his own image in tV.e stream of poetry. As a whole, however, these sonnets are no more to our Poet's fame, than a snow-ball on the top of Olympus. In describing great men, Dugald Stewart marks as one of their characteristics, that they stamp their character on that of their age. But the generality of these sonnets exhibit the age stamping its character on Shakspeare, rather than the converse. It was an age of fantastic conceits ; and from these the immortal sonneteer himself is not exempt. It was an age of hyperbolical expressions of friendship between men ; for, in those days, it was as common for a gentleman writing to another, to subscribe himself u your devoted lover," as it is now to say, " I am your obedient servant." Now in these sonnets our Poet compliments his male friends in a manner totally dif- ferent from modern usage, and to be explained only by the fashion of coeval language. The greater portion of the sonnets is addressed to a male friend, whom Mr. Boaden, I think, has proved to have been the Earl of Pembroke ; at least we must believe so till a better claimant shall be found. Augustus W. Schlegel vituperated the commentators of Shakspeare for not having discovered in the above productions a mine of information respecting the Poet's biography. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. But beyond some general expressions of his natural feelings, Shakspeare's sonnets give us no access to his personal history. Schlegel says, that they paint his passions unequivocally — but they do no such thing ; for they paint his friendship hyperbolically, and mixed with jealousies that belong not to manly friendship. Nor though some twenty of his sonnets are addressed to a female, with whom he feigns himself in love, is it certain that his erotic language, even in these, was not tinged with phantasy ? He threatens his female idol with the danger of his going mad, and of his accusing her fakely of favours which she had never conferred upon him. There is no denying, in the first place, that he seems to speak in these sonnets to a sweetheart, either real or imaginary, who was younger than himself. At the same time his menacing her with exposure, begets a doubt of his having been deeply attached to the object whom he could thus threaten. I have a suspicion, moreover, that if the love affair had been real, he would have said less about it. Nevertheless I am far from entertaining the opinion that Shakspeare never felt the passion of love for any other woman than his wife Anne Hathaway. She married him, or rather perhaps decoyed him into a marriage, when she was in her twenty-sixth year, and when he Was a boy of eighteen. Setting aside the suspicion of Susanna Shakspeare's birth having been premature for her mother's reputation, the very circumstance of a full grown woman marrying a strip- ling of eighteen, is discreditable to her memory, and leaves us with no great sympathy for her, if Shakspeare, amidst the allurements of London, forgot his conjugal faith. But it is painful to find the w T orthy Dr. Drake so much distressed upon this subject. He first of all denies the possibility of Shakspeare having had any love afrair in London, because he was married and was the father of children. Soon afterwards he laments that these sonnets, addressed to a bad, black-eyed woman, cannot be proved to have been addressed to an unreal object. But by and by he discovers, in his own mind, a perfect conviction that they were addressed to a purely ideal object. Nay more, Dr. Drake vituperates this ideal woman for having been one of the most wicked females that was ever described by the pen of a poet. Now surely this is a hard case, that a poor black-eyed young lady should first of all have her existence disproved, and then that she should be had up to be rated for faults committed by her during her state of nonentity ! Another of Shakspeare's undramatic poems is a " Lover's Complaint." It has many beauties, mixed with as many conceits. " The Forsaken Maiden," in describing her lover, conjures up a being that seems to be Shakspeare himself:— For, on the tip of his subduing tongue, All kinds of arguments and questions deep ; All replications prompt, and reasons strong, For his advantage still did wake and sleep, To make the weeper laugh — the laugher weep. In the miscellany of the " Passionate Pilgrim," some portion of the poetry is said to have been written by our bard ; but this miscellany seems to have gone to the press without Shakspeare's consent, or even his knowledge, and how much of it proceeded from life pen cannot now be discovered. c2 REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS CHAPTER IV. I now revert to his theatrical life. On his arrival in London, his first employ- ment must have been that of an actor. He left Stratford unaccompanied by his family, and lived at London in lodgings. The place of his abode in the metropolis before 1596 has not been traced; but at, and probably after, that period, he lodged in Southwark, near the Bear Garden. The speculations of George Chalmers and Dr. Drake as to his having spent the most part of every year of his life in Stratford, even after his migration, are net con- clusive ; although it cannot well be supposed that he never, or even unfrequently, re- visited Warwickshire during his London life. On the contrary, his final return to his native place, indicates no unfriendly separation from it. One can fancy him actuated by the feelings so beautifully described by Goldsmith, — I still had hopes — my long vexations past, Here to return and die at home at last. That he must have had his vexations, is only saying that he was a man. At the same time we have indications of his having become, at no tardy period, pretty prosperous in London. Within a very few years he had a small share in the theatre which he joined, and in 1596 he was a very considerable shareholder. There are proofs also of his having been at the latter period a popular dramatic writer, univer- sally admired, and already patronized by some of the first noblemen of the land, amono- whom were the Lords Southampton and Pembroke. There is no evidence, to be sure, that he ever received any solid patronage from Queen Elizabeth, but there is every reason to suppose that she highly appreciated his genius. Another proof of his prosperous circumstances is contained in a letter addressed to him in 1598, by Richard Quyney of Stratford, requesting the loan of 30/., which in those days was no incon- siderable sum. This epistle was undoubtedly written by the father of the Thomas Quyney, who afterwards married our poet's youngest daughter. The style of the letter shows that the applicant entertained no fear of a refusal. The year 1597 has been assigned by Mr. Malone, as the date at which he bought one of the best houses in Stratford, called New Place, which he repaired and improved ; but from what Mr. Collier says, I am inclined to believe that this purchase was made at a somewhat later period. In 1602 he gave 320/. for 107 acres of land, which he attached to this property. Methinks these facts and his evident resolution to spend the remainder of his days in his native town, and with his old Anne Hathaway, will much impair our belief that he ever formed any serious unconjugal bondage of his heart in London. At the burial of his only son, Hamnet, in 1596, it is at least presumable that he revisited Stratford ; and it is equally probable that he was present at the marriage OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xxix of his eldest daughter Susanna, who, in 1607, became the wife of John Hall, a respectable physician in Stratford. To the year 1598 is commonly assigned the commencement of his friendship with Ben Jonson. Howe's anecdote about the intimacy having originated in an act of kindness on the part of Shakspeare towards Ben, who is alleged to have been at that time M wholly unknown to the world," has been completely disproved by Gifford, because Ben Jonson, in the year 1598, must have been as well known as Shakspeare. We are also indebted to Gifford, for showing that Jonson's feelings towards his great contemporary were independent, honourable, and untinged with envy. The only wonder is how the world, with Bens verses on the mighty poet before their eyes, could have been so lono; and so stupidly blind to the fact which t Jonson's editor showed them. Dr. Drake quotes the Bodleian letters, to prove that Shakspeare was accustomed to visit Stratford annually ; and Anthony Wood tells us that he used to bait at the Crown Inn, in Oxford, which was kept by John Davenant, the father of the poet. Anthony represents Mrs. Davenant as both beautiful and accomplished, and her husband as a lover of poets and a great admirer of Shakspeare. In gratitude Shaks- peare was bound to admire his wife — and it is certain that Sir William Davenant was the godson of Shakspeare. The story of young Davenant saying, that he was going to see his godfather, and being told that he ought not to take the name of God in vain, is old enough for Joe Miller, and need not be repeated. There is no proof of Queen Elizabeth having ever patronised our poet — though she may have indirectly encouraged him ; but it is little doubted that James I. wrote to him with his own hand a friendly letter, perhaps, as Dr. Farmer suggests, in conse- quence of his compliment to the Stuart family, which Shakspeare paid in the tragedy of Macbeth. The crown of England had scarcely fallen on James's head, when he granted his royal patent to our poet and his company of the Globe ; thus raising them from being the Lord Chamberlain's servants to be the servants of the King. The patent is dated on the 29th of May, 1603, and the name of Shakspeare stands second on the list of patentees. In the midst of his London prosperity, we should not forget the tradition of his wit and hilarity at the Mermaid, a celebrated tavern in Friday-street. Here there was a club of genial spirits, to which regularly repaired Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, Donne, and many others whose names, even at this distant period, call up a mingled feeling of reverence and respect. Here took place the lively wit combats between Shakspeare and Jonson-; and to this place Beaumont alludes in his letter to Ben — What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one, from whom they came. Had put his whole wit in a jest. REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS CHAPTER V. It is pretty certain, as I have already stated, that Shakspeare began his career in dramatic poetry by altering, and adapting for the stage, plays that had been previously written. In the opinion of the best judges there is more than one drama, published in the popular editions of his works, in which he could have had little or no share. One of these is Titus Andronicus, a tragedy not without some traits of merit, but too revolting in its general conception, to be the credible fruit of Shakspeare's genius. Even independently of its horrors, it has an air in its poetry, and a tone in its versification, which is not Shakspearian. Individual passages have smooth rhythm and pointed expression ; but not the broad freedom and effect in harmonious language that characterise Shakspeare. Six other plays, viz., The Arraignment of Paris*, The Birth of Merlin, Edward III., The Fair Emma, The Merry Devil of Edmonton, and Mucedorus,— : are found entered on the books of the London Stationers, as written by William Shakspeare ; but these and some others which have been fathered on our poet, are regarded as spurious, in spite of Schlegel's credulity on the subject. A different opinion attends the play of Pericles, of which Dry den says, that " Shakspeare's own muse his Pericles first bore ; " and the credibility of this tradition is not weakened by the fact that Heminge and Condell, the first editors of the Poet's works, omitted Pericles in their edition ; for it happens that they omitted Troilus and Cressida, a play which nobody doubts to have been Shakspeare's. Rowe says that some part of it was certainly written by him. Dr. Farmer observes that the hand of Shakspeare may be seen in the latter part of the play, and Dr. Percy coincides with his opinion. Steevens contends that the tragedy was originally named Pyrocles, after the hero of Sydney's " Arcadia ;" the character, as he justly remarks, not bearing the slightest affinity to that of the Athenian statesman. I am glad that we may safely reject the First Part of Henry VI. from the list of Shakspeare's genuine Plays, when I think of that infernal scene in the fifth act, the condemnation of Joan of Arc to be burnt alive. Malone assigns both the Second and Third Parts of Henry VI. to the year 1591. In both parts there are such obvious traces of Shakspeare's genius, particularly in the Second Part, that we must suppose them to have been written principally by him. They are both, to be sure, alterations of older plays ; but it has been well observed that the antecedent pieces received from our poet's hand " a thorough repair." To the same date, 1591, Mr. Malone ascribes the " Two Gentlemen of Verona." It is plain from this piece that Shakspeare was yet very far from having arrived at the maturity of his art ; but it shows us the young Poet in bounding high spirits, getting * The " Arraignment of Paris" is known to a certainty to have been written by George Peele. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. XX xi through his subject sometimes with graceful and sometimes with farcical glee. He unravels the plot, we are told, precipitately, and his characters are reconciled as friends too improbably. An old Duke who had been whimsically cross, gets whimsically j jleased. A Proteus of a lover, at the sight of his ill-used mistress, grows penitent ; and what is still more unpardonable, the girl herself, who in boy's attire had braved death and danger to find out her truant lover, forgives him on his repentance. Something might be alleged in palliation of all this —but what shall we say to Launce and his dog ? Is it probable that even such a fool as Launce should have put his feet into the stocks for the puddings which his dog had stolen, or poked his head through the pillory for the murder of geese which the same dog had killed ?- — yet the ungrateful cur never denies one item of the facts with which Launce so tenderly reproaches him. Nay, what is more wonderful, this enormous outrage on the probable, excites our enormous risibility. "What an unconscionable empire over our fanciful faith is assumed by those comio geniuses ! They despise the very word probability. Only think of Smollett making us laugh at the unlikely speech of Pipes, spoken £o Commodore Trunnion down a chimney — " Commodore Trunnion, get up and be spliced, or lie still and be damned ! " And think also of Swift amusing us with con- trasted descriptions of men six inches and sixty feet high — how very improbable I At the same time, something may be urged on the opposite side of the ques- tion. A fastidious sense of the improbable would be sometimes a nuisance in comic fiction. One sees dramatic critics often trying the probabilities of incidents in a play, as if they were testing the evidence of facts at the Old Bailey. Now, unques- tionably at that august court, when it is a question whether a culprit shall be spared, or whipped and transported for life, probabilities should be sifted with a merciful leaning towards the side of doubt. But the theatre is not the Old Bailey, and as we go to the former place for amusement, we open our hearts to whatever may most amuse us ; nor do we thank the critic who, by his Old Bailey-like pleadings, would disenchant our belief. The imagination is a liberal creditor of its faith as to incidents when the poet can either touch our affections, or tickle our ridicule. Nay, we must not overlook an important truth on this subject. The poet or the fictionist — and every great fictionist is a true poet — gives us an image of life at large, and not of the narrow and stinted probabilities of every-day life. But real life teems with events which, unless we knew them to have actually happened, would seem as to be next to impossibilities. So that if you chain down the poet from representing every thing that may seem in dry reasoning to be improbable, you will make Lis fiction cease to be a probable picture of Nature. We must remember nevertheless, that the drama, even in comic fiction, when it is not farcical, ought to be as much observant of probability as is consistent with the captivation of the fancy, and not only with the immediate delight of the imagination, but with its sober and reflective enjoyment. That there are limits to this lawful allowance of improbabilities to fictionists is quite evident; for in his " Comedy of Errors" Shakspeare himself oversteps them. REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Here, when imitating the " Menaechmi " of Plautus, he is not contented with two brothers, who are so much alike that the very mother who bore them could not dis- tinguish them, but he must have another pair of twins, the slaves of the first pair, and perfect resemblances. Shakspeare himself, however, had not skill to draw com- pound interest from these compound improbabilities. When we come to his next comedy, " Love's Labour 's Lost" (1592), we are still far from finding him at the zenith of his inspiration ; though this play is interspersed with Shakspearian bursts of poetry, and though it breathes, if possible, a still more revelling spirit than the " Two Gentlemen of Verona." The young King of Navarre retires to a country palace with a few of his courtiers, and makes them join him in a vow, to study philosophy there for three years, to fast one day of every week, to eat but one meal on each of the other days, to sleep but three hours a night, not to wink all the day-time, and never to converse with any woman. A law is made that if any of the bewitching sex should come within a mile of the palace, she was to lose her tongue. To the fulfilment of this grave vow, how- ever, there is soon found to be a comic obstacle. The daughter of the King of France arrives on a diplomatic errand from her aged and bed-rid father, and as the law of tongue-cutting could not be well enforced, either on her highness or on her suite of ladies, the fair bevy is admitted to lodge under tents at a certain distance from the palace, but not under its roof. The King of Navarre waits on the Princess of France, and falls in love with her ; his courtiers, also, are smitten by her three beauties in attendance. The vow of the devoted students is broken, they resolve " to woo the girls of France " and to bring them to their home. The king and his courtiers, disguised as Muscovites, visit the beauties at their tents, but the princess makes them receive them in masks, and causes each of the Muscovite lovers to address a wrong mistress. The ladies turn their backs on their admirers, and refuse to dance with them. This is a scene of exquisite humour. When the page of the Muscovites, departing from the letter of what he had to deliver in a prepared speech, substitutes the word backs for eyes, and calls them the fairest women that ever turned their backs on men. Suddenly arrives the news of the princess's father being dead ; there the dramatis persona very decently abstain from extreme punning, and the daughter of France, with decorous delicacy, tells the King of Navarre that until a twelvemonth from the present day, she cannot listen to his suit. Her ladies pleasantly and prudently settle with their lovers that their decisive courtship must be deferred for a year. All the while the princess remains in the scene, no doubt with tears in her eyes for the loss of her father ; nevertheless, she stops to hear the merry song of the cuckoo — O words of fear, unpleasing to a married ear. In this play there is a tenuity of incident that has prevented its popularity. The characters are rather playfully sketched than strongly delineated, or well discri- minated. Biron is the witty hero of the king's courtiers, as Rosaline is the heroine of the princess's ladies. But the whole play is such a riot of wit, that one is at a OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. loss to understand who were intended to be the wittiest personages. Dull, methinks, shows himself to be the most sensible person in the play when he says that he understood not the jargon which the other characters had been uttering. But still, what with Biron and Holofernes, nobody could wish " Love's Labour's Lost" to be forgotten. " Richard II." as well as " Richard III." according to Malone's dates, appeared in 1593. The former tragedy is estimable for its pathos and skilful delineation of character. Its eloquence is not unblemished by a disposition to play upon words, the besetting sin of Shakspeare ; but it is wholly free from the intermixture of comic scenes. The march of incidents is perspicuous and progressively affecting. Our interest at the outset is bespoken against Richard, and we wish well to the banished Bolingbroke. Nor is the Poet unfaithful to the latter personage, but rather mitigates the truth of history in describing the Lancastrian hero's treatment of the fallen king. But Lancastrian in his prejudices, as Shakspeare was — he lets us see, though without saying so directly, that Henry IV., though heir to his father's property, was not the inheritor of all his virtues. The aged Gaunt is a model of heroic loyalty and justice. His eloquence on his death-bed is prophetic ; and we reverence Gaunt's predictions of what would ensue to Richard for his injustice, not the less superstitiously that they are tinged with human sagacity. Nor is the Bishop of Carlisle's part in this drama to be overlooked, as the intrepid champion of Richard. When he appeals in parliament for his hapless sovereign, and protests against his being sentenced in his absence, whilst thieves are not condemned without a hearing, he says most eloquently — 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 proud traitor to proud Hereford's king ; And if you crown him, let me prophesy The blood of England shall manure the ground, Peace shall go sleep with Turks and Infidels, &c. With such characters in the piece as the heroic Gaunt and this intrepid church- man, it is absurd to talk of this tragedy depending for its interest solely on the character of the hapless Richard. The king is undoubtedly at first obnoxious to us. But the poet coils up his strength, as the piece closes, to the double task of command- ing our warm tears for Richard, and preserving our cold respect for Lancaster. As Henry Bolingbroke advances to be a king, he ceases to interest us as a man ; whilst, as Riahard is unkinged, he becomes a more rational man, and more interesting to our sympathies. We forget his past errors when dust is thrown upon his discrowned head, and when none among the brutal mob cries, God bless him ! The Poet has departed from the letter of history in several particulars; among others, in repre- senting his queen, who could have been then only twelve years old, as his equal companion ; for after the death of his first wife, the '-''good Queen Anne" of Bohemia, he was betrothed to the daughter of France, in her ninth year. If Shakspeare had given himself the trouble to adhere to the truth of history, it is not unimaginable that REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS he might have drawn effect from the very circumstance of their unequal ages. Richard was a beautiful man, and his queen, young as she was at twelve, might have been attached to him, though betrothed before she had a free choice. I doubt if she ever came to England. Shakspeare keeps Henry IV.'s memory in good odour by assigning the murder of Richard II. to Sir Pierce of Exton, whom he makes the usurping monarch reprimand for his officious cruelty; but there is too much reason to believe that Henry IV., who infamously purchased the support of the clergy by allowing them to burn heretics alive, was the real murderer of the dethroned monarch, and that he caused him to be starved to death. CHAPTER VI. In " Richard III.," 1593, Shakspeare put forth a power of terrific delineation which, with the exception of the death-scene of Cardinal Beaufort in the Second Part of Henry VI., he had never before displayed. This tragedy forms an epoch in the history of our poet, and in that of dramatic poetry. In his preceding dramas, he showed rather the suppleness than the knotted strength of his genius ; but in the subtfe cunning, the commanding courage, the lofty pride and ambition, the remorse- lessness of the third Richard, and in the whole sublime depravity of his character, he reminds us of the eulogium passed by Fuseli on Michael Angelo, who says, that Michael could stamp sublimity on the hump of a dwarf. So complete was this picture of human guilt, that Milton, in seeking for a guilty hero, was obliged to descend to the nether regions. It belongs to our historical rather than our dramatic curiosity, to inquire whether Shakspeare was justified by the facts of history, to describe Richard III. quite so blackly. Every one may have heard of the old Countess of Desmond's testimony, that Richard was a handsome man, and only second in appearance to his brother Edward IV., in the ball room, in which she danced with the former. Her declaration cer- tainly proves that he could not have been a notoriously deformed man ; but still I think there are proofs that he had one shoulder higher than the other, — a defect which if he was otherwise personable, as he probably was, he might have well concealed by his dress ; and to a girl of nineteen or twenty he might have easily appeared a handsome man. As to his true moral character, I know not what to say ; Horace Walpole's "Doubts," I think, are themselves subject to doubts. I remember being in Drury Lane, when Kean played Richard III., and I had the felicity to sit in the same box with Madame de Stael and Sir James Mackintosh. Sir James gave us a long discourse on the utterly absurd traditions respecting Richard III/s crimes and cruelties. He was at that time a thorough believer in the doubts of Horace Walpole. But when Sir James Mackintosh's History of England appeared, I looked in vain for a reassertion of the same scepticism respecting Richard's guilt; on tb* OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. contrary, he seems to confess it. For my own part, I think that Richard was infamously abused after his death, by the Lancastrians, and afterwards by the Tudors ; neither do I believe that he was a hunch-back ; yet still I have my sus- picions both as to the perfect equality of his shoulders, and the perfect morality of his conduct. The wretched taste of the public for many years neglected this sublime drama. In the days of Betterton, all the powers of that great actor could not give stage popularity to " Richard III." Cibber at last brought it on the stage in a patched state, containing a portion of the original play, but mixed up with matter from other Shakspearian plays ; and, strange to say, eked out with some of Cibbers own stuff. Yet with all this stuff, Gibber's edition of " Richard III." kept possession of the stage for one hundred and twenty years. In 1741, when Garrick came out at Goodman's Fields, his utterance of the line, "Off with his head! so much for Buckingham ! " drew thunders of applause, and these words set the first seal on Garrick's popularity. That line, nevertheless, was not Shakspeare's, but Gibber's. I have not before me Cibber's misadaptation to the stage of " Richard III. ;" but only that of John Kemble, and I fear that Kemble did little to restore the original ; nay, it is certain that he did nothing material. The medley called "Richard III.," till lately acted on our boards, commences with Richard III. stabbing Henry VI. with his own hand. This might be well enough for the Third Part of Henry VI., but it had no right to a place in the tragedy of Ri hard III. Shakspeare's object in the latter piece was to produce from Richard's character an impression of terror, not of disgust ; and the poet, therefore, exhibito on the stage none of the murders occasioned by Richard, except that of Clarence, whose previous guilt mitigates our anger at his fate, although he moves our pity. Clarence's dream, a piece of poetry which Charles Fox justly compared to the death-scene of Alcestis, in Euripides, is omitted in Kemble's edition of this drama. The complaint was that Shakspeare's play was too long, and the remedy to which they resorted was to thrust in interpolations *. The " Merchant of Venice " (in 1594), was a long and forward stride of Shak- speare's progress in the drama. Here, as in " Richard III.," we see the giant in his seven-league boots ; and he is now grown to a maturity of art and strength, from which still greater miracles are yet to be expected. Since the restoration of Charles II., the "Merchant of Venice' 1 has been one of the most popular plays on the English stage, and the appearance of Shylock has been the ambition of its greatest actors. In the picture of the Jew there is not the tragic grandeur of Richard III. ; but there is a similar force of mind, and the same subtlety of intellect, though it is less selfish. In point of courage I would give the palm to Shylock, for he was an ill-used man, and the champion of an oppressed race ; ncr is he a hypocrite, like Richard. In fact Shakspeare, whilst he lends himself to the prejudices of Christians against Jews, draws so philosophical a picture of the energetic Jewish character, that he traces the blame of its faults to the iniquity of * I ought not to omit mentioning our obligations to Mr. Macready, for restoring this play to the stage in its genuine state. REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS the Christian world. Shylock's arguments are more logical than those of his op- ponents, and the latter overcome him only by a legal quibble. But he is a usurer, and lives on the interest of lent moneys ; and what but Christian persecution forced him to live by this means ! But he is also inhuman and revengeful. Why ! because they called him dog, and spat upon his gaberdine. They voided their rheum upon him, and he in return wished to void his revenge upon them. All this is natural, and Shylock has nothing unnatural about him. His daughter Jessica, is a very faithful picture of a love-inclined young woman ; betraying the oriental warmth of her race, together with their craftiness. But she is not to be taken as a true sample of a Jewish daughter, for among no people are the ties of domestic life held more sacred than among the Hebrews. The scene of the caskets is objected to by Hazlitt, but he gives no why or wherefore : I am not, therefore, bound to argue against his no arguments ; but have only to say that I like the pomp of Portia's courtship at the arrival of the Prince of Morocco, when he swears by his scimitar — That won three fields from Sultan Solyman. Let us remember that we are here in the romantic drama. Throughout this whole piece there is a flow of incident and richly-imagined language, that bears us, on a spring-tide of interest, to the settlement of the plot in the trial scene, which is a drama in itself. Yet there Shakspeare does not forsake us, as a vulgar writer would have done. On the contrary, he prolongs our voluptuous sympathy, in the union of the happy characters, by a little pleasantry about the rino-s and by a moonlight serenade of music. Our imaginations retire from the play soothed and gratified, and perhaps with more hints to our understanding respecting the charity which we owe to the Jews, than Shakspeare has ventured to insinuate. CHAPTER VII. A Midsummer Night's Dream (1594). — Addison says, " When I look at the tombs of departed greatness, every emotion of envy dies within me." I have never been so sacrilegious as to envy Shakspeare, in the bad sense of the word, but if there can be such an emotion as sinless envy, I feel it towards him ; and if I thought that the sight of his tombstone would kill so pleasant a feeling, I should keep out of the way of it. Of all his works the "Midsummer Night's Dream" leaves the strongest impression on my mind, that this miserable world must have, for once at least, contained a happy man. This play is so purely delicious, so little inter- mixed with the painful passions from which poetry distils her sterner sweets, so fragrant with hilarity, so bland and yet so bold, that I cannot imagine Shakspeare's mind to have been in any other frame than that of healthful ecstacy when the sparks of inspiration thrilled through his brain in composing it. 1 have heard, however, an old cold critic object that Shakspeare might have foreseen it would never be a good OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xxxvii acting play, for where could you get actors tiny enough to couch in flower blossoms ? "Well ! I believe no manager was ever so fortunate as to get recruits from Fairy-land, and yet I am told that " A Midsummer Night's Dream " was some twenty years ago revived at Co vent Garden, though altered, of course not much for the better, by Rey- nolds, and that it had a run of eighteen nights : a tolerably good reception. But sup- posing that it never could have been acted, I should only thank Shakspeare the more that he wrote here as a poet and not as a playwright. And as a birth of his imagination, whether it was to suit the stage or not, can we suppose the poet himself to have been insensible of its worth ? Is a mother blind to the beauty of her own child ? No ! nor could Shakspeare be unconscious that posterity would dote on this, one of his loveliest children. How he must have chuckled and laughed in the act of placing the ass's head on Bottom's shoulders ! He must have foretasted the mirth of generations unborn at Titania's doating on the metamorphosed weaver, and on his calling for a repast of sweet peas. His animal spirits must have bounded with the hunter's joy, whilst he wrote Theseus's description of his well tuned dogs and of the glory of the chase. He must have been happy as Puck himself whilst he was describing the merry Fairy, and all this time he must have been self-assured that his genius " was to cast a girdle round the earth" and that souls, not yet in being, were to enjoy the revelry of his fancy. But nothing can be more irregular, says a modern critic, Augustine Skottowe, than to bring into contact the fairy mythology of modern Europe and the early events of Grecian history. Now, in the plural number, Shakspeare is not amenable to this charge ; for he alludes to only one event in that history, namely, to the marriage of Theseus and Hippolyta ; and as to the introduction of fairies, I am not aware that he makes any of the Athenian personages believe in their existence, though they are subject to their influence. Let us be candid on the subject. If there were fairies in modern Europe, which no rational believer in fairy tales will deny, why should those fine creatures not have existed previously in Greece, although the poor blind heathen Greeks, on whom the gospel of Gothic mythology had not yet dawned, had no con- ception of them ? If Theseus and Hippolyta had talked believingly about the dapper elves, there would have been some room for critical complaint ; but otherwise the fairies have as good a right to be in Greece in the days of Theseus, as to play their pranks any where else or at any other time. There are few plays, says the same critic, which consist of such incongruous materials as M A Midsummer Night's Dream." It comprises four histories, — that of Theseus and Hippolyta, that of the four Athenian Lovers, that of the Actors, and that of the Fairies, and the link of connexion between them is exceedingly slender. In answer to this, I say that the plot contains nothing about any of the four parties concerned approaching to the pretension of a history. Of Theseus and Hippolyta my critic says, that they are uninteresting ; but when he wrote that judgment, lie must have fallen asleep after the hunting scene. Their felicity is seemingly secure, and it throws a tranquil assurance that all will end well. But the bond of sympathy between Theseus and his four loving subjects is any thing but slender. It is, on the contrary, REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS most natural and probable for a newly-married pair to have patronised their amorous lieges during their honey-moon. Then comes the question, what natural connexion can a party of fairies have with human beings ? This is indeed a posing interro- gation ; and I can only reply, that fairies are an odd sort of beings, whose connexion with mortals can never be set down but as supernatural. Yery soon Mr. Augustine Skottowe blames Shakspeare for introducing common mechanics as amateur actors during the reign of Theseus in classic Athens. I dare say Shakspeare troubled himself little about Greek antiquities ; but here the poet happens to be right, and his critic to be wrong. Athens was not a classical city in the days of Theseus ; and, about seven hundred years later than his reign, the players of Attica roved about in carts, besmearing their faces with the lees of wine. I have little doubt that, lontf after the time of Theseus, there were many prototypes of Bottom the weaver and Snug the joiner, in the itinerant acting companies of Attica. In the " Taming of the Shrew," (1596), we have no new triumph of Sliakspeare's absolute invention; for in 1594, a play called " the Taming of a Shrew," was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company, and the plot of that elder piece is in the main a rude fore-image of Sliakspeare's play. The former opens with the ejection* of Sly the Tinker from an ale-house, and with his mystification by order of a nobleman who finds him in his drunken sleep, and causes him to be transported to his castle with such deceptions, that poor Sly at last believes himself " a lord indeed." The scene of the anonymous poet's play is laid at Athens, while Shakspeare lays his at Padua. Some of the circumstances of the Shakspearian play, however, seem to have been adopted from George Gascoigne's translation of Ariosto's comedy called M The Supposes," which was published in 1566, and from thence the name of Petruchio was taken. But though Shakspeare has no claim either to the invention of iacidents or to that of the general cast of characters, still his genius enriches what he imitated, and he has much improved the character of the Shrew's husband ; for, in the older play the husband is a coarse brute, whereas Petruchio is only so in ludicrous affecta- tion. Petruchio is a good-natured mad-cap, playing the devil in a fit of eccentricity. In " Romeo and Juliet," (1596), there is a much larger pretension to originality. It is true that the mere story of the play can be traced to much earlier narrators. It was copied by one Italian novelist from another, till it appeared, though somewhat varied, in a French tale, by Pierre Boisteau, and in 1562 it found its way, though still with considerable alterations, into a dull English poem of four thousand lines by Arthur Brooke, entitled u The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet." To the English source, we may suppose Shakspeare to have applied. Yet, what does his possession of those undramatised materials derogate from his merit as a dramatist ? The structure of the play is one of the most regular in his theatre, and its luxury of language and imagery were all his own. The general, the vaguely general conception of two young persons having been desperately in love, had undoubtedly been imparted to our poet by his informants ; but who among them had conceived the finely-depicted progress of Juliet's impassioned character, in her transition from girlish confidence in the sympathy of others — to the assertion of her own superiority over OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xxxix their vuigar minds in the majesty of her despair ? To eulogise this luxuriant drama, however, would be like gilding refined gold. Henry IV. Part 1st. — (15970 — This piece may challenge the world to produce another more original and rich in characters : the whole zodiac of theatrical genius has no constellation with so many bright and fixed stars of the first magnitude as are here grouped together : a prince destined to the glory of Agincourt, a Falstaff, a Hot- spur, a Douglas, and an Owen Glendower. The interest of this first and better Part of Henry IV. is no doubt derived from its characters more than from its incidents, /ot that the latter are either thin or confused ; they, on the contrary, are clear, rapid, and full : but the action is more indebted to its agents than to its own movement, for as to the mere issue of events, I think we cannot be said to feel a palpitating anxiety for success on either side. Henry IV. is a cool politic prince; and his adversary, Northumberland, is even less interesting, so cowardly, though rash for a time, and so weak, that we should not care a straw for his cause, if it were not for his son, Harry Hotspur. But the more original characters of the play give life and interest to all that hap- pens. First of all comes forth Sir John Falstaff. Antiquity has nothing like him, and the world will never look upon his like again. That scene in which young Hal and he enact a supposed explanation between the prince and his father, is sufficiently wonderful for its effects on our risibility in the first part of it ; but, in the after part, when the charming old rogue descends from the part of Henry IV., and assuming that of the prince, beats him, even there, he raises our wonder to astonishment. The man who can read that scene without " measureless content" ought to lie down and die of a lethargy. No words can do justice to the discriminated traits of valorous character in Prince Henry, in Hotspur, Douglas, and in Glendower. The first arises tc glory out of pre- vious habits and pursuits that would have extinguished any character unpossessed of the unquenchable Greek fire that glowed in Henry of Agincourt, and he shines as Homer says of Diomede, " like a star that had been bathed in the ocean." He is com- paratively wiser than the irascible Hotspur, and therefore, more justly successful. The Scottish Douglas retreats at last, but it is only when the field is lost, and after he had slain three warriors, who were the semblances of the king. He was personally little interested in the fray; his reputation could afford him to retreat without expense to his lionour, and therefore he shows, after prodigal valour, a discretion which is quite as nationally characteristic as his courage. Owen Glendower is a noble wild picture of the heroic "Welch character ; brave, vain, imaginative, and superstitious ; he was the William Wallace of Wales, and his vanity and superstition may be forgiven ; for he troubled the English till they believed him, and taught him to believe himself, a conjuror. King John. (1596 according to Malone, 1598 according to Dyce.)— This his- torical play, says Mr. Malone, was founded on a former drama, entitled " The trouble- REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS some Raigne of King John of England, with the Discoverie of King Richard Coiur-d? lions base son, vulgarly named the Bastard Faulconbridge ; also the death of King John at Swinstead Abbey, as it was (sundrie times) publickly acted by the Queen's Majesties players, in the Honourable City of London." A later publisher, Mr. Malone adds, had the audacity, in 1622, to annex to it the name of William Shakspeare. Thus there was an older English historical play than that of Shakspeare on the subject of King John, and it is curious to find that the former was almost an exact forerunner of the latter, in point of incidents and personages. I say personages and not characters, for Shakspeare has thrown more vivacity into the part of Faulcon- bridge than can be found in the prototype ; more dignity into that of Constance, and more pathos into that of Arthur. In the old piece there was no anticipation of Shakspeare's high painting. I am not sure, however, in his almost, though not entirely, copying the incidents of the old play, that Shakspeare has not omitted some which he could have turned from golden dross into pure gold. I mean par- ticularly that scene in the old play where Faulconbridge, in fulfilling King John's injunction to plunder the religious houses, finds a young smooth-skinned nun in a chest where the abbot's treasures were supposed to be deposited. If ever romantic tragedy needed comic relief it was Shakspeare's " King John," and this scene unde? his comic touches would have relieved it. It is remarkable that the Poet of England, and the most eloquent Poet who ever summed up the virtues of Brutus, should have dramatised the reign of King John with- out the most distant allusion to Magna Charta. Was he afraid of offending Elizabeth ? I think not; for he brought out " Julius Caesar" in the reign of King James, whose petty mind was more jealous of popular principles than that of Elizabeth. His main object was probably to recast, with all despatch, an old piece into a new one for the stage. I regret further that his mighty genius did not turn to poetical account another event in King John's reign, still more adapted to poetry, namely, the superstitious desolation of the English mind, which immediately followed the papal excommunica- tion that was issued from Rome against England and her King. The shutting up of the churches, the nation's sudden deprivation of all the exterior exercise of its religion, the altars despoiled of their ornaments, the cessation of Sabbath bells, and the cele- bration of mass with doors shut against the laity ; all these circumstances have been wrought up by Hume into an historic picture that is worthy of Livy *, and what would they not have been as materials for a poetical picture in the hands of Shakspeare ? But let us be thankful for our Poet's " King John," such as it is. No doubt it sets the seal as to the question about the probability of good historical tragedies proceeding from the pen of the best poets, and a negative seal ; for after " Constance " leaves the stage, Shakspeare's "King John" is rather the execution of a criminal than an interesting tragedy. There are scenes and passages, however, in our Poet's " King John " which may never be forgotten. The pathos of Arthur's conference with Hubert is entirely Shakspeare's, * In my estimation of Hume as an historian, I often compare him to Thucydides ; hut in this part of the reign of John he reminds me of Livy. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xli and so is the whole of the part of Constance, his mother, as well as that most appallingly interesting of dialogues between King John and Hubert, touching the murder of young Arthur. In the old play, Constance has a good deal of the virago in her portraiture ; in Shakspeare she is the most interesting character in nature — a doating and a bereaved mother. Those who find themselves, as I do, older than they could wish to be, may derive some consolation for their age, in recollecting that they were born early enough to have seen Mrs. Siddons perform the part of Constance. All 's Well that Ends Well. — (1598.) — The plot of this piece was derived originally from Boccaccio, but was immediately borrowed by Shakspeare from a novel in Painters " Palace of Pleasure/' entitled " Giletta of Narbona." In several circumstances our Poet has improved on the incidents of his original. His Helena, the heroine of the play, is the daughter of a deceased and renowned physician. She is a young and beautiful orphan, who, having been bred up in the house of the widowed Countess of Roussillon, falls in love with the young Count Bertram of Roussillon. Bertram is called to Paris by the king's command. His majesty labours under a disease which his doctors had pronounced incurable, (would that Shakspeare had not named the disease, or substituted some other more delicately mentionable as the subject of a lady's treatment ;) the enamoured Helena finds among her father's recipes an infallible cure for this complaint, and, by the Countess of Roussillon's consent, repairs to Paris to offer her services to the king. They are accepted with much difficulty, but his majesty is cured ; and Helena, when told to name her reward, asks to have her choice of a husband among all the court nobility, excepting only those of the blood royal : the king agrees, and she names Bertram, who is commanded by the king to marry her. Proud of his superior birth, he at first refuses, but, perforce, gives his hand without his heart, to Helena, and, instead of consummating the marriage, writes to her to say, that till she could get the ring from his finger which never should come off, and show him a child of hers begotten by himself, he would never call her his wife. He then abandons France, and entering the service of the Duke of Florence, obtains a high command in the Florentine army. But amidst his military duties he finds leisure to fall in love with Diana, a Florentine virgin, the daughter of a poor widow, and vainly tries to seduce her. Meanwhile, his scorned Helena is filled with remorse that she should have been the cause of her Bertram's exile, and, with a religious sense of duty, that it behoved her to make a pilgrimage for expiation. It appears, however, that there was some- thing like human love mixed up with this heavenly piety, for she takes with her her gold and jewels, and proceeds to Florence, and by one of those happy probabilities peculiar to the drama, falls in with the widow and Diana, above mentioned. Helena persuades the latter, by money and eloquence, to promise Bertram an assignation at the price of his giving her his family ring, and to allow her, Bertram's wife, to be her substitute. Bertram parts with the ring, and Helena obtains the means of obliging mm to marry her. Bertram, crediting a rumour of his wife's death, returns to France, and so does Helena, not like Giletta, in the novel, with twin sons in her arms, but m REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS only as ladies wish to be who love their lords. Bertram, on a full explanation before the king, consents to love his wife for ever, and u The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet." The episodical exposure of the lying braggart, Parolles, is tolerably comic, but Falstaff, as Schlegel remarks, makes us forget every other comic hero of Shakspeare. Altogether, this piece is far from standing in the front rank of Shakspeare's plays. Bertram's penitence gives us no deep assurance of his conjugal happiness with a partner whom he has been forced to marry, and tricked into receiving. The denouement, also, is unnecessarily perplexed by Diana and her mother's appearance before the French king. But some of the happiest aphorisms and poetical passages of Shakspeare might be quoted from this comedy. Though the characters are not deeply marked, those of Helena and the Countess of Roussillon are interesting : we take part with the former because she is a right-loving woman, and thwarted in her love only by Bertram's odious aristocracy ; but the mother of Bertram propitiates our offence at the family pride of her son ; she redeems nobility by reverting to nature, — com- passionate and generously alive to the natural claims of intellect and sensibility, she venerates the memory of the gifted physician, Gerard de Narbon, and she cherishes his orphan daughter, calling her even her own daughter when she more than suspects Helena's passion for her son. "Whilst Helena is coming into her presence, she says, Even so it was with me, when I was young. If we are Nature's, these are ours ; this thorn Does to our rose of youth rightly belong — Our blood to this, this to our blood is born ; It is the shew and seal of Nature's truth, Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth By our remembrances of days foregone. •Such were our faults — O ! then we thought them none. Her eye is sick on't — I observe her now. Helena. What is your pleasure, Madam ! Countess. You know, Helen, I — am a mother to you. We are so Turkish towards the sex, that little short of supreme poetry is required to interest our imaginations in a woman who has survived her youth and beauty ; and yet there is no age, in either sex, which benignant expression cannot beautify, when it is limned by the understanding mind. This Countess of Roussillon is a poetical portrait which I should wish to see reflected on canvas. Such a painting, to be sure, would exhibit only the relics of facial charms, but it would also give us the enduring benevolence and tenderness of a woman once beautiful in form, and still loveable in spirit. The Countess had a right to end her days well after having given her blessing to the re-union of Bertram and Helena ; and, in my mind, she is the most respectable personage in the play of All's Well that Ends Well. The play of Henry V. had a forerunner in an older drama which bore the same title, and contained many of the incidents which Shakspeare has employed. The anonymous dramatist goes back to Henry's juvenile frolics, and after these and his OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xliii father's death, transfers him to Harfleur and Agincourt without noticing his glory in the northern war with Percy. In the outset of the piece we have the inn at Eastcheap, we see the prince familiar with dissolute company, and we have other circumstances that are similar in both pieces. These, it may be alleged, Shakspeare might have got from the chroniclers ; but it is clear that he had consulted the elder play, for the trick by which he makes Falstaff to give himself the appearance of being wounded, is copied from the old play, in which Dericke says, Every day when I went into the field, I would take a straw and thrust it into my nose, And make my nose bleed, and then I would go into the field — And when the captain saw me he would say Peace ! a bloody soldier ! and bid me stand aside. — Whereof I was glad. But the prince's companions in the earlier piece are vulgar beings, and have no Falstaff among them. In Shakspeare's Henry V. there is no want of spirited action and striking person- ages; but I cannot agree with Schlegel as to the nice discrimination which he discovers in the portraiture of Irish, Scotch, and Welsh character among the brave captains of Henry's camp. Schlegel calls Captain Jamy " le lourd Ecossais*;" but why should he call my countryman " lourd ?" Fluellen says, " that Captain Jamy is a marfelous falorous gentleman, and of great expedition and knowledge in the antient wars. He will maintain his arguments, as well as any military man, in the discipline of the pristine wars of the Romans." Here is only a proof that Jamy was argumentative, as most Scotsmen are, and imbued with some learning, but not that he was heavy ; he is not a cloddish, but a fiery spirit. " By the messe," he says, " ere these eyne of mine take themselves to slumber, I'll do good service, or I'll ligge in the grund for it, or go to death and pay for it as valorously as I may, that sail I surely do, that is the breff and the long of it." The brave officers of Henry's army are, however, finely contrasted with the scum of England — Nym, Bardolph, and Pistol, formerly servants to Falstaff, and now exposed to the test as soldiers. As to poor Falstaff, the description of his death in the play affects us with emotions that are not profoundly serious, and yet one cannot help saying, as Prince Henry says on the belief of his feigned death, " I better could have spared a better man." The multiplicity of battles in " Henry Y." is a drawback on its value as an acting play ; for battles are awkward things upon the stage. A handful of combatants disappoints the spectator's imagination; and on the other hand, the illusion produced by numbers of horse and foot, turns the spectacle into a sort of Astley exhibition. We forget this objection, however, in reading the play. It has noble passages. And amongst these, the description of the night before the battle of Agincourt will be repeated by the youth of England when our children's children shall be grey with age. It was said of iEschylus, that he composed his " Seven Chiefs against Thebes," under the inspiration of Mars himself. If Shakspeare's "Henry V." had been written for the Greeks, they would have paid him the same compliment. * I have not beside me a German copy of Schlegel's Dramaturgic, but only a French translation. d 2 REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS As You Like It. — (1599). — The plot of this delicious c jmedy was taken by our Poet from Lodge's " Rosalynd, or Euphues' Golden Legacye." Some of Lodge's incidents are judiciously omitted, but the greater part are preserved : — the wrestling scene, the flight of the two ladies into the forest of Arden, the meeting there of Rosalind with her father and lover, and the whole happy termination of the plot, are found in the prose romance. Even the names of the personages are but slightly changed ; for Lodge's Rosalind, in her male attire, calls herself Ganymede, and her cousin, as a shepherdess, is named Aliena. But never was the prolixity and pedantry of a prosaic narrative transmuted by genius into such magical poetry. In the days of James I., George Heriot, the Edinburgh merchant, who built an hospital still bearing his name, is said to have made his fortune by purchasing for a trifle a quantity of sand that had been brought as ballast by a ship from Africa. As it was dry, he suspected from its weight that it contained gold, and he succeeded in filtering a treasure from it. Shakspeare, like Heriot, took the dry and heavy sand of Lodge, and made gold out of it. Before I say more of this dramatic treasure, I must absolve myself by a confession as to Tome of its improbabilities. Rosalind asks her cousin Celia, " Whither shall we go?" and Celia answers, "To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden;" but arrived there, and having purchased a cottage and sheep-farm, neither the daughter nor niece of the banished Duke seem to trouble themselves much to inquire about either father or uncle. The lively and natural -hearted Rosalind discovers no impatience to embrace her sire until she has finished her masked courtship with Orlando. But Rosalind was in love, as I have been with the comedy these forty years ; and love is blind ; for until a late period my eyes were never couched so as to see this objection. The truth however is, that love is wilfully blind, and now that my eyes are opened, I shut them against the fault. Away with your best-proved improbabilities, when the heart has been touched and the fancy fascinated ! "When I think of the lovely Mrs. Jordan in this part, I have no more desire for proofs of pro- bability on this subject, though " proofs pellucid as the morning dews," than for " the cogent logic of a bailiff's writ." In fact, though there is no rule without exceptions, and no general truth without limitation, it may be pronounced, that if you delight us in fiction, you may make our sense of probability slumber as deeply as you please. But it may be asked whether nature and truth are to be sacrificed at the altar of fiction ? No ! in the main effect of fiction on the fancy, they never are nor can be sacrificed. The improbabilities of fiction are only its exceptions, whilst the truth of nature is its general law ; and unless the truth of nature were in the main observed, the fictionist could not lull our vigilance as to particular improbabilities. Apply this maxim to Shakspeare's " As You Like It," and our Poet will be found to make us forget what is eccentric from nature in a limited view, by showing it more beautifully probable in a larger contemplation. In this drama he snatches us out of the busy world into a woodland solitude; he makes us breathe its fresh air, partake its pastoral peace, feast on its venison, admire its bounding wild deer, and sympathise v)F WILLIAM SHAKSPEAPE. xlv with its banished men and simple rustics. But he contrives to break its monotony by the intrusion of courtly manners and characters. He has a fool and a philosopher, who might have hated each other at court, but who like each other in the forest. He has a shepherdess and her wooing shepherd, as natural as Arcadians ; yet when the banished court comes to the country and beats it in wit, the courtiers seem as much naturalised to the forest as its natives, and the general truth of nature is equally preserved. The events of the play are not numerous, and its interest is preserved by characters more than incidents. But what a tablet of characters ! the witty and impassioned Rosalind, the love-devoted Orlando, the friendship-devoted Celia, the duty-devoted old Adam, the humorous Clown and the melancholy Jaques ; all these, together with the dignified and banished Duke, make the forest of Arden an Elysium to our imagination ; and our hearts are so stricken by those benevolent beings, that we easily forgive the other once culpable but at last repentant characters. Much Ado about Nothing. — (1600.) — The principal incident of this Comedy (t. e. the crimination of an innocent woman, in consequence of a villain procuring the lady's maid-servant to appear drest like her mistress, and receive a lover at the window,) is found in the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto, as well as in one of the novels of Bandello, who borrowed it from his compatriot poet. The story is probably still older than Ariosto. It is likely to have reached Shakspeare through Belleforest's "Cent Histoires Tragiques, 1 ' published in 1583, and translated into English shortly afterwards. There are many coincidences between the novel and the play, and some deviations in the latter from the former, which are any thing perhaps but improve- ments. I fully agree with the admirers of this play in their opinion as to the most of its striking merits. The scene of the young and guiltless heroine struck speechless by the accusation of her lover, and swooning at the foot of the nuptial altar, is deeply touching. There is eloquence in her speechlessness, and we may apply the words, " Ipsa silentia terrent," amidst the silence of those who have not the ready courage to defend her, whilst her father's harsh and hasty belief of her guilt crowns the pathos of her desolation. At this crisis, the exclamation of Beatrice, the sole believer in her inno- cence, " ! on my soul, my cousin is belied," is a relieving and glad voice in the wil- derness, which almost reconciles me to Beatrice's otherwise disagreeable character. I agree also that Shakspeare has, all the while, afforded the means of softening our dis- mayed compassion for Hero, by our previous knowledge of her innocence, and we are sure that she shall be exculpated. Yet who, but Shakspeare, could dry our tears of interest for Hero, by so laughable an agent as the immortal Dogberry ? I beg pardon for having allowed that Falstaff makes us forget all the other comic creations of our Poet. How could I have overlooked you, my Launce, and my Launce's dog, and my Dogberry ? To say that Falstaff makes us forget Dogberry is, as Dogberry himself would say, most tolerable and not to be endured. And yet Shakspeare, after pouncing this ridiculous prey, springs up, forthwith, to high dramatic effect, in making Claudio, who had mistakenly accused Hero, so repentant, as to consenting! y xlvi REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS marry another won an, her supposed cousin, under a veil, which, when it is lifted, displays his own vindicated bride, who had been supposed to have died of grief, but who is now restored to him, like another Alcestis, from the grave. At the same time, if Shakspeare were looking over my shoulder, I could not dis- guise some objections to this comedy, which involuntarily strike me as debarring it from ranking among our Poet's most enchanting dramas. I am on the whole, I trust, a liberal on the score of dramatic probability. Our fancy and its faith are no niggards in believing whatsoever they may be delighted withal ; but, if I may use a vulgar saying, " a willing horse should not be ridden too hard.'" Our fanciful faith is misused when it is spurred and impelled to believe that Don John, without one particle of love for Hero, but out of mere personal spite to Claudio, should contrive the infernal treachery which made the latter assuredly jealous. Moreover, during one half of the play, we have a disagreeable female character in that of Beatrice. Her portrait, I may be told, is deeply drawn, and minutely finished. It is ; and so is that of Benedick, who is entirely her counterpart, except that he is less disagreeable. But the best-drawn portraits by the finest masters may be admirable in execution, though unpleasant to contemplate, and Beatrice's portrait is in this category. She is a tartar, by Shakspeare's own showing, and, if a natural woman, is not a pleasing representative of the sex. In befriending Hero, she almost reconciles us to her, but not entirely ; for a good heart, that shows itself only on extraordinary occasions, is no sufficient atonement for a bad temper, which Beatrice evidently shows. The marriage of the marriage-hating Benedick and the furiously anti-nuptial Beatrice, is brought about by a trick. Their friends contrive to deceive them into a belief that they love each other, and partly by vanity — partly by a mutual affection, which had been disguised under the bickerings of their wit — they have their hands joined, and the consolations of religion are admi- nistered, by the priest who marries them, to the unhappy sufferers. Mrs. Jameson, in her characters of Shakspeare's women, concludes with hoping that Beatrice will live happy with Benedick ; but I have no such hope ; and my final anticipation in reading the play is the certainty that Beatrice will provoke her Bene- dick to give her much and just conjugal castigation. She is an odious woman. Her own cousin says of her — Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprizing what they look on — and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak. She cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self-endeared. I once knew such a pair : the lady was a perfect Beatrice ; she railed hypocritically at wedlock before her marriage, and with bitter sincerity after it. She and her Benedick now live apart, but with entire reciprocity of sentiments, each devoutly wishing that the other may soon pass into a better world. Beatrice is not to be compared, but contrasted witli Rosalind, who is equally witty ; but the sparkling sayings of Rosalind are like gems upon her head at court, and like dew-drops on her bright hair in the woodland forest. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. xlvii Hamlet.— (1600.)— -The story which mainly forms the plot of this tragedy, can be traced back to Saxo Grammaticus's " History of Denmark." From his pages it was transferred to those of Belleforest, in the latter half of the sixteenth century, from whence it passed into English under the title of " The Historie of Hamblett," a small quarto volume, printed in black letter. Mr. Malone has also shown * that some play, founded on the story of Hamlet, had been exhibited on the English stage, before 1589, a period at which it is inconceivable that Shakspeare could have written his immortal play. Mr. Malone supposes the author of that pristine Hamlet to have been Thomas Kyd ; but the supposition is only conjectural, and no copy of the piece has been yet discovered. From that now lost tragedy, and the black-letter " Historie of Hamblett," our Poet must have drawn the chief historical incidents of his play t. Amidst our universal admiration of this tragedy, the precise character of its hero has nevertheless remained a problem in the hands of its admirers. Hamlet is strong in imagination, beautiful in abstracted thoughts, and great and good in his general * Malone's Shakspeare by Boswell, vol. ii. page 371. f In 1825, Payne & Foss, of Pall Mall, published the first edition of Hamlet from an ancient copy, which was never seen by either Malone or Boswell. The title of the old copy is "The Tragical Historie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke ; by William Shakespeare. As it hath been diverse times acted by his Highnesse Servants in the Citie of London ; as also in the two Universities of Cambridge & Oxford & elsewhere. London: Printed for N. L. & John Trundell, 1603." On the republication of this old copy by Payne & Foss, the following remarks were made in the Morning Chronicle. M 'Hamlet' first appeared, according to Malone's calculation, in 1600; therefore this edition was published only three years after the tragedy had been produced. Hence we are inclined to suppose, that, in some respects, it is a more exact copy of the original than any one subsequently printed ; and consequently that it may be considered as a better authority in the case of those disputed points, where common sense is on its side, than the later editions, which were more likely to give the inter- polations of the players. That it shows an abundance of typographical errors is most certain ; and that a great want of skill in the copyist appears in many places ; but when it omits passages that reflect no credit on the understanding of their author, we are anxious to believe that ii is more faithful to the text of such a man as Shakspeare, than those copies are which impute to him obscenity, without even the apology of wit. "Many striking peculiarities in this edition of Hamlet, tend strongly to confirm our opinion, that no gmall portion of the ribaldry to be found in the plays of our great poet, is to be assigned to the actors of his time, who flattered the vulgar taste with the constant repetition of many indecent and not a few stupid jokes ; till they came to be considered, and then printed, as part of the genuine text. Of these, the two or three brief but offensive speeches of Hamlet to Ophelia, in the play-scene, act 3rd, are not to be found in the copy of 1603 ; and so far we are borne out in our opinion ; for it is not to be supposed that Shakspeare would insert them upon cool reflection, three years after the success of his piece had been determined. Still less likely is it, that a piratical printer would reject any thing actually belonging to the play, which would prove pleasing to the vulgar bulk of those who were to be the purchasers of his publication." I am inclined, upon the whole, to agree with these remarks, although the subject leaves us beset with uncertainties. This copy of the play was apparently pirated ; but the pirate's omission of the improper passages alluded to is not a perfect proof that they were absent in the first representation of the piece. Yet it leads to such a presumption; for looking at the morality of Shakspeare's theatre in the main, he is none of your poetical artists who resort to an impure influence over the fancy. Little sallies of indecorum, he may have now and then committed; but they are few, and are eccentricities from xlviii REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS intentions ; yet he is weak, wayward, and inconsistent ; fond, but barbarous towards Ophelia ; proudly and justly conscious of his superiority to ordinary men, and yet, not always unjustly, a despiser of himself. The theorists respecting his character reconcile its contrarieties to their own satisfaction, but no two of them in the same manner. Skottowe recommends us to read the black-letter " Historie of Hamblett, , ' where we shall see his misusage of Ophelia well explained. Now in that prose history, Hamlet is sent to a solitary place within the woods, where there is brought to entrap him a fair and beautiful woman, who, with flattering speeches and all the craftiest means she could, sought to allure him : but this is not the innocent Ophelia of Shakspeare ; and the prince's harsh treatment of her in poetry, derives not an atom of apology from the craft of the woman in prose. My solution of the question about Hamlet's inconsistencies is, that his morbid mind is indued both with the reality and the affectation of madness. Such cases are not unknown in the history of mental aberration. Surpassingly excellent as Shakspeare's Hamlet is, it has a fault, as a piece of dramatic structure, in the unnecessary perplexity of events towards its close, when the prince sails for England and returns, whilst all this while he might as well have been in Denmark. * The Merry Wives of Windsor. — (1601.) — The tradition that this comedy was written by our Poet at the command of Queen Elizabeth, in order that Fal- etaff might be exhibited in love, is too pleasant to be set aside by the gravely stupid objections of George Chalmers, who alleges that, as the Queen was now sixty- eight years old, she could be in no proper mood for such fooleries. For we know that Elizabeth danced at that age, and was wise enough to fancy herself in love. The worthy George Chalmers criticised George Buchanan without understanding the language in which he wrote ; he was a dupe to young Ireland's forgery ; he regarded Swift's Song by a Person of Quality, "Fluttering spread thy purple pinions, Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart ! " as a sweet and sensible lyric effusion ; and if he had lived to travel in a steam carriage on a rail-road, he would have joined with me in exclaiming, as I did, under the tunnel at Watford, — " Swift was a prophet when he wrote the line — ' Nature must resign to Art.'' " Chalmers further objects to the above tradition that Falstaff was already dramatically dead, and that no royal edict could effect his resurrection. It is a pity that Shakspeare lived too early to have canonized George Chalmers as the Saint George of Dulness. In this drama, which displays a rich variety of incidents and a throng of well- eupported characters, we are presented with an unrivalled instance of pure domestic his general character, partially pardonahle on account of the bad taste of his age. What a frightful contrast to Lis purity is displayed among his nearest dramatic successors ! — love in relations of life where Nature forbids passion ; Shakspeare scorns to interest us in any love that is not purely natural. I have compared this reprint of the old edition with that of Stockdale, in 1807; and can entertain no doubt that it is a pirated copy — perhaps, taken from the stage in short-hand — of the real Shakspearian Hamlet. It is singular that in this play the personage called Polonius in all subsequent copies, is here named Chorambis. OF WILLIAM SIIAKSPEARE. xlix English comedy, heightened in zest by the frolicsome adjunction of mock fairy mythology. It must be owned, that if Queen Elizabeth desired to see Falstaff in love with any one but himself, she gave a command that could not be well obeyed. But Shakspeare fulfilled his commission perhaps with an improvement on the humour of its strict letter and law, for he makes the old Knight imagine himself to be the object of love with two married women. The under-plot of Anne Page and Fenton, and the under-characters of Slender, Evans, and Dr. Caius, are per- petual aids to our interest and mirth in this piece ; and after it is done, we anti- cipate nothing less than Falstaff himself sitting down to supper in the Garter Inn at Windsor, and, over a pottle of sack, setting the company in a roar, by the descrip- tion of his agonies when he was carried out of Mrs. Page's house in a basket of foul linen, pitched into the Thames, beaten as an old witch, and pinched by the fairies as a horned mortal. Twelfth Night. — The date of this play is assigned by Mr. Dyce to 1601. And Mr. Malone was incorrect in supposing that it appeared six years later ; for Mr. Collier, in his History of Dramatic Poetry, I. 327, shows that it was indisputably written before 1602, for in the February of that year it was an established play. There are some traits of similarity between Shakspeare's plot and the thirtieth story in the second part of Bandello's novels ; but the former has a nearer resem- blance to the " Historie of Apolonius and Sylla," in Rich's Farewell to Military Profession," published in 1583 * ; and it is more probable that the poet consulted Rich than Bandello. Still, if Shakspeare drew from Rich's story, he has altered it for the better. Rich makes Viola previously in love with the Prince, whom she subsequently serves as a page, and in pursuit of whom she forsakes her friends and country, breaking the domestic ties of nature to get, in male attire, into the house of a man who had not fancied her in the garb of her own sex. Shakspeare says nothing of any attachment on the part of Viola previous to her being a helpless and expatriated orphan, and obliged to get her bread as a page, by disguising her sex. The entire story, as it is told by Shakspeare, may be thus abridged. Sebas- tian and his sister Viola, were twins, born at Messaline, and from their birth they so much resembled each other that, but for the difference in their dress, they could not be known apart. When grown up to youth, they made a sea voyage together, and were shipwrecked on the coast of Illyria. The captain of the vessel, with a few sailors that were saved, got to land in a small boat, and with them they brought Viola safe on shore, where she, instead of rejoicing at her own deliverance, lamented her brother's loss ; but the captain comforted her with the assurance that he had seen her brother, when the ship split, fasten himself to a strong mast, on which, as long as he could see anything of him for the distance, he perceived him borne up above the waves. Viola now found herself in a strange country, and asked the captain who was its governor ? The captain told her that it was governed by Orsino, * Skottowe on Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 200. REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS " a duke, noble in nature as well as dignity.'" Yiola said that she had heard her father speak of Orsino. The captain further said, that it was the general talk that Orsino sought the love of fair Olivia, whose brother had recently died, and for whose loss she was so afflicted that she had abjured the sight and company of men. Viola, herself tenderly mourning for a brother, wished she could live with this lady; but ii might not so be, because the Lady Olivia admitted no person to her house, not even the duke him- self. Then Viola formed another project, which was, in a man's habit, to serve the Duke Orsino as a page. The captain, being her friend, and having some interest at court, got her presented to Orsino under the feigned name of Cesario. The duke was wonderfully pleased with the handsome youth, whom he made his page, and in the progress of his favour entrusted with the history of his love for Olivia, and even sent on an embassy to woo her in his name, as he had no hopes of being himself admitted to her. Cesario, meanwhile, had had the misfortune to have fallen in love with her lord ; but she accepts the embassy, and admits of no excuse or refusal to be pre- sented to Olivia. The haughty beauty, curious to see this peremptory visitant, receives Cesario, and at first sight is enamoured of the suppliant who comes to plead for another. She sends a servant after Cesario, with a diamond ring, under the pretence that it had been left as a present from the Duke. Viola returns to Orsino's palace, and relates the ill success of the negotiation; but is sent back a second time to Olivia, who betrays her attachment to Cesario, and says, "If you would undertake another suit, I had rather hear you solicit than music from the spheres." Viola had scarcely left the Lady Olivia's house, when a gentleman, an- other of her rejected suitors besides the Duke, having heard of Olivia favouring Cesario, challenges the poor girl in boy's attire to fight a duel, and from this chal- lenge she escapes with difficulty. But the knot is soon untied by the arrival of her brother Sebastian, who has been saved also from shipwreck ; he finds his way, by that superintending providence which watches over all true dramatic characters, to Olivia's house. She, unconscious that he is not Cesario, receives his addresses with rapture, and, lest he should change his mind, gets a priest, who instantly unites them. Viola acknowledges her sex, and the Duke, conceiving a new passion, marries her and consoles himself for Olivia. This is a dry abbreviation of the story of " Twelfth Night," but who can abridge Shakspeare's stories, or tell them in any other language than his own ? The delicacy with which a modest maiden makes love to her lord in male disguise, and the pathos with which she describes her imaginary, but too real self — when " concealment, like a worm f the bud, preyed on her damask cheek," and the sudden growth of Orsino's attachment to her on the discovery of her sex, and on the recalling of her words from his memory to his understanding, form beauties in this comedy whicn no touch of human revision could improve. The comic, and the grave and tender, were never more finely amalgamated than here. The characters play booty, as it were ; they are in collusion to aid each other, though seemingly hostile. The roguish Maria, the honest con- vivial Sir Toby Belch, the poor Sir Andrew Aguecheek, ambitioning vices which OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. li he could only ape, and the exquisitely vulgar coxcomb Malvolio, are all most precious beings. The character of Viola is so sweetly peculiar, that I have never* seen justice done to it upon the stage. Mrs. Siddons was too tragic for it, and Mrs. Jordan was too comic. Troilus and Cressida, (1602), was entered at Stationers'* Hall, February (1603j. It was therefore probably written in the previous year. It was printed again in 1609, with a preface, not by the author, but the editor, who says, that " it had never been staled with the stage, never clapperclawed by the palms of the vulgar." But it is entered, in 1603, as having been acted " by my lord chamberlain's men." Mr. Malone thinks that these two discordant accounts may be thus reconciled. It might have been performed in 1602 at court by the Lord Chamberlain's servants (as many plays at that time were), and yet not have been exhibited on the public stage till some years afterwards. A. TV. Schlegel says that Shakspeare wrote "Troilus and Cressida" as a mere poetical pastime, with no view to its being acted ; and assuredly, if the poet meant to produce a piece ill-suited for the stage, he succeeded in his design ; but he gave it unfortunately another negative quality, namely, that of being but imperfectly agreeable in private perusal. Shakspeare drew the chief materials of this drama from Caxton's " Recuyel of the Histories of Troy," and from Chaucer's " Troilus and Cresseide." A good many books of Chapman's translation of the Iliad had appeared before the play was written, though the whole was not published till a year after; so that Shakspeare may plead the excuse of ignorance and false information for his historical injustice to Achilles, in making him treacherously murder the unarmed Hector ; though the translated parts of the Iliad already published ought to have taught him a fairer conception of Pelides's character. The poet, has gleaned, in general, so just a conception of the chiefs in the Trojan siege, that his making Achilles a cowardly assassin is more surprising even than his ana- chronism of Hector quoting Aristotle. His Ulysses is Homeric, and the Cressida described by Ulysses in Shakspeare, is a rich portraiture. It is certainly, however, not one of our great dramatist's masterpieces. The language is too often tortuously and tumultuously figurative, and is so cramped with Shak- speare's frequent fault of trying to be over-muscular in expression, that there are almost whole scenes which, if they had been written by a satiric imitator of his style, I should say were a cruel caricature of Shakspeare. The plot, if there can be said to be any, gives us no consolatory justice in its denouement. Troilus always goes off the stage fighting, but he is never killed, and Hector dies in his stead ; which is at once provoking and lamentable. As to Cressida, however, I think Shakspeare has made her a more consistent being than Chaucer. The Shakspearian Cressida has seduction in the very motion of her foot ; she is wanton and volatile, and her perfidy to Troilus is conceivable. But Chaucer's Cressida is a wise, affectionate and modest woman, forsaking a young and fond lover — a contradiction in nature. REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Henry VIII. was brought out in 1603, according to Malone, Bos well, and Dyce. Mr. Chalmers, however, alleges that it was neither written nor represented before 1613; whilst Mr. Gifford is convinced that it was produced in 1601, and I am inclined to his opinion. At least I am utterly against George Chalmers's date of the piece, from the improbability that Shakspeare should have sat down to compose a play celebrating the elevation of Anne Boleyn, and the birth of her daughter Elizabeth, in the 10th year of James's reign. The allusive compliments to James are generally and justly regarded as additions foisted into the piece at its representation during the new reign; and I should suspect " Henry VIII." to have been written at the latest in 1602, for in the March of the subsequent year, Elizabeth fell into the melancholy of which she died. It seems to me, therefore, more probable that Shakspeare should have written a drama likely to please both the court and the public before the sunset of the Queen's popularity, than during its twilight, when she herself perceived that the people were preparing their orisons for the expected sovereign. The general opinion certainly seems to coincide with GifFord's, that " Henry VIII." appeared upon the stage in the reign of Elizabeth. I have heard it, however, alleged as a matter of surprise (supposing this to be the fact) that Shakspeare, in the life-time of Elizabeth, should have brought before the public a tragedy which affects us with the deepest sorrow for the repudiation of Queen Katherine, and which makes an exposure of Henry's hypocrisy and cruelty towards her ; together with the scene of her dying heart-broken in consequence of Anne Boleyn's triumph over the King's capricious affections. But my answer is, that Shakspeare could not have contrived a play more conducive to Queen Elizabeth's interests. He affects us deeply with Queen Katherine, but she dies soon enough to leave us interested in the lovely Anne Boleyn — pleased with her compassion for the fallen consort whom she had supplanted, and well dis- posed to hear the prophetic prediction of Cranmer, that Anne might " produce a gem in her offspring that would lighten all this isle." Shakspeare certainly did expose Henry VIII. in this play, but if it be not a paradox to say so, he exposed him under a decent covering. He never allows us for a moment to suppose that he (the poet him- self) believed the King conscientious in his divorce of Katherine, or impelled by any other motive than his passion for Anne Boleyn. To be sure he sets forth all tht formalities of Henry's scruples, but he makes those scruples only the transparent veils of his real motives ; nevertheless, he lets down Henry as gently as may be. In our abstracted estimation we certainly condemn him, but the poet mitigates our hatred of him, by showing him up as not ill-hearted towards his people ; and he gives him a blunt wilfulness that is indigenously English. Poetical art perhaps never flattered a monster with such palpable likeness, and yet with such impalpable and cunning mitigation. He suborns his guilty love itself to seduce our sympathy by the beauty of its object. Tims Shakspeare contrives, though at the sacrifice of some historical truth, to raise the matron Katherine to our highest admiration, whilst at the same time he keeps us in love with Anne Boleyn, and on tolerable terms with Henry VIII. But who does not see. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. liii mder all this wise management, the drift of his design, namely, to compliment Eliza- beth as a virgin queen, to interest us in the memory of her mother Anne Boleyn ; and to impress us with a belief of her innocence, though she suffered as an alleged traitress to the bed of Henry ? The private death of Katherine of Arragon might have been still remembered by many living persons, but the death of Anne Boleyn was still more fresh in public recollection; and a wiser expedient could not have been devised for asserting the innocence of Elizabeth's mother, than by portraying Henry's injustice towards Queen Katherine. For we are obliged to infer that, if the tyrant could thus misuse the noble Katherine, the purest innocence in her lovely successor could be no shield against his cruelty. Measure for Measure (1603). — We are much indebted to George Steevens for an advice which he gave to Nichols the bookseller to republish six old plays, on which Shakspeare founded his " Measure for Measure," " Comedy of Errors," " Taming the Shrew," " King John," " King Henry IV." and « King Henry V.," and " King Lear." George Whetstone's " Promos and Cassandra" evidently afforded Shakspeare the plot and principal characters of " Measure for Measure." It is exceedingly inter- esting to peruse that old play, not only from its possessing a certain degree of intrinsic merit, but still more from its being the ground which Shakspeare hal- lowed by his tread, and fertilised into fresh beauty. Whetstone's King of Hun- garie is Shakspeare's Duke of Vienna, Promos is the prototype of Angelo, Cassandra that of Isabella, Andrugio is Claudio, and Whetstone's Paulina corresponds to Shakspeare's Julia, beloved of Claudio. The old poet has no female counterpart to Shakspeare's Mariana, for Cassandra is ultimately married to Promos, and Mariana was a necessary character to the more recent dramatist, as Isabella is supposed at the conclusion to accept of the Duke^ hand. The Clown, Mother Overdone's servant, in the old play, is an original, and a sharp rogue. In general, I remark that in the vulgar personages of Whetstone there is a grosser vulgarity than in those of Shakspeare ; a difference which may be fairly attributed to the barbarism of the elder times. The versification of Whetstone's play is divided between the old rhyming alex- andrine measure, and that of the more modern heroic blank verse. The language of " Promos and Cassandra" has at times a touching simplicity, but in the eloquence ot poetry it will, of course, bear no comparison with " Measure for Measure," nor in the strong conception of character. When I say this, I am far from meaning that I think Shakspeare a multifariously strong designer of character in " Measure for Measure." The Duke is a very whimsically good man; and, in short, there is nothing highly heroical in the drama excepting Isabel. I remember being once coy in my admiration of this seemingly cold heroine, but better reflection has taught me to think otherwise. What would become of the human race, if the pride of woman in her purity were capable of compromise ? Adieu to all domestic affections ! The dishonouring of the sex is intro- ducing death into the source of life. This thought never struck me more forcibly liv REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS than in reading the scene in Whetstone's play in which Cassandra comes disguised as a boy to the house of Promos, in order to purchase her brother's life by the surrender of her virtue, and with the hope promised to her by Promos that he will skin over her shame by marrying her : a hope that deepens her degradation. I said to myself, Thanks to Shakspeare that Isabella would have seen a thousand brothers perish sooner than have submitted to such a shame ! At the same time, though " Measure for Measure" infinitely overtops " Promos and Cassandra" in poetic conception, the former play is not one of Shakspeare's least exceptionable pieces, and in probability of incident it suffers by comparison with the latter. Whetstone is consistent and probable when he resolves and crowns the plot by the King of Hungary and Bohemia arriving at the town of Julio and passing judgment on his delegated governors ; but what could move Shakspeare to make the Duke appoint Angelo his temporary viceroy, after he had known the base treatment which Angelo had given to his betrothed Mariana ? Besides, the Duke's escape from detection by his most familiar subjects and courtiers, under the disguise of a friar, is, to say the least, very difficult to be fancied. I have said already, however, that if you tell a story pleasantly to the fancy, that power of the mind is not severely scrupulous in its belief. The readers of ." Measure for Measure" must decide on this point for themselves. If they find much pleasure in the drama, they will pardon much of its improbability. In the drama, as in the merry conversation of common life, we forgive a man for telling w T hite-lie anecdotes ; but they must be lily-white lies, and must be fragrant with merriment. At the same time, we must own that Shakspeare, in " Measure for Measure," presumes a little too far on his right to improbability, and, to use a vulgar phrase, " draws a long bow." The tragedy of Othello — (1604)— has evident marks of its plot and incidents having been largely borrowed from the 7th novel of the 3rd decade of Cinthio' s Hecatommithi. Dunlop, in his History of Fiction*, says that the characters of Desdemona, Iago, and Cassio, are taken from Cinthio with scarcely a shade of difference. As to the Cassio of Shakspeare, he is a good-natured and common-place man, whose portraiture would be nothing unless it had a place in so splendid a tablet as that of our poet's tragedy, so that I shall waive the trouble of inquiring how far he is like or un- like his alleged prototype, the Cypriot Captain : but the character of Desdemona is not taken from Cinthio ; the Desdemona of the Italian novel degrades her hus- band by the accusation, " thai Moors were naturally moved to anger and a thirst for revenge hy every trifling vexation ;" she is the same in sex, honesty, and circumstances, but she is not the gentle Desdemona of Shakspeare : our poet's heroine, instead of being borrowed from Cinthio, with scarcely a shade of difference, is not borrowed at all. The same thing may be said of Iago ; the villain of the novel has his mainspring motive in his conjugal suspicion of the Moor having had intimacy with his wife. Shakspeare has hinted at such a circumstance in Scene III., Act 1., of the tragedy, * 1st Edition, vol. ii. p. 365. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. Iv when he makes Iago say, that there was a rumour of Othello having been too intimate with his wife. But the villain shows, by his own expressions, that he has no true faith in the scandal. His hatred to Othello is wholly founded in official disappoint- ment ; and neither towards the crisis, nor amidst it, do we ever dream of Iago having been actuated by so pardonable a motive as conjugal jealousy. Besides, the cunning and intellect of the poet's and novelists villain, are different beyond all comparison. Between the Moor of Cinthio and of Shakspeare, it was still more useless to institute any comparison : the former gets his wife killed by beating her with a bag of sand, and tries to save himself from suspicion by breaking down a beam in the ceiling, placed as if it had fallen by accident. In the novel, the Moor is arrested, carried to Venice, put to the rack, and afterwards assassinated : this is not Shakspeare's Moor of Venice I Some allege that Iago is too villanous to be a natural character, but those allegers are simpleton judges of human nature : Fletcher of Saltoun has said that there is many a brave soldier who never wore a sword ; in like manner, there is many an Iago in the world who never committed murder. Iago's " learned spirit " and exquisite intellect, happily ending in his own destruction, were as requisite for the moral of the piece as for the sustaining of Othello's high character ; for we should have despised the Moor, if he had been deceived by a less consummate villain than " honest Iago." The latter is a true character, and the philosophical truth of this tragedy makes it terrible to peruse, in spite of its beautiful poetry. "Why has Aristotle said that tragedy purines the passions ? for our last wish and hope in reading Othello is, that the villain Iago may be well tortured. This drama, by itself, would have immortalized any poet ; then what are we to think of Shakspeare, when we may hesitate to pronounce it to be the best of his plays ! Certainly, however, it has no superior in his own theatre, and no rival in any other. The Moor is at once one of the most complex and astonishing, and yet most intelligible pictures, that fiction ever portrayed of human character. His grandeur of soul is natural, and we admire it ; his gentleness is equally natural, and we love him for it ; his appear- ance we cannot but conceive to be majestic, and his physiognomy benevolent. The Indian prince, Ramoon Roy, who delighted all hearts in London, a few years ago, and who died to our sorrow, was the only living being I ever saw who came up to my conception of Othello's appearance. But the Moor had been bred a barbarian, and though his bland nature and intercourse with the more civilised world had long warred against and conquered the half-natural habits of barbarism, yet those habits, at last, broke out, and prevailed in the moments of his jealousy. He is not a jealous man by nature, but, being once made jealous, he reverfs to savageness, and becomes as terrible as he had before been tender. This contrast in his conduct, however, is not an vidian metamorphosis, but a transition so probably managed as to seem unavoid- able ; yet, the naturalness of the change prevents neither our terror nor pity : on the contrary, the sweetness of his character before its fall, is the smoothness of the stream before its cataract; and his bland dispositions, heretofore displayed, appear, like a rich autumnal day, contrasted with the thunder-storm of its evening. lvi REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS The terrors of the storm are also made more striking to our imagination by the gentleness of the victim on which they fall — Desdemona. Had one symptom of an angry spirit appeared in that lovely martyr, our sympathy with her would have been endangered : but Shakspeare knew better. King Lear. — (1605.) — A play, entitled "The True Chronicle Historie of King Leare and his Three Daughters," was entered at Stationers' Hall, in 1594 : the author's name is unknown. As this senior " King Leare " had had possession of the stage for several years, it would scarcely be doubtful that Shakspeare had seen it, even if there were not coincident passages to prove that he borrowed some ideas from it. Mr. Skottowe alleges that our Poet also dipped for materials into an old ballad, on the same subject, which he conceives to have been written anterior to Shakspeare's Lear ; but the date of the old ballad is utterly unknown, and Mr. Skottowe's certainty is at most conjecture. He is more right in illustrating the probability of our Poet having drawn the parts of Gloster and Edgar from the story of the Paphlagonian King, in Sir Philip Sydney's " Arcadia." The elder tragedy is simple and touching. There is one entire scene in it — the meeting of Cordelia with her father, in a lonely forest — which, with Shakspeare's Lear in my memory and heart, I could scarcely read with dry eyes. The Lear antecedent to our Poet's Lear is a pleasing tragedy ; yet the former, though it precedes the latter, is not its prototype, and its mild merits only show us the wide expanse of difference between respectable talent and commanding inspiration. The two Lears have nothing in common but their aged weakness, their general goodness of heart, their royal rank, and their misfortunes. The ante-shakspearian Lear is a patient, simple old man ; who bears his sorrows very meekly, till Cordelia arrives with her husband the king of France, and his victorious army, and restores her father to the throne of Britain. Shakspeare's Lear presents the most awful pic- ture that was ever conceived of the weakness of senility, contrasted with the strength of despair. The dawn of his madness, his. fearful consciousness of its approach, its progress and completion, are studies to instruct the most philosophical inquirer into the aberrations of the human mind. The meeting of Lear, Edgar, and the Fool, and the mixture in that scene of real and pretended madness, is one of Shakspeare's most perfect strokes, which is seldom unnoticed by the commonest of his critics. In the old play, Lear has a friend Perillus, who moves our interest, though not so deeply as Kent, in the later and greater drama. But, independently of Shakspeare's baving created a new Lear, he has sublimated the old tragedy into a new one, by an entire originality in the spiritual portraiture of its personages. In the characters of Gloster's two sons, the beneficent Edgar and the bastard Edmund, he has created an under-plot which is finely and naturally interwoven with the outlinear plot. In fine, wherever Shakspeare works on old materials, you will find him not wiping dusted gold, but extracting gold from dust where none but himself could have made the golden extraction. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. ivii Macbeth. — (1606.) — Enlightened criticism and universal opinion have so com- pletely set the seal of celebrity on this tragedy, that it will stand whilst our language exists as a monument of English genius. Nay, it will outlast the present form of our language, and speak to generations unborn in parts of the earth that are yet uninhabited. No drama in any national theatre, taking even that of Greece into the account, has more wonderfully amalgamated the natural and the supernatural — or made the substances of truth more awful by their superstitious shadows — than has the tragedy of Macbeth. The progress of Macbeth in crime is an unparalleled lecture in ethical anatomy. The heart of a man, naturally prone to goodness, is exposed so as to teach us clearly through what avenues of that heart the black drop of guilt found its way to expel the more innocent blood. A semblance of superstitious necessity is no. doubt preserved in the actions of Macbeth ; and a superficial reader might say that the Witches not only tempted, but necessitated, Macbeth to murder Duncan. But this is not the case, for Shakspeare has contrived to give at once the awful appearance of preternatural impulse on Macbeth's mind, and yet visibly to leave him a free agent, and a voluntary sinner. If we could imagine Macbeth conjuring the hags to re-appear on the eve of his inevitable death, and accusing them of having caused him to murder Duncan, the Witches might very well say, "We did not oblige you to any such act, we only foretold what would have happened even if you had not murdered Duncan, namely, that you should be Scotland's king. But you were impatient. You did not consider that, if the prediction was true, it was no duty of yours to bestir yourself in the business ; but you had a wife, a fair wife, who goaded you on to the murder." If the Witches had spoken thus, there would be matter in the tragedy itself to bear them out ; for Macbeth absolutely says to himself, — M If it be thus decreed, it must be, and there is no necessity for me to stir in the affair." Julius CLesar. — (1607-) — Shakspeare had achieved wonders in subjects of romance, and yet he had succeeded but indifferently in the early part of his career in a plot that came to him through translation from Plautus. I venture to add, that he was not eminently happy in his " Troilus and Cressida ;" so that a reader, unapprised of the event, might be pardoned for fearing that in classical subjects he might appear like Samson shaven of his hair. But, three out of his four classical dramas, " Julius Caesar," " Antony and Cleopatra," and " Coriolanus," are so consummate that he must be pronounced as much at home in Roman as in romantic history. Already he had shown, in his allusions to Pagan mythology, that he had inhaled its sweetest aroma, distilled, not by toiling scholarship, but by the fire of his genius. But, now that he was in the fullest manhood of his mind, he could borrow more from the ancients than the bloom and breath of their mythology. He cast his eyes both in their quiet and in their kindled inspiration, both as a philosopher and as a poet, on the page of classic history; he discriminated its characters with the light of philosophy; and he irradiated truth without encroaching on its solid shapes vwith the hues of fancy. Wha + . is Brutus, the real hero of the tragedy, but the veritable Brutus of Plutarch. — Iviii REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS unaltered in substance, though by poetry new hallowed to the imagination t And what else is Portia? For the picture of that wedded pair, at once august and tender, human nature and the dignity of conjugal faith are indebted. Brutus and Portia have a transient discord to be sure, but it is like one in perfect music that heightens harmony, — when Brutus says, You are indeed ray honourable wife, And dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit this sad heart. I cannot, on the whole, but remark a more matured tone of philosophy in the classical and later, than in the earlier and romantic, dramas of Shakspeare. By his classical dramas I mean the three great ones, M Julius Caesar," " Antony and Cleopatra," and " Coriolanus," for " Timon" cannot be ranked among his masterpieces. That he displays in the characters of Juliet and Hamlet a great knowledge of human nature is unde- niable ; but Juliet, though a lovelier being than Cleopatra, is not such a finished and inexpressibly subtle portraiture as the enchantress of Egypt. The philosophy that illuminates Hamlet has, possibly from the hero being neither entirely in his perfect mind, nor entirely out of it, a certain vagueness and obscurity, unlike the deep and clear insight into human nature displayed in the classical dramas which I have named. I attribute this difference not to the influence of classical or unclassical subjects, but to the ripened growth of the Poet's mind. It is evident from the opening scene of " Julius Caesar," that Shakspeare, even dealing with classical subjects, laughed at the classic fear of putting the ludicrous and sublime into juxta-position. After the low and farcical jests of the saucy cobbler — the eloquence of the Roman tribune, Marullus, " springs upicards like a 'pyramid of fire!' Act I. — Scene I. — Rome. — A Street. Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a rabble of Citizens. Flavius. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you home ! Is this a holiday ? What ! know ye not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day without the sign Of your profession ! — Speak, what trade art thou ? Carpenter. Why, sir, a carpenter. Marullus. Where is thy leathern apron and thy What dost thou with thy best apparel on? [rule? You sir, what trade are you ? Cobbler. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. Marullus. But what trade art thou \ answer me directly! Cobbler. A trade sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience ; which is, indeed sir, a mender of bad soles. Marullus. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty knave, what trade ? Cobbler. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me, Yet if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Marullus. What meanest thou by that ? Mend me ! thou saucy fellow. Cobbler. Why, sir, cobble you. Flavius. Thou art a cobbler, art thou \ Cobbler. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trode upon neat's leather, have gone upon my handywork. Flavius. But wherefore art not in thy shop to- day I Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? Cobbler. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. lix make holiday to see Csesar, and to rejoice in his triumph. Marullus. Wherefore rejoice 1 What conquest brings he home, What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ? You blocks, you stones ! you worse than senseless things! Oh ! 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 battlements, 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 Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 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 triumph over Pompey's blood ? Be gone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. It can be no great exaggeration to say, that these lines in the speech of Marullus are among the most magnificent in the English language. They roll over my mind's ear like the lordliest notes of a cathedral organ, and yet they succeed immediately to the ludicrous idea of a cobbler leading a parcel of fools about the streets, in order to make them wear out their shoes, and get himself into more work. Timon op Athens. — (1610.) — I am at a loss to account for the strong likeness of our poet's misanthrope to that of Lucian in this tragedy, if tragedy it may be called, that leaves us more affected by its comic dialogue than by its tragic conclusion. From North's translation of Plutarch he could not have derived a conception of Timon so near to that of the Greek fictionist. I have never seen the MS. comedy entitled " Timon," which is mentioned by Malone, but I am told that it bears only a slight resemblance to Shakspeare's play. Neither will our poet's probable acquaintance with " Painter's Palace of Pleasure," in which Timon's story is told, account for the Lucian-like appearance of Shakspeare's hero. Yet there is no proof that Lucian had been translated at this period into English. It is agreeable to remark that, in general, our poet's dramatic power seems to improve with his advancing years. In several of his later masterpieces, the fruitfulness of his fancy remains fresh, whilst its fruits are mellowed and enriched by more skilful cultivation. But I cannot say that I consider Timon as one of the proofs of this general observation ; on the contrary, I should set it down as an exception. Schlegel puts us off with comparing it to one of the biting satires of Juvenal ; but a tragedy has no business to resemble a biting satire. It contains striking passages, and an amusing portion of cynical philosophy, particularly in the conference of the half-rational though hateful cur, Apemanthus, and the human mad dog Timon. But it is far from displaying Shakspeare improved either in his philosophy or his philanthropy at the time he wrote it. It is the production of his spleen more than of his heart. The interwoven episode of Alcibiades is uninter- esting, for it is a moot point whether he or the Athenians were in the wronjr. Altogether " Timon" is a pillar in his theatric fame that might be removed without endangering the edifice. lx REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Cymbeline. — (1609.) — The taste of our age no longer listens — either to the minute criticisms of Mrs. Lennox, or the trenchant sentence of Dr. Johnson, in disparagement of this delightful drama. Both of those impugners, of " Cymb^^e" proceeded on a principle that is mortally pernicious to our enjoyment of dramatic poetry, namely, that, before we allow ourselves to be pleased with a piece of fiction, we ought to sift and scrutinize, to the uttermost, every ground for our fanciful belief. This is a mode of dispreparing us for the enjoyment of fanciful belief that can be practised in perfection only by minds that have not within them the seeds of poetical enjoyment ; and in this class of mind Johnson may very well pair off with Mrs. Lennox. Both of their souls, if they had been rubbed together for a year, could not have produced a spark of poetical feeling between them ; and, whenever they dip their pens in their own hearts, they are critical arbitrators against true poetry. In order to enjoy the romantic drama, we must accept of the terms on which the romantic poet offers us enjoyment. The outline of his piece in such a poem as " Cymbe- line" will at once show that the scene is placed remotely as to time, in order to soften its improbabilities to the imagination by the effect of distance. We all know that in landscapes and landscape-painting the undefined appearance of objects resulting from distance has a charm different from that of their distinctness in the foreground ; and the same principle holds true in the romantic drama, when the poet avowedly leaves his scenes open to the objection of improbability, owing to the very nature of romantic fiction. But the matter-of-fact critics leave no toleration or licence for our fanciful credulity. They say you must mathematically prove this or that fact, before you can lawfully enjoy the fancy of it. Now this is the converse but exact semblance of intolerance in religion. The religionists say that you are damned, if you doubt ; the strait-waistcoat critics tell you that you are a bad judge of the drama if you dare to believe, even in fancy, what our mathematics prove to be heresy. Of all plays in the world, I think these remarks are particularly applicable to Shakspeare's Cymbeline. With my heart open to romantic belief, I conscientiously suppose all the boldly imagined events of the drama — I am rewarded with the de- lightful conceptions of Imogen, of her arrival at the cave of her banished brothers, with its innumerable beauties, and with its happy conclusion. This play is perhaps the fittest in Shakspeare's whole theatre to illustrate the principle, that great dramatic genius can occasionally venture on bold improbabilities, and yet not only shrive the offence, but leave us enchanted with the offender. The wager of Posthumus, in " Cymbeline," is a very unlikely one. But let us deal honestly with this objection and admit the wager to be improbable ; still we have enough in the play to make us forget it and more than forgive it. Shakspoare foresaw that from this licence he could deduce delightful scenes and situations, and he scrupled not to hazard it. The faulty incident may thus be compared to a little fountain, which, though impregnated with some unpalatable mineral, gives birth to a large stream; and that stream, as it proceeds, soon loses its taint of taste in tb* sweet and many waters that join its course. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. lxi Be the wager what it may, it gives birth to charming incidents. It introduces us to a feast of the chastest luxury, in the sleeping scene, when we gaze on the shut eye-lids of Imogen ; and that scene (how ineffably rich as well as modest !) is fol- lowed by others that swell our interest to enchantment. Imogen hallows to the imagination everything that loves her, and that she loves in return ; and when she forgives Posthumus, who may dare to refuse him pardon ? Then in her friend- ship with her unconscious brothers of the mountain cave, what delicious touches of romance ! I think I exaggerate not, in saying that Shakspeare has nowhere breathed more pleasurable feelings over the mind, as an antidote to tragic pain, than in Cymbeline. Antony and Cleopatra. — (1608.) — If I were to select any historical play of Shakspeare, in which he has combined an almost literal fidelity to history with an equally faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and in which he superinduces the merit of skilful dramatic management, it would be the above play. In his por- traiture of Antony there is, perhaps, a flattered likeness of the original by Plutarch ; but the similitude loses little of its strength by Shakspeare's softening and keeping in the shade his traits of cruelty. In Cleopatra, we can discern nothing materially different from the vouched historical sorceress ; she nevertheless has a more vivid meteoric and versatile play of enchantment in Shakspeare's likeness of her, than in a dozen of other poetical copies in which the artists took much greater liberties with historical truth : — he paints her as if the gipsy herself had cast her spell over him, and given her own witchcraft to his pencil. At the same time, playfully interesting to our fancy as he makes this enchantress, he keeps us far from a vicious sympathy. The asp at her bosom, that lulls its nurse asleep, has no poison for our morality. A single glance at the devoted and dignified Octavia recalls our homage to virtue ; but with delicate skill he withholds the purer woman from prominent contact with the wanton Queen, and does not, like Dryden, bring the two to a scolding match. The latter poet's " All for Love " was regarded by himself as his masterpiece, and is by no means devoid of merit ; but so inferior is it to the prior drama, as to make it disgraceful to British taste for one hundred years that the former absolutely banished the latter from the stage. A French critic calls Great Britain the island of Shakspeare's idolaters ; yet so it happens, in this, same island, that Dryden's "All for Love" has been acted ten times oftener than Shakspeare's "Antony and Cleopatra V Dryden's Mark Antony is a weak voluptuary from first to last. Not a sentence of manly virtue is ever uttered by him that seems to come from himself; and whenever he expresses a moral feeling, it appears not to have grown up in his own nature, but to have been planted there by the influence ef his friend Ventidius, like a flower in * It ought to be kept in remembrance, nevertheless, that the inconstant representations of a popular dramatic poet's pieces on the stage is not a proof of his popularity having expired, or being even on the decline. The frequenters of the theatre demand variety. Moliere is as much as ever a favourite of France, yet the pieces of other comic writers are oftener i epresented. Jxii REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS a child's garden, only to wither and take no root. Shakspeare's Antony is a very different being. When he hears of the death of his first wife, Fulvia, his exclamation " There's a great spirit gone ! " and his reflections on his own enthralment by Cleo- patra, mark the residue of a noble mind. A queen, a siren, a Shakspeare's Cleopatra alone could have entangled Mark Antony, whilst an ordinary wanton could have enslaved Dryden's hero. Coriolanus. — (1610.) — Mr. Macready has restored this noble tragedy, in its original shape, to the stage. With all my love and respect for John Kemble's memory, I cannot but regret that he mutilated Shakspeare's drama, in what he called fitting it for the stage. Kemble made some use of a tragedy named Coriolanus, written by Thomson, in this misadaptation of the piece to the stage, how much I have not ascer- tained ; but whatever use he made of it, Thomson is not responsible for Kemble's substitutions : for he was dead long before Kemble began his mutilations of Shakspeare, and I believe left his Coriolanus only as a posthumous MS. This much may be said in behalf of Kemble's half-changeling producti "n, that it adheres for the most part to Shakspeare's text. During this long interval, nevertheless, it was not forgotten. The enlightened public, in 1682, permitted Nahum Tate, the executioner of King David, to correct the plays of Shakspeare, and he laid his hangman hands on " Coriolanus." He made Valeria a prattling and rattling lady ; Aufidius threatens to violate Virgilia before her husband's face ; Nigridius boasts that he has racked young Marcius the son of Coriolanus, and that he had thrown him with all his limbs broken into the arms of Volumnia, and she, his grandmother, soon enters mad, with the pretty mangled boy in her arms. This mode of re-writing Shakspeare was, for the time being, called correcting the saint of our stage. In like manner the Russians correct their patron saint when they find him deaf to their prayers for more favourable weather ; — they take him out in his wooden effigy and whip him soundly and publicly. I suspect they borrowed this custom from our mode of correcting Shakspeare. Winter's Tale. — (1611.) — The story of this tale is taken, with some alterations, from the *f Dorastus and Fawnia " of Robert Greene. After a hundred perusals of this play I sat down to it, for the last time, fresh from reading Mrs. Lennox's objections to it ; and a dreadful list of them she seems at first sight to make out ; but when you come to the piece itself, some of those objections disappear, as if conscious of their falsehood, and the rest insensibly melt away. The jealousy of Leontes, though rash and irrational, is not unnatural in a hasty and wilful man. The lapse of time is explained by an apology from the lips of Time himself. The silence of Florizel towards his Perdita, and her supposed father and brother, on shipboard, has a fair excuse in the impossibility of the Poet's representing dramatically a narrated event ; and the greatest of the alleged improbabilities, namely that of Hermione refusing reconciliation with her husband. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. lxiii may be explained by the conceivableness of a mother being unwilling to re-embrace a husband who had ordered the murder of her child, until that husband had repented, and the lost Perdita had been restored. Mrs. Lennox says, that the statue scene in the " Winter's Tale " is low and ridiculous. I am sure Mrs. Siddons used to make it appear to us in a different light. Let Mrs. Lennox # and her followers, if she has any, get a patent for this belief. When a projector asked a reward from James I. for having invented the art of flying, the King offered him a patent for it ; the humbler privilege of an exclusive right to crawl upon all-fours ought to be given to the believers of Shakspeare's statue scene in the " Winter's Tale" being low and ridiculous. Mrs. Lennox says that the original story of " Greene " is more purely moral than that of our Poet. Now in the original tale, the father of Fawnia attempts to seduce his own daughter. Shakspeare has omitted this exquisite trait of morality. The Tempest. — (1611.) — This is believed to be the last written of Shakspeare's plays f. The public feelings of England had recently been much interested by the adventures of Sir George Somers, admiral of a fleet that sailed from England for the settlement of a colony in Virginia. Sir George's ship was separated by a tremendous storm from the rest of the fleet, and wrecked on the Burmudas shore, in the year 1609. The * My dislike to Mrs. Lennox's memory for having misapplied her little talent, and still less learning, in an effort to prove that Shakspeare has spoilt every story on which his plays are founded, is softened by the perusal of her history. She was the prote'ge'e of Dr. Johnson, who is said to have written the preface to her M Shakspeare Illustrated." She began her literary career, in 1747, with publishing a collection of poems, under her own maiden name of Charlotte Ramsay. Subsequently came out her " Female Quixote," which has considerable merit, and was very favourably received. Others of her works appeared later ; an account of them is given in Nichols's " Literary Anecdotes," vol. iii. p # 200. Towards the latter end of her days she was afflicted with poverty and sickness. She died January 4, 1804, at the age of eighty-four, after having depended for some time on the bounty of the " Literary Fund." Without genius she possessed talents, and her industry and misfortunes have a claim on our interest. f In my supposition that The Tempest was the last-written of Shakspeare's plays, I followed the writers who are generally considered the best authorities. But, since the first edition of these "Remarks " Mr. Cunningham, Jun. has published, from State Office Papers, A Diary of The Revels of that period, in which we find that The Tempest was performed at court in 1611, most probably when it was a new play. The Winter's T»le, as is proved by the same document, was played at court in 1612, and it was also in all likelihood a still newer piece. This cannot be proved, but it is presumable — and if justly to be presumed, my comparison of Shakspeare to Prospero must go down to the gulf; for if he wrote " Winter's Tale " after The Tempest, I do not think he could have dived for it again in order to write " Winter's Tale," a far inferior play to the other. Since reading the Rev. Joshua Hunter's Essay on the play of The Tempest, which came out after the first edition of my " Remarks," I am convinced of a truth strangely and often overlooked ; namely, that Bermudas could not have been the island which Shakspeare intended us to imagine the /scene of his drama— otherwise Prospero would not have sent Ariel to gather dews from the u still-vex'd Bermoothes,'' if it was the place of the magician's own habitation. But the imaginable locality of the enchanted island decides nothing as to the date of the enchanting poem — which Mr. Hunter, in my opinion, has not settled. Indeed, the circumstance of The Tempest having been first played at court in 1611 directly contradicts the probabilitv of its having been long before known to the public lxiv REMARKS ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS history of his voyage was given to the public by Silvester Jourdan, one of his crew, with the following title, " A Discovery of Bermudas, otherwise called the Isle of Divels, by Sir Thomas Gates, Sir George Somers, and Captayne Newport, and divers others." In this publication Jourdan informs us " that the Islands of the Bermudas, as every one knoweth who hath heard or read of them, were never inhabited by any christian or heathen people, but ever esteemed and reputed a most prodigious and enchanted place, affording nothing but gusts, storms, and foul weather ; which made every navigator and mariner to avoid them as Scylla and Charybdis, or as they would shun the devil himself *." This drama is comparatively a grave counterpart to " A Midsummer Night's Dream." I say comparatively, for its gaiety is only less abandoned and frolicsome. To be con- demned to give the preference to either would give me a distress similar to that of being obliged to choose between the loss of two very dear friends. " The Tempest," however, has a sort of sacredness as the last work of the mighty workman. Shakspeare, as if conscious that it would be his last, and as if inspired to typify himself, has made its hero a natural, a dignified, and benevolent magician, who could conjure up spirits from the vasty deep, and command supernatural agency by the most seemingly natural and simple means. — And this final play of our poet has magic indeed ; for what can be simpler in language than the courtship of Ferdinand and Miranda, and yet what can be more magical than the sympathy with which it subdues us ? Here Shakspeare himself is Prospero, or rather the superior genius who commands both Prospero and Ariel. But the time was approaching when the potent sorcerer was to break his staff, and to bury it fathoms in the ocean — Deeper than did ever plummet sound. That staff has never been, and never will be, recovered f . The exact period at which Shakspeare quitted the metropolis and settled in his native place has not been ascertained, but as it was certainly some years before his death, it cannot be well put later than 1611 or 1612. His fame, his engaging manners, and his easy fortune — for he retired with an income of three hundred pounds a-year — equal to fifteen hundred pounds in the present day — must have made him associate with the best society in and around Stratford ; and we cannot conceive his settlement to have been less than a joyous era to his townsmen and neighbourhood. But of his convivial pleasantry we have no anecdote except one, which is not very probable. Rowe tells us that, " in a pleasant conversation among their common friends, Mr. Combe, an old gentleman noted for his wealth, asked the Poet * Drake oq Shakspeare, Vol. II. 503. f I have already noticed those plays published under Shakspeare's name, of which it is generally thought that he wrote but a small part. There are several others not published under his name, but only alleged against him, with the names and claims of which I think it would be tedious to detain the reader ; but if he is curious in the matter, he will find it fully discussed in Boswell's edition of Malone, vol. ii. p. 473. OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. lxy what epitaph he should write upon him, on which Shakspeare gave him these four lines : — " ' Ten in the hundred,' &c." Rowe adds, that " John Combe never forgave the satire." That Shakspeare, in his buoyant spirits, might have extemporised such lines, indifferent as they are, is not impossible ; but that any enmity ever lasted between them is disproved by their respective wills — John Combe bequeathing five pounds to our Poet, and our Poet leaving his sword to John Combe's nephew. Shakspeare's wife had brought him three children : Susanna, who was born in May, 1583 ; about eighteen months afterwards, she was delivered of twins, a son and daughter, who were baptized, on February 2, 1584-5, by the names Hamnet and Judith. In the year 1596, he lost his only son, who died at the age of twelve. Susanna, his eldest daughter, was married, June 5, 1607, to Dr. John Hall, a respect- able physician; and in 1615-16 his youngest daughter Judith, then in her thirty- first year, was married to Thomas Quiney, a vintner, in Stratford. On the 25th of the succeeding month he executed his will, as if warned of impending fate, for, on the 23rd of April, 1616, on his birthday, and when he had exactly completed his fifty- second year, the best of poets expired. No account has been transmitted to U3 of the malady which carried him off. Mr. Malone thinks, with apparent justice, that his son-in-law, Dr. Hall, who was then of the mature age of forty, must have attended him : and this same physician left a private note-book containing a short statement of the cases of his patients, which fell into the hands of Mr. Malone ; but, unluckily, the earliest case recorded is dated in 1617, a year later than the death of his illustrious father-in-law. He died at fifty-two. The average probability of life is twenty years beyond that age, and the probable endurance of the human faculties in their vigour is not a great deal shorter. Chaucer wrote his best poetry after he was sixty ; Dryden when he was seventy. Cowper was also late in his poetical maturity ; and Young never wrote any thing that could be called poetry till he was a sexagenarian. Sophocles pro- duced his M CEdipus Coloneiis," certainly beyond the age of eighty. But the pride of England, it may be said, died in the prime of life. The strength of geuius even in precocious man seldom shows itself before twenty-two, so that, averaging human life at seventy-two, men of twenty-two have fifty years before them of real intellectual productive and enjoyable life to be hoped for. But alas ! the Poet of poets was defrauded by fate of between a third and a half of his most valuable portion of existence. He was buried on the 25th of April, on the north side of the chancel of the great church at Stratford. The wretched lines on his gravestone, " Good friends, for Jesus' sake, forbear," &c. could not have been of his own inditing. A monument was afterwards erected to his memory, at what time is not known, but certainly before 1623, as it is mentioned in the commendatory verses of Leonard Digges. He is represented under an arch in a sitting posture, a cushion spread before lxvi LIFE AND WRITINGS OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. him, with a pen in his right hand and his left resting on a scroll of paper. The following Latin distich is engraved under the cushion. u Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, Terra tegit, populus moeret, Olympus habet." In May, 1742, when Garrick, Macklin, and Delane visited Stratford, they were hospitably entertained under Shakspeare's mulberry-tree by Sir Hugh Clopton. He was a barrister-at-law, was knighted by George I., and died in the eightieth year of his age, in 1751. The New Place, this scene of Shakspeare's residence and of Garrick's entertainment, was sold, soon after the year 1752, to the Reverend Mr. Gastrell, who cut down Shakspeare's mulberry -tree, to save himself the trouble of showing it to those whose admiration of the Poet led them to visit the ground on which it stood. That Shakspeare planted this tree, is as well authenticated as any thing of that nature can be. - — acsci - ' - r TrjM-is-vrrr SHAKSPEARE'S MARRIAGE LICENCE BOND. Novint Univsi p pntes nos Fulcone Sandells de Stratford in Comi? Warwic agricolam et Johem Rychardson ibm agricola teneri et firmiter obligari Rico Cosin gnoso et Robto Warmstry notario pu° in quadraginta libris bone & le^alis monete Anglie Solvend eisdm Rico et Robto hered execu? vel assignat suis ad quam quidem soluconem bene & fideir faciend obligam nos & utruq> nrm p se pro toto & in solid hered executor & administrator nros firmiter p pntes Sigillis nris sigillat. Dat. 28 die Nove Anno Regni Dfie nre Eliz' Dei gratia Anglie Franc & Hifenie Regine fidei Defensor, &c. 25°. The Condicon of this obligacon ys suche that if herafter there shall not appere any Lawfull Lett or impediment by reason of any pcontract con- sangnitie affinitie, or by any other lawfull meanes whatsoev 1 , but that Wiftm Shagspere one thone ptie, and Anne Hathwey of Stratford, in the Dioces of Worcester, maiden, may lawfully solemnize mriony together and in the same afterwards remaine and continew, like man and wiffe, according unto the lavves in that behalf provided, and moreov, if there be not at this psent time any action, sute, quarrell, or demaund, moved or depending before any iudge ecctiasticall or temporall for and concerning any suche lawfull lett or im- pediment. And moreov, if the said Wittm Shagspere Do not pceed to solemnizacon of mariadg with the said Anne Hathwey without the consent of hir frinds. And also if the said Wittm Do upon his owne pper costs and expenses Defend and save harmles the right Rev'end father in god lord John bushop of Worcester and his Offycers for Licencing them the said Wittm and Anne to be maried together w th once asking of the bannes of mriony betwene them, and for all other causes w ch may ensue by reason or occasion thereof, that then the said obligacon to be voyd and of none effect, or els to stand & abide in full force and vertue. {Signed by a cross and another mark.) [L. S.] QL. S.] SHAKSPEARE'S WILL. FROM THE ORIGINAL, IN THE OFFICE OF THE PREROGATIVE COURT OF CANTERBURY. I'icmmo quinto die Martii, Anno Regni Domini nostri Jacobi nunc Regis Anglioe, fyc. decimo quarto, et Scotice quadragesimo nono. Anno Domini 1616. In the name of God, Amen. I William Shakspeare of 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, hoping, 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. Item, I give and bequeath unto my daughter Judith one hundred and fifty pounds of lawful English money, to be paid unto her in manner and form following ; that is to say, one hundred pounds in discharge of her marriage portion within one year after my decease, with consideration after the rate of two shillings in the pound for so long time as the same shall be unpaid unto her after my decease ; and the fifty pounds residue thereof, upon her surrendering of, or giving of such sufficient security as the overseers of this my will shall like of, to surrender or grant, all her estate and right that shall descend or come unto her after my decease, or that she now hath, of, in, or to, one copyhold tenement, with the appurtenances, lying and being in Stratford-upon- Avon aforesaid, in the said county of Warwick, being parcel or holden of the manor of Rowington, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, and her heirs for ever. Item, I give and bequeath unto my said daughter Judith one hundred and fifty pounds more, if she, or any issue of her body, be living at the end of three years next ensuing the day of the date of this my will, during which time my executors to pay her consideration from my decease according to the rate aforesaid : and if she die within the said term without issue of her body, then my will is, and I do give and bequeath one hundred pounds thereof to my niece Elizabeth Hall, and the fifty pounds to be set forth by my executors during the life of my sister Joan Hart, and the use and profit thereof coming, shall be paid to my sister Joan, and after her decease the said fifty pounds shall remain amongst the children of my said sister, equally to be divided amongst them ; but if my said daughter Judith be living at the end of the said three years, or any issue of her body, then my will is, and so I devise and bequeath the said hundred and fifty pounds to be set out by my executors and overseers for the best benefit of her and her issue, and the stock not to be paid unto her so long as she shall be married and covert baron ; but my will is, that she shall have the considera- tion yearly paid unto her during her life, and after her decease the said stock and con- SHAKSPEARE'S WILL. Uix sideration to be paid to her children, if she have any, and if not, to her executors or assigns, she living the said term after my decease : provided that if such husband as she shall at the end of the said three years be married unto, or at any [time] after, do sufficiently assure unto her, and the issue of her body, lands answerable to the por- tion by this my will given unto her, and to be adjudged so by my executors and over- seers, then my will is, that the said hundred and fifty pounds shall be paid to such husband as shall make such assurance, to I113 own use. Item, I give and bequeath unto my said sister Joan twenty pounds, and all my wearing apparel, to be paid and delivered within one year after my decease , and I do will and devise unto her the house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford, wherein she dwelleth, for her natural life, under the yearly rent of twelve-pence. Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons, William Hart, Hart, and Michael Hart, five pounds a piece, to be paid within one year after my decease. Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Elizabeth Hall all my plate, (except my broad silver and gilt bowl,) that I now have at the date of this my will. Item, I give and bequeath unto the poor of Stratford aforesaid ten pounds ; to Mr. Thomas Combe my sword ; to Thomas Russel, esq. five pounds ; and to Francis Collins, of the borough of Warwick, in the county of Warwick, gent, thirteen pounds six shillings and eight-pence, to be paid within one year after my decease. Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet [Hamnef] Sadler twenty-six shillings eight- pence, to buy him a ring ; to William Reynolds, gent, twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy him a ring ; to my godson, William Walker, twenty shillings in gold ; to Anthony Nash, gent, twenty-six shillings eight-pence ; and to Mr. John Nash, twenty- six shillings eight-pence ; and to my fellows, John Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell, twenty-six shillings eight-pence apiece to buy them rings. Item, I give, will, bequeath, and devise unto my daughter, Susanna Hall, for better enabling of her to perform this my will, and towards the performance thereof, all that capital messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, in Stratford aforesaid, called The New Place, wherein I now dwell, and two messuages or tenements, with the appurtenances situate, lying, and being in Henley Street, within the borough of Strat- ford aforesaid ; and all my barns, stables, orchards, gardens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments whatsoever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had, received, perceived, or taken, within the towns, hamlets, villages, fields, and grounds of Stratford-upon- Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, or in any of them, in the said county of Warwick ; and also all that messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth, situate, lying, and being, in the Blackfriars in London, near the W r ardrobe : and all other my lands, tenements, and hereditaments, what- Ixk SIIAKSPEAIIE'S WILL. soever : to have and to hold all and singular the said premises, with their appur- tenances, 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 to the heirs- males of the body of the said first son lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to the second son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the heirs-males of the body of the said second son lawfully issuing ; and for default of such heirs, to the third son of the body of the said Susanna lawfully issuing, and to the heirs- males of the body of the said third son lawfully issuing ; and for default of such issue, the same so to be and remain to the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of her body, lawfully issuing, one after another, and to the heirs-males of the bodies of the said fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons lawfully issuing^ in such manner as it is before limited to be and remain to the first, second, and third sons of her body, and to their heirs-males ; and for de- fault of such issue, the said premises to be and remain to my said niece Hall, and the heirs-males of her body lawfully issuing ; and for default of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the heirs-males of her body lawfully issuing ; and for default of such issue, to the right heirs of me the said William Shakspeare for ever. Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed, with the furniture. Item, I give and bequeath to my said daughter, Judith, my broad silver gilt bowl. All the rest of my goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuff whatsoever, after my debts and legacies paid, and my funeral expenses discharged, I give, devise, and bequeath to my son-in-law, John Hall, gent, and my daughter Susanna, his wife, whom I ordain and make executors of this my last will and testament. And I do entreat and appoint the said Thomas Russell, esq. and Francis Collins, gent, to be overseers hereof. And do revoke all former wills, and publish this to be my last will and testament. In witness whereof I have hereunto put my hand, the day and year first above written. By me, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. Witness to the publishing hereof, Fra. Collyns, Julius Shaw, John Robinson, Hamnet Sadler, Robert "Whatcott. Prolatumfuit testamentum suprascriptum amid London, coram Magistro William Byrde, Legum Doctor e, Sfc. mcesimo secundo die mensis Junii, Anno Domini 1616; juramento Johannis Hall unius ex cui, S$c. de bene, fyc. jurat, resermta pcte6tate, fyc. Susanna? Hall, alt. ex. Sfc. earn cum venerit, %c. petitur, fyc TIT PI TIME OF LIFE AT WHICH SHAKSPEARE MAY BE SUPPOSED TO HAVE WRITTEN HIS DRAMAS. Date. At the age of shakspeare was born 1564 pericles in 1590 26 second part of henry vi. 1591 27 third part of henry vi. ...*... 1591 27 comedy of errors 1592 28 love's labour's lost 1592 28 RICHARD II 1593 29 RICHARD III. ... 1593 29 MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM ........ 1594 30 TAMING OF THE SHREW . « • . . 1596 32 ROMEO AND JULIET . .»,••• 1 59C 32 MERCHANT OF VENICE . . 1597 33 FIRST PART OF HENRY IV. 1597 33 SECOND PART OF HENRY IV. ..... 1598 34 KING JOHN ... • 1598 34 ALL'S WFLL THAT ENDS WELL 1598 34 henrt v. 1599 35 AS YOU LIKE IT . ....... 1599 35 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING . ... . 1600 36 HAMLET ... 1600 36 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 1601 37 TWELFTH NIGHT 1601 37 TROILUS AND CRESS1DA . ..... 1602 38 lxxii SUPPOSED DATES OF SHAKSPEARES DRAMAS. Date. A* the age of HENRY VIII 1603 39 MEASURE FOR MEASURE . . . . . . . . . 1603 39 OTHELLO 1604 40 KING LEAR 1605 41 MACBETH 1606 42 julius caesar 1607 43 antony and cleopatra 1608 44 cymbeline 1609 45 coriolanus 1610 46 timon of athens 1610 46 winter's talk . 1611 47 TEMPEST ........... 1612 48 THE PLAYERS' PREFACE (Folio. 1623.) TO THE GREAT VARIETY OF READERS, From the most able, to liim that can but spell : there are you numbered, we had rather you were weighed. Especially, when the fate of all books depends upon your capacities : and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. Well ! it is now public;, and you will stand for your privileges, we know : to read, and censure. Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend a book, the stationer says. Then, how odd soever your brains be, or your wisdoms, make your licence the same, and spare not. Judge your six-pen'orth, your shillings worth, your five shillings worth at a time, or higher, so you rise to the just rates, and welcome. But, whatever you do, buy. Censure will not drive a trade, or make the jack go. And though you be a Magistrate of wit, and sit on the stage at Blackfriars, or the Cockpit, to arraign plays daily, know, these plays have had their trial already, and stood out all appeals ; and do now come forth quitted rather by a decree of court, than any purchased letters of commendation. It had been a thing, we confess, worthy to have been wished, that the Author himself had lived to have set forth, and overseen his own writings ; but since it hath been ordained otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envy his friends the office of their care and pain, to have collected and published them ; and so to have published them, as where (before) you were abused with divers stolen and surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealths of / lxxiv THE PLAYERS' PREFACE. injurious impostors, that exposed them : even those are now offered to your view cured, and perfect of their limbs ; and all the rest, absolute in their numbers as he conceived them : who, as ho was a happy imitator of nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together ; and what he thought, he uttered with that easi- ness, that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our province, who only gather his works, and give them to you, to praise him. It is yours that read him. -And there we hope, to your divers capacities, you will find enough, both to draw, and hold you : for his wit can no more lie hid, than it could be lost. Read him, therefore ; and again, and again : and if then you do not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger, not to understand him. And so we leave you to other of his friends, who, if you need, can be your guides : if you need them not, you can lead yourselves, and others. And such readers, we wish him. John Heminge. Henry Condell. ANCIENT COMMENDATORY VERSES ON SHAKSPEARE. ON WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, WHO DIED IN APRIL. 1616. Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigii To learned Chaucer ; and, rare Beaumont, lie A little nearer Spenser, to make room For Shakspeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb. To lodge all four in one bed make a shift, For, until doomsday hardly will a fifth, Betwixt this day and that, by fates be slain, For whom your curtains need be drawn again. But if precedency in death doth bar A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre, Under this sable marble of thine own, Sleep, rare tragedian, Shakspeare, sleep alone : Thy unmolested peace, in an unshared cave, Possess as lord, not tenant of thy grave. That unto us, and others, it may be Honour hereafter to be laid by thee. WILLIAM BASSE. TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, Ami thus ample to thy book and fame ; While I confess thy writings to be such, As neither man, nor Muse, can praise too much. 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise ; For silliest ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right j Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance J Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore, Should praise a matron ; what could" hurt her more ? But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. 1 therefore wili begin : Soul of the age ! The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our stage 1 lxxvi COMMENDATORY VERSES. My Shakspeare rise ! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further off, to make thee room : Thou art a monument without a tomb, And .art alive still, while thy book doth, live And we have wits to read, and praise to give. That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, I mean with great, but disproportion^ Muses : For if I thought my judgment were of years, I sliould commit thee surely with thy peers, And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlow's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek. From thence to honour thee, I will not seek For names : but call forth thund'ring Eschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles to us, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead, To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage : or when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone for the comparison Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. Jlfijyas not of an age, b ut for all time ! And all the JIM Sllll UUFl- 1T1 H'elF IJrtme, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines ! Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of nature's family. Yet must I not give nature all ; thy art, My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion : and, that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses anvil ; turn the same, And himself with it, that he thinks to frame ; Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn ; For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou ! Look how the father's face Lives in his issue, even so the race Of Shakspeare' s mind and manners brightly shines In his well torned, and true filed lines : In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. Sweet Swan of Avon ! what a sight it were To see thee in our water yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza, and our James J But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there ! Shine forth, thou Star of poets, and with rage, Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd like night. And despairs day, but for thy volume's light. DEN JOXSON. COMMENDATORY VERSES. ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE. [Prefixed as a Frontispiece to the first edition of his Works in folio, lfi23.) TO THE READER. This figure that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, Wherein the graver had a strife With nature, to out-do the life : O could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass, as he has hit His face ; the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass : But since he cannot, reader, look Not on his picture, but his book. BEN JONSON. UPON THE LINES AND LIFE OF THE FAMOUS SCENIC POET, MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. Those hands which you so clapp'd, go now and wring, You Britains brave ; for done are Shakspeare's days ; His days are done that made the dainty plays, Which made the globe of heaven and earth to ring : Dry'd is that vein, dry'd is the Thespian spring, Turn'd all to tears, and Phoebus clouds his rays ; That corpse, that coffin, now bestick those bays, Which crown'd him poet first, then poet's king. If tragedies might any prologue have, All those he made would scarce make one to this ; Where fame, now that he gone is to the grave, " (Death's public tiring-house) the Nuntius is : For, though his line of life went soon about, The life yet of his lines shall never out. HUGH HOLLAND. TO Tim MEMORY OF THE DECEASED AUTHOR, MASTER W. SHAKSPEARE. Shakspeare at length thy pious fellows give The world thy works ; thy works, by which out-live Thy tomb, thy name must : when that stone is rent, And time dissolves thy Stratford monument, Here we alive shall view thee still ; this book, When brass and marble fade, shall make thee look Fresh to all ages j when posterity Shall loath what's new, think all is prodigy That is not Sakspeare's, every line, each verse, Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy herse. Nor fire, nor cank'ring age, — as Naso said Of his, — thy wit-fraught book shall once invade ; Nor shall I e'er believe or think thee dead, Though miss'd, until our bankrout stage be sped (Impossible) with some new strain to out-do Passions " of Juliet, and her Romeo ;" Ixxviii COMMENDATORY VERSES Or till I hear a scene more nobly take, Than when thy half-sword parlying Romans spake : Till these, till any of thy volume's rest, Shall with more fire, more feeling be express'd, Be sure, our Shakspeare, thou canst never die, But, crown'd with laurel, live eternally L. DIGGE* TO THE MEMORY OF MASTER W. SHAKSPEARE. We wonder'd, Shakspeare, that thou went'st so soon From the world's stage to the grave's tiring-room : We thought thee dead ; but this thy printed worth Tells thy spectators, that thou went'st but forth To enter with applause : an actor's art Can die, and live to act a second part : That's but an exit of morality, This a re-entrance to a plaudite. i. UPON THE EFFIGIES OF MY WORTHY FRIEND, THE AUTHOR, MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, AND HIS WORKS. Spectator, this life's shadow is ; — to see The truer image, and a livelier he, Turn reader : but observe his comic vein, Laugh ; and proceed next to a tragic strain, Then weep : so, — when thou find'st two contraries, Two different passions from thy rapt soul rise, — Say, (who alone effect such wonders could,) Rare Shakspeare to the life thou dost behold. AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET, W. SHAKSPEARE. What needs my Shakspeare for his honour'd bones, The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument. For whilst to th' shame of slow-endevoring art Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make \is marble with too much conceiving ; And so sepiJcher'd in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. JOHN MILTOV. ON WORTHY MASTER SHAKSPEARE, AND HIS POEMS. A mind reflecting ages past, whose clear And equal surface can make things appear, Distant a thousand years, and represent Them in their lively colours, just extent : To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates, Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates Of death and Lethe, where confused lie Great heaps of ruinous mortality : In that deep dusky dungeon, to discern A royal ghost from churls ; by art to learn The physiognomy of shades, and give Them sudden birth, wond'ring how oft they live ; What story coldly tells, what poets feign At second hand, and picture without brain, Senseless and soul-less shews : To give a stage, — Ample, and true with life, — voice, action, age, As Plato's year, and new scene of the world, Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd : To raise our ancient sovereigns from their herse, Make kings his subjects ; by exchanging verse Enlive their pale trunks, that the present age Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage : Yet so to temper passion, that our ears Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears Both weep and smile ; fearful at plots so sad, Then laughing at our fear ; abused, and glad To be abused ; affected with that truth Which we perceive is false, pleased in that ruth At which we start, and, by elaborate play, Tortured and tickled ; by a crab-like way Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort Disgorging up his ravin for our sport : — While the plebeian imp, from lofty throne, Creates and rules a world, and works upon Mankind by secret engines ; now to move A chilling pity, then a rigorous love ; To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire ; To steer the affections ; and by heavenly fire Mould us anew, stol'n from ourselves : — This, — and much more, which cannot be express'd But by himself, his tongue, and his own breast, — Was Shakspeare's freehold ; which his cunning braiD Improv'd by favour of the nine-fold train ; — The buskin'd muse, the comick queen, the grand And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand And nimbler foot of the melodious pair.. The silver-voiced lady, the most fair Calliope, whose speaking silence daunts, And she whose praise the heavenly body chants : — These jointly woo'd him, envying one another ; — Obey'd by all as spouse, butlov'd as brother ; — And wrought a curious robe, of sable grave, Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave, And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white, The lowly russet, and the scarlet bright : Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted spring ; Each leaf match'd with a flower, and each string Of golden wire, each line of silk : there run Italian works, whose thread the sisters spun ; lxxx COMMENDATORY VERSES. And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice Birds of a foreign note and various voice : Here hangs a mossy rock ; there plays a fair But chiding fountain, purled : not the air, Nor clouds, nor thunder, but were living drawn j Not out of common tiffany or lawn, But fine materials, which the Muses know, And only know the countries where they grow. Now, ay hen they could no longer him enjoy, In mortal garments pent, — death may destroy, They say, his body ; but his verse shall live, And more than Nature takes our hands shall give : In a less volume, but more strongly bound, Shakspeare shall breathe and speak ; with laurel crown'd, Which never fades ; fed with ambrosian meat, In a well-lined vesture, rich, and neat : So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it ; For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it. J, M- 6. TEMPEST PERSONS REPRESENTED. alonso, King of Naples. Sebastian, his brother. Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan. Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke o/Milan. Ferdinand, son to the King o/Naples. Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor of Naples. Adrian, 1 j^ Francisco, ) Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. Tiunctlo, a Jester. Strphano, a drunken Butler. Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. SCENE, — The Sea, with a Ship : afterwards an uninhabited Island. Miranda, daughter to PRosreao. Ariel, an airy Spirit. Iris, "\ Ceres, Juno, V. Spirits. Nymphs, f Reapers, J Other Spirits attending on Prospero. ACT I. SCENE I.— On a Ship at Sea.— A Storm, with Thunder and Lightning. Eider a Shipmaster and a Boatswain. Master. Boatswain, — Boats. Here, master : what cheer ? Master. Good: Speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground ; bestir, bestir. [Exit. Enter Mariners. Boats. Heigh, my hearts ; cheerly, cheerly, my hearts ; yare, yare : take in the top sail ; 'Tend to the master's whistle. — Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough ! Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo* and others. Alon. 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 labour ; 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 : silence : trouble us not. Gon. Good ; yet remember whom thou hast, 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- chance 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 : methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast good fate, to his hanging ! 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 miser- able. [Exeunt Re-enter Boatswain. Boats. Down with the topmast ; yare ; lower, lower ; bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.] A plague upon this howling ! They are louder than the weather, or our office. — Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. Yet again ? what 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 ! Boats. Work you, then. Ant. Hang, 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 unstanch'd wench. Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold : set her two courses ; off to sea again, lay her off. Enter Mariners, wet. Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! [Exeunt. Boats. What, must our mouths be cold ? Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist them, For our case is as theirs. Seb. I am out of patience. Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. — This wide-chapp'd rascal ; — 'Would, thou might's! lie drowning, The washing of ten tides ! TEMPEST. ACT I. Gon. He'Jl 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. VE.dt. Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground ; long heath, brown furze, any thing : The wills above be done ! but I would fain die a dry dtath. [Exit. SCENE II.— TJie Island; before the Cell of Prospero. Enter Prospero and Miranda. Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But tbat the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel, Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 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 h»ve swallowed, and The freighting souls within her. Pro. Be collected ; No more amazement ; tell your piteous heart, There's no harm done. Mira. 0, woe the day ! Pro. No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, (Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father. Mira. More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro. 'Tis time I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment 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 heart So safely order'd, that there is no soul — No, not so much perdition as an hair, Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down ; For thou must now know further. Mira. You have often Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd, And left me 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 before we came unto this cell ? I do not think thou can'st ; for then thou wast not Out three years old. Mira. Certainty, sir, I can. Pro. By what ? by any other house, or person ? Of any thing tlje image tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Mira. 'Tis far off; And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants : Had I not Four or five women once, that tended me ? Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda : But how is it, That this lives in thy mind ? What see'st thou els3 In the dark backward and abysm of time ! If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cani'st here, How thou cani'st here, thou may'st. Mira. But that I do not. Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and A prince of power. Mira. Sir, are not you my father ? Pro. Thy mother was a puce 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 gii 1 ; By foul play, as thou say 'st, were we heaved thence; But blessedly holp hither. Mira. O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, fur i her. Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, eaTd Antonio — I pr.ty tin e, mark me, — that a brother should Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself, Of all the world 1 loved, and to him put The manage of my state ; as, at that time, Through all the signiories it was the first, And Prospero the prime duke ; being so reputed In dignity, and, for the liberal art?, 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 heedfully. Pro. Being once perfected how to grant write, How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom To trash for over-topping; new created [them, The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd Or else new form'd them ; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts To what tune pleased his ear ; that now he was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st I pray thee, mark me. [not ; Mira. 0, good sir, I do. Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate To closeness, and the bettering of my miud With that, which, but by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate, in my fa'se brother Awaked an evil nature : and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him 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. SCENE II. TEMPEST. 3 To credit his own lie, — he did believe He was the duke ; out of the substitution, And executing the outward face of royalty, Wiih all prerogative : — Hence his ambition Growing,— Dost hear ? Mira. "Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. To have no screen between this part he And him he play'd it for, he needs will be [play'd Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable : confederates (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, To give him annual tribute, do him homage ; Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) To most ignoble stooping. Mira. the heavens ! Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then If this might be a brother. [tell me, Mira. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother : Good wombs have borne bad sons. Pro. Now the condition. This king of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; Which was, that he in lieu o' the 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 ! I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint, That wrings mine eyes to it. Pro. Hear a little further, And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon us ; without the which, this story Were most impertinent. Mira. Wherefore did they not, That hour, destroy us ? Pro. Well demanded, wench ; My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not ; (So dear the love my people bore me) nor set A mark so bloody on the business ; but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a barkj; Bore us some leagues to sea ; where th- y prepar'd A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us, To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong. Mira. Alack ! what trouble Was I then to you ! Pro. O ! a cherubim Thou wast, that did preserve me I 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. Some 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 havesteaded much ; so, of hisgentleness, Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me, From my own library, with volumes that I prize 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 arrived ; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princes can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. Mira. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, I pray you, sir, (For still 'tis beating in my miud,) your 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 upon 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 give it way j — I know thou can'st not choose. [Miranda sleeps. Come away, servant, come : 1 am ready now ; Approach, my Ariel ; come. Enter Ariel. Ari. All hail,great master ! grave sir, hail ! I come To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task Ariel, and all his quality. Pro. Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I 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 flamed amazement : Sometimes, I'd divide, And burn in many places; on the top-mast, The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the pre- cursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-out-running were not : The fire, and cracks Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seem'dto 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 the vessel, Then 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, Bell is empty, And all the devils are here / Pro. Why, that's my ppirit ! But was not this nigh shore ? Ari. Close by, my master. TEMPEST ACT I Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? Art. Not a hair perish'd ; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before : and, as thou bad'st me, In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle ; The king's son have I landed by himself ; Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, 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 disposed, And all the rest o' the fleet ? Ari. Safely in harbour Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once 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 snffer'd labour, I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet, Which I dispersed, 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 now, Must by us both be spent most preciously. 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 now ? moody ? What is't thou can'st demand ? Ari. My liberty. Pro. Before the time be out ? No more ! Ari. I pray thee Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst To bate me a full year. [promise 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 north ; To do me business in the veins o' the earth, When it is bak'd with frost. Ari. I do not, sir. [forgot Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou The foul 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. Oh, was she so ? I must, 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 banish' d ; for one thing she did, They would not take her life : Is not this true ? Ari. Ay, sir. Pro. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors : Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant : And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Refusing her grand 'bests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers, And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine ; within which rift Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain A dozen years ; within which space she died, And left thee there ; where thou did'st vent thy groans, As fast as mill-wheels strike : Then was this island; (Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with A human shape. Ari. Yes ; Caliban her son. Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know's* What torment I did find thee in : thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever-angry bears ; it was a torment To 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 piue, and let thee out. Ari. I thank thee, master Pro. If thou moremurmur'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, And do my spriting gently. Pro. Do so ; and after two days, I will discharge thee. Ari. That's my noble master ! What shall I do ? say what ? what shall I do ? Pro. Go, make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea; Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape, And hither come in't : hence, with diligence. [Exit Arikl. Awake, dear heart, awake 1 thou hast slept well ; Awake ! Mira. The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. Pro. Shake it off; 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, We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, Fetch in our wood ; and serves in offices That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! Thou earth, thou ! speak. Cal. [within.'] There's wood enough within. Pro. Come forth, I say ; there's other business for thee : Come forth, thou tortoise ! when ? Re-enter Arikl, like a water-nymph. Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Ari. My lord it snail be done. [Exit. Pro. Thou poisonous slave,got by the devil him- Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! [self Enter Caliban. Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, SCENE .11. TEMPEST. Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, And blister you all o'er. [cramps, Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee ; thou shalt be pinch' d As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made them. Cal. I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, [first, Which thou tak'st from me. When thou earnest Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; would'st give me Water with berries in't ; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee, And shew'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile ; Cursed be I that did so ! — All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! For I am all the subjects that you have, [me Which first was mine own king; and here you sty In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest of the island. Pro. Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness : I have used thee, Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodged thee In mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate The honour of my child. Cal. O ho, O ho ! — 'would it had been done ! Thou did'st 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, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other : when thou did'st not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known : But thy vile race, [natures Though thou did'st learn, had that in't which good Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou Deservedly confined into this rock, Who had'st deserved more than a prison. Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse ; the red plague rid you, For learning me your language 1 Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best, To answer other business. Shrug' st thou, malice ? If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; 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, [Aside. It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Pro. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban. /{e-enter Ariel invisible, playing and singing,- Ferdinand following him. ARIEL'S SONG. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands : Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, (The wild waves whist,) Foot it featly here and there ; And, sweet Bprites, the burden hear. Hark, hark ! Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [Dispersed! if. The watch-dogs bark : Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [Dispersedly. Hark, hark ! I hear The strain of strutting chanticlere Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. . Fer. Where should this music be ? i* the air, or the earth ? It sounds no more : — and sure it waits upon Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank Weeping again the king my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters ; Allaying both their fury, and my passion, With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, Or 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 were his eyes : Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : [Burden, ding-dong. Hark ! now I hear them,— ding-dong, bell. Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd fa- This is no mortal business, nor no sound [ther : — That the earth owes : — I hear it now above me. Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say, what thou seest yond'. Mira. What is't ? a spirit Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit. Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses As we have, such : This gallant, which thou seest, Was in the wreck : and but he's something stain 'd With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows, And strays about to find them. Mira. I might call him A thing divine ; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. Pro. It goes on, [Aside. As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free thee Within two days for this. 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 ! — I 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 ! a tempest. Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of And his brave son, being twain. [Milan, Pro. The duke of Milan, And his more braver daughter, could control thee, If now 'twere fit to do't: — At the first sight [Aside, They have changed eyes : — Delicate Ariel, I'll 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 my father To be inclined my way 1 Fer. O, if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The queen of Naples. Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. — They are both in either's 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 From me, the lord on't. Fer. No, as I am a man. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a If the ill spirit have so fair an house, [temple : 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 manacle thy neck and feet together : Sea- water shalt thou drink ; thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow. Fer. No ; I will resist such entertainment, till Mine enemy has more power. [He draios. Mira. O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle, and not fearful. Pro. What, I say, My foot my tutor 1 Put thy sword up, traitor ; Who makest a show, but darest not strike, thy con- science Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward ; For I can here disarm thee with this stick, And make thy weapon drop. Mira. Beseech you, father ! Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. Mira. Sir, have pity ; I'll be his surety. Pro. Silence ! one word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! An advocate for an impostor ? hush 1 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 I, in such a prison. Pro. It works : — Come on. — Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — [To Fkrd. and Mir. Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel. Mira. Be of comfort ; My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted, Which now came from him. Pro. Thou shalt be a3 free As mountain winds : but then exactly do All points of my command. Art. To the syllable. Pro. Come, follow; speak not for him. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.— Another part of 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 much 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 of 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. Alon. Pr'ythec, 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, — Seb. One:— Tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's Comes to the entertainer — roffer'd. Seb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed ; you have spoken truer than you purposed. Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant vou should. Gon. Therefore, my lord, — Ant. Fye, what a spendthrift is he of his 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 good wager, first begins to crow ? Seb. The old cock. Ant. The cockrel. Seb. Done: the wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,— Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! Ant. So, you've paid. Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,— SCENE I. TEMPEST. Seb. Yet,— Adr. Yet— Ant. He could not mi?s it. Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as be most learnedly delivered, Adr. The air breathes uponus here mostsweet 1 }'. Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. Ant. Or, as 'twtre perfumed by a fen. Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Ant. True ; Sive means to live. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks ! how Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. [green ! Seb. With an eye of green in't. Ant. He misses not much. Seb. No ; he doth but mistake the (ruth to'ally. Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed almost beyond credit) — Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. Gon. That* our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding tite : r freshness and glosses ; being rather new dyed, than stained with salt water. Ant. If tut one of his rockets could speak, would it not say, he lies ? Seb. Ay, or very falsely poclet up his report. Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh, as when we put them on first in A f rick, at the m irriageof the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. A dr. 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 ! Seb. What if he bad said, widower iEneas too? good lord, how you take it ! Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that : She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carihage. Adr. Carthage? Gon. I assure you, Carthage. Ant. His word is more than the miracu'ous harp. Seb. He hath raised the wall, and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Gon. Ay? A nt. Why, in good t : me. Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh, as when we vrtve at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Seb. 'Bate, I I eseeeh 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 ? I mean, in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. Gon. When I wore itatyour daughter's marriage ? Alon. You cram these words into mine ears, against The stomaih of my sense : 'Would I had never Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, My son is lost ; aud, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy removed, I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee ! Fran. Sir, he may live ; I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs ; 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. A Ion. No, no, he's gone. Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss ; That would not bless our Europe with your But rather lose her to an African ; [daughter^ Where she, at least, is banished from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. Alon. lVvthee, peace. Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd other- By ad of us ; and the fair soul herself [wisi Weigh'd between lothness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. . We have lost your son, I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have 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 Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in ; you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Very well. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather ? Ant. Very foul. Gon. Had I plantation of this is!e, my lord, — Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-sted. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the king of it, What would I do ? Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. Gon. I' the commonwealth, T would by con- traries 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 poverty ; no contracts, Successions ; bound of land, tilth, vinevard, 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 : — Seb. And yet he would be king on't. Ant. The latter end of bis commonwealth forgets the beginning. [duce Gon. All things in common nature should pro- 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 foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people. Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ! TEMPEST. .'int. None, man ; all idle ; whores and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. Seb. 'Save his majesty ! Ant Long live Gonzalo 1 Gon. And, do you mark me sir ? — Alon. Pr'ythee, no more : thou dost talk nothing to me. Gon. I do well helieve your highness ; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to laugh at nothing. Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you : so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there given ? Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle ; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter Ariel invisible, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I warrant you ; 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 Ar.ox. Skb. and Ant. Alon. What, all so soon asleep 1 I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : I They are inclined 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 ? 1 find not Myself disposed to sleep. Ant. Nor I ; 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, I see it in thy face, What thou should'st be : the occasion speaks thee ; My strong imagination sees a crown [and 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 lett'st thy fortune sleep — die rather; wink'st 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, When 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 Lave no hope That he's undrown'd. Ant. O, out of that no hope, What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is Another way so high an hope, that even Amhition cannot pierce a wink beyond, But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with That Ferdinand is drown'd ? [me. Seb. He's gone. Ant. Then, tell me, Who's the next heir of Naples ? Seb. Claribel. Ant. She that is queen of Tunis : she that dwells Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from Naples Can have no note, unless the sun were post (The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ; And, by that, destined to perform an act, Whereof what's past is prologue ; what to come, In yours and my discharge. Seb. What stuff is this ? — How say you ? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis : So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions There is some space. Ant. A space whose every cubit Seems to cry out, Hoiu shall that Claribel Measure us back to Naples ? — Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death That now hath seized them ; why, they were no worse Than now they are : There be, that can rule Naples, As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate As amply and unnecessarily As this Gonzalo ; I 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 1 Do you understand me ? Seb. Methinks, I do. Ant. And how does your content 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 men. SCENE II. TEMPEST. Seb. But, for your conscience — Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if it were a kybe, '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 they, And melt, 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 for ever : whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for 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 We say befits the hour. Seb. Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent ; as thou gott'st 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, Itc-enler Afukl, invisible. Art. My master through his art foresees the danger That these, his friends, are in ; and sends me forth, For else his project dies,) to keep them living. ISings in Gonzalo 's ear. While you here do snoring lie, Open-eyed conspiracy His time doth take : If of life you keep a care, Shake off slumber, and beware: Awake! Awake ! Ant. Then let us both be sudden. Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king ! [They awake. Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake 1 Why are you drawn ? Wherefore this ghastly looking ? Gon. What's the matter ? Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing Like bulls, or rather lions ; did it not wake you ? It struck mine ear most terribly. Alon. I heard nothing. Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear ; To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ? Con. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me : I shaked you, sir, and cried ; as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn : — there was a noise, That's verity : 'Best stand upon our guard ; Or that we quit this place : let's draw our weapons. Alon. Lead off this ground ; and let's make further search For my poor son. Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! For he is, sure, i' the island. Alon. Lead away. Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what 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 0/ thunder heard. Col. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By 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 V the mire, Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but For every trifle are they set upon me : Sometimes like apes, that moe and chatter at me, And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount Their pricks at my foot-fall ; sometime am I All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, Do hiss me into madness : — Lo ! now ! lo ! Enter Tkinculo. 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 beai oft* any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I hear it sing i' 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 before, I know not where to hide my head : yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. — What have we here ? a man or a fish ? dead or alive ? A fish : he smells like a fish : a very ancient and fish-like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. A strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver : there would this monster make a man ; any strange beast there makes a man : when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man 1 and his fins like arms I 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 suffered by a thunder-bolt. [ Thunder.} Alas ! the storm is come again : my best way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no other shelter here- about : Misery acquaints a man with strange bed- fellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past. Enter Stephano, singing ; a bottle in his hand. Stk. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die a-shore ; — This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral : Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, The gunner, and his mate, Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us car'd for Kate : For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, Go, Jiang „• She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where-e'er she did itch : Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. This is a scurvy tune too : But here's my comfort. [Drinks. Cal. Do not torment me : Oh 1 Ste. What's the matter ? Have we devils here ? Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde ? Ha 1 I have not 'scaped drowning, to 10 TEMPEST. act ir. be a r eared now of your four legs ; for it liath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four le^s. cannot make him give ground : and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. Cal. The spirit torments me : Oh ! Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs: who hath got. as I tike it, an ague: Where the devil should he learn our language ? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that: If I can re- cover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat't-leather. Cal. Do not torment rap, 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 «o near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tamp, I will not take too much for him : he shall piy for him that hath him, and that soundly. Cal, Thou dost me yet but l'ttle hurt; thou wilt Anon, I know it by thy trembling ; Now Prosper works upon thee. Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth : here is that which will give language to you, cat ; open your mouth : this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot tell who's jour friend : open your chaps again. Trin. I should know that voice : It should be — But he is drowned; and these are devils: Oh ! defend me ! — 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 Borne 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 nfeard, — thy good friend Trinculo. Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll pull thee by the lesser legs : it* any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, in- deed : How carn'st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can be vent Trinculos ? Trin. I 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 over-blown ? I hid me under the dead moon calf's gaberdine, for fear of the storm. And art thou 1 vinsr, Stephano ? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped ! Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about ; my sto- ma' h is not constant. Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites, That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : 1 will kneel to him. Ste. How did'st thou 'senpe ? how cam'st thou hither ? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved over-board, by this bottle ! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore. 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. Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck ; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. Ste. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. Trin. Stephano, hast any more of this ? Ste. Tie whole butt, man ; my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side, where ray wine is hid. How now, moon-calf? how does thine ague ? Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven ? Ste. Out o' the moon, I 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 tliee, thy dog, and bush. Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will furnish 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 man i' the moon ! — a most poor credulous monster : Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. Cal. I'll shew thee every fei tile inch o' tl e is'and ; And kiss thy foot : I pr'ythee, be my gol. Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster ; when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kiss thy foot: I'd swear myself thy subject. S'e. Come on then ; down and swear. Trin. I shal laugh myself to death at th's puppy-headed monster: a most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him, — Ste. Come, kiss. Trin, — but tl at the poor monster's in drink ; An abominable monster ! Cal. I'll shew thee the best springs ; I'll pluck thee berries ; I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wond'rous man. Trin.- A most ridiculous monster! to make a wonder of a poor drunkard. Cal. I pr'ytlue, 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 bow 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'ytlue now, lead the way, without any more talking. — Trincu'o,the king and all our com- pany else being drown'd, we will inherit here. — Here ; bear my bottle. Fellow Trincu'o, we'll fill him by and by again. Cal. Farewell, master: farewell, farewell. [Singi drunke.nl y. Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster. Cal. No more dams I'll make for Jish ; Nor fetch in firing At requiring, Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; 'Ban 'Ban, Ca — Caliban, Has a new master— Get a new man. Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom, hey-day, freedom ! Ste. brave monster ! lead the way. [Exeunt. SCENE I. TEMPEST . 11 ACT III. SCENE I.—neJbre&BLQsnno's Cell. Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. Frr. There be some sports are painful ; but their labour Delight in them sets off : some kinds of basenes| 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 1 serve, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures : Oh. she is Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; And he's composed of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of tbese logs, and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such baseness Had ne'er like executor. I forget : But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my la- Most busy-less, when I do it. [bours ; Enter Miranda, and Prospero at a distance. Mir a. Alas, now 1 pray you, Work not so hard : I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs, that you areenjoin'd to pile ! Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself; He's safe for these three hours. Per. O most dear mistress, The sun will set, before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. Mira. If you'll sit down, I'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that : 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, >> at ■ 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 will is to it, And your3 against. Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected ; This visitation shows it. Mira. You look wearily. Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with me, 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 your 'hest to say so ! F er - Admired Miranda I Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady I have eyed 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 liked several women ; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, 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 seen More that I may call men, than yon, good friend. And my clear 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, Beside 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 The very instant that I saw you, did [speak ; — 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! I, Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, Do love, prize, honour you. Mira. I am a fool, To weep at what 1 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 unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give ; and much less take, What I shall die to want — But this is trifling ; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cun- And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! [nin/f ; 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. Fer. My mistress, dearest, And I thus humble ever. Mira. My husband then ? Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing As 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 I {Exeunt Fkr. and Mira. Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surprised with all ; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining. [.Exit SCENE II.— Another part of the Island. Enter STBCHANoand Trinculo; Caliban following with 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 m* 12 TEMPEST. ACT III Trin. Servant-monster ? the folly of this island ! They say, there's but five 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 thy head. Trin. Where should they be set else ? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. Sle. My man-monster hath 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. Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list ; he's no standard. Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. Trin. Nor go neither : but you'll lie, like dogs ; and yet say nothing neither. Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf. Cat. 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 1 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 suffer indig- nity. Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased 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, that by his cunning hath Cheated me of this island. Ari. 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 teeth. Trin. Why, I said nothing. Ste. Mum then, and no more. — [To Caliban.] Proceed. Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; From me he got it. If thy greatness will Revenge it on him— for, I know, thou dar'st ; But this thing dare not. Ste. That's most certain. Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. Sle. How now shall this be compassed ? Canst thou bring me to the party ? [asleep, Cal. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. Cal. What a pied ninny's this ? Thou scurvy patch ! — I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him : when that's gone, He shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not show Where the quick freshes are. . [him Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : in- terrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I'll turn 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. I 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 youi monster, and the devil take your fingers ! Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! Sle. 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. Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him I' the afternoon to sleep : there thou.may'st brain Having first seized his books ; or with a log [him, Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife : Remember, First to possess his books ; for without them He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath 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 non-pareil : 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 war- And bring thee forth brave brood- [rant, 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; lam 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 honour. Ari. This will I tell my master. Cal. Thou makest me merry : I am full of plea- Let us be jocund : Will you troll the catch [sure ; You taught me but while -ere ? Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason : Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. iSinas. Flout 'em, and scout Vm ; and scout 'em, and flout 'em ; Thought is free. Cal. That's not the tune. [Ariel plays the tunc on a talor atul pipe Ste. What is this same ? Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of No-body. SCENE III. TEMPEST. 13 Ste. If thou beest a man, shew thyself in thy likeness : if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee : — Mercy upon us ! Cal. Art thou afeard ? Ste. No, monster, not I. Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments [not. Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again ; and then, in dreaming, The clouds, methought, would open and shew riches Ready to drop upon me : that, when I waked, I cried to dream 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. Trin. The sound is going away : let's follow it, and after, do our work. 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 ; My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed, Through forth-rights and meanders ! by your pa- I needs must rest me. [tience, Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Who am myself attach'd with weariness, To the dulling of my spirits : sit down and rest. Even here 1 will put off my hope, and keep it No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd, Whom thus we stray to find : and the sea mocks Our frustrate search on land : Well, let him go. Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. [Aside to Sebastian. Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose That you resolved to effect. Seb. 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. 1 say to-night ; no more. Solemn and strange music ; and Prospero above, in- visible Enter several strange shapes, bringing in a banquet / they dance about it with gentle actions of salutation, and inviting the King. %c, to eat, they depart Alon. What harmony is this ? my good friends, hark ! Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! Alon. Give 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 He, 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,) Who, 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 gesture, and such sound, ex- pressing (Although they want the use of tongue,) a kind Of excellent dumb discourse. Pro. Praise in departing. [Aside. Fran. They vanish'd strangely. Seb. No matter, since They have left their viands behind ; for we have stomachs. — Will't please you taste of what is here ? Alon. Not I. Gon. Faith sir, you need not fear : When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers, Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men, Whose heads stood' in their breasts ? which now we find, Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us 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 like a harpy ,• claps his wings upon the table, and with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny (That hath to instrument this lower world, And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch 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. <$c. draw their swords. And even with such like valour, men hang and drown Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows Are ministers of fate ; the elements, Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that's in my plume ; my fellow-ministers Are like invulnerable ; if you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths. And will not be uplifted : But, remember, (For that's my business to you,) that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deeA The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the-creatures, Against your peace : Thee, of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, Ling'ring perdition (worse than any death 14 TEMPEST. ACT IV. Can be at once,) shall step by step attend [from You and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you (Which here, in this most desolate isle ; else tails Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow And a clear life ensuing. Be vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, and dance with mops and mows, and carry out the table. Pro. [Aside."] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring : Of my instruction hast thou no'hing 'bated, In what thou lvulst to say : so, with good life, And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done : my high charms And these, mine enemies, are so knit up [work, In tlieir distractions : they now are in my power; And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit Young Ferdinand, (who they suppose is drown'd,) And his and my loved darling. [Exit Prospkro//-o7» above. Oon. V the name of something holy, sir, why In this strange stare I [stand you Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous* Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; The winds did sing it to me j and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded. [Exik Seb. But one fiend at a time, I'll fi^ht their legions o'er. Ant. I'll be thy second. [Exeunt Seb. and Ant. Gon. All three of them are desperate ; thor great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after, Now 'gins to bite the spirits : — I do beseech you That are of suppler joints, follow them, swift ! }\ And hinder them from what this ecsticy May now provoke them to. Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. Enter Prospkro, Ferdinand, and Miranda. Pro. If I have too austerely punished you, Y< ur compensation makes amends ; for I Have given you here a thread of mine own life, Or that for which I live ; whom once again I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her. Fer. I do believe it, Against an oracle. Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter : But If thou dost break her virgin knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister'd, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow : but barren hate, Snur-eyed disdain, and discord, shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, That you shall hate it both : therefore, take heed, As Hymen's lamps shall light you. Fer. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With buch love as 'tis now ; the murkiest den, r J he most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion Our worser Genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust ; to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall thiuk,orPhcebus' steeds arefounder'd, Or night kept chain'd below. Pro. Fairly spoke : Sit then, and talk with her, she is thiue own. — What, Ariel ; my industrious servant Ariel ! Enter Ariel. Art. What would my potent master ? here I am. Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service Did worthily perform ; and I must use you Iu such another trick : go, bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this p'acc : 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. Art. Presently ! Pro. Aye, with a twink. Art. Before you can say, Come, and go, And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so; Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mowe : Do you love me, master 1 no. Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel : Do not ap- proach, 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 To the fire i' the blood : be mure abstemious, Or else, good night your vow ! Fer. I warrant you, sir. The white cold virgin snow upon my 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 silent. [Soft music. A Masque. Enter Iris. Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And fiat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, Which spongy April at thy 'hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves. SCENE T. TEMPEST. 16 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. Car. Hail many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ; Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers Diffusest^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 me hither, to this short-grass' d green ? Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers. Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot The means, that dusky Dis my daughter got, Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company^ I have forsworn. ! Iris. Of her society T Be not afraid ; I met her deity ) Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son Dove-drawn with her : here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,, Whose vows are that no bed-rite shall be paid Till 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 spar- And be a boy right out. [rows, Cer. Highest queen of state, Great Juno comes \ I know her by her gait. Enter Juno. Jun. Howdoeumybounteoussister? Go with me, To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour'd in their issue. SONG. Jan.— Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you ! Juno sings her blessings on you. Cer.— Earth's increase, and foison plenty, Jiarns and garners never empty ; Vines, with clust'ring bunches growing ; Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; Spring come to you, at the farthest, In the very end of harvest ! Scarcity and want shall shun you ; Ceres' blessing so is on you. Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold To think these spirits ? P r °' Spirits, which by mine art 1 have from their confines called to enact My present fancies. Fer. Let me live here ever ; So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife, Make this place Paradise. (.Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment. Fro. Sweet now, silence ; Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; There's something else to do : hush, and be mute. Or else our spell is marr'd. Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wan- d'ring brooks, With your sedged 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. You sun-burn' d sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; Make holy- day : your rye- straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing. Enter certain Reapers, property habited ; the v join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance ; toivards the end wJiercofPROspF.no starts suddenly, and speaks ,• after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, the), heavily vanish. Pro. [Aside.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, Against my life ; the minute of their plot Is almost come. — [ To the spirits.'] Well done ; — avoid ; — no more. Fer. This is most strange : your father's in some That works him strongly. [passion Mira. Never till this day, Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. Pro. You do look, my son, in a moved sort As if you were dismay'd : bdcheerful, sir : Our revels now 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, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; And, like this insubstantial 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 infirmity : If you be pleased, retire into my cell, And there repose ; a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating mind. Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exeunt Pro. Come with a thought : — I thank you : — Ariel, come. Enter Ariel. Art. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy Pro. Spirit, [pleasure ? We must prepare to meet with Caliban. [Ceres, Ari. Ay, my commander ; when I presented I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd, Lest I might anger thee. Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets ? [drinking : Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with So full of valour, that they smote the air For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor, At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, Advanced their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, As they smelt music ; so I charm'd their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'c), through 10 TEMPEST. ACT V Tooth' d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which enter'd their frail shins : at last I left them V the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake O'erstunk their feet. Pro. This was well done, my bird ; Thy shape invisible retain thou still : The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, For stale to catch these thieves. Ari. I go, I go. lExit. 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 loaden with glistering apparel, %c Even to roaring :— Come, hang them on this line. Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. Cal. Pray you tread softly, that the blind mole may not Il^ar a footfall : 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 horse-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 wertbut a lost monster. Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still : Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to Shall hood- wink this mischance : therefore speak softly, 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 in 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,mykin£, be quiet: Seest thou here, This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter. Do that good mischief, which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot licker. Ste. Give me thy hand : I do begin to have bloody 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 to a frippery ; — O king Stephano ! Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo ; by this hand, I'll have that gown. Trin. Thy grace shall have it. Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you To doat thus on such luggage ? Let's along, [mean , 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 prove a bald jerkin. Trin. Do, do : We steal by line and level, an't like your grace. Ste. I thank thee for that jest : here's a garment for't : wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king of this country : Steal byline and level, is an excellent pass of pate; there's another garment for'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 And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes [time, With foreheads villanous low. Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers ; help to bear this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom : go to, carry this. Trin. And this. Ste. Ay, and this. A noise of hunters heard. Enter divert Spirits, in shape of hounds, and hunt them about. Prospero and Ariel, setting them on. Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey ! Ari. Silver! there it goes, Silver! Pro. Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, hark ! [Cal. Ste. and Trim, are driven out. Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps ; and more pinch-spotted make Than pard, or oat o' mountain. [them, Ari. Hark, they roar. Pro. Let them be hunted soundly : At this houi 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 I.— 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 Qoes upright with his carriage. How's the day ? Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease. Pro. I did say so, When first I raised 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 which weather-fends your cell; They cannot budge, till your 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 termed, 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 them, That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit ? Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. Pro. And mine shall. «CKNE I TEMPEST. 17 [\ast thou, which art hut 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 moved than thou art ? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Yet, with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 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. Art. I'll fetch them, sir. lExit. Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves ; And ye, that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, that By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof 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,) I have be-dimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder j Have I given fire, and rifled Jove's stout oak I With his own bolt : the strong based promontory I Have 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 forth By my so potent art : But this rough magic I here abjure : and, when I have required Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book. [Solemn music. Re-enter Ariel : after him, Alonso, icith a frantic gesture, attended by Gonzalo ; Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended bp Adrian and Francisco : they all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and there stand charmed,- which Prospero observing, speaks. A solemn air, and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand, For you are spell-stopp'd. Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowly 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 blood, You brother mine, that entertain ambition, 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 wt \ — Their understanding Begins to swell ; and tne approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shores, That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of thern^ That yet looks on me, or would know me: — Ariel Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; {Exit Ariel. I will dis-case me, and myself present, As I was sometime Milan : quickly, spirit ; Thou shalt ere long be free. Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie : There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel: I 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 boatswain, 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 Ariel. Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amaze- ment 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. A Ion. 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 thee The affliction 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 Thou pardon me my wrongs: — But how should Be living, and be here ? [Prospero Pro. First, noble friend, Let me embrace thine age ; whose honour cannot Be measured or confined. Gon. Whether this be, Or be not, I'll not swear. Pro. You 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 Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Thy rankest fault ; 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 18 TEMPEST. Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost, How sharp the point of this remembrancers ! My dear son Ferdinand. Pro. I am woe for't, sir. Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and patience Says it is past her cure. Pro. I rather think, You 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 make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you ; for I Have lost my daughter. Alon. A daughter ? heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish Myself were mutlded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter ? Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these At this encounter do so much admire, [lords That they devour their reason ; and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain, That X am Prospero, and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan ; who most strangely [landed, Upon this shore, where you were wreck 'd, was 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 this 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 have given me again, 1 will requite you with as good a thing ; At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye, As much as me my dukedom. The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers Ferdinand and Miranda planing at chess. Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. Fer. 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 Shall I twice lose. Seb. A most high miracle ! Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful : I have cursed them without cause. [Ferd. kneels to Alon. 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 ; O brave new world, That hath such people in't I Pro. 'Tis new to thee. Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play ? Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, And brought us thus together ? Fer. Sir, she's mortal ; But, by immortal providence, she's mine ; I 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 so often 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 hers : But O, how oddly will it sound, that I Must ask my child forgiveness 1 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, you And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; [gods, For it is you, that have chalk' d forth the way Which brought us hither ! Alon. I say, Amen, Gdnzalo ! Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue 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 ; A.nd Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves, When no man was his own. Alon. Give me your hands : [To Fkrd. and Mm. Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, That doth not wish you joy ! Gon. Be't so ! Amen ! R -enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain amazedltf following. 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 mouth by land ? 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 when We first put out to sea. Art. Sir, all this serviced Have I done since I went. >Asid:. Pro. My tricksy spirit \) Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen, [hither ? From strange to stranger : — Say, how came you Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, And (how, we know not,) all clapp'd under hatches. Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains, And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awaked ; straitway, at liberty : Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master Capering to eye her : On a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither. AH. Was't well done ?^V Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt > Aside. be free. ) Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod : And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of : some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. SCENE TEMPEST. 19 Pro. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business : atpick'd leisure, 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, And think of each thing well. — Come hither, spirit ; [Aside, Set Caliban and his companions free : Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my gracious sir ? There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads that you remember not. He enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself ; for all is but fortune : — Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed ! How fine my master is ! I am afraid He will chastise me. Seb. Ha, ha ; What things are these, my lord Antonio ! Will money buy them ? Ant. Very like ; one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable, [lords, Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my 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 ? Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : Where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them ? — How cam'st thou in this pickle ? Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing. Seb. Why, how now, Stephano ? Ste. O, touch me not ; I am not Stephano, but a cramp. 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 disproportioned in his manners As in his shape : — Go, sirrah, to my cell ; Take with you your companions ; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Cal. Ay, that I will ; and I'll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace : What a thrice-double iss Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool ? Pro. Go to ; away ! Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Seb. Or stole it, rather. [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, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away : the story of my life, And the particular accidents, gone by, Since I 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. I'll 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 .1 Please you, draw near. [Exeunt EPILOGUE. 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 confined 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 relieved by prayer ; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. C2 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA PERSONS REPRESENTED. Dike of Milan, Father to Silvia. Valentine, ) ''»., .„ Protkl-s, ) Gentlemen of \ er on*. Antonio, Father to Proteus. Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. Eglamour, Agent for Silvia in her escape. Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. Launce, Servant to Proteus. Pa nth mo, Servant to Antonio Host, where Julia lodges in Milan. Outlaws. Julia, a lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus. Silvia, the Duke's daughter, beloved by Valentinf. Lucetta, waiting-woman to Julia. Servants. Musicians. SCENE, — Sometimes in Verona ; sometimes in Milan ; and on the frontiers of Mantua. ACT J. SCENE I. — An open place in Verona. Enter Valentine and Proteus. Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ; Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits ; Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company, To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than living dully sluggardized at home, ' Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, Even as I would, when I to love begin. [adieu ! Pro. Wilt thou be gone ? Sweet Valentine, Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest Some rare note-worthy object in tby travel : Wish me partaker in thy happiness, When thou dost meet good hap : and in thy danger, If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 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, How 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 gain ; 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 lovs. 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 so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly ; blasting 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 fond desire ? Once more adieu : my father at the road Expects my coming, there to see rae 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 letteis, 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 ! Vul. As much to you at home ! and so, farewell. [Exit Valentine. Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : He leaves his friends, to dignify them more ; I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed 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, An if the shepherd be awhile avvay. Speed. You conclude that my master is a shep- herd then, and I a sheep ? SCENE ir. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 21 Pro. I do. Speed. Why then ray horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Pro. True ; and thy maste^r a shepherd. Speed. Nay, that I can 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 I seek my master, and my master seeks not me : therefore, J am no sheep. Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. Pro. But dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my lbtter to Julia T 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 labour ! Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such a store of muttons. Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her Pro. Nay, in that you are astray; 'twere best pound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, a pinfold. Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she ? did she nod ? [Spked nods. Speed. I. Pro. Nod, I ; why, that's noddy. Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say, she did nod : and you ask me, if she did nod ; and I 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. Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter. Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear with you. Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly : having 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 &he ? Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter, may be both at once delivered. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : What said she ? Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why ? Could'st thou perceive so much from her. 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 me that brought your 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, I thank you, you have testern'd me ; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself : and so, sir, I'll com- mend you to my master. Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck ; 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 from such a worthless post [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Garden of Julia's House. Enter Julia and Lucetta. Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love ? Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheed- Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, [fully. That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion, which is worthiest love ? Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show my mind According to my shallow simple skill. Jul. What think'st thou of the fair SirEglamour ? Luc. As 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. Well, of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? Luc. Lord; lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! Jul. How now ! what means this passion at his name ? Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 'tis a passing shame, That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ? Luc. Then thus, of many good I think hinr Jul. Your reason ? [best Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason ; I think him so, because I think him so. Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on him ? Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. Jul. Why,he of all the rest hathnever moved me. Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all. » Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. Luc. O, they love least, that let men know their Jul. I would, I knew his mind. [love. Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. Jul. l To Julia,' — Say, from whom ? Luc. That the contents will show. Jul. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from Proteus : He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray. Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker I 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 my sight. Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee tha Jul. Will you be gone ? [hate TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT I, Luc. That you may ruminate. [.Exit. Jul. And yet, I would, I had o'erlook'd the letter. It were a shame to call her back again, And pray her to a fault for which I. chid her. What fool is she, that knows I 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 profFerer construe, Ay. Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love, That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly I would have had her here ! How angrily I taught my brow to frown, When inward joy enforced my heart to smile ! My penance is, to call Lucetta back, And ask remission for my folly past : — What ho ! Lucetta ? Re-enter Lucetta. Luc. What would your ladyship ? Jul. Is it near dinner time ? Luc. I would it were ; That you might kill your stomach on your meat, And not upon your maid. Jul. What is't you took up So gingerly ? Luc. Nothing. Jul. Why didst thou stoop then ? Luc. To take a paper up that I 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 concerns, Unless it have a false interpreter Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. Luc. That I might sing 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. J.uc. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you Jul. And why not you ? L s ^ n S *'• 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 yet, 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 mean to fill your song. Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation ! — [Tears the letter. Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : You would be fingering them, to anger me. Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would oe best pleased To be so anger' d with another letter. [Exit. Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! O 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 amends. And, here is writ — kind J?tlia ; — unkind Julia ! As in revenge of thy ingratitude, I 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 name twice writ, Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia; that I'll tear away ; And yet I will not, sith so prettily He couples it to his complaining names ; Thus will I fold them one upon another ; Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. Re-enter Lucetta. Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father Jul. Well, let us go. [stays. Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here ? Jul. If you respect them, best to take then; up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down ; Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see ; I see things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Come, come, wilt please you go ? [Exeunt. SCENE III The same. A room in Antonio's House. Enter A\to.vio and Panthixo. 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 at 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 would be great impeachment to his age, In having known no travel in his youth. [that, Ant. Nor need'st thou much imp6rtune me to 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 being tried, and tutor'd in the world : Experience is by industry achieved, And perfected by the swift course of time : Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? Pan. I think, your lordship is not ignorant. How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the emperor in his royal court. Ant. I know it well. [him thither : Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 23 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen ; And be in eye of every exercise, Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. Ant. I like thy counsel ; well hast thou advised : And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known ; Even with the speediest execution I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. Pan. To-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. [go : Ant. Good company ; with them shall Proteus And, in good time, — now will we break with him. Enter Proteus. 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 ! O 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 me see what news. Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he How happily he lives, how well-beloved, [writes 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 Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; For what I will, I will, and there an end. I am resolved, that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the emperor's court ; What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition shalt thou 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 after 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 of burning ; And drench'd me in the sea, where I am 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 Re-enter 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 II. SCENE I. — Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's J 'a lace. 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 : — Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! Ah Silvia ! Silvia ! Speed. 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 Silvia ? Speed. She that your worship loves ? Val. Why, how know you that 1 am in love ? Speed. 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 had 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 gran dam ; to fast, like one that takes diet ; to watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hal- lowmas. 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 physician to comment on your malady. Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper ? Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet 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 ? Speed. That she is not so fair as (of you) well favoured. Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite. Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count. 24 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Val. How painted ? and how out of count ? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty. Val. How esteemest thou me ? I account of her beauty. Sp. You 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. Speeds If you love her, you cannot see her. Val. Why? Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going ungartered ! Val. What should I see then ? Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity ; 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, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set ; so, your affection would cease. Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves. 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. Spped. O excellent motion ! O exceeding puppet ! now will he interpret to her. Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good- morrows. Speed. O, 'give you good even ! here's a million of manners. [Aside. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- sand. Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it him. Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter, Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, But for my duty to your ladyship. Sil. I thank you gentle servant ; 'tis very clerkly done. Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off ; For, being 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. Val. What means your ladyship ? do you not like it ? Sil. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ : But since unwillingly, take them again ; Nay, take them. Val. Madam, they are for you. Sil. Ay, ay, you writ them sir, at my request ; But I 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. If it 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 excellent device 1 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 Silvia. Val. To whom ? Speed. Toyourself: why, shewoosyoubyafigure. Val. What figure ? Speed. By a letter, I should say. Val. Why she hath not writ to me ? Speed. What needs she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the Val. No, believe me. [jest ? Speed. No believing you indeed, sir ; But did you perceive her earnest ? Val. She gave me none, except an angry 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. Sp"ed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : For often you have writ to her ; and she, in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again replu ; Or faring else some messenger, 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. Val. I have dined. Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the came- leon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat ; O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Verona. A Roam 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. SCENE III. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 25 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'erslips me in the day, Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! My father stays my coming ; answer not : The tide is now : nay, not thy 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, I come : — Mas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. A Street. Enter Launck, leading a dog. Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping ; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault : I have received my proportion, like the prodigious 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 weep- ing, my father 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 part- ing ; why my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll shew you the manner of it : This shoe is my father ; — no, this left shoe is my father ; — no, no, this left shoe is my mother ; — nay that cannot be so neither ; yes, it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser 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 the dog : — no the dog is him- self, and I am the dog, — O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father ; Father, your blessing ; now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping ; now should I kiss my father ; well, he weeps on : — now come I to my mother, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood 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 this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but see 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 tied were lost ; for it is the unkindest tied that ever man tied. Pan. What's the unkindest tide ? Laun. Why, he that's tied here; Crab, my dog. Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood •. and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service ; and, in losing thy service, — Why dost thou stop my mouth ? Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Pan. Where should I lose my tongue ? Laun. In thy tale. Pan. In thy tail ? Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 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. Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to call thee. Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. Pan. Wilt thou go ? Latin. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. — Milan. An apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Valentine, Silvia, 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. Sneed. 'Twere good, you knocked him. Sil. Servant, you are sad. Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thu. Seem you that you are not ? Vol. Haply I do. Thu. So do counterfeits. Val. So do you. Thu. What seem I, that I am not ? Val. Wise. Thu. What instance of the contrary ? Val. Your folly. Thu. And how quote you my folly ? Val. I quote it in your jerkin. Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How? Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio ? do you change colour ? Val. Give him 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 you begin. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. Sil. Who is that, servant ? Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire ; sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an ex- chequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure 2G TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. to give your followers ; for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes my father. 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 ? Val. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your country- man ? Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy 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 ? Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy We have conversed, 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 that'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 counsellor. Well, sir ; this gentleman is come to me, With commendation from great potentates ; And here he means to spend his time awhile : 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 hither to you presently. IExUDvke. Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchised them Upon some othe^pawn for fealty. Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you ? Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. 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 gentleman, Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I beseech you, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be be you oft have wish'd to hear from. Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. Gil, 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 off discourse of 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 ? Pro. 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 Thurio, Go with me : — Once more, new servant, welcome : I'll leave you to confer of home affairs ; When you have done, we look to hear from you. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came ? Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. Val. And how do yours ? 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 contemning love ; Whose high imperious thoughts have 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 chased 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 1 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 I 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 my mistress. Val. Sweet, except not any ; Except thou wilt 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 this 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-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlastingly. srENE vr. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? Val. Pardon me, Proteus : all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing ; She is alone. Pro. Then let her alone. Val. Not for the world ; why, man, she is mine own ; And I as rich in having such a jewel, As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and fhe 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 you ? Val. Ay, we are betroth d Nay, more, our marriage hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight, Deter mined 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 with thy counsel. Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth : I must unto the 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.— iExUVai. Even as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' 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 ; — j That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, Bears no impression of the thing it was. Methinks, 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 him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice, That thus without advice begin to love her ? 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, And that hath dazzled my reason's light ; But 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 I'll use my skill. [ Exit. SCENE V.— The same. A Street. Enter Speed and Launck. Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. Lawn. 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 never 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. But. 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 ? Laun. 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 with him, it stands well with her. Speed. What an ass art thou ? I understand thee not. Laun. What a block art thou, that thou can'st not ? My staff understands me. Speed. What thou say'st ? Laun. Ay, and what I do, too ; 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, will't be a match ? Laun. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if hf 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 notabh lover ? Laun. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how ? Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me. Laun. Why fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Laun. 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 Hebrew, 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 : Wilt thou go ? Speed. At thy service. lExeunt. SCENE VI — The same. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Proteus. Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; And even that power, which gave me first my oath Provokes me to this threefold perjury. Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear : O 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 heedfully be broken ; And he wants wit, that wants resolved will To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. — Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad. 28 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. AOT II. Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. I cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; But there I leave to love, where I should love. Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, For Valentine, myself: for Julia, Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend : For love is still more precious in itself: And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair ! Shows 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 enraged, 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 proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit, SCENE VII.— Verona. A Room in Julia's House. Enter Julia and Lucktta. Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ! gentle girl, assist mc ! And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, — Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly eharacter'd and engraved, — 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 steps ; 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. Belter forbear, till Proteus make return. Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's Pity the dearth that I have pined in, [food ? By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot But qualify the fire's extreme rage, [fire ; Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it burns ; Th Followers of Falstaff. SCENE,— Windsor Nym, Robin, Page to Falstaff. Simple, Servant to Slender. Rugby. Servant to Dr. Caius. Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page. Mrs. Anne Page, her daughter, in love with Fewtok Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius. Servants to Page, Ford, $c. and the parts adjacent. ACT I. SCENE I.— Windsor. Before Page's House. Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir Hugh EvAtfs. Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not ; I will make a Star-chamber matter of it : if he were twenty sir John 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. Slen. \y, and ratolorum too ; and a gentleman born, master parson ; who writes himself arrni- gero ; in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obliga- tion, armigero. Shal. Ay, that we do ; and have done any time these three hundred years. Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have done't ; and all his ancestors, that come after him, may : they may give the dozen white luces in their coat. Shal. It is an old 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. You 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 youiself, 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 benevolence, to make atonements and compro- mises between you. Shal. The Council shall hear it ; it is a riot. Eva. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there is no fear of Got in a riot: the Council, look you, 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 sword should end it. Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it : and there is also another device in my prain, which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with it : There is Anne Page, which is daughter to 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 person for all the 'orld, as just as you will desire ; and seven hundred pounds of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, 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 mar- riage between master Ahraham, and mistress Anne Page. Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hun- dred pound ? 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 goot gifts. Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is Falstaff there ? Eva. Shall I tell you 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 John, is there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door [knocks] for master Page. What, hoa ! Got pless your house here ! 40 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Enter Page. Page. Who's there ? Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and justice Shallow : and here young master Slen- der ; that, perad ventures, shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your likings. Page. I am glad to see your worships well : I thank you for my venison, master Shallow. Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you; Much good do it your good heart! I wished your venison better; it was ill killed: — How doth good mistress Page ? — and I love you always with my heart, la ; with my heart. Page. Sir, I thank you. Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir ? I heard say, he was outrun on Cotsale. Page. It could not be judged, sir. Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. Shal. That he will not; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your fault :— Tis a good dog. Page. A cur, sir. Shal. Sir, he'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 spoke as a Christians ought to speak. Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not that so, master Page ? He hath wrong'd me ; indeed, he hath ; — at a word he hath ; — believe me ; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd. Page. Here comes sir John. Enter sir John Falstakf, Bardolph, Nvm, and Pistol. Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you'll complain of me to the kins? ? Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed ray deer, and broke open my lodge. Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter ? Shal. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answer'd. Fal. I will auswer it straight ; — I have done all this : — That is now answer'd. Shal. The Council shall know this. Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in counsel : you'll be laughed at. Eva. Panca verba, sir John, goot worts. Fal. Good worts ! 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, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me drunk, and after- wards 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 ! pauca, pauca ; slice ! that's my humour. Slen. Where's Simple, my man ? — can you tell, cousin ? Eva. Peace : I pray you ! Now let us under- stand : There is three umpires in this matter, as I understand : that is — master Page, fidelicet, master Page; and there is myself, fidelicet, myself; and the three party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them. Eva. Fery goot : I will make a prief of it in my note-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 tam 1 what phrase is this, He hears wilh ear ? Why, it is affectations. 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 Edward shovel-boards, that cost me two 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, I 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. Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours : I will say, marry trap, with you, if you run the nut-hook's humour on me : that is the very note of it. Slen. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it : for though I cannot remember what I did when you made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John ? Hard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentle- man had drunk himself out of his five sentences. Eva. It is his five senses : fie what the igno- rance is 1 Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier'd; and so conclusions pass'd the careires. Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 'tis no matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with drunken ki. a Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- men ; you hear it. Enter Mistress Annk Page with trine,- Mistress Ford and Mistress Pags/oUowiiii;. Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we'll drink within. [*»* Annk Page. Slen. O heaven ! this is Mistress Anne Page. Page. How now, mistress Ford ? Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met : by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her. Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : — Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner; come gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness. [Ex.-untall but SHAL.,Si>KNDER,antiEvANS. Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here : — Enter Simple. How now, Simple ! Where have you been ? I must wait on myself, must I ? You have not The Book of Riddles about you, have you ? Sim. Book of Riddles I why, did not you lend it to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore Michaelmas ? SCENE 111. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. -II Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. A word with you, coz : marry this, coz ; There is, as 'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by sir Hugh here ; — Do you understand me ? Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable ; if it be so, I shall do that that is reason. Shal. Nay, but understand me. Slen. So I do, sir. Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I will description the matter to you, if you be capa- city of it. 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 mis- tress Anne Page. Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon any reasonable demands. Eva. But can you affection the 'oman ? Let us command to know that of your mouth, or of your lips ; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is parrel of the mouth ; — Therefore, precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid ? Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? Slen. I hope, sir, — I will do, as it shall become one that would do reason. Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 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, sweet coz ; what I do, is to pleasure you, coz : Can you love the maid ? Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but if there be no great love in the beginning, yet Heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married, aud have more occasion to know one another : I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt : but if you say, marry her> I will marry her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. Eva. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, accord- ing to our meaning, resolutely ;— his meaning is good. Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. Re-enter Annk Pagk. Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne : — Would I were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my 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 Shallow and Sir II. Evans. Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir ? Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am very well. Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth, ro. sirrah, for ill you are my man, go wait upon my cousin Shallow : [Exit Simple.] A justice of peace 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. Aiine. I may not go in without your worship they will not sit, till you come. Slen. I'faith, 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, I 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 ? Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talk- ed of. Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon quarrel at it, as any man in England : — You are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not? Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. Slen. That'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. Re-enter Pack. Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come ; we stay for you. Sim. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir : come, come. Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. l^aj converse apart 1. n lev Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly ; my kinsman shall speak for himself. Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolton't : slid, 'tis but venturing. Shal. Be not dismay'd. Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not 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-fa vour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! [Aside. Quick. And how does good master Fenton ? Pray you, a word with you. Shal. She's coming ; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a father ! Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne ; — my uncle can tell you good jests of him : — Pray you, uncle, tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good uncle. Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you SCRNE V. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 63 Sim. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman in Gloucestershire* Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. Skn* Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under the degree of a 'squire. Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure. Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for himself. Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for that good comfort. She calls you, eoz : I'll leave you. Anne. Now, master Slender. S'.en. Now, good mistress Anne. Anne. What is your will ? Slen. My will ? 'od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest, indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, 1 lhank heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with me ? Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, have made motions : if it be my luck, so : if not, happy man be his dole 1 They can tell you how things go, better than I can : You may ask your father ; here he comes. - Enter Page and Mistress Page. Page. Now, master Slender :— Love him, daugh- ter Anne. — Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here ? You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : I told you, sir, my daughter is disposed of. Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my child. Page. She is no match for you. 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 Fenton. [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. Quick. Speak to mistress Page. Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your daughter In such a righteous fashion as I do, Perforce, against all checks, 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. Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better husband. Quick. That's my master, master doctor. Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the And bowl'd to death with turnips. [earth, Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself : Good master Fenton, I will not be your friend, nor enemy : My daughter will I question how she loves you, And as I 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 ; farewell, Nan. Quick. This is my doing now; — Nay, said I, will you cast away your child on a fool, and a phy- sician ? Look on master Fenton : — this is my doing. Fent. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, 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 fire 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 mas- ter Fenton had her : I will do what I can for them all three ; for so I have promised, and I'll be as good as my word ; but speciously for master Fen- ton. Well, I must of another errand to sir John Falstaff from my two mistresses ; What a beast am I to slack it 1 {Exit. SCENE V.— A Room in the Garter Inn. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Fal. 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 a barrow of butcher's offal ; and to be thrown into the Thames ? Well, if I be served such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse as they would have drowned a bitch's blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter : and you may know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking ; if the bottom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and shal- low ; a death that I abhor ; for the water swells a man ; and what a thing should I have been, when I had been swelled ! I should have been a mountain of mummy. Re-enter Bardolph, with the wine. Sard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you. Fat. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames water ; for my belly's as cold as if I had swallowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. Bard. Come in, woman. Enter Mrs. Qihckly. Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy : Give your worship good-morrow. Fal. Take away these chalices : Go, brew me a pottle of sack finely. Sard. With eggs, sir ? Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my brewage. — [Exit Bardolph.] — How now? Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from ■ mistress Ford. Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : ! I was thrown into the ford : I have my belly full of ford. Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was not her fault : she does so take on with her men ; they mistook their erection. Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's promise. Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn your heart to see it. Her husband 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, I warrant you. 54 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Fal. Well, I will visit her : Tell her so ; and bid tier 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'st thou ? Quick. Eight and nine, sir. Fal. Well, begone: I will not miss her. Quick. Peace be with you. sir. [Exit. Fal. I marvel, I hoar not of master Brook ; he sent me word to stay within : I like his money well. O here he comes. EnhrVoTiD. Ford. Bless you, sir ! Fal. Now, master Brook ? you come to know what hath passed between me and Ford's wife. Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; 1 was at 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 deter- mination ? Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cor- nuto her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the in- stant of our encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke the pro- logue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thither provoked and instigated by his distemper, and forsooth, 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. As 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-basket. Ford. A buck-basket I Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket : rammed me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul .stock- ings, 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 I have suffered to bring this woman to evil for 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 of foul clothes to Datchet-lane : 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 knave would have searched it ; but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well : on went he for a search, and away went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook : I suffered the pangs of three several deaths : first, an intolerable flight, to be detected with a jealous, rotten bell-wether : next, to be compassed, like a good bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt 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 of that, — a man of my kidney, — think of that : that am as subject to heat, as butter ; a man of continual dis- solution and thaw; it was a miracle, to 'scape suf- focation. And in the height of this bath, when I 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; think of that, — hissing hot, — think of that, master Brook. Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you have suffered all this. My suit then is desperate ; you'll undertake her no more. Fal. Master Brook, I will he thrown into Etna, as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her husband is this morning gonj a bird- ing : I have received from her another embassy of meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, Mas- ter Brook. Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. Fal. Is it? I will then address rue to my appointment. 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. Ford. Hum ! ha ! is this a vision ? is this a dream ? do I 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 halfpenny purse, nor into a pepper-box ; but, lest the devil that guides him should aid him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall not make me tame : if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.— The Street. Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, anc 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 suddenl). Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by ; I'll but bring my young man here to school ; Look, where his master comes ; 'tis a playing day, I see. Enter Sir Hugh Evans. How now, sir Hugh ? no school to-day ? Eva. No ; master Slender is let the boys leave to play. Quick. Blessing of his heart ! Mrs. 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 youi head ; answer your master, be not afraid. SCENE II. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns ? Will. Two. Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one number more ; because they say, od's nouns. Eva. Peace your tattlings. What is fair, Wil- liam ? Will. Pulcher. Quick. Polecats 1 there are fairer things than polecats, sure. Eva. You are a very simplicity, 'oman ; I pray you peace. What is lapis, William ? Will. A stone. Eva. And what is a stone, William ? Will. A pebble. Eva. No, it is lapis : I pray you remember in your prain. Will. 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, Singulariter, nominalivo, hie, hcec, hoc. Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog: — pray you, mark : genilivo, hujus : Well, what is your accu- sative case? Will. Accusativo, June. Eva. I pray you have your remembrance, child ; Accusativo, hing, hang, hog. Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What i3 the focative case, William ? Will. O — vocativo, O. Eva. Remember, William, focative is, caret. Quick. And that's a good root. Eva. 'Oman, forbear. Mrs. Page. Peace. Eva. What is your genitive case plural, Wil- liam ? Will. Genitive case ? Eva. Ay. Will. Genitive, — horum, Itarum, horum. Quick. 'Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on her ! — never name her, child, if she be a whore. Eva. For shame, 'oman. Quick. You do ill to teach the child such worths : he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast enough of themselves, and to call horum : fie upon you ! Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no understandings for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders ? Thou art as foolish christian crea- tures as I would desires. Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace. Eva. Show me now, William, some declensions of your pronouns. Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. Eva. It is ki, ka, cod ; if you forget your hies, your kces, and your cods, you must be preeches. Go your ways, and play, go. Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought he was. 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 stay too lopg. [Exeunt. SCENE Yi.—A Room in Ford's House. Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford. Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my sufferance : I see, you are obsequious in your love, 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 it. But are you sure of your husband now ? Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet Sir John. I\rrs. Page. {Within.} What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa ! Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. [Exit Falstaff. Enter Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ? who's at home, beside yourself ? Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people Mrs. Page. Indeed ? Mrs. Ford. No, certainly ; — Speak louder. [Aside Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have no- body here. Mrs. Ford. Why ? Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again : he so takes on yonder with my husband ; so rails against all married mankind; so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion soever ; and so buffets himself on the forehead, crying Peer-out, peer. out I that any madness I ever yet beheld, seemed but tameness, civility, and patience, to this his distemper he is in now : I am glad the fat knight is not here. Mrs. Fm-d. 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 another experiment of his suspicion ; but I am glad the knight is not here : now he shall see his own foolery. Mrs. Ford. 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 here. Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly ashamed, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you ! — Away with him, away with him ; better shame than murder. Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go ? how should I bestow him ? Shall I put him into the basket again ? Reenter Falstaff. Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket : May I not go out ere he come ? Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's bro- thers watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here ? Fal. What shall I do ? — I'll creep up into the chimney. Mrs. Ford. 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. Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note : There is no hiding you in the house. FaL I'll go out then. 5fi MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV. Mrs. Page. If you go outinyour own semblance, you die, sir John. 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 for him ; otherwise, he might put ou a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape. Fnl. Good heTrts, devise something : any ex- tremity, rather than a mischief. Mrs. Ford. My maid's auut, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above. Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him ; she's as big as he is : and there's her thrum'd hat, and her muffle, too : 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 : put on the gown the while. [Exit Falstaff. Mrs. Ford. I would, my husband would 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 I Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ? Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he ; and he talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had in- telligence. Mrs. Ford. We'll 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. I'll first direct my men, what they shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for him straight. [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 honest too : We do not act, that often jest and laugh ; 'Tis old but true, Still swine eat all the draff. [Exit. Re-niter Mrs- Ford with tiro Servant* Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, despatch. [Exit. 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight again. 1 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, master Page, have you any way then to unfool «me again ? — Set down the basket, villain : — Somebody call my wife : You, youth in a basket, come out here ! — O, you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a gin, a pack, a conspiracy against me : Now shall the devil be shamed. What ! wife, I say ! come, come forth ; behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. Page. Why, this passes ! Master Ford, you are not to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. E:s u jealousies. Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. Pagp. 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 mj extremity, let me for ever be your table sport ; let them say of me, As jealous as Ford, that Marched a hollow walnut for his wife's leman. Satisfy me once more ; once more search with me. ]\frs. 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 ? Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's auut of Brent- ford. Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not foibid her my house? She comes of errands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do not know what's brought to pass under the profes- sion of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this is : beyond our element: we know nothing. Come down, you witch, you hag you ; come down, I say. Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good gentlemen, let bim not strike the old woman. Enter Falstakf in women's clothes, led by Mrs. Pagr. Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat, come, give me your hand. Ford. I'll prat her : Out of my door, you witch, [beats him] you rag, you baggage, you pole- cat, you ronyonl out! out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune. tell you. [Exit Falstaff. Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ? I think, you have 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 SCKNF IV. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. witch indeed ; I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; I spy a great peard uuder her muffler. Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? I beseech yon, follow; see hut the issue of my jealousy : if I cry out thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again. Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: Come, gentlemen. [Exeunt Park, Ford, Shallow, and Evans. Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beathim most pitifully. Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he beat him most unpitifully, methought. Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and hung o'er the altar ; it hath done meritorious ser- vice. Mr*. Ford. What think you ? May we, with the warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good conscience, pursue him with any further revenge ? Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared out of him ; if the devil have him not in fee- simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste, attempt us again. Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him ? Mr*, Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If they can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be the ministers. Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant they'll have him pub- licly shamed : and, methinks, there would be no period to the jest, should he not be publicly shamed. Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape it : I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. SCENE III A Room in the Gartkr Inn. Enter Host ami Rardolph. 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 them pay, I'll sauce them : they have had my houses a week at command ; I have turned away my other guests: theymust come off; I'll sauce them: Come. [Exeunt. SCENE IV — A Boom in Ford's House. Enter Pagk, Ford, Mrs. Paoe, Mrs. Ford, and Sir Hugh Evans. Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as ever I did look upon. Pane. And did he send you both these letters at an instant? Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. Ford. Pardon me, wife: Henceforth do what thou wilt ; I rather will suspect the sun with cold, Than thee with wantonness : now doth thy honour In him that was of lute an heretic, " [stand, As firm as faith. Fugr. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more. Be not a3 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 fellow, Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke of. Page. 1 low ! to send him word they'll meet him in the park at midnight; fie, fie ; he'll never come. Eva. You say, he has been thrown into the rivers ; and has heen grievously peaten, as an old 'oman; methinks, there should be terrors in him. that he should not come; methinks, his flesh is punished, he shall have no desires. Page. So think I too. [he comes, Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when And let us two devise to bring him thither. Mr*. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme the hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, Doth all the wiuter time, at still midnight, Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ; And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle ; And makes milch- kiue yield blood, and shakes a In a most, hideous and dreadful manner: [chain You have heard of such a spirit; and wellyou know, The superstitious idle-headed eld Received, and did deliver to our age, This tale of Heine the hunter for a truth. [fear Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak : But what of this ? Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ; That Falstaffat that oak shali meet with us, Disguised, like Heme, with huge horns on his head. Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, And in this shape : When you have brought him thither, What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? Mrs. Page. That likewise have 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 fairies, green and white, With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden, As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once With some diffused song ; upon their sight, We two in great amazedness will fly : Then let them all encircle him about, And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ; And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel, In their so sacred paths he dares t-> tread, In shape profane. Mrs. Ford. And (ill he tell the truth, Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, And burn him with their tapers. Mrs. Page. The truth being Known, We'll all present ourselves ; dishorn the spirit, And mock him home to Windsor. Ford. The children must Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er dot. Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ; and I will be like a jack an-apes also, to burn the knight with my taber. Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards. Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the fairies, Finely attired iu a robe of white. Page. That silk will I go buy; — and in that time MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV. Shall master Slender steal my Nan away. [Aside. And marry her at Eton. -Go, send to FalstafF straight. Ford. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook ; He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come. Mr*. Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us pro- And tricking for our fairies. [perties, Eva. Let us ahout it : It is admirable pleasures, and fery honest knaveries. [Exeunt Pare, Ford, and Eva.ns. Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, Send quickly to Sir John to know his mind. [Exit Mrs. Ford. I'll 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 : The 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 ? what, thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, short, quick, snap. Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstafffrom master Slender. Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his standing-bed, and truckle-bed ; 'tis painted about with the story of the Prodigal, fresh and new: Go, knock and call; he'll speak like an Anthropo- phaginian unto thee : Knock, I say. Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up 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 ! 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 coming down of thy fat woman; Let her descend, bully, let her descend ; my chambers are honour- able : Fye! privacy? fye I Enter Falstaff. Fa!. There was, mine host, an old fat woman, even now with me ; but she's gone. Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of Brentford ? 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 thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one Nym, 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. Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the woman 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. Sim, Why, sir, they were nothing but about mistress Anne Page ; to know if it were my mas- ter's fortune to have her, or no. Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. Sim. What, sir ? Fal. To have her, — or no : Go ; say, the woman told me so. Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir ? Fal. Ay, sir Tike ; who more bold ? Sim. I thank your worship : I shall make my master glad 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 hath taught me more wit than ever I learned before in my life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my learning. Enter Bardolph. Bnrd. Out, alas, sir! cozenage! mere cozenage! Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them, varletto. Hard. Run away with the cozeners : for so soon as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from behind one of them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs, and away, like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses. Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, vil- lain : do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest men. Enter Sir Hugh Eva .vs. Eva. Where is mine host ? Host. What is the matter, sir ? E va. Have a care of your entertainments : there is a friend of mine come to town, tells ine, there is three couzin germans, that has cozened all the hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for good- will, look you : you are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting-stogs ; and 'tis not convenient you should be cozened : Fare you well. [Exit. Enter T)r. Caius Caius. Vere is mine Hoslde Jarterre? Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and 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 ray trot, dere is no duke, dat de court is know to come ; I tell you for good vill : adieu. \_Exit. Host. Hue and ery, villain, go : — assist me, knight; I am undone: fly, run, hue and cry, vil- lain ! I am undone ! [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened ; for I have 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 cudgelled, they would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor fisher- men's boots with me ; I warrant, they would whip me with their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I never prospered since I for- swore myself at primero. Well, if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers, I would re- pent — Enter Mistress Quickly. Now ! whence come you ? Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 59 other, and so they shall he both bestowed ! I have •offered more for their sakes, more, than the villainous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes, I warrant ; speciously one of them ; mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you can- not see a white spot about her. Fal. What tell'st thou me of black Mid blue ? I was beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow ; and I was like to be apprehended | for the witch of Brentford ; but that my admir- j able dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the ac- | tion of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable had set me i' the stocks, i' the common I stocks, for a witch. Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will j say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together ! Sure, one of you does not I serve heaven well, that you are so crossed. Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. — Another Room in the Garter Inn. Enter Fen-ton and Host. Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mini is heavy, I will give over all. Fcnt. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my purpose, And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will, at the least, keep your counsel. Fcnt. From time to time I have acquainted you With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection (So far forth as herself might be her chooser,) Even to my wish : I have a letter from her Of such contents as you will wonder at ; The mirth whereof so larded with my ma That neither, singly, can be manifested, Without the show of both ; — wherein fat Falstuff Hath a great scene : the image of the jest [Showing the tetter I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host To-night at Heine's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen : The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise, While other jests are something rank on foot, Her father hath commanded her to slip Away with Slender, and with him at Eton Immediately to marry : she hath consented : Now, Sir, Her mother, ever strong against that match, And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed That he shall likewise shuffle her away, While 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, likewise hath Made promise to the doctor ; — Now thus 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 vizarded,) That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrobed, With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head ; And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, The maid hath given consent to go with him. Host. Which means she to deceive ? father or mother ? Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me : And here it rests,— that you'll procure the 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 you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. Fent. So shall I ever more be bound to thee; Besides, I'll make a present recompense. [Exeunt- ACT V. SCENE I.— A Boom in the Garter Inn. Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling: — go. I'll hold : This is the third time ; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say, there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. — Away. Quick. I'll provide you 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. Quickly. 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 me you had appointed ? Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, like a poor old man ; but I came from her, master Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave, Ford her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell you. — He beat me grievously, in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of man, master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam ; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am in hasti' ; go along with me ; I'll tell you all, muster Brook. Since I pluck 'd geese, play'd truant, and whipp'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 II.— Windsor Park. Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. Page. Come, come ; we'll couch i' the castle- ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. — Remem- ber, son Slender, my daughter. Slen. Ay, forsooth ; 1 have spoke with her, and we have a nay-word, how to know one another MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. act v- I come to her in white, and cry, mum ,- she cries budget ; and by that we know one another. Shal. That's good too: but what needs either your mum, or her budget? the white will decipher her well enough. — It hath struck ten o'clock Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will become it well. Heaven, prosper our sport ! No man means evil but the devil, and we shall knowhim 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. Cuius. I know vat I have to do; Adieu. Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius. My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of FalstafF, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a little chiding, than a great deal of heart-break. Mrs. Ford. Where 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 obscured lights; which, at the very instant of Falstaff'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, lie will be mocked ; if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their Those that betray them do no treachery, [lechery, Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; To the oak, to the oak ! [ftpwwt SCENE IV.— Windsor Park. Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. Eva. Trib, trib, fairies ; come : and remember your parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me into the pit ; and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you; Come, come ; trib, trib. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— Another part of the Park. Enter Fai.stafk dispuised, with a huek's haul on. Fal. The Windsor bell hath si ruck 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 ! that, 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, omnipotent love ! 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 semblance of a fowl ; think cn't. Jove ; a foul fault. — When gods have hot backs, what shall poor 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 piss my tallow ? Who comes here ? my doe ? Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs Pagjb. 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 tempest 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 : 1 will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a woodman ? ha ! Speak I like Heme the hunter ? — Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome 1 [Noise within. Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! Fal. What should this be ? Mrs Page. \ Awa ?' **'*?• ^ ™" * Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damned. lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire ; he would never else cross me thus. Enter Sir I Itch Evans, like a satyr ; Mrs. Quickly, and Pistol: Anns Paob, as the Pttirp Qaeen, atUmded b§ her brother ami others, dressed like fairies, with ir.uv/j topers on their heads. Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white. You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, Attend your office, and your quality. Crier Hobgoblin, mike the fairy o-yes. Pijst, Fives, list your names; silence,yoo airy toys. Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap: Where fires thou fiud'st unraked, and hearths un- swept, 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 their works must eye. [Lies down vpem his fact Eva. Where's Pedc 9— Go you, and where you find a maid That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Raise 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, Quick. About, about ; [and shins. Search Windsor-castle, elves, within and out : Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room ; That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In 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 ! And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, Like 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 soit 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 kne: Fairies use flowers for their charactery. Away; disperse: But, till 'tis one o'clock, Our dance of custom, round about the oak Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. ■ SCENE V. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 01 Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in order set : Ami twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, To guide our measure round about the tree. But, stay : I smell a man or' middle earth. Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welch fairy! lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! Fist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth. Quick. With trial -fire touch me his finger-end : If be 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. Fist. A trial, come. g va . Come, will this wood, take fire ? [They bum him with their tapers. Fal. Oh, oh, oh! Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ; And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. Eva. It is right ; indeed he is full of lecheries and iniquity. SONG Fye on sinful fantasy ! l'ye on lust and luxury ! Lust is but a bloody fire, Kindled with unchaste desire, Fed in heart ; whyse flames aspire, As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. Pinch him, fairies, mutually; Pinch him for liis villany; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. During ihis tong, the fair k s pinchT Ah&TAvv. Doctor C'aius com. s one way. and steals away a fairy in green / Slkndkr another way, and takes off a fairy in while ,• and Fknton comet, and steals away Mrs. Annb 1'age. A noise of hunt in;) is made within. All the fairies run away. Falstakk jndls off his buck's head, and ritct. Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Pack, and Mrs. Fo«x>. Tliey lay hold on 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 no 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, FalstafPs a knave, a cuckoldly 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 have had ill luck ; we could never meet. I will never 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 or four times in the thought, they were not fairies: and yet the guiltiness of my 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 your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo 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 goat too ? Shall I have a coxcomb of ffizfi ? 'Tis time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. Eva. Seese 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 is 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 with- out scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our delight ? Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ? Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails ? 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 drink- ings, 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 suffered, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction. Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends : Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. Ford. 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 1 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 that : if Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Cams' wife. [Aside Enter Slknder. Slen. Who— ho ! ho ! father Page ! Page. Son! how now? how now, son ? ha\eyou despatched ? Slen. Despatched ! — I'll make the best in Glo- cestershire 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 bad not been i' the ehurch, 1 would have swinged him, or be should have swinged me. If I did not 62 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT V. think it had been Anne Page, would I might never sti~, and 'tis a post-master's boy. Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. Skn. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl s If 1 had been mar- ried to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you, how you should know my daughter by her garments ? Skn. I went to her in white, and cried 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. Oh, I am vexed at heart : What shall I do ? Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose ; turned my daughter into green ; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married. Enter Caius. Cains. Vere is mistress Page ? By gar, 1 am cozened ; I ha' married un garcon, a boy ; un paisan, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar. I am cozened. Mrs. Page. W T hy, did you take her in green ? Cuius. Ay, by gar, snd 'tis a boy : by gar, I'll raise all Windsor. lExit Caius. Ford. This is strange : Who hath got the right Anne ? Page. My heart misgives me ; Here comes master Fenton. Enter Fenton and Anne I'agk. How now, master Fenton ? Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon ! Page. Now, mistress, how chance you went not with master Slender ? Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, maid ? Pent. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, 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 committed : And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; Since therein she doth evitate and shun A thousand irreligious cursed hours, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. 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. Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy ! What cannot be eschewed, must be embraced. Fal. W T hen night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased. Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your w dding. Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse.no further: — Master Fenton, Heaven give you many, many merry days ! — Good husband, let us every one go home, And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ,' Sir John and all. Ford. Let it be so : — Sir John, To master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; For he, to-nifht, shall lie with mistress Ford. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Orsino, Duke o/Illyria. Sebastian, a young Gentleman, brother to Viola. Antonio, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian. A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. Valentine, i Gcn(h . mcn attending on the Duke. Curio, ) Sir Tory Belch, Uncle of Olivia. Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Malvolio, Steward to Olivia. SCENE,— A City in Illyiua Fabian, Clown, | Servants to Olivia Olivia, a rieh Countess. Viola, in love with the Duke. Maria, Olivia's Woman. Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants. ! and the Sea-coast near it. ACT I.* SCENE I.— An Apartment in the Dike's Palace. Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending. Duke. If music 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 I 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, I 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 view ; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine : all this, to season 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' (I the flock of all affections else That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, (Her sweet perfections,) with one self king ! — Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Excunl SCENE II.— The Seacoast. Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. Via. What country, friends, is this ? Cap. lllyria, lady. Vio. And what should I do in lllyria i My brother he is in Elysium. [sailors ? Perchance, he is not drown'd : — What think you, Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. Vio. O my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may he be. Cap. True, madam; and, to comfort you with Assure yourself, after our ship did split, [chance, When you, and that poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself (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 gold : Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country ? Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and born, Not three hours' travel from 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 ! I have heard my father name him He was a bachelor then. 04 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL Cap. And so is now, Or was so very late : for but a month \go 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 lair Olivia. Vio. What's she ? Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some. twelvemonth since ; then leaving In the protection of his son, her brother, [her 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 compass : Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's. Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, capfain ; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what 1 am ; and be my aid For such disguise as, haply, shall become The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke; Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him, It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit; Only .shape thou thy silence to my wit. Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be ; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! Vio. I thank thee : Lead me on. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — A Room in Olivia's House. Enter So- Toby Bklch, and Makia. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus ? 1 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 yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. Confine? Til 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 themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaifing and drinking will undo you : I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Sir To. Who ? Sir Andrew Ague- cheek ? Mar. Ay, he. Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Mar. "What's that to the purpose ? Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats ; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the viul-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all tLt good gifts of nature. Mar. He hath, indeed,— almost natural : for, besides that he's a f ol, he's a great quarreller ; and, but that he hatn the gift of a coward to ailay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly 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. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; Til 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? Castiliano-vulgo ! for here comes Sir An- drew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew Ahce cheek. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, Sir Toby Belch ? Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew ? Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. il/ar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sit To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintam e. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, fron her, board her, woo her, aasail 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's! never draw sword again. »S'/Y And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have 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, aud let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor ? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; 1 am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest ? Alar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them ? Mar. Ay, sir; I 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 you see canary put me down : Methinks some- times 1 have no more wit than a Christian, or au ordinary man has : but I am a great eater of beef, and, 1 believe, that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An 1 thought that. I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourqvoy, my dear knight? SCENE V. TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Go Sir And. What is pourquoy % do or not do ? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts ! Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair ? Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does' t not? Sir To. Excellent ; it hangs like flax on a dis- taff ; and I hope to see a housewife take thee be- tween 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 '11 none of me : the count him- self, here hard by, wooes her. Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fel- low o' the strangest mind i' the world ; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight ? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir To. 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, 1 think, I 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 thou not go to church in a gal- liard, and come home in a coranto ? My very walk should be a jig ; I 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 excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame- coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels ? Sir To. What shall we do else ? were we not born under Taurus ? 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 IV.— A Room in *A MEASURE EOR MEASURE. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Vicentio, Duke of Vienna. Angelo, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absence. Escalus, an ancient Lord, joined with Angelo in the Deputation. Claudio, a young Gentleman. Lucio, a Fantastic. Two other like Gentlemen. Varjuus, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke. Provost. Thomas, 1 . _ . Peter, / two Friars. A Justice. Elbow, a simple Constable. Froth, a foolish GenVeman. Clown, Servant to Mrs. Over-doxk. Abhorson, an Executioner. Barnardine, a dissolute Prisoner. Isabella, Sister to Claudio. Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. Juliet, beloved by Claudio. Francisca, a Nun. Mistress Over-done, a Bawd. Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other Attendants. SCENE,— Vienna, ACT I. SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords, and Attendants. Duke. Escalus, — Escal. My lord. Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse ; Since I am put to know, that your own science Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice My strength can give you: Then no more re- mains 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, drest 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 honour, It is lord Angelo. Enter Angelo. Duke. Look, where he comes. Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 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 touched 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 him advertise ; Hold therefore, Angelo ; In our remove, be thou at full ourself : Mortality and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart : Old Escalus, Though first in question, is thy secondary : Take thy commission. Ang. Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metali Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamped upon it. Duke. No more evasion : We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestioned Matters of needful value. We shall write to you As time and our concernings shall impdrtune, How it goes with us ; and do look to know What doth befall you here. So, fare you well : To the hopeful execution, do I leave you Of your commissions. 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 86 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand ; I'll 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 affect it. Once more, fare you well. Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes! Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happi- ness. Duke. I thank you : Fare you well. I Exit. Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me To look into the bottom of my place : A power I have ; but of what strength and nature, I am not yet instructed. Ang. 'Tis sowithme: — Let us withdraw together, And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point. Escal. I'll wait upon your honour. [Exeunt. SCENE 11.— A Street. Enter Lucio and ttco Gkntlkmen. Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition with the king of Hungary, why, then all the dukes fall upon the king. 1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the king of Hungary's ! 2 Gent. Amen. Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that went to sea with the ten commandments, but scraped one out of the table. 2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal ? Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 1 Gent. Why, 'twasacommandmenttocommand the captain and all the rest from their functions ; they put forth to steal : There's not a soldier of us all,that,in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish the petition well that prays for peace. 1 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. Lucio. I believe thee ; for, I think, thou never wast where grace was said. 2 Gent, No ? a dozen times at least. 1 Gent. What ? in metre ? Lucio. In any proportion, or in any language. 1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. Lucio. Ay 1 why not ? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy : As for example ; Thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. 1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers between us. Lucio. I grant ; as there may between the lists and the velvet : Thou art the list. 1 Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art good vel- vet ; thou art a three-piled piece, I warrant thee : I had as lief be a list of an English kersey, as be piled, as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now ? Lucio. I think thou dost ; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech : I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health; but whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. 1 Gent. I think, I have done myself wrong ; have I not ? 2 Gent. Yes, that thoti hast ; whether thou art tainted, or free. Lucio. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation comes ! I have purchased as many diseases under her roof, as come to — 2 Gent. To what, I pray ? 1 Gent. Judge. 2 Gent. 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 ; but thou art full of error ; I am sound. Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound, as things that are hollow : thy bones ar hollow : impiety has made a feast of thee. Enter Bawd. 1 Gent. How now ? Which of your hips has the most profound sciatica ? Bawd. Well, well ; there's one yonder arrested, and carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. 1 Gent. Who's that, I pray thee ? Bawd. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, signior Claudio. 1 Gent. Claudio to prison ! 'tis not so. Bawd. Nay, but I know, 'tis so : I saw him arrested ; saw him carried away ; and, which is more, within these three days his head's to be chopped off. Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so : Art thou sure of this ? Bawd. I am too sure of it : and it js for getting madam Julietta with child. Lucio. 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 the pro- clamation. Lucio. Away ; let's go learn the truth of it. [Exeunt Lucio and Genti.emex. Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty. I am custom-shrunk. How now? what's the news with you ? Enter Cwwx. Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. Bawd. Well : what has he done ? Clo. A woman. Bawd. But what's his offence ? Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him ? Clo. No ; but there's a woman with maid by him : You have not heard of the proclamation, have you ? Bawd. What proclamation, man ? Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked 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 iu for them. Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pull'd down ? Clo. To the ground, mistress. Bawd. Why, here's a change, indeed, in the commonwealth ! What shall become of me ? Clo. Come ; fear not you : good counsellors lack no clients : though you change your place, you 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 service you will be considered. SCENE IV. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. P>7 Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's withdraw. Clo. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison : and there's madam Juliet. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, a?id Officers ; Lucio and two Gentlemen. Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world ? Bear me to prison, where I am committed. Pro. I do it not in evil disposition, But from lord Angelo by special charge. Claud. Thus can the demi-god, Authority, Make us pay down for our offence by weight — The words of heaven ; — on whom it will, it will ; On whom it will not, so ; yet still '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 much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use, Turns to restraint : Our natures do pursue, (Like rats that ravine down their proper bane,) A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die. Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors : And yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's thy offence, Claudio ? Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again. Lucio. What is it, murder ? Claud. No. Lucio. Lechery? Claud. Call it so. Prov. Away, sir ; you must go. Claud. One 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 ? [contract, Claud. Thus it stands with me : — upon a true I got possession of Julietta's bed ; You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, Save that we do the denunciation lack Of outward order : this we came not to, Only for 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 that fills it up, I stagger in :— But this new governor Awakes me all the enrolled penalties, {wall Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Freshly on me : — 'tis surely, for 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 off. 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, which else would stand under grievous imposition ; as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly 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. Duke. No ; holy father ; throw away that thought ; Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a c6mplete 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 loved the life removed ; 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 received : Now, pious sir, You will demand of me, why I do this ? Fri. Gladly, my lord. Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, (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, Only 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 decrees, 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 pleas'd : And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, Than in lord Angelo. Duke. I do fear, too dreadfid : Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them For what I bid them do : For we bid this be done, When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 88 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. AGl .. And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my I have on Angelo imposed 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, I 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 formally 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. {Exeunt. SCENE V.— A Nunnery. 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 sisterhood, the votaries of St. Clare. * Lucio. Ho ! Peace be in this place ! {Within. Isab. "Who's that which calls ? 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, youmustnot speak with men, But in the presence of the prioress : Then, if you speak, you must not show your face ; Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. He calls again ; I pray you answer him. {Exit Francisca. Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that calls ? Enter Lucio. Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be ; as those cheek- Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me 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 make you know I am that Isabella, and his sister. Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. [you : 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 true. I would not— though 'tis my familiar sin With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest Tongue far from heart, — play with all virgins so : 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 embraced : 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 ? — My cousin Lucio. Is she your cousin ? [Juliet ? Isab. Adoptedly ; as school-maids change their By vain though apt affection. [names, Lucio. She it is. Isab. O, let him marry her ! Lucio. This is the point The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand, and hope of action : but we do learn By those that know the very nerves of state. His givings out were of an 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 very snow-broth ; one who never feels The wanton stings and motions of the sense ; But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge With profits of the mind, study, and fast. He (to give fear to use and liberty, 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 ; all hope is gone, Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer To 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 I hear, the provost hath A warrant for his execution. Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me To do him good ? Lucio. Assay the power you have. Isab. My power ! Alas ! I doubt, — Lucio. 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 know, 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 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 8<) ACT IT. SCENE I. — A Hall in Angklo's House, Enter Anoelo, Escalus, a Justick, 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, tdl 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 : A-las ! this gentle- man, Whom I 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 cohered with place, or place with wishing, Or that the resolute acting of your blood Could have attain' d the effect of your own purpose, Whether you had not sometime in your life Err'd in this point which now you censure him, And pull'd the law upon you. Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, 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 to justice, That justice seizes. What know the laws, That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very preg- nant, The jewel that we find, 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 offence, 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. Ang. Where is the provost? Prov. Here, if it like your honour. Ang. See that Claudio Be executed by nine to-morrow morning : Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared ; For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exit Provost. Escal. Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none ; And some condemned for a fault alone. Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, S^c. Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be good people in a common-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? Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow ; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. Ang. Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they ? are they not 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 in the world, that good christians ought to have. Escal. This comes off well; here's a wise officer. Ang. Go to; Wliat quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why dost thou not speak, Elbow? Clo. He cannot, sir ; he's out at elbow. Aug. What are you, sir ? Elb. He, sir ? a tapster, sir ; parcel-bawd ; one that serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, as they say, pluck'd down in the suburbs ; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house 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 ; who, 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 woman cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanli- ness there. Escal. By the woman's means? Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Overdone's means . but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man, prove it. Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces ? [To Angelo. Clo. Sir, she came in great with child ; and longing (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 three-pence ; your honours have seen such dishes ; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes. Escal. Go to, go to ; no matter for the dish, sir. Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein in the right : but, to the point : As I say, this mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I 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 re- member'd, cracking the stones of the aforesaid prunes. Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. Clo. W T hy, very well : I telling you then, if you be remember'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 purpose. — What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. 90 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IT. 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-hallond 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. I 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 Angri.o. 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 him what this man c'id to my wife. Clo. 1 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 face? Escal. Ay, sir, very well. 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 the worst thing about him, how could master Froth do the constable's wife any harm ? I would Know that of your honour. Escal. He's in the right : Constable, what say /ou to it ? 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 respected person than any of us all. Elb. Varlet, thou best; thou best, wicked varlet: the time is yet to come, that she was ever respected, with man, woman, or child. Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. Escal. Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Ini- quity ? — Is this true ? Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I respected with her, before I was married to her? If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's officer :— Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of bat- tery on thee. Escal. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might have your action of slander too. Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it : What is r 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 thou knowest what they are. Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it : — Thou seest, 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 ? [To Froth. 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 Clown. 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 hus- band ? Clo. Nine, sir ; Over-done by the last. Escal. Nine! — Come hitherto me, master Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters : they will draw you, master Froth, and you will hang them : Get you gone, and let me hear no more of 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 Froth.] — Come you hither to me, master tapster ; what's your name, master tapster ? Clo. Pompey. Escal. What else ? Clo. Bum, sir. Escal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you ; so that, in the beastliest sense, you 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. t Clo. 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, Pom- pey ? 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 splay all the youth in the city ? Escal. No, Pompey. Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't 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, I 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 year, 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 re- quital of your pi-ophecy, hark you, — I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any com- plaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you do ; if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Csesar to you ; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt : so for this tima Pompey, fare you well. SOK.VE II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE SI Clo. I thank your worship for your good counsel; but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. Whip 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 year and a half, sir. Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time : You say, seven years together ? Elb. 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 serve it ? Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters : as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them ; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all. Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient 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. Just. 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 II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Provost and a Servant. Serv. 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 Angelo Ang. Now what's the matter, provost ? Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea ? hadst thou not Why dost thou ask again ? [order ? Prov. Lest I might be too rash : Under your good correction, I 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 spared. 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 To some more fitter place ; and that with speed. Re-enter Servant. Ser. Here is the sister of the man condemned, 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. Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant. See you, the fornicatress be remov'd ; Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ; There shall be order for it. Enter Lucio and Isabella. Prov. Save your honour ! [Offering to retire. Ang. Stay a little while. — [To Isab.] You are welcome : What's your will ? Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. Aug. 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. Ang. 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. Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ! Why, every fault's condemned, ere it be done : Mine were the very cipher 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 ! [Retiring. Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so : to him again, intreat him ; Kneel down before him, hang 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. Any. I will not do't. Isab. But can you, if you would ? Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. Jab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touched with that remorse As mine is to him ? Ang. He's sentenced ; '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 : should it then be thus ? No ; I 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. 92 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II. 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 : Were 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 prepared for death ! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves ? Good, 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 slept : Those many had not dared to do that evil, If the first man that did the edict infringe, Had answered for his deed : now, 'tis awake ; Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, (Either now, or by remissness new-conceived, And so in progress to be hatched and born,) Are now to have no successive degrees, • But, where they live, to end. Isab. Yet show some pity. Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice ; For then I pity those I do not know, Which 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 sentence ; And he, that suffers : 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 himself 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 bolt, Splitt'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle ;— O, but man, proud man ! Drest in a little brief authority ; Most ignorant of what he's most assured, 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 choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Lucio. Art advised o' that ? more on't. Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me ? Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ; Knock there ; 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 well. Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to- morrow. Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord, turn back. Ang: How ! bribe me ? Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share with you. Lucio. You had marr'd all else. [sab. 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 be up at heaven, and enter there, Ere sun-rise : piayers 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 IsAHKL. Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe ! Ang. Amen : for I Am that way going to temptation, [Aside. Where prayers cross. Isab. At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordship ? Ang. At any time 'fore noon. Isab. Save your honour ! [Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost. Ang. From thee ; even from thy virtue ! — W T hat'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, That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness ? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, And pitch our evils there ? O, fye, fye, fye ! W 7 hat 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 for their robbery have authority, When judges steal themselves. What ? do I love That I desire to hear her speak again, [her, And feast upon her eyes ? What is't I dream on ? O 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 smiled and wondered how. [Exit SCENE IV. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 93 SCENE III A Room in a Prison. Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so, I think you are. Prov. I am the provost : What's your will, good friar ? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, ■ I come to visit the afflicted spirits j 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. Prov. I would do more than that, if more were needful. Enter Juliet. Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, Who falling in the flames of her own youth, Hath blistered her report : She is with child ; And he that got it, sentenced : a young man More fit to do another such offence, Than die for this. Duke. When must he die ? Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. — I have provided for you ; stay awhile, [To Juliet. 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 teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, And (ry your penitence, if it be sound, Or hollowly put on. Juliet. I'll gladly learn. Duke. Love you the man that wronged you ? Juliet. Yes, as I lo-'e the woman that wrong' d him. Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act 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 you do repent, As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, — Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven ; Showing, we would not spare heaven, as we love it, But as we stand in fear, — Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil ; And take the shame with joy. Duke. There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, And I am going with instruction to him. — Grace go with you I Benedicite ! {Exit. 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 ! [Exetmt. SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House. Enter Anoelo. Aug. When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects : heaven hath my empty words : Whilst my invention, hearing not 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 fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, Could I, with boot, change for an idle plume, 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 the wiser souls To thy false seeming ? Blood, thou still art blood • Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 'Tis not the devil's crest. Enter Servant. How now, who's there ? Serv. • One Isabel, a sister, Desires access to you. Ang. Teach her the way. [Exit Seuv 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 foolish 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-wished king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence. Enter Isabella. How now, fair maid ? Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. Ang. That you might know it, would much bet- ter please me, [live. Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot Isab. Even so ?— Heaven keep your honour ! [Retiring: Ang. 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. Aug. Ha! Fye, these filthy vices ! It were as To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen [good A man already made, as to remit Their sawcy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, In stamps that are 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. Aug. Say you so ? then I shall poze you quickly. Which had you rather, That 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 stained ? Isab, Sir, believe this, 1 had rather give my body than my soul. Ang. I talk not of your soul ; Our compell'd sins Stand more for number than accompt. Isab. How say you ? Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that ; for I can speak 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 hrother's life ? Isab. Please you to do't, 91 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II. I'll take it as a peril to my soul, It is no sin at all, but chanty. Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your 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 your 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 these 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, But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister, Finding yourself desired 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 suffer ; 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 slandered so ? Isab. Ignominy in ransom, and free pardon, Are of two houses : lawful mercy is Nothing akin to foul redemption. Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant ; And rather proved 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 mean : 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 too. Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view them- selves ; Which are as easy brok as they make forms. Women ! — Help heaven ! men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail ; For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints. Ang. I think it well : And from this testimony of your own sex, (Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames,) let me heboid ; I do arrest your words ; Be that you are, That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none ; If you be one, (as you are well expressed By all external warrants,) show it now, By putting on the destined 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. Ang. 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. Ang. Believe me, on mine honour, My words express my purpose. Isab. Ha ! little honour to be much believed, And most pernicious purpose ! — Seeming, seem- I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look fort : [ing !— 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 austereness 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 rwwty, and prolixious blushes, That banish yhi.u 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, I'll prove a tyrant to him : As for you, Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. [Exit. 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 1 Bidding the law make court'sy to their will ; Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, To follow as it draws ! I'll to my brother : Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, That 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 abhorred 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 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 95 ACT III. SCENE I.— A Room in the Prison. Enter Duke, Claudio, and PROvosr. Duke. So, theu you hope of pardon from lord Angelo ? Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope: I have nope to live, and am prepared to die. Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death or life, Shall thereby be the 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 skiey influences,) That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, And yet run'st toward him still: Thou art not noble ; For all the accommodations that thou 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, forget'st : Thou art not certain ; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon: If thou art rich, thou art poor; For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee: Friend hast thou none ; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner : Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 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 this life Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even. Claud. I humbly thank you. To sue 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 and good company ! Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. Duke. Dear Sir, ere long I'll visit you again. Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. Isab. My business is aword 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, where I may be conceal'd, Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort ? Jsab. Why, as all comforts are ; most good in Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, [deed : Intends you for his swift embassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger: Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; To-morrow you set on. Claud. Is there no remedy ? Isab. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. Claud. But is there any ? Isab. Yes, brother, you may live ; There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death. Claud. Perpetual durance ? Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance ; a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determined scope. Claud. But in what nature ? Isab. In such a one as (you consenting toM;) Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear And leave you naked. Claud. Let me know the point. Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous 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, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. Claud. Why give you me this shame ? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms. Isab. There spake my brother ; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must 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 follies 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 ; 06 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT II When he would force it? Sure it is no sin ; Or of the deadly seven it is the least. I sab. Which is the least ? Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, Why, would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fined? — O Isabel! Isab. What says my brother ? Claud. Death is a fearful thing. Isab. And shamed life a hateful. Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; [where ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'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, ach, 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 ! O, 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 From thine own sister's shame? What should I think ? Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair ! For such a warped slip of wilderness Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance : Die ; perish ! might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee. Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. Isab. O fye, fye, fye ! Thy sin's not 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 word. Isab. What is your will ? Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you : the satis- faction I would require is likewise your own benefit. Isab. I have no superfluous leisure ; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I 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, hav- ing the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive : I am confessor to Angelo, and I know 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 your 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 of it. Duke. Hold you there. Farewell. [Fxit Claudio Re-enter Provost. Provost, a word with you. Prov. What's your will, father ? Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone : Leave me a while with the maid ; my mind pro- mises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my company. Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath made you good : the goodness, that is cheap in beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness ; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, should keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my under- standing ; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How would you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother ? Isab. I am now going to resolve him : I 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, or discover his government. Duke. That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusa- tion ; he made trial of you only. — Therefore, fasten your ear on my advisings ; to the love I have in doing good, a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother 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 hearing of this business. Isab. Let me hear you speak further; I have spirit to do anything 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 sis- ter 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 affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed : between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perish' d vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman : there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural ; with him the portion and sinew of her for- tune, her marriage-dowry ; with both, her combi- nate husband, this well-seeming Angelo. Isab. Can this be so ? Did Angelo so leave her ? Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour ; in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake ; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not. Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take this poor maid from the world ! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live ! — But how out of this can she avail ? MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 9? Duke. It 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. Jsab. Show me how, good father. Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection ; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ; answer his requiring with a plausible obedience ; agree with his demands to the point : only refer yourself to this advantage, — first, that your stay with him 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. "We 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 recom- pense : and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advan- taged, and 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 doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it ? Isab. The image of it gives me content already ; and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous per- fection. Duke. 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. Isab. 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 you will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard. Duke. O, heavens ! what stuff is here ? Clo. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two usuries, 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. Elb. Come your way, sir : — Bless you, good father friar. Duke. And you, good brother father : What offence hath this man made you, sir ? Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended 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 we have sent to the deputy. Duke. Fye, 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, — From 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. Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir ; but yet, sir, I would prove [for sin, 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 given him warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster : if he be a whoremonger, and comes be- fore him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, Free from our faidts, as faults from seeming free ! Enter Lucio. Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir. Clo. I spy comfort ; I cry bail : Here's a gen- tleman, and a friend of mine. Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ? "What, at the heels of Caesar ? 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? What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and method ? Is't not drown'd i' the last rain ? Ha ? What say'st thou, trot ? Is the world as it was. man ? 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 pow- der'd bawd : An unshunn'd consequence ; it musf 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 imprison- ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right , Bawd is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too : bawd born. Farewell, good Pompey : Commend me to the prison, Pompey : You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house. Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. Ijucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; 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 i' Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. Clo. You will not bail me then, sir? Lucio. Then, Pompey ? nor now. — What news abroad, friar ? What news ? Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. Lncio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go : \Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers. • 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 j Russia ; other some, he is in Rome : But where is ! he, think you ? i>8 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Duke. I know not where : But wheresoever, I 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 do no harm in him : something too crabbed that way, friar. Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred ; it is well allied : 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 crea- tion : Is it true, think you? Duke. How should he be made then? Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him : — Some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes : — But it is certain, that when he makes water, his urine is congeal' d ice; that I know to be true: and he is a motion ungenerative, that's infallible. Duke. You are pleasant, sir; and speak apace. Lucio. Why what a ruthless thing is this in him, 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 would have paid for the nursing a thousand: He had some feeling of the sport ; he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy. Duke. I never heard the absent duke much de- tected for women ; he was not inclined that way. Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. Duke. 'Tis not possible. Lucio. Who ? not the duke ? yes, your beggar of fifty ; — and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack-dish : the duke had crotchets in him : He would be drunk too ; that let me inform you. Duke. You do him wrong, surely. Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his : A shy fellow was the duke : and, I believe, I know the cause of his withdrawing. 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 file of the subject held the duke to be wise. Duke. Wise? why, no question but he was. Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis- taking ; the very stream of his life, and the busi- ness he hath helmed, must, upon a wax-ranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier : Therefore, you speak unskilfully ; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much darken' d in your malice. Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love. Lucy^ 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 may,) let me desire you to make your answer before him: If it be honest you have snoke, you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name ? Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known h? the duke. Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. Lucio. I fear you not. Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more ; or you imagine me too unhurtful an oppo- site. But, indeed, I can do you little barm : you'll forswear this again. Lucio. I'll be hanged first : thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of this : Canst thou tell, ii Claudio die to-morrow, or no ? Duke. Why should he die, sir? Lucio. Why ? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish I would, the duke, we talk of, were return' d agaii ; this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with continency ; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd ; he 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, I 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 garlick : 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 Es calls, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. Escul. Go, away with her to prison. Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honour is accounted 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 Keep-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 Philip and Jacob : I have kept it myself ; and see how he goes about to abuse me. Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much licence : — let him be called before us.— Away with her to prison : Go to ; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be alter'd, Claudio must die to-morrow : let him be furnish'd with divines, and have all cha- ritable preparation : if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. Escal. Good even, good father. Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! Escal. Of whence are you ? Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is To use it for my time : I am a brother [now 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 great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 99 novelty is only 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 enough to make fellowships accurs'd : much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet ifc is every day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke ? Escal. One that, above all other strifes, con- tended especially to know himself. Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at anything which professed 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 how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to under- stand, that you have lent him visitation. Duke. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly hum- bles 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 of your calling. I have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the ex- tremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother jus- tice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him, he is indeed — justice. Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner : Fare you Duke. Peace be with you ! [well. [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-offences weighing. Shame to him, whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking ! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice, and let his grow ! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side 1 How may likeness, made in crimes, Making practice on the times, Draw with idle spiders' strings Most pond'rous and substantial things ! Craft against vice I must apply : With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed, but despised ; So disguise shall, by the disguised, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. — A Room in Mariana's House. Mariana discovered sitting; a Boy singing. SONG. Take, oh take those lips aAvay, That so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain. Mart. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away ; Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. — [Exit Boy. Enter Duke. I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish You had not found me 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 harm. I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquir'd for me here to-day? much upon this time have I promised here to meet. Mari. You have not been inquired after : I have sat here all day. Enter Isabella. Duke. I do constantly believe you : — The time is come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance a little , 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 circummur'd with brick, Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ; And to that vineyard is a planched gate, That makes his opening with this bigger key : This other doth command a little door, W T hich from the vineyard to the garden leads ; There have I made my promise to call on him, Upon the heavy middle of the night. Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this way ? Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't ; With whispering and most guilty diligence, In action all of precept, he did show me The way twice o'er. Duke. Are there no other tokens Between you 'greed, concerning her observance? Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; And that I have possess 'd 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 borne up. I have not yet made known to Mariana A word of this :«— What, ho! within! come forth. Re-enter Maiuana, I pray you be acquainted with this maid; She comes to do you good. Isab. I do desire the like. Duke. Do you persuade yourself, that 1 respect y° u? a 2 100 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Mari. Good friar, I know you do ; and have found it. Duke. Take then this your companion by the Who hath a story ready for your ear: [hand, I shall attend your leisure; but make haste; The vaporous night approaches. Mari. Will't please you walk aside? [Exeunt Mariana and Isabella, Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report [eyes Run with these false and most contrarious quests Upon thy doings! thousand 'scapes of wit Make thee the father of their idle dream, And rack thee in their fancies ! — Welcome ! How agreed ? Re-enter Mariana and Isabella. Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father, If you advise it. Duke. It is not my consent, But my intreaty too. Isab. Little have you to say, When you depart from him, but, soft and low, Remember now my brother. Mari. Fear me not. Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear 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 nourish the deceit. Come, let us go ; Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. [Exeunt. — ♦ — SCENE II.— A Room in ihe Prison. Enter Provost and Clown. Prow Come hither, sirrah : Can you cut off 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 head. 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 prison 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 deliverance with an unpitied whipping ; for you have been a notorious bawd. Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a law- ful hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction from my fellow partner. Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's Abhorson, there ? Enter Abhorson. Abhor. Do you call, sir? Pruv. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to- morrow in your execution : If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you ; if not, use him for the pre- sent, and dismiss him : He cannot plead his esti- mation with you ; he hath been a bawd. Abhor. A bawd, sir ? Fye upon him, he will dis- credit our mystery. Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally ; a feather will turn the scale. [Exit. Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery? Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery. Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mys- tery ; and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do prove my occupa- tion a mystery: but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine. Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. Clo. Proof. Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: If 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 apparel fits your thief. Re-enter Provost. Prov. Are you agreed ? Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd; he 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 : for, truly sir, for your kindness, I owe you a good turn. Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio. [Exeunt Clown and Abhorsok. One has my pity ; not a jot the other Being 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 ? Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless labour When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : He will not wake. Prov. Who can do good on him ? Well, go, prepare yourself. But hark, what noise? [Knocking within. Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit Claudio. By and by : — I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve, For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father. Enter Puke. Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the night Envelop you, good provost ! Who called here of late ? Prov. None, since the curfew rung. Duke. Not Isabel ! Prov. No. Duke>. They will then, ere't be long. Prov. What comfort is for Claudio ? Duke. There's some in hope. Prov. It is a bitter deputy. Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd Even with the stroke and line of his great justice; He doth with holy abstinence subdue That in himself, which he spurs on his power To qualify in others : were he meal'd With that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous ; But this being so, he's just. — Now are they come. [Knocking within.— Provost goes out SCENE 11. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 101 This is a gentle provost : Seldom, when The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. — How now? what noise? That spirit's possess'd 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 Claudio yet, But he must die to-morrow ? Prov. None, sir, none. Duke. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is, You shall hear more ere morning. Prov. Happily, You something know ; yet, I believe, there comes No countermand ; no such example have we : Besides, upon the very siege of justice, Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Profess' d the contrary. fiMcr a Messenger. Duke. This is his lordship's man. Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. Mess. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good-morrow ; for as I take it, it is almost day. Prov. I shall obey him. {.Exit Messenger. Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sin, [Aside. For which the pardoner himself is in : Hence hath offence his quick celerity, When it is borne in high authority : When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended, That for the fault's love, is the offender friended. — Now, sir, what news ? Prov. I told you : Lord Angelo, belike think- ing me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted putting on: methinks, strangely ; for he hath not used it before. Duke. Pray you, let's hear. Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock ; and, in the afternoon, Barnardine : for my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed ; with a thought, that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril. What say you to this, sir ? Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be executed in the afternoon? Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up and 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 of 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- son ? How seems he to be touch'd? Prov. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck- less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come ; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal, nuke. He wants advice. Prov. He will hear none ; he hath evermore had the liberty of the p;ison ; pye him leave Jto pscjape hence, he would uotrdiurdc ma n y times r. Jay, if not many days entirely Irunk. 'Wc have Very often awaked him, as, if, to carry him to execution, and show'd him a deeming varrai.t for :t- it Lath r.ot moved him at alk ' • ' * " " ' Duke. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost, honesty and constancy : if I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have a warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenced him : To make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite ; for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy. Prov. Pray, sir, in what ? Duke. In the delaying death. Prov. Alack ! how may I do it ? having the hour limited ; and an express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? I 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 profess, I will plead against it with my life. Prov. Pardon me, good father : it is against my oath. Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy ? Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. Duke. You will think you have made no offence, if 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, I 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, I doubt not ; and the signet is not strange to you. Prov. I know them both. Duke. The contents of this is the return of the 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 : for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor : perchance, 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 difficulties are but easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine' s head : I will give him a present shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet you are amazed : but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away ; it is almost clear dawn. [Exeunt 102 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT IV. SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. < tinier Cjuyvn. Clo. I am as w ell acquainted here, as I was in our-house.of profusion : .one would think, it were TnistressO.venlorte's ownthoV^ for here be many of her old customers.* 'First, fierte'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, then, ginger was not much in request, for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one master Caper, at the suit of master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young master Deep-vow, and master Copper-spur, and master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that kill'd lusty Pudding, and master Forthright the tilter, and brave master Shoe-tie the great tra- veller, and wild Half-can that stabb'd Pots, and, I think, 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! Who makes that noise there ? What are you ? Clo. Your friend, sir; the hangman: You must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. Barnar. [Within.'] 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 him 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 better, sir ; for he that drinks all night, and is hang'd 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 *o advise you, comfort you, and pray with you. Barnar. Friar, not I; 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. Duke. O, sir, you must ; and therefore, I be- seech you, 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 anything to say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will not I to-day. i Exii 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, father, 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 provides Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on Prefix'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 Claudio, To save me from the danger that might come, If he were known alive ? Duke. Let this be done ; — Put them in secret Both Barnardine and Claudio : Ere twice [holds ; The sun hath made his journal greeting to The under generation, you shall find Your safety manifested. Prov. I am your free dependant. Duke. Quick, despatch, And send the head to Angelo. [Exit Provost. Now 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, I am bound To enter publicly : him I'll desire To 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 the 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. [Exit. Jsab. [Within.] Peace, ho, be here ! [know, Duke. The tongue of Isabel : — She's come to 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. [daughtei Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon ? Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from the His head is off, and sent to Angelo. [world SCENE V MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 103 Isab. Nay, but it is not so. Duke. It is no other : Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. Isab. O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes. Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! 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 : The duke comes home to-morrow ; — nay, dry your One of our convent, and his confessor, [eyes ; 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. If 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, I'll 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 I pervert your course. — Who's here ? Enter Lucio. Lucio. Good even ! Friar, where is the provost ? Duke. Not within, sir. Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, to see thine eyes so red : thou must be pa- tient : I am fain to dine and sup with water and bran ; I dare not for my head fill my belly ; one fruitful meal would set me to't : But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother : if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been at home, he had lived. {Exit Isabella. Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little be- holding to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them. Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well 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, tarry ; I'll go along with thee ; I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. Duke. You have told me too many of him already, 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 offend you, we'll have very little of it ; Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr, I shall stick. Exeunt SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House. ' Enter Angelo and Escalus. Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other. Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness : prav heaven, his wisdom be not tainted ! And why meet him at the gates, and re-deliver our autho* rities there ? Escal. I guess not. Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his entering, that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the streets ? Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have a despatch of complaints ; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us. Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed : 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 deedunshapes mequite, makes me unpregnant, And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! And by an eminent body, that enforced The law against it ! — But that her tender shame Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, How might she tongue me ? Yet reason dares For my authority bears a credent bulk, [her ? — no : That no particular scandal once can touch, [lived, But it confounds the breather. He should have Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge, By so receiving a dishonoured life, [lived ! With ransome 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 V.— Fields without the Town. Enter Duke in Jiis own habit, and Friar Peter. Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. [Giving Letters. The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, And hold you ever to our special drift ; Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house, And tell him where I stay : give the like notice To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ; But send me Flavius first. F. Peter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit Friar. Enter "Varrius. Duke. I 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. 104 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. SCENE VI.— Street near the City Gate. Enter Isabella and Mariana. Jsab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath ; I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so, That is your part : yet I'm advised to do it ; He says, to veil full purpose. Mar'%. Be ruled by him. Isab. Besides, he tells me, that, if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physick, That's bitter to sweet end. Mar'%. I 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, Where you may have such vantage on the duke, He shall not pass you ; Twice have the trumpets The generous and gravest citizens [sounded ; Have hent the gates, and very near upon The duke is entering ; therefore hence, away. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.— A public Place near the City Gate. Mariana (veiled), Isabella, and Peter, at a distance. Enter at opposite doors Duke, Varrius, Lords; Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, Officers, and Citizens. Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met : — Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal grace ! Duke. Many and hearty thaukings to you both. We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear Such goodness of your justice, that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunniug 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 that keep within. — Come, Escalus ; You must walk by us on our other hand ; And good supporters are you. Peter and Isabella come forward. F. Peter. Now is your time ; speak loud, and kneel before him. Jsab. 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. Jsab. 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 me, here. Aug. 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. Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak : That Angelo's forsworn ; is it not strange ? That Angelo's a murderer ; is't not strange? That Angelo is an adulterous 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 cunjure thee, as tliou believ'sl There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion, That I am touch'd with madness : make not impos- sible That which but seems unlike : 'tis not impossible But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, As Angelo ; even so may Angelo, 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 honesty, 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 would 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 sisterhood, Was sent to by my brother : One Lucio As then the messenger ; — Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace: I came to her from Claudio, and desired her To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, For her poor brother's pardon. 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 then : Pr»y you, take note of it : and when you have SCENE I. MEASURE FUR MEASURE. 105 A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then Be perfect. Lucia. I warrant your honour. D uke. The warrant's for yourself ; take heed to it. Jsub. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right. Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the wrong To speak before your time. — Proceed. I sab. I went To this pernicious caitiff deputy. Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. Isab. Pardon it ; The phrase is to the matter. Duke. Mended again : the matter ; — Proceed. Isab. In brief, — to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd me, and how I replied ; (For this was of much length,) the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter : He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release 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 brother'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 speak' 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: Some one hath set you Confess the truth, and say by whose advice [on ; Thou cam'st here to complain. Isab. And is this all ? Then, oh, 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 him 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 Lodowick. Duke. A ghostly father, belike : Who knows that Lodowick ? [friar. Lucio. My lord, I know him ; 'tis a meddling I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord, For certain words he spake against your grace In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. Duke. Words against me ? This' a good friar, And to set on this wretched woman here [belike! Against our substitute ! — Let this friar be found. Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, [friar A very scurvy fellow. F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace ! 1 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, • A.s she from one ungot. Dulce. We did believe no less. Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks ot ? F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy ; Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, As he's reported by this gentleman ; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. Lucio. My lord, most villainously ; believe it. F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to cleai But at this instant he is sick, my lord, [himself; 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 from his mouth, what he doth know Is true, and false ; and what he with his oath, And all probation, will make up full clear, Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman ; (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 hear it. [Isabella is carried off, guarded / and Mariana comes forward. Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ? — heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! Give us some seats.— Come, cousin Angelo ; In this I'll be impartial; be you judge Of your own cause.— Is this the witness, friar ? First, let her show her face ; and, after, speak Mart. Pardon , my lord ; I will not show my face, Until my husband bid me. Duke. What, are you married ? Mart. No, my lord. Duke. Are you a maid ? Marx. No, my lord. Duke. A widow, then ? Mart. Neither, my lord. Duke- W T hy, you Are nothing then : — Neither maid, widow, nor wife ? Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk ; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. Duke., Silence that fellow : I would, he had some To prattle for himself. [cause Lucio. Well, my lord. Mart. My lord, I do confess I 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. Mart. Now I come to't, my lord : She, that accuses him of fornication, In self-same manner doth accuse my husband ; And charges him, my lord, with such a time, W T hen I'll depose I had him in mine arms, With all the effect of love. Aug. Charges she more than me ? Mart. Not that I know. Duke. No ? you say, your husband. Mart. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. Ang. This is a strange abuse : — Let's see thy face. Mart. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. [Unveiling 100* MEASURE FOR MEASURE. ACT V. This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, Which, once thou swor'st, was worth the looking on : This 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. [woman ; Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this And, five years since, there was some speech of 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. Man. Noble prince, A.s there comes light from heaven, and words from breath, As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly As words could make up vows: and, my good lor J, 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 are 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 pernicious woman, Compact with her that's gone ! think'st thou, thy oaths, Though they would swear down each particular saint, 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 derived, — There is another friar that set them on ; Let him be sent for. F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for he indeed, Hath set the women on to this complaint : Your 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 person ? Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum : honest in nothing, but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the duke. Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come, and enforce them 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 with 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 Isabella.] here's a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of ; here with the provost. Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to him, till we call upon you. Lucio. Mum. Escal. Come, sir : Did you set these women on to slander lord Angelo ? they have confess'd you did. Duke. 'Tis false. Escal. How ! 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, you speak justly. [speak : Duke. Boldly, at least : But, O, poor souls, Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ? Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone? Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, Thus 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 ! Is't not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women, To accuse this worthy man ; but, in foul mouth, And in the witness of his proper ear, To call him villain ? And then to glance from him to the duke himself ,• 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, AVhere I have seen corruption boil and bubble, Till it o'er-run the stew : laws, for all faults ; But faults so countenane'd, that the strong statute 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 Is this the man that you did tell us of ? [Lucio ? Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good- man bald -pate : Do you know me ? Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 107 your voice. T met you at tlie prison, in the absence of the duke. Lucio. O did you so ? And do you remember what you 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 bo of him ; and much more, much worse. Lucio. O thou 'damnable fellow 1 Did not I pluck thee by the nose, for thy speeches ? Duke. I protest I love the duke, as I love myself. Aug. 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 prison : — 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. Aug. What ! 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 ! WnTt not off? [Pulls off the Friar's hood, and discovers Duke. Duke. Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a duke. First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : Sneak not away, sir [to Lucio] ; for the friar and Must have a word anon : — lay hold on him. [you Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you down [To Escalus. We'll borrow place of him — Sir, by your leave : [To Angelo. Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, Rely upon it till my tale be heard, And hold no longer out. Aug. O my dread lord, I should 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. [stantly. Duke. Go, take her hence, and marry her, in- Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, Return him here again : — Go with him, provost. [Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dis- Than at the strangeness of it. [honour, Duke. Come hither, Isabel : Your friar is now your prince : As I was then Advertising, and holy to your business., Not changing heart with habit, I am still Attorney'd at your service. Jsab. O give me pardon, That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd Your 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, why 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 the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose: But, peace be with him ! That 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 Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd [here, Your well-defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudged your (Being criminal, in double violation [brother. 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 Claudio, death for death. Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; j Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested : Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee We do condemn thee to the very block [vantage : Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like Away with him. [haste ; 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 imputation, 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 buy you a better husband. Mari. O, my dear lord, I crave no other, nor no better man. Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. Mari. Gentle, my liege, — [Kneeling. Duke. You do but lose your labour ; Away with him to death. — Now, sir, [to Lxjcio.] to you. Mari. O, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my part ; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I'll lend you all my life to do you service. Duke. Against all sense you do importune 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 the 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, if it please you, on this man eondemn'd, As if my brother liv'd : I partly think, 103 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 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 : M'or 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. Mart. Merely, my lord. Duke. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I I have bethought me of another fault . — [say. — Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour? Prov. It was commanded so. Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ? Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private message. Duke. For which I do discharge you of your Give up your keys. [office : 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 reserved alive. Duke. What's he ? Prov. His name is Barnardine. Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio, — <}o, 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 afterward. Aug. 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. lie-enter Provost, Barnardink, Claudio, and Juliet. Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? Prov. This, my lord. Duke. There was a friar told me of this mad : — Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, That apprehends no further than this world, And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt con- demn'd ; 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 muftied fellow's that? Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd, That should have died when Claudio lost his head ; As like almost to Claudio, as himself. {Unmuffl.es Claucio. Duke. If he be like your brother, [/o 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 for that. By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe ; Methinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye : — Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : Look that you love your wife ; her worth, worth I find an apt remission 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 I 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 ; If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, (As I have heard him swear himself, there's one Whom he begot with child,) let her appear, And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish'd, Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore ! Your highness said even now, I made you a duke ; good my lord, do not recom- pense 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 to 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 ; I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. — Thanks, good friend Escal us, for thy much goodness ; There's more behind, that is more gratulate. Thanks, provost, for thy care, and secresy ; We shall employ thee in a worthier place : — Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio's ; The otfence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good ; Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, 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. [Exeunt. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. Dos John, his bastard Brother. Claudio, a young Lord of Florence, favourite to Don Pedro. Benedick, a young Lord of Padua, favourite likewise of Dos Pedro. Leonato, Governor of Messina. Antonio, his Brother. Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro. Borach.o, | followers of Dos John. CONRADE, ) SCENE, | two foolish Offers. Dogberry, Verges, A Sexton. A Friar. A Boy. Hero, Daughter to Leonato. Beatrice, Niece to Leonato. Margaret, Ursula, > Gentlewomen attending on Hero. Messengers, Watch, and Attendants. Messina. ACT I. SCENE I. — Before Leonato's House. Fnier 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 leagues off when I left him. Leon. How many gentlemen have you 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 Claudio. Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro: He hath borne him- self beyond the promise of his age ; doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, in- deed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell 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 joy could not show itself modest enough, with- out 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, niece ? Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. Mess. O, he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he wag. 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 pro- mised to eat all of his killing. Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much ; but he'll be meet with you, I 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 stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal. Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Bene- dick 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 him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. — Who is his companion now ? He hath every month a new sworn 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. Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. no MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT 1. Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there no young squarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the devil ? Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. Beat. O Lord ! he will hang upon him like a disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the 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, lady. Beat. Do, good friend. Leon. You will never run mad, niece. Beat. No, not till a hot January. Mess. Don Pedro is approached. Enter Don Pedro, attended by Balthazar and others, Bon John, Claudio, and Benedick. D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace; for trouble being gone, comfort should remain ; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too wil- lingly. — I think, this is your daughter. Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her ? Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you a child. D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers herself: — Be happy, lady! for you are like an honourable father. Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders, for all Messina, as like him as she is. Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Benedick ; nobody marks you. Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain 1 are you yet living ? Beat. Is it possible disdain should die, while she hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Be- nedick? Courtesy itself must convert 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 in my heart that I 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 hu- mour for 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 ! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predes- tinate scratched 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 ; I have done. Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I know you of old. 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 here at the least a mouth ; and he heartily prays some occasion may detain u* 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. I 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. lExeunt all but Benedick and Ci.ai-dio. Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of signior Leonato ? Bene. I noted her not : but I looked on her. Claud. Is she not a modest young lady? Bene. Do you question me as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex ? Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judg- ment. Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks she is too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise : only this commendation 1 can afford her ; that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome ; and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee, tell me truly how thou likest her. Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire aftel her ? Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow ? or do you play the flout- ing Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go in the song ? Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on. Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter : there's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty, as the first of May doth the last of De- cember. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband ; have you ? Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though 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, an 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 followed not to Leonato's ? Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me to tell. 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 on 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. SCENE II. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Ill Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 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, I speak my thought. Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my ord, I spoke mine. Claud. That I 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. D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord ; not with love : prove, that ever I lose more 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 the sign of blind Cupid. D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : la time the savage bull doth bear the yoke. Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off 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, thou 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 temporize with the hours. . In the mean time, good signor Benedick, repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he nath made great preparation. Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage ; and so I commit you — Claud. To the tuition of God : From my house, (if I bad it)— D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend, Benedick. Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not : The body of your discourse is sometime 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 Benedick. Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good. [but how, D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach ; teach it 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 onlj Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? [heir ; Claud. O my lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I looked upon her with a soldier's eye, That liked, but had a rougher task in hand Than to drive liking to the name of love : But now I am returned, and that war-thoughts Have left their places vacant, in their rooms Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting me how fair young Hero is, Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars. D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like 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 with 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 salved it with a longer treatise. D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood ? The fairest grant is the necessity : Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once, thoulov'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 ; And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine : In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. Enter Leonato and Antonio. Leon. How now, brother ? Where is my cousin, your sou ? Hath he provided this music ? Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can 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 show 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 acknowledge 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 ; I will send for him, and question him yourself. Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream, till 112 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. act ir. it appear itself: — but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that 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 I will use your skill : — Good cousins, have a oare this busy time. [.Exeunt. ■ — ♦ — ■ SCENE III.- -Another Room in Leoxato's House. Enter Bon John and Conrad. Con. What the goujere, my lord I why are you thus out of measure sad ? D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds it, therefore the sadness is withoutlimit. Con. You should hear reason. D. John. And when I have heard it, what bless- ing bringeth it ? Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance. 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 I 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 1 am merry, and claw no man in his humour. Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show 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 grace ; where it is impossible you should take true root, but by the fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful 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 disdained 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 ? What news, Borachio ? Enter Borachio. Bora. I came yonder from a great supper ; the prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leonato; and I can give you intelligence of an intended marriage. D. John. W'ill 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 ? Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato. D. John. A very forward March-chick ! How came you to this ? Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Claudio, handinhand, insad conference: I whiptme 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 hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way : You are both sure, and will assist me ? Con. To the death, my lord. D. John. Let us to the great supper : their cheer is the greater, that I am subdued : 'Would the cook were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to be done ? Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.— A Hall in Leonato's House. "Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and otlnrs- 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 my 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 win any woman in the world, — if he could get her good will. Leon. Bymytroth, 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 lessen God's sending that way : for it is said, Goa sends a curst cow short horns ; but to a cow too curst he sends none. Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns. Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening : Lord ! I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face : I had rather lie in the woollen. Leon. You may light upon a husband, that hath no beard. Beat. What should I do with him ? dress him in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentle- woman? 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 : Therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-herd, and lead his apes into hell. Leon. Well then, go you into hell p MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 113 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, get you to heaven ; here's no place for you maids : so deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens ; he shows 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 ruled by your father. Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, and say, Father, as it please you : — but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, Father, as it please me. Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod of way- ward marl? 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 your answer. Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed 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 his grave. Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a church by day-light. Lean, The revellers are entering : brother, make good room. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Bknedick, Balthazar,- Don John, Borachio, Margarkt, Ursula, and others, masked. D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend ? Hero, So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and, especially, 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 like your favour ; for God defend, the lute should be like the case ! D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof ; within the house is Jove. Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatched. D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. [Takes her aside. Bene. Well, I would you did like me. Mara. So would not I, for your own sake, for I have many ill qualities. Bene. Which is one ? Marg, I say my prayers aloud. Bene. I love you the better ; the hearers may cry, Amen. Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! Balth. Amen. Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when the dance is done ! — Answer, clerk. Bal/h. No more words ; the clerk is answered. Urs. I know you well enough ; you are signioi 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 no£. Urs. Come, come ; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit ? Can virtue hide itself ? 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 disdainful, — and that I had mj good wit out of the Hundred merry Tales ; — Well, this was signior Benedick that said so. Bene. What's he ? Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. Bene. Not I, believe me. Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? Bene. I pray you, what is he? Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders : none but libertines delight in him ; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villainy ; for he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and beat him : I am sure he is in the fleet ; I 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 then there's a partridge wing 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. Then 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 l.irn about it : The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains. Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by his bearing. 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 his love : he is enamoured on Heio ; I pray you, dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth : you may do the part of an honest man in it. Claud. How know you he loves her? D. John. I heard him swear his affection. Bora. So did I too ; and be swore he would marry her to-night. D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt Don John and Borachio. Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. 'Tis certain so ; — the prince wooes for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things, m MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT 11 Save in the office and affairs of love : Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent : for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. This is an accident of hourly proof, Which I mistrusted not : Farewell therefore, Hero ! He-enter Benedick. Bene. Count Claudio ? Claud. Yea, the same. Bnie. 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 gailand of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain ? or under your arm, 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 ; so 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 lie 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 apt to do myself wrong : I am not so reputed : it is the base, the bitter disposition 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. D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count ; Did you see him ? Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren ; I told him, and I think I told him true, that your grace had got the good will of this young lady ; and I offered 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 school-boy ; who, being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it. D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres- sion ? 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 bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen 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 my faith, you say honestly. Don Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you ; the gentleman, that danced with her, 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 answered her ; my very visor 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 ; hudd- lingjest 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 all that Adam had left him before he transgressed : she would have made Hercules have turned spit ; yea, and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk not of her : you shall find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God, some scholar would conjure her ; for, certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary ; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. Re-cnlcr Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato and Hero. D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world's end ? I will go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me on ; I will fetch you a toothpicker 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 cannot 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 for it, a double heart for his single one : marry, once before, he won it of me with false dice, therefore your grace may well say, I have lost it. D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest 1 should prove the mother of fools. I have brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ? wherefore are you sad ? Claud. Not sad, my lord. D. Pedro. How then ? Sick ? Claud. Neither, my lord. Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well : but civil, count ; civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion. D. Pedro. I 'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her father, and his good will obtained : name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy ! Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes ; his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it ! Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. Claud. Silence is Che perfectest herald of joy : I were but little happy, if I could say how much. — Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak, neithei. SCENE II. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 115 D. Pedro. la faith, lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side of care : — My cousin tells him in his ear, that he is in her heart. Claud. And so she doth, cousin. Beat. Good lord, for.alliance ! — Thus goes every me to the world but I, and I am sun-burned; I ■nay sit in a corner, and cry, heigh-ho ! for a husband. D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's getting : Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? Your father got excelleut husbands, if a maid could come by 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 every day : But, I beseech your grace, pardon me ; I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most 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 cried ; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born. — Cousins, God give you joy ! 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 when she sleeps ; and not ever sad then ; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappi- ness, and waked herself with laughing. D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. Leon. O, by no means ; she mocks all her wooers out of suit. D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Leon. O lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad. D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? Claud. To-morrow, my lord : Time goes on crutches, till love have all his rites. Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night ; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind. D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing ; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time sljall not go dully by us ; I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules's labours ; which is, to bring senior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I would fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assist- ance as I shall give you direction. Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings. Claud. And I, my lord. D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband. D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopeful- lest husband that I know : thus far can I praise him ; he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick : — and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer ; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. {.Exeunt. SCENE II. -Another Room in Leonato's House. Enter Don John and Borachio. D. John. It is so ; the count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Bora. Yea, my lord, but I can cross it. D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me : I am sick in displeasure to him ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this marriage ? Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly, that no dishonesty shall appear in me. D. John. Show me briefly how. Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. D. John. I rememjber. Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber- window. D. John. "What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage ? Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in mar- rying 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, I 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 like 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 the intended wedding : for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero shall be absent ; and there shall appear such seem- ing truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the preparation over- thrown. D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. D. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. {Exeunt. 116 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT II. SCENE III. — Leonato's Garden. Enter Benedick and a Boy. Bene. Boy, — Boy. Signior. Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; bring k hither to me in the orchard. Boy. I am here already, sir. Bene. I know that ; — but I would have thee hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much wonder, that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow fol- lies in others, become the 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, earving 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 turned orthographer ; his words are a very fantastical ban- quet, 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 trans- form me to an oyster ; but I'll 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. Rieh, she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; virtuous, 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 excel- lent 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. [Wtthdrmui. Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? Claud. Yea, my good lord ; — How still the even- ts hushed on purpose to grace harmony ! [ing is, D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended, We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. Enter Balthazar, with Music. D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice To slander music any more than once. D. Pedro. It 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 doth 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. 2). Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks ; Note, notes, forsooth, and noting ! [Music. Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravished ! —Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies? — Well, a horn for my money, when all's done. Balthazar sings. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing eonstant never : Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of woe Into, Hey nonny, nonny. H. 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, &c. D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. Claud. Ha ? no ; no, faith ; thou singest well enough for a shift. Bene. [Aside.'] An he had been a dog, that should have howled thus, they would have hanged him : and, I pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what plague could have come after it. D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [to Claudio.] — Dost thou hear, Balthazar ? I pray thee, get us some ex- cellent music ; for to-morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. Balth. The best I can, my lord. , D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Baltha- zar and Music.'] Come hither, Leonato : What was it you told 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.] I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. Bene. Is'tpossible? Sits the wind in that corner? [Aside. Lon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it ; but that she loves him with an en- raged 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 was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of pas- sion, as she discovers it. D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. I Aside. Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you, — You heard my daughter tell you how. Claud. She did, indeed. D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ? You amaze me : I would have thought her spirit had been in- vincible against all assaults of affection. Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; especially against Benedick. Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. [Aside. D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick ? KjJtfns in. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 117 Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her torment. Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : Shall I, says she, that have so oft encountered him with scorn, ivrite to him that I love him ? Leon. This 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 smock, till she have 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 was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet ? — Claud. That. Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand half-pence ; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her : / measure him, says she, by my own spirit ; f or I should flout him, if he writ to me ; yea, though I love him, I should. Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ; — O sweet Benedick ! God give me patience ! Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so : and the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a des- perate outrage to herself ; It is very true. D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will not discover it. Claud. To what end? He would but make a sport of 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 suspicion, she is virtuous. Claud. And she is exceeding wise. Z>. 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. D. Pedro. I would, she had bestowed this dotage on me ; I would have daffd all other respects, and made her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say. Leon. Were it good, think you ? Claud. Hero thinks 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 ten- der of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it : for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Claud. He is a very proper man. D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward hap- piness. Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show 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 of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for either he avoids them with great discretion, or under- takes them with a most christian-like fear. Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, 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 good counsel. Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her heart out first. D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your daughter : let it cool the while. I love Benedick well : and I could wish he would modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy to have 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 for her : and that must your daughter and her gentle- woman carry. The sport 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, Ciaudio, and Leonato. Benedick advances from the arbour. Bene. This can be no trick : The conference was sadly borne. — They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady ; it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, it must be requited. 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 affection. — I did never think to marry — I must not seem proud : — Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say, the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness : and virtuous — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but for loving. me :— By my troth, it is no addition to her wit ; — nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. — I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage : But doth not the appetite alter ? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure in his age : Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career of his humour ? No : The world must be peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.— Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair lady : I do spy some marks of love in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me ; if it had been painful, I would not have come. Bene. You take pleasure, then, 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 bid you come to dinner — there's a double meaning in that. / took no more pains for those thanks, than you took pains to thank me— that's as much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks : — It 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 118 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT Til ACT TIL SCENE I. — Leonato's Garden. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour ; There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice Proposing with the Prince and Claudio : Whisper 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 honeysuckles, ripened 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 hide her, To listen our propose : This is thy office, 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 come, 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 lose nothing Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — [They advance to the bower. No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; I know, her spirits are as coy and wild As haggards of the rock. Urs. But are you sure, That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? [lord. Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? Hero. They did intreat me to acquaint her of it But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, To wish him wrestle with affection, And never to let Beatrice know of it. Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, As ever Beatrice shall couch upon Hero. O God of love ! I know, he doth deserve As much as may be yielded to a man : But nature never framed a woman's heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice 5 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising what they look on ; and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self-endeared. Urs. Sure, I think so ; And therefore, certainly, it were not good She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. Hero. Why, you speak truth : I never yet sa-v* man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured, But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced, She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick, Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; If low, an agate very vilely cut : If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ; If silent, why, a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out ; And never gives to truth and virtue, that Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. [able. Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commend- Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak, She'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like covered fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : It were a better death than die with mocks ; Which is as bad as die with tickling. Urs. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say. Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, And counsel him to fight against his passion : And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with : One doth not know, How much an ill-word may empoison liking. Urs. 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. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, For shape, 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 ? Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come, go in; I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel, Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you; we have caught her, 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 Believe it better than reportingly. [ EM SCENE II. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 119 SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. Enter Don Pedro, Cdaudio, Benedick, and Leonato. D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me. D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show 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 is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. Dene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leon. So say I ; methinks you are sadder. Claud. I hope he be in love. D. 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. D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it 1 Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after- wards. D. 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 that has it. Claud. Yet, say I, he is in love. D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day ; a French- man 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 the 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. D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melan- choly. Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face ? 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 de- spite of all, dies for him , D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up wards. Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach.— Old signior, walk aside with me ; 1 have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these bobby-horses must not hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato. D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice. Claud. 'Tis even so : Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then the two bears will not bite one another, when they meet. Enter Don John. D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. D. Pedro. Good den, brother. D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you. D. Pedro. In private ? D. John. If it please you ; — yet count Claudio may hear ; for 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. Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, discover it. D. John. You may think, I love you not ; let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest: For my brother, I think, he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage ; surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed ! D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter ? D. John. I came hither to tell you : and, cir- cumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long a talking of,) the lady is disloyal. Claud. Who? Hero? D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. Claud. Disloyal? D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder not till further warrant : go Ijut with me to-night, you shall see her chamber-window entered ; even the night 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. John. If you dare not trust that you see, con- fess not that you know : if you will follow me, I will show you enough ; and when you have seen more, and heard more, proceed accordingly. Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow ; in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till mid- night, and let the issue show 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 120 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. SCENE III.— A Street. Enter Dogrerry and Verges, with the Watch. Dogb. Are you good men and true ? Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. Dogb. First, who think you the most desertless man to be constable ? 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Sea- coal ; for they can write and read. Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal : God hath blessed you with a good name : to be a well- favoured man is the gift of fortune ; but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable, Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the lantern : This is your charge ; You shall comprehend all vagrom men ; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 2 Watch. How if 'a will not stand ? Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go ; and presently call the rest of the watch to- gether, and thank God you are rid of a knave Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. Dogb. 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. Dogb. 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 them that are drunk get them to bed. 2 Watch. How if they will not ? Dogb. 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. Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, 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 we not lay hands on him ? Dogb. Truly, by your office you may ; but, I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company. Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us ? Dogb. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying : for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when he bleats. Verg. 'Tis very true. Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con- stable, are to present the prince's own person ; if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. Verg. Nay by'r lady, that, I think, 'a cannot. Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Verg. By'r lady, I think, it be so. Dogb. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good niyht. — 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. Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours: I pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil to-night: Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. Enter Borachio and Comrade. Bora. What! Conrade, — Watch. Peace, stir not. [Aside Bora. Conrade, I say ! Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought, there would a scab follow. Con. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and now forward with thy tale. Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent- house, for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. Watch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters ; yet stand close. Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so dear ? Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were pos- sible any villainy should be so rich ; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will. Con. I wonder at it. Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed : Thou knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, 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. But see'st thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is ? Watch. I know that Deformed ; 'a has been a vile thief this seven year ; 'a goes up and down like a gentleman : I remember his name. Bora. Did'st thou not hear somebody ? Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily he tnnis about SCENE IV. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 121 all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five-and- thirty? sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting ; sometime, like god Bei's priests in the old church window; sometime, like the shaven Hercules 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 more apparel than the man: But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion ? Bora. Not so neither; but know, that I have to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle- woman, by the name of Hero ; she leans me out at her mistress's chamber- window, bids me a thou- sand times good night, — I tell this tale vilely : — I should first tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by my master Don John, saw afar oft* in the orchard this amiable encounter. Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero ? Bora. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she was Margaret ; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark eight, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went Clau- dio enraged ; swore he would meet her as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night, and send her home again with- out a husband. 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, stand. 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable ; we have 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 know him, 'a wears a lock. Con. Masters, masters ! 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Con. Masters, — 1 Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us. Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commo- dity, being taken up of these men's bills. Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we'll obey you. \_Exeunt. SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's 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. Marg. '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. Marg. 1 like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner : and your gown's * most rare fashion, 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 yours : Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced with silver ; set with pearls, down-sleeves, side-sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a blueish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy ! Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of a man. Hero. Fye upon thee ! art not ashamed? Marg. 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 speaking, I'll offend nobody: Is there any harm in — the heavier for a husband f None, I think, an it be the right husband, and the right wife ; otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy: Ask my lady Beatrice else, — here she comes. Enter Beatrfck. Hero. Good morrow, coz. Beit. Good morrow, sweet Hero. Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the sick tune ? Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. Marg. Clap us into — Light o' love: that goes without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it. Beat. Yea, fAghto' love, with your heels! — then if your husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barns. Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn that with my heels. Beat, 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill : — hey ho ! Marg. 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's no more sailing by the star. Beat. What means the fool, trow ? Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their heart's desire! Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent perfume. Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly catching of cold. Beat. O, God help me ! God help me! how long have you profess'd apprehension ? Marg. Ever since- you left it: doth not my wit become me rarely ? Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick. Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 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. Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in love : nay, by'r Lady, I am not such a fo*ol to think what I list ; nor I list not to think what I can ; nor, in- deed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love : yel 122 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT IV Benedick was such 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 with- out grudging : and how you may be converted, I know not ; but, methinks, you look with your eyes as other women do. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ? JMarg. Not a false gallop. Re-enter Ursula. 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. IJp.ro. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. [Exeunt. 4 SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House. Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh- bour ? Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns you nearly. Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see, 'tis a busy time with me. Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. Leon. What is it, my good friends? Dogb. 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. Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honester than I. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous : palabras, neighbour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers ; but, truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me ! ha ! Dogb. 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 man, I am glad to hear it. Verg. And so am I. Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's presence, 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 us! 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 behind : — An honest soul, i'faith, sir ; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread : but, God is to be worshipped : All men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour ! Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. Dogb. Gifts, that God gives. Leon. I must leave you. Dogb. One word, sir : our watch, sir, have, in- deed, comprehended two auspicious persons, and wc would have them this morning examined before your worship. Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me ; I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. Dogb. It shall be suffigance. Leon. Drink some wine ere you go : fare you well. Enter a Messenger. jress. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. Leon. I will wait upon them ; I am ready. [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol : we are now to examination these men. Verg. And we must do it wisely. Dogb. W T e will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; here's that [touching his forehead] shall drive some of them to a non com : only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE J.— The Inside of a Church. Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, fyc. Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards. Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady ? Claud. No. Leon. To be married to her, friar ; you come to marry her. Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count ? Hero. I do. Friar. If either of you know any inward impedi- ment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it. Claud. Know you any, Hero ? Hero. None, my lord. Friar. Know you any, count ? Leon. I dare make his answer, none Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men may do ! what men daily do ! not knowing what they do ! Bene. How now 1 Interjections ? Why, then, some be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he ! Claud. Stand thee by, friar : — Father, by your Will you with free and unconstrained soul [leave ; Give me this maid, your daughter ? Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her mc. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth May counterpoise 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 rotten orange to your friend ; She's but the sign 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 ! Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, To witness simple virtue ' Would you not swear SCENE I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 123 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 blush is guiltiness, not modesty. Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? Claud. Not to be married, Not knit my soxil to an approved wanton. Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth. And made defeat of her virginity, Claud. I know what you would say ; If 1 have known her, You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large ; But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity, and comely love. Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? Claud. Out on thy seeming I I will write against You seem to me as Dian in her orb ; [it : As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ; But you are more intemperate in your blood Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals That rage in savage sensuality. Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ? Lron. Sweet prince, why speak not you ? D. Pedro. What should I speak ? I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream? D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. Hero. True, O God ! Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother ? Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ? Leon, All this is so ; But what of this, my lord ? Claud. Let me but move one question to your And, by that fatherly and kindly power [daughter ; That you have in her, bid her answer truly. Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset ! — What kind of catechising call you this ? Claud. To make you 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 Hke a liberal villain, Confess'd the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret. D. John. Fye, fye ! they are Not to be named, my lord, not to be spoke of; There is not chastity enough in language, Without offence, to utter them : Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. Claud () Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart ! But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity ! For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my 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 su'oons. Beat. Why, how now, cousin ? wherefore sink you down ? D. John. Come, let us go : these things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. \_Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio. Bene. How doth the lady ? Beat. Dead, I think ; — help, uncle ; — Hero 1 why, Hero ! — Uncle I — Signior Benedick ! — friar I 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. Have comfort, lady. Leon. Dost thou look up ? Friar. Yea ; Wherefore should she not ? Leon. Wherefore ? Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny The story that is printed in her blood ? — Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : For did I think thou would'st not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than^thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, Strike 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 ever 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, I might have said, No part of it is mine, This shame derives itself from unknown loins ? 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, she — O, she is fallen Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again ; And salt too little, which may season give To her foul tainted flesh ! 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 night ? Beat. No, truly not ; although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is stronger made, Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! Would the two princes lie ? and Claudio lie ? Who lov'd her so, that, speaking 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 given 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 124 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 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 dotli warrant 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 damnation A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : Why seek'st thou then to cover 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 villanies. Leon. I know not ; if they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her honour, The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of lriends, 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 ostentation ; And on your family's old monument Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites That appertain unto a burial. Leon. What shall become of this ? What will this do ? Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : But not for 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 our's : 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 prospect of his soul, Than when she liv'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 levell'd false, The supposition of the lady's death Will quench the wonder of her infamy : And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her (As best befits her wounded reputation,) In some reclusive 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, Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this As secretly, and justly, as your soul Should with your body. Leon. Being that I flow in grief The smallest twine may lead me. Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; For to strange sores strangely they strain the Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day, [cure. — Perhaps, is but prolonged ; have patience, and endure. [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all thu 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 would right her 1 Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship ? Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. Bene. May a man do it ? Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you ; Is not that strange ? Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not ; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing : I am sorry for 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 I will make him eat it, that says I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word ? Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : I protest, I love thee. Beat. Why, then, God forgive me ! Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour ; I was about to protest I loved you. 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 anything for thee. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. Beat. You kill me to deny it . FarewelL Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. SCENE II. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Ui Beat. I am gone, though I am here ; — There is no love in you : — Nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice, — Beat. In faith, I will go. Bene. We'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than 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 her in hand until they come to take hands ; and then with public accusation, uncovered slander, un- mitigated 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 proper saying ! Bene. Nay but, Beatrice ; — Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is slan- dered, she is undone. Bene. Beat — 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 would 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 I will die a woman with grieving. Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love thee. Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio hath wronged Hero ? 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, farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— A Prison. Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns ; and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared? Very. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? Dogb. 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. — I What is your name, friend ? Bora. Borachio. Dogb. Pray write down— Borachio. Yours, (rirrah ? Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. Dogb. Write down- master gentleman Conrade. — Masters, do you serve God ? Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope, Dogb. Write down — that they hope they serve God : — and write God first ; for God defend but God should go before such villains ! — Masters, it is 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 ? Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; but I will go about with him. — Come you hither, sirrah ; a word in your ear, sir ; I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves. Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Dogb. Well, stand aside 'Fore God, they are both, in a tale : Have you writ down — that they are none ? Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to examine ; you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. Dogb. 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. Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain : — Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother — villain. Bora. Master constable, — Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like thy look, I promise thee. Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully. Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. Verg. 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. Dogb. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting 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 morliing secretly stolen away ; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this, suddenly died — Master constable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's ; I will go before, and show him their examination. [Exit. Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. Verg. Let them be in band. Con. Off, coxcomb! Dogb. God's my life ! where's the sexton ? let him write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind them : Thou naughty varlet I Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place ? Dost thou not suspect my years ? — O that he were here to write me down — an ass 1 but, masters, remember, that I am an ass ; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass: — No, thou villain, thou art full 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, ahouseholder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Mes- sina ; and one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses ; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him : — Bring him away. O, that I had been writ down — an ass ! [Exeunt 12G MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT V. SCENE I.— Before Lhonato's House. Enter Leonato and Antonio. Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself ; And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief Against yourself. Leon. 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 loved 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 thus, 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 ! and hem, when he should groan ; Patch grief with proverbs ; make misfortune drunk 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 no* 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 ache 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 nothing differ. Leon. I pray thee, peace ; I will be flesh and For there was never yet philosopher, [blood ; That coidd endure the tooth-ach patiently ; However they have writ the style of gods, And make a pish at chance and sufferance. Ant. Yet bend not all tlie harm upon yourself; Make those, that do offend you, suffer too. Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied ; [do so : And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince, And all of them, that thus dishonour her. Enter Don Pkdro and Clacdio. Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. D. Pedro. Good den, good den. Claud. Good day to both of you. Leon. Hear you, my loi«ds, — D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 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 fear : In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ; [me : As, under privilege of age, to brag What I have done being young, or what would do, Were I not old : Know, Claudio, to thy head, Thou hast so wronged mine innocent child and me, That I am fore'd to lay my reverence by ; And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days, Do challenge thee to trial of a man. I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ; Thy slander hath gone through and through her And she lies buried with her ancestors : [heart, O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of hers, framed by thy villany. Claud. My villany ! Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say. D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 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 lustihood. Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with you. Leon. Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast killed my child ; If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed ; But that's no matter ; let him kill one first ; — Win me and wear me, — 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. Leon. Brother, — [niece ; Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I loved my And she is dead, slandered to death by villains ; That dare as well answer a man, indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! — Leon. Brother Antony, — Ant. Hold you content : What, man ! I know them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple : Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, Go antickly, and show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might 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 my honour, she was charged with nothing But what was true and very full of proof. Leon. My lord, my lord, — D. Pedro. I will not hear you. Leon. No ? Brother, away : — I will be heard; — Ant. And shall, Or some of us will smart for it. [Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. SCENE I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 127 Enter Bexedick. n. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man we want to seek. . Claud. Now, signior ! what news ? Bene. Good day, my lord. D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : You are almost come to part almost a fray. Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off 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. D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale :— Art thou sick, or angry ? Claud. What ! courage, man ! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, aw 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 more ; I think, he be angry indeed. Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. Bene. Shall I speak 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 : Let me hear from you. Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. D. Pedro. What, a feast ? a feast ? Claud. I 'faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to a calf s head and a capon, the which if I do 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 thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day : I said, thou hadst a fine wit ; True, says she, a fine little one : No, said I, a great uit ; Right, says^he, a great gross one : Nay, said I, a good icit ; Just, said she, it hurts no body: Nay, said I, the gentleman is wise ; Certain, said she, a wise gentleman : Nay, said I, he hath the tongues ; That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning ; there's a double tongue ; there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour toge- ther, trans-shape thy particular virtues ; yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the pro- perest man in Italy. Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, she cared not. D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all 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's horns on the sensible Benedick's head ? Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells Benedick the married man ? Bene. Fare 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 your many courtesies I thank you : I must discontinue your company : your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina : you have, among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady : For my lord Lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet ; and till then, peace be with him. [Exit Benedick. D. Pedro. He is in earnest. Claud. 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 he 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 ape : but then is an ape a doctor to such a man. D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be ; pluck up, 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 have these men done ? Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false report ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; secondarily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified unjust 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 and lastly, why they are committed ; and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge ? Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own divi- sion ; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer ? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood : What's your offence ? Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine answer ; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. I have deceived even your very eyes : what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools have brought to light ; who, in the night, overheard me confessing to this man, how Don John your 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 villany 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 nothing but the reward of a villain. 128 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ACT V. 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. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it. D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of trea- chery: — And fled he is upon this villany. Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear In the rare semblance that I loved it first. Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs ; by this time our Sexton hath reformed siguior Leonato of the matter: And, masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, and the Sexton too. He-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the Sexton. Leon. Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes , 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 hast kill'd Mine innocent child ! Bora. Yea, even I alone. Leon. No, not so, villain; thou bely'st thyself; Here stand a pair of honourable men, A third is fled, 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. 1 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 lie' 1 1 enjoin me to. Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live. That were impossible ; but I pray you both, Possess the people in Messina here How innocent she died : and, if your love Can labour aujjht 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 kindnesp doth wriiyr tears from me ! I do embrace your offer ; and dispose For henceforth of poor Claudio. Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming ; 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 rey 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 un- der white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offen- der, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be remembered in his punishment : And also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed: they say, he wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it ; and borrows money in God's name ; the which he hath used so long, and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God's sake: Pray you, examine him upon that point. Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth; and I praise God for you. Leon. There's for thy pains. Dogb. God save the foundation ! Leon. Go ; I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. 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, neighbour. [Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Ant. Farewell, my lords ; we 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.— Leonato's Garden. Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. 'Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty ? Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it. Marg. To have no man come over me ? why, shall 1 always keep below stairs ? Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches. Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not. Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt a woman ; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice : I give thee the bucklers. Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own. Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous weapons for maids. Marg. We'd, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, nath legs. [Exit Margaret Bene. And therefore will come. The cod of love, [Singing That sits above, And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful 1 deserve, I mean, in singing ; but in loving — Leander tile good swimmer, Troilus, the first employer of Dan- MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 120 oers, and a whole book full of these quondam car- pet-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 show it in rhyme ; I have tried : 1 can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an innocent rhyme ; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme , for school, fool, a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. Enter Beatrice. Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called thee? Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. Bene. O, stay but till then! Beat. Then, is spoken ; fare you well now ; — and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio. Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will kiss thee. Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; therefore I will depart unkissed. Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit : But, 1 must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ; and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will sub- scribe him a coward. 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 suffer love, indeed, for 1 love thee against my will. Beat. In spite of your heart, 1 think; alas! poor heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours ; for I will never love that which my friend hates. Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beat. It appears not in this confession : there's not one wise man among twenty, that will praise himself. Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours : if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and the widow weeps. Beat. And how long is that, think you? Bene. Question? — Why, an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum : Therefore it is most expe- dient for the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, fiud no impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself : So much 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, for here comes one in haste. Enter Ursula. Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle ; yonder's old coil at home : it is proved, my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused ; and Don John is the au- thor 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. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with music and tapers. Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ? Allen. It is, my lord. Claud. {Reads from a scroll.] Done to death by slanderous tongues "Was the Hero that here lies: Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, Gives her fame which 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 when I am dumb. — Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. Pardon, Goddess of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight ; For the which, with songs of woe, Round about her tomb they go. Midnight, assist our moan ! Help us to sigh and groan, Heavily, heavily ; Graves, yawn, and yield your dead, " Till death be uttered, Heavily, heavily. Claud. Now unto thy bones good night ! Yearly will I do this rite. D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put your torches out : The wolves have prey'd: and look, the gentle Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about [day, 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. D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other And then to Leonato's we will go. [weeds ; Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds, 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 the prince and Claudio, who ac- Upon the error that you heard debated : [cus'd 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 faith enfore'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd : The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour To visit me: — You know your office, brother ; You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio. K [Exeunt Ladles. 130 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd counte- nance. Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. Friar. To do what, signior ? Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. — Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Your niece regards me with an eye of favour, [true. Leon. That eye my daughter lent her ; 'Tis most Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me, From Claudio, and the prince; But what's your Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: [will? 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 friar, I shall desire your help. Leon. My heart is with your liking. Friar. And my help. Here come the prince, and Claudio. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants. D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. Leon. 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 Ethiope. Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready. [Exit Antonio. D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's That you have such a February face, [the matter, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness ? Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : — Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee ; As once Europa did at lusty Jove, When he would play the noble beast in love. Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cov, And got a calf in that same noble feat, Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. Re-enter Antonto, with the Ladies masked. Claud. For this 1 owe you: here come other Which is the lady I must seize upon? [reckonings. Ant. This same is she, and I do 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 Before this friar, and swear to many her. [hand Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ; I am your husband, if you like of me. Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : [Unmasking. And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero ? Hero. Nothing certainer : One Hero died denied ; but I do live, And, surely as I live, I am a maid. D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; [lived. When, after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death : Mean time, let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently. Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice ? Beat. I answer to that name ; [Unmasking.] What is your will ? Bene. Do not you love me ? Beat. No, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. Beat. Do not you love me ? Bene. No, no more than reason. Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceived ; for they did swear, you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me ? Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not love me ? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Claud. And I '11 be sworn upon't that he loves her; For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashioned to Beatrice. Hero. And here's another. Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick. Bene. A miracle ! — here's our own hands against our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. Beat. I would not deny you ; — but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly, to save your life, for I was told you were in a con- sumption. Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married man? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humour : Dost thou 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 purpose 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, 1 did think to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. Cland. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have de- nied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ; which, out of 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 our own hearts, and our wives' heels. fjeon. We'll have dancing afterwards. [sic. — Bene. First, o' my word ; therefore, play, mu- Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife,get thee a wife : there is no staff more reverend than one tip- ped 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-morrow : I'll de- vise thee brave punishments for him. — Strike up, pipers. [Dance. Exeunt MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Theseus, Duke of Athens. Egeus, Father to Hermia. Demetrius, 1 *» love with IIermia. Philostrate, Master of the R,vels to Theseus. Quince, the Carpenter. Snug, the Joiner. Bottom, the Weaver. Flute, the Bellows-mender. Snout, the Tinker. Starveling, the Tailor. Hippolyta, Queen of the. Amazons, betrothed to Theseus. Hermia, Daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. Helena, in love with Demetrius. Fairies. Oberon, King of the Fairies. Titania, Queen of the Fairies. Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, a Fairy. Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth Mustard-seed, Pyramus, Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, Lion, } Characters in the Interlude per* formed by the Clowtu. Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. Attendant on Theseus and Hippolyta. SCENE, — Athens, and a Wood not far from it. ACT I. SCENE I. — Athens. A Room in the Palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate and Attendants. The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, Long withering out a young man's revenue. Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights ; Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; , And then the moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities. The. Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; Turn melancholy forth to funerals, The pale companion is not for our pomp lE.rit Philostrate Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with ay sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. Eqe. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! The. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news with thee ? Ege. Full A vexation come I, with complaint Against wy child, my daughter Hermia. — Stand forth, Demetrius ; — My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her : — Stand iorth, Lysander ; — and, my gracious duke, This hath bewitched the bosom of my child : Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; And stol'n the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats ; messengers Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth : With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart } Turned 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 Athens ; As she is mine, I may dispose of her : Which shall be either to this gentleman, Or to her death ; according to our law, Immediately provided in that case. The. What say you, Hermia ? be advis'd, fau To you your father should be as a god ; [maid : One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax, By him imprinted, and within his power To 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 must be held the worthier. Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eye*. The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. « Her. I 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 here, to plead my thoughts : But I beseech your grace that I may knew K 2 132 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. The worst that may befal me in this case, 'If 1 refuse to wed Demetrius. The. Either to die the death, or to abjure For ever the society of men. Therefore, fair 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, ihrice blessed they, that master so their blood, To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that, which, 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 lordship, whose unwished yoke My soul consents not to give sovereignty. The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new (The sealing-day betw.ixt my love and me, [moon For everlasting bond of fellowship,) Upon that day either prepare to die, For disobedience to your father's will ; Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would : 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. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love ; 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'tl ; my love is more than his ; My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, If not with vantage, as Demetrius's; 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 come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, I have some private schooling for you both. — For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father's will ; Or else the law of Athens yields you up ^ Which by no means we may extenuate,) To death, or to a vow of single life. — Come, my Hippolyta ; What cheer, my love ? Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial ; and confer with you Of 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 ? W T hy is your cheek so How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? [pale? 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 different in blood ; Her. O cross ! too high to be enthrall' d to low ! Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years ; Her. O. spite ! too old to be engag'd to young ! Lj/s. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : 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, short as any dream : Brief as the lightning 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, It 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 respects 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 by Cupid's strongest bow ; 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 queen, When the false Trojan under sail was seen ; By all the vows that ever men have broke, In number more than ever women spoke ; — In that same place thou hast appointed me, To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes Helena. Enter Helena. Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away ? Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair : O happy fair ! Your eyes are lode-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 ! Vour's would I catch, fair Ilermia, ere I go ; My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue's sweetmeludy. W T ere the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 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 he loves me still. Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill ! Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. SOKNE IX. MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 133 Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection 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 Lysander and myself will fly this place. — [face ; Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me : then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto 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' nights doth still conceal,) Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. Her. And in the wood, where often 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 ; pray 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 Herm. Lys. 1 will, my Hermia. — Helena adieu: As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! \_ExULys. 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. 1 will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night, Pursue her ; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit. SCENE II The Same. A Room in a Cottage. Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and Starveling. Quin. Is all our company here ? Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip. Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play 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 names of the actors ; and so grow to a point. Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby. Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread yourselves. Quin. Answer, as I call you Nick Bottom, the weaver. Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py- ramus. Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love. Bot. That will ask 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 to tear a cat in, to make all split. " The raging rocks, With 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. Flu. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You must take Thisby on you. Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering 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 face, let me play Thisby too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisne, Thisne. — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear ; thy Thisby dear ! and lady dear ! Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus, and, Flute, you Thisby. Bot. Well, proceed. Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. Star. Here Peter Quince. Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's | mother. — Tom Snout the tinker. Snout. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You, Pyramus's father ; myself, Thisby's father ; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : — and, I hope here is a play fitted. Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar again, Let him roar again. Qtdn. An you should do it too terribly, you 134 MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. All. That would hang us every mother's son. Bnt. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us : but I will ag- gravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove ; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale. Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus : for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day ; a most lovely, gentleman-like man ; therefore you must needs play Pyramus. Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ? Quin. 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- colour 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 lam 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-light ; there will we rehearse : for if we meet in the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and our devices known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. T pray you fail me not. Bot. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu. Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. Bot. Enough ; Hold, or cut bow-strings. {Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. — A Wood near Athens. Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another. Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? Fai. Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough briar, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander every where, Swifter 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 eai Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll be gone ; Our queen and all our elves come here anon. Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to night ; * Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, Because that she, as her attendant, hath A lovely boy, stol'n 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 a , j ° y: 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 Good-fellow : are you not he, That fright the maidens of the villagery ; Skim milk ; and sometimes labour in the quern, And bootless make the breathless housewife chum ; And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm ? Those that Hobgoblin call vou, and sweet Puck, You do their work, and they shall have good luck : Are not you he ? Puck. Thou speak 'st aright ; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crab ; And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; Then slip I from 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 room, Fairy, here comes Oberon. Fai. And here my mistress : — 'Would that he were gone SCENE II. Enter Oberon, at one door, with his Train, and Titanta at another, with hcr's. Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. Tita. What, jealous Oberon ? Fairy, skip hence ; I have forsworn his bed and company. Obe. Tarry, rash wanton ; Am not I thy lord ? Tita. Then I 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 Phillida. Why art thou here, Come from the farthest steep of India ? But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love, To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come To give their bed joy and prosperity. Obe. How can'st thou thus, for shame, Titania Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering From Perigenia. whom he ravished ? [night SCENE II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 135 And make him with fair iEgle break his faith, With Ariadne, and Antiopa ? Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, Or on the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturb' d our sport. Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land, Have every pelting river made so proud, That they have overborne their continents : The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard : The fold stands empty in the drowned held, And 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 rheumatick diseases do abound : And thorough this distemperature, we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; And on old Hyem's chin, and icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer, The childing 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 should Titania cross her Oberon ? I do but beg a little changeling boy, To be my henchman. Tila. Set your heart at rest, 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 ; W r hen 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 rich 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 her boy : And, for her sake, I will not part with him. Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay ? Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. If you will patiently dance in our round, And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. Tita. Not for thy kingdom. Fairies away: We shall chide down-right, if I longer stay. [Exeunt Titania and her Train. Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this Till I torment thee for this injury. — [grove, My gentle Puck, come hither : thou remember'st Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin'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 loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon ; And the imperial vot'ress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower, — Before, milk-white ; now purple with love's And maidens call it love-in-idleness. [wound, — Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee once; The juice of ic 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 Puck 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 with 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. *»- Enter Dkmetkius, Helkh a following him. Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. W 7 here is Lysander, and fair Hermia ? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told'st me, they were stol'n into this wood. And here am I, and wood within this wood, 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 power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you. Dem. Do I entice you ? 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, The 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 place can I beg in your love, (And yet a place of high respect with me,) Than to be used as you use your dog ? MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. Bern. 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 you. Bern. 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. It 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 ? Bern. 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 changed ; 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. Bern. 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. Fye, 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. [Exeunt Dem. and Hel. Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove, Thou 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. I 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, Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight ; And there the snake throws her enamelled skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : And 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. [Exeunt. — ♦ SCENE III Another part of the Wood. Enter Titania, with her Train. Tha. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song ; Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; Some, to kill cankers in the musk-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. 1 Fat. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ; Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen : CHORIS. Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ; So, good night, with lullaby. a. 2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here, Hence, you long legg'd spinners, hence; Beetles black, approach not near ; Worm, nor snail, do no offence. chorus. Philomel, with melody, &c. 2 Fai. Hence, away ; now all is well : One, aloof, stand centinel. [Exeunt Fairies. 'Titan: ! Enter Ore rov. Obe. What thou seest. when thou dost wake, [Squeeze* the flower on Tita.via'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 Wake, when some vile thing is near. ) Enter Lysander and Hermia. Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the 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 ; for my sake, my dear Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence 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 pride, If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy Lie further off* ; in human modesty 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 1 dear ; > ; is near. J ««-KNi-J HI- MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 137 Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; j And then end life, when I end Loyalty ! Mere is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest ! Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be pressed! {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 stirring 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 sonl ! 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 I must now to Oberon. lExit. Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Deme- trius. Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go. [Exit Demetrius. Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, whereso'er she lies ; For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tearr : 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 away for fear : Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. What wicked and dissembling glass of mine Made me compare with Hermia' s sphery eyne ? — But who is here? — Lysander ! on the ground ! Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound ! — Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. Lys. And run through fire 1 will, for thy sweet sake. [ Waking. Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art, That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius ? O, 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 Hermia ? Lord, what though ? Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. Lys. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent The tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia, but Helena I love : Who will not change a raven for a dove ? The will of man is by his reason swayed : And reason says you are the worthier maid. Things 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, Reason 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. Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born ? When, at your hands, did I deserve thi3 scorn ? I'st not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency? Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do. In such disdainful manner me to woo. But fare you well : perforce I must confess, I thought you lord of more true geutleness. O, that a lady, of one man refused, Should, of another, therefore be abused I [Exit. Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou 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 surfeit, and my heresy, Of all be hated ; but the most of me ! And all my powers, address your love and might, To honour Helen, and to be her knight 1 {Exit. Her. [starting.] Help me, Lysander, help me ! do thy best, To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast! Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ? Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear I Methought a serpent eat my heart away, And you, sat smiling at his cruel prey : — Lysander ! what, removed ? Lysander ! lord ! W T hat, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word 3 Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear ; Speak, of all loves ; I swoon almost with fear. No ? — then I well perceive you are not nigh : Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Ex>t. ACT III. SCENE I.— The same. The Queen of Fairies lying asleep. Enter Quince, Snog, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Hot. Are we all met ? Quin. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous con- venient 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 the duke. But. Peter Quince, — Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ? Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that ? Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. Star. I believe you must leave the killing out. when all is done. Bot. Not a whit ; I have a device to make ail 138 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT III. well. Write me a prologue : and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords : and that Pyramusis 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 be written in eight and eight. Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ? 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. Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell, he is not a lion. Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck ; and 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, I would entreat you, not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man as other men are : and there, indeed, let him name his name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner. Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things ; that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber : for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moon-light. Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we play our play ? Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the alma- nack ; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine. Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. Bot. 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 of thorns and a lantern, and say, he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of moon- shine. Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall. Snug. You never can bring in a wall. — What say you, Bottom ? Bot. Some man or other must present wall : and let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast tbout him, to signify wall ; or let him hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus 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 eveiy one according to his cue. Enter Puck behind. Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- gering here, So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ; \n actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. Quin. Speak, Pyramus : — Thisby, stand forth. Fyr. Thisby, the flowers of odimts savours Quin. Odours, odours. [sweet % — 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 than e'er played here ! [.Aside.— Exit. This. Must I speak now ? Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must un- derstand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. This. Most radiantPyr Minns, most lily white of hue, Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, Fll 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 all. —Pyra- mus enter ; your cue is past ; it is, never tire. Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass's head. This. O, — As true as truest hoise, that yet would never tire. Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine: — Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! help ! [Exeunt Clowns. Puck. I'll follow you, I'll 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. [Aril. Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery of them, to make me afeard. Re-enter Snout. Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I see on thee ? Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass's head of your own ; Do you ? Re-enter Quince. Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art translated. [Exit. Bot. I see their knavery ; this is to make an ass of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not 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-tawney 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 cuckoo 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. SCENE 11. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 139 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should Lave 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 upon occasion. Tiki. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 1 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. — [seed ! Peas -blossom ! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard - 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 light 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 ! 4 Fai. Hail! Hot. I cry your worship's mercy, neartily. — I oeseech, your worship's name. Cob. Cobweb. Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good master Cobweb : If I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. — Your name, honest gentle- man? Peas. Peas-blossom. Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your mother, and to master Peas-cod, your father. Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech you, sir ? Mus. Mustard-seed. 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 water ere now. I desire you more ac- quaintance, good master Mustard-seed. Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my bower. The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Another part of the Wood. Enter Oberox. 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 entered in a brake : When I did him at this advantage take, An ass's nowl I fixed on his head ; Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, And forth my mimick 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 catch. I led them on in this distracted fear, 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. This falls out better than 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 ; That when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. Enter Demetrtus and Hermia. Obe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. 0,why rebuke you him that loves you so r Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse ; For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, And kill me 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 center creep, and so displease Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him ; So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim. Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I, Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty 140 MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Her. 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 be never number'd among men! 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 brave touch! Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. Hem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood : I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. Dem. An if I could, what should I get there- fore? 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. [Exit. 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 light measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down. Obe. What hast thou done ? thou hast mistaken 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 hold- ing troth, A million fail, confounding oath on oath. Ohe. 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 blood dear. By some illusion see thou bring her here ; I'll charm his eyes, against she do appear. Puck. I go, I go; look, how I go; Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. Obe. Flower of this purple dye, 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 the sky. — When thou wak'st, if she be by, Beg of her for remedy. Re-enter Puck. . Puck. Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand, And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee ; 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 befal preposterously. Enter Lysander and IIei.kva. Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo Scorn and derision never come in tears, [in scorn ? Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so bom, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true.'' Hfl. You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray ! These vows 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 weigh : and both as light as tales. Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not von. Dem. [Awaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow, When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! Hel. O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent 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 gentle lady so ; To vow, and swear, and supenpraise my parts, WTien, I am 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 spnrt. Lys. 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 love I yield you up my part ; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love, and will do to my 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 that 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. Lys. Helen, it is not so. Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. — Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. Enter IIkrmia. Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, It pays the hearing double recompence : — 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 ? SCENE II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. HI Her. What love could press Lysander from my side? Lys. Lysander'slove, that would not let him bide, Fair Helena ; who more engilds the night Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know, The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so ? Her. You speak not as you think; it cannot be. He I. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three, To fashion 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, The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us, — O, and is all forgot ? All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ? We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, Have with our neelds created both one flower, Both on oue 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 together, 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 heart ; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. And will you rent 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. He-r. I am amazed* at your passionate words : I scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me. Htl. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, To follow me, and praise my eyes and face ? 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 doth Lysander Deny your love, so rich within his soul, And tender me, forsooth, affection ; But by your setting on, by your consent ? What though I be not so in grace as you, So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; But miserable most, to love unlov'd ? This you should pity, rather than despise. Hrr. I understand not what you mean by this. Hel. Ay, do, perscver, counterfeit sad looks. Make mows upon me when I turn my back ; Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up : This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument. But, fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault ; Which 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, I 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 I do ; I swear by that which I 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 thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. Dem. Quick, come, — Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? Lys. Away, you Ethiop L Dem. No, no, sir:— he will Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow : But yet come not : You are a tame man, go ! Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr : vile thing let loose ; Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. Her. Why are you grown so rude? what change Sweet love? [is this, Lys. Thy love ? out tawny Tartar, out i Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence ! Her. Do you not jest? Hel. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 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 her dead? Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate ? Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love? Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? 1 am as fair now, as I was erewhile. Since night, you loved me ; yet, since night you left me : W T hy, then you left me, — O, the gods forbid ! — In 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 me ! you juggler ! you canker-blossom ! You thief of love ! what, have you come 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 ? W r hat, will you tear Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ? Fie, fie ! 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 urged her height; And with her personage, her tall personage, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevailed with him. — And arc you grown so high in his esteem, Because I am so dwarfish, and so low ? How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak ; 1 low low am I ? I am not yet so low, But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentle- Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; [men. I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; I am a right maid for my cowardice ; Let her not strike me : You, perhaps may think Because she's something lower than myself, That I can match her. Her. Lower ! hark, again. Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me I evermore did love you, Hermia, Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you: 142 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT III, Save that, in love unto Demetrius, I told him of your stealth unto this wood : He followed you ; for love, I followed him. But he hath chid me hence ; and threaten'd me To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : And now, so you will let me quiet go, To Athens will I bear my folly back, And follow you no further : Let me go : You see how simple and how fond I am. [you ? Her. Why, get you gone : Who is't that hinders 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. Bern. No, sir ; she shall not, though you take her Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd : She was a vixen, when she went to school ; And, though she be but little, she is fierce. Her. Little again ? nothing but low and little ? — Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? Let me come to hei\ Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf ; You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made ; You bead, you acorn. Dem. You are too officious, In her behalf that scorns your services. Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ; Take not her part : for if thou dost intend Never so little show of love to her, Thou shalt aby it. Lys. Now she 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 go with thee, cheek by jole. [Exeunt Lys. an- Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you : Nay, go not back. Hel. I will not trust you, I ; Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray ; My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit. Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. [Exit, pursuing Helena. Obe. This is thy negligence : still thou mistak'st, Or else commit' st thy knaveries wilfully. Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. Did not you tell me, I should know the man By the Athenian garments he had on ? And so far blameless proves my enterprize, 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. Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight: Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; The starry welkin cover thou anon With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ; And lead these testy rivals so astray, As one come not within another's way. Like 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 his 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 end. Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; And then I will her charmed eye release From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste ; For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; [there, At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and Troop home to church-yards : damned 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-brow'd night. Obe. But we are spirits of another sort : I with the morning's love have oft made sport ; And, like a forester, the groves may tread, Eveu till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : We may effect this business yet ere day. [Exit Obkron 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. Puck. Here villain ; drawn and ready. Where Lys. I will be with thee straight. [art thou ? Puck. Follow me then To plainer ground. [Exit Lys. as following the voice. 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 stars, Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defiled, [child ; That draws a sword on thee. Dem. Yea ; art thou there ? Puch. Follow my voice ; we'll try no mauhood 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 villain is much lighter heeled than I : I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; That fallen am I in dark uneven way, And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! [Lie* down . For if but once thou show me thy grey light, I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. 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, shifting every place ; And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. Where art thou ? 3CENEII MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 143 Puck. Come hither ; I am here. Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this dear, If ever I thy face by day-light see : Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me To measure out my length on this cold bed. — Bv 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 : shine, comforts, from the east ; That I may back to Athens, by day-light, From these that my poor company detest : — And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me a while from mine own company. [.Sleeps. Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; Two of both kinds makes up four. Here she comes, curst and sad : — Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad. Enter Hebmia. Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, Bedabbled with 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 rest me, till the break of day. Heaven shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! [Lies down. Puck. On the ground Sleep sound : I'll apply To your eye, Gentle lover, remedy. [Squeezing the juice on Lysander's eye. When thou wak'st, Thou tak'st 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 ; The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well. [Exit Puck.— Dem. Hel. <$-c. sleep ACT IV. SCENE I.— -The same. Enter Tjtania and Bottom, Fairies attending ; Obebon behind unseen. Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. Bot. Where's Peas-blossom ? Peas. Ready. Bot. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom. — Where's monsieur Cobweb ? Cob. Ready. Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hip- ped humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not ; I would be loth to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior Where's monsieur Mus- tard-seed ? Must. Ready. Bot. Give me your neif, monsieur Mustard-seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. Must. What's your will ? Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cava- lero Cobweb to scratch. I must to the 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. Tita. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 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 ; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 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 I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! [They sleep Obebon advances. Enter Puck. Obe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight ? Her dotage now I do begin to pity. For meeting her of late, behind the wood, Seeking sweet savours for this hateful 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 flourets' eyes, Like tears, that did thjeir own disgrace bewail. When I had, at my pleasure, 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 1 have the boy, I will undo This hateful imperfection of her eyes. And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp From off 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. 144 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT IV. 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. Tila. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! Methought, I was enamour'd of an ass. Obe. There lies your love. Tila. How came these things to pass ? O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! Obe. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off this Titania, music call ; and strike more dead [head. — Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. Tita. Music, ho ! music ; such as charmeth sleep. Puck. Now, when thou wak'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 ; And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, Dance 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 thewand'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 [Horns sound within. Enler Theseus, IIippolyta. Eestn, and Train. The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; — For now our observation is perform'd 5 And since we have the vaward of th:" dnv, My love shall hear the music of my hounds, — Uncouple in the 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 Seem'd all one mutual crjr: I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly: Judge, when you hear. — But, soft; what nymphs are these ? Ege. 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. — But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day That Hermia should give answer of her choice? Es;e. It is, my lord. The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, IIkb- mia, and Helena, wake and start up. The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? [past ; Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. The. 1 pray you all, stand up. I know, you two are rival enemies; How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is so far from jealousy, To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? Lf/n. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half 'sleep, half waking: But as yet, I swear, I cannot truly say how I came here : But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — And now I do bethink me, so it is;) I came with Hermia hither: our intent Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be Without the peril of the Athenian law. Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough ; I beg the law, the law upon his head.-l- They would have stol'n away, they would, Deme- Thereby to have defeated you and me : [trius, You, of your wife; and me, of my consent ; Of my consent that she should be your wife. Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; And I in fury hither follow'd them ; Fair Helena in fancy following me. But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, (But, by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now As the remembrance of an idle gawd, Which in my childhood I did dote upon: And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. Is only Helena. To her, my lord, Was 1 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 this discourse we more will hear 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 purposed hunting shall be set aside. — Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three, We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. — Come, Hippolyta. [Exeunt Theseus, IIirroLYTA, Egeus, and Train. Dem. These things seem small and undistic- guishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye When every thing seems double. He/. So, methinks: And 1 have found Demetrius like a jewel, Mine own, and not mine own. SCENE II MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 1* Bern. It seems to me, That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do you not think, The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? Her. Yea, and my father. Hel. And Hippolyta. Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's follow him ; And by the way let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. As hey gt out, Bottom awakes. Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer: — my next is, Most fair Pyramus. Hey, ho ! — Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows-mender ! Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! God's my life ! stolen hence, and left roe 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 I was— there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had — But man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I 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's Dream, be- cause it hath no bottom ; and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke : Peradven- ture, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. SCENE II.— Athens. A Room in Quince's House. Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he come home yet ? Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is transported. Flu. If he come not then, the play is marred ; It goes not forward, doth it ? Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man in all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he. Flu. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft 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 had all been made 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. Bot. Where are these lads ? where are these hearts ? Quin. Bottom ! — O most courageous day 1 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 Athenian. 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 you, 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 over 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 word ; away ; go, away. [Exeuit ACT V. SCENE I. — The same. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus. Enter Thkseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants. Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. The. More strange than true. I never may be- lieve 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 lunatick, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact : One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantick, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to And, as imagination bodies forth [heaven, The forms of 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 some joy. It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; Or, in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear ? Hip. But all the story of the night told over. And all their minds transfigured so together, More witnesseth than fancy's images, And grows to something of great constancy ; But, howsoever, strange and admirable. Enter Lvsander, Demetrius, IIermia, 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 shall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours, Between oux after-supper and bed-time ? l 146 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 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, to By an Athenian eunuch, to the harp, [be sung, We'll none of that : that I have 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 scene of young Pyramus, And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth. Merry and tragical ? Tedious and brief ? That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord ? Philost. A play there is my lord, some ten words Which is as brief as I have known a play ; [long ; But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, Which makes it tedious : for in all the 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 toil'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 nothing, nothing in the world ; Unless you can find sport in their intents, Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain, To do you service. The. I will hear that play ; For never any thing can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. Go. bring them in : and take your places, ladies. [Exit Philostrate. Hip. 1 love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged, And duty in his service perishing. The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind. The. 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 premeditated welcomes ; Where I have 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 have broke off, 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. Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, In least, speak most, to my capacity. Enter Philostrate. Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest. The. Let him approach. [Flourish of Trumpet*. Enter Prologue. Prol. If we offend, it is with our good irill. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then, we come but in despite. We do not come as minding to content you. Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not here. That you should here repent The actors are at hand : and, by their show, [you. You 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 on a recorder ; a sound, but not in government. The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; no- thing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next ? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, 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 Thisby 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 atNinus' 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 fled, her mantle she did fall ; " Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain : " Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, " And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain : II Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, " He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ; " And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade, " His dagger 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 Moonshine. The. I wouder, if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, mv lord: one lion may, when many asses do. SCENE I. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 147 Wall. " 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 which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, ' ' Did whisper often very secretly. ' " This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show ' ' 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 ! 11 O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, " I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! — "And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, " That stand'st between her father's ground and mine ; " Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, 14 Shew me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. [Wall holds up his fingers. "Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well " But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. [for this ! " O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; " Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me !" The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 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 comes. Enter Thisbe. This. " O wall, full often hast thou heard my 11 For parting my fair Pyramus and me : [moans, " My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones : " Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." Pyr. t4 1 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. " Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's " And like Limander am I trusty still." [grace; 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. ' ' Pyr. " Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?" This. "'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without delay." Wall. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged " And, being done, thus wall away doth go." [so ; [Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are 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 he worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. 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 Moonshine. Lion. " You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fea " The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, " May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, 44 When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. " Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am 44 A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam : 44 For if I should as lion come in strife " Into this place, 'twere pity of my life." The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con- science. 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. Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour ; 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 : ' ' Dem. 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 aweary 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, moon. 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 moon. But, silence ; here comes Thisbe. Ente'i Thisbb; This. " This is old Ninny's tomb : Where is my love ? " Lion. "Oh!" [The Lion roars.— Thtsbr 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, lion. [The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. Dem. And so comes Pyramus. Lys. And then the moon vanishes L 2 143 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. ACT V. 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 1 " But mark ; — Poor knight, " What dreadful dole is here ? " Eyes, do you see? '* How can it be ? " O dainty duck ! O dear ! " Thy mantle good, " What, stained with blood ? " Approach, ye furies fell ! " O fates! come, come ; u Cut thread and thrum ; " Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! " The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. " O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame ? 11 Since lion vile hath here defiour'd my dear : M 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 wound "The pap of Pyramus : " Ay, that left pap, " Where heart do*h hop : — " Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. M Now am I dead, 11 Now am I fled ; " My soul is in the sky : " Tongue, lose thy light ! 11 Moon, take thy flight ! "Now die, die, die, die, die." [Dies.— Exit Moonshine. Bern. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but one. 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 moonshine 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 tho?e sweet eyes. Dem, And thus she moans, videlicet. This. " Asleep, my love ? "What, dead, my dove? " O Pyramus, arise, " Speak, speak. — Quite dumb ? "Dead, dead? A tomb " Must cover 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 Thisby ends: " Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Die*. The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and wall too. Bot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask 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 Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask : let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance o/Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : — Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. . I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have overwatch'd. This palpable-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 snores, 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 the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth its sprite, In the church -way paths to glide : And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecat's team, From the presence of the sun Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic ; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow 'd house : I am sent, with broom, before, To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter Oberon and Titania , with their Train. Obe. 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. Tita. First, rehearse this song by .rote ; To .each word a warbling note. SCENE II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 149 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 stray. To the best bride-bed will we, Which by us shall blessed be And the issue there create, Ever shall be fortunate. So shall all the couples three Ever true in loving be ; And the blots of Nature's hand Shall not in their issue stand ; Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, Nor mark prodigious, such as are Despised in nativity, Shall upon their children be. — With this field-dew consecrate, 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 Train. Puck If we Shadows have offended, Think but this, (and all is mended,) That you have but slumber'd here, While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend ; If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I'm an honest Puck, If we have unearned lur-k Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends, ere long : Else the Puck a liar call, So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall lestore amends. lExit, LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Ferdinand, King of Navarre. BlRON, -v Longaville, K Lords, attending on the Kino. DUMAJN, J Boyet, ) Lords attending on the Princess Mercade, ) op 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, "i Maria, j- ladies attending on the Princess. Katharine, * Jaquenetta, a Country Wench. Officers and Others, Attendants onthe Kino 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 honour, 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 in force : Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; Our court shall be a little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Bir6n, Dumain, and Longaville, Have sworn for 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 your 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. I am resolv'd ; 'tis but a three years' fast; The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. Dura. 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 ; With all these living in philosophy. Biron. I can but say their protestation over, So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, That is, To live and study here three years. But there are other strict observances : As, not to see a woman in that term ; Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: And, one day in a week to touch no food ; And but one meal on every day beside ; The which, I hope, is not enrolled there : And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, And not be 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. Your oath is pass'dtopass away from these, Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please ; I only swore, to study with your grace, And stay here in your court for three years' space. Long. You swore to that, Bir6n, and to the rest. Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. — What is the end of study? let me know. King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know. Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense ? King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so, To know the thing 1 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 it doth not know Swear me to this, and 1 will ne'er say — no. King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, And train our intellects to vain delight. Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain : As, painfully to pore upon a book, To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile ; ) SCENE I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 151 So, ere you find where 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 it was blinded by. Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-search'dwith saucy looks; Small 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 wot 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 against reading ! Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro- ceeding! Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding. Dum. How follows that ? Biron. Fit in his place and time. Dum. In reason nothing. Biron. Something then in rhyme. Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost, That bites the first-born infants of the spring. Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud sum- mer boast, Before the birds have any cause 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 study now it is too late, Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. King. Well, sit you out: go home, Bir6n; 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 you can say, Yet confident I'll keep what 1 have swore, And bide the penance of each three years' day Give me the paper, let me read the same ; And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame ! Biron. [Reads.] Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court. — And hath this been proclaim'd? Jong. 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 pe- Biron. A dangerous law against gentility, [nalty. [Reads.'] Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within 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 speak, — A maid of grace, and complete majesty, — -} > About surrender-up of Aquitain To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father : Therefore this article is made in vain, Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. King, What say you, lords ? why, this was quite Biron. So study evermore is over-shot ; [forgot. While it doth study to have what it woxdd, It doth forget to do the thing it should : And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 'Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost. King. We must, of force, dispense with this de- She must lie here on mere necessity. [cree ; Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn Three thousand times within this three years' For every man with his affects is born ; [space : 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 keep his oath. But is there no quick recreation granted ? King. Ay, that there is : our court, you know, is With a refined traveller of Spain ; [haunted A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases 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 of fancy, that 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, 1 protest, I love to hear him lie, And I will use him for my minstrelsy. Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be our And, so to study — three years is but short, [sport; Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. Dull. Which is the duke's own person ? 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 villany abroad ; this letter will tell you more. Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touch- ing me. King, A letter from the magnificent Armado. Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words. Long. A high hope for a low heaven : God grant us patience ! 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 us cause to climb in the merriness. Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. 152 LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. Biron. In what manner? Cost. In manner and form following, sir, all those three: I was seen with her in the manor house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into the park ; which, put together, is in manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner, — 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 defend the right ! Kino. Will you hear this letter with attention ? Hi* on. As we would hear an oracle. Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. King. [Reads.] Great deputy, the wdkin's vice- gerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth'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 telling true, but so, so. King. Peace. Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares not fight! King. No words. Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech you. King. So it M, besieged with sable-coloured me~ lancholy, T did commend the black-oppressing humour to the most wholesome physick of thy health- giving air ; and, as I am a gentleman, betook my- self to walk. The time when ? About the sixth hour ; when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper. So much for the time when : Now for the ground which ; ivhich, I mean, I walked upon : it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place where ; where, I mean, I did encounter that ol scene and most preposterous event, that draweth from my ffnoiv-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, ivhich here thou vicwest, beholdest, survey est, or seest : But to the place, where, — It standcth north-north-east and by-east from the west corner of thy curious- knotted garden. There did J see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth, Cost. Me. King. — that unlettered small-knowing soul, Cost. Me. King. — that shallow vassal, Cost. Still me. King, — which as I remember, hight Costard, Cost. O me ! King, —sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed edict and continent canon, uith, — with, — O with, — but with this I passion to say whereioith, Cost. With a wench. King. — with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female ; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a ivoman. Him 1 (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. Ring. For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel called, which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain,) I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury ; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial.* Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty, Don Adriano de Armado. Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but the best that ever I heard. King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this ? Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. King. Did you 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 with a damosel. King. Well, 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. If it were, I 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, I will pronounce your sentence ; You shall 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 delivered over. — And go we, lords, to put in practice, that Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. — [Exeunt Kino, Lonqavillk, and Dumain. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. — Sirrah, come on. Cost. I suffer 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 prosperity I Affliction may one day smile again, and till then, Sit thee down, sorrow I [ffrrimf SCENE II. — Another part of the same. Armado'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 sad. Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp. Moth. No, no ; O lord, sir, no. Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan- choly, my tender juvenal ? Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the work- ing my tough senior. Arm. Why tough senior ? why tough senior ? Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal ? Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent 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 my saying apt ? or I apt, and my saying pretty ? Arm. Thou pretty, because little. Moth. Little pretty, because little : Where- fore apt ? SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 153 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. Aim. What ? that an eel is ingenious ? Moth'. That an eel is quick. Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou 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. [J side. 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 fitteth the spirit of a tapster. Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. Arm. I confess both, they are both the varnish of a complete man. Moth. Then, [ 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 prove you a cipher. [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 affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh ; methinks, 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. Samson, 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 in love. Arm. O well-knit Samson ! strong jointed Samson ! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too, — Who was Samson'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 four 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, Sam- son 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 Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours. Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me. Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, and pathetical I Moth. If she be made of white and red, Her faults will ne'er be known ; For blushing cheeks by faults are bred. And fears by pale-white shown : Then, if she fear, or be to blame, By this you shall not know ; For still her cheeks possess the same, Which native she doth owe. A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar. Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since : but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune. Arm. I will have the subject newly writ%'er, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard ; she deserves well. Moth. To be whipped : and yet a better love than my master. [Aside. Arm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. Arm. I say, sing. 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 him take no delight, nor no penance ; but 'a must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she is allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well. Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid. Jaq. Man. Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. Jaq. That's hereby. Arm. I know where it is situate. Jaq. Lord, how wise you are ! Arm. I will tell thee wonders. Jaq. With that face ? Arm. I love thee. Jaq. So I heard you say. Arm. And so farewell. Jaq. Fair weather after you ! Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. [Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. Arm. Villain, thou shall fast for thy offences ere thou be pardoned. Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach. Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows for they are but lightly rewarded. Arm. 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. Moth. No, sir ; that were fast and loose : thou shalt to prison. 154 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT II. Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see — Moth. What shall some see ? Cost Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their words ; and, therefore, I will say nothing : I thank God, I have as little patience as another man ; 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 forsworn, (which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love : And how can that be true love, which is falsely at- tempted ? Love is a familiar ; love is a devil : there is no evil angel but love. Yet Samson was so tempted ; and he had an excellent strength r yet was Solomon so seduced ; and he had a very good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules's club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will not serve my turn ; the passado he respects 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 ! for your manager is in love ; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I shall turn sonneteer. Devise, wit; write, pen ; for I am for whole volumes in folio. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. — Another part of the same. A Pavi- lion and Tents at a distance. Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Katha- ' rine, 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 the sole inheritor Of all perfections that a man may owe, Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight Than 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 loid 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 painful study shall out-wear three years, No woman may approach his silent court : Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf, Bold of your worthiness, we single you As our best-moving fair solicitor : Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, On serious business, craving quick despatch, Importunes personal conference with his grace. Haste, 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 iawillingpride, and your's is so. — 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 ? Afar. 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 esteem 'd ; 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 matched with too blunt a will ; Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills, It should none spare that come within his power. Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is't so ? Mar. They say so most, that most his humours know. Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow Who are the rest ? Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplished Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd : [youth, Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ; For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, And shape to win grace though he had no wit. I saw him at the duke Alencon's once ; And much too little of that good I saw, Is my report, to his great worthiness. Ros. Another of these students at that time Was there with him : if 1 have heard a truth, Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit : For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) Delivers in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished ; So sweet and voluble is his discourse. Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love ; That every one her own hath garnished With such bedecking ornaments of praise ? Mar. Here comes Boyet Re-enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach ; And he, 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, (Like 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. IThe Ladies matk. LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 165 Enter KiNG,LoNGAvrLLB,DuMAiN, Biron, and Attendants. King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and, welcome I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high 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; conduct me thither. King. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn. King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and nothing else. King-. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I 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, And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [.Gives a paper. King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I 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. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. Biron. What time o' day ? Ros. The hour that fools should ask. Biron. Now fair befall your mask ! Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! Biron. And send you many lovers ! Ros. 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 ; j Being but the one half of an entire sum, J Disbursed by my father in his wars. j But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) i Receiv'd that sum ; yet there remains unpaid j 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 And wrong the reputation of your name, [wrong, 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 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. fcome, Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not Where that and other specialties are bound ; To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 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, fair 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 good thoughts excuse me, and farewell : To-morrow shall we visit you again. [grace ! Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place ! [Exeunt King and his Train. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations ; I would be glad to see it. 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 physick says, ay. 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 Alencon, Rosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady ! Monsieur, fare you well. [Exit. Long. I beseech you a word ; What is she in the white ? Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. Long. Perchance, light in the light : I desire her name, Boyet. She hath but one for herself ; to desire that, were a shame. Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter ? Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Long. God's blessing on your beard ! Boyet. Good sir, be not offended : She is an heir of Falconbridge. Long. Nay, my choler is ended. She is a most sweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Exit Long Biron. What's her name, in the cap ? Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. Biron. Is she wedded, or no ? Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. Biron. You are welcome, sir, adieu ' 15G LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. act ;n. lioyet. Farewell to ine, 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. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board. Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry ! Boyet. And wherefore not ships ? No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture ; Shall that finish the jest ? Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. {Offering to kiss her. Mar. Not so, gentle beast ; My lips are no common, though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom ? Mar. To my fortunes and me. Priii. Good wits will be jangling : but, gentles, agree : The civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis abused. Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. Prin. With what ? Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. Prin. Your reason ? [retire Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride 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 locked 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 face's own margent did quote such amazes, That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes : I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, An 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 only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st skilfully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. Ros. Then was Venus like her mother ; for her father is but grim Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ? Mar. No. Boyet. What then; do you see ? Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet. You are too hard for me. {Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.— Another part of the same. Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense of hearing. Moth. Concolinel {Singing. Arm. Sweet air! — Go, tenderness of years ! take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither ; 1 must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl ? Arm. How mean'st thou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up 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 if you snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-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 wenches — that would be betrayed without these ; and make them men of note, (do you note, men ?) that most are affected to these. Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience? Moth. By my penny of observation. Arm. But O,— but O— Moth. — the hobby-horse is forgot. Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse? Moth. No, master ; the 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 I live ; and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant : By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her : in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her ; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. Arm. I am all these three. Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. Arm. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry me a letter. Moth. A message well sympathised ; a horse to be ambassador for an ass ! Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou ? Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited : But I go. Arm. The way is but short ; away. Moth. 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, mas- Arm. I say, lead is slow. fter, no. LOVES LABOUR'S LOST. 167 Moth. You are too swift, sii, to say so : Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that' she: — I shoot thee at the swain. Moth. Thump then, and I flee. [Exit. Arm. A most acute juvenal ; voluble and free of grace ! By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face : Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd. Re-enter Moth and Costard. Moth. A wonder, master; here's a Costard broken in a shin. Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come, — thy V envoy ; — begin. Cost. No egma, no riddle, no V envoy ; — no salve in the mail, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; no V envoy, no f envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! Arm. By virtue, thouenforcest 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 for V envoy, and the word, V envoy, for a salve ? Moth. Do the wise think them other ? is not V envoy a salve ? Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse, to make plain Some obscure precedence that hath toforebeen sain. 1 will example it ; The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. There's the moral : Now the V envoy. Moth. I will add the V envoy : 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 adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my V envoy. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three : Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. Moth. A good V envoy, ending in the goose ; Would you desire more ? Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat : — Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. — To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose : Let me see a fat V envoy ; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, come hither : How did this argument begin ? Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a Then call'd you for the V envoy. [shin. Coft. True, and I for a plantain : Thus came your argument in ; Then the boy's fat V envoy, the goose that you bought; And he ended the market. Arm. But tell me ; how was there a Costard broken in a shin ? Moth. I will tell you sensibly. Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth ; I will speak that V envoy. 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. Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. O, marry me to one Frances ; — I smell some V envoy, 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. Arm. 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 Jaquenetta : there is remuneration : [Giving him money.} 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 ! my incony Jew ! [Exit Moth. Now will I look to his remuneration. Remune- ration! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings: three farthings — remuneration. — What's the price of this inkle ? a penny : — iVo, I'll give you a remu- neration: why, it carries it. — Remuneration! — why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word. Enter Biron. Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met. Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration ? Biron. What is a remuneration ? Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. Biron. O, why then, three-farthings-worth o» 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 w ? 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, w r hen I have done it. Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow 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 than remuneration; eleven -pence farthing better ; Most sweet guerdon ! — I will do it, sir, in print. — Guerdon — remuneration. [Exit. Biron. O !— and' 1, forsooth, in love ! I, that have been love's whip ; A very beadle to a humourous sigh A critick ; nay, a night-watch constable ; A domineering pedant o'er the boy, Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy ; TRis senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid : Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms. J5B LOVES LABOUR'S LOST. ACT IV. The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, Sole imperator, 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 hoop ! 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 aU ; 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 were her eunuch and her guard : I And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! To 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 groan ; Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit. ACT IV SCENE I.— Another part of the same. Enter the Tbincess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boykt, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill ? Boyet. I know not ; but, I think, it was not he. Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind. Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; On Saturday we will return to France. — Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush, That we must stand and play the murderer in ? For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice ; A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot. For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. Prin. What, what ? first praise me, and again say, no? O short-liv'd pride ! Not fair ? alack for woe ! For. Yes, madam, fair. Prin. Nay, never paint me now ; Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; [Giving him money. Fair payment for foul words is more than due. For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. heresy in fair, fit for these days ! A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. — But come, the bow :— Now mercy goes to kill, And shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will 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 of detested crimes ; When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart : As I, for praise alone, now seek tp, spill The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove- reignty Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be Lurds o'er their lords? Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord. Enter Costard. Prin. Here comes a member of the common- wealth. Cost. God dig-you-den all ! Pray you, which is the head-lady ? Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads. Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ? Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. Cost. The 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. Are not you the chief woman ? you are the thickest here. Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will ? Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline. Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good friend of mine : Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet you can carve ; 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 the 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 commiseration on thy heroical vassal ! The magnanimous and most illustrious king Co- phetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitatc beggar Zenolophon ; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, yici ; which to anatomize in tlie vulgar, ( O base and obscure vulgar !) videlicet, he came, saio, and overcame : he came, one ; *aiv two ; overcame three. Who came ? the king : Why did he come ? to see ; Why did he see ? to overcome : To whom came he ? to the beggar; What saw he? the beggar ; Who overcame he? the beg- gar : The conclusion is victory ; On whose side ? the king's : the captive is enrich' d; On whose side ? the beggar's : The catastrophe is a nuptial : On whose side? The king's? — no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king ; for so stands the com- parison : thou the beggar : for so wiinesseth thy liveliness. Shall I command thy love? I K Shall I enforce thy love 9 I could : Shall I enlrea thy love? I will. What shalt tlwu exchange for SC2NE II. LOVE'S LABOUR S LOST. :sn rags ? robes ; For tittles ? titles ; For thyself? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine in the dearest design of industry. Don Adriano de Armado. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean 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. Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter ? What vane ? what weather-cock ? did you ever hear better ? Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it erewhile. Boyet. 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. Thou, 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. Prin. From which lord, to which lady ? Cost. From mylordBiron,a good master of mine; To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords away. Here, sweet, put up this ,• 'twill be thine another day. [Exeunt Princess and Train. Boyet. Who is the shooter ? who is the shooter ? Ros. Shall I teach you to know ? Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off! Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if thou marry, Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. Finely put on ! Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. Boyet. And who is your deer ? Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself : come Finely put on, indeed ! — [near. Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow. Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : Have I hit her now ? Ros. Shall I come upon 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 Britain 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, cannot, An I cannot, another can. [Exeunt Ros. and Kath. Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did fit it. Mar. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it. Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ; A mark, says my lady ! Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be. Mar. Wide o' the bow-hand ! I'faith your hand is out. Cost. Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout. Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your hand is in. Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin. Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips grow foul. Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir ; chal- lenge her to bowl. Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night my good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Makia. Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clown ! Lord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put him down ! O' my troth, most sweet jests ! most incony vulgar wit ! When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit. Armatho o' the one side — O, a most dainty man! To 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! Sola, sola ! [Shouting within. [Exit Costard, running. SCENE II.— The same. Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. Nath. 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 ccelo, — the sky, the welkin, the heaven ; and anon falleth 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 assure ye, it w r as a buck of the first head. Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo ; 'twas a pricket. Hoi. 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, un- pruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, — to insert again my haud credo for a deer. Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo ; 'twas a pricket. Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, his coctus ! — O thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look ! Nath. Sir, he hath never fed 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, indiscreet, or a fool, loO LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT II. So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school : But, omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind, Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. Dull. You two are book-men : Can you tell by your wit, What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet ? Hoi. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good man Dull. Dull. What is Dictynna ? Nalh. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam was no more ; And raught not to five weeks, when he came to five- score. The allusion holds in the exchange. Dull. 'Tis true indeed ; the collusion holds in the exchange. Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu- sion holds in the exchange. Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the ex- change ; for the moon is never but a month old : and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin- cess kill'd. Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer ? and, to humour the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess kill'd, a pricket. Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge ; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Hoi. 1 will something affect the letter; for it argues facility. The praiseful princess pierced and priced a pretty pleasing pricket ; Some say, a sore ; but not a sore, till not. made sore with shooting. The dogs did yell ; put I to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket ; Or, pricket, sore, or else sorel ; the people fall a hooting. Jf sore be sore, then L to sore makes ffty sores ; O sore L ! Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one more L. Nath. A rare talent ! Dull. If 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 forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, re- volutions : these are begot in the ventricle of me- mory, nourished in the womb of pia mater ; and deliver'd upon the mellowing of occasion : But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and so may 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 commonwealth. Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want no instruction : if their daughters be capable, I will put it to them \ But, vir sapit, qui pauca loquitur : a soul feminine saluteth us. Enter Jaquknetta and Costard. Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person. Hnl. Master person, — quasi pers-on. And if one should be pierced, which is the one ? Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is 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 read me this letter ; it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armatho : 1 beseech you, read it. Hoi. Fauste, precor, gelida qnando pecus omne sub umbra Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan ! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : Vinegia, Vinegia, Chi non te vcde, ei non le pregia. Old Mantuan ! Old Mantuan ! Who understandeth thee not, loves thee not? — Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. — Under pardon, sir, what are the contents ? or, rather, as Horace says in his — What ! my soul, verses ? Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. Hoi. Let me hear 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 ! Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove ; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes ; Where all those pleasures live, that art would comprehend ; If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice ; Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend : All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder ; (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire ;) Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, Which, not to anger bent, is musick, and sweet fire. Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 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, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovi- dius Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso : but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention ? Imifqri, is nothing : so doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the 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 snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosa- line. I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto : Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, Biron. Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which. SOENE III. LOVES LABOUR'S LOST. 161 accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. — Trip and go, my sweet ; deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king ; it may con- cern much : Stay not thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty ; adieu. Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save your life ! Cost. Have with thee, my girl. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith JJol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co- lourable colours. But, to return to the verses ; Did they please you, sir Nathaniel? Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. Hoi. 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 privilege I have with the parents of the fore- said child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto ; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I beseech your society. Nath. And thank you too : for society, (saith the text,) is the 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 their game, and we will to our racreation. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — Another part of the same. Enter Biron, with a paper. Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I arn coursing myself : they have pitch'd a toil ; I am toiling in a pitch ; pitch that denies ; defile ! a foul word. Well, Set thee down, sorrow ! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit ! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax : it kills sheep ; it kills me, I a sheep : Well proved again on my side ! I will not love : if I 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, for her two eyes. Well, I do no- thing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love : and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be 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 paper ; God give him grace to groan. [Gets up into a tree. Enter the King, with a paper. King. Ah me 1 Biron. [Aside.'] Shot, by heaven! — Proceed, sweet Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird- holt under the left pap ; — I'faith, secrets. — King. [Reads.] So sweet a hiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep, ! As doth thy face through tears of mine give light : Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep; No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, So ridest thou triumphing in my woe : Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my grief will shoio : But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel/ No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. — How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the paper ; Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here 5 [Steps aside Enter Longaville, with a paper. What, Longaville ; and reading ! listen, ear. Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap pear ! [Aside Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn. Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wear- ing papers. [Aside. King. In love, I hope ; Sweet fellowship in shame ! [Aside. Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. [Aside. Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so ? Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort ; not by two, that I know : Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner cap of society, The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up sim- plicity. Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to O sweet Maria, empress of my love! [move These numbers will I tear and write in prose. 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 whom the world cannot hold argument,) Persuade my heart to this false perjury? Votes for thee broke, deserve not punishment. A woman L foreswore : but, I will prove, Thou being a goddess, I foreswore not thee : My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is: [shine t 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.] This 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 o' the way. Enter Dumain, with a paper. Long. By whom shall I send this ? — Company ! stay. [Stepping aside. Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, [play : And wretched fools' secrets needfully o'er-eye. More sacks to the mill ! O heavens, I have my wish ; Dumain transform'd : four wood-cocks in a dish ! Dum. O most divine Kate ! Biron. O most prophane coxcomb 1 [Aside. Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye ! Biron. By earth, she is but corporal : there you lie. m [Aside- 162 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ACT IV. Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber eoted. 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 must shine. [Aside. Dum. O that 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 her out in saucers ; Sweet misprision ! [Aside. Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. [Aside. Dum. On a day, (alack the dag!) Love, whose month is ever Mag, 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, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, toould I might triumph so! But alack, my hand is sworn, Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: Voiv, alack I for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me, That I am forsworn for thee : Thou for whom even Jove would 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 my 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 charity, That in love's grief desir'st society : You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. King. Come, sir, [advancing.'] you blush ; as his, your case is such ; You chide at him, offending twice as much ; You do not love Maria ; Longaville Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. I have been closely shrouded in this bush, And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion ; Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion : Ah me ! 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 Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. [TO Dl'.MAlN. What will Bir6n say, when that he shall hear 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 I 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, thus 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 sonneting. But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not, All three of you, to be thus much 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 ! me, with what strict patience have I sat, To see a king transformed to a gnat ! To see great Hercules whipping a gigg,' And profound Solomon to tune a jigg, 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 ! King. Too bitter is thy jest. Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view ? Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you 1, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in ; 1 am betray'd, by keeping company With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme i Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's time, 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 limb ? — King. Soft ; Whither away so fast ? A true man, or a thief, that gallops so ? Biron. I post from love ; good lover, let me go. Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. Jaq. God bless the king ! King. What present hast thou there ? Cost. Some certain treason. King. What makes 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 treason he said. King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter. Where hadst thou it ? Jaq. Of Costard. King. Where hadst thou it ? Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now! what is in you? why dost thcu tear it ? MJEXE III. LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. lea Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy ; your grace needs not fear it. 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, yon whoreson laggerhead, [to Cos- tard.] you were born to do me shame. — Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess. King. What? Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess ; He, he, and you, my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. Dum. Now the number is even. Biron. True, true ; we are four : — Will these turtles be gone ? King. Hence, sirs ; away. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. Biron. 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 face ; Young blood will not obey an old decree : We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. King. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine ? Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, At the first opening of the gorgeous east, Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind, iSCisses the base ground with obedient breast ? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty ? King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ; [now ? She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Bir6n : O, but for my love, day would turn to night ! Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; Where several worthies make one dignity ; Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, — Fye, painted rhetoric ! O, she needs it not : To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ; She passes praise : then praise too short doth blot. A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine ! 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 give an oath ? where is a book ? That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack, If that she learn not of her eye to look : No face is fair, that is not full so black. King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell, The 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, that painting, and usurping hair, Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 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 avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black. Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack. Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, For fear their colours should be wash'd away. King. 'Twere good yours did ; for, sir, to tell you plain, I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Long. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her face see. [Showing his shoe. Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! Dum. O vile ! then as she goes, what upward lies The street should see as she walk'd over head. King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love ? Biron. O, nothing so sure ; and thereby all for- sworn. King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Bir6n, now prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. Dum. Ay, marry, there ; — some flattery for this evil. Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. Dum. Some salve for perjury.. Biron. O, 'tis more than need ! — Have at you then, affection'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 of youth. Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young : 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, the books, the academes, From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. Why, universal plodding prisons p 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 ourself, 1G4 LOVES LABOUR S LOST. ACT V And where we are, our learning likewise is. Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, Do we not likewise see our learning there ? O, we have made a vow to study, lords, And in that vow we have forsworn our books ; For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation, have found out Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes 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 in taste : For valour, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hespei-ides ? 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 gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs : O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. From women's eyes this doctrine I 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 in aught proves excellent : Then fools you were these women to forswear ; Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love ; Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ; Or for men's sake, the authors of these women ; Or women's sake, by whom we men are men ; Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths : It is religion to be thus forsworn : For charity itself fulfils the law ; And who can sever love from charity ? King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to the field ! [lords ; Biron. Advance your standards, and, upon them Pell-mell, down with them ! 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, homeward, 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 merry hours, Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. .King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, That will be time, and may by us be fitted. Biron. Allons ! Allons ! — 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 IIolofernes, 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, auda- cious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam 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 ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general 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, vocatur, nebour ; neigh, abbreviated, ne : This is abhominable, (which he would call abomin- able,) it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intelligis, domine ? to make frantick, lunatick. Nath. Laus Deo, bone intelligo. Hoi. Bone ? bone, for bene : Priscian a little scratched ; 'twill serve. Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. Nath. Vidcsne quis venit ? Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. Arm. Chirra ! [To Moth. Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah ? Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd. Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan- guages, and stolen the scraps. [To Costard aside. Cost. O, they have lived long in the alms-basket of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus : thou art easier swal- lowed than a flap-dragon. Moth. Peace ; the peal begins. Arm. Monsieur, [to Hol.] are you notletter'd ? Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn- book ; — What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his head ? SCENE ir. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 165 Hoi. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. Moth. Ba, most s'lly sheep, with a horn : — You hear his learning. Hoi. Quis, guis, thou consonant ? Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them ; or the fifth, if I. Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i. — Moth. The sheep ; the other two concludes it ; o, u. Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterra- nean, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit : snip, snap, quick, and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect : tx-ue wit. Moth. Offer' d by a child to an old man ; which is wit-old. Hoi. What is the figure ? what is the figure ? Moth. Horns. Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant : go, whip thy gig. Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your infamy circiim circa ; a gig of a cuckold's horn ! Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou balf-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discre- tion. 6, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou wert but my bastard ! what a joyful father wouldst I *hou make me ! Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say. Hoi. O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for nnguem. Arm. Arts-man, praeambula ; we will be singled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain ? Hoi. Or, mons, the hill. Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. Hoi. I do, sans question. Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and affection, to congratulate the princess at her pavilion, 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 im- portunate 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, I recount no fable ; some certain special honours it pleaseth his great- ness to impart to Armado, 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 de- lightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick, or fire-work. Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self, are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance. Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine worthies Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en- tertainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by our assistance, — the king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, — before the princess ; I say, none so fit as to present the nine worthies. Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them. Hoi. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabseus ; this swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the great ; the page, Hercules. Arm. Pardon, sir, error: he is not quantity enough for that worthy's thumb : he is not so big as the end of his club. Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall present Hercules in minority : his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake ; and I will have 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 offence gracious ; though few have the grace to do it. Arm. For the rest of the worthies ? — Hoi. I will play three myself. Moth. Thrice- worthy gentleman ! Arm. Shall I tell you a thing ? Hoi. We attend. Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antick. I beseech you, follow. Hoi. Via, good man Dull ! thou hast spoken no word all this while. Bull. Nor understood none neither, sir. Hoi. Allonsl we will employ thee. Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I will play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance the hay. Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, 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, If fairings come thus plentifully in : A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! Look you, what I have from the loving king. Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that ? Prin. Nothing, 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 fain to seal on Cupid's name. Ros. That was the way to make his god-head wax ; For he hath been five thousand years a boy. Kath. 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 grandam ere she died : And so may you ; for a light heart lives long. Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of tnis light word ? Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. [out. Ros. We need more light to find your meaning I GO LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Kath. You'll mar the light hy taking it in snuff; Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. Ros. Look,what you do, you do it still i' the dark. Kath. So do not you; for you are a light wench. Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light. Kath. You weigh me not, — O, that s you care not for me. Ros. Great reason ; for, Past cure is still past care. Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well But Rosaline, you have a favour too : [play'd. 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 Bir6n : 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 drawn my picture in his letter ! 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 your debtor, My rod dominical, my golden letter : O, that your face were not so full of O's ! Kath. A pox of that jest ! and beshrew all shrows ! Prin. Butwhat was sent to youfrom fairDumain ? Kath. Madam, this glove. Prin. Did he not send you twain ? Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover ; A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longa- The letter is too long by half a mile. [ville ; Prin. I think no less : Dost thou not wish in heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short ? Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking That same Bir6n I'll torture ere I go. [so. O, that I knew he were but in by the week ! How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek; And wait the season, and observe the 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 such ex- As gravity's revolt to wantonness. [cess, Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong 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 Boyet. 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 ! — 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 1 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 The 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, and thus thy body beat : And ever and anon they made a doubt, Presence majestical would put him out ; For, quoth the king, an angel shall thou see ; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. The boy reply'd, An angel is not evil ; I should have fear'd her, had she been a devil. With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder ; 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 with his finger and his thumb, Cry'd, Via! tee irill do't, come what, ivill come: The third he caper'd and cried, All goes well: The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. With that, they all did tumble on the ground, With such a zealous laughter, so profound, That in this spleen ridiculous appears, To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. Prin. Butwhat, butwhat, come they to visit us? Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess, [thus, Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance ; And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his several mistress ; which they'll know By favours several, which they did bestow. Prin. And will they *o ? 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, Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. — Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear ; And then the king will court thee for his dear ; Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ; So shall Bir6n take me for Rosaline. — And change your favours too ; so shall your loves Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. Ros. 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. Their several counsels they unbosom shall To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal, Upon the next occasion that we meet, With visages display'd, to talk and greet. Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't 9 SCENE II. LOVE'S LABOUR S LOST. ICA Prin. No ; to the death we will not move 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, I make no doubt, The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'ertbrown ; 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. Boyel. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers come. [The ladies mask. Enter th; King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in Russian habits and masked,- Moth, Musicians, and Attendants. Moth. All hail the richest beauties on the earth! Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffata. Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames! [The ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turned their — backs — to mortal views! Biron. Their eyes, villain, eir eyes. Moth. That ever turned their eyes to mortal Out — [views ! Boyet. True ; out, indeed. Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits Not to behold — [vouchsafe 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 ; You 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, Bo3*et : , If they do speak our language, 'tis our will That some plain man recount their purposes : Know what they would. Boyet. What would you with the princess ? Biron. Nothing but peace, 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. Boyet. She says you have it, and you may be gone. 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 measure with you on this grass. Ros. It 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. Tell 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, may worship 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, to shine (Those clouds remov'd,) upon 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. Play music, then : nay, you must do it soon. [Music plays. 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. Ros. Since you 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 ; — • Court' 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 be. Ros. Then cannot we be bought : and so adieu ; Twice to your visor, and half once to you ! King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. Ros. In private then. King. I am best pleas'd with that. [They converse apart. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so nice,) Metheglin, wort, and malmsey ; — Well, run, dice ! There's half 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. Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a Mar. Name it. [word ? Dum. Fair lady, — Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord,— Take that for your fair lady. Dum. Please it you, As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. [Tiey converse apart. Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue ? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Kath. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I loDg. 16U LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Long. You have a double tongue within your mask 1 , And would afford my speechless visor half. Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman ; — Is not veal Long. A calf, fair lady? [a calf? Kath. No, a fair lord calf. Long. Let's part the word. Kath. No, I'll not be your half: Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks 1 Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry. [They converse apart. Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as As is the razor's edge invisible, [keen Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; Above the sense of sense ; so sensible Seemeth their conference ; theirconceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. [break off. Ron. Not one word more, my maids ; break off, Biron. Byheaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff: King. Farewell, mad wenches ; you have simple wits. [Exeunt Kino, Lords, Moth, Music, and Attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. — Are these the breed of wits so wondered at ? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puffed out. [fat, fat. Ros. Well-liking wits they have ; gross, gross ; 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 point, quoth I ; my servant straight was mute. Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart; And trow you, what he called 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 you hear ? the king is my love sworn. Prin. And quick Bir6n hath plighted faith to me. Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear : Immediately they will again be here In their own shapes ; for it can never be, They will digest this harsh 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 they repair, Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. [stood. Prin. How blow ? how blow? speak to be under- 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 disguised : Let us complain 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 penn'd, And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our tent to us. Boyet. Ladies, withdraw; thegallantsareathand, Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run overland. [Exeunt Princess, Res. Kath. and Maria. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their proper habits. King. 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 ? [word. King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one Boyet. I will ; and so will she, I know, my lord. [Evit Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas ; And utters it again when God doth please : He is wit's pedler ; 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, w r hen 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 whale's bone : And consciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my That put Armado's pag§ out of his part ! [heart, Enter the Princess, ushered by Boyet ; Rosaline, Maria. Katharine, and Attend Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. Gratiano, J Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. Shylock, a Jew, Tubal, a Jew, his Friend. Launcelot Gobbo, a Clown, Servant to Shylock. Old Gobbo, Father to Launcelot. Saj.erio, a Messenger from Venice Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio. Balthazar, ■» „ . . _, Stephano, ) Servants to Portia. Portia, a rich Heiress. Nerissa, her Waiting-Maid. Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. Magnificocs of Venice, Officers of the Court 'of Justice, Gaoler, Servants and other Attendants. SCENE, — Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent. ACT I. SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ; It wearies me ; you say, it wearies you ; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn ; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself. Salar. Your 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 traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them 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, out of doubt, Would make me sad. Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I 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 I go to church, And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink me straight of dangerous 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 I lack the thought. That such a thing bechane'd, would make me sad ? But tell not me ; I know Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Ant . Believe me, no : I 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. Fye, fye ! Salan. Not in love neither ? Then let's say, you are sad, Because 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 framed 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 the jest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; We leave you now with better company, [merry, Salar. I would have staid till I had made you If worthier friends 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 lords. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say, when ? You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? Salar. We' 11 make our leisures to attend on yours. {Exeunt Salarjno and Salanio. SCENE II. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 175 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, Grati an o; A stage, where every man must play a part. And mine a sad one. Gra. Let me play the Fooi : 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, w r hose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice 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, With purpose to be dress' d in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; As who should say, / am Sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! O, my Antonio, I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise, For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, I'll tell thee more of this another time : [fools. But fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — Come, good Lorenzo : — Fare ye well, a while ; I'll end my exhortation after dinner. [time : Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner- I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only com- mendable 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 promis'd 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 graut continuance : Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd From such a noble rate ; but my chief care Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, Wherein my time, something too prodigal, Hath left me gaged : To you, Antonio, I owe he most, in money, and in love ; And from your love I have a warranty To unburthen all my plots, and purposes, How to get clear of all the debts I owe. Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honour, be assur'd, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlocked to your occasions. Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one I shot his fellow of the self-same flight [shaft, The self-same way, with more advised watch, To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, Because what follows is pure innocence. I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, That which I owe is lost : but if you please To shoot another arrow that self way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As I will watch the aim, or to find both, Or bring your latter hazard back again, And thankfully rest debtor for the first. Ant. You know me well ; and herein spend but time, 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 made 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 prest unto it : therefore, speak. Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages : Her name 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 her temples like a golden fleece ; Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos strand, And many Jasons come in quest of her. my Antonio, had I but the means To hold a rival place with one of them, 1 have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate. Ant. Thou know'st, that allmy fortunes are at sea ; Nor have I money, nor commodity To raise a present sum : therefore go forth, Try what my credit can in Venice 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. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Enter Portia and Nbrissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- weary of this great world. Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mise- ries were in the same abundance as your good for- tunes 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 competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor 170 MERCHANT OF VENICE. men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good di- vine 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 teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood ; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree : such a hare is mad- ness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good coun- sel the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband : — O me, the word choose ! I may neither choose whom I would, nor re- fuse whom I dislike ; so is the will of a living daugh- ter curb'd by the will of a dead father: — Isitnothard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none ? Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men, at their death, have good inspirations; therefore, 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 in your affection towards any of these princely 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 nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appro- priation to his own 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 doth nothing but frown ; as who should say, And if you will not have me, choose: he hears merry tales, and smiles not : I fear, he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. 1 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 ! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon ? 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! 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 I should marry him, I should marry twenty husbands : If he would despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love ine to madness, I shall never requite him. Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridgc, the young baron of England ? Por. You know, I say nothing to him ; for he understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come into the court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a proper man's picture ; But, alas I who can converse with a dumb show ? How oddly he is suited ! I think, he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bon- uet Li Germany, and his behaviour every where. Ner. What think, you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour ? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he, borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swDre 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 afternoon, when he is drunk ; when he is best, he is a 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. Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. Por. Therefore, for fear 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 tempta- tion without, I know he will choose it. I 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 de- terminations ; which is indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless, you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the caskets. Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless I 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 departure. Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat ? Por. Yes, yes, it 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 deserving a fair lady. Por. I remember him well ; and I remember him worthy of thy praise. — How now ! what news ? Jlntcr a Servant. Serv. The 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. Come, Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Venice. A public Place. Enter Bassanio and Shylocr. Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. Shy. For three months, — well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me ? Shall I know your answer ? Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. Shy. Antonio is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrarv ? SCENE III. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 177 Shy. Ho, no, no ; no, no ; — ray meaning, in say- ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient : yet his means are in sup- position : he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies ; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad. But ships are but boards, $ aiiors but men : there be land-rats, and water- rats, water- tide ves, 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 he 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 habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into ; I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with 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 Antonto Bass. This is signior Antonio. Shy. [Aside.'] How like a fawning publican he I hate him for he is a Christian : [looks ! 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 months Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior : [To Antonio. Your worship was the last man in our mouths. Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, By taking, nor by giving of excess, Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, I'll break a custom': — Is he yet possess'd, How much he would ? Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. Ant. And for three months. Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so. Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But hear you : Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow, Upon advantage. Ant. I do never use it. Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep, I This Jacob from our holy Abraham was j (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) J The third possessor ; ay, he was the third. Ant. And what of him ? did he take interest ? j Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would say, Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. When Laban and himself were compromis'd, That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pied, Should fall, as Jacob's hire ; the ewes, being rank, In the end of autumn turned to the rams : And when the work of generation was Between these woolly breeders in the act, The skilful 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. Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd A thing not in his power to bring to pass, [for ; But sway'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 ! Shy. Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round sum. Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, In the Rialto have you rated me About my monies, and my usances : Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; For sufferance 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 which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help : Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, Shylock, we would have monies ; You say so ; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. What should I say to you ? Should I not say. Hath a dog money ? is it possible, A cur can lend three thousand ducats ; or Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness. Say this, Fair sir, you spit on mc on Wednesday last : You spurn' 'd me such a day ; another time Yon calVd me — dog ; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much monies. Ant. 1 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 friends ; (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 Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me : This is kind I offer. Ant. This were kindness. Shy. k This kindness will I show .— 178 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Go with me to a notary, seal me there Your single hond ; and, in a merry sport, If you repay me not on such a day, In such 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 off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me. Ant. Content, in faith; 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 dwell in my necessity. Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it ; Within these two months, that's a month before This bond expires, I do expect return Of thrice three times the value of this bond. Shy. Ofather Abraham, whattheseChristiansare ; 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, taken 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 ; If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me net. Ant. Yes, Shylock, I 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. , Ant. Come on ; in this there can be no dismay, My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince op Morocco, and his Train ; Portia, Nbrissa, 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 for 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 hue, Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led By nice direction of a maiden's eyes : Besides, the lottery of my destiny Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : But, if my father had not scanted me, And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair, As any comer I have look'd on yet, For my affection. Mor. Even for that I thank you ; Therefore, I 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 look, Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth, Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, To win thee, lady : But, alas the while ! 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 un worthier may attain, And die with grieving. For. You must take your chance ; And either not attempt to choose at all, Or swear, before you choose, — if you choose wrong, Never to speak to lady afterward In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd. Mor. Nor will not ; come, bring me unto my chance. Por, First, forward to the temple ; after dinner Your hazard shall be made. Mo^. Good fortune then ! [Cumcls To make me bless't, or cursed'st among men. [Exctmt. ♦ SCENE II.— Venice. A Street. Enter Launcelot Gobbo. Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew, my master : The fiend is at mine elbow ; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away : My conscience says, — no ; take heed, honest Launcelot ; take heed, honest Gobbo : or as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo ; do not run , scorn running with thy heels : Well, the most cou- rageous fiend bids me pack ; via ! says the fiend ; away ! says the fiend, for the heavens ; rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me, — my honest friend, Launce- lot, being an honest man's son, or rather an honest woman's son ; — for, indeed, my father did some- thing 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, my master, who, (God bless the mark 1) 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. sckne ir. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 170 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- begotten father ! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not : — I will try con- clusions with him. Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, whioh 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 it. Can you 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 I 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, God 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 (according to fates and destinies, and such odd say- ings, the sisters three, and such branches of learn- ing,) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop ? — Do you know me, father ? Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gen- tleman : but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, (God rest his soul!) alive or dead? Laun. Do you not know me, father ? Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father, that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son : Give me your blessing ; truth will come to light ; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may ; but, in the end, truth will out. Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure, you are not Launcelot, my boy. Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. Gob. I cannot think, you are my son. Laun. I know not what I 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 mine own flesh and blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be ! what a beard nast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my thill-horse 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 ] have on my face, when I 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: I am famish' d in his service ; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come ; give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries ; if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. — O rare for- tune! 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 Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit a Servant. Laun. To him, father. Gob. God bless your worship ! Bass. Gramercy; Would'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 serve the Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall specify Gob. His master 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 1 Laun. Serve you, sir. Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit: Shy lock, 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. Laun. The old proverb is very well parted be- tween 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, with thy son : — Take leave of thy old master, and enquire My lodging out ; — give him a livery, [To his Followers. More guarded than his fellows' : See it done. Laun. Father, in : — I cannot get a service, no : — I have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well ; [look- ing on his palm] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book.— I shall have good fortune ; Go to, here's a 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 with the edge of a feather-bed ; — here are sim- ple 'scapes ! Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a 180 MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT 11. good wench for this gear. — Father, come : I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye. [Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo. Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this : These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd, Return in haste, for 1 do feast to-night My 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 you. Bass. You have obtain'd it. Gra. You must not deny me ; I must go with you to Belmont. Bass. Why, then you must ; — But hear thee, Gratiano ; 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 beha- I be misconstrued in the place I go to, [viour, 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 ; Use 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 gage By what we do to-night [me Bass. No, that were pity ; I would entreat you rather to put on Your 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 III. — The same. A Room in Shylock's House. Enter Jessica and Launcelot. Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so ; Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness : 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 : Give him this letter ; do it secretly, And so farewell ; I would not have my father See me talk with thee. Laun. Adieu ! — tears exhibit my tongue. — Most beautiful Pagan, — most sweet Jew ! If a Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived : But, adieu ! these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit ; adieu 1 [Exit. Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, To be asham'd to be my father's child ! But though I am a daughter to his blood, I am not to his manners : O Lorenzo, If you keep promise, I shall end this strife ; Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit SCENE IV.— The same. A Street Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. Lor. Nay, we will slink away in 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. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly or- And better, in my mind, not undertook, [der'd ; Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have but two To furnish us ; — [hours Enter Launcelot, with a letter. Friend Launcelot, what's the news ? Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify. Lor. I 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, 1 will not fail her ;— speak it privately; go Gentlemen, [Exit Lancelot. 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. arid Salan. Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed, 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. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— The same. Before Shylock's House. Enter Shylock and Launcelot. Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thj 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! MERCHANT OF VENICE. 181 Shy. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call. Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do nothing without bidding. Enter Jessica. Jes. 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 natter me : But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 1'he prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl, Look to my house : — I am right loath to go ; There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, For I did dream of money-bags to-night. Laun. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master doth expect your 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. Shy. What ; are there masques ? Hear you me, Jessica : Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum, And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the publick street, To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces : But 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 no mind of feasting forth to-night : But I 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. Shy. What says that foul of Hagar's offspring, ha? Jes. His words were, Farewell, mistress ; nothing else. Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder, 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 purse.-— Well, Jessica, go in ; Perhaps, I will return immediately ; Do, as I bid you, Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. SCENE VI.— The same. Enter Grvtiano and Salarino, masked. 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 the clock. Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly To see love's bonds new made, than they are wont, To 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 unbated fire That he did pace them first ? All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker, or a prodigal, The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind ! How like the prodigal doth she return ; With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! Enter Lorenzo. Salar. Here comes Lorenzo ; — more of this hereafter. Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode ; Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait : 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 within ? Enter Jessica, above, in bop'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, certain ; and my love, indeed ; For whom love I so much ? and now who knows, But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ? Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that thou art. Jes. Here, catch this basket ; it is worth the pains. I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, For I am much asham'd of my exchange : But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit ; For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy. Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 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, Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. But come at once ; For the close night doth play the run-away And we are staid for at Bassanio's feas Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some more ducats, and be with you straight. [Exit, from above. Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily : For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself ; And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul. Enter Jessica, below. What, art thou come ? — On, gentlemen, away ; Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. [Exit, with Jessica and Sai^arino. Enter Antonio. Ant. Who's there ? Gra. Signior Antonio ? Ant. Fye, fye, Gratiano ! 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. 182 MERCHANT OF VENICE. SCENE VII. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Flourish of Cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince of Morocco, and both their Trains. Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble prince ; — Now make your choice. Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears ; — Who chooseth me, shall gain ivhat many men desire. The second, silver, which this promise carries ; — Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; — Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. How shall I know if I do choose the right? Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince ; If you choose that, then I am yours withal. Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see, I will survey the inscriptions back again : What says this leaden casket? — Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. Must give — For what ? for lead ? hazard for lead ? 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 hazard, aught for lead. What says the silver with her virgin hue ? Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. As much as he deserves ?— Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand : If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady ; And yet to be afeard of my deserving, Were but a weak disabling of myself. As much as I deserve ! — Why, that's the lady : I do in birth deserve 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, To 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. I'st 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 sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem Was set in worse than gold. They have in England A coin, that 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 1 Por. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. \ Mor. O hell ! what 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 that told ; Many a man his life hath sold, But my outside to behold ; Gilded tombs do worms infold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been inscrol'd Fare you well ; your suit is cold. Cold, indeed ; and labour lost : Then, farewell heat ; and, welcome, frost. — Portia, adieu ! I 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 VIII.— Venice. A Street. Enter Salarino and Salanio. Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sa3; With him is Gratiano gone along ; And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke ; Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail : But there the duke was given to understand, That in a gondola were seen together Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica; Besides, Antonio certify 'd the duke, They were not with Bassanio in his ship Salan. I never heard a passion so confused, So strange, outrageous, and so variable, As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : My daughter ! — O my ducats ! — O my daughter ! Fled with a Christian 9 — O my christian ducats I — 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 ; two stones, two rich andprccious stones, Stol'n by my daughter ! — Justice ! find the girl I She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats ! Salar. Why, all the boys 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 : I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday ; Who told me, — in the narrow seas, that part The French and English, there miscarried 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. You were best to tell Antonio whac you hear ; Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. I 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 for my sake, Bassanio, But stay the very riping of the time ; And for the Jeiv's bond, which he hath of me, Let it not enter in your mind of love : Be merry ; and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship, and such fair ostents of love SCENE IX. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 183 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. Sedan. 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 Room in Portia's House. Enter Nerissa, with 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 Arragon, Portia, and their Trains. For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince; If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'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 right 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 doth swear, That comes to hazard for my worthless self. Ar. And so have I address'd me : Fortune now To my heart's hope ! — Gold, silver, and base lead. Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he 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 men desire. What many men desire. — That many may be meant By the fool multitude, that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond 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 jump 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 deserves . And well said too ; For who shall go 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 dcriv'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 honour Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, To be new varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves . I will assume desert ; — Give me a key for this, And instantly unlock my fortunes here. [there. Por. Too long a pause for that which you find Ar. What's here? theportiaitofahlinkingidiot, Presenting me a schedule ? I will read it. How much unlike art thou to Portia ! How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings 1 Who chooseth me, shall have as much as he deserves. Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ? Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices And of opposed natures. Ar. What is here ? The fire seven times tried this ; Seven times tried that judgment is, That did never choose amiss : Some there he, that shadows kiss ; Such have hut a shadow's bliss : There bo fools alive, I wis, Silver'd o'er; and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, I will ever bo your head : So begone, sir, you are sped. Still more fool I shall appear By the time I linger here : With one 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 singed the moth. Oh, these deliberate fools ! when 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 my lady ? Por. Here ; what would my lord Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate A young Venetian, one that comes before To signify the approaching of 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 : A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly summer was at hand, As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. Por. No more, I pray thee ; I am half afeard Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee, Thouspend'st such high-day wit in praising hhn. — Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly. Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be ! \ Exeunt lte MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT IIL ACT III. SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. Enter Salanio and Salarino. Salon, Now, what news on the Rialto ? Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that 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 neigh- bours believe she wept for the death of a third hus- band : But it is true, — without any slips of pro- lixity, 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 com- pany ! — Salar. Come, the full stop. Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou? — Why the end is, he hath lost a ship. Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses 1 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 the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledg'd ; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. Shy. She is damn'd for it. Salar. That's certain, if the devil maybe 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 have had any loss at sea or no ? Shy. There I have another bad match : a bank- rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come so smug upon the mart ; — let him look to his bond : he was wont to call me usurer ; — let nim look to his bond ! he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; — let him look to his bond. Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh ; What's that good for ? Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ; and what's the reason ? I am a Jew: Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? fed with 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 summer, as a Cnristian 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 you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility ? revenge ; If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ? why, revenge. The villany, you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. Enter a Servant Serv. 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. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfurt ! 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 Jewell in her ear! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin 1 No news of them ? — Why, 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 satisfaction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring, but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio as I heard in Genoa, — Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. Shy. I thank God, I thank God : — Is it true ? is it true ? 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 : Fourscore ducats at a sitting ! 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 them showed me a ring, that he had of your daughter for a monkey. Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal . it was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was a bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilder ness of monkeys. Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, SCENE II. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 186 Tubal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight before : I will bave the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for were he out of Venice, I can make what mer- chandize 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 Attendants. The caskets are set out. For. I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two, Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : There's something tells me, (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 yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) I would detain you here some month or two, Before you venture for me. I could teach you, How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 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. Beshrew your eyes, They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me ; One half of me is yours, the other half yours, Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours : O 1 these naughty times Put bars between the owners and their rights ; And so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it so, 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. For. 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. Pur. Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack, Where men enforced do speak any thing. Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. Pur. Well then, confess, and live. Bass. Confess, and love, Had been the very sum of my confession : O 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 ; Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, Fading in music : that the comparison May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, And wat'ry death-bed for him : 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 ! Live thou, I live ; — With much, much more dismay I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself. SONG. 1. Tell me where is fancy bred. Or in the heart, or in the head ? How begot, how nourished ? Reply. All 2. It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed ; and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies : Let us all ring fancy's knell ; I'll begin it, — '■ — Ding, dong, bell. Ding, dong, bell. Bass. — So may the outward shows be least them- selves ; The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? There is no vice so simple, but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars ; Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk !■ And these 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 those crisped snaky golden locks, Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Upon supposed 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 : but thou, thou meagre 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 thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy 1 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess; 1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less, For fear I surfeit ! Bass. What find I here ? [Opening the leaden casket. Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-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 sugar breath ; so sweet a bar J 80 MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT III. 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, Faster than gnats in cobwebs ; But her eyes, — How could he see to do them ! having made one, Methinks, 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 Doth limp behind the substance — Here's the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune. You. that choose not by the view, Chance as fair, and choose as true ! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content, and seek no new. If you be well pleas'd with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving kiss. A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave : {Kitting her. I come by note, to give and to receive. Like one of two contending in a prize, That 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 he 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. Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am : though for myself alone, I would 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 ; That only to stand high on your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account : but the full sum of me Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, 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 yours 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, This house, these servants, and this same myself, Are yours, my lord ; I 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 blood 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, Express'd, and not express'd : But when this ring Part3 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 prosper, 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 I am sure, you can wish none from me : And, when your honours mean to solemnize The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, Even at that time I may be married too. Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. Gra. I thank your lordship ; you have got me one. My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; You lov'd, I lov'd ; for 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 ? Ncr. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage. Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a thousand ducats. Ner. W r hat, and stake down ? Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down. — But who comes here ? Lorenzo, and his infidel ? What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? Enter Lorevzo, 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. Lor. I thank your honour : — For my part, my My purpose was not to have seen you here ; [lord, 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 Signior Antonio Commends him to you. IGives Bassanio a letter. Bass. Ere I ope his letter, I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. Sale. Not sick, ray lord, unless it be in mind ; Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there Will show you his estate. Gra. Nerissa, cheer yond stranger ; bid her wel- come. Your hand, Salerio ; What's the news from Venice ? How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ? I know, he will be glad of our success ; We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. Sale. 'Would you had won the fleece that" he hath lost! Por. There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper. That steal the coiour from Bassanio'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?-— SCENE IV. MERCHANT OF VENICE. m With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of any thing That this same paper brings you. Bass. O sweet Portia, Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words, That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, When I did 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 braggart : When I told you My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ; The paper as the body of my friend, And every word in it a gaping wound, Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio ? Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit ? From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, From Lisbon, Barbary, and India ? And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch Of merchant-warring rocks ? Sale. Not one, my lord. Besides, it should appear, that if he had The present money to discharge the Jew, He would not take it : Never did I know A creature, that did bear the shape of man, So keen and greedy to confound a man : He plies the duke at morning, and at night ; And doth impeach the freedom of the state, If they deny him justice : twenty merchants, The duke himself, and the magnificoes Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; But none can drive him from the envious plea Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. Jes. When I was with him, I haveheard him swear, To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen, That he would rather have Antonio's flesh, Than twenty times the value of the sum That he did owe him ; and I know, my lord, If law, authority, and power deny not, It will go hard with poor Antonio. Por. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble ? Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, The best condition'd and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies ; and one in whom The ancient Roman honour more appears, Than any that draws breath in Italy. Por. What sum owes he the Jew ? Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. Por- What, no more ? Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; Double six thousand, and then treble that, Before 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 unquiet soul. You shall have gold To pay the petty debt twenty times over ; When it is paid, bring your true friend along : My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time, Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ; For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer : Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. But let me hear tlie letter of your friend. Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since, in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at my death: notwithstanding, use your pleasure : if your love do not persuade you 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 III.— 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 Shylock. Shy. I'll have my bond ; Speak not against my bond; I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond : Thou call'dst me dog, before thou had'st a cause : But, 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 request. Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. Shy. I'll have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak : I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'cl 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. [Exit Shylock, 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 that 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 God, Bassanio come To see me pay his debt, and then I care not ! [Exeunt, ♦ — SCENE IV— Belmont. A Boom in Portia'* House. Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Je&sica, and Balthazar. Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your pre- You have a noble and a true conceit [sence Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 183 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 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, Ncr shall not now : for in companions That do converse and waste the time together, Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love. There must be needs a like proportion Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ; 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 the semblance of my soul From out the state of hellish cruelty ! This comes too near the praising of myself; Therefore, no more of it : hear other things. — Lorenzo, I commit into your hands The husbandry and manage of my house, Until my lord's return : for mine own part, I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow, To live in prayer and contemplation, Only attended by Nerissa here, Until her husband and my lord's return : There 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, I shall obey you in all fair commands. Por. My people do already know my mind, Ami will acknowledge you and Jessica In place of lord Bassanio and myself. So fare you well, till we shall meet again. Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you ! Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — [Exeunt Jkssica and Lorenzo. Now, Balthazar, As I have ever found thee honest, true, So let me find thee still : Take this same letter, And use thou all the endeavour of a man, In speed to Padua ; see thou render this Into my cousin's hand, doctor Beljario ; And, took, what notes and garments he doth give thee, / Bring them, I pray thee, with iuiagin'd speed Unto the tranect, to the common ferry Which trades to Venice : — waste no time in words, But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee. Ballh. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Exit. Por. Come on, Nerissa ; 1 have work in hand, That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands, Before they think of us. Ner. 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 accouter'd like young men, I'll 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 manly 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 withal: then I'll repent, And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them : And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, That men should swear, I have discontinued school Above a twelvemonth : — I have within my mind A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, W T hich I will practise. Ner. Why shall we turn to men ? Por. Fye ! 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 Laini klot ami Jkssica. Laun. Yes, trtdy ; — for, look you. the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children ; therefore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of the mat- ter : Therefore, be of good cheer ; for, truly, I think, you are damn'd. There is but one hope in it that can do you any good ; and that is but a kind of bastard hope neither. Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ? Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not, that you are not the Jew's daughter. Jes. 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 I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother ; well, you are gone both ways. Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath 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 making of Chris- tians will raise the price of hogs ; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money. Enter Lorenzo. Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say ; here he comes. Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launce- lot, if you thus get my wife into corners. Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo ; Launcelot and I are out : he tells me flatly, there is no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter : and he says, you are no good member of the commonwealth ; for, in converting Jews to Christians, you raise the price of pork. Lor. I shall answer that better to the common- wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's belly ; the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more than reason : but if she be less than an honest wo- man, she is, indeed, more than I took her for. Lor. How every fool can play upon the word ! I think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into silence ; and discourse grow commendable in none SCKNE V. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 18S only but parrots. — Go in sirrah ; bid them prepare for dinner. Laun. That is done, sir ; they have all stomachs. Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! then bid them prepare dinner. Laun. That is done, too, sir : only, cover is the word. Lor. "Will you cover then, sir ? Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant ? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain meaning ; go to thy fellows ; bid them cover 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 in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. [.Exit Launcelot. Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited ! The fool hath planted in his 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 Bassanio'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 match, And on the wager lay two earthly women, 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. Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach. Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk ; Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things I shall digest it. Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [.Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. Ilntcr the Ditkk, the Majmificoes; Antonio, IUssanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and others. Duke. What, is Antonio here ? Ant. Ready, so please your grace. Duke. I am sorry for thee ; thou art come to A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch [answer Uncapable of pity, void and empty From any dram of mercy. Ant. I have heard, Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify Mis rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, And that no lawful means can carry me Out of his envy*s reach, I do oppose My patience to his fury ; and am arrn'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his. Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. Salan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my lord. Enter Shyi,ock. DuJie. 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, Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : And where thou now exact'st the penalty, (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, But touch'd with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the pi'incipal ; Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, That have of late so huddled on his back ; Enough to press a royal merchant down, And pluck commiseration of his state From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn- Turks, and Tartars, never traiu'd To offices of tender courtesy. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I pur- And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn, [pose ; To have the due and forfeit of my bond > If you deny 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 carrion flesh, 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 I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet ? Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose, Cannot contain their urine ; for affection, Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood Of what it likes, or loaths : 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 Must yield to such inevitable shame, As to offend, himself being offended ; So can I give no reason, nor I will not More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 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 ; 190 MERCHANT OF VENICE. act iv. You may as well use question with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; You may as well forbid the mountain pines To wag their high tops, and to make 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 what's harder ?) His Jewish heart : — Therefore, I do beseech you, Make no more offers, use no further means, But, with all brief and plain cpnveniency, 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 ? Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong ? 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 them 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 seasoned with such viands ? You will answer, The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you ; The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it : If you deny me, fye upon your law ! There is no force in the decrees of Venice : I stand for judgment : answer : shall I have it ? Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, 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, Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. Enter Nkrissa, dressed like a laicycr's clerk. Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your grace. {Presents a tetter. Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. [Jew, Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can, No, not the hangman's axe, bear 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 be accus'd. Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, To hold opinion with Pythagoras, That souls of animals infuse themselves Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit jovern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, And, whilst thou 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 off my bond, Thou but offend'st thy lungs 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 Bellario's letter. {Clerk reads ] Your grace shall understand, that, at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick : but in the instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation was with mo a young doctor of Rome, his name isBalthasar: I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio the merchant : we turned o'er many books to- gether : he is furnish'd with my opinion ; which, bcttcr'd with his own learning, (the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend,) 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 likn lack a reverend estimation; for I never knew so young a bod; with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious accep- tance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation Duke. You hear the learned Bellario, what he writes : And here, I take it, is the doctor come. — Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor 0/ lairs. Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario . Por. I did, my lord. Duke. You are welcome : take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court ? Por. I am informed throughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Por. Is your name Shylock ? Shy. Shylock is my name. Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow : Yet in such a rule, that the Venetian law Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — You stand within his danger, do you not ? {To Antonfo. Ant. Ay, so he says. Por. Do you confess the bond ? Ant. I do. Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion 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 ; It 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, W T herein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; But mercy is above this scepter'd 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 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 8CENE I. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 191 That in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; And that same prayer doth teach 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 there. 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 court ; 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 you, 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. [Daniel ! Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a O wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. Shy. Here it is most reverend doctor, here it is. Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer' d thee. Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : Shall I lay perjury upon my soid? No, not for Venice. Por. Why, this bond is forfeit ; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ! Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. — It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me : I stay here on my bond. Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court To give 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 penalty, 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 1 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 so. Are there balance here, to weigh The flesh ? Shy. I have them ready. Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. Sky. Is it so nominated in the bond ? Por. It is not so express'd; But what of that ? 'Twere £Ood 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 ; fare you well ! Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; For herein fortune shows herself more kind Than is her custom : it is still her use, To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, An age of poverty; from which lingering penance Of such a misery doth she cut me off. Commend me to your honourable wife : Tell her the process of Antonio's end, Say, how I lov'd you, 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 but deep enough, I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. Bass. Antonio, I 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. Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for If she were by, to hear you make the offer, [that, 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. Shy. These be the Christian husbands : I have a daughter ; 'Would, any of the stock of Barrabas 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 ! Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned judge! — 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. Gra. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — O learned Shy. Is that the law ? [judge! Por. Thyself shall see the act : For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd, Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew; — a learned judge! Shy. I 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 shall have nothing but the penalty. Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh MERCHANT OF VENICE. ACT IV. 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 of a hair, — Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture. Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court ; He shall have merely justice, and his bond. Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel! — I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not barely have my principal ? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it! I'll stay no longer question. Por. Tarry, Jew ; The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — If it be prov'd against an alien, That by direct, or indirect attempts, He seek the life of any citizen, The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, Shall seize one half his goods; the other half 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'd The danger formerly by me rehears'd. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. Gra. Beg that thou may'st have leave to hang 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. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 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 sake. [court, Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; 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 favour, He presently become a Christian ; The other, that he do record a gift, Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant The pardon, that I late pronounced here. Por. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou Shy. I am content. [say ? 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 I 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 Shylock. 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. Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves you Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; [not. For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. [Exeunt Dukk, Magnificocs, and Train. Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend, Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted Of grievous penalties ; 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 ; I wish you well, and so I take my leave. Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further ; Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, Not as a fee : grant me two things, I pray you, Not to deny me, and to pardon me. Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. Give me your gloves, I'll wear them 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 ; 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, 1 have a mind to it. Bass. There's more depends on this than on the value. The dearest ring in Venice will I give you And find it out by proclamation ; Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers : You taught me first to beg ; and now, methinks, You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my And, when she put it on, she made me vow, [wife ; That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their An if your wife be not a mad woman, [gifts. And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever, For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! [ExeutU Portia and Nerissa. Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring ; Let his deservings, and my love withal, Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake h : rr», MERCHANT OF VENICE. 103 Give him the ring ; and bring him, if thou canst, Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste. [Exit Grattano- Come, you and I will thither presently ; And in the morning early will we both Fly toward Belmont : Come, Antonio. [Exeunt. SCENE U.— The same. A Street. Enter Portia and Nerissa. Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this And let him sign it ; we'll away to-night, [deed, And be a day before our husbands home. 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 company at dinner. Por. That cannot be : This ring I do accept most thankfully. And so, I pray you, tell him ; Furthermore, I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. Gra. That will I do. Ner. Sir, I would speak with you :— I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia. Which I 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 this house ? [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.— Belmont. Avenue to Portia's House. Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. Lor. The moon shines bright:— In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise ; in such a night, Iroilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night. Jest. In such a night, Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ; And saw the lion's 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 love To come again to Carthage. Jes. In such a night, Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs That did renew old ^Eson. Lo:\ 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 no body come : But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter Stkphano. Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Steph. A friend. Lor. A friend ? what friend ? your name, I pray you, friend ? Steph. StepMno 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. T.or. Who comes with her ? Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd ? Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, [him. — And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Enter Launcelot. Latin. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola ! Lor. Who calls ? Latin. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and mistress Lorenzo ? sola, sola ! Lor. Leave hollaing, man : here. Laun. Sola ! where ? where ? Lor. Here. Laun. Tell him there's a post come from my master, with his horn full of good news ; my master will be here ere morning. [Exit. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter ; — Why should we go in ? My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand : And bring your music forth into the air {Exit Stephano. How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank ! 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'st, But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young ey'd cherubims : 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 pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. Jes. I am never mex-ry, when I hear sweet music. [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, [loud, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing O 194 MERCHANT OF VENICE. ADT V. Which is the hot condition of their blood ; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them 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, Noi is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The 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 Nkrissa, at a distance. Por. 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 would not be awaked ! [Music ceases. Lor. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo, By the bad voice. Lor. 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 : We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. Por. This night, methinks, is but the daylight It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day, [sick, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, 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 ; But God sort all ! — you are welcome home, my lord. Bass. 1 thank you, madam : give welcome to my This is the man, this is Antonio, [friend. — To whom I am so infinitely bound. Por. You should in all sense be much bound to For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. [him, 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, I scant this breathing courtesy. [Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon, 1 swear, you do me I In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : [wrong, 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 poesy was For all the world, like cutler's poetry Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not. Ner. What talk you of the poesy, or the value ? You swore to me, when I 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 it. Gave it a judge's clerk ! — but well I know, The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face that had Gen. He will, an if he live to be a man. [it. Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. Gra. Now, by this hand, I 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. Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, 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, You 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, 1 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 truth 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 know to whom I gave the riug, If you did know for whom I gave the ring, And would conceive for what I gave the ring, SCENE I. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 195 And how unwillingly I left the ring, When naught would be accepted but the ring, You would abate the strength of your displeasure. Por. If you had kn'*wn the virtue of the ring, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, Or your own honour to contain the ring, You would not then have parted with the ring. 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 for't, but some woman had the ring. Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, No woman had it, but a civil doctor, Which did refuse 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 had held up the very life Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady ? I 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 The 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, I will become as liberal as you ; I'll not deny him any thing I have, No, not my body, nor my husband's bed : Know him I 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 my own, I'll 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, Por. Mark you but that ! In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: In each eye one : — swear by your double self, And there's an oath of credit. Bass. Nay, but hear me : Pardon this tault, and by my soul I swear, I never more will break an oath with thee. Ant. 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 upon the forfeit, that your lord Will never more break faith advisedly. Por. Then you shall be his surety : Give nim 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 the doctor ! Por. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio ; For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high-ways 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 amaz'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 shall 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 he with my wife. Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and For here I read for certain, that my ships [living : 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 starved 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'gatories, And we will answer all things faithfully. Gra. Let it be so ; The first inter'gatory, That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is, Whether till the next night she had rather stay ; 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 ring. [Exeunt. AS YOU LTKE IT. Duke, living in exile. Fpederick, Brother to the Dukk, and Usurper of his Dominions. Amikns, \ Lords attending upon the DvKRin his .Jaques, J Banishment. L.E Beau, a Courtier attending upon Frederic. Charles, his Wrestler. Oliver, \ Jaques, V Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. Orlando, j Dennis, } Servants to Ol^u. Touchstone, a Clown. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Sir Oliver Mar-text, a Vicar. CORIN, l" -.-__. . Sylvius, } Shepherds. "William, a Country Fellow, in lone with Acdkky. A Person representing Hymen. Rosalind, Daughter to the banished Duke. Celia, Daughter to Frederick. Phebe, a Shepherdess. Audrey, a Uuunlry Wench. Lords belonging to the two Dukes ,- Pages, Foresters, and other Attendants. The SCENE lies, first near Oliver's House ; afterwards partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the Forest of Arden. ACT I. SCENE I. — An Orchard, near Oliver's House. Enter Orlando and Adam. Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me : By will, but a poor thousand crowns : and, 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 differs 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 much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plenti- fully gives me, the something that nature gave rne, 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. This is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude : I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. Enter Oliver. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother- Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. OH. Now, sir ! what make you here ? Orl. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing. OH. What mar you then, sir ? Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. be better employ'd, and be Oh. Marry, sir, naught awhile. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them ? "What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury ? OH. Know you where you are, sir ? Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. OH. Know you before whom, sir ? Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know, you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should so know me : The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you are the first-born ; but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us : I have as much of my father in me, as you ; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. OH. What, boy! Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. OH. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ? Orl. I am no villain : I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois : he was my father ; and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot villains : Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so : thou hast railed on thyself. Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your father's remembrance, be at accord. OH. 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 me good education : you have trained me like a peasant, ob- scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities : the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it : therefore, allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give mc the poor allottery my father left me by testament ; with that I will go buy my fortunes. SCENE If. AS YOU LIKE IT. 197. 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, lea^e me. Orl. I will no further Offend you than becomes me for my good. Oli. Get you with 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 physickyour rankness, and yet give no thou- sand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis ! Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship ? Qa. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me ? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]— 'Twill be a good way ; and to-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 ? Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news ; that is, the old duke is banished by his younger brother the new duke ; and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke ; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be banished with her father ? Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred together, — that she would have followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter ; and never two ladies loved as they do. OH. Where will the old duke live ? Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England : they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day ; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke ? Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint you with a matter. • I am given, sir, secretly to un- derstand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a fall : To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ; and he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall accpxit him well. Your brother is but young and tender ; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in : therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you withal ; that either you might stay him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into ; in that it is a thing of his own search, and altogether against my will. Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find 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. I'll tell thee, Charles, — it is the stubbornest young fellow of France ; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous con- triver against me his natural brother ; therefore use thy discretion ; I had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger : 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 treach- erous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other : for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him ; but should I anatomise 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 hither to 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 ! {Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir this gamester : I hope, I shall see an end of him ; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle ; never school'd, and yet learned ; full of noble device ; of all sorts en- chantingly beloved ; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether misprised : but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler shall clear all : nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit. SCENE II.— A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. Enter Rosalind and Celta. Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of ; and would you yet I were merrier ? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, 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 father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine ; so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, 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 have ; and, truly, when he dies, 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 I break that oath, let me turn monster ; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. Ros. 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. Ros. What shall be our sport then ? Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife. 108 AS YOU LIKE fl. ACT I Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may hence- forth be bestowed equally. Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts 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 office [ to nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature. Enter Touchstone. Cel. No ? When nature hath made a fair crea- ture, may she not by fortune fall into the fire ? — Though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the ar- gument ? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for na- ture ; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's ; who, perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone : for always the dul- ness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How now, wit ? whither wander you ? Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger ? Touch. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool ? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught : now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good : and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge ? Ros. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Touch. Stand you both forth now : stroke your 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, if I had it, then I were : but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn : 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 pan- cakes or that mustard. Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st ? Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough ! speak no more of 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 little w r it, that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. Enter Le Beau. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young. Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Cel. All the better ; we shall be the more mar- ketable. Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau : What's the news ? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. 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. Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel. Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies : I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you 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 are coming to perform it. Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and buried. Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons, Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence ; Ros. With bills on their necks,— Be it known unto all men by these presents, Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler ; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him : so he served the second, and so the third : Yonder they lie : the poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas ! Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost ? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! it is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. Cel. Or I, I 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 sec this wres- tling, cousin? Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here is the place 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 Frederick, Lords, Orlando, 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. Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks suc- cessfully. Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin ? are you crept hither to see the wrestling ? Ros. Ay, my liege : so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men : In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies ; see if vou can move him. SCENE IT. AS YOU LIKE IT. 193 Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so ; I'll not be by. [Duke F. goes apart Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the prin- cesses call for you. Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler ? Orl. No, fair princess ; 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 would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this at- tempt. 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 I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was never gracious ; if 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 supplied when I have made it empty. Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in you ! Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? Orl. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall not 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 ! Cel. 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 mine 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 yet well breathed. Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is borne out. What is thy name, young man ? Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois. Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some man else. The world esteem'd thy father honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy : Thou 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 father's mind : Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventur'd. Ctf/. 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. Ros. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck. Wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune ; That 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 thatwhich here stands up, Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless 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 More than your enemies. Cel. Will you go, coz ? Ros. Have with you : — Fare you 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. poor Orlando I thou art overthrown : Or Charles, 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 misc6nstrues all that you have done. The duke is humourous ; what he is, indeed, More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. Orl. I thank you, sir : and pray you, tell me this ; Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling ? [manners ; Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter : The other is daughter to the banish' d duke, And 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 Hath 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, 1 shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well . [Exit Le Beau 200 AS YOU LIKE IT. act Thus must I from the smoke into the smother ; From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother : — But heavenly Rosalind 1 \_Exit. SCENE III. — ^ Room in the Palace. Enter Ceua and Rosalind. Cel. Why, cousin ; why Rosalind ; — Cupid have mercy ! — 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, .ame me with reasons. Iios. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father ? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father : O, how full of briars is this working-day world ! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trod- den paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Cel. O, a good wish upon you 1 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 fall 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 him, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. Ros. No 'faith, hate him 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 of anger. Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest And get you from our court. [haste, Ros. Me, uncle ? Duke. You, cousin : 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. Thus do all traitors ; If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself : — Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : Tell me. whereon Ihe lik< hiiood defends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. [dukedom ; Ros. So was I, when your highness took his 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 jour sake, Glse 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 her Her very silence, and her patience, [smoothness, Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous, When she is gone : then open not thy lips ; Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my I cannot live out of her company. [liege : Dukz F. You are a fuoj : — You, niece, provide yourself; If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, And in the greatness of my word, you die. [Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords. Cel. O my poor Rosalind : whither wilt thou go ? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I 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, Say 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 curtle-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 : fiCEME II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 2Ui A s many other mannish cowards have, That do outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man ? Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, And theiefore, look you, call me, Ganvmede. But what will you be call'd ? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : No longd 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 II, SCENE I.— The /'om'/i/AnDEX. Enttt Di.ke Senior, Amtkvs, 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 eovt ? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I 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, Sermons in stones, and good in every tiling. Ami. I would not change it : Happy is your grace. That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 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 lord, 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 hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth 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 ? Did he not moralize this spectacle ? I Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies. First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'sl a testament, As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much : Then, being alone. Left and abandou'd of his velvet friends ; 'Tis right, quoth he ; this misery doth part The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd, i Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jaques, Sice'-p on, you fat and greasy citizens ; ' T'ts just the fashion. : Wherefore do you look Up/>n that poor and broken bankrupt there ? 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 animals, and to kill them up, In their assign 'd and native dwelling place. Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem- plation ? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping, and com- Upon the sobbing deer. [menting 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. LExeunt. SCENE II.— A Room in the Palace Enter Duke Frkdkrick, Lords, and Attendants. Duke F. Can it oe 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 chamber, 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 so 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 company. Duke F. Send to his brother ; fetch that gallant If he be absent, bring his brother to me, [hither : I'll make him find him : do this suddenly: And let not search and inquisition quail To bring again these foolish runaways. \ Exeunt. 202 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT II SCENE III.— Before Oliver's House. Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. Orl. Who's there ? Adam. What! my young master? — O, my gentle master, O. my sweet master, O you memory Of old sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bony priser of the humourous duke ? Your 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 ! 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 : Your brother — (no, no brother ; yet the son — Yet not the son 5 —I will not call him son — Of him 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. Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go ? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my 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 : Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not so : I have five hundred The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, [crowns, Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown ; Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, 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 unbashful 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 these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; And having that, do choke their service up Even 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 yield, In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry : But come thy ways, we'll £o along together ; And ere we have thy youthful 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. lExeunt. SCENE IV — The Forest of Arden. Enter Rosalind in boy's clothes, Celia drest like a Shepherdess, and Touchstone. Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits I Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. Ros. I 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 ought to show itself courageous to petticoat : there- fore, courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I can go no further. Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you : yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you ; for, I think, you have no money in youi 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 solemn talk. Enter Corin and Silvius. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. Sil. 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 midnight pillow : But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As sure I think did never man love so,) How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Sil. O, thou did'st 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 Siivhjs. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. Touch. And I mine : I remember, when I was in love, 1 broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight to Jane Smile : and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the SCENE VI. AS YOU LIKE IT. 203 cow's 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, giving her them again , said with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into 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 of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own 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. Holla : you, clown ! Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman. Cor. Who calls ? Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. Ros. Peace, I say : — Good even to you, friend. Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, And faints for succour. Cor. Fair sir, I pity her. And 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 shear the fleeces that 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 flocks, 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 pasture ? Cor. That young swain that you saw here but That little cares for buying any thing. [erewhile, Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Cel. And we will mend thy wages : I like this And willingly could waste my time in it. [place, 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, And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. Ami. SCENE V The same. Enter Amik.vs, Jaques, and others. SONG. Under the greenwood tree, "Who loves to lie with me, And time his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Jag. More, more ; I pr'ythee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs : More, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is ragged ; I know, I cannot please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing : Come, more ; 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 ? Ami. More at your request, than to please my- self. Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you : but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes ; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, 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 have 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 no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither ; Here shall ho see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. Ami. And I'll sing it. Jaq. Thus it goes : If it do come to pass, That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and case, A stubborn will to please, Ducd&me, ducdame, ducdame ; Here shall he see Gross fools as he, An if he will come to Ami. Ami. What's that ducdame? 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 Egypt. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke ; his banquet is prepared. [Exeunt severally. SCENE VI.— The same. Enter Orlando and Adam. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further; Oh, I die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. Ori. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in thee ? Live a little ; comfort a little ; 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 204 AS YOU LIKE IT. awhile at the arm's end: 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 I 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 shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this de- sert. Cheerly, good Adam ! [Exeunt. SCENE VII — The same. A Table set out. Enter Duke Senior, Amtkns, Lords, and others. Dvke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; For 1 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 : — Go, seek him; tell him I would speak with him, Enter Jaques. 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur 1 what a life 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 ; Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. Good-morroiv, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me for lane. . And then he drew a dial from his poke: And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, // is ten o'clock : Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags,: f Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine ; And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven ; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to "hour, we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear The motley fool thus moral 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 ? Jaq. O worthy fool! — One that hath been a courtier ; And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his bra?.n, — Which is as dry as the remainder bisket After a voyage, — he hath strange places eramni'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. Juq- It is my only suit ; Provided, that you 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 : Aud 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 squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley ; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. Duke S. Fye 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 For thou thyself hast been a libertine, [sin : As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores, and headed evils, That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, Wouldst 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 I say, The city-woman bears The cost of 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 cost, (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits His 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 him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ? Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn. Oil. Forbear, and eat no more. Jaq. Why, 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 ; Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility ; yet am I inland bred, And know some nurture: But forbear, I say ; He dies that touches any of this fruit, Till I and my affairs are answered. Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. Duke S. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force, 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 our table. Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you: 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 ; BCKNE II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 205 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 wip'd 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 it is that we have seen better days ; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church ; And sat at good men's feasts ; and wip'd our 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 be first suffie'd, — Oppress'd with two weak evils, age, and hunger, — 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 your good comfort ! [Exit. Duke S. Thou 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 winning 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 mouth: And then, the jus- In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, [tice ; With 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 youthful 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, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing lie-enter Orlando, with Adam. Duke S. Welcome : Set down your venerable Afid let him feed. [burden, Orl. I thank you most for him. Adam. So had you need ; I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. Duke S. Welcome, fall to ; I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — Give us 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 %o keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. neigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : Tben, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly, ir. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend reniemberd not. Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &e. Duke S. If that you were the good sir Row- land's son, — As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were : And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,— lie truly welcome hither : 1 am the duke, That lov'd your father : The residue of your fortune, Go 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, And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.— A Room in the Palace. Enter Duke Frederick, 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, I I should not seek an absent argument Of my revenge, thou present : but look to it ; Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is : Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or living, Within this twelvemonth, or turn 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 ; Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth, j Of what we think against thee. Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this ! I 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 and lands : Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Exeunt SCENE II.— The Forest. Enter Orlando, with a paper. Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love And, thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 206 AS YOU LIKE IT act in O Rosalind ! these trees shall be nay 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 and Touchstone. Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone ? Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd's 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 the fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well ; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one 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 reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou 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 : Thou 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 behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands ; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; and their fells, you know, are greasy. Touch. Why, 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. Shallow, again : a more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep ; And would you have 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 I — 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 offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle : to be bawd to a bell-wether ; and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds ; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter Rosalind, reading a paper Ros. From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, heing 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 you so eight years together ; dinners, 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, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So, be sure, will Rosalind. Winter-garments must be lin'd, So must slender Rosalind They that reap, must sheaf and bind, Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest Rose will find, Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you infect yourself with them ? Ros. Peace, you dull fool ; I found them on a tree. Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar : then it will be the earliest fruit in the country : for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter Celia, reading a paper. Ros. Peace ! Here comes my sister, reading ; stand aside. ^ Cel. Why should this desert silent be ? For it is unpeopled ? No ; Tongues I'll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show : Some, how brief the life 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 j But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence' end, SCENE I J. AS YOU LIKE IT. 207 Will I Rosalinda write, Teaching all that read, to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore heaven nature charg'd That one. body should be fill'd With all graces wide enlargM : Nature presently distili'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart ; Cleopatra's majesty ; Atalanta's better part ; Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devis'd, Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners u ithal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people! Cet. How now ! back, friends ; — Shepherd, go off a little : — Go with him, sirrah. Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honour- able retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ? Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the verses. 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 wondering how thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these 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-rhymed 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. And a chain that you once wore, about his neck : Change you colour ? Ros. I pr'ythee, who ? Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends to meet ; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it ? Cel. Is it possible ? Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all wnooping ! Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition ? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it ? quickly, and speak apace : I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of 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 I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of God's 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 will be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak sad brow, and true maid. Cel. I'faith, 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'st him ? What said he ? How look'd he ? Wherein went he? What makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee ? and when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth 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 forest, and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled ? Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions of a lover : — but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a good observance". I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good madam. Ros. Proceed. Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight. Ros. Though 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 furni&h'd like a hunter. Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : thou bring'st me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think, I must speak. Sweet ! say on. Enter Orlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not Ros. 'Tis he ? slink by, and note him. [here ? [Celia and Rosalind retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. Jaq. God be with you ; let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? Orl. Yes-, just. Jaq. 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 pretty answers ; Have you 203 AS YOU LIKE IT not been acquainted with goldsmiths* wives, and conn'd them out of rings ? Orl. Not so ; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. Jaq. You have a nimble 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. I am weary of you. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him. Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. 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. [Exit Jaqijes.— Celia and Rosalind come forward. 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. I pray you, what is't a clock ? Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; there's no clock in the forest. Ros. Then there's no true lover in the forest ; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not that been as proper ? Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons ; I will 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 maid, between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized ; if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. Orl. Who ambles time withal ? Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich 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 thief 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 in 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. I have heard him read many lectures 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 charge of women. Ros. There were none principal ; they were all like one another, as half-pence are : every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. Orl. I pr'ythee recount some of them. Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physick, 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, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind : if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked ; I pray you, tell me your remedy. Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : he taught me how to know a man- in love ; in which cage 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 spirit; which you have not : a beard neg- lected ; which you have not : but I pardon you for that ; for, 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- toned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man ; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- lieve I love. Ros. Me believe it ? you may as soon make her that you love 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. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ? Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak ? Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad- men do : and the reason why they are not so punished 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 ? Ros. Yes, one ; and in this 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 liking; proud, fantasti< »1, SCENE III. AS YOU LIKE IT. i09 apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for every passion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of 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 from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madness; which was, to for- swear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastick: And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every clay to my cote, and woo me. Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is. Ros. 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 : Will you go ? Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come, sister, will you go ? [Exeunt. SCENE III. Enter Touchstone and Audrey; Jaques at a distance, observing them. Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey ? am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what features ? Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited ! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house. [Aside. Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for- ward child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than 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 ; for 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 feign. 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, unless thou wert hard-favour'd : for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar. Jaq. A material fool ! [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 I thank the gods I am foul. Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul- ness ! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village ; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this 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, this is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns ? Even so : Poor men alone ? No, no ; the noblest deer hath them 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 forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of 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 Oli. Is there none here to give the woman ? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- riage is not lawful. Jaq. [Discovering himself ".] Proceed, proceed I'll give her. Touch. Good even, good master What ye call' t : 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 desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breed- ing, 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 together as they join wainscot : then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him 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. Go 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 ! Not — O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behi' thee ; But — Wind away, Begone I say, I will not to wedding wi' thee. [Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. 210 AS YOU LIKE IT. SCENE IV. — The same. Before a cottage. Enter Rosalind and Cklia. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. Cel. Do, I pr'ythee ; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man. Ros. But have I not cause to weep ? Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; there- fore weep. Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. Ros. I 'faith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever the only colour. 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. Was is not is : besides the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings : He attends here in the forest on the duke your father. Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question with him : He asked me, of what paren- tage I was ; I told him, of as good as he ; so he laugh'd and let me 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 fully guides : — Who comes here ? Enter Cokin. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love ; Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. Cel. Well, and what of him ? Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the 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 sight of lovers feedeth those in love : — Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. I [Exeunt. SCENE V.— Another part of the Forest. Enter Skivius and Phkbk. 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 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, [hard, But first begs pardon ; Will you sterner be, Than he that .dies and lives by bloody drops ? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance, Phe. I would not be thy executioner ; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye : 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, — that are the frail' st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies, — Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; Now counterfeit to swoon ; why, now fall down ; Or, if thou can'st not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee : Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not ; Nor, 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, when that time comes, Afflict 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 mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched ? What though you have more (As, by my faith, I see no more in you [beauty, 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 after 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 worship 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 gkass, but you, that flatters her ; And out of you she sees herself more proper, Than any of her lineaments can show her ; — But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, 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 not for all markets : Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer : Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So, take her to thee, shepherd ; — fare you well. Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year to gether ; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. SCENE V AS YOU LIKE IT. 211 Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger : If it be so, as fast 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 my house, 'lis 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 Corns. Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight ? Sil. Sweet Phebe,— . Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius ? Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my love ; is not that neighbourly ? Sil. I would have you. Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee ; And yet it is not, that I bear thee love : But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure ; and I'll employ thee too : But do not look for 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 poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while ? 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. [him , Phe. Think .not I love him, though I ask for 'Tis but a peevish boy : — yet he talks well ; — 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 very pretty :- — f_ nmi : But sure he's proud ; and yet his pride becomes He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not tall ; yet for his years he's tall : His leg is but so-so ; and yet 'tis well : There was a pretty redness in his lip ; A little riper and more lusty red [ference Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the dif- Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd In parcels as I did, would have gone near [him To fall in love with him : but, for my part, I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him : For what had he to do to chide at me ? He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me ; I marvel, why I answer'd not again : But that's all one ; omittance is not quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it ; Wilt thou, Silvius ? Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. Phe. I'll write it straight ; The matter's in my head, and in my heart : I will be bitter with him, and passing short : Go with me, Silvius. I Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I The same. Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am 60 ; I do 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 fantastical ; 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, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humor- ous 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 hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. Enter Orlando. Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experi- ence to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. Or I. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look you lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable all the bene- fits of your own countiy : be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are ; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. — Why, how now, Orlando ! where have you been all this while ? You a lover ? — An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and 212 AS YOU LIKE IT. 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. Orl. Of a snail? Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head ; a better jointure, I tbink, than you can make a woman : Besides, he brings his destiny with him. Orl. What's that ? Ros. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives ior : but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is virtuous. 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 very Rosalind ? Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit ; and for 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. Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. Orl. What, of my suit ? Ros. Not out of your apparel, and vet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will n^t have you. Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this iime ihere was not any man died in his own. person, vide- licet, in a love-cause. Troilus bad his brains dashed ">ut with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could t o die before ; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer-night ; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies ; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind ; for, 1 protest, her frown might kill me. Roe. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition ; and ask me what you will, I will grant it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith win I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. Orl. And wilt thou have me ? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. Orl. What say'st thou ? Ros. Are you not good ? Orl. I hope so. Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us.— Give me your hand, Orlando : — What do you say, sister ? Orl. Pray thee, marry us. Cel. I cannot say the words. Ros. You must begin, Will you, Orlando,— Cel. Go to : Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? Orl. I will. Ros. Ay, but when ? Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say, — J take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. I might ask you for your commission ;' but, — I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband : There a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions. Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her. Orl. For ever, and a day. Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Or- lando ; men are April when they woo, Decembei when they wed : maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock- pigeon over his hen ; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape ; more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a, hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O, but she is wise. Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : the wiser, the waywarder : Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the case- ment ; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole ; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, — Wit, whither wilt ? Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that ? Ros. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool. Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner ; by two o'clock I will be with thee again. SCENE III. AS YOU LIKE IT. 213 Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew what you would prove ; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less : — that flattering 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 so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, 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 wert indeed my Rosalind : So, adieu ! Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try : Adieu ! [Exit Orlando. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your ,ove-prate : we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show 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 1 am in love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. Cel. 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 madness : that blind rascally boy, that abuses 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 Or- lando : 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 Jaquks and Lords, in the habit 0/ 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 Ro- man conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory ; — Have you no song, forester, for this purpose ? 2 Lord. Yes, sir. Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, $0 it make noise enough. SONG. 1 . What shall he have, that kill'd the deer ? 2. His leather skin, and horns to wear. 1 . Then sing him home : Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ; ( The »* ih «u It was a crest ere thou wast bora. \ dl" th " bur " 1. Thy father's father wore it ; 2. And thy father bore it : All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn. Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. SCENE III — The Forest. Enter Rosalind and Cklia. Ros. How say you now ? Is it not past two o'clock? 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. Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ; — My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : [Oivinf a letter. I know not the contents ; but, as I guess, By the stern brow, and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor : pardon me, I am but as a guiltless messenger. Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ; She calls me proud ; and, that she could not love Were man as rare as Phoenix; Od's my will ! [me Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : Why writes she so to me ? — Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; Phebe did write it. Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ; She has a huswife's hand: but 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. Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, A style for challengers ; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth 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 I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Ros. She Phebes me : Mark how the tyrant writes. Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd ? [Reads. Can a woman rail thus ? Sil. Call you this railing ? Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st 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 me.— Meaning me a beast. — If the scorn of your bright eyne Have power to raise such love in mine, Alack, in me what stx-ange 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 knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind ; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me, and all that I can make ; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll 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 214 AS YOU LIKE IT. thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee ! not to be endured '—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 comes more company. [Exit Silvius. Enter Olivkr. Oli. 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 : But 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 browner than her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both ; And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin ; Are you he ? Ros. I am : what must we understand by this ? Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief was stain'd. Cel. > I pray you, tell it. Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again 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 object did present itself ! Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, 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'd 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 couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, 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, 4nd found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother ; A.nd he did render him the most unnatural That liv'd 'mongst men. Oli. And well he might do so, For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando: — Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? Oli. 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, Who 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? Oli. '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? — Oli. 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, Committing me unto my brother's love ; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There 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, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as 1 am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin, Dy'd in this blood, unto the shepherd-youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany- mede? [Rosalind faints. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it: — Cousin — Ganymede ! Oli. Look, he recovers. Ros. I would, I were at home. Cel. We'll lead you thither:— I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? Oli. 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 would think this was well counterfeited : I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh ho! — Oli. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counter- feit to be a man. Ros. So I do : but i 'faith I should have been a woman by right. Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards: — Good sir, go with us. Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall demise something : But, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. — Will you go t [Exeunt, SCENE II. AS YOU LIKE IT. 21, ACT V. SCENE I.— The same. Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. 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 ray troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall he flouting; we cannot hold. Will. Good even, Audrey. Aud. God ye good even, William. Will. And good even to you, sir. Touch. Good even, gentle friend : Cover thy head, cover thy head ; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old are you, friend ? Will. Five-and-twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age : Is thy name William ? Will. William, sir. Touch. A fair name : Wast born i' the forest here ? Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. Touch. Thank God ; — a good answer ; Art rich ? Will. 'Faith, sir, so-so. Touch. So-so, is good, very good, very excellent good : — and yet it is not ; it is but so-so. Art thou wise ? Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now re- member a saying ; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open 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 consent, that ipse is he ; now you are not ipse, for I am he. Will. Which he, sir ? Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is in the vulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish is, company, — of this female, — which in the com- mon is, woman, — which together is, abandon the society of this female ; or clown, thou perishest ; or, to thy better understanding, diest ; to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage : I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with thee in faction ; I will o'er-run thee with policy ; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways ; therefore tremble, and depart. Aud. Do, good William. Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit. Enter Corin. Cor* Our master and mistress seek you ; 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 ? OH. 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 father's house, and all the revenue that was old sir Row- land'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, and all his contented followers : Go you, and prepare Aliena : for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. Ros. God save you, brother. OIL And you, fair sister. Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in & 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 handker- chief? 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 — I 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 will bid the duke to the nuptial. But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I 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 1 cannot serve your 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 21G AS YOU LIKE IT. bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know you are ; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things : I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in this art, and not yet damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her : — I know into what straits of fortune 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 she is, and without any danger. Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings ? Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, though 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 Phebb. Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentle - To show the letter that I writ to you. [ness, Ros. I care not, if I have : it is my study, To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd : Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ; — And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance ; — And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Ros. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [To Rosalind. Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? [To Phebk. Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? Ros. 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 you, no more of this ; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.— I will help you, [to Silvius.] if I can :— I would love you [to Phebe.] if I could — To-morrow meet me all together.— I will marry you, [to Phebe.] if ever 1 marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow : — I will satisfy you, [to Or-lando.] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow : — I will content you, [to Silvius.] if what pleases you con- tents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. As you [to Orlando.] love Rosalind, meet; — as you [to Silvius.] love Phebe, meet ; and as I love no woman, I'll meet. — So, fare you well ; I have left you commands. Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. Phe. Nor I. Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Enter Touchstone and Audrey, Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; to-morrow will we be married. A ud. I do desire it with all my heart : and I hope it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages. 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. Touch. By my troth, well met : Come, sit, sit, and a song. 2 Page. We are for you : sit i'the middle.' 1 Paye. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse ; which are the only prologues to a bad voice ? 2 Page. I'faith, i'faith ; and both in a tune, like two gypsies on a horse. SONG. - i. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonlno, That o'er the green corn-fields did pass In the spring time, the only pretty rank time, "When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : Sweet lovers love the Bpring. H, Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, &c. in. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, Huw that a life was but a flower In spring time, &c. IV. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, &c. Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no greater matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. 1 Page. You are deceived, sir ; we kept time, we lost not our time. Touch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be with you ; and God mend your voices ! Come, Audrey. [Exeunt. SCENE IV Another Part of the Forest. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, and Celia. Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised ? Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not ; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. SCENE IV. AS YOU LIKE IT. 2Pi Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd: You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Dukk. You will bestow her on Orlando here ? Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. Ros. And you say you will have her, when I bring her ? [To Orlando. Qrl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. Ros. You say, you'll many me, if 1 be willing ? [To PUEBE. Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ? Phe. So is the bargain. Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will ? [To SlLVIL'S. Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing. Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. 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 me ; Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, If she refuse me : — and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. Oil. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, Methought 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 fools. Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome ; This is the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in the forest : 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 flatter'd a lady ; I have been politick with my friend, smooth with mine enemy ; I have undone three tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. Jaq. How seventh cause ? Good my lord, like this fellow. Duke S. I like him very well. Touch. God'ild you, sir ; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear : according as marriage binds, and blood breaks : — A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor-house ; as your pearl, in your foul oyster. Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sen- tentious. Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, ami such dulcet diseases. Jaq. But for the seventh cause ; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause ! Touch. Upon a He seven times removed; — Bear your body more seeming, Audrey : — as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was : This is called the Retort courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut. be 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 called the Reply churlish. If again it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : This is called the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lie : This is called the Countercheck quarrelsome : and so, to the Lie cir- cumstantial, and the Lie direct. Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut. Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie cir. cnmslantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct ; and so we measured swords and parted. Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the de- grees of the lie? Touch. O, 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 may avoid, but the lie direct ; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If as, If you said so, then I said so ; And they shook hands, and swire brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker : — much virtue in If. 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-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in woman's clothes,- and Celia. Still Music. Hym. Then there is 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 mighfst join her hand with his, Whose heart within her bosom is. Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Duke & To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orlando Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Phe. If sight and shape be true, [Rosalind. Why then, — my love adieu ! Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : — [To Duke & 218 AS YOU LIKE IT. ACT V i'U have no husband, if you be not he :*— [To Orlando. Nov e'«ir wed woman, if you be not she. [To Phebb. 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 may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. BONG. Wedding Is great Juno's crown ; blessed bond of board and bed ! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town ; High wedlock then be honoured ; Honour, high honour and renown , To Hymen, god of every town ! 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 ; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To Silvhs. Enter Jaques de Bois. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, [two ; 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 ; There, meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise, and from the world : His crown bequeathing 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 engage my life. Duke S. Welcome, young man ; Thou offer' st fairly to thy brothers' wedding : To one, his lands with-held : 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 well 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-fall'n dignity, And fall into our rustick revelry : — Play, music— and you brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. Jaq. 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 learn'd. — You to your former honour I bequeath ; [To Duke 8. Your patience and your virtue well deserves it : — You [to Orlando.] to a love, that your true faith doth merit: — You [to Oliver.] to your land, and love, and great allies : — You [to Sylvius.] to a long and well deserved bed:— And you [to Touchstone.] to wrangliug; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months victual'd: — So to your plea- sures ; I am for other than for dancing measures. Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. Jaq. To see no pastime, I : what would you have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these rites, And we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance. EPILOGUE. Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue : but it is no more unhandsome, than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good wine needs no bush, 'tis *.rue, 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. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinu- ate with you in the behalf of a good play ! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me : my way is, to conjure you ; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please them : and so I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women, (as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that between you and the women, the play may please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not ; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curts'y, bid me farewell. [Exeun- ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Kino of France. Duke of Florence. Bertram, Count o/Rousillon. Lafeo, an old Lord. Parolles, a Follower 0/ Bertram. Several young French Lords, that serve with Bertram in the Florentine War. Stewards, Clown, y Servants to the Countess of Rousillon. A Page, nc i'io Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram. Helena, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess. An Old Widow o/Florenee. Diana, Daughter to the Widow. Violenta, ) l- . Mariana, j N ^9^oours and Friends to the Widow. Lords attending on the Kino ; Officers, Soldiers, (fee. French and Florentine. SCENE, — Partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. ACT I. SCENE J.— Rousillon. A Room in the Coun- tess's Palace. Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafku, in mournlrg. Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father'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 such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment ? 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 of 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 mourninglyj he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mor- tality. Bet. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- ^u'shes of? Laf. A fistula, my lord. Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were cot notorious. — Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon ? Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises ; her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there com- mendations go with pity, they are virtues and trai- tors too ; in her they are the better for their simple- ness ; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. Count. 'Tis the best bnne a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than 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, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Laf. How understand we that ? Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed 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 more will, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down. Fall on thy head I Farewell. — My lord, 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord, Advise him. 220 ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT Laf. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him ! — Farewell, Bertram. [Exit Counters. Be? . The best wishes, that can be forged in your thoughts, [to Helena.] be servants to you ! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady : You must hold the cre- dit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lakeu. Hel. O, were that all ! — I think not on my father ; And these great tears grace his remembrance more 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 draw 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 : But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here ? Enter Parolles. One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ; And yet I know him a notorious liar, 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 wind : withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. Par. Save you, fair queen. Hel. And you, monarch. Par. No. Hel. And no. Par. Are you meditating on virginity ? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you ; let me ask you a question : Man is enemy to vir- ginity ; how may we barricado it against him ? Par. Keep him 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 from 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 yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politick 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. Virginity, 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 t. 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 in- fallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a virgin : virginity murders 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 itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own sto • mach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idJe, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not ; you cannot choose but loseby't : Outwith't : within ten years it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase ; and the prin- cipal 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 : off with't, while 'tis vendible : 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 virginity, is like one of our French wi- thered pears ; it looks ill, it eats drily ; marry, 'tis.a withered pear ; it was formerly better ; marry, yet, 'tis a withered pear : Will you any thing with it ? Hel. Not my virginity yet. There shall your master have a thousand loves, A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His- faith, his sweet disaster : with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he I know not what he shall : — God send him 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, my lord calls for you. [Exit Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. 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, I think, rather Par. Why think you so ? Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. SCENE III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 221 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. I am so full of business, I cannot answer thee acutely : I will return perfect courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee ; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away : farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers ; when thou hast none, remember 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 fated sky Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, wheu we ourselves are dull. What power is it, which mounts my love so high ; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose, What hath been cannot be : Who ever strove To show her merit, 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 II. •Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with Letters ; Lords and Others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys are 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 ; whei-ein our dearest friend 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. King. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes ; Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to See The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. 2 Lord. It may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. King. What's he comes here ? Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. King. 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 inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. King. I would I had the corporal soundness now, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First try'd our soldiership ! He did look far Into the service of the time, 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-day 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 minute 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. King. 'Would, I were with him ! He would always say, (Methinks, I hear him now : his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there, and to bear,) — Let me not live, Thus his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he, After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, ivhose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain ; whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constanciet Expire before their fashions : This be wish'd I, after him, do after him wish too, Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't, Since the physician at your father's died ? [count, He was much fam'd. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet j — Lend me an arm ; — 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. lExeunt. Flourish. SCENE III. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 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 content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours : for then we wound our mo- desty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here ? Get you 222 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT I. gone; 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 folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor ; though many of the rich are damned : But, if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the wo -Id, Isbel the woman 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 ? Clo. 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 flesh ; and he must needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason ? Clo. Faith, madam, I have, other holy reasons, isuch as they are. Count. May the world know them ? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, I do :marry, that I may repent. Count. Thymarriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Cfe I am out of friends, madam ; and I hope to have mends for 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 am ff;-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my learn, and gives me leave to inn the crop : If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge : He, that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh nnd blood ; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend ; ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. J[f 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'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd. Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave ? Clo. A prophet, I, madam ; and I speak the truth the next way : For I the ballad will 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, that 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, Why the Grecians 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, ISinging. And gave this sentenoe then :— Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten. Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o' the song : 'Would God would serve the world so all the year ! we'd find no fault with the 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 mend the lottery well ; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as 1 command you ! Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! — Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown, of a big heart. — I am going, forsooth : the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit '"lown Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- woman entirely. Count. 'Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds : there is more owing her, than is paid ; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. Slew. Madam, I was very late more near her tnan, I think, she wished me : 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 would not extend his might. only where qualities were level : Diana, no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, or ransome afterward : This she delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in : which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint 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 you for your honest care : I will speak with you further 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, Such were our faults ; — or then we thought them Her eye is sick on't ; — I observe her now. [none. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ? Count. You know, Helen, I am a mother to yau. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Count. Nay, a mother Why not a mother ? When I said, a mother, su*:>'E in. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 223 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 those 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 I express to you a mother's care : — God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood, To say, I am thy mother ? What's the matter, That this distemper' d messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ? Why ? that you are my daughter ? Hel. That I am not. Count. I say, I am your mother. Hel. Pardon, madam ; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : I am from humble, he from honour'd name ; No note upon my parents, his ah noble ; My master, my dear lord he is : and 1 His servant live, and will his vassal die : He must not be my brother. Count. Nor I your mother > Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would you were (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) Indeed, my mother ! — or were you both our mo- I care no more for, than I do for heaven, [thers So I were not his sister : Can't ao 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 your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross, You love my son ; invention is asham'd, Against the proclamation of thy passion, 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 thy behaviours. That in their kind they speak it : only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, 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, Whereof 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 my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son : — My friends were poor, but honest ; so's my love : Be not offended ; for it hurts not him, That he is ov'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 intenible sieve, I still pour in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-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 then, give pity To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ; 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 trnlj To go to Paris ? Hel. Madam, I had. Coimt. Wherefore ? tell true Hel. I will tell truth ; by grace itself, I swear. You know, my father left me 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 heedfullest reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, More than they were in note : amongst the lest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishes, whereof The king is render'd lost. Count. That was your motive For Paris, was it ? speak. Hel. 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. But 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 poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? Hel. There's something hints, More than my father's skill, which was the greatest Of his profession, that his good receipt Shall for my legacy, be sanctified [honour By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your 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. ISxeunt 224 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT II. ACT II. SCENE I. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords, taking leave for the Florentine war,- Bertram, Paroiaes, and Attendants. King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike prin ciples [well : — Do not throw from you : — and you, my lord, fare- Share the advice betwixt you : if both gain all, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, And is enough for both. 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir, After well 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, young lords ; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy (Those '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. 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be- hind us ! Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars ! Par. Most admirable ; I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with, Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early. Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely. Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, 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, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary ; and so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body. 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 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 observe 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. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble 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 undei 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. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. [Exeunt Bertram and Parolles. Enter La feu. 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 I had broke thy pate, And ask'd thee mercy for't. Laf. Goodfaith, across ; But, my good lord, 'tis thus ; Will you be cured 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 fox Could reach them : I have seen a medicine, That's able to breathe life into a stone ; Quicken a rock, and make you dance canaiy, With spritely 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 one arriv'd, If you will see her, — now, by my faith, and honour, If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance, I have spoke With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession, Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more Than I dare blame my weakness : Will you see her (For that is her demand) and know her business ? That done, laugh well at me. King. Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration , that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine, By wondering how thou took'st it. Laf Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day neither. [Exit Lafeu. King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena. Laf. Nay, come your ways. King. This haste hath wings indeed. Laf. Nay, come your ways ; This is his majesty, say your mind to him : A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears : I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together: fare you well. [Exit. King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us? Helen. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was My father; in what he did profess, well found. King. I knew him. SCENE II. ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 225 Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; Knowing him, is enough. On his hed 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 bad 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 chief 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 cure, — When our most learned doctors leave us ; and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidable estate, — I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empiricks ; or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains : I will no more enforce mine office on you ; Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back again. King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful : Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks I give, As one near death to those that wish him live : But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part ; 1 knowing all my peril, thou no art. Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy : He that of greatest works is finisher, Oft does them by the weakest minister : So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, 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. King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind maid ; Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid : Proffers, 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 : But 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 not past power, nor you past cure. King. Art thou so confident? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure ? Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal 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 fly, Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. King. Upon thy certainty and confidence, What dar'st thou venture ? Hel. Tax of impudence,—* A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, — Traduc'd by odious ballads ; my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise ; no worse of worst extended, With vilest torture let my life be ended. King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak ; His powerful 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 infinite, 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 I help, what do you promise me ? King. Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it even ? King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand, What husband in thy power I will command : Exempted be from me the arrogance To 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 ask, thee to bestow. King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd; So make the choice o'f thy own time, for I, Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must ; Though, more to know, could not be more to trust, From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, — But rest Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed As high as word, my dued shall match thy deed. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught : I know my business is but to the court. Count. To the court ! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt ? But to the court ! Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at court : he that cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap ; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court ; but, for me, I have an answer will serve all men. q 226 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL ACT 11, Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all questions. Clo. It is like a barber's chair; that fits all but- tocks ; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or*&ny buttock. Count. Will your answer serve to fit all ques- tions ? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a pan- cake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fit- ness for all questions ? Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fill all demands. Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and all that belongs to't : Ask me, if I am a courtier : it shall do you no harm to learn. Count. To be young again, if we could : I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier ? Clo. O Lord, sir, There's a simple putting off; — more, more, a hundred of them. Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare not me. Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this home meat. Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clo. O Lord, sir, — spare not me. Count. Do you cry, O Lord, sir, at your whip- ping, and spare not me ? Indeed, your O Lord, sir, is very sequent to your whipping ; you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my — O 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. Count. An end, sir, to your business : Give Helen And urge her to a present answer back : [this, Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son ; This is not much. Clo. Not much commendation to them. Count. Not much employment for you: You understand me ? Clo. Most fruitfully ; I am there before my legs. Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. SCENE III.— Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Enter Bertram, Lafbu, and Parolles. Laf. They say, miracles are past ; and we have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar things, supernatural and causeless. Hence -is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that hath shot put in our latter times. Ber. And so 'tis. Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists, Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — Par. Right, so I say. Laf. That gave him out incurable. — Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. Laf. Not to be helped, — Par. Right: as 'twere a man assured of an — Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have said. Laf. I 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 there ? — Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. Par. That's it I would have said ; the very same. Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier : 'fore me I speak in respect Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most facinorous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to hi the Laf. Very hand of heaven. Par. Ay, so I say. Laf. In a most weak Par. And debile minister, great power, great transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to be Laf. Generally thankful. Enter Kino, Helena, and Attendants. Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here comes the king. Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says : I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head- Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. Par. Mort du Vinaigre ! Is not this Helen ? Laf. 'Fore God, I think 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 healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repealed, a second time receive The confirmation of my promis'd gift, Which but attends thy naming. Enter several Lords. Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice I have to use : thy frank election make ; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to for- sake. Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Fall, when love please — marry to each, but one ! Laf. I'd give bay Curtal, 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, Heaven hath, through me, restor'd 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, I have done already : SCfcNE III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 227 The blushes in my cheeks, thus whisper me, We blush, that thou should 1 'st choose ; but be refused. Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever ; We'll 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 life. Hel. The honour, sir, that flames inyour fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies ; Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes, and her humble love ! 2 Lord. No better, if you please. Hel. My wish receive, Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. Hel. Be not afraid \to a Lord.] that I your 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 1 Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her : sure, they are bastards to the English ; the French ne'er got them. Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. Laf. There's one grape 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 thee already. Hel. I dare not say, I take you; [to Bertram.] but I give Me and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. — This is the man. King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy wife. Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. King. Know'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. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from 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 I — Disdain Rather corrupt me ever ! King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which 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 off 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 name : but do not so : From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer'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 she'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 every grave, A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb Of honour'd bones 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 should'st strive to choose. Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad , Let the rest go. King. My honour's at the stake ; which to defeat, I must produce my power : Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift, That 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 Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, [hate, Without all terms 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 my 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, And tell her she is thine : to whom I promise A counterpoize ; if not to thy estate, A balance more replete. Ber. I take her hand. King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king, Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, And be perform'd to-night : 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 ? Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. Par. Recantation ? — My lord ? my master ? Laf. Ay ; Is it not a language, I speak ? Par. A most harsh one; and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My master ? Laf. Are vou companion to the count Roussillon? 228 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. A'JT II. Par. To any count ; to all counts ; to what is man. Laf. To what is count's man ; count's master is of another style. Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you are too old. Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ; to which title age cannot hring thee. Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did think thee, 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 bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee ; when I lose thee again, I care not : yet art thou good for nothing but taking up ; and that thou art scarce worth. Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee, Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial ; — which if— Lord have mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well ; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. Laf. Av, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy of it. Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it : and I will not bate thee a scruple. Par. Well, I 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 bondage. 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 insuppji table vexation. Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal : for doing I am past ; as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [*** 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. I'll beat him, by my life, if I 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. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs : He is my good lord ; whom I serve above, is my master. Laf. Who? God? Par. Ay, sir. Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost make hose of thy sleeves ; do other servants so ? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee : methinks, thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to' breathe themselves upon thee. Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. Laf. 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 virtue gives you commis- sion. 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 my 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 1 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's fiery steed : To other regions ! France is a stable ; we, that dwell in't, jades ; Therefore, 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 noble fellows strike : War is no strife To the dark house, and the detested wife. Par. Will this capricio 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 ? Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two things. 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 1 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 SC-KNE V. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 229 to keep them on, have them still.— O, my knave f How does my old lady ? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say. Par. Why, I say nothing. Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; which is within a very little of nothing. Par. Away, thou'rt a knave. Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is, before me thou art a a knave : this had been truth, sir. Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me ? The search, sir, was profit- able ; and much fool may you find in you, even to the 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, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- ledge ; But puts it off by a compell'd restraint ; Whose want and whose delay, is strewed with sweets, 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. Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah. [Exeunt. — ♦ SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. Enter Lafeu and Bertram. Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a soldier. Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. Ber. And by other warranted testimony. Laf. Then my 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. Laf. 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 Bertram. Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? Par. Sir? Laf. 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 Parolles. 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 order for our horses ; and to-night, When I should take possession of the bride,— And, ere I do begin, Laf. 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? Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the cus- tard ; 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. Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this 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. Ber. I think so. Par. Why, do you not know him ? Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter Helena. Hel. 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. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular : prepar'd I 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 rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you : For my respects are better than they seem ; And my appointments have in them a need, Greater than shows 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 your wisdom. Hel. Sir, I can nothing say But that I am your most obedient servant. Ber. Come, come, no more of that. Hel. And ever shal 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 j hie home . Hel, Pray, sir, your pardon. ISO ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Ber. Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ; Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. B er , What would you have ? Hel. Something; and scarce so much :— nothing, indeed. — I would not tell you what I would j my lord— 'faith, yes ;— Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. Ber. 1 pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur? — Farewell, [Exit Hklena. Go thou toward home ; where I will never come, Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum: — Away, and for our flight. Par. Bravely, coragio ! lExeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.— Florenck. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke ok 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 forth, And more thirsts after. 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful On the opposer. Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France 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 man, That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion : therefore dare not Say what I think of it ; since I have found Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail As often as I guess' d. Duke. Be it his pleasure. 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our na- That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, [ture, Come here for physick. Duke. Welcome shall they be ; And all the honours, that can fly from us, Shall on them settle. You know y ar places well ; When better fall, for your avails they fell : To-morrow to the field. IFlourish. Exeunt SCENE II.— Rdusillon. A Roomin the Coun- tess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with 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 ; mend 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 me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [Opening a letter. Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I 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 I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. Count. What have we here ? Clo. E'en that you have there. [ExH. Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter- in-law : she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her ; and sworn to make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away ; know it, before the report come. Jf there be breadth enough in the world, 1 will hold a long distance. My duty to you. Your unfortunate son, Bertram. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, To fly the favours of so good a king ; To pluck his indignation on thy head, By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown. Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, be- tween two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter ? Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort ; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. Count. Why should he be killed ? Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does : the danger is in standing to't ; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more : for my part, I only hear, your son was run away. {Exit Clown. Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gent. Do not say so. Count. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, geu tlemen, — I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't : — Where is my son, I pray you? 2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence : We met him thitherward ; from thence we came, And, after some despatch in hand at court, Thither we bend again. Hel. Look on his letter, madam ; here's my j tassport. [Reads.^ When thou canst get tne ring upon my fingei , which never shall come off, and shotv vie a child begotten of thy body, that I amfatLcr to. SCENE IV. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 231 then call me husband : but in such a then / write 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 me 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. Such is his noble purpose : and, believe't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. Count. Return you thither ? 1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. [Reads.} Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. Count. Find you that there ? Hel. Ay, madam. 1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, Which his heart was not consenting to. Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! There's nothing here, that is too good for him, But only she ; and she deserves a lord, That twenty such rude boys 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. Parolles, was't not ? 1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- My son corrupts a well-derived nature [ness. With his inducement. 1 Gent. Indeed, good lady, The 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 win The honour that he loses : more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. v 2 Gent. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near ! {Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, Then hast thou 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 That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim ; move the still-piercing air, That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord 1 Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it ; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 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 owes, Were mine at once : No, come thou home, Rou- sillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all ; I will be 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 offic'd all : I will be gone ; That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day I For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. {ExlL SCENE III.— Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, 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 helm, 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 prove 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 1 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' pilgrim, thither gone : Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That barefoot plod J the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that from the bloody course of war. 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 forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dog the heels of worth : He is too good and fair for death and me ; Whom I myself embrace, to set him free* Count. Ah. what sharp stings are in her mildest woras ; Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Slew. Pardon me, madam If I had given you this at over-night, She might have been o'er-ta'en ; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be but vain. Count. What angel shall 232 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 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 grief, Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Despatch the most convenient messenger : — When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, He will return ; and hope I may, that she, Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, Led hither by pure love : which of them both Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense To make distinction : — Provide this messenger : — My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ; Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — Without the Walls of Florence. A tucket afar off. Enter an old "Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens. Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. Dia. They say, the French count has done most honourable service. Wid. 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 labour : they are gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know by their trumpets. Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl : the honour of a maid is her name ; 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- rolles : a filthy 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 that dissuade succession, but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to advise you further ; but, I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known, but the modesty which is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter Helena in the dress of a pilgrim. Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pil- grim : I know she will lie at my house : thither they send one another; I'll question her. — God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound ? Hcl. To Saint Jaques-le-Grand. Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ? Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. Hel. Is this the way ? Wid. Ay, marry, is it.— Hark you ! [A march afar off They come this way: — If you will tarry, holy But till the troops come by, [pilgrim, I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ; The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess As ample as myself. Hel. Is it yourself? Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Wid. You came, I think, from France ? 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? Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of His face 1 know not. [him : Dia. Whatsoe'er he is, He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Against his liking : Think you it is so ? Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; I know his lady. Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count Reports but coarsely of her. Hel. What's his name ? Dia. Monsieur Parolles. Hel. O, I believe with him, In argument of praise, or to the worth Of the great count himself, she is too mean . To have her name repeated ; all her deserving Is a reserved honesty, and that I have not heard examin'd. Dia. Alas, poor lady ! 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife Of a detesting lord. Wid. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she is, Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. [her Hel. How do you mean ? May be, the amorous count solicits her In the unlawful purpose. Wid. He does, indeed ; And brokes with all that can in such a suit Corrupt the tender honour of 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 Florentine army, Bertram, and Parolles. Mar. The gods forbid else ! Wid. 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: if he were honester, He were much goodlier: — Is't not a handsome Hel. 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. The 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 : Look, he has spied us. Wid. Marry, hang you ! Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! [Exeunt Bertram, Farolles. Officers, and Soldiers Wid. The troop is past ; Come pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host : of enjoin'd penitents ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 2aa 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 and 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 two French Lords. 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to-'t ; let him 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 think, 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 any kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-break- ear, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's entertainment. 2 Lord. It were fit you knew him : 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. Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to try him. 2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently under- take to do. 1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentine, will sud- denly surprize him ; such I will have, whom I am sure, he knows not from the enemy : we will bind and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when we bring him to our tents : Be but your lordship present at his examination : if he dq not, for the promise of his life, and in the high- est compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. 2 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 entertainment, 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 off his drum in any hand. Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely in your disposition. 2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum. Par. But a drum I Is't but a drum ? A drum so lost ! — There was an excellent command 1 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 prevented, if he had been there to command. Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- cess : some dishonour we had in the loss of thai drum ; but it is not to be recovered. Par. It might have been recovered. Ber. It might, but it is not now. Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hicjacet. Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go on ; I 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 1 will pre- sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepara- tion, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me. Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are gone about it ? Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the attempt I vow. Ber. I know, thou art valiant ; and to the pos- sibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. Par. I love not many words. {Exit. 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 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 him out, you have him ever after. Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at all of this, that so seriously he does address him- self unto ? 1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or three proba- ble lies : but we have almost embossed him, you shall see his fall to-night : for, indeed, he is not for your lordship's respect. 2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you shall see this very night. 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs ; he shall be caught. 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 show The lass I spoke of [you 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 I 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 ; Will you go see her ? 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. {Exeunt' 234 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. act rv SCENE VII.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. Enter Helena and Widow. He?. 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 well Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; [born, And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. Hel. Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband ; And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Wid. I should believe you ; For you have show'd me that, which will approve You are great in fortune. Hel. Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay, and pay again, [daughter, When I have found it. The count he wooes your 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. Wid. Now I see The bottom of your purpose. Hel. You see it lawful then : It is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, 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 is past already. Wid. I have yielded : Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That 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 unworthiness : It nothing steads u£, 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, Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, And lawful meaning in a lawful act ; Where both 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 tn 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 ; though you under- stand it not yourselves, no matter ; for we must not seem to understand him ; unless some one among us. 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 voice ? 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 1 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 i'the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages ; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak to one 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 politick. 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 be 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. I find, my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports of my tongue. 1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue 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 I had no such purpose ? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in exploit: Yet slight ones will not carry it : They 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 that he is ? [Aside. Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. 1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Aside. Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it was in stratagem. 1 Lord. 'Twould not do. [Aside. Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was stripped. 1 Lord. Hardly serve. [Aside. Par. Though I swore I leaped from the 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, I had any drum of the enemy's • I would swear, I recovered it. 1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Asidt Par. A drum now of the enemy's ! [Alarum within SCENE II. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 23A 1 Lord. Throea rnovousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All. Cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo. Par. O ! ransom, ransom : — Do not hide mine eyes. [They seize him and blindfold him. 1 Sold. Boskos ihromuldo 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. Boskos vauvado : I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : Kerelybonto : Sir„ Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards Are at thy bosom. Par. Oh ! 1 Sold. O, pray, pray, pray. Manha revania dulche. 1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorco. 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ; And, hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee : haply, thou may'st inform Something to save thy life. Par. O, let me live, And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, 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. 1 Sold. Acordo linla. Come on, thou art granted space. [Exit, with Pa rolles guarded. 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him Till we do hear from them. [muffled, 2 Sold. Captain, I will. 1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves ; — Inform 'em that. 2 Sold. ' So I will, sir. 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. Enter Bertram and Diana. Ber. They told me, that 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 fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument : 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 then was honest. Ber. So should you be. Dia. No : Mv mother did but duty ; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. Ber. No more of that I I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows : I 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 truth ; 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 love you ill ? this has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, 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 ; Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, That you do charge men with : Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who 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 give it from me. Dia. Will you not, my lord ? Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors : W T hich were the greatest obloquy i'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 i'the world In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom Brings in her champion honour on my part, Against your vain assault. Ber. Here, take my ring : My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham- ber window ; 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 them, When back again this ring shall be deliver'd : And on your finger, in the night, I'll 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. Ber. A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing thee. [Exit. Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and me ! You may 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 many me, When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with him, When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid : Only, in this disguise, I think' t no sin To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit S3) ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT IV. SCENE III.— The Florentine Camp. Enter the two French Lords, and hvo 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 worthy blame laid upon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the ever- lasting displeasure of the king, who had even turned 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 his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition. 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion : as we are ourselves, what things are we 1 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, we still see them reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends ; so he, that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. 1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? We shall not then have his company to-night ? 2 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 anatomised ; that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come ; for his presence must be the whip of the other. 1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars ? 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 altogether 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 from his house : her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques-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 fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings 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, even 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 confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that ne'll be glad of this. 1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, wa make us comforts of our losses ! 2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 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, of whom 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 dispatched 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 parcels of despatch, effected many nicer deeds ; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship. Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fear- ing to hear of it hereafter : But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier ? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module ; he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 2 Lord. Bring him forth : [Exeunt Soldiers.'] he has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved it, in usurping his 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 confessed 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 believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it. Re-enter Soldiers, with Parollbs. Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can sa) nothing of me ; hush ! hush ! 1 Lord. Hoodman comes ! Porto tartarossa. 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you say without 'em ? Par. I will confess what I know without con- straint ; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho. 2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurwurcc. B< ?KXE III- ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. £37 1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our gene- ral bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 1 Sold. First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong. What say you to that ? Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak and unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ? Par. Do ; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this ! 1 Lord.'You are deceived, my lord; this is mon- sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist (that was his own phrase,) that had the whole theorick 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, by wearing his apparel neatly. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will say true,— or thereabouts, set down,— for I'll speak truth. 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he delivers it. Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 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 are a-foot. What say you to that ? Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this pre- sent hour, 1 will tell true. Let me see : Spurio a hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Jacques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodo- v.ick, 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. Ber. What shall be done to him ? 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- mand of him my conditions, and what credit I have with the duke. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain be i'the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke, what his valour, honesty, expertness in wars; or whether he thinks, it were not possible, with well- weighing sums 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 intergatories : 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 lifls up hU hand in anger. Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; though I know, his brains are 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. 1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke ? Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day, to turn him out o' the band : I think, I have his letter in 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, with the duke's other letters, in my tent. 1 Sold. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read it to you ? Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no. Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 1 Lord. Excellently. 1 Sold. Dian. The Counfs a fool, and full of gold,— Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, 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 very honest in the behalf of the maid : for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy : who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue 1 1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it ; After he scores, he never pays the score : Half won, is match well made ; match, and well make it ; He ne'er pays after debts, take it before ; And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this, Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss ; For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, "Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, Parollks. Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with this rhyme in his forehead. 2 Lord. This is your'devoted friend, sir, the ma- nifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be fain to hang you. Par. My life, sir, in any case : not that I am afraid to die ; but that, my offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature : let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, Or any where, so I may live. 1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you con- fess freely ; therefore, once more to this captain Dumain: You have answered to his reputation with the duke, and to his valour : What is his honesty? 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 volubility, that you would think truth were a fool : drunkenness is his best virtue ; for he will be swine-drunk ; and in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his conditions, and 1a* him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir _ ] his honesty ; he has every 238 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ACT IV 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 upon 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 there call'd 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 perpetually. 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Dumain ? 2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? I Sold. What's he? Par. E'en a crow of the same nest; not altoge- ther so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, 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 Rousillon. 1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. Par. I'll no more drumming ; a plague of all drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile 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 discovered 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, headsmen, off with his head. Par. O Lord, sir ; let me live, or let me see my death ! 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. [Unmuffluig 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 lord Lafeu ? I am for France. 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'd compel it of you ; but fare you well. [Exeunt Bertram, Lords, &c. 1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your 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 nation. Fare you well, sir ; I am for France too ; we shall speak of you there. l&rtL Par. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great, 'Twould burst at this : Captain, I'll be no more ; But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft As captain shall, simply the thing I am Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart 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. [ExH ■ft SCENE IV Florence. A Room in the Widow's 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 Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : . Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks : I duly 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 aiding, And by the leave of ray 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 heaven 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 hate, 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 : All's 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 Coun- tess's Palace. Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffata fellow there ; whose villainous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughv SCENE V. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 239 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. I would, I had not known bim ! 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 groans of a mother, I could not have owed her a more looted love. Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such another herb. Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of 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 not 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 ? Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. Laf. I will subscribe for thee ; thou art both knave and fool. Clo. At your service. Laf. No, no, no. Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. Laf. Who's that ? 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 ; alias, the devil. Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world, let his nobility remain in his court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter : some, that humble themselves, may ; but the many will be too chill and tender ; and they'll be for the flowery way, that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire. Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I 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 knave, and an unhappy. Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made himself much sport out of him : by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness ; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs wnere 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 in the behalf of my daughter ; which, in the mi- nority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gra- cious remembrance, did first propose : his highness hath promised me to do it : and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it ? Count. With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected. Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom 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 : I shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till they meet together. Laf Madam, I was thinking, with what manners I might safely be admitted. Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ; but, I thank my God, it holds yet. Re-enter Clown. Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face ; whether there be a scar under it, or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis a goodly 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 livery 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 talk with the young noble soldier. Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.- Marseilles. A Street. Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two Attendants. Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ; But since you have made the days and nights as To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, [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. — God 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 ? 240 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 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. jj e l. Not here, sir ? Gent. Not t indeed : He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste Than is his use. Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! Hel. All's well that ends well, yet ; Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — I do beseech you, whither is he gone ? Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ; Whither I 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 after you, with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gent. This I'll do for you. Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank' d, Whate'er falls more.— We must to horse again ;— Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — Rousillon. The inner Court of the Countess'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 held familiarity with fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in for- tune'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 of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the wind. Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir ; 1 spake but by a metaphor. Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, 1 will stop my nose ; or against any man's metaphor. Pr'ythee, get thee further. Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away ; A paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, here he comes himself. Enter Lafbc. Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal : Pray you, sir, use *he carp as you may ; for he looks like a poor, decayed, inge- nious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his dis- tress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who 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 fortune friends ; I am for other bu- siness. Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word. , Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, you shall ha't ; save your word. Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Laf. You beg more than one word then. — Cox' my passion ! give me your hand : How does your drum ? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. Laf. Was I, in sooth ? 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, I know by his trumpets. — Sirrah, 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. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — The same. A Room in the Countess's Palace. Flourish. Enter Kino, Countess, Lapeu, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, %c. King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it : but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home. Count. 'Tis past, my liege : And I 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. King. My honour'd lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all ; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. Laf. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, Offence of mighty note ; but to himself The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife, Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes ; whose words all ears took captive Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'dto serve, Humbly call'd mistress. King. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither ; We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill All repetition : — Let him not ask our pardon ; The nature of his great offence is dead 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, my liege. [Exit Gentleman King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke ? Laf. All that he is hath reference to your high- ness. King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me, That set him high in fame. JicLNF III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 241 Enter Bertram. Laf. He looks well on't. King. I am not a day of season, For 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 daughter 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 offend it. King. Well excus'd : That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt : But love, that comes too Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, [late, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, That's good that's gone : our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them, until we know their grave : Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust : Our own love waking cries to see what's done, I While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. ! Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. ! Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : The 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 heaven, bless ! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease ! Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my ho-ise's Must be digested, give a favour from you, [name To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. — By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, 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. Her's it was not. King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to it. — This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, T bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token 1 would relieve her : Had you that craft, to n reave her Of what should stead her most ? Ber. My gracious jovereign , Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. Count. Son, on my life, 1 have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it A.t her life's rate. Laf. I'm sure, I saw her wear it. Ber. 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 it : noble she was, and thought I stood ingag'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 she had made the overture, she ceas'd, In heavy satisfaction, and would never Receive the ring again. King. Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Hath not in nature's mystery more science, Then 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 from her : she call'd the saints to surety, That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, (Where you have never come,) or sent it us Upon her great disaster. B/r. She never saw it. King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mir honour ; And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, Which I would fain 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. lExit Bertram guarded. Enter a Gentleman. King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Gent. 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, Vanquish'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. {Beads.} Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower ; 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 his country for justice : Giant it me, O king ,* in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. Diana Capulet. Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll him : for this, I'll none of him. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery.— Seek these suitors ;— M2 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Go, speedily, and bring again the count. [Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. Count. Now, justice on the doers ! Enter Bertram guarded. King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you, \nd 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 Canulet ; My suit, as I do understand, you know. And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honoiir 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 f'fe 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. L«f. Your reputation [^Bertram.] comes too short for my daughter, you are no husband for her. Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate crea- ture, Whom sometimes I have laugh 'd with : let your highness Lay 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, Till your deeds gain them : Fairer prove your honour, Than in my thought it lies ? Dia. Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. King. What say'st thou to her ? Ber. She's impudent, my lord; And was a common gamester to the camp. Dia. He does me 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 lack 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 Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife ; That ring's a thousand proofs. Kinr;. 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. La/. 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'd and debosh'd : Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth : Am I oi- 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 for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As ell impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy ; and, 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-rrice have bought. Dia. I must be patient ; You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet, (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,) Send for your ring, A will return it home, And give me mine again. Brr. I have it not. Kinf WhaC ring was yours, I pray you ? ■Dia. Sir, much like The same upon your finger. King. Know you this ring ? this ring was his of late. Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. King. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of the casement. Dia. I have spoke the truth. Enter Parolle& Ber. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers. King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you. Is this the man you speak of ? Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but, tell me true, I 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 ? jfiTtn.gr. How is that ? Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. King. As thou art a knave, and no knave : — What an equivocal companion is this ! Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. 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 loved her, — for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of Umbo, 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 motions, as promising her marriage, and sUfcWE III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 243 things that would derive me ill will to speak of, 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 fine in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. — This ring you say was yours ? Dia. 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. I never gave it him. Laf. 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 aught I know. King. Take her away, I do not like her now ; To prison with her : and away with him. — Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. Dia. I'll never tell you. King. Take her away. Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. King. I think thee now some common customer. Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this while ? Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty : 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 Lafku. King. She does abuse our ears ; to prison with her. Dia. Good mother, fetch my 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 he hath defil'd ; 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 behold the meaning. Re-enter Widow, with Helena. King. Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? Is't real, that I see? Hel. No, my good lurd ; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name, and not the thing. Ber. Both, both ; O, pardon ! Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid ; 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, Sfe. — This is done : Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — O, my dear mother, do I see you living ? Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, 1 shall weep anon : — Good Tom Drum, {to Parolles.] lend me a handkerchief : So, I thank thee ; wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. King. Let 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 1 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 leisure shall express : All yet seems well ; and, if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [Flourish (Advancing.) The king's a beggar, now the play is done : All is well ended, if this suit be won, Th't 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. ZExeunt TAMING OF THE SHREW. PERSONS REPRESENTED. } Persons in the Induction. A Lord. Christopher Sly, a drunken Tinker, Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen and other Servants, attending on the Lord. Baptista, a rich Gentleman of Padua. Vincentio, an old Gentleman of Pisa. Lucentio, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. Petruchio, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to Katharina. Gremio, IlORTENSIO, Suitors to Bianca. Servants to Lucentio. Tranio, BlONDELLO, Grumio, ) „ . . ,» Cn f Servatits to Petruchio. Pedant, an old fellow set up to personate Vincentio, Katharina, the Shrew, \ „ , . . _ Bianca, her Sister, \ ^^Ur, to Baptista. Widow. Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Pktiiuchio. SCENE, — Sometimes at Padua, and sometimes at Petruchio's House in the Country. INDUCTION. SCENE I. — Be/ore an Alehouse on a Heath. Enter Hostess and Sly. Sly. I'll pheese you, in faith. Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! Sly. Y'are a baggage ; the Slies are no rogues : Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris ; let the world slide : Sessa I Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst ? Sly. No, not a denier : Go by, says Jeronimy ; — Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the thirdborough. [Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an- swer him by law : Pll not budge an inch, boy ; let him come, and kindly. [Lies down on the ground and falls asleep. Wind-horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants. Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds : Brach Merriman, — the poor cur is cmboss'd, And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault ? 1 would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss, And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Lord. Thou art a fool, if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him 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. What's 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 monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies ! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! 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. Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthies* fancy. 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 ? 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, — Will't please your lordship cool your hands ? Some one be ready with a costly suit, And ask him what'apparel he will wear; Another tell him of his hounds and horse, And that his lady mourns at his disease : Persuade him that he hath been lunatick ; And, when he says he is, — say, that he dreams, SCE>'K II. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 246 For he is nothing but a mighty lord. This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs ; It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty. 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our As he shall think, by our true diligence, [part, 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. — [Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that 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 duty. Lord. With all my heart This fellow I re- member, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ; — 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well : I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform 'd. 1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour means. Lord. 'Tis very true ; — thou didst it excellent. — Well, you are come to me in happy time ; The rather for I have some sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to night : But I am doubtful of your modesties ; Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour, (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. 1 Play. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antick in the world, Lord. Go, 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, [Ti 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, — Rid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 'o see her noble lord restor'd to health, Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : And if the boy hath not a woman's gift, To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift ; Which in a napkin being close conveyed, Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst } Anon 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 their over-merry spleen, Which otherwise would grow into extremes. [Exeunt. ♦ — SCENE II. — A Bedchamber intlie Lord's House. Sly is discovered in a rich night-gown, with Attendants: some with apparel, others with bason, ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lore , dressed like a servant. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Serv. WilPt please your lordship drink a cup of sack ? 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these .conserves ? 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to- day ? 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 stockings than legs, nor no more sho?s than feet ; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather. Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your O, that a mighty man of such descent, [honour, Of such possessions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! Sly. What, would you make me mad ? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker ? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not : ; f she say I am not fourteen -pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christen- dom. What, I am not bestraught : Here's 1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house, 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, [Music And twenty caged nightingales do sing : Or wilt thou sleep ) we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 246 TAMING OF THE SHREW. INDUCTION 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 are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch 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 show thee Io, as she was a maid ; And how she was beguiled and surpriz'd, As lively painted as the deed was done. 2 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood ; Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : Thou hast a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waning age. 1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, 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 dream'd till now ? I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak ; I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things : — Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; And not a tinker, nor Christophero 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 wash 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 fifteen 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. But did I never speak of all that 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 door ; 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 Racket. Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such 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 ; And twenty more such names and men as these, Which never were, nor no man ever saw. Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! All. Amen. Sly. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it. Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants. Page. How fares my noble lord ? Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife ? Page. Here, noble lord ; What is thy will with her ? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me — husband ? Mymen should call me — lord ; I am your goodman. Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband ; I am your wife in all obedience. Sly. I know it well:— What must I call her? Lord. Madam. Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? Lord. Madam, and nothing else ; so lords call ladies. Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd and slept Above some fifteen year and more. Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me; Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. Sly. 'Tis much; Servants, leave me and her alone. Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, To pardon me yet for a night or two ; Or, if not so, until the sun be set : For your physicians have expressly charg'd, In peril to incur your former malady, That I should yet absent me from your bed : I hope, this reason stands for my excuse. Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams again; I will therefore tarry, in despite of tbe flesh and the blood. Enter a Servant. Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amend- Are come to play a pleasant comedy, [ment, For so your doctors hold it very meet; Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, Therefore, 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. Marry, I will; let them play it: Is not a commonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling- trick? Page. No, my good lord : it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, household stuff? Page. It is a kind of history. Sly. Well, we'll see't : Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip ; we shall ne'er be younger. l They sit down S015NE lAMtiNG OJb THE SHREW. 24: 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 arts, — 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 approv'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 Bentivolii. Vincentio his son, brought up in Florence, It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, Virtue, and that part of philosophy Will I apply, that treats of happiness By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. Tell me thy mind : for I have Pisa left, And am to Padua come ; as he that leaves A shallow splash, to plunge him in the deep, And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. Tra. Mi perclonale, gentle master mine, [ am in all affected as yourself; Glad 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, Let's be no stoicks, nor no stocks, I pray; Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd : Talk logic with acquaintance that you have, And practise rhetoric in your common talk : Music and poesy use to quicken you ; The mathematics, and the metaphysics, Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves you : No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en ; — [n brief, sir, study what you most affect. Lite. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, We could at once put us in readiness ; And take a lodging, fit to entertain Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget. But stay awhile : W T hat company is this ? Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, and Hor- tensio. Lucentio and Tranio stand aside. Bap. Gentlemen, imp6rtune me no further, For how I firmly am resolv'd you know ; That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter, Before I have a husband for the elder : If either of you both love Katharina, Because I know you well, and love you well, Leave shail you have to court her at your pleasure. Gre. To cart her rather : She's too rough for me: — There, there Hortensio, will you any wife? Kath. I pray you, sir, [to Bap.] is it your will To make a stale of me amongst these mates ? Hor. Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. Kath. I 'faith, sir, you shall ?ever need to fear ; [ wis, it is not half way to her het.rt : But, if it were, doubt not her caie 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 such devils, good Loid, deliver us! Gre. And me too, good T^ord ! 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. Well 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 the less, my girl. Kath. A pretty peat ! 'tis best put finger in the eye — an she knew why. Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. — Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe : My books, and instruments, shall be my company ; On them to look, and practise by myself. Luc. Hark, Tranio ! thou may'st hear Minerva speak. [Aside Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange ? Sorry am I, that our good will effects Bianca's grief. Gre. Why, will you mew her up, Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, And make her bear the penance of her tongue ? Bap. Gentlemen, content ye ; I am resolv'd : — Go in, Bianca. [Exit Btanca. And for I know she taketh most delight In music, instruments, and poetry, Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio, Or signior Gremio, you, — know any such, Prefer them hither ; for to cunning men I will be very kind, and liberal To mine own children in good bringing-up ; 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? What, shall I be appointed hours ; as though, belike 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 I can by any means light on a fit man, to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her father ? Hor. So will I, signior Gremio : But a word, I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel 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 be happy 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 ! a devil. Hor. I say, a husband. 248 TAMING OF THE SH11EW, 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, there be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. Gre. I cannot tell ; but I 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 friends, it shall be so far forth friendly maintained, — till byhelping Baptista's eldest daugh- ter to a husband, we set his youngest free for a hus- band, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bianca! — Happy man be his dole ! He that runs fastest, gets the ring. How say you, signior Gremio ? Gre. I am agreed : and 'would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid L h& house of her. Come on. [Exeunt GRE»no and ITohtensio. Tra. [Advancing.'] I pray, sir, tell me, — Is it possible That love should of a sudden take such hold ? Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, I never thought it possible, or likely; But see ! while idly I stood looking on, I found the effect of love in idleness : And now in plainness do confess to thee, — That art to me as secret, and as dear, As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, — Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, If I achieve not this young modest girl : Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst ; Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ; Affection is not rated from the heart , If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — Redime te captum quam queas minimo. Luc. Gramercies, lad ; go forward : this con- tents ; The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. Tra Master, you look'c so longly on the maid, Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, Such as the daughter of Agenor had, That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand, Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not, how her sister Began to scold ; and raise up such a storm, That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ? Luc. Tranio, I 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 I pray, awake, sir ; If you love the maid, [trance. Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands : — Her eldest sister 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 closely 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 schoolmasters to instruct her ? Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir ; and now 'tis plotted Lnc. I have it, Tranio. Tra. Master, for my hand, Both our inventions meet and jump in one. Lnc. 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 ? Tra. Not possible ; For who shall bear your part, And be in Padua here Vincentio's son ? Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ; Visit his countrymen, and banquet them ? Luc. Basta ; content thee ; for I have it full. We have not yet been seen in any house ; Nor can we be distinguished by our faces, For 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. 'Tis hatch' 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 I will charm him first to keep his tongue. Tra. So had you need. [They exchange habits. In brief then, sir, sith it your pleasure 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, Although, I think, 'twas in another sense,) I am content to be Lucentio, Because so well I love Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves : 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 have you been? Bion. Where have I been ? Nay, how now, where are you ? Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes ? Or you stol'n his ? or both? pray, what's the news? Luc. Sirrah, come 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 for my escape have put on his ; For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, I kill'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 ; Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. Bion. The better for him ; 'Would I were so too ! Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after, — That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirrah, — not for my sake, but your master's, — 1 advise You use your manners discreetly in all kind ol companies : When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ; But in all places else, your master Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, let's go : — One thing more rests, that thyself execute \ PCENE II. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 249 To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me why,— Suffieeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. [Exeunt. 1 Serv. My lord, you nod ; you do not mind the play. Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good matter, surely ; Comes there any more of it? Page. My lord, 'tis but begun. Sly. ' Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady ; ' Would 'tvjere done J SCENE II. — The same. Before Hortensio's House. Enter Petruchio and Grumto. Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave, To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all, My best beloved and approved friend, Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house : — Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, I say. Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock ? is there any man has rebused your worship ? Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly Gru. Knock you here, sir ? why, sir, what a n I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir ? Pel. Vilhiin, I say, knock me at this gate, And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome : I should knock you first, And then I know after who comes by the worst. Pet. Will it not be ? 'Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll wring it ; I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. [He wrings Grumio by the ears. Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. Pet. Now, knock when I bid you : sirrah ! villain 1 Enter ITortensio. Hor. How now? what's the matter? — My old friend Grumio ! and my good friend Petruchio ! — How do you all at Verona ? Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray ? Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say. Hot. Alia nostra casa bene venuto, Mollo onorato signor mio Petruchio. Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel. Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges in Latin. — If this be not a lawful 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, perhaps, (for aught I see,) two and thirty, — a pip out ? Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst. Pet. A senseless villain ! — Good Hortensio, I bade the rascal 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, Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly?' And come you now with — knocking at the gate? Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. Hor. Petruchio, patience ; I am Grumio's pledge: Why, this a heavy chance 'twixt him and you ; Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona ? Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through the world, To seek their fortunes further than at home, Where small experience grows. But, v\ 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 I have, and goods at home, And so am come abroad to see the world. Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee, And wish thee to a shrew' d ill-favour'd wife ? Thoud'st thank me but a little for my counsel : And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich, And very rich : — but thou'rt too much 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 foul as was Florentius' love, As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd As Socrates' Xantippe, or a w r orse, She moves me not, or not removes, at least, Affection'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 as many diseases as two and fifty horses : why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepped thus far in, I will continue that I broach'd in jest. I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous ; Brought up, as best becomes a gentlewoman : Her only fault (and that is faults enough,) Is, — that she is intolerably curst. And shrewd, and froward : so beyend all measure, That, were my state far worser than it is, I would not wed her for a mine of gold. Pet. Hortensio, peace; thou know'st not gold'* effect : — Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough ; For I will board her, though she chide as loud As thunder, when the clouds in autumn cracV Hor, Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous gentleman : Her name is Katharina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. Pet. I know her father, though I know not her ; And he knew my deceased father well : I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her ; And therefore let me 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 hu- mour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him : She may, perhaps, call him half a score knaves, or so : why, that's nothing ; an he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir, — an she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her 250 TAMING OF THE SHREW. with it, that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat : You know him not, sir. Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee ; For in Baptista's keep my treasure is : He hath the jewel of 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'd,) That ever Katharina will be woo'd, Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en , That none shall have access unto Bianca, Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. Gru. Katharine the curst ! A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes [grace ; To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 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 Gremio ; with him Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm. Gru. Here's no knavery ! See ; to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads to- gether ! Master, master, look about you : Who goes there ? ha ! Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love : — Petruchio, 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 : All books of 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 me have them very well perfum'd ; For she is sweeter than perfume itself, To whom they go. What will you read to her ? Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you, As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,) As firmly as yourself were still in place : Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful word.? Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. Gre. O this learning ! what a thing it is ! Gru. O this woodcock ! what an ass it is ! Pet. Peace, sirrah. Hor. Grumio, mum ! — God save you, signior Gremio ! Gre. And you're well met, signior Hortensio. Trow you, Whither I am going ? — To Baptista Minola. I promis'd to enquire carefully About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca : And, by good fortune, I have lighted well On this young man ; for learning, and behaviour, Fit for her turn ; well read in poetry And other books, — good ones, I warrant you. Hor. 'Tis well ; and I have met a gentleman. Hath promis'd me to help me to another, A fine musician to instruct our mistress ; So shall I no whit be behind in duty To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. Gre. Belov'd of me,— and that my deeds shall prove : Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside. Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking, Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ; Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. Gre. So said, so done, is well : — Hortensio, have you told him all her faults ? Pet. I know, she is an irksome brawling scold ; If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. [man? Gre. No, say'st me so, friend ? What country Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son : My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; And I do hope good days, and long, to see. Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange : But if you have a stomach, to't o'God's name ; You shall have me assisting you in all. But, will you woo this wild-cat ? Pet. Will I live ? Gru. Will he woo her ? ay, or I'll hang her. [Aside Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent ? I Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears ; J Have I not in my time heard lions roar ? j Have I not heard the sea, puff 'd up with winds, Ra»e like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ? I Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, ! And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies ? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ; That gives not half so great a blow to the ear, As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire ? Tush! tush ! fear boys with bugs. Gru. For he fears none [Aside. Gre. Hortensio, hark ! This gentleman is happily arriv'd, My mind presumes, for his own good, and yours. Hor. I promis'd, we would be contributors, And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. Gre. And so we will ; provided, that he win her. Gru. 1 would, I were as sure of a good dinner. [Aside Enter Tranio, bravely apparelVd ; and Biondello. Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may be bold, Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of Siguior Baptista Minola? Gre. He that has the two fair daughters : — is't [aside to Tranio.] he you mean ? Tra. Even he. Biondello I Gre. Hark you, sir ; You mean not her to Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir ; What have you to do ? Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. Tra. I love no chiders, sir ; — Biondello, let's away. Luc. 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 offence ? Gre. No ; if, without more words, you will get you hence. Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me, as for you ? Gre. But so is not she. Tra. For what reason, T beseech you ? TAMING OF THE SHREW. 251 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. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen. Do me this right, — hear me with patience. Baptista is a noble gentleman, 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 ; Then 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 will out-talk us all. Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know, he'll prove a jade. Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words ? Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you, Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter ? Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath two ; The one as famous for a scolding tongue, As is the other for beauteous modesty. Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me ; let her go by. Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules ; And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth : — The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all access of suitors ; And will not promise her to any man, Until the elder sister first be wed : The younger then is free, and not before. Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all, and me among the rest ; An if you break the ice, and do this feat, — Achieve the elder, set the younger free For our access, — whose hap shall be to have her, Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate. Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive ; And since you do profess to be a suitor, You 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 mightily, but eat and drink as friends. Gru. Bion. O excellent motion ! Fellows, let's be gone. Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so ; — i Petruchio, 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 my raiment, to my petticoat ; Or, what you will command me, will I dc> 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, I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. Kath. Minion, thou liest ; Is't not Hortensio ? Bian. If you affect him, sister, here 1 swear, I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him. Kath. O then, 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 I well 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 the rest was so* {.Strikes her. Enter Baptista. Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows this insolence ? Bianca, stand aside ; — poor girl ! she weeps : — Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her.— For shame, 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 reveng'd. f Fill's after Bia.vc a. 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 he'll. Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep, Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Exit Katharina. Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I ? But who comes here ? Enter Gremio, with Lucentio, in the habit of a mean man / Petruchio, with Hortensio, as a musician and Tranio, u^&Biondello bearing a lute and books. Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio : God save you, gentlemen I Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous ? Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio : give me I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, [leave. — That, — hearing of her beauty, and her wit, Her affability, and bashful modesty, Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour, — Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness 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 Hortensio Cunning in music, and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant : Accept of him, or else you do me wrong : His name is Licio, born in Mantua. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he for your good pake ; But for my daughter Katharine, — 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 hut as I find. Whence are you, sir ? what may I call your name ? Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, A man well known throughout all Italy. Bap. I know him well : you are welcome for his sake. Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too : Baccare ! you are marvellous forward. Pet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio ; I would fain be doing. Gre. I doubt it not, sir ; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness myself, that have been more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely give unto you this youngscholar, [presenting Lucentio.] that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics : his name is Cambio ; pray, accept his service. Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio : wel- come, good Cambio. — But, gentle sir, [to Tra- in! 10.] methinks, you walk like a stranger ; May I 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, fair and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, In the preferment of the eldest sister : This liberty is all that I request, — That upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome 'mongst 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 and Latin books : If you accept them, then their worth is great. Bap. Lucentio is your name ? of whence, I pray ? 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 Luc. ] the set of books, You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within ! Enter a Servant. Sirrah, lead these gentlemen to my daughters ; and tell them both, these are their tutors ; bid them use them well. [.Exit Servant, with IIortensio, Lucentio, and BlONDELLO. We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner : You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves. Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well ; and in him, me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have better'd rather that decreas'd : Then tell me, — If I get your daughter's love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife ? Bap. After my death, the one-half of my lands • And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll ensure her of Her 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 hand. Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, This is, — her love ; for that is all in alL Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; And where two raging fires meet together, They do consume the thing that feeds their fury : Though little fire 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 rough, and woo not like a babe. Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. Pet. Ay, to the proof ; as mouu tains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually. Re-enter Hortensio, tcith his head broken. Bap. How now, my friend ? why dost thou look so pale ? Flor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musician ? Hor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier ; Iron ma\ hold with her, but never lutes. Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute ? 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 fingering ; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, Frets, call you these ! quoth she : /'// fnme with them : And, with that word, she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way , And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute ; While she did call me, — rascal fiddler, And — twangling 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 witn her ! Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so dis- comfited : Proceed in practice with my younger daughter ; She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. — Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ; Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ? Pet. I pray you do : I will attend her here, — [Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, a?id Horts.vsio. And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say, that she rail ; Why, then I'll tell her plain, She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : Say, that she frown ; 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 me pack ; I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week • If she deny to wed ; I'll crave the day TAMING OF THE SHREW. 2o3 When 1 shall ask the banns, and when be married : — But here she comes ! and now, Petruchio, speak. Enter Katharjna. Good-morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing ; They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. Pet. You he, in faith ; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst ; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; — Hearing thy mildness prais'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. Wby, what's a moveable ? Kath. A joint- stool. Pet. Thou hast hit it : come sit on me. 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 thee ? Kath. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard. Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i' faith, 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 fool could find it where it lies. Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear In his tail. [his 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 herald, Kate ? O, put me in thy books. Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? Pet. A combless 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. Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. Pet. Why, here's no crab ; and therefore look not sour. Kath. There is, there is. Pet. Then show it me. Kath. Had I a glass, I would. Pet. What, you mean my face ? Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for Kath. Yet you are wither' d. [you. Pet. 'Tis with cares. Kath. I care not. Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth, you 'scape not so. Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry ; let me go. Pet. No, not a whit ; I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen, And now I find report a very liar ; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous ; But slowin speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers : Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk ; But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp ? slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazle-twig, Is straight, and slender ; and as brown in hue, As hazle-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. O, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st com- mand. Pet. 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 speech ? Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. Pet. Am I not wise? KaU. Yes ; keep you warm. Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy And therefore, setting all this chat aside, [bed : Thus in plain terms : — Your father hath consented That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on ; And, will you, — nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; For, by this light, whereby I 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 Conformable, as other household Kates. Here comes your father ; never make denial, 1 must and will have Katharine to my w T ife. Re-enter Baptista, Gbemio, and Tkanio. Bap. Now, Signior 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 ? Kath. Call you me, daughter? now I promise you, You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half-lunatic ; A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. Pet. Father, tis thus, — yourself and all the world That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her ; If she 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 ; JA4 TAMING OF THE SHREW ACT U And Roman Lucrece for her chastity : And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together, That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. Gre. Hark, Petruchio 1 she says, she'll see thee hang'd first. Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part ! Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for myself ; If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you ? Tis bargain' d 'twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! — She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twink 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 curstest shrew. — Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day : — Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests ; I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine. Bap. I know not what to say : but give me your hands ; God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. Gre. Tra. Amen, say we ; we will be witnesses. Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu ; 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' Sunday. [Exeunt Pktruchio and Katharina, severally. Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly ? Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's And venture madly on a desperate mart. [part, Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you ; 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. Bap. The gain I seek is — quiet in the match. Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter ; — Now is the day we long have looked for ; I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear as I. Tra. Grey-beard ! thy love doth freeze. Gre. But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age, that nourisheth. Tra. But youth, in ladies' eyes, that nourisheth. Bap. Content you, gentlemen ; I'll compound this strife : 'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he, of both, 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 the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; Basons, 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- work, Pewter and brass, and all things that belong •To house, or housekeeping : then, at my farm, I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, Six-score fat oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess ; And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers : If, whilst I live, she will be only mine. Tra. That, only, came well in Sir, list to me, 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 rich Pisa's walls, as any one Old signior Gremio has in Padua; Besides two thousand ducats by the year, Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. — What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio ? Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land ! My laud amounts not to so much in all : That she shall have ; besides an argosy, That now is lying in Marseilles' road : What, have I 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 galleys : these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate'er thou offer' st next. Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I 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 from all the world, By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied. Bap. I 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 cavil ; he is old, I young. Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old ? Bap. Well, gentlemen, I 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 assurance ; If not, to signior Gremio : And so I take my leave, and thank you both. ZExit. Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. — Now I fear thef 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 fox is not so kind, my boy. [Ea H Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither" d hide I Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 'Tis in my head to do my master good : — 1 see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio ; And that's a wonder : fathers, commonly, Do get their children ; but, in this case of wooing, A chile? «W) get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. [Ea it rft'ENE II. TAMING OF THE SHREW. ACT III. SCENE I. — A Room in Baptista's House. Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. Luc. Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too forward, Have you so soon forgot the entertainment [sir : Her sister Katharine welcom'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 pause, serve in your harmony. Hor. Sirrah, I 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 tune ? [To Bianca.— Hortensio retires. Luc. That will be never ; — tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last ? Luc. Here, madam : Hue ibat S'un/ns ; hie est Sigeia tellus ; Hie stelerat Priami regia celsa senis. Bian. Construe, them. Luc. Hac ibat, as 1 told you before, — Simois, I am Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, — Siyeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love ; — Hie st -t era/, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, — Priami, is my man Tranio, — regia, bearing my port, — celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. [Returning. Bian. Let's hear ; — [Hortensio plays. fye ! the treble jars. Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac ibat Simois, I know you not ; hie est Sigeia tellus, 1 trust you not ; — Hie stelerat Priami, take heed he hears us not ; — regia, presume not ; — celsa senis, despair not. Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. Luc. All but the bass. Hor. The bass is right ; 'tis the base knave that How fiery and forward our pedant is ! [jars. Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love : Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Luc. Mistrust it not ; for, sure. yEacides Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather. Bian. I must believe my master ; else, I promise you, 1 should be arguing still upon that doubt : But let it rest. — New, Licio, to you : — fTOod masters, take it not unkindly, pray, iitn\ I have been thus pleasant with vou 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, I am past my gamut long ago. Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. Bian. [Reads.] Gamut / am the ground of all accord, A re, to plead Hortensio 1 s passion ,• B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, C faut, that lores with all affection : D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I ; E la 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. Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books, And help to dress your sister's chamber up ; You know, to-morrow 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 to stay. [Exit. Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant ; 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 will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit. SCENE II.— The same. Before Baptista's House. Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katharina, Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants. Bap. Signior Lucentio, [to Tranio.] this is tie '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 fore'd To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, 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 inerry man, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 250 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Now must the world point at poor Katharine, And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchio's uife, If it would please him come and marry her. Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and BaptLta Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, [too; Whatever fortune stays him from his word : Though he be blunt, "l know him passing wise ; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him though ! {Exit, weeping, followed by Bianca, and others. Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep ; For such an injury would vex a saint, , Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter Biondello. Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and such news as you never heard of! Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be : B ion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming ? Hap. Is he come ? Bion. Why, no, sir. Bap. What then ? Bion. He is coming. Bap. When will he be here ? Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there. Tra. But, say, what : — To thine old news. Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat, and an old jerkin ; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned ; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced ; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armory, 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 lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wind- galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots ; swayed in the back, and shoulder-shotten ; ne'er-legged before, and with a half-check'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather ; which, being restrained to keep him from stum- bling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots : one girt six times pieced, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread. Bap. Who comes with him ? Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world ca- parisoned like the horse ; with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gar- tered 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. Didst 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 saint Jamy, I hold you a penny A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many. Enter Petruchio 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 yon halt not. Tra. Not so well apparell'd As I wish you were. Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus. But 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 monument, Some comet, or unusual prodigy ? Bap. Why, sir, you know, this is your wedding- day : First were we sad, fearing you would not come ; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fye ! doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye- sore to our solemn festival. Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself ? Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear : Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word, Though in some part enforced to digress ; Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse As you shall well be satisfied withal. But, where is Kate? 1 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 I'll Visit ber. 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 my 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 am 1, 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 Bjondello Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad 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 father's liking : Which to bring to pass, As I before imparted to your worship, I am to get a man,— whate'er he be, It skills not much ; we'll fit him to our turn, — 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. Were 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, despite 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 grey-beard, Gremio, SCENE If. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 257 The narrow -prying father, Minola ; The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; All for my master's sake, Lucentio. — Re-enter Grkmio. Signior Gremio ! came you from the church ? (ire. As willingly as e'er I came from school. Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home ? Gre. A bridegroom, say you? 'tis a groom, in- deed, 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 dam. Gre. Tut! she's a lamb, 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 gogs-wouns, quoth he ; and swore so loud That, 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 do wn fell priest and book , and book and priest ; | Now take them up, quoth he, if any list. Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again ? Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'd, and swore, As i.* the vicar meant to cozen him. Hut after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine : — A health, quoth he ; as if He had been abroad, carousing to his mares After a storm : — Quaff' d off the muscadel, And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; Having no other reason, — But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck ; And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack, That, at the parting, all the church did echo. I, seeing this, came thence for very shame ; And after me, I know, the rout is coming : Such a mad marriage never was before ; Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music Enter PETBUcHro, Kathafuna, 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 have 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. I'st possible, you will away to-night? Pet. I must away to-day, before night come: — Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all, That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; For I must hence, and farewell to you all. Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. Pet. It may not be. Gre. Let me entreat you. Pet. It cannot be. Kath. Let me entreat Pet. I am content. Kath. Are you content to stay ? Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay ; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. Pet. Grumio, my horses. Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready ; the oats have eaten the horses. Kath. Nay, then, 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, while your 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 ; pr'ythee 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. Kath. 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 to Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon, we're beset with thieves . Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : — Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, I'll buckle thee against a million. [Kate ; [Exeunt Petruohio, Katharina, and Grumio Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! I.uc. Mistress,what'syour opinion of your sister? Man. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, You know there wants no junkets 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 f Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen. let's go. [Exmnt 258 TAMING OF THE SHREW. ACT IV. ACT IV. SCENE I. — A Hall in Petruchio's Country House. Enter Gbubdo. Gru. Fye, fye, on all tired jades ! on all mad masters ! and all foul ways ! Was ever man so beaten ? was ever man so rayed? was ever man so weary ? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should 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 loudly ? Gru. A piece of ice : If thou doubt it, thou may'st slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater 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 ? Gru. 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 mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no beast. Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot; and so long ami, at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mis- tress, whose hand (she being now at hand,) thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office ? Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, How 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 almost frozen to death. Curt. There's fire ready; And, therefore, good Grumio, the news ? Gru. Why, Jack boy ! ho, boy ! and as much news as thou wilt. Curt. Come, you are so full of cony-catching : — Gru . Why, therefore, fire ; for I have caught ex- treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper 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. All 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 dirt ; And thereby hangs a tale. Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. Gru. Lend thine ear. Curt. Here. Gru. There. [Striking him. Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. Gru. And therefore' 'tis catted, a sensible tale : and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and be- seech listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mis- tress : — Curl. Both on one horse ? Gru. 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 shouldst have heard, in how miry a place : how she was bemoiled ; how he left her with the horse upon her ; how he beat me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded through the dirt to pluckhim off me; how he swore ; how she prayed — that never pray'd 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; which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave. Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than she. Gru. Ay ; and that, thou and the proudest of you all shall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of this ?— call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Ni- cholas, 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 curtsey with their left legs; and not pre- sume 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. Curt. Do you hear, ho ? you must meet my master, to countenance my mistress. Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. Curt. Who 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. Nath. Welcome home, Grumio. Phil. How now, Grumio? Jos. What, Grumio ! Nich. Fellow Grumio! Nath. How now, old lad ? Gru. Welcome, you;— how now, you; — what, you; — fellow, you; — and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat ? Nath. All things is ready : How near is our master ? Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- fore be not, Cock's passion, silence ! 1 hear my master. Enter Pktruchio and Kathar wa. Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man at To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse 1 [door, Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip ? AUServ. Here, here, sir; here, sir. Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! — You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! What! no attendance? no regard? no duty? — Where is the foolish knave I sent before? Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt horse drudge 1 SCENE II. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 150 Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel ; There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing: There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory ; The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. — [Exeunt some of the Servants. Where is the life that late I led — [Sings. Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud ! Re-enter Servants, with supper. Why, when, I say ?— Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains ; When ? It was the friar of orders grey; [Sings. As he forth walked on his way :— Out, out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry : Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. — [Strikes him. Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here ; what, ho ! Where's my spaniel Troilus? — Sirrah, 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 bason is presented to him. 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 fault un- willing. Pet. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear' d knave! Come, Kate, sit down ; 1 know you have a stomach. Will you give thanks, sweet Kate ; or else shall What is this ? mutton ? [I ?— 1 Serv. Ay. Pet. Who brought it? 1 Serv. I. Pel. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat: What dogs 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, cup, and all : [Throws the meat, S$c. 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 well, if you were so contented. Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried And I expressly am forbid to touch it, [away ; For it engenders choler, planteth anger ; And better 'twere that both of us did fast, — Since, of ourselves, ourselves are cholerick, — Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be patient ; to-morrow it shall be mended, And, for this night, we'll fast for company : — Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. [Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Curtis. Nalh. [Advancing. ,] Peter, didst ever see the Peter. He kills her in her own humour, [like ? Re-enter Ci'RTis. Gru. Where is he ? Curt. In her chamber, Making a sermon of continency to her : [soul, And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ; And sits as one new-risen from a dream. Away, away ! for he is coming hither. [ Exeunt Re-enter Petruchio. Pet. Thus have I politically begun my reign, And 'tis my hope to end successfully : My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty : And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd, For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard, To make her come, and know her keeper's call, That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites, That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall As with the meat, some undeserved fault [not ; 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 hurly, I intend, That 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 her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness : And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong hu- mour : — He that knows better * — --> tame a shrew, Now let him speak; «-- - „ to show. [Exit. SCENE II — Padua. Before Baptista's House. Enter Tranio and Hortensio. • Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianco Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ? I 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 his teaching. [They stand aside. Enter Bianca and Lucentio. Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what yon 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! Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. [They retire. Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell me, I pray, You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. Tra. O despiteful love ! unconstant woman- I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. [kind ! — Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, Nor a musician, as I seem to be ; But one that scorn to live in this disguise, For such a one as leaves a gentleman, And makes a god of such a cullion : Know, sir, that I am call'd — Hortensio. Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca j 2G0 TAMING OF THE SHREW. ACT IV. And since mine 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 fiatter'd her withal. Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat : Fye on her ! see, how beastly she doth court him. Hor. 'Would, all the world, but he, had quite forsworn ! For me, — that I may surely keep mine oath, I will be married to a wealthy widow Ere three days pass ; which hath as longlov'dme, 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 I swore before. [Exit Hortensio.— Lucentio 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. Bian. Tranio, you jest ; But have you both for- Tra. Mistress, we have. [sworn me ? Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. Tra. I'faith, he'll have a lusty widow 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 sayf so, Tranio. Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a place ? Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master ; That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, — To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue. 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, I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio ; And give assurance to Baptista Minola. As if he were the right Vincentio. Take in your love, and then let me alone. [Exeunt Llcentio and Bianca. Enter a Pedant Fed. God save you, sir ! Tra. And you, sir ! you are welcome. Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest ? Ped. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two ; But then up further ; and as far as Rome ; And so to Tripoly, if God lend me life. Tra. What countryman, I pray? Ped. Of Mantua. Tra. Of Mantua, sir ? — marry, God forbid ! And come to Padua, careless of your life ? [hard. Ped. My life, sir ! how, I pray ? for that goes Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua To come to Padua ; Know you not the cause ? Your ships are staid at Venice ; and the duke (For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,) Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly : 'Tis marvel ; but that you're but newly come You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so ; For ] have bills for 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 countenance somewhat doth resemble you. Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one. [Aside Tra. To save your life in this extremity, This favour will I do you for his sake ; And think it not the worst 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 you ever 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 ; — My father is here look'd for every day, To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : In all these circumstances I'll instruct you : Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. / . [Exeunt. SCENE III. — A Room in Petrtjchio's House. Enter Katharina and Grumio. Gru. No, no ; forsooth, I dare not, for my life. Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite What ! did he marry me to famish me ? [appears : Beggars, that come unto my father's door, Upon entreaty, have a present alms ; Tf not, elsewhere they meet with charity : But 1, — who never knew how to entreat, — Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ; With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed : And that which spites me more than all these wants, He does it under name of perfect love ; As who would say, -if I should sleep, or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness, or else present death. — I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast ; I care not what, so it be wholesome food. Gru. What say you to a neat's foot ? Kath. 'Tis passing good; I pr'ythee let me have it. Gru. I fear, it is too cholerick a meat : — How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd ? Kath. I like it well ; good Grumio, fetch it me Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear, 'tis cholerick. What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard? Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. h'<;EM3 ill. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 261 Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest. Gru. Nay, then I will not ; you shall have the Or else you get no beef of Grutnio. [mustard, Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beef. Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, [Beats him. That feed'st me with the very name of meat : Sorrow on thee, and ail the pack of you, That triumph thus upon my misery ! Go, get thee gone, I say. Enter Petruchio, with a dish of meat ; and IIortensio. Pet. How fares my Kate ? What, sweeting, all Hor. Mistress, what cheer ? [amort ? Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am, [me. 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. 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 Petruchio, fye ! you are to blame I Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. Pet. 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-love, Will we return unto thy father's house ; And revel it as bravely as the best, With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things ; With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. What! hast thou din'd ? The tailor stays thy leisure, To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. Enter Tailor. Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; Enter Haberdasher. Lay forth the gown — What news with you, sir ? Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer ; A velvet dish ; — fye, fye ! 'tis lewd and filthy ; Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnut-shell, V. knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ; Away 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 have one too, .And not till then. Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside. Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak ; A.nd speak I will ; I am no child, no babe : Your betters have endur'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 I please, in words. Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it i3 a paltry cap, A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie : I love tbee well, in that thou lik'st it not Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap ; And it I will have, or I will have none. Pet. Thy gown? why, ay;— Come, tailor, let us see't. mercy, God ! what masking stuff is here ? 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'sname, tailor, call'st thou this ? Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor gown. [Aside. Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion, and the time. Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remember'd, 1 did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home, For you 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 more commend- able : Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me. Pel. 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 liest, 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 of 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 marr'd her gown. Tai. Your worship is deceived ; the gown is made Just as my master had direction : Grumio gave order how it should be done. Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. 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 gown ; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo, thou liest. Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. Pet. Read it. Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say I said so. Tai. Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown .^ Gru. Master, if ever I 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. Tai. 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 com- manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up again : and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. 262 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Tai. This is true, that I say ; an I had thee in place where, thou should'st know it. Gru. I am for thee straight : take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! then be 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 up unto thy master's use. Gru. Villain, not for thy life : Take up my mistress' gown for thy master's use ! Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that ? Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for: Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! O, fye, fye, fye ! Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid : — [Aside. Go take it hence ; begone, and say no more. Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for 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, Even 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 shame, lay it on me : And therefore, frolic ; we will hence forthwith, To feast and sport us at thy father's house. — Go, call my men, and 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-time. Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two ; And 'twill be supper-time, ere you come there. Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse : Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, You are still crossing it.— Sirs, let't alone : I will 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 Baptist a's House. Enter Thanio, and the Pedant dressed like Vinckntio. Tra. Sir, this is the house ; Please it you, that I call ? ^ Ped. Ay, what else ? and, but I be deceived, Signior Baptista may remember me, Near twenty year ago, in Genoa, where We were lodgers at the Pegasus. Tra. 'Tis well : And hold your own, in any case, with such Austerity as 'longeth to a father. Enter Biondkllo. Ped. I warrant you : But, sir, here comes your 'Twere good, he were school'd. [boy; Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, Now do your duty thoroughly, I advise you ; Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. Bion. Tut ! fear not me. Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista ? Bion. I told him, that your father was at Venice ; 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 Lucbntio. 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 patrimony. 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 love between your daughter and himself : And, — for the good report I hear of you ; And for the love he beareth to your daughter, And she to him, — to stay him not too long, I am content, in a good father'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 most willing With one consent to have her so bestow'd ; For curious I cannot be with you, Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say ; — Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well. Right true it is, your son Lucentio here Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, Or doth dissemble deeply their affections : And, therefore, if you say no more than this, That like a father you will deal with him, And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, The match is fully made, and all is done : Your son shall have my daughter with consent. Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best, We be affied ; and such assurance ta'en, As shall with either part's agreement stand ? Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio ; for, you know, Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants : Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ; And, happily, we might be interrupted. Tra. Then at r»iy lodging, 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 worst is this, — that, at so slender warning, You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. Bap. It likes me well : — Cambio, hie you home And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; And, if you will, tell what hath happened : — Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart '. Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way ? Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer ; Come, sir ; we'll better it in Pisa. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 2G3 Bap. SCENE V.— A public Road. Enter Petruchio, Katharina, and Hortensio. Pet. Come on, o'God's name ; once more to- ward our father's. Good Lord, How bright and goodly shines the moon ! [now. Kath. The moon ! the sun ; it is not moonlight Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. Kath. I know it is the sun that shines so bright. Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's my- It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, [self, 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 far, — And be it moon, or sun, or what you please : And if you please to call it a rush-candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. Pet. I say, it is the moon. Kath. I know it is. Pet. Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun. Kath. Then, God be blessed, it is the blessed But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; [sun : I follow you. [Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptists. Bion. Cambio. — Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello ? Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you ? Luc. Biondello, what of that? Bion. 'Faith nothing ; but he has left me here behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens. Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. i Luc. And what of him ? Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. Lnc. And then ? — Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command at all hours. Luc. And what of all this ? Bion. I cannot tell ; except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance : Take you assurance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum .- to the church ; — take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses : If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say, But, bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. [Going. Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello ? Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff 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, I'll roundly go about her ; It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit. And the moon changes 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, in a travelling dress. Good morrow, gentle mistress : Where away ? — r _To V-.«JBNTIO. Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? — Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee : — Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and Whither away ; or where is thy abode ? [sweet, 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, Kate ! I hope thou art not mad: This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd ; 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 I perceive thou art a reverend father ; Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. Pet. Do, good old grandsire ; and, withal, make known Which way thou travellest : if along with us, We shall be joyful of thy company. Vin. Fair sir, — and you my merry mistress,— That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me ; My name is call'd — Vincentio : my dwelling — Pisa ; 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 thy son. And now by law, as well as reverend age, I may entitle thee — my loving father ; The sister to my wife, 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 ; Beside, so qualified as may beseem The 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. Vin. 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 Vincentio. Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart. Have to my widow ; and if she be forward, Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. lExtt. 2C-1 TAMING OF THE SHREW. *CT V. 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 priest 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' your oack ; and then come back to my master as soon as I can. {Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. Enter Pbtruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, and Attendants. Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house, My father's bears more toward the market-place ; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you I think, I shall command your welcome here, [go; And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. {Knocks. Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock 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 none, so long as I live. Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in Padua. — Do you hear, sir? — to leave frivolous circumstances, — I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. Ped. Thou liest ; his father is come from Pisa, and here looking out at the window. Vin. Art thou his father? Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, if I may be- lieve her. Pet. Why, how now, gentleman! [To Vincen.] why, this 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 Biondeiao. Bion. I have seen them in the church together ; God send 'em good shipping ! — But who is here ? mine old master, Vincentio ? now are we undone, and brought to nothing. Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. {Seeing Biondello. Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir. Vin. Come, hither, you rogue ; What ! have you forgot me ? Bifjn. Forgot you ? no, sir : I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio ? Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master ? yes, marry, sir ; see where he looks out of the window. Vin. Is't so, indeed? {Beats Biondello. Bion. Help, help, help ! here's a madman wiL murder me. {Exit. Ped. Help, son ! help, signior Baptista ? {Exit, from the window. Pit. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the end of this controversy. {They retire. Re-enter Pedant below; Baptista, Tra n io, 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 I 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 : Pray, what do you think is his name ? Vin. His name? as if I knew not his name ! 1 have brought him 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 you, in the duke's name: — O, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou vil- lain, where is my son, Lucentio? Tra. Call forth an officer : [Enter one with an Officer.] carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father, Baptista, 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 ; I say, he shall go to prison. Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be coney-catched in this business ; I dare swear, this is the right Vincentio. Ped. Swear, if thou darest. Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lucentio. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with him. Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abus'd. — O monstrous villain ! Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca. Bion. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is ; deny him, forswear him or else we are all undone. Luc. Pardon, sweet father. {Kneeling. Vin. Lives my sweetest son ? [Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant run out. Bian. Pardon, dear father. {Kneeling Bap. 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. eCENK If. TAMING OF THE SHREW 2(53 Gre. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all t 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's love Made me exchange my 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 enforc'd him to ; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. Via. 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. Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you, go to : But I will in, to be revenged for this villainy ! [.Exit. Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Luc. Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father will not frown. [Exeunt Luc. and Bian. Gre. My cakeisdough: But I'll in among the re^t; Out of hope of all, — but my share of the feast- [Exit. Petruchio and Katharina advance. Kadi. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado. Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. Kath. What I 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 ajjain : — Come, sir- rah, let's away. Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss : now pray thee, love, stay. Pet. Is not this well ? — Come, my sweet Kate ; Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Room in Lucentio's House. A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Pktruchio, Katharina, Hortensio and Widow. Tranjo, Biondello, Gruauo, and others attending. Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes Ami time it is, when raging war is done, [agree ; To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, While I with self-same kindness welcome thine: — Brother Petruchio, — 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 sit you down ; For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. [They sit at table. Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. Hot. For both our sakes I would that word were true. Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my sense ; mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns round. Pet. Roundly replied. Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? Wid. Thus I conceive by him. [that ? Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended : Kiss him for that, good widow. Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round: I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning. Kath. A very mean meaning. Wid. Right, I mean you. Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. Pet, To her, Kate ! Hor. To her, widow ! Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. Hor. That's my office. Pet. Spoke like an officer : — Ha' to thee, lad. [Drinks to Hortensio. Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks ? Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. Bian. Head, and butt? a hasty-witted body Would say your head and butt were head and horn. Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you ? Bian. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore I'll sleep again. Pet. Nay, that you shall not ; since you have Have at you for a bitter jest or two. [begun, Bian. Am I your bird ? I mean to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your bow : — You are welcome all. [Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not ; Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. Tra. O, sir, Lucentio 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, that you hunted for yourself ; 'Tis thought your deer holds you at a bay. Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. L,uc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess ; And, as the jest did glance away from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. Pet. Well, I say — no : and therefore, for as- Let's each one send unto his wife ; [surancc* 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 ! I'll 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 me 266 TAMING OF THE SHREW. ACT V. Bion. I go. [Exit. Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll 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 ? Gre. Ay, and a kind one toe*: 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 forthwith. [Exit Biondello. Pet. O, ho ! entreat her I Nay, then she must needs come. Hor. I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Re-enter Biondello. Now ! where's my wife ? Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand ; She will not come ; she bids you come to her. Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come ! O Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! [vile, Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress ; Say I command her come to me. [Exit Grumio. Hor. I know her answer. Pet. What ? Hor. She will not come. Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Enter Katharina. Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Ka- tharina ! Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? 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 husbands : Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. [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, and quiet An awful rule, and right supremacy ; [life, And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! The wager thou hast won ; and I will add Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns I Another dowry to another daughter, For she is chang'd, as she had never been. Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet ; And show more sign of her obedience, Her new-built virtue and obedience- Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca, and Widow. See, where she comes ! and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — Katharine, that cap of yours, becomes you not ; Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot. [Katharina pulls qff 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. Fye ! 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, I 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. Come on, I say, and first begin with her. Wid. She shall not. Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with her- Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow ; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads ; Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, — Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance : commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land ; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest 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 I Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband : And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she, but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? — I am asham'd, that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace ; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world ; But that our soft conditions, and our hearts, Should well agree with our external parts ? 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 frown ; But now, I see our lances are but straws ; Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, — 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 ! — Come on, and kiss me, Kate ! [ha't. Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad : for thou shalt Vin. 'Ti.3 a good hearing, when children are toward. Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed ; [froward. We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white ; [TO LUCENTIO. And, being a winner, God give you good night ! [Exeunt Petruchio and Kath, Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. [Exeunt WINTER'S TALE. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Lrontes, King o/Sicilia. Mamillius, his Son. Camillo, Antigonus, ^ SiciUan Lordt . } Cleomenes, Dion, Another Sicilian Lord. Rogero, a Sicilian Gentleman. An Attendant on the young Prince Mamiilius Officers of a Court of Judicature. Polixenes, King of Bohemia. Florizel, his Son. Archidamus, a Bohemian Lord. A Mariner. Gaoler. An Old Shepherd., reputed Father o/Perdita. Clown, his Son. Servant to the Old ShepJTerd. Autolycus, a Rogue. Time, as Chorus. Hermione, Queen to Leontes. Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione. Paulina, Wife to Antigonus. Emilia, a Lady, ) _ Two other Ladies, } Ending the Queen. Dorcas, } Shepherdesses. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Satyrs for a Dance Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &c. SCENE, — Sometimes in Sicilia ; sometimes in Bohemia. ACT I. SCENE I. — Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes' Palace. Enter Camillo and Archidamus. Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us ; we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed, — Cam. 'Beseech you, Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge : we cannot with such magnificence — in so rare — I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks ; that your senses, unintel- ligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what's given freely. Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utter- ance. Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their childhoods ; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection, 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 embassies ; tnat they have seemed to be together, though absent ; shook hands, as over a vast ; and embraced, a9 it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves ! Arch. I think, there is not in the world either malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an un- speakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius ; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: It is a gallant child; one that, indeed, physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh ; they that went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their life, 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. 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, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo, and Attendants. Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne Without a burden : time as long again Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks ; And yet we should, for perpetuity, 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. Leon. Stay your thanks awhile ; And pay them when you part. Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow, I am question' d by my fears, of what may choice Or breed upon our absence : That may blow No sneaping winds at home, to make us say, 268 WINTER'S TALK. AC'I !. This is put forth loo 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. Leon. One seven-night longer Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. Leon. W'll part the time between's then : and in that I'll no gain-saying. Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so ; There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world, So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder, Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay, To you a charge, and trouble : to save both, Farewell, our brother. Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? Speak you. Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, sir, Charge him too coldly : Tell him, you are sure, All in Bohemia's well : this satisfaction The by-gone day proclaim'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 shall not stay, We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. — Yet of your royal presence [to Polixenes.] I'll adventure The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission, To let him there a month, behind the gest Prefix' d for his parting : yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind What lady she her lord. — You'll stay ? Pol. No, madam. Her. Nay, but you will ? Pol. I may not verily. Her. Verily 1 You put me off with limber vows : But I, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily, [oaths, You shall not go ; a lady's verily is As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Not like a guest : so you shall pay your fees, When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you ? My prisoner, or my guest ? by your dread verily, One of them you shall be. Pol. Your guest then, madam : To be your prisoner, should import offending ; Which is for me less easy tQ commit, Than you to punish. Her. Not your gaoler then, But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys; You were pretty lordlings then. Pol. We were, fair queen, Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two ? Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did ijisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at the other: What we chang'd Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd That any did : Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer 'il heaven Boldly, Not guilty ; the imposition clear'd, Hereditary ours. Her. By this we gather, You have tripp'd since. Pol. O my most sacred lady, Temptations have since then been born to us : for In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; Your precious self had then not cross'dthe eyes Of my young play-fellow. Her. Grace to boot ! Of this make no conclusion ; lest you say. Your queen and I are devils : Yet, go on ; The offences we have made you do, we'll answer : If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. Leon. Is he won yet ? Her. He'll stay, my lord. Leon. At my request, he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st To better purpose. Her. Never ? Leon. Never, but once. Her. What ! have I twice said well ? when was't before ? I pr'ythee, tell me : Cram us with praise, and make us As fat as tame things : One good deed, dying tongueless, Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages : You may ride us, With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ; — My last good was, to entreat his stay ; What was my first ? it has an elder sister, Or I mistake you : O, would her name were Grace ! But once before I spoke to the purpose : When ? Nay, let me hav't ; I long. Leon. Why, that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, And clap thyself my love ; then didst thou utter, / am yours for ever. Her. It is Grace, indeed. — Why, lo you now I have spoke to the purpose twice ; The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; The other, for some while a friend. {Giving her hand to Polixbnes. Leon. Too hot, too hot : lAM* To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. I have tremor cordis on me : — my heart dances, But not for joy — not joy. — This entertainment May a free face put on ; derive a liberty From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, And well become the agent : it may, I grant : But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, As now they are ; and making practis'd smiles, As in a looking glass ; — and then to sigh, as 'twen The mort o' the deer ; O, that is entertainment SCENE II. WINTER'S TALE. 269 My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamillius, Art thou my boy ? Mam. Ay, my good lord. Leon. I'fecks ? Why, that's my bawcock. What ! hast smutch'd thy nose ? — They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain, We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, captain : And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, Are all call'd neat. — Still virginalling [Observing Polixenes and Hermtone. Upon his palm ?— How now, you wanton calf ! Art thou my calf ? Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots that I have, To be full like me : — yet, they say we are Almost as like as eggs ; women say so, That will say any thing : But were they false As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters ; false As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes 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-eye : Sweet villain ! Most dear'st! my collop! — Can thy dam? — may't be ? Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre : Thou dost make possible, things not so held, Communicat'st with dreams ; — (How can this be?)— With what's unreal thou coactive art, And fellow'st nothing : Then, 'tis very credent, Thou may'st co-join with something ; and thou dost ; (And that beyond commission; and I find it,) And that to the infection of my brains, And hardening of my brows. Pol. What means Sicilia ? Her. He something seems unsettled. Pol. How! my lord? What cheer ? how is't with you, best brother ? Her. You look, As if you held a brow of much distraction : Are you mov'd, my lord ? Leon. No, in good earnest, — How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil Twenty-three years ; and saw myself unbreech'd, In my green velvet coat ; my dagger muzzled, Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, This quash, this gentleman :— Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money ? Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. Leon. You will ? why, happy man be his dole ! — My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince, as we Do seem to be of ours ? Pol. If at home, sir, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ; My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all: He makes a July's day short as December ; And, with his varying childness, cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood. Leon. So stands this squire Oftio'd with me : We two will walk, my lord, And leave vou to your graver steps. — Hermione, How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap : Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's Apparent to my heart. Her. If you would seek us, Weareyour'si'the garden: Shall's attend you there? Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you'll be found, Be you beneath the sky : — I am angling now, Though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to I [Aside. Observing Polixenes and Hermione. How she holds up the neb, the bill to him ! And arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband ! Gone already ; Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one. [Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, and Attendants. Go, play, boy, play ; — thy mother plays, and I Play too ; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave ; contempt and clamour Will be my knell.— Go, play, boy, play ; — There 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 sluic'd in his absence, And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour : nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men have gates ; and those gates open'd, As mine, against their will : Should all despair, That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physick for't there is It is a bawdy planet, that will strike [none ; Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it, From east, west, north, and south ; Be it concluded, No barricado for a belly ; know it ; It will let in and out the enemy, With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us Have the disease, and feel't not.. — How now, boy ? Mam. I am like you, they say. Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — What! Camillo there ? Cam. Ay, my good lord. Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; 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 ; whispering, round- Sicilia is a so-forth: 'Tis far gone, [ing, When I shall gust it last. — How came't, Camillo, That he did stay ? Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. Leon. At the queen's, be't : good, should be pertinent ; But so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine ? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw In More than the common blocks : — Not noted, is't, But of the finer natures? by some severals, Of head-piece extraordinary ? lower messes, Perchance are to this business purblind : say. Cam. Business, my lord ? I think most under- Boheraia stays here longer. [stand 270 WINTER'S TALE. Leon. Ha? Cam. Stays here longer. Leon. Ay, but why? Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. Leon. Satisfy The entreaties of your mistress ? satisfy ?— Let that suffice. I 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 Thy penitent reform'd : but we have been Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd In that which seems so. Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! Leon. Tobideupon't; — Thou art not honest : or, If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward ; Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining From course requir'd : Or else thou must be oounted A servant, grafted in my serious trust, And therein negligent : or else a fool, That seestagameplay'd home, the rich stake drawn, And tak'st it all for jest. Cam. My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful ; In every one of these no man is free, But that his negligence, his folly, fear, Amongst the infinite doings of the world, Sometime puts forth : In your affairs, 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 affects the wisest : these, my lord, Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace, Be plainer with me : let me know my trespass By its own visage : if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, (But that's past doubt : you have ; or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn ;) or heard, (For, to a vision so apparent, rumour Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess, (Or else be impudently negative, To have nor eyes, or ears, nor thought,) then say, My wife's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to Before her troth-plight : say it, and justify it. Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken : 'Shrew my heart, You never spoke what did become you less Than this ; which to reiterate, were sin As deep as that, though true. Leon. Is whispering nothing? 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? Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift ? Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes blind With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked ? — is this nothing ° Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing ; The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ; My wife is nothing: nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing. Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; For 'tis most dangerous. Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true. Cam. No, no, my lord ! Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie : I say, thou liest, Camillo, and 1 hate thee ; Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave ; Or else a hovering temporizer, that Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, Inclining to them both ! — Were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass. Cam. Who does infect her P Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia : Who — if I Had servants true about me : that bare eyes To see alike mine honour as their profits, Their own particular thrifts, — they would do that Which should undo more doing : Ay, and thou, His cupbearer, — whom I from meaner form Have bench'd and rear'd to worship ; who may'st see Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven, How I am galled, — might'st bespice a cup, To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; Which draught to me were cordial. Cam. Sir, my lord, I could do this ; and that with no rash potion, But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work Maliciously like poison : But I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly being honourable. I have lov'd thee, Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation ? sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Which to preserve, is sleep ; which being spotted, Is goads, thorn?, nettles, tails of wasps ? Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine ; Without ripe moving to't?— Would I do this? Could man so blench ? Cam. I must believe you, sir ; I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't: Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness Will take again your queen, as yours at first; Even for your son's sake; and, thereby, for sealing The injury 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. Cam. My lord, Go then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts keep with Bohemia, And with your queen : I am his cupbearer ; If from me he have wholesome beverage, Account me not your servant. Leon. This is all : Do't, and thou hast the one-half of my heart ; Do't not, thou split'st thine own. Cam. I'll do't, my lord Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd mp r Fnt SCEKB II. WINTER'S TALE. 271 Cam. O miserable lady ! — But, for me, What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes : and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a master ; one, Who, in rebellion with himself, will have All that are his, so too. — To do this deed, Promotion follows : If I could find example Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings, And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Let villany itself forswear't. I must Forsake the 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! methinks, My favour here begins to warp. Not speak ? Good-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 countenance, As he had lost some province, and a region, Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him With customary compliment ; when he, Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from 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 you know, and dare not, Be intelligent to me ? 'Tis thereabouts ; For, to yourself, what 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 : for I must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself 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 : I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, As you are certainly a gentleman ; thereto Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns Our gentry, than our parents' noble names, In whose success we are gentle, — I beseech you, If you know aught which does behove my know- Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not [ledge In ignorant concealment. Cam. I may not answer. Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ! I must be answer'd. — Dost thou hear, Camillo, I c6njure thee, by all the parts of man, Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me ; how far oft, now 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 That I think honourable : Therefore, mark my counsel ; Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, us I mean to utte: it ; or both yourself and me Cry, lost, and so good-nigbt. Pol. On, good Camillo. Cam. I am appointed Him to murder you. Pol. By whom, Camillo? Cam. By the king. Pol. For what ? Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he As he had seen't or been an instrument [swears, To vice you to't, — that you have touch'dhis queen Forbiddenly. Pol. O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly ; and my name Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best ! Turn then my freshest reputation to A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd, Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection That e'er was heard, or read ! Cam. Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven, and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, As or by oath remove, or counsel shake The fabric of his folly ; whose foundation Is pil'dupon his faith, and will continue The standing of his body. Pol. How should this grow? Cam. I know not : but, I am sure, 'tis safer to Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born, If therefore you dare trust my honesty, — That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to-night. Your followers I will whisper to the business : And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns, Clear them o' the city : For myself, 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 in his face. Give me thy hand ; Be pilot to me, and thy places shall Still neighbour mine : My ships 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 mighty, 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 ; 1 will respect thee as a father ; if Thou beai'st my life off 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. iExeunU ACT II, SCENE l.—The same. E nter Hermione, Mamh.uus, 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 you. 1 Lady. Why, ray sweet lord ? Mam. You'll kiss me hard; and speak to me as if I were a baby still. — I love you better. 2 Lady. And why so, my good Lord ? Mam. Not for because Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say, Become some women best; so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle, Or half-moon made with a pen. 2 Lady. Who taught you this ? Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray What colour are your eye-brows ? [now 1 Lady. Blue, my lord. Mam. Nay, that's a mock : I 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 Into 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, And tell's a tale. Mam. Merry, or sad, shall 't be ? Her. As merry as you will. Mam. A sad tale's best for winter : I have one 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 Yond crickets shall not hear it. [softly ; Her. Come on then, And give't me in mine ear. Enter Leontes, Antigonits, Lords, and others. Leon. Was he met there ? his train ? Camillo with him ? 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them ; never Saw I men scour so on their way : I 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, In being so blest ! — There may be in the cup A spider 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 Howhi hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides, With violent hefts : — I have drunk, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander • — There is a plot against my life, my 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'd thing ; yea, a very trick For them to play at will : — How came the posterns So easily open ? 1 Lord. By his great authority ; 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 signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him. Her. What is this ! sport ? 7>0rt. Bear the boy hence, he shall not come about her ; Away with him : — and let her sport herself With that she's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. Her. But I'd say, he had not, And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying, Howe' er you lean to the nay ward. Leon. You, my lords, Look on her, mark her well ; be but about To say, she is a goodly lady, and The justice of your hearts will thereto add, ' Tis pity, she's not honest, honourable : 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 hums, 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 Le, 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 thou 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 beggjar ! — I bave said, She's an adultress ; I have said, with whom , More, she's a traitor ; and Camillo is A federary with her ; and one that knows What she should shame to know herself, But with her most vile principal, that she's A bed-swerver ; even as bad as those That vulgars give bold titles ; ay, and privy To this their late escape. Her. No, by my life, Privy to none of this : How will this grieve you, When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have publish' d me ! Gentle my iord. You scarce can right me thoroughly then, to say You did mistake. Leon. No, no ; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, WINTER'S TALE. 273 The center is not big enough to bear k school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison ! He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty, But that he speaks. Her. There's some ill planet reigns : I must be patient, till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable. — Good my lords, I am not prone to weeping as our sex Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew, Perchance, shall dry your pities : but I have That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns Worse than tears drown : 'Beseech you all, my 'ords, With thoughts so qualified, as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me ; — and so The 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, you see, My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; There is no cause : when you shall know your mistress Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears, As I come out : this action, I now go on, Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord ; I never wish'd to see you sorry; now, I trust, I shall. My women, come ; you have Leon. Go, do our bidding; hence! [leave. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. I Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen again. Ant. Be certain what you do, sir ; lest your justice Prove 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 ; I 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, If 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, That will be damn'd for't; 'would I knew the villain, 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 honour, I'll geld them all : fourteen they shall not see, To bring false generations : they are co-heirs ; And I had rather glib myself, than they Should not produce 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. dnt. If it be so, We need no grave to bury honesty ; There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. Leon. What ! lack I credit ? 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, 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 we Commune with you of this ? but rather follow Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels ; but our natural goodness Imparts this : which — if you (or stupified, Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not, Relish as truth, like us ; inform yourselves, We need no more of your advice : the matter, The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all Properly ours. Ant. And I 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. Camillo'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 sufficiency : 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. Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he, Whose ignorant credulity will not Come up to the truth : so have we thought it good, 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. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. The outer Room of a Prison. Enter Paulina and Attendants. Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; [Exit an Attendant Let him have knowledge who I am. — Good lady ! 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 much I honour. Paul. Pray you then, Conduct me to the queen. Keep. I may not, madam ; to the contrary I have express commandment. T 274 WINTER'S TALE. ACT II. Paul. Here's ado, To lock up honesty and honour from The access of gentle visitors ! — Is it lawful, Pray you, to see her women? any of them? Emilia ? Keep. So please you, madam, to put Apart these your attendants, I shall bring Emilia forth. Paul. . I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. [.Exeunt Attend. Keep. And, madam, I must 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. Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia. Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady? Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, May hold together : on her frights, and griefs, (Which never tender lady hath borne greater,) She is, something before her time, deliver'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, 1 am innocent as you. Paul. I dare be sworn : These dangerous unsafe lunes o'the king ! beshrew them ! He must be told on't, and he shall : the office Becomes a woman best : I'll take't upon me : If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister ; And never to my red-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 show't the king, and undertake to be Her advocate to th' loudest : We do not know How he may soften at the sight o'the child ; The silence often of pure innocence Persuades, when speaking fails. Emil. Most worthy madam, Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident, That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue ; there is no lady living, So 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, but to-day, hammer'd of this design ; But 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 from my bosom, let it not be doubted I shall do good. Emil. Now be you blest for it 1 I'll to the queen: Please you, come something nearer. Keep. Madam, if t please the queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur, to pass it, Having no warrant. Paul. You need not fear it, sir: The child was prisoner to the womb : and is, By law and process of great nature, thence Free'd and enfranchis'd : not a party to The anger of the king ; nor guilty of, If any be, the trespass of the queen. Keep. I do believe it. Paul. Do not you fear : upon Mine honour, I will stand 'twixt you and danger. [Exeunt. ♦ 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 cause were not in being ; — part o'the cause, She, the adultress ; for the harlot-king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof : but she I can hook to me : Say, that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest, Might come to me again. Who's there ? 1 Atten. My lord ? [Advancing. Leon. How does the boy ? 1 Atten. He took good rest to-night ; 'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd. Leon. To see, His nobleness ! Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, . He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply ; Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself; Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish' d. — Leave me solely : —go, See how he fares. [Exit Attend.] — Fye, fye ' no thought of him ; The very thought of my revenges that way Recoil 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 ; nor Shall she, within my power. Enter Paulina, with a child. 1 Lord. You must not enter. Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, [me : Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent soul ; More free, than he is jealous. Ant. That's enough. 1 Attend. Madam, he hath not slept to-night ; None should come at him. [commanded 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. Leon. - What noise there ! ho ? Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference, About some gossips for your highness. Leon. How ? Away with that audacious lady : Antigonus, I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me ; 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 rule her ? Paul. From all dishonesty, he can : in this, (Unless he take the course that you have done, SCENE III. WINTER'S TALE. 275 Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it, He shall not rule me. Ant. Lo you now ; you hear 1 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 good queen. Leon. Good queen ! Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say, good queen ; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst about you. Leon. Force her hence ! Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, First hand me : on mine own accord, I'll off ; But, first, I'll do my errand. — The good queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter, Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing. {Laying down the Cliild. Leon. Out ! A mankind-witch ! Hence with her, out o'door : A most intelligencing bawd ! Paul. Not so : I am as ignorant in that, as you In so entitling me : and no less honest 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 Antigonus.] thou art woman- tir'd, unroosted By thy dame Partlet here,— take up the bastard; Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. Paul. For ever Un venerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness Which he has put upon't ! Leon. He dreads his wife. Paul. So, I would, you did ; then 'twere past all You'd call your children yours. [doubt, Leon. 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 himself, his queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse [not He cannot be compell'd to't,) once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten, As ever oak, or stone was sound. Leon. A callat, Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her hus- band, And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ; It is the issue of Polixenes : — Hence with it ! and, together with the dam, Commit them to the fire. Paul. It is yours ! And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, 80 like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, Although 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 smiles : 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 Leon. A gross hag S — And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. Ant. Hang all the husbands, That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. Leon. Once more, take her hence ! Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. Leon. I'll have thee burn'd. Paul. I care not It is an heretic, that makes the fire, Not she, which burn's in't. I'll not call you But this most cruel usage of your queen [tyrant ; (Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, [savours Yea, scandalous to the world. Leon. On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, Where were her life ? she durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her 1 Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I '11 be gone. Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove send her A better guiding spirit ! — What need these hands ? — You, 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, hastset on thy wife to this My child ? away with't ! — even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, And see it instantly consum'd with fire ; Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight : Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, (And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life, With what thou else call'st thine : If thou refuse, And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; For thou sett' st on thy wife. Ant. I did not, sir : 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 better 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 pur- Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must [pose ; Lead on to some foul issue : We all kneel. Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows : — Shall I 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 Antigonus You, that have been so tenderly officious With lady Margery, your midwife, there. To save this bastard's life : — for 'tis a bastard, 276 WINTER S TALE. ACT III. So sure as this beard's grey, — what will you adven- So save this brat's life ? ' [ture Ant. Any thing, my lord, That ray ability may undergo, And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ; 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 perform my bidding. Ant. I will, my lord. Leon. Mark, and perform it ; (seest thou ?) for the fail Of any point in't shall not only be 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 remote 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, on, poor babe : j 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 ! [Exit, with the Child. Leon. No, I'll not rear Another's issue. 1 Attend. 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 Our most disloyal lady ; for, as she hath Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives, My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me ; And think upon my bidding, {.Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I The same. A Street in some Town. Enter Cleomenes and Dion. Cleo. The climate's delicate ; the air most sweet; Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. Dion. I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits, (Methinks, I so should term them,) and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly It was i'the offering ! Cleo. But, of all, the burst And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpriz'd my sense, That I was nothing. Dion. If the event o'the journey Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be't so ! — 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 faults 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 II.— The same. A Court of Justice. Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear, properly seated. Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- nounce,) Even pushes 'gainst our heart : The party tried, The daughter of a king ; our wife ; and one Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed injustice ; which shall have due course, Even to the guilt, or the purgation. Produce the prisoner ! Offi. 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 o/Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with PolLx- enes, king o/Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband : the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true sub- ject, didst counsel and aid them, for their betUr safety, to fly away by night. Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that Which contradicts my accusation ; and The testimony on my part, no other But what comes from myself ; it shall scarce boot To say, Not guilty ; mine integrity, [me 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 doubt not then, but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, (Who least will seem to do so,) my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy ; which is more Than history can pattern, though devis'd, SCENE II. WINTER'S TALE. 277 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 mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How meritod 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, Fye 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 it first. Her. That's true enough ; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. Leon. You will not own it. Her. More than mistress of, 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 him, 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, To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had spoke, Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, That it was yours. Now, tor conspiracy, I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd For me to try how : all I 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. Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in his absence. Her. Sirl 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 ; 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 Thy 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 life be no commodity : The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went : My second joy, And first-fruits of my body, from his presence, I am barr'd, like one infectious : My third comfort, Starr' d most unluckily, is from my breast, — The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, — Haled out to murder : Myself on every post Proclaim'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 ; No ! life, I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honour, (Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises ; all proofs sleeping else, But what your jealousies awake ; I tell you 'Tis rigour, and not law. — Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle ! Apollo be my judge. I Lord. This your request Is altogether just ; therefore, bring forth, And in Apollo's name, his oracle. [Exeunt certain Officers. Her. The emperor of Russia was my father ; O, 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 ! Re-enter Officera.wJMCLEOMEN*?" axd Dion. Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have [justice, Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought 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. Offi. [Reads.] Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten ; and the king shall live without an heir, if that, which is lost, be not found. Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! Her. Praised I Leon. Hast thou read truth ? Qffi. 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 I Enter a Servant, hastily. Serv. My lord the king, the king ! Leon. What is the business ? Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it : The prince your son, 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 Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.] How now there ! Paul. This news is mortal to the queen : — Look And see what death is doing. [down, Leon. Take her hence : Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover. — I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : — 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. — [Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hkrm. Apollo, pardon My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle . — 278 WINTER'S TALE. ACT III I'll reconcile me to Polixenes ; New woo my 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 for the minister, to poison My friend Polixenes : which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift 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 incertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour : — How he glisters Thorough my rust ! and how his piety Does my deeds make the blacker 1 Re-enter Paulina. Paul. Woe the while ! O, cut my lace ; lest my heart, cracking it, Break too ! 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady ? Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks? fires? What flaying? boiling, In leads, or oils ? what old, or newer torture Must I receive ; whose every word deserves 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 done, And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad ! for all Thy by- gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray 'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing ; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ungrateful : nor was't much, Thouwould'sthave poison'dgoodCamillo's honour, To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby- daughter, To be or none, or little ; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire, ere done '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, dearest, creature's dead : and ven- geance for't Not dropp'd down yet. 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid ! 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 ; for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the 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. I am 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 woman : he is touch'd To the noble heart. — What's gone, and what'* past help, Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction At my petition, I beseech 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 remember you of my own lord, Who is lost too : Take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing. Leon. Thou didst speak but well, When most the truth ; which I receive much better Than 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 The chapel where they lie; and tears, shed there, Shall be my recreation : So long as Nature will bear up with this exercise, So long I daily vow to use it. — Come, And lead me to these sorrows. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea. Enter Antioonus, with the child ; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd The deserts of Bohemia ? [upon Mar. Ay, my lord; and fear We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly, And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, And frown upon us. Ant. Their sacred wills be done! — Go, get aboard ; Look to ttuy bark ; I'll not be long, before I call upon thee. Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not Too far i' the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey, that keep upon't. Ant. Go thou away : I'll follow instantly. Mar. I am glad at heart To be so rid o' the business. [.Exit. Ant. Come, poor babe : I have heard, (but 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 a dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another ; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd and so becoming; 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 eyes SCENE III WINTER'S TALE. 279 Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon Did this break from her: Good Antigonus! Since fate, against thy letter disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower -out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, — Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weep, and leave it crying : and, for the babe Fs counted lost for ever, Perdita, / pr'ythee, call 'I : for this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more : — and so, with shrieks, She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself ; and thought This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys ; Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squar'd by this. I do believe, Hermione hath suffer'd death ; and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of King Polixenes, it shouldjiere be laid, Either for life, or death, upon the earth Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! [Laying down the child. There lie ; and there, thy character : there, these ; [Laying down a bundle. Which may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins : — Poor wretch, 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 1 The day frowns more and more — thou art like to A lullaby too rough: I never saw [have The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour ? — Well may I get aboard ! This is the chace ; I am gone for ever I [Exit, pursued by a bear. Enter an old Shepherd. Shep. I would, there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty ; or that youth would sleep but the rest : for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the an- cientry, stealing, fighting. — Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and two-and-twenty, hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep ; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than the master : if any, where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing on ivy. — Good luck, an't be thy will ! what have we here ? [Taking up the Child."] Mercy on's, a barne ; a very pretty barne ! A boy, or a child, I wonder ? A pretty one ; a very pretty one : Sure, some scape : though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape : This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some be- hind-door-work : they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity : yet I'll tarry till my son come ; he hollaed but even now. — Whoa, ho hoa ! Enter Ci-own. Clo. Hilloa, loa I Shep. What, art so near ? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. — What ailest thou, man ? Clo. I have 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 would, you did but see how it chafes, how 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-dragoned it : — but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; — and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, — both roaring louder than the sea, or weather. Shep. Name of mercy ! when was this, boy ? Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman ; he's at it now. Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped 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, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's a sight for 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, I 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. Gold ! all gold! Shep. This is fairy-gold, boy, and 'twill prove so : up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next way 1 We are lucky, boy, and to be so still, requires nothing but secresy. — 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 of him left, I'll bury it. Shep. That's a good deed: If thou may'st dis- cern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to the sight of him. Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him i'the ground. Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy ; and we'll do good deeds on't. [Exeunt. 280 WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV. Enter Timb, as Chorus Time. I, — that please some, try all ; both joy, and terror, Of good and bad ; that make, and unfold error, — Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime, To me, or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom : Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, Or what is now received : I witness to The times that brought them in : So shall I do To the freshest things now reigning ; and make The glistering of this present, as my tale [stale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass ; and give my scene such growing, As you had slept between. Leontes leaving The effects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving, That he shuts up himself ; imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia ; and remember well, I mentioned a son o'the king's, which Florizel I now name to you ; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wondering : What of her ensues, I list not prophesy; but let Time's news Be known, when 'tis brought forth: — a shepherd's daughter. And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is the argument of time : Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now ; If never yet, that Time itself doth say, He wishes earnestly , you never may. [Exit. SCENE I.— The same. A Room in the Palace Of POLIXENES. Enter Polixbnks and 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 ; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, 1 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 to think so ; which is another spur to 1 y departure. Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services, by leaving me now : the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made ; better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee : thou, having made me businesses, which none, without 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, shall be my study ; And my profit therein, the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more : whose very naming punishes me with the remem- brance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his i most precious queen and children, are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the prince Florizel my son ? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them, when they have approved their virtues. Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince : What his happier affairs may be, are to me un- known : but I have, missingly, noted, he is of late much retired from court ; and is less frequent to his princely exercises, than formerly he hath ap- peared. Pot. I have considered so much, Camillo ; and with some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness : from whom I have this intelligence ; That he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd ; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man who hath a daughter of most rare note : the report of her is 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 we will, not appearing what we are, have some ques- tion with the shepherd ; from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to get the cause 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.— The same. A Road near the Shep- herd's Cottage. Enter Avtolvcus, singing. When daffodils begin to peer, With, 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 white sheet bleaching on the hedge, — With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!— Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, — With, hey ! with, hey! the thmsh and the jay;— Are summer songs for me 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 I 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 well may give, And in the stocks avouch it My traffick is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus ; who, being as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise 9 snapper-up of unconsidered trifles : With scEiVE in. WINTER'S TALE. 281 die, and drab, 1 purchased this caparison ; and my revenue is the silly cheat : Gallows, and knock, are too powerful on the highway : beating, and hanging, are terrors to me ; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. — A prize ! a prize I Enter Clown. Clo. Let me see : — Every 'leven wether — tods ; every tod yields— pound and odd shilling : fifteen hundred shorn, — What comes the wool to ? Aut. If the springe hold, the eock's mine. [Aside. 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 : three-man song- men all, and very good ones ; but they are most of them means and bases : but one Puritan amongst 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 : nutmegs, seven; a race, or two, of ginger ; but that I may beg ; — four pound of prwies, and as many of raisins o' the sun. Aut. O, that ever I was born ! [Grovelling on lite ground. Clo. I'the name of me, Aut. O, help me, help me ! pluck but off these rags ; and then, death, death ! Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received ; which are mighty ones, and millions. Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may come to a great matter. Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put 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 garments he hath left with thee ; if this be a horse- man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee : come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up. Aut. O ! good sir, tenderly, oh ! Clo. Alas, poor soul ! ^ Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir : I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. Clo. How now ? canst stand ? Aut. Softly, dear sir ; [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly ; you ha' done me a charitable office. Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. Aut. 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 pray you ; that kills my heart. Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with trol-my-dames : I knew him 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 whipped out of the 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 flown over many knavish professions, he settled 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, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue, that put me into this apparel. Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue 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 cau 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. Then 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 shearers prove sheep, let me be enrolled, and my name put in the book of virtue ! Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent 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 life : no shepherdess ; but Flora, Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on't. Per. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me ; O, pardon, that I name them : your high self, The gracious mark o'the land, you have obscur'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 attir'd ; sworn, I think, To show myself a glass. Flo. I bless the time, When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! To me, the difference forges dread ; your greatness 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 ? What would he say ? Or how Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence ? Flo. Apprehend '.'62 WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV. Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune A ram, and bleated : and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 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 honour ; nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. 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 Or I my life. [purpose, Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not The mirth o'the feast : Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's : for I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine : to this I am most constant, Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle ; Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming ; Lift 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 Polixknks and Camillo disguised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, with others. Flo. See, your guests approach : Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fye, 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, more known. Come, quench your blushes ; and present yourself 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. Welcome, sir! [To Pou It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostess-ship o'the day : — You're welcome, sir ! [To Camillo. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary, and rue ; these keep Seeming, and savour, all the winter long : Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, And welcome to our shearing ! Pol. Shepherdess, (A fair one are you !) well you fit our ages With 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 Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not To get slips of them. Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them ? Per. For I have heard it said, There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares With great creating nature. Pol. Say, there be ; Yet nature is made better by no mean, But nature makes that mean ; so, o'er that art, Which, 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 By bud of nobler race ; This is an art Which does mend nature, — change it rather : but The art itself is nature. Per. So it is. Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, And do not call them bastards. Per. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ; No more than, were I painted, I would wish [fore This youth would say,'twere well ; and only there- Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you ; Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given To men of middle age : You are very welcome ! Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your And only live by gazing. [flock, Per. Out, alas ! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. — Now, my fairest 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 maidenheads growing : — O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon ! — daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his 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 him 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, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your Methinks, I play as I have seen them [flowers : In Whitsun' pastorals : sure this robe Does change my disposition. Flo. WTiat you do, Still betters what is done. W T hen 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 A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do [you Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own SCENE III. WINTER'S TALE. 283 No other function : Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. Per. O Doricles, Your praises are too large : but that your youth, And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it, Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd ; With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. Flo. I 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 'em. Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does or seems, But smacks of something greater than herself ; Too noble for this place. Cam. He tells her something, That makes her blood look out : Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Clo. Come on, strike up. Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, gar- To mend her kissing with. [lick, Mop. Now, in good time ! Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our manners. — Come, strike up. [Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter ? Shep. They call him Doricles ; and he boasts To have a worthy feeding : but I have it [himself Upon his own report, and I believe it ; He looks like sooth : He says, he loves my daugh- I think so too : for never gaz'd the moon [ter ; 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, Who loves another best. Pol. She dances featly. Shep. So she does any thing ; though I 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 pedler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe ; no, the bag-pipe could not move you : he sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money ; he 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 t I love a ballad but even too well ; if it be dole- ful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably. Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange ; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings :jump her and thump her ; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man ; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, good man. Pol. This is a brave fellow. Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable- conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares ? Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i'the rainbow ; points, more than all the lawyers in Bo- hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross ; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns ; why, he sings them over, 'as they were gods or goddesses ; you would think, a smock were a she-angel : he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't. Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him ap- proach singing. Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes. Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister. Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter Autolycus, singina. Lawn, as 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, and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel : Come, 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 should'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 they come not too late now. Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars. Mop. He haLh paid you all he promised you : may be, 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 should bear their faces ? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets ; but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests ? 'Tis well they are whispering : Cla- mour your tongues, and not a word more. Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves, Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by the way' and lost all my money ? Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad ; therefore it behoves men to be wary. Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. Aut. I hope so, sir ; for I have about me many parcels of charge. Clo. What hast here ? ballads ? Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in print, a' -life ; for then we are sure they are true. Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money- bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat ad- der's heads, and toads carbonadoed. Mop. Is it true, think you ? Aut. Very true ; and but a month old. Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mis- 284 WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV tress Taleporter ; and five or six honest wives that were present : Why should I carry lies abroad ? Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it. Clo. Come on, lay it by : And let's first see more ballads ; we'll buy the other things anon. Aut. Here's another ballad, Of a fish, that ap- peared upon the coast, on Wednesday 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. Five 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 hiive some merry ones. Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes to the tune' of Two maids wooing a man : there's scarce a maid westward, but she sings it ; 'tis in | 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 tune on't a month ago. Aut. I can bear my part ; you must know, 'tis my occupation : have at it with you. SONG. A. Get you hence, for I must go ; Where it fits not you to know. D. Whither? M. O, whither?— D. Whither? M. P becomes thy oath full well, 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. What, neither ?—.4. Neither. D. Thou hast sworn my love to be ; M. Thou hast sworn it more to me : Then, whither go'st ?— say, Whither ? Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves ; My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them : Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both : — Pedler, let's have the first choice. — Follow me, girls. Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. [Aside. Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a ? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head. Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a ? Come to the pedler ; Money's a medler, That doth utter all men's ware-a. [Exeunt Clown, Autolyci^ , Dorcas, and Mopsa. Enter a Servant. Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made 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 plentifully. Shep. Away 1 we'll none on't ; here has been too much homely foolery already: — I know, sir, we weary you. Pol. You weary those that refresh us : Pray, let's t>r.e 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 Rutticks, habited like Satyrt. They dance, and then exeunt. Pol. O father, you'll know more of that here- after. — Is it not too far gone ? — 'Tis time to part them. — He's simple and tells much. [Aside.'] — How now, fair shepherd ? Your heart is full of something, that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young, And handed love, as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks ; I would have ran- sack'd The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour d it To her acceptance ; you have let him go, And nothing marted with him : If your lass Interpretation should abuse, and call this, Your lack of love, or bounty ; you were straited For a reply, at least, if you make a care Of happy holding her. Flo. 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 my heart ; which I have given already, But not deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my lifii Before 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 white as it ; Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, That's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er. Pol. What follows this ?— How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out : — But, to your protestation ; let me bear What you profess. Flo. Do, and be witness to't. Pol. And this my neighbour too ? Flo. And he, and more Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all : That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve ; had force, and know- ledge, More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them, Without her love : for her, employ them all ; Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, Or to their own perdition. Pol. Fairly offer'd. Cam. This shows a sound affection. Shep. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him ? Per. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better : By the pattern of my own thoughts I cut out The 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 I 'the virtue of your daughter ; one being dead. SCENE III. WINTER'S TALE. 285 I stall 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 ; Have 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 affairs ? is he not stupid With age, and altering rheums ? Can he speak ? hear ? Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing, But what he did being childish ? Flo. No., good sir ; He has 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 Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason, The father, (all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel 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. Let him know't. Flo. He shall not. Pol. IVythee, let him. Flo. No, he must not. Shep. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to At knowing of thy choice. [grieve Flo. Come, come, he must not : — Mark our contract. Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, [Discovering himself. Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base To be acknowledged : 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 Shorthen thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft ; who, of force, must know The royal fool thou cop'st with ; Shep. O, my heart ! Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch' d with briars, and made More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh, [boy, — 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 dead blow of it. — And you, enchant- ment, — 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 tlry 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 gone ? [To Florizei,. 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 ! Speak, ere thou diest. Shep. I cannot speak* nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. — O, sir, [To FLORrzKL 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 me Where no priest shovels -in dust. — O cursed wretch ! [To Perdita. That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure To mingle with him. — Undone ! undone ! If I might die within this hour, I 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 alter'd : What I was, I am : More straining on, for plucking back ; not following My leash unwillingly. Cam. Gracious my lord, 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 Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. Flo. I not purpose it. I think, Camillo. Cam. Even he, my lord. Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be How often said, my dignity would last [thus ? But till 'twere known ? Flo. It cannot fail, but by The violation of my faith ; And then Let nature crush the sides o'the earth together, And mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks : From my succession wipe me, father ! I Am heir to my affection. Cam. Be advised. Flo. I am ; and by my fancy : if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ; If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. Cam. This is desperate, sir. Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow ; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not 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, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,) cast your good counsels !8G WINTER'S TALE. 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 I cannot hold on shore ; And, most opportune to our need, I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold, Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. Cam. O, my lord, I 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. Cam. 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, And 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 ? Flo. 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, through him, what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, (If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration,) on mine honour I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness ; where you may Enjoy your mistress ; (from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by, As heavens forfend I your ruin :) marry her ; And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,) Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. Flo. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done ? That I may call thee something more than man, And, after that, trust to thee. Cam. Have you thought on A place, whereto you'll go ? Flo. Not any yet : But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do ; so we profess, Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows. Cam. Then list to me : This follows, — if you will not change your pur- But undergo this flight ;— Make for Sicilia; [pose, And there present yourself, and your fair princess, (For so, I see r 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, and weeping His welcome forth : asks thee, the son, forgiveness, As 'twere i'tne father's person : kisses the hands Of your fresh princess : o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his un kindness and his kindness *, the one 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 you 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. I am bound to you : There is some sap in this. Cam. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream' d shores ; most certain, To miseries enough : no hope to help you : But, as you shake off one, to take another: Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who Do their best office, if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be : Besides, you know, Prosperity's the very bond of love ; Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction 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 ? There shall not, at your father's house, these seven Be born another such. [years, Flo. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding, as I'the rear of birth. Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity She lacks instructions ; for she seems a mistress To most that teach. Per. Your pardon, sir, for this ; I'll blush you thanks. Flo. My prettiest Perdita But, O, the thorns we stand upon ! — Camillo, — Preserver of my father, now of me ; The medicin of our house ! — how shall we do ? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son ; Nor shall appear in Sicily Cam. My lord, Fear none of this : I think, you know, my fortunes 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 Autolvcus. Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool honesty is ! and trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery ; not a counterfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn- ring, to keep my pack from fasting ; — they throng who should buy first ; as if my trinkets had been hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer : by which means, I saw whose purse was best in picture; and, what I saw, to my good use, I re- membered. My 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, till he had 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 codpiece WINTER'S TALE. 287 of a purse ; I would have filed keys off, that hung in chains; no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their festival-purses : and had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and the king's son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. [Cam. Flo. and Per come 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 ! All that you speak, shows fair. Cam. Who have we here ? [Seeing Autolycus. We'll make an instrument of this ; omit Nothing, may give us aid. Aut. If they have overheard me now, why hanging. [Aside. Cam. How now, good fellow ? why shakest thou so ? Fear not, man ; here's no harm intended to thee. Aut. I am 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, (thou 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. Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir : — I know ye well enough. {Aside. Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch : the gentleman is half-flayed already. Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? — I smell the trick of it. — [Aside Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. Aut. Indeed, I have had 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 ! — you must retire yourself Into some covert : take your sweetheart's hat, And pluck it o'er your brows : muffle your face ; Dismantle you ; and as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming ; that you may, (For I do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard Get undescried. Per. I see, the play so lies, That I must bear a part. Cam. No remedy, — Have you dotie there ? Flo. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. Cam. Nay, you shall have No hat : — Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend. Aut. Adieu, sir. Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot ? Pray you, a word. [They converse apart. Cam. What I do next, shall be, to tell the king [Aside. Of thU escape, and whither they are bound ; Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail, To force him after ; in whose company I shall review Sicilia ; for whose sight I have a woman's longing. Flo. Fortune speed us I — Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. Cam. The swifter speed, the better. [Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse ; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see, this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. 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 his heels : If I thought it were not a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would do't : I hold it the more knavery to conceal it : and therein am I constant to my profession. Enter Clown and Shepherd. Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain : Every lane's-end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! there is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change- ling, and none of your flesh and blood. Shep. Nay, 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, and his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law. Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest oft you could have been to him ; and then your blood had been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce. Aut. Very wisely ; puppies 1 [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 com - plaint may be to the flight of my master. Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my pedler's excrement. — {Takes off his false beard.] How now, rusticks ! whither are you bound ? Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. Aut. Your affairs 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 He ; 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 pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel ; therefore 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 manner. 288 WINTER'S TALE. ACT IV 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 measure 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 from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? I am courtier cap-a-pe ; and one that will either push on, or pluck back thy business there : whereupon T command thee to open thy affair. Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. Aut. What advocate hast thou to him 5 Shep. I know not, an't like you. Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant ; say, you have none. Shep. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock, nor hen Aut. How bless'd are we, that are not simple men 1 Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I'll not disdain. Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by the picking on's teeth. Aut. The fardel there ? what's i'the fardel? Wherefore that box ? Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel, and box, which none must know but the king ; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him. Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Shep. Why, sir ? Aut. The king is not at the palaee : 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 full of grief. 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 he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. Clo. Think you so, sir ? Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy, and vengeance bitter ; but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman : which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep- whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have 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 ? Ant. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive ; then 'noir.ted over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest ; then stand, till he be three-quarters and a dram dead : then recovered again with aqua- vitae, or some other hot infusion: then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication pro- claims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with 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 mise- ries are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital ? Tell me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,) what have you to the king: being something gently considered, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs ; and, if it be in man, besides the king, to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close with him, 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 of his hand, and no more ado : Remember, stoned and flayed alive. Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have : I'll make it as much more ; and leave this young man in pawn, till I bring it you. Aut. After I have done what I promised ? Shep. Ay, sir. Aut. Well, give me the moiety. — Are you a party in this business ? Clo. In some sort, sir : but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son : — Hang him, he'll be made an example 1 Clo. Comfort, good comfort : we must to the 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 performed ; and remain, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the 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 I may say, even blessed. Shep. Let's before, as he bids us : he was provi- ded to do US good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune would not suffer me ; she drops booties in my mouth. 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 to my advancement ? I will bring these two moles, these blind 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 officious ; 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. l&xt- SCENE I. WINTER'S TALE. 2aa ACT V. SCENE I Sicilia. A Room in the Palace 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 ; forget your evil ; With them, forgive yourself. Leon. 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 his hopes out of. Paul. True, too true, my lord : If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or, from the all that are, took something good, To make a perfect woman ; she you kill'd, Would be unparallel'd. Leon. I think so. — Kill'd ! She I kill'd ? I did so : but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did : it is as bitter Upon thy tongue, as in my thought : Now, good Say so but seldom. [now, Cleo. Not at all, good lady ; You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grae'd Your kindness better. Paul. You are one of those, Would have him wed again. Dion. If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name ; consider little, "What dangers, by his highness' fail 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 for future good, — To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't ? Paul. There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes : For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenour of his oracle, That king Leontes shall not have an heir, Till his lost child be found ? which, that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason, As my Antigonus to break his grave, And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel, My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against 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, — Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, — O, that ever I Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! — then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes • Have taken treasure from her lips, Paul. And left them More 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, (Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vexed, Begin, And why to me ? Paul. Had she such power, She had just cause. Leon. She had ; and would incense me To murder her I married. Paul. I should so : Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Her eye ; and tell me, for what dull part in't You chose her : then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me ; and the words that follow'd Should be, Remember mine I Leon. Stars, very stars, And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife, — I'll have no wife, Paulina. Paul. Will you sweai Never to marry, but by my free leave ? Leon. Never, Paulina: so be bless 'd my spirit ! Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his Cleo. You tempt him over-much. [oath. Paul. Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront 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, We shall not marry, till thou bidd'st us. Paul. That Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath : Never till then. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she The fairest I have yet' beheld,) desires access To your high presence. Leon. What with him ? he comes not Like to his father's greatness : his approach So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but fore'd By need, and accident.— What train ? Gent. But few, And those but mean. Leon. His princess, say you, with him ? Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth; I That e'er the sun shone bright on. [think, Paul. O Hermione, As every present time 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 writing now Is colder than that theme,) She had not been, Nor was not to be equalld ; — thus your verse 200 WINTER'S TALE. ACT V. 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 creature, 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 friends, Bring them to our embracement. — Still, 'tis strange, [Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman. He thus should steal upon us. Paul. Had our prince, (Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord ; there was not full a month Between their births. Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou know'st He dies to me again, when talk'd of : sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that, which may Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. Re-enter Cleomenes, with Florizel, Perdita, and Attendants. Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you : Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you, His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! And your fair princess, goddess ! — O, alas ! I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have 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, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look upon. Flo. By his command Have I here touched Sicilia : and from him Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend, Can send his brother : and, but infirmity (Which waits upon worn times,) hath something His wished ability, he had himself [seiz'd 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, Afresh within me ; and these thy offices, [stir 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, To greet a man, not worth her pains ; much less The adventure of her person ? Flo. Good, my lord, She came from Libya. Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ? Flo. Most royal sir, from thence ; from him, whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thence (A prosperous south- wind friendly,) we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me, For visiting your highness : My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd ; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety Here, where we are. Leon. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air, whilst you Do climate here ! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman ; against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin : For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless ; and your father's bless'd (As he from heaven merits it,) with you, Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughtei 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 ; who has (His dignity and duty both cast off,) Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. Leon. Where's Bohemia! speak. Lord. Here in your 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 this seeming lady, and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. Flo. Camillo has betray'd me ! Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now, Endur'd all weathers. Lord. Lay't so to his charge ; He's with the king your father. Leon. Who! Camillo? Lord. Camillo, sir ; I spake with him ; who 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 heaven sets 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. Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, [speed, 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 : Thoujrh fortune, visible an enemy, SCENE II. WINTER'S TALE. 291 Should chase us, with my father; power no jot Hath she to change our loves. — 'Beseech you, sir, Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now : with thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate ; at your request, My father 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 Than what you look on now. [gazes Leon. I thought of her, Even in these looks I made.— But your petition [To Florizel. Is yet unanswer'd : I will to your father ; Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am a friend to them, and you: upon which errand I now go toward him ; therefore follow me, A.nd mark what way I make : Come, good my lord. [Exeunt. 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, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the 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 delivery of the busi- ness : — But the changes I perceived in the king, and Camillo, were very notes of admiration : they seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes ; there 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 of wonder ap- peared in them : but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the import- ance were joy, or sorrow : but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Enter another Gentleman. Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more : The news, Rogero ? 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires : The oracle is fulfilled; the king's daughter is found : such a deal of wonder is 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 de- liver you more. — How goes it now, sir? 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 hi« character t — the ma- jesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother ; — the affection 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 kings ? 2 Gent. No. 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 another ; 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 himself for joy of his found daughter ; as if that joy were now become a loss, cries, O, thy mother, thy mother! then asks Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces his son-in- 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 heard of such another en- counter, which lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it. 2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child ? 3 Gent. Like an old tale still ; which will have matter to rehearse, though 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 handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina knows. - 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his fol- lowers ? 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their master's death; and in the view of the shepherd: so that all the instruments, which aided to expose the child, were even then lost, when 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 fulfilled : 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. The dignity of 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 for mine eyes (caught the water, though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) how attentiveness wounded his daughter ; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an alas I I would fain say, bleed tears ; for, I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there, changed colour, some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been universal. 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court ? 3 Gent. No : the princess hearing of her mo- ther's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — a piece many years in doing, and now newly per- formed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano ; who, had he himself eternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly is he her ape : he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione, 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. 292 WINTER'S TALE. ACT V. 2 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there in hand ; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company, pierce the rejoicing ? 1 Gent. Who 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. Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince ; told him, I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not what ; but he at that time, over-fond of the shepherd's daughter, (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 dis- credits. Enter Shepherd and Clown. Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. 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 now a gentleman-born. Aut. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born. Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. Shep. And so have I, boy ! Clo. So you have : — but I was a gentleman born before my father : for the king's son took me by the hand, and called me, brother ; and 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 : and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever were 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. Thou 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 in 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' st be a tall fellow of thy hands. Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. Clo. Ay, by any means, prove a tal' fellow : If I do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust nm not Hark ! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us : we'll be thy good masters. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. A Room in Paulina's House. Enter Leontes, Pomxenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great That I have had of thee 1 [comfort Paul. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well : All my services, You have paid home : but that you have vouchsaf 'd 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 content 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 peerless, 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 undraws a curtain, and discovert a statue. I like your silence, it the more shows off Your wonder : But yet speak ; — first, you, my Comes it not something near ? [liege. Leon. Her natural posture ! — Chide me, dear stone ; that I may say, indeed, Thou art Hermione : or, rather, thou art she, In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender, As infancy, and grace. — But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing So aged, as this seems. Pol. O, not by much. Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes As she liv'd now. [her Leon. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her ! I am asham'd : Does not the stone rebuke me, For being more stone than it ! — O, royal piece, There's magick in thy majesty ; which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and From thy 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 then implore her blessing.— Lady, gCKNE III. WINTER'S TALE. 20& Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. Paul. O, patience ! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on : Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry : scarce any joy Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, But kill'd itself much sooner. Pol. Dear my brother Let him, that was the cause of this, have power To take off so much grief from you, as he Will piece up in himself. Paul. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought, the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you (for the stone is I'd not have show'd it. [mine,) Leon. Do not draw the curtain. Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't ; lest your May think anon, it moves. [fancy Leon. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — What was he, that did make it ? — See, my lord, Would you not deem, it breath' d ? and that those Did verily bear blood ? [veins Pol. 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 ; My lord's almost so far transported, that He'll think anon it lives. Leon. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together ; No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let's alone. Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you : but I could afflict you further. Leon. Do, Paulina ; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her : What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her 1 Paul. Good my lord, forbear : The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; You'll mar it, if you kiss it ; stain your own With oily painting : Shall I draw the curtain ? Leon. No, not these twenty years. Per. So long could I Stand by, a looker on. Paul. Eithw 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. What you can make her do, I am 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 ! Paul. Music ; awake her : strike. — [Music 'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more : approach Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come ; I'll fill your grave up : stir; nay, come away; Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. — You perceive, she stirs ; LHermtone comes Luc. How manyfond fools serve mad jealousy ! J [Exeunt. — ♦ SCENE II.— The same. Enter Ant[pholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave Is wander' d forth, in care to seek me out. By computation, and mine host's report, I could not speak with Dromio, since at first I sent him from the mart : See, here he comes. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd ? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. You know no Centaur ? you receiv'd no gold? Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner ? My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou mad, That thus so madly thou didst answer me? Dro. S. What answer, sir ? when spake I such a word ? Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half-an-hour since. Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, 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: What means this jest ? I pray you, master, tell me. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth ? Think'st thou, I jest ? Hold, take thou that, and that. [Beating him. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake : now your jest is earnest : Upon what bargain do you give it me ? Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, Your sauciness will jest upon my love, And make a common 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 jest with me, know 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 use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. — But, I pray sir, why am I beaten ? Ant. S. Dost thou not know ? Dro. S. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten. Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore. Ant. 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, I thank you. 298 COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT 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- time ? Dro. S. No, sir ; I think, the meat wants that I have. 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 cholerick, and purchase me another dry basting. Ant. 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 so cholerick. Ant. 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, that grows bald by nature. Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery ? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and re- cover the lost, hair of another man. Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, be- ing, as it is, so plentiful an excrement ? Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows 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. Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair. Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yet 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 I mend it : Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers. Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion : But soft ! who wafts us yonder ? Enter Adriana and Litciana. Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, andfrown; Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. The time was once, when thou unurg'd would' st vow That never words were music to thine ear, That never object pleasing in thine eye, Thai never touch well welcome to thy hand. That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it, That thou art then estranged from thyself ? Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 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, Should'st thou but hear I were licentious ! And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, And hurl the name of husband in my face, And tear the stain'd skin off 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 it. I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : For, if we two be one, and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thycontagion. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; I live dis-stain'd, thou, undishonoured. Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know you not : In Ephesus I am but two hours old, As strange unto your town, as to your talk ; Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, Want wit in all one word to understand. Luc. Fye, brother! how the world is chang'd with you : When were you wont to use my sister thus ? She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. Ant. S. By Dromio? Dro. S. Byrne? Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return from That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows [him, — Denied my house for his, me for his wife. Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- woman ? What is the course and drift of your compict ? Dro. S. I, sir ? I never saw her till this time ! Ant. S. Villain, thou liest ; for even her very Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. [words Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our Unless it be by inspiration ? [names, Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity, To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 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, briar, or idle moss ; Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. Ant. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me foi her theme : What, was I married to her in my dream ? COMEDY OF ERRORS. 299 Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this ? What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. inner. Dro. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a This is the fairy land ; — O, spite of spites ! 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? Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot ! Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I ? Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I. Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. [shape. | 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, I 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, I'll dine above with you to-day, And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks : Sirrah , if any ask you for your master, Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. — Come, sister : — Dromio, play the porter well. Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell ? Sleeping or waking? mad, or well advis'd ? Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd I'll say as they say, and persever 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 youi pate. Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.— The same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Anoelo, and Balthazar. Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all. My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours : Say, that 1 linger'd with you at your shop, To see the making of her carcanet, And 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 him, 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? Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know : That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to >!iow : If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I 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 May answer my good will, and your good welcome here. Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish. A table full of'weicome 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 a merry feast. Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more spar- ing guest. But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. But soft ; my door is lock'd ; Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen' ! Dro. S. [Within.] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch ! Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch : Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, 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. Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefdre. Ant. E. Wherefore ? for my dinner ; I have not 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 me out from the house I owe ? Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name ; The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. 300 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Luce. [Within.] What a coil is there ! Dromio who are those at the gate ? Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. Luce. Faith no ; he comes too late ; And so tell your master. Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh ; — Have at you with a proverb. — Shall I set in my staff? Luce. Have at you with another: that's — When ? can you tell ? 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 ? f,uce. I thought to have ask'd you. Dro. S. And you said, no. Dro. E. So, come, help ; well struck ; there was blow for blow. Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. Luce. Can you tell for whose sake ? Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. Luce. Let him knock till it ake. Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town ? Adr. [Within.'} Who is that at the door, that Keeps all this noise ? Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might have come before. Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from the door. 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. Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here in the cold : It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold. Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate. Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir ; and words are but wind ; Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. 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 fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in ; Go borrow me a crow. Dro. E. A crow without a feather ; master, mean you so ? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather: If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. 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, And 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 hand you offer to break in, Now in the stirring passage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made of it ; And that supposed by the common rout Against your yet ungalled estimation, 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 ; I will depart in quiet, And, in despight 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 mean, My wife (but, I 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 made : Bring it, 1 pray you, to the Porcupine ; For there's the house ; that chain will I 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'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence. Ant. E. Do so ; This jest shall cost me some expence. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Enter Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse. Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus, hate, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate ? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more 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 fair, become disloyalty ; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger : Bear a fair presence though your heart be tainted* Teach sin the carriage of ft 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. KOBNE II- COMEDY OF ERRORS. 301 And let her read it in thy looks at board : Shame hath a bastard-fame, well managed ; 111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor 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 again ; 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, you show not, Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ; Lay open to my earthy 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 know, Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe ; Far more, far more, to you do I 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 will dote : Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie ; And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death, that hath such means to die : — Let love, being light, be drOwned if she sink ! Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so? 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, fair sun, being by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight. Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sister so. Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. Luc. That's my sister. Ant. S. No ; It is thyself, mine own self's better part ; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart ; My food, my fortune, 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 I aim thee : Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life ; Thou 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. [Exit Luc. Enter from the house of Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Syracuse. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio ? where run'st thou so fast ? Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ? am 1 your man? am I myself? Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thvself. Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and beside myself. Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besfde thyself? Dro. S. Marry, sir, beside myself, I am due to a woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee ? Dro. S. Marry sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse ; and she would have me as a beast : not that, I being a beast, she would have me ; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. Ant. S. What is she? 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. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept ; For why ? she sweats, a man may go 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 not do it. Ant. S. What's her name ? 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 countries in her. Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks ; I found i t out by the bogs. Ant. S. Where Scotland ? Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness ; 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 chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them : but I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it. Ant. S. Where Spain ? Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot in her breath. Ant. S. Where America — the Indies ? Dro. S. O, 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 at her nose. Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ? 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 of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, tho 302 COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT IV. great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch : and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transformed 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 blow 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 return to me. If every one knows us, and we know none, 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here ; And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. She, that doth call me husband, even my soul Doth for a wife abhor : but Jier fair sister, Possess'd with. such a gentle sovereign grace, Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Hath almost made me traitor to myself : But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, I'll stop mine ears aginst the mermaid's song. Enter 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 with this ? Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have made it for you. 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 I'll visit you And then receive my money for the chain. Ant. 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 offer 'd chain. I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ;• If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE J.— The same. Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due, And since I have not much irap6rtun'd you ; Nor now I had not, but that I am bound To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage : Therefore make present satisfaction, Or I'll attach you by this officer. Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, Is growing to me by Antipholus : And, in the instant that I met with you, He had of me a chain ; at five o'clock, I shall receive the money for the same : Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Enter Antipholus o/Ephesus, and Dromio o/Ephesus. Off. That labour may you save : see where he comes. Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end ; that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates, For locking me out of my doors by day. — But soft, I see the goldsmith : — get thee gone ; Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I buy a rope 3 [Exit Dromio. Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you: I promised your presence, and the chain ; But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me : Belike, you thought our love would last too long, If it were chain'd together ; and therefore came not. Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note, How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat ; The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion ; Which does amount to three odd ducats more Than I stand debted to this gentleman : I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. Ant. E. I am not furnished with the present money ; Besides I have some business in the town : Good signior, take the stranger to my house, And with you take the chain, and bid my wife Disburse the 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? Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. Ang. Well, sir, I will: Have you the chain about you ? Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have ; Or else you may return without your money. Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain ; Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, And I, to blame, have held him here too long. Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance to ex- Your breach of promise to the Porcupine : [cuse I should have chid you for not bringing it, But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, sir, de- spatch. Ang. You hear how he imp6rtunes me ; the chain — Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even now ; Either send the chain, or send me by some token. Ant. E. Fye ! now you run this humour out of breath : Come, where's the chain ? I pray you, let me see it. Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance : Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me, or no ; If not, I'll leave him to the officer. SCENR II. COMEDY OF ERRORS. :o3 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. Aug. 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 wrong me more, sir, in denying it : Consider, how it stands upon my credit. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name, to ohey me. Ang. This touches me in reputation : — Either consent to pay this sum for me, Or I attach you by this officer. 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 my 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 thee bail : — But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear As all the metal in your shop will answer. Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Enter Dromio (^Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, That stays but till her owner comes aboard, And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage, sir, I have convey' d aboard ; and I have bought The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitse. The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at all, But for their owner, master, and yourself. Ant. E. How now ! a madman ? Why thou pee- vish 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 for a rope ; And told thee to what purpose, and what end. Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's-end as You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. [soon : Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure, And teach your ears to listen with more heed. 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 purse 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 prison till it come. [Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and Ant. E. Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where 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 II.— 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, 3f his heart's meteors tilting in his face ? Luc. First, he denied you had him in no righc. Adr. He meant, 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 Luc. Then pleaded I for you. [he were. Adr. And what said he ? Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love ? Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might move. First, he did praise my beauty ; then, my speech. Adr. Did'st speak him fair ; Luc. Have patience, I beseech. Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still ; My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, [will. Ill-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where ; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind ; Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one ? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Adr. Ah ! but I think 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. How hast thou lost thy breath ? Dro. S. By running fast. Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he well ? Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, One, whose hard heart 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; One, that before the judgment, carries poor souls Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? [to hell. Dro. S. I do not know the matter ; he is 'rested on the case. Adr. What, is he arrested ? tell me, at whose suit. Dro. S. I know not, at whose suit he is arrested, well; But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that can I tell : Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in the desk ? Adr. Go fetch it sister — This I wonder at, [Exit Luciana. That he, unknown to me, should be in debt : — Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; A chain, a Hiain : do you not hear it ring ? Adr. What, the chain ? Dro. S. No, no, the bell : 'tis time, that I were gone. It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. Dro. S. O yes. If any hour meet a sergeant, 'a turns back for very fear. 304 COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT IV. 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 thief too: have you not heard men say, That time comes stealing on by night and day ? If he be in debt, and 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 ; I 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. Some tender money to me, some invite me ; Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; Some offer me commodities to buy : Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, And show'd me silks that he had bought for me, And, therewithal, took measure of my body. Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. Enter Dromio o/Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for : What, have you got the picture of Old Adam new apparelled ? Ant. S. What gold is this ? What Adam dost thou mean ? Dro. S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradise, but tha 4- . Adam, that keeps the prison : he that goes in the calf's-skin that was killed for the prodigal ; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, 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 — thou mean'st an officer ? Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; he that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his 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 you 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 Anti phobia. I &°e sir, you have found the goldsmith now ; Is that the chain, youpromis'd me to-day? Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee tempt me Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan ? [not ! 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, God damn me, that's as much as to say, God make me a light wench. It is written, they appear to men like an- gels of light : light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn ; ergo, light wenches will burn : Come not near her. Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. 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 spoon, 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 c6njure 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 one's A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, [nail, A nut, a cherry-stone ; but she, more covetous, Would have a chain. Master, be wise ; an' if you give it her, The devil will shake her chain, and fright si with it. 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, let us go. Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress, that you know. [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. 6 Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, Else would he never so demean himself : A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, And for the same, he promis'd me a chain ; Both one, and other, he denies me now, The reason that I gather he is mad, (Besides this present instance of his rage,) Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner, Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits, On purpose shut the doors against his way. My way is now, to hie home to his house, And tell his wife, that, being lunatick, He rush'd into my house, and took perforce My ring away : This course I fittest choose ; For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit SCENE IV.— The same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and an Officer. Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away : I'll 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 Ephesus : I tell you, 'twill sound harshlv in her ears— 3ENE IV. COMEDY OF ERRORS. 30o Enter Dromio o/Ephesus, with a rope's end. dere 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, villain, for a rope ? Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. Ant. E. To 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. Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; lam in adversity. Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows. Ant. E. Thou art sensible 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 his hands for my service, but blows : when I 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 I sit ; driven out of doors with it, when I go from home ; wel- comed home with it, when I return : nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat ; and, I think, when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door. Enter Adriana, Luciana, and the Courtezan, with Pinch, and others. Ant. E. Come, go along ; my wife is coming yonder. Dro. E. Mistress, resplce finem, respect your end ; or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, Be- ware the rope's end. Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beats him. Cour. How say you now ? is not your husband Adr. His incivility confirms no less. — [mad? Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjuror; Establish him in his true sense again, And I will please you what you will demand. Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstacy } Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse. Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this To yield possession to my holy prayers, [man, And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight ; I c6njure 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 soul ! 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 I 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 ? Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home, Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut out? Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were lock'd, and you shut out. Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there? Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me ? Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal scorn' d you. Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence ? Dro. E. In verity, you did ; — my bones bear witness, That since have felt the vigour of his rage. Adr. Is'tgood 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, surely, 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 witness, * That I was sent for nothing but a rope ! Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is pos- sess'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 reoeiv'd no gold ; But I 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 And art confederate with a damned pack, [all ; To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : But with these nails I'll 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. Pinch. More company; — the fiend is strong within him. Luc. Ah me, poor man ! how pale and wan he looks ! Ant.. E. What, will you murder me ? Thou gaoler, thou, I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them To make a rescue ? x. 3015 COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT V Off. Masters, let him go : He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. Pinch. Go, hind this man, for he is frantic too. Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer ? Hast thou delight to see a wretched man Do outrage and displeasure to himself ? Off. He is my prisoner ; if I let him go, The debt he owes, will be requir'd of me. Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee : Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd Home to my house O most unhappy day ! Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet ! Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond for you. Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost thou mad me ? Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing ? be mad, Good master ; 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, with Ant. E. and Dro. E. Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith ; Do you know him ? Adr. I know the man : What is the sum he owes ? Off. Two hundred ducats. Adr. Say, how grows it due ? Off. Due for a chain, your husband had 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, (The ring I saw upon his finger now,) Straight after, did I meet him 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 the truth hereof at large. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, with hit rapier drawn, an Noblemen of Scotland. Angus, Cathness, Fleance, Son to Banquo. Siward, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forcet. Lady Macbeth. Lady Macduff. Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. IIecate, and three Witches. Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, and Messengers, The Ghost of Banquo, and teveral oilier Apparitions. SCENE, — in the end of the Fourth Act, lies in England ; through the rest of the Play, in Scotland ; and, chiefly, at Macbeth's Castle. ACT I. SCENE I.— An open Place. Liyhtning. Thunder and Enter three Witches. 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again, In thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and 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, Graymalkin ! All. Paddock calls ■ — Anon. — Fair is foul, and foul is fair : Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Witches vanish. SCENE II. — A Camp near Fores. Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbajn, Lenox, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier. Dun. What bloody man is that ? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. Mai. This is the sergeant, Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 'Gainst my captivity :— Hail, brave friend ! 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. The merciless Macdonwald (Worthy to be a rebel ; for, to that, The multiplying villanies of nature Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied ; And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore : But all's too weak : For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smok'd with bloody execution, Like valour's minion, Carv'd out his passage, till he fae'd the slave ; And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. Dun. O, valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break ; So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, [heels 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 ; As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion. If"l 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 wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell : But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds ; They smack of honour both : — Go, get him sur- geons. [.Exit Soldier attended. Enter Rosse. Who tomes here ? SCENE 111. MACBETH. 311 Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. Len. What a haste looks through his eyes I So should he look, That seems to speak things strange. Rosse. God save the king ! Dun. Whence cara'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 numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict : Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit : And, to conclude, The victory fell on us ; Dun. Great happiness 1 Rosse. That now Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ; Nor would we deign him burial of his men, Till he disburs'd, at Saint Colmes' inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general use. Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall de- ceive Our bosom interest : — Go, pronounce his death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. Rosse. I'll see it done. Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. [Exeunt. — ♦ SCENE III.— A Heath. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister ? 2 Witch. Killing swine. 3 Witch. Sister, where thou ? 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd and mounch'd and mounch'd : — Give me, quoth I : Aroint thee, witch I the rump-fed ronyon cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger : But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'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 I 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 night nor day, Hang upon his pent-house lid ; He shall live a man forbid : 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 I have. 2 Witch. Show me, show me. 1 W itch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck' d as homeward he did come. {Brum within. 3 Witch. A drum, a drum : Macbeth 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. Enter Macbeth and Banquo. Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores ? — What are So wither' d, and so wild in their attire ; [these, That look not like the inhabitants o'the earth, And yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught That man may question ? You seem to understand By each at once her choppy finger laying [me, Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. Macb. Speak, if you can ; — What are you ? 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor ! 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be king hereafter. Ban. Good sir, why do you start ; and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair ? — I'the name of Are ye fantastical, or that indeed [truth, Which outwsrdly ye show ? My noble partner You greet with present grace, and great prediction Of noble having, and of royal hope, That he seems rapt withal ; to me you speak not : If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not: Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate. 1 Witch. Hail! 2 Witch. Hail! ^ Witch. Hail! 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! [none : 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail ! Macb. Stay, you • imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death, I know, I am 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 belief, 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. [Witches vanish. Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the 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 Or have we eaten of the insane root, [about ? That takes the reason prisoner ? 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. Rosse. 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 1312 MACBETH. ACT 1. In viewing o'er the rest o'the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan 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 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. A:ig. We are sen ^ To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor : In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! For it is thine. Ban. "What, can the devil speak true ? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives ; Why do you dress me In borrow'd robes ? Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was Combin'd with Norway ; or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage ; or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, 1 know not ; But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'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, Mi«*ht 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 with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequences. — Cousins, a word, I pray you. Macb. Two truths ar>e 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, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : If good, whj' do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature ? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings : My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise ; and nothing is, But what is not. Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, Without my stir. Ban. New honours come upon him Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their But with the aid of use. [mould, Macb. Come what come may ; Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favour : — my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. — Let 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 hearts each to other. Ban. Very gladly. Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. 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 With 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 was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust. — O worthiest cousin ! Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rossb, and Angus. The sin of my ingratitude even now Was 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 I 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 Safe toward your love and honour. [thing 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, We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter The prince of Cumberland : which honour must Not, unaccompanied, invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful [you : The hearing of my wife with your approach : So, humbly take my leave. Dun. My worthy Cawdor ! Macb. The prince of Cumberland ! — That is a On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, [step, [Aside. For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires 1 MACBETH. 3J8 Let not light see my black and deep desires : The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [.Exit. Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so va- And in his commendations I am fed ; [liant ; It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE V. — Inverness. A room in Macbeth's Castle. Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. Lady M. They met me in the day of success ; and I have learned by the perfectcst report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves — air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came mis- sives 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, with, 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 cf 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 na- It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, [ture; To catch the nearest way : Thou would'st be great ; Art not without ambition ; but without The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly, That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly win: thou'dst have, great Glamis, That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have And that which rather thou dost fear to do, [it: Than wishest 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 metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal. What is your tidings ? Enter an Attendant. Allen. The king comes here to-night. Lady M. Thou'rt mad to 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 is 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 bring3 great news. The raven himself is hoarse, [Exit Attendant. 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 o remorse ; That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring minis- Wherever in your sightless substances \ ters, You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, Hold, hold! Great Glamis I worthy Cawdor 1 Enter Macbeth. Greater than both, by the all-haii heieafter ! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The futufe in the instant. Macb. My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. Lady M. And when goes hence ? Macb. To-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 flower, But be the serpent under it. He that's coming Must be provided for : 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 masterdom. Macb. We will speak further. Lady M. Only look up clear. To alter favour ever is to fear : Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.— The same. Before the Castle. Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbafn, Banquo, Lenox, Machuff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants. Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat : the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. Ban. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, buttress, Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where they Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air Is delicate. Enter lady Macbeth. 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 yield us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. Lady M. All our service In every point twice done, and then done double, Were poor and single business, to contend Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith Your majesty loads our house : For those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor ? We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. Lady M. Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and whatis theirs, in corapti K14 MACBETH. To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. Dun. Give me your hand : Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.— The same. A Room in the Castle. Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the stage, a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth. Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly : If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all, and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases, We still have judgment here ; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which being taught, return To plague the inventor : This even-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 the 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-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off : And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, 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 prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself, And falls on the other. — How now, what news ? Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. He has almost supp'd ; Why have you left the chamber ? Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ? J.udy M. Know you not, he has ? Macb. We will proceed no further in this business : He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would 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 I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour, As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem ; Letting I dare not wait upon I would, Like the poor cat i' the adage ? Macb. Pr'ythee, peace : I 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 ? When you durst do it, then you were a man ; And, to be 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 fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck ; and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me : I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn,, as you Have done to this. Macb. If we should fail, Lady M. We fail ! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, (Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassel so convince, That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only : When in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell ? Macb Bring forth men-children only ! For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers, That they have done't ? Lady M. Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death ? Macb. I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. Away, and mock the time with fairest show ; False face must hide what the false heart doth know. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I — The same. Court within the Castle. Enter Banquo and Fleance, and a Servant with a torch be/ore them. Ban. How goes the night, boy ? Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the Han. And she goes down at twelve. [clock. *&• I take't 'tis later, sir. Ban. Hold, take my sword. — There's husbandry in heaven, Their 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 in me the cursed thoughts, that nature Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword ; — Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. Who's there ? Macb. A friend. Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest ? The king's He hath been in unusual pleasure, and [a-bed • Sent forth great largess to your offices : SCENE II. MACBETH. 316 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 ; Which else should free have wrought. Ban. All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : To you they have show'd some truth. Macb. I think not of them : Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, Would spend it in some words upon that business, *f you would grant the time. Ban. At your kind'st leisure. Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, — It shall make honour for you. [when 'tis, Ban. So I lose none, In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, I shall be counseled. 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 this a dagger, which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee : I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensiDle To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind : a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ; And such an instrument I 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 dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before. — There's no such thing : 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 The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offering ; and wither' d murder, Alarum' d by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, [sign With Tarcmin'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 Thy very stones prate of my where- about, And take the present horror from the time, [lives ; Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he 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 summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. SCENE II The same. Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold : What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire : — Hark ! — Peace i It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms [it: Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live, or die. Macb. [Within.] Who's there ?— what, ho ! LadyM. Alack I I am afraid they have awak'd, And 'tis not done : — the attempt, and not the deed, Confounds us ; — Hark ! — 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 thou not hear a noise ? Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the Did not you speak ? [crickets cry. Macb. ? Lady M. Now. Macb. As I descended? Lady M. Ay. Macb. Hark ! — Who lies i' the second chamber ? Lady M. Donalbain. Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Looking on his handt. Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, murder ! That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. Macb. One cried, God bless us ! and, Amen, the other ; As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say, amen, When they did say, God bless us. Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, I had most need of blessing, and amen [amen ? Stuck in my throat. Lady M. These deeds must not be thought After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more ! Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast. Lady M. What do you mean ? Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more I to all the house : Glamis hath murder' d sleep : and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more! Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things : — Go, get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. Macb. I'll go no more : I am afraid to think what I have done ; Look on't again, I dare not. 316 M4CBETH. ACT 11. Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! Give me the daggers : The sleeping and the dead, Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood, That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt. {Exit. Knocking within. Macb. Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me ? 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 To wear a heart so white. [Knock.} I hear a knocking At the south entry : retire we to our chamber. A little water clears us of this deed : How easy is it then ? Your constancy Hath left you unattended — [Knocking.] Hark ! more knocking : Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers : — Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. Macb. To know my deed, — twere best not know myself. {Knock. Wake Duncan with thy knocking; Ay, 'would thou could' st ? {Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Enter a Porter. {Knocking with in. Porter. Here's a knocking indeed ! If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. [Knocking.'} Knock, knock, knock : Who's there, i' the name of Belzebub ? Here's a farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of plenty : Come in time ; have napkins enough about you ; here you'll sweat for't. [Knocking.'} Knock, knock : Who's there, i' the other devil's name ? 'Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale ; who committed treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven : O, come in, equivocator. [Knocking.} Knock, knock, knock : Who's there ? 'Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose : Come in, tailor, here you may roast your goose. [Knocking.} Knock, knock : Never at quiet ! What are you ? — But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further : I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. [Knocking.} Anon, anon ; I pray you, remember the porter. {Opens the gate. Enter Macduff and Lenox. Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, that you do lie so late ? Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker of 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 pro- vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance : Therefore, much drink may be said to be an equi- vocator with, lechery : it makes him, and it mars him ; it sets him on and it takes him off; it per- suades him, and disheartens him ; makes him 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 some- time, yet I made a shift to cast him. Macd. Is thy master stirring ? — Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. Enter Macbeth. Len. 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 him ; I have almost slipp'd the hour. Macb. I'll bring you to him. 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 Macdi ff Lcn. Goes the king From hence to-day ? Macb. He does : — he did appoint so. Len. The night has been unruly : Where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screams of And prophesying, with accents terrible, [death ; Of dire combustion, and confus'd events, New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird Clamour'd the livelong 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. Reenter Macduff. Macd. O horror ! horror ! horror ! Tongue, nor Cannot conceive, nor name thee ! [heart, Macb. Len. What's the matter ? Macd. Confusion now hath made his master- Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope [piece t The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o' the building. Macb. What is't you say ? the life. Len. Mean you his majesty ? Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake 1 awake! — {Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox Ring the alarum-bell : — Murder ! and treason 1 Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself! up, up, and see The great doom's image Malcolm ! Banquo ! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights To countenance this horror ! l Bcil rin 9* Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers 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. O Banquo '.Banquo iCENJfi IV. MACBETH. 3J7 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 not so. Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. Macb. 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. You are, and do not know it : The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. Macd. Your royal father's murder'd. Mai. O, by whom ? Le/i.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 you so ? Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man : The expedition of my violent love Out-ran the pauser, reason. — Here lay Duncan, 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, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us : In the great hand of God I stand ; and thence, Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight Of 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 Mal. and Don. Mai. What will you do ? Let's not consort with To shew an unfelt sorrow, is an office [them : Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune Shalt keep us both the safer : where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood, The nearer bloody. Mal. This murderous shaft that's shot, 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 away : 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 AT. Threescore and ten I can remember well . Within the volume of which time, I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange ; but this sore Hath trifled former knowings. [night Rosse. Ah, good 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 kill'd. Jiosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and certain,) Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old M. 'Tis said, they ate each other. Rosse. They did so ; to the amazement of mineeyes, That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Mac- duff: Enter Macduff. How goes the world sir, now ? Macd. Why, see you not ? Rosse. Is' t known, who did this more than bloody Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain, [deed ? Rosse. Alas, the day ! 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, that wilt raven up Thine own life's means ! — Then 'tis most like, The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. Macd. He is already nam'd ; and gone to Scone, To be invested. Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ? Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill ; The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. Rosse. Will you to Scone ? Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. Rosse. Well, I will thither. Macd. Well, may yousee things well done there : — adieu ! Lest our old robes sit easier than our new I Rosse. Father, Farewell. OldM. God's benison go with you; andwith those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes I [Exevnt. ;ub MACBETH. ACT ill. ACT III. SCENE I. — Fores. A Room in the Palace. Enter Banquo. Ban. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, As the weird women promis'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 the 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. Senet 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, It 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 afternoon ? Ban. Ay, my good lord. Macb. We should have else desir'd your good advice (Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,) In this day's council ; but we'll take to-morrow. Is't far your 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 hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In 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, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ? Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon us. Macb. I 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 The 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 ? Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace gate. Macb. Bring them before us.— [Exit Atten.] To be thus, is nothing ; But to be safely thus : — Our fears in Banquo Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature [dares ; Reigns that, which would be fear'd : 'Tis much he And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none, but he Whose being I do fear : And under him My 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's issue have I fil'd my mind ; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder' d ; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, And champion me to the utterance 1 Who's there ? — , Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers. - t^ow to the door, and stay there till we call. f [Exit Attendant. (Was it not yesterday we spoke together ? 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 times 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 you, How you were borne in hand ; how cross'd ; the instruments ; Who wrought with them ; and all things else, that To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, [might, Say, Thus did Banquo. 1 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, my liege. Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; Ashounds,andgreyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are cleped 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 it ; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off ; Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, WTiich in his death were perfect. 2 Mur. I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. SCENE UI. MACBETH. 319 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. So is he mine; and in such bloody dis- That every minute of his being thrusts [tance, 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 shall, my lord, Perform what you command us. 1 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 time, The moment on't ; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace ; always thought, That I require a clearness : And with him, (To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart ; I'll come to you anon. 2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. Macb. I'll call upon you straight ; abide within. It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight, If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— 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, I would attend his For a few words. [leisure Serv. Madam, I will. {Exit. Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content : 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. Enter Macbeth. How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making ? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on ? Things without remedy, Should be without regard : what's done, is done. Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, notkill'd it ; She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice Remains 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 dreams, That shake us nightly : Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, f han on the torture of the mind to lie Tn restless ecstacy. Duncan is in his grave ; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ; Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison. Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further I 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 : Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue : Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams ; And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. Lady M. You must leave this. Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 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 up the tender eye of pitiful day ; And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the Makes wing to the rooky wood : [crow Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still ; Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill : So, pr'ythee, go with me. {Exeunt. SCENE III.— 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 ; since he d%- 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 horses. Ban. [ Within.] Give us a light there, ho ! 2 Mur. Then it is he ; the rest 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 all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Enter Banqtto and Fleance, a Servant with a torch pre* ceding them. 2 Mur. A light, a light I 3 Mur. 'Tis he. 1 Mur. Stand to't. Ban. It will be rain to-night. .lldG MACBETH. act ni. 1 Mur, Let it come down. {Assaults Banquo. Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly; Thou may'st revenge.— O slave ! {Dies. Fleance and Servant escape. 3 Mur. Who did strike out the light ? 1 Mur. Was't not the way ? 3 Mur. There's but one down ; the son is fled. 2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair. 1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much is done. {Exeunt. SCENE IV.— A Room of State in the Palace. A 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 her state ; but, in best time, We will require her welcome. Lady. M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our For my heart speaks, they are welcome, [friends ; Enter first Murderer, to 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 I did for him. [he's good, Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut throats : Yet That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it, Thou art the nonpareil. Mur. Most royal sir, Fleance is 'scap'd. Macb. Then comes my fit again : I else been perfect ; Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; As broad, and general, as the casing air : But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, coniin'd, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ? Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; The least a death to nature. Macb. Thanks for that : There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled, Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone ; to- morrow We'll hear, ourselves again. {Exit Murderer. Lady 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 given with welcome : To feed, were best at home ; m thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony, ting were bare without it. Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! — ow, good digestion wait on appetite, nd health on both! Len. May it please your highness sit ? " "i* Ghost o/Banqoo rises, and sits in Macbeth's place. Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness Than pity for mischance ! Rosse. His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your To grace us with your royal company ? [highness 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 Thy gory locks at me. Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. Lady M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep The fit is momentary ; upon a thought [seat; He will again be well ; If much you note him, You shall offend 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. L ady M. O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear : This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, (Impostors to true fear) would well become A woman's story, at a winter's fire, Authoriz'd by her grandam. 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 I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send Those that we bury, back, ourmonumenta Shall be the maws of kites. {Ghost disappear*. Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ? Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. Lady M. Fye, for shame ! Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear : the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end : but now, they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns And push us from our stools : This is more strange Than such a murder is. Lady M. My worthy lord, Your noble friends do lack you. Macb. I do forget :— Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down : Give me some wine, fill full : I drink to the general joy of the whole table. Ghost rises. And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst. And all to all. SCENE VI. MACBETH. 321 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! Thy hones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with ! Lady M. Think of this, good peers, But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. Macb. What man dare, I dare : Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arin'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! [Ghost disappears. Unreal mockery, hence ! — Wby, so ; — being gone, I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admir'd disorder. Macb. Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder ? You make me 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 blanch 'd with fear. Rosse. What sights, my lord ? Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse 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 v» ill have blood : Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 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 is which. Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies At our great bidding ? [his person, Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : There's not a one of them, but in his house I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, (Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters : More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good, All causes shall give way ; I am in blood Stept in so far, that, should I wade no 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 scann'd. Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. Macb. Come, we'll to sleep : My strange and self- abuse Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use : — We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— The Heath. Thunaef. Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you look angerly. Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy, and over-bold? How did you dare To trade and traffic with Macbeth, In riddles,, and affairs of death ; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art ? And, which is worse, all you have done, Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful, and wrathful ; who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now : Get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' the morning ; thither he Will come to know his destiny. Your vessels and your spells, provide, Your charms, and every thing beside : I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend Unto a dismal-fatal end. Great business must be wrought ere noon ; Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; I'll catch it ere it come to ground : And that, distill'd by magic sleights, Shall raise such artificial sprights, As, by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his confusion : He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear : And you all know, security Is mortal's chiefest enemy. Song. [Within.] Come away, Come away, &c. Hark, I am call'd ; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 1 Witch. Come, let's make haste : she'll soon be back again. [Exeunt SCENE VI.— Fores. A Room in the Palace. Enter Lenox, and another Lord. Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, Which can interpret further : only, I say, Things have been strangely borne : The gracious Duncan W 7 as pitied of Macbeth : — marry, he was dead : — And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late ; Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, To kill their gracious father ? damned fact ! How it did grieve 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 done ? Ay, and wisely too ; For 'twould have angei '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 son under his key, (As, an't please heaven, he shall not,) they should find What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance. Y 1 322 MACBETH. -ACT IV. But, peace ! — for from broad words, and 'cause he His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, [fail'd Macduff 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, Lives in the English court ; and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace, That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect : Thither Macduff Ts gone to pray the holy king, on his aid To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward ; That, by the help of these, (with Him above To ratify the work,) we may again Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ; Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives ; Do faithful homage, and receive free honours, All which we pine for now : And this report Hath so exasperate the king, that he Prepares for some attempt of war. Len. Sent he to Macduff? Lord. He did : and with an absolute, Sir, not J, The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums ; as who should say, You'll rue the time Thai clogs vie with this answer. Len. And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel Fly to the court of England, and 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 darh Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron boiling. Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 2 Witch. Thrice; andoncethehedge-pigwhin'd. 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 Witch. 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 ; and, cauldron, bubble. 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf ; Witches' mummy ; maw, and gulf, Of the ravin'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 chaudron, 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. Entei Hecate, and the other three Witches. Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains ; And every one shall share i' the gains. 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 may. 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes : — Open, locks, whoever knocks. Enter Macbeth. Macb. How now, you secret, black, and mid- What is't you do ? [night hags ! All. A deed without a name. Macb. I c6njure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches : though the yesty waves Confound and swallow navigation up ; [down ; Though bladed com be lodg'd, and trees blown Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope Their heads to their foundations ; though the trea- Of nature's germins tumble altogether, [sure Even till destruction sicken, answer me To what I ask you. 1 Witch. Speak. 2 Witch. Demand. 3 Witch. We'll answer. 1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our Or from our masters' ? [mouths, Macb. 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. Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, 1 Witch. He knows thy thought ; Hear his speech, but say thou nought. App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware Macduff ; Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me : — Enough. [Descnxls. Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution thanks ; SCENE II. MACBETH. 323 Thou hast harp'd my fear aright : — But one word more : — 1 Witch. He will not be commanded : Here's More potent than the first. [another, TJtunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises. App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! — Macb. 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. Macb- Then live, Macduff; What need I fear But yet I'll make assurance double sure, [of thee ? 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. That 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 : Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. [Descends. Macb. That will never be ; Who can impress the forest ? bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements ! good! Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time, and mortal custom. — Yet 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. Macb. I will be satisfied : Deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : — Why sinks that cauldron ! and what noise is this ? [Hautboys. 1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show! 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 following. Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ; down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : — And thy hair, 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 ! What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ? 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 scepters carry : Horrible sight ! — Ay, now, I see, 'tis true ; For the blood-bolted 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 vanish. Macb. Where are they ? Gone ? — Let this per- nicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! — Come in, without there Enter Lenox. Len. What's your grace's will ? Macb, Saw you the weird sisters ? Len. No, my lord. Macb. Came they not by you ? Len. No, indeed, my lord. Macb. 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 ? 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 firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; [done : Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o'the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souis 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. SCENE II. — Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. Enter Lady Macduff, her Sqii, and Rosse. Lady Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the land ? Rosse. You must have patience, madam. L. Macd. He had none t His flight was madness : When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors. Rosse. You know not, Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear. L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave His mansion, and his titles, in a place [his babes, From whence himself does fly ? He loves us not : He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear, and nothing is the love ; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. Rosse. My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself : But, for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o'the season. I dare not speak much further : But 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 float upon a wild and violent sea, Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you : Shall not be long but I'll be here again : Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. — My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you ! y 2 324 MACBETH. ACT IV. L. Macd. Father'dheis, and yet he's fatherless. Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort : I take my leave at once. [Exit Rosse. L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ; And what will you do now ? How will you live ? Son. As birds do, mother. L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ? Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, The pit-fall, nor the gin. [nor lime, Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. I,. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; how wilt.thou do for a father ? Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ; and With wit enough for thee. [yet i'faith, Son. Was my father a traitor, mother ? L. Macd. Ay, that he was. Son. What is a traitor ? L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. Son. And be all traitors that do so ? L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie ? /.. Macd. Every one. Son. Who must hang them ? L. Macd. Why, the honest men. Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools : for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them. L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey ! But how wilt thou do for a father ? • Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him : if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. L. Macd. Poor prattler ! how thou talkest. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly : If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage ■ To do worse to you," were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger. L. Macd. Whither should I fly ? I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world ; where, to do harm, Is often laudable ; to do good, sometime, Accounted dangerous folly : Why then, alas ! Do I put up that womanly defence. To say, I have done no harm ? What are these faces ? Enter Murderers. Mur. Where is your husband ? L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, Where such as thou may'st find him. Mur. He's a traitor. Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain. [Stabbing him. Mur. What, you egg ? Young fry of treachery '. Son. He has kill'd me, mother : Run away, I pray you. [Dies. [Exit Lady Macduff, crying murder, and pursued by the murderers. SCENE III.— England. A Room in the King's Palace. Enter Maxcolm and Macduff. Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and Weep our sad bosoms empty. [there Macd. Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men. Bestride our down-fal"n birthdom : Each new morn, 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, but something You may deserve of him through me ; and wisdom To offer up a weak, poor innocent 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 fell : Though all things foul would wear the brows of Yet grace must still look so. [grace, Macd. I have lost my hopes. Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts. Why in that rawness left you 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 basis sure, For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thj wrongs, Thy title is affeer'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 offended ; I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke'; It weeps, it bleeds : and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds : I think, withal, There would be hands uplifted in my right ; And here, from gracious England, have 1 offer Of goodly thousands. But, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before ; More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever. By him that shall succeed. SCEJVE III. MACBETH. 326 Macd. What should he he ? Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom 1 know All the particulars of vice so grafted, That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow ; and the poor state Esteem 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, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name : But there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters, Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust : and my desire All continent impediments would o'er-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 kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours : you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclin'd. Mai. With this there grows, In my most ill-compos'd affection, such A stanchless avarice, that, were 1 king I should cut off the nobles for their lands ; Desire his jewels, and this other's house : And my more-having would be as a sauce To- make me hunger more ; that I should forge Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Macd. This avarice Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeding lust ; and it hath been The sword of our slain kings : Yet do not fear ; Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will, Of your mere own : All these are portable, With other graces weigh'd. Mai. But I have none : The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I 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 intojhell, Uproar the universal 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 spoken. Macd Fit to govern ! No, not to live. — O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again Since 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, that bore thee, Oft'ner 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 breast, Thy hope ends here I Mai. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks me From over- credulous haste : But God above Deal between thee and me ! for even now I put myself to thy direction, and Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ; Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ; At no time broke my faith ; would not betray The devil to his fellow ; and delight No less in truth, than life : my first false speaking Was this upon myself : What I am truly, Is thine, and my poor country's, to command Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, All ready at a point, was setting forth: Now we'll together ; and the chance of goodness, Be ' like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent ? Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 'Tis hard to reconcile. [once, s Enter a Doctor. Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes the king forth, I pray you ? Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure : their malady convinces The great assay of art ; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath Heaven given in his hand, They presently amend. Mai. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. Macd. What s the disease he means ? Mai. 'Tis call'd the evil : A most miraculous work in this good king : Which often, since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits Heaven, Himself best knows : but strangely- visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers : and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, He hath 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- The means that make us strangers 1 [move Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? Rosse. Alas, poor country • Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave : where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 320 MACBETH. ACT V Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's Expire before the flowers in their caps, [lives Dying, or ere they sicken. Macd. O, relation, Too nice, and yet too true ! Mai. What is the newest grief? Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the Each minute teems a new one. [speaker ; Macd. How does my wife ? Rosse. Why, well. Macd. And ah my children ? Rosse. Well too. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How goes it ? Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have 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. Mai. Be it their comfort, We are coming thither : gracious England hath Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ; An older, and a better soldier, none That Christendom gives out. Rosse. 'Would I could answer This comfort with the like ! But I have words, That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them. Macd. What concern they? The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief, Due to some single breast ? Rosse. No mind, that's honest, But in it shares some woe ; though the main part Pertains to you alone. Macd. If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard. Macd. Humph ! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd ; your wife, and babes, Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, To add the death of you. Mai. Merciful heaven ! — ■ What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; Give sorrow words : the grief, that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. Macd. My children too ? Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all That could be found. Macd. And I must be from thence ! My wife kill'd too ? Rosse. I have said. Mat. 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 must also feel it as a man : I cannot but remember such things were, That were most precious to me. — Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls : Heaven rest them now I Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword . let grief Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue ! But gentle Heaven, Cut 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 him too ! Mai. This tune goes manly. Come, go we. to the king ; our power is ready ; Our lack is nothing but our leave . Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.— Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentlewoman- Doc/. I have two nights watched with you, but 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, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doct. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. — In this slumbry agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say ? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me ; and 'tis most meet you should. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one ; having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. Lo you, here she comes ! This is her very guise ; SCENE HI. MACBETH. 327 and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her: stand close. Doct. How came she by that light ? Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her continually ; 'tis her command. Doct. You see, her eyes are open. Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. Doct. What is it she does now ? Look how she rubs her hands. Gent. 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, to 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 ! — Fye, my lord, fye I 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 in him ? Doct. Do you mark that ? 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 lord, no more o'that : you mar all with this starting. Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you should not. Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I 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! Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely charged. Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well,— Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. Doct. This disease is beyond my practice : Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- gown ; look not so pale : — I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried ; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so ? Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand ; What's done, cannot be undone ; To bed, to bed, to bed. [.Exit Lady Macbeth. Doct. Will she go now to bed ? Gent. Directly. Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad : Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles : Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine, than the physician. — God, God, forgive us all 1 Look after 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 Dunsinane. Enter, with drum and colours, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers. Ment. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. Revenges burn in them : for their dear causes Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm, Excite the mortified man. Any. 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, He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Within the belt of rule. Ang. 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 senses to recoil, and start, When all that 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 medicin of the sickly weal : And with him pour we, in our country's purge, Each drop of us. Len. 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 them 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 : Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, Shall e'er have power on thee. Then fly, false thanes, And mingle with the English epicures : 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 ! Where got'st thou that goose look ? Serv. There is ten thousand Macb. Geese, villain ? Serv. Soldiers, sir. Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy. What so.diers, patch ? Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face Serv. The English force, so please you, 323 MACBETH. ACT V Macb. Take thy face hence. — Seyton !— I am 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 Seyton! [not. Enter Seyton. Sey. What is your gracious pleasure r 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 be Give me my armour. [hack'd. Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. Macb. I'll put it on. Send out more horses, skirr the country round ; Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me mine ar- mour, — How does your patient, doctor ? Doct. Not so sick, 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 ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom 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: — Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff : — Seyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me: — Come, sir, despatch : — If thou could'st, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again. — Pull't off, I say. — What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence ? — Hearest 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 Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit. SCENE IV. — Country near Dunsinane: A Wood in view. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siwaro, and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching. Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, That chambers will be safe. Ment. We doubt it nothing. Siw. What wood is this before us ? Ment. The wood of Birnam. 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. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before't. Mai. 'Tis his main hope : For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt ; And none serve with him but constrained things. Whose hearts are absent too. Macd. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership. Siw. The time approaches, That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have, and what we owe. Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ; But certain issue strokes must arbitrate Towards which, advance the war. {Exeunt, march ing. SCENE V.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle. Enter, with drums and colours, Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers. Mad. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; The cry is still, They come : Our castle's strength Will laugn a oiege to scorn : here let them lie, Till famine, and the ague, eat them up : Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. What is that noise ? LA cry within, of women. Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 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 Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cry ? Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. Macb. 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. Thou com'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, 1 look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move. Macb. Liar, and slave ! [Striking him. Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so, RCfcNE VII MACBETH, 32S Within this three mile may you see it coming ; I say, a moving grove. Macb. If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much. — I pall in resolution ; and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth : Fear not, till Birnam ivood 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. — Iting the alarum bell: — Blow wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. SCENE VI— The same. A Plain before the Castle. Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, fyc. and their Army, with boughs. Mai. Now, near enough ; your leavy screens throw down, And show like those you are : — You, worthy uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff, 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. Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and dealn. [Exeunt. Alarums continued. NE VII. — The same. 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 thy name ? Macb. Thoul't be afraid to hear it. Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name Than any is in hell. Macb. My name's Macbeth. Yo. She. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. Macb. No, nor more fearful. Yo. She. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant ; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. [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 Macduff. 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 should'st 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 render' d : The tyrant's people on both sides do fight : 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. Alarum. Re-enter Macbeth. Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them. He-enter Macduff. Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee : But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd With 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 labour : As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With thy 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 thy charm ; And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd. Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man ! And be these juggling 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. Macb. Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o'the time. We'll have thee, 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 young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last : Before my body I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff ; And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough. [Exeunt, fighting. Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers. Mai. I would, the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 330 MACBETH. ACT T. Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only liv'd but till he was a man ; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died. Siio. Then he is dead ? Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field : your cause of sorrow Must not be measurd by his worth, for then It hath no end. Siw. Had he his hurts before ? Rosse. Ay, on the front. Shv. Why, then, God's soldier be he ! Had I as many sons as I 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. Site. 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 pearl, That speak my salutation in their minds ; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, — Hail, king of Scotland ! All. King of Scotland, hail ! [Flourish Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time, Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 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 friends abroad, That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen : Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent; hands Took off her life ; — This, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, We will perform in measure, time, and place : So thanks to all at once, and to each one, Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. IFlourish. Exatnl KING JOHN, PERSONS REPRESENTED. King John. Prince Henry, his Son, afterwards King Henry III. Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, Son of Geffrey, late Duke of Bretagne, the Elder Brother of Kino John. WiLLiAiM Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke. Geffrey Fitz-Peter, Earl of Essex, Chief Justiciary of England. William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury. Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk. Hubert de Burgh, Chamberlain to the King. Robert Faulconbridge, Son of Sir Robert Faulcon- BRIDGE. Philip Faulconbridge, his Half-brother, Bastard Son to King Richard I. James Gurney, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. Peter of Pomfret, a Prophet. Philip, King of France. Lewis, 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 o/King Henry II., and Mother of Kino 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 Faulconbridge. Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Anglers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. SCENE, — Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. ACT I. SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room of State in the Palace. Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, Salisbury, and others, with Chatillon. King John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us ? Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of France, In my behaviour, to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty of England here. Eli. A strange beginning ; — borrow'd majesty i K. John. Silence, good mother ; hear the em- bassy. Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey'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 usurpingly these several titles ; And put 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 controul 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 ? 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 have been prevented, and made whole, With very easy arguments of love ; Which now the manage of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. K. John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us. Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your right ; Or else it must go wrong with you, and me : So much my conscience whispers in your ear ; Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whispers Essex. Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, Come from the country to be judged by you, That e'er I heard : Shall I produce the men ? K. Jolvn. Let them approach. — [Exit Sheriff. Our abbeys, and our priories, shall pay Re-enter Sheriff, with Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip, his bastard Brother. This expedition's charge. — What men are you ? Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, Born in Northamptonshire ; and eldest son, 132 KING JOHN. As 1 suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge ; A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. K. John. What art thou ? Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulcon- bridge. 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 I 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, I have no reason for it ; That is njy brother's plea, and none of mine ; The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a-year : Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land ! 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 the 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 ; — old Sir Robert, father, on my knee 1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here ! Eli. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face, The accent of his tongue affecteth him : Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this 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-face, like my father ; With that half-face would he have all my land : A half-faced groat five hundred pound a-year! Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, Your brother did employ my father much ; — Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. Rob. And once despatch' d him in an embassy To Germany, there, with the emperor, To treat of high affairs touching that time : The advantage of his absence took the king, And in the mean 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 my father and my mother lay, (As I have heard my father speak himself,) When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death -bed he by will bequeath' d His lands to me ; and 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 after wedlock bear him : And, if she did play false, the fault was hers ; Which 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 father claim'd this sou for his ? In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; In sooth, he might : then, if he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him ; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him : This 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 child which is not his ? Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon- bridge, And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ; Or the reputed son of Cceur-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 I durst not stick a rose, Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings goes ! And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 'Would I might never stir from off this place, I'd give it every foot to have this face ; I would not be sir Nob in any case. Eli. I like thee well; Wilt thou forsake thy fortune, 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. Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. K. John. What is thy name ? Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun ; Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. K. John. From henceforth bear his name whos^ form thou bear'st : Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great ; Arise, sir Richard, and Plantagenet. Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your hand ; My father gave me honour, yours gave land : — Now blessed be the hour, by night or day When I was got, sir Robert was away. Eli. The very spirit of Pkmtagenet ! — I am thy grandame, Richard ; call me so. Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : 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. K. John. Go, Faulconbridge ; now hast thou thy desire, SCENE I. KING JOHN. 3sn 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 For thou wast got i'the way of honesty [thee ! [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 deji, sir Richard, — God-a-mercy, fellow : — And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter : For new-made honour doth 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 suffic'd, Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise My picked man of countries : My dear sir, (Thus, leaning on my elbow, I begin,) / shall beseech you — That is question now ; And then comes answer like an ABC-book : — O, sir, says answer, at your best command ; At your employment ; at your service, sir : No sir, says question, J, sweet sir, at yours : And so, ere answer knows what question would, (Saving in dialogue of compliment ; And talking of the Alps, and Apennines, The 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, That doth not smack of observation ; (And so am I, whether I smack, or no ;) And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement ; But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age'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 ? hath she no husband, That will take pains to blow a horn before her ? Enter Lady Faulconbridge, and James Gurney. O me ! it is my mother : — How now, good lady ? What brings you here to court so hastily ? Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother ? where, is he ? 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 ? Lady F. Sir Robert's son 1 Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son : Why scorn'st thou at sir Robert ? He is sir Robert's son ; and so art thou. Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a Gur. Good leave, good Philip. [while ? Bast. Philip ? — sparrow ! — James, 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 confess !) Could he get me ? Sir Robert could not do it ; We know his handy work : — Therefore, good To whom am I beholden for these limbs ? [mother, Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That foi thine own gain should'st defend mine honour ? What n.eans this scorn, thou most untoward knave ? Bast C night, knight, good mother, — Basilisco- like: What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. But. mother, I am not sir Robert's son ; I have disclaim'd sir Robert, and my land ; Legitimation, name, and all is gone : Then, good my mother, let me know my father ; Some proper man, I hope ; Who was it, mother ? Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Fauicon- Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil, [bridge ? Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd [father : To make room for him in my husband's bed : Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! — Thou 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 wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours : your fault was not your folly ; Needs must 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 from Richard's hand. He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts, May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father ! Who lives and dares but say, thou did'st not well Wken I 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 II. SCENE I,— France. Before the Walls of Angiers. Enter on one side, the Archduke of Austria, and Forces ,• on the other, Philip, King of France, and Forces; Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and Attendants. Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. — Arthur, 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: And, for amends to his posterity, At our importance hither is he come, To spread his colours, Doy, in thy behalf; And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John ; Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. Arth. God shall forgive you Cceur-de-lion's death. The rather, that you give his offspring life, 334 KING JOHN. ACT II. 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, [right ? Lew. A noble boy ! Who would not do thee 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 Anglers, 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, Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes, Even till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king : till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength, To make a more requital to your love. Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their In such a just and charitable war. [swords K. Phi. Well then, to work ; our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town. Call for 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 coolly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak. Chat. Then 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 I : His marches are expedient to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come 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 deceased : 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 fortunes 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 are at hand, To parley, or to fight ; therefore, prepare. K. Phi. How much unlook'd-for is this expedi- tion ! Aust. By how much unexpected, 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 Bastard, Pembroke, and Forces. K. John. Peace be to France ; if France in peace permit Our just and lineal 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 return 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 off the sequence of posterity, Outfaced infant state, and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; — These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his This little abstract doth contain that large. Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right, And this is Geffrey's : In the name of God, How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest ? K. John. From whom hast thou this great com- mission, France, 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 into the blots and stains of right. That judge hath made me guardian to this boy Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong ; And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it. K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. K. Phi. Excuse ; it is to beat usurping down. Eli. Who 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 may'st be a queen, and check the world! Const. 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 father never was so true begot ; It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that would Aust. Peace 1 [blot thee. Bast. Hear the crier. Aust. What the devil art thou * Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you An '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 ; scene r. KING JOHN. S35 I'll smose your skin-coat, an I catch you right ; Sirrah, look to't ; i'faith, I will, i'faith. Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe, That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : — But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back ; Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack. Aust. Whatcracker is this same, that deafs our ears With this abundance of superfluous breath ? K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. Lew. Women and fools, break off your con- ference. — King John, this is the very sum of all, — England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee : Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms ? K. John. My life as soon : — I do defy thee France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; And, out of my dear love, I'll 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. Arth. Good my mother, peace ! I would, that I were low laid in my grave ; I 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'r she does, or no ! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd To do him justice, and revenge on you. Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth ! Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth ! Call not me slanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp The dominations, royalties, and rights, Of this oppressed boy : This is thy eldest son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee ; Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; The canon of the law is laid on him, Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. K. John. Bedlam, have done. Const. I have 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 woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will! K. Phi. Peace, lady ; pause, or be more tempe- It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim [rate : To these ill-tuned repetitions. — Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers ; let us hear them speak, Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walls. 1 Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls ? K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. K. John. England, for itself. 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 eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement : The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; And ready mounted are they, to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : All preparation for a bloody siege, And merciless proceeding by these French, Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones, That as a waist do girdle you about, By the compulsion of their 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, WTio painfully, with much expedient march, Have brought a countercheck before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'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 smoke To make a faithless error in your ears : Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king ; whose labour'd spirits, Forwearied in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. K. Philip. When I have said, make answer 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 your town ; Being no further enemy to you, Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, In the relief of this oppressed child, Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty, which you truly owe, To him that owes it ; namely, this young prince : And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up ; Our cannons' mstlice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable 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 fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the roundure of your oid-fae'd walls Can hide you from our messengers of war ; Though all these English, and their discipline, Were harbour'd in their rude circumference ;«b KING JOHN. Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challeng'd it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage, And stalk in blood to our possession ? 1 Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects ; For him, and in his right, we hold this town. K. John. Acknowledge then, the king, and let me in. 1 Cit. That can we not: but he that proves the king, To him will we prove loyal ; till that time, Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the king ? And, if not that, 1 bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed. — Bast. Bastards, and else. K. John. To Verify our title with their lives. K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as Bast. Some bastards too. [those, K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. 1 Cit. Till you compound whose right is wor- thiest, We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those That to their everlasting residence, [souls, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! K. Phi. Amen, Amen ! — Mount chevaliers ! to arms ! Bast. St. George, — that swing' d the dragon, and e'er since, Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence ! — Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, [to Austria] with your I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide, [lioness, And make a monster of you. Aust. Peace ! no more. Bast. O, tremble; for you hear the lion roar. K. John. Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth, In best appointment, all our regiments. 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! [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Alarums and Excursions ; then a Retreat. Enter a Trench Herald, with trumpets, to the gates. F. Her. You men of Anglers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in ; Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground ; Many a widow's husband groveling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French ; Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors, and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. Enter an English Herald, with trumpets. E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells ; King John, your king and England's, doth ap- Commander of this hot malicious day ! [proach, Their armours, that march 'd hence so silver-bright, 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 we first march'd forth j And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes ; Open your gates, and give the victors way. Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might be- From first to last, the onset and retire [hold, Of both your armies ; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured : Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows ; Strength match'd with strength, and power cor fronted power : Both are alike : and both alike we like. One must prove greatest : while they weigh so ever, We hold our town for neither ; yet for both. Enter, at one side, Kino John, with his power ,■ Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard; at the other, Kino Phili;*, 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'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores ; Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood In this hot trial, more than we of France ; Rather, lost more: And by this hand 1 swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, — Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we 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, majesty ! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood 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 ; And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men, In undetermin'd differences of kings. — Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ? Cry, havoc, kings ! back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits ! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death ! K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit ? K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king ? 1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the king. K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his 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. 1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this And, till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates t SCENE II. KING JOHN. 337 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 Angiers flout you, kings ; And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point i At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be rul'd by me; Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, 1 Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town : By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon charged to the mouths ; Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : I'd play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced 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 . Then, in a moment, fortune shall 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 ? Smacks it not something of the policy ? K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well ; — France, shall we knit our powers. And lay this Angiers even with the ground ; • Then, after, fight who shall be king of it ? Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, — Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town, — Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls : And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why, then defy each other : and, pell-mell, Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell ! K. Phi. Let it be so : — Say, where will you assault ? K. John. We from the west will send destruc- Into this city's bosom. [tion Just. I from the north. K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. Bast. O prudent discipline I From north to south ; Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : [Aside. I'll stir them to it : — Come, away, away! 1 Cit. Hear us, great kings : vouchsafe awhile to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-fac'd league ; Win you this city without stroke or wound ; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field : Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. K. John. Speak on, with favour ; we are bent to hear. 1 Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch, 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, j 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 half 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 will do more than battery can, To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match, With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, The 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 carcass of old death Out of his rags ! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and Talks as 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, and bounce ; He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; Our ears are cudgell'd ; not a word of his, But buffets better than a fist of France : Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd with words, Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad. Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match ; Give with our niece a dowry large enough : For b.y 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 their Are capable of this ambition : [souls Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. 1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? K. Phi. Speak, England, first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city : What say you ? K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely Can in this book of beauty read, I love, [son, Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 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 promotions, 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 face. Lew . I do, my lord, and in her eye I find 338 KING JOHN 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, I never lov'd myself, Till now infixed I 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, — he doth espy Himself love's traitor ! This is pity now, That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there In such a love, so vile a lout as he 1 [should be, Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect, is mine. If he see aught in you, that makes him like, That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will ; Or, if you 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 you love this lady? Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; for I do love her most unfeignedly. K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee ; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. — Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. K. Phi. It likes us well ; — Young princes 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, Let in that amity which you have made ; For at saint Mary's chapel, presently, The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. — Is not the lady Constance in this troop ? — I know, she is not ; for this match made up, Her presence would have interrupted much : Where is she and her son ? tell me, who knows. Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' tent. K, Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have made, Will give her sadness very litCle cure.— • Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady ? In her right we came ; Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, To our own vantage K. John. We will heal up all, For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, And earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We'll make him lord of. — Call the lady Constance Some speedy messenger bid ber repair To our solemnity : — I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so, That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd-for unprepared pomp. [Exeunt all but the Bastard.— The Citizcn3 retire from the walls. Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composition. John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part : And France, (whose armour conscience buckled Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, [on ; As God's own soldier,) rounded in the ear With that same purpose-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 that; That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commo- Commodity, the bias of the world ; [dity,— 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, Makes 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 Fiance, Hath drawn him from his own detennin'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 my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a 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 ! \Exii, SCENE I.— The same. ACT The French King's T,t. O, if thou grant my need. Which only lives but by the death of faith, That need must needs infer this principle, That faith would live again by death of need : O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up ; Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. Aust. Do so, king Philip ; hang no more in doubt Bast. Hang nothing but a calf s-skin, most sweet lout. K. Phi. 1 am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee more, If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd? K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. This royal hand and mine are newly knit : 1 And the conjunction 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 knows, they were besmear'd and over- stain'd With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint The fearful difference of incensed kings : And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, So newly join'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 again to snatch our palm from palm ; Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage-bea Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, And make a riot on the gentle brow Of true sincerity ? O holy sir, My reverend father, let it not be so : Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd To do your pleasure, and continue friends. Pand. All form 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, fiOENE III. KING JOHxV. 341 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 the 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 ; though indirect, Yet indirection thereby grows direct, And falsehood.falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire, Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. It is religion, that doth make vows kept ; But thou hast sworn against religion ; By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st ; And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth Against an oath : The truth thou art unsure To swear, swear only not to be forsworn ; Else, what a mockery should it be to swear ? But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear, Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first, Is in thyself rebellion to thyself: And better conquest never can'st thou make, Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts Against those giddy loose suggestions : Upon which better part our prayers come in, If thou vouchsafe them : but, if not, then know, The peril of our curses light on thee ; So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, But, in despair, die under their black weight. Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion I Bast. Will't not be ? Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? Lew. Father, to arms ! Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? Against the blood that thou hast married ? What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, — Clamours of hell, — be measures to our pomp ? O husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new Is husband in my month ! — even for 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, Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom Fore-thought by heaven. Blanch. Now shall I see thy love ; What motive may Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? 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 shalt not need :— England, I'll fall from thee. Const. O fair return of banish 'd majesty 1 Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy I K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexton time, 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 ? I am with both : each army hath a hand ; And, in their rage, I having hold of both, They whirl assunder, and dismember me. Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win ; 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. Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance toge- ther. — [Exit Bastard. France, I am burn'd up with inftvttjng wrath ; A rage, whose heat hath this condition, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of Fiance. K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou 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 arms let's hie ! [Exeunt. SCENE II. — The same. Plains near Angiers. Alarums ; Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Austria's head. Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous Some airy devil hovers in the sky, [hot ; And pours down mischief. Austria's head, lie there ; While Philip breathes. Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. K. John. Hubert, keep this boy : — Philip, make My mother is assailed in our tent, [up : And ta'en, I fear. Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her ; Her highness is in safety, fear you not : But on, my liege ; for very little pains Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Alarums; Excursions,- Retreat. Enter King John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay behind, [To Elinor. So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : [To Arthur. Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was. [grief. Arth. O, this will make my mother die with K. John. Cousin, {to the Bastard.] away for England ; haste before : And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots ; imprison'd angels 042 KING JOHN. ACT III. Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon : Use our commission in his utmost force. [back, Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness : — 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. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. [She takes Arthur aside* K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh There is a soul, counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love : And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet : But thou shalt have : and creep time ne'er so slow, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say, — But let it go : The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, To give me audience : — If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound 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, (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, Making the idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment — A passion hateful to my purposes ;) Or if that thou could'st 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, in 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 would'st ? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy : I'll tell thee what, my friend. He is a very serpent in my way ; And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me : Dost thou understand me ? 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. Sub. He shall not live. K. John. Enough.— I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee. Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee : Remember ! 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, attend on you With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The same. The French King's Tent. Enter Kint Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, 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. K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers lost ? [ill ? 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 ? K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had thu praise, 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. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace! A'. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle 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, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows ; And ring these fingers with thy household worms ; 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 ! 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 sorrow. 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 were ! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: O, if I could, what grief should I forget I — Preach some philosophy to make me mad. SCENE IV. KING JOHN. 143 And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself : If I were mad, I should forget my son ; Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he : I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses : O, what love I In the fair multitude of those her hairs ! [note Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Do glew themselves in sociable grief ; Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity. Const. To England if you will. K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. Const. Yes, that I will ; And wherefore will I do it? I tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud, that 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 I shall meet him in the court of heaven 1 shall not know him : therefore, never, never Must I behold my pretty Arthur more ! Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do. — I will not keep this form upon my head, [Tearing off her head-dress. When there is such disorder in my wit. O lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! My life, my joy, my food, my allthe-world ! My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. K. Phi. 1 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 naught, 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 ? Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had. No, no : when fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 'Tis 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 alias youthful as your blood Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit; For even the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, Out of the path which shall directly lead Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark. John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be, That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, 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 boisterously maintain'd as gain'd ; And he, that stands upon a slippery place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up : That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; So be it, for it cannot be but so. Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, May then make all the claim that 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 you : 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, v and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's But hold himself safe in his prisonment, [lifie, Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, 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 wratn, 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 Faulconbridge 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 Dauphin, Go with me to the king : 'Tis wonderful, What may be wrought out of their discontent • Now that their souls are top-full of offence, For England go ; I will whet on the king. Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions : Let us go ; If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt. 3te KING JOHN. ACT IV ACT IV. SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle. Enter Hubert and Two Attendants. Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou Within the arras : when I strike my foot [stand Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. — [Exeunt Attendants. Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur. Arih. Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me ! Methinks, no body should be sad but I : Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long ; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me : He is afraid of me, and I of him : Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? No, indeed, is't not ; And I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Hub. If I talk to'him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to- In sooth, I would you were a little sick; [day: That I might sit all night, and watch with you : I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bo- som. — Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, foolish rheum 1 [Aside. Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief ; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. Can you not read it I is it not fair writ \ Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes l Hub. Young boy, I must. Arth. And will you ! Hub. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart i When your head did but ache, 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 ; Saying, What lack you 1 and, Where lies your grief! Or, what good love may I perform for you ! Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; But 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 you must use me ill, Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, [eyes ? So much as frown on you ? Hub. I have sworn to do it i And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, [it ! 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 fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? An if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. Hub. Come forth ! [Statnps Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, S[C. Do as I bid you. 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, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous- rough ? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly : Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to. Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ; He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven !— that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense ! Then, feeling what 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 of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert 1 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 I Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us'd In undeserv'd extremes : See else yourself : There is no malice in this burning coal ; SCENE II. KING JOHN. 345 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, ' And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : | Nay, it. perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; I And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. \ All things, that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office : only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine For all the treasure that thine uncle ow T es : [eyes Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this You were disguised. [while 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 offend thee. Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me. Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The Satnp. A Room of Stale in the Palace. Enter King John, crowned ; Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lords. The King takes his State. K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. Pern. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; Fresh expectation troubled not the land, With any long'd-for change, or better state. Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before, 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 seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. Pern. But that your roval pleasure must be done, This act is as an ancient tale new told ; And, in the last repeating, troublesome, Being urged at a time unseasonable. Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much 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 : AnH, oftentimes, 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, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown' »* ) We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your high- To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd; [nesa 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 indue you with : Mean time, but ask What you would have reform'd, that is not well; And well shall you perceive, how willingly I will both hear and grant you your requests. Pern. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these, To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all, Your safety, for the which myself and them Bend their best studies,) heartily request * The enfranchisement 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, Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth The rich advantage of good exercise ? That 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 whereupon 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. This is the man should do the bloody deed ; He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine ; The image of a wicked heinous fault Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go, Between his purpose and his conscience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set : His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. Pern. And, when it breaks, I fear will issue thence The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand : — Good lords, although my will to give is living, The suit which you demand is gone and dead : He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure. Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death lie Before the child himself felt he was sick : [was, This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me ? Think you, I bear the shears of destiny ? Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? Sal. It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame, That greatness should so gi'ossly offer it : So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. Pern. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee, And find the inheritance of this poor child, His little kingdom of a forced grave. ?46 KING JOHN. 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 out To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. [Exeunt Lords. K. John. They burn in indignation ; I repent ; There is no sure foundation set on 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 France ? 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 leam'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? That such an array 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 Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord, The lady Constance in a frenzy died Three days before : but this from rumour's tongue I idly heard ; if true, or false, I know not. K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! O, make a league with me, till I have pleas' d My discontented peers ! — What ! mother dead ? How wildly then walks my estate in France ! — Under whose conduct came those powers of France, That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ? Mess. Under the Dauphin. Enter the Bastard and Pkter q/Tomfrct K. John. Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world To your proceedings ? do not seek to stuff 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 amaz'd Under the tide : but now I 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 1 travelled hither through the land, I find the people strangely fantasied ; Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams ; Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear : And here's a prophet, that I brought with me From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 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 didst thou so ? Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fallout so. K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison him ; 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'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd ? Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are full of it : Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, (With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,) And others more, going to seek the grave Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night On your suggestion. K. John. Gentle kinsman, go And thrust thyself into their companies : I have a way to win their loves again ; Bring them 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 affright my towns With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! — Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels ; And fly, like thought, from them to me again. Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. [L-xit. K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentle- man. — Go after him ; for he, perhaps, shall need Some messenger betwixt me and the peers And be thou he. Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. K. John. My mother dead ! Re-enter Hubert. Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-night : Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about The other four, in wond'rous motion. K. John. Five moons ? Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets Do prophesy upon it dangerously : Young Arthur's death is common in their 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 fearful action, With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I saw 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 his hand, Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) Told of a many thousand warlike French, That were embattled 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 : I had mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not provoke me ? K. John. 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 More upon humour than advis'd respect. Hub. Here is vour hand and seal for what I did. SCENE III. KING JOHN. 34? 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 sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done ! Haddest 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 villany, Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, 1 faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Hub. My lord, K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spake darkly what I purposed ; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, As bid me tell my tale in express words ; Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : But thou didst understand me by my signs, And didst in signs again parley with sin ; Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, And, consequently, thy rude hand to act The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. — Out of my sight, and never see me more ! My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd, Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath. Hostility and civil tumult reigns Between my conscience, and my cousin's death 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 maiden 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 the peers, Throw this report on their incensed rage, And make them tame to their obedience ! Forgive the comment that my passion made Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. O, answer not ; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient haste : I c6njure thee but slowly ; run more fast. {.Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Before the Castle. Enter Arthur, on the walls. Arth. The 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 qiute. 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 spirit 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's It is our safety, and we must embrace [Bury ; This gentle offer of the perilous time. Pern. Who brought that letterfrom the cardinal ? Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ; Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love, Is much more general than these lines import. Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 'twill be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. Enter the Bastard. Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords ! The king, by me, requests your presence straight. Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ; We will not line his thin bestained cloak With our pure honours, nor attend the foot That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks : Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief, Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bast. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison ; What is he lies here ? {Seeing Arthur. Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave. Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld, 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 height, 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. Pern. All murders past, do stand excus'd in this j And this so sole, and so unmatchable, Shall give a holiness, a purity, To the yet-unbegotten sin of times ; And prove 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. If that it be the work of any hand? — We had a kind of light, what would ensue ; It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; The practice, and the purpose, of the king :— • From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life And breathing to his breathless excellence 343 KING JOHN. ACT V- The incense of a vow, a holy vow ; Never to taste the pleasures of the world, Never to be infected with delight, Nor conversant with ease and idleness, Till I 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 in seeking you : Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! Hub. I am no villain. Sal. Must I rob the law ? [Drawing his stcord. Bast. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say ; By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours: I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, j Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. Big. Out, dunghill ! Dar'st thou brave a noble- man 7 Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend My 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. Bast. Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. Bast. Thouwert better gall the devil, Salisbury: If thou but frown 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 I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell. Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcon- Second a villain and a murderer ? [bridge ? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Who kill'd this prince ? Hub. 'Tis not an hour, since I left him well : I honour'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villany is not without such rheum ; And he, long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse and innocency. Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ; For 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 death, Art thou damn'd, Hubert. Hub. Do but hear me, sfr Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what; Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is ?a black ; Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer • There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. Hub. Upon my soul, Hast. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread That ever spider twisted from her womb Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be A beam to hang thee on ; or would'st thou drown Put but a little water in a spoon, Lthyself, 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, methinks ; and lose my way Among the thorns and dangers of this world. — How easy dost thou take all England up ! 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 scamble, and to part by the teeth The unowed interest of proud -swelling state. Now, for the 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 eminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this 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. [Exeunt ACT V. SCENE I. - The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Kino John, Pandulph with the crown, and At- tendants. K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory. Pand. Take again [Giving John the crown. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority. JT. John. Now keep your holy v.-ord ; go meet the French ; And from his holiness use all your power To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. Our discontented counties do revolt ; Our people quarrel with obedience ; Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. This inundation of mistemper'd humour Rests by you only to be qualified. Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, That present medicine must be minister'd, Or overthrow incurable ensues. SCi-NK II. KING JOHN, 34'J Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope : 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, I Upon your oath of service to the pope, Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, 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 out, But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd, Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers : Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone To offer service to your enemy ; And wild amazement hurries up and down The little number of your doubtful friends. K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, After they heard young Arthur was alive ? Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets ; An empty casket where the jewel of life By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. But wherefore 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 motion of a kingly eye : Be stirring as the time ; be tire with fire ; Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of 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, j When he intendeth to become the field : I Show boldness and aspiring confidence. What, shall they seek the lion in his den, And fright him there ? and make him tremble there ? O, let it not be said ! — Forage and run To meet displeasure further from the doors ; And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh. K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with And I have made a happy peace with him ; [me, 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, I Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, i Insinuation, parley, and base truce, To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, Mocking 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 purpose of defence. K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present time. 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-Buby. Enter in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembboke Bigot, and Soldier s. Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out, And keep it safe for our remembrance : Return the precedent to tnese lords again ; That, having our fair order written down, Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, May know wheref6re we took 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 inveterate 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 till 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 colours here ? What, here? — O nation, that thou could'st remove 1 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 combine 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 affections, wrestling in thy bosom, Do make an earthquake of nobility. O, what a noble combat hast thou fought, Between compulsion, and a brave respect ! Let me wipe off this honourable dew, That silverly 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 amaz'd Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. Lift up thy 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 gossiping. Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 350 KIxVG JOHN. 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 hand of heaven ; And on our actions set the name of right, "With holy breath. Pand. Hail, noble prince of France ! The next is this, — King John hath reconcil'd Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in, That so stood out against the holy church, The great metropolis and see of Rome : Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, And tame the savage spirit of wild war ; That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace, And be no further harmful than in show. Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not I am too high-born to be propertied, [back ; To be a secondary at controul, Or useful serving-man, and instrument, To any sovereign state throughout the world. Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars Between this ch&stis'd kingdom and myself, And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out With that same weak wind which enkindled it. You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to this land, Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart ; And come you now to tell me, John hath made His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to me ? I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, After 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 ? What penny hath Rome borne, What men provided, what munition sent, To underprop this action? is't not I, 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 I 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 my 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 cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, To outlook conquest, and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — [Trumpet sounds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? Enter the 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 I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; And, as you answer, 1 do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue. Pand. 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, The king doth smile at ; and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories. That hand, which had the strength, even at you. 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 hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons ; and to thrill, and shake, Even at the crying of your nation's crow, Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ; — Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement ? No : Know, the gallant monarch is in arms ; And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame : For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd 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. Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace ; We grant, thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler. Pand. Give me leave to speak. Bast. No, I will speak. Lew. We will attend to neither : — Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest, and our being here. Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out ; And so shall you, being beaten : Do but start An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brae'd, That shall reverberate all as loud as thine j 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 this halting legate here, Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) Is 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. 'Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. A Field tf Battle. Alarums. Enter King John and Hubkkt. K. John. How goes the day with us ? O, tell me, Hubert. Hub. Badly, I fear : How fares your majesty ? SCENE VI. KING JOHN. 351 K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick ! [long,. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon- 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 the 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 sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now : The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. K. John. Ah me ! this tyiant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news. . Set on toward Swinstead : to my Titter 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. Pern. Up once again ; put spirit in the French ; If they miscarry, we miscarry too. Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridgc, In spire of spite, alone upholds the day. Fern. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field. Enter Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers. Mel. Lead me-to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. Pern. 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, and fall before his feet ; For, if the French be lords of this loud day, He means to recompense the pains you take, By cutting off your heads : Thus hath he sworn, And I with him, and many more with me, Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury ; Even 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. "Retaining but a quantity of life ; Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire ? What in the world should make me now deceive, Since I must lose the use of all deceit ? Why should I then be false ; since it is true That I must die here, and live hence by truth ? I say again, if Lewis do win the day, He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours Behold another day break in the east : But even this night, — whose black contagious Already smokes about the burning crest [breath 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, SCENE Y.—The same. The French Camp. Enter Lewis and his Train. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set : But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their owi In faint retire : O, bravely came we off, [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 I Enter a Messenger. Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin ? Lew. ■ Here : — What news ? Mess. The count Melun is slain ; the Englisl By his persuasion, are again fall'n off: [lords And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lew. Ah, foul shrew r d news ! — Beshrew thy very heart ! I did not think to be so sad to-night, As this hath made me — Who was he, that said, King John did fly, an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary powers ? Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lew. Well ; keep good quarter, and good can The day shall not be up so soon as 1, [to-night To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt SCENE VI An open Place in the neighbourhood of Swinstead-Abbey. Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. Hub. Who's there ? speak, ho ! speak quickly, or I shoot. Bast. A friend. — What art thou ? Hub. Of the part of England. Bast. Whither dost thou go ? Hub. What's that to thee ? Why may I not de- mand Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? . Bast. Hubert, I think. Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought : I will, upon all hazards, well believe 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 ; Where I may 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 beshre jv my But I do love the favour and the form [soul Of this most fair occasion, by the which We will untread the steps of damned flight ; And, like a bated and retired flood, Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd And calmly run on in obedience, Even to our ocean, to our great king John. My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; For I do see the cruel pangs of death Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends ! New flight ; And happy newness, that intends old right. [Exeunt, leading ofMsLva 352 KING JOHN. Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so Who art thou ? [well : Bast. Who thou wilt : an if thou please, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, 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 ? Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of To find you out. [night, 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 : T 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 them, 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 ! conduct me to the king ; I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. [Exeunt. (SCENE VII.— The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey. Enter Princk Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood Ts 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 mortality. Enter Pembroke. Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; j'.nd holds That, being brought into the open air, [belief, It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him. P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. — 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 extremes, In their continuance will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies ; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are To set a form upon that indigest, [born 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, many, now my soul hath elbow- room ; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There 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 I shrink up. P. Hen. How fares your majesty ? K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare; — dead, forsook, cast off: And none of you will bid the winter come, To thrust his 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, And comfort me with cold : — I do not ask you much, I 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. — Within me is a hell ; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood. Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye : 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, And 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, Were in the washes, all unwarily, Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King die*. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. — My liege ! my lord ! — But now a king, — now thus. P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What surety of the world, what 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, you stars, that move in your right spheres, Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths ; And instantly return with me again, To push destruction, and perpetual shame, SCENE VII. KING JOHN. 353 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. Sal. 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 offers 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. Sat. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; For many carriages he hath despatch' d To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarr.* To the disposing of the cardinal. With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will post To c6nsummate 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 must his body be interr'd ; For so he will'd it. Bast. Thither shall it then. And happily may your sweet self put on The lineal state and glory of the land I To whom, with all submission, on my knee, I do bequeath my faithful services And time 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 you And knows not how to do it, but with teais. Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — This England never did, (nor never shall,) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rus, If England to itself do rest but true. [Kxeunt A A THE LIFE AND DEATH OP KING RICHARD II PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Richard the Second. Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, \ Uncles to John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, f the King. Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, Son to John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV. Duke of Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Surrey. Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkley. Bushy, \ Bagot, V Creatures to King Richard. Green, j Earl of Northumberland. Henry Percy, his Son. Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Frrz water. Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster. Lord Marshal ; and another Lord. Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop. Captain of a Band of Welchmen. Queen to King Richard. Duchess of Gloster. Duchess of York. Lady attending on the Quekn. Lords, neralds, Officers, Soldiers, Two Gardeners, 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. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-.honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and hand, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son ; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray. Gaunt. I have, my liege. K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded If he appeal the duke on ancient malice ; [him, Or worthily as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him ? Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that ar- gument, — On some apparent danger seen in him, Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence ; face to face, » And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser, and the accused, freely speak : — [Exeunt some Attendants. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Re-enter Attendants, gr> ilk Bolingbroke and Norfolk. Boling. Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! Nor. Each day still better other's happiness ; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown ! K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come ; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. — Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my In the devotion of a subject's love, [speech !) Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak, My body shad make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant ; Too good to be so, and too bad to live ; Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ; And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword 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 us twain : SCENE KING RICHARD II. 355 The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can 1 not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say : First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; Which else would post, until it had return' d These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy 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-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Boliiig. Pale trembling coward ! there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the 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 else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Nor. I take it up ; and, by that sword I swear, Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : And, when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor, or unjustly fight ! K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's It must be great, that can inherit us [charge ? So much as of a thought of ill in him. Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it true ; — That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers ; The which he hath detain' d for lewd employments, Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. Besides I say, and will in battle prove, — Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, — That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land, Fetch from 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 blood : Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, 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 bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears : 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. Them Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Disburs'd 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, I 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 I lay in ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul \ But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, I 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. K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by Let's purge this choler without letting blood : [me ; 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 my age:— Throw 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. Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : The one my duty owes ; but my fair name, (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here ; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear ; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison ! K. Rich. Rage must be withstood : Give me his gage : — Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change their spots : take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is — spotless reputation ; that away, A A 2 356 KING RICHARD II. ACT I. 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 breast. Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; Take honour from me, and my life is done : — 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; do you begin. Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin ! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight ? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear ; And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face ! [Exit Gaunt. K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com- mand : Which since we cannot do to make yon friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day ; There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate ; Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. — Marshal, command our officers-at-arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. A Room in the Duke 0/ Lancaster's Palace. Enter Gaunt and Duchess q/"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 the hours ripe on earth, Will rain but vengeance on offenders' heads. Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur ? 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 springing 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 lord, my life, my Gloster, — One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, — Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; Is hack'd down, and his summer-leaves all faded, By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. — Ah, Gaunt ! his blood was thine ; that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man ; and though thou liv'st, and breath' st, Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair : In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee : That which in mean men we entitle — patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. — What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel ; for heaven's substitute, His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister. Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself ? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and defence. Duch. 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 foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes 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 before I have begun ; For sorrow ends not when it seemeth 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 Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old YorK theie see, But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans ? Therefore commend me ; let him not come there, To 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 III. — Gosford-green, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, <$c attending. Enter the Lord Marshal and Aumerls. Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd ? Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter in. Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. Flourish of trumpets. Enter Kino Richard, who takes his seat on his throne,' Gaunt, and several Noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and an- swered by another trumpet vithin. Then enter Norfolk, in armour, preceded by a Herald. K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms . Ask him his 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, SCENE III. KING RICHARD II. 357 And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms : Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel? — Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath ; And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour ! Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk ; Who hither come engaged by my oath, (Which, heaven defend a knight should violate !) Both to defend my loyalty and truth, To God, 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, defend me heaven ! [He takes his seat. Trumpet sounds. Enter Bomngbroke, in armour ; pre- ceded 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 ? Against whom coraest thou ? and what's thy quarrel ? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour, 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 I 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. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sove- reign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty : 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 high- ness, And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I 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 you ; Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle : — Not 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 my head, — Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; And with thy blessings steel my 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 thee prosperous 1 Be swift like lightning in the execution ; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to thrive ! [He takes his seat. Nor. [Rising. - ] However heaven, or fortune, 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 off his chains of bondage, and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. — Most mighty liege ! — and my companion peers, — Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : As gentle and as jocund, as to jest, Go I to fight : Truth hath a quiet breast. K . Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. [The King and the Lords return to their seats. Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! Boling. [ Rising."] Strong as a tower in hope, I cry — amen. Mar. Go bear this lance [to an Officer.] to Thomas, 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 king, and him, And dares him to set forward to the fight. 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself, and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal ; Courageously, and with a free desire, Attending but the signal to begin. Mar. Sound, trumpets : and set forward, com- batants. O* charge sounded. Stay, 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 : Withdraw with us : — and let the trumpets sound, While we return these dukes what we decree. — [A long flourish. Draw near [To the Combatants. And list, what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered ; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords ; £And for we think the eagle- winged pride 358 KING RICHARD II. Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set you on To wake our peace, which 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 wrathful 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 summers 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 on me; And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : The fly-slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; — The hopeless word of— never to return Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege ! And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth : A dearer merit, 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 learn'd these forty year.", My native English, now I must forego : And now my tongue's use is to me no more, Than an unstringed viol, or a harp ; Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you heve engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips ; And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now ; What is thy sentence then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath ? K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate ; After our sentence plaining comes too late. Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night ! [Retiring. K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 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,) To keep the oath that 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 never by advised purpose meet, To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. Boling. I swear. Nor. 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. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land • 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 I were tra-tor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence ! But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I 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. tJBSrtt. K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart ; thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away ; — Six frozen winters spent, Return [to Boling.] with welcome home from banishment. Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, End in a word ; Such is the breath of kings. Gaunt. I thank my 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 taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow : Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; Thy word is current with him for my death : But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave ; Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower ? Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in diges- tion sour. You urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather, You 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 mine unwilling tongue, Against my will, to do myself this wrong. K. Rich. Cousin, farewell : — and, uncle, bid him so ; Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flourish. 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 greeting to thy friends ? Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. SCENE IV. KING RICHARD TI. 351) Gaunt. 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. Boling. To men in joy ; but grief makes one hour ten. 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 Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me, what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages ; and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and havens : Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not, the king did banish thee ; But thou the king : Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say — I 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, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; [com'st. The grass whereon thou tread' st, the presence strew' d ; The 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 that mocks at it, and sets it light. Boling. 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, By thinking on fastastic 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. Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way : Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell : sweet soil, adieu ; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, — ■ — Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. {Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The same. A Room in the King's Castle. Enter Kino Richard, Bagot, and Grbkn; Aumerle following. K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? A um. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed : Aum. 'Faith, not by me, except the north-east wind, 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 Aum. Farewell : [with him ? And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word that 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 ho\irs, 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 doubt, 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 affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, And had the tribute of his supple knee, With — Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ; — As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. Green. Well, he's gone ; and with him go these thoughts. — 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 enfore'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 wants ; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushy. Bushy, what news? Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my Suddenly taken ; and hath sent post-haste, [lord To entreat your majesty to visit him. K. Rich. Where lies he? Bushy. At Ely-house. K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's To help him to his grave immediately ! [mind, The lining of his coffers 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 ! [Exeunt 360 KING RICHARD II. ACT II. ACT II. SCENE I. — London. A Room in Ely-House. Gaunt on a couch / the Dttke of York, and others stand- ing by him. Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstayed youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath ; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony ; Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. He, that no more must say, is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose ; More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before ; The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past ; Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No ; it is stopp'd with other nattering sounds, As, praises of his state : then, there are found Lascivious metres ; to whose venom-sound The open ear of youth doth always listen : Report of fashions in proud Italy ; Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him, whose way himself will choose ; Tis breath thou lackest, and that breath wilt thou lose. Gaunt. Methinks , I am a prophet new inspir'd ; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last ; For violent fires soon burn out themselves : Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short ; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes ; With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder : Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this sceptre'd isle, This 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 defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands ; Thisblessed plot, this earth,this realm, this England , This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, Renowned 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, Dear for her reputation through the world, — Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) Like to a tenement, or pelting farm : England, bound in with 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 were my ensuing death 1 Enter King Richard and Queen ; Aumerub, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross, and Wfllouohby. York. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth ; For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster ? K. Rich. What comfort, man ? How is't with aged Gaunt? Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition ! 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 : The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks ; And, therein fasting, hast 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, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live ? Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that die. [ter'st me. K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st — thou flat- Gaunt. Oh ! no ; thou diest, though I the sicker be. [ill. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill ; 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 shame , 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 : KING RICHARD II. 3(31 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 unreverend shoulders. Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's For that I was his father Edward's son ; [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 befal 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 ; And 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 have. [Exit, borne out by his Attendants. K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sulleus have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him : He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. K. Rich. Right ; you say true : as Hereford's love, so his : As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. Enter Northumberland. North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. K. Rich. What says he now ? North. Nay, nothing ; all is said : His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent ! York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. [so ! K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : [he ; So much for that. Now for our Irish wars : We must supplant those roughrug-headed kerns ; Which live like venom, where no venom else, But only they, hath privilege to live. And, for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance, we do seize to us The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. York. How long shall I be patient ? Ah, how Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ? [long Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. — I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first ; In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman : Hig face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, And not against his friends : his noble hand Did 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, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. — O, Richard ! 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 pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, The royalties and rights of banish' d Hereford ? Is not Gaunt 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 rights 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 king, But by fair sequence and succession ? Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true !) If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters-patent that he hath By his attornies-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. K. Rich. Think what you will ; we seize into our hands His plate, his 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. [Exit. K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, [straight ; To see this business : To-morrow next We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow ; And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England, For he is just, 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 Kino, Queen, Bushy, Aumerlk, Green, and Bagot. North. Well lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. Ross. And living too ; for now his son is duke. Willo. 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 disburden'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 mine ear, to hear of good towards him. Ross. No good at alL that I can do for him ; Unless you call it good, to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. C62 KING RICHARD II. North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such 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 pili'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'God's name, doth become of this ? North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise. That which his ancestors achieved with blows : More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. North. His noble kinsman : most degenerate king! 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 unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. North. Not so ; even through the hollow eyes I spy life peering ; but I dare not say [of death, How near the tidings of our comfort is ! Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou 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. North. Then thus : — I have from Port-le-Blanc, In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence, [a bay That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, [The son of Richard Earl of Arundel,] That late broke from the duke of Exeter, His brother, archbishop — late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, Sir John Norberry, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint, All these, well furnish 'd by the duke of Bretagne, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience, And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : Perhaps, they had ere this ; but that 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 from 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 Ravenspurg ! But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. Ross.. To horse ! to horse ! urge doubts to them that fear. Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there ! r Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad You prorais'd, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition. Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please my I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause [self, Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard : Yet, again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul With nothing trembles : at something it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which 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, Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Finds shapes of griefs, more than himself, to wail ; Which, look'd on it as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not ; more's not seen : Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, W T hich, for things true, weeps things imaginary. Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul Persuades me, it is otherwise : Howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad, As — though, in thinking, on no thought I think, — Makes 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 something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve 'Tis in reversion that I do possess ; But what it is, that is not yet known ; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe I wot. Enter Green. Green. God save your majesty ! — and well met, gentlemen, I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland ? Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope he is ; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope ; Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd 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 Ravenspurg. Queen. Now God in heaven forbid 1 Green. O, madam, 'tis too true ; and that is worse, — SCENE III. KING RICHARD II. 0G3 The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy, The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughhy, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum- berland, And all the rest of the revolting faction Traitors ? Green. We have; whereon the earl of Worcester Hath oroke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my w r oe, 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 neck ; O, full of careful business are his looks ; Uncle, For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. Fork. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts ; Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives, but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home : Here am I left to underprop his land ; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes 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 ? — Why, so ! — go all which way it will ! The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster ; Bid her send me presently 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 ! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! I know not what to do : — I would to God, (So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,) The king had cut off my head with my brother's. — What, are there posts despatched for Ireland ? — How shall we do for money for these wars ? — Come, sister,— cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, [to the Servant.] get thee home, pro- vide some carts, And bring away the armour that is there — [Exit Servant. Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? If I know How, or which way, to order these affairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; — The one's my sovereign, whom both my oatb And duty bids defend ; the other again, Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd ; Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do — Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you : — Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. I should to Plashy too ; But time will not permit: — All is uneven, And every thing is left at six-and-seven. IFxeunt York and Queen. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power, Proportionable to the enemy, Is all impossible. Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those love not the king. Bagot. 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- demn'd. Bagot. 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 perform for us ; Except, like curs, to tear us all to pieces. — Will you go along with us ? Bagot. 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 Bolingbroke. Green. Alas, poor duke ; the task he undertakes Is — numb'ring 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. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The Wilds in Glostershire. Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, tcith Forces. Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now ? North. Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Glostershire. These 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 Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company ; Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd The tediousness and process of my travel : But theirs is sweeten' d with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess : And hope to joy, is little less in joy, Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath dona By sight of what I have, your noble company. Boling. Of much less value is my company, Than your good words. — But who comes.here? Enter Harry Percy. North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.— Harry, how fares your uncle ? Percy. I had thought, my 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 Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd [court, The household of the king. North. What was his reason ? He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed 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 Ravenspurg. North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him. North. Then learn to know him now; this is the duke. 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 service and desert. Boling. 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 fortune ripens 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. [mour . Enter Ross and Willoughby. North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil- loughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Boling. Welcome, my lords : I wot your love A banish' d traitor ; all my treasury [pursues Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Shall be your love and labour's recompense. Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. Boling. 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. Boling. My lord my answer is — to Lancaster ; And I am come to seek that name in England : And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say. Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not my meaning, 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 on To take the advantage of the absent time, And fright our native peace with self-born arms. Enter York, attended. Boling. I 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, Boling. My gracious uncle ! — York. Tut, tut ! Grace me n.o grace, nor uncle me no uncle ; I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word — graoe, In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. Why have those banish'd and forbidden 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 ; [march Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, And ostentation of despised arms ? Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence ? Why, — foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French ; O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, And minister correction to thy fault ! Boling. 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. Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here- But as I come, 1 come for Lancaster. [ford : And, noble uncle, I 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 you permit that I shall stand condemn d A wand' ring vagabond ; my rights and loyalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ? If that my cousin king be king of England, It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; Had you first died, and he 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 me leave : My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold ; And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. — What would you have me do ? I am a subject, And challenge law : Attornies are denied me ; And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent. North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. FCENE II. KING RICHARD II. 305 York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, — I have had feeling of ray 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 of 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, 1 do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ; — Unless you please to enter in the castle, And there repose you for this night. , Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. But 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. York. It may be, I will go with you : but yet I'll pause ; For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : Things past redress, are now with me past care. [Exeunt ♦— SCENE IV.— A Camp in Wales. Enter Salisbury and a Captain. Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten And hardly kept our countrymen together, [days. And yet we hear no tidings from the king ; Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welch - The king reposeth all his confidence [man ; In thee. Cap. 'Tis thought, the king is dead ; we will not stay. The bay-trees in our country are all 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 fearful 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 fled, 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 III. SCENE I. — Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. Enter Bolingbrore, York, Northumberland, Percy, Willoughby, Ross; Officers behind, 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 blood 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 my birth ; Near to the king in blood ; and near in love, Till you 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 seignories, Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods ; From my own windows torn my household-coat, Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign — Save men's opinions, and my living blood, — To show the world I am a gentleman. [this, This, and much more, much more than twice all 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 nc?, 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 others, 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. Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords, away ; To fight with Glendower and his 'complices ; Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. Flourish : Drums and Trumpets. Enter King Richard, Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and Soldiers. K.Rich. Barkloughly-castle call you this at hand ? I Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace After late tossing on the breaking seas ? [the air, K. Rich. Needs must I like it well ; I weep for joy, To stand upon my kingdom once again. 80(5 KING RICHARD II. ACT III. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with 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 steps do trample thee. Yield 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 death upon thy sovereign's enemies. — Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords ; This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellious arms ! Bishop. Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that made you king, Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd, And not neglected ; else, if heaven would, And we 'will not, heaven's offer we refuse ; The proffer'd means of succour and redress. Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss ; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong andgreat, in substance, and in friends. K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou That when the searching eye of heaven is hid [not, Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ; But when, from under this terrestrial ball, He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, — Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — Who all this while hath revelTd in the night, Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes, — Shall see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king : The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord : For e\-ery man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall : for heaven still guards the right. Enter Salisbury. Welcome, my lord ; How far off lies your power ? Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men. To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state ; For all the-W'elchmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd and fled. Aum. Comfort, my liege : why looks your grace so pale ? K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; [mer 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 my side ; For time hath set a blot upon my pride. Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king r Awake thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleep'st. Is not the king's name forty thousand names ? Arm, arm, my name 1 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 enough to serve our turn. — But who comes here ? Enter Scroop. Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart pre- paid ; The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom 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 not be ; if he serve God, We'll serve him too, and be his 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 highness is so arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all dissolved to tears ; So high above his limits swell 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 thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state ; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat : both old and young 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 ? 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 made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord. K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- demption ! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! SCENE 111. KING RICHARD II. JO? Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart ! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 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 : — Again uncurse their souls ; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands : those whom you curse, Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, And He full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wilt- shire, dead ? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. ^L^Aum. Where is the duke my father with his 7/ , power ? -| a . Rich. No matter where ; of comfort no man speak : 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 : And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own, but death ; And 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, some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed ; Some poison'dby 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 antick sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchize, 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, humour'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle-wall, and— farewell king ! Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence ; throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all 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 ? Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present But presently prevent the ways to wail. [woes, To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength uato your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be 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. Rich. 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 judge by the complexion of the sky The 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 with Bolingbroke ; And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen-in-arms Upon his party. K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [TO AUMERLR. Of that sweet 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 hope to grow, For I have none : — Let no man speak again To alter this, for counsel is but vain. Aum. My liege, one word. K. Rich. He does me double wrong, That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers, let them hence ; — Away, From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. [Exeunt. « SCENE III.— Wales. Before Flint-Castle. Enter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke and Forces ; York, Northumberland, and others. Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, The Welchmen 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 brief, Left I 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 you should. York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should, 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 here ? Enter Percy. Well, Harry ; what, will not this castle yield ? Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance. Boling. Royally ! Why, it contains no king? Percy. Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king ; king Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone : And with 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. KING RICHARD II. ACT III. Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle T nto 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 far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 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 Castle, with 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 cheeks 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 him. — March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. A parte sounded, and answered by another trumpet within. Flou7-ish. Enter on the walls Kino Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerlb, Scroop, and Salisbithy. York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun, From out the fiery portal of the east ; When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory/and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the Occident. Yet looks he like a king ; behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controuling majesty ; Alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show ! K. Rich. 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 hand 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 my head, And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,) That every stride he makes upon my land, Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope The purple testament of bleeding war ; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Shall ill become the flower of England's face : Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pasture's grass with faithful English blood. North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the king Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush'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, His glittering arms he will commend to rust, Hi- 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 king returns ; His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish' d without contradiction : With all the gracious utterance thou hast, Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [TO Al'MKRLE. To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? Aum. No, good my lord ; let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. K. Rich. O God ! O God ! that e'er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again With 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 have been Or not remember what I must be now ! Swetl'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. V' A'. Rich. What must the king do now? Must he submit ? 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, a-EJNE IV KING RICHARD II. SG9 Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head : For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live ; And, buried once, why not upon my head? Aumerle, thou weep'st ; My tender-hearted cou- 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 tears ? As thus ; — To drop them still upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth ; and, therein laid, — There lies Two kinsmen, digged their graves with weeping ei/°s f 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 Boung. 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. Boling. What says his majesty ? North. Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man : Yet he is come. Enter Kino 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 least, [ Touching his oivn head.] al- though your knee be low. Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. K. Rich. Well you deserve : — They well deserve to have, That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes ; Tears shew their love, but want their remedies. — Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too ; For do we must, what force will have us do. — Set on towards London : — Cousin, is it so ? Boling. Yea, my good lord. K. Rich. Then I must not say, No. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE IV.— Langley. The Duke of York's Garden. Enter the Queen, ana two Ladies. Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care ? 1 Lady. Madam, we'll play 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. My 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, It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : For what I have, I 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 should'st please me better, would'st thou weep. 1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do And never borrow any tear of thee. [me 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 woe. [Queen and Ladies retire. Gard. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, W 7 hich, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — Go thou, and like an executioner, Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth : All must 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 phok'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 suffer'd this disorder'd spring, Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf : The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves d shelter, That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, B B 370 KING RICHARD II. Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke ; I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 1 Serv. What, are they dead ? Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.— Oh ! what pity is it, That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, As we this garden ! We at time of year Do wound the bark, the 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 be 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 from her concealment. Set to dress this garden, how dares Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news ? What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee To make a second fall of cursed man ? Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd ? Dar'ftt thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, Cam'stthoubytheseill-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 ; 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 ol Doth not thy embassage belong to me, [foot, And am I last that knows it ? O, thou think st To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow 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, I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might bo 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 Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne; the Lords temporal on the left; the Commons below. Enter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey, Northumber- land, Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, Btshop 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 wrought it with the king, and who perform' d The bloody office of his timeless end. Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, I heard 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 offer of an hundred thousand crowns, Than Bolingbroke' s return to England ; Adding withal, how blest this land would be, In this your cousin's death. Autn. Princes, and noble lords, What answer shall 1 make to this base man ? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, On equal terms to give him chastisement ? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. There is my gage, the manual seal of death, That 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. Boling. Bagot, forbear ; thou shalt not take it up. Aum. 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, Aumerle, in gage to thine : By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. If thou deny'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. Fitss. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true In this appeal, as thou art all unjust : And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing ; seize it, if \,Lou dar'st. Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle ; And spur thee on with full as many lies SCENE I. KING RICHARD II. 371 \s may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. Aum. Who sets me else ? by heaven, I'll throw I have a thousand spirits in one breast, [at all : To answer twenty thousand such as you. Surrey. My lord Fitz water, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then ; And you can witness with me, this is true. Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. [true. Surrey. Dishonourable boy ! That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge, Till 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 ; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I 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, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais. Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage, Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restor'd again To all his land and seignories ; when he's return'd Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. — 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 there, at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ? Car. As sure as I live, my lord. Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants, Your differences 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-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing soul Adopts thee 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 God's name, I'll ascend the regal Car. Marry, God forbid ! — [throne. Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would 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 king ? 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 prophecy, — 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 woefullest 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 your Of capital treason we arrest you here :■*- [pains, My lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. — May't please you, lords, to grant the common suit ? Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender ; so we shall proceed Without suspicion. York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer : — Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle. And little look'd for at your helping hands. Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers bearing the crown, SjC. K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd ? I hardly yet have leain'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee : — Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men : Were they not mine ? Did they not sometime cry, All hail ! to me? So 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 say, amen ? Am I both priest and clerk ? well then, amen. God save the king ! although I be not he ; And yet amen, if Heaven do think him me. — To do what service am I sent for hither ? York. To do that office, of thine own good will, Which tired majesty did make thee offer, The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. K. Rich. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin, seize the crown ; Here ; on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. Now is this golden crown like a deep well, 372 KING RICHARD II. That owes two buckets filling one another ; The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen, and full of water : That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. K. Rich. My crown, I am, but still my griefs are mine : You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs ; still am I king of those. Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares setup, do not pluck my cares down. My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; Your care is — gain of care, by new care won ; The cares I give, I have, though given away ; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown ? K. Rich. Ay, no ; — no, ay ; — for I must nothing Therefore no, no, for I resign to thee. [be ; Now mark me how I will undo myself: — I give this heavy weight from off my head, And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; With mine own tears I wash away my balm, With mine own hands I give 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, revenues, I forego ; My acts, decrees, and statutes, I 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 griev'd ; And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd ! Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine 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 worthily depos'd. K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out My weav'd-up follies ? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop, To read a lecture of them ? If thou would'st, There should'st thou find one heinous article, — Containing the deposing of a king, And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — Mark'dwith a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven : — Nay, all of yen, that stand and look upon me, Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, 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 ; reado'er these articles. K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannct see : 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 usurped : — 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 before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops ! — Goodking, — great king, — (andyetnotgreatly good, And if my word be sterling yet in England, Let it command a mirror hither straight ; That it may show me what a face I have, Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking- glass. [Exit an Attendant. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come. K. Rich. Fiend ! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northum- berland. j North. The commons will not then be satisfied. V* K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough. When I do see the 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, That 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 fae'd so many follies, And was at last out-fae'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. Boling. The shadowof your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. K. Rich. Say that again. Tbe 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 soul ; There lies the substance : and I 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 ? Boling. Name it, fair cousin. K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Why, I am greater thar. a king : For, when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. U cling. Yet ask. KING RICHARD II. 373 K. Rich. And shall I have ? Baling. You shall. K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. Baling. Whither ? K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. Baling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. K. Rich. O, good! Convey? — Conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimhly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt K. Richard, some Lords, and' a Guard. Doling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, and Aumbrle. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here be- held. 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 effect Whatever I shall happen to devise : — I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ; Come home with me to supper ; I will lay A plot, shall show us all a merry day. " [Exeunt ACT V. SCENE I. — London. A Street leading to the Tower. Enter Queen and Ladies. Queen. This way the king will come ; this is the way To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king's queen. Enter Kino 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 fresh 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 inn, Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest ? 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. What ! is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd, and weaken'd ? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, [heart ? And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly ? kiss the rod ; And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion, and a king of beasts ? K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught but I had been still a happy king of men. [beasts, Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France : Think, I am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st, As from my death-bed, my last living leave. In winter's tedious nights, 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 sympathise 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 is 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. o-h^k. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where- withal 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 Utile, helping him to all ; And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way . To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 'Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; That fear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both, To worthy danger, and deserved death. '"— North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. K. Rich. Doubly divore'd ? — Bad men, ye violate A twofold marriage ; 'twixt my crown and me ; And then, betwixt me and my married wife. — Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. — Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp, She came adorn' d hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. Queen. And must we be divided ? must w r e part? E. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my live, and heart from heart. 374 KING RICHARD II. a in* v. Queen, Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy. 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. K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, 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 in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part ; Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. {They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no good part, To take on me 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. K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. [delay : {Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. A Room in the Duke of York's Palace. BitUr York and hit Duchess. Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off Of our two cousins coming into London. York. Where did I leave ? Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops, Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling- Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, [broke, — Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cried — God save thee, Boling- broke I 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, With 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, — I 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, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are 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 welco ne home : But dust w?s thrown upon his sacred head ; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — " 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 : I 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, I know not, nor I greatly care God knows, 1 had as lief be none, as one. [not : 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 triumph ? 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 ? Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing. Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. York. No matter then who sees it. I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me ; It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, 1 mean to I fear, I fear, [see. 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 he with a bond That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. — Boy, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may not show it. York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. {Snatches it, and reads. Treason ! foul treason ! — villain ! traitor I slave ! Duch. What is the matter, my lord ? York. Ho ! who is within there ? {Enter a Ser- vant.] Saddle my horse. God for his mercy ! what treachery is here Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? York. Give me my boots, I say ; saddle my horse : — Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. {Exit Servant. Duch. What's the matter ? York. Peace, foolish woman. Duch. I will not peace :— What is the matter, son ? Aum. Good mother, be content ; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. Duch. Thy life answer ? Ite-entei Servant, tciih boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. scene nr. KING RICHARD II, 87* Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.— Poor boy, thou art amaz'd : Hence, villain : never more come in my sight.— [To the Servant. York. Give me my boots, I say. Ditch. 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 age, And rob me of a happy mother's name ? Is he not like thee ? is he not thine own? York. Thou fond mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands, To kill the king at Oxford. Ditch. 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 w r ould appeach him. Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. 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. [Exit. Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his 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 thee : Away ; Begone. [Exeunt, SCENE III.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Enter Bolingbroke, as King ,• Percy and other Lords. Baling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? 'Tis full three months, since I did see him last : — If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found : Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, With unrestrained loose companions ; Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute. a crew. rercy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince ; And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant ? Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the stews ; And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that, He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. Boling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet, through both, I see some sparkles of i better hope, Which elder days may happily bring forth. But who comes here? Enter Aumerle, hastily. Aum. Where is the king? Boling. What mean* 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 Lord«s. 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 mouth, Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault ? If but the first, how heinous ere it be, To win thy after-love, 1 pardon thee. Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the That no man enter till my tale be done. [key, Boling. Have thy desire. [AuMBRLK lochs the door. York. [Wifhin.~] My liege, beware; look to thyself; 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 fear. York. IWithin.] Open the door, secure, fool- hardy king : Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face ? Open the door, or I will break it open. [Bolingbroke opens lite 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. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know 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. — I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspi- O loyal father of a treacherous son ! [racy I Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy passages, Hath held his current and defil'd himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd ; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my sham'd life in his dishonoar lies : Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. Duch. [ Within.] What ho, my liege ! for God's sake let me in. Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry ? > t ,376 KING RICHARD IJ. Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ; Speak with me, pity me, open the door : ['tis I ; A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Boling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious thing, And now chang'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 thisfoigiveness, prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound ; This let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter Duchess. Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted Love, loving not itself, none other can. [man ; 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 happy 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 bended be, {Kneels. Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 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 but faintly, and would be denied ; We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 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 That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up ; 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. I never long'd to hear a word till now ; Say — pardon, king ; let pity teach thee how : The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; No word, like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. York. Speak it in French, king ; say, pardonnez- moi. Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy ? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That sett' st the word itself against the word ! — Speak, pardon, as 'tis current 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. 1 do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. Boling. With all my heart I pardon him. Duch. A god on earth thou art. Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, — and the abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew, — Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell, — and cousin too, adieu : Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. Duch. Come, my old son; — I pray God make thee new. {Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter Exton and a Servant. Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake ? Have I no friend will rid me oj this living fear ? Was it not so ? Serv. Those were his very words. Exton. Have I no friend ? quoth he : he spake it twice. And urg'd it twice together ; did he not ? Serv. He did. Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me ; As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart ; Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go ; I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. {Exeunt. SCENE V — Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. Enter Kino Richard. K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 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 of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world , In humours, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, — As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd With scruples, and do set the word itself Against the word : As thus, — Come, little ones ; and then again, — It is 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 tear a passage through the flinty nbs 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 not be the last ; like silly beggars, Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, — That many have, and others must sit there i SCENE VI. KING RICHARD II, 377 And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortune on the bacit Of such as have before endur'd the like. Thus play I, in one person, many people, And none contented : Sometimes am I king ; Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, And so I am : Then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king ; Then I am king'd again : and by-and-by, Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing : — But, whate'er I am, Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'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 music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear, To check time broke in a disorder'd 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 me. For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock : My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar Their watches on to mine ey^s, 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 heart, Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans, Show minutes, times, and hours : but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. 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 this all-hating world. Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, royal prince ! K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer ; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear, What art thou ? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes, but that sad dog That brings me food, to make misfortune live ? Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes master's face. O, how it yern'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 ! K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle How went he under him ? [friend, Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble ? W r ould 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 ! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, Was boi n to bear ? I was not made a horse : And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-gall'd, and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke. Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay. [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, wilt 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 Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee ! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help ! Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now ? what means death in this rude assault ? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, then Exto.v strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood : Both have I spilt ; O, would the deed were good ! For now the devil, that told me — I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear ; Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Ex unt. SCENE VI.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke and York, with Lords and Attendants. Boling. 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 ? North. First to thy sacred state wish I all hap- piness. The next news is, — I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent : The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. [Presenting a paper. Bolin. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains ; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter Fitzwater. Filz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas, and Sir Ber.net Seely : Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West minster. 378 KT.VG RICHARD II. ACT V. With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave ; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : — Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life ; So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter Extov, with Attendants bearing a coffin. Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear ; herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not ; for thou hast A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, [wrought Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poison need , Nor do I thee ; though 1 did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour : With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow ; Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black, incontinent ; I'll make a voyage to the Holy land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : — March sadly after ; grace my mournings here, In weeping after this untimely bier. [E 3TRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Kim Henry the Fourth. Henry, Prince of Wales, ) Prince John of Lancaster, j Sons to the King. Earl of "Westmoreland, ) Sir Walter Blunt, / Fr ^ n ^ to the King. Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his Son. Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. Scroop, Archbishop of York. Sir Michael, a Friend of the Archbishop. Archibald, Earl of Douglas. Owen Glsndowkr. Sir Richard Vep.non. Sir John Falstaff. Poins. Gadshill. Peto. Bardolph. Lady Percy, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Mortimer Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower, and Wife to Mortimer. Mrs. Quickly, Hostess of a Tavern in Easicheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers Two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE,— England. ACT I. SCENE I. — 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 commene'd in stronds afar remote. No more the thirsty Erinnys of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ; No more shall trenching war channel her fields, N'ir bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs Of 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' Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impressed and engag'd to fight,) Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; Whose 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 our advantage, on the bitter cross. But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, And bootless 'tis to tell you — we will go ; Therefore we meet not now : — Then let me hear 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 misuse, 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 Brake off our business for the Holy land. [broil West. This, match'd with other, did, my gra- cious lord : For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north, and thus it did import. On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour ; As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; 380 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news, The earl of Douglas is discomfited ; Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and -twenty knights, Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son To beaten Douglas ; and the earls of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spc ; l • A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not ? West. In faith, It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin In envy tbat my lord Northumberland Should be the father of so blest a son : A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue ; Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; Who is sweet Fortune's minion, and her pride: Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, See riot and dishonour stain the brow Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, And call'd mine — Percy, his — Plantagenet ! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts : — What think you, coz', Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd, To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor- Malevolent to you in all aspects ; [cester, Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity. K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect [this : Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords : But come yourself with speed to us again ; For more is to be said, and to be done, Than out of anger can be uttered. West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Another Room in the Palace. Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st 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, and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame colour'd taffata ; I see no reason, why thou should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal : for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus, — he, that wandering krtight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when 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 will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then ? come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou att king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty ; let us be — Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon : And let men say, we be men of gooa government ; being governed 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 of 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 is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance ? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ? what ! in thy quips, and thy quiddities ? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern ? Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, 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 a.? 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 apparent that thou art heir apparent, — But, I pr'y- thee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king ? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick the law ? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No ; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I ? O rare 1 By the Lord, I '11 be a brave judge. P. Hen. Thou judgest false already ; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. Fal. Well, Hall, well ; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I 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 as melancholy as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bag- pipe. P. Tien. What say'st thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch ? Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similies ; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — sweet young prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity I would to God, thou SC£NE n. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV, 381 and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought : 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 regarded him not : and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. P. Hen. Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration : and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, — God forgive thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing ; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one 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 ? Fal. "Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one ; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee ; from praying, to purse-taking. Enter Poins, at a distance. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis 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 man. P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal, — What says monsieur Remorse ? What 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. lien. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain ; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the devil. P. Hen. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil. Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- ing, by four o'clook, early at Gadshill : There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses : I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves ; Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester. ; T have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap ; we may do it 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, chops ? Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ? P. Hen. Who, I rob ? I a thief? not I, by my faith. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, norgood fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. P. Hen. Well, then, once in my d y?, I'll be a mad-cap. Fed Why, that's well said. P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. P. Hen. I care not. Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of per- suasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false thief ; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell : You shall find me in Eastcheap. P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring ! Farewell, All-hallown summer ! {.Exit Falstaff. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow ; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already way-laid ; yourself, and I, will not be there : and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth ? Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail : and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves : which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood ; our visors we will change, after we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, toinmask our noted outward garments. P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees rea- son, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the 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 awhile uphold The 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 please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 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. 382 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT I. 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. lExit. SCENE III. — The same. Another Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hot- spur, Sir Walter Bi.unt, and ethers. K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem- Unapt to stir at these indignities, [perate, 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; Which hatb 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. Wo*. 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 hands Have holp to make so portly. North. My lord, — K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger And disobedience in thine eye : O, sir, Your presence is too bold and peremptory, And majesty might never yet endure The moody frontier of a servant brow. You have good leave to leave us ; when we need Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — [Exit Worcester. You were about to speak. [To North. North. Yea, my good lord. Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied, As is delivered to your majesty : Either envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But, 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, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; He was perfumed like a milliner ; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose, and tock't away again ; Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff : — and still he smil'd and talk'd ; And. as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He question'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 neglectingly, I know not what ; He should, or he should not; — for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and 6mell 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 Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; And that it was great pity, so it was, That villanous salt-petre 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 unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; And, I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation, Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my Whatever Harry Percy then had said, [lord, 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 ransome straight His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd The lives 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 they have lost and forfeited themselves ? No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; For I shall never hold that man my friend, Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost To ransome home revolted Mortimer. Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war ; — To prove that true, Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, Those mouthed wounds, 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 policy 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 him, 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 ashamed ? 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 riRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 383 As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland, We license vour departure with your son : — Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. Hot, And if the devil come and roar for them, I wili not send them : ] will after straight, And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. North. What, drank with choler? stay, and pause awhile ; Here comes jour uncle. Re-enter Worcester. Hot. Speak of Mortimer ? 'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul Want mercy, if I 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 du&t, 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 nephew mad. [To Worcester. Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone ? 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 of Mortimer. Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not pro- claim' d, By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ? North. He was ; I 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, murdered. Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard, Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer [then, 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'd. But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown Upon the head of this forgetful man ; And, for his sake, wear the detested blot Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be, That you a world of curses undergo ; Being the agents, or base second means, The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ? — O, pardon me, that I descend so low, To show the line, and the predicament, Wherein you range under this subtle king Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, Or fill up chronicles in time to come, That men of your nobility and power, Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf, — As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — To 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 ? No ; 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 nig;ht, To answer all the debt he owes to you, Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. Therefore, I say, . ■ Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more ; And now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick-conceiving discontents I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; As full of peril, and advent' rous spirit, As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. Hot. If he fall in, good night : — or sink o 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 start a hare. North. 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 ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, Without corrival, all her dignities : But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! Wor. 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. Wor. Those 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 would save his soul, he shall not : I'll keep them, by this hand. Wor. 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 not 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. Wor. Hear you, Cousin ; a word. Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : _ 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 fool Art thou, to break into this woman's mood 1 Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ? Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg d with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time, — What do you call the place ?— A plague upon't! — it is in Gloucestershire * — 184 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. act it "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 Ravenspurg. North. At Berkley castle. Hot. You say true : Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! Look, — when his infant fortune came to age, And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and, hind cousin, — O, the devil take such cozeners: God forgive me! Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again ; We'll stay your leisure. Hot. I have done, i'faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. Deliver them up without their ransom 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'tnot? Wor. True ; who bears hard His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. I speak not this in estimation, As what I think might be, but what I know 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 kt'st slip. Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot : — And then the power of Scotland, and of York, — To join with Mortimer, ha ? Wor. 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, The 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 on 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 Glendower, and lord Mortimer ; Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, (As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Which now we hold 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 \ [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. — Rochester. An Inn Yard. Enter a Carrier, icith a lantern in his ha7id. 1 Car. Heigh ho I An't be not four by the day, I'll be hanged : Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler ! Ost. [ Within."] Anon, anon. 1 Car. 1 pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point ; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess. Enter another Carrier. 2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the hots : this house is turned upside down, since Robin ostler died. 1 Car. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the price of oats rose ; it was the death of him. 2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house in all London 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 I have been 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- ber-lie breeds fleas like a loach. 1 Car. What, ostler ! come away, and be hanged, come away. 2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginerer, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. 1 Car. 'Odsbody ! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved. — What, ostler ! — A plague on thee ! hast thou never an eye in thy head ? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break I the pate of thee, 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 pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable. 1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a t:ick worth two of that, i'faith* Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine. 2 Car. Ay, when ? canst tell ? — Lend me thy lantern, quoth a? — marry, I'll see thee hanged first. Gads. Sirrah carrier, what 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 ! chamberlain ! Cham. [ Within.'] At hand, quoth pick-purse. Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth the chamberlain ; for thou variest no more from pick- ing of purses, than giving direction doth from la- bouring ; thou lay'st the plot how. StfBNE II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV, a«5 Enter Chamberlain. Chain. 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. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicho- las' clerks, I'll give thee this neck. Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for the hangman ; for, I know, thou worship'st saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman ? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows : for, if 1 hang, old sir John hangs with me ; and, thou knowest, he's no starveling. Tut ! there are other Trojans that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, are content to do the profession some grace ; that would, if matters should be looked into, for their own credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, six- penny strikers ; none of these mad, mustachio pur- ple-hued malt-worms : but with nobility, and tran- quillity ; burgomasters, and great oneyers ; such as can hold in ; such as will strike, sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray : And yet I lie ; for they pray continually to their saint, the commonwealth ; or, rather, not pray to her, but pray on her ; for they ride up and down 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 iu 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, for 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 you 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. [Extunt. SCENE U.—The Road by Gadshill. Enter Prince Henry and Poins ; Bardolph and Peto, at some distance. Poins. Come, shelter, shelter ; I have removed FalstafF 's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. P. Hen. Stand close. Enter Falstaef. 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 ot the hill ; I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poms. Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thiefs com- pany : the rascal huth removed my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but 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. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two- ind-tweuty yeprs ; and yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged ; it could not be else; I have drunk medicines. — Poins ! — Hal ! — a plague upon you both ! — Bar- dolph ! — Peto ! — I'll starve, ere I'll rob a foot fur- ther. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am the veriestevarlet that ever chewed with a tooth. 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.] Whew ! — A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues ; give me my horse, and be hanged. P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down ; lay thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers. Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again be- ing down ? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's ex- chequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus ? P. Hen. 'Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted. Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king's son. P. lien. Out, you rogue ! shall I be your ostler? Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison : When a jest is so forward, and afoot too, — I hate it. Enter Gadshill. G ids. Stand. Fal. So I do, against my will. Poins. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voice. Enter Bardolph. Bard. What news ? Gads. Case ye, case ye ; on with your visors ; there's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 'tis going to the king's exchequer. Fal. You lie, you rogue ; 'tis going to the king's tavern. 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. Pelo. How many be there of them ? Gads. Some eight, or ten. Fal. Zounds ! will they not rob us ? P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch ? Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather : but yet no coward, Hal. P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge ; when thou need'st him, there thou shall find him. Farewell, and stand fast. Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises ? Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close. [Exeunt P. Henry and Poins Fal. Now, my masters, happy 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 hill ; we'll walk afoot awhile. and ease our legs. cc 386 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. act n. Thieves. Stand. Trav. Jesu bless us ! Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' throats : Ah 1 whoreson caterpillars ! bacon-fed knaves ! they hate us, youth : down with them ; fleece them. 1 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, for ever. Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves ! Are ye un- done ? No. ye fat chuffs ; I would, your store were here ! On, bacons, on ! What, ye knaves ? young men must live : You are grand-jurors, are ye ? We'll jure ye, i'faith. [Exeunt Fais. $c. driving the Travellers out. Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men : Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go mer- rily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter 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 tico, and the rest, run aicay, 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 eacn other ; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along : Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him. Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. SCENE III. -Warkworth. Castle. A Room in the Enter Hotspur, reading a letter. But. for mine own part, my lord, J could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house. — He could be contented, — Why is he not, then ? In respect of the love he bears our house : — he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some 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 friends you have named, un- certain ; the time itself, unsorted; and your whole ■plot too light, for the counterpoise of so great an opposition. — Say you so, say you so ? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What 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, ray uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is there not, besides, 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 sin- cerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. O, 1 could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an action ! Hang him ! 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 two 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 sitt'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, frontiers, 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 bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream : And in thy face strange motions hnve appear'd, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these ? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. Hot. What, ho ! is Gilliams with the packet gone ? Enter Servant. Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff ? Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. Hot. What horss? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? Serv. It is, my lord. Hot. That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight : O esperance ! , Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant Lady. But hear you, my lord. Hot. What say'st, my lady . Lady. What is it carries you away ? Hot. My horse, My love, my horse. Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape I A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, As you are toss'd with. In sooth, I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir SCENE IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 387 About his title ; and hath sent for you, To line his enterprise : But if you go Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me Directly to this question that I ask. In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. Hot. Away, Away, you trifler !— Love ? — I love thee not, I care not for thee, Kate : this is no world, To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips : We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns, And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse ! — What say'st thou, Kate ! what wouldst thou have with me ? Lady. Do you not love me ? do you 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 o'horse-back, I will swear I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ; I must not have you henceforth question me Whither I go, nor reason whereabout : Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude, This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. I know you wise ; but yet no further wise, Than 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 ! Lady. How! so far? Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate ? Whither I go, thither shall you go too ; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. — Will this content you, Kate ? Lady. 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 all by their christian names, as — Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that, though I be but prince jf Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy ; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff ; 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- ing deep, dyeing scarlet : and when you breathe in your watering, they cry — hem ! and bid you play it off.— To conclude, I 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 action. But, sweet Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under-skinker ; one that never spake other English in his life, than — Eight shillings and sixpence, and You are welcome ; with this shrill addition, — Anon, anon, sir I Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar ; and do thou never leave calling — Francic, that his tale to me may be nothing but — anon. Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. Poins. Francis ! P. Hen. Thou art perfect. Poins. Francis ! [Exit Poins. Enter Francis. Fran. Anon, anon, sir, — Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph. 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. [ Within.] Francis ! Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Five years ! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy in- denture, and to shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it ? Fran. O lord, sir ! I'll be sworn upon all thd 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 Michaelmas 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. I 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, Francis ? No 1 , 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. Fran. What, sir? Poins. [Within.] Francis! P. Hen. Away, you rogue ; Dost thou not hear 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 oper the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! C C 2 388 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT II. lie-enter. Poins. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff, and the rest of the thieves are at the door ; Shall we be merry ? Poins. As merry as crickets, my 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 goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter Francis, with wine.'] What's o'clock, Francis ? Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, 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 me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, — Fye upon this quiet life ! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou killed to-day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he ; and answers, some fourteen, an hour after ; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff: 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 Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Pkto. Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou 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, I'll sew nether-stocks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is there no virtue extant ? [He drinks. P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter ? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at th» sweet tale of the son ! if thou didst, then behold that compound. Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too : There is nothing but roguery to be found in vil- lanous man : Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it : a villanous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jack ; die when thou wilt, if manhood, ijood manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grows old : God help the while ! a bad world, I say ! I would I were a weaver! I could sing psalms or any thing : A plague of all cowards, i say still. P. Hen. How now., woolsack ? what mutter you ? Fal. A king's son ! 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 ! P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man ! what's the matter? 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. t F u'J Cal1 thee coward ! F11 see the e damned ere I call thee coward : but I would give a thousand pound, I could ran as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who eees your back : Call you that, backing of your friends ? A plague upon such backing ! give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack : — I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. P. Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk'st last. Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I. {lie drinks. P. Hen. Wliat's the 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, Jack ? where is it ? Fal. Where is it ? taken from us it is : a hundred upon poor four of us. P. Hen. What, a hundred, man ? Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. T am eight times thrust through the doublet ; four, through the hose ; my buckler cut through and through ; my sword hacked like a hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since 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 of darkness. P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it? Gads. We four set upon some dozen, Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. Gads. And bound them. Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us, Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all ? Fal. All ? 1 know not what ye call, all ; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish : if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some of them. Fal. Nay, that's past praying for : I have pep- pered two of them : two, I am sure, I have paid ; two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, — if 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, P. Hen. What, four ? thou said'st but two, even now. Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. Poms. Ay, ay, he said four. Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus. P. Hen. Seven ? why, there were but four, even now. Fal. In buckram. Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain 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, Jack. Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. 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. SCEXK IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV 389 Fal. Began to give me ground : But I followed me close, came in foot and hand ; and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid. P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown out of two 1 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 could'st not see thy 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 could'st thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou could'st not see thy hand ? come tell us your reason ; What sayest thou to this ? Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. Fal. What, upon compulsion ? No ; were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as black- berries, I would give no man a reason upon com- pulsion, I. P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin ; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse back- breaker, this huge hill of flesh ; Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, — O, for breath to utter what is like thee ! — you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing 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 ; you bound them, and were masters of their wealth. Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down. — Then did we two set on you four : and, with a word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it ; yea, and can show it you here in the house : — and, Falstaff, 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 device, what starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame ? Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack ; What trick hast thou now ? Fal. 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 ? Why, 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 gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you ! What, shall we be merry ? shall we have a play extempore ? P. Hen. Content ; — and the argument shall be, thy running away. FaL Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 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 from your father. P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him royal man, and send him back again to my mother. Fal. What manner of man is he ? Host. An old man. Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at mid- night ? — Shall 1 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 are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true prince ; no, — fye ! Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, How came Fal- staff's sword so hacked ? 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 of true men. I did that I did not this seven year before, 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 blush'd extempore:" Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st away ; What instinct hadst thou for it ? Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? do you behold these exhalations ? P. Hen. I 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 Falstaff. Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. 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 crept into any alderman's thumb-ring : A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villanous 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 his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook, — What, a plague, call you him ? ■ 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 the sparrow. Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him S he will not run. 390 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT II. P. lien. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running. Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo ! but, afoot, he will not budge a foot. P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is 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 mackerel. 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 ? P. Hen. Not a whit, i'faith ; I lack some of thy instinct. Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou comest to thy father : if thou love me, practise an answer. P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine 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 thy precious rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown ! Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept ; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in king Carabyses' vein. P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, no- bility. Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith. Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain. Host. O the father, how he holds his counte- nance ! Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen, For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Host. O rare ! he doth it as like one of these narlotry p la vers, as I ever see. Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ; peace, good tickle- brain. — Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accom- panied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion ; but chiefly, a villanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging 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 question not to be asked. Shall the son of Eng- land 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 pitch : 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. P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty ? Fal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpu- lent ; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage ; and, as I think, his age some 'fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore ; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff : if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there 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 month ? P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do thou stand 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 up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a pointer's hare. P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 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 grievous. Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : — nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith. P. Hen. Swearest 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 bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly., that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years ! Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it ? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it ? wherein cunning, but in craft ? wherein crafty, but in villany ? wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing ? Fal. I would your grace would take me with you ; Whom means your grace ? P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know. P. Hen. I know, thou dost. Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old, (the more the pity,) his white hairs do witness it : but that he is (saving your reverence,) a whoremaster, 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; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins : but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack SCENE IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 391 Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's com- pany, banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. Re-enter Bardolph, running. Bard. O, my lord, my lord; the sheriff, with a most monstrous watch, is at the door. Fal. Out, you rogue ! play out the play : I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff 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 sheriff 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, without seeming so. P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. Fal. I deny your major : if you will deny the sheriff, so ; if not, let him enter : if I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up ! I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a halter, as another. P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras ; — the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, and good conscience. Fal. Both which I have had : but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me. [Exeunt all but the Prince and Poins. P. Hen. Call in the sheriff. Enter Sheriff and Carrier. Now, master sheriff; what's your will with me ? Slier. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and Hath follow' d certain men unto this house, [cry P. Hen. What men ? Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious A gross fat man. [lord ; 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, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, Send 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. ZExcunt 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 found ? Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord. P. Hen. Let's see what they be : read them. Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. Item, Sauce, 4d. Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. -8d. Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. Gd. Item, Bread, a halfpenny. P. Hen. O monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! — What there is else, keep close ; we'll read it at more ad- vantage : there let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning : we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of 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. SCENE I. — Bangor. A Room in the Arch- deacon's House. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower. Mori. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope. Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Gl mdower, — Will you sit down ? And uncle Worcester: — A plague upon it ! I have forgot the map. Glend. 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 hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets ; and, at my birth, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward. Hot. Why, 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 fire, the earth did tremble. Hot. O then the earth shook to see the heavens And not in fear of your nativity. [on fire, Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth. #J2 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT III. Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, In passion shook. Glend. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings.— Give me my 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 strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; And all the courses of my life do show, I am not in the roll of common men. Where is he living,— clipp'd in with the sea That 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 I will to dinner. [Welsh : Mort. Peace, cousin Percy : You will make him mad. Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why so can 1 ; or so can any man : But will they come, when you do call for them ? Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to coin- The devil. [mand Hot. And, I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the devil.— If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. — Mort. Come, come, No more of this unprofitable 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. Hot. Home, without boots, and in foul weather too ! How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ? Glend. Come, here's the map ; Shall we divide our right, According to our 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 you, The remnant northward, lying off 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.] you may have drawn together Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. Glend. A shorter time shall send me to vou, 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 water shed, Upon the parting of your wives and you. Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton In quantity equals not one of yours : [here, See how this river comes me cranking in, And cuts me, from the best of all my 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 see, it Mort. 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. Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench hiro here, 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 ? Glrnd. No, nor you shall not. Hot. Who shall say me nay ? Glend. Why, that will I. Hot. Let me not understand you then : Speak it in Welsh. Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you : 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, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ; A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, and I'm glad oft with all my heart : I had rather be a kitten and cry — mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers : I had rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'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 forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. Hot. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much To any well-deserving friend : [land But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by I'll 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 doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit Mort. Fye, cousin Percy ! how you cross my father I Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies ; And of a dragon and a finless fish, A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, A couching lion, and a ramping cat, And 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 devil's names, That were his lackeys : I cried, humph,— and weh, — go to. — sckne ir. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 393 But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious As is a tired horse, a railing wife ; Worse than a smoky house : — I had rather live With cheese and garlic, in a windmill, far, Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, In any summer-house in Christendom. Mort. In faith , he is a worthy gentleman ; Exceedingly well read, and profited In strange concealments ; valiant as a lion, And wond'rous affable ; and as bountiful As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin ? He holds your temper in a high respect, \nd curbs himself even of his natural scope, When you do cross his humour ; 'faith, he does : I warrant you, that man is not alive, Might so have tempted him, as you have done, Without the taste of danger and reproof; But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. IVor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful- blame ; And since your coming hither, have done enough To put him 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 oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, Defect of manners, want of government, Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain : The least of which, haunting a nobleman, Loseth men's hearts ; and leaves behind a stain Upon the beauty of all parts besides, Beguiling them of commendation. Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be your speed ! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. Jlc-cnter Gr.ENDOWER, with the Ladies. Mort. 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 with you, She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. Mort. Good father, tell her, — that she and my aunt Percy, Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [Gr.ENDOWER speaks to his daughter in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Glend. She's desperate here ; a peevish self- will'd harlotry, One no persuasion can do good upon. [Lady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh. Mort. I understand thy looks : that pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from these swelliug heavens, I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley would I answer thee. [Lady M. speaks. 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 penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division to her lute. Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. [Lady M. speaks again. Mori. 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 that pleaseth you, And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; Making such difference 'twixt wake 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. Mort. Witli all my heart 111 sit, and hear hei sing: By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. Glend. Do so ; And those musicians that shall play to you, Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence ; Yet straight they shall be here : sit, and attend. Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down : Come, quick, quick ; that I may lay my head in thy lap. Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. Glendower speaks some Welsh icords, and then the Music plays. Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous. [Welsh ; By'r Lady, he's a good musician. Lady P. Then should you be nothing out mu- sical ; for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken ? 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 by Lady 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 mend 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 in sooth, And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, To 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 be drawn, I'll away within these two hours ; and so come in when ye will. [Exit. Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer ; you are as slow, As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. By this our book's drawn ; we'll but seal, and then To horse immediately. Mort. With all my heart. [Exeunt SCENE II.— London. A Room in the Palace, Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. K. Hen. Lords, give us leave ; the Prince of Wales and I Must have some conference : But be near at Inod 304 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. r 1 1 . For wc 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 He'll 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 vengeance and the rod of heaven, To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else, Could such inordinate, and low desires, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean at- tempts, Such 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, 1 Quit all offences with as clear excuse. [could 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 reproof of many tales devis'd, — Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, — By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. K. Hen. God pardon thee ; — yet let me wonder, At thy affections, which do hold a wing [Harry, Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, Which by thy younger brother is supplied ; And art almost an alien to the hearts Of all the court and princes of my blood : The hope and expectation of thy time Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man Prophetically does forethink thy fall. Had I so lavish of my presence been, So common-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, I was wonder'd at : That men would tell their children, This is he ; Others would say, — Where ? ivhich is Bolhu/broTce ? And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dress'd myself in such humility, That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, Even in the presence of the crowned king. Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ; My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state, Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast ; And won, by rareness, such solemnity. The skipping king, he ambled up and down With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits, Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : 'carded his state ; Mingled his royalty with capering fools ; Had 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 : Grew a companion to the common streets, Enfeoff'd himself to popularity : That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, Tney surfeited with honey ; and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes, 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 drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down, 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-gracious Be more myself. [lord, K. Hen. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg ; And even as I was then, is Percy now. Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, lie hath more worthy interest to the state, Than thou, the shadow of succession : For, of no right, nor colour like to right, Me doth fill fields with harness 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. What never-dying honour hath he got Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds, Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms, Holds from all soldiers chief majority, And military title capital, Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, 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 what say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland, The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimei, Capitulate against us, and are up. t But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear, Base inclination, and the start of spleen, — To fight against me under Percy's pay, To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, To show how much degenerate thou art. P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so ; And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd Your majesty's good thoughts away from me 1 I will redeem all this on Percy's head, And, in the closing of some glorious day, Be bold to tell you, that I am your son ; When I will wear a garment all 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, scenic in. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 3D5 That this same child of honour and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet : For every honour sitting on his helm, 'Would they were multitudes ; and on my head My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, That I shall make this northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities. Percy is but my factor, good my lord, To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf ; And I will call him to so strict account, That he shall render every glory up, Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. This, in the name of God, I promise here : 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 all bands ; And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this : — Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. Enter Blunt. How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. Blunt. So 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 month at Shrewsbury : A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer'd foul play in a state. K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day ; With him my son, lord John of Lancaster ; For this advertisement is five days old : — On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set Forward ; on Thursday, 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 Bridgnorth shall meet. Our hands are full of business : let's away ; Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [ Exeunt. SCENE III.— Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Fat. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this 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, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking ; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse : the inside of a church ! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it : — come, sing me a bawdy song; 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 well, and in good compass : and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. Bard. Why you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass ; out of all rea- sonable compass, sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life : Thou art our admiral, fhou bearest the lantern in the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee ; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn ; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori : I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple ; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face ; my oath should be, By this fire : but thou art altogether given over ; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter dark- ness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light ! 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 and thirty years ; Heaven reward me for it ! Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly ! Fal. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd. Enter Hostess. How now, dame Partlet the hen ? have you in- quired yet, who picked my pocket ? Host. Why, sir John ! what do you think, sir John ? do you think I keep thieves in my house ? I have searched, I have inquired, so has my hus- band, man by man, boy by boy, servant by ser- vant : the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. Fal. You lie, hostess ; Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair : and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked : Go to, you are a 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, sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it : I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound. Fair He had his part of it ; let him pay. Host. He ? alas, he is poor ; he hath nothing. Fal. 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 you make a younker of me ? shall I not take mine 390 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Acr in. ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked ? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. Host. O Jesu ! I have heard the prince tell him, I 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. Falstakk meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon, like a fife. Fal. How now, lad ? is the wind in that door, i'faith ? must we all march ? Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. Host. My lord, 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. What sayest thou, Jack ? Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked : this house is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack ? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal ? three or four 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 him, my lord ; and I said, I heard your grace say so : And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is ; and said he would cudgel you. P. Hen. What ! he did not? Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman- hood in me else. Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox ; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. Host. Say, what thing ? what thing ? Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou should'st know it ; I am an honest man's wife : and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so. 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. Hen. An otter, sir John ! why an otter ? Fal. Why ? she's neither fish nor flesh ; a man knows not where to have her. Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so ; thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou ! P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he slan- ders thee most grossly. Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound. P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound ? Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million ; thou owest me thy love. Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack, and said, he would cudgel you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. Fal. Yea ; if he said , my ring was copper. P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper : Darest thou be as good as thy word now ? Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art bnt man, I dare : but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear 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 thy knees ! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine ; it is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket ! W T hy, tbou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor pen- ny-worth of sugar-candy, to make thee long-winded; if thy pocket 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 villany ? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man ; and therefore more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my pocket ? /-*. 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 pacified. — Still ? — Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [.Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news at couit : For the robbery, lad, — How is that answered ? P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee : — The money is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour. P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. Fal. Rob me the exchequer, the first thing thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. Bard. Do, my lord. P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. Fal. I would, it had been of horse. W T here shall I find one that can steal well ? O for a fine thief, of the age of two-and-twenty, or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous ; I laud them, I praise them. P. Hen. Bardolph. Bard. My lord. P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster, My brother John ; this to my lord of Westmore- land. — Go, Poins, to horse, to horse ; for thou, 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 re • Money, and order for their furniture. [ceive The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ; And either they, or we, must lower lie. [Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolfh. Fal. Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, my breakfast ; come : — O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. {Exit FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. m ACT IV. SCENE I. — The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. Enter Hotspur, "Worcester, and Douglas. Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking 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 The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: Nay, task me to the word ; approve me, lord. Doug. Thou art the king of honour : No man so potent breathes upon the ground, But I will beard him. Hot. Do so, and 'tis well : — Enter a Messenger, with letters. What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thauk you. Mess. These letters come from your father, — . Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not him- self? Mess. He cannot come, my lord ; he's grievous 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. Wor. I 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 departure thence, He was much fear'd by his physicians. Wor. I would, the state of time had first been Ere he by sickness had been visited ; [whole, His health was never better worth than now. Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth The very life-blood of our enterprise : [infect 'Tis 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 removed, but on his own. Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, — That with our small conjunction, we should on, 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 us. 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 good, To set the exact wealth of all our states All at one cast ? to set so rich a main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour ? It were not good : for therein should we read The very bottom and the soul of hope ; The very list, the very utmost bound Of ail our fortunes. Doug. 'Faith, and so we should ; Where now remains a sweet reversion : We may boldly spend upon the hope of what Is to come in : A comfort of retirement lives in this. Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. Wor. But yet, I would your father had been The quality and hair of our attempt [hei e. Brooks no division : It will be thought By some, that know not why he is away, That wusdom, loyalty, and mere dislike Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence ; And think, how such an apprehension May turn the tide of fearful faction, And breed a kind of question in our cause : For, well you know, we of the offering side Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement ; And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence The eye of reason may pry in upon us : This absence of your father'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 great enterprise, Than if the earl were here : for men must think, If we, without his help, can make a head To push against the kingdom ; with his help, We shall o'er turn it topsy-turvy down.: — Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. Doug. As heart can think : there is not such a word Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my sou). Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. Hot. No harm : What more ? Ver. And further, I have learn'd, — The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed 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 plum'd like estridges, that wing the wind ; Bated like eagles having lately bath'd ; Glittering in golden coats, like images ; As full of spirit as the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, — Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus. And witch the world with noble horsemanship. Hot. No more, no more ; worse than the sun in March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come They come like sacrifices in their trim. And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war, All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them : The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit. 398 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT IV. Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my horse, 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 corse. — O, that Glendower were come ! Ver. There is more news : I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound, Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach Ver. To thirty thousand. [unto ? 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 II. — A public Road near Coventry. Enter Falstaff 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. This bottle makes an angel. Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. Bard. I will, captain : farewell. [Exit Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons : inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice at the bans ; such a com- modity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum ; such as fear the report of a caliver, worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out their services ; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Laza- rus in the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores : and such as, indeed, were never soldiers ; but discarded unjust serving-men, young- er sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen ; the cankers of a calm world, and a long peace ; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old faced ancient : and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their services, that you would think, that I had a hundred and -fifty tattered prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat ; — Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on ; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all 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 the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose inn-keeper of Dain- try : But that's all one ; they'll find linen enough on every hedge. Enter Princk Henry and Westmoreland. P. Hen. How now, blown Jack ? how now, quilt? Fal. What, Hal ? How now, mad wag ? what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire? — My good lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy ; I thought, your honour had already been at Shrewsbury. West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you too ; but my powers are there already : The king, I can tell you, looks for us all ; we must away all night. Fal. Tut, never fear me ; I am as vigilant, as a cat to steal eream. 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. Tut, 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, for their poverty, — I know not where they had that : and for their bareness, — I am sure, they never 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 the field. Fal. What, is the king encamped ? West. He is, sir John ; I fear, we shall stay too long. Fal. Well, To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. {Exeunt. SCENE 111.— The Rebel Camp near Shrews- bury. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon. Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. Wor. It may not be. Dong. You give him then advantage. Ft r. Not a whit. Hot. Why say you so ? looks 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. Ver. Do not, my lord. Doug. You do not counsel well ; You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life, (And I dare well maintain it with my life,) If well-respected honour bid me on, I hold as little counsel with weak fear, As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives : — Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, Which of us fears. Dong. Y'ea, or to-night. Ver. Content. Hot. To-night, say I. Ver. Come, c>me, it may not be. FIRST FART OF KING HENRY IV. 309 I wonder much, being men of such great leading, That you foresee not what inipediruents Drag back our expedition : Certain horse Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up : Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; And now their pride and mettle is asleep, Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, That not a horse is half the half himself*. Hot. So are the horses of the enemy In general, journey-bated, and brought low ; The better part of ours is full of rest. Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours : For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. [The trumpet sounds a parley. Enter Sir "Waltkr Bu-nt. Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt ; And 'would to God, You were of our determination! Some of us love you well : and even those some Envy your great deserving, and good name ; Because you are not of our cjuality, But stand against us like an enemy. Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand So long as, out of limit, and true rule, [so, 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 God, He came but to be duke of Lancaster, To sue his livery, and beg his peace ; With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal, — My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd, Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too. Now, when the lords, and barons of the realm Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, The more and less came in with cap and knee ; Met him in boroughs, cities, villages ; Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, Laid gifts before him, proffer'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 commonwealth : Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep Over His country's wrongs ; »nd, by this face, This seeming brow of justice, did he win The hearts of all that he did angle for. Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads Of all the favourites, that the absent king In deputation left behind him here, When he was personal in the Irish war. Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. Hot. Then, to the point. 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 make th; worse, suffer'd his kinsman March (Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales, There without ransome 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 wrong : And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out This head of safety ; and, withal, to pry Into his title, the which we find Too indirect for long continuance. Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king ? Hot. Not so, sir Walter ; we'll withdraw awhile. 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 farewell. Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and love. Hot. And, may be, so we shall. Blunt. 'Pray heaven, you do ! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— York. A Room in the Arch- bishop's House. Enter the Archbishop o/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 they 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 men Must 'bide the touch : For, sir, at Shrewsbury, As I 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 Northumberland, (Whose power was in the first proportion,) And what with Owen Glendower'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 wage an instant trial with the king. Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear ; And Mortimer. [there's Douglas, Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. Gent. But there is Mordake, 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 drawn 400 FIRST PARI' OF KING HENRY IV. The special head of all the land together ;— The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt ; And many more corrivals, and dear men Of estimation and command in arms. Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd. Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear ; And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed : For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king Dismiss 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 Shrews- bury. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Prince John of Lan- caster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Falstaff. K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer Above yon busky hill ! the day looks pale At his distemperature. P. Hen. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day. K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize ; For nothing can seem foul to those that win. — Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon. How 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 ; And 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 say you to't? will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war ? And move in that obedient orb again, 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 broached mischief to the unborn times ? Wor. Hear me, my liege : For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag- end of my life With quiet hours ; for, I do protest, I have not sought the day of this dislike. K. Hen. You have not sought it ! how comes 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 your looks 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 staff of office did I break In Richard's time ; and posted day and night To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, When 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 fell on you, — What with our help ; what with the absent king ; What with the injuries of a wanton tin.c ,* 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 repute 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 gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow : did oppress our nest ; 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 wing We were enfore'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 f'org'd against yourself; By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworn 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, starving for a time Of pellmell havoc and confusion. P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soid 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 world 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 deeds. For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 1 have a truant been to chivalry ; And so, I hear, he doth account me too : Yet this before my father's majesty, I am content, that he shall take the odds Of his great name and estimation ; And will, to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight. K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we ven- Albeit, considerations infinite [ture 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 : SCENE II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 401 And, will they take the offer 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 yielu, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, 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 : The 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 us, 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. I 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 him before his day. What 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 ? how then ? Can honour set-to a leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? 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 my catechism. [Exit. SCENE II.— The Rebel Camp. Enter Worcester and Vernon. Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir The liberal kind offer of the king. [Richard, Ver. Twere best, he did. Wor. Then are we all undone. It is not possible, it cannot be, The king should keep his word in loving us ; He will suspect us still, and find a time lo punish this offence in other faults : Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes : For treason is but trusted like the fox ; Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish 'd, and lock'd up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.. Look how we can, or sad, or merrily, Interpretation will mis-quote 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 hath 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 offences live upon my head, And on his father'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 you will, I'll say, 'tis so. Here comes your cousin. Enter Hotspur and Douglas; and Officers and Soldiers behind. Hot. My uncle is returu'd : — Deliver up My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, what news ? Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit. Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! Wor. 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 1 have A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, [thrown, 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 quarrel 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 1 Ver. No, by my soul: I never in my 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 deservings 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 r*" 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, Better consider what you have to do, [friends, Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, Can lift your blood 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 very short ; To spend that shortness basely, were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour. An if we live, we live to tread on kings ; If die, brave death* when princes die with m ! Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair. When the intent of bearing them is fast. P n 402 FIRST PART OF KING HENItk IV. ACT Enter another Messenger. Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. Hot. I thank hi in, that he cuts me from my For I profess not talking ; only this— [tale, 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 In the adventure of this perilous day. Now, — Esperance ! — Percy ! — and set on. — Sound all the lofty instruments of war, And by that musick let us all embrace : For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall A second time do such a courtesy. [Tfic trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt. SCENE III. — Plain near Shrewsbury. Excursions, and parties fujhting. Alarum to the battle. Then enter Doulgas and Blunt, meeting. Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus Thou crossest me ? What honour dost thou seek Upon my head ? Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ; And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, Because some tell me that thou 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, The 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 shalt find a king that will revenge Lord Stafford's death. [Theyfipht, and Blunt is slain. Enter IIoTsrrR. Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon I never had triumphed upon a Scot. [thus, Doug. All's done, all's won ; here breathless lies the king. Hot. Where? Doug. Here. Hot. This, Douglas ? no, I know this face full well: A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt ; Sembiably 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 piece, Until I meet the king. Hot. Up, and away ; Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt. Other alarums. Enter Falstaff. 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 Walter 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 my own bowels — I have led my raggamuffins 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 Pmnce IIenr*. P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me thy sword : Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose 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 arms, 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 be alive, thou get'st not my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. 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 out a bottle of 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. If he do come in my way, — so : if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like not such grinning honour as sir Walter hath : Give me life : which if I can save, — so ; if not, ho- nour comes uidooked for, and there's an end. [Exit. SCENE IV.— Another part of the Field. Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince IIe.vhy, PniNCE John, and Westmoreland. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much : — Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up, Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. K. Hen. I will do so : — My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your help : 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 Prlnce John and Westmoreland. P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, 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 I am the Douglas, fatal to all those [heads : That wear those colours on them. — What art thou. That counterfeit' st the person of a king? scEWt; iv. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV, 403 K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart, So many of his shadows thou hast met, And not the very king. I have two hoys, Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field : But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, I will assay thee ; so defend thyself S 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 I win thee ! {They fight ; the King being in danger, enter 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 ; Douglas flies. Cheerly, my lord ; How fares your grace ? — Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, And so hath Clifton ; I'll to Clifton straight. K. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile ; Thou hast redeem 'd thy lost opinion ; And show'd, thou mak'st some tender of my life, In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 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, A.s all the poisonous potions in the world, And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. R. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas Gawsey. [Exit King Hanky. Enter Hotspur. Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Mon- mouth. P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my Hot. My name is Harry Percy. [name. 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 glory 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 And all the budding honours on thy crest, [thee ; I'll crop, to make a garland for my head ! Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities ! [Theyfight. Enter Falstaff. Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal !— Nay, you shall find no boy's play here. I can tell you. Enter Douglas ; he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he weredead, andexitDovGU.s. Hotspur iswounded, and falls. Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my I better brook the loss of brittle life, [youth ; Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my flesh : But thought's 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 for [Dies. P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy : Fare thee well, great heart ! — Ill-wcav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! When that this 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 heayea J Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, But not remember'd in thy epitaph ;— - {He sees Falstaff on the ground- What ! old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! I could have better spar'd a better man. O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, If I were much in love with vanity. Death had not struck so fat a deer to-day, Though many dearer in this bloody fray ; — Embowell'd will I see thee by and by : Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. Fal. [Rising slowly.} E mbo welled ! — if thou em- bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot-and-lot too. Counterfeit ? I lie, I am no counterfeit : To die is to be a counterfeit ; for he i# 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 of valour is — discretion ; in the which better part, I have saved my life. 'Zounds; I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead : How, if he should counterfeit too, and rise ? 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." Therefore, 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 bsst Thy maiden sword. [thou flesh' d P. John. But, soft ! whom have we here ? Did you not tell me this fat man was dead ? 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 yout father will do me any honour, — so ; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you. P. Hen. "Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead. Fal. Didst thou ? — Lord, lord, how this world is given to lying ! — I grant you I was down, and 404 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. out of breath ; and so was he : but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury- clock. If I maybe believed, — so ; if not, let them, that should reward valour, bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh r if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my sword. P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. [A retreat is sounded. The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field, To see what friends are living, who are dead. [Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John. Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God reward him I If I do grow great I'll grow less ; for I'll purge, and leave sack, am. live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. [Exit, bearing off the boiy. SCENE II.— Another part of the Field. The trumpets sound. Enter Kino Henry, Prince Henry, Prince John, "Westmoreland, and others, with Wor- cester and Vernon, prisoners. K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. — Ill-spirited Worcester ! did we not send grace, Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? And would'st thou turn our offers contrary ? 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 christian, thou hadst truly borne Betwixt our armies true intelligence. Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to ; And I embrace this fortune patiently, Since not to be avoided it falls on me. K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too t Other offenders we will pause upon. — [Exeunt Worcester ami Vernon, guarded. How goes the field? P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, The noble Percy slain, and all his men Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest ; And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, That the pursuers took him. At my tent The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace, I may dispose of him. K. Hen. With all my heart. P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lanoaster, to you This honourable bounty shall belong: Go to the Douglas, and deliver him Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free : His valour, shown upon our crests to-day, Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, Even in the bosom of our adversaries. K. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our power. — You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed, To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : Myself,— and you, son Harry, — will towards Wales, To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March. Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway. Meeting the check of such another day : And since this business so fair is done, Let us not leave till all our own be won. t Rxnnt SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV, PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry thb Fourth. IIknry, Prince of Wales, afterwardsKim Henry V. Thomas, Duke of Clarence, Princk John of Lancaster, afterwards (2 Henry V.) Duke of Bedford, Prince Humphrey ofGloster, afterwards (2 Henry V.) Duke ofGloster Earl ok Warwick, Earl of Westmoreland Gower, Harcourt, Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice. Earl of Northumberland, Scroop, Archbishop of York Lord Mowbray, Lord Hastings, Lord Bardoi.ph, S'R John Coleville, his Sons. "} of the King's party. X Enemies to the Kino. Tkavers and Morton, Domestics of Northumberland. Falstakf, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page. Poins and Peto, Attendants on Prince Henry. Shallow and Silknce, Country Justices. Davy, Servant to Shallow. Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, Recruits. Fang and Snare, Sheriff's Officers. Rumour. A Porter. A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue. Lady Northumberland. Lady Percy. Hostess Quickly. Doll Tear-sheet. Lords and other Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, Mes- senger, Drawers, Readies, Grooms, &c. SCENE,— England. INDUCTION. Wakkworth. Before Northumberland's J Castle. Enter Kumour, painted full of tongues. Hum. Open your ears; — for which of you will stop I The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks ? i 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 my tongues continual slanders ride The which in every language I pronounce Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. I speak of peace, while covert enmity, Under the smile of safety, wounds the world : And who but Rumour, who but only I, Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ; Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief, Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, — And no such matter ! Rumour is a pipe Blown 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 flame of bold rebellion Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean J To speak so true at first ? my office is To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's 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 Than they have learn'd of me ; From Rumour's tongues They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. [Exit. ACT I. SCENE I.— The same. Tht Porter before the Gate ; Enter Lord Bardolph. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho ? — Where is Port. What shall Bard. say you are [the earl ? Tell thou the earl, That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. Fori. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard ; Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer. 4.0C SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. AOT I. Enter Northumberland. Bard. Here comes the earl. North. What news, lord Bardolph ? every minute Should be the father of some stratagem : [now The times are wild; contention, like a horse Full of high feeding, madly hath broke 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 Shrewsbury ? Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence ; A gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true. North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent On Tuesday last to listen after news. 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 come with you ? Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings ; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, A gentleman almost forspent with speed, That stopp'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, And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold : With that, he gave his able horse the head, And, bending forward, struck his armed heels Against the panting sides of his poor jade Up to the rowel-head ; and starting so, He seem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question. North. Ha! Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ? Of Hotspur, 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. North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Give then such instances of loss ? [Travers, B*r& Who, he ? He was some hilding fellow, that had stol'n The horse he rode on ; and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. — Look ! here.comes more news. Eider Mortow. North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretells the nature of a tragick volume : So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood Hath left a witness'd usurpation, Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury ? Mor. 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 Li apter than, thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: But 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 sigh to blow away this praise, Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead. Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet : But, for 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, Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies ; [Morton, And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. Mor. You are too great to be my me gainsaid : Your 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. Thou shak'st thy head ; and hold'st it fear or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so : The tongue offends not, that reports his death : And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead ; Not he, which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remember'd knolling a departing friend. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That, which I would to heaven I had not seen : But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd, To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down The never-daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire Even to the dullest peasant in the 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 : W T hich once in him abated, all the rest Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. 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 weight such lightness with their fear, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Than did our soldiers aiming, at their safety, Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester 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 SCENE II. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 4V Of those that turn'd their backs ; and, in his flight, Stumbling in fear, was took. The sura of all Is, — that the king hath won ; and hath seat 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 uuder life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keeper's arms : even so my limbs, Weaken'dwith grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves : hence, therefore, thou nice crutch ; A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, Must glove this hand : and hence, 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 approach The rugged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, To frown upon the enraged Northumberland : 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, my lord. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. Mor. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health ; the which, if you give o'er To stormy passion, must perforce decay. You cast the event of war, my noble lord, And summ'd the account of chance, before you said, — Let us make head. It was your presurmise, That, in the dole o' blows your son might drop: You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, More 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 lift him where most trade of danger rang'd ; Yet did you say, — Go forth ; and none of this. Though strongly apprehended, could restrain The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen, Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, More than that being which was like to be ? Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss, Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, That, if we wrought our life, 'twas ten to one : And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear d ; And, since we are o'erset, venture again. Come, we will all put forth ; body and goods. Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do speak the truth, The gentle archbishop of York is up, With well-appointed powers : he is e man, Who with a double surety binds his followers, My lord your son had only but the corps, But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight : For that same word, rebellion, did divide The action of their bodies from their 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 follow'd both with body and with mind ; And doth enlarge his rising with the blood Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones ; Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause : Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land, Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; And more, and less, do flock to follow him. North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak truth, This present grief hath wip'd it from my mind. Go in with me : and counsel every man The aptest way for safety, and revenge : Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed ; Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— London. A Street. Enter Sir John Falstaff, toilh his Page bearing his sword and buckler. Fal. Sirrah, you giant, wliat 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 of. Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to vent anthying that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me s I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath 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 judg- ment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than 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 never earn sixpence out of it ; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said master Dumbleton 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 1 may his tongue be hotter ! — A whoreson Achitophel ! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! — The whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles * ioa SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. and if a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon — security. I had as lief they would put ratshaue in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. 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 may sleep in security ; for he hath the horn of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it : and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to light him. Where's Bar- dolph ? Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse. Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield : an I could get me but a wife, in 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 ? Atlen. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. Ch. Just. He that was in question for the 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 Lan- caster. Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again. Atten. Sir John Falstaff ! Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. Page. You must speak louder ; my master is deaf. Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any thing good, — Go, pluck him by the elbow ; I n.ust speak 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 a 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 I 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 tell 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 glad to see your lordship abroad : I heard say your lordship 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 salt- ness of time ; and I most humbly beseech your lord- ship, 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 ma- jesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty :— You would not come when 1 sent for you. Fal. Arid I hear moreover, his highness is fallen 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 of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in 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 have read the cause of his effects, in Galen ; it is a kind of deafness. Ch. Just. 1 1 hink, you are fallen into the disease ; for you hear not what I say to you. Fal. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, a'nt please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not, if I do become your physician. Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord ; but not sc patient : your lordship may minister the potion 01 imprisonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but how I should be your patient to follow your pre . scriptions, the wise may make some dram of t scruple, or, indeed, a scruple itself. Ch. Just. I sent for you when there were mat- ters against you for your life, to come speak with me. Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in great infamy. Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live in less. Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. Fal. I would it were otherwise ; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound ; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-hill : you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er- posting that action. Fal. My lord? Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : wake not a sleeping wolf. Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox. Ch. Just. What ! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. Fal. A wassel candle, my lord ; all tallow : if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, but should have his effect of gravity. Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. Fal. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is light ; but, I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without weighing : and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go, I cannot tell : Virtue is of so little regard in these coster-monger times, that true SCENE III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 409 valour is turned bear -herd : Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings : all the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider not the capacities of us that are young : you measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls : and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I 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 ? Have you not a moist eye ? a dry hand ? a yellow cheek ? a white beard ? a de- creasing leg ? an increasing belly ? Is not your voice broken ? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single ? and every part about you blasted with antiquity ? and will you yet call yourself young ? Fye, fye, fye, sir John ! Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head, and some- thing a round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with hollaing, and singing of anthems. To ap- prove my youth further, I will not : the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding ; and he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him. For the box o'the ear that the prince gave you — he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked him for it ; and the young lion repents : marry, not in ashes, and sack- cloth ; but in new silk, and old sack. Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better companion ! Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince ! I cannot rid my hands of him. Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and prince Harry : 1 hear, you are going with lord John of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of Northumberland. Fal. Yea ; I 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, I 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 head, 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, I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I 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, net a penny ; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well : Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. [Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant. Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. — A man can no more separate age and covetous- ness, than he can part young limbs and lechery : out the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other ; and so both the degrees prevent my curses. —Boy ! Pave. Sir? Fal. What money is in my purse ? 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 this letter to my lord of Lancaster ; this to the prince ; this to the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old 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 1 or, a gout of this pox ! for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with my great toe. It is no matter, if I do halt ; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension shall seem the more reasonable : A good wit will make use of any thing ; I will turn diseases to commodity. lExit. SCENE III.— York. A Room in the Arch- bishop's Palace. Enter the Archbishop of York, (he Lords Hastings, Mowbray, and Bardolph. Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known 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 well allow 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, standeth thus ; Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland. Hast. With him, we may. Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point ; But if without him we be thought too feeble, My judgment is, we should not step too far Till we had his assistance by the hand : For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, Conjecture, expectation, and surmise Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph ; for, in- deed, It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. Bard. It was, my lord ; who lin'd himself with Eating the air on promise of supply, [hope, Flattering himself with project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts : And so, with great imagination, Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, And, winking, leap'd into destruction. Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt, To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war ; — Indeed the instant 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 not so much warrant, as despair, That frosts will bite them. When we mean U build, We first survey the plot, then draw the model ; 410 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. And when we see the figure of the house, Then must we rate the cost of the erection : Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then, but draw anew the model In fewer offices ; or, at least, desist To build at all ? Much more, in this great work, (Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, And set another up,) should we survey The plot of situation, and the model ; Consent upon a sure foundation ; Question surveyors ; know our own estate, How able such a work to undergo, To weigh against his opposite ; or else, We fortify in paper, and in figures, Using the names of men, instead of men : Like one, that 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 naked subject to the weeping clouds, And waste for churlish 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 think, we are a body strong enotigh, Even as we are, to equal with the king. Bard. What ! is the king but five and twenty thousand ? Hast. To us, no more ; nay, not so much, lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads ; one power against the French, And one against Glendower ; perforce, a third Must take up us : So is the unfirm king In three divided ; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. Arch. That he should draw his several strengths And come against us in full puissance, [together, Need not be dreaded. Hast. If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels : never fear that. Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither ? Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmore- land : Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. Arch. Let us on ; And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice. Their over greedy love hath surfeited : — An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many ! with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou would'st have him be ! And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up, And howl'st to find it? What trust is in these times ? They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die. Are now become enamour'd on his grave : Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, When through proud London he came sighing on After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, Cry'st now, O earth, yield us that king again, Ami take thou this I O thoughts of men accurst ! Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst. JMowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on ? Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.— London. A Street. I'.ntcr llostoss; Fang, and his Boy, with her ; and Snare folloicing. Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action ? Fang. It is entered. Host. Where is your yeoman ? Is it a lusty yeo- man ? 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 Falslaff. Host. Yea, good master Snare ; I have entered him and all. Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. % Host. Alas the day! 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 weapon be out : he will foin like any devil ; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. Host. No, nor I neither : I'll be at your elbow. Fang. An I but fist him once ; an 'a come but within my vice ; — Host. 1 am undone by his going ; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score : — Good master Fang, hold him sure ; — good master Snare, let him not 'scape. He comes continually to Pie- corner, (saving your manhoods,) to buy a saddle ; and he's indited to dinner to the lubbar's head in Lumbert-street, 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 fubbed off, and fubbed off, 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. Enttr Sir John Falstafk, Fagc, and Bardolph. Yonder he comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices do your offices, master Fang, and master Snare ; do me, do me, do me your offices. Fal. How now ? whose mare's dead ? what's the matter ? Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mis- tress Quickly. Fal. Away, varlets! — Draw, Bardolph; cut SOEiN'E T, SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 411 me off the villain's head ; throw the quean in the channel. Host. Throw me in the channel ? I'll throw thee in the channel ! Wilt thou ? wilt thou ? thou bastardly 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 honey-seed ; a man queiler, and a woman queller. Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. Fang. A rescue ! a rescue ! Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. — Thou wo't, wo't thou ? thou wo't, wo't thou ? do, do, thou rogue 1 do, thou hemp-seed ! Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you fustilarian ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended. Ch. Just. What's the matter ? keep the peace here, ho ! Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I beseech you, stand to me ! Ch. Just. How now, sir John? what, are you brawling here ? [ness ? Doth this become your place, your time, and busi- You should have been well on your way to York. — Stand from him, fellow. Wherefore hang'st thou on him ? Host. O, my most worshipful lord, an't please your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Ch. 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 I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare. Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage of ground to get up. Ch. Just. How come3 this, sir John ? Fye ! what man of good temper w 7 ould endure this tempest of exclamation ? Are you not ashamed, to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own ? Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy- self, and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin- chamber, at the round table, by a sea- coal tire, upon Wednesday in Whitsun-week, when the prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing- man of Windsor ; thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then, and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar ; telling us, she had a good dish of prawns ; whereby thou didst desire to eat some ; whereby I told thee, they were ill fora'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 me 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 and 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 throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration ; you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy yielding spirit of this wo- man, and made her serve your uses both in purse and person. Host. Yea, in troth, my lord. Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace : — Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done with her ; the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You call honourable boldness, im- pudent sauciness : if a man will make court'sy, and say nothing, heisvirtuous : No, my lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor ; I say to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do wrong : but answer in the effect of your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman. Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking her aside Enter Cower. Ch. Just. Now, master Gower : What news ? 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, I must be fain to pawn both my plate, and the ta- pestry of 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, I 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. Fal. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift : you'll be a fool still. Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I hope, you'll come to supper : You'll pay me altogether ? Fal. Will I live ?— Go, with her, with her ; [to Bardolph.] hook on, hook on. Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet yoc at supper ? Fal. No more words, let's have her. [Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, and Page. Ch. Just. I have heard better news. Fal. What's the news, my good lord ? Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night ? 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 ? Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, 412 SECOND PART OP KING HENRY IV Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland, and the archbishop. Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord ? Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently : Come, go along with me, good master Gower. Fal. My lord ! Ch. Just. What's the matter ? Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here : I thank you, good sir John. Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being 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. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee ! thou art a great fool. [Exeunt. — ♦ — SCENE II.— The same. Another Street. Enter Princb Henry and Poms. P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. Point. Is it come to that? I had thought, weari- ness durst not have attached one of so high blood. P. Hen. 'Faith it does me ; though 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 studied, as to remember so weak a composition. P. Het Belike then, my appetite was not princely got j for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble considerations make me out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name ? or to know thy face to- morrow? or to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast ; viz. these, and those that were the peach-colour' d ones ? or to bear the in- ventory of thy shirts ; as, one for superfluity, 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 thou keepest not racket there ; as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low-countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland : and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy 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 la- boured so hard, you should talk so idly i Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is ? P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ? Poins. Yes ; and let it be an excellent good thing. P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. P. Hen. Why, I tell thee,— it is not meet that I should be sad, now my father is sick : albeit I wuld tell to thee, (as 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 Falstaff, for obdu- racy and persistency : Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, — my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so sick : and keeping such vile com- pany as thou art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. Poins. The reason ? P. Hen. What would'st thou think of me, if I should weep ? Poins. I would think thee a most princely hy- pocrite. 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 thau thine : every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought, to think so ? Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and so much engraffed to Falstaff. 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 I am a second brother, and that 1 Jim a proper fellow of my hands ; and those two ngs, I confess, I cannot help. — By the mass, here comes Bardolph. P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff : he had him from me christian : and look, if the fait villain have not transformed him to an ape. Enter Bardolph and Page* Hard. 'Save your grace ! P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph I Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [/o the Page.] you bashful fool, must you be blushing ? wherefore blush you now ? What 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 his eyes ; and, methought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat, and peeped through. P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited ? Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away ! Page. Away, yomrascally Althea's dream, away ! P. Hen. Instruct us, boy : What dream, boy ? Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand ; and therefore I call him her dream. P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation. — There it is, boy. [Gives him money. Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept from cankers 1 — Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among 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 phy- sician : but that moves not him ; though that be sick, it dies not. SCENE II r. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 413 P. Hen. I do allow this wen 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,— — Everyman 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 ! — How comes that? says he, that takes upon him not to conceive : the answer is as ready as a borrower's cap ; / am the king's poor cousin, sir. P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But the letter : — Poins. Sir John Falstaff, hnight, to ihe son of the king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, greeting. — Why, this is a certificate. P. Hen. Peace ! Poins. I will imitate the honourable Roman in brevity : he sure means brevity in breath ; short- winded. — / commend me to thee, I commend thee, and J leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins ; for he misuses thy favours so much, that he sivears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle limes as thou may'st, and so farewell. Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Falstaff, with my familiars ; John, with my brothers and sisters ; 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 I marry your sister ? Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! but I never said so. P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time ; and the spirits of the wise sit in the 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 church. P. Hen. Sup any women with him ? Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. P. Hen. What pagan may that be ? Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- woman of my master's. P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are to the town bull. — Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper ? Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I'll follow you. P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — no word to your master, that I am yet come to town : There's for your silence. Bard. I have no tongue, sir. Page. And for mine, sir, — I will govern it. P. Hen. Fare ye well ; go. [Exeunt Bardolph and Page.] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. 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- sion ! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren- tice ? a low transformation ! that shall be mine : for, in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the follv. — Follow me, Ned, [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Warkworth. Before the Castle. Enter Northumberland, Lady NoRTHuaiBKRr.AND, and Lady Pkrcy. North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle Give even way unto my rough affairs : [daughter. Put not you on the visage of the times, And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no 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. O, 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 clear 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 practis'd not his gait : And speaking 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, To 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 O miracle of men — him did you leave, [him \ (Second to none, unseconded by you,) To 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 : Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. North. Beshrew your heartj Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me, With new lamenting ancient oversights. 3ut I must go, and meet with danger there ; Or it will seek me in another place, And find me worse provided. Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, Till 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, 4Ii SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT IT. Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, To make strength stronger ; but, for all our loves, First let them tiy themselves : So did your son ; He was so suffer'd ; so came I a widow ; And never shall have length of life enough, To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, That it -nay grow and sprout as high as heaven, For recordation to my noble husband. North. Come, come, go in with me : 'tis with my mind, As with the tide swell' d up unto its height, That makes a still-stand, running neither way. Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back : I will resolve for Scotland ; there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt 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? thou know'st sir John canuot endure an apple-John. 2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true : The prince once set a dish of apple- Johns before him, and told him, there were five more sir Johns : and, putting off his hat, said, / will noio 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 caDst find out Sneak's noise; mis- tress Tear-sheet would fain hear some musick. Despatch : — The room where they supped, is too hot ; they'll come in straight. 2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master Poins anon : and they will put on two of our jerkins, 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. [Exit. Enter Hostess and Doll Tkar-shekt. Host. I'faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality : your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would lesire ; 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. Hem. Host. Why, that's well said ; a good heart's worth gold. — Look, here comes sir John. Enter Faxstaff, singing. Fal. When Arthur first in court — Empty tho Jordan. — And was a worthy king , {Exit Drawei .] — 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, they are sick. Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me ? 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, you 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, you know : To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charged chambers bravely : Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself! 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 rheumatick as two dry toasts ; you cannot one bear with another's con- firmities. What the good-year ! one must bear, and that must be you : [to Doll.] you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel. Doll. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead ? there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack : thou art going to the wars; and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody cares. Re-enter Drawer. Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with you. Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not come hither : it is the foul mouth'dst rogue in England. Host. If he swagger, let him not come here ; no, by my faith ; I must live amongst my neigh- bours; I'll no swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with the very best : — Shut the door ; — there comes no swaggerers here; I have not lived all this while, to have swaggering now: — shut the door, I pray you. Fnl. Dost thou hear, hostess ? — Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John ; there comes no swaggerers here. Fal. Dost thou 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 longer ago than Weduesday last, — Neighbour 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 guests you receive : Receive, says he, no swaggering companions. There comes 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 ; you 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 honest man my house, nor no cheater : But J do not love swaggering ; by my troth, I am tne 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 'twer* an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, We are denied access unto his person Even by those men that most have done us wrong- 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. Whenever yet was your appeal denied ? 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 commonwealth, 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 all, 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 seigniories, Your noble and right well-remember'd father's ? Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost, That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me ? The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him, And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he, — Being mounted, and both roused in their seats, Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, And the loud trumpet blowing them together ; Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, O, when the king did throw his warder down, His own life hung upon the staff he threw : Then threw he down himself ; and all their lives, That, by indictment, and by dint of sword, Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know not what ; The earl of Hereford was reputed then In England the most valiant gentleman ; Who knows, 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 Hereford, whom they doted on, Andbless'd, and grae'd indeed, more than the king But this is mere digression from my purpose. — H^re come I from our princely general, 422 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. ACT IV. To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace, That he will give you audience and wherein It shall appear that your demands are just. You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off, That might so much as think you enemies. Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this And it proceeds from policy, not love. [offer ; West. Mowbray, you overween to take it so ; This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : For, lo ! within a ken, our army lies : Upon mine honour, all too confident To give admittance 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 compell'd. Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. West. That argues but the shame of your of- A rotten case abides no handling. [fence, Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission, In very ample virtue of his father, To hear, and absolutely to determine Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? West. That is intended in the general's name : I muse, you make so slight a question. Arch. 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 To 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 must decide it Arch. My lord, we will do so. iExit West. Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom tells That no conditions of our peace can stand. [me, Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our peace Upon such large terms, and so absolute, As our conditions shall consist upon, Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such, That every slight and false-derived cause, Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason, Shall, to the king, taste of this action : That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind, That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, And good from bad find no partition. Arch. No, no, my lord; Note this,— the king is weary Of dainty and such picking grievances : For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death, Revives two greater in the heirs of life. And therefore will he wipe his tables clean ; And keep no tell-tale to his memory, That may repeat and history his loss To new remembrance For full well he knows, He cannot so precisely weed this land, As his misdoubts present occasion ; His foes are so enrooted with his friends, That, plucking to unfix an enemy, He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. So that this land, like an offensive wife, 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 That was uprear'd to execution. Hast. Besides the king hath wasted all his rods 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. Arch. Tis very true: — And therefore be assur'd, my good lord 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. West. The prince is here at hand : Pleaseth your lordship, To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies ? Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then set forward. Arch. Before, and greet his grace: — my lord. we come. [Exeunt. SCENE II Another part of the Forest. Enter, from one tide, Mowbray, the Archbishop, Hast- ings, and others : from the other tide, Prince John qf Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers, and Attendants. P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my cousin Mowbray : Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop . And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. — My lord of York, it better show'd with you, When that your flock, assembled by the bell Encircled you, to hear with reverence Your exposition on the holy text; Than now to see you 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 of his favour, Would he abuse the countenance of the king, Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach, In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop, 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, the imagin'd voice of God himself; The very opener and intelligencer, Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, And our dull workings : O, who shall believe, But you misuse the reverence of your place ; Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, As a false favourite doth his prince's name, In deeds dishonourable ? You have taken up, Under the counterfeited zeal of God, The subjects of his substitute, my father ; And, both against the peace of heaven and him, Have here up-swarm'd them. Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster I am not here against your father's peace : SCENE III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. st. Thou atomy thou ! Doll. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal ! 1 Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — A public Place near Westminster Abbey. Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 1 Groom. 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- nance that he will give me. Pist. 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 bor- rowed of you. [To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter; this poor show doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. Shal. It doth so. Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. Shal. It doth so. Fal. My devotion. Shal. 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 to shift me. Shal. It is most certain. Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweat- ing with desire to see him : thinking of nothing else ; putting all affairs else in oblivion ; as if there were nothing else to be done, but to see him. Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est 'Tis all in even part. Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. Pist. My !:night, I will inflame thy noble liver, And make thee rage. Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, Is in base durance, and contagious prison ; Haul'd thither By most mechanical and dirty hand : — Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's snake, For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth. Fal. I will deliver her. [Shouts within, and the trumpets sound. Pist* There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds. Enter the Kino and his Train, the Chief Justice among them. . Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame I Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what 'tis you speak ? Fal. My king! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my heart ! King. I know thee not, old man : Fall to thy prayers ; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester! 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, the grave doth gape For thee 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 world 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 me ; and thou shalt be as thou wast, The tutor and the feeder of my riots : Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — As I have done the rest of my misleaders, — Not to come near our person by ten mile. For competence of life, I will allow you, That lack of means enforce you not to evil : And, as we hear you do reform vourselve?, 432 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. AOT V. We will,— according to your strength, and quali- ties, — Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my lord, To see perform'd the tenor of our word. — get on. [Exeunt King and his Train. Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. Shal. Ay, marry, sir John ; which I beseech you to let me have home with me. Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in private to him : look you, he must seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancement ; I will be the man yet, that shall make you great. Shal. I cannot perceive how ; unless you give me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I be- seech you, good sir John, let me have five hundred of my thousand. Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that you heard, was but a colour. Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. Fal. Fear no colours ; go with me to dinner. Come, lieutenant Pistol ; — come, Bardolph : — I shall be sent for soon at night. Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice, Officers, ffc. Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstaff to the Fleet ; Take all his company along with him. Fal. My lord, my lord, Ch. Just. I cannot now speak : I will hear you soon. Take them away. Pist. Sifortuna me tormenta, spero me conienta. [Exeunt Fal. Shal. Pist. Bard. Page, and Officers. P. John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's : He hath intent, his wonted followers Shall all be very well provided for ; But all are banish'd, till their conversations Appear more wise and modest to the world. Ch. Just. And so they are. P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord. Ch. Just. He hath. P. John. I will lay odds, — that, ere this year expire, We bear our civil swords, and native fire, As far as France : 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 court'sy, my duty ; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look for a good speech now, you undo me : for what I have to say, is of mine own making ; and what, indeed, I should say, will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the venture. — Be it known to you, (as it is very well,) 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 this ; which, if, like an ill venture, it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors, lose. Here, I promised you, I would be, and here I commit my body to your mercies : 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, will you command me to use my legs t and yet that were but light payment, — to dance out of your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible satis- faction, and so will I. All the gentlewomen here have 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 anything I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already he be killed with your hard opinions ; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man. My tongue is weary ; when my legs are too, I will bid you good night ; and so kneel down before you ; — but, indeed, to pray for the queen. KING HENRY V. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Brothers to the King. Klvg Henry the Fifth. Duke of Gloster, Duke of Bedford, Duke of Exeter, Uncle to the King. Duke of York, Cousin to the King. Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and Warwick. Archbishop of Canterbury. Bishop of Ely. Earl of Cambridge, \ Lord Scroop, \Conspiralors against Me King. Sir Thomas Grey, j Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen, Maomorris, Jamy, Officers in King Henry's Army. Bates, Court, Williams, Soldiers in the same. N yji, Bardolph , Pistol, formerly Servants to Falstaff, now Soldiers in the same. Boy, Servant to them. SCENE, — At the beginning of the Play, lies in A Herald. Chorus. Charles the Sixth, King of France. Lewis, the Dauphin. Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourdon. The Constable of France. Rambures and Grandpree, French Lords. Governor of Harflcur. Montjoy, a French Herald. Ambassadors 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, Officers, French and English Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. England ; hut afterwards wholly in France. Enter Chorus. Chor. O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention ! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, Crouch 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 O, the very casques, That did affright the 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 ifpreared 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 them Printing their proud hoofs i'the receiving earth : For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck oui 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 Archihshop of Canterbury, and Bishop of Ely. Cant. My lord, I'll tell you, — that self bill is urg'd, Which, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of further question. Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now ? Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We los*: 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 would maintain, to the king's honour, 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 corporal 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 bilL Ely. This would drink deep. 434 KING HENRY V r , ACT.!. Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and 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 promis'd it not. The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment, Consideration like an angel came, And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; Leaving his 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 study . List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle ren Vr'd you in music : Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter ; that, when he speaks The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences ; So that the art and practick part of life Must be the mistress to this theorick : Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it. Since his addiction was to courses vain : His companies unletter'd, rude, ancVshallow ; His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports ; And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, And wholesome berries thrive 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 exhibitors against us : For I have made an offer 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 Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord ? Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ; 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 ; And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. Ely. What was the impediment that broke this off? Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, CravM audience : and the hour, I think, is come, To give him hearing : Is it four o'clock? Ely. 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 Henry, Gimstrr, Bedford, Exkter, War- wick, Westmoreland, and Attendants. K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canter- bury ? Exe. Not here in presence. K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege ? K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be re- solv'u, Before we hear him, of some things of weight, That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the A rcheishop of Canterbury, a>ul BotetW ok Elv. Cant. God and his angels guard your sacred And make you long become it ! [throne, K- Hen. Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed! And justly and religiously unfold, Why the law Salique, that they have in France, Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, rest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth ; For God doth know, how many, now in health, Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall 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 every one a woe, a sore complaint, 'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the That make such waste in brief mortality, [swords Under this conjuration, speak, my lord : And we will hear, note, and believe in heart, That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — and you peers, That owe 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 terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant, No woman shall succeed in Salique land : Which Salique 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 Salique lies in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe ; SCENE II. KING HENRY V. 435 Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French ; Who, holding in disdain the German women, For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land ; Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany called — Meisen. Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France ; Nor did the French possess the Salique land 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 of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the great 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 Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also, — that usurp 'd the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorrain, 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 tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorrain : By the which marriage, the line of Charles the Was re-united to the crown of France. [great 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 hold in right and title of the female : So do the kings of France unto this day ; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, To bar your highness claiming from the female ; And rather choose to hide them in a net, Than amply to imbare their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. K. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make this claim ? Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ! For in the book of Numbers is it writ, — When the 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 your 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 foices the full pride of France ; And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work, and cold for action. Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, And with your puissant arm renew their feats : You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; The blood and courage, that renowned them, Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant liege Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, [earth 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 i-aise your highness such a mighty sum, As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the French ; But lay down our proportions to defend Against the 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. K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers But fear the main intendment of the Scot, [only, 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 harm'd, my liege : For hear her but exampled 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, and impounded as a stray, The king of Scots ; whom she did send to France, To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings ; And make your chronicle as rich with praise, As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. West. But there's a saying, very old and true, — If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin; For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ; Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat, To spoil and havoc more than she can eat. Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home : 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 lowar, Put into parts, doth keep in one eoncent ; v V 2 436 KING HENRY V. Congruing in a full and natural close, Like music. Cant. True : therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion ; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience : for so work the honey bees ; Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of sorts : Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; 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 full reference To one concent, may work contrariously ; As many arrows, loosed several ways, Fly to one mark ; As many several ways meet in one town ; As many fresh streams run in one self sea ; As many lines close in the dial's centre ; So may a thousand actions, once afoot, End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four ; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal 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 remembrance over them : Either our history shall, with full mouth, Speak freely of our acts ; or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors 0/ France. Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for, we hear, Your greeting is from him, not from the king. Anib. May it please your majesty, to give us leave 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. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject, As are our wretches fetter' d in our prisons : Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness Tell us the Dauphin's mind. Amb. Thus then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says, — that you savour too much of your youth ; And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France, That can be with a nimble galliard won ; You 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 no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ? Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. K. Hen. We are glad, the Dauphin 's so plea- sant 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 match 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 us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valu'd 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 Dauphin, — I will keep my state ; Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness, When I do rouse 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 glory, That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them : for many a thousanc widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands , Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down • And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal ; And in whose name, Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on, To venge me as I may, and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause, So, get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin, His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it. — Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well. [ Exeunt Ambassadors. Exe. This was a merry message. K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. [Descends from his throne Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour, That may give furtherance to our expedition : For we have now no thought in us but France ; Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore, let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon. That may, with reasonable swiftness, add More feathers to our wings ; for, God before, We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. Therefore, let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought. [Exeunt. KING HENRY V. 437 ACT II Enter Chorus. Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ; Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man : They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse ; Following the mirror of all Christian Icings, With winged heels, as Engbsh Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air ; And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, Promis'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, — What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural 1 But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns ; and three corrupted men, — 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 force 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. [Exit. SCENE I.— The same. Eastcheap. Enter Nym and Bardolph. Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet? Nym. For my part, I care not : I say little ; but 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 iron : It is a simple one ; but what though? It will toast cheese ; and it will endure cold as another man's sword will : and there's the humour of it. Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you friends ; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France ; let it be so, good corporal Nym. Nym. 'Faith, I will live 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 troth-plight 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 conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly. Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife : — good corporal, be patient here. — How now, mine 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- women, that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy- house straight. [Nym draws his sword.] O well-a- day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! O Lord ! here's corporal Nym's — now shall we have wilful adultery and murder 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 you shog off ? I would have you solus. [Sheathing his sword. Pist. Solas, egregious dog ? O viper vile ! The solus in thy most marvellous face ? The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy ; And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! I do retort the solus in thy bowels ; For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. Nym. I am 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 you 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 doth 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'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. [Draws. Pist. An oath of mickle might ; and fury shall abate. Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give ; Thy spirits are most tall. Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms ; that is the humour of it. Pist. Coupe le gorge, that's the word ? — I thee defy again. O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? 43U KING HENRY V. ACl II 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 : I hare, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly For the only she : and — Pauca, there's enough. Enter the Boy. Hoy. 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. Hard. 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. Quick i.v ami 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'erswell, and fiends for food howl on ! Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting ? Pist. Base is the slave that pays. Nym. That now 1 will have; that's the humour of it. Pist. As manhood shall compound ; Push home. Hard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust I'll kill him ; by this sword, I will. Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. Hard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends : an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Pr'ythee, put up. Nym. 1 shall have my eight shillings, I won of you at betting ? Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood : I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; — Is not this just ? — for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. Nym. 1 shall have my noble ? Pist. In cash most justly paid. Nym. Well then, that's the humour of it. ltc-cnter Mrs, Quickly. Quick. As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shakeel of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come 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 fracted, and corroborate. Nym. The king is a good king : but it must be as it may ; he passes some humours, and careers. l J ist. Let us condole the knight ; for, lambkins, we will live. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Southampton. A Council Chamber. Enter Exktek, Bedford, and "Westmoreland. lied. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. West. How smooth and even they do bear them- As if allegiance in their bosoms sat. [selves ! Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. lied. The king hath note of all that they intend By interception which they dream not of. Exc. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath cloy'd and grae'd with princely favours, — That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery I Trumpet sounds. Kuter Kino IIevrv, Scroop, Cambridge, Giikv, Lords, and Attendants. A'. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My lord of Cambridge,-— and my kind lord of Masham, — Andyou.mygentleknight, — givemeyourthou«hts: 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. A'. Hen. I doubt not that since we are well per- suaded, 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, ani lov'd Than is your majesty ; there's not, I think, a sub- That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness U? c:: > Under the sweet shade of your government. Grey. Even those, that were your father's ene- mies, Have steep'd their galls in honey ; and do serve With hearts create of duty and of zeal. | von A'. J fen. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness ; And shall forget the office of our hand, 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 : Let him be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 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 him life, After the taste of much correction. K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch, [me. If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'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, Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, — in their dear care, And tender preservation of our person, — SCENE n. KING HENRY V. 439 Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes ; Who are the late commissioners ? 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 : — There yours, lord Scroop of Masham— and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours — Read them, and know, 1 know your worthiness — My lord of Westmoreland,— and uncle Exeter, — We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentle- men ? What see you in those papers, that you lose So much complexion ? — look ye, how they change ! Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there, That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood Out of appearance ? Cam. I do confess my fault ; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. Grey. 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'c 7 : You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; For your own reasons turn into your besoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. — See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters ! My lord of Cambridge here, — You know how apt our love was, to accord To furnish him with all appertinents 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 Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn. — But O ! What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop ; thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature ! Thou, that did'st bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold, Would'st thou have practis'd on me for thy use ? May it be possible, that foreign 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 off as gross As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason, 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 cunning fiend it was, That wrought upon thee so preposterously, H'ath got the voice in hell for excellence : And other devils, that suggest by treasons, Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch' d From glistering semblances of piety ; But he, that temper' d thee, bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do trea- Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor, [son, If that same demon, that hath gull'd thee thus, Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back, And tell tne legions — I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's. O, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful ? Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned Why, so didst thou : Come they of noble family ? Why, so didst thou : Seem they religious ? Why, so didst thou : Or, are they spare in diet : 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-fraught man, and best indued, 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 answer of the law ; — And God acquit them of their practices ! Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 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 ; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. Cam. For me, — the gold of France did not se- Although I did admit it as a motive, [duce ; The sooner to effect what 1 intended : But God be thanked for prevention ; Which I in sufferance 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 enterprise : 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 coffers Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death ; 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 offences ! — Bear them hence. \Excunt Conspirators, guarded Now, 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. 410 KING HENRY V. ACT tj. 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. [Exeunt SCENE III. — London. Mrs. Quickly's House in Eastcheap. Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, Nvm, Bardolph, and Boy. Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn. — Bardolph, be blithe ; — Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins ; Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for FalstafF he is dead, And we must yearn therefore. Bard. 'Would, I were with him, wheresome'er he is, — either in heaven, or in hell 1 Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell; he's in Ar- thur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child ; 'a parted even just between twelve and one, e'en at turning o' the tide : for after 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 off sack. Quick. Ay, that 'a did. Bard. And of women. Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. Boy. Yes, that 'a did ; and said, they were devils incarnate. Quick. 'A could never abide carnation ; *tw r as a colour he never liked. Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have him about women. Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women : but then he was rheumatic ; and talked of the whore of Babylon. . B<*y. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick upon 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 shog off? the king will be gone from Southampton. Pist. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thy Look to my chattels, and my moveables : [lips. Let senses rule ; the word is, Pitch and pay ; Trust 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 chrystals. — 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 Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march, [say. Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it ; but adieu. Pist. Let housewifery appear ; keep close, I thee command. Quick. Farewell ; adieu. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— France. A Room in the French King's Palace. Eider the French King, ailen, led ; the Dauphin, theDvKB of Burgundy, the Constable, and others. Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power upon us ; And more than carefully it us concerns, 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 sweet de- spatch, 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 gulph. 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 our 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 question,) But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintained, assembled, and collected, As were a war in expectation. Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth, To view the sick and feeble parts of France ; And let us do it with no show of fear ; No, with no more, than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance : For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Con. O peace, prince Dauphin 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 proportions of defence are fill'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 strain, SCENE IV. KING HENRY V. 41 That haunted us in our familiar paths : Witness our too much memorable shame, When 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 mountain standing, Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, — Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd 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 stern 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 Mess, and certain Lords. You see, this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit : for coward dogs Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to threaten, 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, with Exeter and Train. Fr. King. From our brother England ? Exe. From him ; and thus he greets your ma- jesty. 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 law of nature, and of nations, 'long To him, and to his heirs ; namely, the crown, And all wide stretched honours that pertain, By custom and the ordnance of times Unto the crown of France. That you may know, 'Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm -holes of long-vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, He sends you this most memorable line, [Gives a paper. In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing you, overlook this pedigree : And, when you find him evenly deriv'd From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. Fr. King. Or else what follows ? Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he lake for it; And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thundei, and in earthquake, like a Jove ; (That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown ; and to take mercy On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war ' Opens his vasty jaws : and on your head Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans For husbands, fathers, and betrothed 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 whom expressly I bring greeting too. Fr. King. 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, I stand here for him ; What to him from England? Exe. Scorn, and defiance ; slight regard, con- tempt, And any thing 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, That 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 my will : for I desire Nothing but odds with England ; to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with those Paris balls. Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress court of mighty 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 he stay in France. Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that oui king Come here himself to question our delay ; For he is footed in this land already. Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd, with fair conditions : A night is but small breath, and little pause, To answer matters of this consequence. [Exeunt ACT III. Enter Chorus. Cho. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene In motion of no less celerity , [flies, Than that of thought. Suppose that you have S3en The well appointed king at Hampton pier- Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. Hay with your fancies ; and in them behold. Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing: Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow 'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think, You stand upon the rivage, and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; U2 KING HENRY V. ACT III. For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow : Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy ; And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, 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 Behold the ordnance on their carriages, [siege : With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes Tells Harry — that the king doth offer him [back ; Katharine his daughter ; and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not : and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, [Alarum ; and chambers go off. And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. SCENE I. — The same. Before Harfleur. Alarums. Enter Kino Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloster, and Soldiers, with scaling ladders. K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead I 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, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage : 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 and jutty his confounded 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 fathers 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 call'd fathers, did beget Be copy now to men of grosser blood, [you ! And teach them how to war! — And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 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 ; 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, upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and Saint George ! [Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off. SCENE II.— The same. Forces pass over ; then enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy. Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the breach 1 Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot ; acd, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives : the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. Pist. The plain-song is most just ; for humours do abound ; 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 London ! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and Pist. And I : [safety. If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing on bough. Enter Fluellen. Flu. Got's plood ! — Up to the preaches, you rascals ! will you not up to the preaches ? [Driving them forward. Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage ! Abate thy rage, great duke ! Good, bawcock, bate thy rage ! use lenity, sweet chuck ! Nym. These be good humours ! — your honour wins bad humours. [Exeunt Nym, Pistol, and Bardolph, fallowed by Fluellk.v. Boy. As young as I 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 be man to me ; for, indeed, three such anticks do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, — he is white-livcr'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 of 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 seek some better service : their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. [Exit Boy. Re-enter Fluellen, Gower following. Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the duke of Gloster would speak with you. Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines : For, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war ; the concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, look you, th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you,) is dight himself four yards under the counter- SCENE III. KING HENRY V. 443 mines ; by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow up all, if there is not better directions. Gow. 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 Macmorfus and Jamy, at a distance. Goiv. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, captain Jamy, with him. Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen- tleman, that is certain; and of great expedition, and knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my par- ticular knowledge of his directions : by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy. Gow. How now, captain Macmorris ? have you 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 my band, 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 you, as partly touching or concerning the dis- ciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication ; 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. Tt 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 beseech'd, and the trumpet oalls 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 for it ; ay, or go to death ; and aile pay it as ralorously as I may, that sal I surely do, that is the breff and the long : Mary, I wad full fain heard some question 'tween you 'twny. Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation 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, I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion vou ought to use me, look you ; being as goot a man as yourself, both in the dis- ciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. Mac. I do not know you so good a man as my- self : so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. Goto. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. Jamy. Au ! that's a foul fault. [_A parley sounded. Gow. The town sounds a parley. Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you, I know the disci plines of war : and there is an end. lExeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Be/ore the Gales oj Harfleur. The Governor and some Citizens on the walls ; the English Forces below. Enter King Henry and his Train. K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town ? This is the latest parle we will admit : Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves ; Or like to men proud of destruction, Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) If 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 ; And the flesh'd soldier, — rough and hard of heart, — In liberty of bloody hand, shall range With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, — Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, — Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation ? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, " If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation ? What rein can hold licentious wickedness, When down the hill he holds his fierce 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 the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. If not, why, in a moment, look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls ; Your naked infants spitted upon pikes ; Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd Do break the 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 ? Gov. Our 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 : iU KING HENRY V. ACT III. Enter our gates ; dispose of us, and ours ; For we no longer are defensible. K. lien. Open your gates. — Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : Use 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 Harfleur will we be your guest ; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. [Flourish. The King, Sjc. enter the Town. SCENE IV. — Rouen. A Room in the Palace. Enter Katharine and Alice. Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, ct lu paries bien le language. Alice. Un peu, madame. Kath. Je te prie m'enseigner ; il faut que j^ap- prenne a parler. Comment appellez vous la. main, en Anglois ? Alice. La main ? elle est appellee, de hand. Kath. De hand. Et les doigts? Alice. Les doigts ? ma fog, je oublie les doigts ; mais je me souviendray. Les doigts ? je pense qrCils sont appelle" de fingres ; ouy, de fingres. Kath. La main, de hand ; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense, que je suis le ban escolier. J'' ay gagne deux mots d' Anglois vistement. Comment appellez vous les onglcs ? Alice. Les ongJes ? les appcllons, de nails. Kath. De nails. Escoulcz ; dites moy, si je park bien : de hand, de fingres, de nails. Alice. Cest bien dit, madame ; il est fort boji Anglois. Kath. Ditrs moy en Angois, le bras. Alice. De arm, madame. Kath. Et le coude. Alice. De elbow. Kath. De elbow. Je m' en fa'itz la repetition de tous les mots, que vous m'avez appris des a present. Alice. II est trop difficile, madame, comme je vense. Kath. Excusez moy, Alice ; Escoulez: Dehand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. Alice. De elbow, madame. Kath. O Seigneur Dieu ! je m'en oublie : De elbow. Comment appellez vous le col? Alice. De neck, madame. Kath. De neck : Et le menton 9 Alice. De chin. Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck : le menton, de sin. Alice. Ouy. Sav.f vostre honneur . en veriti, vous prononces les mots aussi droicls que les natifs d' Anqleterre. Kath. Je ne double point d'apprendre par la grace de Dieu ; et en peu de temps. Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie" ce queje vous zy enseigne- ? Kath. Non, je reciteray a vous promplement. De hand, de fingre, de mails, — Alice. De nails, 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 pieds et la robe ? Alice. De foot, madame ; et de con. Kath. De foot, et de con ? O Seigneur Dieu ! Get sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et impudique,et nonpour les dames d honneur d'user : Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les Seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. II faut de foot, et de con, neanl-moins. Je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon 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 wie fois ; allons nous a disner. I Exeunt, ■ — ♦ — • SCENE V.— The same. Another Room in the same. Enter the French Kino, the Dauphin, Duke 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 lord, Let us not live in France ; let us quit all, And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. Dan. O Dieu vivant ! shall a few sprays of us, — The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters ? Hour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort de ma vie ! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom. To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In (hat nook-shotten isle of Albion. Con. Dieu de balailles ! where have they this mettle ? Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ? On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns ? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-reign'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 us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ; Poor — we may call them, in their native lords. Dau. By faith and honour, Our madams mock at us ; and plainly say, 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 — to the English dancing- schools, And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos ; Saying, our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. Fr. King. Where isMontj6y, the herald? speed him hence ; Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. — Up, princes ; and, with spirit of honour edg'd, More sharper than your swords, hie to the field : Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France ; You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandprc, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, an knights, bCKNK VI. KING tiENRY V. 445 For your great seats, now quit you of great shames, Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys : whose low vassal seat the Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon : Go down upon him, — you have power enough, — And in a captive chariot, into Rouen Bring him our prisoner. Con. This becomes the great. Sorry 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'll drop his heart into the sink of fear : And, for achievement, offer us his ransome. Fr King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy ; And let him say to England, that we send To know what willing ransome he will give. — Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. Dan. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with us. — Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all ; And quickly bring us word of England's fall. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.— The English Camp in Picaudy. Enter Goweb and Fi.vbu.kn. Goto. How now, captain Fluellen ? come you from the bridge ? Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent servi committed at the pridge. Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe ? Flu. The duke of Extter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my livings, and my uttermost powos: he is not, (God be praised and plessed !) any mirt in the 'orld ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at the pridge, — I think, in my very conscience, he is as valiant as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the 'orld: but I 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. Flu. Do you not know him ? Here comes the man. Pi st. Captain, I beseech thee to do me favours : The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. Flu. Ay, I praise Got ; and I have merited some love at his hands. PUt. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of Of buxom valour, hath, — by cruel fate, [heart, And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone, — Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to signify to you that fortune is plind : And she is painted also with a wheel ; to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and incon- stant, and variations, and mutabilities: 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 : fortune, look you, is an excellent moral. Fist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him ; 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 wind-pipe suffocate : But Exeter hath given the doom of death, For pix of little price. Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice ; 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 thee requite. Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. Put. Why then rejoice therefore. Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to re- joice at : for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him to executions ; for disciplines ought to be used. Pist. Die and be damn'd ; and figo for thy Flu. It is well. [friendship. Pist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit Pistol. Fin. Very good. Goiv. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; I remember him now ; a bawd ; a cutpurse. Flu. I'll assure you, 'a utter' d as prave 'ords at the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day : But it is very wc 11 ; 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 now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his return into London, under the form 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 in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new- tuned oaths : And what a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foam- ing bottles, and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on ! but you must learn to know such slan- ders of the age, or else you may be marvellous mis- took. 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 him from the pridge. Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Soldiers. Flu. Got pless your majesty ! K. lien. How now, Fluellen? 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 : and there 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 is a prave man. K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen ? Flu. The perdition of th'athversary hath been very great, very reasonable great : marry, for my 446 KING HENRY V. act in, part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man ; his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire ; and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and some- times red ; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out. K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut off : — and we give express charge, that, in our marches through the country, there be nothing compelled 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 the soonest winner. Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy. Mont. You know me by my habit. K. Hen. Well then, I know thee ; What shall I know of thee ? Mont. My master's mind. K. Hen. Unfold it. Mont. Thus says my king : — Say thou to Harry of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep ; Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfieur : 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 ransome : which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested ; which, in weight to re-answer, his petti- ness would bow under. For our losses, his exche- quer is too poor ; 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, out 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 office. K. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality. Mont. Montjoy. K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, And tell thy king, — I do not seek him now ; But could be willing to march on to Calais Without impeachment : for, to say the sooth, (Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much Unto an enemy of craft 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 thought, upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen. — Yet, forgive me, God, That I do brag thus ! — this your air of France Hath blown 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, God before, tell him we will come on, Though France himself, and such another neigh- bour, Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. Go bid thy master well advise himself : If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour : and so, Montjoy, fare you well. The sum of all our answer is but this : We 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- ness. [Exit Montjoy Glo. I hope, they will not come upon us now. K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night, — Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves ; And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt. ♦ — SCENE VII.— The French Camp, near Agix- court. Enter the Constarlr ofFrancr, the Lord Rambures, the Dukk of- Orleans, Dauphin, and others. Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world. — 'Would it were day ! Orl. You have an excellent armour ; but let my horse have his due. Con. It is the best horse of Europe. Orl. Will it never be morning ? Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high-con- stable, you talk of horse and armour, — Orl. You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world. Dati. What a long night is this ! 1 will not change my horse with any that treads but on fout pasterns. Ca, ha I He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs ; le cheval volant, the Pe- gasus, qui a les narincs defeat When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk : he trots the air ; the earth sings when he touches it ; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. 0/7. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts him : he is, indeed, a horse ; and all other jades you may call — beasts. Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse. Dau. It is the prince of palfreys ; 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 eloquent 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 lay apart their particular functions, and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus : Wonder of nature, — Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. Dau. Then did they imitate that which I com- posed to my courser ; for my horse is my mistress. Oil. Your mistress bears well. Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress. SCENE VII. KING HENRY V. 44? Con. Ma foy ! the other day, methought, your mistress shrewdly shook your hack. Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. Con. Mine was not bridled. Dau. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a Kerne of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your straight trossers. Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship. Dan. Be warned by me then : they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs ; I had rather have my horse to my mistress. Con. 1 had as lief have my mistress a jade. Dau. I tell thee, constable, my 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 a, son propre vomis- sement, ct la truie lavee au bourbier : thou makest use of any thing. Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mis- tress; or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. Ram. My lord constable, the armour 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 would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted. Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with his desert ! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of my way : But I would it were morning, for I would fain be about the ears of the English. Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty English prisoners ? Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them. Dau. 'Tis midnight, I'll go arm myself. [Exit. Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. Ram. He longs to eat the English. Con. I think, he will eat all he kills. Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gal- lant prince. Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath. Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of France. Con. Doing is activi f v; and he will still be doing. Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. Con. 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 better than you. Orl. What's he? 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 in him. Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never anybody 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. Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the devil his due. 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. You are the better at proverbs, by how much — A fool's bolt is soon shot. Con. You have shot over. Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. Con. Who hath measured the ground ? Mess. The lord Grandpree. Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. — Would it were day! — Alas, poor Harry of England ' he kings not for the dawning, as we do. Orl. 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 away. Orl. That 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 valiant 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, and iron 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 time to arm. Come, shall we about it ? Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me see, — by We shall have each a hundred Englishmen, [ten, [Exeunt ACT IV. Enter Chorus. Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time, When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of The h*im of either army stilly sounds, [night, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch : Fire answers fire : and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd face : Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents. 448 KING HENRY V. ACT IV. The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers 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 The 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 them — brothers, friends, and country- Upon his royal face there is no note, [men. 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 overbears attaint, With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ; That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his look* . 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 of 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 dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, — The name of Agincourt : Yet, sit and see ; Minding true things, by what their mockeries be. [Exit. SCENE I.— The English Camp at Agincourt. Enter King Henry, Bedford, ami Glostkr. K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great danger ; The greater therefore should our courage be. — Good morrow, brother Bedford — God Almighty 1 There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil 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 Ebpingham. 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 Since I may say — now lie I like a king. [better, K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present Upon example ; so the spirit is eased : [pains, Aud, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move 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. GIo. We shall, my liege. [Exeunt Gloster and Bedford. Erp. Shall I attend your grace ? K. Hen. No, my good knight ; Go 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 Erpingham. K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou speakest cheerfully. Enter Pistol. Pist. Qui vala? K. Hen. A friend. Pist. Discuss unto me ; Art thou officer? Or art thou base, common, and popular? K. Hen. 1 am a gentleman of a company. Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike ? K. Hen. Even so : What are you ? Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame ; Of parents good, of fist most valiant : I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings I love the lovely bully. What's thy name ? K. Hen. Harry le Roy. Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou ol Cornish crew ? K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen ? K. Hen. Yes. Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate. Upon Saint Davy's day. K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in youi cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. Pist. Art thou his friend ? K. Hen. And his kinsman too. Pist. The Jigo for thee then ! K. Hen. 1 thank you : God be with you ! Pitt. My name is Pistol called. {Exit K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally. Goto. Captain Fluellen ! Flu. So ! in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest admiration in the univei^al 'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept : if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp ; I war- rant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be other- wise. Gou\ Why, the enemy is loud ; you heard him all night. Flu. If the enemy is an a.ss, 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 ? Gow. I will speak lower. Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. [Exeunt Goweu an\l Flitem.en KING HENRY V. 41 How can these contrarieties agree ? Tal. That will I show you presently. He winds a Horn. Brums heard ; then a peal of Ordnance The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers. How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded, That Talbot is but shadow of himself ? These are his substance, sinews, 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 my abuse : I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath ; For I am sorry, that with reverence I did not entertain thee as thou art. Tal. Be not dismay 'd, fair lady ; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done, hath not offended me : No other satisfaction do I crave, But only (with your patience,) that we may Taste of your wine, and see what cates vou have ; ssOENE IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 4f,i) For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. Count. With all my heart; and think me honoured To feast so great a warrior in my house. {Exeunt. SCENE IV.— London. The Temple Garden. Evt rthe Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick ; 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 loud ; 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 ; t And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be- tween us. War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch, Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, Between two blades, which bears the better temper, Between two horses, which doth bear him best, Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment ; But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance : The truth appears so naked on my side, That any purblind eye may find it out. Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, So clear, so shining, and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. Plan. Since you are tongue-tie'd, and so loath to speak, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : Let him, that is a true-born gentleman, And stands upon the honour of his birth, If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. War. I love 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. Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, [case, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. Som. 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 ? Law. Unless my study and my books be false, The argument you held, was wrong in you ; [To Somerset. In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument ? Som. Here, in my scabbard ; meditating that, Shall dye 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. Som. No, Plantagenet, 'Tis not for fear; but anger, — that 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 - That shall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. Suf. Tarn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Plan. Proud Poole, I will ; and scorn both him and thee. Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De -la- Poole ! We grace the 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 ; Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ? Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my On any plot of ground in Christendom : [words Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late king's days ? And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, 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 my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, [rose, 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 am- bition 1 And so farewell, until I meet thee next. {Exit. Som. Have with thee, Poole.— Farewell, am- bitious Richard. {Exit. Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure it ! [house, War. This blot, that they object against your 470 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster : \nd, 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 prophecy, — 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 same. Law. 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 Y.—The same. A Room in the Tower. Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair hy Two Keepers. Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer hqre 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 are these feet — whose strengthless stay is numb, 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 come : 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 1 his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, (Before whose glory I was great in arms,) This loathsome sequestration have I had ; And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, Depriv'd of honour and inheritance : But now, the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence ; I would, his troubles likewise were e.xpir'd, That so he might recover what was lost. Enter Richard Plantagenet. 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend ? Is he come ? Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus 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 ? Plan. First, lean thine a«:ed back against mine And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease, [arm ; 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 before my tongue Else with the like I had requited him : 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. Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison 'd And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, [me, Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was cursed instrument of his decease. Plan. Discover more at large what cause that For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. [was ; 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 nephew Richard ; 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 mov'd these warlike lords to this, Was — for that (young king Richard thus remov'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 their 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. Mor. 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 ; And yet be wary in thy studious care. Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with But yet, methinks, my father's execution [me : Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou 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 Mighr but redeem the passage of your age ! [years FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 471 Mot. Thou dost then 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 funeral ; And so farewell ; and fair be all thy hopes ! And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war! [Dies. Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul ! In prison hast thou 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 Mortimer. Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort : — And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer'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 my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit ACT IIL SCENE I.— The same. The Parliament- House. Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloster, War- wick, Somerset, and Suffolk ; the Bishop of Win- chester, Richard Plantagenet, and others. Gloster offers to put up a bill ; Winchester snatches it, and tears it. Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, Humphrey of Gloster ? if thou canst accuse, Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention suddenly ; As 1 with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands 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 thy 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, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouch- To give me hearing what I shall reply. [safe 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 provoked ? No, my good lords, it is not that offends ; It is not that, that hath incens'd 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, I am as good Glo. As good ? Thou bastard of my grandfather ! — Win. Ay, lordly sir ; For what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne ? Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest ? Win. And am I not a prelate of the church ? Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, And useth it to patronage his theft. Win. Unreverent Gloster ! Glo. Thou art reverent, Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. Win. This Rome shall remedy. War. Roam thither then. Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious, And know the office that belongs to such. War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler ; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that ? Is not his grace protector to the king ? Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue ; Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should ; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords ? Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside. K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal ; I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as^ye, should jar ! Believe me, lords, my tendec^years can tell, Civil dissention is a viperous worm, That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. — [A noise within ; Down with the tawny coats ! What tumult's 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 bishop and the duke of Gloster's men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones ; And banding themselves in contrary parts, Do pelt so fast 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, skirmishing, the Retainers of Gloster and Win- chester, with bloody pates. K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to our- self, To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. r peace. 472 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 1 Serv. Nay, if we be Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 2 Scrv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [Skirmish again. Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. [broil, 1 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth, [man Inferior to none, but his majesty : And, ere that we will suffer such a prince, So kind a father of the commonweal, To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, We, and our wives, and children, all will fight, And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. 2 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. [Skirmish again. Glo. Stay, stay, I say ! And, if you love me, as you say you do, Let me persuade you to forbear a while. K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul !— Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold My sighs and tears, and will not once relent ? Who should be pitiful, if you be not ? Or who should study to prefer a peace, If holy churchmen take delight in broils ? War. My lord protector, yield ;— yield, Win- chester ; — Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. You see what mischief, and what murder too, Hath been enacted through your enmity ; Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop ; Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest Should ever get that privilege of me. War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke Hath banish' d moody discontented fury, As by his smoothed brows it doth appear : Why look you still so stern, and tragical ? Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach, That malice was a great and grievous sin : And will not you maintain the thing you teach, But prove a chief offender in the same ? War. Sweet king ! — 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. Aye ; 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 followers : So help me God, as I dissemble not ! Win. So help me God, as I intend it not ! [Aside. K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, How joyful am I made by this contract ! — Away, my masters 1 trouble us no 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, 4c War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sove- reign ; Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet We do exhibit to your majesty. Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick ; — for, sweet prince, An if your grace mark every circumstance, You have great reason to do Richard right : Especially, for those occasions At Eltham-place I told your majesty. K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, 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'd. Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone, 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 against my foot : And, in reguerdon of that duty done, I girt thee with the valiant sword of York : Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet ; And rise created princely duke of York. Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may And as my duty springs, so perish they [fall ! That grudge one thought against your majesty ! All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of York! Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York ! [Aside. Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty, To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France : The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends ; As it disanimates his enemies. K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Henry goes ; For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. [Exeunt all but Exeter. Exe. Aye, we may march in England, or in Not seeing what is likely to ensue : [France, This late dissention, grown betwixt the peers Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love, And will at last break out into a flame : As fester'd members rot but by degrees, Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away, So will this base and envious discord breed. And now I fear that fatal prophecy, Which in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth, Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, — That Henry, born at Monmouth, 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 hapless time. [Exit. SCENE II.— France. Before Rouen. Enter La Pocelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed like Countrymen, with sacks upon their bacfa. Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, Through which our policy must make a breach : Take heed, be wary how you place your words ; SCENE II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 473 Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men, That come to gather money for their corn. If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,) And that we find the slothful watch hut weak, I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. L Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the And we be lords and rulers over Rouen ; [city, Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks. Guard. [Within.] Qui est la ? Puc. Pa'isans, pauvres gens de France : Poor market -folks, that come to sell their corn. Guard. Enter, go in ; the market-bell is rung. [Opens the gates. Puc. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground. [Pucelle, fyc. enter the city. Elite i Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Alen^n, and Forces. Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem! And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen. Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants ; Now she is there, how will she specify A\ here is the best and safest passage in ? Alen. By thrusting out a torcn from yonder tower ; "Which, once discern'd, shows, that her meaning is, — No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. Enter ', LA Pucelle on a battlement : holding out a torch burning. Puo. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, 1 hat j oineth Rouen unto her countrymen ; Lut burning fatal to the Talbotites. Bait. See, noble Charles ! the beacon of our friend, The burning torch in yonder turret stands. Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, A pi ophet to the fall of all our foes ! Alen. Defer no time, Delays have dangerous ends ; Enter, and cry — The Dauphin! — presently, And then do execution on the watch. [They enter. Alarums. 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 damned sorceress, Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. [Exeunt to the town. Alarum • Excursions. Enter, from the town, Bedford, brought in sick, in a chair, with Talbot, Burgundy, and the English Forces. Then, enter on the walls, La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Albion, and others. Puc. Good morrow, gallants ! want ye corn for I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast, [bread ? Before he'll buy again at such a rate : 'Twas full of darnel ; Do you like the taste? Bur. Scoff on, vile fierid, and shameless court- ezan ! I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time. Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this 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 lustful paramours 1 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, hold thy peace ; If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. — [Talbot, and the rest, consult together. God speed the parliament ! who shall be the speaker ? Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field ? Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, To try if that our own be ours, or no. Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, But unto thee, Alen^on, and the rest ; Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ? Alen. Signior, no. Tal. Signior, hang ! — base muleteers of France ! Like peasant 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 tell That we are here. [you [Exeunt La Pucelle, fycfrom the walls. 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, (Prick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd in 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 town Great Cceur-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 of Bedford : — Come, 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 Rouen, And will be partner of your weal, or woe. Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you. Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once I That stout Pendragon, in his Utter, sick, [read, Came to the field, and vanquished his foes : Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts, Because I ever found them as thyself. Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! — Then be it so : — Heavens keep old Bedford safe ! — And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, But gather we our forces out of hand, And set upon our boasting enemy. [Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces, leaving Bedford, and others. Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe, and a Captain. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste ? Whither away ? to save myself by flight ; like to have the overthrow again. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? Ay, Talbots in the world, to save my life. [Exit. Cowardly knight 1 ill fortune follow thee ! [Exit. Cap. Fast. We are Cap. Fast. All the Cap. 474 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI, ACT IU Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from thetoum, La Pucelle, Alen^on, Charles, $c. and exeunt flymg. Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please ; For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. What is the trust or strength of foolish man ? They, that of late were daring with their scoffs, Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. [Dies, and is carried off in his chair, Alarum : 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. Warlike 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 I think, her old familiar is asleep : [now ? Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks ? What, all a-mort? Rouen hangs her head for grief, That such a valiant company are fled. Now will we take some order in the town, Placing therein some expert officers ; And then depart to Paris, to the king ; For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies. Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy. Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, But see his exequies fulfill' d in Rouen ; A braver soldier never couched lance, A gentler heart did never sway in court : But 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, Alen^on, La Pucelle, and Forces. Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, Nor grieve that Rouen 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 diffidence ; 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 ; Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. Puc. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise: By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words, We will entice the duke of Burgundy To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. Char. Ay, 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. Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd from And not have title to an earldom here. [France, Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will work, To bring this matter to the wished end. [Drums heard. Hark ! by the sound of drum, you may perceive Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. An English March. Enter, and pass over at a distance, Talbot and his Forces. There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread ; And all the troops of English after him. A French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy, and Forces. Now, in the rearward, comes 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 coun- tryman. Bur. What say'st thou, Charles ? for I am march- ing hence. Char. Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with thy words. [France ! Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of 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 bosom. Should grieve thee more than streams of foreigu gore; Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears, And wash away thy country's stained spots 1 Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words, Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 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 hath set footing once in France, And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, Who then, but English Henry, will be lord, And thou be thrust 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 ransome pay 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-men. Come, come, return ; return, thou wand'ring lord; Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms. Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty words of Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, [hers And made me almost yield upon my knees. — Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace : My forces and my power of men are yours ; — So, farewell, Talbot ; I'll no longer trust thee. Puc. Done like a Frenchman ; turn, and turn again ! Char. Welcome, brave duke 1 thy friendship makes us fresh. Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in thh?, And doth deserve a coronet of gold. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 475 Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers ; And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— Paris. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Gloster, and other Lords, Vernon, Basset, fyc. To them Talbot, and some of his Officers. Tal. My gracious prince, — and honourable Hearing of your arrival in this realm, [peers, I have awhile given truce unto my wars, To do my duty to my sovereign : In si 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. Stuf. And here I will expect thy coming. _ Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignier, below. Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories ; Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, Fit to be made companion with a king : W T hat 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, Your 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 Because this is in traffic of a king : [thanks, And yet, methinks, I could be well content To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside I'll over then to England with this news, And make this marriage to be solemniz'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 1 Good wishes, praise, and prayers, Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going Suf. Farewell, sweet madam ! But hark you, Margaret ; No princely commendations to my king ? Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, A virgin, and his servant, say to him. Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly di- rected. But, madam, I must trouble yoti 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 Reignmer and Margaret Suf. O, wert thou for myseii -But, Suffolk, 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 tne seas, That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. [Exit. SCENE IV.— Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. Enter York, Warwick, and others. York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn' d to burn. Enter La Puceiae guarded, and a Shepherd. Shep. Ah, Joan ! this kills thy father's heart outright ! Have I sought every country far and near, And, now it is «ay chance to find thee out. SCENE IV FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 483 Must I behold thy timeless cruel death ? Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee ! Puc. Decrepit miser ! base ignoble wretch 1 I am descended of a gentler blood ; Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. Shep. Out, out ! — My lords, an please you, 'tis not so; I did beget her, all the parish knows : Her mother liveth yet, can testify, She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. War. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage ? York. This argues what her kind of life hath been ; Wicked and vile ; and so her death concludes. Shep. Fye, Joan ! that thou wilt be so obstacle ! God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh ; And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan. Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! — You have suborn'd this man, Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. 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 my girl. Wilt thou not stoop ? Now cursed be the time Of thy nativity ! I would, the milk Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast, Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? O, burn her, burn her ; hanging is too good. [Exit. York. Take her away ; for she hath liv'd too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities. Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have condemn'd : Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, Bat issu'd from the progeny of kings ; Virtuous, and holy ; chosen from above, By inspiration of celestial grace, To work exceeding miracles on earth. I never had to do with wicked spirits : But you, — 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, misconceiv'd ! Joan of Arc hath been A virgin from her tender infancy, Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd, Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. York. Ay, ay ; — away with her to execution. War. 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 infirmity ; That warranteth by law to be thy privilege— I am with child, ye bloody homicides : Murder not then the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death. York Now heaven forfend 1 the holy maid with child? War. The greatest miracle that e'er 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. Well, go to : we will have no bastards live; Especially, since Charles must father it. Puc. You are deceiv'd; my child is none ol his ; It was Alencon that enjoyed my love. York. Alencon ! that notorious Machiavel ! It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you ; 'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd, But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. War. A married man! that's most intoler- able. York. Why, here's a girl I I think, she knows not well, There were so many, whom she may accuse. War. It's sign, she hath been liberal and free. York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. — Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee: Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. Puc. Then lead me hence ; — with whom I leave my curse : May 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 yourselve* [Exit, guardea. York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes, Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence With letters of commission from 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 Dauphin, and his train, Approacheth to confer about some matter. York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect ? After the slaughter of so many peers, So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, • That in this quarrel have been overthrown, And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace ? Have we not lost most part of all the towns, By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, Our great progenitors had conquer'd ? — 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 such strict and severe covenants As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. Enter Charles, attended ; Albion, 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. 484 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes The hollow passage of my poison'd voice, By si of the King's party. Lord Clifford, Young Clifford, his Son, Earl of Salisbury, Earl of Warwick, Lord Scales, Governor of the Tower. Lord Say. Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Brother. Sir John Stanley. A Sea Captain, Master, and Master's Mate, and Walter Whitmore. Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk. A Herald. \AVX. ^ of the York faction. Hume and Southwell, two Priest*. Bolingbroke, a Conjuror. A Spirit raised by him. Thomas Horner, an Armourer. Peter, his Man. Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of Saint Alban's. Simpcox, an Impostor. Two Murderers. Jack Cade, a Rebel. George, John, Dick; Smith, the Weaver,- Michak: 1 ifC. his followers. Alexander Loen, a Kentish Gentleman. Margaret, Queen to King Henry. Eleanor, Duchess of Gloster. Margery Jourdain, a Witch. Wife to Simpcox. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Petitioners, Aldermen a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers ; Citizens, 'Prenticei Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, 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 duke's fair daughter. I cannot blame them all ; What is't to them ? 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone : While as the silly owner of the goods Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands, And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, While all is shar'd, and all is borne away : Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own. So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland, Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood, As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd, Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French! Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England's soil. K day will come, when York shall claim his own ; And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts, And make a show of love to proud duke 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 the 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 Humphrey 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 pull'd fair England down. [Exit. SCENE II. — 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' plenteous load ? Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning 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? What 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, Until 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 : And, 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 one glance unto the ground. Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish 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 dream'd my lord ? tell me, and I'll requite it With the sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. Glo. Methought, this staff, 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 Edmond duke of So- merset, And William de la Poole 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, my Humphrey, my sweet duke i Methought, I sat in seat of majesty, In the cathedral church of Westminster SCENE III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 489 And in 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 : Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor ! Art thou not second woman in the realm : And the protector's wife, belov'd of him ? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compass of thy thought ? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband, and thyself, From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more. Duch. What, what, my lord ! are you so choleric 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 again. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure, You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. Glo. I go. — Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us ? Duch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. [Exeunt Gloster and Messenger. Follow I must, I cannot go before, While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 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 I nay, fear not, man, We are alone ; here's none but thee, and I. Enter Hume. Hume. Jesu preserve your royal majesty ! Duch. What say'st thou, majesty I I am but grace. Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, Your 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 show your 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 ques- tions : 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, JVith thy confederates in this weighty cause. [Exit Duchess. Hume. Hume must make merry 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. Yet have I gold, flies from another coast : I dare not say, from the rich cardinal, And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk ; 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 petitions. 1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close ; my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. 2 Pet. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man I Jesu bless him ! Enter Suffolk and Queen Margaret. 1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen with him : I'll be the first, sure. 2 Pet. Come back, fool ; this is the duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. Suf. How now, fellow? would'st any thing with me ? 1 Pet. I pray, my lord, pardon me 1 I took ye for my lord protector. Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.'] To my lord protector J are your supplications to his lord- ship ? Let me see them : What is thine ? 1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keep- ing my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. Suf. Thy wife too ? that is some wrong, indeed What's yours ? — What's here ! [Reads.] Against the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons oj Melford. — How now, sir knave ? 2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. Peter. [Presenting his petition."] Againstmy mas- ter, Thomas Horner, for saying, That the duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. Q. Mar. What say'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, That he was ; and that the king was an usurper. Suf. Who is there? [Enter Servants.] — Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pur- suivant 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 wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [Tears the petition. Away, base cullions ! — Suffolk, let them go. All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? Is this the government of Britain's isle, And this the royalty of Albion's king ? What, shall king Henry be a pupil still, Under the surly Gloster's governance ? Am I a queen in title and in style. iiX) SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT I 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 ; I thought king Henry had resembled thee, In courage, courtship, and proportion : But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads : His champions are — the prophets and apostles ; His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ ; His study is his 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 ; That were a state fit for his holiness. Suf. Madam, be patient : as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we Beaufort, The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York : and not the 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 Nevils : Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers. Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so much, As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife ; Strangers in court do take her for the queen ; She bears a duke's revenues 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 father's 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 the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. So, let her rest : And, madam, list to me ; For I 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. Enter Kino Henry, York, and Somerset, conversing with him,- Duke and Duchess of Gloster, Cardinal Beau- fort, Buckingham, Salisbury, and Warwick. K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me. [which ; York. If York have in demean'd himself in France, Then let him be denay'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, or no, Dispute not that : York is the worthier. Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. War. The cardinal's not my better in the field. Buck. All in this presenoe are thy betters. War- wick. War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. Sal. Peace, son ; and show some reason, Buckingham, Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have 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 To be protector of his excellence ? [grace Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm ; And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. Since thou wert king, (as who is king, but thou ?) The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck : The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas ; And all the peers and nobles of the realm Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty, Car. Thecommons hast thou rack'd; tbeclergy's Are lank and lean with thy extortions. [aags Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire, Have cost a mass of public treasury. Buck. Thy cruelty in execution, Upon offenders, hath 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 great, — Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. [Exit Gloster. The Queen drops her fan. Give me my fan : What, minion ! can you not ? [Gives the Duchess a box on the ear. I 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 nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face. K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet ; 'twas against her will. Duch. Against her will ! Good king, look to't in time; She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby : Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. [Exit Duchess Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : She's tickled now : her fume can need no spurs, She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction. [Exit Buckingham. Re-enter Gloster; Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown, With walking once about the quadrangle, I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. As for your spiteful false 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 of France. Suf. Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride : Next, if I be appointed for the place. My lord of Somerset will keep me here, Without discharge, money, or furniture. Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands. 30KNE IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 49). Last time, I danc'd attendance on his will, Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost. War. That I can witness ; and a fouler fact Did never traitor in the land commit. Snf. Peace, headstrong Warwick ! War. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace ? Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner and Peter. Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason : Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself ! York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor ? K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ? tell me : What are these ? Snf. Please it your majesty, this is the man That doth accuse his master of high treason : His words were these ; — that Richard, duke of York, Was rightful heir unto the English crown ; And that your majesty was an usurper. K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words ? Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter : God is my wit- ness, 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 garret one night, as we were scouring my lord of York's armour. York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech : — I do beseech your royal majesty, Let him have all the rigour of the law. Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice ; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me : I have good witness of this ; therefore, I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation. K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law ? Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge. Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion : And let these have a day appointed them For single combat, in convenient place ; For he hath witness of his servant's malice : This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. K. Hen. Then be it so. My lord of Somerset, We make your grace lord regent o'er the French. Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight ; for God's sake, pity my case ! the spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy, upon me ! I 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 sent away. {Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The same. The Duke of Gloster's Garden. Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, Southttell, and BOLINGBROKE. Hume. Come, my masters ; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore pro- vided : Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms ? 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, go in God's name, and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jour- dain, be you prostrate, and grovel on the earth : — John Southwell, read you ; and let us to our work. Enter Duchess, above. Duch. Well said, my masters ; and welcome all. To this geer ; 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 fire ; The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl, And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves, That time best fits the work we have 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 appertaining, and make the circle ; Bolingbroke, or Southwell, reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly: then the Spirit riseth. Spir. Adsum. M.Jourd. Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. Spir. Ask what thou wilt : That I had said and done ! Boling. First, of the king. What shall of him become ? {Reading out of a paper. Spir. Thedukeyet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. {As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the answer. Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ? Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset ? Spir. Let him shun castles ; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning False fiend, avoid ! [lake : {Thunder and lightning. 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 inch. — .What, madam, are you there? the king and com- monweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains ; My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon 'd for these good deserts. Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Injurious duke ; that threat'st where is no cause. Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you this ? {Showing her the papers. Away with them ; let them be clapp'd up close, And kept asunder : — You, madam, shall with us : — Stafford, take her to thee. [Exit DucHEss/rom above. We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming ; All. — Away ! {Exeunt Guards, tcith South. Boling. SfC. York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well ; A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon : 492 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. act n, Now, pray, 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 just, Aio te, JEacida, Romanos vincere posse. Well, to the rest ; Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ? By water shall he die, and take his end, — What shall betide the duke of Somerset ? Let him shun castles ; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, Than where castles mounted stand. Come, come, my lords ; These oracles are hardily attain' d, And hardly understood. The king is now in progress toward Saint Alban's, With him the husband of this lovely lady : Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. [them ; Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. York. At your pleasure, my good lord.— W T ho's within there, ho I Enter a Servant Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, To sup with me to-morrow night. — Away ! [Exeunt ACT II. SCENE I.— Saint Alban's. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, Car- dinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hollaing. Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, I saw not better sport these seven years' day : Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ; And, ten 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 above the rest ! — To see how God in all his creatures works ! Yea, man and birds, are fain of climbing high. Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, My lord protector's hawks do tower so well ; They know, their master loves to be aloft, And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. Car. I thought as much; he'd be above the clouds. Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal ; How think you by that ? Were it not pood, your grace could fly to heaven ? K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy ! Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart ; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal ! Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown Tantaene animis ccelestibus irce$ [peremptory? Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness can you do it ? Suf No malice, sir ; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. Glo. As who, my lord ? Suf. Why, as you, my lord ; An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace, Good queen ; and whet not on these furious peers, For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector with my sword ! Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come 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 not peep : an if thou dar'st, This evening, on the east 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 two-hand sword. [Aside to Glo Glo. True, uncle. Car. Areyouadvis'd? — the east side of the grove? Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ' Glo. Talking of hawking ; nothing else, my lord.— Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. [Aside Car. Medice teipsum ; > Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. S ^ Aside K. Hen. The winds grow high ; so do youi stomachs, 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 Alban's, crying, A Miracle • Glo. What means this noise ? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? Inhab. A miracle ! a miracle ! Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at St. Alban's shrine, Within this half hour, hath receiv'd 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 1 Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's, and his brethren: and Simpcox, borne between two persons in a chair,- his wife and a great multitude following. Car. Here come the townsmen on 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 multiplied. Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king, His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circum- That we for thee may glorify the Lord. [stance, What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd? Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 41)3 Suf. What woman is this ? Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'st have better told. K. Hen. Where wert thou born ? Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. K. Hen. Poor soul ! God's goodness hath been great to thee : Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou 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 By good Saint Alban ; who said, — Simpcox, come ; Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee. Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. Car. What, art thou lame ? Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! Suf. How cam'st thou so ? Simp. A fall off of a tree. Wife. A plum-tree, master. Glo. How long hast thou been blind ? Simp, O, born so, master. Glo. What, and would'st climb a tree ? Simp. But that in all 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 some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. Glo. A subtle knave 1 but yet it shall not serve. — Let me see thine eyes : — wink now ; now open them : — In my opinion, yet thou see'st not well. Simp. 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. Why, that's well said : What colour is my gown of? Simp. Black, forsooth ; coal-black, as jet. K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before 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. What's his name ? Simp. I know not. Glo. Nor his ? Simp. No, indeed, master. Glo. What's thine own name ? Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lying'st knave In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, Thou might' st as well have known our names, as thus To name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours ; but suddenly To nominate them all, 's impossible. — My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle ; And would ye not think tbat cunning to be great, That could restore this cripple to his legs again ? 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. May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. [Exit an Attendant. Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [J stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and run away. Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone j 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 till he leap over that same stool. Bead. I will, my lord. — Come on, sirrah ; off with 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 runs away; and the people follow, and cry, A Miracle ! K. Hen. O God, see'st thou this, 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 every market town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came. [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, $c. Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. Suf. True ; made the lame to leap, and fly away. Glo. But you have done more miracles than I ; You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter Buckingham. K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Bucking- ham ? Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort 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 conjurors : 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 means Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turn'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 grief have vanquish'd all my powers : And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, Or to the meanest groom. K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wick, ed ones ; Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby ! Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 494 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT II. Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal : And, for my wife, 1 know not how it stands ; Sorry I am to hear what I have heard ; Noble she is ; but if she have forgot Honour, and virtue, and con vers' d with such As, like to pitch, defile nobility, I banish her my bed and company ; And give her, as a prey, to law, and shame, That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name. K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us To-morrow, toward London, back again, [here : To look into this business thoroughly, And call these foul offenders to their answers ; And poise the cause injustice' equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt. ♦ SCENE II. — 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, I long to hear it at full. War. Sweet York, begin : and if thy claim be good, The Nevils are thy subjects to command. York. Then thus — 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, duke of Clarence ; next to whom, Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster : The fifth was Edmond Langley, duke of York ; The sixth, was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloster ; William of Windsor was the seventh, and last. Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father ; And left behind him Richard, his only son, Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king; Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, 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 poor queen to France, from whence she came, And him to Pomfret ; where, as all you know, Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. War. Father, the duke hath told the truth ; Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. York. Which now they hold by force, and not by right ; For Richard, the first son's heir being dead, The issue of the next son should have reigned. Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. York. The third son, duke of Clarence, (from whose line I claim the crown ,) had issue— Philippe, a daughter : Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March, Edmund had issue — Roger, earl of March : Roger had issue— Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown ; And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity, till he died. But, to the rest. York. His eldest sister, Anne, My mother, being heir unto the crown, Married Richard, earl of Cambridge ; who was soc To Edmond Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir To Roger, earl of March ; who was the son Of Edmund Mortimer ; who married Philippe, Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence : So if the issue of the elder son Succeed before the younger, I am king. War. What plain proceedings are more plain than this ? Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son ; York claims it from the third. Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : It fails not yet ; but flourishes in thee, And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. — Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together ; And, in this private plot, be we the first, That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honour of his birthright to the crown. Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king ! York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king Till I be crown'd ; and that my sword be stain'd With heart-blood 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 Suffolk's insolence, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey : 'Tis that they seek ; and they, in seeking that, Shall find their deaths, if York can prophecy. Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. War. My heart assures me, that the earl oi Warwick Shall one day make the duke of York a king. York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, — Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick The greatest man in England, but the king. lExeunt. SCENE III. — The same. A Hall of Justice. Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen Marga- ret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, a?irf Salisbury ; Iht Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, and Bolingbroke, under guard. K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloster's 1 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 again ; [TOJOURD. §C. 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, Despoiled of your honour in your life. Shall, after three days' open penance done. aGKNE IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 49t Live in your country here, in banishment, With sir John Stanley, in the isle of Man. Duch. Welcome is banishment, welcome were my death. Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged I cannot justify whom the law condemns. — [thee ; [Exeunt the Duchess, and the other prisoners guarded. Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age W T ill bring thy head with sorrow to the ground ! — I beseech your majesty give me leave to go ; Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster : ere Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself [thou go, 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 staff ? — here, noble Henry, is my staff : 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 would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king : when I am dead and gone, May honourable peace attend thy throne ! [Exit. Q. Mar. Why now is Henry king, and Marga- ret 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; This staff of honour raught : — There let it stand, Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand, [sprays ; Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. York. Lords, let him go, — Please it your ma- This i r the day appointed for the combat ; [jesty, And ready are the appellant and defendant, The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, So please your highness to behold the fight. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord ; for purposely there- Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. [fore K. Hen. O' God's name, see the lists and all things fit ; Here let them end it, and God defend the right ! York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter, on one side, Horner, and his neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk ,- and he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; a drum before him : at the other side, Peter, with a drum and a similar staff; accompanied by prentices drinking to him. 1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack ; And fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. 2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. 3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour : drink, and fear not your man. Hor. Let it come, i'faith, and Til pledge you all ; And a fig for Peter ! 1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee ; and be not afraid. 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy mas- ter : fight for credit of the prentices. Peter, I thank you all : drink, and pray for me» I pray you ; for, I think, I have taken ray last draught in this world. — Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron ; and, W T ill, thou shalt have my hammer : — and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. — O Lord, bless me, I pray God ! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence already. Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. —Sirrah, what's thy name ? Peter. Peter, forsooth. Sal. Peter ! what more ? Peter. Thump. Sal. Thump ! then see thou thump thy master well. 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 the king, nor the queen : And there- fore, Peter, have at thee with a downwright blow, as Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart. York. Despatch ; — this knave's tongue begins to double. Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants. [Alarum. They fight, and Peter strikes down 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 I overcome mine enemies in this presence ? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right ! [sight ; K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt : And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow. Which he had thought to have murder' d wrong- fully Come, fellow, follow us 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, after summer, evermore 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 appointed me, To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess ; Unneath may she endure the flinty streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people, gazing on thy face, With envious looks still laughing at 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'll prepare My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a white sheet, with papers pinn'd upon her back, her feet bare, and a taper burning in her hand : Sir John Stanley, a Sheriff, and Officers. Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. Glo. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her pass by. Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame ? 49G SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI, -ACT III. Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze ! See, how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee ! Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks ; And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell ; forget this grief. Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself: For, whilst I think I am thy married wife, And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks, I 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, when I start, the envious people laugh, And bid me be advised bow I tread. Ah, Humphrey, can 1 bear this shameful yoke ? Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world ; Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun ? No ; dark shall be my light, and night my day ; To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell. Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey'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 ; Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will. For Suffolk, — he that can do all in all With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all, — And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee : But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd. Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear ; thou aimest all awry ; I must offend, before I be attainted : And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away, But I in danger for the breach of law. Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald. Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's par- liament, holden at Bury the first of this next month. Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before * This is close dealing.— Well, I will be there. I 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 com- mission stays : And sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the isle of Man. Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here ? Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please your grace. Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray You use her well : the world may laugh again : And I may live to do you kindness, if You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell. Duch. What, gone, my lord ! and bid me not farewell? Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Exeunt Gloster and Servants. Duch. Art thou gone too ? All comfort go wivb thee ! For none abides with me : my joy is — death ; Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity. — Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence ; I care not whither, for I beg no favour, Only convey me where thou art commanded. Stan. Why, madam, that is to the isle of Man ; There to be used according to your state. Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach : And shall I then be us'd reproachfully ? Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's According to that state you shall be used. [lady, Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare : Although thou hast been conduct of my shame ! Sher. It is my office ; and, madam, pardon me. Duch. Ay, ay, farewell ; thy office is dis- charg'd — Come, Stanley, shall we go ? Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my No, it will hang upon my richest robes, [sheet : And show itself, attire me how I can. Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE J.— The Abbey at Bury. Enter to the Parliament, Kino Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, and others. K. Hen. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come : 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. Q. Mar. Can you not see ? or will you not ob- The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? [serve With what a majesty he bears himself; How insolent of late he is become, How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself ? We know the time, 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 ; But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded, when 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 should you fall, he is the 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 come about your royal person, SOKNE I. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 497 Or be admitted to your highness' council. By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts ; And, when he please to make commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd, they all 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. The reverent care, I bear unto my lord, Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman's fear ; Which fearif better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say — I wrong'd the duke. My lord of Suffolk, — Buckingham, — and York, — Reprove my allegation, if you can ; Or else conclude my words effectual. Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think, I should have tcld 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, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess, By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep ; And in his simple show he harbours treason. The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? York. And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm, For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it ? By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. Buck. Tut ! These are petty faults to faults un- 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 sucking 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 this 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 are 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. What news from France ? Som. That all your interest in those territories Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset : But God's will be done ! [ France, York Cold news for me; tor 1 had hope of 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 my title for a glorious grave. [Aside. Enter Gloster. Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king ! Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long. Suf. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art : I do arrest thee of high treason here. Glo. Well, Suffolk, 'yet thou shalt not see me blush, Nor change my countenance for this arrest ; A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud, As I am clear from treason to my sovereign : Who can accuse me ? wherein am I guilty ? York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes 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 that think it ? I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, — Ay, night by night, — in studying good for Eng- land ! That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial day ! No ! many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, Have I dispursed to the garrisons, And never ask'd for restitution. Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me God ! York. In your protectorship, you did devise 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 that was in me ; For I should melt at an offender's tears, And lowly words were ransome for their fault. Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief, that fleec'd poor passengers, I never gave them c6ndign punishment : Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd Above the felon, or what trespass else. Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd : But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness' name ; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. K. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope, That you will clear yourself from all suspects ; My conscience tells me, you are innocent. Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand ; Foul subornation is predominant, And equity exil'd your highness' land. I know, their complot is to have my life ; k k 4U8 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT II. And, if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness : 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 hlab his heart's malice, And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ; Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue The envious load that lies 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 my life : And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head ; And, with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up My liefest liege to be mine enemy : — Ay, all of you have laid your heads together, Myself had notice of your conventicles, And 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 will be well affected, — A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : If those, that care to keep your royal person From treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage, Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here, With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o'erthrow his state ? Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant : I lose, in- deed ; — Beshrew the winners, for they played me false ! And well such losers may have leave to speak. Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day : Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body : Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were 1 For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exeunt Attendants, with Glostkr. K. Hen, My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best, Do, or undo, as if ouiself were here. Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the 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 misery ; For what's more miserable than discontent ? — Ah, uncle Humphrey '. in thy face I see The 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 subversion of thy harmless life ? Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong : And as the butcher takes away the calf, And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ; Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence. And as the dam runs lowing up and down, Looking 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 unhelpful tears ; and with dimm'd eyes Look after him, and cannot do him good ; So mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will weep ; and, 'twixt each groan, Say — Who's a traitor ? Gloster he is none. [Exit. Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams. Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, Too full of foolish pity : and Gloster's show Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers ; Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bank, With shining check er'd slough, doth sting a child, That, for the beauty, thinks it excellent. Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, (And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,) This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, To rid us from the fear we have of him. Car. That he should die, is worthy policy : But yet we want a colour for his death : 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy : The king will labour still to save his life ; The commons haply rise to save his life ; And we yet have but trivial argument, More than mistrust, that shows him 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 hit death.— But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suf. folk,— 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 Humphrey for the king's protector ? Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. Suf. Madam, 'tis true : And wer't not madness then, To make the fox surveyor of the fold ? Who being accus'd a crafty murderer, His guilt should be but idly posted over, Because his purpose is not executed. No ; let him die, in that he is a fox, By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood ; As Humphrey, prov'd by 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 that is good deceit Which mates him first, that first intends deceit. Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke. Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done ; For things are often spoke, and seldom meant : But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue, — Seeing the deed is meritorious, And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, — Say but the word, *nd I will be his priest. SCENE IT. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 499 Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk, Ere you can take due orders for a priest : Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, A.nd I'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 I : 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 up, And put the Englishmen unto the sword : Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, Before the wound do grow incurable ; For, being green, there is great hope of help. Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient stop ! What counsel give you in this weighty cause ? York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither; 'Tis 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 have 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 burden of dishonour home, By staying there so long, till all were lost. Show me one scar character'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, If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : — No more, good York ; — sweet Somerset, be still ; — Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. York. What, worse than naught ? nay, then a shame take all ! Som. And in the number, thee, that wishest shame ! Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. The uncivil Kernes of Ireland are in arms, And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : To Ireland will you lead a band of men, Collected choicely, from each county some, And try your hap against the Irishmen ? York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. Suf. Why, our authority is his consent ; And, what we do establish, he confirms : Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. York. I am content : Provide me soldiers, lords, Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. Suf, A charge, lord York, that I will see per- form' d. But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. Car. No more of him ; for I will deal with him, That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. And so break off ; the day is almost spent : Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days, At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; For there I'll ship them all for Ireland, Suf. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York. [Exeunt all but York. York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful A.nd change misdoubt to resolution : [thoughts; 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 thought on thought ; And not a thought, but thinks on dignity. My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. Well, nobles, well, 'tis politickly 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 your 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. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will stir up in England some black storm, Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell : And this fell tempest 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 flaw. And, for a minister of my intent, I have seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman, John Cade of Ashford, To make commotion, as full well he can, Under the title of John Mortimer. In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade Oppose himself against a troop of Kernes ; And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine : And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him Caper upright like a wild M6risco, 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 the 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 mov'd him to those arms. Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,) Why, then from Ireland come I with my streng h, 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. — Bury. A Room in the Palace. Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know, We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded. 2 Mur. O, that it were to do ! — What have we Didst ever hear a man so penitent ? [done ? Enter Suffolk. 1 Mur. Here comes my lord. Suf. Now, sirs, have you Despatch'd this thing ? 1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to mj house ; 500 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT HI. / 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 directions ? 1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lord. Suf. Away, be gone ! [Exeunt Murderers. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beau- fort, Somerset, Lords, and others. K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight : Say, we intend to try his grace to-day, If he be guilty, as 'tis published. Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. K. Hen. 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 appro v'd in practice culpable. Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion ! K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret ; these words content me much. — Re-enter Suffolk. How now ? why look'st thou pale ? why tremblest thou ? Where is our uncle ? what is the matter, Suffolk ? Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloster is dead. Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend ! Car. God's secret judgment ; — I did dream to- night, The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [TJie King swoons. Q. Mar. How fares my lord ?— Help, lords ! the king is dead. Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the nose. Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help ! — O, Henry, ope thine eyes ! Suf. He doth revive again ; — Madam, be patient. K. Hen. O heavenly God ! Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord ? Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry, comfort ! K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort Came he right now to sing a raven's note, [me ? W T hose dismal tune bereft my vital powers ; And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceived sound ? Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words. Lay not thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ; Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting. Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight ! Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding : — Yet do not go away ; — Come, basilisk, And kill the innocent gazer with the sight : For in the shade of death I shall find joy ; In life but double death, now Gloster's dead. Q. Mar. W T hy do you rate my lord of Suffolk Although the duke was enemy to him, [thus ? Yet he, most christian-like, laments his death : And for myself, — foe as he was to me, Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, Or blood -consuming sighs recall his life, I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, Look pale as primrose, with blood-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 ; It may be judg'd, I made the duke away : So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, And princes' courts be fill'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 for Gloster, wretched man ! Q. 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 queen. Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb ? Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy jcy : Erect his statue then, and worship it, And make my image but an alehouse sign. Was I, for this, nigh wreck 'd upon the sea ; And twice by awkward wind from England's bank Drove back again unto my native clime? What boded this, but well-forewarning wind Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest, Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ? What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts, And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves ; And bid them blow towards England's blessed Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ? [shore, Yet ^Eolus would not be a murderer, But left that hateful office unto thee : The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me ; Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd on shore, With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness : The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands, And would not dash me with their ragged sides ; Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret. As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, When from the shore the tempest beat us back, I stood upon the hatches in the storm : And when the dusky sky began to rob My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, I took a costly jewel from my neck, — A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, — And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea receiv'd it ; And so, I wish'd, thy body might ray heart : And even with this, I lost fair England's view, And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart ; A.nd call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue (The agent of thy foul inconstancy,) To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did, When he to madding Dido would unfold His father's acts, commene'd in burning Troy ? Am I not witch'd like her ? or thou not false like Ah me, I can no more ! Die, Margaret [him ? 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 Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. The 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 mutiny, Until they hear the order of his death. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 501 K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true ; But how he died, God knows, not Henry : Knter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death. War. That I shall do, my liege : — Stay, Salis- With the rude multitude, till I return. [bury, [Warwick goes into an inner room, and Salisbury retires. K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts ; My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul, Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life ! If my suspect 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 drain Upon his face an ocean of salt tears ; To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling : But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; And, to survey his dead and earthy image, What were it but to make my sorrow greater ? The folding-doors of an inner chamber are thrown open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his bed: Warwick and others standing by it. War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body. K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made : For, with 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 him To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, I do believe that violent hands were laid Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue ! What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow ? War. See, how the blood is settled in his face ! Oft have 1 seen a timely-parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, 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 ; Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er re- To blush and beautify the cheek again. [turneth But, see, his face is black, and full of blood ; His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with strug- gling; His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'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. War. But both of you were vow'd duke Hum- phrey's foes ; And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : 'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend ; \nd 'tis well seen, he found an enemy. Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noble- men 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 will suspect, '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 a 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 Suffolk dare him ? Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, [spirit, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. War. Madam, be still; with reverence may I For every word, you speak in his behalf, [say ; Is slander to your royal dignity. Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour ! If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, Thy mother took into her blameful bed Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou And never of the Nevil's noble race. [art, War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 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 thy mother that thou meant'st, That thou thyself wast born in bastardy : And, after all this fearful homage done, Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men ! Suf. Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood, If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence : Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. [Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick. K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart 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 Warwick, with their weapons drawn. K. Hen. Why, how now, lords? your wrathful 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 Bury, Set all upon me. mighty sovereign. 502 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. Koise of a crowd within, fie-cnter Salisbury. Sal. Sirs, stand apart ; the king shall know your mind. — [Speaking to those within. 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 torture 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, if your highness shoxdd intend to sleep, And charge — that no man should disturb your rest, 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 Tvak'd Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber, The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal : And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no, From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ; With whose envenomed and fatal sting, Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, They say, is shamefully bereft of life. Commons. [Within.'] An answer from the king, my lord of Salisbury. Suf. 'Tis like, the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, Could send such message to their sovereign : But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, To show 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 from the king, or we'll all break in. K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, I thank them for their tender loving care ; And had I not been 'cited so by them, Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. And therefore — by His majesty I swear, Whose far unworthy deputy I am, — He shall not breathe infection in this air But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Exit Salisbury. Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk ! K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk. No 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, -when I swear, it is irrevocable : — If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found On any ground that I am ruler of, The world shall not be ransome for thy life Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me: I have great matters to impart to thee. [Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, S(C. Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you ! Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, Be playfellows to keep you company ! There's two of you ; the 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 upon them ! wherefore should I curse them ? Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, I would invent as bitter searching terms, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Deliver' d strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As 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 fix'd on end, as one distract ; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban : And even now my burden'd heart would break, Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink ! Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste ! Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees! Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks ! Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings ! Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss ; And boding screech-owls make the concert full ! All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou torment'st thyself ; And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass, Or like an overcharged gun, — recoil, And turn the force of them upon thyself. Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave ? Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, Well could I curse away a winter's night, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport. Q. Mar. O, let me entreat thee, cease ! 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, Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee! So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief ; 'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, As one that surfeits thinking on a want. I will repeal 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 condemn'd Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee ! Suff. 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 Suffolk had thy heavenly company : For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world ; SCENE III, SECOND PALIT OF KING HENRY VI. 503 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 Va _ jx. 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 Humphrey'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 for him. Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. [Exit Vaux. Ah me ! what is this world ? what news are these? Lut wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the southern clouds contend in tears ; Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows ? Now, get thee hence : The king, thou know'st, is coming ; If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. Suf. 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 dug between its 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. To 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- It is applied to a deathful wound. [rosive, To France, sweet Suffolk : Let me hear from thee ; For wheresoe'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 Beaufort's Bed-Chamber. Enter Kino Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and others. The Cardinal in bed ; Attendants with him. K. Hen. Hovr fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, When death's approach is seen so terrible ! War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. Car. Bring me unto my trial, when you will. Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no ? — O ! torture me no more, I will confess. — Alive again ? then show me where he is ; I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. — He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them Comb down his hair ; look ! look ! it stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! — Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! O, beat away the busy meddling fiend, That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, And from 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. K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea- sure be ! Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — He dies, and makes no sign ; O God, forgive him ! War. 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. Firing heard at sea. Then enter from a boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master 's-Mate, Walter Whitmore, and others; with them Suffolk, and other Gentlemen, prisoners. Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; And now loud-howliDg wolves arouse the jades That drag the tragic melancholy night ; Who 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 the Downs, Here shall they make their ransome on the sand, Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. — Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; — And thou, that art his mate, make boot of this ; — The other [pointing to Suffolk,] Walter Whit- more, is thy share. 1 Gent. What is my ransome, master? let me know. Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. Cap. What think you much to pay two thousand crowns, And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? — 604 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. Cut both the villains' throats ;— for die you shall ; The lives of those which we have lost in fight, Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 1 Gent. I'll give it, sir ; and therefore spare my life. 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard. And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ; [To Suf. And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransome, let him live. Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ; Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. Whit. And so am I ; my name is — Walter Whitmore. How now ? why start'st thou ? what, doth death affright ? Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is A cunning man did calculate my birth, [death. And told me — that by Water I should die : ! Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded ; Thy name is — Gualtier, being rightly sounded. Whit. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I care Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name, [not ; But with our sword we wip'd away the blot ; Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defae'd, And I proclaim'd a coward through the world ! [Lays hold on Suffolk. Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a The duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole, [prince, Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags ! Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke ; Jove sometime went disguis'd, And why not I ? Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's The honourable blood of Lancaster, [blood, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. Hast thou not ki-ss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup ? Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule, And thought thee happy when I shook my head ? How often hast thou waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, When I have feasted with queen Margaret ? Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n ; Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, And duly waited for my coming forth ? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain ? Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Suf. Base slave ! thy words are blunt, and so art thou. Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's Strike off his head. [side Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. Cap. Yes, Poole. Suf Poole ? Cap. Poole ? Sir Poole ? lord ? Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, For swallowing the treasure of the realm : Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground : And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's death, Against the 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 grown 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 forts, 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 By shameful murder of a guiltless king, [crown, And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, — Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colours Advance our 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 : — Away ! convey him hence. Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges ! Small things make base men proud : this villain Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more [here, Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. It is impossible, that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me : I go of message from the queen to France ; I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. Cap. Walter, Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. [fear. Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus : — 'tis thee I Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop ? I Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it, we should honour such as these With humble suit : no, rather let my head Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, Save to the God of heaven, and to my king, And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear : — More can I bear, than you dare execute. Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot ! — Great men oft die by vile bezonians : A Roman sworder and banditto slave, Murder'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand Stabb'd Julius Caesar ; savage islanders, Pompey the great : and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exit Suf. with Whit, and others. Cap. And as for these whose ransome we have set, It is our pleasure one of them depart : — Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. SCENE II. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 5C5 Re-enter Wkitmore, with Suffolk's body. Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! His body will I bear unto the king : If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; So will the queen, that living held him dear. [Exit, with the body. SCENE II. — Blackheath. Enter George Bevts and John Holland. Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath ; they have been up these two days. John. They have the more need to sleep now then. Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England, since gentlemen came up. Geo. O miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men. John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good workmen. John. True ; And yet it is said,— Labour in thy vocation : which is as much to say, as, — let the magistrates be labouring men ; and therefore should we be magistrates. Geo. Thou hast hit it : for there's no better sign of a brave mind, than a hard hand. John. I see them ! I see them ! There's Best's son, the tanner of Wingham ; Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to make dog's leather of. John. And Dick the butcher, Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. John. And Smith the weaver. Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. John. Come, come, let's fall in with them. Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the butcher, Smith the weaver, and others in great number. Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our sup- posed father, Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. [Aside. Cad^. — for our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and 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 Piantagenet, — Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. [Aside. Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, — Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many laces. [Aside. Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. [Aside. Cade Therefore am I of an honourable house. Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable ; and there was he born, under a hedge ; for his father had never a house, but the cage. [Aside. Cade. Valiant I am. Smith. 'A must needs ; for beggary is valiant. [Aside. Cade. I am able to endure much. Dick. No question of that ; for I have seen him whipped three market days together. [Aside Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof. [Aside. Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire, being burnt i'the hand for stealing of sheep. [Aside. 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 shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry 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 parchment, 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 I was never mine own man since. How now ? who's there ? Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write and read, and cast accompt. Cade. O monstrous ! Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. Cade. Here's a villain ! Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters in't. Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand. Cade. I am sorry for't : the man is a proper man, on mine honour ; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. — Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee : What is thy name ? Clerk. Immanuel. Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters ; — 'Twill go hard with you. Cade. Let me alone : — Dost thou use to write thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest plain-dealing man ? Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up, that I can write my name. All. 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 inkhorn about his neck. [ Exeunt some with the Clerk. Enter Michael. Mich. Where's our general? Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. Mich. Fly, fly, fly 1 sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are hard by, with the king's forces. Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I '11 fell thee down : He shall be encountered with a man as good as himself : He is but a knight, is 'a ? 506 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. act rv. Mich. No. Cade. To equal him, I 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. Slaf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, Mark'd for the gallows, — lay your weapons down, Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ; — The king is merciful, if you revolt. W. Slaf. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, If you go forward : Therefore yield, or die. Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass It is to you, good people, that I speak, [not ; 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 Staf. Ay, sir. [not Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth. W. Staf. That's false. Cade. Ay, there's the question ; but, I say, 'tis The elder of them, being put to nurse, [true : 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 be king. Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it ; 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 his father's sake, Henry the fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns, — I am 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 maimed, 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 eunuch ; and more than that, he can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! Cade. Nay, answer, if you can : The Frenchmen are our enemies ; go to then, I ask but this ; Can he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good counsellor, or no ? All. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. W. Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not Assail them with the army of the king. [prevail, 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 Forces. Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow Now show yourselves men, 'tis for liberty, [me 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. But then are we in order, when we are most out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Another Part o/Blackheath. Alarum. The two parties enter and fight, and both tht 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 slaughter-house : therefore thus will I reward thee, — The Lent shall be as long again as it is ; and thou shalt have a license to kill for a hun- dred lacking one. Dick. I desire no more. Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This monument of the victory will I bear ; and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do come to London, where we will have the mayor'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 Kino Henry, reading a supplication ,• the Di ke of Buckingham, and Lord Say, wit* him.- at a distance, Queen Margaret, mourning over Suffolk's head. Q. Alar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens the And makes it fearful and degenerate ; [mind, Think 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 simple souls Should perish by the sword ! And I myself, Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade their general. — But stay, I'll read it over once again. Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me : [face 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 1 hope, your highness shall have his. K. Hen. How now, madam ? Still Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death ? I fear, my love, if that I had been dead, Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee. SCKNE VII. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 507 Enter a Messenger. K. Hen. How now ! what news ? why com'st thou in such haste ? Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; Fly, my lord! Jack Cade proclaims himself lord 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 StafFo-rd and his brother's death Hath given them heart and courage to proceed; All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, They call — false caterpillars, and intend taeir death. K. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not what they do. Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, Until a power be rais'd to put them down. Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Suffolk 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 rue is odious in their eyes ; And therefore in this city will I stay, And live alone as secret as I may. Enter another Messenger. 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge ; the citizens Fly and forsake their houses ; The rascal people, thirsting after prey, Join with the traitor ; and they jointly swear, To spoil the city, and your royal court. Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take horse. K. Hen. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, will succour us. Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is de- ceas'd. K. Hen. Farewell, my lord ; [to Lord Say.] trust not the Kentish rebels. Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. SCENE V The same. The Tower. Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the walls. 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, killing 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 I can spare, you shall com- mand ; But I am troubled here with them myself, The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, And thither I will send you Matthew Gough ; Fight for your king, your country, and your lives ; And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt. SCENE VI — The same. Cannon-street. Enter Jack Cade, jind his Followers. He strikes his slaJT on London-stone. Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com- mand, that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any that calls me other than — lord Mortimer. Enter a Soldier, running. Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ' Cade. Knock him down there. ZThey kill him. Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call you Jack Cade more ; I think, he hath a very fair warning. Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together in Smithfield. Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them : But, first, go and set London-bridge on fire ; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.— The same. Smithfield. Alarum. Enter, on one side, Cade and his company,- on the other, Citizens, and the King's Forces, headed by Matthew Gough. They fight ; 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 was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet. [Aside. Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law ; for his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside. Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth shall be the parliament of England. John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. Cade. And henceforward all things 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 jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty, for giving up of Normandy unto monsieur Basimecu, the dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee, by these presence, even the pre- sence of lord Mortimer, that I am the besom 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 where- as, before, our fore-fathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing 508 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 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 abominable words, as no christian ear can en- dure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison ; and because they could not read, thou hast hanged them ; when, indeed, only for that cause they have been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a foot-cloth, dost thou not ? Say. What of that? Cade. Marry, thou oughtest 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, for 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 speaks Latin. Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. Kent, in the commentaries Caesar writ, Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle : Sweet is the country, because full of riches ; The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy ; Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy ; Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. Justice with favour have 1 always done ; Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. When have I aught 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. This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings For your behoof, — Cade. Tut! when struck'st thou one blow in the field? • Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft have I struck 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 make 'em red again. Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. Cade. Ye shall have a hempen 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, I'll 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 1 affected wealth, or honour ; speak ? Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold ? Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ? 'Vhom have 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 : but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for his life. Away with him ! he has a familiar under his tongue ; he speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him away, I 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 I command ye. [Exeunt some, with 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 to me 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 1 Re-enter Rebels, with the heads o/Lord Say and his Son-in4aw. Cade. But is not this braver ? — Let them kiss one another, for they loved well, when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Sol- diers, defer the spoil of the city until night : for with these borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride through the streets ; and, at every corner, have them kiss. — Away ! [Exeunt. SCENE VIII.— Southwark. Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his Jtabblement. Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' corner ! kill and knock down ! throw them into Thames! — [A parley sounded, then a retreat.'] What noise is this I hear ? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill ? Enter Buckingham, and old Clifford, with 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 offer'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 t> THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI, York. Why 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 Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd. [lay'st, War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. North. Thou art deceiv'd : 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,— Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, — Can set the duke up, in despite of me. CUf. King Henry, be thy title 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 my heart ! York. Henry of Lancaster, resign 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 show themselves. 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 shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. K. Hen. I am content : Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son ? War. What good is this to England, and him- self? West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry ! Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us ? West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. North. Nor I. Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. West. 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 peace, abandon'd, and despis'd ! [Exeunt Northumberland, Clifford, and Westmoreland. War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. K. Hen. Ah, Exeter ! War. Why should 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 thine heirs for ever ; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign ; And neither by treason, nor hostility, To seek to put me down, and reign thyself. York. This oath I willingly take, and will per- form. [Comi?ig/rom the throne. War. Long live king Henry ! — Plantagenet, embrace him. K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy for- ward sons ! York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. Exe. Accurs'd be tie that seeks to make them foes i [Senet. The Lords 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, Norfolk, Montague, Soldiers, and Attendants. K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of 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, I will follow thee. K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. 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, Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father I Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? Had'st thou but lov'd him half so well as I ; Or felt that pain 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 ? K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ; — pardon me, sweet son ; — The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me. Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee ! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd ? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me ; And given unto the house of York such head, As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him 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 ; Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas ; The duke is made protector of the realm ; And yet shalt thou be safe ? such safety finds The trembling lamb, environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes, Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour : And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repealed, Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : And spread they shall be ; to thy foul disgrace, And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave "thee: — Come, son, let's away ; Our army's ready : come, we'll after them. SCENE TIT. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY V!. 515 K. 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 murder' 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 may not linger thus. [Exeunt Queen Margaret and the Prince. K. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me, and to 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 loss of those three lords torments my heart : I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair ; — Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger, Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Room in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire. Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague. Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. Edw. No, I can better play the orator. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter York. York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a strife ? What is your quarrel ? how began it first ? Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. York. About what ? Rich. About that which concerns your grace, and us ; The crown of England, father, which is yours. York. Mine, boy? not till king Hemy be dead. Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. Edw. 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 reign. 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'll hear me speak. York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossible. Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears : Henry had none, but did usurp the place ; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 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 ; Within whose circuit is Elysium, And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we linger thus ? I cannot rest, Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or die.- Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. — Thou, Richard., shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, With whom the Kentish men will willingly rise: In them I trust ; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. — While you are thus employ' d, what resteth more., But 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 Messenger. But, stay ; What news ; why cora'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 with twenty thousand men ; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, that we 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 themselves, And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. Mont. Brother, I go ; I'll win them, fear it not : And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Exit. Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John, and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles ! You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the field. York. What, 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. I 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 be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one ; Why should I not now have the like success ? [Alarum. Exeunt. SCENE III Plains near Sandal Castle. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his Tutor. Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands I Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody Clifford comes ! Enter Clifford and Soldiers. Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, 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. .018 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. act i. 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 Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ; — I am too mean a subject for thy wrath, Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again ; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me ; 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 the 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 Clifford, pity me ! Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. Rut. I never did thee harm ; Why wilt thou slay Clif. Thy father hath. [me? Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one 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 lather slew my father ; therefore, die. [Clifford stabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuce! {Dies. 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. lExil. SCENE IV.— The same. Alarum. Enter York. York. The army of the queen hath got the field : 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 hungry starved wolves. My sons — God knows, what hath bechanced them : But this I know, — they have demean'd themselves Like men born to re*own, by life, or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me ; And thrice cried, — Courage, 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! and give no foot of ground ! And cried, — A crown, or else a glorious tomb I 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 wave*. [A short alarum within. Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ; And I 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 life ; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, and Soldiers. Come, bloody Clifford,— rough Northumberland, — I dare your quenchless 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, show'd unto my father. Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all : And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not ! what ! multitudes, and fear ? Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further ; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time : And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow- ardice, 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. [Draw. Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford I for a thousand causes, I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : — Wrath makes him deaf : speak thou, Northumber- land. North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honour him so much, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart : What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away ? It is war's prize to take all 'vantages ; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. [They lay hands on York, who struggles. Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock 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 ? Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum- berland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here ; That raught at mountains with outstretched arms. Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. — What ! was it you that would be England's kin^ ? Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament SCENE IV. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VJ. 51{ And made a preachment of your high descent ? Where are your mess of sons, to back you now ? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice, Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ? Look, York ; I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier s point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy : And, if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York ; Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ? Why art thou patient, man? thou should' st be mad ; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport ; York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown — A crown for York ; — and, lords, bow low to him. — Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. — {Putting a paper crown on his head. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he 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, that great Plantagenet Is crown'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 rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath ? O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable ! — Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his head ; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. Ctif. That is my office, for my father's sake. Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he makes. York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth ! 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 oft 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, wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes witha', And yet be seen to bear a soman's face ' Women are soft, mild, pitiful 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 t'hou hast thv will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And, when the rage allays, the rain begins, These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; And every drop cries vengeance for his death, — 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, — 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 hapless 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 : [lie 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 curse ; And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee, As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! — Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world ; My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him, To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. Q. Mar. W 7 hat, weeping-ripe, my lord North- umberland ? 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 father's death. {Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. [Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. {Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates ; So York may overlook the town of York. {Exeunt 520 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. .act n ACT II. SCENE I. — A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. Drums. Enter Edward, and Richard, with their Forces, march ing. Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd ; Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no, From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit ; Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news , Had he been slain, we should have heard the news ; Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. — How fares my brother? why is he so sad? Rich. I 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. Methought, 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, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So far'd our father with his enemies ; So fled his enemies my warlike father ; Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love ! Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns ? Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect Not separated with the racking clouds, [sun ; But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable : No.w are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. Edw. 'Tis wond'rous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think, it cites us, brother, to the field ; That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, And over-shine the earth, as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three 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 foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on, When as the noble duke of York was slain, Your princely father, and my loving lord. Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much. 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 urm 1 Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : Who crown'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 They set the same ; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon ; Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! — O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee ! — Now my soul's palace is become a prison : Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my Might in the ground be closed up in rest : [body For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never, shall I see more joy. Rich. I 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. To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge for me ! — Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee ; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show 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, fair lords ! What fare ? what news abroad ? Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should re- count Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance, Stab poniards in our flesh, till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in 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, Where 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, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends. And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept «•)<» queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along : For by my scouts I was advertised. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 521 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 o* the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen ; Or whether 'twas report 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 with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went ; Our soldiers — like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail, — Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 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 day, 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 you ; For in the marches here, we heard, you were Making another head to fight again. Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick ? And when came George from Burgundy to England ? War. Some six miles off 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. Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, [fled : But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear ; For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful scepter from his fist ; Were he as famous and as bold in war, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not; 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. But, in this troublous time, what's to be done ? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads ? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ? If for the last, say, — Ay, and to it, lords. War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out ; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford, 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 oath enrolled in the parliament ; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath, and what beside Mrr irake against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong : Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, Amongst the loving Welchmen canst procure, Will but amount to five-and-twenty thousand, Why, Via ! to London will we march amain ; And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry — Charge upon our foes ! But never once again turn back, and fly. Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, [speak : 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 joy, 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, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, (As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,) I come to pierce it,— or to give thee mine. Edw. Then strike up, drums ; — God, and Saint George, for us ! Enter a Messenger. War. How now ? what news ? Mesa. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host ; And craves your company for speedy counsel. War. Why, then it sorts, brave warriors : Let's away. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Before York. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, with Forces. Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder'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 ? K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ; — To see tj^is 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 lenity 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 face. Who 'scapes the lurking 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 a 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 used with fearful flight,.} 522 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT II. Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offering 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 unto his child, — What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, My careless father fondly gave away? 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 the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, 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 ! 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 foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ; Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently — Edward, kneel down. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ; And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right. Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, 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 prince. 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 leave us to our fortune. K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too ; therefore I'll stay. North. Be it with resolution 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 I March. Enter Edward, George, Rkmard, Warwick, Norfolk. Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry ! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head ; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, [boy ! Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king ? Ediv. 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, You — 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 ; Who should succeed the father but the son ? Rich. Are you there, butcher? — O, I cannot speak ! Clif. Ay, crook-back ; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not ? CHf. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown ? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd War- wick ? dare you speak ? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently ; — Break off the parle ; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Clif. I slew thy father : Call'st thou him a child ? Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue ; I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting here, Cannot be cur'd by words ; therefore be still. Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword : By him that made us all, I am resolv'd, That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. Edw. Say, Henry, 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 blood upon thy head : For York in justice puts his armour on. Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, 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 misshapen stigmatick, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. Rich. 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,) Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art ex. traught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 523 Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. — Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus ; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false 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 : But when he took a beggar to his bed, And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day ; 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. Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, 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, know 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 victorv, or else a grave. Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we'll no longer stay; These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. lExeunt. SCENE III. — ^4 field of battle between Tovvton and Saxton in Yorkshire. Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. 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 ? what hap ? what hope of good 1 Enter George. Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : What counsel give you, whither shall we fly ? Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings : And weak we 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 Clifford's lance : And, in the very pangs of death, he cried, — Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, — Warwick, revenge ! brother, revenge my death ! So underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood : 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 I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of min;?, Or fortune given me measure of revenge. Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine ; And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine. — And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings J Beseeching thee, — if with thy will it stands, That to my foes this body must be prey, — Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! — Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ; — and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : I, that did never weep, now melt with woe, That winter should cut off our spring-time so. War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lord, farewell. Geo. Let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay ; And call them pillars, that will stand to us ; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games : This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; For yet is hope of life, and victory. — Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt, SCENE IV The same. Another part of the Field. Excursions. Enter Rtchard and Clifford. Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : Suppose this arm is for the duke of York, And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. Clif. Now, Richard, I am with 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 cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and To execute the like upon thyself; [brother, And so, have at thee. [They fight. Warwick enters ; Clifford/^*. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some otherchase ; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— Another Part of the Field. Alarum. Enter Kino Henry. K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning : s war, When dying clouds contend with growing light ; 524 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT 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'd 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, another best ; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : So is the equal poise of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory ! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both, They prosper best of all when I am thence. 'Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so : For what is in this world, but grief and woe ? O God ! raethinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain ; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 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 bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times : So many hours must I tend my flock ; So many hours must I take my rest ; So many hours must I contemplate ; So many hours must 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 shear the fleece ; So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto 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 embroider'd canopy To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? O, yes it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bo'ttle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 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 killed his Father, dragging in the dead body. Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body. — This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns : And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. — Who's this ?— O God ! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 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 hands of life bereaved him. — Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! — And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! — My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ; And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. K. Urn. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times I Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity, — Weep, wretched man, I'll aid the*, tear for tear ; 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 ; For I have bought it with an hundred blows But let me see : — is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! — Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eyes ; 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 ! — What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! — > O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than com- mon grief! O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses : The one, his purple blood right well resembles ; 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 ? Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ? K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful chances, Misthink the king, and not be satisfied ? Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death ? Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan 'd a son ? K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much. Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [ Exit , with 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. 1 '11 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 woful than you are. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prj.vcj: 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. SCENE VI. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 525 Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain ; Edward 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 ! for vengeance comes along with them : Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; Or else come after, I'll away before. K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter ; Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away ! [ Exeunt. SCENE VI.— The same. A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. 0, 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 fall, thy tough commixtures melt. Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-pr ud York, The common people swarm like summei flies And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun ? And who shines now but Henry's enemies ? Phoebus ! hadst thou never given consent That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth : And Henry, hadst 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 ; 1, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, Had left 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 cureless are my wounds : No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight ; The foe is merciless, and will not pity ; For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint : — Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest ; 1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. [He faints. Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. Edw. Now breathe we, lords ; good fortune bids us 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, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them ? War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape : For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave : \.nd, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. [Clifford groans, 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 ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd. Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford ; Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murd'ring knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring I mean, our princely father, duke of York. War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there : Instead whereof, let this supply the room ; Measure for measure must be answered. Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours : Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. [Attendants bring the body forward. War. I think his understanding is bereft : — Speak, Clifford, 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 ! and so, perhaps, he 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, [doth ; 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 words. Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. Edw . Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. Edw. Thou pitied' st Rutland,. I will pity thee. Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now ? War. They mock thee, Clifford ! swear as thou wast wont. Rich. What, not 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, This hand should chop it off ; and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. War. Ay, but he's dead : Off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. — And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king. From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the lady Bona for thy queen : So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ; And, having France, thy friend thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again ; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears. First, will I see the coronation ; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord, [be t Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it 520 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VJ. For on thy shoulder do I build my seat ; And never will I undertake the thing, Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. — Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster ; — And George, of Clarence ; — Warwick, as ourself, Shall do," and undo, as him pleaseth best. Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence ; George, of Gloster ; 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 possession. ^Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. — A Chace in the North of England. Enter Two Keepers, wi'h 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. 1 Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy cross- bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim wo at the best : And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day, In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past. Enter King IIenry, disguised, with a prayer-book. K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, 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, Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed : No bending knee will call thee Cresar 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. I Keep. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. K. Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France for aid ; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is 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 Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account, then, Margaret may win him ; For she's a woman to be pitied much : 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 ; Warwick, 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 strength ; And, in conclusion, wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support king Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. 2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens ? K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was born to : A man at least, for less I should not be ; And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that's enough. 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 the king, king Edward hath depos'd ; And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, Will apprehend you as his enemy. K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an oath ? 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 re- main. K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months My father, and my grandfather, were kings ; [old ; 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'll obey. SCENE II. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 527 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. 1 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 ; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — London. A Room in 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 in justice 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 her It were dishonour, to deny it her. [suit ; K. Edw. It were no less ; but yet I'll make a Glo. Yea ! is it so ? [pause. I see, the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. Clar. He knows the game ; How true he keeps the wind ! [Aside. Glo. Silence ! [Aside. K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit ; And come some other time, to know our mind. L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay : May it please your highness to resolve me now ; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. Glo. [J side.] Ay, widow? then Til warrant you all your lands, An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you. Fight 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. [Aside. K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. [Aside. Glo. Nay, whip me then ; he'll rather give her two. [Aside. L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. Glo. You shall have four, if you'll be ruled by him. [Aside. K. Edw. 'Twere pity, they should lose their fa- ther's land. L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. K. Edw. Lords, give us leave ; I'll try this widow's wit. 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. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children ? //. Grey. Ay, full as deaily as I love myself. K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them I good ? I L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some harm. K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' service. K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give them ? L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do. K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace commands. Glo. He plies her hard ; and much rain wears the marble. [Aside. Clar. As red as fire ! nay, then her wax must melt. [Aside. L. Grey. Why stops my lord ? shall I not hear my task ? K. Edw. An easy task ; 'tis but to love a king. L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. L. Grey. I take my leave, with many thousand thanks. Glo. The match is made ; she seals it with a curt'sy. K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. 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 love. L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind. L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I per- ceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy hus- band's lands. L. Grey. Why, then, mine honesty shall be my dower ; For by that loss I will not purchase them. K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. 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 re- No ; if thou dost say no, to my demand, [quest : 523 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. aci ;n L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. i Aside. Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. [Aside. K. Edw. [Aside.] Her looks do argue her re- plete with modesty ; Her words do show 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 lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee, 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 unto : I know, I am too mean to be your queen : And yet too good to be your concubine. K. Edw. You cavil, widow ; I did mean, my queen. L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my son should call you — father. E. Edw. No more, than when thy 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 thing 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. [Aside. Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. [Aside. if. 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. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. Glo. That 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. A". Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell you both, r.Ier 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 Edward, Lady Grey, 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 1 look for J And yet, between my soul's desire, and me, (The lustful Edward's title buried,) Is Clarence, Henry, and his son, young Edward, And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself : A cold premeditation for my purpose ! Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread. Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; And chides the sea that sunders him from thenco, Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way : So do I wish the crown, being so far off: And so I chide the means that keep me from it And so I say — I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. — My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much Unless my hand and strength could equal then . Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard ; What other pleasure can the world afford ? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. miserable thought ! and more unlikely, Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns ! Why, love forswore me in my mother's 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 part, 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 I O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought ! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to check, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven — to dream upon the crown ; And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head, Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many 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 ; Seekiug a way, and straying from" the way : Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out, — Torment myself to catch the English crown : And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile : And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart ; And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ; 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 Sinon, take another Troy : 1 can add colours to the cameleon ; Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages. And set the n urd'rous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ? Tut ! were it i jrthcr off, I'll pluck it down. L^** BCKNB III. THIRD TART OF KING HENRY VI £2!) SCENE III. — France. A Room in the Palace. Flourish. Enter Lewis, the French King, and Lady Bona, attended; the King takes his stale. Then enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, her son, and the Earl of Oxford. K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Mar- garet, [Rising. Sit down with us ; it ill befits thy state, And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth sit. Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France; now Margaret Must strike her sail, and learn awhile to serve, Where kings command. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's queen in former golden days : But now mischance hath trod my title down, And with dishonour laid me on the ground ; Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, And to my humble seat conform myself. K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair ? Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears, And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. K . Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself. And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck [Seats her by Mm To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief ; It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my droop- ing thoughts, And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, — That Henry, sole possessor of my love, Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, 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 fail 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 flight, And, as thou see'st, ourselves in heavy plight. K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm, While we bethink a means to break it off. Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. K . Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee. Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow : And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow. Enter Warwick, attended. K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our presence ? Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend. K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France ? [Descending from his state. Queen Margaret rises. Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise ; For this is he, that moves both wind and tide. War. From worthy Edward, king of 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 of amity : And, lastly, to confirm that amity With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, To England's king in lawful marriage. Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. War. And, gracious madam, [toBoNA,] in our king's behalf, I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart ; Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. Q. Mar. King Lewis, — and lady Bona, hear me speak, Before you answer Warwick. His demand Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, But from deceit, bred by necessity ; For how can tyrants safely govern home, Unless abroad they purchase great alliance ? To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, — That Henry liveth still : but were he dead, Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son. Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour : For though usurpers sway the rule a while, Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. War. Injurious Margaret ! Prince. And why not queen ? War. Because thy father Henry did usurp ; And thou no more art 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 ; Aim, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, Who by his prowess conquered all France : From these our Henry lineally descends. War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth dis- course, You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten ? Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that.— But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree Of threescore and two years ; a silly time To make prescription for a kingdom's worth, Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, Whom thou obey'dst thirty 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, Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years. When nature brought him to the door of death ? No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm, This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. War. And I the house of York. M M 530 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT HI. 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 Princb and Oxford. K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience, Is Edward your true king ? for I were loath, To link with him that were not lawful chosen. War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye ? 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. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine : — Yet I confess, [to War.] that often ere this day, When I have heard your king's desert recounted, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. K. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sister shall be Edward's ; And now forthwith shall articles be drawn Touching the jointure that your king must make, Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd : — Draw near, queen Margaret, and be a witness, That Bona shall be wife to the English king. Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. Q. 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,— Then '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. War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease ; Where having nothing, nothing he can lose. And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, — You have a father able to maintain you ; And better 'twere, you troubled him than France. Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless War- 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 Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love ; For both of you are birds of self-same feather. [A horn sounded within. K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you ; Sent from your brother, marquis Montague. These from our king unto your majesty. And, madam, these for you ; from whom I know not. [To Margakkt. They all read their lettert Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mis- tress Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were nettled : I hope, all's for the best. K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news ? and yours, fair queen ? Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with un- hop'd joys. War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. K. Lew. What ! has your king married the lady Grey ? And now, to soothe 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 : This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty. War. King Lewis, I here protest, — in sight of heaven, 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. Warwick, these words have turn'd my 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 his new-made bride shall succour him : And as for Clarence, — as my letters tell me, He's very likely now to fall from him, For matching more for wanton lust 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, Unless 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. SCRNE I. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 531 Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd, You shall have aid. Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. 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. Bona. Tell him, In hope he'll prove a widower I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. [sh6rtly, Q. Mar. Tell him, My mourning weeds are laid aside, And I am ready to put armour on. War. Tell him from me, That he hath done me wrong ; And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long. There's thy reward ; be gone. [Exit Mess. K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou, And Oxford, with 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 supply. Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt ; — What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? War. This 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 Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, [motion : — Therefore 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 now ? These soldiers shall be levied, And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet.— I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance, For mocking marriage with a dame of France. [Exeunt all but Warwick. War. I came from Edward as embassador, 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, i 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 Room in the Palace. Enter Glostei*, Clarence, Somerset, Montague, and others. Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think Of this new marriage with the lady Grey ? [you Hath not our brother made a worthy choice I Clar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France ; How could he stay till Warwick made return ? Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes the king. Flourish. Enter Kino Edward, attended ; Lady Grey, as Queen ,- Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings, and others. Glo. And his well-chosen bride. Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what 1 think. K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice, That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ? Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of Warwick ; Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment, That they'll take no offence at our abuse. K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause, They are 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 our Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. [king : K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too ? Glo. Not I : No ; God forbid that I should wish them sever'd Whom God hath join'd together : ay, and 'twere To sunder them that yoke so well together, [pity, K. Edw. 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, for mocking him About the marriage of the lady Bona. Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be By such invention as I can devise? [appeas'd, Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance, Would more have strengthen'd this our common- wealth 'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred mar- riage. Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself, England is safe, if true within itself? Mont. Yes ; but the safer, when it is back'd with France. Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting France : 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 well deserves To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. K. Edw. Ay, what of that ? it was my will, and grant ; And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done well, M M 2 .'532 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 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 Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son, [heir And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife, That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee. Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your 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 And not be tied unto his brother's will. [king, Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty To raise my state to title of a queen, Do me but right, and you must all confess That I was not ignoble of descent, And meaner than myself have had like fortune. But as this title honours me and mine, So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. K. Edw. 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, whom they must obey ? Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, Unless they seek for hatred at my hands : Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. [Aside. Enter a Messenger. K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what From France ? [news, Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few words, But such as I, without your special pardon, Dare not relate. K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, in brief, Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters ? Mess. At my depart, these were his very words ; Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, To revel it with him, and his new bride. K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ? belike, he thinks me Henry. But what said lady Bona to my marriage? Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild disdain ; Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the icillow garland for his sake. K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less ; She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen ? For I have heard that she was there in place. Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds are done, And I am ready to put armour on. K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. But what said Warwick to these injuries ? Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words ; Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncroivn him, ere't be long. K. Edw. Ha 1 durst the traitor breathe out so proud words ? Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption. But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret ? Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd in friendship, That young prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. Clar. Belike, the elder ; Clarence will have the younger. Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter ; That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage I may not prove inferior to yourself. — You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. [Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows. Glo. Not I. My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [Aside. K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick ! Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ; And haste is needful in this desperate case. — Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf Go levy men, and make prepare for war. They are already, or quickly will be landed : Myself in person will straight follow you. [Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford. But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, — Resolve my doubt. — You twain, of all the rest. Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance : Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me ? 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 vow, That I may never have you in suspect. Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves true ! Hast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause ! K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us ? Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. K. Edw. Why, so ; then am I sure of victory. Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — ^f Plain in Warwickshire. Enter Warwick 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. War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War- wick ; And welcome, Somerset : — I hold it cowardice, To rest 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 feigned friend to our proceedings : But welcome, Clarence ; my daughter shall be thine. SCENE IV. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. )33 And now what rests, hut, in night's coverture, Thy brother being cai-elessly encamp'd, His soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take bim at our pleasure ? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, With sleight 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 attempt, Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. [They all cry Henry ! Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort : For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George 1 [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Edward's Camp near Warwick. Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King's tent. 1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand ; The king, by this, is set him down to sleep. 2 Watch. What, will he not to bed ? 1 Watch. Why, no : for he hath made a solemn Never to lie and take his natural rest, [vow Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd. 2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the If Warwick be so near as men report. [day, 3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that, hat with the king here resteth in his tent ? 1 Watch. 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend. 3 Watch. O, is it so ? But why commands the king, That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, While he himself keepeth in the cold field ? 2 Watch. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. 3 Watch. 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 up his passage. 2 Watch. Ay; wherefore else guard we his royal tent, But to defend his person from night-foes ? Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, and Forces. War. This is his tent ; and see, where stand his guard. Courage, my masters : honour now, or never ! But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 1 Watch. Who goes there ? 2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. [Warwick, and the rest, cry all— Warwick ! War- wick ! and set upon the Guard : who fly, crying— Arm ! Arm ! Warwick, and the rest following them. The drum beating, and trumpets sounding, re-enter War- wick, and the rest, bringing the King out in a gown, sit- ting in a chair: Gloster and Hastings fly, Som. What are they that fly there ? War. Richard, and Hastings : let them go, here's the duke. . K. Edw. The duke ! why, Warwick, when we parted last, Thou call'dst me king ? War. Ay, but the case is alter 'd : When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, Then I degraded you from being king, And come now to create you duke of York. Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom, That know not how to use ambassadors ; Nor how to be contented with one wife ; Nor how to use your brothers brotherly ; Nor how to study for the people's welfare ; Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ? K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too ? Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down. — Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, Edward will always bear himself as king : Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king : [Takes off his crown. But Henry now shall wear the English crown, And be true king indeed ; thou but the shadow. — My lord of Somerset, at my request, See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd Unto my brother, archbishop of York. When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, I'll follow you, and tell what answer Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him : — Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs abide ; It boots not to resist both wind and tide. [Exit King Edward, led out ,■ Somerset with him. Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do, But march to London with our soldiers ? War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do ; To free 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 sudder change ? Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet t( learn. What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward ? Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick ? . Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. Riv. Then is my sovereign slain? Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner, Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard, Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares : And, as I further have to understand. Is now committed to the bishop of York, Fell Warwick's brother, and bv that our foe. Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may ; Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope, must hinder life' And I the rather wean me from despair, [decay For love of Edward's offspring in my womb : This is it that makes me bridle passion And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross r Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear, And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, 534 THIRD FART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT IV Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then be- come ? Q. Eliz. I am informed, that he comes towards London, To set the crown once more on Henry's head : Guess thou the rest ; king Edward's friends must But to prevent the tyrant's violence, [down. (For trust not him that hath once broken faith,) I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, To save at least the heir of Edward's right ; There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud. Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly ; If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. {Exeunt. SCENE V.— A Park near Middlekam Castle in Yorkshire. flnter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley, and others. Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stanley, Leave off to wonder, why I drew you hither, Into this chiefest thicket of the park. Thus stands the case: You know, our king, my brother, Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands He hath good usage and great liberty : And often, but attended with weak guard, Comes hunting this way to disport himself. I have advertis'd him by secret means, That if, about this hour, he make this way, Under the colour of his usual game, He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, To set him free from his captivity. Enter Kino Edward, and a Huntsman. Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies the game. K. Edw. Nay, this way, man ; see, where the huntsmen stand. — Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest, Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer ? Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste ; Your horse stands ready at the park corner. K. Edw. But whither shall we then ? Hast. To Lynn, my lord ; and ship from thence to Flanders. Glo. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was my meaning. K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. Glo. But wherefore stay we ? 'tis no time to talk. K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou 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 from Warwick's frown ; And pray that I may repossess the crown. {Exeunt. SCENE VI.— A Room in the Tower. Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Somerset, young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Attendants. K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and friends Have shaken Edward from the regal seat ; And turn'd my captive state to liberty, My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys ; At our enlargement what are thy due fees ? Lieut. Subjects may challenge nothing of then sovereigns ; But, if an humble prayer may prevail, I then crave pardon of your majesty. K. Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well using me ? Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness, For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure : Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, At last, by notes of household harmony, They quite forget their loss of liberty. — But, Warwick, after God, thou sett'st me free, And chiefly therefore, I thank God, and thee ; He was the author, thou the instrument. Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite, By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me ; And that the people of this blessed land May not be punish'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. War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for vir- And now may seem as wise as virtuous, [tuous , By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice, For few men rightly temper with the stars : Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway , To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown, As likely to be blest in peace, and war ; And therefore I yield thee my free consent. War. And I choose Clarence only for protectoi . K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me botl your hands ; Now join your hands, and, with your hands, youi That no dissension hinder government : [hearts, I make you both protectors of this land ; While I myself will lead a private life, And in devotion spend my latter days, To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will ? Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield con For on thy fortune I repose myself. [sent ; War. Why then, though loath, yet must I be content : We'll yoke together, like a double shadow To Henry's body, and supply his place ; I mean, in bearing weight of government, While he enjoys the honour, and his ease. And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful, Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor, And all his lands and goods be confiscate. Clar. What else ? and that succession be deter- mined. War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, Let me entreat, (for I command no more,) That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, Be sent for, to return from France with speed : For, till I see them here, by doubtful feai My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. iCENE VIZ., THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 535 K. Hen. My oil of Somerset, what youth is Of whom you seem to have so tender care? [that, Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich- mond. K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope : If secret powers [Lays his hand on his head. Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. His looks are full of peaceful majesty ; His head by nature frani'd to wear a crown, His hand to wield a sceptre ; and himself Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he Must help you more than you are hurt by me. Enter a Messenger. War. What news, my friend ? Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother, And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. War. Unsavoury news : But how made he escape ? Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of Gloster, And the lord Hastings, who attended him In secret ambush on the forest side, And from 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 Henry, War. Clar. Lieut. and Attendants. Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Ed- ward's : For, doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help ; And we shall have more wars before't be long. As Henry's late presaging prophecy Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich- mond; 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 Brittany, Till storms be past of civil enmity. Ox/. Ay ; for if Edward repossess the crown, Tis like, that Richmond with the rest shall down. Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Brittany. Come, therefore, let's about it, speedily. [Exeunt. SCENE VII— Before York. Enter Kino Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and Forces. K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, 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, 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 affrifrht us : By fair or foul means we must enter in, For hither will our friends repair to us. Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more, to sum- mon them. Enter on the wall the Mayor o/York, and his brethren. May. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming, And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less. K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing 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. [Aside. 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 be open'd. [Exeunt from above. Glo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon ! Hast. The good old man would fain that all were well, So 'twere not 'long of him : but, being enter 'd, I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade Both him, and all his brothers unto reason. Re-enter the Mayor, and two Aldermen, below. K. Edw. So, master mayor : these gates must not be shut, But, in the night, or in the time of war. What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys ; [Takes his keys. For Edward will defend the town, and thee, And all those friends that deign to follow me. Drum. Enter Montgomery, and Forces, marching. Glo. Brother, 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 As every loyal subject ought to do. [storm, K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery : but we now forget Our title to the crown ; and only claim Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. Mont. Then fare you well, for I 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. What, talk you of debating ? in few words. If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, I'll leave you to your fortune ; and be gone, To keep them back that come to succour you : Why, should we fight, if you pretend no title ? Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points ? K. Edw. "When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim : Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. Hast. Away with scrupulous wit ! now armj must rule. 53fi THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT rv. Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; The bruit thereof will bring you many friends K. Edw. Then be it as you will: for 'tis my right, And Henry but usurps the diadem. Mont. Ay, now, my sovereign speaketh like himself ; And now will I be Edward's champion. Hast. Sound, trumpet ; Edward shall be here proclaim'd : — Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. {Gives him a paper. Flourish. Sold. [Reads.] Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ireland, S[C. Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right, By this I challenge him to single fight. [Throws down his gauntlet. All. Long live Edward the Fourth ! K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery; — and thanks unto you all. If fortune serve me, 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 ; For, well I wot, that Henry is no soldier. — Ah, froward Clarence ! — how evil it beseems thee, To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother 1 Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and War- wick. — Come on, brave soldiers ; doubt not of the day ; And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. — London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Montague, Exeter, and Oxford. War. What counsel, lords ? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, And with his troops doth march amain to London ; And many giddy people flock to him. Oxf. Let's levy men, and beat him back asT^n. Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ; Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war ; Those will I muster up :— and thou, son Clarence, Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, The knights and gentlemen to come with thee : — Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find Men well inclin'd to hearwhatthou command'st : — And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, 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 with her nymphs, — Shall rest in London, till we come to him. Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. — Farewell, my sovereign. K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope. Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand. K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou for- tunate ! Mont. Comfort, my lord ; — and so I take my leave. Oxf. And thus [Kissing Henry's hand.] I seal my truth and bid adieu. K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Mon- tague, And all at once, once more a happy farewell. War. Farewell, sweet lords ; let's meet at Co- ventry. [Exeunt War. Clar. Oxf. and Mont. K. Hen. 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 is, that he will seduce the rest. K. Hen. That's not my fear, my meed hath got me fame. I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, Nor posted oft* their suits with slow delays ; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, My mercy dried their water-flowing tears : I have not been desirous of their wealth, Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd ; Then why should they 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 tcithin. A Lancaster! A Lancaster ! Exe. Hark, hark, my lord! what 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, And swell so much the higher by their ebb. — Hence with him to the Tower ; let him not speak. [Exeunt some with King IIenrt. 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. \ExeunL THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 637 ACT V. SCENE I.— Coventry. Enter, upon the walls, "Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Messengers, and others. War. Where is the post, that came from valiant Oxford ? How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow ? 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hither- ward. War. How far off is our brother Montague ? — Where is the post that came from Montague ? 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. Enter Sir John Somerville. War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son ? And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, And do expect him here some two hours hence. [Drum heard. War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. Som. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam lies; The drum your honour hears, marcheth from War- wick. War. Who should that be ? belike, unlook'd-for friends. Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. Drums. Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Forces, marching. jBT. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a paile. Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. War. O, unbid spite ! is sportful Edward come? Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd, That we could hear no news of his repair? K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee ? — Call Edward — king, and at his hands beg mercy, And he shall pardon thee these outrages. War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down? — Call Warwick— patron, and be penitent, And thou shalt still remain the duke of York. Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said — the king ; Or did he make the jest against his will ? War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift ? Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give ; I'll do thee service for so good a gift. War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy brother. K. Edw. Why, then, 'tis mine, if but by War- wick's gift. War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight : And, weakling, Warwick takes his gilt again ; And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's pri- soner : And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, — What is the body when the head is off ? Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more fore-cast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, The king was slily fmger'd from the deck ! You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace. And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. K. Edw. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down kneel down : Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools. War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend ; This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off, Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, — Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. Enter Oxford, with drum and colours. War. O cheerful colours', see, where Oxford comes ! Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! [Oxford and his Forces enter the City. Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs. Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt, Will issue out again, and bid us battle : If not, the city, being but of small defence, We'll quickly rouse the traitors 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 this treason I Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. K. Edw. The harder match'd,the greater victory : I My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. Enter Somerset, with drum and colours. Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! [He and his Forces enter the City. Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of 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 Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; [along, With whom an upright zeal to right prevails, More thfm the nature of a brother's love : — - Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this means ? [Taking the red rose out of his cap. Look here, I throw my infamy at thee : I will not ruinate my father's house, Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, 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 sacrifie'd his daughter. I am so sorry for my trespass made, That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ; With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, (As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,) To 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 ; 638 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd, Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. Glo. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brother- like. War. O passing traitor, perjur'd, and unjust ! K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town, and fight ? 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. [March. Exeunt. SCENE II A Field of Battle near Barnet. Alarums, and Excursions. Enter Kino Edward, bringing in Warwick wounded. K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die our fear ; For Warwick was a bug, that fear'd us all. — Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee, That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit. War. Ah, who is nigh ! come to me friend or foe, And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick ? Why ask I that ? my mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept : Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, "And kept low shrubs 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 : The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave ? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow ? Lo, now my glory smear'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 left me, but my body's length ! Why, what 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 are, We might recover all our loss again ! The queen from France hath brought a puissant power ; Even now we heard the news : Ah, could'st thou fly! War. Why, then I would not fly Ah, Mon- tague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, And with thy lips keep in my soul a while ! Thou lov'st me not ; for, brother, if thou did'st, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, That glews my lips, and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath 'd his last ; And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, And said — Commend me to my valiant brother. And more he would have said; and more he spoke. Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, That might not be distinguish'd ; but, at last, I well might 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 again in heaven. [Diet. Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power ! [Exeunt, bearing off Warwick's body. SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. Flourish. Enter Kino Edward, in triumph; with Clarence, Gloster, and the rest. K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are grae'd with wreaths of victory. But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threat' ning cloud, That 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 fight 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 cloud engenders not a storm. Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, 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 advertis'd by our loving friends, That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury ; We having now the best at Barnet field, Will thither straight, Fcr willingness rids way : And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along. — Strike up the drum : cry — Courage ! and away. [Exeunt. ♦ — SCENE IV.— Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wai 1 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 much ; Whiles, in his moan, 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 that ? And Montague our top-mast ; What of him ? Our slaughter'd friends the tackles ; What of these Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ? THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 539 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 ; But keep our course, though the rough wind say — no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair. And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea? What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit ? And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock ? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while : Tread on the sand ; why there you quickly sink : Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish, that's a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, In case some one of you would fly from us, That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers, More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear. Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity, And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. I speak not this, as doubting any here : For, did I but suspect a fearful man, He should have leave to go away betimes ; Lest, in our need, he might infect another, And make him of like spirit to himself. If any such be here, as God forbid ! Let him depart, before we need his help. O.vf. Women and children of so high a courage ! And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame. — O, brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee ; Long may'st thou 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 owl by day, If he arise, be inock'd and wonder'd at. Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ; — sweet Ox- ford, thanks. Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else. 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 policy, To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness. Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your for- wardness. Oxf. Here pitch our battle ; hence we will not budge. March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward, Clarence, Gloster, and Forces. K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood, Which, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength, Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out : Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say, My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. Therefore, no more but this: — Henry, your sove- reign, Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd, His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain, His statutes cancell'd, and his treasures spent ; And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. You 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. Alarums: Excursions: and afterwards a retreat. Then, enter King Edward, Clarence, Gloster, and Forces,- with Queen Margaret, Oxford, and Somerset, pri- soners. K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle straight : For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them speak. Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my for- tune. IExeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. K. Edw. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds Edward, Shall have a high reward, and he his life ? Glo. It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes. Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward. K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak. What ! can so young a thorn begin to prick ? Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make, For 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 ! Suppose, that I am now my father's mouth ; Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou, Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, Which, traitor, thou would' st have me answer to. Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so re- solv'd ! Glo. That you might still have worn the petti- coat, And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. Prince. Let Msop 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. Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back rather. K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue. Clar. Unl utor'd lad, thou art too malapert. Prince. I know my duty, you are all undutiful : Lascivious Edward, — and thou periur'd George, — 540 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT V. And thou misshapen Dick, — I tell ye all, I am your better, traitors as ye are ; — And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer j iere> [Stabs him. Glo. Sprawl'st thou ? take that, to end thy agony. [Glo. stabs him. Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury. [Clar. stabs him. Q. Mar. O, kill me too ! Glo. Marry, and shall. {.Offers to kKl her. K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done too much. Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with words ? K. Edw. What ! doth she swoon ? use means for her recovery. Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother ; I'll hence to London on a serious matter : Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. Clar. What ? what ? Glo. The Tower ! the Tower ! [Exit. Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother, boy ! Canst thou not speak ? — O traitors ! murderers ! — They, that stabb d Caesar, 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 you untimely cropp'd 1 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 off, As, deathsmen ! you have rid this sweet young prince ! K. Edw. Away with he- ; go, bear her hence perforce. Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me here ; Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death : What ! wilt thou not ? — then, Clarence, do it thou. Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it ? 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 thou? Thou art not here : Murder is thy alms-deed ; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st back. K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this prince ! [Exit, led out forcibly. K. Edw. Where's Richard gone ? Clar. To London, all in post ; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower. K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes inhishead. 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 fares ; Bv this, I hope, she hath a son for me [Exeunt. SCENE VI. — London*. A Room in the Tower. King Hkxry is discovered sitting with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster. Glo. Good day, my lord ! What, at your book so hard ? K. Hen. Ay, my good lord : My lord, I should say rather : 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better : Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike, And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord. Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; w r e must confer. [Exit Lieutenant. K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf: So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. — What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ? Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; The thief doth fear each bush an officer. K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush, With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush : And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye, [kill'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, Icarus ; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ; The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea, Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! My breast can better brook thy dagger's point, Than can my e\rs that tragic history. — But wherefore dost thou come ? is't for my life ? Glo. Think'st thou, I am an executioner ? K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art ; If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner. Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou didst presume, Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. And thus I prophesy, — that many a thousand, Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear ; And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, And many an orphan's water-standing eye, — Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate, And orphans 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 chattering pies in dismal discords sung. Thy mother felt 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 bora, To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world : And, if the rest be true which I have heard, Thou cam'st — Glo. I'll hear no more ; — Die, prophet, in thy speech : [Stabs him. For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain' d. K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. O God I forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! [/>/>/ SCENE VJ1. THIRD PART OF KING HENRV VI, 541 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 he alway shed From those that wish the downfal of our house ! — If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell ; and say — 1 sent thee thither, [Stabs him again. 1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. — Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of ; For I have often heard my mother say, I 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 ? The midwife wonder'd ; and the women cried, O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth I 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 my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother : And this word — love, which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me ; I am myself alone. Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me 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 son, 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. Kfnq Edward is discovered sitthig on his throne ; Queen Elizabeth with 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 ? Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd For hardy and undoubted champions : Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, And two Northumberlands : 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 mighfst 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 thou shalt execute. [Aside 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 brother, thanks. Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang' st, Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit : — To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his^V master ; I And cried — all hail ! when as he meant — j L e all harm. J 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 Margaret ? 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, and waft her hence to France. And now what rests, but that we spend the time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befit the pleasures of the court ? — Sound, drums and trumpets 1 — farewell, sour annoy ! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. {Exeunt. THE LIFE AND DEATH OP KING RICHARD III. PERSONS REPRESENTED. after- after- >Soits to the King. Brothers to the King. King Edward the Fourth. Edward, Prince of Wales, wards King Edward V. Richard, Duke of York, George, Duke of Clarence, Richard, Duke of Gloster, tcards King Richard III. A Young Son of Clarence. Henry, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King Henry VII. Cardinal Rourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury. Thomas Rotheram, Archbishop of York. John Morton, Bishop of Ely. Duke of Ruckingham. Duke of Norfolk. Earl of Surrey, his Son. Earl Rivers, Brother to King Edward's Queen. Marquis of Dorset and Lord Grey, her Sons. Earl of Oxford. Lord Hastings. Lord Stanley. Lord Lovel. Sir Thomas Vaughan. Sir Richard Ratcliff. Sir William Catesby. Sir James Tyrrel. Sir James Rlount. Sir Walter Herbert. Sir Robert Rrakenbukv, Lieutenant of Uie Tower, Christopher Urswick, a Priest. Another Priest. Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of "Wiltshire. Elizabeth, Queen of King Edward IV. Margaret, Widow of King Henry VI. Duchess of York, Mother to King Edward IV. Clarence, and Gloster. Lady Anne, Widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, Son to Kino Henry VI. ; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloster. A Young Daughter of Clarence. Lords, and other Attendants ; two Gentlemen, a Pur- suivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Ghosts, Soldiers, <$-c. SCENE,— England. ACT I. SCENE I.— London. A Street. Enter Gloster. Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds, that lowr'd upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front ; And now — instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the 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 am rudely stamp'd, and want love's ma- jesty; To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'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 of peaoOf 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, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence, and the king, In deadly hate the one against the other : And, if king Edward be as true and just, As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up ; About a prophecy, which says — that G Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul ! here Clarence KING RICHARD III. M3 Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenrury. 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, That you shall be new christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence ? may I know ? Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know ; for, I pro- As yet I do not : But, as I can learn, [test, 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 : These, as I learn, 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 women : — '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 gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me ; His majesty hath straitly given in charge, That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Braken- bury, You may partake of any thing we say : We speak no treason, man ; — We say, the king Is wise, and virtuous ; and his noble queen Well struck in years ; fair and not jealous : — We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue : And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks : How say you, sir ? can you deny all this ? Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore ? I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best to do it secretly, alone. Brak. What one, my lord ? Glo. Her husband, knave: — Would'st tbou be- tray me ? Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and, withal, Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, ana will obey. Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell : I will unto the king ; And whatsoe'er you wil) employ me in, — Were it, to call king Edward's widow — sister, — I will perform it, to enfranchise you. Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, Touches me deeper than you can imagine. Clar. I know, it pleaseth neither of us well. Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; I will deliver you, or else lie for you : Meantime, have patience. Clar. I must perforce ; farewell. [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return, Simple, plain Clarence ! — I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter Hastings. Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord .' Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain I 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. Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence For they, that were your enemies, are his, [too ; And have prevail'd as much on him, as you. Hast. More pity, that the 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 his physicians fear him mightily. Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And over-much consum'd his royal person ; 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed ? Hast. He is. Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit Hastings, He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die, Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel' d with weighty arguments ; And, if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in ! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter What, though I kill'd her husband, and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends, Is — to become her husband, and her father : The which will I ; not all so much for love, As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market : Clarence still breathes ; Edward still lives, and reigns ; When they are gone, then must I count my gains. lExh 544 KING RICHARD III. ACT SCENE II. — The same. Another Street. Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne in an open copni, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; and Lady Anne as mourner. Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load, — If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, — Whilst I a while obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! Thou bloodless remnant 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'd son, Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds ! Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : — O, cursed be the hand, that made these holes ! Cursed the heart, that had 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. JThe bearers take up the corpse, and advance. Enter Gloster. Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this To stop devoted charitable deeds ? [fiend, Glo. Villains, set down the corse ; or, by Saint I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. [Paul, 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com- mand ; Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for 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, and 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 wounds Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh ! Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity ; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells ; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death ! O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death ! Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick ; As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. Anne. 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. — Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me Some patient leisure to excuse myself. [have Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd ; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. Glo. Say, that I slew them not ? Anne. Why then, they are not dead : But dead they 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 Margaret saw Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood ; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never 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. Glo. The fitter for the king of heaven that hath him. Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither ; For he was fitter for that place, than earth. Anne. And thou unfit for any place, but hell. Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me Anne. Some dungeon. [name it. Glo. Your bed-chamber. SCKNfci 11. KING RICHARD III. 546 Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest ! Glo. So will it, madam, till I He with you. Anne. 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 these Plantagenets, Henry, and Edward, As blameful as the executioner ? Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect. 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 might live one hour in your sweet bosom. Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck, You should not blemish it, if I stood by : As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that ; it is my day, my life. Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life ! Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature ; thou art both. Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he Anne. Name him. [could. Glo. , Plantagenet. Anne. Why, that was he. Glo. The self-same name, but one of better Anne. Where is he? [nature. Glo. Here : [She spits at him.'] Why dost thou spit at me ? Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake ! Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes. Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee 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 Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him : Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death ; Vnd twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never su'd to friend, nor enemy ; My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word ; But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. [She looks scornfully at him Teach not thy lips such scorn ; for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo ! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ; Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword. Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill King Henry ; — But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now despatch ; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward : — {.She again offers at his breast. But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall the sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me. Anne. Arise, dissembler ; though I wish thy I will not be thy executioner. [death, 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, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. Anne. I would, I knew thy heart. Glo. 'Tis figur'd in My tongue. Anne. I fear me both are false. Glo. Then man Was never true. Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. Glo. Say then, my peace is made. Anne. That shall you know Hereafter. Glo. But shall I 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, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted servant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. Anne. What is it ? Glo. That it may please you leave these sad de- signs 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 will with all expedient duty see you : For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this boon. Anne. With all my heart, and much it joys me To see you are become so penitent. — [too, Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. Glo. Bid me farewell. Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve : N N 646 KING RICHARD III. ACT J. But, since you teach me how to natter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. [Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkley. Glo. Take 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 have 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 ; With God, her conscience, and these bars against And I no friends to back my suit withal, [me, But the plain devil, and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing ! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave 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 spacious world cannot again afford : And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed ? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ? On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus ? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while : Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself 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 : Since I am crept in favour with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost. But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave ; And then return lamenting to my love. — Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. SCENE III.— The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey. Riv. Have patience, madam ; there's 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 words. Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me? Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly 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 : Rut 60 it roust be, if the king miscarry. Enter Buckingham and Stanley. Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley. Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace ! Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have been ! Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley, To your 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. Stan. 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 of Stanley ? Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I, Are come from visiting his majesty. Q. Eliz. What likebhood of his amendment, lords ? Ruck. Madam, good hope ; his grace speaks cheerfully. Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! did you confer with him ? Ruck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atonement 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 is at the height. Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset. Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:— Who are they, that complain unto the king, That I, 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 I cannot flatter, and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abus'd By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ? Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your grace ? Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace. When have I injured 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 ! — Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing- while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter : The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provok'd by any suitor else ; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, That in your outward action shows itself, Against my children, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. Glo. 1 cannot tell ; — The world is grown so bad, That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch SCENE HI. KING RICHARD III. 647 Since every Jack became a gentleman, There's many a gentle person made a Jack. Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloster ; You envy my advancement, and my friends' ; God grant, we never may have need of you ! Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have need of you : Our brother is imprison' d by your means, Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility Held in contempt ; while great promotions Are daily given, to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. Q. Eliz. By Him, that rais'd me to this careful From that contented hap which I enjoy' d, [height 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. Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment ? Riv. She may, my lord ; for Glo. She may, lord Rivers ? — why, who knows not so ? She may do more, sir, than denying that : She may help you to many 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 Riv. What, marry, may she ? [she — Glo. What, marry, may she ? marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too : I wis, your grandam had a worser match. Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs : By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty, Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd. I had 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 beseech thee ! Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. Glo. What ? threat you me with telling of the king ? Tell him, and spare not : look, what I have said I 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! I remember them too well : Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; [king, A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends ; To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own. Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or thine. Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband Grey, Were factious for the house of Lancaster ; — And, Rivers, so were you :— Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain ? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are ; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick, Ay, and forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon ! — 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's, Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine ; I am too childish-foolish for this world. Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world, Thou cacodsemon ! there thy kingdom is. Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days, Which here you urge, to prove us enemies, We 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 suppose 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 In 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 rebels? — Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away ! Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my sight? Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast That will I make, before I let thee go. [marr'd ; Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death ? Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banishment, 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 : This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ; And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine. Glo. The ciirse my noble father laid on thee, — When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper, And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes ; 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. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re- ported. Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. Q. Mar. What ! were you snarling all, before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, N N2 548 KING RICHARD III, And turn you all your hatred now on me ? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat ? Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven ? — Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick 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 ! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss ; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine ! Long die thy happy days before thy death ; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen ! — Rivers, and Dorset, — you were standers by, — And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers : God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither' d hag. Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. 1 1" heaven have any grievous plague in store, Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace ! The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul ! Thy 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 Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog ! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature, and the son of hell ! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb ! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! Thou rag of honour ! thou detested Glo. Margaret. Q. Mar. Richard ! Glo. - Ha ? Q. Mar. I call thee not. Glo. I cry thee mercy then ; for I did think, That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names. Q. Alar. Why, so I did ; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse. Glo. 'Tis done by me ; and ends in — Margaret. Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath' d your curse against yourself. Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune ! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about ? Fool, fool 1 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 bunch-back'd toad. Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse ; Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience. Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all mov'd mine. Jiiv. Were you 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. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are mala- pert : Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current : O, that your young nobility could judge, What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable ! They that stand high, have many blasts to shake them ; And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. Glo. Good counsel, marry ; learn it, learn it, marquis. Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. Glo. Ay, and much more : But I was born so Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top, [high, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ; — alas ! alas ! Witness my son, now in the shade of death : Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest: — O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it ; As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me ; Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher' d. My charity is outrage, life my shame, — And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage I Buck. Have done, have done. Q. Afar. O princely Buckingham, I kis? thy In sign of league and amity with thee : [hand, Now fair befal thee, and thy noble house ! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O 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 him ; 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, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel ? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from ? O, but remember this another day, \Vhen 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 hear her curses. 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. BCENE IV KING RICHARD III. 549 Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. I 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 fatting for his pains ; — God pardon them that are the cause thereof ! Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scath to us. Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ; — For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside. Enter Catesby. Gates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, — And for your grace, — and you, my noble lords. Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come : — Lords, will you go with me ? Rh. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. [Exeunt all but Gloster. Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, — whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, — I do beweep 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 To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them — that God bids 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 two Murderers. But soft, here come my executioners. — How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates ? Are you now going to despatch this thing ? 1 Murd. We are, my lord ; and come to have the warrant, That we may be admitted where he is. Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about me : [Gives the warrant. When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps, May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. I Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate, Talkers are no good doers ; be assur'd, We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears : I like you, lads ; —about your business straight ; Go, go, despatch. 1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The same. A Room in the Tower. Enter Clarence and 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, That, as I am a christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ; So full of dismal terror was the time. Brak, What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me. Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'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, And 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 Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's sculls ; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That 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 flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ; But sm other' 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 lengthen'd after 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 perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; Who cried aloud, — What scourge for -perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, — Clarence is come,—false 3 fleeting, perjur'd Clar- ence, — That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury, — Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments! — With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ' d me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell ; Such terrible impression made my dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things — That now give evidence against my soul, — For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me ! — God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee. But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children 1— 1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 550 KING RICHARD III. ACT i. Brak. I will, my lord; God give your grace good rest ! — [Clarence reposes himself on 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, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers. 1 Murd. 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 came hither on my legs. Brak. What, so brief? 2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than tedious : — Let him see our commission ; talk no more. \_A paper is delivered to Brakenbury, who 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, That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 1 Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: Fare you well. [Exit Brakenbury. 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 1 Murd. No ; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. 2 Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall never wake until the great judgment day. 1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him sleeping. 2 Murd. The urging 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 thought, thou had'st been resolute. 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell him so. 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope, this holy humour of mine will change ; it was wont to hold 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. 1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's done. 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 us 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 again ? 2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous thing, it makes a man a coward ; a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him ; 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 »hame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills one full of obstacles : it made me once re- store 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, endeavour* to trust to himself, and live without it. 1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. 2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not : he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh. 1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail with me. 2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow, that respects his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ? 1 Murd. Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey- butt, in the next room. 2 Murd. O excellent device ! and make a sop of him. 1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 2 Murd. Strike. 1 Murd. No, we'll reason with him. Clar. Where art thou, keeper ? give me a cup of wine. 1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. 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. Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. 1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine 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. To murder me ? Both 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 I offended you ? 1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. Clar. I shall be reconcil'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, To slay the innocent ? What is my offence ? Where is the evidence that doth accuse me ? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge ? or who pronounc'd The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death, is most unlawful. I charge 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 ; The deed you undertake is damnable. 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command. 2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king. Clar. Erroneous vassal ! the great King of kings Hath in the table of his law 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. KING RICHARD III. Ml 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 Murd. 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 ; For in that sin he is as deep as I. If God will be avenged for the deed, O, know you, that he doth it publicly ; Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ; He needs no indirect nor lawless course, To cut off those that have offended him. 1 Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister, When gallant- springing, brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy 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 well. If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloster ; Who shall reward you better for my life, Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, 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 thought of this divided friendship : Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones ; as he lesson' d us to weep. Clar. O, do not slander him, for he 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 ; for 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 you on To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 2 Murd. What shall we do ? Clar. Relent, and save your souls 1 Murd. Relent 1 '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 you, — 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 begging prince what beggar pities not ? 2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 1 Murd. Take that, and that ; if all this will not do, [Stabs him. I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. [Exit, with the bod}/. 2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately de- spatch'd ! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done I Re-enter first Murderer. 1 Murd. How now? what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not ? By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been. 2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his brother 1 Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. 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 will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. — The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Edward, (led in sick,) Queen Elizabeth, j Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Buckingham, Grev, and others. K. Edw. Why, so : — now have I done a good day's work ; — You peers, continue this united league : I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence ; And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand ; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. Riv. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudg- ing hate ; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like ! K. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your king; Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings, Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart ! K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt io this,— 662 KING RICHARD III. Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you ; — You have been factious one against the other. Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. Q. Eliz. There, Hastings ;— I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I, and mine ! K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him, — Hastings, h>ve lord marquis. Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable. Hast. And so swear I. {Embraces Dorset. K. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate Upon your grace, [to the Queen.] but with all duteous love Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love ! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me ! this do I beg of heaven, When I am cold in love, to you, or yours. [Embracing Rivers, ffc. K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Bucking- ham, Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, To make the blessed period of this peace. Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. 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 Brother, we have done deeds of charity ; [day : — Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. Glo. Ablessedlabour,my most sovereign liege. — Among this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe ; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace : 'Tis death to me, to be at enmity ; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. — ■ First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service ; — Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us ; — Of you, lord Rivers, — and lord Grey f of you, — That all without desert have frown' d on me ; — Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive, With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night ; I thank my God for my humility. Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter: — 1 would to God, all strifes were well compounded. — My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness To take our brother Clarence to your grace. Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this, To be so flouted in this royal presence ? Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead ? [Tliey all start. You do him injury, to scorn his corse. K. Edw. Who knows not, he is dead I who knows he is ? Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this I Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest ? Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no man in the presence, But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. K. Edw. Is Clarence dead ? the order was re- vers'd. Glo. But he, poor man, by your first 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 than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion ! Enter Stanley. Stan. Aboon, my sovereign, for my service done ! K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace ; my soul is full of sorrow. Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me. K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou request'st. Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life ; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him ? who, in my wrath, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd ? Who spoke of brotherhood ? who spoke of love ? Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me ? Who told me in the field at Tewksbury, When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd. me, And said, Dear brother, Hoe, and be a king t Who told me, when we both lay in the field, Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his garments ; and did give himself, All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck' d, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But, when your carters, or your waiting-vassals, Have done a drunken slaughter, and defae'd The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon ; And I, unjustly too, must grant it you : — But for my brother, 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 in his life ; 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, for this. — Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. O, Poor Clarence ! [Exeunt Kino, Queen, Hastings, Rivers, Dorset, and Grey. Glo. This is the fruit of rashness ! — Mark'd you How that the guilty kindred of the queen [not, Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death ? KING RICHARD III. 555 O ! they did urge it still unto the king : God will revenge it. Come, lords ; will you go, To comfort Edward with our company ? Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son and Daughter of Clarence. Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead ? Duch. No, boy. Dough. Why, do you weep so oft ? and beat your breast ; And cry — O Clarence^ my unhappy son ! Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us — orphans, wretches, cast-aways, If that our noble father be alive ? Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both ; I do lament the sickness of the king, As loath to lose him, not your father's death ; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is The king my uncle is to blame for this : [dead. God will revenge it ; whom I will imp6rtune With earnest prayers all to that effeit. Daugh. And so will I. Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well : Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. Son. Grandam, we can : for my good uncle Gloster Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen, Devis'd impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek ; Bade me rely on him, as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice 1 He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, Duch. Ay, boy. [grandam ? Son. I cannot think it. Hark ! what noise is this ? Enter^ Queen Elizabeth, distractedly ; Rivers and Dorset following her. Q. Eliz. Ah ! who shall hinder me to wail and weep ? To chide my fortune, and torment myself ? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. Duch. What means this scene of rude im- patience ? Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence : — Edward, my lord, thy son, our king is dead. — Why grow the branches, when the root is gone ? Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap ? — If you will live, lament ; if die, be brief; That our swift- winged souls may catch the king's ; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow, As I had title in thy noble husband ! I have 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 I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee : But death hath snatch'd my husband from my arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence and Edward ; O, what cause have I, (Thine being but a moiety of my grief,) To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries ? Son. Ah, aunt ! you wept not for our father's death ; How can we aid you with our kindred tears ? Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left un- Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept ! [moan'd, Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth laments : All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the wat'ry moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world ! Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward ! Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence. Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence I Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward? and he's gone. Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence ? and he's gone. , Duch. W T hat stays had I, but they ? and the - / are gone. Q. Eliz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss. Chil. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss. Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss. Alas ! I am the mother of these griefs ; Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; 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 distress'd, Pour all your tears, I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations, [pleas'd, Dor. Comfort, dear mother : God is much dis- That you take with unthankfulness his doing ; In common worldly things, 'tis call'd — ungrateful, With dull unwillingness 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, Hastings, Rat- cliff, and others. Glo. Sister, have comfort : all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star ; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. — Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy, I did not see your grace : — Humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. Duch. God bless thee ; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty ! Glo. Amen ; 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-. 654 AING RICHARD III. Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, [peers, 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 seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. JRiv. Why with some little train, my lord of Buckingham ? Buck. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out ; Which would be so much the more dangerous, By how much the estate is green, and yet un- govern'd : Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. Glo. I hope, the king made peace with all of us ; And the compact is firm, and true, in me. Rio. And so in me ; and so, I think, in all : Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which, haply, by much company might be urg'd : Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. Hast. And so say I. Glo. Then be it so ; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, — and you my 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 us two stay at home : For, 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 self, 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 III.— The same. A Street. Enter two Citizens, meeting. 1 Cit. Good morrow, neighbour : Whither away so fast ? 2 Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad ? 1 Cit. Yes ; the king's dead. 2 Cit. Ill news, by'r Lady ; seldom comes the I fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world, [better : 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 ? 2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true ; God help, the while ! 3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 1 Cit. No, no ; by God's good grace, his son shall reign. 3 Cit. Woe to that land, that's govern'd by a child I 2 Cit. In him there is a hope of government ; That, in his nonage, council under him, And, in his full and ripen' d years, himself, No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris, but at nine months old. 3 Cit. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends, God wot ; For then this land was famously enrich 'd With politic grave counsel ; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 1 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 us all too near, if God prevent not. O, full of danger is the duke of Gloster ; And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and proud : And were they 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. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks ; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night ? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth : All may be well ; but, if God sort it so, 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear : You cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily, and full of dread. 3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so : By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust Ensuing 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 justices. 3 Cit. And so was I ; I'll bear you company. [Exeunt. — ♦ — SCENE IV.— The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter the Archbishop of York, the young Duke of York, Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess of York. Arch. Last night, I heard, 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 prince : I hope, he is much grown since last I saw him. Q. Eliz. But I hear, no ; they say, my son of Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. [York York. 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 uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow More than my brother ; Ay, 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 SCENE IV. KING RICHARD III. fififi 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. I hope, he is ; but yet let mothers doubt. York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remem- ber'd, I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine. Duch. How, my young York? I pr'ythee, let me hear it. York. Many, they say, my uncle grew so fast, That he could gnaw 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 thou 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 news, my lord, As grieves me 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 to Pomfret, With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. Duch. Who hath committed them ? Mess. The mighty dukes, Gloster and Buckingham. Q. Eliz. For what offence? Mess. The sum of all I can, I have discios'd ; Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house ! The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind ; Insulting tyranny begins to jut Upon the innocent and awless throne : — Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre ! I see, as in a map, the end of all. Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days ! How many of you have mine eyes beheld ? My husband lost his life to get the crown ; And often up and down my sons were tost, For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss : And being seated, and domestic broils Clean over-blown, themselves, 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 me die, to look on death no more ! Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanc- tuary. — Madam, farewell. Duch. Stay, I will go with you. Q. Eliz. You have no cause. Arch. My gracious lady, go. [To the Quekn And thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I'll resign unto your grace The seal I keep ; And so betide to me, As well I tender you, and all of yours I Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt ACT III. SCENE I The same. A Street. The trumpets sound. Enter the Prince of Wales, Glos- ter, Buckingham, Cardinal Bourchieb, and others. Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber. Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove- reign : The weary way hath made you melancholy. 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 show ; which, God he knows, Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous ; Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : God keep you from them, and from such false friends ! Prince. God keep me from false friends! 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. I thank you, good my lord ; — and thank you all. [Exeunt Mayor, $c. I thought, my mother, and my brother York, Would long ere this have met us on the way : Fye, what a slug is Hastings I that he comes not 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 mother come ? Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, The queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken sanctuary : The tender prince Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, But by his mother was perforce withheld. Buck. Fye ! what an indirect and peevish course Is this of hers ? — Lord cardinal, will your grace Persuade the queen to send the duke of York Unto his princely brother presently? If she deny, — lord Hastings, go with him, And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory 530 KING RICHARD III. ACT Hi. Can from his mother win the duke of York, Anon expect him here : But if she be obdurate To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid We should infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land, Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my 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 whose dealings have deserv'd the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place : This prince hath neither claim 'd it, nor deserv'd it ; And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : Then, taking him from 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 for once. — Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me ? Hast. I go, my lord. Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. [Exeunt Cardial and Hastings. Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation ? Glo. Where it seems best unto 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 thought most For your best health and recreation. [fit Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place : — Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord ? Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place ; Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. Prince. Is it upon record ? or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it ? Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord. Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd ; Methinks, the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, Even to the general all-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 formal vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word. Prince. That Julius Csesar was a famous man : With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live : Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ; For now he lives in fame, though not in life. — I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham. Buck. What, my gracious lord ? Prince. An if I live until I be a man, m win our ancient right 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. Prince. Richard of York ! how fares our loving brother ? York. Well, my dread lord ; so must I call you now. {Aside. Prince. Ay, brother ; to our grief, as it is yours . Too late he died, that mfcjht have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty. Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York ? York. 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. Glo. He hath, my lord. York. And therefore is he idle ? Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. York. Then is he more beholden to you, than I ? Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign ; But you have power in me, as in a kinsman. York. I pray you, uncle, then, give me this dagger. Glo. My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart. Prince. A beggar, brother ? York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give ; And, being but a toy, which is no grief to give. Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. York. A greater gift ! O, that's the sword to it? Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. York. O then, I see, you'll part but with light gifts ; In weightier things you'll say a beggar, Nay. Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little lord? York. I would, that I might thank you as you call me. Glo. How? York. Little. Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in talk ;— Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me : — Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ; Because that I am little, like an ape, He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he rea- sons ! To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself : So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. Glo. My gracious lord, will't please you pass along ? Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham, Will to your mother ; to entreat of her, To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord? Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. Glo. Why, sir, what should you fear ? York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost My grandam told me, he was murder'd there. Prince. I fear no uncles dead. Glo. Nor none that live, I hope. Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fe ! ir. But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. {Exeunt Prince, York, Hastings, Cardinal, and Attendants. Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle mother, To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ? Glo. No doubt, no doubt : O, 'tis a parlous boy ? KING RICHARD 111. 657 Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable ; He's all the mother's, from the top to toe. Buck. Well, let them rest. — Come hither, gentle Catesby ; thou art sworn As deeply to effect what we intend, As closely to conceal what we impart : Thou know'st our reasons, urg'd upon the way : What think'st thou? is it not an easy mattei To make William lord Hastings of our mind, For the instalment of this noble duke In the seat royal of this famous isle ? Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the prince, That he will not be won to aught against him. Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley? will not he ? Cate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. Buck. Well then, no more but this : Go, gentle Catesby, And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings, How he doth stand affected to our purpose ; And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, To sit about the coronation. If thou dost find him tractable to us, Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons : If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, Be thou so too ; and so break off the talk, And give us notice of his inclination : For we to-morrow hold divided councils, Wherein thyself shalt highly be employed. Glo. Commend me to lord William : tell him, Catesby, His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ; And bid my friend, for joy of this good news, Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly. Cate. My good lords both, with all the heed I can. Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we Cate. You shall, my lord. [sleep? Glo. At Crosby-place, there shall you find us both. [Exit Catesby. Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots ? Glo. Chop off his head, man; — somewhat we will do : — And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. Buck. I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand. Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kind- Come, let us sup betimes ; that afterwards [ness. We may digest our complots in some form. [Exeunt. * SCENE II. — Befote Lord Hastings' House. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, my lord,— [Knocking. Hast. [Within.] Who knocks? Mess. One from lord Stanley. Hast. [Within.'] What is't o'clock ? Mess. Upon the stroke of four. Enter Hastings. Hast. Cannotthy 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, — Mess. And then he sends you word, he dreamt To-night the boar had rased off his helm : Besides, he says, there are two councils held ; And that may be determin'd at the one, Which may make you and him to rue at the other. Therefore he sends to know your lordship's plea. sure, — If, presently, you will take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north, To shun the danger that his soul divines. Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord : Bid him not fear the 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 intelligence. Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting instance : And for his dreams — I wonder, he's so fond To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers : To 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. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say. [Exit. Enter Catesby. Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! Hast. Good morrow, Catesby ; you are early stirring : What news, what news, in this our tottering statp ? Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; And, I believe, will never stand upright, Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. Hast. How ! wear the garland? dost thou mean the crown ? Cate. Ay, my good lord. Hast. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders, Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd. But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it ? Cate. Ay, on my life ; and hopes to find you forward Upon his party, for the gain thereof : And, thereupon, he sends you this good news, — That, this same very day, your enemies, The kindred of the queen, must die at Fomfret. Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still my adversaries : But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side, To bar my master's heirs in true descent, God knows, I will not do it, to the death. Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind ! Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,— That they, who brought me in my master's hate, I live to look upon their tragedy. Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, I'll send some packing, that yet think not on't. Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it. Hast. O monstrous, monstrous ! and so falls it out With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do With some men else, who think themselves as safe As thou and I ; who, as thou know'st, are dear To princely Richard, and to Buckingham. 558 KING RICHARD III. act in. Cate. The princes both make high account of you,— For they account his head upon the bridge. [.Aside. 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 I do not like these several councils, I. Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours ; And never, in my life, I do protest, Was it more precious to me than 'tis now : Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am ? Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London, Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure, And they, 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, the lords you 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 this 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. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now, Than when thou met'st me last where now wo meet: Then was I 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 e'er I was. Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good con- tent ! Hast. Gramercy, fellow : There, drink that for me. [Throwing him his purse. Purs. I thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant. Enter a Priest. Pr. Well met, my lord ; I am glad to see your honour. Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all my heart. I am in your debt for your last exercise ; Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. Enter Buckingham. Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord cham- berlain ? Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest; Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. Hast. 'Good faith, andwhen I met this holy man, The men you talk of, came into my mind. What, go you toward the Tower? Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay there : \ shall return before your lordship thence. 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 Ratcliff, with a guard, conducting Rivers, Grey* and Vaughan, to execution. Rat. Come, bring forth the prisoners. Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this, — To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die, For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack of A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. [you ! Vaugh. You live, that shall cry woe for this hereafter. Rat. Despatch ; the limit of your lives is out. Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret ! O thou bloody pri- Fatal and ominous to noble peers ! [son, Within 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 upon our heads, When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, For standing by, when Richard stabb'd her son. Riv. Then curs'd she Hastings, then curs'd she Buckingham, Then curs'd she Richard : — O, remember, God, To hear her prayers for them, as now for us ! 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. Riv. Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan, — let us here embrace : Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Tower. Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bishop of Ely, Catesby, Lovel, and others, sitting at a table : officers of the council attending. Haet. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met Is — to determine of the coronation : In God's name, speak, when 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. Who knows the lord protector's mind herein ? Who is most inward with the noble duke ? Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind. Buck. We know each other's faces : for our hearts, — He knows no more of mine, than I of yours ; Nor I, of his, my lord, than you of mine : Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well : But, for his purpose in the coronation, I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd His gracious pleasure any way therein : But you, my noble lord, may name the time ; KING RICHARD III 55?; And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. Enter Gloster. Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke himself. Glo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good morrow : I have been long a sleeper ; but, I trust, My absence doth neglect no great design, Which by my presence might have been concluded. Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, William lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part, — I mean, your voice, — for crowning 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 Ely, when I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there ; I do beseech you, send for some of them. Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. [Exit Ely. Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. [Takes him aside. Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business ; And finds the testy gentleman so hot, That he will lose his head, ere give consent His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. Buck. Withdraw 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 For these strawberries. Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning ; There's some conceit or other likes him well, When he doth bid good-morrow with such spirit. I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom, Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ; For by his face straight shall you know his heart. Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his face, By any likelihood he show'd to-day ? Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is offended ; For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham. Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve, That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witchcraft ; and that have prevail'd Upon my body with their hellish charms ? Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this noble presence To doom the offenders : Whosoe'er they be, I say, my lord, they have deserved death. Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil, Look how I am bewitch'd ; behold mine arm Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up : And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble lord, Glo If ! thou protector of this damned strumpet, Talk'st thou to me of ifs ? — Thou art a traitorS — Off with his head : — now, by saint Paul I swear, I will not dine until I see the same. — Lovel, and Catesby, look that it be done ; The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me. [Exeunt Council, with Gloster and Buckinoh-am. 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 disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly. Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. O, now I want the pi-iest that spake to me : I now repent I told the pursuivant, As too triumphing, how mine enemies, To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, And I myself secure in grace and favour. O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. Cate. Despatch, my lord, the duke would be «t dinner ; Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men. Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 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 to exclaim. Hast. O, bloody Richard! — miserable England! I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee, That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. — Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head ; They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. [Exeunt SCENE V.— The same. The Tower Walls. Enter Gloster and Buckingham, in rusty armour, marvellous 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 side, Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion : ghastly looks Are at my service, like enforced smiles ; And both are ready in their offices, At any time, to grace my stratagems. But what, is Catesby gone ? Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along. Enter the Lord Mayor and Catesby. Buck. Let me alone to entertain him. — Lord mayor, Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there. Buck. Hark, hark ! a drum. Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. Buck. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent for you, Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. Buck. God and our innocence defend and guard nsi 531) KING RICHARD III. Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, with Hastings' head. Gio. Be patient, they are friends ; Ratcliff, and 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 harmless't creature, That breath'd upon the earth a Christian ; Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded The history of all her secret thoughts : So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, That, his apparent open guilt omitted, — I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, — He liv'd from all attainder of suspect. Buck. Well, well, he was the eovert'st shelter'd traitor 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 1 think you we are Turks, or infidels ? Or that we would, against the form of law, Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death ; But that the extreme peril of the case, .The peace of England, and our persons' safety, Enforc'd us to this execution ? May. Now, 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 determin'd he should die, Until your lordship came to see his end ; Which now the loving haste of these our friends, Somewhat against our meaning, hath prevented : Because, my lord, we would have had you heard The traitor speak, and timorously confess The manner and the purpose of his treasons ; That you might well have signified the same Unto the citizens, who, haply, may Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. May. 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 wish'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 good lord mayor, we bid farewell. [Exit Lord Mayor. Glo. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. The mayor towards Guild-hall hies him 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 — he would make his son Heir to the crown ; meaning, indeed, his house, Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so. Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, And bestial appetite in change of lust ; Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives, Even where his raging eye, or savage heart, Without control, 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 father : Yet touch this 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. I go ; and, towards three or four o'clock, Look for the news that" the Guild-hall affords. [Exit Buckingham Glo. Go, Lovel, 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. [Exeunt Lovel and Catksby, Now will I in, to take some privy order To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ; And to give notice, that no manner of person Have, any time, recourse unto the princes, [Exit. SCENE VI.— A 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 hours I have spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me ; The precedent was full as long a doing : And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. Here's a good world the while ! — Who is so gross, That 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. same. Court of Baynard's 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'd y v the bastardy of Edward's children ? Buck. I did ; with his contract with Lady Lucy, And his contract Hy deputy in France : The insatiate gretuiness 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 : XOKNK VII. KING RICHARD III £61 Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ; Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. And, when my 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 ? Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a word ; But, like dumb statues, or breathless stones, Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. Which when I saw, I reprehended them ; And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful 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 inferred ; 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 Richard And thus I took the vantage of those few, — Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I ; This general applause, and cheerful shout, Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard : And even here brake off, and came away. Glo. What tongueless blocks were they ! Wouh, they not speak ? Will not the mayor then, and his brethren, 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 be not 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 mayor knocks. [Exit Glostep Enter tht Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. Welcome, my lord : I dance attendance here ; I think, the duke will not be spoke withal. — Enter from the castle, Catesby. Now, Catesby ! what says your lord to my request? Cale. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, To visit him, to-morrow, or next day : He is within, with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation : 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. Cale. I'll signify so much unto him straight. [Exit. Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not; an Edward ! He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, But on his knees at meditation ; Not dauying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines ; Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul : Happy were England, would this virtuous prince Take on himself the sovereignty thereof : But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. Mag. Marry, God defend, his grace should say us nay J Buck. I fear, he will : Here Catesby comes again ;— Re-enter Catesby. Now, Catesby, what says his grace ? Cale. He wonders to what end you have as- sembled Such troops of citizens to come to him, His grace not. being warn'd thereof before ; He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should Suspect me, that I mean no good 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. Enter Gloster, in a gallery above, between Two Bishops. Catesby returns. May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two clergymen ! Buck. Two props of virtue 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. — Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favourable ear to our requests ; And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion, and right christian zeal. Glo. 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 friends. But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure ? Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. Glo. I do suspect, I have done some offence, That seems disgracious in the city's eye ; And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. Buck. You have, my lord ; Would it might please your grace, On our entreaties, to amend your fault ! Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land ? Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The scepter'd office of your ancestors, Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption 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 defae'd with scars of infamy, Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. Which to recure we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the charge uu 562 KING RICHARD III. act m And kingly government of this your land : Not as protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another's gain r But as successively, from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your erapcry, 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, Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which 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, 1 check'd my friends. Therefore, — to speak, and to avoid the first ; , And then, in speaking, 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 is 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 thank'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 wring from him ! Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your 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 contract to lady Lucy, Your mother lives a witness to his vow ; And afterwards by substitute betroth'd To Bona, sister to the king of ^--"r^e. These both put by, a poor peu«.^"~o A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 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 Tins Edward, whom our manners call — the prince. 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 : Tf not to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry Frcra the corruption of abusing time, Unto a lineal true-derived course. May. Do, good my lord ; your citizens entreat you. [love. Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd Cate. O make them joyful, grant their lawful suit. Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares on I am unfit*for state and majesty : — [me ? 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 zeal, Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ; As well we know your tenderness of heart, And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, Which we have noted in you to your kindred, And equally, indeed, to all estates, — Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no, Your brother's son shall never reign our king ; But we will plant some other in your throne, To the disgrace and downfal of your house. And, in this resolution, here we leave you ; — Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. [Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens. Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their suit ; If you deny them, all the land will rue it. Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares ? Well, call them again ; I am not made of stone, But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Exit Catbsey. Albeit against my conscience and my soul. — "Re-enter Buckingham, and the retU Cousin of Buckingham, — and sage grave men, — Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burden, whe'r I will or no, 1 must have patience to endure the load : But if black scandal, or fcul-fac'd reproach, Attend the sequel of your imposition, Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me From all the impure blots and stains thereof; For God he knows, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire of this. May. God bless your grace! we see it, an 1 will say it. Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title, — Long live king Richard, England's worthy king. All. Amen. Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd ? Glo. Even when you please, since you will have it so. Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your grace ; And so most joyfully, we take our leave. Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again : — [To the Bishopi Farewell, good cousin ;— farewell, gentle friends. [Exeunt- KING RICHARD 111, 5«o ACT IV. SCENE I.— Before the Tower. Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess of York, and Marquis ok Dorset; on the other, Anne, Duchess of Gloster, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence's young daughter. Duch. Who meets us here ? — my niece Planta- genet Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster ? Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower, On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. — Daughter, well met. Anne. God give your graces both A happy and a joyful time of day ! Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister ! Whither away ? Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I Upon the like devotion as yourselves, [guess, To gratulate the gentle princes there. Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks ; we'll enter all to- gether : Enter Brakenbury. And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. — Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, How doth the prince, and my young son of York ? Brak. Right well, dear madam : By your I may not suffer you to visit them ; [patience, The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary. Q. Eliz. The king ! who's that ? Brak. I mean, the lord protector. Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly title! Hath he set bounds between their love, and 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 their mother : Then bring me to their sights ; I'll bear thy blame. And take thy office from thee, on my peril. Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so ; I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit Brakenbury. Enter Stanley. Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. — Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, [To the Duchess ok Gloster. There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder ! That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. Anne. Despiteful tidings ! O unpleasing news ! Dor. Be of good cheer : — Mother, how fares your grace ? Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone, Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; Thy mother's name is ominous to children : If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house, Lest thou increase the 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 hours ; You shall have letters from me to my son In your behalf, to meet you on the way : Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery ! — 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 inclusive 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 soul, I envy not thy glory ; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why? — When he, that is my hus- band now, Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse ; When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands, Which issu'd from my other angel husband, And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd ; O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, This was my wish, — Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd, For making me, so young, so old a uidow ! And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed ; And be thy wife (if any be so mad) More miserable by the life of thee, Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death ! Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, Even in so short a space, my woman's heart Grossly grew captive to his honey words, And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse : Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest ; For never yet one hour in his bed Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams 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 complaining. Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours. Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it ! Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee !— [To Dorset. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee ! — [To Annb. Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee ! l To Q- El;zabeth. 1 to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wreck'd with a Week of teen. Q. Eliz. Stay yet ; look back, with me, unto the Tower. — Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls J Rough cradle for such little pretty ones 1 Rude ragged nurse ! old sullen play-fellow For tender princes, use my babies well ! So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. I Exeunt 5G4 KING RICHARD III. ACT IV. SCENE II. — A Room of Slate in the Palace. Flourish of trumpets. R ichard, as Kinp upon h is throne ; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and others. K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Bucking- Buck. My gracious sovereign. [ham — K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice, And thy assistance, is king Richard seated : — But shall we wear these glories for a day ? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? Ruck. Still live they, and for ever let them last! K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold, indeed : — v Young Edward lives ; — Think now what I would Ruck. Say on, my loving lord. [speak. K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king. Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice- renowned liege. K. Rich. Ha ! am I king ? 'Tis so : but Edward Buck. True, noble prince. [lives. K. Rich. O bitter consequence,' That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince ! — Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull : — Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What say'st thou now ? speak suddenly, be brief. Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes : Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die ? Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, Before I positively speak in this : [dear lord, I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit Buckingham. Cate. The king is angry ; see, he gnaws his lip. [Aside. K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, [Descends from his throne. And unrespective boys ; none are for me, That look into me with considerate eyes ; — High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. — Boy, Page. My lord. K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupt- ing gold Would tempt urtto a close exploit of death ? Page. I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind : Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. K. Rich. What is his name ? Page. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man ; Go, call him hither, boy [Exit Page. The 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 for breath ? — well, be it so Enter Stanley. How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news ? Stan. Know, my loving lord, The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby : rumour it abroad, That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick ; I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. — Look, how thou dream'st ! — I say again, give out, That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : About it : for it stands me much upon, To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. — [Exit Catesxy I must be married 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 I 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 ? Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub- K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ? [ject. Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord. K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine ? [enemies. Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it ; two deep enemies, Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deal upon : Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel ; Go, by this token ; — Rise, and lend thine ear : [Whisper t. There is no more but so : — Say, it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. Tyr. I will despatch it straight. ZExit. Re-enter Buckingham. Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind The late demand that you did sound me in. K. Rich. Well, let that rest. 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. Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by pro- mise, For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd ; The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables. Which you have promised I shall possest K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife ; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. Buck. What says your highness to my just re- quest ? K. Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the Sixth Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king ! — perhaps Ruck. My lord, K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at that time, Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him ? Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom, — K. Rich. Richmond ! — When last I was at Exeter, The mayor in courtesy show'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 I saw Richmond fcKKE W. KING RICHARD III. 505 Buck. My lord, A*. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ? Buck. I am thus bold To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me ? K. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock ? Buck. Upon the stroke Of ten. K. Rich. Well, let it strike. Buck. Why, let it strike ? K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thoukeep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein to-day. Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no. K. Rich. Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein. {Exeunt King Richard and Train. Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep ser- vice With such contempt ? made I him king for this ? O, let me think on Hastings ; and be gone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Exit. SCENE III.— The same. Enter Tyrrbl. Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done ; The most arch deed of piteous massacre, That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton, and Forrest, whom I 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 their death's sad story. O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes, — Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another Within their alabaster innocent arms : Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay : Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changed my mind; But, O, the devil — there the villain stopp'd ; When Dighton thus told on, — we smothered The most replenished sioeet work of nature, That, from the prime creation, e'er shefram'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. Enter Kino Richard. And here he comes : — All health, my sovereign lord! K. Rich. KindTyrrel ! am I happy in thy news ? Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in Beget your happiness, be happy then, [charge For it is done. K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ? Tyr. I did, my lord. K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrei ? Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But where, to say the truth, I do not know. K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrei, 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. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up close ; His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage ; The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. Enter Catesbv. Cate. My lord, — — K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in so bluntly ? Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond ; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh- men, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more K. 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 wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king ! Go, muster men : My counsel is my shield ; 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 I lurk'd, To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction am I 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, and the Duchess of York. Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender babes ! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, 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. Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, 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, Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's iawful earth, [Sitting down. Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a grave, As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ; Then would I hide my bones, cot rest them here! Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we * [Sitting down oy her. 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 down with them. Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : — I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; I had a husband, till a Richard kiil'd him : Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him : . Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. Duck. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him ; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. Q. Mar. Thou 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 ; That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. — upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother's body, And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan ! Ditch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes; God witness with me, I have wept for thine. Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for re- And now I cloy me with beholding it. [venge, Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward ; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; Young York he is but boot, because both they 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, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, UntimeW 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 unpitied end : Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray To have him suddenly convey'd from hence : — Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, That I may live to say, The dog is dead I Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune ; 1 call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; The presentation of but what 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 viith 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, an I 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 joyful 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 commanding all, obey'd of none. Thus hath 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 yoke, 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 iu curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies. Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day ; Compare 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 ; Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine ! Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [Exit Q. Margaret. Duch. 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 Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. [Drum, within. I hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims. Enter Kino Rtchard, and his Train, marching. K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition ? Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. Q. Eliz. Hid'stthou 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 bro- ther Clarence ? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son ? Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Duch. Where is kind Hastings? [Grey SCENE IV. KING RICHARD III. 587 K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets 1 — Strike alarum, drams ! Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed : Strike, I say. — [Flourish. Alarums. Either he patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations. Duch. Art thou my son ? K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself. Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con- dition, 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 ; lor I am in haste. Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony. A'. 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 ; Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and furious ; Oiy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and \ enturous, Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : What comfortable hour canst 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. If 1 be so disgracious in your sight, Let me march on, and not offend you, madam. — Strike up the drum. Z)«< i. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. Duch. Hear me a word, For I shall never speak to thee again. K. Rich. So. Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just or- dinance, Ere f: ^m 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 c6mplete armour that thou wear'st ! 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 ; Sham? serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [ Exit. Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me ; I say amen to her. [Coing. 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, Richard, — They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens ; \nd therefore level not to hit their lives. K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd — Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. Q. Eliz. And must she die for this ? O, let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty ; Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed ; Throw over her the veil of infamy : So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward '6 daughter. K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood. Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll «ay — 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. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were opposite. Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary. 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. Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their uncle cozen 'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : No doubt the murd'rous 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 my 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 rooky bosom. K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my 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 be discover'd, that can do me good? K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady. Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose theu heads ? K. Rich. No, to the dignityand height of fortune, The high 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 Will I withal endow a child of thine ; [all, So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou 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 telling than thy kindness' date. K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul. Hove thy daughter. Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. K. Rich. What do you think ? Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul : 508 KING RICHARD III. ACT IV. So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her bro- thers ; And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it. K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning ; I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter. And do intend to make her queen of England. Q. Eliz. Well 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 I would learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour. Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave, Edward, and York ; then, haply, will she weep : Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, — A handkerchief; which, say 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 her not to love Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ; Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers ; ay, and, for her sake, Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not To win your daughter. [the way Q. Eliz. There is no other way ; Unless thou could'st put on some other shape, And not be Richard 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 sometimes, 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 I have kill'd the issue of your 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 doating title of a mother; They are as children, but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; Of all one pain, — save for a night of groans Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss, you have, is but — a son being king, And, by that 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, — Familiarly shall call thy Dorset — brother ; [wife, Again shall you be mother to a king, And all the ruins of distressful times Repair'd with double riches of content. What ! 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 Of ten-times double gain of happiness. Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go ; Make bold her bashful years with your experience ; 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 hours of marriage joys : And when this arm of mine hath chastised The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, Bound with triumphant garlands will I 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 Ceesar. Q. Eliz. What were I best to say ? her father's brother Would be her lord ? Or shall I say, her uncle * Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles? Under what title shall I woo for thee, That 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. Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting war. K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command, entreats. Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King forbids. K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen. Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. Q. Eliz. But 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? K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, lengthens it. Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low. Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such sov'reignty. K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving tale. 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. Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break. K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown, — Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third K. Rich. I swear. [usurp'd. Q. Eliz. By nothing : for this is no oath. SCENE IV KING RICHARD III. md Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour ; Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory : If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. K. Rich. Now by the world, — Q. Eliz. '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-mis us'd. K. Rich. Why then, by God,— Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him, The unity, the king thy brother made, Had not been broken, nor my brother 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 my 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'erpast ; For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'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 tljat thou hast Mis-us'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 hours ! Day, yield me not thy light ; nor, night, thy rest ! Be opposite all planets of good luck To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter ! In her consists my happiness, and thine ; Without her, follows to myself, and thee, Herself, the land, and many a christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin, and decay : It cannot be avoided, but by this ; It will not be avoided, but by this. Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you 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 times, And be not peevish found in great designs. Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus ? K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself? K. Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong yourself. . Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them : Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall breed Selves of themselves to your recomforture. Q. Eliz. Shall 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 me her mind. K. Rich Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell. [.Kissing her. Exit Q. Elizabeth. Relenting fool, and shallow changing — woman ! How now ? what news ? Enter Ratcliff ; Catesby following. Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore [coast Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back : 'Tis thought, that Richmond is their admiral ; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk :— Ratcliff, 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 haste. K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to Salis- bury; When thou com'st thither, — Dull unmindful villain, [To Catesby. Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? 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 please you, shall I do at Salisbury ? K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, before I go ? Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. Enter Stanley. K. Rich. My mind is chang'd.— Stanley, what news with you ? Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing ; Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad ! What need'st thou run so many miles about, When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way ? Once more, what news ? Stan. Richmond is on the seas. K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there ? Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by K. Rich. Well, as you guess ? [guess. Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. Is the chair empty ? Is the sword un- sway'd ? Is the king dead ? the empire unpossess'd ? What 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, my liege, I cannot guess. K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman 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 hiir 670 KING RICHARD III. Where be thy tenants, and thy followers ? Are they not now upon the western shore, Safe-c6nducting the rebels from their ships ? Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. K. Rich. Cold friends to ire : What do they in the north, When they should serve their sovereign in the west ? Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, [king : I'll muster up my friends ; and meet your grace, Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond : I will not trust you, sir. Stan. Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful ; I never was, nor never will be false. K. Rich. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, leave behind Tour son, George Stanley ; look your heart be firm, Or else his head's assurance is but frail. Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. [Exit Stanley. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devon- As I by friends am well advertised, [shire, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more confederates, are in arms. Enter another Messenger. 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in And every hour more competitors [arms ; Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. Enter another Messengor. 3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Bucking. ham — K. Rich. Out on ye, owls ! nothing but songs of death ? C^ c strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, I s> — that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; And 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 friend proclaim'd Reward to him that brings the traitor in ? 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, ray liege. Enter another Messenger. 4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis Dorset, Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort biing I to your highness, The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest ; Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on he banks, If taey were his assistants, yea, or no ; Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham Upon his party: hi, mistrusting them, Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. K. Rich. March on, march on, sinoe we are up in arms ; If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. Enter Catesby. Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken, That is the best news ; That the earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, Is colder 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 V. — A Room in Lord Stanley's House. Enter Stanlet and Sir Christopher Urswtck. 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, off 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 Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ; And many other of great fame and worth : 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 letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. [Gives papers to Sir Christophkr, [Exeunt- ACT V. SCEN E I.— Salisbury. An open Place. Enter the Sheriff and Guard, with Buckingham, led to execution. Luck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him ? Sher. No, my good lord : therefore be patient. Ruck. Hastings and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey, Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, VauRhan and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice i 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. Ruck. Why, theD All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday. This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found False to his children, or his wife's allies : r: KING RICHARD III. 571 This is the day, wherein I wish'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 begg'd in jest. Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms \ Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, — When he, quoth she, shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess. — Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame ; Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. [Exeunt Buckingham, Sfc. SCENE II. — Plain near Tamworth. Enter, with drum and colours, Richmond, Oxford, Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and others, with Forces, marching. Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we march'd on without impediment ; And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoil' d your summer fields, and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowell'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. In 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 fi<;ht against that bloody homicide. [swords, Herb. I 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 wings, Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. [Exeunt. — + — i SCENE III.— Bosworth Field. Enter King Richard and Forces ; the Duke op Nor- folk, Earl of Surrey, and others. K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field. — My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ? Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk, Nor. Here, most gracious liege. K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks ; Ha ! must we not ? [lord. Nor. We must both give and take, my loving 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 harh descried the number of the traitors ? Wor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. K. Rich. Why, 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. — Come, noble gentlemen, Let us survey the vantage of the ground ; — Call for some inen of sound direction : — Let's want no discipline, make no delay ; For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. Enter, on the other side of the field, Richmond, Sir Wit- liam Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords. Some of tht Soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. Richm. The weary sun both made a golden set, And, by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. — Give me some ink and paper in my tent ; — I'll draw the form and model of our battle, Limit each leader to his several charge, And part in just proportion our small power. My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William Brandon, — And you. sir Walter Herbert, stay with me : The earl ot Pembroke keeps his regiment ; — Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, And by the second hour in the morning Desire the earl to see me in my tent : — Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me ; Where is lord Stanley quarter' d, do you know? Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much, (Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,) His regiment lies half a mile at least South from the mighty power of the king. Richm. If without peril it be possible, Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him, And give him from me this most needful note. Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it ; And so, God give you quiet rest to-night ! Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, gentlemen, . Let us consult upon to-morrow's business ; In to my tent, the air is raw and cold. [Tliey withdraw into the tent. Enter, to his tent, King Richard, Norfolk, Ratclikf, and Catesby. K. Rich. What is't o'clock ? Cate. It's supper time, my lord It's nine 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 ? Cate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in readiness. K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge ; Use careful watch, choose trusty seutinels. Nor. I go, my lord. K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit. K. Rich. Ratcliff, Rat. My lord? K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms To Stanley's regiment : bid him bring his power Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall Into the blind cave of eternal light. — 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, 572 KING RICHARD III. ACT V Rat. My lord? K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord Nor- thumberland ? 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. Rich. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of have not that alacrity of spirit, [wine : 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. Rich. 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 Richard retires into his tent. Exeunt Ritci.iff and Catkshv. Richmond s tent opens, and discovers him and his Officers, SjC. Ente) Stanley Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! Richm. All comfort that the dark night can Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! [afford Tell me how fares our loving mother ? Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, Who prays continually for Richmond's good : So much for that. — The silent hours steal on, And flaky darkness breaks within the east. In brief, for so the season bids us be, Prepare thy battle early in the morning ; And put thy fortune to the arbitrement Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war, I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot,) With best advantage will deceive the time, And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms : But on thy side I may not be too forward, Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George Be executed in his father's sight. Farewell : The leisure and the fearful time Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love, And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so long sunder' d friends should dwell upon ; God give us leisure for these rites of love ! Once more, adieu : — be valiant, and speed well ! Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment : I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap ; Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, When I should mount with wings of victory : Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. [ Exeunt Lords, <$-c, with Stanley, O Thou ! whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; Put in 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 commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes ; Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still ! [Sleeps. The Ghost 0/ Prince Henry, son to Hknry the Sixth, rises between the two tents. Ghoit. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! [To King Richard. Think, how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth At Tewksbury ; Despair therefore, and die ! — Be cheerful, Richmond ; for the wronged souls Of hutcher'd princes fight in thy behalf : Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee, The Ghost a/King Henry the S.xth rises. Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body [To Kino Richard. By thee was punched full of deadly holes : Think on the Tower and me ; Despair, and die ; Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die. — Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! [To Richmond. Harry, that prophesied thou should'st be king, Doth comfort thee in thy sleep ; Live, and flourish I The Ghost of Clarence rises. Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow [To King Richard I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome 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 offspring 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 Vaughan, 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 de- spair ! [To King Richard. Vaugh. 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 conquer him ; — awake, and win the day ! T7ie Ghost of Hastings rises. Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, [To King Richard. And in a bloody battle end thy days ! Think on lord Hastings ; and despair, and die ! — Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! [To Richmond. Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! The Ghosts of the two young 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, shame, and death ! Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die. — Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in 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 o/Queen Anne rises. Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne That never slept a quiet hour with thee, [thy wife, Now fills thy sleep with perturbations : To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! — Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep ; [To Richmond Dream of success and happy victory ; Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. Tlie Ghost of Bvck ingham rift* 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 deeds and death ; Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath ! — itCJSNfc i)». KING RICHARD III. 573 I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid : [To Richmond. 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 starts out of his dream. K. Rich. Give me another horse, — bind up my wounds, — Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ; I did but dream. — coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! — The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 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 am : Then fly, — What, from myself ? Great reason : Why? Lest I revenge. What ? Myself on myself ? 1 love myself. Wherefore ? for any good, That I myself have done unto myself ? O, no ; alas, I rather hate myself, For hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain : yet I lie, I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well : — Fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree, Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree ; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty ! guilty ! I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me ; 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 on the head of Richard. Enter Ratcliff. Rat. My lord, K. Rich. Who's there ? Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn ; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. K. Rich. O, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream ! — What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true ? Rat. No doubt, my lord. K. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,— Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. 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 by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me ; Under our tents, I'll play the eaves-dropper, To hear if any mean to shrink from me. [Exeunt King Richard and Ratcliff. Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others. Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentle- That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here, [men, Lords. How have you slept, my lord ? Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, [dreams, Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd, Came to my tent, and cried — On ! victory ! I 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. Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give direction. — [He advances to the troops. More than I have said, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, — God, and our good cause, fight upon our side ; The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces ; Richard except, those, whom we fight against, Had rather have us win, than him they follow. For what is he they follow ? truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant, and a homicide ; One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd ; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughter'd those that were the means to help A base foul stone, made precious by the foil [him ; Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ; One that hath ever been God's enemy : Then if you fight against God's enemy, God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers ; If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; If you do fight against your country's foes, Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire ; If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; If you do free your children from the 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 : For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully ; God, and Saint George I Richmond and victory 1 [Exeunt. .Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants, and Forces. K. Rich. What said Northumberland, as touch- ing Richmond ? Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. K. Rich. He said the truth : and what said Surrey then? Rat. He smil'd-and said, thebetter for our purpose. K. Rich. He was i' the right; and so, indeed, it is. [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 shine ; for, by the book, He should have brav'd the east an hour ago : A black day will it be to somebody. — Ratcliff.— 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 ! Why, what is that to me, More than to Richmond ? for the self-same heaven, That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. Enter Norfolk. Nor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in the field. 574 KING RICHARD III. ACT V. K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle ; — Caparison my horse ; — - 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 forward 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 foot 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 1 on my tent this morning. [Giving a scrowl. K. Rich. Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold, [Reads. 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 affright 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 our law. March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell ; If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. — What shall I say more than I have inferr'd? Remember whom you are to cope withal ; — A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and run-aways, A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants, Whom their o'er-cloy'd country vomits forth To desperate ventures and assur'd destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest ; You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, They would 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 again ; Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives ; Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, For want of means, poor rats, had hang' d themselves : If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Bretagnes, whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands ? lie with our wives ? Ravish our daughters ?— Hark, I hear their drum. [Drum afar off. Fight, gentlemen of England 1 fight, bold yeomen ! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves !— . Enter a Messenger. What says lord Stanley? will he bring his power? Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. JT. Rich. Off instantly with his son George's head. Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh ; After the battle let George Stanley die. K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! Cpon them ! Victory sits on our helms, f Exeunt. SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. Alarum: Excursions. Enter Norfolk, and Forces ; him Catksby. Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue 1 , 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 Kino Richard. K. Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I'llhelp youtoahorse. K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die : I think, there be six Richmonds in the field ; Five have I slain to-day, instead of him : — A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! [Exeunt. Alarums. Enter Kino Richard and R[chmond ; and exeunt, fighting. Retreat, and flourish. Then enter Richmond, Stanley bearing the crown, with divers other Lords, and Forces. Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victo- rious friends ; The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee ! Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty, From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal ; Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all!— But, tell me first, is young George Stanley living ? Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town • Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. Richm. What men of name are slain on either side? Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, That in submission will return to us ; And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, We will unite the white rose with the red : — Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! — What traitor hears me, and says not, — amen ? England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, The son, compell'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 1 And let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so,) Enrich the time to come with smooth-fae'd peace, With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days ! Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again, And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! Let them not live to taste this land's increase, That would with treason wound this fair land's peace Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again ; That she may long live here, God say— Amen ! ZFxcunt KING HENRY VIII. PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry the Eighth. Cardinal Wolsky. Cardinal Campeius. Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor, Charles V. Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. Puke ok Norfolk. Duke of Buckingham. Duke ok Suffolk. Earl of Surrey. Lord Chamberlain. Lord Chancellor. Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. Bishop of Lincoln. Lord Abergavenny. Lord Sands. Sir Henry Guildford. Sir Thomas Lovkll. Sir Anthony Denny. Sir Nicholas Vaux. Secretaries to Wolsey. Cromwell, Servant to Wolsey. Griffith, Gentleman-Usher to Queen Katii.u r r Three other Gentlemen. Doctor Butts, Vliimician to the King. Garter, King at Arms. Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms. Door-keeper of the Council-Chamber. Porter, and his Man. Page to Gardiner. A Crier. Queen Katharine, Wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced* Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honour, afterwards 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 Attendants. SCENE, — Chiefly in London and Westminster ; once at Kimbolton. PROLOGUE. I come no more to make you laugh ; things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; The subject will deserve it. Such, as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those, that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree, The play may pass ; if they be still, and willing, I'll undertake, 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 deceiv'd : for, gentle hearers, know, To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, (To make that only true we now intend,) Will leave us never an understanding friend. Therefore, forgoodness' sake, and, as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make you : Think, ye see The very persons of our noble story, As they were living ; think, you see them great And follow'd with the general throng, and sweat. Of thousand friends ; then, in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery ! And, if you can be merry then, I'll say, A man may weep upon his wedding day. ACT I. SCENE 1. — Londun. An Ante-chamber in the Palace. Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one door ; at the other, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lord Aberga- venny. Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have you done, Since last we saw in France ? Nor. I thank your grace : Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 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 Arde • I was then present, saw them salute on horseback i Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung In their embracement, as they grew together ; Which had they, what four thron'd ones couk have weigh'd Such a compounded one ? Buck. All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. 57G KING HENRY VIII. AVT l. 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 it's ; To-day, the French, AH clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, Shone down the English ; and, to-morrow, they Made Britain, India : every man, that stood, . Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubins, 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 cried incomparable ; and the ensuing night Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings, 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 suns (For so they phrase them,) by their heralds chal- lenge The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass : that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believ'd. Buck. O, you go far. Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd, Order gave each thing view ; the office did Distinctly his full function. Buck. Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess ? Nor. One, certes, that promises no element In such a business. Buck. I pray you, who, my lord ? Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend cardinal of York. Buck. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is From his ambitious finger. What had he [free'd To do in these fierce vanities ? I wonder, That such a keech, can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun, And keep it from the earth. Nor. Surely, sir, There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends : For, being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose grace Chalks successors their way,) nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied To eminent assistants, but, spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way ; A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. Abcr. I cannot tell What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him : Whence has he If not from hell, the devil is a niggard ; [that ? Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. Buck. Why the devil, Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him ? He makes up the file Of all the gentry ; for the most part such Too, whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon : and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in the papers. Aler. I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sicken'd their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. Buck. O, many Have broke their backs with laying manors on them For this great journey. What did this vanity, But minister communication of A most poor issue ? Nor. Grievingly I think, The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it. Buck. Every man, After the hideous storm that follow'd, was A thing inspir'd ; and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy, — That this tempest, Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. Nor. Which is budded out ; For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux. Aber. Is it therefore The ambassador is silenc'd ? Nor. Marry, is't Aber. A proper title of a peace; and purchas'd At a superfluous rate ! Buck. Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried. Nor. 'Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you, (And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together : to consider further, that What his high hatred would effect, wants not A minister in his power : You know his nature, That 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 that That I advise your shunning. [rock, Enter Cardinal "Wolsey, (the purse borne before him J certain of the Guard, and Two Secretaries with papers. The Cardinal ta his passage ftxclh his eye on Bucking- ham, and Buckingham on him, 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 Shall lessen this big look. [Buckingham [Exeunt Wolskv, and Train. Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore, best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Out- worths a noble's blood. Nor. What, are you chafd ? Ask God for temperance ; that's the appliance only, Which your disease requires. KJENK II. KING HENRY VIII. 577 Buck. I read in his looks Matter against me ; and his eye revil'd Me, as his abject object : at this instant He bores me with some trick : He's gone to the I'll follow, and out-stare him. [king; Nor. Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about : To climb steep hills, Requires slow pace at first : Anger is like A full-hot horse ; who being allow 'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you : be to yourself, As you would to your friend. Buck. I'll to the king : And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim, There's difference in no persons. Nor. Be advis'd. Heat 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, The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, In seeming to augment 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 quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. Buck. Sir, I am thankful to you : and I'll go along By your prescription : — but this top-proud fellow, (Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but From sincere motions,) by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in July, when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. Nor. Say not, treasonous. Buck. To the king I'll say't ; and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, 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, yea, reciprocally,) Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview, That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i' the rinsing. Nor. 'Faith, and so it did. Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning The articles o'the combination drew, [cardinal As himself pleas 'd ; and they were ratified, As he cried, Thus let be : to as much end, As give a crutch to the dead : But our count- cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well ; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, (Which, as I 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 him some prejudice ; for from this league Peep'd harms that menac'd him : He privily Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — Which I do well ; for, I am sure, the emperor 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 honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. Nor. I am sorry To hear 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. Enter Brandon; a Sergeant at Amis before him, and two or three of the Guard. Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it Scry. Sir, My lord the duke of Buckingham, and ear Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. Buck. Lo you, my lord, The net has fall'n 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, You shall to the Tower. Buck. It will help me nothing, To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me, Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven Be done in this and 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 will 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, Nicholas Hopkins ? Bran. He. Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great car- dinal Hath show'd him gold : my life is spann'd already : 1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham ; Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By dark'ning my clear sun. — My lord, farewell. {Exeunt. SCENE II The Council-Chamber. Cornets. Enter Kino Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, the Lords of the Council, Sir Thoaias Lovell, Officers, and Attendants. The King enters, leaning on the Cardi- nal's shoulder. K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks To you that choked it. — Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's : ic. person I'll hear him his confessions justify ; *78 KING And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. KING HENRY VIII. ACf I. The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council take their several places. The Cardinal places h imsclf under the King's feet, on his right side. A noise within, crying, Room for the Queen ! Enter the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk : the kneels. The King riseth from his Stale, takes her up, kisses, and placeth her by him. Q. Kalh. 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 ; The 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 commissions Sent down among them, which have 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 !) even 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 Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And Danger serves among them. K. Hen. Taxation ! Wherein? and what taxation ? — My lord cardinal, You that are blam'd for it alike with us, Know 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 yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the hearing ; and. to bear them, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say, They are devis'd by you ; or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. K. Hen. Still exaction ! The nature of it ? In what kind, let's know, Is this exaction ? Q. Kath. I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief Comes through commissions, which compel from The sixth part of his substance, to be levied [each Without delay ; and the pretence for this Is nam'd, your wars in France : This makes bold mouths : Tongues 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 ousiness. 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 tradue'd by tongues, which neither know My faculties, nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing, — 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 cope malicious censurers ; which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new trimm'd ; but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We 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 ; Things 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 part o" the timber ; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county, Where this 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 yon. [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 advise you Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary. Enter Surveyor. Q. Kath. I am sorry, that the duke of Bucking- Is run in your displeasure. [ham K. Hen. It grieves many : The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker, To nature none more bound ; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see When these so noble benefits shall prove SCENE III. KING HENRY VIII. 5ft> Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so c6mplete, "Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we Almost with ravish' d list'ning, could not find 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 hear (This was his gentleman in trust,) of 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 j and with bold spirit relate what you, Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the duke of Buckingham. K. Hen. Speak freely. Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day It 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 1 have heard him utter to his son-in-law, Lord Aberga'ny ; to whom by oath he menac'd Revenge upon the cardinal. Wol. 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 he his title to the crown, Upon our fail ? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught ? Surv. 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? 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 doubted '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 : 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 Thus paitsingly ensu'd — Neither the king, nor his heirs, ( Tell you the duke) shall prosper : bid him strive To gain the love of the commonalty ; the duke Shall govern England. Q. Kath- If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o' the tenants : Take good 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. I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions The monk might be deceived ; and that 'twas dan- g'rous for him To ruminate on this so far, until It forg'd him some design, which being believ'd, It was much like to do : He answer'd, Tush ! It can do me no damage : adding further. That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads Should have gone off. K. Hen. Ha ! what so rank ? Ah, ha ! There's mischief in this man : Canst thou say Surv. I can, my liege. [further ? K. Hen. Proceed. Surv. Being at Greenwich, After 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 committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, — / would 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! Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in And this man out of prison ? [freedom, Q. Kath. God mend all ! K. Hen. There's something more would out of thee ; What say'st ? Surv. After — the duke his father, — with the hnife, — 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 a performance Does an irresolute purpose. K. Hen. There's his period, To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd ; Call him to present trial : if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his ; if none, Let him not seek't of us : by day and night, He's traitor to the height. lExeunt. SCENE III. — ^4 Room in the Palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should Men into such strange mysteries? [juggle Sands. New customs, Though they be never 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 but 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 new legs, and lame ones ; one would take it, 500 KING HENRY VIII. ACT That never saw them pace before, the spavin, A springhalt reigu'd among them. Cham. Death ! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How What news, sir Thomas Lovell ? [now ? Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. Lov. '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 I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. Lov. They must either (For so run the conditions,) leave these remnants Of fool, and feather, that they got in France, 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 blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, And understand again like honest men ; Or pack to their old playfellows : there, I take it, They may, cum privilegio, wear away The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. Sands. 'Tis time to give them physic, their Are grown so catching. [diseases Cham. What a loss our ladies Will have of these trim vanities ! Lov. Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, lords ; the sly whore- sons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies ; A French song, 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 count^v lord, as I am, beaten A long time cat 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's ; 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 this kingdom, I'll assure you. Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; His dews fall everywhere. Cham. No doubt, he's noble ; He had a black mouth, that said other of him. Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal ; in him, Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine : Men of his way should be most liberal, TLey are set here for examples. Cham. True, they are so ; But few now give so great ones. My barge stays ; Yourlordship shall along:— Come, good sir Thomas. We shall be late else : which I would not be, For I was spoke to. with sir Henry Guildford. This night to be comptrollers. Sands. I am your lordship's. [.Exeunt. — ♦ SCENE IV.— The Presence-Chamber in York- Place. Hautboys. A small table under a state/or the Cardinal, a longer table/or the gussts. Enter at one door Anne Bullen, and divers Lords, Ladies, and Gentlewomen, as guests ; at another door, enter Sir Henry Guildford Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace 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 welcome, Can make good people. O, my lord, you are tardy ; Enter Lord Chamberlain. Lord Sands, and Sir Thomas Lovell. The very thought of this fair company Clapp'd wings to me. Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford. Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these Should find a running banquet ere they rested, I think, would better please them : By my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones. Lov. O, that your lordship were but now con- To one or two of these ! [fessor Sands. I would I were ; They 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 Harry, Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this : His grace is ent'ring. — Nay, you must not freeze ; Two women plac'd together makes cold weather : — My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking ; Pray, sit between these ladies. Sands. By my faith, And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet ladies : [Seats himself between Anne Bullen and another lady. If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; I had it from my father. Anne. Was he mad, sir ? Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love But he would bite none ; just as I do now, [too : He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her. Cham. Well said, my lord.— So, now you are fairly seated : — Gentlemen, The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies Pass away frowning. Sands. For my little cure, Let me alone. Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsev, attended ,• and tones his slate. Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests ; that noble lady, Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, SCENK I. KING HENRY VIII. 581 Is not my friend This, to confirm my welcome ; And to you all good health. [Drinks. Sands. Your grace is noble : — Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, And save me so much talking. Wol. My lord Sands, I am beholden to you : cheer your neighbours. — Ladies, you are not merry ; — Gentlemen, Whose fault is this ? Sands. The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have Talk us to silence. [them Anne. You are a merry gamester, My lord Sands. Sands. Yes, if I make my play. Here's to your ladyship : and pledge it, madam, For 'tis to such a thing, — Anne. You cannot show me. Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. [Brum and trumpets within : Chambers discharged. Wol. What's that ? Cham. Look out there, some of you. [Exit a Servant. Wol. What warlike voice ? And to what end is this ? — Nay, ladies, fear not ; By all the laws of war you are privileg'd. Re-enter Servant. Cham. How now ? what is't ? Serv. A noble troop of strangers ; For so they seem ; they have left their barge, and And hither make, as great ambassadors [landed ; From foreign princes. Wol. Good lord chamberlain, Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French tongue ; And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them : — Some attend him. — [Exit Chamberlain, attended. J 11 arise, and tables removed. You have now a broken banquet ; but we'll mend it. A good digestion to you all : and, once more, I shower a welcome on you ; — Welcome all. Hautboys. Enter the Kino, and twelve others, as maskers, habited like shepherds, with sixteen torch - bearers ; ushered by the Lord Chamberlain. They pass directly be/ore the Cardinal, and gracefully salute him. A noble company ! what are their pleasures ? Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd To tell your grace ; — That, having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less, Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their liocks ; and, under your fair conduct, Crave leave to view 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/or the dance. The King chooses Anns Bullen. K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd ! O, beauty, Till now I never knew thee. [Music. Dance. Wol. My lord, Cham. Your grace ? Wol. Pray, tell them thus much from me : There should be one amongst them, by his person, More worthy this place than myself ; to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it. Cham. I will, my lord. [Cham, goes to the company, and returns. Wol. What say they ? Cham. Such a one, they all confess, There is, indeed ; which they would have your grace Find out, and he will take it. Wol. Let me see then — [Gomes from his state. By all your good leaves, gentlemen; — Here I'll My royal choice. [make K. Hen. You have found him, cardinal : [Unmasking. You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord : You are a churchman, or I'll tell you, cardinal, I should judge now unhappily. ^ Wol. 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 Bullen's daughter, The viscount Rochford, one of her highness' women. K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweetheart, I were unmannerly, to take you out, And not to kiss you. — A health, gentlemen, Let it go round. Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I 'the privy chamber ? Lov. Yes, my lord. Wol. Your grace, I fear, with dancing is a little heated. K. Hen. I fear, too much. Wol. There's fresher air, my lord, In the next chamber. K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. — Sweet partner, I must not yet forsake you : — Let's be merry ; — Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure To lead them once again ; and then let's dream Who's best in favour. — Let the music knock it. [Exeunt, with trumpets. ACT II. . SCENE l.—A Street. Enter Two Gentlemen, meeting. 1 Gent. Whither away so fast ? 2 Gent. O, — God save you ! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great duke of Buckingham. 1 Gent. I'll save you That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony Of bringing back the prisoner. 2 Gent. Were you there ? 1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 2 Gent. Pray, speak, what has happen'd I Gent. You may guess quickly what. 682 KING HENRY VIII. ACT II. 2 Gent. Is he found guilty ? 1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon 2 Gent. I am sorry for't. [it. 1 Gent. So are a number more. 2 Gent. But, pray, how passd 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 defeat the law. The king's attorney, on the contrary, Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of dive/s witnesses*; which the duke" desir'd To him brought, viva voce, to his face : At which appear'd against him, his surveyor ; Sir Gilbert Peck, his chancellor ; and John Court, Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief. 2 Gent. That was he, That 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, he could And so his peers, upon this evidence, [not : 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 the 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 he fell to himself again, and, sweetly, In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 2 Gent. I do not think he fears death. 1 Gent. Sure, he does 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 Gent. 'Tis likely, By all conjectures : First, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland ; who remov'd, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father. 2 Gent. That trick of state Was a deep envious one. 1 Gent. At his return, No doubt, he will requite it. 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 Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep : this duke as much They love and dote on ; call him bounteous Buck- The mirror of all courtesy ; — [ingham, 1 Gent. Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter Buckingham from his arraignment; Tipstaves be- fore him ; the axe with the edge towards him ; halberds on each side; with him, Sir Thomas Lovell, Sir Nicho- las Vaux, Sir William 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- And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me, [ness, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! The law I bear no malice for my death, It has done, upon the premises, but justice ; But those that sought it, I could wish more christians : Be what they will, I heartily forgive them : Yet let them look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ; For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, [me, His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with 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's name. Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you, As I would be forgiven : I forgive all ; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with : no black envy Shall make my grave. — Commend me to his grace ; And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him, You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers Yet 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 years ! Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be ! And, when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument ! Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, Who 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 The greatness of his person. Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I 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 groan for't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, Flying for succour to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell ; God's peace be with him ! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly 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 his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all That made me happy, at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial, And, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes A little happier than my wretched father : [me Yet thus far we are one in fortunes, — Both Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most ; A most unnatural and faithless service 1 SCENE IT. KING HENRY VIII. 58'J Heaven has an end in all : Yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain : Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels, Be sure, you be not loose ; for those you make friends, And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me ! I 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, I 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 ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. 1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us ! Where may 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 ; I do not talk much. 2 Gent. I am confident ; You shall, sir : Did you not of late days hear A buzzing, of a separation Between 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, straight 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 venture 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, for 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 should feel the smart of this ? The car- Will have his will, and she must fall. [dinal 1 Gent. 'Tis woeful. We are too open here to argue this ; Let's think in private more. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — An Ante -chamber in the Palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter. Cham. My lord, — The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young, and handsome; and cf the lest 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 moulhs, sir. I fear, he will, indeed : Well, let him have them : He will have all, I think. Enter the Dukks of Nohfolk and Suffolk. Nor. Well met, my good Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Good day to both your graces. Suf. How is the king employ'd ?^ Cham. I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and trouble* - Nor. What's the cause ? Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's Has crept too near his conscience. [wife Suf. No, his conscie»<»» 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. Suf. Pray God, he do ! he'll never know himself else. Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! And with what zeal ! For now he has crack'd the league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, He dives into the king's soul ; and there scatters 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 pious ? Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel 1 'Tis most true, These news are everywhere ; every tongue speaks them, And every true heart weeps for't : All, that dare Look into these affairs, see this main end, — The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. Suf. 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 me alike, they are breath I not believe in. I 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 From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him : My lord, you'll bear us company Cham* Excuse me J 58-1 KING HENRY VIII. 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 Chamberlain. Norfolk opens a folding-door. The Kino it discovered sitting, and reading pensively. Suf. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much K. Hen. Who is there ? ha ? [afflicted. Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry. K. Hen. Who's there, I say ? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations ? 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 ; Go to ; I'll make ye know your times of business : Is this an hour for temporal affairs ? ha ? — Enter Wolsey and Campeiub. Who's there? my good lord cardinal?— O my The quiet of my wounded conscience, [Wolsey, 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 ? Sitf. Not to speak of ; I would not be so sick though, for his place : But this cannot continue. Nor. If it do, I'll venture one heave at him. Snf. I another. J [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 ? The 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 your noble self, hath sent [ment, One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius ; Whom, once more, I present unto your highness. K. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms, I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves ; [for. They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble : To your highness' hand I tender my commission ; by whose virtue, (The court of Rome commanding,) — you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant, In the unpartial judging of this business. K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted Forthwith, for what you come : — Where's Gardiner? Wol. 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 ; I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey. Re-enter Wolsey, with Gardiner. Wol. Give me your hand : much joy and favour to you ; You are the king's now. Gard. But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. [Aside. K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. [They converse apart Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace In this man's place before him? Wol. . Yes, he was. Cam. Was he not held a learned man ? Wol. Yes, surely. Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread Even of yourself, lord cardinal. « [then Wol. How ! of me ? Cam. They will not stick to say, you envied him ; And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man still ; which so griev'd That he ran mad, and died. [him, Wol. Heaven's peace be with him ! That's christian care enough : for living murmurers, There's places of rebuke. He was a fool ; For he would needs be virtuous : That good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment ; 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-Friars ; There ye shall meet about this weighty business : — My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. — O my lord, Would it not grieve an able man, to leave So sweet a bedfellow ? But, conscience, con- science, — O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. SCENE III. ■An Ante-Chamber in the Queen's Apartntcnts. 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 she 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 ! it is a pity Would move a monster. Old L. Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her. Anne. O, God's will ! much better. She ne'er had known pomp : though it be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce SCENE IV. KING HENRY VIII. 585 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging As soul and body's severing. Old 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 maidenhead, I would not be a queen. Old L. Beshrew me, I would, And venture maidenhead for't ; 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 Affected eminence, wealth, and sovereignty ; Which, to say sooth, are blessings i 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 you, 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 off 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 you do talk ! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old L. In faith, for little England You'd venture an emballing : I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here ? Enter the Lord Chamberlain- Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What wer't worth The secret of your conference ? [to know Anne. My good lord, Not your demand ; it values not your asking : Our 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'en 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 Pembroke ; to which title A thousand pound a year, annual support, Out of his grace he adds. Anne. I do not know, What kind of my obedience I should tender ; More than 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 from a blushing handmaid to his highness ; Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. Cham. Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well : [Aside. Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, That they have caught the king : and who knows But from this lady may proceed a gem, [yet, To lighten all this isle ? — I'll to the king, And say, I spoke with you. Anne. My honour'd lord. [Exit Lord Chamberlain. Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see I I have been begging sixteen years in court, (Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late, For any suit of pounds : and you, (O fate !) A very fresh-fish here, (fye, fye upon This compell'd fortune !) have your mouth fill'd up, Before you open it. Anne. This is strange to me. Old L. How tastes it ? is it bitter ? forty pence, There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,) [no. That would not be a queen, that would she not, For all the mud in Egypt :— Have you heard it? Anne. Come, you are pleasant. Old L. With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke 1 A thousand pounds a year ! for pure respect ; No other obligation : By my life, That promises more thousands : Honour's train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, I know, your back will bear a duchess ; — Say, Are you not stronger than you were ? Anne. Good lady, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, And leave me out on't. 'Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot ; it faints me, To think what follows. The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence : Pray, do not deliver What here you have heard, to her. Old L. "What do you think me ? [ Exeunt — ♦ — SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-fryars. Trumpets, senet, and cornets. Enter Two Vergers, with short silver wands ; next them, Two Scribes, in the habits of doctors; after them, the Archbishop of Canterbury alone; after him, the Bishops of Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph ; next them, with some small distance, follows a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; th,n Two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman- Usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant at- Arms, bearing a silver mace; then Two Gentlemen, bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the Two Cardinals AVolsey and Campeius ; Two Noblemen with the sword and mace. Then enter the Kino and Queen, and their Trains. The Kino takes place under the cloth of slate ; the Two Cardinals 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 rm KING HENRY VIII. ACT II. between them, the Scribes. The Lords *>7 next the Bishops. TJie Crier and the rest of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage. Wol. 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 allow'd ; You 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. Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come into court. Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c. The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the Kino, and kneels at his feet ; then speaks. Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and 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 indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you ? what cause Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me ? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife. At all times to your will conformable : Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Vea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry, A s I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, I ever contradicted your desire, Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew I e 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 mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you ; If, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, 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 unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many A year before : It is not to be question'd That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful : Wherefore I Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may [humbly Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel 1 will implore ; if not, i'the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd ! Wol. You have here, lady, (And of your choice,) these reverend fathers ; men Of singular integrity and lep.rning, Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootless, That longer you desire the court ; as well For your own quiet, as to rectify What is unsettled in the king. Cam. His grace Hath spoken well, and justly : Therefore, madam. It's fit this royal session do proceed ; And that, without -delay, their arguments Be now produe'd, and heard. Q. Kath. Lord cardinal, — To you I speak. Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? Q. Kath. Sir, I am about to weep ; but, thinking that We are a queen, (or long have dream'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, Or God will punish me. I do believe, [before, Indue' d By potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy ; and make my challenge, You shall not be my judge : for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, — Which God's dew quench ! — Therefore, I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul, Refuse you for my judge : whom, yet once more, I hold 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 Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong : I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice For you, or any : how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge That I have blown this coal : I do deny it : [me, The king is present : if it be known to him, That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood ? yea, as much As you have done my truth. But if he know That I am free of your report, he knows, I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies, to cure me : and the cure is, to Remove these thoughts from you ; The which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking, And to say so no more. Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and humble-mouth' d ; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming With meekness and humility : but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps ; and now are mounted Where powers are your retainers : and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender, more your person's honour, than Your high profession spiritual : That again I do refuse you for my judge ; and here, Before you all, appeal unto the pope, To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, And to be judg'd by him. [She curt'sies to the Kino, and offers to depart SCENE J\\ KING HENRY VIII. 537 Cam. The queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by it ; 'tis not well. She's going away. Kl Hen. Call her again. Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into the court. Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. Q. Kath. What need you note it? pray you, keep your way : When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help, They vex me past my patience! — pray you, pass on : I will not tarry : no, nor ever more, Upon this business, my appearance make In any of their courts. [Exeunt Queen, Griffith, and her other Attendants. K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate : That man i'the world, who shall report he has A better wife, let him 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 thee out,) The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born ; 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 hearing Of all these ears, (for where I am robb'd and bound, 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 way, 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 word, might Be to the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person ? K. Hen. My lord cardinal, I do excuse you ; yea, upon mine honour, \ 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 excus'd: But will you be more justified ? you ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business ; never Desir'd it to be stirr'd ; but oft have hinder'd ; oft The passages made toward it : — on my honour, I speak my good lord cardinal to this 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 prick, on certain speeches utter'd By the bishop of Bayonne, 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 busi- Ere a determinate resolution, he [ness, (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 bosom 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 maz'd considerings did throng, And press'd in with this caution. 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 the dead : for her male issue Or died where they were made, or shortly after This 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 no Be gladded in't by me : Then follows, that I weigh' d the danger which my realms stood in By this my issue's fail : and that gave to me Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present here together ; that's to say, I 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 moved you. Lin. Very well, my liege. K. Hen. I have spoke long ; be pleas'd yourself How far you satisfied me. [to say Lin. So please your highness, The question did at first so stagger me, — Bearing a state of mighty moment in't, And consequence of dread, — that I committed The daring'st council which I had, to doubt ; And did entreat your highness to this course, Which you are running here. X. Hen. I then mov'd you, My 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 no dislike i'the world against the person Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward : Prove but our marriage 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 pleasure your highness The 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 : I abhor This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Pr'ythee, return 1 with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court : I say set on. [Exeunt in manner as they entered. 508 KING HENRY VIII. ACT til ACT III. SCENE I. — Palace at Bridewell. A Room in the Queen's Apartment. The Quee.v, and some of her Women, at work. Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows sad with troubles : Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave work- ing. 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 and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the hillows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In 6weet music is such art : Killing care, and grief of heart, Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. Enter a Gentleman. Q. Kath. How now ? Gent. An't please your grace, the two great. Wait in the presence. [cardinals Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. Q. Kath. Pray their graces To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour ? I do not like their coming, now I think on't. They should be good men ; their affairs as righteous : But all hoods make not monks. Enter Wolsey and Campkius. Wol. Peace to your highness ! Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a housewife ; I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords ? Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to with- draw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. Q. Kath. Speak it here ; There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Deserves a corner : 'Would, all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do 1 My lords, I care not, (so much I 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 I am wife in, Out with it boldly ; Truth loves open dealing. Wol. Tanta est ergo, te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,-~ 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 lived in : A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious ; Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ; Believe me, she has had much wrong : Lord car- The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, [dinal, May be absolv'd in English. Wol. Noble 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 ; You 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, I thank you both for your good wills, Ye speak like honest men, (pray God ye prove so !) But how to make ye 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 counsel, for my cause ; Alas ! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears ; Your hopes and friends are infinite. Q. Kath. In England, But little for my profit : Can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' plea- sure, (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) And live a subject ? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here : They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, In mine 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 roost 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 corrupt. Cam. Your rage mistakes us. Q. Kath. The more shame for ye ; holy men 1 thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fe3r je : SCENE II. KING HENRY VIII. 689 Mend them, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort ? The cordial that ye hring a wretched lady ? A woman lost among ye, laugh' d at, scorn' d ? I will not wish ye half my miseries, I have more charity : But say, I warn'd ye ; Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; You turn the good we offer into envy. Q. Kath. 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 anything but churchmen's habits,) Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me ? Alas ! he has banish'd me his bed already ; His love, too long ago : I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this 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 true one? A woman (I dare say, without vain- glory,) Never yet branded with suspicion ? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king ? lov'd him next ncaven ? obey'd him ? Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ? Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure ; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour, — a great patience. Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to : nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. Wol. 'Pray, hear me. Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! [earth, Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady ? I am the most unhappy woman living. — Alas ! poor wenchto, where are now your fortunes ? [To her Women. Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 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 flourish'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 lady, Upon what cause, wrong you ? alas ! our places, The way of our profession is against it ; We are to cure such sorrows, not 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. Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever casts Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you ; Beware, you lose it not : Foi 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 shall have my prayers, While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers. Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, That little thought, when she set footing here, She should have bought her dignities so dear. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — Ante-chamber to the Kino's Apartment. Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. 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 joyful To meet the least occasion, that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be reveng'd on him. Suf. Which of the peers Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least Strangely neglected ? when did he regard The stamp of nobleness in any person, Out of himself ? Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures : What he deserves of you and me, I know ; What we can do to him, (though now the time Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the king, never attempt Any thing on him ; for he hath a witchcraft Over the king in his tongue. Nor. O, fear him not ; His spell in that is out : the king hath found Matter against hira» 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 the divorce, his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears, As 1 could wish mine enemy. Sur. How came His practices to light ? Suf. Most strangely. Sur. O, how, how? Suf. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried. 500 KING HENRY VIII. Ar;r in. And came to the eye o' the king : wherein was read, How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness To stay the judgment o' the divorce ; For if It did take place, / do, quoth he, perceive, My king is tangled in affection to A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen. Stir. Has the king this ? Suf. Believe it. Sur. Will this work ? Cham. The king in this perceives him, how he coasts, And hedges, his own way. But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 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, my lord ! For, I profess, you have it. Sur. Now all my joy Trace the conjunction ! Suf. My amen to't ! Nor. All men's. Suf. There's order given for her coronation : Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left To some ears unrecountetl. — But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memoriz'd. Sur. But, will the king Digest this letter of the cardinal's ? The Lord forbid ! Nor. Marry, amen ! Suf. No, no ; There 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 agent of our cardinal, To second all his plot. I do assure you, The king cried, ha ! at this. Cham. Now, God incense him, And let him cry ha, louder I 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 famous colleges Almost in Christendom : 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. Suf 'Tis so. The cardinal — Enter Wolsey and Cromwell. Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody. Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king? Crom. To his own hand, in his bed-chamber. Wol. Look'd he o'the inside of the paper ? Crom. Presently He did unseal them : and the first he view'd, He did it with a serious mind ; a heed Was in his countenance : You, he bade Attend him here this morning. Wol. Is he ready To come abroad ? Crom. I think, by this he is. Wol. Leave me a while, — [£rft Cromwell It shall be to the duchess of Alencon, The French king's sister : he shall marry her. — Anne Bullen ! No ; I'll no Anne Bullens for him : There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen ! No, we'll no Bullens — Speedily I wish To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pem- broke ! Nor. He's discontented. Suf. May be, he hears the king Does whet his anger to him. Sur. Sharp enough, Lord, for thy justice ! Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman ; a knight's daughter, To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! — This candle burns not clear ; 'tis I must snuff it ; Then, out it goes. — What though I know her virtuous, 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 up 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 fret the string, The master-cord of his heart ! Enter the King, reading a schedule ,• and Lovell. Suf. The king, the king. K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumu- lated To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of thrift, Does he rake this together ! — Now, my lords ; Saw you the cardinal ? Nor. My lord, we have Stood here observing him : Some strange commo- Is in his brain : he bites his lip, and starts ; [tion Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then, lays his finger on his temple ; straight, Springs out into fast gait ; then, stop3 again, Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts His eye against the moon : in most strange pos- We have seen him set himself. [tures K. Hen. It may well be ; There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I requir'd; And, wot you, what I found There ; on my conscience, put unwittingly ? Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, — The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which I find at such proud rate, that it out- speaks Possession of a subject. Nor. It's Heaven's will ; Some spirit put this paper in the packet To bless your eye withal. K. Hen. If we did think His contemplation were above the earth, SCENE II. KING HENRY VIII. 501 And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still Dwell in his musings : but, I am afraid, His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. {lie takes his seat, and ivhispcrs Lovell, who goes to Wolsey. Wol. Heaven forgive me ! Ever God bless your highness ! K. Hen. Good my lord, You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory Of your best graces in your mind ; the which You were now running o'er ; you have scarce 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 upon the part of business, which 1 bear i'the state ; and nature does require Her times of preservation, which, perforce, I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, Must give 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 again ; And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well : And yet 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 Employ'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 state ? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce, you have found true : Arid, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ? Wol. 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 man'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 upon 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 death, that winter, kill 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 foulness 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 function of your power, Should, notwithstanding 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 crack their duty to you, An throw it from their soul ; though perils did Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty, As doth 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. {Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsky : the Nobles throng after him, smiling, and whispering. Wol. What should this mean? What sudden anger's this ? how have I reap'd it ? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes : So looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper : I fear, the story of his anger. — 'Tis so ; This paper has undone me : — 'Tis the account Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the popedom, And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, Fit for a fool to fall by ! What 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 know A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune Will bring me off again. What's this — To the The letter, as I live, with all the business [Pope? I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell ! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : 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. lie-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : wb< 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 hear further from his highness. Wol. Stay, Where's your commission, lords ? words canno' Authority so weighty. [carry Suf. Who dare cross them, Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly ? Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it, (I mean, your malice,) know, officious 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 ruin I Follow your envious courses, men of malice ; You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, You ask with such a violence, the king, 592 KING HENRY VIj; (Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me : Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, During my life, and, to confirm his goodness, Tied it by letters patents : Now, who'll take it ? Sur. The king, that gave it. Wol. It must be himself then. Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. Wol. Proud lord, thou liest ; Within these forty hours Surrey durst better Have burnt that tongue, than said so. Sur. Thy ambition, Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law : The heads 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 my 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 master, Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be, And all that love his follies. Sur. By my soul, Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou should &t feel My sword i'the life-blood of thee else. — My lords, Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely, To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, And dare us with his cap, like larks. Wol. All goodness Is poison to thy stomach. Sur. 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, You writ to the pope, against the king : your goodness, 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 Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this But that I am bound in charity against it ! [man, Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's ' But, thus much, they are foul ones. [hand : Wol. So much fairer, And spotless, shall mine innocence arise, When the king knows my truth. Sur. This cannot st ve you : I thank my memory, I yet remember Some of these articles ; and out they shall. Now, if yoe can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal, You'll show 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, You wrought to be a legate ; by which power You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else To foreign princes, Eao et Rex meus 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 league between his highness and Ferrara. Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- stance, (By what means got, I leave to your own con- science,) To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways You have fbr 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 him. 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,— Eecause all those things, you have done of late By your power legatine within this kingdom, Fall into the compass of a prcemunire, — That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; To forfeit all 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 you to your meditations How to live better. For your stubborn answer, About the giving back the great seal to us, The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all but Wr t&by. Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 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 frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man ! full surely 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 my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me. Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. SCENE KING HENRY VIII. 503 Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That 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 hope again. — Enter Cromwell, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell ? Crom. I have no power to speak, 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 myself now ; and 1 feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders, These 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 of it. Wol. 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 my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad ? Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the king. Wol. God bless him ! Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is Lord Chancellor in your place. [chosen Wol. That's somewhat 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 bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! What more ? Crom. That Cranmer 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 long married, This day was view'd in open, as his queen, Going to chapel ; and the voice is now Only about her coronation. Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me, all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever : No sun 6hall ever usher forth mine honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Uipon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ; I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told him What, and how true thou art : he will advance thee ; Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too : Good 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 king 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 fore'd me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, — when I am forgotten, as I 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 of 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. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still 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 truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in : There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe, And my integrity to heaven, 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 mj king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked 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 Two Gentlemen, meeting. 1 Gent. You are well met once again. 2 Gent. And so are you. 1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and The lady Anne pass from her coronation ? [behold 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 offer'd This, general joy. [sorrow ; 2 Gent. 'Tis well : The citizens, I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds ; As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward In celebration of this day with shows, Pageants, and sights of honour. 1 Gent. Never greater, Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. U Q 5U4 KING HENRY VIII. ACT IV. 2 Gent. May I b(3 bold to ask what that con- That paper in your hand ? [tains, 1 Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list Of those, that claim their offices this day, By custom of the coronation. The duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims To be high steward ; next, the duke of Norfolk, He to be earl marshal : you may read the rest. 2 Gent. I thank you, sir ; had I not known those customs, I should have been beholden to your paper. But, I beseech yon, what's become of Katharine, The princess dowager ? how goes her business ? 1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop Of Canterbury, accompanied with other Learned and reverend fathers of his order, Held a late court at Dunstable, six 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 main assent Of all these learned men she was divorc'd, And the late marriage made of none effect : Since which she was remov'd to Kimbolton, Where she remains now, sick. 2 Gent. Alas, good lady ! — [Trumpets. The trumpets sound : stand close, the queen is coming. THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. A lively flourish, of Trumpets: then, enter 1. Two Judges. 8 Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace before him. 3 Choristers singing. [Music. 4. Mayor of London bearing the mace. Then Garter, in his coat of arms, and, on his head, a gilt copper crown. 5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a demi-coronal of golJ. With him, the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet. Collars of SS. 6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet on his head, bearing a long white wand, as high-steward. With him, the Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of SS. 7- A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports ; under it, the Queen in her robe ; in her hair richly adorned with pearl, crowned. On each side of her, the Bishops of London and Winchester. 8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, wrought with flowers, bearing the Queen's train. i> Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets of gold without flowers. 2 Gent. A royal train, believe me. — These I Who's that, that bears the sceptre ? [know ; — 1 Gent. Marquis 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 Queew. 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 bear The cloth of honour over her, are four barons Of the Cinque-ports. 2 Gent. Those men are happy ; and so are all, are 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, And, sometimes, falling ones. [indeed ; 1 Gent. No more of that. [Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets. Enter a Third Gentleman. God save you, sir ! Where have you been broiling ? 3 Gent. Among the crowd i'the abbey ; where a finger Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I am stifled With the mere rankuess of their joy. 2 Gent. You saw The ceremony ? 3 Gent. That I did. 1 Gent. How was it ? 3 Gent. 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 ladies, having brought the queen To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off A distance from her : while her grace sat down To rest a while, some half an hour, or so, In a rich chair of state, opposing 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, As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks, (Doublets, I think,) flew up ; and had their faces Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy I never saw before. Great-bellied women, That had not half a week to go, like rams In the old time of war, would shake the press, And make them 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 modest paces Came to the altar: where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. Then rose again, 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 peace, and all such emblems Laid nobly on her ; which perform'd, the choir, With all the choicest music of the kingdom, Together sung Te Deum. So she parted, And with the same full state pae'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, that 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 Is 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, SCENE II. KING HENRY VIII. 6!)S (Newly preferr'd from the king's secietary,) The other, London. 2 Gent. He of Winchester Is 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, I pray you ? 3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell ; A man in much esteem with the king, and truly A worthy friend. — The king Has made him master o'the jewel-house A.nd 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 my guests ; Something I can command. As I walk thither, I'll tell ye more. Both. You may command us, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— KlMBOLTON. Enter Katharine, Dowager, 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 : Reach 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 grace, Out of the pain you sufFer'd, gave no ear to't. Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died : If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, For my example. Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : For alter the stout earl Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him forward (As a man 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 Leicester, Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him ; To whom he gave these words, — O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones 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 faults lie gently on him ! 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 Tied all the kingdom ; simony was fair play ; His own opinion was his law : I 'the presence He would say untruths ; and be evei double, Both in his words and meaning : He was never, But where he meant to ruin, pitiful: His promises were, 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 Griffith : 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, (Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely : Ever witness for him Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with him, Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 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, And found the blessedness of being little : And, to add greater honours to his age 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 : I have not long to trouble thee — Good Griffith, Cause the musicians play me that sad note I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating On that celestial harmony I go to. Sad and solemn music. Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet, For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six Personages, clad in white robes, wearing on thtir heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their faces,- branches of bays, or palm, in their hands. They first congee unto her, then dance; and at certain changes, the first two hold a spare garland jver her head; at which, the other four make revtrend courl'sies ,• then the two, that held the garland, deliver the same to the other 7uxt two, who observe the same order in their changes, and holding the garland over Iter head : which done, they deliver the same garland to the last two, who 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 vanish, carrying the garland with them The music continues. Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are yr all gone ? And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? 59G KING HENRY VIII. \CT V. 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 promis'd 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, 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 drawn ? 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 ? Grif You are to blame, Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness, To use so rude behaviour : go to, kneel. Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon ; My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : But this Let me ne'er see again. [fellow [Exeunt Griffith and Messenger. Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius. If my sight fail not, You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. Kath. O my lord, The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray 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 me Sends you his princely commendations, And heartily entreats you take good comfort. Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too 'Tis like a pardon after execution : [late ; That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me ; But now I am past 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 I^Patience, is that letter, I caus'd you write, yet sent away ? Pat. No, madam. [Giving it to Katharine 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 her ! — Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding ; (She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; I hope, she will deserve well ;) aad a little To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd hira, Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petitior Is, that his noble grace would have some pity Upon my wretched women, that so long, Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully : 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 a noble ; And, sure, those men are happy that 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 me by ; If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life, 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 to 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 fashion of a man ! Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember raf In all humility unto his highness : Say, his long trouble now is passing Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him, 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 wench, Let me be us'd with honour ; strew me over With maiden flowers, that all the world may know I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katharine. ACT V. SCENE I — A Gallery in the Palace. Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a torch be/ore him, met by Sir Thomas Loveix. Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not ? Boy. It hath struck. Gar. These should be hours for necessities, Not for delights ; times to repair our nature With comforting repose, and not for us To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir Whither so iate ? [Thomas ! Lov. Came you from the king, my lord ? Gar. I did, sir Thomas ; and left him at primero With the duke of Suffolk. Lov. I must to him too, Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter ? KING HENRY VIII. 5JK It seems, you are in haste ; an if there be No great offence belongs to't, give your friend Some touch of your late business : Affairs, that walk (As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have In them a wilder nature, than the business That seeks despatch by day. Lov. My lord, I love you ; And durst commend a secret to your ear Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour, They say, in great extremity ; and fear'd, She'll with the labour end. Gar. The fruit, she goes with, I pray for heartily : that it may find Good time, and live : but for the stock, sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd up now. Lov. Methinks, I could Cry the amen ; and yet my conscience says She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does Deserve our better wishes. Gar. But, sir, sir, — Hear me, sir Thomas : You are a gentleman Of mine own way ; I know you wise, religious ; And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, — 'Twill not, sir Thomas Lovel, take't of me, — Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, Sleep in their graves. Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two The 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, With which the time will load him : The archbishop Is the king's hand, and tongue ; And who dare One syllable against him ? [speak Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, There are that dare ; and I myself have ventur'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 ; who hath so far Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace And princely care ; foreseeing those fell mischiefs Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded, To-morrow morning to the council-board He be convented. He's a rank weed, sir Thomas, And we must root him out. From your affairs I hinder you too long : good night, sir Thomas. Lov. Many good nights, my lord ; I rest youi servant. {Exeunt Gardiner and Page. As Lovell is going out, enter the King, and the Duke of Suffolk. K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night ; My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me. Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before. K. Hen. But little, Charles ; Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. — Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news ? Lov. I could not personally deliver to her What you commanded me, but by her woman I sent your message ; who return'd her thanks In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your high- ness Most heartily to pray for her. K.Hen. What say'st thou? ha! To pray for her? what, is she crying out? Lov. So said her woman ; and that her suffer- ance made Almost each pang a death. 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, Charles, Pr'ythee to bed ; and in thy prayers remember The estate of my poor queen. Leave me 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 Remember in my prayers. K' Hen. Charles, good night.— {Exit Suffolk. Enter Sir Anthony Denny. Well sir, what follows ? Den. Sir, I have brought my lord, the arch- As you commanded me. [bishop, K. Hen. Ha ! Canterbury ? Ben. Ay, my good lord. K. Hen. 'Tis true : Where is he, Denny ? Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. K. Hen. Bring him to us. {Exit Denny. Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake ; I am happily come hither. {Aside. He-enter Denny, with Cranmer. K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stay. Ha ! — I have said. — Be gone. What ! — {Exeunt Lovell 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 know Wherefore I sent for you. Cran. It is my duty, To attend your highness' pleasure. K. Hen. 'Pray you, arise, 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 your hand. Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, And am right sorry to repeat what follows : I have, and most 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, 1 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 us, 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 throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff And corn shall fly asunder : for, I know, am KING HENRY VIII. There's none standsunder more calumnious tongues, Than I myself, poor man. K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury ; 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, I 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 have heard you Without indurance further. Cran. Most dread liege, The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty ; If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, Will triumph o'er my person ; which I weigh not, J3eing of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing What can be said against me. K. Hen. Know you not how Your 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 due o'the verdict with it : At what ease Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt To swear against you ? such things have been done. You are potently oppos'd ; and with a malice Of as 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, &nd woo your own destruction. Cran. God, and your majesty, Protect mine innocence, or I fall into The trap is laid for me ! K. Hen. Be of good cheer; They shall no more prevail, than we give way to. Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see You do appear before them ; if they shall chance, In charging you with matters, to commit you, The best persuasions to the contrary Fail not to use, and with what vehemency The occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties Will render you no remedy, this ring Deliver them, and your appeal to us There make before them. — Look, the good man weeps ! He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother ! I swear, he is true-hearted ; and a soul None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone, And do as I have bid you. — [Exit Cranmer.] He His language in his tears. [has strangled •Enter an old Lady. Gent. [ Within.'] Come back ; What mean you ? Lady. I'll not come back ; the tidings that I bring Will make my boldness manners. — Now, good angels Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person Under their blessed wings ! K. Hen. Now, by thy looks I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd? Say, ay ; and of a boy. Lady. Ay, ay, my liege ; And of a lovely boy . The god of heaven tJoth 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 queen. [Exit Kjno. Lady. An hundred marks ! By this light, I'll have more. An ordinary groom is for such payment. I will 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, I'll put it to the issue. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — Lobby before the Council- chamber. Enter Cranmer ; Servants, Door-Keeper, SfC. attending. Cran. I hope I am not too late ; and yet the gentleman, That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me To make great haste. All fast ? what means this? — Hoal Who waits there ? — Sure, you know me? D. Keep. Yes, my lord ; But yet I cannot help you. Cran. Why ? D. Keep. Your grace must wait till you be call'd for. Enter Doctor Butts. Cran. So. Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am $iad, I came this way so happily: The king Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts. Cran. [Aside.] 'Tis Butts, The king's physician ; as he pass'd 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 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 pleasures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter, at a window above, the Kino and Burrs. Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight, — K. Hen. What's that, Butts? Butts. I think your highness saw this many a K. Hen. Body o'me, where is it? [day. Butts. There, my lord : The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, Pages and footboys. K. Hen. Ha ! 'Tis he, indeed : Is this the honour they do one another ? 'Tis well there's one above them yet. I had thought, They had 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 Mary, Butts, there's knavery : Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ; We shall hear more anon. — ZExe»»* KING HENRY VOL 599 THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suffolk, Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardiner, and Cromwell. The Chancellor places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand ; a seat being left void above him, as for the Archbishop of Canterbury. The rest seat themselves in order on each side. Cromwell at the lower end, as secretary. Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary : Why are we met in council ? 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 your pleasures. Chan. Let him come in. D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. [Cranmer approaches the council-table. Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty : But we all are men, In our own natures frail ; and capable Of our flesh, few are angels : out of which frailty, And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, [us, Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains, (For so we are inform' d,) with new opinions, Divers and dangerous ; which are heresies, And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords for those that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle ; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them, Till they obey the manage. If we suffer (Out of our easiness, and childish pity To one man's honour) this contagious sickness, Farewell, all physic ; And what follows then ? Commotions, uproars, with a general taint Of the whole state : as, of late days, our neighbours, The upper Germany, can dearly witness, Yet freshly pitied in our memories. Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching, And the strong course of my authority, Might go one way, and safely *, and the end Was ever to do well : nor is there living (I speak it with a single heart, my lords,) A man that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience and his place, Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 'Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart With less allegiance in it! Men, that make Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, That, in this case of justice, my accusers, Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, And freely urge against me. Suf. ' Nay, my lord, That cannot be ; you are a counsellor, And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment, We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure, And our consent, for better trial of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower, Where, being but a private man again, You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, More than, I fear, you are provided for. Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, You are always my good friend ; if your will pass, I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, You are so merciful : I see your end, 'Tis my undoing : Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition ; Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, I make as little doubt, as you do conscience, In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, But reverence to your calling makes me modest. Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, That's the plain truth; your painted gloss dis- covers, To men that understand ycu, words and weakness. Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little, By your good favour, too sharp ; men so noble, However faulty, yet should find respect For what they have been : 'tis a cruelty, To load a falling man. Gar. Good master secretary, I cry your honour mercy ; you may, worst Of all this table, say so. Crom. Why, my lord ? Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer Of this new sect ? ye are not sound. Crom. Not sound ? Gar. Not sound, I say. Crom. 'Would you were half so honest ! Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language. Crom. Do. Remember your bold life too. Chan. This is too much ; Forbear, for shame, my lords. Gar. I have done. Crom. And I. Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands I take it, by all voices, that forthwith [agreed, You 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 ? All. We are. Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to the Tower, my lords? Q aTt What other Would you expect ? You are strangely trouble- Let some o'the guard be ready there. [some : Enter Guard. Cran. Must I go like a traitor thither Gar. And see him safe i'the Tower. Cran. Stay, good my lords ; I have a little yet to say.^ Look there, my lords j By virtue of that ring, Intake my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it To a most noble judge, the king my master. Cham. This is the king's ring. S ur , 'Tis no counterfeit. For me Receive him, GOO KING HENRY VIII. 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 finger Of this man to be vex'd ? Chan. '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 me, In seeking tales, and informations, Against this man, (whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at,) Ye blew the fire that burns ye : Now have at ye. Enter Kino, frowning on them , takes his seat. 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, in all obedience, makes the church 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 offender. K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden com- mendations, 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 offences. To me you cannot reach ; you play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me ; But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I 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, but wag his finger at thee : By all that's holy, he had better starve, Than but once think his place becomes thee not. Sur. May it please your grace, — K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. I hid thought, I had had men of some under- And wisdom, of my council ; but I find none. Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, This good man, (few of you deserve that title,) This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy At chamber door ? and one as great as you are ? Why, what a shame was this ? Did my commission Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye Power as he was a counsellor to try him, Not as a groom ; There's some of ye, I see, More out of malice than integrity, Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ; Which ye shall never have, while I live. Chan. Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his imprisonment, was rather (If there be faith in men,) meant for his trial, And fair purgation 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, I will say thus much for him, If a prince May be beholden to a subject, I Am, for his love and service, so to him. Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ; Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Canterbury, 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 answer for her. Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such an honour ; How may I deserve it, That am a poor and humble subject to you ? K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons ; you shall have Two noble partners with you ; the old duchess of Norfolk, And lady marquis 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, I do it. Cran. And let heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart. The common voice, I see, is verified Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canter- bury A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever. — Come, lords, we trifle time away ; I long To have this young one made a christian. As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The Palace Yard. Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals : Do you take the court for Paris-garden ? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping. [ Within. 1 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, and strong ones ; these are but switches to them. — I '11 scratch your heads : You must be seeing christenings ? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals ? Man. Pray, sir, be patient ; 'tis as much im- possible (Unless we sweep them from the door with can- nons,) To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep On May-day morning ; which will never be : We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd ? Man. Alas, I know not ; How gets the tide in ? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot (You see the poor remainder) could distribute ; I made no spare, sir. Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Col- brand, to mow them down before me : but, if I spared any, that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again ; and that I would not for a cow, God save her. [ Within.] Do you hear, master porter ? Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy. — Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do? Port. What should you do, but knock them KING HENRY VIII. G01 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 us ? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door ! On my christian conscience, this 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 fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o'ray 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 off 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 truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on ; I made good my place ; at length they came to the broomstaff with me, I defied them still ; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such- a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work : The devil was amongst them, I think, surely. Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples ; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days ; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come. Enter the Lord Chajnberlain. Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here ! They grow still too ; from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves ? — Ye have made a fine hand, fellows. There's a trim rabble let in : Are all these Your faithful friends o'the suburbs ? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening. Port. An't please your honour, We are but men ; and what so many may do, Not being torn a pieces, we have done : An army cannot rule them. Cham. As I live, If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all By the heels, and suddenly ; and on your heads Clap round fines, for neglect : You are lazy knaves ; And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets 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 AMarshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. Port. Make way there for the princess. Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll 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 IV The Palace. Enter trumpets, sounding ; then Two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk, with his marshal's staff, Duke of Suffolk, Two Noblemen bear ing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts ,• then Four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Duchess of NoRYOLK,godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, fyc. Train borne by a Lady : then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks. Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth I Flourish. Enter King and Train. Cran. ^Kneeling.'] And to your royal grace, and the good queen, My noble partners, and myself, thus pray ; — All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, May hourly fall upon ye ! K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop : What is her name ? Cran. Elizabeth. K. Hen. Stand up, lord. — [The King kisses the child. With this kiss take my blessing :' God protect thee! Into whose hands I give thy life. Cran. Amen. K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, [prodigal : When she has so much English. Cran. Let me speak, sir, For Heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. This royal infant, (Heaven still move about her !) Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness : She shall bq (But 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, And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with her : In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : God shall be truly known ; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. [Nor shall this peace sleep with her : But as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 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 this cloud of darkness,) Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth terror, 602 KING HENRY VIII. ACT V. That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; Wherever the bright sun of heaven 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 branches To all the plains about him : Our children's Shall see this, and bless Heaven. [children K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.] Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, An aged princess ; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 'Would I had known no more ! but she must die, She must, the saints must have her ; yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. praise my 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 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, and she must thank ye, bhe will be sick else. This day, no man think He has business at his house ; for all shall stay, This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt EPILOGUE. 'Tis ten to one, this play can never please All that are here : Some come to take their ease, And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 'tis clear, They'll say, 'tis naught : others, to hear the city Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — that's wiily ! Which we have not done neither : that, I fear, All the expected good we are like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women ; For such a one we show'd them ; If they smile, And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while All the best men are ours ; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Priam, King of Troy Hector, -\ Troilus, I . Paris, Deiphobus, Helenus, JBlOUS, Antenor, his Sons. > Trojan Commanders. Calchas, a Trojan Priest, taking part with the Greeks, Pandarcs, Uncle to Cressida. Margarelon, a bastard Son of Priam. Agamemnon, the Grecian General. Menelaus, his Brother. Achilles, "J Ajax, K. Grecian Commanders. Ulysses, J SCENE i) Nestor, Diomedes, y Gi Patroclus, Thersites, a d formed and scurrilous Grecian. Alexander, servant to Cressida. Servant to Troilus. Servant to Paris. Servant to Diomedes. Helen, wife to Menelaus. Andromache, wife to Hector. Cassandra, daughter to Priam, a Prophetess. Cressida, daughter to Calchas. Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. Troy ; and the Grecian Camp before it. PROLOGUE. la Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf d, Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, Fraught with the ministers and instruments Of cruel war : Sixty and nine, that wore Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made, To ransack Troy ; within whose strong immures The ravish 'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, With wanton Paris sleeps ; And that's the quarrel. To Tenedos they come ; And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their warlike fraughtage : Now on Dardan plains The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, And Antenorides, with massy staples, And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, Sperr up the sons of Troy. Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, Sets all on hazard : — And hither am I come A prologue arm'd, — but not in confidence Of author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited In like conditions as our argument, — To tell you, fair beholders, that our play , Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils 'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away To 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 I. SCENE I Troy. Before Priam's Palace. Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. Tro. Call here my varlet, I '11 unarm again : Why should I war without the walls of Troy, That find such cruel battle here within ? Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended ? Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to theh strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance ; Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. Tro. Have I not tarried ? Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry the bolting. Tro. Have I not tarried ? Pan. Ay, the bolting : but you must tarry the leavening. Tro. Still have I tarried. Pan. Ay, to the leavening : but here's yet in the word — hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking ; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, C04 TIIOILUS AND CRESSIDA. Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit ; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — So, traitor ! when she comes ! When is she thence ? Pan. "Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. Tro. I was about to tell thee, — When my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain ; Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,) Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile : But sorrow, that is couch' d in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the women. — But, for my part, she is my kinswoman ; I would not, as they term it, praise her, — But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. 1 will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit ; but — Tro. O, Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus, — When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad In Cressid's love : Thou answer'st, She is fair ; Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice ; Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach ; To whose soft seizure The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughman ! This thou tell'st me, As true thou tell'st me, when I say — I love her ; But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me The knife that made it. Pan. I speak no more than truth. Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is : if she be fair, 'tis the better for her ; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. Tro. Good Pandarus ! How now, Pandarus ? Pan. I have had my labour for my 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 fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sun- day. But, what care I ? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor ; 'tis all one to me. Tro. Say I, she is not fair ? Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father ; let her to the Greeks ; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her : for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter. Tro. Pandarus, — Pan. Not I. Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me ; I will leave all as I found it, and there an end. [Exit Pandarus. An alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace, rude sounds ! Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument ; It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. But Pandarus — O gods, how do you plague me ! 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 all suit. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl : Between our Ilium, and where she resides, Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood ; Ourself, the merchant ; and this sailing Pandar, Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. Alarum. En ter JE n ^as. JEne. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not afield ? Tro. Because not there ; This woman's answer For womanish it is to be from thence. [sorts, What news, JEneas, from the field to-day ? JEne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, ^Eneas ? JEne. Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed : 'tis but a scar to scorn ; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. JEne. Hark ! what good sport is out of town to-day ! Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may. — But, to the sport abroad ; — Are you bound thither ? JEne. In all swift haste. Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. A Street. Enter Cressida and Alexander. Cres. Who were those went by ? Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen. Cres. And whither go they ? Alex. Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. — Hector, whose patience Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd : He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer ; 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 the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ; They call him, Ajax. Cres. Good and what of him ? Alex. They say he is a very man per se, And stands 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 nature hath so crowded humours, that his valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with discretion : there is no man hath a vir- tue that he hath not a glimpse of ; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it : he is me- lancholy without cause, and merry against the hair : He hath the joints of every thing ; but every thing SCKNE II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. C05 so out of joint, that 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 me 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 ? Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. Cres. Hector's a gallant man. Alex. As may be in the world, lady. Pan. What's that ? what's that ? Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. Pan. Good morrow, cousin 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 I came ? Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium ? Helen was not up, was she ? 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 angry ? Cres. So he says here. Pan. True, he was so ; I know the cause too ; he'll lay about 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 too. Cres. Wbat, is he angry 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 I ever saw him before, and knew Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. [him. Cres. Then you say as I say ; for, I am sure, he is not Hector. Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some Cres. 'Tis just to each of them ; he is himself. Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus ! I would, he were, Cres. So he is. Pan. 'Condition, I had gone bare-foot to India. Cres. He is not Hector. Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself. — 'Would 'a were himself ! Well, the gods are above ; Time must friend, or end : Well, Troilus, well, — I would, my heart were in her body ! — No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. Cres. Excuse me. Pan. He is elder, Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. Pan. The other's not come to't ; you shall tell me another tale, when the other's come to't. Hec- tor shall not have his wit this year. Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. Pan. Nor his qualities ; Cres. No matter. Pan. Nor his beauty. Cres. 'Twould not become him, his own's better. Pan. You have no judgment, niece : Helen her- self swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,) — Not brown neither. Cres. No, but brown. Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris. Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. Pan. So he has. Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much : if she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his ; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief, Helen's golden tongue had commend- ed Troilus for a copper nose. Pan. I swear to you, I think, Helen loves him better than Paris. Cres. Then she's ameiry Greek, indeed. Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came t* him the other day into the compassed window, — and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin. Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total. Pan. Why, he is very young : and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brothe- Hector. Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him ; — she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin, Cres. Juno have mercy ! — How came it cloven ? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia. 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 prove itso. 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 an idle head, you would eat chickens i'the shell. Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin ! — Indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I must needs confess. Cres. Without the rack. Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. Pan. But, there was such laughing; — Queen Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. Cres. With mill-stones. Pan. And Cassandra laughed. Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes ; — Did her eyes run o'er too ? Pan. And Hector laughed. Cr/ the Grecian Camp. Enter Ajax and Thersitks. Ajax. Thersites, Ther. Agamemnon— how if he had boils ? full, all over, generally ? Ajax. Thersites, Ther. And those boils did run ? — Say so, — did not the general run then ? were not that a botchy Ajax. Dog, [core? Ther. Then would come some matter from him ; I see none now. Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel then. [Strikethim. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord ! Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak : I will beat thee into handsomeness. Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holi- ness : but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou ? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks ! Ajax. Toad-stool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou «trikest me thus ? Ajax. The proclamation, — Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not ; my fingers itch. Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee ; 1 would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. Ajax. I say, the proclamation, Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his great- ness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that thou barkest at him. Ajax. Mistress Thersites 1 Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. Ajax. Cobloafl Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. Ajax. You whoreson cur ! iBeatinghim. Ther. Do, do. Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! Ther. Ay, do, do ; thou sodden- witted lord ! thou hast no more brain than 1 have in mine elbows ; an assinego may tutor thee : Thou scurvy valiant ass ! thou art here put to thrash Trojans ; and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou ! Ajax. You dog ! i'her. You scurvy lord ! Ajax. You cur ! [Beating him. Ther. Mars his idiot ! do, rudeness ; do, camel ; do, do. Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you thus? How now, Thersites ? what's the matter, man ? 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 : for, whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. Achil. I know that, fool. Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have 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 part of a sparrow. This 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 offers to strike him, Achilles interposes. Ther. 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. Will you set your wit to a fool's ? Ther. No, I warrant you ; forafool's will shame it. Patr. Good words, Thersites. Achil. What's the quarrel ? Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. Ther. I serve thee not. Ajax. Well, go to, go to. Ther. 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 impress. 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 either of your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. SCENE If. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 611 Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ? Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor, — whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars. Achil. What, what ? Ther. Yes, good sooth; To, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. Ther. 'Tis no matter ; I shall speak as much as thou, afterwards. Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace. Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I ? Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere 1 come any more to your tents ; 1 will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. iExii. Patr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host : That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, To-morrow morning call some knight to arms, That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare Maintain — I know not what ; 'tis trash : Farewell. Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise, He knew his man. Ajax. O, meaning you : — I'll go learn more of it. Exeunt. SCENE II.— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and Hblbnus. Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks ; Deliver Helen, and all damage else — As honour, loss of time, travel, expense, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed In hot digestion of this cormorant war, — Shall be struck off: — Hector, what say you to't ? Ilect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, As far as toucheth my particular, yet, Dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spungy to suck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out — Who knows what follows? Than Hector is : The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd 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, 'mongst many thousand dismes, Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean of ours : If we have lost so many tenths of ours : To guard a thing not ours ; not worth to us, Had it our name, the value of one ten ; What merit's in that reason, which denies The yielding of her up ? Tro. Fye, fye, my brother ! Weigh you 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 fathomless, With spans and inches so diminutive As fears and reasons ? fye, for godly shame ! Hel. No marvel, though you bite so shatp at reasons, You 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 Harm : Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his sword, if he do set The very wings of reason to his heels ; And 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 theu thoughts With this cramm'd reason ; reason and respect Make livers pale, 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 his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer : 'tis mad idolatry, To make the service greater than the god ; And the will dotes, that is attributive To what infectiously itself affects, Without some image of the affected merit. Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election Is led on in the conduct of my will ; My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment : How may I avoid, Although my will distaste what it elected, The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour : We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, When we have soil'dthem: nor the remainder viands We do not throw in unrespective sieve, Because we now are full. It was thought meet, Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks : Your breath with full consent bellied his sails ; The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce, And did him service : he touch'd the ports desir'd ; And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive, He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning. Why keep we her ? the Grecians keep our aunt : Is she worth keeping ? why, she is a pearl, 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 cried— Go, go,) If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize, (As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands, And cried — Inestimable /) why do you now The issue of your proper wisdoms rate ; And do a deed that fortune never did, Beggar the estimation which you priz'd Richer than sea and land ? O theft most base ; That we have stolen what we do fear to keep I But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen, That in their country did them that disgrace, We fear to warrant in our native place ' 612 TR01LUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT II. Cas. [Within.'] Cry, Trojans, cry ! Pri. What noise ? what shriek is this ? Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. Cas. [Within."] Cry, Trojans ! Hect. It is Cassandra. Enter Cassandra, raving. Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetic tears. Heot. Peace, sister, peace. Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, [elders, Add to my clamours ! let us pay betimes A moiety of that mass of moan to come. Cry, Trojans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears ! Troy must not be, nor goodly Uion stand ; Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen, and a woe : Cry, cry 1 Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit. Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high Of divination in our sister work [strains Some touches of remorse ? or is 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 done amongst us Such things as might offend the weakest spleen To fight for and maintain ! Par. Else might the world convince of levity As well my undertakings as your counsels : But 1 attest the gods, your full consent Gave wings to my propension, and cut off* All fears attending on so dire a project. For what, alas, can these my single arms ? What propugnation is in one man's valoui , To stand the push and enmity of those This quarrel would excite ? yet, I protest, Were I alone to pass the difficulties, And had as ample power as I have will, Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, Nor faint in the pursuit. Pri. Paris, you speak Like one besotted on your sweet delights : You have the honey still, but these the gall : So to be valiant, is no praise at all. Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself The pleasures such a beauty brings with it ; But I would have the soil of her fair rape Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her. What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, Now to deliver her possession up, On terms of base compulsion P Can it be, That so degenerate a strain as this, Should once set footing in your generous bosoms ? There's not the meanest spirit on our party, Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw, When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble, Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd, Where Helen is the subject : then, I say, Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well, The world's large spaces cannot parallel. Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well ; And on the cause and question now in hand Have gloz'd, -but superficially ; not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy : The reasons, you allege, do more conduce To the hot passion of distemper'd blood, Than to make up a free determination 'Twixt right and wrong ; for pleasure, and revenge, Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice Of any true decision. Nature craves, All dues be render' d to their owners ; Now What nearer debt in all humanity, Than wife is to the husband ? if this law Of nature be corrupted through affection ; And that great minds, of partial indulgence To their benumbed wills, resist the same ; There is a law in 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 opinion Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ertheless, My spritely brethren, I propend to you In resolution to keep Helen still ; For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence 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 Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 1 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 spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ; Whose present courage may beat down our foes, And fame, in time to come, canonize us : For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose So rich advantage of a promis'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 dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits : I was advertis'd, their great general slept, Whilst emulation in the army crept ; This, I presume, will wake him. l&Jttmnt SCENE III.— The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' Tent. Enter Thkrsites. Ther. How now, Thersites ? what, lost in the 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 could beat him, whilst he railed at me : 'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, — a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olym- pus-, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods ; and Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy Caduceus ; if ye take not that little little less -than- SCENE III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 613 little wit from them that they have ! which short- armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, without drawing their massy irons, and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp I or, rather, the bone-ache ! for that, methinks, is the curse dependent on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers ; and devil, envy, say Amen. What, ho ! my lord Achilles ! Enter Patrocujs. Pair. Who's there ? Thersites ? good Thersites, come in and rail. Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt coun- terfeit, thou wouldest not have slipped out of my sontemplation : but it is no matter ; Thyself upon thyself ! The common curse of mankind, folly and gnorance, be thine in great revenue ! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee ! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death ! then if she, that lays thee out, says — thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles ? Patr. What, art thou devout ; wast thou in prayer ? Ther. Ay ; The heavens hear me ! Enter Achilles. Achil. Who's there ? Patr. Thersites, 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 Agamemnon ? Ther. Thy commander, Achilles; — Then tell me, Patroclus, what'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 commands Achilles ; Achilles is my lord ; I am Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool. Patr. You rascal ! Ther. Peace, fool ; I have not done. Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Ther- sites. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ! Thersites is a fool ; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool. Achil. Derive this ; come. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool : And Patroclus is a fool positive. Patr. Why am I a fool ? Ther. Make that demand of the prover. — It suffices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here ? Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, and Ajax. Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak withnobody : — Come in with me, Thersites. [Exit. Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery ! all the argument is, a cuckold, and a whore : A good quarrel, to draw emulous factions, and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject ! and war, and lechery, confound all ! [Exit. Agam. Where is Achilles ? Patr. Within his tent ; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. Agam. Let it be known to him, that we are He shent our messengers, and we lay by [here. Our appertainments, visiting of him : Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think We dare not move the question of our place, Or know not what we are. P^tr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent ; 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? let him show us a cause. — A word, my lord. [Takes Agamemnon aside. Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. Nest. Who? Thersites? Ulyss. He. Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument. Ulyss. No ; you see, he is his argument, that has his argument ; Achilles. Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our wish, than their faction : But it was a strong com- posure, a fool could disunite. Ulyss. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. . Re-enter Patroclus. Nest. No Achilles with him. Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy : his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sorry, If any thing more than your sport and pleasure Did move your greatness, and this noble state, To call upon him ; he hopes, it is no other, But, for your health and your digestion sake, An after-dinner's breath. Agam. Hear you, Patroclus : — We are too well acquainted with these answers : But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, Cannot outfly our apprehensions. Much attribute he hath ; and much the reason Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues, — Not virtuously on his own part beheld, — Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss ; Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him, We come to speak with him : And you shall not If you do say — we think him over-proud, [sin, And under-honest ; in self-assumption greater, Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier than himself Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on ; Disguise the holy strength of their command, And underwrite in an observing kind His humorous predominance ; yea, watch His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if The passage and whole carriage of this action Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this ; and add, That, if he overhold his price so much, We'll none of him ; but let him, like an engine Not portable, lie under this report — Bring action hither, this cannot go to we* 614 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT II. A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant :— Tell him so. Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer presently. [Exit. Agam. In second voice we'll not be satisfied, We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter. [Exit Ulysses. 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 thinks himself a better man than I am ? Agam. No question. Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say ■ — he is ? 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 doth pride grow ? I know not what pride is. Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him- 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 I hate the en- gendering 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. Agam, 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. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Untent his person, and share the air with us ? Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only, He makes important : Possess'd he is with great- ness ; And speaks not to himself, but with a pride That 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-tokens of it Cry — No recovery. Agam. Let Ajax go to him. — Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent : 'Tis said, he holds you well ; and will be led, 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 suffers 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 worthy and right valiant lord Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ; Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, As amply titled as Achilles is, By going to Achilles : That were to enlard his fat already pride ; And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns With entertaining great Hyperion. This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid ; And say in thunder — Achilles go to him. Nest. O, this is well ; he rubs the vein of him. [Aside. Dio. And how his silence drinks up this ap- plause ! [Aside. Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash him Over the face. Agam. O, no, you shall not go. Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze his Let me go to him. [pride : Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, Nest. How he describes Himself ! iAside. Ajax. Can he not be sociable ? Ulyss. The raven Chides blackness. [Aside. Ajax. I will let his humours blood. Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the patient. [Aside. Ajax. An all men Were o'my mind, Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside. Ajax. He should not bear it so. He should eat swords first : shall pride carry it ? Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. Ulyss. He'd have ten shares. [Aside. Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple: Nest. He's not yet thorough warm : force him with praises : Pour 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 him Here is a man — But 'tis before his face ; [harm. I will be silent. Nest. Wherefore should you so? He is not emulous, as Achilles is. Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us ! I would, he were a Trojan ! Nest. What a vice Were it in Ajax now Ulyss. If he were proud ? Dio. Or covetous of praise ? Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne ? Dio. Or strange, or self-affected ? Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure ; Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck : Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice-fam'd, beyond all erudition : 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 will 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 ; — But pardon, father Nestor, were your days SCENE 1. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Glc As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax. Ajax. Shall 1 call you father ? Nest. Ay, my good son. Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax. Ulyss. There is no tarrying here ; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket. Please it our great general To call together all his state of war ; j Fresh kings are come to Troy : To-morrow, We must with all our main of power stand fast : And here's a lord, — come knights from east to west, And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. Ayam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep : Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt. ACT TIL SCENE I.— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. Enter Pandarus and a Servant. Pan. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word : Do not you follow the young lord Paris ? Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean? Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman ; I 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 ; I am the lord Pandarus. Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better. Pan. I do desire it. Serv, You are in the state of grace. [Music within. Pan. Grace ? not so, friend ; honour and lord- ship are my titles : — What music is this ? Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music in parts. Pan. Know you 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 command, sir ? Pan. Friend, we understand not one another ; I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning : At whose request do these men play ? Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at the request 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 the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the prince Troilus ; I will make a com- plimental assault upon him, for my business seeths. Serv. Sodden business ! there's a stewed phrase, indeed 1 Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them ! especially to you, fair queen ! fair thoughts be your fair pillow ! Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. ►-Fair prince, here is good broken music. Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by my life, you shall make it whole again ; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance? — Nell, he is full of harmony. Pan. Truly, lady, no. Helen. O, sir, Pan. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, very rude. 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 ? Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we'll hear you sing, certainly. Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. — But (marry) thus, my lord, — My dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus — Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord, — Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends himself most affectionately to you. Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody ; If you do, our melancholy upon your head ! Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that's 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 ; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words : no, no And, my lord, he desires you, that, if the king call for him at supper, you will make his excuse. Helen. My lord Pandarus, Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very very sweet queen ? Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night ? Helen. Nay, but my lord, Pan. What says my sweet queen ? — My cousin will fall out with you. You must not know where he sups. Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide come, your disposer is sick. Par. Well, I'll make excuse. Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say —Cressida ? no, your poor disposer's sick. Par. I spy. Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ? — Come, give me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen. Helen. Why, this is kindly done. Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen. Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris. Pan. He ! no, she'll none of him ; they two are twain. olG TROILUS AND CRESS [DA. act in. Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three. Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this ; I'll sing you a song now. Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. Pan. Ay, you may, you may. Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith. Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. Pan. In good troth, it begins so : Love, love, nothing but love., still more ! For, oh, love's bow Shoots buck and doe : The shaft confounds, Not that it wounds, But tickles still the sore. These lovers cry— Oh ! oh ! they die ! Yet that which seems the wound to kill, Doth turn oh ! oh ! to ha I ha ! he ! So dying love lives still : Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha ! ha ! Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha .' Hey 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 love. Pan. Is this the generation of love ? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds ? — Why, they are vi- pers : Is love a generation of vipers ? Sweet lord, who's afield to-day? Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went not ? Helen. He hangs the lip at something; — you know all, lord Pandarus. Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to hear 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. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. [A retreat sounded. Par. They are come from field : let us to Priam's hall, To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles, With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel, Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do more Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty, [Paris : Give us more palm in beauty than we have ; Yea, overshines ourself. Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. [.Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Pandarus' Orchard. Enter Pandarus and a Servant, meeting. Pan. How now ? where'* thy master ? at my cousin Cressida's ? Serv. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct him thither. Enter Troilus. Pan. O, here he comes. — How now, how now? Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant. Pan. Have you seen my cousin ? Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door, Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, And give me swift transportance to those fie?ds, Where I may wallow 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 her straight. [Exit Pandarus. Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense ; What will it be, When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed Love's thrice-reputed nectar ? death, 1 fear me ; Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine, Too 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 : you 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 new-ta'en sparrow. [Exit Pandarus. Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom : My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; And all my powers do their bestowing lose, Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring The eye of majesty. Enter Pandarus and Cressida. Pan. Come, come, what need you 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 put 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 offend daylight ! 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, ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i'the river : go to, go to. Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds : but she'll bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again ? Here's — In witness whereof the parties interchangeably — Come in, come in ; I'll go get a fire. [Exit Pandarus. Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? Tro. O Cressida, how often have I wished me thus? Cres. Wished, my lord ? — The gods grant ! — O my lord ! Tro. What should they grant ? what makes this pretty abruption ? What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love ? SCENE II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 017 Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. Tro. Fears make devils cherubins ; they never see truly. Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear : To fear the worst, oft cures the worst. Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither ? Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; when we vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers ; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imposition enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, — that the will is infinite, and the execution confined ; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. Cres. They say, all lovers swear more per- formance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform ; vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions, and the act of hares, are they not monsters ? Tro. Are there such ? such are not we : Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our head shall go bare, till merit crown it : no per- fection in reversion shall have a praise in present : we will not name desert, before his birth ; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith : Troilus shall be such to Cressid, as what envy can say worst, shall be a mock for his truth ; and what truth can speak truest, not truer than Troilus. Cres. Will you walk in, my lord? Re-enter Pandarus. Pan. What, blushing still ? have you not done talking yet ? Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedi- cate to you. Pan. I thank you for that ; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll give him me : Be true to my lord : if he flinch, chide me for it. Tro. You know now your hostages ; your uncle's word, and my firm faith. Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too ; our kindred, though they be .long ere they are wooed, they are constant, being won : they are burs, I can tell you ; they'll stick where they are thrown. Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart : — Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day, For many weary months. Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win ? Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord, With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; — If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. I love you now ; but not, till now, so much But I might master it : — in faith, I lie ; My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools ! Why have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us, When we are so unsecret to ourselves ? But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ; And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man ; Or that we women had men's privilege Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue ; For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws My very soul of counsel : Stop my mouth. Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. Pan. Pretty, i'faith. Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me : 'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss : I am asham'd ; — O heavens ! what have I done ? — For this time will I take my leave, my lord. Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ? Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to-morrow morning,-- - Cres. Pray you, content you. Tro. What offends you, lady ? Cres. Sir, mine own company. Tro. You cannot shun Yourself. Cres. Let me go and try : I have a kind of self resides with you : But an unkind self, that itself will leave, To be another's fool. I would be gone : — Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak. Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak so wisely. Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love : And fell so roundly to a large confession, To angle for your thoughts : But you are wise ; Or else you love not ; For to be wise, and love, Exceeds man's might ; that dwells with gods abov? Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a woman, (As, if it can, I will presume in you,) To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love ; To keep her constancy in plight and youth, Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind That doth renew swifter than blood decays t Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, — That my integrity and truth to you Might be affronted with the match and weight Of such a winnow'd purity in love : How were I then uplifted ! but, alas, I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth. Cres. In that I'll war with you. Tro. O virtuous fight, When right with right wars who shall be most right 1 True swains in love shall, in the world to come, Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes, Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, Want similies, 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, after all comparisons of truth, As truth's authentic author to be cited, As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, And sanctify the numbers. Cres. Prophet may you be ! If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, When time is old and hath forgot itself, When waterdrops 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 false maids in love, Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said — as As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, [false As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; fllfi TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. V T ea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, As false as Cressid. Pan. Go to, a bargain made : seal it, seal it ; I'll be the witness. — Here I hold your hand : here, my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to ano- ther, since I have taken such pains to bring you to- gether, let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end after my name, call them all — Pandars ; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all brokers-between Pandars ! say, amen. Tro. Amen. Cres. Amen. Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed, which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death : away. And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this geer ! [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The Grecian Camp. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus, and Calchas. Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you, The advantage of the time prompts me aloud To call for recompence. Appear it to your mind, That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, Incurr'd a traitor's name ; expos'd myself, From certain and possess'd conveniences, To doubtful fortunes ; sequest'ring from me all That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, Made tame and most familiar to my nature ; And here, to do you service, am become As new into the world, strange, unacquainted : I do beseech you, as in way of taste, To give me now a little benefit, Out of those many register'd in promise, Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. Agam. What would'stthou of us, Trojan ? make demand. Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor, Yesterday took ; Troy holds him very dear. Oft have you, (often have you thanks therefore,) Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor, I know, is such a wrest in their affairs, That their negociations all must slack, Wanting his manage; and they will almost Give us a prince of 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 What he requests of us. — Good Diomed, Furnish you fairly for this interchange : Withal, 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 and Patroclus, be/ore their tent.. Ulys8. 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 turn'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 hath no other glass To show 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 strangeness as we pass along ; — So do each lord ; and either greet him not, Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more Than if not look'd on. I will lead the 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, aught with the general ? Achil. 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 Menelaus. Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me ? Ajax. How now, Patroclus ? Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. Ajax. Ha ? Achil. Good morrow. Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax. Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles ? Pair. They pass by strangely : they were us'd to bend, To send their smiles before them to Achilles ; To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep To holy altars. Achil. What, am I poor of late ' 'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, Must fall out with men too : What the declin'd is, He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, As feel in his own fall : for men, like butterflies, Show not their mealy wings, but to the summer ; And not a man, for being simply man, Hath any honour ; but honour for those honours That are without him, as place, riches, favour, Prizes of accident as oft as merit : Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, 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 ; I do enjoy At ample point all that I did possess, Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find out Something not worth in me such rich beholding As they have often gfrcn. Here is Ulysses ; I'll interrupt his reading. — How now, Ulysses ? Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ? Achil. What are you reading? Ulyss. A strange fellow here Writes me, That man — how dearly ever parted. How much in having, or without, or in, — TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. G19 Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them, and they retort that heat again To the first giver. Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 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 itself, 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 hath travell'd, and is married there Where it may see itself : this is not strange at all. Ulyss. I do not strain at the position, It is familiar ; but at the author's drift : Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves — That no man is the lord of any thing, (Though in and of him there be much consisting,) Till he communicate his parts to others : Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them form'd in the applause Where they are extended ; which, like an arch, reverberates The voice again ; or like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this ; 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 there are, Most abject in regard, and dear in use ! What things again most dear in the esteem, And poor in worth ! Now shall we see to-morrow, An act that very chance doth throw upon him, Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, While some men leave to do ! How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes ! How one man eats into another's pride, While pride is fasting in his wantonness ! To see these Grecian lords ! — why, even already They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder ; As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, And great Troy shrinking. Achil. I do believe it : for they pass'd by me, As misers do by beggars ; neither gave to me Good word, nor look : What, are my deeds forgot? Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past : which are As fast as they are made, forgot as soon [devour'd As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright : To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue : If you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter' d tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost ; — Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on : Then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours : For time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ; And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps-in the comer : Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was ; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, — That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds, Though they are made and moulded of things past ; And give to dust, that is a little gilt, More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. The present eye praises the present object : Then marvel not, thou great and c6mplete man, That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; 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 ; Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods thetn- And drave great Mars to faction. [selves, Achil. Of this my privacy I have strong reasons. Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy The reasons 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 Phitus' gold ; Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps ; Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods, Does 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 expressure to : All the commerce that you have had with Troy, As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ; And better would it fit Achilles much, To throw down Hector, than Polyxena : But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, When fame shall in our islands sound her trump ; And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, — Great Hector's sister did Achilles win ; But our great Ajax bravely beat down him. Farewell, my lord : I as your lover speak ; The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. lExit. Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you : A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action. 1 stand condemn'd for this ; They think, my little stomach to the war, And your great love to me, restrains you thus : Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to air. Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? Pair. Ay ; and, perhaps, receive much honour by him. u20 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. AchiL I see, my reputation is at stake ; My fame is shrewdly gor'd. Pair. O, then he ware ; Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves : Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun. AchiL Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus : I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him To invite the Trojan lords after the combat, To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's longing, An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; To talk with him, and to behold his visage, Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd ! Enter Thersites. Ther. A wonder 1 AchiL What? Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself. AchiL How so ? Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector ; and is so prophetically proud of an he- roical 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 hostess, that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning : bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should say — there were wit in this head, an 'twould out ; and so there is ; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever ; for if Hector break not his neck i'the com- bat, he'll break it himself in vain-glory. He knows not me : I said, Good-morrow, Ajax ; and he re- plies, Thanks, Agamemnon. What think you of this man, that takes me for the general ? He is grown a very land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. AchiL Thou must be my embassador to him, Thersites. 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 demands 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 unarmed to my tent ; and to pro- cure safe conduct for his person, of the magna- nimous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times- honoured captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this. Patr. Jove bless great Ajax. Ther. Humph! Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, Ther. Ha! Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite Hector to his tent ! Ther. Humph! Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga- memnon. Ther. Agamemnon ? Pair. Ay, my lord. Ther. Ha! Patr. What say you to't ? Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'dock it will go one way or other ; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he ? Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not : But, I am sure, none ; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. AchiL Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's the more capable creature. AchiL My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd ; And I myself see not the bottom of it. [Exeunt Achillks and Patroclus. Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.— Troy. A Street. Enter, at one side, JEseas, and Servant with a torch ,• at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomkdes, and others, with torches. Par. See, ho ! who's that there ? Dei. 'Tis the lord .Eneas. JEne, Is the prince there in person ? — Had I so good occasion to lie long, As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business Should rob my bed- mate of my company. Dio. That's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord .Eneas. Par. A valiant Greek, .Eneas ; take his hand : Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told — how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field. &ne. Health to you, valiant sir, During all question of the gentle truce : But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, As heart can think, or courage execute. Dio. The one and other, Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, health But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life, With all my force, pursuit, and policy. AUne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly With his face backward. — In humane gentleness, Welcome to Troy 1 now, by Anchises' life, Welcome, indeed 1 By Venus' hand I swear, No man alive can love, in such a sort, The thing he means to kill, more excellently. Dio. We sympathise : — Jove, let .Eneas live, If to my sword his fate be not the glory, A thousand c6mplete courses of the sun ! SCENE II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. C21 But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, With every joint a wound ; and that to-morrow ! JEne. We know each other well. Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse. Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. — What business, lord, so early ? JEne. I was sent for to the king ; but why, I know not. Par. His purpose meets you ; 'Twas to bring this Greek To Calchas' house ; and there to render him, For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid : Let's have your company ; or, if you please, Haste there before us : I constantly do think, (Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,) My brother Troilus lodges there to-night ; Rouse him, and give him note of our approach, With the whole quality wherefore ; I fear, We shall be much unwelcome. Mne. That I assure you ; Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, Than Cressid borne from Troy. Par. There is no help ; The bitter disposition of the time Will have it so. On, lord ; we'll follow you, JEne. Good morrow, all. [Exit. Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; faith, tell me true, Even in the soul of sound good- fellowship ,. — Who, 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,) With such a hell of pain, and world of charge ; And you as well to keep her, that defend her (Not palating the taste of her dishonour,) With such a costly loss of wealth and friends : He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors ; Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more ; 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 hath been slain ; since she could speak, She hath not given so many good ^ords breath, As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer" d death. Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, 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. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — The same. Court before the House of Pandarus. Enter Troilus and Cressida. Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself ; the morn is 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 attachment to thy senses, As infants' empty of all thought ! Cres. Good morrow then. Tro. 'Pr'ythee now, to bed. Cres. Are you aweary of me ? Tro. O Cressida ! but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee. Cres. Night hath been too brief. Tro. Beshrew the witch 1 with venomous wignts she stays, As tediously as hell ; but flies the grasps of love, With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will oacch cold, and curse me. Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry ; — You men will never tarry. foolish Cressid ! — 1, might have still held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up. Pan. [ Within.'] What, are all the doors open Tro. It is your uncle. [here? Enter Pandarus. Cres. A pestilence on him ! now will he be mocking : 1 shall have such a life, — Pan. How now, how now? how go maidenheads ? — Here, you maid ! where's my cousin, Cressid ? Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle ! You bring me to dp, and then you flout me too. Pan. To do what ? to do what ? — let her say what : what have I brought you to do ? Cres. Come, come ; beshrew your heart : you'll ne'er be good, Nor suffer others. Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas, poor wretch ! a poor ca- pocchia ! hast not slept to-night ? would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear take him ! [Knocking. Cres. Did I not tell you? — 'would he were knock'd o'the head '. — Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see. — My lord, come you again into my chamber : You 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 ; I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. Pan. [Going to the door.} Who's there ? what' the matter ? will you beat down the door ? How now ? what's the matter ? Enter JEneas. JEne. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow. Pan. Who's there ? my lord JEneas? By my troth. I knew you not : what news with you so early ? JEne. Is not prince Troilus here ? Pan. Here ! what should he do here ? JEne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him ; It doth import him much, to speak with me. Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know, I'll be sworn : — For my own part, I came in late : What should he do here ? JEne. Who ! — nay then : — Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware * You'll be so true to him, to be false to him : G22 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT IV Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither ; Go. As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. Tro. How now ? what's the matter ? Mne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you. My matter is so rash : There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes' hand The lady Cressida. Tro. Is it so concluded ? JEne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy : They are at hand, and ready to effect it. Tro. How my achievements mock me ! I will go meet them : and, my lord ^Eneas, We met by chance ; you did not find me here JEne. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature Have not more gift in taciturnity. {Exeunt Troilus and .Sneas. Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got, but lost ? The devil take Antenor ! the young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor ! I would, they had broke's neck! Enter Cressida. Cres. How now ? what is the matter ? Who was here ? Pan. Ah, ah ! Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? where's my lord gone ? 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 matter ? Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in ; 'Would thou had'st ne'er been born ! I knew, thou would'stbe his death : — O poor gentleman !— 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 chang'd for Antenor : thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 'twill be his 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 father ; I know no touch of consanguinity ; No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me, As the sweet Troilus. — O you gods divine ! Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death, Do to this body what extremes you can ; Eut the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth, Drawing all things to it. — I'll go in, and weep ; — Pan. Do, do. Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks ; Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. {Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. Before Pandarus' House. Enter Paris, Troilus, ^neas, Deiphobus, Antenor, and Piomedks. Par. It is great morning ; and the hour prefix' d Of her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon : — Good my brother Troilus, Tell you the lady what she is to do, And haste her to the purpose. t Tro. Walk in to her house ; I'll bring her to the Grecian presently: And to his hand when I deliver her, Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus A priest, there offering to it his own lieart. {Exit. Par. I know what 'tis to love ; And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help ! — Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The same. A Room in Pan darus' House. Enter Pandarus and Cressida. Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. Cres. Why tell you me of moderation ? The grief is fine, full, 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 affection, Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like allayment could I give my grief : My love admits no qualifying dross : No more my grief, in such a precious loss. Enter Troilus. 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 : O heart, — as the goodly saying is, O heart, O heart/ heart, Why sigh'st thou without breaking 9 where he answer- again, Because thou canst not ease thy smart, By friendship, nor by speaking. There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse ; we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs ? Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity, That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy, More bright in zeal than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their deities, — take thee from me. Cres. Have the gods envy ? Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy ? Tro. A hateful truth. Cres. What, and from Troilus too ? Tro. From Troy, and Troilus. Cres. Is it possible ? Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows Even in the birth of our own labouring breath : We two, that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves With the rude brevity and discharge 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 them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; And scants us with a single faraish'd kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken tears. JEne. [Within.] My lord ! is the lady ready 1 SCENFJ V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 623 Tro. Hark ! 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 this wind, or my heart will be blown up by the root ? [Exit Pandarus. Cres. I must then to the Greeks ? Tro. No remedy. Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks ! When shall we see again ? Tro. Hear me, my love : Be thou but true of heart, 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 I will throw my glove to death himself, That there's no maculation in thy heart : But, be thou true, 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 As 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 ; They're loving, well ccmpos'd, with gifts of nature flowing, And swelling o'er with arts and exercise ; How novelty may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kind of godly jealousy (Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) Makes me afeard. 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, Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, To which the Grecians are most prompt and preg- nant : But I can tell, that in each grace of these There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil, That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempted. Cres. Do you think, I will ? 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, Presuming on their changeful potency. JEne. [Within.'] Nay, good my lord, Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. Par. [Within.] Brother Troilus ! Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; And bringr jEneas, and the Grecian, with you. Cres. My lord, will you be true ? Tro. Who I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault ; While others fish with craft for great opinion, I with great truth catch mere simplicity ; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, 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 .Sneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphojbus, and Dio- MEDE8. Welcome, sir Diomed ! 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, If e'er thou stand at mercy or my sword, Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe As Priam is in Ilion. 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 ; 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 port. — I'll telfthee, 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 needful talk. [Exeunt Troilus, Cressida, and Diomed. [Trumpet heard. Par. Hark I Hector's trumpet. JEne. 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 Y.— The Grecian Camp. Lists set out. Enter Ajax, armed ; Agamemnox, Achuu.es, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and others. Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and Anticipating time with starting courage. [fair, Give with 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 brazen pipe : Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek, Out-swell the colic of puffd Aquilon : Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ; Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet sounds. 024 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT IV. Ulyss. No trumpet answers. Achil. 'Tis but early days. Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' daughter ? Ulyss. 'Tis 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 Cressipa. Agam. Is this the lady Cressid ? Dio. Even she ? Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady. Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular ; r Twere better, she were kiss'd in general. Nest. And very courtly counsel : I'll begin. — So much for Nestor. Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair Achilles bids you welcome. [lady : Men. I had good argument for kissing once. Patr. But that's no argument for kissing now : For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment ; And parted thus you and your argument. Ulyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns ! For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss ;— this, mine : : Patroclus kisses you. Men. O, this is trim ! Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore for him. Men. I'll have my kiss, sir : — Lady, by your leave. Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive ? Patr. Both take and give. Cres. 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. Cres. You're an odd man; give even, or give none. Men. An odd man, lady ? every man is odd. Cres. No, Paris is not ; for, you know, 'tis true, That you are odd, and he is even with you. Men. You fillip me o' the head. Cres. No, I'll be sworn. Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against his horn — May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ? Cres. You may. Ulyss. I do desire it. Cres. Why, beg then. Ulyss. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a When Helen is a maid again, and his. [kiss, Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due. Ulyss. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you. D\o. Lady, a word; — I'll bring you to your father. [Diomed leads out Cressida. Nest. A woman of quick sense. Ulyss. Fye, fye 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. O, these encounters, so glib of tongue, That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts To every ticklish reader I Set them down For sluttish spoils of opportunity, And daughters of the game. ITrumptt within- All. The- Trojans' trumpet. Agam. Yonder comes the troop. Enter Hector, armed; JEneas, Troilus, and other Trojans, with Attendants. AUne. Hail, all the state of Greece I what shall be done To him that victory commands ? Or do you pur- pose, A victor shall be known ? will you, the knights Shall to the edge of all extremity Pursue each other : or shall they be divided By any voice or order of the field ? Hector bade ask. Agam. Which way would Hector have it ? AZne. He cares not ; he'll obey conditions. Achil. 'Tis done like Hector ; but securely done, A little proudly, and great deal misprizing The knight oppos'd. Mne. If not Achilles, sir, What is your name ? Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. JRne. Therefore Achilles : But, whate'er, know this ; — In the extremity of great and little, Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector: The one almost as infinite as all, 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 band, half Hector comes to seek This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek. Achil. Amaiden battle then? — O, I perceive you. Re-enter Diomed. Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle knight, Stand by our Ajax : as you and lord iEneas 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 lists. Ulyss. They are oppos'd already. Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy ? 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 shows ; Yet gives 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 JEneas : one that knows the youth Even to his inches, and, with private soul, Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. [Alarum. Hector and Ajax flgh t. Agam. They are in action. Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own 1 Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st ; Awake thee ! Agam. His blows are well dispos'd : — there, Ajax ! SCENE V. TROILUS AND CHESSIDA. 626 Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease. jEne. Princes, enough, so please you. 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 goiy emulation 'twixt us twain : Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so, That thou could'st say — This hand is Grecian all, And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother' 1 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 aunt, 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 1 Ajax. I thank thee, Hector : Thou art too gentle, and too free a man : I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence A great addition earned in thy death. Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable (On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st O yes Cries, This is he,) could promise to himself A thought of added honour torn from Hector. Mne. There is expectance here from both the What further you will do. [sides, Hect. We'll answer it ; The issue is embracement : — Ajax, farewell. Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, (As seld' I have the chance,) I would desire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. Hect. yEneas, cail my brother Troilus to me : And signify this loving interview To the expecters of our Trojan part ; Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my cousin; I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by name ; But for Achilles, my own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size. Agam. Worthy of arms I as welcome as to one That would be rid of such an enemy ; But that's no welcome : Understand more clear What's past, and what's to come, is strew'd with And formless ruin of oblivion ; [husks But in this extant moment, faith and troth, Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids Miee, with most divine integrity, From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. Ayam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. To Troilus. Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting ; — You 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 I Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath ; Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove : She's well, but bade me not commend her to you. Men. Name her not now, sir ; she's a deadly Hect. O, pardon ; I offend. [theme. Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, 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, Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life ! And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling : This have I seen ; But this thy countenance, still locked in steel, I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, And once fought with him : he was a soldier good ; But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee ; And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. Mne. 'Tis the old Nestor. Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time : — Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in contention, As they contend with thee in courtesy. Hect. I would they could. Nest. 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, When we have here her base and pillar by us. Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well. Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since first I saw yourself and Diomed In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; [ensue : For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet. Hect. I must not believe you : There they stand yet ; and modestly I think, The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood : The end crowns all ; And that old common arbitrator, time, Will one day end it. Ulyss. So to him we leave it. Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome : After the general, I beseech you next To feast with me, and see me at my tent. Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou! — Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee : I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, And quoted joint by joint. Hect, Is this Achilles ? Achil. I am Achilles. Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee. Achil. Behold thy fill. Hect. Nay, I have done already. Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second time, As I would buy thee, view thee Hrab by limb, s s 626 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ACT V Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'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 I 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 To answer such a question : Stand again : [man, Think'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 I'll not kill thee there, nor there, 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 words, 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 ; We 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. Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my There in the full convive we : afterwards, [tent ; As Hector's leisure, and your bounties, shall Concur together, severally entreat him. — Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow, That this great soldier may his welcome know. [Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses. Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, In what place of the field doth Calchas keep ? Ulyss. AtMenelaus' tent, most princely Troilus : 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. Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so After we part from'Agamemnon's tent, [much. To bring me thither ? Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me, of what honour was This Cressida in Troy ? Had she no lover there, That wails her absence : Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars, A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ? She was belov'd, she lov'd she is, and doth : But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' Tent. Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. — Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. Patr. Here comes Thersites. Enter Thersites. Achil. How now, thou core of envy ? Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news ? Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee. Achil. From whence, fragment ? Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. Patr. Who keeps the tent now ? Ther. The surgeon'sbox, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well said, Adversity ! and what need these tricks ? Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy ; I profit not by thy talk ; thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that ? Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten diseases of the south, the guts griping, rup- tures, catarrhs, loads o'graveli'theback, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime- kilns i'the palm, incurable bone-ach, and the rivel- led fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries ! Patr. Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus ? Ther. Do I curse thee ? Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whore- son indistinguishable 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- gal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such water-flies ; diminutives of nature ! Patr. Out, gall ! Ther. Finch egg ! Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ; A token from her daughter, my fair love ; Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it : Fall, Greeks : fail, fame ; honour, or go, or stay ; My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent ; This night in banqueting must all be spent. — Away, Patroclus. [Exeunt Achili.es and Patroclus. Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain, these two may run mad ; but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, — an honest fel- low enough, and one that loves quails ; but he has not so much brain as ear-wax: And the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the SOKNE II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 627 bull, — the primitive statue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds ; a thrifty shoeing-hom in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, — to what form, but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to ? To an ass, were nothing ; he is both ass and ox : to an ox were nothing ; he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care : but to be Menelaus, — I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites ; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. — Hey-day I spirits and fires 1 Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomed, with lights. Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong. Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ; There, where we see the lights. Hect. I trouble you. Ajax. No, not a whit. Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. Enter Achilles. Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes all. Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. [night. Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' Men. Good night, my lord. [general. Hect. Good night, sweet. Menelaus. Ther. Sweet draught : Sweet, quoth 'a ! sweet sink, sweet sewer. Achil. Good night, And welcome, both to those that go, or tarry. Agam. Good night. {Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus. Achil. Old Nestor 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. — Goodnight, great Hector. Hect. Give me your hand. Ulyss. Follow his torch, he goes To Calchas' tent ; I'll keep you company. {A side 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-hearted rogue, a most 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 foretell it ; it is prodigious, there will come some change ; the sun borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog him : they say, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent : I'll after. — Nothing but lechery ! all incon- tinent varlets ! {Exit. SC2NE 11.— The same. Before Calchas' Tent. Enter Diomedes. Dio. What, are you up here, ho ? speak. Cal. [Within.] Who calls? Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where's your daughter ? Cal. [fVithin.] She comes to you. Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance ; after them Thersites. Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us. Enter Cressida. Tro. Cressid, come forth to him ! &i°- How now, my charge ? Cres. Now, my sweet guardian ! — Hark ! a word with you. {Whispers. Tro. Yea, so familiar ! Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff ; she's noted. Dio. Will you remember ? Cres. Remember? yes. Dio - Nay, but do then; And let your mind be coupled with your words. Tro. What should she remember ? Ulyss. List I Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to Ther. Roguery! [f n v# Dio. Nay, then, — Cres. I'll tell you what : Dio. Pho ! pho ! come, tell a pin : You are for- sworn. — Cres. In faith, I cannot : What would you have me do ? Ther. A juggling trick, to be — secretly open. Dio. What did you swear you 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, Trojan ? Cres. Diomed, Dio. No, no, good night : I'll be your fool no Tro. Thy better must. [more. Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. Tro. O plague and madness ! Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, I pray jou, Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself To wrathful terms ; this place is dangerous ; The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go. Tro. Behold, I pray you I Ulyss. Now, good my lord, go off: You flow to great destruction ; come, my lord. Tro. I pr'ythee, stay. Ulyss. You have not patience ; come. Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell, and all hell's I will not speak a word. [torments, Dio. And so, good night. . Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. Tro. Doth that grieve thee f 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. [you go ? Tro. She strokes his cheek ! Ulyss. Come, come Tro. Nay, stay ; by Jove, I will not speak a word : There is between my will and all offences A guard of patience : — stay a little while s s 2 628 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump, and potatoe finger, tickles these together ! Fry, lechery, fry ! Dio. But will you then ? Cres. In faith, I will, la ; never trust me else. Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. Cres. I'll fetch you one. [Exit. Ulyss. You have sworn patience. Tro. Fear me not, my lord ; I will not be myself, nor have cognition Of what I feel ; I am all patience. Re-enter Cressida. Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now ! Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. Tro. O beauty ! where's thy faith ? Ulyss. My lord, Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. Cres. You look upon that sleeve : Behold it well. — He lov'd me — O false wench ! — Give't me again. Dio. Whose was't ? Cres. No matter, now I have't again. I will not meet with you to-morrow night : I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. Ther. Now she sharpens ; — Well said, whet- Dio. I shall have it. [stone. Cres. What, this ? Dio. Ay, that. Cres. O, all you gods ! — O pretty pretty pledge! Thy master now lies thinking in his bed Of thee, and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove, And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, As I 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 you I'll give you something else. [shall not ; Dio. I will have this ; Whose was it ? Cres. 'Tis no matter. Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me belter than you But, now you have it, take it. [will. Dio. Whose was it ? Cres. By all Diana's waiting women, yonder, And by herself, I will not tell you whose. Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ; And grieve his spirit, that dares not challenge it. Tro. Wert thou the devil, and worst it on thy It should be challeng'd. [horn, Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past ; — And yet I will not keep my word. [it is not ; Dio. Why then, farewell ; Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. ' Cres. You shall not go : — One cannot speak a But it straight starts you. [word, Dio. I do not like this fooling. Ther. Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes not you, pleases me best. Dio. What, shall I come ? the hour ? Cres. Ay, come : — O Jove ! Do come : — I shall be plagu'd. Dio. Farewell till then. Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come. — [Exit Diomedes. Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ; But with my heart the other eye doth see. Ah ! poor our sex ! this fault in us I find, The error of our eye directs our mind. What error leads, must err ; O then conclude, Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude. [Exit C'RESSfDA. Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish more, Unless she said, My mind is now turn'd whore. Ulyss. All's done, my lord. Tro. It is. Ulyss. Why stay we then ? Tro. To make a recordation to my soul Of every syllable that here was spoke. But, if I tell how these two did co-act, Shall I not lie in publishing a truth ? Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, An esperance so obstinately strong, That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears ; As if those organs had deceptious functions, Created only to calumniate. Was Cressid here ? Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. Tro. She was not, sure. Ulyss. Most sure she w&s. Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but now. Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood ! Think, we had mothers ; 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, that can soil our mothers ? Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. ■ Ther. Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes ? Tro. This she ? no, this is Diomed's Cressida : If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, If sanctimony be the gods' delight, If there be rule in unity itself, This was not she. O madness of discourse, That cause sets up with and against itself ! Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt Without perdition, and loss assume all reason Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid ! Within my soul there doth commence a fight 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 Arach tie's broken roof, to enter. Instance, 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 And with another knot, five-finger-tied, [loos'd ! The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed. Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'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 young man fancy With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. Hark, Greek ; As much as I do Cressid love, So much by weight hate I her Diomed : That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm ; Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill, My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout SCENE III* TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 620 Which shipmen do the hurricane call Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear In his descent, than shall my prompted sword Falling on Diomed. Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy. Tro. O Cressid ! O false Cressid I false, false, false, Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, And they'll seem glorious. Ulyss. O, contain yourself; Your passion draws ears hither. Enter Mskas. JEne. I have been seeking you this hour, my Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; [lord : Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. Tro. Have with you, prince : — My courteous lord, adieu : — Farewell, revolted fair ! — and, Diomed, Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! Ulyss. I'll bring you to the gates. Tro. Accept distracted thanks. [Exeunt Troilus, JEneas, and Ulysses- Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed ! I would croak like a raven ; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus 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 ; nothing else holds fashion : A burning devil take them. [Exit. SCENE III— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. Enter Hector and Andromache. And. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd, To stop his ears against admonishment ? Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. Hect. You train me to offend you ; get you in : By all the everlasting gods, I'll go. And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day. Hect. No more, I say. Enter Cassandra. Cas. Where is my brother Hector ? And. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody in intent : Consort with me in loud and dear petition, Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of Cas. O, it is true. [slaughter. Hect. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound ! Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother. Hect. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me swear. Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows ; They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 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 But vows to every purpose must not hold : [vow : Unarm, sweet Hector. Hect. Hold you still, I say ; Mine honour keeps the weather of my 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 to-day ? And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. [Exit Cassandra. Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus j doff thy harness, youth, I am to-day i'the vein of chivalry : Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave boy, I'll stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy. Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, Which better fits a lion, than a man. Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus ? chide me for it. Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall, Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, You bid them rise and live. Hect. O, 'tis fair play. Tro. 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 we have our armours buckled on, The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. Hect. Fye, savage, fye ! Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. Tro. Who should withhold me ? Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; Not Priamus, and Hecuba on knees, Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, But by my ruin. Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. Cas. 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 thee, Fall all together. Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back : Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself [visions ; Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt, To tell thee — that this day is ominous : Therefore, come back. Hect. ^Eneas is a-field ; And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, Even in the faith of valour, to appear This morning to them. Pri. But thou shalt not go. Hect. I must not break my faith. You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir, Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave To take that course by your consent and voice, Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. Cas. O Priam, yield not to him. And. Do not, dear father. Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you : Upon the love you bear me, get you in. [Exit ANDROMACHE. Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Makes all these bodements, Cas. O farewell, dear Hector. Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns pale I 630 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents ! Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out I How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth ! Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement, Like witless anticks, one another meet, And all cry — Hector ! Hector's dead I O Hector ! Tro. Away ! — Away ! Cas. Farewell. — Yet, soft. — Hector, I take my leave : Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim: Go in, and cheer the town ; we'll forth, and fight ; Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about theel {Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. Tro. They are at it ; hark ! Proud Diomed, be- I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve, [lieve, As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, Pandarus. Pan. Do you hear, my lord ? do you hear? Tro. What now? Pan. Here's a letter from yond 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 I shall leave you one o'these days : 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. The effect doth operate another way. — Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to- gether. — My love with words and errors still she feeds ; But edifies another with her deeds. {Exeunt severally. SCENE IV.— Between Troy and the Grecian Camp. Alarums : Excursions. Enter Thersites. Ther. Now they are clapper- clawing one another ; I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var- let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his helm : I would fain see them meet ; that that same young Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeve- less errand. O' the other side, The policy of those crafty swearing rascals, — that stale old mouse- eaten dry cheese, Nestor ; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, — is not proved worth a blackberry: — They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. Soft 1 here come sleeve, and t'other. Enter Diomedes, Troilus following. Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the river I would swim after. [Styx, Dio. Thou dost miscall retire : I do not fly ; but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : Have at thee 1 Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian! — now for thy whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the sleeve ! {Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting. Enter Hector. Hect. What art thou, Greek, art thou for Hec- Art thou of blood, and honour ? [tor's match ? Ther. No, no: — I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave ; a very filthy rogue. Hect. I do believe thee ; — live. {Exit. Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me ; But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me ! What's become of the wenching rogues ? I think, they have swallowed one another : I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them. {Exit. SCENE Y.— The same. Enter Diomedes and a Servant. Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse ; Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid : Fellow, commend my service to her beauty ; Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, And am her knight by proof. Serv. I go, my lord. {Exit Servant. Enter Agamemnon. Again. Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydamus Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon Hath Doreus prisoner ; And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, Upon the pashed corses of the kings Epistrophus and Cedius : Polixenes is slain ; Amphimacus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ; Patroclus ta'en, or slain ; and Palamedes Sore hurt and bruis'd : the dreadful Sagittary Appals our numbers ; haste we, Diomed, To reinforcement, or we perish all. Enter Nestor. Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ; And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. — There is a thousand Hectors in the field : Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, And there lacks work ; anon, he's there afoot, And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder, And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, Fall down before him, like the mower's swath : Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes ; Dexterity so obeying appetite, That what he will, he does ; and does so much, That proof is call'd impossibility. Enter Ulysses. Ulyss. O courage, courage, princes ! great Achilles Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance ; Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, Together with his mangled Myrmidons, That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, comd to him, Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend, And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it, Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day Mad and fantastic execution ; Engaging and redeeming of himself, With such a careless force, and forceless care, As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, Bade him win all. SCENE X. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 631 Enter Ajax. Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus ! lExit. Dio. Ay, there, there. Nest. So, so, we draw together. Enter Achilles. Achil Where is this Hector ? Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face ; Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector. lExeunt. SCENE Yl.^Another Part of the Field. Enter Ajax. Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head ! Enter Diomedes. Dio. Troilus, I say ! where's Troilus ? Ajax. What would' st thou ? Dio. I would correct him. Ajax. Were I the general, thou should'st have my office Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say ! what, Troilus I Enter Troilus. Tro. O traitor Diomed!— turn thy false face, thou traitor, And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse ! Dio. Ha ! art thou there ? Ajax. I'll fight with him alone : stand, Diomed. Dio. He is my prize. I will not look upon. Tro. Come both, you cogging Greeks ; have at you both. [Exeunt fighting. Enter Hector. Hect. Yea, Troilus ? O well fought, my youngest brother! Enter Achilles. Achil. Now do I see thee : — Ha ! — Have at thee, Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. [Hector. Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. Be happy, that my arms are out of use : My rest and negligence befriend thee now, But thou anon shalt hear of me again ; Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. Hect. Fare thee well : — I would have been much more a fresher man, Had I expected thee. — How now, my brother ? Re-enter Troilus. Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^Eneas ; Shall it be ? No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, He shall not carry him ; I'll be taken too, Or bring him off: — Fate, hear me what I say ! I reck not though I end my life to-day. lExit. Enter one in sumptuous armour. Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek ; thou art a goodly mark : — No ? wilt thou not ? — I like thy armour well ; I'll frush it, and unlock the rivets all, But I'll be master of it : — Wilt thou not, beast, abide? Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.— The same. Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons ; Mark what I say.— Attend me where I wheel : Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath ; And when I have the bloody Hector found, Empale him with your weapons round about ; In fellest manner execute your arms. Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : — It is decreed — Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. — ♦ — SCENE VIII.— The same. Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting : then Thersites. Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at it : Now, bull ! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! now my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, Paris, 'l o ! The bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho ! [Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. Enter Mahgarelon. Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. Ther. What art thou ? Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one bastard ? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us : if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment : Farewell, bastard. Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [Exeunt. SCENE IX.— Another Part of the Field. Enter Hector. Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done : I'll take good breath : Rest, sword : thou hast thy fill of blood and death ! [Puts off his helmet, and hangs his shield behind him. Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 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 the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done. Hect. I am unarm 'd ; forego this vantage, Greek. Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man I seek. [HECTOR/atf#. So, Ilion, fall thou next ; now, Troy, sink down ; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — On, Myrmidons ; and cry you all amain, Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain. [A retreat sounded. Hark ! a retreat upon our Grecian part. Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord. Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the And, stickler like, the armies separates. [earth, My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. — [Sheaths 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 Agamemkon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomedes, and others, marching. Shouts within. A gam. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that ? jb/est. Peace, drums. [Within.'] Achilles! Achilles I Hector's slain ! Achilles ! Dio. The bruit is — Hector's slain, and by Achilles. 632 TROILUS AND CKESSJDA. Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be Great Hector was as good a man as be. Agam. Marcb patiently along s — Let one De sent 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 ended. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE XI Another part of the Field. Enter JEneas and Trojans. Ailne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field : Never go home ; here starve we out the night. Enter Troilus. Tro. Hector is slain. All. Hector ?— The gods forbid ! Tro. He's dead ; and at the murderer's horse's tail, In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. — Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed I Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ! I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, And linger not our sure destructions on ! Aline. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so : I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; But dare all imminence, that gods and men, Address their dangers in. Hector is gone ! Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ? Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd, Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector's dead : There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; Make wells 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 shall 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 jEnkas and Trojans. As Tboilus is going out, enter, from the 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 med'cine for my aching bones ! — O world ! world ! world ! thus is the poor agent despised ! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a' work, and how ill requited ! Why should our endeavour be so loved, and the performance so loathed ? what verse for it ? what instance for it ? — Let me see : — Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing, Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting ; And being once subdued in armed tail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. — Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths. As many as be here of pander's hall, Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall : Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade, Some two months 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 that time, bequeath you my diseases. [Exit • • • • • I • • • • TIMON OF ATHENS. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Timon, a noble Athenian. Lucius, "} Lucullus, S-Lords, and Flatterers o/Timon. Sempronius, J Ventidius, one of T mow's false Friends. Apemantus, a churlish Philosopher. Alcibiades, an Athenian General. Flavius, Steward to Timon. Flariinius, \ Lucilius, \ Timon's Servants. Servilius, J CAPHI3, "\ Philotus, Titus, V Servants to Timon's Creditors Lucius, IIortexsius, J Two Servants (/Varro. The Servant o/Isidorr. Two o/Timon's Creditors. Cupid and Maskers. Three Strangers. Poet. Painter. Jeweller. Merchant. An Old Athenian A Page. A Fool. Phrynia, TlJIANDRA. Mistresses to Alcibiadks. Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieve*, and Attendants. SCENE, — Athens, and the Woods adjoining. ACT I. SCENE I.— 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 Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. [world ? Poet. Ay, that's well known : But what particular rarity ? what strange, Which manifold record not matches ? See, Magic of bounty ! all these spirits thy 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. Mer. O, pray, let's see't : For the lord Timon, sir ? Jew. If he will touch the estimate : But, for that Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good. M-er. 'Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel. Jew. And rich : here is a water, look you. Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some To the great lord. [dedication Poet* A thing slipp'd idly from me Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished : the fire i'the flint Shows not, till it be struck ; our gentle flame Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies j Each bound it chafes. What have you there ? Pain. A picture, sir. — And when comes youi 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 off Well and excellent. Pain. Indifferent. Poet. ^ Admirable : How this grace Speaks his own standing ! what a mental power This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch ; Is't good? Poet. I'll say of it It tutors nature : artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Pain. How this lord's followed! Poet. The senators of Athens : — Happy men t Pain. Look, more! Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment : My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax : no levell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold 634 TIMON OF ATHENS. ACT I. But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, Leaving no track behind. Pain. How shall I understand you? Poet. I'll unbolt to you. 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 himself : even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Pain. I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign' d Fortune to be thron'd : The base o' the mount 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 frame, Whom Fof tune 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, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express' d In our condition. Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on : All those 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 stirrop, and through him Drink the free air. Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ? Poet. 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, Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Pain. 'Tis common : A thousand moral paintings I can show, That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well, To show lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter TriuoN, attended; the Servant of Ventidius talking with him. Tim. Imprison'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 off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman, that well deserves a help, Which he shall have : I'll pay the debt, and free him. Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his ransome ; And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me : — 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. — Fare you well. Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour ! lExit. Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. Freely, good father. Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have so : What of him ? Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. Tim. Attends he here, or no ? — Lucilius ! Enter Lucilius. Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift ; And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd, Than one which holds a trencher. Tim. Well ; what further ? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got : The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love : I pr'ythee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort ; Myself have spoke in ?ain. Tim. The man is honest Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon : His honesty rewards him in itself, It must not bear my daughter. Tim. Does she love him ? Old Ath. She is young, and apt : Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. Tim. [ To Lucilius.] Love you the maid ? Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her alL Tim. How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband ? Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath 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 fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you ! [Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live youl 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. SCENE I. TIMON OF ATHENS. C35 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 work ; 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 praise. Jew. What, my lord ? dispraise ? Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jew. My lord, 'tis rated As those, which sell, would give : But you well know, Things of like value, differing in the owners, Are prized by their masters : believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by wearing it. Tim. Well mock'd. Mer. No, my good lord ; he speaks the common Which all men speak with him. [tongue, Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid? Enter Apemantus. Jew. We will bear with your lordship. Mer. He'll spare none. Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! Apem. Till I be gentle, stay forthy good morrow ; When thou art Tim on' s dog, and these knaves honest. Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves ? thou know'st them not. Apem. Are they not Athenians ? Tim. Yes. Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. Apem. Thou knowest, I do ; I call'd thee by thy name. Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon. Tim. Whither art going ? Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? Apem. The best, for the innocence. Tim. Wrought he not well, that painted it ? Apem. He wrought better, that made the painter ; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Pain. -You are a dog. Apem. Thy mother's of my generation ; What's she, if I be a dog ? Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ? Apem. No ; I eat not lords. Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords ; so they come by great bellies. Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. Apem. So thou apprehend' st it : Take it for thy labour. Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus ? Apem. Not so well as plain- dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth ?. Apem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, ooet ? Poet. How now, philosopher ? Apem. Thou liest. Poet. Art 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. That'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 o' 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 thou a merchant ? Mer. Ay, Apemantus. Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not ! Mer. If traffic do it, the 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. Pray entertain them ; give them guide to us. — [Exeunt some Attendants. You must needs dine with me : — Go not you hence, Till I have thank'd you ; and, when dinner's done, Show me this piece. — I am joyful of your sights. Enter Alcibiades, with his company. Most welcome, sir ! [They salute. Apem. So, so ; there ! — Aches contract and starve your supple joints ! — That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, And all this court' sy I The strain of man's bred Into baboon and monkey. [out Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I Most hungrily on your sight. [feed Tim. Right welcome, sir ; Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. [Exeunt all but Apemantus. Enter Two Lords. 1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus ? Apem. Time to be honest. 1 Lord. That time serves still. Apem. The 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 fools. 2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. Apem. Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice. 2 Lord. Why, Apemantus? Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. 1 Lord. Hang thyself. Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding make thy requests to thy friend. 636 TIMON OF ATHENS. 2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence. Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels of the ass. [Exit. 1 Lord. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, And taste lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes The very heart of kindness. 2 Lord. He pours it out ; Plutus, the god of Is but his steward : no meed, but he repays [gold, Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance. 1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries, That ever govern'd man. 2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in ? 1 Lord. I'll keep you company. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — The same. A Room of State in Timon's House. Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in ; Flavius and others attending ; then enter Timon, Alci- biades, Lucius, Lucullus, Sempronius, and other Athe- nian Senators, with Ventidius, and Attendants. Then comes, dropping after all, Apemantus, discontentedly. Ven. Most honour'd Timon, 't hath pleas'd the gods remember My father's age, and call him to long peace. He is gone happy, and has left me rich : Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled, with thanks, and service, from whose help I deriv'd liberty. Tim. O, by no means, Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love ; I gave it freely 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 are rich, are fair. Ven. A noble spirit. [They all stand ceremoniously looking on Timon. Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss On faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ; But where there is true friendship, there need none. Pray, sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes. Than my fortunes to me. [.They sit. 1 Lord. My lord, we always have confess' d it. Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it ? hang'd it, have you not? 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. Fye, thou art a churl ; you have got a humour 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, Timon ; I come to observe ; I give thee warning on't. Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou art an Athe^ nian ; therefore welcome : I myself would have no power : pr'ythee, let my meat mate thee silent. Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should Ne'er flatter thee. — O you gods ! what a number Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat In one man's blood ; and all the madness is, He cheers them up too. I 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 bread with him, and The breath of him in a divided draught, [pledges 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 ne'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 ; 1 ray for no man, but myself: (J rant I may never prove so fond, To trust man on his oath or bond ; Or a harlot, for her weeping ; Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping ; Or a keeper with my freedom ; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't : Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks. Much good dich thy 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 'em. 1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you : How had you been my friends else ? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did you not chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself, than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf : and thus far I confirm you. O, you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should never have need of them ? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for them : and would most resemble sweet instru- SCENE IT. T1M0N OF ATHENS. 6.«37 merits hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits : and what better or properer can we call our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes ! joy, e'en made away ere it can be born ! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks ; to forget their faults, I drink to you. Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. 2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up. Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. 3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. Apem. Much ! [Tucket sounded. Tim. What means that trump ? — How now ? Enter a Servant. Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. Tim. Ladies ? What are their wills ? Serv. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their plea- sures. Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. . Enter Cupid. Cap. 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 congratulate thy plenteous bosom : The ear, Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy 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, with a masque of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing, and playing. Apem. Hey day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way ! They dance ! they are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life, As this pomp shows 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, With poisonous spite, and envy. Who lives, that's not Depraved, or depraves ? who dies, that bears Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift ? 1 should fear, those, that dance before me now, Would one day stamp upon me : It has been done : Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon; and, to show their loves, each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two 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 mine own device ; i am to thank you for it. 1 Lady. My lord, you take us even at the best. Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filthy ; and would not hold taking, I doubt me. Tim. Ladies, there is an idie banquet Attends you : Please you to dispose yourselves. All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. [Exeunt Cupid and Ladies. Tim. Flavius, Flav. My lord. Tim. The little casket bring me hither. Flav. Yes, my lord. — More jewels yet I There is no crossing him in his humour ; [Aside. Else I should tell him,— Well,— i'faith, I should, When all's spent, he'd be cross' d then, an he 'Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind ; [could That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. [Exit, and returns with the casket 1 Lord. Where be our men ? 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 Entreat you, honour me so much, as to Advance this jewel ; Accept, and wear it, kind my lord. 1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, — Alt. So are we all. Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Newly alighted, and come to visit you. [senate Tim. They are fairly welcome. Flav. I beseech your honour, Vouchsafe me a word ; it does concern you near. Tim. Near ; why then another time I'll hear thee : I pr'ythee, let us be provided To show them entertainment. Flav. I 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 entertain'd. — How now, what news ? 3 Serv. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company to uiunow to hunt with him; and has sent your honour two urace of greyhounds. Tim. I'll hunt with him ; and let them be re- Not without fair reward. [ceiv'd, Flav. [Aside.'] What will this come to : He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer Nor will he know his purse ; or yield me this, To show 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 lands put to their books. Well, 'would I were gently put out of office, Before I were fore'd out ! Happier is he that has no friend to feed, Than such as do even enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit Tim. You do yourselves 338 TIMON OF ATHENS. ACT II Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits : 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 Good words the other day of a bay courser [gave I rode on : it is yours, because you lik'd it ! 2 Lord. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that. Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know, no man Can justly praise, but what he does affect : I weigh my friend's affection with mine own ; I'll tell you true. I'll call on you. All Lords. None so welcome. Tim. I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ; Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, And ne'er be weary. — Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich, It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. Alcib. Ay, defiled land, my lord. 1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound, Tim. And so Am I to you. 2 Lord. So infinitely endear' d Tim. All to you. — Lights, more lights. 1 Lord. The best of happiness, Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon ! Tim. Ready for his friends. [Exeunt Alcibiades, Lords, Sjc Apem. What a coil's here ! Serving of becks, and jutting out of bums ! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs : Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court' sies. Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I'd be good to thee. Apem. No, I'll nothing: for If I should be brib'd too, there would be none left To rail upon thee ; and then thou would'st sin the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly : What 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 Senator's House. Enter a Senator, with papers in hit hand. Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro ; and to Isidore He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sum, Which makes it five-and-twenty. — Still in motion 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 found his state in safety. Caphis, ho 1 Caphis, I say 1 Enter Caphis. Caph. Here, sir ; What is your pleasure ? Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord Timon ; lmp6rtune 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, to 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 : Fut on a most importunate aspect, A visag* of demai.d ; for, 1 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 with you. And have the dates in compt. Caph. I will, sir. Sen. Go. [Exeunt f SCENE II.— The same. A Hall in Timon's House. Enter Flavius, with many bills in his hand. Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot : Takes no account How things go from him ; nor resumes no care Of what is to continue ; Never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done ? He will not hear, till feel : I must be round with him, now he comes from Fye, fye, fye, fye ! [hunting. Enter Caphis, and the Servants o/Isidore and Varro. Caph. Good even, Varro : What, You come for money ? Var. Serv. Is't not your business too? Caph. It is ; — and yours too, Isidore ? Isid. Serv. It is so. Caph. 'Would we were all discharg'd ! Var. Serv. I fear it. Caph. Here comes the lord. Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, %c. Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, My Alcibiades. — With me ? What's your will ? Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. SCENE II. TIMON OF ATHENS. 639 Tim. Dues ? whence are you ? Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. Tim. Go to my steward. Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the 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 paits you'll suit, In giving him his right. Tim. Mine honest friend, I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning. Caph. Nay, good my lord, Tim. 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, Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, sis And past, [weeks, Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ; And I am sent expressly to your lordship. Tim. Give me breath : I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; [Exeunt Auhbiades and Lords. I'll wait upon you instantly.— Come hither, pray y 0U> [To Flavius. How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd With clamorous demands of date-broke b nds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour ? Flav. ' Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business : Your importunacy cease, till after dinner ; That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid. Tim. Do so, my friends : See them well entertained. [Exit Timon. Flav. I pray, draw near. Exit Flavtos. Enter Apemantus and a Fool. Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Ape- mantus ; let's have some sport with 'em. Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us. Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! Var. Serv. How dost, fool ? A pern. Dost dialogue with thy shadow * Var. Serv. I speak not to thee. Apem. No ; 'tis to thyself. — Come away. [To the Fool. Isid. Serv. [To Var. Serv.] There's the fool hangs 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 ustirers' men ! bawds between gold and want ! All Serv. What are we, Apemantus ? Apem. Asses. All Serv. Why? Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. — Speak to 'em, fool. Fool. How do you, gentlemen ? All Serv. Gramercies, good fool : How does your mistress ? Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. 'Would we could see you at Corinth. Apem. Good! gramercy. Enter Page. Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page. [_To the Fool.] Why, how now, captain ? what do you in thiswise company ? How dost thou, Apemantus ? Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Page. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the super- scription of these letters ; I know not which is which. Apem. Canst not read ? Page. No. Apem. 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 'It die a bawd. Page. Thou wast whelped a dog ; and thou shalt famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. [Exit Page. Apem. Even so thou outrun'st grace. Fool, I will go with you to lord Timon's. Fool. Will you leave me there ? Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serve three usurers ? All Serv. Ay ; 'would they served us ! Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. Fool. Are you three usurers' men ? All Serv. Ay, fool. Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his servant : My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry ; but they enter my mistress' 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 whoremaster, 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 artificial one : He is very often like a knight ; and, generally, 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 Apeman- tus. All Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes lord Timon. Re-enter Timon and Flavius. Apem. Come, with me, fool, come. Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman ; sometime, the philosopher. [Exeunt Apemantus and Fool. Flav. 'Pray you, walk near ; I'll speak with you anon. [Exeunt Serv. Tim. You make me marvel : Wherefore, ere this time, Had you not fully laid my state before me ; That I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means ? Flav. You would not hear me, At many leisures I propos'd. Tim. Go to : Perchance, some single vantages you took, 640 TIMON OF ATHENS act ir. When my indisposition put you back ; And that unaptness made your minister, Thus to excuse yourself. Flav. O my good lord ! At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you ; you would throw them off, And say, you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head, and wept ; Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close : I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight checks ; when I have Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate, And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov'd lord, Though you hear now, (too late !) yet now's a time, The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. Tim. Let all my land be sold. Flav. '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 How goes our reckoning ? Tim. To Lacedsemon did my land extend. Flav. 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 ? Tim. You tell me true. Flav. If you 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 With drunken spilth of wine ; when every room Hathblaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy; I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. Tim. Pr'ythee, no more. Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants, This night englutted ! Who is not Timon's ? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord I Timon's ? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon ? Ah! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : Fast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd. Tim. Come, sermon me no further : No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart ; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep ? Canst thou the conscienoe lack, To think I shall lack friends ? Secure thy heart ; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use, As I can bid thee speak. Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings ; for by these Shall I try friends : You shall perceive, how you Mistake my fortunes ; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there, ho ! — Flaminius ! Servilius ! Enter Flaminius, Servilius, and other Servants. Serv. My lord, my lord, Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to lord Lucius, — To lord Lucullus you ; I hunted with his Honour to-day ; — You, to Sempronius ; Commend me to their loves ; and, I am proud, say, That my occasions have found time to use them Toward a supply of money : let the request Be fifty talents. Flam. As you have said, my lord. Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord Lucullus ? humph ! [Aside, Tim. Go you, sir, [to another Serv.] to the se- nators, (Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have Deserv'd this hearing,) bid 'em send o'the instant A thousand talents to me. Flav. I have been bold, (For that I knew it the most general way,) To them to use your signet, and your name ; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. Tim. Is't true ? can it be ? Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would ; are sorry — you are honour able, — But yet they could have wished — they know not— but Something hath been amiss — a noble nature May catch a wrench — would all were well — 'tis pity— 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 : Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows ; 'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind ; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Isfashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. — Go to Ventidius, — [to a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee, [*oFla- vius.] be not sad, Thou art true, and honest ; ingenuously I speak, No blame belongs to thee : — [to Serv.] Ventidius 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 ; Bid him suppose, some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd With those five talents :— that had,— [to Flav.] give it these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, That 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. [exeunt. SCL^ U jj. TLMON OF ATHENS. C4i ACT III. SCENE l. — The same. A Room in Lucullus's House. Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him. Srrv. I have told my lord of you, he is coming down to you. Flam. I thank you, sir. Enter Lucullus. Serv. Here's my lord. Lucul. [Aside.] One of lord Timon's men? a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right ; I dreamt of a silver bason and ewer to-night. Flaminius, lion est Flaminius ; you are very respectively wel- come, sir. — Fill me some wine. — [Exit Servant.] And how does that honourable, complete, free- hearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master ? Flam. 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 your honour to supply ; who, having great and instant 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 ? alas, good lord ! 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 him spend less : and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his ; I have told him on't, but I could never get him from it. Re-enter Servant, with ivine. Sorv. Please your lordship, here's the wine. Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. Lucul. I have observ'd thee always for 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. — [To the Servant, ivho goes oul.~\ — Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman : but thou art wise • and thou knowest well enough, although thou comesc to me, that this is no time to lend money; espe- cially upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three solidares for 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 differ : And we alive, that liv'd ? Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee. [Tlir owing the money away. Lucul. Ha! now I see, thou art a fool, and lit for thy master. [Exit Luculiats. Flam. May these add to the number that may scald thee ! Let molten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himself I Hag friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights ? O you gods, I feel my master's passion I This slave Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him ; Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment, When he is turn'd to poison ? O, may diseases only work upon't ! And, when he is sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! [Exit. SCENE II.— The same. A public Place. Enter Lucius, with Three Strangers. Luc. Who, the lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman. 1 Stran. We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours ; now lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. Luc. Fye no, do not believe it ; he cannot want for money. 2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the lord Lu^ callus, to borrow so many talents ; nay, urged ex- tremely for't, and showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied. Luc. How ? 2 Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord. Luc. What a strange case was that ? now, before the gods, I am ashamed on't. Denied that ho- nourable man? there was very little honour showed in'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 so many talents. Enter Skrvilius. Ser. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord ; I have sweat to see his honour. — My honoured lord, — [To Lucius. Luc. Servilius ! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well : — Commend me to thy honourable- virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent- — Luc Ha ! what has he sent ? I am so much en- deared to that lord ; he's ever sending : How shall I thank him, thinkest thou ? And what has he sent now ? Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now, my lord ; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents. Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry with me ; He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my If his occasion were not virtuous, [lord. I should not urge it half so faithfully. Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius ? Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might have shown myself honourable ! how unluckily it hap- pened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and undo a great deal of honour I — Servilius, now before the gods, I am not able to 042 TIMON OK ATHENS. ACT 111 do't ; the more beast, I say : — I was sending to use lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness ; but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done it now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship ; and I hope, his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind : — And tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions ; say, that I cannot plea- sure such an honourable gentleman. Good Ser- vilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him ? Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. Luc. 1 will look you out a good turn, Servilius. [Exit Servilius. True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed ; And he, that's once denied, will' hardly speed. [Exit Lucius. 1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius ? 2 Stran. Ay, too well. 1 Stran. Why 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 him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. 3 Stran. Religion groans at it. 1 Stran. For mine own part, 1 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, I 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.— The same. A Room in Sempronius's House. Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon's. Sent. Must he needs trouble me in't. Humph ! 'Bove all others ? He might have tried lord Lucius, or Lucullus ; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison : All these three Owe their estates unto him. Scrv. O my lord, They have all been touch'd, and found base metal ; They have all denied him ! [for Sent. How ! have they denied him ? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him ? And does he send to me ? Three ? humph ! — It shows but little love or judgment in him. Must I be his last refuge ? His friends, like phy- sicians, [me ? Thrive, give him over ; Must I take the cure upon He has much disgrac'd me in't ; I am angry at him, [for't, That might have known my place : I see no sense But his occasions might have woo'd me first ; For, in my conscience I was the first man That e'er received gift from him : And does he think so backwardly of me now, That I'll requite it last ? No ; So it may prove An argument of laughter to the rest, And I amongst the lords be thought a fool. I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum, He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake ; I had such a courage to do him good. But now return, And with their faint reply this answer join ; Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin. [Exit. Serv. Excellent ! Your lordship's a goodly vil- lain. The devil knew not what he did, when he made man politic ; he cross 'd himself by't : and I cannot think, 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 politic love. This was 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 Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master. And this is all a liberal course allows ; Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house. [Exit. SCENE IV.— The same. A Hall in Timon's House. Enter Two Servants of V Anno, and the Servant of Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, and other Servants to Timon's creditors, waitina hi* coning out. Var. Serv. Well met ; good-morrow, Titus and Hortensius. Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. Hor. Lucius ? What, do wf. meet together ? Luc. Serv. Ay, and, I think, One business doth command us all; for mine Is money. Tit. So is theirs and ours. Enter Philotus. Luc. Serv. And sir Philotus too I Phi. Good day at once. Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother, What do you think the hour ? Phi. Labouring for nine. Luc. Ser. So much ? Phi. Is not my lord seen yet ? Luc. Serv. Not yet. Phi. I wonder on't ; e was wont to shine at seven. Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with him : You must consider, that a prodigal course Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recoverable. I fear, 'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse; That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. Phi. I am of your fear for that. Tit. I'll show you how to observe a stranjre Your lord sends now for money. (event SCENE V. TIMON OF ATHENS. G43 Hor. Most true, he does. Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. Hor. It is against my heart. Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it show3, Timon in this should pay more 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 can witness : I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: "What's yours ? Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should seem, by the sum, Your master's confidence was above mine ; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter Flaminius. Tit. One of lord Timon's men. Luc. Serv. Flaminius ! sir, a word : 'Pray, is my lord ready to come forth ? Flam. No, indeed, he is not. Tit. We attend his lordship ; 'pray, signify so much. Flam. 1 need not tell him that ; he knows, you are too diligent. [Exit Flaminius. Enter Flavius, in a cloak, muffled. Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his steward muffled He goes away in a cloud : call him ; call him. [so? Tit. Do you hear, sir ? 1 Var. Serv. By 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, when your false masters eat Of my lord's meat? Then they could smile, and fawn Upon his debts, and take down th' interest Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong, To stir me up ; let me pass quietly : Believe'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 'twill 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 poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in ? such may rail against great buildings. Enter Servilius. Tit. O, here's Servilius ; now we shall know Some answer. Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, 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 health, and keeps his chamber. Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are 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 the gods. Ser. Good gods ! Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir. Flam. [ Within.] Servilius, help !— my lord ! my lord I Enter Timon, in a rage ; Flaminius, following. Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage ? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ? The place, which I have feasted, does it now ; Like all mankind, show me an iron heart ? Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. Tit. My lord, here is my bill. Luc. Serv. Here's mine. Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord. Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. Phi. All our bills. Tim. Knock me down with 'em : cleave me to the girdle. Luc. Serv. Alas ! my lord, Tim. Cut my heart in sums. Tit. Mine, fifty talents. Tim. Tell out my blood. Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. Tim. Fi^e thousand drops pays that. — What yours ? — and yours ? - 1 Var. Ser. My lord, 2 Var. Ser. My lord, Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you ! [Exit. Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money ; these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. [Exeunt. Re-enter Timon and Flavius. Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves ; Creditors ! — devils. Flav. My dear lord, Tim. What if it should be so ? Flam. 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 : I'll once more feast the rascals. Flav. O my lord, You 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. [Exeunt SCENE V.— The same. The Senate House. The Senate sitting. Enter Alcibiades, attended. 1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it ; the Bloody ; 'tis necessary he should die : [fault's Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him. Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the 1 Sen. Now, captain ? [senate ! 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 fortune, to lie heavy 6-14 TIMON OF ATHENS. ACT ILI. Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth To those that, without heed, do plunge into it. He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues : Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice ; CAn honour in him, which buys out his fault,) But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe : And with such sober and unnoted passion He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, As if he had but prov'd an argument. 1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair : Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which, indeed, Is valour misbegot, and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born : He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe ; and make his wrongs His outsides ; wear them like his raiment, carelessly; And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis, to hazard life for ill? Alc'xb. My lord, 1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear ; To revenge is no valour, but to bear. Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain. — Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threat'nings? sleep upon it, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy ? but if there be Such valour in the bearing, what make we Abroad? why then, women are more valiant, That stay at home, if bearing carry it; And th' ass, more captain than the lion ; the felon, Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully 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 ? W r eigh but the crime with this. 2 Sen. You breathe in vain. Alcib. In vain ? his service done At Lacedaemon, and Byzantium, Were a sufficient briber for his life. 1 Sen. What's that? Alcib. Why, I say, my lords, h'as done fair service, And slain in fight many of your enemies : How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds ? 2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em, h« Ts a sworn rioter : h'as a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner : If there were no foes, that were enough alone To overcome him : in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions : '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 not 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 ages love Security, I'll pawn my victories, all My honour to you, upon his good returns, If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receiv't in valiant gore ; For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure : Friend, or brother, He forfeits his own blood, that spills another. Alcib. Must it be so ? it must not be. My lords, 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 forgotme ; It could not else be, I should prove so base To sue, and be denied such common grace : My wounds ache at you. 1 Sett. Do you dare our anger ? 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect ; We banish thee for ever. Alcib. Banish me ? Banish your dotage ; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly. 1 Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Batata* Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you 1 am worse than mad ; I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money, and let out Their coin upon large interest ; I myself, Rich only in large hurts ; — All those, for this ? Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate Pours into captains' wounds ? ha ! banishment ? It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 'Tis honour, with most lands to be at odds ; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs, as gods. [Exit. SCENE VI.— A magnificent Room in Timon's House. Music. Tables set out : Servants attending. Enter divers Lords, at several doors. 1 Lord. The 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 that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered : I hope it is not so low with him, as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. 2 Lord. It should 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 off ; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and I must needs appear. 2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my im« TIMON OF ATHENS. CA5 portunate "business, but he would not hear my ex- cuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. 1 Lord. 1 am sick of that grief too, as I under- stand how all things go. 2 Lord. Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of yon ? 1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 2 Lord. A thousand pieces ! ] Lord. What of you ? 3 Lord. He sent to me, sir, — Here he ccmes. Enter Timon, and Attendants. Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both : — And how fare you ? 1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. 2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer more willing, than we your lordship. Tim. [Aside.] Nor more willingly leaves winter ; such summer-birds are men. — Gentlemen, our din- ner will not recompense this long stay : feast your ears with 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 messenger. Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 2 Lord. My noble lord, Tim. Ah, my good friend ! what cheer ? [The banquet brought in. 2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. Tim. Think not on't, sir. 2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before, — : Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. — Come, bring in all together. 2 Lord. All covered dishes ! 1 Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money, and the sea- son, can yield it. 1 Lord. How do you ? What's the news ? 3 Lord. Alcibiades is banished : Hear you of it ? 1 ti[ 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it 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. Here's a noble feast toward. 2 Lord. This is the old man still. 3 Lord. Will't hold, will't hold ? 2 Lord. It does : but time will — and so 3 Lord. I do conceive. Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place : Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thank fulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves 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 borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved, more than tho man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains: If there sit twelve women 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 theso 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 under. Some speak. What does his lordship mean ? Some other. I know not. Tim. May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke, and luke- warm water Is your perfection. This is Timon's last ; Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries, Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces [Throwing water in their faces. 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 flies, Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks ! Of man, and beast, the infinite malady Crust you quite o'er ! — What, dost thou go ? Soft, take thy physic first — thou too, — and thou ; — [Throws 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 Of Timon, man, and all humanity. [Exit. Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and Senators. 1 Lord. How now, my lords? 2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's fury ? 3 Lord. Pish ! did you see my cap ? 4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him. He gave me 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 day stones. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.— Without the Walls of Athens. Enter Timon. Tim. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall That girdlest in those wolves ! Dive in the earth, And fence not Athens ! Matrons turn incontinent Obedience fail in children ! slaves, and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the beDch, And minister in their steads ! to general filths Convert, o' the instant, green virginity ! Do't in your parent's eyes ! bankrupts, hold fast ; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, steal ! Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law ! maid, to thy master's bed ; 040 TIMON OF ATHENS. Thy mistress is o'the brothel ! son of sixteen, Pluck the lin'd crutch from the old limping sire, With it beat out his brains ! piety and fear, 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 confounding 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 virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot ! itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms ; and their crop Be general leprosy ! breath infect breath ; That their society, as their friendship, may Be merely poison '! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town ! Take thou that too, with multiplying banns ! Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all,) The Athenians 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 Timon's House. Enter Flavtus, with Two or Three Servants. I Serv. Hear you, master steward, where' s our master ? Are we undone ? cast off? nothing remaining ? Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you ? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you. 1 Serv. Such a house broke ! So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not One friend to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him ! 2 Serv. As we do turn our backs From our companion, thrown into his grave ; So his familiars 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 — More of our fellows. Enter other Servants. Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 3 Serv. Yet 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 of air. Flav. Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows ; let's shake our heads, and say, As twere a knell unto our master's fortune, We have seen better days. Let each take some. [Giving them money. Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more : Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. [Exeunt Servants. 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 compounds, But only painted, like his varnish'd friends ? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart ; Undone by goodness ! Strange, unusual blood, When man's worst sin is, he does too much good ! Who then dares to be half so kind again ? For bounty^ that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, — bless' d, to be most accurs'd, Rich, only to be wretched — thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung 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 enquire him out : I'll ever serve his mind with my best will ; AVhilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [JErfe SCENE III.— The Woods. Enter Timon. Tim. O blessed bleeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb Infect the air \ Twinn'd brothers of one womb, — Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several for- tunes ; The greater scorns the lesser : Not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord : The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the brother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who In purity of manhood stand upright, [dares, And say, This man's a flatterer f if one be, So are they all ; for every grize of fortune Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool : All is oblique ; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhor"r'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 thy most operant poison ! What is here ? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! Thus much of thi3, will make black, white ; foul, fair; Wrong, right ; base, noble ; old, young ; coward, valiant. Ha, you gods ! 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 accurs'd ; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, TIMON OF ATHENS. 047 With senators on the bench : this is it, That makes the wappen'd widow wed again ; She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. — {March afar off.] — Ha ! a drum ? — Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: Thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand : — Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold. Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife, in warlike manner ,■ Phrynia and Tfmandra. Alcib. What art thou there ? Speak. Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man ! Alcib. What is thy name ? Is man so hateful to That art thyself a man ? [thee, Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. Alcib. I know thee well ; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. Tim. I know thee too ; and more, than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules : Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubin look. Phry. Thy lips rot off! Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change? Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give : But then renew I could not, like the moon ; There were no suns to borrow of. Alcib. Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee ? Tim. None, but to Maintain my opinion. Alcib. What is it, Timon ? Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none: If Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for Thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound thee, For thou'rt a man 1 Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now ; then was a blessed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the Voic'd so regardfully ? [world Tim. Art thou Timandra? Timan. Yes. Tim. Be a whore still ! they love thee not, that use thee ; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves For tubs, and baths ; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub -fast, and the diet. Timan. Hang thee, monster ! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. — I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band ; I have heard, and griev'd, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states. But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost I had rather be alone. [trouble ? Alcib. Why, fare thee well : Here's some gold for thee. Tim. Keep't, I cannot eat it. Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ? Alcio. Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tim. The gods confound them all i' thy con- quest ; and Thee after, when thou hast conquer d ! Alcib. Why me, Timon ? Tim. That, By killing villains, 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 poison 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 matron j It is her habit only that is honest, Herself s a bawd : Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their Think it a bastard, whom the oracle [mercy ; 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 proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests, in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers : Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself I Speak not, be gone. Alcib. Hast thou gold yet ? I'll take the gold Not all thy counsel. [thou giv'st me, Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee ! Phr. 8[ Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon : Hast thou more ? Tim. Enough 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 immortal gods that hear you, — spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions : Be whores still ; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats : Yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary : And thatch your poor thin roofs With burdens of the dead ; — some that were hang'd, No matter : — wear, them, betray with them : whore Paint till a horse may mire upon your face : [still ; A pox of wrinkles ! 048 TIMON OF ATHENS. Phr. Sf Timan, Well, more gold; — What then ? — Believ't, that we'll do any thing for gold. Tim. Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away Of him, that his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal : make curfd-pate ruffians bald ; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you : Plague all ; That your activity may defeat 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 ! Phr. $ Timan. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mischief first ; I have given you earnest. Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon ; If I 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, And take thy beagles with thee. Alcib. We but offend him. — Strike. [Drum beats. Exeunt Alcibiaoes, Phrynia, and TlMANDRA. Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkind- ness, Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou, [Digging. Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, With ail the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine ; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root ! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward fare 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 unctuous, greases his pure mind That from it all consideration slips I Enter Apbmantus. More man ? Plague ! plague ! Apem. I was directed hither : Men report. Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost, not keep a dog Whom I would imitate : Consumption catch thee ! Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected; A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place ? This slave-like 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' It 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 most just, That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being iike 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 outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, And skip when thou point'st out ? Will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit ? call the crea- tures, — Whose naked natures live in all the spite Of wreak ful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements expos'd, Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee ; O ! thou shalt find Tim. A fool of thee : Depart. Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. Tim. I hate thee worse. Apem. Why ? Tim Thou flatter'st misery. Apem. I flatter not ; but say, thou art a caitiff. Tim. Why dost thou seek me out ? Apem. To vex thee. Tim. Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? Apem. 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; thou'dst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before : The one is filling still, never complete ; The other, at high wish : Best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself In general riot ; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust ; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary ; The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment; SCENE III. TIMON OF ATHENS. G4\) That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare For every storm that blows ; — I, to bear this That never knew but better, is some burden : Tby nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard int. Why should'st thou hate men ? They never flatter' d thee : What hast thou given ? If thou wilt curse, — thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff To some she beggar, and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone ! — If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. Apcm. Art thou proud yet? Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. A prm. I, that I 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 I eat it. [Eating a root. A pern. Here ; I will mend thy feast. {Offering him something. Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. Apem, So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; If not, I would it were. Apem. What would'st thou have to Athens ? Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have. Aj em. Here is no use for gold. Tim. The best, and traest : For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. Apem. W here ly'st o'nights, Timon ? Tim. Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus ? Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and 1 iuw my mind ! Apem. Where would'st thou send it ? Tim. To sauce thy dishes. Apem. The middle of humanity tlfou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends : When thou wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity ; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. Tim. On what I hate, I feed not. Apem. Dost hate a medlar ? Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. Apem. An thou hadst hated medlars sooner, thou should'st have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift, that was be- loved after his means ? Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved ? Apem. Myself. Tim. I understand thee ; tnou hadst some means to keep a dog. Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers ? Tim. Women nearest ; but men, men are the things themselves. What would'st thou do with the world, Apemantus, 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 confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts ? Apem. Ay, Timon. Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee to attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the ass ; if thou wert the ass, thy dul- ness would torment thee ; and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou 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 german to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life : all thy safety were remo- tion ; and thy defence, absence. What beast could'st thou be, that were not subject to a beast ? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation ? Apem. If thou could'st please me with speaking to me, thou might' st have hit upon it here : The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city ? Apem. Yonder comes a poet, and a painter : The plague of company light upon thee ! I will fear to catch it, and give way : When I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, than Apemantus. Apem. Tliou art the cap of all the fools alive. Tim. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon. Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. Apem. There is no leprosy, but what thou speak'st. Tim. If I name thee. — I'll beat thee, — but I Should infect my hands. Apem. I would, my tongue could rot them off ! Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog I Choler does kill me, that thou art alive ; I swoon to see thee. Apem. 'Would thou would'st burst ! Tim. Away, Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him. Apem. Beast ! Tim. Slave ! Apem. Toad ! Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue ! [Afemantcs retreats backward, as going. I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon it. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave ; Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daHy : make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce [Looking on the gold. 'Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright denier Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars 1 G50 TIMON OF ATHENS. Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap 1 thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And mak'st them kiss 1 that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose ! O thou touch of hearts ! Think, 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'll say, thou hast gold : Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. Tim. Throng'd to ? Apcm. Ay. Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee. Apem. Live, and love thy misery ! Tim. Long live so, and so die ! — I am quit. [Exit Apemantus. More things like men ? — Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Thieve* 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- from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. 2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of 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 hira, 'tis hid. 1 Thief. Is not this he ? Thieves. Where? 2 Thief. 'Tis his description, 3 Thief. He ; I 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 much do want. Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want ? Behold, the earth hath roots ; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs : The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips ? The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want ? why want ? 1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, As beasts, and birds, and fishes. [water, 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 high 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 ; Do villany, do, since you profess to do'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 : The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moou into salt tears . the 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 more gold : Cut throats ; All that you meet are thieves : To Athens, go, Break open shops ; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it : Steal not less, for this I give you ; and gold confound you howsoever ! Amen. [Timon retires to his cave. 3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. 1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us ; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. 1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens : There is no time so miserable, but a man may be true. [Exeunt Thieves. Enter Fi^vius. Flav. O you gods ! Is yon despis'd and ruinous 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, Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends '. How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies : Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me, than those that do He has caught me in his eye : I will present My honest grief unto him ; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life. — My dearest master ! Timon comes forward from his cave. Tim. Away ! what art thou ? Flav. Have you forgot me, sir ? Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee. Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. Tim. Then I know thee not : I ne'er had honest man About me, I ; all that I kept were knaves, To serve in meat to villains. Flav. The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. Tim. What, dost thou weep ? — Come nearer : — then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give, But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping : Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping ! Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts, To entertain me as your steward still. Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and nov So comfortable ? It almost turns My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold Thy face — Surely, this man was born of woman. — Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, Perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim One honest man, — mistake me not, — but one ; No more, I pray, — and he is a steward — How fain 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 ; SCENE TIMON OF ATHENS. G51 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 me true, (For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness ; and as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one ? Flaw No, my most worthy master, in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late ; You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast : Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living : and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange For this one wish, That you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. Tim. Look thee, 'tis so !— Thou singly honest Here, take : — the gods out of my misery [man, Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy : But thus condition 'd ; Thou shalt build from men ; Hate all, curse all : show charity to none ; But let the famish' d flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar : give to dogs What 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 ! And so, farewell, and thrive. Flav. O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. Tim. Ifthouhat'st Curses, stay not ; fly, whilst thou'rt bless 1 d and free ; Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. [Exeunt severally. ACT V. SCENE I. — The same. Before Timon's Cave. Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, unseen. Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet. What's to be thought of him ? Does the rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold ? Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it ; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him : he likewise en- riched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity : 'Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends ? Pain. Nothing else : you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. There- fore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his : it will show honestly in us ; and is very likely to load our purposes with 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. I must serve him so too ; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o'the time ; it opens the eyes of expectation : performance is ever the duller for his act ; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable : performance is a kind of will, or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. Tim. Excellent workman ! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I hive provided 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 opulency. Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work ? Wilt thou whip thine own faults "id other men ? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet. Nav let's seek him : Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Pain. True ; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple, [gold, Than where swine feed ! 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the Settlest admired reverence in a slave : [foam ; To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey ! 'Fit I do meet them. [Advancing, Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! Pain. Our late noble master. Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men ? Poet. Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fail'n off, Whose thankless natures — O abhorred spirits ! Not all the whips of heaven are large enough — What ! to you ! Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being ! I'm rapt, and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better : You, that are 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. Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall I requite you ? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water ? no. Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. Tim. You are honest men : You have heard that I have gold ; I am sure, you have : speak truth : you are honest men. G62 TIMON OF ATHENS. ACT V. Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but there- Came not my friend, nor I. [fore Tim. Good honest- men: — Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens : .thou art, indeed, the best ; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Pain. So, so, my lord. Tim. Even so, sir, as I say : — And, for thy fiction, {To the Poet. Why, thy verse swells 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 your honour, To make it known to us. Tim. You'll take it ilk 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 That mightily deceives you. [knave, Both. Do we, my lord? Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dis- semble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, 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 me these villains from your companies : Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught, 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 company : — Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If where thou art, two villains shall not be, [To the Painter. Come not near him. — If thou would'st not reside [To the Poet. But where one villain is, then him abandon. — Hence ! pack ! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye slaves : You have done work for me, there's payment : Hence ! You are an alchymist, make gold of that : — Out, rascal dogs ! [Exit, beating and driving them »tt SCENE II.— The same. Enter Flavius and Two Senators. Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with For he is set so only to himself, [Timon ; That nothing but himself, which looks like man, Is friendly with him. \ 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, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him : Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. Flav. Here is his cave. — Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon! 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 ! — 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 Timon. 2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet" thee, Timon. Tim. I thank them ; and would send them back the plague. Could I but catch it for them. 1 Sm. O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators, with one consent of love, Entreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. 2 Sen. They confess, Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross : Which now the public body, — which doth seldom 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 fruitful 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 thine. Tim. You witch me in it ; Surprise 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 And of our Athens (thine, and ours,) to take [us, The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name Live with authority : — so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. 2 Sen. And shakes his threat' ning sword Against the walls of Athens. 1 Sen. Therefore, Timon, — Tim. Well, sir, I will ; therefore, I will, sir ; If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, [Thus, — Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That— Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war ; Then, let him know, — and tell him, Timon speaks In pity of our aged, and our youth, [it, I cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not, And let him tak't at worst ; for their knives care not, While 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 Therevereud'st throat in Athens. So I leave vo SCENE V. TIMON OF ATHENS. 653 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, It will be seen to-morrow : My long sickness Of health, and living, now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still ; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough ! 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 mylovi'nf countrymen, — 1 Sen. These words become jfouf lips as they pass through them. 2 Sen. And enter in our ears, like great tri- In their applauding gates. [amphera Tim. Commend me to them ; And tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them : I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 2 Sen. I like this well, he will return again. Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close. That mine own use invites nte to cut down, And shortly must I fell it ; Tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, 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. Come not to me again : but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; Which once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover ; thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle. — Lips, let sour words go by, and language end : What 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. {Ex'unt. SCENE III.— The walls of Athens. Enter Two Senators, and a Messenger. 1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd ; are his As full as thy report ? [files Mess. I have spoke the le^st : Besides, his expedition promises Present approach. 2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; — Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, Vet oit old love made a particular force, And made us speak like friends : — this man was From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, [riding 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. 1 Sen. Here come our brothers. 3 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him ex- pect 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 IV.— The Woods. Timon's Cave, and a Tombstone seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. Sold. By all description this should be the place, Who's here ? speak, ho ! — No answer ? — What is this ? Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span : Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a man Dead, sure ; and this his grave. — What's on this tomb I cannot read ; the charactei 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 this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit. SCENE V.— Before the Walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades and Forces. Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded Enter Senators on the walls. Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice ; till now, myself, and such As slept within the shadow of your power, Have wander'dwith our travers'd arms, and breath'd Our sufferance vainly : Now the time is flush, When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, Cries, of itself, No more : now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; And pursy insolence shall break his wind, With fear, 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 Above their quantity. 2 Sen. So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love, By humble message, and by promis'd means ; We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. 1 Sen. These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands, from whom You have receiv'd your griefs : nor are they such That these great towers, trophies, and schools should For private faults in them. [fall 2 Sen. Nor are they living, Who were the motives tha<; you first went out j Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread » 054 TIMON OF ATHENS. AOT V. By decimation, and a tithed death, (If thy revenges hunger for that food, Which nature loaths,) take thou the destin'd tenth ; 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 take, Ou those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage : Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin, Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall With those that have offended : like a shepherd, Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. 2 Sen. What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, Than hew to't with thy sword. 1 Sen. Set but thy foot Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope ; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou'lt enter friendly. 2 Sen. Throw thy glove ; Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire. Alcib. Then there's my glove ; Descend, and open your uncharged ports ; Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own, Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, Fall, and no more : and, — to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, — not a man Shr.ll pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be remedied, to your public laws, At heaviest answer. Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. The Senators descend, and open the pales. Enter a Soldier. Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead ; Entomb'd upon the very hem o'the sea : And, on his grave-stone, this inscuipture ; which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft : Seek not my name : A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left ! Here lie 1 Timon ; who, alive, all living men did hate : Pass by, and curse thy fill ; but pass and stay not here thy gait. These will express in thee thy latter spirits : Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets From niggard nature, fall, yet rich conceit [which Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye Ou 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 sword : Make war breed peace; make peace stint war; make each Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. List our drums strike. [Exeunt. CORIOLANUS, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Caius Marcius Coriolanus, a noble Roman. Titus Lartius, ) against the Volscians. COMINIUS, J * Menenius Agrippa, -Friend to Coriolanus. StCINJUS Velutus, Junius Brutus, Young Marcius, Son to Coriolanus. A Roman Herald. Tullus Aufidius, General of the Volscians. Lieutenant to Aufidius. Conspirators with Aufidius. Tribunes of the People. A Citizen of 'Antrum. Two Volscian Guards. Volumnia, Mother to Coriolanus. Virgilia, Wife to Coriolanus. Valeria, Friend to Virgilia. Gentlewoman, attending Virgilia. Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, iEdiles, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants. SCENE,— Partly in Rome ; and partly in the Territories of the Volscians and Antiatcs. ACT I. SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with staves, clubs, and other weapons. 1 Cit. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. Cit. Speak, speak. [Several speaking at once. 1 Cit. You are all resolved rather to die, than to famish ? Cit. Resolved, resolved. 1 Cit. First you know, Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people. Cit. We know't, we know't. 1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price. Is't a verdict ? Cit. No more talking on't : let it be done : away, away. 2 Cit. One word, good citizens. 1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens ; the pa- tricians, good : What authority surfeits on, would relieve us ; If they would yield us but the super- fluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess, they relieved us humanely ; but they think, we are too dear : the leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is an inventory to particularize their abundance ; our sufferance is a gain to them. — Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we be- come rakes : for the gods know, I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius ? 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 him good report for't, but that he pays himself with being proud. 2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 1 Cit. 1 say unto you, what he hath done fa- mously, he did it to that end ; though soft con- wiene'd men can be content to say, it was for his country, he did it to please his mother, and to be partly proud ; which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. 2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you account a vice in him : You must in no way say, he is covetous. 1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations ; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts within.] What shouts are these ? The other side o'the city is risen : Why stay we prating here ? to the Capitol. Cit. Come, come. 1 Cit. Soft ; who comes here ? Enter Menenius Agrippa. 2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa ; one that hath always loved the people. 1 Cit. He's one honest enough ; 'Would, all the rest were so ! Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand ? Where go you With bats and clubs ? The matter ? Speak, I pray you. 1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate ; they have had inkling, this fortnight, what we in- tend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say, poor suitors have strong breaths ; they 6hall know, we have strong arms too. Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine ho- 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 this dearth, you may as well Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them Against the Roman state ; whose course will on The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs Of more strong link asunder, than can ever Appear in your impediment : For the dearth, The gods, not the patricians, make it ; and Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 056 CORIOLANUS. You are transported by calamity Thither where more attends you ; and you slander The helms o'the state, who care for you like fathers, When you curse them as enemies. 1 Cit. Care for us ! — True, indeed ! — They ne'er cared for us yet. Suffer us to faniiah, and their store-houses crammed with grain ; make edicts for usury, to support usurers : repeal daily any whole- some act established against the rich : and provide more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and re- strain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, tney will •, and there's all the love they bear us. Men. Either you must Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you A pretty tale ; it may be, you have heard it ; But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture To scale 't a little more. 1 Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir : yet you must not think to fob off our disgrace with a tale : but, an't please you, deliver. Men. There was a time, when all the body's members Rcbell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it : — That only like a gulf it did remain V the midst o'the body, idle and inactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest ; where the other instru- ments Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, And, mutually participate, did minister Unto the appetite and affection common Of the whole body. The belly answered, — 1 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly ? Men. Sir, I shall tell you. — With a kind of smile, \Vhich 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 are 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 leg, 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 is the sink o' the body, Men. Well, what then? 1 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain, What could the belly answer ? Men. I will tell you ; If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little,) Patience, a while, you'll hear the belly's answer. 1 Cit. You are long about it. Men. Note me this, good friend ; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd. True is it, my incorporate friends, quoth he That I receive the general food at first, Which you do live upon : and fit it is ; Because I am the store-house, and the shop Of the whole body : But if you do remember, I send it through the rivers of your blood, Even to the cowrt, the heart, — to the seat o'the brain ; And, through the cranks and offices of man, The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, From me receive that natural competency Whereby they live : And though that all at once, Yen, my good friends, (this says the belly,) mark I Cit. Ay, sir ; well, well. [me, — Men. Though all at once cannot See what I do deliver out to each : Yet I can make my audit up, that all Fiom me do back receive the flour of all, And leave me but the bran. What say you to't ? 1 Cit. It was an answer : How apply you this ? Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members : For examine Their counsels, and their cares; digestthings rightly, Touching the weal o'the common ; you shall find, No public benefit, which you receive, But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, And no way from yourselves. — What do you think ? You, 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. — But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs ; Rome and her rats are at the point of battle, The one side 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 Cit. 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 you proud. He that trusts you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ; Where foxes, geese : You are no surer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun. Your 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 Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye I Trust With every minute you do change a mind : [ye ? And call him noble, that was now your hate, Him vile, that was your garland. What's the mat- That in these several places of the city [ter, You cry against the noble senate, who, Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else Would feedonone another ?— What's theirseeking? Men. For corn at their own rates ; whereof, they The 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, Who thrives, and who declines : side factions, and give out Conjectural marriages ; making parties strong, And feebling such as stand not in their liking, Below their cobbled shoes. They say, there's graia enough ? CORIOLANUS. (Jll Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high As I could pick my lance. Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded; For though abundantly they lack discretion, Yet are they passing cowardly. But, 1 beseech you, What says the other troop ? Afar. They are dissolved : Hang 'em ! They said, they were an-hungry ; sigh'd forth pro- verbs ; — That, hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat ; That, meat was made for mouths ; that, the gods sent not Corn for the rich men only : — With these shreds They vented their complainings ; which being an- swer' d, And a petition granted them, a strange one, (To break the heart of generosity, [caps And make bold power look pale,) they threw their As they would hang them on the horns o'the moon, Shouting their emulation. Men. What is granted them ? Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wis- doms, Of their own choice: One's Junius Brutus, Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath! The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me ; it will in time Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. Men. This is strange. Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments! Enter a Messenger. Mess. Where's Caius Marcius ? Mar. Here : What's the matter ? Mess. The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms. Mar. I am glad on't ; then we shall have means to vent Our musty superfluity : — See, our best elders. Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, and other Senators Junius Brutus, and Sicinius Vklutus. 1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately The Voices are in arms. [told us ; Mar. They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't. I sin in envying his nobility : And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. Com. You have fought together. Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears, Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make [and he Only my wars with him : he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. 1 Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. Com. It is your former promise. Mar. Sir, it is ; ! And 1 am constant. — Titus Lartius, thou Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face : What, art thou stiff? stand'st out ? Tit. No, Caius Marcius ; I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other, Ere 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 vou on : Follow, Cominius ; we must follow you ; Right worthy you 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, Com. Mar. Tit. and Mknen. Citizens steal away. Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius ? Bru. He has no equal. Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the peo pie, Bru. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes ? Sic. Nay, but his taunts. Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. [gods. Bru. The present wars devour him : he is grown Too proud to be so valiant. 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 Under Cominius. Bru. Fame, at the which he aims,— In whom already he is well grae'd, — cannot Better be held, nor more 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 Will then cry out of Marcius, O, if he Had borne the business / Sic. Besides, if things go well, Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall Of" his demerits rob Cominius. Bru. Come : Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, Though Marcius eam'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 fashion More than in singularity, he goes Upon his present action. Bru. Let's along. , Exeun SCENE II.— Corioli. The Senate House. Enter Tullus Aufidius, and certain Senators. 1 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 ? What ever hath been thought on in this state, That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome Had circumvention ? 'Tis not four days gone, Since I heard thence ; these are the words : I think, I have the letter here; yes, here it is: [Iteadt. They have press' d a power, but it is not known Whether for east, or west : The dearth is great ; The people mutinous : and it is rumour V, Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, ( Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,) And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, These three lead on this preparation Whither 'lis bent: most likely, 'fa for ivu : Consider of it. u u 658 CORIOLANUS. 1 Sen. Our army's in the field : We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready To answer us. Auf. Nor did you think it folly, To keep your great pretences veil'd, till when They needs must show themselves ; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery, We shall be shorten'd in our aim ; which was, To take in many towns, ere, almost, Rome Should know we were afoot. 2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, Take your commission ; hie you to your bands : Let us alone to guard Corioli : If they set down before us, for the remove Bring up your army ; but, I think, you'll find They have not prepar'd for us. Auf. O, doubt not that ; I speak from certainties. Nay, more. Some parcels of their powers are forth already, And only hitherward. I leave your honours. If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 'Tis sworn between us, we shall never strike Till one can do no more. All. The gods assist you 1 Auf. And keep your honours safe ! 1 Sen. Farewell. 2 Sen. Farewell. All. Farewell. lExeunt. SCENE III. — Rome. An Apartment in Marcius' House. Enter Volumnia and Virgilia: They sit doten on ttco 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 absence wherein he won honour, than in the embracements of his bed, where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb ; when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way ; when, for a day of kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her be- holding; I, — considering how honour would become such a person ; that it was no better tban picture- like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, — was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find 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 his good report should have been my son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: — Had I a dozen sons, — each in 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 voluptuously surfeit out of action. Enter a Gentlewoman. Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit you. Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire my- Vol. Indeed, you shall not. [self. Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum ; See mm pluck Aufidius down by the hair ; A.s children from a bear, the Voices shunning him t Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus, — Come on, you cowards, you were got in fear, Though you were born in Rome : His bloody brow With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes ; 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. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man, Than gilt his trophy: The breasts of Hecuba, When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeria, We are fit to bid her welcome. \Exit Gent Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius I Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee, And tread upon his neck. Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valeria and her Uflljer. Val. 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. What, are you sewing here ? A fine spot, in good faith. — How does your little son ? Vir. I thank your ladyship ; well, good madam. Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, than look upon his school-master. Val. O' my word, the father's son : I'll swear, 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together : he has such a confirmed countenance. 1 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 his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, and tear it ; 0,1 warrant, how he mammocked 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 after- noon. Vir. No, good madam ; I will not out of doors Val. Not 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. Fye, you confine yourself most unreason- ably ; Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. Vol. Why, I pray you ? Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. Val. You would be another Penelope: yet, they say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come ; I would, your cambric 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, I will not forth. Val. In truth, la, go with me ; and I'll 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 ? SCENE V. COM OL ANUS. Co Val. In earnest, it's true ; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is : — The Voices have an army forth ; against whom Coniinius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power : your lord, and Titus Lartius, are set down before their city Corioli ; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour ; and so, I pray, go with us. Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will obey you in every thing hereafter. Vol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth. Val. In troth, I think, she would : — Fare you well then.— Come, good sweet lady. — Pr'ythee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o'door, and go along with us. Vir. No : at a word, madam ; indeed, I must not.- I wish you much mirth. Val. Well, then farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— Before Corioli. Enter, with drums and colours, Marcius, Titus Lartius, Officers, and Soldiers. To them a Messenger. Mar, Yonder comes news : — A wager, they have met. Lart. My horse to yours, no. Mar. 'Tis done. Lart. Agreed. Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy ? Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as Lart. So, the good horse is mine. [yet. Mar. I'll buy him of you. Lart. No, I'll nor sell, nor give him : lend you him, I will, For half a hundred years. — Summon the town. Mar. How far off lie these armies ? Mess. Within this mile and a half. Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work ; That we with smoking swords may march from hence, [blast. To help our fielded friends! — Come, blow thy 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 that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums [Alarums afar off. Are bringing forth our youth : We'll break our walls, Rather 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, afar off; [Other alarums. There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. Mar. O, they are at it ! Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders, ho! 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 : They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on, my fellows ; He that retires, I'll take him for a Voice, And he shall feel mine edge. Alarums, and exeunt Romans and Voices, fighting. The Romans are beaten back to their trenches. Re-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, That bear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves 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 : If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, As they us to our trenches followed. Another alarum. The Voices and Romans re-enter, and the fight is renewed. The Voices retire into Corioli, and Marcius follows them to the gates. So, now the gates are ope : — Now prove good seconds : 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like. [He enters the gates, and is shut in. 1 Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I. 2 Sol. Nor I. 3 Sol. See, they Have shut him in. [Alarum continues. All. To the pot, I warrant him. Enter Titus Lartius. Lart. What is become of Marcius? All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters : who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd-to their gates ; he is himself alone, To answer all the city. Lart. O noble fellow ! Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows, stands upl Thou art left, A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, [Marcius: 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. Look, sir. Lart. 'Tis 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, with spoils. 1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 2 Rom. And I this. 3 Rom. A murrain on't ! I took this for silver. [Alarum continues still afar off. Enter Marcius and Titus Lartius, with a trumpet. Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their hours, At a crack'd drachm ! Cushions, leaden spoons. Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would CORIOLANUS. ACT I Bury with those that wore them, these hase slaves, Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : — Down with them. — And hark, what noise the general makes ! — To him : — There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, Piercing our Romans : Then, valiant Titus, take Convenient numbers to make good the city; Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste To help Cominius. 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 yet not warm'd me : Fare you well. The blood I drop is rather physical Than dangerous to me : To Aufidius thus I will appear and fight. Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great charms Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentleman, Prosperity be thy page ! Mar. Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest ! — So, farewell. Lar. Thou worthiest Marcius ! — [Exit Marcius. Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place ; Call thither all the officers of the town, Where they shall know our mind : Away. \_Exeunt. SCENE VI. — Near the Camp of Cominius. Enter Cominius and Forces, retreating. Com. Breathe you, my friends ; well fought : we are come off Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs, We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard The charges of our friends : — The Roman gods, Lead their successes as we wish our own ; That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun- tering, Enter a Messenger. May give you thankful sacrifice! — Thy news ? Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. Com. Though thou speak'st truth, Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't since ? Mess. Above an hour, my lord. Com. 'Tis not a mile ; briefly we heard their drums : How could'st thou in a mile confound an hour, And bring thy news so late ? Mess. Spies of the "Voices Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to whe*l Three or four miles about ; else had I, sir, Half an hour since brought my report. Enter Marcius. Com. Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd ? O gods ! He has the stamp of Marcius ; and 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' tongue From every meaner man's. Mar. Come I too late ? Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood cf others. But mantled in your own. Mar. O ! let me clip you In arms as sound as when I woo'd ; in heart As merry, as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward. Com. Flower of warriors, How is't with Titus Lartius ? Mar. As with a man busied about decrees : Condemning some to death, and some to exile ; Ransoming him, or pitying, threat'ning the other ; Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, To let him slip at wilL Com. Where is that slave, Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? Where is he ? Call him hither. Afar. Let him alone, He did inform the truth : But for our gentlemen, The common file, (A plague ! — Tribunes for them !) The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge From rascals worse than they. Com. But how prevail'd you ? Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think 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. Mar. How lies their battle? Know you on which side They have placed their men of trust ? Com. As I guess, Marcius Their hands in the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust ; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. Mar. I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the vows We have made to endure friends, that you directly Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates : And that you not delay the present ; but, Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts, We prove this very hour. Com. Though I could wish You were conducted to a gentle bath, And balms applied to you, yet dare I never Deny your asking ; take your choice of those That best can aid your action. Mar. Those are they That most are willing : — If any such be here, (As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting Wherein you see me smear'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 him, alone, or so many, so minded, Wave thus [waving his hand.] to express his dis- position, And follow Marcius. [They all shout, and wave their swords / takt him up in their arms, and cast up their caps. O me, alone! Make you a sword of me ? If these shows be not outward, which of you But is four Voices ? None of you, but is Able to bear against the great Aufidius SCENE IX. CORIOLANUS. (561 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 out my command, Which men are best inclin'd. Com. March on, my fellows : Make good this ostentation, and you shall Divide in all with us. {.Exeunt. SCENE VII.— The Gates of Corioli. Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with a drum and trumpet toward Cominius and Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant, a parti/ of Soldiers, and a Scout. Lart. So, let the 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. Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. — Our guider, come ; to the Roman camp conduct us. {Exeunt. SCENE VIII.— A Field of Battle between the Roman and the Volscian Camps. Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aufidius. Mar. I'll fight with none but thee ; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker. Auf. We hate alike ; Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor More than thy fame and envy : Fix thy foot. Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after ! Auf. If I fly, Marcius, Halloo me like a hare. Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleas'd ; 'Tis not my blood, Wherein thou seest me mask'd : for thy revenge, Wrench up thy power to the highest. Auf. Wert thou the Hector, That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou should'st not scape me here. — {They fight, and certain Volces come to the aid o/Aufidius. Officious, and not valiant — you have sham'd me In your condemned seconds. {Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius. SCENE IX.— The Roman Camp. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at one side, Cominius, and Romans ; at the other side, Mar- cius, with his arm in a scarf, and other Romans. Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'lt not believe thy deeds : but I'll report it, Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles ; Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 1' the end, admire ; where ladies shall be frighted, And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes/ That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours, Shall say, against their hearts, — We thank the gods, Our Rome hath such a soldier ! — Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, Having fully dined before. Enter 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. You shall not be The grave of your deserving : Rome must know The value of her own : 'twere a concealment Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, To hide your doings ; and to silence that, Which, 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 near me. Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they To hear themselves remember'd. [smart Com. Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, (Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city, We render you the tenth ; to be ta'en forth, Before the common 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 flourish. They all cry, Marcius! Marcius ! cast up their caps and lances: Cominius and Lartius stand bare. Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more ! When drums and trumpets shall 1' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-fac'd soothing ! When steel grows Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made An overture for the 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, — you shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical ; As if I loved my little should be dieted In praises 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 we'll put you (Like one that means his proper harm,) in manacles, Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland : in token of the which My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, With all his trim belonging ; and, from 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 1 {Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drtcmt All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus ! 662 CORIOLANUS. ACT II. Cor. I will go wash ; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush, or no : Howbeit, I thank you : — I mean 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 Rome of our success. — You, Titus Lartius, Mast to Corioli back : send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate, For their own good, and ours. Lart. I shall, my lord. Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now Xtefus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. Com. Take it : 'tis yours. — What is't ? Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, At a poor man's house ; he us'd me kindly : He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ; But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you To give my poor host freedom. Com. ' O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 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 blood upon your visage dries : 'tis time It should be look'd to : come. {Exeunt. SCENE X.— The Camp of the Volces. A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, bloody, with Two or Three Soldiers. Auf. The town is ta'en ! 1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. Auf. Condition ? — I would, I were a Roman ; for I cannot. Being a Voice, be that I am. — Condition ! What good condition can a treaty find I' the part that is at mercy ? Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me; And would'st 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 his : 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. 1 Sol. He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle : My valour's poison'd, I 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 priests, nor times of sacrifice, Embarquements 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 tha 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 the cypress grove : I pray you, (Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither \ How the world goes ; that to the pace of it I I may spur on my journey. 1 Sol. I shall, sir. {Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.— Rome. A public Place. Enter Menenius, Sicinius, and Brutus. Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news to-night. Bru. Good, or bad ? Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ? Sic. The lamb. Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry ple- beians 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 thing that I shall ask you. Both Trib. Well, sir. Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you two have not in abundance ? Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. Sic. Especially, in pride. Br?t. And topping all others in boasting. Men. This is strange now : Do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the right hand file ? Do you ? Both Trib. Why, how are we censured ? Men. Because you talk of pride now, — Will you not be angry ? Both Trib. Well, 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 least, 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 infant- like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride : O, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves ! O, that you could ! Bru. What then, sir ? Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias, fools,) as any in Rome. Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough loo. CORIOLANUS 6C3 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 malice in my breath : Meeting two such weals-men as you are, (I cannot call you Lycurguses) if the drink you give me, touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say, your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables : and though I must be content to bear with 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, follows it, that I am known well enough too ? What harm can your beesome conspectuities glean out of this character, if I .be known well enough too ? Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs ; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fosset-seller ; and then rejourn the controversy of three-pence to a second day of audience. — When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the cholic, you make faces like mummers ; set up the bloody flag against all patience ; and, in roaring for a chamber- pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing : all the peace you make in their cause, is, calling both the parties knaves : You are a pair of strange ones. Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table, than 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 a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud ; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors, since Deucalion ; though, per- adventure, some of the best of them were hereditary hangmen. Good e'en to your worships ; more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians : I will be bold to take my leave of you. [Brutus and Sicinius retire to the back of the scene. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and 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 approaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go. Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ? Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most pros- perous approbation. Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee : — Hoo ! Marcius coming home ! Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis 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 but empiricutick, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he no* wounded ? he was wont to come home wounded. Vir. O, no, no, no. Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. Men. So do I too, if it be not too much:— Brings 'a victory in his pocket ? — The wounds be- come him. Vol. On's brows, Menenius : he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly ? Vol. Titus Lartius writes, — they fought together, but Aufidius got off. Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that : an he had staid by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate pos- sessed of this ? Vol. Good ladies, let's go : — Yes, yes, yes : the senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war : he hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly. Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him. Men. Wondrous? ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing. Vir. The gods grant them true Vol. True ? pow, wow. Men. True ? I'll be sworn they are true :— Where is he wounded? — God save your good worships! \_To the Tribunes, who come forward.'] Marcius is coming home : he has more cause to be proud. — Where is he wounded ? Vol. I' the shoulder, and i' the left arm : There will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i' the body. Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh, — there's nine that I know. Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- five wounds upon him. Men. Now it's twenty-seven : every gash was an enemy's grave : [a shout and flourish.] Hark! the 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 doth lie ; Which being advanc'd, declines ; and then men die. A senet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and Titus Lartius; between them, Coriolanus, crowned with an oaken garland ; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald. Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates : where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius ; these In honour follows, Coriolanus : — Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! [Flourish. All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart ; Pray now, no more. Com. Look, sir, your mother, Cor. 0\ nc4 CORIOLANUS. Kneels. up; You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity. Vol. Nay, my good soldier My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd, What is it ? Coriolanus, must I call thee ? But, O thy wife Cor. My gracious silence, hail ! Would'st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph ? .Ah, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, And mothers that lack sons. Men. Now the gods crown thee ! Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady, pardon. [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 heavy : 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: yet, 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 mother. 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 lived 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 mother, I had rather be their servant in my way, Than sway with them in theirs. Com. On, to the Capitol. [Flourish. Cornels. Exeunt in state, as before. The Tribunes remain. Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him ; Your prattling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry, While she chats him ; the kitchen malkin pins Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, Clambering. the walls to eye him: Stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd With variable complexions ; all agreeing In earnestness to see him : seld-shown flamens Do press among the popular throngs, and puff To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask, in Their nicely gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil Of Phoebua burning kisses : such a pother, As if that whatsoever god, who leads him, Were slily crept into his human powers, And gave him graceful posture. Sic On the sudden, I warrant him consul. Bru. Then our office 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. Bru. In that there's comfort. Sic. 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 he is proud to do't. Bru. I heard him swear, Were he to stand for consul, never would he Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put The napless vesture of humility ; Nor, showing (as the manner is) his wounds To the people, beg their stinking breaths. Sic. 'Tis right. Bru. It was his word : O, he would miss it, rather Than carry it, but by the suit o' the gentry to him, And the desire of the nobles. Sic. I wish no better, Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it In execution. Bru. 'Tis most like, he will. iS'tc. It shall be to him then, as our good wills ; A sure destruction. Bru. 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 would Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and Dispropertied their freedoms : holding them, In human action and capacity, Of no more soul, nor fitness for 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. Bru. What's the matter ? Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought, That Marcius 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 handkerchiefs, Upon him as he pass'd : the nobles bended, As to Jove's statue ; and the commons made A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts : I never saw the like. Bru. Let's to the Capitol ; And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, But hearts for the event. Sic. . j Have with you. [Exeunt SCENE II. CORIOLANUS. 665 SCENE II.— The same. The Capitol. Elite* Two Officers, to lay cushion/: 1 Off. Come, come, they are almost here: How many stand for consulships ? 2 Off. Three, they say : but 'tis thought of every one, Coriolanus will carry it. 1 Off. That's a brave fellow ; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people. 2 Off. 'Faith, there have been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them ; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore : so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground : Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love, or hate him, manifests the true knowledge he has in their disposition ; and, out of his noble carelessness, 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 hate with greater devotion than they can render it him ; and leaves nothing undone, that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people, is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. 2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country : And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those, who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonnetted, without any further deed to heave them at all into their estimation and report : but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful injury ; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. 1 Off. No more of him : he is a worthy man : Make way, they are coming. A Senet. Enter, with lictors before them, Comimus the Consul, Menenmus, Coriolanus, many oiiier Senators, Sicinius and Brutus. The Senators take their jUaces ; the Tribunes take theirs also by themselves. Men. Having determin'd of the Voices, and To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, As the main point of this our after-meeting, To gratify his noble service, that Hath thus stood for his country : Therefore, please Most reverend and grave elders, to desire lyou, 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 to thank, and to remember With honours like himself. 1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius : 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. Sic. We are con vented Upon a pleasing treaty ; and have hearts Inclinable to honour and advance The theme of our assembly. Bru. Which the rather We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember A kinder value of the people, than He hath hereto priz'd them at. Men. That's off, that's off ; I would you rather had been silent : Please you To hear Cominius speak ? Bru. Most willingly : But yet my caution was more pertinent, Than the rebuke you give it. Men. He loves your people ; But tie him not to be their bedfellow. — Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your place. [Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away 1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus ; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. Cor. Your honours' pardon ; I had rather have my wounds to heal again, Than hear say how I got them. Bru. Sir, I hope My words dis-bench'd you not. Cor. No, sir : yet oft, When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not : But, your I love them as they weigh. [people, Men. Pray now, sit down. Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i'the sun, When the alarum were struck, than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. [Exit CORIOLANUS. 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, Co- minius. 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 dignifies the haver : if it be, The man I speak of cannot in the world Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, When Tarquin 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 Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met, And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, When he might act the woman in the scene, He prov'd best man i'the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ; And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since, He lurch'd all swords o' the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home : He stopp'd the fliers ; And, by his rare example, made the coward Turn terror into sport : as waves before A vessel undar sail, so men obey'd, And fell below his stem : his sword (death's stamp; Where 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 shunless destiny, aidless came off, And with a sudden re-enforcement struck Corioli, like a planet : Now all's his : When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce CGG CORIOLANUS. His ready sense : then straight his doubled spirit Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, And 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 field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting. Men. Worthy man! 1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit" the Which we devise him. [honours Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ; And look'd upon things precious, as they were The common muck o'the world ; he covets less Than misery itself would give ; rewards His deeds with doing them ; and is content To spend the time, to end it. Men. He's right noble ; Let him be call'd for. 1 Son. Call for Coriolanus. Off. He doth appear. Re-enter Coriolanus. Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas' d 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 beseech you, Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage : please That I may pass this doing. [you, Sic. Sir, the people Must have 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 from the people. Bru. Mark you that ? Cor. To brag unto them, — Thus 1 did, and thus ; — Show them the unaching scars which I should As if I had receiv'd them for the hire [hide, Of their breath only : Men. Do not stand upon't. — We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, Our purpose to them ; — and to our noble consul Wish we all joy and honour. Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour ! [Flourish. Then exeunt Senators. Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. Sic. May they perceive his intent ! He will require them, As if he did contemn what he requested Should be in them to give. Bru. Come, we'll inform them Of our proceedings here : on the market-place, I know they do attend us. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The same. The Forum. Enter several Citizens. 1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him. 2 Cit. CVe may, sir, if we will. 3 Cit, We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do : for il he show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak for them ; so, if he tell us his noble deeds we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous : and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude ; of the which, we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. 1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve : for once, when we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude. 3 Cit. We have been called so of many ; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some au- burn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured : and truly I think, if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south ; and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all points o'the compass. 2 Cit. Think you so ? Which way, do you jvdge, my wit would fly ? 3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a block-head ; but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward. 2 Cit. Why that way ? 3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog ; where being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wife. 2 Cit. You are never without your tricks : — You may, you may. 3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices ? But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a worthier man. Enter Coriolanus and Mknenius. Here he comes, and in the gown of humility* mark his behaviour. We are not to stay altogether, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his requests by par- ticulars : 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 shall go by him. All. Content, content. [Exeunt Men. O sir, you are not right : have you not The worthiest men have done't ? [known Cor. What must I say ?— I pray sir, — Plague upon't ! I cannot bring My tongue to such a pace : Look, sir ; my wounds ; I got them in my country's service, when Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran From the noise of our own drums. Men. O me, the gods ! You must not speak of that : you must desire them To think upon you. Cor. Think upon me ? Hang 'em ! I would they would forget me, like the virtues Which our divines lose by them. Men. You'll mar all ; I'll leave you : Pray you, speak to them, I pray you, In wholesome manner. [Exit. Cor. Enicr Two Citizens. Bid them wash their faces, ,CENE III. CORIOLANUS. G«7 And keep their teeth clean. — So, here comes a brace : You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 1 Cit. We do, sir ; tell us what hath brought you to't. Cor. Mine own desert. 2 Cit. Your own desert. Cor. Ay, not Mine own desire. 1 Cit. How ! not your own desire ? Cor. No, sir : 'Twas never my desire yet, To trouble the poor with begging. 1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing, We hope to gain by you. Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o'the consul- 1 Cit. The price is, sir, to ask it kindly, [ship? Cor. Kindly ! Sir, I pray, let me ha't : I have wounds to show you, Which shall be yours in private. — Your good voice, sir ; What say you I 2 Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir. Cor. A match, sir : — There is in all two worthy voices begg'd : — I have your alms ; adieu. 1 Cit. But this is something odd. 2 Cit. An 'twere to give again, — But 'tis no matter. [Exeunt two Citizens. Enter two other Citizens. Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices, that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown. 3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved nobly. Cor. Your enigma. 3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends ; you have not, indeed, loved the common people. Cor. You should account me the more virtuous, that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them ; 'tis a condition they account gentle : and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating nod, and be off to them most counterfeitly : that is, sir, I will coun- terfeit the bewitchment of some popular man, and give it bountifully to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul. 4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend ; and therefore give you our voices heartily. 3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your country. Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with show- ing them. I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further. Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily ! [Exeunt Cor. Most sweet voices ! — Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. , Why in this wolfish gown should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, Their needless vouches ? Custom cails me to't : — What custom wills, in all things should we do't, The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heap'd For truth to over-peer. — Rather than fool it so, Let the high office and the honour go To one that would do thus. — I am half through ; The one part sufFer'd, the other will I do. Enter three other Citizens. Here come more voices, — Your voices : for your voices I have fought ; Watch' d for your voices ; for your voices, bear Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six I have seen and heard of; for your voices, have Done many things, some less, some more : your Indeed, 1 would be consul. [voices : 5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go with- out any honest man's voice. 6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul : The gods give him joy, and make him good friend to the people ! All. Amen, amen ! ■ God save thee, noble consul ! [Exeunt Citizens* Cor. Worthy voices ! Re-enter Menknius, with Brutus and Sicinius. Men. You have stood your limitation ; and the tribunes Endue you with the people's voice: Remains, That, in the official marks invested, you Anon do meet the senate. Cor. Is this done? Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd : The people do admit you ; and are summon'd To meet anon, upon your approbation. Cor. Where ? at the senate-house ? Sic. There, Coriolanus. Cor. May I then change these garments ? Sic. You may, sir. Car. That I'll straight do ; and, knowing myself Repair to the senate-house. [again, Men. I'll keep you company. — Will you go Bru. We stay here for the people. [along ? Sic. Fare you well. [Exeunt Coriol. and Mknen. 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 man ? 1 Cit. He has our voices, sir. Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve your loves. 2 Cit. Amen, sir : To my poor unworthy notice, He mocked us, when he begg'd our voices. 3 Cit. Certainly, He flouted us downright. 1 Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did not mock us. 2 Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says, He us'd us scornfully : he should have show'd us His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his country. Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. Cit. No ; no man saw 'em. [Several speak. 3 Cit. He said, he had wounds, which he could show in private ; And with his hat. thus waving it in scorn, I would be consul, says he : aged custom, But by your voices, ivill not so permit me; Four voices therefore : When we granted that. dfiO CORIOLANUS. Here was,—/ thank you for your voices, — thank you,— Your most sweet voices : — now you have left your voices, I have no further with you: — Was not tliis mockery ? Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to se/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 the state, He was your enemy ; ever spake against Your liberties, and the charters that you bear I' the body of the weal : and now, arriving A place of potency, and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might Be curses to yourselves ? You should have said, That, as his worthy deeds did claim no less Than what he stood for ; so his gracious nature Would think upon you for your voices, and Translate his malice towards you into love, - Standing your friendly lord. Sic. Thus to have said, As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit, And tried his inclination ; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ; Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught ; so, putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler, And pass'd him unelected. Bru. Did you perceive, He did solicit you in free contempt, When he did need your loves ; and do you think, That 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 tongues, to cry Against the rectorship of judgment ? Sic. Have you, Ere now, denied the asker? and, now again, On him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow Your su'd-for tongues ? 3 Cit. He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet. 2 Cit. And will deny him : I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 1 Cit. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece 'em. Bru. Get you hence instantly ; and tell those friends, — They have chose a consul, that will from them take Their liberties ; make them of no more voice Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking, As therefore kept to do so. Sic. Let them assemble ; And, on a safer judgment; all revoke Your ignorant election : Enforce his pride, And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not With what contempt he wore the humble weed : How in his suit he scorn'd you : but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The apprehension of his present portance, Which gibingly ungravely, he did fashion After the inveterate hate he bears you. Bru. Lay A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labour'd (No impediment between) but that you must Cast your election on him. Sic. Say, you chose him More after our commandment, than as guided By your own true affections ; and that your minds Pre-occupied with what you rather must do Than what you should, made you against the grain To voice him consul : Lay the fault on us. Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we read lectures to you, How youngly he began to serve his country, How long continued : and what stock he springs of, The noble house o'the Marcians ; from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king : Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our best water brought by conduits hither: And Censorinus, darling of the people, And nobly nam'd 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 he's your fixed enemy, and revoke Your sudden 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, Repa?r to the Capitol. Cit. We will so : almost all iSeveral speak. Repent in their election. lExeunt 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 onward. \_Exeunt ACT III. SCENE I.— The same. A Street. Cornels. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians. Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which Our swifter composition. [caus'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 worn, lord consul, so, That we shall hardly in our ages see Their banners wave again. Cor. Saw you Aufidius ? Lart. On safe-guard he ' ame to me ; and did curse SCENE I. CORIOLANUS. 660 Against the Voices, for they had so vilely Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Antium. Cor. Spoke he of me ? Lart. He did, my lord. Cor. How ? what ? Lart. How often he had met you sword to sword : That, of all things, upon the earth, he hated Your person most : that he would pawn his for- To hopeless restitution, so he might [tunes 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 fully. — Welcome home. [To Lartius. Enter Sicinius and Brutus. Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people, The tongues o'the common mouth. I do despise them ; For they do prank them in authority, Against all noble sufferance. Sic. Pass no further. Cor. Ha ! what is that ? Bru. It will be dangerous to Go on : no further. Cor. What makes this change ? Men. The matter? Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the Bru. Cominius, no. [commons ? Cor. Have I had children's voices ? 1 Sen. Tribunes, give way; he shall to the mar- ket-place. Bru. The people are incens'd against him. Sic. Stop, Or all will fall in broil. Cor. Are these your herd ? — Must these have voices, that can yield them now, And straight disclaim their tongues ? — What are your offices : You being their mouths, why rule you not their Have you not set them on ? [teeth ? Men. Be calm, be calm. Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, To curb the will of the nobility : Suffer 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, When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd ; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people ; call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. Cor. Why, this was known before. Bru. Not to them all. Cor. Have you inform'd them since ? Bru. How ! I inform them ! Cor. You are like to do such business. Bru. Not unlike, Each way to better yours. Cor. Why then should I be consul ? By yon clouds, Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me Your fellow tribune. Sic. You show too much of that, For which the people 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 never be so noble as a consul, Nor yoke with him for tribune. Men. Let's be calm. Com. The people are abus'd: — Set on. — This p alt 'ring Becomes not Rome ; nor has Coriolanus Deserv'd this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the plain way of his merit Cor. Tell me of corn ! This was my speech, and I will speak't it again ; — Men. Not now, not now. 1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. Cor. Now as I live, I wili. — My nobler friends I crave their pardons : — For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them Regard me as I do not flatter, and Therein behold themselves : I say again, In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd number ; Who lack not virtue, no, nor. power, but that Which they have given to beggars. Men. Well, no more. 1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you. Cor. How! nomoie? As for my country I have shed my blood, Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs Coin 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 you were a god to punish, not A man of their infirmity. Sic. 'Twere well, We let the people know't Men. Cor. Choler! Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, By Jove, 'twould be my mind. Sic. It is a mind, That shall remain a poison where it is, Not poison any further. Cor. Shall remain ! — H »ar you this Triton of the minnows ? mark you His absolute shall? Com. 'Twas from the canon. Cor. Shall t O good, but most unwise patricians, why, You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus Given Hydra here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory shall, being but The horn and noise o'the monsters, wants not 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, When both your voices blended, the greatest taste Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate; And such a one as he, who puts his shall, His popular shall, against a graver bench Than ever frown'd in Greece ! By Jove himself, It makes the consuls base : and my soul akes, 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. 070 CORIOLANUS. Cor. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth The corn o'the store-house gratis, as 'twas us'd Sometime in Greece, Men. Well, well, no more of that. Cor. (Though there the people had more absolute power,) I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed The ruin of the state. Bru. Why, shall the people give One, that speaks thus, their voice ? Cor. I'll give my reasons, More worthier than their voices. They know, the corn I Was not our recompense ; resting well assur'd They ne'er did service for't: Beingpress'dto thewar, i Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates : this kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis : being i' the war, Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them : The accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the native Of our so frank donation. Well, what then ? How shall this bosom multiplied digest The senate's courtesy ? Let deeds express What's like to be their words: — We did request it ; We are the greater poll, and in true fear They gave us our demands : — Tims we debase The nature of our seats, and make the rabble Call our cares, fears : which will in time break ope The locks o'the senate, and bring in the crows To peck the eagles. — Men. Come, enough. Bru. Enough, with over-measure. Cor. No, take more : What may be sworn by, both divine and human, Seal what I end withal ! — This double worship, — Where one part does disdain with cause, the other Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no Of general ignorance, — it must omit Real necessities, and give way the while To unstable slightness : purpose sobarr'd, it follows, Nothing is done to purpose : Therefore, beseech you,— You that will be less fearful than discreet ; That love the fundamental part of state, More than you doubt the change oft ; that prefer A noble Jife before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That's sure of death without it, — at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick The sweet which is their poison : your dishonour Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state Of that integrity which should become it ; Not having 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'erwhelm 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 is meet, be said, it must be meet, And throw their power i' the dust v Bru. Manifest treason. Sic. This a consul ? no. Bru. The JEdiles, 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, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. Cor. Hence, old goat ! Sen. $ Pat. We'll surety him. Com. Aged sir, hands off. Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy Out of thy garments. [bones Sic. Help, ye citizens. Re-enter Brutus, with the JEdiles, and a rabble o/Citizens. Men. On both sides more respect. Sic. Here's he, that would Take from you all your power. Bru. Seize him, ^Ediles. Cit. Down with him, down with him ! [.Several speak. 2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons ! [They all bustle about Coriolanus. Tribunes, patricians, citizens! — what ho ! — Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens ! Cit. Peace, peace, 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 people, — Coriolanus, patience : — 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 : Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, Whom late you have nam'd for consul. Men. Fye, fye, fye ! 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 ? Cit. True, The people are the city. Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Cit. You so remain. Men. And so are like to do. Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat ; To bring the roof to the foundation ; And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin. Sic. This deserves death. Bru. Or let us stand to our authority, Or let us lose it : — We do here pronounce, Upon the part o'the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him ; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. Bru. jEdiles, seize him. Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. Men. Hear me one word. Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. JEdi. Peace, peace. Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately proceed to what you would Thus violently redress. Bru. Sir, those cold ways, That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous Where the disease is violent: — Lay hands upon And bear him to the rock. [him COIUOLANUS. C71 Cor. No ; I'll die here. [Drawing his sword. There's some among you have beheld me fighting ; Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. Men. Down with that sword ; — Tribunes, with- draw a while. Bru. Lay hands upon him. Men. Help, help, Marcius ! help, You that be noble : help him, young, and old ! Cit. Down with him, down with him ! [In this mutiny the Tribunes, the .Sldiles, and the people, are all beat in. Men. Go, get you to your house ; begone, away, All will be naught else. 2 Sen. Get you gone. Cor. Stand fast ; We have as many friends as enemies. Men. Shall it be put to that ? 1 Sen. The gods forbid! I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house ; Leave us to cure this cause. Men. F° r 'tis a sore upon us, You cannot tent yourself : Begone, 'beseech you. Com. Come, sir, along with us. Cor. I would they were barbarians, (as they are, Though in Rome litter'd,) not Romans, (as they are not, Though calv'd i' the porch o'the Capitol,)— Men. Be gone ; 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 two tribunes. Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic ; And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric. — Will 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 must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. Com. Nay, come away. * [Exeunt Coiuolanus, Cominius, and others. 1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. Men. His nature is too noble for the world : He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for his 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 noise within. Here's goodly work I 2 Pat. I would they were a -bed ! Men. I would they were in Tyber ! — What, the vengeance, Could he not speak them fair ? Re-enter Brutus and Si3iNius, with the rabble. Sic. Where is this viper, That would depopulate the city, and Be every man himself? Men. You worthy tribunes, Sic. He shall be thrown down 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. He shall well know, The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Cit. He shall, sure on 1 t. [Several speak together. Men. Sir, — Sic. Peace. Men. Do not cry, havoc, where you should but With modest warrant. [hun* Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you Have holp to make this rescue ? Men. Hear me sp*eak : — As I do know the consul's worthiness, So can I name his faults : Sic. Consul ! — what consul ? Men. The consul Coriolanus. Bru . He a consul ! Cit. No, no, no, no, no. Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, 1 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 viperous traitor ; to eject him hence, Were but one danger ; and, to keep him here, Our certain death ; therefore it is decreed, He dies to-night. Men. Now the good gods forbid, That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should 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 off ; to cure it, easy. What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death ? Ki'lling our enemies ? The blood he hath lost, (Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country ; And, 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 what before it was ? Bru. We'll hear no more : — Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ; Lest his infection, being of catching nature, Spread further. Men. One word more, one word. This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late, Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by process ; Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out, And sack great Rome with Romans. Bru. If it were so,< — Sic. What do ye talk ? Have we not had a taste of his obedience? Our sediles smote ? ourselves resisted ? — Come : — Men. Consider this ; — He has been bred i' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd In boulted language ; meal and bran together 672 CORIOLANUS. He throws without distinction. Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, (In peace) to his utmost peril. 1 Sen. Noble tribunes, It is the humane way : the other course Will prove too bloody ; and the end of it Unknown to the beginning. Sic. Noble Menenius, 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 me desire your company. [To the Senators. He must come, Or what is worst will follow. 1 Sen. Pray you, let's to him. [ Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Room in Coriolanus's House. Enter Cokiolanijs and Patricians. Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears ; pre- sent 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 VoLUMNrA. 1 Pal. You do the nobler. Cor. I muse, my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats ; to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace, or war. I talk of you ; [To Volumnia. Why did you wish me milder ? Would you have me False to my nature ? Rather say, I play The man 1 am. Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out. 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 show'd them how you wer,e dispos'd Ere they lack'd power to cross you. Cor. Let them hang. Vol. Ay, and burn too. Enter Mknbniits 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 the herd, but that The violent fit o'the time craves it as physic For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, Which I can scarcely bear. Cor. What must I do ? Men. Return to the tribunes. Cor. Well, What then ? what then ? Men. Repent what you have spoke. Cor. For them ? — I cannot do it to the gods ; Must I then do't to them ? Vol. You are too absolute ; Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, Honour and policy, like unsever'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. Cor. 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 ui like request ? Cor. Why force you this ? Vol. Because that now it lies on you 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. — 1 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 you will rather show our general lowts How you can frown, that spend a fawn upon them, For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard Of what that want might ruin. Men. Noble lady ! — Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve eo, Not what is 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 stretched it, (here be with them, Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears,) waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, Now humble, as the ripest mulberry, That will not hold the handling : Or, say to them Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils, Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess, Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame 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 fre* As words to little purpose. SCENE III. CORIOLANUS. 673 Vol. Pr'ythee now Go, and be rul'd : although, I know, thou had'st Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf, [rather Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. Enter Cominius. Com. I have been i' the market-place : and, sir, 'tis fit You 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'ythee, now, say, you will, and go about it. Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce ? Must I, With my base tongue, give to my noble heart 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 should grind it, And throw it against the wind. — To the market- place : — You have put me now to such a part, which never I shall discharge to the life. Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you. Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son ; as thou hast said, 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 I 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 up The glasses of my sight ! A beggar's tongue Make motion through my lips ; and my arm'd knees, Who bow'd but in my stirrop, bend like his That hath receiv'd an alms ! — I 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 dishonour, Than thou of them. Come all to ruin ; let Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear Thy dangerous stoutness ; for I mock at death With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from But owe thy pride thyself. [me ; 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 home belov'd Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going : Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul ; Or never trust to what my tongue can do x* the way of flattery, further. Vol. Do your will. lExit. Com. Away, the tribunes do attend you : arm yourself To answer mildly ; for they are prepar'd With accusations, as l hear, more strong Than are upon you yet. Cor. The word is, mildly :— Pray you, let us go : Let them accuse me by invention, I Will answer in mine honour. Men. 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 home, that he affects Tyrannical power : If he evade us there, Enforce him with his envy to the people ; And that the spoil, got on the Antiates, Was ne'er distributed. — Enter an JEdtte. What, will he come ? JEd. He's coming. Bru. How accompanied ? JEd. With old Menenius, and those senators That always favour' d him. Sic. Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procur'd, Set down by the poll ? JEd. I have ; 'tis ready, here. Sic. Have you collected them by tribes ? JEd. I have. Sic. Assemble presently the people hither : And when they hear me say, It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the commons, be it either For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them, If I say, fine, cry fine; if death, cry death; Insisting on the old prerogative And power i'the truth o'the cause. JEd. I shall inform them. Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry, Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd Enforce the present execution Of what we chance to sentence JEd. Very well. Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, When we shall hap to give't them. Bru. Go about it. — [Exit .^Edile. Put him to choler straight : He hath been us'd Ever to conquer, and to have his worth Of contradiction : Being once chaf d, he cannot Be rein' d again to temperance: then he speaks What's in his heart : and that is there, which looks With us to break his neck. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Senators, and Patricians. Sic. Well, here he comes. Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. — The honour'd gods Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among us ! Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, And not our streets with war 1 1 Sen. Amen, amen I Men. A noble wish. Re-enter ^dile, with Citizens. Sic. Draw near, ye people. JEd. List to your tribunes ; audience : Peace, I Cor. First, hear me speak. [say. Both Tri. Well, say. — Peace, ho. Cor. Shall I be charg'd no further than this Must all determine here ? ' [present ? Sic. I do demand, If you submit you to the people's voices, XX 674 COMOLANUS. Allow their officers, and are content To suffer lawful censure for such faults As shall be prov'd upon you ? Cor. I am content. Men. Lo, citizens, he says, he is content : The warlike service he has done, consider ; Think on the wounds his body bears, which show Like graves i'the holy churchyard. Cor. Scratches with briars, Scars to move laughter only. Men. Consider further, That when he speaks not like a citizen, You find him like a soldier : Do not take His rougher accents for malicious sounds, But, as I say, such as become a soldier, Rather than envy you. Com. Well, well, no more. Cor. What is the matter, That being pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd, that the very hour You take it off again ? Sic. Answer to us. Cor. Say then : 'tis true, I ought so. Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to take From Rome all season'd office, and to wind Yourself into a power tyrannical ; For which you are a traitor to the people. Cor. Howl Traitor? Men. Nay ; temperately : Your promise. Cor. The fires i'the lowest hell fold in the people ! Call me their traitor 1 — Thou injurious tribune I Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free As 1 do pray the gods. Sic. Mark you this, people ? Cit. To the rock with him ; to the rock with him 1 Sic. Peace. We need not put new matter to his charge : 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 this, 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 service ? Bru. I talk of that, that know it. Cor. You? Men. Is this The promise that you made your mother ? Com. Know, 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 have'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 of precipitation From off the rock Tarpeian, never more To enter our Rome gates : I'the people's name, I say, it shall be so. Cit. It shall be so, It shall be so ; let him away : he's banish'd, And so it shall be. Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common friends ; Sic. He's sentenc'd ; no more hearing. Com. Let me speak: I have been consul, and can show from Rome, Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love My country's good, with a respect more tender, More holy and profound, than mine own life, My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, And treasure 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 is 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 hate As reek o'the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses 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 plumes, Fan you 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, (Still your own foes,) deliver 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 world elsewhere. lExeunt Coriolanus, Comjotcs, MENiNnrs, Senators, and Patricians JEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! Cit. Our enemy's banish'd ! he is gone ! Hoo ! hoo! [The people shout, and throw up their caps. Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him, As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ; Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard Attend us through the city. Cit. Come, come, let us see him out at gates ; come : — The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! — Come. [Exeunt. SCENE II. CORIOLANUS. 675 ACT IV. SCENE I The same. Before a Gate of the City. Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, M kneniub, Cominics, and several young Patricians. Cor. Come, leave your tears ; a brief farewell : — the beast With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother, Where is your ancient courage ? you were us'd To say, extremity was the trier of spirits ; That common chances common men could bear ; That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike Show'd 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, — Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in And occupations perish ! [Rome, Cor. What, what, what 1 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 not ; adieu : — Farewell, my wife ! my mother ! I'll do well yet Thou old and true Menenius, Thy tears 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 Believe'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. Vol. My first son, Whither wilt thou go ? Take good Cominius With thee a while : Determine on some course, More than a wild exposture 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 shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us, And we of thee : 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 lose 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 the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one That's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate. — Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and My friends of noble touch, when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. While I remain above the ground, you shall Hear from me still ; and never of me aught But what is like me formerly. Men. That's worthily As any ear can hear. — Come, let's not weep. — If I could shake off but one seven years From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, I'd with thee every foot. Cor. Give me thy hand. Come. [.Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. A Street near the Gate. Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an JEdile. Sic. Bid them all home ; he's gone, and we'll no further. — The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided In his behalf. Bru. Now we have shown our power, Let us seem humbler after it is done, Than 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 JEdile Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and 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. Vol. O, you're well met : The hoarded plague o'the gods Requite your love ! Men. Peace, peace ; be not so loud. Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should hear, — Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone ? [To Brutus. Vir. You shall stay too : [TV) 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 for Rome, Than thou hast spoken words ? Sic. O blessed heavens ! Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words ; And for Rpme's good. — I'll tell thee what ; — Yet go: Nay, but thou shalt stay too : — I 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 ! 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. X X 2 676 CORIOLANUS. Vol. I would he had ! 'Tvvas you incens'd the rabble : Cats, that can ju Ige 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 : You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this ; As far as doth the Capitol exceed The meanest house in Rome : so far, my son, (This lady's husband here, this, 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 baited With one that wants her wits ? Vol. Take my prayers with you I would the gods had nothing else to do, [Exeunt Tribunes. 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, And so shall starve with feeding. — Come, let's go : Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. Men. Fye, fye, fye ! [Exeunt. SCENE III. — A Highway between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman and a Voice, meeting. Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me : your name, I think, is Adrian. Vol. It is so, sir : truly, I have forgot you. Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are, as you are, against them : Know you me yet ? Vol. Nicanor ? No. Rom. The same, sir. Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you ; but your favour is well appeared by your tongue. What's the news in Rome ? I have a note from the Yolscian state, to find you out there : You have well saved me a day's journey. Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insur- rection : the people against the senators, patricians, and nobles. Vol. Hath been ! Is it ended then ? Our state thinks not so ; they are in a most warlike prepa- ration, 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 Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness, to take all 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 out. Vol. Coriolanus banished ? Rom. Banished, sir. Vol. You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said, The fittest time to corrupt a man's wife, is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country. Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, thus accidentally to encounter you : You have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home. Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you most strange things from Rome ; all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, say you ? Vol. A most royal one : the centurions, and their charges, distinctly billeted, already in the enter- tainment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. Rom. I am 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 glad of your company. Vol. You take my part from me, sir ; I have the most cause to be glad of yours. Rom. Well, let us go together [Exeunt. SCENE IV. — Antium. Before Aufidius's House. Enter Coriolanus, 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 with spits, and boys with stones Enter a Citizen. In puny battle slay me. — Save you, sir. Cit. And you. Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, Where great Aufidius lies : Is he in Antium ? Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state, At his house this night. Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you ? Cit. This, here, before you. Cor. Thank you, sir : farewell. [Exit Citizen. O, world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose nouns, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love Unseparable, shall within this hour, On a dissention of a doit, break out To bitterest enmity : So, fellest foes, Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick not worth an tgg, shall grow dear friends, And interjoin their issues. So with me : — My birth-place hate I. and my love's upon This 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 Aufidius's House. Music within. Enter a Servant. 1 Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is here ! I think our fellows are asleep. [Ex't SCENE V. CORIOLANUS. 677 Enter another Servant. 2 Serv. Where's Cotus ! my master calls for him. Cotus ! {Exit. Enter Cobiolanus. Cor. A goodly house : The feast smells well : but 1 Appear not like a guest. Re-enter the first Servant. 1 Serv. What would you have, friend ? Whence are you ? Here's no place for you : Pray, go to the door. Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment, In being Coriolanus. Re-enter second Servant. 2 Serv. Whence are you, sir ? Has the porter his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such companions ? Pray, get you out. Cor. Away ! 2 Serv. Away ? Get you away. Cor. Now thou art troublesome. 2 Serv. Are you so brave ? I'll have you talked with anon. Entet a third Servant. 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. Cor. Let me but stand ; I will not hurt your 3 Serv. What are you ? [hearth. 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. [Exit. 3 Serv. Where dwellest thou ? Cor. Under the canopy. 3 Serv. Under the canopy ? Cor. Ay. 3 Serv. Where's that ? Cor. I' the city of kites and crows. 3 Serv. V the city of kites and crows ? — What an ass it is ! — Then thou dwellest with daws too ? Cor. No, I serve not thy master. 3 Serv. How, sir ! Do you meddle with my master ? Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress : Thou prat'st, and prat'st ; serve with thy trencher, hence ! [Beats him away. Enter Aitfidius and the second Servant. Auf. Where is this fellow? 2 Serv. Here, sir ; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Auf. Whence comest thou ? what wouldest thou ? Thy name !. Why speak'st not ? Speak, man ; What's thy name ? Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmuffling. Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself. A uf. What is thy name ? [Servants retire Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscian's ears, And harsh in sound to thine. Auf. Say, what's thy name ? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face Bears a command in't ; though thy tackle's torn, Thou show'st a noble vessel : 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 Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly, and to all the Voices, Great hurt and mischief ; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus : The painful service, The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country, are requited But with that surname ; a good memory, And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou shouldst bear me : only that name The cruelty and envy of the people, [remains ; Permitted by our dastard nobles, who Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest ; And suffered me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity Hath brought me to thy hearth ; Not out of hope, Mistake me 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, To be full quit of those my banishers, Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims 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 under fiends. But if so be Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am Longer to live most weary, and present My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice : Which not to cut, would thee show but a fool ; Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, And cannot live but to thy shame, unless It be to do thee service. t 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 splinters ! Here I clip The anvil of my sword ; and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love, As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married ; never man Sighed 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 tel] the©, We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose 678 CORIOLANUS. ACT IV. Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, Or lose mine arm for't : Thou hast beat me out Twelve several times, and I have nightly since Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me : We have been down together in my sleep, Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius, 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 me, Who am prepar'd against your territories, Though not for Rome itself. Cor. You bless me, gods ! Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt The leading of thine own revenges, take [have The one half of my commission ; 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 Rome, 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 1 And more a friend than e'er an enemy ; Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hani ! Most welcome ? [Exeunt Comolanus and Auffdius 1 Serv. [Advancing.'] Here's a strange alter- ation ! 2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to havt 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 ! He turned me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top. 2 Serv. Nay, I 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, 'Would 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 Se*v. I think, he is : but a greater soldier than he, you wot one. 2 Serv. Who ? my master ? 1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that. 2 Serv. Worth six of him. 1 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 is excellent. 1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. Re-mter third Servant. 3 Serv. O, slaves, I can teh you news ; news, you rascals. 1 . 2 Serv. What, what, what ? let's partake. 3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all nations ; I had as lieve be a condemned man. 1 . 2 Serv. Wherefore ? wherefore ? 3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, — Caius Marcius. 1 Swv. Why do you say, thwack our general ? 3 Serv. I do not say thwack our general ; but he was always good enough for him. 2 Serv. Come, we are fellows, and friends : he was ever too hard for him j I have heard him say so himself. 1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say the truth on't : before Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbonado. 2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled and eaten him too. 1 Serv. But, more of thy news ? 3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars : set at upper end o'the table : no question asked him by any of the senators, but they stand bald before him : Our general himself makes a mistess of him ; sanctifies himself with's hand, and turns up the white o'the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our general 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 sowle the porter of Rome gates by the ears : He will mow down all before him, 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,) show 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. 1 Serv. But when goes this forward ? 3 Serv. To-morrow ; to-day ; presently. You shall have the drum struck up this afternoon : 'tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. 2 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace, as far as day does night ; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy ; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensi- ble ; a getter of more bastard children, than wars a destroyer of men. 2 Serv. 'Tis so : and as wars, 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 see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising. All. In, in, in, in. [Exeunt SCENE VI Rome. A public Place. Enter Sicwius and Brutus. Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear His remedies are tame i'the present peace [him ; 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 SCENE VI. CORIOLANUS. 679 Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going About their functions friendly. Enter Menenius. Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius ? 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 friends: the common-wealth doth stand; And so would do, were he more angry at i*:. Men. All's well; and might have been much He could have temporiz'd. [better if Sic. Where is he, hear yon ? Men. Nay, I hear nothing ; his mother and his Hear nothing from him. [wife Enter three or four Citizens. Cit. The gods preserve you both ! Sic. Good-e'en, our neighbours. Bru. Good e'en to you all, good e'en to you all. 1 Cil. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our Are bound to pray for you both. [knees, Sic. Live, and thrive ! Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours : We wish'd Coriolanus Had lov'd you as we did. Cit. Now the gods keep you ! Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. Sic. This is a happier, and more comely time, Than when these fellows ran about the streets, Crying, Confusion. Bru. Cains Marcius was A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, O'ercome 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 JEdile. JEd. Worthy tribunes, There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, Reports, — the Voices with two several 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 ; Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. Sic. Come, what talk you Of Marcius ? Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. — It cannot The Voices dare break with us. [be, Men. Cannot be I We have record, that very well 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 shall chance to whip your information, And beat the messenger who bids beware Of what 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, Mere fearful, is deliver'd. Sic. What more fearful ? Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths, (How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius, Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome ; 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 wish Good Marcius home again. Sic. The very trick on't. Men. This is unlikely : He and Aufidius can no more atone, Than violentest contrariety. Enter another Messenger. Mess. You are sent for to the senate ; A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories ; and have already, O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took What lay before them. Enter Cominius. Com. O, you have made good work ! Men. What news ? what news ? Com. You have holp to ravish your own daugh- ters, and To melt the city leads upon your pates ; To see your wives dishonour' d to your noses ; Men. What's the news ? what's the news ? Com. Your temples burned in their cement ; and Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd Into an auger's bore. Men. Pray now, your news ? — You have made fair work, I fear me : — Pray, your news ? If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians, 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, Against us brats, with no less confidence, Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, Or butchers killing flies. Men. You have made good work, You, and your apron men ; you that stood so much Upon the voice of occupation, and The breath of garlic-eaters 1 Com. He will shake Your Rome about your 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 Before you find it other. All the regions Do smilingly revolt ; and, who resist, Are only mocVd for valiant ignorance, 680 CORIOLAJSTUS. And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him ? Your enemies, and his, find something in 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 Borne, they charg'd him even As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, And therein show'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 So incapable of help. Tri. Say not, we brought it. Men. How ! Was it we ? We lov'd him ; but, like beasts, And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters, Who did hoot him 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 Is all the policy, strength, and defence, That Rome can make against them. Enter a Troop of Citizens. Men. Here comes the clusters. — ■ And is Aufidius with him ? — You are they That made the air unwholesome, when you cast Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming ; And not a hair upon a soldier's head, Which will not prove a whip ; as many coxcombs, 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 own part, When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 2 Cit. 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 for the best ; and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will. Com. You are goodly things, you voices ! Men. You have made Good work, you and your cry 1 — Shall us to the Com. O, aye ; what else ? [Capitol ? \_Exeunt Com. and Men. Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd. These are a side, that would be glad to have This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. 1 Cit. The gods be good to us 1 Come, masters, let's home. I ever said, we were i' the wrong, when we banished him. 2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home. [Exeunt Citizens. Bru. I do not like this news. Sic. Nor I. Bru. Let's to the Capifol : — 'Would, half my Would buy this for a lie ! [wealth Sic. P ra y, let us go. [Exeunt. ♦ SCENE VII.— A Camp ; at a small distance from Rome. Enter Aufidius, and his Lieutenant. Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman ? Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft' sin him; but Your 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 person, than I thought he would, 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, (I mean, for your particular,) you had not Join'd in commission 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 shows good husbandry for the Volscian state ; Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword : yet he hath left undone That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome ? 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 to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature. First he was A noble servant to them ; but he could not Carry his honours even : whether 'twas pride, Which out of daily fortune ever taints The happy man ; whether defect of judgment, To fail in the disposing of those chances Which he was lord of; or whether nature, Not to be other than one thing, not moving From the casque to the cushion, but commanding Even with the same austerity and garb Tpeace As he controll'd the war ; but, one of these, (As 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 fire 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. r EjeevnU CORIOLANUS. 681 ACT V. SCENE I.— ROME. A pullic Place. Enter Menenius, 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'll keep at home. Com. He would not seem to know me. Men. Do you hear ? Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name : I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops That 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 royal 'twas to pardon When it was less expected : He replied, It was a bare petition of a state- To one whom they bad punish'd. Men. Very well ; Could he say less ? Com. I offer'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 musty chaff: He said, 'twas folly, For one poor gi-ain or two, to leave unburnt, And still to nose the offence. 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 you. Sic. Nay, pray be patient : If you refuse your In this so never-heeded help, yet do not [aid Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue More than the instant army 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 ; what then ? — But as a discontented friend, grief-shot With his unkindness ? Say't be so ? Sic. Yet your good will Must have that thanks from Rome, after the mea- As you intended well. [sure Men. I'll 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 cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive ; but when we have stuff'd These pipes, and these conveyances 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, [him 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 ere 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 Volscian Camp before Rome. The Guard 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, by I am an officer of state, and come [your leave To speak with Coriolanus. 1 G. From whence? Men. From Rome. 1 G. You may not pass, you must return : our Will no more hear from thence. [general 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. 1 G. Be it so ; go back : the 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 have read His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified ; For I have ever verified my friends, (Of whom he's chief,) with all the size that verity Would without lapsing suffer : nay, sometimes, Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, I have tumbled past the throw ; and in his praise Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing : therefore, fel- 1 must have leave to pass. [low, I G. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf, as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here : no, though it were as virtuous to He, as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general. 682 CORIOLANUS. 2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, (as you say, you have,) I am one that, telling true under him, "must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell ? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. 1 G. You are a Roman, are you ? Men. I am as thy general is. 1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to be ? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as this ? No, you are de- ceived ; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation. 2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. Men. I mean, thy general. 1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I sa y » 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 can- not office me from my son Coriolanus : guess, but by my entertainment with him, if thou stand'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 about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does ! O, my son ! my son ! thou art preparing fire for us ; look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee : but, being assured, none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs : and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here ; this, who like a block, hath de- nied my access to thee. Cor. Awayl Men. How ! away ? Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs Are servanted to others : Though I owe My revenge properly, my remission lies In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, Ingrate 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 this 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 beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st Auf. You keep a constant temper. [Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufid. *. 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, Away ! [Exit. 1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 2 G. The worthy fellow is our general : He is the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— The Tent of Coriolanus. Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and others. Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow Set down our host. — My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian 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 friends That thought them sure of you. Cor. This last old man, Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, Loved me 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 show'd sourly to him,) once more offer'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 ear to. — Ha 1 what shout is this ? [Shout within. Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made ? I will not.— Enter, in mourning habits, Virgilia, Volumnia, leading young Marcius, Valeria, and Attendants. My wife comes foremost ; then the honoured mould Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection ! All bond and privilege of nature, break I Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — What is that curt'sy worth, or those doves' eyes, Which can make gods forsworn ?— I melt, and am not Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows ; As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod : and my young boy Hath an aspect of intercession, which Great nature cries, Deny not. — Let the Voices Plough Rome, and harrow Italy : I'll never 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 chang'd Makes vou think so. SCENE III. CORIOLANUS. 683 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. — 0, 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 ; [Kneels. Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. Vol. O, stand up bless' d I Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, I kneel before thee; and unproperly Show duty, as mistaken all the while Between the child and parent. IKneels. Cor. What is this ? Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ? Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ; Murd'ring impossibility, to make What cannot be, slight work. Vol. Thou art my warrior ; I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady ? Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle, That's curded by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple : Dear Valeria ! Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by the interpretation of full time, May show like all yourself. Cor. The god of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with nobleness ; that thou may'st prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars, Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee 1 Vol. Your knee, sirrah. Cor. That's my brave boy. Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. Cor. 1 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 my soldiers, or capitulate Again with Rome's mechanics : — Tell me not Wherein 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 grant 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 raiment And state of bodies would bewray what life We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself, How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither : since that thy sight, which should Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts Constrains 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's bowtls out. And to poor we, Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us Our prayers to the gods, which is a comforfi That all but we enjoy : For how can we, Alas ! how can we for our country pray, Whereto we are bound ; together with thy victory. Whereto we are bound % Alack ! 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 wife and children's blood. For myself, son, I purpose not to wait on fortune, till These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner March to assault thy country, than to tread (Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's That brought thee to this world. [womb, Vir. Ay, and on mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time. Boy. He shall not tread on me ; I'll run 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 were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Voices whom you serve, you might condemn us, As poisonous of your honour : No ; our suit Is, that you reconcile them : while the Voices May say, This mercy we have showed; the Romans, This we received; and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bless 'd For making up this peace I Thou know'st, great son, The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain, That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name, Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ; Whose chronicle thus writ, — The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wip'd it out ; Destroy' d his country ; and his name remains. To the ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son; 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 ? — Daughter, 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 the world More bound to his mother ; yet here he lets me prate, Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 684 CORIOLANUS. Show'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 mother's part belongs. — He turns away : Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. To 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 us : This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. — Come, let us go : This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ; His wife is in Corioli, and his child Like him by chance : — Yet give us our despatch : 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, silent. What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O I You have won a happy victory to Rome : But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But, let it come ; — Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius ? Auf. I was mov'd withal. Cor. I dare be sworn, you were : And, sir, it is no little thing, to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you'll make, advise me : for my part, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you ; and pray you, Stand to me in this cause. — O mother ! wife ! Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour At difference in thee : out of that I'll work Myself a former fortune. ZAside. [The Ladies make signs to Coriolanus. Cor. Ay, by and by ; [To Volumnia, Virgilia, 8fC. But we will drink together ; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve To have a temple built you : all the swords In Italy, and her confederate arms, Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt. SCENE I V.— Rome. A public Place. Enter Mbnenius and Sicinius. Men. See you yond coign o'the Capitol ; yond corner-stone ? Sic. Why, what of that ? Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in't ; our throats are sentenced, and stay upon execution. • Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the condition of a man ? Men. There is differency between a grub, and a butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon : he has wings ; he'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, than an eight year old horse. The tartness of 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. What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god, but eternity, and a heaven to throne in. Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him : There is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male tiger ; that shall our poor city find : and all this is 'long of you. Sic. The gods be good unto us ! Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them : and, he returning 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 him 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 ladies have prevail'd, The Voices are dislodg'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 : Where 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 hautboys sounded, and drums beaten, all together. Shouting also within. The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors, 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 Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, A city full; of tribunes, such as you, A sea and land full : You have pray'd well to-day: This morning, for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy ! [Shouting and music. Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings : Accept my thankfulness. [next, Mess. Sir, we have all Great cause to give great thanks. Sic. • They are near the city Mess. Almost at point to enter. Sic. We will meet them, And help the joy. Woing CORIOLANUS. 685 Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patricians, and People. They pass over the Stage. 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome : Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, And make triumphant fires ; strew flowers before Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, [them : Repeal him with the welcome of his mother ; Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! — All. Welcome, ladies ! Welcome ! [A flourish with drums and trumpets. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— Antium. A public Place. Enter Tullus 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' ears, 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 q/" Aufidius' faction. 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 you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you Of your great danger. Auf. . Sir, I cannot tell ; We must proceed, as we do find the people. 3 Con. The people wiU remain uncertain, whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; 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 pawn'd Mine honour for his truth : Who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends : and, to this end, He 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 he 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 designments 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'd For no less spoil than glory, Auf. There was it ; — For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 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, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark ! [Brums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people. 1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home ; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise. 2 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 move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword. Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury His reasons with his body. Auf. Say no more ; Here come the lords. Enter the Lords of the city. Lords. You are most welcome home. Auf. I have not deserv'd it; But, worthy lords, have you with heed penis' d What I have written to you ? Lords. We have. 1 Lord. And grieve to hear it. What faults he made before the last, I think, Might have found easy fines : but there to end, Where he was to begin, and give away The 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 Coriolanus, with drums and colours ,• a crowd 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 prosperously I 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 patriciafts, Together with the seal o'the senate, what We have compounded on. Auf. Read it not, noble 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 I'll 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 whin'd and roar'd away your victory ; That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart Look'd wondering each at other. 686 CORIOLANUS. ACT V Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars ? Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, — Cor. Ha ! Auf. No more. Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 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 impress'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. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Voices ; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me.— Boy ! False hound 1 If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter' d your Voices in Corioli : Alone I did it. — Boy ! Auf. Why, noble lords, Will you 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 daughter ; — 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. His last offence to us Shall have judicious hearing. — Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace. Cor. O, that I had him. With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword Auf. Insolent villain ! Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kiU him. [Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill Cori- olanus, who/alls, and Aufidius 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 upon him.— Masters all, be Put up your swords. [quiet ; Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage, 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 blame. Let'9 make the best of it. Auf. My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him up : — 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 unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. — Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body q/'Coriolanvs A Friends of Tommy. Varrius, j Taurus, Lieutenant-General to Cesar. Canidius, Lieutenant-General to Antony. Silius, an Officer in Ventidius's Army. Euphronius, an Ambassador from Antony to C&*&*- Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Diomedbs j Attend ants on Cleopatra. A Soothsayer. A Clown. Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt Octavia, Sister to Cesar, and Wife to Antony. Charmian and Iras, Attendants on Cleopatra. Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. SCENE, — Dispersed ; in several parts of the Roman Empire. ACT I. SCENE I. — Alexandria. A Room in Cleo- patra's Palace. Enter Demetrius and Philo. Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's O'erfiWs the measure : those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper ; 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,- Eunuchs fanning her. Take but good note, and you shall see in him The triple pillar of the world transform'd Into 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 reckon' d. Cleo. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd. Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant. Att. News, my good lord, from Rome. Ant. Grates me : — The sum. Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony : Fulvia, perchance, is angry ; Or, who knows If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or thi* ,• Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that ; Perform' t, or else we damn thee. Ant. How, my love 1 Cleo. Perchance, — nay, and .most like, You must not stay here longer, your dismission Is come from Caesar ; therefore hear it, Antony. — Where's Fulvia's process ? Caesar's, I would say? — Both ?— Call in the messengers. — As I am Egypt's queen, Thou blushest, Antony ; and that blood of thine Is Caesar's homager : else so thy cheek pays shame, When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. — The mes- sengers. Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt ! and the wide arch Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space ; Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth 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, I bind On pain of punishment, 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 Will be himself. Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. — Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, Let's not confound the time with conference harsh : There's not a minute of our lives should stretch Without some pleasure now : What sport to-night : Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. Ant. Fye, wrangling queen 1 Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh, To weep ; whose every passion fully strives To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd I No messenger ; but thine and all alone, [note To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and 10 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. ACT The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; Last night you did desire it : — Speak not to us. [Exeunt Ant. and Cleop. with their Train. Bern. Is Csesar with Antonius 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 nope Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Another Room. Enter Charsuan, Iras, Alexas, and a Soothsayer. Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew this husband, which, you say, must change his horns with garlands ! Alex. Soothsayer. Sooth. Your will? Char. Is this the man? — Is'tyou, sir, that know things ? Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy, A little I can read. Alex. Show him your hand. Enter Enobarbus. Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly ; wine enough, Cleopatra's health to drink. Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. Sooth. I make not, but foresee. Char. Pray then, foresee me one. Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. Char. He means, in flesh. Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. Char. Wrinkles forbid ! Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. Char. Hush! Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than beloved. Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. Alex. Nay, hear him. Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let me be married to three kings in a^forenoon, and widow them all : let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage : find me to marry me with Octavius Csesar, and companion me with my mistress. Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. Char. O excellent ! I love long life better than figs. Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former Than that which is to approach. [fortune Char. Then, belike my children shall have no names : Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must I 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. We'll know all our fortunes. Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be — drunk to bed. Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else. Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine. Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot sooth- say. Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Pr'ythee, tell her but a worky-day fortune. Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. Iras. But how, but how ? give me particulars. Sooth. I have said. Iras; Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? Char. Well, if you were but an inch of 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 ! 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, I beseech thee ! Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people ! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded : Therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum, 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 Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony. Char. Not he, the queen. Enter Clkopatra. Cleo. Saw you my lord ? Eno. No, lady. Cleo. Was he not here ? Char. No, madam. Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus, — Eno. Madam. Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. W T here's Alexas ? Alex. Here, madam, at your service. — My lord approaches. Enter Antony, ivith a Messenger and Attendants. Cleo. We will not look upon him : Go with us. [Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras, Charm fan, Soothsayer, and 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 Csesar ; 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: Things, thai are past, are done with me. — 'Tis thus: Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, I hear him as he flatter'd. SCENE III. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 711 Mess. Labienus (This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force, 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 call'd in Rome : Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase ; and taunt my faults With such full licence, as both truth and malice Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth 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. [Exit. Ant. From Sicyon how the news ? Speak there. 1 Alt. The man from Sicyon. — Is there such an 2 Alt. He stays upon your will. [one ? Ant. Let him appear.— The.se strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Enter another Messenger. Or lose myself in dotage. — What are you ? 2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. Ant. Where died she ? 2 Mess. In Sicyon : Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Importeth thee to know, this bears. [.Gives a letter. Ant. Forbear me. — , [Exit Messenger. There's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire it : What our contempts 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'dher on. I must from this enchanting queen break off; Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, My idleness doth hatch. — How now ! Enobarbus ! Enter Enobarbus. Eno. "What's your pleasure, sir ? Ant. I must with haste from hence. Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women : We see how mortal an unkindness is to them ; if they suffer our departure, death's the word. Ant. I must be gone. Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die : It were pity to cast them away for nothing ; though, between them and a great cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly ; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think, there is mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon her, she hath such a 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 storms and tempests than almanacks can report : this cannot be cunning in her ; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove. Ant. 'Would I had never seen her ! Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonder- ful piece of work ; which not to have been blessed withal, would have discredited your travel. Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Sir? Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Fulvia ? A Jit. Dead. Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth ; comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the ca^e 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. Ant. The business she hath broached in the Cannot endure my absence. [state, Eno. And the business you have broached here cannot be without you; especially that of Cleo- patra's, which wholly depends on your abode. Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers Have 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 death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak to us ; but the letters too Of many our contriving friends in Rome Petition us at home : Sextus Pompeius Hath given the dare to Czesar, and commands The empire of the sea ; our slippery people (Whose love is never link'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 name and power, Higher than both in blood and life, stands up For the main soldier : whose quality, going on, The sides o'the world may danger: Much is breeding, Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, And not a serpent's 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, Charmfan, Iras, and Alexas. 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 you ; — If you find him sad, Say, I am dancing ; if in mirth, report That I am sudden sick : Quick, and return. [Exit Alex. Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce The like from him. Cleo. What should I do, I do not? Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing. Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool : the way to lose him. Char. Tempt him not so too far : I wish, forbear; In time we hate that which we often fear. Enter Antony. But here comes Antony. Cleo. I am sick, and sullen. Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my pur pose. — 712 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall ; It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature Will not sustain it. Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me. 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 ; hers you are. Ant. The gods best know, — Cleo. O, never was there queen So mightily betray'd ! Yet, at the first, I saw the treasons planted. Ant. Cleopatra, — Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and true, Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, Who have been false to Fulvia ? Riotous madness, To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, Which break themselves in swearing ! Ant. Most sweet queen, — Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, But bid farewell, and go : when you sued staying, Then was the time for words : No going then ; — Eternity was in our lips, and eyes ; Bliss in our brows' 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, T had thy inches ; thou should'st There were a heart in Egypt. [know Ant. Hear me, queen ; The strong necessity of time commands Our services a while ; but my full heart Remains in use with you. Our Italy Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Pompeius Makes his approaches to the port of Rome : Equality of two domestic powers Breeds scrupulous faction : The hated, grown to strength, Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey, Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten ; And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge By any desperate change : My more particular, And that which most with you should safe my going, Is Fulvia's death. Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness : — Can Fulvia die ? Ant. She's dead, my queen : Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read The garboils she awak'd ; at the last, best ; See, when, and where she died. Cleo. O most false love ! Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill With sorrowful water ? Now I see, I see, In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be. Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know 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. A.s thou affect'st. Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ; — But let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well : So Antony loves. Ant. My precious queen, forbear : And give true evidence to his love, which stands An honourable trial. Cleo. So Fulvia told me. I pr'ythee, 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 ; and let it look Like perfect honour. Ant. You'll heat my blood ; no more. Cleo. You can do better yet ; but this is meetly. Ant. Now, by my sword, — Cleo. And target, — Still he mends ; But this is not the best : Look, pr'ythee, Charmian, 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, And I am all forgotten. Ant. But that your royalty Holds idleness your subject, I should take you For idleness itself. Cleo. ' 'Tis sweating 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 ; Therefore be deaf to my unpitied 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 with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee, Away. I Exeunt. ♦ SCENE IV. — Rome. An Apartment in Caesar's Hou-"". Enter Octavius Cesar, Lepidus, and Attendants. Cass. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate One great competitor : from Alexandria This is the news ; He fishes, drinks, and wastes The lamps of night in revel : is not more manlike Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen Ptolemy More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, or Vouchsaf 'd to think he had partners : You shall find there A man, who is the abstract of all faults 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 ; what he cannot change, Than what he chooses. Cms. You are too indulgent : Let us grant, it is not Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy ; To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ; JCENE V. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 713 To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet With knaves that smell of sweat ; say, this be- comes bim, (As'his composure must be rare indeed, Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must Antony No way excuse his soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd His vacancy with his voluptuousness, Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones, Call on him for't : but, to confound such time, That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid As we rate boys ; who being mature in knowledge, Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, And so rebel to judgment. Enter a Messenger. Lep. Here's more news. Mess. Thy biddings have been done ; and every Most noble Csesar, shalt thou have report [hour, How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; And it appears, he is belov'd of those That only have fear'd Csesar : to the ports The discontents repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd. Cess. 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 lacked. This common body, Like 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 wound 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. Cces. Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassels. When thou once Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel Did famine follow ; whom thou fought'st against, Though daintily brought up, with patience more Than savages could suffer : thou didst drink The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle Which beasts would cough at : thy palate then did deign 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 like a soldier, that thy cheek So much as lank'd not. Lep. It is pity of him. Cces. Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome : 'Tis time we twain Did show ourselves i' the field ; and, to that end, Assemble we immediate council : Pompey Thrives in our idleness. Lep. To-morrow, Csesar, I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly Both what by sea and land I can be able, To 'front this present time. Cces. Till which encounter, It is my business too. Farewell. Lep. Farewell, my lord : What you shall know mean time Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, To let me be partaker. Cces. Doubt not, sir ; I knew it for my bond. lExeunt. SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mard:an. Cleo. Charmian, — Char. Madam. Cleo. Ha, ha !— Give me to drink mandragora. Char. 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, not so. Cleo. Thou, eunuch ! Mardian ! Alar. What's your highness' pleasure ? Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing ; 1 take ac pleasure In aught an eunuch has : 'Tis well for thee, That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections ? Mar. Yes, gracious madam. Cleo. Indeed? Mar. Not in deed, madam ; for I can do nothing But what indeed is honest to be done : Yet I have fierce affections, and think, What Venus did with Mars. Cleo. O Charmian, Where think'stthouheis 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 The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm [mov'st? And burgonet of men. — He's speaking now, Or murmuring, Where 1 s my serpent of old Nile? For so he calls me ; Now I feed myself With most delicious poison : — Think on me, That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Csesar, 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 art thou unlike Mark Antony ! Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath With his tinct gilded thee. — How goes it with my brave Mark Antony ? Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen, He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, ™ This orient pearl ; — His speech sticks in my heart. Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. Alex. Good friend, quoth he, Say, The firm 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. 714 ANTONY AND CLEOrATRA. ACT 11. 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 Was beastly dumb'd by him. Cleo. What, was he sad, or merry ? Alex. Like to the time o' the year between the extremes Of heat and cold ; he was nor sad nor merry. Cleo. O well-divided disposition! — Note him, Note him, good Charmian,'tis theman; but note him : He was not sad ; for he would shine on those '1 hat make their looks by his : he was not merry ; Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay la Egypt with his joy : but between both : O heavenly mingle ! — Be'st thou sad, or merry, The violence of either thee becomes ; So does it no man else. — Met'st thou my 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 Caesar ! Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis ! Say, the brave Antony. Char. The valiant Caesar ' Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, If thou with Caesar paragon again My man of men. Char. By your most gracious pardon, I sing but after you. Cleo. My salad days ; When I was green in judgment : — Cold in blood, To say, as I said then ! — But, come, away : Get me ink and paper : he shall have every day A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. — Messina. A Room in Pompey's House. Enter Pompev, Menecratks, and Menas. Pom. 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, de- The thUg we sue for. [cays 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, where He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both, Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves, Nor either cares for him. Men. Caesar and Lepidus 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 in Rome together, Looking for Antony : But all charms of love, Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip 1 Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both ! Tie 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 honour, Even till a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius ? En ter 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 could have given less matter A better ear. — Menas, I did not think, This amorous surfeiter wculd have don'd his helm For such a petty war : his soldiership Is twice the other twain : But let us rear The higher our opinion, that our stirring Can from the 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 Caesar ; 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 them- selves ; For they have entertained cause enough To draw their swords ; but how the fear of 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. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus. Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech. Eno. I shall entreat him To answer like himself: if Caesar move him, Let Antony look over Caesar's head, And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, I would not shav't to-day. Lep. 'Tis not a time For private stomaching. Eno. Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in it. Lep. But small to greater matters must give way , Eno. Not if the small come first. Lep. Your speech is passion • But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes The noble Antony. SCENE IT. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. '15 Enter Antony and Ventidius. Eno. And yonder Caesar. Enter Cesar, Mecjenas, and Agrippa. Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia : Hark you, Ventidius. Ccbs. I do not know, Mecaenas ; ask Agrippa. Lep. Noble friends, That which combin'd us was most great, and let not A leaner action rend us. What's amiss, May it be gently heard : When we debate Our trivial difference loud, we do commit Murder in healing wounds : Then, noble partners, (The rather, for I earnestly beseech,) Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, Nor curstness grow to the matter. Ant. 'Tis spoken well : Were we before our armies, and to fight, I should do thus. Cobs. Welcome to Rome. Ant. Thank you. Ccrs. Sit. Ant. Sit, sir! Ccbs. Nay, Then — Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which arenot so; Or, being, concern you not. C&s. I must be laugh' d at, If, or for nothing, or a little, I Should 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 name It not concern'd me. Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, What was't to you? Ccbs. No more than my residing here at Rome Might be to you in Egypt : Yet if you there Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt Might be my question. Ant. How intend you, practis'd? Ccbs. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent, By what did here befal me. Your wife, and brother, Made wars upon me ; and their contestation Was theme for you, you were the word of war. Ant. You do mistake your business ; my brother never Did urge me in this act : I did inquire 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 you. If you'll patch a quarrel, As matter whole you have not to make it with, It must not be with this. Ccbs. You praise yourself By laying defects of judgment to me ; but You patch'd up your excuses. Ant. Not so, not so ; I know you could not lack, I am certain on't, Very necessity of this thought, that I, Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars Which 'fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, I would you had her spirit in such another : The third o'the world is yours ; which with a snaffle You may pace easy, but not such a wife. Eno. 'Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women ! Ant. So much uncurable, her garboils, Caesar, Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted Shrewdness of policy too,) I grieving grant, Did you too much disquiet : for that, you must But say, I could not help it. Cs3s. I wrote to you, 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 I 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. Ccbs. 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 on, Caesar ; The article of my oath, — Ccbs. To lend me arms, and aid, when I requir'd them ; The which you both denied. Ant. 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 powei Work without it : Truth is, 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 such a case. Lep. Tis nobly spoken. Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no furthei 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 you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again : you shall have time to wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do. A nt. Thou art a soldier only ; speak no more. Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost forgot. Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no more. Eno. Go to, then ; your considerate stone. Ccbs. I do not much dislike the matter, but The manner of his speech : for it cannot be, We shall remain in friendship, our conditions So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to O' the world I would pursue it. [edge Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, — Ccbs. Speak, Agrippa. Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, Admir'd Octavia : great Mark Antony Is now a widower. Ccbs. Say not so, Agrippa ; If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserv'd of rashness. 710 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. AC* II. Ant. I am not married, Caesar : let 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 men ; Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak That which none else can utter. By this marriage, All little jealousies, which now seem great, And all great fears, which now import their dangers, Would then be nothing : truths would be but tales, 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? Ccbs. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already. Ant. What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, Agrippa, be it so, To make this good ? Cces. The power of Caesar, and His power unto Octavia. Ant. May I never To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, Dream of impediment ! let me have thy hand : Further this act of grace ; and, from this hour, The heart of brothers govern in our loves, And sway our great designs ! Ccbs. There is my hand. A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother Did ever love so dearly : Let her live To join our kingdoms and our hearts ; and never Fly off our loves again ! Lep. Happily, amen ! Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey ; For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great, Of 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 ? Cces. About the Mount Misenum. Ant. What's his strength By land ? Cces. 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 : Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we The business we have talk'd of. Cces. With most gladness ; And do invite you to my sister's view, Whither straight I will lead you. Ant. Let us, Lepidus, Not lack your company. lep. Noble Antony, Not sickness should detain me. [Flourish. Exeunt Caesar, Ant. and Lepidus. Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. Eno. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas ' — my honourable friend, Agrippa ! — Agr. Good Enobaibus ! Mec. We have cause to be glad that matters ate o well digested. You stay'd well by it in Egypt. Eno. Ay, sir ; we did sleep day out of counte- nance, and made the night light with drinking. Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a break- fast, and but twelve persons there : Is this true ? Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we had much more monstrous matter of feasts, which wor- thily deserved noting. Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus. Agr. There she appeared indeed ; or my reporter devised well for her. Eno. I will tell you : The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water : the poop was be ten gold ; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were silver ; Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person. It beggar'd all description : she did lie In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,) O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see The fancy out-work nature : on each side her, Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd 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 in the eyes, And made their .bends adorn ings : 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 perfume hits the sense 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 woman heard speak, Being barbar'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast ; And, for his ordinary, pays his heart, For what his eyes eat only. Agr. Royal wench ! She made great Cnpcnr lav his sword to bed ; He plough'd her, auu sue cropp'd. Eno. I saw her once Hop forty paces through the public street : And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, 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 variety : Other women CI jy th 1 appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry, 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, modesty, can settle SCENE V. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 71! The 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. — The same. A Room in Cesar's House. Enter C>esar, Antony, Octavia between them, Attendants, and a Soothsayer. Ant. The world, and my great office, will some- times Divide me from your bosom. Octa. AH which time Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers To them for you. Ant. Good night, sir. — My Octavia, Read not my blemishes in the world's report : I have not kept my square ; but that to come Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear Octa. Good night, sir. [lady.— Cees. Good night. [Exeunt C.^sar and Octavia. Ant. Now, sirrah ! you do wish yourself in Egypt ? Sooth. 'Would I had never come from thence, Thither ! [nor you Ant. If you can, your reason? Sooth. - I see't in My motion, have it not in my tongue : But yet Hie you again into Egypt. Ant. Say to me, Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's, or mine ? Sooth. Caesar's. Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side : Thy daemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, Where Caesar's is not ; but, neai him, thy angel Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd ; therefore Make space enough between you. Ant. Speak this no more. Sooth. To none but thee ; no more, but when to thee. If thou dost play with him at any game, Thou art sure to lose; and, of that natural luck, He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy lustre thickens, When he shines by : I say again, thy spirit Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; But, he away, 'tis noble. Ant. Get thee gone : Say to Ventidius, I 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, inhoop'd at odds. I will to Egypt : And though I make this marriage for my peace, Enter Ventidius. I' the east my pleasure lies : — O, come, Ventidius, You must to Parthia ; your commission's ready : Follow me, and receive it. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The same. A Street. Enter Lepidus, Mecknas, and Agrippa. Lep. Trouble yourselves no further : pray you Your generals after. [hasten Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 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 Before you, Lepidus. Lep. Your way is shorter, My purposes do draw me much about ; You'll win two days upon me. Mec. Agr. Sir, good success 1 Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. Cleo. 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 : Come, 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, Afar. As well as I can, madam. [sir ? Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though it come too short, The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now : — Give me mine angle, — We'll to the river : there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finn'd fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws ; and, as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, Ah, ah! you're caught. Char. 'Twas merry, when You wager'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 ni^ht I laugh'd him into patience; and next morn, Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst I wore his sword Philippan. O ! from Italy ; Enter a Messenger. Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Mess. Madam, madam,—. Cleo. Antony's dead ? — If thou 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 kings Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. Mess. First, madam, he's well. Cleo. Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark ; we use 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. 718 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. ACT ll. Cleo. Well, go to, I 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. Will't please you, hear me ? Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st : Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well, Or friends with Caesar, 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 fortune from me. Mess. But yet, madam, — Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay The good precedence ; fie upon but yet : But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend, Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, The good and bad together: He's friends with Caesar ; In state of health, thou say'st ; and, thou say'st, free. Mess. Free, madam ! no ; I made no such He's bound unto Octavia. [report : 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. What 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 down. 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. [Draics a dagger. Mess. Nay, then I'll run : — What mean you, madam ? I have made no fault. [Exit. Char. Good madam, keep yourself within your- The man is innocent. [self ; Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder- bolt.— Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures Turn all to serpents ! — Call the slave again ; Though I am mad, I will not bite him : — Call. Char. He is afeard to come. Cleo. I will not hurt him : — These hands do lack nobility, that they strike A meaner than myself; since I myself Have given myself the cause. — Come hither, sir. Re-enter Messenger. Though it be honest, it is never good To bring bad news : Give to a gracious message An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell Themselves, when they be felt. Mess. I have done my duty. Cleo. Is he married ? I cannot hate thee worser than I do, If thou again say, Yes. Mess. He is married, madam. Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold Mess. Should I lie, madam? [there still? Cleo. O, I would, thou didst ; So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made A cistern for scal'd snakes ! Go, get thee hence : Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is married? Mess. I 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. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee, That art not !— What ? thou'rt sure oft ?— Get thee hence : The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome, Are all too dear for me ; lie they upon thy hand, And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Messenger. 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. I faint; O Iras, Charmian, — 'Tis no matter: — Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him Report the feature of Octavia, her years, Her inclination ; let him not leave out, The colour of her hair : — bring me word quickly. — [Exit Ai.kxas. Let him for ever go : — Let him not — Charmian, Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, T'other 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. Enter Pompey and Menas, at one side, with drum and trumpet : at another, Cesar, Lepidus, Antony, Eno barbus, Mec«nas, with Soldiers marching. Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine ; And we shall talk before we fight. Cces. Most meet, That first we come to words ; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent : Which, if thou hast consider'd, 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 of this great world, Chief factors for the gods, — I do not know, Wherefore my father should revengers want SCENE VI. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 719 Having a son, and friends ; since Julius Caesar, 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 rig my navy ; at whose burden The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome Cast on my noble father. Coes. Take your time. Ant. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails, We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thouknow'st How much we do o'er-count thee. Pom. At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-couht me of my father's house ; But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, Remain in't, as thou may'st. Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us, (For this is from the present,) how you take The offers we have sent you. Cces. There's the point. Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embrac'd. Cces. And what may follow, To try a larger fortune. Pom. You have made me offer Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and 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 undinted. Cces. Ant. Lep. That's our offer. Pom. Know then, I came before you here, a man prepar'd To take this offer : But Mark Antony Put me to some impatience : — Though I lose The praise of it by telling, You must know, When Caesar 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 here. Ant. The beds i'the east are soft ; and thanks to you, That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither ; For I have gain'd by it. Cces. 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 vassal. 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. Coes. That's the next to do. Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part ; and let us • Draw lots, who shall begin. 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 Caesar Grew fat with feasting there. Ant. You have heard much. Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. Ant. And fair words to them. Pom. Then so much have I heard — * And I have heard, Apollodorus carried-* Eno. No more of that : — He did so. Pom. What, I pray you * Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. Pom. I know thee now ; How far'st thou, soldier ? Eno. Well ; And well am like to do ; for, I perceive, Four feasts are toward. Pom. Let me shake thy hand ; I never hated thee : I have seen thee fighi, 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. — Aboard my galley, I invite you all : Will you lead, lords? Cces. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir. Pom. Come. [Exeunt Pompkv, Cesar, Antony, Lepidus, Soldiers, and Attendants. Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty. — [Aside.'] — You and I have known, sir. Eno. At sea, I think ? Men. We have, sir. Eno. You have done well by water. Men. And you by land. Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me ; though it cannot be denied what I have done by land. Men. Nor what I have done by water. Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own safety : you have been a great thief by sea. Men. And you by land. Eno. There I deny my land service. But give me your hand, Menas : If our eyes had authority, here they might take two thieves kissing. Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er theii hands are. Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true face. Men. No slander; 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. 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. Men. True, sir ; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Anto- nius. Men. Pray you, sir ? Eno. 'Tistrue. Men. Then is Caesar, and he, for ever knit together. 720 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not prophesy so. Men. I think, the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage, than the love of the parties. Eno. I think so, too. But you shall find, the band that seems to tie their friendship together, will be the very strangler of their amity : Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. Men. Who would not have his wife so ? Eno. Not he, that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again : then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Caesar ; and, as I said before, that which is the strength of their amity, shall prove the imme- diate author of their variance. Antony will use his affection where it is ; he married but his occa- sion here. Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard ? I have a health for you. Eno. I 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 Two or Three Servants, with a banquet. 1 Serv. Here they'll be, man : Some o' their plants are ill-rooted already, the least wind i'the world will blow them down. 2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the dis- position, he cries out, no more ; reconciles them to his entreaty, and himself to the drink. 1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. 2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great men's fellowship : I had as lief have a reed that will do me no service, as a partizan I could not heave. 1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not to be seen to move in't, are the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. A senet sounded. Enter C/esar, Antony, Pompev, Lepi- dus, Agrippa, Mecjenas, Enobarbits, Menas, with other Captains. Ant. Thus do' they, sir: [To Cesar.] They take the flow o' the Nile By certain scales i' the pyramid ;* they know, By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth, Or foizon, follow : The higher Nilus swells, The more it promises : as it ebbs, the seedsmau Upon the slims ind ooze scatters his grain, And shortly conus to harvest. Lep. You have strange serpents there. Ant. Ay, Lepidus. Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun ; so is your cro- codile. Ant. They are so. Pom. Sit, — and some wine. — Ahealth to Lepidus. 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 Ptolemies' pyramises are very goodly things ; without contra- diction, I have heard that. Men. Pompey, a word. [Aside. Pomp. Say in mine ear : what is't ? Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, cap- tain, [Aside. And hear 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. Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. Cats. Will this description satisfy him ? Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very epicure. Pom. [To Menas 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 from thy stool. [Aside. Pom. I 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 say ? Be jolly, lords. Ant. These quicksands, Lepidus, Keep off them, for you sink. Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ? /'"'/'. What say'st thou ? Mm. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world ? That's twice ? Pom. How should that be ? Men. But entertain it, and, Although thou think me poor, I am the man Will give thee all the world. Pom. Hast thou drunk well : Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove : Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips, Is thine, if thou wilt hav't. Pom. Show me which way. Men. These three world-sharers, these compe- titors, Are in thy vessel : Let me cut the cable ; And, when we are put off, fall to their throats : All there is thine. Pom. Ah, this thou should'st have done, And not have spoke on't ! In me, 'tis villany ; In thee, it had been good service. Thou must know, 'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour ; Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue Hath so betray'd thine act : Being done unknown, I should have found it afterwards well done,; But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. Men. For this, [Aside. Pll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. — Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more. Pom. This health to Lepidus. Ant. Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. Eno. Here's to thee, Menas. Men. Enobarbus, welcome Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 721 Eno. There's a strong fellow, Menas. [Pointing 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. It ripens towards it. — Strike the vessels, Here is to Caesar. [ho ! Cces. I could well forbear it. It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, A.nd it grows fouler. Ant. Be a child o'the time. Cces. Possess it, I'll make answer : but I had rather fast Fronj all 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. Come, let us all take hands ; 'Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our In soft and delicate Lethe. [sense Eno. All take hands. — Make battery to our ears with the loud music : — The while, I'll plaoe you : Then the boy shall sing ; The holding every man shall bear, as loud A.s his strong sides can volley. [Music plays. Esoisareus 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 ; With thy grapes our hairs bo erown'd ; Cup us, till the world go round ; Cup us, till the world go round ! Cces. What would you more ? — Pompey, good night. Good brother, Let me request you off : our graver business Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let's part ; You see, we have burnt our cheeks : strong Enobarbe Is weaker than the wine ; and mine own tongue Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath almost Antick'd us all. What needs more words ? Good Good Antony, your hand. [night. — Pom. I'll try you o'the shore. Ant. And shall, sir : give's your hand. Pom. O, Antony, You have my father's house, — But what ? we are Come, down into the boat. [friends : Eno. Take heed you fall not. — [Exeunt Pompey, Caesar, Antony, and Attendants. Menas, 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 hang'd, sound out. [A flourish of trumpets, with drums. Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There's my cap. Men. Ho ! — noble captain ! Come. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE l.—A Plain in Syria. Ventidius, as after conquest, with Sinus, and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers ; the dead body of Pacorus boo ne 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, Pays this for Marcus Crassus. Sil. Noble Ventidius, Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, The fugitive Parthians follow ; spur through Media, Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither The routed fiy : so thy grand captain Antony Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and Put garlands on thy head. Ven. O Silius, Silius, I have done enough : A lower place, note well, May make too great an act : For learn this, Silius ; Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire Too high a fame, when him we serve's away. Caesar, 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 achiev'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 write to Antony ? Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name, That magical word of war, we have effected ; 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 now ? Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither with what haste The weight we must convey with us will permit, We shall appear before him. — On, there ; pass along. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Rome. An Ante -Chamber in Caesar's 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 sealing. Octavia weeps To part from Rome : Caesar is sad ; and Lepidus, Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled With the green sickness. Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 3,v '22 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Eno. A very fine one : O, how he loves Caesar ! Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony ! Eno. Caesar ? Why, he's the Jupiter of men. Agr. What's Antony ? The god of Jupiter. Eno. Spake you of Caesar? How? the nonpareil ! Agr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! Eno. Would you praise Caesar, say, — Caesar ; — go no further. Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. Eno. But he loves Caesar best ; — Yet he loves Antony : Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love To Antony. But as for Caesar, Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. Agr. Both he loves. Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle. So, — [Trumpets. This is to horse — Adieu, noble Agrippa. Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell. Enter Caesar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia. Ant. No further, sir. Ccbs. You take from me a great part of myself; Use me well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band Shall pass on thy approof. — Most noble Antony, ' Let not the piece of virtue, which is set Betwixt us, as the cement of our love, To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter The fortress of it : for better might we Have loved without this mean, if on both parts This be not cherish'd. Ant. Make me not offended In your distrust. Ccbs. I have said. Ant. You shall not find, Though you be therein curious, the least cause For what you seem to fear : So, the gods keep you, And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends ! We will here part. Ccbs. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well ; The elements be kind to thee, and make Thy spirits all of comfort ! fare thee well. Octa. My noble brother ! Ant. The April's in her eyes : It is love's spring, And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful. Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; and — Ccbs. What, Octavia ? Octa. 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 the swell at full of tide, And neither way inclines. Eno. Will Caesar weep ? [Aside to Agrippa. Agr. He has a cloud in's face. Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a So is he, being a man. [horse ; Agr. Why, Enobarbus ? When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, He cried almost to roaring : and he wept, When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum ; What willingly he did confound, he wail'd : Believe it, till I weep too. Ccbs. No, sweet Octavia, You shall hear from me still ; the time shall not Out-go my thinking on you. Ant. Come, sir, come ; I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love; Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go, And give you to the gods. Cczs. Adieu ; be happy ! Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light To thy fair way ! Ccbs. Farewell, farewell ! [Kisses Octavia. Ant. Farewell ! [Trumpets sound. Exeunt, SCENE III. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alkxas. Cleo. Where is the fellow ? Alex. Half afeard to come. Cleo. Go to, go to :— Come 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 I'll have : But how? when Antony is gone Through whom I might command it. — Come thou Mess. Most gracious majesty, — [near. Cleo. Didst thou behold Octavia ? Mess. Ay, dread queen. Cleo. Where ? Mess. Madam, in Rome 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 hearher speak ? Is she shrill-tongu'd or low ? Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; she is low- voie'd. Cleo. That's not so good : — he cannot like her long. Char. Like her ? O Isis ! 'tis impossible. Cleo. I think so, Charmian : Dull of tongue, and 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 shows 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, I do perceive'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 ? SCENE VI. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 723 Mess. Round even to faultiness. Cleo. For the most part too, They are foolish that are so. — Her hair, what colour ? Mess. Brown, madam : And her forehead is as As she would wish it. [low Cleo. There is gold for thee. Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : — I will employ thee back again ; I find thee Most fit for business : Go, make thee ready ; Our letters are prepar'd. [.Exit Messenger. 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 thing. Char O, nothing, madam. Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know. Char. Hath he seen majesty ? Isis else defend, And serving you so long ! Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian : But 'tis no matter ; thou shalt bring him to me Where I will write : All may be well enough. Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. — Athens. A Room in Antony's House. Enter Antony and Octavia. Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — That were excusable, that, and thousands more Of semblable import, — but he hath wag'd New waus 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and To public ear : [read it Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could not But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me : When the best hint was given him, he not took't, Or did it from his teeth. Oct. O my 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 gods will mock me presently, When I shall pray, O, bless my lord and husband! Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, O, bless my brother! Husband win, win brother, Prays, and destroys the prayer ; no midway 'Twixt 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 : The mean time, lady, I'll raise the preparation of a war Shall stain your brother ; Make your soonest haste ; So your desires are yours. Oct. Thanks to my lord. The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak, Vour reconciler 1 Wars 'twixt you twain would be As if the world should cleave, and that slain men Should solder up the rift. Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults Can never be so equal, that your love Can equally move with them. Provide your going ; Choose your own company, and command what cost Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — The same. Another Room in the same. Enter Enobarbus and Ekos, meeting. Eno. How now, friend Eros ? Eros. There's strange news come, sir. Eno. What, man? Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. Eno. This is old ; What is the success ? Eros. Csesar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality ; would not let him partake in the glory of the action : and not resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly wrote to Pompey ; upon his own appeal, seizes him : So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine. Eno. Then, world t thou hast a pair of chaps, no more ; And throw between them all the food thou hast, They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony ? Eros. He'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, That murder'd Pompey. Eno. Our great navy's rigged. Eros. For Italy, and Csesar. More, Domitius ; My lord des'ires you presently : my news I might have told hereafter. Eno. 'Twill be naught : But let it be. — Bring me to Antony. Eros. Come, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. -Rome. A Room in Cesar's House. Enter CjEsah, Agrippa, and Mec^enas. Cass. Contemning Rome, he has done all this : And more ; In Alexandria — here's the manner of it, — I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold Were publicly enthron'd : at the feet, sat Csesarion, whom they call my father's son ; And all the unlawful issue, that their lust 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 ? Ce first two place themselves at their posts. 4 Sold. Here we : \they tahe their posts.'] and if 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 wider the stage. 4 Sold. Peace, what noise ? 1 Sold. List, list ! 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. 1 Sold. Peace, I say. What should this mean ? 2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony Now leaves him. [lov'd, 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. I Sold. Ay; Is't not strange? 730 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. — • 3 Sold. Do you hear, masters ? do you hear ? 1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have Let's see how't will give off. [quarter ; Sold. [Several speaking.'] Content : 'tis strange. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Antony and Cleopatra ; Charjvian, and others, attending. Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros ! 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 too. What's this for ? Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art The armourer of my heart ; — False, false ; this, this. Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help : Thus it must be. Ant. Well, well ; W 7 e shall thrive now — Seest thou, my good fellow ? Go, put on thy defences. Eros. Briefly, sir. Cleo. Is not this buckled well? Ant. Rarely, rarely ; He that unbuckles this, till we do please To doff't for our repose, shall hear a storm. — Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen's a squire More tight at this, than thou : Despatch. — O love, That thou could'st see my wars to-day, andknew'sl The royal occupation ! thou should 'st see Enter an Officer, armed. A workman in't. — Good morrow to thee ; welcome : Thou looks't like him that knows a warlike charge : To business that we love, we rise betime, And 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. All. 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 becomes of me : This is a soldier's kiss : rebukable. [Kisses her. And worthy shameful check it were, to stand On more mechanic compliment ; I'll leave thee Now, like a man of steel ; You, that will fight, Follow me close ; I'll bring you to't— Adieu. [Exeunt Antony, Eros, Officers, and Soldiers. Char. Please you, retire to your chamber ? Cfeo. Lead me. He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might Determine this great war in single fight ! Then, Antony, — But now, — Well, on. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— Antony's Camp in Alexandria. Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros ; a Soldier meeting them. Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony. Ant. 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once To make me fight at land ! [prevail' d 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 r One ever near thee : Call for Enobarbus, He shall not hear thee ; or from Caesar's camp Say, / 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 ; do it ; 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, my fortunes have Corrupted honest men : — Eros, despatch. [Exeunt SCENE VI.— CESAR'S Camp before Alex- andria. Flourish. Enter Cesar, with Agrippa, Enobarbus, and others. Cas. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight, Our will is, Antony be took alive ; Make it so known. Agr. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Agrippa. Cas. The time of universal peace is near : Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Antony Is come into the field. Cces. Go, charge Agrippa : Plant those that have revolted in the van, That Antony may seem to spend his fury Upon himself. [Exeunt Cesar and his Train, Eno. Alexas did 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 Cesar'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 saf 'd the bringer Out of the host ; I must attend mine office, SCENE IX ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 731 Or would have done't myself. Your emperor Continues still a Jove. [.Exit Soldier. Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, And feel I am so most. O Antony, Thou mine of bounty, how would'st thou have paid 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 outstrike thought : but thought will do't, I feel. I fight against thee ! — No : I will go seek Some ditch, wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits My latter part of life. {.Exit. SCENE VII.— Field of Battle between the Camps. Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter Agrippa, and others. Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far : Csesar himself has work, and our oppression Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. Alarum. Enter Antony, and Soarus 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. Ant. 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 Room for six scotches more. [yet 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 after. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Under the walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Enter Antony,- marching ; Scarus, and Forces. Ant. We have beat him to his camp ; Run one before, And let the queen know of our guests. — To-morrow, Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood That has to-day escap'd. I thank you 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 shown yourselves all Hectors. Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, Tell them your feats ; whilst they with joyful tears Wash the congealment 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 mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and all, Through proof of harness to my heart, and there Ride 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 our brown ; yet have we A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand ; — Kiss it, my warrior : — He hath fought to-day, As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy' d in such a shape. Cleo. I'll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold ; it was a king's. Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus' car Give me thy hand ; Through Alexandria make a jolly march ; Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them ; Had our great palace the capacity To camp this host, we all would sup 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 rattling tabourines ; That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- gether, Applauding our approach. [Exeunt. SCENE IX.— Cesar's Camp. Sentinels on their post. Enter Enobarbus. 1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour, We must return to the court of guard : The night Is shiny ; and, they say, we shall embattle By the second hour i' the morn. 2 Sold. This last day was A shrewd one to us. Eno. O, bear me witness, night, — 3 Sold. What man is this ? 2 Sold. Stand close, and list to him. Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, When men revolted shall upon record Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did Before thy face repent ! — 1 Sold. Enobarbus ! 3 Sold. Peace ; Hark further. Eno. 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 Against the flint and hardness of my 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 me 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 him, for the things he speaks May concern Ceesar. 3 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 1 Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleeping. 2 Sold. Go we to him. 3 Sold. Awake, awake, sir ; speak to us. 2 Sold. Hear you, sir ? 7# ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. ACT IV I Sold. The hand of death hath raught him. Hark, the drums [Drums afar off. Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him To the court of guard ; he is of note : our hour Is fully out. 3 Sold. Come on then ; He may recover yet. {Exeunt with the body. SCENE X. — Between the two Camps. Enter Antony and Scarus, with 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 ai- ; 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 ; They have put forth the haven : Further on, Where their appointment we may best discover, And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt. Enter Caesar, and his Forces marching. Cot 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 H is nobleness well acted, which your death Will never let come forth. Cleo. Where art thou, death ? Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen Worth many babes and beggars ! Pro. O, temperance, lady ! Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir ; If idle talk will once be necessary, I'll not sleep neither : This mortal house I'll ruin, Do Csesar what he can. Know, sir, that I Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court ; Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, And show me to the shouting varletry Of censuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt Be gentle grave to me ! rather on Nilus' mud Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies Blow me into abhorring ! 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 Caesar. Enter Dolabella. Dot. Proculeius, What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, And he hath sent for thee : as for the queen, I'll take her to my guard. Pro. So Dolabella, It shall 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. Cleo. Say, I would die. [Exeunt Proculeius, and Soldiers. Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ? Cleo. I cannot tell. Dol. t Assuredly, you know me. Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard, or known. You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams ; Is't not your trick ? Dol. I understand not, madam. Cleo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony ; — O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man ! Dol. t If it might please you, — Cleo. His face was as the heavens ; and therein stuck A sun, and moon ; which kept their course, and The little O, the earth. [lighted Dol. Most sovereign creature, — Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm Crested the world : his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas, That grew the more by reaping : His delights Were dolphin-like ; they show'd his back above The element they liv'd in : In his livery Walk'd crowns, and crownets ; realms and islands As plates dropp'd from his pocket. [were Dol. Cleopatra — Cleo. Think you, there was, or might be such a 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 madam : Your loss is as yourself, great ; and you bear it As answering to the weight: 'Would I might never 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 I would you Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, — [knew. Dol. Though he be honourable, — Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph ? Dol. Madam, he will ; I know it. Within. Make way there, — Caesar. Enter CAESAR, Gallus, Proculeius, Mec.icnas, Selkvcus, and Attendants. Cces. Which is the queen Of Egypt ? Dol. 'Tis the emperor, madam. [Cleofatra kneels. Caes. Arise, You shall not kneel : I pray you, rise ; rise, Egypt. Cleo. Sir, the gods Will have it thus ; my master and my lord I must obey. Cces. Take to you no hard thoughts : The record of what injuries you did us, Though written in our flesh, we shall remember As things but done by chance. Cleo. Sole sir o'the world, I cannot project mine own cause so well To make it clear ; but do confess. I have SCENE II. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 7a? Been laden with like frailties, which before Have often sham'd our sex. Cess. Cleopatra, know, We will extenuate rather than enforce : If you apply yourself to our intents, (Which towards you are most gentle,) you shall find 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 yours ; and we Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. C Italians. Iachimo, Friend to Philario, ) A French Gentleman, Friend to Philario. Caius Lucius, General of the Roman Forces. A Roman Captain. Guiderius, Arviragus, Two British Captains. Pisanio, Servant to Posthumjs. Cornelius, a Physician. Two Gentlemen. Two Gaolers. Queen, Wife to Cymbeline. Imogen, Daughter to Cymbeline by a former Qu en. Helen, Woman to Imogen. Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Apparitions, a Soothsayer, a L»uten Gentleman, a Spanish Gentle- man, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Mes- sengers, and other Attendants. SCENE, — Sometimes in Britain ; sometimes in Italy. ACT I. SCENE I.— Britain. The Garden behind Cymbeline '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 seerr , as does the king's. 2 Gent. But what's tlie matter ? 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his king- dom, whom He purposd 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 husband banish'd ; she imprison'd ; all Is outward sorrow ; though, I think, the king Be touch'd at very heart. 2 Gent. None but the king ? 1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too : so is the queen, That most desir'd the match : But not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowl at. 2 Gent. And why so ? 1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a 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 In him that should compare. I do not think, So fair an outward, and such stuff within, Endows a man but he. 2 Gent. You speak him far. 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold U is measure duly. 2 Get/t. What's his name, and birth ? 1 Gent. 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 gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus : And had, besides this gentleman in question, Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time, Died with their swords in hand ; for which, theit father (Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, That he quit being ; and his gentle lady, Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd As he was born. The king, he takes the babe To his protection ; calls him Posthumus ; Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber : Puts him to all the learnings that his time Could make him the receiver of; which he took, As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'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, — her own price Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue ; By her election may be truly read, What kind of 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, Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, I ' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery Were stolen ; and to this hour no guess in know- Which way they went. [ledge SCENE II. CYMujDLINE. 741 2 Gent. How long is tliis ago ? 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so convey 'd ! So slackly guarded ! And the search so slow, That could not trace them ! 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, Yet is it true, sir. 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 1 Gent. We must forbear : Here comes the queen, and princess. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen-. Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most step-mofhers, Evil-eyed unto you : you are my prisoner, but Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, So soon as I can win the offended 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 highness, 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 affections ; though the king Hath charg'd you should not speak together. [Exit Queen. Itno. ' O Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds ! — My dearest hus- band, I something fear my father's wrath ; but nothing, (Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what His rage can do on me : You must be gone ; And I shall here abide the hourly shot Of angry eyes : not comforted to live, But that there is this jewel in the world, That I may see again. Post. My queen ! my mistress ! O, lady, weep no more ; lest I give cause To be suspected of more tenderness Than doth become a man ! I will remain The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth. My residence in Rome, 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. Queen. Be brief, I pray you : If the king come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure : Yet I'll move him [Aside. To walk this way : I never do him wrong, But he does buy my injuries, to be friends ; Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. Post. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow : Adieu ! Imo. Nay, stay a little : Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love ; This diamond was my mother's : take it, heart; But keep it till you woo another wife, When Imogen is dead. Post. How 1 how ! another ? — You gentle gods, give me but this I have, And sear up my embracements from a next With bonds of death ! — Remain thou here [Putting on the ring. While sense can keep it on ! And sweetest, fairest, As I my poor self did exchange for you, To your so infinite loss ; so, in our trifles I still win of you : For my sake, wear this ; It is a manacle of love ; I'll place it Upon this fairest prisoner. [Putting a bracelet on her arm. Imo. O, the gods 1 When shall we see again ? Enter Cymbeline and Lords. Post. Alack, the king ! Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from my sight ! If, after this command, thou fraught the court With thy unworthiness, 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. Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is. Cym. O disloyal thing, That should'st repair my youth ; thou heapest A year's age on me ! Imo. I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation ; I Am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all fears. Cym. Past grace ? obedience ? Imo. Past hope, and in despair ; that way, past grace. Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my queen ! Imo. O bless'd, that I might not ! I chose an And did avoid a puttock. [eagle, Cym. Thou took'st a beggar ; would'st have made my throne A seat for baseness. Imo. No ; I rather added A lustre to it. Cym. O thou vile one ! Imo. Sir, It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus : You bred him as my playfellow ; 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 ! — 'Would I were A neat-herd's daughter ! and my Leonatus Our neighbour shepherd's son ! Re-enter Queen. Cym. Thou foolish thing ! — ' They were again together : You have done [To the Qusk> 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 some Out of your best advice. [comfoif 742 CYMiJELlNE. ACT I. Cytn. Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged. Die of this folly! &**• Enter Pisanio. Queen. Fye ! — you must give way : Here is your servant. — How now, sir? What news ? I'is. My lord your son drew on my master. Queen. Ha 1 No harm, I trust, is done ? Pis. There might have been, But that my master rather play'd than fought, And had no help of anger : they were parted By gentlemen at hand. Queen. I am very glad on't. Imo. Your son's my father's friend ; he takes his part. — 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 goer back. — Why came you from your master ? Pis. On his command : he would not suffer me To bring him to the haveu : left these notes Of what commands I should be subject to, When it pleas'd you to employ me. Queen. This hath been Your faithful servant ; I dare lay mine honour, He will remain so. Pis. I humbly thank your highness. Queen. Pray, walk a while. Imo. About some half hour hence, I pray you, speak with me : you shall, at least, Go see my lord aboard : for this time, leave me. [Exeunt. SCENE III— A 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 reek as a sacrifice : Where air comes out, air comes in : there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. 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 car- cass, if he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt. 2 Lord. His steel was in debt : it went o'the back side the town. [Aside. Clc. The villain would not stand me. 2 Lord. No ; but he fled forward still, toward your face. [Aside. 1 Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough of your own : but he added to your having ; gave you some ground. 2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans : Puppies I [Aside. Clo. I would, they had not come between us. 2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside. Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me ! 2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damned. [Aside. 1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together : She's a good sign, \ut I have seen small reflection of her wit. 2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the re- flection should hurt her. [Aside. Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there had been some hurt done I 2 Lord. I wish not so ; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. [Asid«. Clo. You'll go with us ? 1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 2 Lord. Well, my lord. [E.-evnt. SCENE IV. — A Room in Cymbe line's Palace. Enter Imogen and Pcsanio. Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o'the haven, And questioned'st 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 t Imo. Then wav'dhis 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 should' st have made him 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 my needle : Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from The smallness of a gnat to air ; and then Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. — But, good Pisanio, 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 I would think on him, at certain hours, Such thoughts, and such ; or I could make him The shes of Italy should not betray [swear 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. Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them despatch'd. — I will attend the queen. Pis Madam, I shall. \Fxtma CYMBELINE. 743 SCENE V.— Rome. An Apartment in Phi- lario's House. Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a Spaniard. lack. Believe it, sir : I have seen him in Britain : he was then of a crescent note ; expected to prove so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name of : but I could then have looked on him without the help of admiration ; though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to 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. Iach. 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 : Iach. 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 quality. 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 knowing, to a stranger of his quality. — I beseech you all, be better known to this gentleman ; whom I commend to you, as a noble friend of mine : How worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing. French. Sir, we have known together in Or- leans. Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for 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 guided by others' experiences ; but, upon my mended judg- ment, (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 have fallen both. Iach. Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference ? French. Safely, I 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 praise of our country mistresses : This gentleman at that time vouching, (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,) bis to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant- qualified, and less attemptible, than any the rarest of our ladies in France. Iach. That lady is not now living; or this gentle- man's opinion, by this, worn out. Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. Iach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy. Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France. I would abate her nothing ; though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend. Iach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in- hand comparison,) had been something too fair, and too good, for any lady in Brittany. If she went be- fore others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out-lustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many : but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. Post. I. praised her as I rated her : so do I my stone. Iach. What do you esteem it at ? Post. More than the world enjoys. Iach. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's outprized 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. Iach. Which the gods have given you ? Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep. Iach. You may wear her in title yours : but, you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring maf be stolen too : so, of your brace of unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the other casual ; a cunning thief, or a that-way- accomplished courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last. Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier, to convince the honour of my mistress ; if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves ; notwithstanding I fear not my ring. Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first. Iach. With five times so much conversation, I should get ground of your fair mistress : make her go back, even to the yielding ; had I admittance, and opportunity to friend. Post. No, no. Iach. I dare, thereupon, pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring ; which, in my opinion, o'er- values it something : But I make my wager rather against your confidence, than her reputation : and, to bar your offence 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 worthy of, by your attempt. Iach. What's that ? Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more ; a punishment too. Phil. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly ; let it die as it was born ; and, I pray you, be better acquainted. Iach. 'Would I had put my estate, and my neigh- bour's, on the approbation of what I have spoke. Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? Iach. Yours ; whom in constancy, you think, stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats 7U CYMBELINE. ACT I. 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 thence that honour of hers, which you imagine so reserved. Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it : my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part of it Iach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting : But, I see you have some religion in you, that you fear. Post. This is but a custom in your tongue ; you bear a graver purpose, I hope. Iach. I am the 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 your unworthy thinking : I dare you to this match : here's my ring. Phi. I will have it no lay. Iach. By the gods it is one : — If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are yours ; so is your diamond too. If I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours : — provided, I have your commendation, for my more free entertainment. Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have articles betwixt us: — only, thus far you shall answer. If you make your voyage*upou 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, and the assault you have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your sword. Iach. 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 wagers recorded. Post. Agreed. [Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo. French. Will this hold, think you ? Phi. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray, let us follow 'em. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. — Britain. A Room in Cymbe- line's Palace. Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers ; Make haste : Who has the note of them ? 1 Lady. I, madam. Queen. Despatch. [Exeunt Ladies. Now, master doctor ; have you brought those drugs ? Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they are, madam : [Presenting a smull box. But I beseech your grace, (without offence ; My conscience bids me ask ;) wherefore you have Commanded of me these mostpoisonous 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? I will try the forces Of these thy compounds on such creatures as We count not worth the hanging, (but none human,) To try the vigour of them, and apply Allayments 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 [Aside. 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. 1 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 stupify and dull the sense awhile : Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats, and Then afterward up higher ; but there is [dogs ; No danger in what show 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 effect ; and I the truer, So to be false with her. Queen. No further service, doctor, Until I send for thee. Cor. I humbly take my leave. [r.xit Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou ? Dost thou think, in time She will not quench ; and let instructions enter Where 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 His fortunes 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 Thou 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 further good That I 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 CYMBELINE. 745 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 constant 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, if he take, shall quite unpeople her Of 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 untrue, I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you. {Exit. SCENE VII.— 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 hus- band ! My supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated Vexations of it ! Had 1 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 Pihanto and Iachtmo. Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome ; Comes from my lord with letters. lach. Change you, madam? The worthy Leonatus is in safety, And greets your highness dearly. [Presents a teller. Imo. Thanks, good sir : You are kindly welcome. lach. All 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. Boldness be my friend ! Arm me, audacity, from head to foot ! Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight ; Rather, directly fly. Imo. [Reads.] He is one of the noblest note, to u>h('se kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your trwst Leonatus. So far I read aloud : But even the very middle of my heart Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I Have words to bid you ; and shall find it so, In all that I can do. lach. Thanks, fairest lady. — What ! are men mad ? Hath nature given them To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop [eyes Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 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 ? Imo. What makes your admiration ? lach. It cannot be i'the eye ; for apes and monkeys, 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mows the other : Nor i'the judg- ment ; 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 The lamb, longs after 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. 1 was going, sir, [Exit Pisanio. my lord? His health, Pis. To give him welcome. Imo. Continues well 'beseech you? lach. Well, madam. Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth ? I hope, he is. lack. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd The Briton reveller. Imo. When 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 Briton (Your lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries, O ! Can my sides hold, to think, that man, — who knows By history, report, or his own proof, What woman 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 It is a recreation to be by, [laughter. And hear him mock the Frenchman : But, heavens Some men are much to blame. [know, Imo. Not he, I hope. lach. Not he : But yet heaven's bounty towards him might Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ; In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents, — Whilst I am bound to wonder, I 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 me, Deserves your pity ? lach. Lamentable ! What ! To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace I'the dungeon by a snuff? Imo. I pray you, sir, Deliver with more openness your answers To my demands. Why do you pity me ? lach. That others do, I was about to say, enjoy your But It is an office of the gods to venge it, Not mine to speak on't. 740 CYAIBELINE. AOT I. Imo. You do seem to know Something of me, or what concerns me ; 'Pray you, (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Than to be sure they do : For certainties Either are past remedies ; or, timely knowing, The remedy then born,) discover to me What both you spur and stop. lack. Had I this cheek, To bathe my lips vtpon ; this hand, whose touch, Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, Fixing it only here : should 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 tallow ; it were fit, That all the plagues of hell should at one time Encounter such revolt. Imo. My lord, I fear, Has forgot Britain. lack. And himself. Not I, Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce The beggary of his change ; but 'tis your graces That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue, Charms this report out. Imo. Let me hear no more. lack. O dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my heart With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, Would make the great'st king double ! to be partner'd With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition Which your own coffers yield ! 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, that bore you, was no queen, and you Recoil from your great stock. Imo. Reveng'd ! How should I be reveng'd ? If this be true, (As I have such a heart, that both mine ears Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true, How shall 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 purse ? 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 my service tender on your lips. Imo. Away! — I 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 Thee and the devil alike. — What, ho ! Pisanio ! — The king my father shall be made acquainted Of thy assault : if he shall think it fit, A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart As in a Romish stew, and to expound His beastly mind to us ; he hath a court He little cares for, and a daughter whom He not respects at all. — What ho, Pisanio ! — lack. O happy Leonatus ! I may say : The credit, that thy lady hath of thee, Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness Her assur'd credit ! — Blessed live you long ! A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever Country call'd his ! and you his mistress, only For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon. I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 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. Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god : He hath a kind of honour sets him off, More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd To try your taking a false report ; which hath Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment In the election of a sir so rare, Which you know, cannot err : The love I bear him Made me to fan you thus ; but the gods made you, Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon. Imo. All's well, sir : Take my power i* the court for yours. Inch. 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 ? Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, (The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums, To buy a present for the emperor ; Which I, the 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. Iach. 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. Iach. Yes, I 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 pains ; But not away to-morrow ? Iach. 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 tridy yielded you : You are very welcome. lExeuni. SCENE II. CYMBELINE. <4/ ACT II. 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 a hundred pound on't : And then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing ; as if I borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. 1 Lord. What got he by that ? You have broke las pate with your bowl. 2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run 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 of them. Clo. Whoreson dog! — I give him satisfaction? 'Would, he had been one of my rank ! 2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. [Aside. Clo. I am not more vexed at anything in the earth, — A pox on't ! I had rather not be so noble as I am ; they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my mother ; every jack-slave bath bis belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match. 2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too ; and you crow, cock, with your comb on. [Aside. Clo. Sayest thou ? 1 Lord. It is not fit, your lordship should under- cake every companion that you give offence to. Clo. No, I know that : but it is fit, I should commit offence 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 stranger ! 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 ? 1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. Clo. Is it fit, I went to look upon him ? Is there no derogation in't ? 1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. Clo. Not easily, 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. [Exeunt Cloten, andjirst Lord. That such a crafty devil as is his mother Should yield the world this ass ? a woman, that Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son Cannot take two from twenty for his heart, And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st ! Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd ; A mother hourly coining plots ; a wooer, More hateful than the foul expulsion is Of thy dear husband, 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 banish'd lord, and this great land ! [Exit. SCENE II A Bed-Chamber ; in one part of it. a Trunk. Imogen reading in her bed : a Lady attending. Imo. Who's there ? my woman Helen ? Lady. Please you, madam. Imo. What hour is it ? Lady. Almost midnight, madam. Jmo. 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 protection I commend me, gods ! From fairies, and the tempters of the night, Guard me, beseech ye ! [Sleeps. Iachimo, from the truirk. lack. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd Repairs itself by rest : Our Tarquin thus [sense 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 lips, To see the enclosed lights, now canopied Under these windows : White and azure, lae'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 I And be her sense but as a monument, Thus in a chapel lying! — Come off, come off; [leaking 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 I'the bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher, Stronger than ever law could make : this secret Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what Why should I write this down, that's riveted, [end ? Screw'd to my memory ? She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus ; here the 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 : I lodge in fear ; Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes. One, two, three. — Time, time ! [Goes into the trunk. The scene closes. SCENE III.— An Ante-Chamber adjoining Imogen's 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 : If you can penetrate her with your 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, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, — and then let her consider. Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phcebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes ; "With every thing that pretty bin : My lady sweet, arise ; Arise, arise. So, get you gone : If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better : if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats- guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Musicians. Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 2 Lord. Here comes the king. Clo. I am glad, I was up so late ; for that's the reason I was up so early : He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly. — Good mor- row to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern Will she not forth ? [daughter ? Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice. Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; She hath not yet forgot him : some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance out, And then she's yours. Queen. You are most bound to the king, Who lets go by no vantages, that may Prefer you to his daughter ; Frame yourself To orderly solicits ; and be friended With aptness of the season ; make denials Increase your services ; so seem, as if You were inspir'd to do those duties which You tender to her ; that you in all obey her, Save when command to your dismission tends, And therein you are senseless. Clo. 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 queen, and us ; we shall have need To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, our queen. [Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mi as Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her ; if not, Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho ! — [Knocks. I know her women are about her ; What If I do line one of their hands ? 'Tis gold Which buys admittance ; 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; Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man : What 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 ? Clo. 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 pleasure ? Clo. Your lady's person : Is she ready ? Lady. Ay, To keep her chamber. Clo. There's gold for you ; sell me your good report. Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good ? — The princess Enter Imogen. Clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet hand. [pains Imo. Good-morrow, sir : You lay out too much For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give, Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them. Ch. Still, I swear, I love you Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me i If you swear still, your recompeDce 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. SCENE IV. CYMBELINE. 749 Clo. To leave vou 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 much 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 rather You felt, than make't my boast. Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. 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 though it be allow'd in meaner parties, (Yet who, -than he, more mean ?) to knit their souls (On whom therels no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figur'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 eminent. 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, if 'twere made Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd The under-hangman of his kingdom ; and hated For being preferr'd so well. Clo. The south fog rot him ! Jmo. He never can meet more mischance, than come 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 hairs above thee, Were they all made such men How now, Pisanio ? Enter Pisanio. Clo. His garment ? Now, the devil — Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently : — Clo. His garment? Imo. I am sprighted with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worse . — Go, bid my woman Search for a jewel, that too casually Hath left mine arm ; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I 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. Pit, 'Twill not be lost. Imo. I hope so : go, and search. [Exit Fis. Clo. You have abus'd me : — His meanest garment? Imo. Ay ; I said so, sir. If you will mak't an action, call witness to't. Clo. I will inform your father. Imo. Your mother too : She's my good lady ; and will conceive, I 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 Phi- lario'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 hopes, I barely gratify your love ; they failing, 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 fresh 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 countrymeu Are men more order'd, than when Julius 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 That mend upon the world. Enter Iachimo. Phi. See! Iachimo? 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. Ictch. 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 false with them. Iach. Here are letters for you. Post. Their tenour good, I trust. Iach. 'Tis very like. Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court, When you were there ? Iach. 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 dull for your good wearing ? Iach. 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. Iach. 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. Iach. Good sir, we must, If you keep covenant : Had I not brought 750 CYMBELINE. ACT II The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant We were to question further : but I now Profess myself the winner of her honour, Together with your ring ; and not the wronger Of her, or you, having proceeded but By both your wills. Post. If you can make't apparent That you have tasted her in bed, my hand, And ring, is yours : If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, Your sword, or mine ; or masterless leaves both To who shall find them. Inch. Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth, as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe : whose strength I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not, You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find You need it not. Post. Proceed. Iach. 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 I wonder'd, Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on't was Post. This is true ; And this you might have heard of here, by me, Or by some other. Iach. More particulars Must justify my knowledge. Post. So they must, Or do your honour injury. Iach. The chimney Is south the chamber ; and the chimney-piece, Chaste Dian, bathing : never saw I figures So likely to report themselves : the cutter Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent her, Motion and breath left out. Post. This is a thing, Which you might from relation likewise reap ; Being, as it is, much spoke of. Iach. The roof o'the chamber With golden cherubins is fretted : Her andirons (I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids Of 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 praise Be given to your remembrance) the description Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves The wager you have laid. Iach. Then, if you can, [Fulling 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 ? Iach. 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 too : She gave it me, and said, She priz'd it once. May be, she pluck'd it off, Post. To send it me. Iach. 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 semblance j love, Where there's another man : The vows of women Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, Than they are to their virtues ; which is nothing: — O, above measure false ! Phi. Have patience, sir, And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won : It may be probable, she lost it ; or, Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted, Hath stolen it from her? Post. Very true ; And so, I hope, he came by't : — Back my ring ; — Render to me some corporal sign about her, More evident than this ; for this was stolen. Iach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears. 'Tis true ; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true, I am sure, She would not lose it : her attendants are All sworn, and honourable: — They indue'd to steal it ! And by a stranger ! — No, he hath enjoy'd her : The cognizance of her incontinency Is this, — she hath bought the name 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 col ted by him. Iach. If you 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. Iach. Will you hear more ? Post. Spare your arithmetic : never count the Once, and a million ! [turns ; Iach. I'll be sworn, — Post. No swearing. If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ; And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny Thou hast made me cuckold. Iach. I will deny nothing Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb meal ! 1 will go there, and do't ; i'the court ; before Her father : — I'll do something [Exit. p^t. Quite besides The government of patience ! — You have won : Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself. Iach, With all my heart. [Exeunt CYMBELINE. 751 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 ma~j, which I Did call my father, was I know not where When I was stamp'd ; some coiner with his tools Made me a counterfeit ; Yet my mother seem'd The Diana of that time ; so doth my wife The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance ! Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd, And pray'd me oft, forbearance : did it with A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't [her Might well have warin'd old Saturn ; that I thought As chaste as unsunn'd snow : — O, all the devils ! — This yellow Iachimo, in an hour, — was't not ? — Or less, — at first : Perchance he spoke not ; but, Like a full-acorn' d boar, a German one, Cried, oh I and mounted : found no opposition But what he look'd for should oppose, 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 of man, but I affirm It is the woman's part : Be it lying, note it, The woman's ; flattering, hers ; deceiving, hers ; Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers ; revenges, hers ; Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, Nice longings, slanders, mutability, All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows, Why, hers, in part, or all ; but, rather, all : For ev'n 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 them, curse them : — Yet 'tis greater skill In a true hate, to pray they have their will : The very devils cannot plague them better. {Exit ACT III. SCENE I. — Britain. A Room of State in Cymbeline's Palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cj,oten, and Lords, at one door i and at another, Caius Lucius and Attendants. Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us ? [yet Luc. When Julius Caesar (whose remembrance Lives in men's eyes ; and will to ears, and tongues, Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, (Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less, Than in his feats deserving it,) for him, 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, Which then they had to take from us, to resume We have again. — Remember, 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 unscaleable, and roaring waters ; With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats, But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of conquest Caesar made here ; but made not here his brag Of, came, and saw, and overcame : with shame (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his shipping (Poor ignorant baubles !) on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our rocks : For joy whereof, The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point (O, giglot fortune !) to master Caesar'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 Caesars : other of them may have crooked noses ; but, to owe such straight arms, none. Cym. Son, 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 ? If Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light ; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. Cym. You must know, Till the injurious Romans did extort This tribute from us, we were free : Caesar's ambi- tion, (Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch The sides o'the world,) against all colour, here Did put the yoke upon us ; which to shake off", 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 Hath too much mangled ; whose repair, and fran- chise, Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore angry;) Mulmutius, Who was the first of Britain, which did put His brows within a golden crown, and call'd Himself a king. Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar (Caesar, that hath more kings his servants, than Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy : Receive it from me, then : — War, and confusion, In Caesar'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 Caesar knighted me ; my youth I spent Much under him ; of him I gather'd honour ; Which he to seek of me again, perforce, 752 CYMBELINE. AHT III. 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, would show the Britons cold : So Caesar shall not find them. Luc. Let proof speak. Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime 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 fare the better for you ; and there's an end. Luc. So, sir. Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine : All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt. CCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Pis \vio. Pis. How ! of adultery ? Wherefore write you What monhtei's her accuser ? — Leonatus ! [not O, master ! what a strange infection Is fallen into thy ear ? What false Italian (As poisonous tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd On thy too ready hearing ? — Disloyal ? No : She's puniah'd for her truth; and undergoes, More goddess-like than wife-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 If it be so to do good service, never [blood ? Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, That I should seem to lack humanity, So much as this fact comes to ? Dot : The le'ter [Reo(li)iy knife ? Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, When I desire it too. Pis. O gracious lady," Since I receiv'd command to do this business, I have not slept one wink. Imo. Do't, and to bed then. Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. Imo. Wherefore then Didst undertake it ? Why hast thou abus'd So many miles, With a pretence ? this place ? Mine action, and thine own ? our horses' labour ? The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd court, For my being absent ; whereunto I never Purpose return ? Why hast thou gone so far, To 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 heard, I am a strumpet ; and mine ear, Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. Pis. Then, madam, I thought you would not back again. Imo. Most like ; Bringing me here to kill me. Pis. Not so, neither : 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 done you both this cursed injury. Imo. Some Roman courtezan. Pis. No, on my lii'e, I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court, And that will well confirm it. Imo. Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while ? Where bide? How Or in my life what comfort, when I am [live ? Dead to my husband ? Pis. If you'll back to the court,— Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing, That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 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, SCENE V. CYMBELINE. 755 Are they not but in Britain ? I 'the world's volume 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. I am most glad You think of other place. The embassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven To-morrow ; Now, if you could 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 point : You must forget to be a woman ; change Command into obedience ; fear, and niceness, (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage ; Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, 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 serving, And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius Present yourself, desire his 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 abroad You have me, rich ; and I will never fail Beginning, nor supplyment. Imo. Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away : There's more to be consider'd ; but we'll ever, All that good time will give us : This 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 fare- well ; Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, Here is a box : I had it from the queen ; What's in't is precious ; if you are sick at sea, Or stomach- qualm' d at land, a dram of this Will drive away distemper. — To some shade, And fit you to your manhood : — May the gods Pirect you 1 3 the best ! Imo. Amen : I thank thee. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — A Jloom in Cymbelinb's Palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloien, Lucius, and Lords. Cym. Thus far ; and so farewell. Luc. Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote ; I must from hence ; And am right sorry, that I must report ye My master's enemy. Cym. Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself To show less sovereignty than they, must needs Appear unkinglike. Luc. So, sir, I desire of you A conduct over-land, to Milford-Haven. — 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 I wear it as your enemy. [forth Luc. Sir, the event Is yet to name the winner : Fare you well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness! [Exeunt Lucius and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning : but it honours That we have 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 How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely, Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : The powers that he already hath in Gallia Will 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 expectatibn that it would be thus, Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, Where is our daughter ? She hath not appear'd Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd The duty of the day : She looks us like A thing 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, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your 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 answer'd? Atten. Please you, sir, Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there's no answe That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make. Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ; Whereto constrain' d by her infirmity, She should that duty leave unpaid to you, Which daily she was bound to proffer : this She wish'd me to make known ; but our great court Made me to blame in memory. Cym. Her door s lock'd 3 c 2 760 CYMBELINE Not seen of late ? Grant, heavens, that, which 1 fear, Prove false ! \- Exit - Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days. Queen. Go, look after. — [Exit Clot en. Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! — He hath a drug of mine : I 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 seiz'd her ; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown To her desired Posthumus : Gone she is To death, or to dishonour ; and my end Can make good use of either : She being down, I have the placing of the British crown. 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 I [Exit Queen. 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, j 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 you packing, sirrah ? Come hither : Ah, you precious pander ! Villain, Where is thy lady ! In a word ; or else Thou are straightway with the fiends. Pis. O, good my lord ! Clo. Where is thy lady ? or, by Jupiter I will not ask again. Close villain, I'll 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 nearer ; No further halting : satisfy me home, What is become of her ? Pis. O, my all-worthy lord ! Clo. All-worthy villain ! Discover where thy mistress is, at once, At the next word, — No more of worthy 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. do. Let's see't : — I will pursue her Even to Augustus' throne. Pis. Or this or perish. ^ She's far enough ; and what he learns by [ this, [Aside. May prove his travel, not her danger. J Clo. Humph ! Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again ! [Aside. 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 I should have cause to use thee, with a serious in- dustry, — that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly, — I would think thee an honest man ; thou should'st neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. Pis. Well, my good lord. Clo. Wilt thou serve me ? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of . mine. Wilt thou serve me ? Pis. Sir, I will. Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession? Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he 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 shall, my lord. [E.i it. Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven : — I forgot to ask him one thing ; I'll rernember'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 I 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 quali- ties. With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her : First kill him, and in her eyes ; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, — and when my lust hath dined, (which, 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 despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge. Re-enter Pisanio, with ihc clothet. Be those the garments ? Pis. Ay, my noble lord. Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford- Haven ? Pis. She can scarce be there yet. Clo. Brin? this apparel to my chamber ; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee : the third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself to thee. — My revenge is now at Mil- ford ; 'Would I had wings to follow it ! — Come, and be true. [Exit. Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss : for true to Were to prove false, which I will never be, [thee, To him that is most true. To Milford go, And rind not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's speed Be cross'd with slowness : labour be his meed ! [Exit SCENE VII CYMBELINE. 757 SCENE VI.— Before the Cave of Belaritjs. Enter Imogen, in boy's clothes. I mo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one : I have tir'd myself; and for two nights togetner Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, Thou wast within a ken : O Jove ! I think, Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean, Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me, I could not miss my way : Will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them ; knowing 'tis A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true : To lapse in fulness Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood Is worse in kings, than beggars. — My dear lord ! 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 : 'Tis' 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 any thing that's civil, speak ; if savage, Take, or lend. — Ho ! — No answer ? theri 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 ! IShe goes into the cave. Enter Belahius, Guideiuus, and Arviraqus. Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, and Are master of the feast : Cadwal, and I, Will play the cook, and servant ; 'tis our match : The sweat of industry would dry, and die, But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs Will make what's homely, savoury : Weariness Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth Finds the down pillow hard. — Now, peace be here, Poor house, that keep'st thyself! Gui. I am throughly weary. Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. 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 : [Looking in. Put that it eats our victuals, I should think Here were a fairy. G?ii. What's the matter, sir ? Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not, An earthly paragon ! — Behold divineness No elder than a boy ! Enter Imogen. I)no. Good masters, harm me not : Before I enter'd here, I call'd ; and thought To have begg'd, or bought what 1 have took: Good troth, I have stolen nought ; nor would not, though I had found Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for my meat: 1 would have left it on the board, so soon As I had made my meal ; and parted With prayers for the provider. ► Aside. Gui. Money, youth ? Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt ! As 'tis no better reckon'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. Bl. Whither bound ? Imo. To Milford-Haven, sir. Bel. What is your name ? Imo. Fidele, sir : I have a kinsman, who Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Milford ; To whom being gone, almost spent with hunger, I am fallen in this offence. Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, Think us no churls ; nor measure our good minds By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd I 'Tis almost night : you shall have better cheer Ere 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 ho- I bid for you, as I'd buy. [nesty, Arv. I'll 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, that they Had been my father's sons, then had my prize Been less ; and so more equal ballasting To thee, Posthumus. Bel. He wrings at some distress. Gui. 'Would, I could free't ! Arv. Or I ; whate'er it be, What pain it cost, what danger ! Gods ! Bel. Hark, boys. [ Whispering. Imo. Great men, That had a court no bigger than this cave, That did attend themselves, and had the virtue Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by That nothing gift of differing multitudes,) Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods ! I'd change my sex to be companions with them, Since Leonatus false. Bel. It shall be so : Boys, 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. Gui. Pray, draw near. Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, less welcome. Imo. Thanks, sir. Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt, SCENE VII.— Rome. 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 Pannonians and Dalmatians ; And that the legions now in Gallia are Full weak to undertake our wars against 768 CYMBELINE The fallen-off Britons ; that we do incite The gentry to this business i He creates Lucius pro-consul : 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 legion? 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. [Exeitn t 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 ! Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too ? the rather (saving reverence of the word) for 'tis said, a woman's fitness comes by fits. There- in 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 fortunes, 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 despite. What mortality is ! Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced ; thy garments cut to pieces before thy face : and all this done, spurn her home to her father ; who may, haply, be a little angry, for my so rough usage : but my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied up 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 II.— Before the Cave. Enter, from the Cave, Belarics, GurDERius, ABvmAous, and Imogen. Bel. You 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 ? Imo. 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 him. Imo. So sick I 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 me 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 here : 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, the 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, My father, not this yonth. Bel. O noble strain ! [Aside. 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 of the morn. Arv. Brother, farewell. Imo. I wish ye sport. Arv. You health,— 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 fish. I am sick still ; heart-sick : — Pisanio, I'll now taste of thy drug. Gui I could not stir him : He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate ; Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet said, hereafter 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. Imo. Well, or ill, I am bound to you. Bel. And so shalt be ever. [Exitlwc.ES. 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 saue'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. Qui. I do note, That grief and patience, rooted in him both, Mingle their spurs together. CYMBELINE. 759 Arv. Grow, patience ! And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine His perishing root, with the increasing vine ! Bel. It is great morning. Come ; away. — Who's there ? Enter Cloten. Clo. I cannot find those runagates: that villain Hath mock'd me : — I am faint. Bel. Those runagates ! Means he not us ? I partly know him ; 'tis Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush. I saw him not these many years, and yet I know 'tis he : — We are held as outlaws : — Hence. Gui. He is but one : You and my brother search What companies are near : pray you, away ; Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Bblarius and Arviragvs. Clo. Soft ! what are you That fly me thus ? some villain mountaineers ? I have heard of such. — What slave art thou ? Gui. A thing More slavish did I ne'er, than answering A slave without a knock. Clo. Thou art a robber, A law-breaker, a villain : Yield thee, thief. Gui. To whom? 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 My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art ; Why I should yield to thee ? Clo. Thou villain base, Know'st me not by my clothes ? Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, Who is thy grandfather ; he made those clothes, W T hich, 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. Thou injurious thief, Hear but my name, and tremble. Gui. What's thy name ? Clo. Cloten, thou villain. Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, I 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 shalt know I'm son to the queen. Gui. I'm sorry for't ; not seeming So worthy as thy biith. Clo. Art not afeard ? Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear ; the At fools I laugh, not fear them. [wise : Clo. Die the death : When I have slain thee with my proper hand, I'll follow those that even now fled hence, And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads : Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt, fighting. Enter Belarius and Arviragus. Bel. No company's abroad. Arv. None in the world: You did mistake him, sure. Bel. I cannot tell : Long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour Which then he 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 fel\. Bel. Being scarce made up, I mean, to man, he had not apprehension Of roaring terrors ; for the effect of judgment Is oft the cause of fear : But see, thy brother. Re-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head. Gui. This Cloten was a fool ; an empty purse, There was no money in't : not Hercules Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none : Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne My head, as I do his. Bel. What hast thou done ? Gui. I am perfect, what : cut off one Cloten's Son to the queen, after his own report ; [head, Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer ; and swore, With his own single 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. Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, But that he swore to take, our lives ? The law 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 humour 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 in time May make some stronger head : the which he hearing, (As it is like him,) might break out, and swear He'd fetch us in ; yet is't not probable To come alone, either 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 : howsoe'er, My brother hath done well. Bel. I had no mind To hunt this day : the boy Fidele's sickness Did make my way long forth. Gui. With his own sword, Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en His head from him : I'll throw't into the 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. [Exit. Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd : 'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't ! though Becomes thee well enough. [valour Arv. 'Would I had done't, So the revenge alone pursued me ! — Polydore, I love thee brotherly ; but envy much, Thouhast robb'd me of this deed : I would revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us And put us to our answer. [through, Bel. Weil, 'tis done : — ~<;o- CVMBKLINE. ACT IV. We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock ; You and Fidele play the cooks : I'll stay Till hasty Polydore return, and hring him To dinner presently. Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! 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 blazon' st In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchaf 'd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis 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 crop As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it's strange, What Cloten's being here to us portends ; Or what his death will bring us. Re-enter Gciderius. Gui. Where's my brother ? I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, In embassy to his mother ; his body's hostage For his return. [Solemn music. Bel. My ingenious instrument ! Hark, Polydore, it sounds ! But what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion ! Hark 1 Gui. Is he at home ? Bel. 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 lamenting toys, Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys, Is Cadwal mad ? Re-enter Arviraqus, bearing Imogen as dead 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 had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen 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 show what coast thy sluggish crare Might easiliest harbour in ? — Thou blessed thing ! Jove knows what man thou might'st have made ; but I, Thou dicdst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! 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 Reposing on a cushion. [cheek Gui. Where ? Arv. O' the floor; Hisj arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rude Answer'd my steps too loud. [nest Gui. Why, he but sleeps : Tf 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. Whilst 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, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock would, With charitable bill (O bill, sore shaming Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Without a monument !) bring thee all this ; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corse. Gui. Pr'ythee, have done ; And do not play in wench-like words with that Which is so serious. Let us bury him, And not protract with admiration what Is now due debt. — To the grave. Arv. Say, 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 him to the ground, As once our mother; use like note, and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. Gui. Cadwal, I cannot sing : I'll weep, and word it with thee : For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse Than priests and fanes that Ue. Arv. We'll speak it then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less : for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys : And, though he came our enemy, remember, He was paid for that : Though mean and mighty. rotting Together, have one dust ; yet reverence, (That angel of the world,) doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely , 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 you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin. [Exit BfiLAKICS. Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the My father hath a reason for't. [east : Arv. 'Tis true. Gui. Corrie on then, and remove him. Arv. So,— Begin. SONG. Gui. Fear no more the heat o'the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly 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 o'the 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 All follow this, and come to dust. SCENE CYMBEL1NE. 7(U Gui. Fear no mora the light'ning-flash, 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 must Consign to thee, and come to dust. Gut. No exorciser harm thee ! Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! A rv. Nothing ill come near thee ! Both. Quiet consummation have ; And renowned be thy grave ! Re-enter Belarius, with the body 0/ Cloten. Gui. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay him down. Bel. Here's a few flowers ; but about midnight, more : The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night, Are strewings fitfstfor graves. — Upon their faces : — You were as flowers, now wither'd : even so These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow. — Come on, away : apart upon our knees. The ground, that gave them first, has them again : Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. IBXeUHt BeI.ARMJ.S, Guidkrius, and Arviragus. Imo. [Jtvuking.] Yes, sir, to Milford- Haven ; Which is the way ? I thank you. — By yon bush? — Pray, how far thither? '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 ; [Seeing the body. These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ; This bloody man, the care on't. — I hope, I dream; For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, And cook to honest creatures : But 'tis not so ; 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes : Our very eyes Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind. Good faith, I tremble still with fear : But if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part 01 it ! The dream's here still : even when I wake, it is Without me, as within me ; not imagin'd, felt. A headless man ! — The garments of Posthumus ! 1 know the shape of his leg : this is his hand ; His foot Mercurial : his Martial thigh ; The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial face — Murder in heaven ? — How ? — 'Tis gone. — Pisanio, All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, And mine to boot, be darted on thee ! Thou Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, Hast here cut off 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, Posthumus ! alas, Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me ! where's that ? Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, And left this head on. — How should this be ? Pisanio ? 'Tis he, and Cloten : malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant ! The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious \nd cordial to me, have I not found it Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's : O ! — Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, That we the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us : O, my lord, my lord ! Enter 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 You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships : They are here in readiness. Luc. But what from Rome Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the c6nfiners, And gentlemen of Italy ; most willing spirits, That promise noble service : and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Sienna's brother. Luc. When expect you them ? Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind. Luc. 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 purpose ? Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision : (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus : — I 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 speaks, that sometime It was a worthy building. — How ! 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. Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. — Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes ; for, it seems, They crave to be demanded : Who is this, Thou mak'stthy 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 Briton, and a good, That here by mountaineers Ues slain : — Alas ! There are no more such masters : I may wander From east to Occident, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve truly, never Find such another master. Luc. 'Lack, good youth \ Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than Thy master in bleeding ; Say his name, good . friend. Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope They'll pardon it. [Aside.] Say you, sir? Luc. Thy name ? Imo. Tidele. Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same 762 CYMBELINE. ACT IV Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name. Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say, Thou shalt be so well master'd ; but, be sure, No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee ; Go witli me. Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep As these poor pickaxes can dig : and when With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd his grave, And on it said a century of prayers, Such as I can, twice o'er r I'll weep, and sigh ; And, leaving so his service, follow you, So please you entertain me. Luc. Ay, good youth ; And rather father thee, than master thee. — My friends, The boy hath taught us manly duties : Let us Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, And make him with our pikes and partizans A grave : Come; arm him. — Boy, he is preferr'd By thee to us ; and he shall be interr'd, As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes : Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. Enter Cymbemne, Lords, and Pisanio. Cym. Again ; and bring me word, how 'tis with her. A fever with the absence of her son ; A madness, of which her life's in danger : — Heavens, How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, The great part of my comfort, gone ; my queen Upon a desperate bed ; and in a time When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone, So needful for this present : It strikes me, past The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow, Who needs must know of her departure, and Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee By a sharp torture. Pis. Sir, my life is yours, I humbly set it at your will : But, for my mistress, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your Hold me your loyal servant. [highness, 1 Lord. Good my liege, The day that she was missing, he was here : I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, — There wants no diligence in seeking him, And will, no doubt, be found. Cym. The time's troublesome : We'll slip you for- a season ; but our jealousy [TO PtSANIO. Does yet depend. 1 Lord. So please your majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, Are landed on your coast ; with a supply Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and queen ! 1 am amaz'd with matter. 1 Lord. Good my liege, Your preparation can affront 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. [Exeunt. Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since I wrote him, Imogen was slain : 'tis strange : Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings : Neither know I What is betid to Cloten ; but remain Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work : Wherein I am false, I am honest ; not true, to be true. These present wars shall find I love my country, Even to the note o'the king, or I'll fall in them. All other doubts, by time let them be clear' d : Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. [Exit, SCENE IV.— Before the Cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Gut. The noise is round about us. Bel. Let us from it. Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure ? Gui. Nay, what hope Have we in hiding us ? this way, the Romans Must or for Britons slay us ; or receive us For barbarous and unnatural revolts During their use, and slay us after. Bel. Sons, We'll higher to the mountains ; there secure us. To the king's party there's no going : newness Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not mus- ter' d Among the bands) may drive us to a render Where we have liv'd ; and so extort from us That 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, Nor satisfying us. Arv. It is not likely, That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, That they will waste their time upon our note, To know from whence we are. Bel. O, I am known Of many in the army : many years, Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him From my remembrance. And, besides, the king Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves ; Who find in my exile the want of breeding, The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and The shrinking 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 ergrown, Cannot be qu,estion'd. SCENE III. CYMBELINE. 763 Arv. By this sun that shines, I'll thither : What thing is it, that I 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 blessed beams, remaining So long a poor unknown. Gut. By heavens, I'll go : Tf you will bless me, sir, and give 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 ! Arv. So say I ; Amen. 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, That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie : Lead, lead. — The time seems long : their blood thinks scorn, [Aside Till it fly out, and show them princes born. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. — A Field between the British and Roman Camps. Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee ; for I wish'd Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, If each of you would take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves, For wrying but a little ? — O, Pisanio ! Every good servant does not all commands ; No bond, but to do just ones.— Gods ! if you Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never Had liv'd to put on this : so had you saved The noble Imogen to repent ; and struck Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack, You snatch some hence 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 doers' thrift. But Imogen is your own : Do your best wills, And make me bless'd to obey! — I am brought Among the Italian gentry, and to fight [hither Against my lady's kingdom : 'Tis enough That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress ; peace '. I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, Hear patiently my purpose ; I'll disrobe me Of tbese Italian weeds, and suit myself As does a Briton peasant : so I'll fight Against the part I come with ; so I'll die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Js, every breath, a death : and thus, unknown, Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me, than my habits show. Gods, put the strength o'the Leonati in me ! To shame the guise o'the world, I will begin The fashion, less without, and more within. [Exit. SCENE II.— The same. Enter at one side, Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman army ; at the other side, the British army ,•_ Leo natus Posthu- mus following it, like a poor soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him. lach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes oft" my manhood : I have belied a lady, The princess of this country, and the air on't Revengingly enfeebles me ; Or, could this 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 odds Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit. The battle continues ; the Britons fly ; Cymbeline is taken ; then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviraous. Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantage of the ground ; The lane is guarded ; nothing routs us, but The villany of our fears. Gni. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight ! Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons : They rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen. Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy- self: For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hood-wink'd. lach. Tis their fresh supplies. 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 thou from where they made the stand? Post. I did ; Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. Lord. I did. . Post. No blame be to you, 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 flying Through a strait lane ; the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Merely through fear ; that the strait pass was damm'd With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen' d shame. Lord. Where was this lane ? Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf; 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, 704 CYMBELINE. ACT V. 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 facesnt for masks, or rather fairer Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) Made good the passage ; cried to those that fled, Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men : To darkness flit souls that fly backwards ! Stand; Or we are Romans, and will give you that Like beasts, which you shun beastly ; and may save, But to look back in jrown : stand, stand. — These three, Three thousand confident, in act as many, (For three performers are the file, when all The rest do nothing,) with this word, stand, stand, Accommodated by the place, more charming, With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks v Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd coward But by example, (O, a sin in war, Damn'd in the first beginners !) 'gan to look The way that they did, and to grin like lions Upon the pikes o'the hunters. Then began A stop i'the chaser, a retire ; anon, A rout, confusion thick : Forthwith, they fly Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles ; slaves, The strides they victors made : And now our cowards (Like fragments in hard voyages,) became The life o'the need; having found the back-door open Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! Some, slain before ; some, dying ; some, their friends O'er-borne i'the former wave : ten, chas'd by one, Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty : Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown The mortal 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 ? Here is one : Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, Preserved the Britons, was the Roman's 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 rhyme. Lord. Farewell ; you are angry. [Exit. Post. Still going ? — This is a lord ! O noble misery ! To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me ! To-day, how many would have given their honours To 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 I did hear him groan ; Nor feel him, where he struck : Being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i'the war. — Well, I will find For being now a favourer to the Roman, [him : No more a Briton, I have resum'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 is Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be Britons must take ; For me, my "ransome's death; On either side I come to spend my breath ; Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again, But end it by some means for Imogen. Enter Two British Captains, and Soldiers. 1 Cap. Great Jupiter 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 gave the affront with them. 1 Cap. So 'tis reported : But none of them can be found. — 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 What crows have peck'd them here : He brags hv» service As if he were of note : bring him to the king. Entet Cymbeijne, attended ,• Belarhts, GuiDERrus, Ann- ragus, Pisanio, and Roman Captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler: after which, all go out. SCENE IV.— A Prison. Enter Posthumus, and Two Gaolers. . 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you ha e locks upon you ; So, graze, as you find pasture. 2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. [Exeunt Gaolers. Post. Most welcome, bondage! forthouart away, I think, to liberty : Yet am I 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 ! thou art fetter'd More than my shanks, and wrists : You good gods, give me The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever ! Is't enough, I am sorry ? So children temporal fathers do appease ; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent ? 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 than vile men, Who of their broken debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement : that's not my desire : For Imogen's dear life, take 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 the 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 thee in silenco. [He sleeps SCENE IV. CYMBELINE •06 Solemn Music. Enter, as an apparition, Siciuus Leona- tus, father to Posthumus, an old man, attired like a warrior ; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother to Posthumus, with music before them. Then, after other music, follow the Two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus round, as he lies sleeping. Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show 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, Whose face I never saw ? 1 died, whilst in the womb he stay'd Attending Nature's law. Whose father then (as men report, Thou orphans' father art,) Thou should'st have been, and shielded him From this earth-vexing smart. Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, But took me in my throes ; That from me was Posthumus ript, Came 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 w >rld, As great Sicilius' heir. 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, 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 mock'd, To be exil'd, and thrown From Leonati' seat, and cast From her his dearest one, Sweet Imogen? Sici. W T hy did you suffer Iachimo, Slight thing of Italy, To taint his nobler heart and brain 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, With honour to maintain. 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. Sici. Peej) through thy marble mansion ; help ! Or we poor ghosts will cry To the shining synod of the rest, Against thy deity. 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter ; or we appeal, And from thy justice fly. Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle % he throws a thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing : hush ! — How dare you, Accuse 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 mortal 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. Be content ; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift : Mis comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in Our temple was he married. — 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 confine ; And so, away : no further with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. — Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. {.Ascends. 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 ladiant roof: — Away ! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest. IGhosts 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 born. And so I am awake. — Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favour, dream as 1 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 one! Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, As good as promise. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to him- self unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air ; and when from a stalely cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be 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 Ike it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy. 76G CYMBELINE ACT V. 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 comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills ; which are often the sad- ness 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, and oounters ; so the acquittance follows. Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth- ache : 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 I, fellow. Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then ; I have not seen him so pictured : you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know ; or take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do not know ; or jump the after-enquiry on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think, you'll never return to tell one. Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them. Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Knock off his manacles ; bring your pri- soner to the king. Post. Thou bringest good news ; — I am called to be made free. Gaol. I'll be hanged then. Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler ; no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt Posthuaius and Messenger. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves de- sire to live, for all he be a Roman : and there be some of them too, that die against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good ; O, there were deso- lation of gaolers, and gallowses ! I speak against my present profit ; but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— Cymbeline's Tent. Enter Oymbeline, Belarius, Guidhucs, Arviraqus, Pxsanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart. That the poor soldier, that so richly fought, Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found : He shall be happy that can find him, if Our grace can make him so. Bel. I never saw Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But beggary and poor looks. Cym. No tidings of hi in ? Pis. He hath been search' d among the dead and But no trace of him. [living, Cym. To my grief, I am The heir of his reward ; which I will add To you the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, [To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragvs By whom I grant she lives : 'Tis 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 becoming 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. Whom worse than a physician Would this report become ? But I consider, By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death Will seize the doctor too. — How ended she? Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life ; Which, being cruel to the world, concluded Most cruel to herself. What she confess' d I will report, so please you : These her women Can trip me, if I err ; who, with wet cheeks, Were present when she finish'd. Cym. Pr'ythee, say. Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you Affected greatness got by you, not you : [om\ Married your royalty, was wife to your place ; Abhorr'd your person. Cym. ' She alone knew this : And, but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand t 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 is't can read a woman ? — Is there more ? Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she had For you a mortal 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 show : yes, and in time, (When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work Her son into the adoption of the crown. SCENE V. CYMBELINE. But failing of her end by his strange absence, Grew shameless-desperate ; open'd, in despite Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented The evils she hatch' d were not effected ; so, Despairing, died. Cym. Heard you all this, her women ? Lady. We did so, please your highness. Cym. Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful ; Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming : it had been vicious, To have mistrusted her : yet, O my daughter ! That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all ! Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other Roman prisoners, guarded ; Posthumus behind, and Imogen. Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that The Britons have ras'd out, though with the loss Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit, That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter Of you their captives, which ourselves havegranted : So, think 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 call'd ransome, let it come : sufliceth, A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer : Augustus lives to think on't : and so much For my peculiar care. This one thing only I will entreat ; My boy, a Briton born, Let him be ransom'd : never master had A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, So tender over his occasions, true, So feat, so nurse-like : let his virtue join With my request, which, 111 make bold, your highness 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 him : 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. Jmo. I humbly thank your highness. Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad ; And yet, I know, thou wilt. Imo. No, no : alack. There's other work in hand ; I see a thing Bitter to me as death : your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself. Luc. The boy disdains me, He leaves me, scorns me : Briefly die their joys, That place them on the truth of girls and boys. Why stands he so perplex'd? Cym. What would'st thou, boy ? I love thee more and more ; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak, Wilt have him live ? Is he thy kin ? thy friend ? Imo. He is a Roman ; no more kin to me, Than I to your highness ; who, being born your Am something nearer. [vassal, Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so ? Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name ? Imo. Fidele, sir. Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page ; I'll be thy master : Walk with me ; speak freely. [Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death ? Arv. One sand another Not more resembles : That sweet rosy lad, Who died, and was Fidele : — What think you ? Gui. The same dead thing alive. Bel. Peace, peace ! see further ; he eyes us not ; forbear ; Creatures may be alike : were't he, I am sure He would have spoke to us. Gui. But we saw him dead. Bel. Be silent ; let's see further. Pis. It is my mistress : [.Aside. Since she is living, let the time run on, To good or bad. [Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [to Iach.] step you forth ; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely ; Or," by our greatness, and the grace of it, Which is our honour, bitter torture shall [him, Winnow the truth from falsehood. — On, speak to Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring. Post. What's that to him ? [Aside. Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say How came it yours ? Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. Cym. How ! me ? Iach. I am glad to be constrained to utter that Torments me to conceal. By villany [which I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel ; Whom thou didst banish ; and (which more, may grieve thee, As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my Cym. All that belongs to this. [lord ? Iach. That paragon, thy daughter, — For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember, — Give me leave ; I faint. Cym. My daughter ! what of her ? Renew thy strength : I had rather thou should'st live while nature will, Than die ere I hear more : strive, man, and speak. Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour !) it was in Rome, (accurs'd The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would Our viands had been poison'd ! or, at least, Those which I heav'd to head ! the good Posthumus, (What should I say ? he was too good, to be Where ill men were ; and was the best of all Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming 703 CYMBEL1NE. A 01 7. The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, Postures beyond brief nature ; for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for ; besides, that hook of wiving, Fairness, which strikes the eye : Cym. I stand on fire : Come to the matter. lack. All too soon I shall, Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.— This Pos- thumus, (Most like a noble lord in love, and one That had a royal lover,) took his hint ; And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein He was as calm as virtue) he began His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description Prov'd us uuspeaking sots. Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. Iach. Your daughter's chastity — There it begins. He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold : Whereat, I, wretch ! Made scruple of his praise ; and wager'd with him Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore Upon his honour'd ringer, to attain In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring By hers and mine adultery : he, true knight, No lesser of her honour confident Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; And would so, had it been a carbuncle Of Phoebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had it Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain Post I in this design: Well may you, sir, Remember me at court, where 1 was taught Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 'Gan in your duller Britain operate Most vilely ; for my vantage, excellent ; And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, That I return'd with similar pi oof 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, this her bracelet, (O, cunning, how I got it !) nay, some marks Of secret on her person, that he could not But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, — Methinks, I see him now, Post. Ay, so thou dost, [Com ing forward. Italian fiend ! — Ah me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come ! — O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright justicer ! 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 kilTd 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 villany less than 'twas I — O Imogen 1 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 scorn- ful page, There lie thy part. [Striking her : thefaUt. Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help I Mine, and your mistress : — O, my lord Posthumus ! You ne'er kill'd 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 To death with mortal joy. [me 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. Cym. 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 ? Imo. It poison'd me. Cor. O gods ! — I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, 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 you 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. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from Think, that you are upon a rock ; and now [you ? Throw me again. [Embracing him, Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die ! Cym. How now, my flesh, my child ? What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me ? Imo. Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not ; You had a motive for it. [To Guiderius and Abviragus. 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 lori Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cioteu. CYMBELINE. 7C9 Upon my lady's missing, came to me With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, and swore, [f I discover'd not which way she was gone, It was my instant death : By accident, I nad a feigned letter of my master's Then in my pocket ; which directed him To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate My lady's honour : what became of him, I further know not. Gui. Let me end the story : I slew him there. Cym. Marry, the gods forefend ! I would not thy good deeds should from my lips Pluck a hard sentence : pr'ythee, valiant youth, Deny't again. Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. Cym. He was a prince. Gui. A most uncivil one : The wrongs he did me Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me With language that would make me spurn the sea, If it could so roar to me : I cut off 's 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 condemn'd, and must Endure our law : Thou art dead. Imo. That headless man I thought had been my lord. Cym. 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 Clotens Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone ; [To the Guard. They were not born for bondage. Cym. Why, old soldier, 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, who 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 nursing 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 offence, my punishment Itself, and all my treason ; that I suffer'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 knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these childi en 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 shap'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 service, 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 awhile — This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius : This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand Of his queen mother, which, for more probation. I can with ease produce. Cym. Guiderius had Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ; It was a mark of wonder. Bel. This is he ; Who hath upon him still that netural stamp : It was 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 : — Bbss'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 brothers, When you were so indeed. Cym. Did you e'er meet ? Arv. Ay, my good lord. Gui. 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 ! When shall I hear all through ? This fierce abridge ment, Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 3 u 770 CYMBELINE. act v. Distinction should be rich in. — Where, how liv'd you, 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 I know not how much more, should be demanded ; And all the other by-dependencies, From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place, Will serve our long interrogatories. 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 Beijuuus. Imo. You are my father too ; and did relieve me, To see this gracions season. Cym. All o'erjoy'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 thankings 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 follow'd ; — That I was he, Speak, Iachimo : I had you down, and might Have made you finish. Jack. I am down again : {.Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech Which I so often owe : but, your ring first ; [you, And here the bracelet of the truest princess, That 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 others better. Cym. Nobly doom'd ; We'll learn our freeness of a son in-law ; Pardon's the word to all. Arv. You holp us, sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother ; Joy'd are we, that you are. Post. Your servant, princes. — Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer : As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, Appear'd.to me, with other spritely shows Of mine own kindred : when I wak'd, I found This label on my bosom ; whose containing Is so from sense in hardness, that I can Make no collection of it ; let him show His skill in the construction. Luc. Philarmonus, Sooth. Here, my good lord. Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air ; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortu- nate, and flourish in peace and plenty. Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp ; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leo-natus, doth import so much : The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [To Cymbblinf. Which we call mollis aer ; and mollis aer We term it mulier : which mulier I divine, Is this most constant wife ; who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle, Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about With this most tender air. Cym. This hath some seeming. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, 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, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Csesar, And to the Roman empire ; promising To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen : Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and hers,) 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 aloft, Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun So vanish'd : which foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Csesar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which 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 : Let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together : so through Lud's town march : And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify ; seal it with feasts. — Set on there : — Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. tR remit TITUS ANDRONICUS. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Saturninus, Son to the late Emperor of Rome, and afterwards declared Emperor himself. Bassianus, Brother to Saturninus; in love with Lavinia. Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, General against the Goths. Marcus Andronicus, Tribune of the People,- and Brother to Titus. Lucius, Quintus, Martius, Mutius, Young Lucius, a Boy, Son to Lucius. Pub/jus, Son to Marcus the Tribune. ) Sons to Titus Andronicus. J2milius, a noble Roman. Alarbus, "} Chiron, \Sons to Tamora. Dbmetrius, J Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown ; Roman*. Goths and Romans. Tamora, Queen of the Goths. Lavinia, Daughter to Titus Andronicus. A Nurse, and a Black Child. Kinsmen of Trrus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiery and Attendants. SCENE, — Rome ; and the Country near it. ACT I. SCENE I.— Rome. Before the Capitol. The tomb of the Andronici appearing ; the Tribunes and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. Enter, below, Satur- ninus 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, Defend the justice of ray cause with arms ; And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords : I am his first-born son, that was the last That ware the imperial diadem of Rome ; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. Bas. Romans, — friends, followers, favourers of my right,— If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol ; And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence, and nobility : But let desert in pure election shine ; And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the crown. Mar. Princes — that strive by factions, and by Ambitiously for rule and empery, — [friends, Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand A special party, have, by common voice, In election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed 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 j That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yok d a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Ten years are spent, since first he undertook This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms Our enemies' pride : Five times he hath return 'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons In coffins from the field ; And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat — By honour of his name, Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed, And in 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 my thoughts ! Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy nobler 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 forward in my right, I thank you all, and here dismiss you all ; And to the love and favour of my country Commit myself, my person, and the cause. [Exeunt the Followers o/Satcrninuk, Rome, be as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee.— Open the gates, and let me in. Bas. Tribunes ! and me, a poor competitor. [Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, and exeunt with Senators, Marcus, &ic. 3 D 2 772 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 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 fortune is return'd, From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. Flourish of trumpets, §c. Enter Munus and Martius : after them, two men bearing a coffin eovered with black; then Quintus and Lucius. After them, Titus Andro- nicus ; and then Tamora, with Alarbus, Chiron, Deme- trius, Aaron, and other Goths, prisoners ; Soldiers and People, following. The bearers set down the coffin, and Titus speaks. Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds ! Lo, as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fraught, Returns with precious lading to the bay, From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears ; Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. — Thou great defender of this Capitol, Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! — Romans, of five-and-twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that king Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead ! These, that survive, let Rome reward with love ; These, that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors : Here Goths have given meleaveto sheathmy sword. Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, Why sufFer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ! — Make way to lay them by their brethren. [The tomb is opened. There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And 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, That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile, Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthly prison of their bones ; That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. Tit. I give him you ; the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. Tarn. 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 weal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? Draw near them then in being merciful : Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge < Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. Til. 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 mark'd ; and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. Luc. Away with 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 Mutius, with Alarbus. Tarn. O cruel, irreligious piety ! Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ? Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening look. Then, madam, stand resolv'd ; but hope withal, The self- same gods, that arm'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, and Mutius, with 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. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. [Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps 1 Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges ; here, are no storms, 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 earth, for thy return to Rome : O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud. Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovinglyreserv'd The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! — Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise 1 Enter Marcus Andronicus, Saturninus, Bassianus, and others. Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triunipher in the eyes of Rome ! Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Mar- cus. Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep m fame. Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your" swords . But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness, And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed — Titus Andronicus, tin people of Rome. JCEXE II. TITUS ANDRONICUS. 773 Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust, This palliainent of white and spotless hue ; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late deceased emperor's sons : 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, that shakes for age and feebleness : What 1 should I don this robe, and trouble 70U ? 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 buried one-and-twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country : Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world : Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?— Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine. Sat. Romans, do me right ; — Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor : — Andronicus, 'would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's bearts. Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from them- selves. Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till I die ; My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be : and thanks, to men Of noble minds, is honourable meed. Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, I ask your voices, and your suffrages ; Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus ? Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept 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, And ripen justice in this common-weal : Then if you will elect by my advice, Crown him, and say, — Long live our emperor I Mar. With voices and applause of every sort, Patricians, and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus, Rome's great emperor ; And say, — Long live our emperor Saturnine I [A longfiourish. Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done To 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, Titus, 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, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee ? Tit. It doih, my worthy lord ; and, in this match, [ hold me hbjhly honoured of your grace : And here, in siglu of Rome, to Saturnine, — King and commander of our common-weal, The wide world's emperor, — do I consecrate My sword, my chariot and my prisoners ; Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life ! How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, Rome shall record ; and, when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an em- peror ; [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 would 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 shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes ; Madam, he comforts you, Can make you greater than the queen of Goths. — Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this ? Lav. Not I, my lord ; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us go : Ransomeless 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 then, my lord ? Bas. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolv'd withal, To do myself this reason and this right. [The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb shoic. Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice : This prince in justice seizeth but his own. Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. Tit. Traitors, avaunt ! Where is the emperor's guard ? Treason, my lord ; Lavinia is surpris'd. Sat. Surpris'd ! By whom ? Bas. By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Exeunt Marcus and Bassianus, with Lavinia. Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I will keep this doOr safe. [Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her Mut. My lord, you pass not here. [back. Tit. What, villain boy ! Barr'st me my way in Rome ? [Titus kills Menus. Mut. Help, Lucius, help ! Re-enter Lucius. Luc. My lord, you are unjust ; and, more than In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. [so, Til. 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 promis'd love. [Exit Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her not, Not 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, 774 TITUS ANDRONICUS. Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are these ? Sat. But go thy ways ; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'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 the commonwealth of Rome. Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, — That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, — If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee emperess of Rome. Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice ? And here 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 for Hymeneus stand, — 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. Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon : — Lords, accompany Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquer'd : There shall we consummate our spousal rites. [Exeunt Saturninus, and his Followers ; Tamora, and her sons ; Aaron, and Goths. Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride ; — Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs ? Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martjus. Mar. O, Titus, see, O see, what thou hast done ! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 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 unworthy sons ! Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes ; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb. This 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 comes not here. Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you : My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him ; He must be buried with his brethren. Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will ac- company. Tit. And shall ? What villain was it spoke that word ? Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my d. spite 1 Mar. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded : My foes I do repute you every one ; So trouble me no more, but get you gone. Mar. He is not with himself; let us withdiaw. Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. [Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel. Mar. 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 speed. Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul, Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all,— Mar. Suffer 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, upon 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 dishonour'd by my sons in Rome ! — Well, bury him, and bury me 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 ! — All. No man shed tears for noble Mutius ; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. Mar. My lord, — to step out of these dreary dumps, — How comes it, that the subtle queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? Tit. I know not, Marcus ; but I know, it is ; Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell : Is she not then beholden to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far ? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter at one side, Saturninus, attended,- Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, and Aaron: At the other, Bassianus, Lavinia, and others. Sat. So Bassianus, you have play'd your prize ; God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. Bas. And you of yours, my lord : I say no more, Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave. Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, Thou 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 wife ? But let the laws of Rome determine all ; Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. Sat. 'Tis good, sir : You are very short with us ; But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must, and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give your grace to know, By all the duties that I owe to Rome, This noble gentleman, lord Titus here, Is in opinion, and in honour, wrong'd ; That, in the rescue of Lavinia, With his own hand did slay his youngest son, In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath 8C2NJ5 /. TITUS ANDRONICUS. 76 To be controll'd in that he frankly gave : Receive him then to favour, Saturnine ; That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome. Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds ; 'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me : Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine! Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak indifferently for all ; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. Sat. What ! madam ! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge ? Tarn. Not so, my lord ; The gods of Rome fore- I should be author to dishonour you ! [fend, But, on mine honour, dare I undertake For good lord Titus' innocence in all, Whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. — My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : You 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 ingratitude, (Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,) Yield at entreats, and then let me alone ; )■ Aside. 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 my dear son's life : 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, Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath prevail'd. Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord : These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; — And let it be mine honour, good my 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 fear not, lords, — and you, Lavinia ; — By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. Luc. We do ; and vow to heaven, and to his highness, That, what we did, was mildly, as we might, Tend'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. — Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends : The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; I will 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 me like a churl, I found a friend : and sure as death I swore, I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides You 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 .vith me, With horn and hound, we'll give your grace bon-jour. Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. {Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.— The same. Before the Palace. Enter Aaron. Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning's flash ; Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach. As when the golden 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, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with 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 will 'be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made emperess. To wait, said 1 1 to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis ;— 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 grae'd ; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all ; And so 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' grace ; And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. Aar. Clubs, clubs I these lovers will not keep the peace. Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, un ad vis'd Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends? Go (o : have your lath glued within 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. 776 TITUS ANDRONICUS. ACT II. 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, Be so dishonour'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 hath breath'd in my dishonour here. Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, — Foul-spoken coward! that thunder'st with thy tongue, And with 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 to jut upon a prince's right ? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broaeh'd, Without controlment, justice, or revenge ? Young lords, beware ! an should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the world ; I love Lavinia more than all the world. Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice : Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. Aar. Why, are ye mad ? or know ye not, in How furious and impatient they be, [Rome And cannot brook competitors in love ? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths By this device. Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose, to achieve her whom I love. Aar. To achieve her! — How? Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange ? She is a woman, 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 Than 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 knows to court it With words, fair looks, and liberality ? What, hast thou not full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keepsr's nose ? Aar. Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch Would serve your turns. [or so Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd. Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. Aar. 'Would you had hit it too ; 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'feith, not me. Dem. Nor me, So 1 were one. Aar. For shame, be friends ; and join for that you jar. 'Tis policy and stratagem must do That you 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 lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop : The 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 wit, To villany and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with 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 : The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ; There speak, and strive, brave boys, and take your 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. Dem. Sit fas aut nrfas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, Per Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Forest near Home. A Lodge sren at a distance. Horns, and cry of Hounds heard. Enter Titus Andronicus, with Hunters, SfC. Marcus Lucius, Quiwtus, and MartiOs. Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, 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 prince ; and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, To tend the emperor's person carefully : I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. Horns wind a peal. Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Bassi- anus, Lavinia, Chiron, Demetrius., and Attendants. Tit. Many good morrows to your majesty ; — Madam, to you as many and as good ! — I promised your grace a hunter's peal. Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords, Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. Bas. Lavinia, how say you ? Lav. I say, no ; I have been broad awake two hours and more. Sat. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport : — Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. [To Tamora. Mar. I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. SCENE III. TITUS ANDRONICUS. Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt. SCENE III A desert Part of the Forest. Enter Aaron with a bag of gold. Aar. He that had wit, would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit it. Let him, that thinks 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, [Hides the gold. That have their alms out of the empress' chest. Enter Tamora. Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast ? The birds chaunt melody on every bush ; The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, And make a chequer' d shadow on the ground : Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, — Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise : And — after conflict, such as was suppos'd The wandering prince of Didc once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, And curtain' d with a counsel-keeping cave, — We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber ; Whiles hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious birds, Be unto us, as is a nurse's song Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep. Aar. Madam, 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 hair that now uncurls, Even as an adder, when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution ? No, madam, these are no venereal signs ; Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark, Tamora, — the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, — This is the day of doom for Bassianus ; His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day : Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter ? take it up, I pray thee 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' destruction. Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes : Be cross with him ; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, wbatso'er thty Le. [Exit. Enter Bassianus and LAvrNiA. Bas. Who have we here ? Rome's royal emperess. Unfurnish'd of her well beseeming troop ? Or is it Dian, habited like her ; Who hath abandoned her holy groves, To see the general hunting in this forest ? Tarn. 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 Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequestered from ail your train ? Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you ? Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. — I pray you, let us hence, And let her 'joy her raven-colour'd love ; This valley fits the purpose passing well. Bas. The king, my brother, shallhave note of this. Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king ! to be so mightily abus'd ! Tarn. Why have I patience to endure all this ? Enter Chiron and Demetrius. Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother, Why doth your highness look so pale and wan ? Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale ? These two have 'tic'd me 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 never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. And, when they show'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 cries, As any mortal body, hearing it, Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me, they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew ; And leave me to this miserable death. And then they call'd me, foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect, And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed : Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. Dem. This is a witness that I am tby son. [Stabs Bassianus. Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my S'reng'h. [Sabbing him likewue. 773 TITUS ANDRONICUS. ACT II. Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, — nay, barbarous Tamora ! For no name fits thy nature but thy own ! Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall know, my boys, Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. Bern. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her ; First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw : This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness : And shall she carry 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, Let not this wasp outlive, 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! thoubear'st a woman's face, — Tarn. I will not hear her speak ; away with her. Lav. Sweetlords, 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. — Yet every mother breeds not sons alike ; Do thou entreat her show a woman pity. [To Chiron. Chi. What ! 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 !) The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure To have his princely paws par'd all away. Some say that ravens 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 ! Tarn. 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, open thy deaf ears. Tam. Had thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless : — Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice ; But fierce Andronicus 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. Lav. 'Tispresentdeathlbeg; and one thing more, That womanhood denies my tongue to tell : O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, A.nd tumble me into some loathsome pit ; Where never man's eye may behold my body : Do 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. Dem. 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 mouth : — Bring thou her husband ; [Dragging off Lavinia. This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. [Exeunt. Tam. Farewell, my sons : see, that you make her sure : Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Exit. SCENE IV.— The same. Enter Aaron with Quintus and Martius. Aar. Come on, my lords ; the better foot before : Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit, Where I espy'd the panther fast asleep. Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. Mart. And mine, I promise you ; wer't not foi shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. [Martius falls into the pit. Quin. What, art thou fallen ? What subtle 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 : — Speak, 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 I fetch the king to find them here ; That he thereby may give a likely guess, How these were they that made away his brother. [Exit Aaron. Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole ? Quin. I am surpris'd with an uncouth fear : A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints ; My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. Quin. Aaron isgone; 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 here, 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 earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of this pit : So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy faintine hand. — TITUS ANDRONICUS. 77ii If fear 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 thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 1 have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. Quiti. Thy hand once more ; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below : Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. [Falls in. Enter Saturnincs and Aaron. Sat. Along with me : — I'll see what hole is here, And what he is, that now is leap'd into it. Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ; Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. Sat. My brother dead? I know, thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge, Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ; 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. Mart. We know not where you left him all alive, But, out alas ! here have we found bin dead. Enter Tamora, with Attendants ; Titus Andronicus, and Lucius. Tarn. Where is my lord, the king ? Sat. Here, Tamora ; though griev'd with kill- ing grief. Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus ? Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound ; Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, [Giving a letter. The complot of this timeless tragedy ; And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. Sat. [Reads.] An if we miss to meet him hand- somely, — Sweet huntsman^ Bassianus His, we mean, — Do thou so much as dig the grave for him ; Thou knoiv'st our meaning : Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder tree, Which overshades the mouth of that same pit, Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends. O, Tamora ! was ever heard the like ? This is the pit, and this the elder-tree : Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out, That should have murder'd Bassianus here. Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. [Showing it. Sat. Two of thy whelps, [to Tit.] fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life : — Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison ; There let them bide, until we have devis'd Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. Tim. What, are they in this pit ? O wond'rous thing ! How easilv murder is discover'd ! Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble 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. Thou 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 ; Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. [Exeunt sever ally. - — + SCENE V.— The same. Enter Demetr[US and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. Dem. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so; And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can scowl. Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to And so lets leave her to her silent walks, [wash ; Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the 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 wake 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 lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Of her two branches ; those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep And might not gain so great a happiness, [in ; 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 Tereus hath defloured thee ; And, lest thou should'st detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, 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 cheeks look red as Titan's face, Blushing to be 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 ! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind ; 780 TITUS ANDRONICUS. ACT III But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee ; A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, 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 dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind : For such a sight will blind a father's eye : One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads ; 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 Mar- tius and Quintus, bound, passing on to the place of exe- cution ; Titus going before, pleading. Tit. Hear me, gr,ave fathers ! noble tribunes, stay ! For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept ; For all my blood, in Rome's great quarrel shed ; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks ; Be 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 my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. [Exeunt Sen., Trib., Sjc with the prisoners. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers : In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still ; In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow, And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my 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. Luc. O, noble fatber, 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 I entreat of you. [speak. Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did hear, They would not mark me ; 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, For 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, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than A stone is silent, and offendeth not ; [stones : And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. [drawn ? But wherefore stand'st -thou with thy weapon Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death : For which attempt, the judges have pronoune'd My everlasting doom of banishment. Tit. O happy man ! they have befriended 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 happy art thou then, From these devourers to be banished ? 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 Hath made thee handless in thy father's 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 now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain ; And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life ; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have serv'd me to effectless use : Now, all the service I require of them Is, 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'd thee? Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage ; Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear ! Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? Mar. O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself ; as doth the deer, That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. Tit. It was my deer ; and he that wounded her. Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd 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 wave. Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. I 1TUS ANDRONICUS. 781 This way to death my wretched sons are gone ; Here stands my other son, a banish' d man ; And here my brother, weeping at my woes ; But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn, Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. — Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me ; What shall I do Now I 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 condemn'd, 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 they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Because the law hath ta'en revenge on 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 sign how I may do thee ease : Shall, thy 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 dry 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 shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 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 your grief, See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Mar. Patience, dear niece: — good Titus, dry thine eyes. Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot, Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark I I understand her signs : Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee ; His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of woe is this ? As far from help as limbo is from bliss ! Enter Aaron. Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor Sends thee this word, — That, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, 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 noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, 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 And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, [Rome, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ? O, none of both but are of high desert : My 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 wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. Mar. And, for our father's sake, and mother's Now let me show a brother's love to thee, [care, Tit. Agree between you ; I will spare my hand. Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. Mar. But I will use the axe. [Exeunt Lucms 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 call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never, whilst 1 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 oJTTitus's hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus. Tit. Now, stay your strife ; what shall be, is despatch' d. — < Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand : Tell him, it was a hand that warded him From thousand 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 thy hand, Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : Their heads I mean. — O, how this villany [Aside Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it 1 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 this feeble ruin to the earth : If any power 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, And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. Mar. O ! brother, speak with possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ? Then be my passions bottomless with them. Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament. Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes : 7i)2 TITUS ANDllONICUS. ACT II J. When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'er- flow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face ? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow ! 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 deluge, 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 r d : That woe is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my father's death. [Exit. Mar. Now let hot ^Etna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! These miseries are more than may be borne ! To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at is double death. Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, 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 this 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 ; Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image cold and numb. Ah ! now no more will I control thy griefs : Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes ! Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still ? Tit. Ha, ha, ha ! Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour. 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 them 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 soul 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 teeth. 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, Marcus, and Lavikia. Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father ; The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome! Farewell, proud Rome ! till Lucius come again, He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been ! But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives, But in oblivion, and hateful griefs. If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ; And make proud Saturninus and his empress Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. SCENE 11.—^ Room in Titus's House. A Banquet set out. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young Lucius, a boy. Tit. So, so; now sit: and look, you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in ug As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow-w ? reathen knot ; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mim; Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; And when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down. — Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! [To Lavish. When 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 fall, May run into that sink, and soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. Mar. Fye, brother, fye ! teach her not thus to Such violent hands upon her tender life, [lay Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already ? Why, 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 ; — To bid JEne&s 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. — Fye, fye, how franticly 1 square my talk ! As if we should forget we had 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 1 Hark, Marcus, what she says ; — I can interpret all her martyr' d signs ; — She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'dwith 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 shalt 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. SCENE I. TITUS ANDRONICUS. ra3 Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments : Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. Til. 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 ? Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill'st my 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. And buz lamenting doings in the air ? Poor harmless fly ! That with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry ; and thou hast kill'd him. Mar. Pardon me, sir ; 'twas a black ill-favour'd Like to the empress' Moor ; therefore I kill'd him. Tit. O, O, O, 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 on He takes false shadows for true substances, [him, Tit. Come, take away. — Lavinia, go wi,th 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. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.— The same. Before Titus's House. Enter Titus and Mabcus. Then enter young Lucius, Lavinia running after him. Boy. Help, grandsire, help ! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why : — Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you 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 signs ? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : — Somewhat doth she mean : See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee : Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus ? Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her : For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad through sorrow : That made me to fear ; 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, and fly ; Causeless, perhaps : But pardon me, sweet aunt : And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship. Mar. Lucius, I will. [Lavinia turns over the books which Lucius has let, fall. Tit. How now, Lavinia ? — Marcus, what means 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 library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. — Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? Mar. I think, she means, that there was more than one Confederate in the fact ; — Ay, more there was : — Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? 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. Tit. Soft ! see how busily she turns the leaves ! Help her : — What would she find ? — Lavinia, shall I read ? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape ; And rape, I fear was root of thine annoy. Mar. See, brother, see ; note, how she quotes the leaves. Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? — See, see I Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, (O, had we never, never, hunted there !) Pattern'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, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? Mar. Sit down, sweet niece ; —brother, sit down by me. — Apollo, Pa'la?, Jove, or Mercury, 784 TITUS ANDRONICUS. Inspire me, that I may this treason find ! — My lord, look here ; — Look here, Lavinia : This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, This after me, when 1 have writ my name Without the help of any hand at all. [He writes his name with his staff, and guides it with his feet and mouth. Curs'dbe 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 ; Heaven 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 Stuprum — Chiron — Demetrius. [writ ? Mar. What, what ! — the lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? Tit. Magne Dominator poli, Tarn lentus audis scelera f tarn lentus vides 9 Mar. O, calm thee, gentle lord ! although I know, There is enough written upon this earth, 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 he sleeps, will she do what she list. You're a young huntsman, Marcus ; let it alone And, come, 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 I were a man, Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe For 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 ; Lucius, I'll fit thee ; and withal, my boy Shall carry from me to the empress' sons Presents, that I intend to send them both : Come, come ; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not? Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. Tit. No, boy, not so ; I'll teach thee another course. Lavinia, come : — Marcus, look to my house ; Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court ; Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on. [Exeunt Titos, 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 foe-men s marks upon his batter'd shield : But yet so just, that he will not revenge : — Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus ! [Exit SCENE II.— The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius, at one door ; at another door, young Lucius, and an Attendant, with a bundle ofweapox*. xnd verses writ upon them. mad Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius He hath some message to deliver to us. Aar. Ay, some mad message from his 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 the 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 have need, You may be armed and appointed well : And so I leave you both, [Aside.} like bloody vil- lains. [Exeunt Boy and Attendant. Dem. What's here ? A scroll ; and written round Let's see ; [about ? Integer vitce, scelerisque purus Non eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu. Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I know it well : I read it in the grammar long ago. Aar. Ay! just! — a verse in Horace; — right, you have it. 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, That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. 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 us 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 great a lord Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius ? Did you not use his daughter very friendly ? Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames 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. Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand moie. Dem. Come, let us go ; and pray to all the guds, For our beloved mother in her pains. ► Aside. SCENa II. TITUS AND110NICUS. 785 Aar. Pray to the devils ; the gods have given us o'er. [Aside. Flourish. Bern. Why do the emperor's trumpets nourish thus? • Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. Dem. Soft ; who comes here ? Enter a Nurse, with a Llack-a-moor child in her arms. Nur. Good morrow, lords : O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit 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 thine arms ? Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye. Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace ; — She is deliverd, lords, she is deliver'd. Aar. To whom? Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed. Aar. Well, God Give her good rest ! What hath he sent her ? Nur. A devil. Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam ; a joy- ful issue. Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. The empress 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, sure. Dem. Villain, what hast thou done ? Aar. Done ! that which thou Canst not undo. Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast un- done. Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice ! Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend ! Chi. It shall not live. Aar. It shall not die. Nur. Aaron, it must ; the mother wills it so. Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man, Do execution on my flesh and blood. [but I, Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on noy rapier's point ; Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch it. Aar. Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up. {Takes the child from the Nurse, and draws. Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your bro- Now, by the burning tapers of the sky [ther? 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, Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. What, what ; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys ! Ye white-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 ; this, myself; The vigour, and the picture of my youth : This, before all the world, do I prefer; This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe, Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death. Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears : Fye, treacherous hue ! that will betray with blush- The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! [ing 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 were, He is enfranchised and come to light : Nay, he's your brother by the surer side, Although my seal be stamped in his face. Nur. Aaron, what shall I say 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. {Tliey sit on the ground. Dem. How many women saw this child of his ? Aar. Why, so, brave lords ; When we all join in I am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor, [league, The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, The ocean 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 : — {Stabbing her. Weke, weke ! — so cries a pig, prepar'd to the spit. Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore 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, no. 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 the circumstance of all ; And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, And be received for the emperor's heir, And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the court ; And let the emperor dandle him for his own. Hark ye, lords ; ye see, that I have given her I physic, {Pointing to the Nurs* And you must needs bestow her funeral ; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms ; This done, see that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me. 3 e 78t3 TITUS ANDRONICUS. ACT IV. The midwife, and the nurse, well made away, Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 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 Dbm. and Chi., bearing off the Nurse. Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies ; There to dispose the treasure in mine arms, And secretly to greet the empress' friends. — Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you For it is you that puts us to our shifts : [hence ; 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. [Exit SCENE III.— The same. A public place. Enter Titus, bearing' arrows, with letters at the ends of them ; with him Marcus, young Lucius, and other Gentle- men, with bows. Tit. Come, Marcus, come ; — Kinsmen, this is Sir boy, now let me see your archery ; [the way : Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight : Terras Astraa reliquit : Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ; Happily you may find her in the sea ; Yet there's as little justice as at land : — No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 'Tis you must dig with mattock, and with ?pade, And pierce the inmost centre of the earth : Then, when you come to Pluto's region, I pray you, deliver him this petition : Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid : And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome Ah, Rome ! — Well, well ; I made thee miserable, What time I threw the people's suffrages On him that doth tyrannize over me. — Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, And leave you 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, Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract ? Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, By day and night to attend him carefully ; And feed his humour kindly as we may, Till time beget some careful remedy. Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. Tit. Publius, how now ? how now, my masters ? What, Have you met with her ? Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends you V7oni If you will have revenge from hell, you shall : Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So that 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-bon'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 down justice for to wreak our wrongs : Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. {lie gives them the arrows. AdJovem, that's for you: — Here, ad Apollinem : — Ad Marlon, that's for myself: — Here, boy, to Pallas : — Here, to Mercury : To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, — You were as good to shoot against the wind. — To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid : O' my word, I have written to effect ; There's not a god left unsolicited. Afar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the We will afflict the emperor in his pride. [court : Tit. Now, masters, draw. {They shoot."] O, well said, Lucius ! Good boy, in Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. Mar. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon ; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done ! See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. Mar. This was the sport, my lord : when Publius shot, The bull being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock That down fell both 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 But give them to his master for a present, [choose Tit. Why, there it goes: God give your lordship joy- Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons. News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is 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 not 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 not thou the carrier? Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven ? Clo. From heaven ? alas, sir, I never came there : God forbid, 1 should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. W T hy, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the imperial's men. Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve for your oration ; a"nd 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 emperor : By me thou shalt have justice at hrs hands. Hold, hold; — mean while, here's money for thy Give me a pen and ink. — [charges. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication ? Clo. Ay, sir. Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And SCENE TV. TITUS ANDRONICUS. 787 when you come to him, at the first approach, you must kneel ; then kiss his foot ; then deliver up your pigeons ; and then look for your reward. I'll oe at hand, sir ; see you do it bravely. Clo. I warrant you, sir ; let me alone. Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife ? Come, let me Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; [see it. For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant ; — And when thou hast given it to the emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. Clo. God be with you sir ; I will. Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go :— Publius, follow me. [Exeunt. — ♦ — SCENE IV.— The same. Before the Palace. Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, Lords, and others; Saturninus, with the arrows 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 the mightful gods, However these disturbers of our peace Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd, But even with law, against the wilful sons Of old Andronicus. 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 heaven for his redress : See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ; This to Apollo ; this to the god of war : Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome ! What's this, but libelling against the senate, And blazoning our injustice every where ? A goodly humour, is it not, my lords ? As who would say, in Rome no justice were. But, if I live, his feigned ecstacies Shall be no shelter to these outrages : But he and his shall know, that justice lives In Saturninus' health ; whom, if she sleep, He'll so awake, as she in fury shall Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his And rather comfort his distressed plight, [heart ; Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, 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. Tarn. Empress I 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. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. Clo. Hang'd ! By'r Lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 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, Have 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, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. Enter JEmilws. What news with thee, iEmilius? ' 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 Coriolanus did. Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ? These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : [storms. 'Tis he, the common people love so much ; Myself hath often over-heard them say, (When I have walked like a private man,) That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully > [peror. And they have wish'd that Lucius were their em- Tam. Why should you fear ? is not your city Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius ; [strong ? And will revolt from me, to succour him. Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it ? [name. The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby ; Knowing that, with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody : Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome. Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor, I will enchant the old Andronicus, With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, Than baits to fish, or honey- stalks to sheep ; When as the one is wounded with the bait, The other rotted with delicious feed. Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear With golden promises : that were his heart Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.— Go thou before, be our ambassador : [To ^milius. Say, that the emperor requests a parley Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting, Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. Sat. ^Emilius, do this message honourably : And if he stand on hostage for his safety, Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. JEmil. Your bidding shall I do effectually. [Exit JEmuvs. Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus ; And temper him with all the art I have, To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. And now, sweet emperor \ be blithe again, And bury all thy fear in my devices. Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. 3 E 2 [Exeunt. 788 TITUS ANDRONICUS. ACT V ACT V. SCENE l.^-Plains near Rome. Enter Lucius and Goths, with drum and colours. Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, I 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 An- dronicus, Whose name was once our terror, now our com- fort ; Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds, Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead st, — Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, Led by their master to the flower'd fields, — And be aveng'd on cunsed Tamora. Goths. And, as he saith, so say we all with him. Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ? Enter a Goth, leading Aaron, with his child in his arms. 2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; [stray'd, And as I earnestly did fix mine eye Upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard a child cry underneath a wall : I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard The crying babe controll'd with this discourse : Peace, taiviiy slave ; half me, and half thy dam I Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, Villain, thou might' st have been an emperor : But where the bull and cow are both niilh-while, They never do beyet a coal-black calf. Peace, villain, peace/ — even thus he rates the babe, — For J must bear thee to a trusty Goth ; Who, when he knows thou art the em press' babe, Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake. With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, Surpris'd him suddenly ; and brought him hither, To use as you think needful of the man. Luc. O worthy Goth ! this is the incarnate devil, That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand : This is the pearl that pleased your empress' eye ; And here's the base fruit of his burning lust.— Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither would'st thou convey This growing image of thy fiend-like face ? Why dost not speak ? What! deaf? No; not a word ? A halter, soldier ; 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 for ever being good First, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl ; A sight to vex the father's soul withal. Get me a ladder. [A ladder brought, which Aaron it obliged to ascend. 4ar. Lucius, save the child ; And bear it from me to the emperess. If thou do this, I'll show thee wond'rous things, That highly may advantage thee to hea/ : If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, I'll speak no more ; But vengeance rot you all! Luc. Say on ; and, if it 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, Lucius, '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 1 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, — Therefore I urge thy oath ; — For that, 1 know, An idiot holds his bauble for a god, And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears ; To that I'll urge him : — Therefore, thou shalt vow By that same god, what god soe'er it be, That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, — To save ray boy, to nourish, and bring him up ; Or else I will discover nought to thee. Luc. Even by my god, I 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 cha- To that which thou shalt hear of me anon, [rity, '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 ! call'st thou that trimming ? Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd ; and 'twas Trim 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 they from tneir 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. Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole, Where the dead corpse of Bassianus 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, when I had it, drew myself apart, And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. I pried me through the crevice of a wall, When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads ; SCENE I. TITUS ANDRONICUS. '89 Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, That both mine eyes were rainy like to his ; And when I told the empress of this sport, She swounded almost at my pleasing tale, And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses. Goth. What ! canst thou say all this, and never blush ? Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds ? Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. 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 their tears. Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, 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, I 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 must not die 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 tongue I Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no 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 JEmilius. Welcome, ^milius, what's the news from Rome ? jEmil. Lord Lucius, and you, princes of the Goths, The Roman emperor greets you all by me : And, for he understands you are in arms, He craves a parley at your father's house, Willing you to demand your hostages, And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 1 Goth. What says our general ? Luc. ^Emilius, let the emperor give his pledges Unto my father and my uncle Marcus And we will come. — March away. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— 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, they 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 sad 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 down ; 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 my Wanting a hand to give it action ? [talk, Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more. Tarn. If thou did'st know me, thou would'st talk with me. Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines ; Witness these trenches, made by grief and care ; Witness the tiring day, and heavy night ; Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well For our proud empress, mighty Tamora : Is not thy coming for my other hand ? Tarn. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora; 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 wreakful 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, or 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 offender quake. Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent to me, To be a torment to mine enemies ? Tarn. I am ; therefore come down, and welcome me. 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 find 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 ? 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 worldly men Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee : And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, 1 will embrace thee in it by and by. [Exit Titus, from abov*- 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. 700 TITUS AKDRONICUS. 4CT V, For now he 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, make 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 woful house ; — Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too : — How like the empress and her sons you are ! Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor : — Could not all hell afford you such a devil ? For, well I wot, the empress never wags, But 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 ? Tarn. What would'st thou have us do, Andro- nicus ? Dem. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. Chi. Show me a villain, that hath done a rape, And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. Tarn. Show me a thousand, that have done thee And I will be revenged on them all. [wrong, Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome ; And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, Good Murder, stab him ; he's a murderer. — Go thou with him ; and, when 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 court There is a queen, attended by a Moor ; Well may'st thou know her by thy own proportion, 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 calls. Enter Marcus. Go, gentle 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 chiefest 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 Or else I'll call my brother back again, [me ; A.nd cleave to no revenue but Lucius. Tarn. What say you, boys? will you abide with Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor, [him, How I have govern'd our determin'd jest ? Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, lAside. And tarry with him, till I come again. Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad : And will o'er-reach them in their own devices, A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and their dam. [Aside. Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here. Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [.Exit Tamora. Tit. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell. Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be em- ploy'd? Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. — Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine I Enter Publius and others. Pub. What's your will ? Tit. Know you these two ? Pub. Th' empress' sons, I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. Tit. Fye, Publius, fye ! thou art too much deceiv'd ; 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 sure ; And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. [Exit Titus.— Pubmus, Sfc. lap hold on Chiron and Demethhs. Chi. Villains, forbear ; we are the empress' sons. 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. Re-enter Titus Andronicus, with Lavinia ; she bearing a bason, and he a knife. Tit. Come, come, Lavinia : look, thy foes are bound ; — Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me ; But let them hear what fearful words I utter. — O villains, Chiron and Demetrius ! Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud ; This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. You kill'd her husband ; and, for that vile fault, Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death : My hand cut off, and made a merry jest : Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, more dear Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. What would you say, if I should let you speak ? Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. This one hand yet is left to cut your throats ; Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold The bason, 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, ECENiS III. TITUS ANDRONICUS. 791 Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. This is the feast that I have bid her to, And this the banquet 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 I 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, §c. Enter Lucius, Makcus, and Goths, with Aaron, prisoner. Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind, That I repair to Rome, I am content. 1 Goth. And ours, with thine, befall what for- tune will. Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; [Moor, Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, Till he be brought unto the empress' face, For testimony of her foul proceedings : And see the ambush of our friends be strong : I fear, the emperor means no good to us. Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! Luc. Away, inhuman dog ! unhallow'd slave ! — Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. — [Exeunt Goths, with Aaron. Flourish. The trumpets show, the emperor is at hand. Enter Saturninus and Tamora, with Tribunes, Senators, and others. Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? Lite. What boots it thee, to call thyself a sun ? Mar. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the These quarrels must be quietly debated. [parle ; The feast is ready, which the careful Titus Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome : Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your Sat. Marcus, we will. [places. [Hautboys sound. TJie company sit down at table. Enter Titus, dressed like a cook, Lavinia, veiled, young Lucius, and others. Titus places the dishes on the table. Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord ; welcome, dread queen ; Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome, Lucius ; And welcome, all : although the cheer be 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. Tain. We are beholden to you, good Andronicus. Tit. And 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 band, Because she was enfore'd, stain'd, and deflower'd ? Sal. It was, Andronicus. Tit. Your reason, mighty lord. Sat. Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her 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 Lavinl*, And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die! Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural, and un- kind ? Tit. KilFd her, for whom my tears have made me blind. I am as woful as Virginius was : And have a thousand times more cause than he To do this outrage ;-^and it is now done. Sat. What, was she ravish'd ? tell, who did the deed. Tit. Will't please you eat ? will't please your highness feed ? Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus ? Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron, and Demetrius : They ravish'd her, and cut away 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 pie ; Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true ; witness my 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 people in confusion disperse. Marcus, Lucius, and their partisans, ascend the steps be/ore Titus's house. Mar. You sad-faced men, people and sons Rome, By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl 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 cast-away, Do shameful execution on herself. But if my frosty signs and chaps Of age, Grave witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words, — Speak, Rome's dear friend : [To Lucius.] as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue he did discourse, To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, The story of that baleful burning night, When subtle Greeks surpris'd king Priam's Troy ; Tell us, what Sinon hath bewitched our ears, Or who hath brought the fatal engine in, That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.- - My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel ; Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, But floods of tears will drown my oratory, And break my very utterance ; even i ? the time 792 TITUS ANDRONICUS. When 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. Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you, That cursed Chiron and Demetrius Were they that murdered our emperor's brother ; And they it were that ravished our sister : For their fell faults our brothers 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, The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out To beg relief among Rome's enemies ; W T ho 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 have preserv'd her 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, I ; My scars can witness, dumb although they are, That my report is just, and full of truth. But, soft ; methinks, I do digress too much, Citing my worthless praise : O, pardon me ; For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. Mar. Now is my turn to speak ; Behold this child, [Pointing to the child in the arms of an Attendant. Of this was Tamora delivered ; The issue of an irreligious Moor, Chief architect and plotter of these woes ; The villain is alive in Titus' house, Damn'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, Ro- mans ? Have we done aught amiss ? Show us wherein, And, from the place where you behold us now, The poor remainder of Andronici, We'll, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, And make a mutual closure of our house. Speak, Romans, speak ; and, if you say, we shall, Lo, 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 our emperor ; for, well I know, The common voice do cry, it shall be so. Rom. [Several speak.} Lucius, all hail ; Rome's royal emperor ! Lucius, $c. 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 punishment for his most wicked life. Rom. [Several speak.'] Lucius, all hail; Rome's gracious governor ! Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans ; May I govern so, To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ! But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, — For nature puts me to a heavy task ; — Stand all aloof; — but, uncle, draw you near, To shed obsequious tears upon this irunk : — O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses Trrus. These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'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 that I should pay Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them ! Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and learn of us To melt in showers : Thy grandsire 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. Boy. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all rry heart Would I were dead, so you did live again ! lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; My tears will choke me, if I ope 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. Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him ; There let him stand, and rave and cry for food : If any one relieves or pities him, For the ofFertce he dies. This is our doom. Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury 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 will. If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul. Lac . Some loving friends convey the emperor hence, And give him burial in his father's 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 like want of pity. See justice done to Aaron, that damn'd Moor, By whom our heavy haps had their beginning : Then, afterwards, to order well the state ; That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE PERSONS REPRESENTED. Antiochus, King of Antioch. Periclss, Prince of Tyre. Helicanus, ) , . ,„. EecANM, ) hoo Lords of Tyre, Simonides, King of Pentapolis. Cleon, Governor of Tharsus. Lysimachus, Governor of Mitylene. Cerimon, a Lord ofEphesus. Thaliard, a Lord of Antioch. Philemon, Servant to Cerimon. Leonine, Servant to Dtonyza. Marshal. A Pander, and his Wife. Boult, their Servant. Gower, as Chorus. The Daughter of Antiochus. Dionyza, Wife to Cleon. Thaisa, Daughter to Simonides.' Marina, Daughter to Periclks and Thaim, Lychorjda, Nurse to Marina. Diana. Lords, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers, Sjc. SCENE, — Dispersed!?/ in various Countries. ACT I. Enter Gower. Before the Palace 0/ Antioch. To sing a song of old was sung, From ashes ancient Gower is come ; Assuming man's infirmities, To glad your ear, and please your eyes. It hath been sung at festivals, )n ember-eves, and holy-ales ; And lords and ladies of their lives Have read it for restoratives : 'Purpose to make men glorious ; */ 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, I 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. Was, with long use, account no sin. The beauty of 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 Embolden'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 the spring, Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king Of every virtue gives renown to men ! Her face, the book of praises, where is read Nothing but carious 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 my 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, 1)4 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 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 die. Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself, Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire, Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance pale, 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 of 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, A s these before thee, thou thyself shalt bleed. Daugh. In all, save that, may'st thou prove pros- perous ! In all, save that, I wish thee happiness ! Per. Like a bold champion, I assume the lists, Nor ask advice of any other thought But faithfulness, and courage. [He reads the Riddle.-] I am no viper, yet I feed On mother's flesh, which did me breed: I sought a husband, in which labour, I found that kindness in a father. He's father, son, and husband mild, 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 the last : but O you powers ! That give heaven countless eyes to view men J s acts, Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, If this be true, which makes me pale to read it ? Fair glass of light, I lov'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 his 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, He's more secure to keep it shut, than shown ; 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 know ; and it is fit, What being more 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."] Young prince of Tyre, Though by the tenour of our strict edict, Your 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 shows, we'll joy in such a son : And until then, your entertain shall be, As doth befit our honour, and your worth. [Exeunt Antiochus, his Daughter, 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, Then were it certain, you were not so bad, As with foul 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 wisdom sees, those men Blush not in actions blacker than the night, Will shun no course to keep them from the 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 cropp'd to keep you clear, By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. Re-enter Antiochus. Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which 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. Who attends on us there ? scene ir. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 795 Enter Thalia 10. Thai. Doth your highness call ? Ant. Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and our mind Partakes her private actions to your secrecy : 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 It fits thee not to ask the reason why, [him ; Because we bid it. Say, is it done ? Thai. My lord, 'Tis done. Enter a Messenger. Ant. Enough ; Lest your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exit Messenger. Ant. As thou 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. Thai. My lord, if I Can get him once within my pistol's length, I'll make him sure : so farewell to your highness. [Exit. Ant. ThaHard, 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, IIelicanus, and other Lords. Per. Let none disturb us : Why this charge 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 ! Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them, 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 his act,) Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence ; 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 from the state ; Our men be vanquish'd, ere they do resist, And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought offence : Which care of them, not pity of myself, (Who am no more but as the tops of trees, Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend them,) Makes both my body pine, and soul to languish, And punish that before, that he would punish. 1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast ! 2 Lord. And keep your mind till you return to Peaceful and comfortable ! [us, Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give expe- rience tongue. They do abuse the king, that flatter him : For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, To 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. Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares o'er- look What shipping, and what lading's in our haven, And t then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Heli- canus, thou Hast moved us : what seest 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 my- Do you but strike the blow. [self; Per. Rise, pry'thee 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 Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince, [hid I 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 unto 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 ; The 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 night, Who seem'd my good protector ; and being here, Bethought me what was past, what might succeed. I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrants' fears Decrease not, but grow faster than their years t And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,) That I should open to the listening air, How many worthy princes' bloods were shed, To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, — To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms, And make pretence of wrong that I have done him ; When all, for mine, if I may call't offence, Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence : 790 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. ACT I. Which love to all (of which thyself art one, Who now reprov'st me for it) Hel. Alas, sir ! Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks, Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts How I might stop this tempest, ere it came ; And finding little comfort to relieve them, I thought it princely charity to grieve them. Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me 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 more 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 to Tharsus Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee; And by whose letters 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 show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Tyre. An Ante-chamber in the Palace. Eider Thaliaru. Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here must 1 kill king Pericles ; and if I do not, I am sure to be hanged at home : 'tis dangerous. — Well, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good dis- cretion, that being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none of his secrets. Now do I see he had some reason for it : for if a king bid a man be a villain, he is bound by the in- denture of his oath to be one. — Hush, here come the lords of Tyre. Enter Helicanus, Escanes, and other Lords. Hel. You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, Further to question of your king's departure. His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, Doth speak sufficiently he's gone to travel. Thai. How ! the king gone I 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 ? lAtide, Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not,) Took some displeasure at him ; at least he judg'd And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd, [so ; To show his sorrow, would correct himself ; So puts himself unto the shipman's toil, With whom e^ch minute threatens life or death. Thai. Well, I perceive I J side. 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 me. 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 himself to unknown travels, My message must return from whence it came. Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since Commended to our master, not to us : Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— Tharsus. A Room in the Governor's House. Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and Attendants. Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, And by relating tales of others' griefs, See if 'twill teach us to forget our own ? Dio. That were to blow at fire, in hope to quench For who digs hills because they do aspire, [it ; 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 groves, 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 wees 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 me 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 trim 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. Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this our change, These mouths, whom but of 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 use, They are now starv'd for want of exercise : Those palates, who not yet two summers younger, Must have inventions to delight the taste, Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it ; Those mothers 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 shall die to lengthen life : Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; SCENE I. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 797 Here many sink, yet those which see them fall, Have scarce strength left to give them burial. Is not this true ? Dio. 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 of 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 neighbour- ing shore, A portly sail of ships make hitherward. Cle. I 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, Have stuff' d these hollow vessels with their power, To beat us down, the which are down already ; And make a conquest of unhappy me, Whereas no glory's got to overcome. Lord. That's the least fear ; for, by the sem- blance Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace, And come to us as favourers, not as foes. Cle. Thou speak'stlike him's untutor'd to repeat, Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit. But bring they what they will, what need we fear ? The ground's the lowest, and we are half way there. Go tell their general, we attend him here, To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, And what he craves. Lord. I go, my lord. [Exit. Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace 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 pf our men, Be, like a beacon fir'd, to amaze your eyes. We have heard your miseries as tar as Tyre, And seen the desolation of your streets : Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, But to relieve them of their heavy load ; And these our ships you happily may think Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stuff'd within, With bloody views, expecting overthrow, Are stor'd with corn, to make your needy bread, And give them life, who are hunger-starv'd, half dead. All. The gods of Greece protect you ! And we'll pray for you. Per. Rise, I pray you, rise ; We do not look for reverence, but for love, And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men. Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, Or pay you with unthank fulness 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 seen,) Your grace is welcome to our town and us. Per. Which welcome we'll accept ; feast here a while, Until our stars that frown, lend us a smile. [Exeunt. ACT II. Enter Gower. Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king His child, I wis, to incest bring ; A better prince, and benign lord, Prove awful both in deed and word. Be quiet then, as men should be, Till he hath pass'd necessity. I'll show you those in troubles reign, Losing a mite, a mountain gain. The good in conversation (To whom I give my benizon,) Is still at Tharsus, where each man Thinks all is writ he speken can : And, to remember what he does, Gild his statue glorious : But tidings to the contrary Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I ? Dumb show. Enter at one door Pericles, talking with Cleon ; all the Train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman, with a letter to Pericles ; Pericles, shows the letter to Cleon ; then gives the Messenger a reward, and knights him. Exeunt Pericles, Cleon, #c. 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 ; Aud, 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 ease: For now the wind begins to blow ; Thunder above, and deeps below, Make such unquiet, that the ship 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 comes : what shall be next, Pardon old Gower ; this long's the text. [Exit. SCENE I. — Pentapolis. 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 me from shore to shore, and left me breath Nothing to think on, but ensuing death ; 708 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. ACT II. Let it suffice the greatness of your powers, To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; And having thrown him from your wat'ry 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 ? 1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now ! come away, or I'll fetch thee with a wannion. 3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us, even now. 1 Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my 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 bounced and tumbled ? they say, they are half fish, half flesh : a plague on them, they ne'er come, but 1 look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land ; the great ones eat up the little ones : I can compare our rich misf rs to nothing so fitly as to a whale : 'a plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and ut last devours them all at a mouthful. 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 pretty moral. 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry. 2 Fish. 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 Simonides were of my mind Per. Simonides ? 3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones that rob the bee of her honey. Per. How from the finny subject of the sea These fishers tell the infirmities of men ; And from their wat'ry empire recollect All that may men approve, or men detect ! — Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 2 Fish. Honest ! good fellow, what's that ? if it be a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, and nobody will look after it. Per. Nay, see, the sea hath cast upon your coast 2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast thee in our way ! Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind, In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; He asks of you, that never us'd to beg. 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here's them in 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 nothing to be got now a-days, unless thou can'st fish 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 chill, 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 it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow ! Come, thou shalt go home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and moreo'er puddings and flapjacks ; and thou shalt be welcome. Per. I thank you, sir. 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could not beg. 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 draw 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 are ? Per. Not well. 1 Fish. Why, I'll tell you : this is called Pen- tapolis, and our king, the good 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 his subjects He gains the name 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 make one there. 1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may ; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — his wife's soul. Re-enter the Two Fishermen, drawing up a net. 2 Fish. Help, master, help ; here's a fish hangs 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. Per. An armour, friends ! I pray you, let me see it. Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses, Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself : And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage, Which my dead father did bequeath to me, With this strict charge, (even as he left his life,) Keep il, my Pericles, it hath been a shield • Twixt me and death ; (and pointed to this brace :) For that it sav'd me, keep it ; in like necessity, Which gods protect thee from I it may defend thee. 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 again : 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 coat of BT.6NB III. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 790 For it was sometime target to a Icing ; 1 know it by this mark. He iov'd me dearly, And for his sake, I wish the having of it ; And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's court, Where with't I may appear a gentleman ; And if that ever my low fortunes better, I'll pay your bounties ; till then, rest your debtor. 1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady ? Per: I'll show 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, I am cloth' d in steel ; And spite of all the rupture of the sea, This jewel holds his biding on my arm ; Unto thy value will I mount myself Upon a courser, whose delightful steps Shall make the gazer joy to see him 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 I'll rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— The same. A public Way, or Plat- form, leading to the Lists. A Pavilion by the side of it, for the reception of (he King, Princess, Lords, 8fc. Enter Suboxides, Thaisa, Lord3, 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 fit 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. Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll perform. Enter a Knight ; he passes over the stage, and his Squire presents his shield to the Princess. Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father ; And the device he bears upon his shield Is a black ^Ethiop, reaching at the sun ; The word, Lux tua vita mihi. . Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. [The second Knight passes. Who is the second, that presents himself ? 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, Piu per dulcura que per fuerga. [The third Knight passes. Sim. And what's the third ? Thai. The third of Antioch ; And his device, a wreath of chivalry : The word, Mepompas provexit apex. [The fourth Knight passes. Sim. What is the fourth ? Thai. A burning torch, that's turnedupside down The word, Quod me alit, me extinguit. Sim. Which shows, that beauty hath his power and will, Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. [The fifth Knight passes. Thai. The fifth, an hand environed with clouds ; Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried : The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides. [The sixth Knight passes. Sun. And what's the sixth and last, which the knight himself With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd ? Thai. He seems a stranger ; but his present is A wither'd branch, that's only green at top ; The motto, In hac spe vivo. Sim. A pretty moral ; From the dejected state wherein he is, He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 1 Lord. He had need mean better than his out- ward show Can any way speak in his just commend : For, by his rusty outside, he appears To have practis'd more the whipstock, than the lance. 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 the dust. Sim. Opinion's but a fool, 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 Stale A Banquet prepared. Enter Simoxides, Thaisa, Lords, Knights, and Attendants. Sim. Knights, To say you are welcome, were superfluous. To place upon the volume of your deeds, As in a title-page, your worth in arms, Were more than you expect, or more than's fit, Since every worth in show commends itself. Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : You are my guests. Thai. But you, my knight and guest ; To whom this wreath of victory I give, And crown you king of this day's happiness. Per. r Tis more by fortune, lady, than my merit. Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours ; And here, I hope, is none that envies it. In framing artist9, art hath thus decreed, To make some good, but others to exceed, And you're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o'the feast, (For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place . Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. Knights. We are honour'd much by good Simo- nideg. 800 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. A^T II. Sim. Your presence glads our days ; honour we love, For who hates honour, hates the gods above. Marsh. Sir, yond's your place. Per. Some other is more fit. 1 Knight. Contend not, sir ; for we are gentle- men, That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes, Envy the great, nor do the low despise. Per. You are right courteous knights. 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 ; He has done no more than other knights have done ; Broken a staff, or so ; so let it pass. Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 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 sun, for them to reverence. None that beheld him, but like lesser lights, Did vail their crowns to his supremacy ; Where now his son's a glow-worm in the night, The which hath fire in darkness, none in light ; Whereby I see that Time's the king of men, For he's their parent, and he is their grave, And gives them what he will, not what they crave. Sim. What, are you merry, knights ? 1 Knight. Who can be other, in this royal pre- sence ? Sim. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the brim, (As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,) We drink 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 show might countervail his worth. Note it not you, Thaisa ? Thai. 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 To honour them ; and princes, not doing so, Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd Are wonder'd at. Therefore to make's entrance more sweet, here say, We drink this standing-bowl of wine to him. Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me Unto a stranger knight to be so bold : He may my proffer take for an offence, Since men take women's gifts for impudence. Sim. How 1 Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else. Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please me better. [Aside. Sim. And further 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 thank both him and you, and pledge him freely. Thai. And further he desires to know of you. Of whence you are, your name and parentage. Per. A gentleman of Tyre — (my name, Pe- ricles ; My education being in arts and arms ;) — Who looking for adventures in the world, Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, And, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore. Thai. He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles, A gentleman of Tyre, who only by Misfortune of the 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 waste the time, which looks for other revels. Even in your armours, as you are address'd, Will very well become a soldier's dance. I will not have excuse, with saying, this Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads ; Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. [The Knights dame. So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'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. Per. In those that practise them, they are, my lord. Sim. O, that's as much as you would be denied [The Knights and Ladies dance. Of your fair courtesy. — Unclasp, unclasp ; Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well, But you the best. [ To Pericles.] Pages and lights, conduct These knights unto their several lodgings : Yours, We have given order to be next our own. [sir, Per. I 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, ail for speeding do their best. [Exeunt SCENE IV Tyre. A Room in the Governor's House. , Ente"r Ublicanus and Escanks. llel. No, no, my Escanes ; know this of me, — Antiochus from incest liv'd not free ; For which, the most high gods not minding longer To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, Due to this heinous capital offence ; Even in the height and pride of all his glory, When he was seated, and his daughter with him, 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 them ere their fall, Scorn now their hand should give 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 sin had his reward. Esca. 'Tis very true. SCENP. V. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 801 Entci Three Lords, 1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference, Or council, has respect with him but he. 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve, without re- proof. 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. I Lord. Know, that our griefs are risen to the top, And now at length they overflow their banks. Hel. Your griefs for what ? wrong not the prince you love. 1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, noble Heli- cane ; But 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 him 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 death's, indeed, the strongest 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. All. Live, noble Helicane ! Hel. Try honour's cause ; forbear your suffrages ; If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. Take I your wish, I 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'the absence of your king ; If in which time expir'd, he not return, I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. But if I cannot win you to this love, Go search like noblemen, like noble subjects, And in your search, spend your adventurous worth ; Whom if you find, and w^u unto return, You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 1 Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield ; And, since lord Helicane enjoineth us, We with our travels will endeavour it. Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp hands ; When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — Pentapolis. A Room in the Palace. Enter Simonides, reading a letter, the Kmghts meet him. 1 Knight. Good morrow to the good Simonides. Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you know, That for this twelvemonth, she'll not undertake A married life. Her reason to herself is only known, Which from herself by no means can I get. 2 Knight. 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 : — 1 must dissemble it. Enter Peiucles. Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholden to you, For your sweet music this 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 music's master. Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord, j Sim, Let me ask one thing. What do you i think, sir, of My daughter ? Per. As of a most virtuous princess. Sim. . And she is fair too, is she not ? Per. Asa fair 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 subtlety, to have my life. [Aside. O, seek not to intrap, my gracious lord, A stranger and distressed gentleman, That never aim'd so high, to love your daughter. But bent all offices to honour her. Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art A villain. Per. By the gods, I have not, sir. Never did thought of mine levy offence ; Nor never did my 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, (unless it be the king,) That calls me traitor, I return the lie. Sim. Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage. [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 not to be a rebel to her state ; And he that otherwise accounts of me, This sword shall prove, he's honour's enemy. Sim. No!— Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. Enter Thaisa. Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as P.esoive your angry father, if my tongue Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe To any syllable that made love to you ? «i f 802 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. ACT III. Thai. Why, sir, say if you had, Who takes offence at that would make me glad ? Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ? — I am glad of it with all my heart. [Aside.] I'll tame I'll bring you in subjection. — [you ; Will you, not having my consent, bestow Your love and your affections on a stranger ? (Who, for aught I know to the contrary, Or think, may be as great in blood as I.) lAside. Hear therefore, mistress ; frame your will to mine, — And you, sir, hear you. — Either be rul'd by me, Or I will make you — man and wife. — Nay, come ; your hands and lips must seal it too And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy ; — And for a further grief, — God give you joy ! 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 ? Both. Yes, 'please 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 III. Enter Gower. Goto. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout ; No din but snores, the house about, Made louder by the o'er-fed breast Of this most pompous marriage feast. The cat, with 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 moulded ; — Be attent, And time that is so briefly spent, With your fine fancies quaintly eche ; What's dumb in show, I'll plain with speech. Enter Pericles and <3imonides at one door, with At- tendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter. Pericles shows it to Simonides; the Lords kneel to the former. Then enter Thaisa with child, and Lychorida. Simonides shoves his daughter the letter; she rejoices; she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart. Tlien Simonides, Sjc. retire. Goto. 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 expence, 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' appease ; Says to them, if king Pericles Come not, in twice six moons, 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 such a thing? Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre : His queen with child makes her desire (Which who shall cross ?) along to go ; (Omit we all their dole and woe ;) Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, And so to sea. Their vessel shakes On Neptune's billow ; half the flood Hath their keel cut ; but fortune's mood Varies again ; the grizzled north Disgorges such a tempest forth, That, as a duck for life 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, itself perform. I nill relate, action may Conveniently the rest convey : Which might not what by me is told. In your imagination hold This stage, the ship, upon whose deck Th* sea-tost prince appearj to speak. [Exit. SCENE I. Enter Pericles, on a ship at sea. Per. Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these surges, Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou, that hast Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, Having call'd them from the deep! O still thy deaPning, Thy dreadful thunders ; gently quench thy nimble, Sulphureous flashes ! — O how, Lychorida, How does my queen ? — Thou storm, thou ! veno- mously Wilt thou spit all thyself? — The seaman's whistle Is as a whisper in the ears of death, Unheard. — Lychorida ! — Lucina, O Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle To those that cry by night, convey thy deity Aboard our dancing boat ; make swift the pangs Of my queen's travails ! — Now, Lychorida Enter Lychorida, with an infant. Lyc. Here is a thing Too young for such a place, who, if it had Conceit, would die as I am like to do. Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen. Per. How ! how, Lychorida ! Lyc. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the storm. Here's all that is left living of your queen, — A little daughter : for the sake of it, Be manly, and take comfort. Per. O you gods ! Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, And snatch them straight away ? We, here below, Recall not what we give, and therein may Vie honour with yourselves. Lyc. Patience, good sir Even for this charge. SCENE II. PERICLES, TRINCE OF TYRE. 803 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 ruddiest welcom'd to this world, That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows ! Thou hast as chiding a nativity, As fire, 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. Courage enough : I do not fear the flaw ; It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, I would it would be quiet. 1 Sail. Slack the bolins there ; thou wilt not, wilt thou ? Blow, and split thyself. 2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy oillow kiss the moon, I care not. 1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard ; the sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead. Per. That's your superstition. 1 Sail. Pardon us, sir ; with us at sea it still hath been observed ; and we are strong in earnest. Therefore briefly yield her ; for she must overboard straight. Per. Be it as you think meet. — Most wretched Lye. Here she lies, sir. [queen 1 Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements [dear ; Forgot thee utterly ; nor have I time To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight Must cast thee, scarcely coffin' 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 coffer : lay the babe Upon the pillow ; hie thee, whiles I say A priestly farewell to her : suddenly, woman. [Exit Lychorida. 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready. Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is 2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. [this ? Per. Thither, gentle mariner, Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease [it ? Per. O make for Tharsus. There will I visit Cleon, 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. [Exeunt. SCENE II. -Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's House. Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some persom who have been shipwrecked. Cer. Philemon, ho 1 Enter Philemon. Phil. Doth my lord call ? Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men : It has been a turbulent and stormy night. Serv. I have been in many ; but such a night as Till now, I ne'er endur'd. [this, Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return ; There's nothing can be minister'd to nature, That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary, And tell me how it works. [To Philemon. [Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and those wk» had been shipwrecked. Enter Two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Good morrow, sir. 2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. Cer. Gentlemen, Why do you stir so early ? 1 Gent. Sir, Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, Shook, as the earth did quake ; The very principals did seem to rend, And all to topple ; pure surprise and fear Made me to quit the house. 2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so 'Tis not our husbandry. [early ; Cer. O, you say well. 1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordship, having Rich tire about you, should at these early hours Shake off the golden slumber of repose. It is most strange, Nature should be so conversant with pain, 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, I ever Have studied physic, through which secret art, By 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 A more content in course of true delight [me Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, To please the fool and death. 2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth Your charity, and hundreds call themselves Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd : And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon Such strong renown as time shall never Enter Two Servants, with a chest. Serv. So ; lift there. Cer. What is that ? Serv. Sir, even now Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest ; 'Tis of some wreck. Cer. Set 't down, let's look on it. 2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. Cer. Whate'er it be, 'Tis wond'rous heavy. Wrench it open straight ; If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold, It is a good 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 ? 1 3 ¥ 9. 804 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. ACT III Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As toss'd it upon shore. Ctr. Come, wrench it open ; Soft, soft ! — it smells most sweetly in my sense. 2 Gent. A delicate odour. Cer. As ever hit my nostril; so, — up with it. O you most potent gods ! What's here ? a corse ! 1 Gent. Most strange. Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and entreasur'd With bags of spices full ! A passport too ! Apollo, perfect me i'the characters ! [Unfolds a scroll. Here I give to understand, [Reads. (If e'or this coffin drive a-land,) I, king Pericles, have lost This queen, worth all our mundane cost. Who finds her, givo her hurying, She was the daughter of a king ; Besides this treasure for a fee, The gods requite his charity ! If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart That even cracks for woe ! — This chane'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 the fire of life kindle again The overpressed spirits. I have heard Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead, By good appliance was recovered. Enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, andjire. Well said, well said ; the fire and the cloths. — The rough and woful music that we have, Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. The vial once more ; — How thou stirr'st, thou block! The music there. — I pray you give her air : — Gentlemen, This queen will live : nature awakes ; a warmth Breathes out of her ; she hath not been entrane'd Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow Into life's flower again ! 1 Gmt. The heavens, sir, Through you, increase our wonder, and set up Your fame for ever. Cer. She is alive ; behold, Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels Which Pericles hath lost, Begin to part their fringes of bright gold ; 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 creature, Rare as you seem to be 1 [She moves. Thai. O dear Diana, Where am I ? Where 's my lord ? What world is this ? 2 Gent. Is not this strange ? 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 iEsculapius puide us ! [Exeunt, carrying Thaisa ek*g. SCENE III.— Tharsus. A Room in Ci eon's House. Enter Fericlss, Cleo.v, Dionyza, Lychorida, and Marina. Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone; My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands In a litigious peace. You, and your lady. Take from my heart all thankfulness ! The gods Make up the rest upon you ! Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally, Yet glance full wand'ringly on us. Dion. O your sweet queen . That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brougln 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,) here 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 you,) 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 1 Per. I believe yon ; Your honour and your goodness teach me credit, Without your vows. Till she be married, madam By bright Diana, whom we honour all, Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, Though I show will in't. So I take my leave. Good madam, 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. — Ephesps. A Room in Cerimov'si House. Cer. Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, Lay with you in your coffer : which are now At your command . Know you the character ? SCENE I. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 805 Thai. It is my lord's. That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember, Even on my yearning time ; but whether there Delivered or no, by the holy gods, I cannot rightly say : But since king Pericles, My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, A. vestal livery will I take me to, And never more have joy. Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, Diana's temple is not distant far, Where you may 'bide until your date expire. Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine Shall there attend you. Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all ; Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. {Exeunt. ACT IV. Enter Gowsr. Gow. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, Welcom'd to his own desire. His woful queen leave at Ephess, To Dian there a votaress. Now to Marina 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 ! That monster envy, oft 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 : Be't when she weav'd the sleided silk With fingers, long, small, white as milk ; Or when she would with sharp neeld wound The cambric, which she made more sound By hurting it ; or when to the lute She sung, 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 This Philoten contends in skill With absolute Marina : 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 Philoten all graceful marks, That Cleon's wife, 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, Lychorida, 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 feet of my rhyme ; Which never could I so convey, Unless your thoughts went on my way.— Dionyza does appear, With Leonine, a murderer. '[Exit. SCENE I. — Tharsus. An open Place near the Sea- shore. Enter Dionyza and Luoninb. Dion. Thy oath remember ; thou hast sworn to do it: 'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. Thou canst not do a thing i' the world so soon, To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom, Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity which Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be A soldier to thy purpose. Leon. I'll do't ; but yet she is a goodly creature. Dion. The fitter then the gods should have her. Here Weeping she comes for her old nurse's death. Thou art resolv'd ? Leon. I am resolv'd. Enter Marina, with a basket o/Jlowers. Mar. No, no, I will rob Tellus of her weed, To strew thy green with flowers : the yellows, blues, The purple violets, and marigolds, Shall, as a chaplet, hang upon thy grave, While summer days do last. Ah me ! poor maid, Born in a tempest, when my mother died, This world to me is like a lasting storm, Whirring me from my friends. Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone ? How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not Consume your blood with sorrowing : you have A nurse of me. Lord ! how your favour's chang'd With this unprofitable woe ! Come, come ; Give me your wreath of flowers, ere the sea mar it. Walk forth with Leonine : the air is quick there, Piercing, and sharpens well the stomach. Come ; — Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. Mar. No, I pray you ; I'll not bereave you of your servant. Dion. Come, come; I love the king your father, and yourself, With more than foreign heart. We every day Expect him here : when he shall come, and find Our paragon to all reports, thus blasted, He will repent the breadth of his great voyage ; Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve That excellent complexion, which did steal The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ; I can go home alone. Mar. Well, I will go ; But yet I have no desire to it. Dion. Come, come. I know 'tis good for you, mo PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least ; Remember what I have said. Leon. I warrant you, madam. Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while ; Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood : What ! I must have a care of you. Mar. Thanks, sweet madam.— [Exit DiONYZA. 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 That 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 boatswain whistles, The master calls, and trebles their confusion. Leon. And when was this ? Mar. It was when I was born : Never was waves nor wind more violent. Leon. Come, say your prayers speedily. Alar. 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 I am sworn To do my work with haste. Mar. Why will you kill me ? Leon. To satisfy my lady. Mar. Why would she have me kill'd ? Now, as I can remember, by my troth, I never did her 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, But 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. You are well-favour'd, and your looks foreshow You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, When you caught hurt in parting two that fought: Good sooth, it show'd well in you; do so now : Your lady seeks my life ; come you between, And save poor me the weaker. Leon. I am sworn, And will despatch. Enter Pirates, whilst Marina is struggling. 1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! [Lkonink runs away. 2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, let's have her aboard suddenly. [Exeunt Pirates with Marina, SCENE II The same. Re-enter Leonine. Leon. These roving thieves serve the great pirate Valdes ; 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 I'll 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.— MlTYLENE. Brothel. A Room in a Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. Pand. Boult. Boult. Sir. Pand. Search the market narrowly ; Mitylene 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, w r e shall never prosper. Bawd. Thou say'st true ; 'tis not the bringing up of poor bastards, as I think, I have brought up some eleven Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again. But shall 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. Thou say'st true ; they are too unwhole- some o'conscience. The poor Transilvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage. Boult. Ay, she quickly poopM him ; she made him roast meat for worms : — but I'll go search the market. [Exit Boult. Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. Bawd. Why, to give over, I pray you ? is it a shame to get when we are old ? Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the com- modity ; nor the commodity wages not with the danger ; therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatch'd. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods, will be strong with us for giving over. Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. Pand. As well as we ! ay, and better too ; we offend 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 ? Boult. 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 ? Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces. 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. f Exeunt Pander and Pirates. SCENK IV. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 807 Bated. 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 maiden- head were no cheap thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done as 1 command you. Boult. Performance shall follow. lExit Boult, 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 ? Alar. That I am pretty. Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part in you. 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. You 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 I 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 please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stir 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 of her hairs ; I 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 hearken'd 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 ruff on. Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that cowers i' the hams? Bawd. Who ? monsieur Veroles ? Boult. Ay ; he offered to cut a caper at the pro- clamation ; but he made a groan at it, and swore he would see her to-morrow. Bawd. Well, well ; as for him, he brought his disease hither : here he does but repair it. I know, he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun. Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a tra- veller, we shall lodge them with this sign. Bawd. Pray you, come hither awhile. You have fortunes coming upon you. Mark me ; you must seem to do that fearfully, which you commit will- ingly ; 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 pood 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. Bawd. 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 I have bargaiu'd for the joint, Bawd. Thou may'st cut a morsel off the spit. Boult. I may so. Bawd. Who should deny it ? Come, young one, I like the manner of your garments well. Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet. Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town : re- port what a sojourner we have : you'll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant thee a good turn ; therefore say what a para- gon she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report. Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels, as my giving out her beauty stir up the lewdly inclined. I'll bring home some to-night. Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. [deep, Diana, aid my purpose ! Bawd. What have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us ? [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's House. Enter Clbon 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 single crown o'the earth, I'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. She died by foul play. Cle. O, go to. Well, well, Of all faults beneath the heavens, the gods Do like this worst. Dion. Be one of those, that thiuk The pretty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, And open this to Pericles. I 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 not flow From honourable courses. Dion. Be it so then • «08 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead, Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. She did disdain my child, 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 me thorough ; And though you call my course unnatural, You not your child well loving, yet I find, It greets me, as an enterprise of kindness, Perform'd to your sole daughter. Cle. 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 finish'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 harpy, 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 1 know you'll do as I advise. lExeunt. Enter Gower, be/ore the Monument of Marina at Tharsus. Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 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 crime To use one language, in each several clime, Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you, To learn of me, who stand i'the gaps to teacn von The stages 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. Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds have brought 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 show. Enter at one door, Pericles with his Train,- Clbon and Dionyza, at the other. Clko.v shows Pericles the tomb of Marina ; whereat Pericles makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs. Then Cleon and Dionyza retire. Goto. See how belief may suffer by foul show ! This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe ; And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er- show'r'd, Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs ; He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears A t'.mpest, 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 Monument. The fairest, sweefst, and best, lies here, Who withcr'd in her spring of year. She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter, On whom foul death hath made this slaughter Marina was she call'd ; and at her birth, Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o'tbe earth, Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'crflow'd, Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd: "Wherefore she does, (and swears she'll never stint.j Make raging battery upon sbores of flint. No visor does become black villany, So well as soft and tender flattery. Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, And bear his courses to be ordered By lady Fortune ; while our scenes display His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day, In her unholy service. Patience then, Aud 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-houses : Shall we go hear the vestals sing ? 1 Gent. I'll do any thing now that is virtuous ; but I am out of the road of rutting, for ever. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.— The same. A Room in the Brothel. Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boii.t. Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her, she had ne'er come here. Bawd. Fye, fye 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 she would make a puritan of the devil if he should cheapen a kiss of her. Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll dis- furnish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers priests. Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me ! Bawd. 'Faith there's no way to be rid on't, but by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysi- machus, disguised. Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but give way to customers. Enter Lysimachvs. Lys. How now? How a dozen of virginities ? Bawd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour ! Boult. 1 am glad to see your honour in good health. Lys. You may 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 defy 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 dariness, thou would'st sav. SCENE VI. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE 809 Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, well enough. Lys. Well; call forth, call forth. Boult. For flesh and hlood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but Lys. What, pr'ythee ? lioult. O, sir, I can be modest. Lys. 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 stalk ; — 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 word, and I'll have done presently. Lys. I beseech you, do. Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man. [To Marina, 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 the country, you are bound to him indeed ; but how honourable he is in that, I know not. Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virginal fenc- ing, will you use him kindly ? He will line your apron with gold. Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thank- fully receive. Lys. Have you done ? Bawd. My lord, she'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 ? L>/s. 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 you to be a creature of sale. Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come into it ? I hear say, you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of this 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 iniquity. O, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my authority shall not see thee, or else, look friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place. Come, come. Mar. If you were born to honour, show it now ; If put upon you, make the 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 Hath plac'd me here within this loathsome stye, Where, since I came, diseases have been sold Dearer than physic, — O that the good gods Would set me free from this unhallow'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 for thee : Persever still in that clear way thou goest, And the gods strengthen thee ! Mar. The gods preserve you ! Lys. For me, be you though ten That I came with no ill intent : for to me The very doors and windows savour vilely. Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. — Hold ; here's more gold for thee. — A curse upon him, die he like a thief, That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou hear'st from me, It i U be for thy good. [As Lysimachus is putting up his purse, Boult enters. Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for me. Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper ! Your house, But for this virgin that doth prop it up, Would sink, and overwhelm you all. Away ! [Exit Lysimachus. Boult. How's this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a spaniel. Come your ways. Mar. Whither would you have me ? Boult. I 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. lie-enter Bawd. Bawd. How now ! What's the matter ? Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; she has here spoken holy words to the 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 snowball ; 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 chastity with rosemary and bays ! f Exit Bawd 810 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. ACT V Boult. Come, mistress ; come your way with me. Mar. \\ hither would you have me ? Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so dear. Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. Boult. Come now, your one thing. Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be ? Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress. Mar. Neither 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 reputation change: Thou'rt the damn'd door-keeper to every coystrel That hither comes enquiring for his tib ; To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear Is liable ; thy very food is such 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 in 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 hangman ; Any of these ways are better yet than this • For that which thou professest, a baboon, Could he but speak, would own a name too dear. that the gods would safely from this place Deliver me ! Here, here is gold for thee. If that thy master would gain aught by me, Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast ; And I will undertake all these to teach. 1 doubt not but this populous city will Yield many scholars. Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, 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, I will. Mar. But, amongst honest women ? Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master and mistress have bought you, there's no going but by their consent ; therefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I'll do for thee what I can ; come your ways. [Exeunt, ACT V. Enter Gowkr. Gow. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and Into an honest house, our story says. [chances She sings like one immortal, and she dances As goddess-like to her admired lays : Deep clerks she dumbs : and with her neeld composes 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 ; And to her father turn our thoughts 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 striv'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 I.— On board Pericles' ship, off Mi- tylene. A close Pavilion on deck, with a curtain before it ; Pericles within tV, reclined on a couch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel. Enter Two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to the barge ; to them Hklicanus. Tyr. Sail. Where's the lord Helicanus ? he can resolve you. [To the Sailor o/Mitylene. O here he is. Sir, there's a barge put off from Mitylene, And in it is Lysimachus the governor, Who craves to come aboard. 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, There is some of worth would come aboard ; I pray To greet them fairly. [you [The Gentlemen and the Ttco Sailors descend, and go on board the barge. Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords ; the Tyrian Gentlemen, and the Two Sailors. Tyr. Sail. Sir, This is the man that can, in aught you would, Resolve you. Lys. Hail, reverend sir 1 The gods preserve you* lid. And you, sir, to out-live the age I am, And die as I would do. Lys. You wish me well. Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs, Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, I made to it, to know of whence you are. Hel. First, sir, what is your place ? Lys. I am governor of this place you lie before. Hel. Sir, Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king ; A man, who for this three months hath not spoken To any one, nor taken sustenance, But to prorogue his grief. Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature ? Hel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat ; But the main grief of all springs from the loss Of a beloved daughter and a wife. Lys. May we not see him, then ? Hel. You may indeed, sir. But bootless is your sight ; he will not speak To any. Lys. Yet, let me obtain my wish. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. «!1 Hel. Behold him, sir : [Pericles discovered.'] this was a goodly person, Till the disaster, that, one mortal night, Drove him to this. Lys. Sir, king, all hail ! the gods preserve you ! Hail, royal sir! [Hail! Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 1 Lord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene, I durst Would win some words of him. [wager, 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. {lie whispers one of the attendant Lords.— Exit Lord, in the barge o/Lysimachis. Hel. Sure, all's effectless ; yet nothing we'll omit That bears recovery's name. But, since your kind- ness 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 courtesy, Which if we should deny, the most just God For every graff 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 recount it ; — But, see, I am prevented. Enter, from the barge, Lord, Marina, and a young Lady. Lys. O, here is The lady that I 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 Of gentle kind, and noble stock, I'd wish [came No better choice, and think me rarely wed. Fair one, al! goodness that consists in bounty Expect even here, where is a kingly patient : If that thy prosperous-artificial feat Can draw him 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 his recovery, Provided none but I and my companion Be suffer'd to come near him. Lys. Come, let oi leave her, And the gods make her prosperous ! [Marina sings. Lys. Mark'd he your music ? Mar. No, nor look'd on us. Lys. See, she will speak to him. Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear : Per. Hum! ha! Mar. I am a maid, My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, But have been gaz'd on, comet-like : she speaks, My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. Though wayward fortune did malign my state, My derivation was from ancestors Who stood equivalent with mighty kings : 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 cheek, And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak. [Aside. Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parent- age— To equal mine ! — was it not thus ? what say you? Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my pa- You would not do me violence. [rentage, Per. I do think so. I pray you, turn your eyes again upon me. — You are like something that — What countrywoman? Here of these shores ? 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-voie'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, The more she gives them speech. — Where do you live ? Mar. Where I am but a stranger : from the deck You may discern the place. Per. Where were you bred ? And how achiev'd you these endowments, which You make more rich to owe ? Mar. Should I tell my history, 'Twould seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting. Per. Pr'ythee speak ; Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st Modest as justice, and tnou seem'st a palace For the crown'd truth to dwell in: I'll believe thee, And make my senses credit thy relation, To points that seem impossible ; for thou look'st Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends ? Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back, (Which was when I perceiv'd thee,) that thou cam'st From good descending ? Mar. So indeed 1 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 If both were open'd. [mine, 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 name, 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, good sir, Or here I'll cease. Per, Nay, I'll be patient j 812 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, To call thyself Marina. Jlfar. The name Marina, Was given me by one that had some power ; My father, and a king. Per. Howl a king's daughter? And call'd Marina ? Mar. You said you would believe me ; But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 1 will end here. Per. But are you flesh and blood ? Have you a working pulse ? and are no fairy ? No motion? Well; speak on. Where were you born? And wherefore call'd Marina. Mar. Call'd Marina, For I was born 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 Deliver'd weeping. Per. O, stop there a little ! This is the rarest dream 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. Mar. You'll scarce believe me ; 'twere best I did give o'er. Per. I will believe you by the syllable Of what you shall deliver. Yet give me leave : — How came you in these parts? where were you bred? Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave me; 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 Mitylene. But, now good sir, Whither will you have me ? Why do you weep ? It 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, What this maid is, or what is like to be, That thus hath made me weep ? Hel. I know not ; but Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene, Speaks nobly of her. Lys. She would never tell Her parentage; being demanded that, She would sit still and weep. Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir ; Give me a gash, put me to present pain; Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, O'erbear the shores of my mortality, And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither, Thou that oeget'st him that did thee beget ; Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, 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 me 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 drown'd queen's name, thou art the heir of kingdoms, And another life to Pericles thy father. Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than To say, my mother's name was Thaisa? Thaisa was my mother, who did end, The minute I began. Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise ; thou art my child. Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus, (Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been, By savage Cleon,) she shall tell thee all; When thou shalt kneel and justify in knowledge, She is thy very princess. — Who is this? Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene, Who, hearing of your melancholy state, Did come to see you. Per. I embrace you, sir. Give me my robes ; I am wild in my beholding. O heavens bless my girl ! But hark, what music? — Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt, How sure you arc my daughter. — But what music? Hel. My lord, I hear none. Per. None? The music of the spheres : list, my Marina. Lys. It is not good to cross him ; give him way. Per. Rarest sounds I Do ye not hear ? Lys. Music? My lord, I hear — Per. Most heavenly music i It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumbe" Hangs on mine eye-lids ; let me rest [He sleeps Lys. A pillow for his head ; [The curtain before the pavilion o/Tkriclbs is closed. So leave him all. Well, my companion-friends, If this but answer to my just belief, I'll well remember you. [Exeunt LvsrMACHUs, IIemcanus, Marina, and attendant Lady. SCENE II.— The same. Pericles on the deck asleep,- Diana appearing to him ,u in a vision. Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus; hie thee thither, And do upon mine altar sacrifice. There, 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 the life. Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe : Do't, and be happy, by my silver bow. Awake, and tell thy dream. [DrANA disappears. Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, I will obey thee ! — Helicanus ! Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. Hel. Sir. Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike SCKNE III. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE 813 The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am For other service first : toward Ephesus Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons I'll tell thee why. — [To Helicaxus. Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore, And give you gold for such provision As our intents will need ? Lys. With all my heart, sir ; and when you come ashore, T have another suit. Per. You shall prevail, Were it to woo my daughter ; for it seems You have been noble towards her. Lys. Sir, lend your arm. Per. Come, my Marina. [Exeunt. Enter Gowkr, be/ore the temple of Diana at Ephesus. Gow. Now our sands are almost run j More a little, and then done. This, as my last boon, give me, (For such kindness must relieve me,) That you aptly will suppose What pageantry, what feats, what shows, What minstrelsy, and pretty din, The regent made in Mityiin, To greet the king. So he has thriv'd, That he is promis'd to be wiv'd To fair Marina ; but in no wise, Till he had done his sacrifice, As Dian bade : whereto being bound, The interim, pray you, all confound, In feather'd briefness sails are fiU'd And wishes fall out as they're will'd. At Ephesus, the temple see, Our king, and all his company, That he can hither come so soon, Is by your fancy's thankful boon. [Exit. SCENE III.— The Temple of Diana at Ephesus ; Thais a standing near the Altar, as high J'riesless; a number of Virgins on each side; Cerimon and other Inhabitants of Ephesus attending. Enter Tkricles, with his Train; Lvsi.machus.IIklicanvs, Marina, and a Lady. Per. Hail, Dian! to perform thy just com- mand, I here confess myself the king of Tyre ; Who, frighted from my country, did wed The fair Thaisa, at Pentapolis. At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth A maid-child call'd Marina ; who, O goddess, Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tharsus Was nurs'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 maid aboard us, Where, by her own most clear 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 I Cer. Noble sir, Tf you have told Diana's altar true, This is your wife. Per. Reverend appearer, no ; I threw her o'erboard with these very arms. Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. Per. 'Tis most certain. Cer. Look to the lady ; — O, she's but o'erjoy'd. Early, one blust'ring morn, this lady was Thrown on this shore. I op'd the coffin, and Found there rich jewels ; recover'd her, and plac'd her Here in Diana's temple. Per. May we see them ? Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house, Whither I invite you. Look ! Thaisa is Recover'd. Thai. O, let me look ! If he be none of mine, my sanctity Will 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. Immortal Diana 1 Thai. Now I know you better.— When we with tears parted Pentapolis, The king, my father, gave you such a ring. [Shows a ring. Per. 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. Mar. My heart Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. [Ktreels to Thaisa. Per. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa ; Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, For she was yielded there. Thai. Bless'd, and mine own! Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! Thai. I know you not. Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre, I left behind an ancient substitute. Can you remember what I call'd the man ? I have nam'd him oft. Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then. Per. Still confirmation : Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. Now do 1 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 shown 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 shown you all was found with her ; How she came placed here within the temple ; No needful thing omitted. 814 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Acr v. p er% Pure Diana ! I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer My night oblations to thee. Tbaisa, This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, This ornament that makes me look so dismal, Will I, my lov'd Marina, clip to form ; And what this 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 stay, To hear the rest untold.— Sir, lead the way. [Exeunt Enter Gowkr. Gow. In Antioch, and his daughter, you have Of monstrous lust the due and just reward : [heard In Pericles, his 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 last. In Helicanus may you well descry A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty : In reverend Cerimon there well appears The worth that learned charity aye wears. For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name Of Pericles, to rage the city turn ; That him and his they in his palace burn. The gods for murder seemed so content To punish them ; although not done, but meant. So on your patience evermore attending, New jov wait on you ! Here our play has ending. [Exit Gowm KING LEAR. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Lsar, King of Britain. King of France. Duke of Burgundy. Di'ke of Cornwall. Duke of Albany. Earl of Kent. Earl of Gloster. Edgar, Son to Gloster. Edmund, Bastard Son to Gloster. Cuban, a Courtier. Old Man, a Tenant to Gloster. Physician. Fool. Oswald, Steward to Goneril. An Officer employed by Edmund. Gentleman attendant on Cordelia A Herald. Servants to Cornwall. Goneril, 1 Regan, v Daughters to Lear. Cordelia, J Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers, and Attendants. SCENE, — Britain. ACT I. SCENE I A Room of State in King Lear's Palace. Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. Kent. I thought, the king had more affected the duke of Albany, than Cornwall. Glo. It did always seem so to us : but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most ; for equalities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety. Kent. Is not this your son, my lord ? Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge; 1 have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. Kent. I cannot conceive you. Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could : where- upon she grew round-wombed ; and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault ? Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. Glo. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account : though this knave came somewhat saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair ; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. — Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund ? Edm. No, my lord. Glo. My lord of Kent : remember him here- after as my honourable friend. Edm. My services to your lordship. Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better. Edm. Sir I shall study deserving. Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he fchall again : — The king is coming. f Trumpet* sound within. Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloster. Glo. I shall, my liege. [Exeunt Gloster and Edmund. Lear. Mean-time we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. — Know, that we have divided, In three, our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age ; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburden' d crawl toward death. — Our son of Cornwall And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, my daughters, (Since now we will divest us, both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,) Which of you shall we say, doth love us most ? That we our largest bounty may extend Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. Gon. Sir, I Do love you more than words can wield the matter, Dearer than, eye-sight, space and liberty ; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty honour: As much as child e'er loved, or father found. A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 81tf KING LKAR. 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, With plenteous rivers and wide-skinel meads, We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find, she names my very deed of love ; Only she comes too short, — that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses ; And find, I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. Cor. Then poor Cordelia ! [Aside. And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom ; No less in space, validly, and pleasure, Thin that confirm'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. Nothing, my lord. Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing. Lear. Nothing can come of nothing: speak again. Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty According to my bond ; nor more, nor less. Lear. How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. Cor. Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Half my love with him, half my care, and duty; Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. Lear. But goes this with thy heart ? Cor. Ay, good my lord. Lear. So young, and so untender ? Cor. So young, my lord, and true. Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower : 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, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd, As thou my sometime daughter. Kent. Good my liege — Lear. Peace, Kent ! Come not between the dragon and his wrath : I lov'd her most, and thought to set my i On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my sight !— [To CORDKUA. So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father's heart from her ! — Call France ;— Who stirs ? Call Burgundy.— Cornwall, and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third : Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king ; 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 follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old man ? Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery 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 judg- ment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. Lear. Kent, on thy life no more. Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. Lear. Out of my sight ! Kent. See better, Lear ; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. Lear. Now, by Apollo, — Kent. Now, by Apollo, king, Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. Lear. O, vassal! miscreant! [Lat/inp his hand on his sword. Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear. Kent. Do ; Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift , Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee, thou dost evil. Lear. Hear me, recreant ! On thine allegiance hear me ! — Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, (Which we durst never yet,) and, with straia'd pride, To come betwixt our sentence and our power ; (Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world ; SCENE I. KING LEAR. 017 And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death : Away ! by Jupiter, This shall not be revok'd. Kent. Fare thee well, king : since thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, [To CORDELIA. That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — And your large speeches may your deeds approve, [To Regan and Goneril. That good effects may spring from words of love — Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; He'li shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. JU-cnler Glostkr ; wiih France, Burgundy, and Attendants. Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. st star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardising. Edgar — Enter Edgar. and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy : My cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o'Bedlam. — O, these eclipses do portend these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are you in ? Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. Edg. Do you busy yourself with that ? Edm. I promise you the effects he writes of, succeed unhappily ; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent ; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities ; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. Edg. How long have you been a sectary astro- nomical ? Edm. Come, come ; when saw you my father Edg. Why, the night gone by. [last ? Edm. Spake you with him ? Edg. Ay, two hours together. Edm. Parted you in good terms ? Found you no displeasure in him, by word, or countenance ? Edg. None at all. Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you may have offended him ; and at my entreaty, forbear his pre- sence, till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure ; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with. the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a con- tinent forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes slower ; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak : Pray you, go ; there's my key : — If you do stir abroad, go armed. Edg. Armed, brother ? Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best ; go armed ; I am no honest man, if there be any good meaning towards you : I have told you what I have seen and heard, but faintly ; nothing like the image and horror of it : Pray you, away. Edg. Shall I hear from you anon ? Edm. I do serve you in this business. — [Exit Edgar. A credulous father, and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy ; — I see the business. — Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit : All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit. [Exit. SCENE III — A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace. Enter Goneril and Steward. Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman tor chiding of his fool ? Stew. Ay, madam. Gon. By day and night ! he wrongs me ; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds : I'll not endure it : His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle : — When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him ; say, I am sick : — If you come slack of former services, You shall do well ; the fault of it I'll answer. Steiv. He's coming, madam ; I hear him. [Horns within. Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows ; I'd have it come to question : If he dislike it, let him to my sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities, That he hath given away ! — Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again ; and must be us'd With checks, as flatteries, — when they are seen Remember what I have said. [abus'd. Stew. Very well, madam. Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among you : What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellow so : I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak: — I'll write straight to my sister To hold my very course: — Prepare for dinner. [Exeunt, 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 820 KING LEAH. ACT I. For which I raz'd nay likeness. — Now, banish'd Kent, If thou can'st serve where thou dost stand con- demn'd, (So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st, Shall find thee full of labours. lloms within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants. Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what art thou ? Kent. A man, sir. Lear. What dost thou profess ? What would' st thou with us ? Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; to serve him truly, that will put me in trust ; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight, when I cannot choose ; and to eat no fish. Lear. What art thou ? Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st thou ? Kent. Service. Lear. Who would'st thou serve ? Kent. You. Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ? Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your coun- tenance, which I would fain call master. Lear. What's that ? Kent. Authority. Lear. What services canst thou do ? Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes- sage bluntly ; that which ordinary men are fit for, 1 am qualified in : and the best of me is diligence. Lear. How old art thon ? Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing ; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing: 1 have years on my back forty-eight. Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me ; if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner. — Where's my knave? my fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither : Enter Steward. You, you, sirrah, wherc's my daughter ? Stew. So please you, — [Exit. Lear. What says the fellow there ? Call the clot- poll back. — Where's my fool, ho ? — I think the world's asleep. — How now? where's that mongrel? Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when I call'd him ? Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. Lear. He would not ! Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is ; but, to my judgment, your highness is not en- tertain'd with that ceremonious affection as you were wont ; there's a great abatement of kindness appears, as well in the general dependants, as in the duke himself also, and your daughter. Lear. Ha ! say'st thou so ? Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken : for my duty cannot be silent, when I think your highness is wrong' d. Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own conception ; I have perceived a most faint neglect of late ; which I have rather blamed as mine own jea- lous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of uukindness : I will look further into't. — But where's my fool ? I have not seen him this two days. Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it well. — Go you, and tell my daughter 1 would speak with her.— Go you, call hither my fool. — Re-enter Steward. O, you sir, you sir, come you hither : Who am I, sir ? Stew. My lady's father. Lear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : you whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you, pardon me. Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal ? [Striking Mm. Stew. I'll not be struck, my lord. Kent. Nor tripped neither ; you base foot-ball player. [Tripping up his heels. Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ; I'll teach you differences ; away, away : If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry : but away : go to ; Have you wisdom ? SO. [Pushes the Steward out. Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank tl there's earnest of thy service. [Giving Kkwt money. Enter Fool. Fool. Let me hire him too ; here's my cox- comb. I <-'iiiiiit. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou know'st me ! Is it two days ago, I I tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, the moon shines; I'll make a sopo'the moon>liin<- of you: Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber. monger, draw. [Drau-hxj h Stew. Away ; I have nothing to do with'thee. Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with ! against the king, and take vanity the puppet's pari , against the royalty of her father : Draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks : — draw, you rascal : come your ways. Stew. Help, ho ! murder ! help ! Kent. Strike, you slave ; stand, ropue, stand ; you neat slave, strike. iBeatin : i MM. Stew. Help, ho ! murder ! murder ! Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. Edm. How now ? What's the matter ? Part. Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please ; come, I'll flesh you ; come on, young master. Glo. Weapons ! arms ! What's the matter here ? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives ; He dies, that strikes again : What is the matter ? Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. Corn. What is your difference ? speak. Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee ; a tailor made thee. sce:ie Jr. KING LEAH. 826 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. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have At suit of his grey beard, — [spar'd, Kent. Thou whorson zed ! thou unnecessary letter ! — My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. — Spare my grey beard, you wagtail ? Corn. Peace, sirrah ! You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? Kent. Yes, sir ; but anger has a privilege. Corn. Why art thou angry ? Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain [these, \\hich are too intrinse t'unloose; smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebels ; Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, As knowing nought, like dogs, hut following. — A plague upon your epileptic visage ! Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? . if I had you upon Sarum plain, 1M drive ye cackling home to Camelot. Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow ? (ih. How fell you out? Say that. Kent. No contraries hold more antipaUiy, 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 hers. Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain ; I have seen better faces in my time, Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant. Corn. 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 knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Than twenty silly ducking observants, That stretch their duties nicely. Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus' front, — Com. 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 I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. Corn. What was the offence you gave him ? Stew. Never any : It pleas'd the king his master, very late. To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ; When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure Tripp'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, But Ajax is their fool. Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart, We'll teach you — Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn : Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; On whose employment I was sent to you : You shall do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger. Com. Fetch forth the stocks : As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. Reg. Till noon ! till night, my lord ; and all night too. Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, You should not use me so. Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out. Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour Our sister speaks of : — Come, bring away the stocks. Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so ; 1 1 is fault is much, and the good king his master Will check himfor't: your purpos'd low correction Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches, For pilfering end most common trespasses, Are punish'd with : the'king must take it ill, That he's so slightly valued in his messenger, 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. — [Kknt is put in the stocks. Come, my good lord ; away. [Exeunt Rkoan and Cornwall. Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the duke's pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knows, Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd : I'll entreat for 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 fortune may grow out at heels : Give you good morrow ! Glo. The duke's to blame in this ; 'twill be ill 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 this letter ! — Nothing almost sees miracles, But misery : — I know, 'tis from Cordelia ; Who hath most fortunately been inform'd Of my obscured course ; and shall find time From this enormous state, — seeking to give Losses their remedies : — All weary and o'er- watch'd, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold H2fi KING LEAIt. ACT II. This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night ; smile once more ; turn thy wheel 1 i Ue tIef I»- SCENE III.— A Part of the Heath. Enter Edgar. Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd ; And, by the happy hollow of a tree, Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place, That guard, and most unusual vigilance, Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape, I will preserve myself : and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape, That every penury, in contempt of man, Brought near to beast : my face I'll grime with 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 Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary ; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, Enforce their charity. — Poor Turlygood ! poor Tom! That's something yet ; — Edgar I nothing am. {Exit. SCENE IV Be/ore Gloster's Castle. Knt,')- Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger. Gent. As I learn'd, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove. Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! Lear. How ! Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime ? Kent. No, my lord. Fool. Ha, ha ; look ! he wears cruel garters ! Horses are tied by the heads ; dogs, and bears, by the neck ; monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs : when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks. Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place To set thee here ? [mistook Kent. It is both he and she, Your son and daughter. Lear. No. Kent. Yes. Lear. No, I say. Kent. I say, yea. Lear. No, no ; they would not. Kent. Yes, they have. 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 ; tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage : Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage, Coming from us. Kent. My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness' letters to them. Ere I was risen from the place that show'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 summon'd up their meiny, straight took Commanded me to follow, and attend [horse ; The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, (Being the very fellow that of late Display'd so saucily against your highness,) Having more man than wit about me, dr He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries : Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers. Fool. Winter'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. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne'er turns the key to the poor. — But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters, as thou can'st tell in a Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Hysterica passio /—down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element's below ! — Where is this daughter ? Kent. With the carl, sir, here within. Lear. Follow me not ; Stay here. [**«■ Gent. Made you no more offence than what you speak of? Kent. 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. Why, fool ? Fool. We'll set thee to school to an aunt, to teach thee there's no labouring in the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men ; and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it ; but the great one tha up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again I would have none but knaves follow it, since a foo gives it. That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack, when it begins to rain, And leave thee in the storm. But I will tarry ; the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly : The knave turns fool, that runs away ; The fool no knave, perdy. Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool ? Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. Re-enter Lear, u-ith Glostkr. Lear. Deny to speak with me ? They are sick they are weary ? They have travell'd hard to-night ? Mere fetches ; The images of revolt and flying off ! Fetch me a better answer. ROENR IV KING LEAR. 827 Glo. My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of the duke ; How unremoveable and fix'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 them so. Lear. Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man ? Glo. Ay, my good lord. Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service : Are they inform'd of this? Mv breath and blood !— Fiery ? the fiery duke ?— Tell the hot duke, that— Xo, but not yet : — may be, he is not well : Infirmity doth still neglect all office, Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves. When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind To suffer with the body : 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 ! wherefore [Looking on Kent. Should he sit here ? This act persuades me, That this remotion of the duke and her Is practice only. Give me my servant forth : Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them, Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum, Till it cry— Sleep to death. Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. [.Exit. Lear. O me, my 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, Down, wantons, down : 'Twas her brother, that, in pure kindness to his horse, butter'd his hay. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. Lear. Good morrow to you both. Corn. Hail to your grace ! [Kent is set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your highness. Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason I have to think so : if thou should'st not be glad, I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, Si pulch'ring an adultress. — O, are you free ? [To Kknt. Some ether time for that Beloved Regan, Thy sister's naught : O Regan, she hath tied Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here, — [Points to his heart. I can scarce speak to thee ; thou'lt not believe, Of how deprav'd a quality — O Regan ! Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope, You less know how to value her desert, Than she to scant her duty. Lear. 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 from all blame. Lear. My curses on her ! Reg. O, sir, you are old ; Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine : you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discerns your state Better than you yourself : Therefore, I pray you, That to our sister you do make return : Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. Lear. Ask her forgiveness ? Do you but mark how this becomes the house ? Dear daughter, I confess that 1 am old ; Age is unnecessary : on my knees I b'eg, [Kneeling. That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks: Return you to my sister. Lear. Never, Regan : She hath abated me of half my train ; Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue, Most serpent-like, upon the very heart : — All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness ! Corn. Fye, fye, fye ! Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and 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 curse ; Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burn : 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my coming in : thou better know'st The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 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-borrow'd pride Dwells 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 Thou didst not know oft. — Who comes here ? O, heavens, Enter Goneril. If you 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 ? ML'U KING LEAR. ACT II. All's not offence, that 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 disorders Deserv'd much less advancement Lear. You ! did you ? Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me ; I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment. Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismissal ? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the 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 Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot : — 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 thee, my child ; farewell : We'll no more meet, no more see one another : — But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter ; Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh, Which 1 must needs call mine ; thou art a boil, A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; 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 : I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, I, and my hundred knights. Reg. Not altogether so, sir ; I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided For your fit welcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister ; For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to think you old, and so — But she knows what she does. Lear. Is this well spoken now ? Reg. I dare avouch it, sir : W T hat, fifty followers ? Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? Yea, or so many ? sith that both charge and danger Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house, Should many people, under two commands, Hold amity? 'Tis hard ; almost impossible. Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive at- tendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chane'd to slack you, We could controul them : If you will come to me, (For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you To bring but five-and-twenty ; to no more Will I give place, or notice. Lear. I gave you all — Reg. And in good time you gave it. Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ; But kept a reservation to be follow'd With such a number : What, must I come to you With five-and-twenty, Regan ? said you so ? [me. Reg. And speak it again, my lord ; no more with Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- favour'd, When others are more wicked ; not being the worst, Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; [To Go.vEhiu Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, And thou art twice her love. Gon. Hear me, my lord ; What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five, To follow in a house, where twice so many Have a command to tend you ? Reg. What need one ? Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous : Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wearVt, \\ Inch scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true need, — You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need 1 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age ; wretched in both 1 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger! O, let not women's weapons, water-drops, Stain my man's cheeks ! — No, you uunatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both, That all the world shall: 1 will do such things, — What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll ptep ; No, I'll not weep : — I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, Or ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad ! [Exeunt Lrar, Glostkr, Kknt, and Fool. Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. [Storm heard at a dislanrf. Reg. This house Is little ; the old man and his people cannot Be well bestow'd. Gon. 'Tis his own blame ; he hath put Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, But not one follower. Gon. So am I purpos'd. Where is my lord of Gloster ? lie-enter Glostkr. Corn. Follow'd the old man forth : — he is re- tum'd. Gh, The king is in high rage. Corn. Whither is he going ? Glo. He calls to horse ; but will I know not whither. Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself. Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about [winds There's scarce a bush. Reg. O, sir, to wilful men, The injuries, that they themselves procure, Must be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors ; He is attended with a desperate train ; And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild night ; Mv Regan counsels well : — come out o the storm. J ^ [Ftnuit. RCtSNE II. KING LEAR. 829 ACT III. SCENE I.— A Heath. A storm is heard, with thunder ami lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting. Kent. Who's here, heside foul weather ? Gent. One minded like the weather, most un- quietly. Kent. I know vou ; Where's the king ? Cent. Contending with the fretful element : Bids the wind hlow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change, or cease : tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury, and make nothing of : Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, 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 ? nt. None but the fool ; who labours to out- II is heart-struck injuries. [jest Kent, Sir, I do know you ; Ami 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 mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall ; AY ho have (as who have not, that their great stars Thron'd and set high !) servants, who seem no less; Which are to France the spies and speculations Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen, Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes ; Or the hard rein which both of them have borne Against the old kind king ; or something deeper, AN hereof, perchance, these are but furnishings ; ]3ut, true it is, from France there comes a power Into this scatter'd kingdom ; who already, Wise in our negligence, have secret feet In some of our best ports, and are at point To show their open banner Now to you : If on my credit you dare build so far To make your speed to Dover, you shall find Some that will thank you, making just report Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow The king hath cause to plain. I am a gentleman of blood 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 that I am much more Than my out wall, open this purse, and take What it contains : If you shall see Cordelia, (As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring ; And she will tell you who your fellow is That yet you do not know. Eye on this storm ! I will go seek the king. Gent. Give me your hand : Have you no more to say ? Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet ; That, when we have found the king, (in which your pain That way ; I'll this :) he that first lights on him, Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.— Another Part of the Heath. Storm continues. Enter Lear and Fool. Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout [blow ! 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 daughters' blessing ; here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools. Lear. Rumble thy bellyfull ! Spit, fire ! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription ; why then let fall Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man : — But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! rool. He that has a house to put his head in, has a good head-piece. The cod-piece that will house, Before the head has any, The head and ho shall louse ; — So beggars marry many. The man that makes his too What ho his heart should make, Shall of a corn cry woe, And turn his sleep to wake. — for there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass. Enter Kent. Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nothing. Kent. Who's there ? Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod- piece ; that's a wise man, and a fool. Kent. Alas, sir, are you here ? things that love night, Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, And make them keep their caves : Since I was man, Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot The affliction, nor the fear. [cany Lear. Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch That hast within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand ; Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue That art incestuous : Caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming 8.™ KING LEAR ACT III I Inst practis'd 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 against, than sinning. Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 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. My wits begin to turn — Come on, my boy : How dost, my boy ? Art cold? I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel, Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee. Fool. IIo that has a little tiny wit,— With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, — Must make content with his fortunes fit ; For the rain it raincth every day. Lear. True, my good boy — Come, bring us to this hovel. [Exeunt Lkak and Kv.sr. Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. — I'll speak a prophecy ere I go : When priests are more in word than matter ; When brewers mar their malt with water ; When 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 ; And bawds and whores do churches build ; — Then shall the realm of Albion Come to great confusion. Then comes the time, who lives to see't, That going shall be us'd with feet. This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before his time. [Exit. SCENE III.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. Enter Glostkr and Edmund. Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- 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 for him, nor any way sustain him. Edm. Most savage, and unnatural ! Glo. Go to ; say you nothing : There is divi- sion between the dukes ; and a worse matter than that : I have received a letter this night ; — 'da dangerous to be spoken ;— I have locked the letter in my closet : these injuries the king now bears will be revenged home ; there is part of a power already footed : we must incline to the king. I will seek him, and privily reKeve him : go you, aud maintain talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived : If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me, the king my old master must be relieved. There is some strange thing to? Kdrr.und ; pray you, be careful. Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke Instantly know ; and of that letter loo : — This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me That which my father loses ; no less than all : The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit SCENE IV.— A Part of the Heath, with a hovel. Enter Lear, Kent, 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. Tear. Wilt break my heart ? Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my lord, enter. Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this con- tentious storm Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee ; But where the greater malady is fix'd, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : But if thy flight lay toward the raging I Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free, The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all t Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand. For lifting food to't? — But I will punish home : — No, I will weep no more. In such a night To shut me out !— Pour on ; I will endure :— In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! — Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; No more of that, — Kent. Good my lord, enter here. Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease ; This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in : In, boy ; go first. — \_To the Fool.] You houseless poverty, — Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep [Fool goes iii. Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en Too little care of this 1 Take physic, pomp ; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just. Edg. IWithin.) Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom! [The Fool runs out from the hovel Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. Help me, help me ! Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there ? Fool. A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor Tom. Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'the straw? Come forth. SCENE IV. KING LEAR. 831 Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. — Humph! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? And art thou come to this ? Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his por- ridge ; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor: — Bless thy five wits ! Tom's a-cold. — O, do de, 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, have his daughters brought him to this pass ? — Could'st thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all? Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed. Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd nature To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 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 1 Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. Edg. Take heed o'the foul fiend : Obey thy parents; 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 ; wore gloves in my cap, served the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her ; swore as many oaths as I 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 in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rust- ling of silks, betray thy poor heart to women : Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. — Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind : Says suum, mun, ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa ; let him trot by. [Storm still continues. Lear. Why, thou were better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. — Is man no more than this ? Consider him well : Thou 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 but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. — Off, off, you lendings : — Come; unbutton here. — [Tearing off his clothes. Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a naughty night to swim in. — Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart ; a small spark, all the rest of his body cold. — Look, here comes a walking fire. Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip ; mildews the vvhitc wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. Saint Withold footed thrice the wold ; lie met the night-mare, and her nine-fold ; Bid her alight, And her troth plight, And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee ' Kent. How fares your grace Enter Glostkr, will: a torch. 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 swimmi-ng frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water; 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 of the standing pool ; who is whipped from tything to ty thing, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; who 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, Ilavo been Tom's food for seven long year. Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou fiend ! Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ? Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ; Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so That it doth hate what gets it. [vile, 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 night take hold upon you ; Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, And bring you where both fire and food is ready. Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher : — What is the cause of thunder ? Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; Go into the house. Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban :— What is your study ? ' Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. Kent. Imp6rtune him once more to go, my lord; His wits begin to unsettle. Glo. Can'st thou blame him ? His daughters seek his death: — Ah, that good Kent !— He said it would be thus :— Poor banish'd man !^- Thou say'st the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee, I am almost mad myself: I had a son, [friend. Now outlaw'd from my blood : he sought my life, But lately, very late ; I lov'd him, friend,-— 832 KING LEAK. ACT III. No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, [Storm continiu*. The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's 1 do beseech your grace, — [this! Lear. O, cry you mercy, Noble philosopher, your company. Edg. Tom's a-cold. Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel: keep thee Lear. Come, let's in all. [warm. Kent. This way, my lord. Lear. With him ; I will keep still with my philosopher. Kent. Good my lord, sooth him ; let him take the fellow. Glo. Take him you on. Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. Lear. Come, good Athenian. Glo. No words, no words : Hush. Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came, His word was still,— Fie, fob, and fiim, I smell the blood of a British man. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. Enter Cornwall and Edmund. Corn. I will have my revenge, ere I depart his house. Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something me to think of. Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable Dadoes* in himself. Et repent to be just I This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens ! that this treason were not, or not I the detector ! Corn. Go with me to the duchess. Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand. Corn. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension. Edm. [Aside] If I find him comforting the king, it will stuff' his suspicion more fully. — I will persevere in my course of loyalty, though the con- flict be sore between that and my blood. Com. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. - [Exeunt. SCENE VI.— A Chamber in a Farm-Honsc, adjoining the Castle. Enter Glostkr, Lear, Kknt, Fool, and Edgar. Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully : I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can : 1 will not be long from you. Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to his impatience : — The gods reward your kindness ! lExit Glostkr. Edg. Frataretto calls me ; and tells me, Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend. Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a mad- man be a gentleman, or a yeoman ? Lear. A king, a king 1 Fool. No ; he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to his son; for he's a mad yeoman, that ee.-s Iub son a gentleman before him. Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits Come hissing in upon them : — Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them straight : — Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer ; [To Eduar. Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [To the Fool.] — > you she-foxes ! — Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam ? Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me : .'. Her boat hath a leak, And she must not speak Why she dares not come over to thee. Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel ; I have no food for thee. Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd : Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions ? Lear. I'll see tbeir trial first: — Bring in the cwdence. — Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; — [To Ecoar. And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To th. Bench by his side : — You are of the commi>sion, Sit MM too. [7'.. | ./. Let us deal justly. Steepest or wakest thou, jolly shc| herd ? Thy sheep bo in the corn ; And for one blast of thy minikin nmuth, Thy sheep bhall take no harm. Pur ! the cat is grey. Lear. Arraign her first ; 'tis Goneril. I h. re take niv 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, 1 took you for a joint-stool. Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd I proclaim What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there ! Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the p] False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape t Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 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. lAiid*. 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, you curs I Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite ; Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim, Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym ; Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail ; Tom will make them weep and wail ; For, with throwing thus my head, Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled gCEW I KING LEAR. 833 Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market towns : — Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what breeds about her heart : Is there any cause in nature, that makes these hard hearts ? — You, 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 curtains : So, so, so : We'll go to supper i' the morning; So, so, so. Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. Re-enter Gloster. Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king my master ? Kent. Here, sfr ; but trouble him not, his wits are gone. Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy arms ; I have o'er-heard a plot of death upon him : There is a litter ready ; lay him in't, And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master; If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life, With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in ■wired loss : Take up, take up ; And follow me, that will to some provision thee quick conduct. Oppress' d nature sleeps : — Tiiis rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, Which, if convenience will not allow, Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to- bear thy master ; Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. Glo. Come, come, away. , Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace : Untimely comes this hurt: Give me your arm. [Exit Cornwall, led b<, i vanta unbind Glostsr, and lead him vut. 1 Serv. I'll never care what wickedness 1 do, If this man come to good. 2 Srrv. If she live long, And, in the end, meet the old course of death, Women will all (urn monsters. 1 S follow the old carl, and get the Bedlam To lead him where he would ; his roguish mad Allows itself to any thing. 2 Serv. Go thou ; I'll fetch some flax, and whites of eggs, To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him I [Exeunt set ACT IV. SCENE I.— The Heath. Enter Edgar. EJy. Yet better thus, and known to be con- temn'd, Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear : The lamentable change is from the best ; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace I The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here ? — Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man. My father, poorly led ? — World, world, O world ! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age. Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. Glo. Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone : Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee they may hurt. Old Mi'ji. Alack, sir, you cannot 6ee your way. Glo. I have no way, and therefore wi nt no eyes ; I stumbled when I saw : Full oft 'tis M Our mean secures us ; and our mere del Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son Edgar, The food of thy abused father's wrath ! Might I but live to see thee in my t I'd say, I had eyes again ! Old Man. How now ? Who's there ? Edg. [Aside.] O gods ! Who is't can say, / am at the tvorst $ I am worse than e'er I was. Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. Edg. [Aside."] And worse I may be yet : The worst is not, So long as we can say, This is the tvorst. Old Man. Fellow, where goest ? Glo. Is it a beggar-man ? Old Man. Madman and beggar too. Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 1' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw; Which made me think a man a worm : My son Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard more since : scenl: ii. KING LEAR. 836 As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods ; Phev kill us for their sport. Edg, How should this be ? Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, Aug' ring itself and others. [Aside.]— Bless thee, master ! Glo. Is that the naked fellow ? Old Man. Ay, my lord. . Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone : If, for my sake, Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; And bring some covering for this naked soul, Whom I'll entreat to lead me. Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. Glo. 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; Above the rest, be gone. Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have, Come on't what will. [EmL Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold.— I cannot daub it further. {.Aside. Glo. Come hither, fellow. 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 man from the foul fiend 1 Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, as Obidicut ; Hobbididance, 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 ! Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the hea- ven's plagues Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still ! Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. — Dost thou know Dover? Edg. Ay, master. Glo. There is a cliff whose high and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep : Bring me but to the very brim of it, And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear, With something rich about me : from that place I shall no leading need. Edg. Give me thy arm ; Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II.— Before the Duke of Albany's Palace. Enter Gonbril xnd Edmund ; Steward meeting them. Gon. Welcome, my lord : I marvel, our mild husband Not met us on the way : — Now, where's your master ? Stew. Madam, within; but never man so chang'd : I told him of the army that was landed ; He smil'd at it : I told him, you were coming ; His answer was, Thewors?: of Gloster's treachery, And of the loyal service of his son, When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot ; And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out : — What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him ; W r hat like, offensive. Gon. Then shall you go no further. [To Edmund. It is the cowish terror of his spirit, That dares not undertake : he'll not feel wrongs, Which tie him to an answer : Our wishes, on the way, May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother ; Hasten his musters and conduct his powers : I must change arms at home, and give the distaff" Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress's command. Wear this ; spare speech ; [Giving a favour. Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air ; — Conceive, and fare thee well. Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. Gon. My most dear Gloster ! [Exit Edmund. O, the difference of man, and man ! To thee A woman's services are due ; my fool Usurps my bed. Slew. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit Steward Enter Albany. Gon. I have been worth the whistle. Alb. O Goneril ! You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face — I fear your disposition : That nature, which contemns its origin, Cannot be border'd certain in itself; She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her maternal sap, perforce must wither, And come to deadly use. Gon. No more ; the text is foolish. Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile : Filths savour but themselves. What have you done ? Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd ? A father, and a gracious aged man, Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate ! have you madded Could my good brother suffer you to do it ? A man, a prince, by him so benefited ? If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 'Twill come, Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep. Gon. Milk-liver'd man ! That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs ; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering ; that not know'st, Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum ? France spreads his banners in our noiseless land ; With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats ; Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st, Alack ! why does he so ? Alb. See thyself, devil 1 Proper deformity seems not in the fiend So horrid, as in woman. Gon. O vain fool ! 3 Jt 2 B96 KING LEAR. Alb. Thou chang'd and self-cover'd thing, for shame, Be- monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones : — Howe'er thou art a fiend, A woman's shape doth shield thee. Gon. Marry, your manhood now ! — Enter a Messenger. Alb. What news ? Mess. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's Slain by his servant, going to put out [dead : The other eye of Gloster. Alb. Gloster's eyes ! Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with re- morse, 'Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword To 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. This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge ! — But, O, poor Gloster! Lost he his other eye ! Mi Both, both, my lord This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 'Tis from your sister. Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well ; But being widow, and my Gloster with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life : Another way, The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answer. [Exit. Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his eyes ? Mess. Come with my lady hither. Alb. He is not here. Mess. No, my good lord ; I met him back again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness ? Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he inforra'd against him ; Andquit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might have the freer course. Alb. Gloster, I live To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, And to revenge thine eyes. — Come hither, friend ; Tell me what more thou knowest. [KgtwU. SCENE III.— The French Camp, near Dover. Enter Kent and a Gentleman. Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone back know you the reason ? 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 Fer. Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief? Gent. Ay, sir ; she took them, read them in my presence ; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Her delicate cheek : it seem'd, she was a queen Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like, Sought to be the king o'er her. O, then it mor"l her. patience and sorrow Kent. Gent. Not to a rage strove W bo should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine 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 Wliat 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 question ? Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name of father Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart ; Cried, Sisters ! Misters ! — Shame of ladies ! sisters ! Kent! father! sisters! IV half t' the storm? i' the ni<)hl ? Let pity not be believ'd I — There she shook The holy water from 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 retum'd ? Gent. No. since. Ki d Attendants. SCENE,- 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 scene, Prom ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-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 move, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage ; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive mend. to ACT I. SCENE I.— A public Place. Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with stvords and bucklers. Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals. Ore. No, for then we should be colliers. Sum. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar. Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sum. 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. Sam. A dog 0/ that house shall move me to stand : I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. Gre. That shows thee a weak slave ; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall : — there- fore I will push Mcutague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men. Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant : when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids ; I will cut oft* their heads. Gre. The heads of the maids? Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand : and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish ; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool ; here comes two of the house of the Montagues. Enter Abram and Balthazar. ' Sam. My naked weapon is out ; quarrel, I will back thee. Gre. How? turn thy back, and run? Sam. Fear me not. Gre. No, marry : I fear thee ! Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let them begin. 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 840 ROMEO AND JUL! IT. ACT I. at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Abr. Do you bite your thumD at us, sir ? Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say — ay? Gre. No. . Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir ; but I bite my thumb, sir. Gre. Do you quarrel, sir ? Abr. Quarrel, sir ? no, sir. Sain. If you do, sir, I am for you ; I serve as good a man as you. Abr. No better. Sam. Well, sir. Enter Bknvouo, at a distance. Gre. Say — better; here comes one of my mas- ter's kinsmen. Sam. Yes, better, sir. Abr. You lie. Sam. Draw, if you be men. — Gregory, remem- Der thy swashing blow. ITheyjhjht. • Ben. Part, fools ; put up your swords ; you knew not what you do. [Beats down their swords. Enter Tybalt. Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these hart- less hinds ? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. Ben. I do but keep the peace ; put up thy Or manage it to part these men with me. [sword, Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace ? I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee : Have at thee, coward. [Theyfrjht. 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 ! Down with the Capulets ! Down with the Mon- tagues ! Enter Capulet, fn his gown ; and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this ? — Give me my long sword, ho ! Lady C. A crutch, a crutch ! — Why call you for a sword ? Cap. My sword, I say ! — Old Montague is And nourishes his blade in spite of me. [come, 'Enter Montague and Lady Montaiuk. Mon. Thou villain Capulet, — Hold me not, let me go. Lady M. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. Enter Prince, with Attendants. Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, — Will they not hear? — what ho! you men, you beasts, — That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. — Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets ; \nd made Verona's ancient ciMzens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield our partizans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate : If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away : You, Capulet, 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. [Exeunt Princk and Attendants ; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new a- b roach ? — Speak, 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 ; in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; Which, as he breath' d defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn : While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. Lady M. O, where is Romeo! — saw you him to-day ? Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. Ben. Madam, an hour before the wor'shipp'd Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, [sun A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city's side, — So early walking did I 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, — That most are busied when they are most alone, — Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs ; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the further 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 daylight out, And makes himself an artificial night : Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Ben. My noble uncle, 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. SCENE II. ROMEO AND JULIET. 847 Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away. [Exeunt Montague anil Lady. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Is the day so young? Bui. But new struck nine. Rum. Ah me \ sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast ? Ben. It was : — What sadness lengthen's Romeo's hours ? Rum. Not having that, which, having, makes them short. In lo\ 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 all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love : — Why then, O brawling love ! O loving hate! () any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, -sick health ! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ! — This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh ? Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what ? Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. — Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine : this love, that thou hast shown, Doth add more grief to too much of mine ow Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; Being 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 choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. [Going. Ben. Soft, I will go along ; An 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 some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. Rom. What, shall I 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 marks-man! — And she's fair I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss : she '11 not be With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit ; [hit And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. 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, That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste ? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste ; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, 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 ; Examine other beauties. Bom. 'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more : These happy masks, that kiss fair ladiw' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ; He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where 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 IT.— 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 liv'd 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 ; Let 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, She is the hopeful lady 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 feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love ; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more, 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 048 ROMEO AND JULIE'I. Whose names are written there, [gives a paper.] and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt Capulet and Paris. Serv. Find them out, 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 nets ; hut 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 Romeo. Ben. Tut, man ! one fire burns out another's 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- Take thou some new infection to the eye, [guish : And the rank poison of the old will die. Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that. Ben. For what, I pray thee? Rom. For your broken shin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ? Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman Shut up in prison, kept without my food, [is : Wliipp'd, and tormented, and — Goode'en, good fellow. Serv. God gi' good e'en. — I pray, sir, can you read ? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book : But I pray, 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 : I can read. [Reads. Signior Marlino, and his wife and daughters ; Countg Anselme, and his beauteous sisters ; the la ly widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentin, and his lovely nieces ; Mercutio, and his broth r Valen- tine ; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters ; My fair niece Rosaline ; Livia ; Signior Valcntio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly ; [gives back the note.] Whither should they come? Serv. TJp. Rom. Whither? Serv. To supper; to our house. Rom. Whose house ? Serv. My master's. Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. 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. [Exit. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; With all the admired beauties of Verona : Go thither ; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think 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 Baw her match, since first the world begun. Ben. Tut ! you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with 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 show you, shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well, that now shows best. Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — A Room in Capulet's House. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. Lady C. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, — at twelve year old, — I bade her come. — What, lamD ! what, lady-bird ! — God forbid! — where's this girl? — what, Juliet ! Enter Juliet Jul. How now, who calls ? Xu rss. Your mother. Jul. Madam, I am here. Wha* is your will ? Lady C. This is the matter: — Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret— Nurse, come back again ; I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. Xi/rsp. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an houi. Lady C. She's not fourteen. Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet, to my teen be it spoken, 1 have but four, — She is not fourteen — How long is it now To Lammas-tide ? Lady C. A fortnight, and odd d i\ -. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she, — God rest all Christian souls — Were of an age. — Well, Susan 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 sun under the dove-house wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua : — Nay, I do bear a brain : — but, as I said. WTien it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool ! To see it tetchy, and fallout with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I To bid me trudge. [trow, 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 — God be with his soul ! 'A was a merry man ; — took up the child : Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face * Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit ; Will thou not, Jule? and, by my holy dam, The pretty wretch left crying, and said— Ay: To see now, how a jest shall come about 1 I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it; Will thou not, Julef quoth he : And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said— Ay SCENE IV. ROMEO AND JULIET. 849 Lady C. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse. Yes, madam ; yet I cannot choose but laugh, 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 cockerel's stone ; A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly. Yea. quoth my husband, falVst upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com' si to age ; Wilt thou not, Jule ? it stinted, and said — Ay. Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd : An I might live to see thee married once, 1 have my wish. Lady C. 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 I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. Lady C. Well, think of marriage now ; younger than you, 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 brief ; — The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man, As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. Lady C. Verona's summer hath not such aflower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower ; in faith, a very flower. Lady C. What say you ? can you love the gen- tleman ? This night you shall behold him at our feast : Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; Examine every several lineament, And see how one another lends content ; And what ohscur'd in this fair volume lies, Find written in the margin of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives 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. Lady C. 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 served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait ; I beseech you, follow straight. Lady C. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county stays. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— A Street. Enter Romso, MKRCtrrro, Benvowo, with Five or Six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our Or shall we on without apology ? [excuse ? 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 the ladies like a crow-keeper ; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance : But let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch, — I am not for this am- Being but heavy, I will bear the light. [bling ; 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 cannot move. Mer. You are a lover, borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers ; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : Under love's heavy burden do I sink. Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; Too 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. — Give 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, But every man 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, — The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. Mer. Tut ! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word : If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho. Rom. Nay, that's not so. ' Mer. I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning ; for our judgment sits Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask ; But 'tis no wit to go. Mer. J Why, may one ask ? Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. Mer. And so did I. Rom. Well, what was yours ? Mer. That dreamers often lie. Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true. Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, 3 I R50 ROMEO AND JULIET Acr i. Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon -spokes made of long spinners' legs ; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry 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 hazel-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 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: On courtiers' knees, that d ream on court'sies straight : O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice : Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 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 two, And sleeps again. This is that 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 hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them, and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage. This, this is she — Bom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ; Thou talk'st of nothing. Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; Which are the children of an idle brain, Becot of nothing but vain fantasy; Which is as thin of substance as the air ; And more inconstant than the wind, w T ho woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves ; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. Bom. I fear, too early : for my mind misgives, Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night'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 ! — On, lusty gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum. [Exeunt. SCENE V.— A Hall in Capulet's Home. Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away ? he shift a trencher ! he scrape a trencher ! 2 Serv When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. 1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate : — rgood thou, save me a piece of marchpane ; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell. — Antony ! and Potpan ! 2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready. 1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. — Cheerly, boys ; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind. Enter Cafulbt, ffC. with the Guests, and the Maskers. Cap. Gentlemen, welcome 1 ladies, that have theii toes Unplagued 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 ? You are welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day. That I have worn a visor ; and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone : [play. You are welcome, gentlemen ! — Come, musicians, A hall 1 a hall ! give room, and foot it, girls. [Music plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves ; and turn the tables op, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. — Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 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 ? 2 Cap. By'r Lady, thirty years. 1 Cup. What, man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much : Trs since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five-and-twenty years ; and then we mask'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir ; His son is thirty. 1 Cap. Will you tell me that ? His son was but a ward two years ago. Bom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the Of yonder knight ? [hand Serv. I know not, sir. Bom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear : Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear I So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 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 I ne'er saw true beauty till this night Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : — Fetch me my rapier, boy : — What ! dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer 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 come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. SCENZ I. ROMEO AND JUT JET. 851 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't ? Tyb. Tis he, that villain Romeo. 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him 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, Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; I'll not endure him. 1 Cap. He shall be endur'd ; What, goodman boy ! — I say, he shall ; — Go to ; — Am I the master here, or you ? go to. You'll not endure him! — God shall mend my soul — You'll make a mutiny among my guests . You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! . Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 1 Cap. Go to, go to, You are a saucy boy : — Is't so, indeed ? — This trick may chance to scath you ; I know what. You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time — Well said, my hearts : — You are a princox ; go : — Be quiet, or — More light, more light, for shame ! — I'll make 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. Rom. If I 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 shows 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. Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do ; They pray , grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. [take. Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her. Jul. Then have mylips the sin that they have took. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly Give me my sin again. [urg'd ! Jul. You kiss by the book. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with Rom. What is her mother ? [you. Nurse. Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous : I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her, Shall have the chinks. Rom. Is she a Capulet ? dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. Ren. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. Rom. Ay, so I 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 I thank you all ; 1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night : — More torches here ! — Come on, then let's to bed. 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 Tiberio. 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. I know not. Jul. Go, ask his name : — if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; The only son of your great enemy. Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate I Too early seen unknown, and known too late 1 Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 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 dane'd withal. [One calls within, Juliet. Nurse. Anon, anon : — Come, let's away ; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt. Enter Chorus. Now old desire doth in bis death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir : That fair, for which love groaned, and would die, With tender Juliet match 'd, is now not fy.ir. Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks ; But to his 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 used 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 meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. — An open Place adjoining Capulet's 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 within it. Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio. Ren. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! Mer. He is wise ; And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. Ren. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall : Call, good Mercutio. Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover ! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied ; Cry but — Ah me ! couple but — love and dove : s I 2 862 ROMEO AND JULIET. Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid — He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not ; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. — I 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 him 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 invocati Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him. Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees, To be consorted with the humorous 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, when 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.— Capulet's Garden. Enter Romeo. Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — [Juliet appears above, at a window. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks ! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more 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 discourses, I will answer it. — I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head ? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek I Jul. Ah me ! Rom. She speaks : — O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, \s is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white -upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thoc Romeo ? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this r [Aside Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ; — Thou art thyself 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 which 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 I'll be new baptiz'd ; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest 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 would tear the word. Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words 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? anc 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 will murder thee. Rom. Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight ; 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 place ? Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to in- quire; He lent 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 such merchandise. Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek. BCKNE III. ROMEO AND JULIET. 853 For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke ; But farewell compliment ! Dost thou love me ? I know, thou wilt say — Ay ; And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, Thou may'st prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo ; but, else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour light : But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strauge. I should have been more strange, I must confess But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, My truelove's passion : therefore, pardon me And not impute this yielding to light love, Which 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 That monthly changes in her circled orb, [moon Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Rom. What shall I swear by ? Jul. Do not swear at all ; 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 when next we meet. Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart, as that within my breast I Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? Rom. 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 bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls within. I 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, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite ; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse. [Within.'] Madam. Jul. I come, anon : — But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee, — Nurse. [Within.] Madam. Jul. By and by, I come : — To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. Rom. So thrive my soul, — Jul. A thousand times good night ! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. — Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books ; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly. Re-enter Juliet, above. Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel gentle back again ! Bondage 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 With repetition of my Romeo's name. Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name : How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears ! Jul. Romeo ! 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. I have forgot why I did call thee back. Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 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. Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone : And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; Who 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. Goodnight, goodnight! parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say — good night, till it be morrow. [Exit, Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast ! — 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest 1 Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. SCENE III — Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Fkiar Laurence, tvith a basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light I And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels Fromforth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels : Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours, With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 854 ROMEO AND JULIET. ACT II The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb ; What is her burying grave, that is her womb : And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find ; Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different. 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, stumbling on abuse : Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence, and med'eine power : For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part ; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed 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 I Fri. Benedicite I 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 every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign : Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature, Or if not so, then here I hit it right — Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. Fri. God pardon sin '. wast thou with Rosaline ? liom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou been then ? Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy; Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded ; both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies : I bear no hatred, blessed man ; for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift ; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; And all combin'd, save what thou must combine By holy marriage : When, and where, and how, We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us this day. Fri. Holy St. 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 ! How 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. Rom. 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. Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom I love now, 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 ; 1 stand on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely, and slow ; they stumble, that run fast. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— A Street. Enter Bkwvouo and Mkrcutio. 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, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. Mer. A challenge, on my life. Ben. Romeo will answer it. Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! stabbed with a white wench's black eye ; shot tho- rough the ear with a love-song ; the very 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 of 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 ; a gentleman of the very first house, — of the first and second cause : Ah, the immortal passado I the pun to re verso ! the hay I Ben. The what? Mer. The pox of such antick, lisping, affecting fantasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! — By Jesu, a very good blade I — a very tall man ! — a very good lohdrc ! — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-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 ( SCENE IV. ROMEO AND JULIET. 85fc Enter Romko. Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring : — O, flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! — Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen -wench ; — marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her : Dido, a dowdy ; Cleopatra, a gipsy : Helen -md Hero, hildings and harlots ; Thisbd, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. — Signior Romeo, bonjour ! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. Rom. Good morrow to you both. What coun- terfeit did I give you? Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; Can you not con- ceive ? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great ; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy. Mer. That's as much as to say — such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. Meaning — to court'sy. Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. Rom. A most courteous exposition. Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. Rom. Pink for flower. 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 ! Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio ; my wits fail. Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. 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 my 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. Rum. Nay, good goose, bite not. Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting ; it is a most sharp sauce. Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! Rom. 1 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 groan- ing for love ? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo ; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature : for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. Bin. Stop there, stop there. Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large. Mev. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it short : for I w T as come to the whole depth of my talc : and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument uo longer. Rom. Here's goodly gear ! 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. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse. Is it good den ? Mer. 'Tis no less, I 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. You say well. Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i'faith ; wisely, wisely. Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confi- dence with you. Ben. She will indite him to some supper. Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! Rom. What hast thou found ? Mer. No hare, sir ; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good moat in lent : But a hare that is hoar. Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it he 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. Nurse. Marry, farewell! — I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery ? Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk ; and will sjxjak 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 such Jacks ; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave ! I am none of his flirt- gills ; I am none of his skains-mates : — And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure ? Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you : I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! — Pray you, sir, a word : and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out ; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they 8/>6 ROMEO AND JULIET. ACT II. say,' it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say : for the gentlewoman is young ; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- tress. I protest unto thee, — Nurse. Good heart ! and, i'faith, I will tell her as much : Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse. I will tell her, sir, — that you do protest ; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift This afternoon ; And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse. No, truly, sir ; not a penny. Rom. Go to ; I say, you shall. Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey- wall : 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 night. Farewell ! — Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. Farewell ! — Commend me to thy mistress. Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee ! — Hark you, sir. Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret ? Did you ne'er hear say — Two may keep counsel, putting one away ? Rom. I warrant thee ; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, sir ; my mistress is the sweetest lady — Lord, lord ! — when 'twas a little 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, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter ? Rom. Ay, nurse; 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 1 Pet. Anon? Nurre. Peter, Take my fan, and go before. [Exeunt. — <, — SCENE V.— Capulet's Garden. Enter Juliet. Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the In half an hour she promis'd to return. [nurse ; Perchance, she cannot meet him :— that's not so. — O, she is lame ! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over lowring hills : Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey ; and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, — yet she is not come. Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, She'd be as swift in motion as a ball ; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me : But old folks, may feign as they were dead ; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. Enter Nurse and Peter. O God, she comes ! — O honey nurse, what news ? Hast 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? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse. I am a weary, 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: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; — good, good nurse, speak. Nurse. Jesu, What haste? can you not stay awhile ? Do you not see, that I am out of breath ? Jul. How art thou out 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 I'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 talk- ed on, yet they are past compare : He is not the flower of courtesy, — but, I'll warrant him, as gen- tle as a lamb. — Go thy ways, wench ; serve God. — What, have you 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 akes ! 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 ! — Beshrew your heart, for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down ! Jul. I'faith, I 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 isyourmother? Jul. Where is my mother? — why, she is within; Where should she be ? How oddly thou repliest ? 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 aking bones ? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Jul. Here's such a coil, — Come, what says Romeo ? Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-dav- Jul. I have. SCENE 1. ROMEO AND JULIET. 867 Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' There stays a husband to make you a wife : [cell, 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 drudge, and toil in your delight ; But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go, I'll to dinner ; hie you to the cell. Jul. Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, fare- well. [Exeunt. SCENE 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 ! Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight : Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare, It is enough I may but call her mine. Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume : The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite : Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ; 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 thee, daughter, for us both. Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks tco much. 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, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. Fri. Come, come, with me, and we will make short work ; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.— A public Place. Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Sorvanta Ben. 1 pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire ; The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape 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 second 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 thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou 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 hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath waken'd thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter ? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband ? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling 1 Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. Mer. The fee-simple ? O simple Enter Tybalt, and others. Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not. Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den : a word with one of you. Mer. And but one word with one of us ? Couple it with something ; make it a word and a blow. Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion. Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving ? Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, — Mer. Consort ! what, dost thou make us min- strels ! an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords : here's my fiddlestick ; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, 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 all eyes gaze on us. Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze ; I will not budge, for no man's pleasure, I. Enter Romeo. Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir ! here comes my man. Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery : Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower ; Your worship in that sense, may call him — man. Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this — Thou art a villain. 858 ROMEO AND JULIET. ACT III. Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting : — Villain am I none ; Therefore, farewell ; I see, thou know'st me not. Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me ; therefore turn, and draw. Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee : But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love : And so, good Capulet, — which name I tender As dearly as mine own, — be satisfied. Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission ! A la stoocata carries it away. [Draws. 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 withal, 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 In Verona streets : — Hold, Tybalt ; — good Mer- cutio. [Exeunt Tybalt and hit Partisans. Mer. I am hurt ; A plague o' both the houses ! — I am sped : Is he gone, and hath nothing ? Ben. What, art thou hurt? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 'tis enough. — Where is my 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 for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, 1 warrant for this world : — A plague o' both your houses ! — '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 be- tween us ? I was hurt under your arm. Rom. I thought all for the best. Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. — A plague o' both your houses, They have made worm's meat of me : I have it, and soundly too : — Your houses ! [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio Rom. 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 hour Hath been my kinsman : — O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, And in my temper soften 'd valour's steel. Re-enter Tybalt. Re-enter Benvolio. Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead ; That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, W T hich too untimely here did scorn the earth. Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth depend ; This but begins the woe, others must end Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. Rom. Alive ! in triumph ! and Mercutio slain ! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now! — Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That 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 boy, that didst consort him Shalt with him hence. [here, Rom. This shall determine that. [They fight; Tybalt falls. Ben. Romeo, away, be gone ! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain : — Stand not amaz'd : — the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken : — hence !— be gone! — away! Rom. O ! I am fortune's fool 1 Ben. Why dost thou stay ? [Exit Romeo Enter Citizens, $c. 1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio ? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he ? Ben. There lies that Tybalt. I Cit. Up, sir, go with me j I charge thee in tbe prince's name, obey. Enter Phince, attended § Montaqtte, Capulet, their Wives, and others. Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray ? 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. Lady C. Tybalt, my cousin ! — O my brother's 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 ! Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray ? Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal Your high displeasure : — All this — uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, — Co\dd not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast ; Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it : Romeo he cries aloud, Hold, friends I friends, part/ and swifter than his tongue, His agile arm 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, W T ho had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slhin ,• SCENE II. ROMEO AND JULIET. 85i) And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly ; This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. Lady C. He is a kinsman to the Montague, Affection makes him false, 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 ; Kis 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 hate's 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 found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body, and attend our will : Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. f Exeunt. SCENE II. — A Room in Capulet's House. Enter Juliet. Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' mansion ; such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. — Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night ! That run-away's eyes may wink ; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen ! — Lovers can see to do their 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 to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : Hood my unmannM blood bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown Think true love acted, simple modesty. [bold, 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 sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it ; and, though I am sold, Not yet 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 heavenly eloquence. — Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there: the cords, That Romeo bade thee fetch ? Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down. Jul. Ah me ! what news ! why dost thou wring thy hands ? Nurse. Ah well-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead ! We are undone, lady, we are undone! — Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead ! Jul. Can heaven be so envious ? Nurse. Romeo can, Though heaven cannot : — O Romeo, Romeo : — Who ever would have thought it? — Romeo! Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus ? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself ? say, thou but J, And that bare vowel / shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : I am not I, if there be such an / ; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, /. If he be slain, say — / ; or if not, no : Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe. Nurse. Isawthewound,Isaw 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 bedaub'd in blood, All in gore blood ; — 1 swoonded 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 I had ! O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! That ever I should live to see thee dead ! Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary ? Is Romeo slaughter'd ; and is Tybalt dead ? My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord ? — Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom ! For who is living, if those two are gone ? Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. Jul. O God ! — did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day ! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face ! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical ! Dove-feather' d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb ! Despised substance of divinest show I Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain ! — O, nature I what had'st thou to do in hell, When thou did'st bower 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 i* men ; all perjui'd, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. — ■ Ah, where's my man ? give me some aqua vita .•— - These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo ! Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish ! he was not born to shame : Upon his brow, shame is asham'd to sit ; 800 ROMEO AND JULIET. act m. For 'tis a throne where honour may he 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 kill'd your cousin ? Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it? — But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin ? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain : And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus- band : All this is comfort ; Wherefore weep I then ? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That 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. That — banished, that one word — banished. Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there : Or, — if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'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 ? Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords : — Poor ropes, you are be- Both you and I ; for Romeo is exil'd : [guil'd, He made 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 I Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo To comfort you : — I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will he here at night ; I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. Jul. O find him ! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE III. — Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. Fri. Romeo, come forth : come forth, thou fear- Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, [ful man ; And thou art wedded to calamity. Rom. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not ? Fri. Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company : I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. Rom. What less than dooms-day is the priaee's doom ? Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. 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 : Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence -banished isbanish'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 off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. Fri. O deadly sin ! O rude unthankfulness ! Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment : This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is here Where 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 lives In carrion flies, than Romeo : they may seize On the white wonder of 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; But Romeo may not ; he is banished : Flies may do this, when I from this must fly ; They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st *hou yet, that exile is not death ? Hadst thor no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But — banished — to kill me ; banished ? O 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 my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word — banishment ? Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak 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 art 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. Fri. 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 thou 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 thyself. [Knocking within. SCENE IV. ROMEO AND JULIET. 861 Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. [Knocking. Fri. Hark, how they knock ! — Who's there I — Romeo, arise ; Thou wilt be taken : — Stay a while : — stand up ; [Knocking. Run to my study : — By and by : — God's will ! What wilfulness is this ? — I come, I come. [Knocking. Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what's your will ? Nurse. [Within."] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand ; I come from lady Juliet. Fri. Welcome then. Enter Nurse. 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 blubber- ing:— Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand ; Why should you fall into so deep an O ? Rom. Nurse ! Nurse. Ah, sir 1 ah, sir ! — Well, death's the end of all. Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet ? how is it with Doth she not think me an old murderer, [her ? Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood remov'd but little from her own ? Where is she ? and how doth she ? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love ? Nurse. O, she says nothing, 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 falls again. Rom. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand Murder'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. [Draws 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 amaz'd me : by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself ? And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself ? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth ? Since birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet In thee at once ; which thou at once would'st lose. Fye, fye ! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all, [wit ; \nd 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 vow'd to cherish : Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask, Is set on fire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with 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 slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too : The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy : A pack of blessings lights upon thy back ; Happiness courts thee in her best array ; But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love : Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her; But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. — Go, before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto : Romeo is coming. Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the night, To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! — My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late, [sir : [Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this ! Fri. Go 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 signify from time to time Every good hap to you, that chances here : Give me thy hand; 'tis late : farewell; goodnight. Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : Farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. — A Room in Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no 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 afford no time to woo ; Madam, good night : commend me to your daughter. Lady C. I will, and know her mind early to- morrow ; ROMEO AND JULIET. ACT Hi. To-night she's raew'd up to her heaviness. Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love : I think, she will 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! hal Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be ;— o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl : — Will you be ready ? do you like this haste ? We'll keep no great ado ; — a friend, or two : — For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much : Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thurs- day? Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to- morrow. Cap. Well, get you gone : — O' Thursday be it then : — Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. — Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, ho 1 Afore me, it is so very late, that we May call it early by and by : — Good night. [Exeunt. 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. Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ; I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I : It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To 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 vaulty 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 gone, away ; It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. Some say, the lark makes sweet division ; This doth not so, for she divideth us : Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes ; O, now I would they had chang'd voices too ! Since arm from ar.m that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day. O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. Rom. More light and light?— more dark and dark our woes. Enter Nurse. Aurse. Madam ! Jul. Nurse? Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber : The day. is broke ; be wary, look about. [Exit Nurso. Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. 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 shall For sweet discourses in our time to come, [serve 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 Romeo. Jul O fortune, fortune ! all men call thee fickle ! If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune ; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him bark. Lady C. [Within.] Ho, daughter ! are you up? Jul. Who is't that calls ? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early ? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither ? Enter Lady Capulet. Lady C. Why, how now, Juliet ? Jul. Madam, I am not well. Lady C. 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 ; [love ; Therefore, have done : Some grief shows much of But much of grief shows still some want of wit. Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. Lady C. 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. Lady C. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. Jul. What villain, madam ? Lady C. 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. Lady C. 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 ! E V. ROMEO AND JULIET. 863 Lady C. 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 draught, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company : And then 1 hope thou wilt be satisfied. Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him — dead — Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd : — Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it ; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. — O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd, — and cannot come to him, — To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! Lady C. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful time : What are they, I beseech your ladyship ? Lady C. 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 ? Lady C. Marry, my child, early next Thursday The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, [morn, The county Paris, at St. Peter's church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too, 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 Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris : — These are news indeed 1 Lady C. Here comes your father ; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capclet and Nurse. Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle But for the sunset of my brother's son, [dew ; It rains downright. — How now ? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering ? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st 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 Thy tempest- tossed body. — How now, wife ? Have you deliver'd to her our decree ? Lady C. Ay, sir ; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fooi 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 you have : Proud can I never be of what I hate ; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. Cap. How now ! how now, chop-logic ! What is this ? Proud, — and, I thank you, — and, I thank you not ; — 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 St. Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion ! out, you baggage You tallow-face 1 Lady C. Fye, fye ! what, are you mad ? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak 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 ; [bless'd, My fingers itch. — Wife, we scarce thought us That God had sent us but this only child J But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her; Out on her, hilding 1 Nurse. God in heaven bless her ! — You are to blame, 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. Lady C. 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, youthful, and nobly train'd, StufTd (as they say,) with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man, — And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer — Til not wed, — I cannot love, I am too young, — / pray you pardon me ;—. But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will, you shall not house with 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 : Trust 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? O, 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 Tybalt lies. Lady C. 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 earth, my faith in heaven; 8 Courtier: Glildenstern,-' Osric, A Courtier. Another Courtier. A Priest. Marcbllus, An Officer Bernardo, An Officer. Francisco, A Soldier. Rky.nai.do, Servant to Poloniu*. A Captain. An Ambassador. Ghost of Hamlet's father. Fortinbras, Prince of Norway. Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and mother o/Hamlbt. Ophelia, Daughter of Polonius. Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grave-diggers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attendants. SCENE,— Elsinorc ACT I. SCENE I Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. Francisco on hit pott Enter to him Bernardo. Ber. Who's there ? Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold Yourself. Ber. Long live the king ! Fran. Bernardo ? Ber. He. Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, "Francisco. Fran. For this relief, much thanks : 'tis bitter And I am sick at heart. [cold, Ber- Have you had quiet guard ? Fran. Not a mouse stirring. Ber. Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus. Fran. 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 relieVd you ? Fran. Bernardo hath my place. Give you good night. lExit Francisco. Mar. Holla ! Bernardo ! Ber. Say, What, is Horatio there ? Hor. A piece of him. Ber. Welcome, Horatio ; welcome, good Mar- cellus. Hor. W r hat, has this thing appear'd again to- night? Ber. I have seen nothing. Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy ; And will not let belief take hold of him, Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : Therefore I have entreated him, along With us to watch the minutes of this night; That, if again this apparition come, He may approve 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 fortified against our story, What we two nights have seen. Hor. Well, sit we down, And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. Ber. Last night of all, When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself, The bell then beating one, — Mar. Peace, break thee off ; look where it comes again 1 Enter Ghost. Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it, Horatio. Ber. Looks it not like theking? markit, Horatio. Hor.. Most like : — it harrows me with fear, and Ber. It would be spoke to. [wonder. Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of Together with that fair and warlike form [night, In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march ? by heaven I charge thee, Mar. It is offended. [speak. Ber. See ! it stalks away. Hor. Stay ; speak ; speak, I charge thee, speak. [Exit Ghost. Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. K1M2ILO. t SCENE HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 873 Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look pale : Is not this something more than fantasy ? What think you of it ! Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes. Mar. Is it not like the king ? Hor. As thou art to thyself : Such was the very armour he had on, When he the ambitious Norway combated ; So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, He smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 'Tis strange. Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour, vVith 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, This 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 inform me ? Hor. That can I ; At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, Whose 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 this 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 seiz'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 of landless resolutes, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath 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 romage in the land. Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so : Well may it sort, that this portentous figure Comes armed through 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. As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star, Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. And even the like precurse of fierce events, — As harbingers preceding still the fate*, And prologue to the omen coming on, — Have heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen. Re-enter Ghost. But, soft ; behold ! lo, where it comes again ! I'll cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusion! If thou hast any souud, or use of voice, Speak to me : If there be any good thing to be done, That may to thee do ease, ar '; grace to me, Speak to me : If thou art 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 crows Speak of it : — stay, and speak. — Stop it, Marcellus Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan ? Hor. Do, if it will not stand. Ber. 'Tis here ! Hor. 'Tis here. Mar. 'Tis gone! [£j?«Guost We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show 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 strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. Hor. So have I 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 us impart what we have seen to-night Unto young Hamlet : for, upon 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 know Where we shall find him most convenient. Exeunt. 874 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. SCENE II. — The same. A Room of State in the same. Enter the Kino, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Labrtes, Voltimand, Corneliu3, Lords, and Attendants. King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death The memory be green ; and that it us befittf \ To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom To be contracted in one brow of woe ; Yet so far hath discretion fought 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 and funeral, and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale, weighing delight and dole, — Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 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 brother's death, Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, He hath not fail'd to pester us with message, Importing the surrender of those lands Lost by his father, with all bands of law, To our most valiant brother. — So much for him. Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. Thus much the business is : We have here writ To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress His further gait herein ; in that the levies, The lists, and full proportions, are all made Out of his subject : — and we here despatch You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, For bearers of this greeting 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 show our duty. King. We doubt it nothing ; heartily farewell. [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? You told us of some suit ? What is't, Laertes? You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, And lose your voice : What would'st thou beg, Laertes, That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? The head is not more native to the heart, The hand more instrumental to the mouth, Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. What would'st thou have, Laertes ? Laer. My dread lord, Your leave and favour to return to France ; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation ; Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, My thoughts and wishes bend again t6ward France, And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. King. Have you your father's leave ? What says Polonius ? Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow By laboursome petition ; and, at last, [leave, Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent : I do beseech you, give him leave to. go. King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; 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 that the clouds still hang on you? Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too muchi'the sun. Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thynighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust : Thou know'st, 'tis common ; all, that hive, must die, Passing through nature to eternity. Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. Queen. If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee ? Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not seems. 'Tis 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, shows of grief, That can denote me truly : These, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play : But I have that within, which passeth show ; These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father : But, you must know, your father lost a father ; That father lost, lost his ; and the survivor .bound In filial obligation, for some term To do obsequious sorrow : But to persever In obstinate condolemcnt, is a course Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief : It shows a will most incorrect to heaven ; A heart unfortified, or mind impatient : An understanding simple and unschool'd : For what, we know, must be, and is as common As any of the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we, in our peevish opposition, Take it to heart? Fye ! 'tis a fault to heaven, A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, To reason most absurd ; whose common thems 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 earth This unprevailing woe ; and think of us As of a father : for let the world take note, You are the most immediate to our throne ; And, with no less nobility of love, Than that which dearest father bears his son, Do I impart toward you. For your intent In going back to school in Wittenburg, It is most retrograde to our desire : And, we beseech you, bend you to remain Here, in the cheer 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. Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come ; This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Sits smiling to my heart : in e;race whereof, SCENE II. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 875 No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. [Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, $c. Polonius, and Laertes. Ham. O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ; Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! O God ! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world 1 Fye on't ! O fye ! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature, Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two ; So excellent a king ; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! Must 1 remember ? why, she would hang on him, 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 woman ! — A little month ; or ere those shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, My fathers brother ; but no more like my father, Than I to Hercules : Within a month : Ere yet the 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 ! It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue 1 Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. Hor. Hail to your lordship ! Ham. I am glad to see you well : Horatio, — or I do forget myself. Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name with you. And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? — Marcellus ? Mar. My good lord, Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, sir, — But, what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? Hor. A truant disposition, good my 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 mock me, fellow- student ; 1 think, it was to see my mother's wedding. Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral-bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! — My father, — Methinks, I see my father. Hor. Where 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 for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Ham. Saw ! who ? Hor. My lord, the king your father. Ham. The king my father Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear ; till 1 may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you. Ham. For God's love, let me hear. Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waist and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pie, Appears before them, and, with solemn march, Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd, By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd Almost to jelly with the act of fear, Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me In dreadful secresy impart they did : And I, with them, the third night kept the watch \ Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good The apparition comes : I knew your father ; These 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 sound 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 ? ML We do, my lord. Ham. Arm'd, say you ? All. Arm'd, my lord. Ham. From top to toe ? All. My lord, from head to foot. Ham. Then saw you not His face ? Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. Ham. What, look'd he frowningly ? Hor. A countenance more In sorrow than in anger. Ham. Pale, or red? Hor. Nay, very pale. Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you? Hor. Most constantly. Ham. I would, I had been there. Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. Ham. Very like. Very like : Stay'd it long ? 070 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT I. Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell Mar. Ber. Longer, longer. [a hundred. Hor. Not when I saw it. JIam. His beard was grizzl'd ? no? Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable siiver'd. Ham. I will watch to-night ; Perchance, 'twill walk again. Hor. I warrant, it will. Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should 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 understanding, but no tongue ; I will requite your loves : So, fare you well : Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. All. Our duty to your honour. Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. {Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo. My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; I doubt some foul play : 'would the night were come ! Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelmthem, to men's eyes. {Exit. — ♦ — SCENE HI. — A Room in Polonius' House. Enter Laertes and Ophelia. Laer. My necessaries are embark'd ; farewell : And, sister, as the winds give benefit, And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you. Oph. Do you doubt that ? Lner. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, 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. Oph. No more but so ? Laer. Think it no more : Fo * nature, crescent, does not grow alone In thews, and bulk ; but as this temple waxes, The inward service of the mind and soul Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves 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 circumscrib'd Unto the voice and yielding of that body, "Whereof he is the head : Then if he says, he loves It fits your wisdom so far to believe it, [y° u > As he in his particular aet and place May give his saying deed ; which is no further, Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 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 open To his unmaster'd importunity. Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; And keep you in the rear of vour affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire. The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask 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 blastments are most imminent. Be wary then : best safety lies in fear ; Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchmen to my heart : But, good my brother Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; Whilst, like a puffd 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 hit 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 thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple 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, b'eing in, Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'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 ownself 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.yourservantstend. Laer. Farewell, Ophelia : and remember well What I have said to you. Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it. Laer. Farewell. {.Exit Laertes. Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? Oph. So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet. 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- If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me, [teous : 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 ? give me up the truth. Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many Of his affection to me. [tenders CENE IV. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 377 Pol. Affection? puh ! you speak like a green girl, Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ? Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. Pol. Marry, I'll teach you : think yourse'f a baby j That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly ; Or, (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool. Oph. My lord, he hathimportun'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 speech, my lord, With almost all the holy vows of heaven. Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, 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 fire. 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 larger tether may he walk, Than may be given you : In few, Ophelia, Do not believe his vows : for they are brokers Not of that dye which their investments show, But mere implorators of unholy suits, Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, The better to beguile. This is for 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. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.— The Platform. Enter Hamlet, Horatfo, and Marcellus. Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. Hot. It is a nipping and an eager air. Ham. What hour now ? Hot. . I think, it lacks of twelve. Mar. No, it is struck. Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not ; it then draws near the season, Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within. What does this mean, my lord? Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes •! his rouse, Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up-spring reels ; 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, And to the manner born, — it is a custom More honour'd in the breach, than the observance. This heavy-headed revel, 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 perform 'd at height 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 men, — Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — Their virtues else (be they as puie as grace, As infinite as man may undergo,) Shall in the general censure take corruption From that particular fault : The dram of base Doth all the noble substance often dout, To his own scandal. Enter Ghost. Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us !— Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee ; I'll call thee, Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me : Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell, Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in c6mplete steel, Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, So horribly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To 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 j then I will follow it. Hor. Do not, my lord. Ham. 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 immortal as itself ? It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. Hor. What, if it tempt you toward 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, Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, And draw you into madness ? think of it : The very place puts toys of desperation, Without more motive, into every brain, That looks so many fathoms to the sea, And hears it roar beneath. Ham. It waves me still :— Go on, I'll follow thee. Mar. You shall not go, my lord. Ham. Hold off your hands Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 878 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT 1. 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 call'd ; — unhand me, gentlemen ; — [Breaking from them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me : — I say, away : — Go on, I'll follow thee. [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. ITor. He waxes desperate with imagination. Mar. Let's follow ; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Hot. Have after : — To what issue will this come ? Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Hor. Heaven will direct it. Mar. Nay, let's follow him. [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. Ghost. Mark me. Ham. I will. Ghost. My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. Ham. What ? Ghost. I am 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 foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on 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 ! Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural Ham. Murder? [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 as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge. Ghost. I find 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, hear : '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 ! my uncle ! Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, (O wicked wit, and gifts, that have 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 To those of mine ! But virtue, as it never will be 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 ! methinks, 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, The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine And a most instant tetter bark'd about, Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust. All ray smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd: Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd ; No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head : O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught ; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once ! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. [Exit. Ham. O all you host of heaven ! O earth ! What And shall I couple hell?— O fye !— Hold, hold, my heart ; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up ! — Remember thee ? Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee ? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there ; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven. O most pernicious woman ! O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! My tables, — meet it is, I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain , At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark : [Wri'ina So, uncle, there yon are. Now to my word ; WJENE V. HAMLET. PRINCE OF DENMARK. 879 It is, Adieu, adieu ! remember me. 1 have sworn' t. JJor. [Within.'] My lord, my lord, Mar. {Within.] Lord Hamlet, Hor. [ Within.] Heaven secure him ! Ham. So be it ! Mar. [Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. Eitcr Horatio and Marcellus. Mar. How is't, my noble lord ? Hor. What news, my lord? Ham. O, wonderful ! Hor. Good my lord, tell it. Ham. No ; You will reveal it. Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. Mar. Nor I, my lord. Ham. How say you then ; would heart of man once think it ? — But you'll be secret, Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all But he's an arrant knave. [Denmark, Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave, To tell us this. Ham. Why, right ; you are in the right ; And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit, that we shake hands, and part : You, as your business, and desire, shall point you; — For every man hath business and desire, Such as it is, — and for my own poor part, Look you, I will go pray. Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 'Faith, heartily. Hor. There's no offence, my lord. Ham. Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, Horatio, And much offence too. Touching this vision here, — It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; For 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, Give me one poor request. Hor. What is't, my lord ? We will. Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-night. Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. Ham. Nay, but swear't. Hor. In faith, My lord, not I. Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. Ham. Upon my sword. Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. Ham. Ha, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ? art thou 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 seen, Swear by my sword. Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. Ham. Hie et ubique ? then we'll shift our ground : — Come hither, gentlemen, And lay your hands again upon my sword : 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'thc earth so fast ? A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good friends. [strange ! Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things iri heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come ; Here, as before, never, so help you mercy ! How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on — That you, at such times seeing me, never shall With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, As, Well, well, we know ; — or, We could, and 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 I do commend me to you : And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to express his love and friending to you, God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; And still your fingers on your lips, 1 pray. The time is out of joint ; — O cursed spite 1 That ever I was born to set it right 1 Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.— A Room in Polonius' House. Enter Polonius and Rbynaldo. Po'. Give him this money, and these notes, Rey- naldo. Rep. I will, my lord. Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- Before you visit him, to make inquiry [naldo, Of his behaviour. Rep. My lord, I did intend it. Pol. Marry, well said : very well said. Look you, sir, Inquire me first what Danskersare in Paris ; [keep, And how, and who, what means, and where they 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 particular 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 ? Rep. Ay, very well, my lord. Pol. And, in part, him,- — but, you may say, not Rut, if't be he I mean, he's verp wild; [well • 880 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. act n Addicted so and so ;— and there put on him What forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank As may dishonour 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. Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quar- Drabbing : — You may go so far. [relling, Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. Pol. 'Faith, no ; as you may season it in the charge. You must not put another scandal on him, That he is open to incontinency ; That'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 savageness in unreclaimed blood, Of general assault. Rey. But, my good lord, ■ Pol. Wherefore should you do this ? Rey. Ay, my lord, I would know that. Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift ; And, I 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 prenominate crimes, The youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd, He closes with you in this consequence ; Good sir, or so ; or friend, or gentleman, — According to the phrase, or the addition, Of man, and country. Rey. Very good, my lord. Pol. And then, sir, does he this, — He does — What was I about to say ? Ey the mass, I 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 : — / know the gentleman ; I saw him yesterday, or t'other day, [say, Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as you There was he gaming ; there overtook in his rouse : There falling out at tennis ; or, perchance, I saw him enter such a house of sale, {Videlicet, a brothel,) or so forth. — See you now ; Your bait of 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 my 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. Good my lord, Pol. Observe your inclination in yourself. Rey. I shall, my lord. Pol. And let him ply his music. Rey. 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 affrighted 1 Pol. With what, in the name of heaven ? Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in ray closet, Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbrac'd ; No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'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 speak of horrors, — he comes before me. Pol. Mad for thy love ? Oph. 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 hard; Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face, As he would draw it. Long 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, As it did seem to shatter all his bulk, And end his being : That done, he lets me go : And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 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. Come, go with me ; I will go seek the king. 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 Oph. No, my good lord ; but, as you did com- I did repel his letters, and denied [mand, His access to me. Pol. That hath made him mad. I am sorry, that with better heed, and judgment, I had not quoted him : I fear'd, he did but trifle, And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my It seems, it is as proper to our age [jealousy . To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions, As it is common 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. [Exeunt SCENE 11.— A Room in the Castle. Enter Kino, Quken, Rosencrantz, Gitildenstern, and Attendants. King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guil- denstern ! Moreover that we much did long to see you, The need, we have to use you, did provoke Our hasty sending. Something have 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 So much from the understanding of himself, [him I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, That, — being of so young days brought up with him ; And, since, so neighbour'd to his youth and hu- mour, — That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court Some little time : so by your companies aCENE II. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 8a i To draw him on to pleasures ; and to gather, So much as from occasion you may glean, Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, That, open'd, lies within our remedy. Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you ; And, sure I am, two men there are not living, To whom he more adheres. If it will please you To show us so much gentry, and good will, As to expend your time with us awhile, For the supply and profit of our hope, Your visitation shall receive such thanks As fits a king's remembrance. Ros. Both your majesties 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 the full bent, To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guil- denstern. Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Ro- sencrantz : And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed son. — Go, some of you, And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our Pleasant and helpful to him ! [practices, Queen. Ay, amen! [Exeunt Roskncrantz, Guildenstern, and some Attendants. Enter Polonius. Pol. The embassadors from Norway, my good Are joyfully return'd. [lord, King. Thou still hast been the father of good news. Pol. Have I, my lord ? Assure you, my good I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, [liege, Both to my 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 I long to hear. Pol. Give first admittance to the embassadors ; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. King. Thyself 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. I doubt, it is no other but the main ; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. lie-enter Polonius, with Voltimand and Cornelius. 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 him appear'd To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack ; But, better look'd into, he truly found It was against your highness : Whereat griev'd, — That so his sickness, age, and impotence, Was falsely borne in hand, — sends out arrests On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ; Receives rebuke from Norway ; and, in fine, Makes vow before his uncle, never more To give the assay of arms against your majesty. Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, Gives 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 shown, [Gives a paper That it might please you to give quiet pass Through your dominions for this enterprise ; On such regards of 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 : Most welcome home ! [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. Pol. This business is well ended. My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why 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 tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, — I will be brief : 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 ; have, while she is mine ; Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, Hath given me this : Now gather, and surmise. — To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia, That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; beautified is a 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 faith- ful.— Doubt thou, the stars are fire ; [Reads. Doubt, that the sun doth move ; Doubt truth to be a liar ; But never doubt, I love. O dear Ophelia, / am ill at these numbers ; I have not art to reckon my aroans : but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, Hamlet. This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me : And more above, hath his solicitings, 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. 1 would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 3 L :182 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, Before my daughter told me,) what might you, Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, If I had play'd the desk, or table-hook ; 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. Which done, she took the fruits of my advice ; And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ; 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 fain 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 : [Poi to hit head and shoulder. If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. King. How may we try it further ? Pol. You know, sometimes he walks for hours Here in the lobby. [together, Queen. So he does, indeed. Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to Be you and I behind an arras then ; [him : 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. King. We will try it. Enter Hamlkt, reading. Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away ; I'll board him presently : — O, give me leave. — [Exeunt Kino, Quern, and Attendants. How does my good lord Hamlet ? Ham. Well, god-'a-mercy. Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. Pol. Not I, my lord. Ham. Then I 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 very true, 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 conceive, — friend, look to't. Pol. How say you by that ? [Aside.'] Still harp- ing on my daughter : — yet he knew me not at first ; he soid I was a fishmonger : He is far gone, far gone ! and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love ; very near this. I'll speak to him again. — What do you read, my lord ? Ham. Words, words, words ! 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 I hold it not honestly to have done 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, that 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. Ho'n. These tedious old fools ! Enter Roskncrantz and Guildenstkrn. Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet; there he is. Ros. God save you, sir ! [To Polonius. [Exit PoloniP6. Guil. My honour'd lord ! — Ros. My most dear lord ! — Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern ? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both ? Ros. 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 middle of her favours ? Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most true ; she is a strumpet. What news ? Ros. None, my lord ; but that the world's grown honest. Ham. Then is dooms-day near : but your news is 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 prison hither ? Guil. Prison, my lord? Ham. Denmark's a prison. Ros. Then is the world one. Ham. A goodly one ; in which there are many 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. CENE II. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Ham. God I I could be bounded in a nut- shell, and count myself a king of infinite space ; were it not that I have bad dreams. Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ; for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. Ham. A. dream itself is but a shadow. Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies ; and our raonarchs, and outstretch'd heroes, the beggars' shadows : Shall we to the court ? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. Ros. Guil. We'll wait upon you. Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest of my servants : for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, iu 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 thanks are too dear, a half-penny. 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. Any thing — but to the purpose. You were sent for ; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft 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 conjure 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 better proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for, or no ? Ros. What say you ? [To Guildknstern. 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 ray anticipa- tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather. I have of late, (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my mirth, foregone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is man I How noble in reason ! how infinite in faculties ! in form, and moving, how express and admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how like a god I the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of 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 thoughts. Ham. Why did you laugh, then, when I said, Man delights not me ? Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you : we coted them on the way ; and hither are they coming, to offer you service. Ham. He that plays the king, shall be welcome ; his majesty shall have tribute of me : the adven- turous knight shall use his foil, 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 delight in, the tragedians of the city. Ham. How chances it, they travel ? their resi- dence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation. Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city ? Are they so followed ? 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) that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose quills, and dare 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 while, no money bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the 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, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece, for his pic- ture in little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out. [Flourish 0/ trumpets within. Guil. There are the players. Ham. Gentlemen, 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 show fairly outward, should more appear like entertainment than yours. You are welcome : but my uncle- father, and aunt-mo- ther, are deceived. Guil. In what, my dear lord ? Ham. I am but mad north-north-west : when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand- saw. Enter Polonxus. Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! Ham. Hark you, Guildcnstern, — and you too — at each ear a hearer ; that great baby, you see there, is not' vet out of his swaddling clouts. 834 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT IX. 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. — You say right, sir : o'Mon- day 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 actor in Rome, Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. Ham. Buz, buz ! Pol. Upon my honour, Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tra- gedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical -pastoral, tragical -historical, tragical- comical, historical-pastoral, 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. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, — what a treasure 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 daughter. [Atide. Ham. Am I not i'the right, old Jephthah ? Pol. If you 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, // came to pass, As most like it was, — The first row of the pious chanson will show 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 I saw thee last ; Com'st thou to beard me in Den- mark ? — What 1 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. We'll e'en to't like French fhlconers, fly at any thing we see : Well have a speech straight: Come, give us a taste of your quality ; come, a passionate speech. 1 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 ; for the play, I remember, pleased not the million ; 'twas caviare to the general : but it was (as I received it, and others, whose judgments, in such matters, cried in the top of mine,) an excel- lent play ; well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, one said, there were no sallets in the lines, to make the matter savoury ; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the author of affection ; but called it, an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved : 'twas jEueas' tale to Dido ; and thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter : If it live in your memory, begin at this line ; let me see, let me Bee: — "The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast," — 'tis not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus. " The rugged Pyrrhus, — he whose sable arms, Black as his purpose, did the night resemble, When he lay couched in the ominous horse, Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd With heraldry more dismal ; head to foot Now is he total gules ; horridly trick'd With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons ; Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and a damned light To their lord's murder: Roasted in wrath, andfire. And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks ; " — So proceed you. Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken ; with good accent, and good discretion. 1 Play. " Anon he finds him Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique sword, Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to command : Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives ; in rage, strikes wide ' But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top Stoops to his base ; and with a hideous crash Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear ; for, lo ! his sword, Which was declining on the milky head Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick : So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood ; And, like a neutral to his will and matter, Did nothing. But, as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, The bold winds speechless, and the orb below As hush as death : anon the dreadful thunder Doth rend the region : So, after Pyrrhus' pause, A roused vengeance sets him new a work ; And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne, With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword Now falls on Priam. — Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune ! All you gods. In general synod, take away 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 I" 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 Hecuba. 1 Play. "But who, ah woe! had seen the mobled queen" Ham. The mobled queen? Pol. That's good ; mobled queen is good. 1 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-teemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ; Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pro- nounc'd : But if the gods themselves did see her then, When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs ; The instant burst of clamour that she made, (Unless things mortal move them not at all,) Would have made milch the burning eye of And passion in the gods." [heaven. bOENE I. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 885 Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd 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 well used ; for tbey are the abstract, and brief chro- nicles, of the time : After your death you were better have a bad epitaph, th#a their ill report while you live. Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert. Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better : Use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping I 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. [Exit Polonius urith tome of the Players. Ham. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a play to-morrow. — Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you play the murder of Gonzago? 1 Play. Ay, my lord. Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down, and insert in't? could you 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. and Guil.] I'll leave you till night : you are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord ! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit, That from her working, all his visage wann'd ; Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting Wjth 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 cause, And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, Upon whose property, and most dear life, A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? Who calls me villain i oreaks my pate across ? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'the throat, As deep as to the lungs ? Who. does me this ? 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, I should have fatted all the region kites ' With this slave's offal : Bloody, bawdy villain ! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! 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, I And fall a cursing, like a very drab, I A scullion ! J Fye upon't ! foh 1 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 have these players, Play something like the murder of my father, Before mine uncle : I'll observe his looks ; I'll tent him to the quick ; 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. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I.— A Room in the Castle. Enter Kino, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. King. And can you, by no drift of conference, Get from him, why he puts on this confusion ; Grating so harshly all his days of quiet With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted ; But 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 ? Ros. 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 ; And, as I think, they have already order This night to play before him. Pol. 'Tis most true : And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, To hear and see the matter. King. With all my heart; and it doth much content me To hear him so inclin'd. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT III Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, And drive his purpose on to these delights. R08. We shall, my lord. [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; That he, as 'twere by accident, may here Affront Ophelia : Her father, and myself (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. I 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. Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen. Pol Ophelia, walk you here :— Gracious, so please you, We will bestow ourselves : — Read on this book ; [To Ophelia. That show of such an exercise may colour Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, — 'Tis too much prov'd, 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, beautied with plast'ring art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, Than is my deed to my most painted word : O heavy burden ! [Aside. Pol. I hear him coming ; 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 The sling 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-ach, 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 : For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence 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 the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly 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 I The fair Ophelia : — Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd. Oph. Good my lord, How does your honour for this many a day ? Ham. I 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. Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well, you did ; And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos' 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 lordsnip ? Ham. That if you be honest, and fair, you should admit no discourse to your beauty. Oph. Cquld 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 sometime a paradox, 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 old 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 sinners ? I am myself indifferent 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, then I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them iu : What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven ? We are arrant knaves, all ; believe none of us : Go thy ways to a nunnery. 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 1 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, marry a fool ; for wise men know well enough, what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go ; and quickly too. Farewell. Oph. Heavenly powers, restore him ! Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well enough ; God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another ; you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance : Go to, I'll no SCENE II. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK, 83? more oft ; it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages : those that are married already, all but one, shall live ; the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go. [Exit Hamlet Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword : The expectancy 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 I To have seen what I have seen, see 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 his 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 ha^e, in quick determination, Thus set it down; 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 something-settled matter in his heart ; Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus From fashion of himself. What think you on't ? Pol. It shall do well ; but yet I do believe, The origin and commencement of his grief Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia, You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said ; We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; But, if you hold it fit, after the play, Let his queen mother all alone entreat him To show his grief ; let her be round with him ; And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear Of all their conference : If she find him not, To England send him : or confine him, where Your wisdom best shall think. King. It shall be so : Madness in great ones must not un watch 'd go. [Exeunt. SCENE U.—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 on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus : but use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must ac- quire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- lings ; who, for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise : I would have sxich a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Ter- magant ; it out-herods Herod : pray you, avoid it. 1 Play. I warrant your honour. Ham. Be 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'erstep not the modesty of nature ; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of play- ing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious 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 profanely, that, neither having the accent of christians, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 1 Play. I hope, we have reformed that indiffer- ently with us. Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, that 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 shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. [Exeunt Players. Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 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 Polonits. Will you two help to hasten them ? Both. Ay, my lord. [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Cufldensteun. Ham. What, ho ; Horatio ! Enter Horatio. Hot. 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 thy good spirits, To feed, and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd ? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? Since my dear soul 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, that suffers nothing ; 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 man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my 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, Which I have told thee of my father's death. I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act a-foot Even with the very comment of thy soul H'J8 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. act in. 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 Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note : For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; And, after, we will both our judgments join I n 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 must be Get you a place. [idle : Danith march. A flourish. Enter Kino, Queen, Polonii's, OPHBLtA, ROSENCRANTZ, GuiLDENSTERN, atld OtheTt. King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? Ham. Excellent, i'faith ; of the camelion's dish : I eat the air, promise-crammed : You cannot feed capons so. King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet ; these words are not mine. Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, — you played once in the university, you say ? [2Y> PoLONIfS. Pol. That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a good actor. Ham. And what did you enact ? Pol. I did enact Julius Csesar: I was killed i'the Capitol ; Brutus killed me. Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital a calf there. — Be the players ready ? Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your patience. Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more at- tractive. Pol. O ho . do you mark that ? [To the Kino. 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 think, I meant country matters? Oph. I think nothing, my lord. Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maid's legs. Oph. What is, my lord ? Ham. Nothing. Oph. You are merry, my lord. Ham. Who, I ? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. O ! your only jig-maker. What should a man do, but be merry ? for, look you, how cheer- fully my mother looks, and my father died within these two hours. Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. Ham. So long? Nay, then let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens ! die two months ago, and not forgotten yec ) Then there's hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year: But, by'r-lady, he must build churches then ; or else shall he suffer nui thinking on, with the hobby-horse ; whose epitapb is, For O, for O, the hobby-horse is forgot. Trumpet* sound. The dumb-show follows. Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly ; the Queen em- bracing h im, and he her. Slie kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon Iter neck : lays him down 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 ears, and exit. The Queen returns % finds the King dead, and mokes passionate action. Tkt poisoner, with some two or three mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The poisoner woos the Queen with gifts; she seems loath and unwilling awhile, but, in the end, ac- cepts his love. [Exeunt. Oph. What means this, my lord? Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it means mischief. Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of the play. Enter Prologue. Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the players cannot keep counsel ; they'll tell all. Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant ? Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him : Be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means. Oph. You are naught, you are naught ; I'll nwk the play. 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. Ham. As woman's love. Enter a King and 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 sheen, 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. So many journeys may the sun and moon Make us again count o'er, ere love be done ! 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 you speak ; But, what we do determine, oft we break. Purpose is but the slave to memory ; Of violent birth, but poor validity : SCKNE II. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 8»y 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 ourselves 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 change; For 'tis 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 run, That our devices still are overthrown ; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own : So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor hea- ven light ! Sport and repose lock from me, day, and night ! 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 wife 1 Hum. If she should break it now, [To Ophelia. P. King. *'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here a while ; My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 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 much, 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 offence i'the world. King. What do you call the play ? Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how ? Tropi- cally. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna : Gonzago 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. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the 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 faces, 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's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property, On 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 Gonzago ; the story is extant, and writ- ten in very choice Italian : You shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. Oph. The king rises. Ham. What ! frighted with false fire ! Queen. How fares my lord ? Pol. Give o'er the play. King. Give me some light : — away ! Pol. Lights, lights, lights ! [Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play : For some must watch, while some must sleep ; Thus runs the world away. — Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two Provencial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fel- lowship in a cry of players, sir ? Hor. Half a share. Ham. A whole one, I. For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here A very, very —peacock. Hor. You might have rhymed. Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word 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 Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Come, some music. Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. Ham. Sir, a whole history. Guil. The king, sir, Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distem- pered. Ham. With drink, sir ? Guil. No, my lord, with choler. Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer, to signify this to the doctor ; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler. Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. Ham. I am 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 fMO HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT III. me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's commandment : if not, your pardon, and my re- turn, 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 I can make, you shall command ; or, rather, as you say, my mother : therefore, no more, but to the matter ; My mother, you say, lios. Then thus she says ; Your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration. Ham. O wonderful 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, ere 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. Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of dis- 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 for your succession in Den- mark ? Ham. Ay, sir, but, While the grass grows, — the proverb is something musty. Enter the Players, with recorders. O, the recorders : — let me see one. — To withdraw with you : — Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil ? 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 this 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. Ham. '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 elo- quent 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 out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. Enter Polonius. God bless you, sir ! Pol. My lord, the queen would sp^ak with you, and presently. Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a camel ? Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. Pol. It 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. — They fool me to the top of my bent. — I will come by and by. Pol. I will say so. [Exit PoLo.vins 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 Contagion to this world : Now could I drink hot And do such business as the bitter day [blood, Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mother. — O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : Let me be cruel, not unnatural : I will speak daggers to her, but use none ; My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites : How in my words soever she be shent, To give them seals, never, my soul, consent ! [Exit. SCENE III.— A Room in the same. Enter Kino, 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 terms of our estate may not endure Hazard 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 peculiar life is bound, With all the strength and armour of tne 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 mortis'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 this speedy voyage ; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. Ros. Guil. We will haste us. i[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Gcildenster.v. Enter PoLomrs. Pol. My, lord, he's going to his mother's closet ; Behind the arras I'll convey myself, To hear the process; I '11 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'erhear The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege -. I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know. King. Thanks, dear my lord. [Exit Poixwns. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, A brother's murder ! — Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will ; PCENE IV. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 891 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 thicker than itself with brother's blood ? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy, 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, Or pardon'd, being down ? Then I'll look up ; My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ! — That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 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 offence ? 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, E ven to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give 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 ! O limed soul ; that, struggling to be free, Art more engag'd ! Help, angels, make assay ! Bow, stubborn knees ! and, heart, with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; 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 scann'd : A villain kills my father ; and for that, I, his sole son, do 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 ? 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 horrid 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 days. [Exit. The King rises, and advances. King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below ; Words without thoughts, 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 ; And that your grace hath screened and stood between Much heat and him. I'll silence him e'en here. Pray you, be round with him. Queen. I'll warrant you : Fear me not : — withdraw, I hear him coming. [Polonius hides himself Enter Hamlet. Ham. Now, mother ; what's the matter ? Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ? Ham. What's the matter now I Queen. Have you forgot me ? Ham. No, by the rood, not so : You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; And — 'would it were not so 1 — you are my mother. Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that car speak. Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; 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 through the arras. Pol. \_Behind.~] O, I am slain. [Falls, and dies. Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? Ham. Nay, I know not •. Is it the king ? [Lifts up the arras, and draws forth Polonius. Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! Ham. 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 : Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger. — Leave wringing of 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 have not braz'd it so, That it be proof and bulwark against sense. Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wrg 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 forehead 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 religion makes A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow; Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 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 of two brothers. 802 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. ACT JIL 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 : This was your husband. — Look you now, what follows : 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 ? You cannot call it love : for, at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment ; And what judgment Would step from this to this ? Sense, sure, you have, Else, could you not have motion : But sure, that sense Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err ; Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd, But it reserv'dsome quantity of choice. To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind ? Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, - Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense C ould not so mope. O shame I where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, To flaming 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 ! 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 gracious figure ? Queen. Alas 1 he's mad. Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chido, That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by The important acting of your dread command ? O, say. Ghost. Do not forget : This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits: O, step between her and her fighting soul ; Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works : Speak to her, Hamlet. Ham. How is it with vou, lady ? Queen. Alas, how is it 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 ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he glares ! His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me ; Lest, with this piteous action, you convert My stern effects : then what I have to do Will want true colour ; tears, perchance, for blood. Queen. To whom do you speak this ? Ham. Do you see nothing there ? Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. Ham. Nor did you nothing hear ? Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. Ham. Why, look you there ! look, how it steals away ! My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! [Exit Ghosl 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 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks • It will but skin and film 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 1 thou hast cleft my 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 He likewise gives a frock, or livery, That aptly is put on : Refrain 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 curb 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 PoLomoa. I do repent : But Heaven hath pleas 'd it so,- - To punish me with this, and this with mo, WlKNE IX. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 893 That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him. So, again, goodnight! 1 must be cruel, only to be kind : Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. — But one word more, good lady. Queen. What shall I do ? Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do : Let the 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 padling 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 paddock, 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 fly ; and, like the famous ape, To try conclusions, in the basket creep, And break your own neck down. Q?/m?.Bethouassur'd, if wordsbemade of breath, 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, — Whom 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 their mines, And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet, 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 grave, Who was in life a foolish prating knave. Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you : Good night, mother. [Exeunt severally ; Hamlet dragging in Polonws. ACT IV. SCENE I.— The same. Enter Kino, Qi:een, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. King. There's matter in these sighs ; these pro- 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 atld Gl'ILDENSTERN, Who go Old. Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night ! King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? Queen. Mad as the sea, and wind, when both contend Which is the mightier : In his lawless fit, Behind the arras hearing something stir, Whips out his rapier, cries, A rat! a rat ! And, in this brainish apprehension, kills The unseen 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 ? It 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 kill'd : O'er whom his very madness, like some ore, Among a mineral of metals base, Shows 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 vile deed We must, with all our majesty and skill, Both countenance and excuse. — Ho ! Guildenstern ! Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 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 Guil. Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends ; And let them know, both what 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 name, And hit the woundless air. — O come away ! My soul is full of discord, and dismay. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. Enter Hamlet. Ham. Safely stowed, — [Ros. Qc. within. Hamlet ! lord Hamlet !] But soft, — what noise ? who calls on Hamlet ? O, here they come. Enter Rosencrantz and Gwldenstern. Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body ? Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. Ros. Tell us where 'tis ; that we may take it And bear it to the chapel. [thence, Ham. Do not believe it. Ros. Believe what ? Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge ! — what replication should be made by the son of a king ? Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ? Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's coun- tenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers 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 sponge, you shall be dry again. 81)4 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Ros. I understand you not, my lord. Ham. I am glad of it: A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body 6, and go with us to the king. Ham. The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body. The king is a thing- — Guil. A thing, my lord? Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after. {.Exeunt. SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. Enter Kino, 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 Rosencrantz. Or not at all. — IT iw now ? what hath befallen ? Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, 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 Gulujenstern. 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 ourselves 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. King. What dost thou mean by this ? Ham. Nothing, but to show you how a king may go a progress through 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 this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby. King. Go seek him there. [To *ome Attendants. Ham. He will stay till you come. {.Exeunt Attendants. King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety, — Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve For that which thou hast done, — must send thee hence With fiery quickness : Therefore, prepare thyself; The bark is ready, and the wind at help, The associates tend, and every thing is bent For England. Ham. For England ? K™.<7- Ay, Hamlet. *I am > 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 is man and wife ; man and wife is one flesh ; and 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 affair : Pray you, make haste. [Exeunt Ros. and Gun . And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught, (As my great power thereof may give thee sense ; Since 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. [Aril. SCENE IV.— A Plain in Denmark. Enter Fortinbras, and Forces, marching. For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras [king ; 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't, my lord. For. Go softly on. {Exeunt Fortinbras and Forces. 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, Fortinbras. Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, Or for some frontier ? Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition, 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. Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand ducats, Will not debate the question of this straw : This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace ; That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies. — I humbly thank you, sir. Cap. God be wi'you, sir. {Exit Captain SCENE V. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 8< »H*t be so, Hamlet is of the faction thaT is 1 wrong'd ; His madness is poor Hamlet • enehiy. Sir, in this audience, ',' , - Let my disclaiming from a purposed 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 voice and precedent of peace, To keep my name ungor'd : But till that time, I do receive your offer'd love like love, And will not 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 igno- rance Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night, Stick fiery off indeed. Laer. You mock me, sir. Ham. No, by this hand. King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin You know the wager ? [Hamlet, 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 therefore 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 If Hamlet give the first or second hit, [table : — 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 kings In Denmark's crown have worn ; Give me the cups ; And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, Noto 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 Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup. [thine ; [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. — 004 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK Here, Hamlet takcmy napkin, rub thy brows : The queen caroyses. £© 'thy fortune, Hamlet. Ham. Good inadout',' King. Gertrude, do not drink. Queen. I will, myio)d ;— I pray you pardon me. King. ltis'the.poisdn'dcup ; it is too late. [.Aside. Ham. I dajre'notckifik yet, madam ; by and by. Queen. Co-.nfc,* let me. wipe thy face. Laer. UyTqvi, I'JLMt him now. King. "" I do not think it. Laer. And'yeYrJ is 4 almost against my conscience. • • «< € , [Aside. Ham. Come, for the .third, Laertes: You do but I pray you, pass with your best violence ; [dally ; I am afeard, you make a wanton of me. Laer. Say you so ? come on. [They play. Osr. Nothing neither way. Laer. Have at you now. [Laertes wounds Hamlet ; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes. King. Part them, they are incens'd. Ham. Nay, come again. LThe Queen falls. Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! Hor. They bleed on both sides :— How is it, my Osr. How is't, Laertes? [lord? Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. [Osric ; 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! [Dies. Ham. O villany !— Ho ! let the door be lock'd : Treachery ! seek it out. [LABRTEs/aH*. Laer. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain ; No medicine in the world can do thee good, In thee there is not half an hour's life ; The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, Unbated, and envenom'd : the foul practice Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie, Never to rise again : Thy mother's poison'd ; I can no more ; the king, the king's to blame. Ham. The point Envenom'd too ! — Then, venom, to thy work. [Stabs the Kino. Osr. $ Lords. Treason ! treason ! King. O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt. Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Drink off this potion : — Is the union here ? [Dane, Follow my mother. [KJ™ dies - Laer. He is justly serv'd ; It is a poison temper'd by himself. — 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 but time, (as this fell sergeant, death, Is strict in his 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 unsatisfied. 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, — Give me the cup ; let go ; by heaven I'll have it. — O God ! — Horatio, what a wounded name. Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, [me ? Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in p^in, To tell my story. — [March afar off, and shot within. What warlike noise is this ? Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come To the ambassadors of England gives [from Poland , This warlike volley. Ham. O, I die, Horatio ; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit ; I cannot live to hear the news from England : But I do prophesy, the election lights On Fortinbras ; he has my dying voice : So tell him, with the occurrents, more or less, Which have solicited, — The rest is silence. [Dies. Hor. Now cracks a noble heart ; — Good night, sweet prince : And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! Why does the drum come hither? [March within. Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, and others. Fort. Where is this sight ? Hor. What is it, you would see ? If aught of woe, or wonder, cease your search. Fort. This quarry cries on havoc ! — O proud What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, [death ! 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 ears are senseless, that should give us hearing, To tell him, his commandment is fulfill'd, That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead Where should we have our thanks ? Hor. Not from his mouth, 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 arriv'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 these things came about : So shall you hear Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ; Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters ; Of deaths put on by cunning, and fore'd cause ; And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on the inventors' heads : all this can I 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 perform'd, Even while men's minds are wild ; lest more mis- On plots, and errors, happen. [chance, Fort. Let four captains Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to 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 for him. — Take up the bodies : — Such a sight as this Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead March. [Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies ; after which, a peal of ordnance is shot off OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Duke of Venice. Brabantio, a Senator. Two other Senators. Gratiano, Brother to Brabantio. Lodovico, Kinsman to Brabantio Othello, the Moor. Cassio, his LicuUnant. Iago, 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 Iago. Bianca, a Courtezan, Mistress to Cassio. Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors, Attendants, &c. 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 un- kindly, That thou, Iago, — who hast had my purse, As if the strings were thine, — should ' st know of this. Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : — If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me. Hod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate. 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, I am worth no worse a place : But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance, Horribly stuff d with epithets of war ; And, in conclusion, nonsuits My mediators ; for, cer/es, says he, / have already chose my officer. And what was he ? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife ; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster ; unless the bookish theorick, 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 ; He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, And I, (God bless the mark !) his Moor-ship's ancient. Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse ot service ; Preferment goes by letter, and affection, Not by the old gradation, where each 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 then. 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 provender ; and, when he is old, cashier'd ; 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 shows of service on their lords, Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd their coats, Do themselves homage ; these fellows have some soul, 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 be 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. POO OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT i Rod, What a full fortune does the thick lips owe, If he can carry't thus I lago. Call up her father, Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies ; though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. Rod. Here is her father's house ; I'll call aloud. Iago. Do ; with like timorous accent, and dire yell, As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. Rod. What ho ! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho ! lago. Awake ! what, ho ! Brabantio ! thieves ! thieves ! thieves ! Look to your house, your daughter and your bags ! Thieves ! 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 locked ? Bra. Why ? wherefore ask you this ? lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are robb'd ; for shame, put on your gown ; Your 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, I say. Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my Bra. Not I ; what are you ? [voice ? Rod. My name is — Roderigo. Bra. The worse welcome. I have charg'd thee, not to haunt about my doors : In honest plainness thou hast heard me say, My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in madness, Being full of supper and distempering draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir, Bra. 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 Barbary horse : you'll have your nephews neigh to you : you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans. Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? Jago. I 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. Jago. You are — a senator. Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo. [you, Rod. Sir. I will answer any thing. But I beseech If 't be your pleasure, and most wise consent, (As partly, I 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 me, We, have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe, That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence : Your daughter, if you have not given her leave, I say again, hath made a gross revolt ; Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes, In an extravagant and wheeling stranger, Of here and every where : Straight satisfy yourself : If she be in her chamber, or your 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 1 light ! [Exit, from abov* 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,) Against 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 as I do hell pains, Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shalt surely 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 ? How didst thou know 'twas she? — O, thoudeceiv'st me Past thought ! — What said she to you ? — Get more tapers ; Raise all my kindred. — Are they married, think you? Rod. Truly, I think, they are. Bra. O heaven ! — How got she out ! — O 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 maidhood May be abused ? 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 Moor ? Rod. I think I can discover him ; if you please To get good guard, and go along with me. 8CENK II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 907 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. — On, good Roderigo ; — I'll deserve your pains. [Exeunt. SCENE II— The same. Another Street. Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants. Iago. 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 or ten times 1 had thought to have yerk'dhim here under the ribs. Oth. Tis better as it is. Iago. 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 married? 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 you ; Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law (with all his might, to enforce it on,) Will give him cable. Oth. Let him do his spite : My services, which I have done the signiory, Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, (Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege ; and my demerits May speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach' d : For know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused free condition Put into circumscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights come yonder ? Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers with torches. Iago. These are the raised father, and his friends : You were best go in. Oth. Not I : I must be found ; My parts, my title, and my perfect soul, Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? Iago. By Janus, I think no. Oth. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends 1 What is the news ? Cas. The duke does greet you, general ; And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. Oth. What is the matter, think you ? Cas. 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, The senate hath sent about three several quests, To search you out. Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you. I will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. [Exit. Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? Iago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever, [carack ; Cas. I do not understand. Iago. He's married.. Cas. To who ? Re-enter Othello. Iago. Marry, to — Come captain, will you go ? Oth. Have with you. Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, a.id Officers of Night with torches and weapons. Iago. It is Brabantio : — General, be advised ; He comes to bad intent. Oth. Hola ! stand there ! Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. Bra. Down with him, thief ! [They draw on both sides. Iago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. Oth. 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 hast 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 shunn'd The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou : to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense, That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms ; Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals; That waken motion : — I'll have it disputed on ; '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 hold upon him ; if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. Oth. Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest : Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go To answer this your charge ? Bra. To prison : till fit time Of law, and course of direct session, Call thee to answer. Oth. 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 true, most worthy signior, The duke's in council ; and your noble self, I am 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. [Exeunt Ml OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. SCENE III.— The same. A Council-chamber. The Duke, and Senators, sitting at a table; Officers at- tending. Duke. There is no composition in these news, That gives them credit. 1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion^ ; My letters say, a hundred and seven galleys. Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty. 2 Sen. And mine, two hundred : But though they jump not on a just account, (As in these cases, where the aim reports, '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 I 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. Duke. How say 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, That, 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 That Rhodes is dress'd in : if we make thought of this, We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful, To leave that latest which confirms him first ; Neglecting an attempt of ease, and gain, To wake, and wage, a danger profitless. Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. Off. Here is move news. Enter a Messenger. Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course toward tne isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 1 Sen. Ay, so I thought : — How many, as you guess ? Mess. Of thirty sail: and now do they re-stem Their backward course, bearing with frank ap- pearance Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant 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 Sen. He's now in Florence. Duke. Write from us ; wish him post-post-haste : despatch. 1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor. Enter BnARA>mo, Othello, Iago, Roderick), and Officers. Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior. [To Brabantio. We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. Bra. So did I yours : Good your grace, pardon me ; Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the genera. care Take hold on me ; for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing 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, stol'n 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 Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul pro- ceeding, Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, And you of her, the bloody book of law You 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 affairs, Hath hither brought. Duke $ Sen. We are very sorry for it. Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to this ? [To Othello. Bra. Nothing, but this is so. Oth. Most potent, grave and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, — That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true ; true, I have married her; The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, And little bless'd with the 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, In speaking for myself; Yet, by your gracious patience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what What conjuration, and whatmighty magic, [charms, (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) I won his daughter with. Bra. A maiden never bold ; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself; And she, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, — To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on ? 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 again, That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect. He wrought upon her. SCENE in. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 900 Duke. To vouch this, is no proof ; Without more certain and more overt test, Than these thin habits, and poor likelihood > Of 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 affections ? Or came it by request, and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth .' Oth. I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary, And let her speak of me before her father : If 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. Oth. Ancient, conduct them : you best know the place. — [Exeunt Iaoo and Attendants. 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. Oth. 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 I spoke of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; Of hair-breadth scapes i'the imminent deadly breach ; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history : Wherein of antres vast, and desarts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the process; And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things 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 distressful stroke, That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 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'd me ; And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my 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. This only is the witchcraft I have us'd ; Here comes the lady, let her witness it. Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. Duke. I think, this tale would win my daughter Good Brabantio, [too : — Take up this mangled matter at the best : Men do their broken weapons rather use, Than their bare hands. Bra. I pray you, hear her speak ; If she confess, that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man ! — Come hither, gentle mistress ; Do you perceive in all this noble company, Where most you owe obedience ? Des. My noble father, I 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, I am hitherto your daughter : But here's my husband ; And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor, my lord. Bra. God be with you ! — I have done : — Please it your grace, on to the state affairs ; I had rather to adopt a child, thau 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, I 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 sentence, Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers Into 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. So 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 free 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 preparation 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. Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 910 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT I. 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 therefore bending to your state, I 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. Oth. Nor I. Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 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 voice, To assist my simpleness. Duke. What would you, Desdemona? Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortune's 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 I love him, are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence : Let me go with him. Oth. Your voices, lords ; — 'beseech you, let her 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 ! Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay, or going : the affair cries — haste, And speed must answer it ; you must hence to- night. Des. To night, my lord ? Duke. This night. Oth. With all my heart. Duke. At nine i'the morning here we'll meet Othello, leave some officer behind, [again. And he shall our commission bring to you ; With such things else of quality and respect, As doth import you. Oth. 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, r To Bkabantio. If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor! use Desdemona well. Bra. Look to her, Moor ; have a quick eye to She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee, [see ; [Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, $c. Oth. My life upon her faith. — Honest Iago, My Desdemona must I 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 Desdemona. Rod. Iago. Iago. What say'st thou, noble heart? Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou ? Iago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. Iago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee 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, when death is our physician. Iago. O villanous ! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years ! and since I could distinguish 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 human- ity with a baboon. Rod. What should I do ? I confess, it is a shame to be so fond ; but it is not in virtue to amend it. Iago. 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 will 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 industry ; 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 baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions : But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts ; whereof 1 take this, that you call — love, to be a sect or scion. Rod. It cannot be. Iago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per- mission of the will. Come, be a man : Drown thy- self ? 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 in thy purse ; follow these wars ; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard ; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be, that Desdemona 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 his body, she will find the error of her choice. — She must have change, she must : there- fore put money in thy purse. — If thou wilt needs KENK I. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 911 damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drown- ing. Make all the money thou canst : If sancti- mony 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; therefore make money. A pox of drowning thy- self! 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 ? Iago. Thou art sure of me ; — Go, make money : — I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor : My cause is hearted ; thine hath 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 wili be delivered. Traverse; go; provide thy money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. Rod. Where shall we meet i'the morning? Iago. At my lodging. Rod. I'll be with thee betimes. Iago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo ? Rod. What say you ? Iago. No more of drowning, do you hear ? Rod. I am changed. I'll sell all my land. Iago. Go to ; farewell ! put money enough in your purse. [Exit Koderigo. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse : For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, If I would time expend with such a snipe, But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor ; And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office : I know not if't be true ; But I, for mere suspicion 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 will ; A double knavery, — How ? how ? — Let me see : — After some time, to abuse Othello's ear, That he is too familiar with his wife : — He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, To be suspected ; fram'd to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so 5 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 Platform. Enter Montano and Ttco Gentlemen. Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea? 1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high-wrought I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, [flood ; Descry a sail. Mon. Methinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : [land ; 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 monstrous Seems to cast water on the burning Bear, [main, And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : I never did like molestation view. On th' enchafed flood. Mon. If that the Turkish fleet Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd ; It is impossible to bear it out. Enter a Third Gentleman. 3 Gent. News, lord ! 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 sufferance On most part of their fleet. Mon. How ! is this true ? 3 Gent. The ship is here put in, A Veronese ; Michael Cassio, Lieutenant to the 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 come in, As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello •. Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue, An indistinct regard. 3 Gent. Come, let's do so : For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter Cassio. Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor; O, let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost him on a dangerous sea ! Mon. Is he well shipp'd ? Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot Of very expert and approv'd allowance ; Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stanflyn bold cure. [ Within."] A sail, a sail, a sail ! Enter another Gentleman. Cas. What noise ? 4 Gent. The town is empty ; on the brow o'the Stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail, [sea 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 give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 2 Gent. I shall. [Exit. Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd? Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid That paragons description, and wild fame ; 912 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT II One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And in the essential vesture of creation, Does bear all excellency. — How now ? who has put in ? Re-enter Second Gentleman. 2 Gent. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. Cas. He has had most favourable and happy 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 Desdemona. Mon. What is she ? Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago ; Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, A se'nnight's speed. — Great Jove, Othello guard, And 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 within, A Bail, a sail I Then guns heard. 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel ; This likewise is a friend. Cas. See for the news. — [Exit Gentleman. Good ancient, you are welcome ; — Welcome, mis- tress : — [To Emilia. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy. [Kissing her. Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, [lips, 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, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking. Emit. You have little cause 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 housewives in your beds. Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer ! Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk ; You rise to play, and go to bed to work. Emit. You shall not write my praise. Ia 9°> 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 Iago. Ay, madam. [harbour ? 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 pate, as birdlime does from frize, It plucks 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 useth it. Des. Wellprais'd! How if shebe black and witty? 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 praisest the worst best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed? one, that, in the authority 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, — ?iow I may ; 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 I 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 oeen 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 for your sake! [Trumpet.] The Moor, I know his trumpet. Cas. 'Tis truly so. Des. Let's meet him, and receive him Cas. Lo, where he comes ! SCENE I. OTHELLO, THK MOOR OF VENICE. 913 Enter Othkllo and Attendants. Oth. O my fair warrior ! Des. My dear Othello ! Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content, To see you here before me. O my soul's joy ! If after every tempest come such calms, May the 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, 'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute, That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. Des. The heavens forbid, But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow ! Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers ! — I cannot speak enough of this content, It 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 ! Iago. O, you are well tun'd now ! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. [Aside. Oth. Come, let's to the castle. — News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How do our old acquaintance of this isle ? Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus ; I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good Iago, Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers : Bring thou the master to the citadel ; He is a good one, and his worthiness Does challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, Once more well met at Cyprus. [Exeunt Oth. Des. and Attend. Iago. Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant, as (they say) base men, being in love, have then a nobility in their natures more lhan is native to them, — list me. The lieutenant to-night watches on the court of guard : — First, I must tell thee this — Desdemona is directly in love with him. Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible. Iago. Lay thy finger— thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her fantastical lies : And will she love him still for prating ? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed ; and what delight shall she have to look on the devil ? When the blood is made dull with the 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 will find itself abused, begin 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 eminently in the degree of this fortune, as Cassio does ? a knave very voluble ; no further conscionable, than in putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compass- ing of his salt and most hidden loose affection ? why, none ; why, none : A slippery and subtle knave ; a finder out of occasions ; that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself: A devilish knave !' besides, the knave is handsome, young; and hath all those requisites in him, that folly and green minds look after : A pestilent complete knave ; and the woman hath found him already. Rod. I cannot believe that in her ; she is full of most blessed condition. Iago. 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. Iago. Lechery, by this hand; an index, and obscure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips, that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo ! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main exercise, the incorporate conclusion : Pish ! — But, sir, 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 too loud, or tainting his discipline ; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourablj minister. Rod. Well. Iago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden incholer; and, haply, with 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 the impediment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. Iago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel : I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Farewell. Rod. Adieu. [Exit. Iago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it J That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit : The Moor — howbeit that I endure him not ; Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, — And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now I do love her too ; Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure, I stand accountant for as great a sin,) 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 ; 3 914 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT II. 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 confus'd ; Knavery's plain face is never seen, till us'd. [.Exit. SCENE 11.—^ Street. Enter a Herald, with a proclamation; People following. Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now. arrived, importing the mere perdition of the Turk- ish fleet, every man put 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 celebra- tion of his nuptials : So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open ; and there is full liberty of feasting, from this present hour of five, till the bell hath told eleven. 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. Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- night : Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to out-sport discretion. Cas. Iago hath direction what to do ; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't. Oth. Iago 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 Oth. 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. Iago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love ? Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, lieutenant, I 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 ! 'tis a night of revels ; the gallants desire it. Cas. W T here are they ? Iago. Here at the door ; I pray you call them in. Cas. I'll do it ; but it dislikes me. [Exit Cassjo. Iago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, He'll be as full of quarrel and offence As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, Roderigo, Whom love has turn'd almost the wrong side To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd [outward, Potations pottle deep ; and he's to watch : Three lads of Cyprus, — noble swelling spirits, That hold their honours in a wary distance, The 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. Re-enter Cassio, with him Montaxo, and Gentlemen. Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse already. Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. Iago. Some wine, ho ! And let me the canakin clink, clink ; [Sings. And let me the canakin clink : A soldier's a man ; A life's but a span ; Why then, let a soldier drink. Some wine, boys I [ Wim brought in. 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 in his drinking ? Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow year Almain ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. Cas. To the health of our general. Mon. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I'll do you justice. Iago. O sweet England ! King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breaches cost him but a crown ; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor— lown. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: *Tis pride that pulls the country down, Then take thine auld cloak about thee. Some wine, ho 1 Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. Iago. Will you hear it again ? KCRXE III. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 9]5 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 general, nor any man of quality, — I hope to be saved. Iago. And so do I too, lieutenant. Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. — Forgive us our sins I — Gentlemen, 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 left hand : — I am not drunk now ; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. AU. Excellent well. Cas. Why, very well, then : you must not think then that I am drunk. [Exit. Mon. To the platform, masters ; come, let's set the watch. Iago. You see this fellow, that is gone before ; — He is a soldier, fit to stand by Caesar 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 he often thus ? Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep : He'll watch the horologe a double set, If drink rock not his cradle. Mon. It were well, The general were put in mind of it, Perhaps, he sees it not ; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils ; Is not this true? Enter Roderigo. [Aside. Iago. 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. Iago. Not I, 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,— Help ! help ! Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant ? Cas. A knave ! — teach me my duty ! I'll oeat the knave into a twiggen bottle. Rod. Beat me ! Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue ? [Striking Roderigo. Mon. Nay, good lieutenant ; [Staying him. I pray you, sir, hold your hand. Cas. Let me go, sir, Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. Mon. Come, come, you're drunk. Cas. Drunk! [They fight. Iago. Away, I say ! go out, and cry— a mutiny. [Aside to Rod. who goes out. Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen, — Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir; — Help, masters ! — Here's a goodly watch, indeed ! [Bell rings. Who's that that rings the bell ?— Diablo, ho ! The town will rise : God's will, lieutenant ! hold ; You will be sham'd for ever. Enter Othello and Attendants. Oth. What is the matter here ? Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death ; — he Oth. Hold, for your lives. [dies. Iago. 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 ! Oth. Why, how now, ho ! from whence arisetl this ? 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 his 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 Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this ? on thy love I charge thee. Iago. I do not know ; — friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom Devesting them for bed : and then, but now, (As if some planet had unwitted men,) Swords out, and tilting one at another's breast, 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 ! Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? Cas. I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak. . Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil ; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath 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 hurt to danger ; Your officer, Iago, can inform you — While I spare speech, which something now offends Of all that I do know : nor know I aught [me ;— 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, When violence assails us. Oth. Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; And passion, having my best judgment collied, Assays to lead the way : If I once stir, Or do but lift this arm, the best of you Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on ; And he that is approv'd in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me. — What ! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety . 'Tis monstrous. — Iago, who began it ? 3 N 2 010 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Man. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier. Iago. Touch me not so near : I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth, Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general. Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow, crying out for help ; And Cassio following him with determin'd sword, To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause ; Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest 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 together, 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 : — Though 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. Oth. I know, Iago, 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, attended. Look, if my gentle love be not raised up ; — I'll make thee an example. Des. What's the matter, dear ? Oth. All's well now, sweeting ; Come away to Sir, for your hurts, [bed. Myself will be your surgeon : Lead him off. [To Mowtano, who it led off. Iago, look with care about the town ; And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. — Come, Desdemona ; 'tis the soldiers' life, To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. [Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio. Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ? Cas. Ay, past all surgery. Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. — My reputation, Iago, my reputation. Iago. 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 lost no re- putation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man I there are ways to recover the general again : you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than in malice ; even so as one would beat his offenceless dog, to affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he is yours. Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to deceive so good a commander, with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk ? and peak parrot ? and squabble ? swagger ? 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! Iago. What was he that you followed with vour sword ? What had he done to you ? Cas. I know not. logo. Is it possible ? Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. — O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains I that we should, with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! Iago. 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 unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler : As the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen ; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall tell me, I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and pre- sently a beast 1 O strange ! — Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. Iago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, 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. — 1 drunk ! Iago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at some time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general; — I may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and her graces : — confess yourself freely to her ; importune her ; shell 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, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. Cas. You advise me well. Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest kindness. Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morn- ing, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me: I am desperate of my fortunes, if they check mc here. Iago. You are in the right. Good night, lieute- nant ; I must to the watch. Cas. Good night, honest Iago. [Exit Cassio. 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 the Moor again ? For 'tis most easv The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit ; she's fram'd as fruitful As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor, — were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, — His soul is so enfetter'd to her love. SCEXE II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 017 That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as hev appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then a villain, To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell ! When devils will their blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly show?, As I do now : for while this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes, And 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 good, 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? Enter Roderigo. Rod. I do follow here in the chace, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent ; I have been to-night exceedingly 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. [tience ! — Iago. How poor are they, that have not pa- What wound did ever heal, but by degrees ? Thou know'st, we work by wit, and not by witch- And wit depends on dilatory time. [craft ; Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee, And thou, by that small hurt, hath cashier'd Cassio; Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe : Content thyself a while. — By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short. — Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 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; [Exit. 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 Clo v. Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been at Naples, that they speak i'the nose thus ? 1 Mus. How, sir, how! Clo. Are these, I pray you, called wind instru- ments ? 1 Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. Clo. O, thereby hangs a tale. J 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. 1 Mus. We have none such, sir. Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away : Go : vanish into air ; away. [Exeunt Musicians. Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend? Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend ; I hear you. Cos, Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife, be stirring, tell her, there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech : Wilt thou do this ? Coo. She 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 will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. Iago. I'll send her to you presently ; And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free. r Exit. Cas. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest. Enter Emilia. Em.il. Good morrow, good lieutenant : I am sorry For your displeasure ; but all will soon be well. The general, and his wife, are talking of it ; And she speaks for you stoutly : The Moor replies, That he, you hurt, is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity ; and that, in wholesome wisdom, He might not but refuse you : but, he protests, he loves you: And needs no other suitor, but his likings, To take the saf'st occasion by the front, To bring you in again. Cas. Yet, I beseech you, — If you think fit, or that it may be done, — Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone. Emit. 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 Gentleman. Oth. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot ; And, by him, do my duties to the state : That done, I will be walking on the works ; Repair there to me. logo. Well, my good lord, I'll do't# 018 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT 111. Oth. This fortification, gentlemen, — shall we see't ? Gent. Well wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— Before the Castle. Fnter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf. Emil. Good madam, do ; I know, it grieves my As if the case were his. [husband, Des. O, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt, But I will have my lord and you again [Cassio, As friendly as you were. Cas. Bounteous madam, Whatever 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, I'll perform it To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; I'll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience ; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit : Therefore be merry, Cassio ; For thy solicitor shall rather die, Than give thy cause away. Enter Othello and Iago, at a distance. Emil. Madam, here comes My lord. Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. Des. Why, stay, And hear me speak. Cas. Madam, not now ; I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. Des. Well, well, Do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. Jago. Ha ! I like not that. Oth. What dost thou say ? Iago. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not what. Oth. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife? Iago. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think That he would steal away so guilty-like, [it, Seeing you coming. Oth. 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, That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, I have no judgment in an honest face : I pr'ythee, call him back. Oth. Went he h«nce now ? Des. A y, 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 Des. But shall't be shortly ? [time. Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. Des. Shall't be to-night at supper? Oth. No, not to-night. Des. To-morrow dinner then ? Gth. I shall not dine at home ; I meet the captains at the citadel. Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday morn; OrTuesday noon, or night ; or Wednesday morn ; — I pray thee, name the time ; but let it not Exceed three days : in faith 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 fault 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, Orstandsomammeringon. What! Michael Cassio, That came a wooing with you ; and many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,— Oth. Pr'ythee, no moi : 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 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. Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [you ; [Exit, with Emilia. Oth. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. Iago. My noble lord, Oth. What dost thou say, Iago ? Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my Know of your love ? [lady, Oth. He did, from first to last : Why dost thou ask? Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; No further harm. Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago ? Iago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with her. Oth. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. Iago. Indeed ? Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed : — Discern'st thou Is he not honest ? [aught in that ? Iago. Honest, my lord? Oth. Ay, honrst. Iago. My lord, for aught I know. Oth. What dost thou think ? Iago. Think, my lord ? Oth. Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me. SCENE III OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 919 As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean some- thing : I 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 my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, 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 love me, Show me thy thought. Iago. My lord, you know I love you. Oth. 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, Are tricks of custom ; but, in a man that's just, They are close denotements, working from theheart, That passion cannot rule. Iago. For Michael Cassio, — I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. Oth. I think so too. Iago. Men should be what they seem ; Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. Iago. Why then, I think, that Cassio is an honest man. Oth. Nay, 'yet there's more in this : I pi ay thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of The worst of words. [thoughts Iago. 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 my thoughts ? Why, say, they are vile and false, — As where's that palace, whereunto foul things Sometimes intrude not ? who has abreast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit With meditations lawful ? Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'sthim wrong'd,and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. Iago. I do beseech you, — Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 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. Oth. What dost thou mean ? Iago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my Is the immediate jewel of their souls : [lord, Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; [sands ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thou- But he, that niches from me my good name, Robs me of that, which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand ; Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. Oth. Ha! Iago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; It is the 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 Oth. O misery ! Iago. 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 I Oth. Why ! why is this ? Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes 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 exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous, To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well ; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt ; For she had eyes, and chose me : No, Iago ; I'll see, before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove; And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — Away at once with love, or jealousy. Iago. I am glad of this; for now I shall reason To show 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 show their husbands ; their best conscience Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown. Oth. Dost thou say so ? Iago. She did deceive her father, marrying you ; And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, She lov'd them most. Oth. And so she did. Iago. Why, go to, then ; She that so young, could give out such a seeming, To seel her father's eyes up, close as oak, He thought, 'twas witrhcraft: — But I am much to blame ; I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, For too much loving you. Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. Iago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. Iago* Trust me, 1 fear it has. I hope, you will consider, what is spoke Comes from my love : — But, I do see you are mov'd : — I am to pray you, not to strain my speech To grosser issues, nor to larger reach, Than to suspicion. Oth. I will not. Iago. Should you do so, my lord, My speech should fall into such vile success As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy My lord, I see you are mov'd. [friend ; — 020 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Oth. No, not much mov'd : — I do not think but Desdemona's honest. Iago. Long live she so ! and long live you to think so ! Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — Iago. Ay, there's the point : — As, — to be bold with Not to affect many proposed matches, [you, — Of her own clime, complexion, and degree ; Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : Foh ! one may smell, in such, a will most rank, Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — But, pardon me ; I do not in position, Distinctly speak of her: though I may fear, Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, May fall to match you with her country forms, And (happily) repent. Oth. Farewell, farewell : If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; Set on thy wife to observe : Leave me, Iago. Iago. My lord, I take my leave. {Going. Oth. Why did I marry? — This honest creature, doubtless, Sees and knows more, m\ich more, than he unfolds. Iago. My lord, I would, I 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 off 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 thought too busy in my fears, (As worthy cause I have, to fear — 1 am,) And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. Oth. Fear not my government. Iago. I once more take my leave. {Exit. Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black ; And 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 abus'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 had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love, For others' uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great ones ; Prerogativ'd are they less than the base ; 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death ; Even then this forked plague is fated to us, When we do quicken. Desdemona comes : Enter Desdemona and Emilia. If she be false, O then heaven mocks itself ! — I'll not believe it. Des. How now, my dear Othello ? Your dinner, and the generous islanders By you invited, do attend your presence. Oth. I am to blame. [well ? Des. Why is your speech so faint ? are you not Oth. 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 It will be well. Oth. Your napkin is too little ; {He putt the handkerchief from him, and it drops. Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. {Exeunt Oth. and Des. Emit. I am glad I have found this napkin ; This was her first remembrance from the Moor : My wayward husband hath a hundred times Woo'd me to steal it : but she so loves the token, (For he 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 Iago ; What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I ; I nothing, but to please his fantasy. Enter Iago. Iago. How now ! what do you here alone ? Emit. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you. Iago. A thing for me ? — it is a common thing. Emil. Hat Iago. To have a foolish wife. Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me now For that same handkerchief? Iago. What handkerchief: Emil. What handkerchief? Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; That which so often you did bid me steal. Iago. 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. Iago. A good wench ; give it me. Emil. What will you do with it, that you have been so earnest To have me filch it ? Iago. Why, what's that to you ? ISnaiching it. Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, Give it me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad, When she shall lack it. Iago. Be not you known oft ; I have use for it. Go, leave me. {Exit Emilia. 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 natures, 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 poppy, nor mandragora. Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst yesterday. Oth. Ha! ha! false to me? To me ? Iago. Why, how new, general ? no more of that. Oth. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the rack : — I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd, Than but to know't a little. Iago. How now, my lord ? Oth. What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust? I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me • SCENE IIT. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 021 I 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 all. Iago. I am sorry to hear this. Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, So I 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, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone 1 Iago. Is it possible ? — My lord, Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore ; Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof; [Taking him by the throat. Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, Than answer my wak'd wrath. Iago. Is it come to this ? Oth. 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 ! logo. My noble lord, Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, Never pray more : 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. Iago. 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 ! — monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest, is not safe. — 1 thank you for this profit ; and, from hence, I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence. Oth. Nay, stay : — Thou should'st be honest. Iago. I should be wise ; for honesty's a fool, And loses that it works for. Oth. By the world, I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ; I think that thou art just, and think thou art not ; 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 suffocating streams, I'll not endure it. — Would, I were satisfied ! Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : I do repent me, that I put it to you. You would be satisfied * Oth. Would ? nay, I will. Iago. And may : But, how ? how satisfied, my lord ? Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on ? Behold her tupp'd ? Oth. Death and damnation ! O ! Iago 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 I say ! Where's satisfaction ? It is impossible, you should see this, 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 strong circumstances, — Which lead directly to the door of truth, — Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. Iago. I do not 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 i aging 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, — Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ! And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, Cry, — O, sweet 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 Cried, — Cursed fate ! that gave thee to the Moor' Oth. O monstrous ! monstrous ! Iago. Nay, this was but his dream. Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion ; 'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. Iago. And this may help to thicken other proofs, That do demonstrate thinly. Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces. Iago. 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 first gift. Iago. I know not that : but such a handkerchief, (I am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day See Cassio wipe his beard with. Oth. If it be that,— Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 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, Iago ; All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven : 'Tis gone. — Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne, To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 'tis of aspicks' tongues. Iago. Pray, be content. Oth. O, blood, Iago, blood ! Iayo. Patience, I say; your mind, perhaps, may change. Oth. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontick sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontick, 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 — Now, by yond' marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels. I here engage my words. Iago. Do not rise yet. — [Kneels. Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! You elements that clip us round about Witness, that here Iago doth give up 922 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT J 1 1. The execution of his wit, hands, heart, To wrong'd Othello's service ! let him command, And to obey shall be in me remorse, What bloody work soever. Oth. I greet thy love, Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bouu- And will upon the instant put thee to't ; [teous, Within these three days let me hear thee say, That Cassio's not alive. Iaejo. My friend is dead; 'tis done at your But let her live. [request : Oth. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw, To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. 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 you where I lie. Des. Can any thing be made of this ? Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for me to devise a lodging, and say — he lies here, or he lies there, were to lie in my own throat. Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report ? Clo. I will catechize the world for him ; that is, make questions, and by them answer. Des. Seek him, bid him come hither ; tell him, I have moved my lord in his behalf, and hope, all will be well. Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's wit ; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [Exit. Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emil. I know not, madam. [Emilia ? 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 jealous creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill thinking. Emil. Is he not jealous ? Des. Who, he ? I think, the sun, where he was Drew all such humours from him. [born, Emil. Look, where he comes. Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio Be calPd to him. — How is't with you, my lord ? Enter Othello. Oth. Well, my good lady ; — [Aside.] O, hard- ness to dissemble ! — How do you, Desdemona? Des. Well, my good lord. Oth. Give me your hand : This hand is moist, my lady. Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow. Oth. This argues fruitfulness, 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 commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, A frank one. Des. You may, indeed, say so ; For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. Oth. A liberal hand : The hearts of old, gave hands : But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts. Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise. Oth. What promise, chuck ? [3'ou. Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me ; Lend me thy handkerchief. Des. Here, my lord. Oth. That which I gave you. Des. I have it not about me. Oth. Not? Des. No, indeed, my lord. Oth. That is a fault : That handkerchief Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; She was a charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people : she told her, while she kept it, 'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it, Or made a gift of it, my father's eye Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt After new fancies : She, dying, gave it me ; And bid 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 lose or give't away, were such perdition, As nothing else could match. Des. Is it possible ? Oth. 'Tis true : There's magic in the web of it : A sibyl, that had number'd in the world The sun to make two hundred compasses, In her prophetic fury sew'd the work : The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk ; And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful Conserv'd of maiden's hearts. Des. Indeed ! is't true ? Oth. Most veritable ; therefore look to't well. Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had nevei Oth. Ha ! wherefore ? [seen it. Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash ? Oth. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out of the Des. Heaven bless us ! [way ? Oth. Say you ? Des. It is not lost ; But what an if it were ? Oth. Ha! Des. I say, it is not lost. Oth. Fetch't, let me see it. Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now ; This is a trick, to put me from my suit ; I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind Des. Come, come ; [misgives. You'll never meet a more sufficient man. Oth. The handkerchief, Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. Oth. The handkerchief, Des. A man that, all his time, Hath founded his good fortune on your love ; Shar'd dangers with you ; Oth. The handkerchief, Des. In sooth, You are to blame. SCSNE IV OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. DM Oth. Away ! [Exit Othello. 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 shows us a man : They are all but stomachs, and we all but food : They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, They belch us. Look you ! Cassio, and my hus- band. Enter Iago and Cassio. Iago. 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 you, 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, Were 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 awhile be patient : What I can do, 1 will ; and more I will, Than for myself 1 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 air ; And, like the devil, from his very arm PufTd 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, in such cases, Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so ; For let our finger ache, and it indues Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense Of pain : Nay, we must think, men are not gods ; Nor of them look for such observances As fit the bridal. — Beshrew me much, Emilia, I was (unhandsome warrior as I 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, it be state matters, as you And no conception, nor no jealous toy, [think ; Concerning you. Des. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. Emil. But 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. Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's Emil. Lady, amen. [mind ! Des. I will go seek him. — Cassio, walk here- If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, [about : And seek to effect it to my uttermost. Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. lExeunt Desdemona and Emilia Enter Bianca. Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! Cas. What make you from home ? How is it with you, my most fair Bianca ? I'faith, 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 eight hours ? and lovers' absent hours, More tedious than the dial eight score times ? weary reckoning ! Cas. Pardon me, Bianca ; 1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd ; But I shall, in 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? This is some token from a newer friend : To the felt absence now I feel a cause. Is it come to this ? Well, well. Cas. Woman, goto! 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 I like the work well ; ere it be demanded, [ten (As like enough, it will,) I'd have it copied : Take 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. Bian. Why, I pray you i 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 you soon at night. Cas. 'Tis but a little way that I can bring you, For I attend here : but I'll see you soon. Bian. 'Tis very good : I must be circumstanc'd. [Extunt !)24 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT IV. SCENE I.— The same. Enter Othkllo and Iago. logo. Will you think so? O'h. Think so, Iago ? [ago. What, To kiss in private ? Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss. Togo. Or to be naked with her friend abed, An hour, or more, not meaning any harm ? Oth. 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 tempt heaven. Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip : But if I give my wife a handkerchief, Oth. What then ? Iago. Why, then 'tis hers, my lord ; and, being She may, I think, bestow't on any man. [hers, Oth. She is protectress of her honour too ; May she give that ? 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 forgot Thou said'st, — O, it comes o'er my memory [it : — 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, Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose But they must blab, Oth. Hath he said any thing? Iago. He 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 he 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 on aer, when they belie her : Lie with her ! that'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 ? — Confess ! — 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, 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. Cas. Rub him about the temples, Iago. No, forbear : The lethargy must 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 gone, I would on great occasion speak with you. — {Exit Cassio. How is it, general ? have you not hurt your head? Oth. Dost thou mock me? Iago. I mock you! no, by heaven: '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 populous And many a civil monster. [city, Oth. Did he confess it ? Iago. Good sir, be a man ; Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yok'd, May draw with you : there's millions now alive, That nightly lie in those unproper beds, Which they dare swear peculiar ; your case is better. (), 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, To lip a wanton in a secure couch, And to suppose her chaste ! No, let me know ; And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. Oth. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. Iago. Stand you awhile apart , Confine yourself but in a patient list. Whilst you were here, ere while mad with your grief, (A passion most unsuiting such a man,) Cassio came hither : I shifted him away, And laid good 'sense upon your ecstasy ; Bade him anon return, and here speak with me ; The which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself, And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, That dwell in every region of his face ; For I will make him tell the tale anew, — Where, 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 : Or I shall say, you are all in all in spleen, And nothing of a man. Oth. Dost thou hear, Iago ? I will be found most cunning in my patience ; But (dost thou hear?) most bloody. Iago. That's not amiss ; But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? [Othklvo withdraw*. Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, A housewife, 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, lieutenant ? Cas. Theworser, that you give me the addition, Whose want even kills me. Iago. Ply Desdemonawell, and you art sure oft. Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power, [Speaking lower. How quickly should you speed ? BOfcNE E. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 925 Cas. Alas, poor caitiff ! Oth. Look, how he laughs already 1 [.Aside. Iago. I never knew a woman love man so. Cas. Alas, poor rogue I I think i'faith, she loves me. Oh. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. [Aside. Ligo. Do you hear, Cassio ? Oth. Now he importunes him To tell it o'er : Go to ; well said, well said. [Aside. Iago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her : Do you intend it ? Cas. Ha, ha, ha ! Oth. Do you triumph, Roman ? do you triumph ? [Aside. Cas. I marry her ! — what ? a customer ! I pr'y- thee, bear some charity to my wit ; do not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! Oth. So, so, so, so : They laugh that win. [Aside. Iago. ' Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her. Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. Jago. I am a very villain else. Oth. Have you scored me ? Well. [Aside. Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out : she is persuaded I will many her, out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise. Oth. Iago beckons me ; now he begins the story. [Aside. Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me in every place. I was, the other day, talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians ; and thither comes this bauble ; by this hand, she falls thus about my neck ; Oth. Crying, O dear Cassio ! as it were : his gesture imports it. [Aside. Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me ; so hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! — Oth. 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. Iago. Before me ! look, where she comes. Enter Bianca. Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew! marry, a per- fumed one. — What do you mean 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 il. I 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 ? Oth. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief I [Aside. Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, you may : an you will not, come when you are next prepared for. [Exit. Iago. After her, after her. Cas. 'Faith, I must, she'll rail in the street else. Iago. Will you sup there ? Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. Iago. W T ell, I may chance to see you ; for I would very fain speak with you. Cas. Pr'ythee come ; Will you ? Iago. Go to ; say no more. [Exit Cassio. Oth. How shall I murder him, Iago ? Iago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice ? Oth. O, Iago ! Iago. And did you see the handkerchief i Oth. Was that mine ? Iago. 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. Oth. I would have him nine years a killing : — A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! Iago. Nay, yon must forget that. Oth. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned to-night ; for she shall not live : No, my heart is turned to stone ; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature : she might lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks. Iago. Nay, that's not your way. Oth. Hang her ! I do but say what she is : — So delicate with her needle ! — an admirable musician ! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear ! — Of so high and plenteous wit and invention \ Iago. She's the worse for all this. Oth. O, a thousand, a thousand times : — And then, of so gentle a condition ! Iago. Ay, too gentle. Oth. Nay, that's certain : But yet the pity of it, Iago ! — O, Iago, the pity of it, Iago ! Iago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend ; for, if it touch not you, it comes near nobody. Oth. I will chop her into messes :— Cuckold me ! Iago. O, 'tis foul in her. Oth. With mine officer ! Iago. That's fouler. Oth. Get me some poison, Iago ; this night : — I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again : — this night, Iago. Iago. Do it not with poison ; strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. Oth. Good, good : the justice of it pleases ; very good. Iago. And, for Cassio, — let me be his undertaker : You shall hear more by midnight. [A trumpet within, Oth. Excellent good. — What trumpet is that same ? Iago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico, Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is with him. Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. Lod. 'Save you, worthy general. Oth. With all my heart, sir. Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. [Gives him o packet. Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. [Opens the packet and reads. Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico ? Iago. I am very glad to see you, signior ; Welcome to Cyprus. Lod. I thank you : how does lieutenant Cassio ? Iago. Lives, sir. [lord Des. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. Oth. Are you sure of that ? Des. My lord ? Oth. This fail you not to do, as you will— [Meads 92G OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Lod. He did not call : he's busy in the paper. Is there division 'twLxt thy lord and Cassio ? Des. A most unhappy one ; I would do much To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. Oth. Fire and brimstone ! Des. My lord ? Oth. Are you wise ? Des. What, is he angry ? Lod. 'May be, the letter mov'd him ; For, as I think, they do command him home, Deputing Cassio in his government. Des. By my troth, I am glad on't. Oth. Indeed ? Des. My lord ? Oth. I am glad to see you mad. Des. How, sweet Othello ? Oth. Devil! [Striking her. Des. I have not deserv'd this. Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in Venice, Though I should swear I saw it : 'Tis very much ; Make her amends, she weeps. Oth. O devil, devil ! If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile : — Out 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. Oth. Mistress *)es. My lord ? Oth. What would you with her, sir ? Lod. Who, I, my lord ? Oth. Ay ; you did wish, that I would make her turn: Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on. And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep ; And she's obedient, as you say, — 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 mandate, And will return to Venice ; — Hence, avaunt ! [Exit Desdemona. Cawsio shall have my place. And, — sir, to-night, I do entreat that we may sup together. You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys ! [Exit Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate Call — all-in-all sufficient ! — This the noble nature Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid virtue The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, Cruld neither graze, nor pierce ? Iago. He is much chang'd. Lod. Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain? Iago. 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 hearen, he were. Lod. What, strike his wife ! Iago. 'Faith, that was not so well ; Yet 'would That stroke would prove the worst. [I knew, Lod. Is it his use ? Or did the letters work upon his blood, And new- create this fault ? Iago. Alas, alas ! It is not honesty in me, to speak What I have seen and known. You shall observe And his own courses will denote him so, [him ; 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.— ,4 Room in the Castle. Enter Othello and Emilia. Oth. You have seen nothing, then ? Emit. Nor ever heard ; nor ever did suspect. Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. Emit. But then I saw no harm ; and then I heard Each syllable, that breath made up between them. Oth. What, did they never whisper? Emit. Never, my lord. Oth. Nor send you out o' the way ? Emit. Never. Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor Emit. Never, my lord. [nothing ? Oth. 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 wives Is foul as slander. Oth. Bid her come hither : — go — [Exit i 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 have seen her do't. Re-enter Exilia, with Desdemona. Des. My lord, what is your will ? Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither. Des. What is your pleasure ? Oth. Let me see your eyes ; Look in my face. Des. What horrible fancy's this ! Oth. Some of your function, mistress : [To Emilia. Leave procreants alone, and shut the door ; Cough, or cry — hem, if any body come : Your mystery, your mystery ; — nay, despatch. [Exit Emilia. Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech I understand a fury in your words, [import? But not the words. Oth. Why, what art thou ? Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true And loyal wife. Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself ; Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double- Swear — thou art honest. [damn'd, Des. Heaven doth truly know it. Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell. [I false? Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? How am Oth. O Desdemona ! — away ! away 1 away ! Des. Alas, the heavy day ! — Why do you weep ? Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord ? If, haply, you my father do suspect, An instrument of this your calling back, Lay not your blame on me ; if you have lost him, Why. I have lost him too. ENE II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 027 Oth. Had it pleas'd Heaven To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head ; Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; I should have found in some part of my soul A. drop of patience ; but (alas !) to make me A fixed 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 ; Where either I must live, or bear no life ; The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads [there ! To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin ; Ay, there, look grim as hell ! Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. Oth. O, ay ; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair, and smelPst so sweet, That the sense aches at thee. — 'Would thou had'st ne'er been born ! Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed ? Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write whore upon ? What committed ! Committed ! — O thou public commoner! I should make very forges of my cheeks, That would to cinders burn up modesty, Did I but speak thy deeds — What committed ! Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks ; The 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. Oth. Are not you a strumpet ? Des. No, as I am a christian : If to preserve this vessel for my lord, From any other foul unlawful touch, Be — not to be a strumpet, I am none. Oth. What, not a whore ? Des. No, as I shall be saved. Oth. Is it possible ? Des. O heaven forgive us ! Oth. 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 Saint Peter, And keep the gate of hell : You ! you ! ay, you ! We have done our course ; there's money for your 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. 'Faith, half asleep. Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my Des. With who ? [lord ? Emil. Why, with my 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 I [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. Iago. 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 ? Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath sobewhor'd her, Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, As true hearts cannot bear. Des. Am I that name, Iago ? Iago. What name, fair lady ? Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was. Emil. He call'd her, whore'; abeggar,inhis drink, Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. Iago. Why did he so ? Des. I do not know ; I am sure, I am none such. 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. Fye, there is no such man ; it is impos- sible. Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! Emil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw his bones 1 [company ? 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 villanous knave, Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow t — O, heaven, that such companions thou'dst unfold ; And put in every honest hand a whip, To lash the rascal naked through the world, Even from the east to the west I Iago. Speak within door. Emil. O, fye upon him! some such squire he was, That turn'd your wit the seamy side without, And made 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 heaven, I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : — If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed ; Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, Delighted them in any other form ; 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 ! Unkindness may do much ; And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love. I cannot say, whore ; It does abhor me, now I speak the word : 9£'J OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 1 o do the act that might the addition earn, Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. J ago. I pray you, be content ; 'tis but his humour ; The business of the state does him offence, And he does chide with you. Des. If 'twere no other, — Iago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets. Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! And the great messengers of Venice stay : Go in, and weep not : all things shall be well. [Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. Enter Roderioo. How now, Roderigo ? Rod. 1 do not find, that thou deal'st justly with me. Iago. What in the contrary ? Rod. Every day thou doff st me with some de- vice, Iago ; 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, in- deed, no longer endure it : Nor am I yet persuaded, to. put up in peace what already I have foolishly suffered. Iago. Will yo.u hear me, Roderigo ? Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too much ; for your words, and performances, are no kin together. Iago. You charge me most unjustly. Rod. With nought but truth. I" have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels you have had from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have corrupted avotarist : You have told me — she has received them, and returned me expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquittance ; but I find none. Iago. 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. Iago. Very well. Rod. I tell 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. Iago. You have said now. Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I protest intendment of doing. Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee ; and even, from this instant, do build on thee a bet- ter opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo : Thou hast taken against me a most just exception ; but yet, I protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair. Rod. It hath not appeared. Iago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared ; and 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, purpose, courage, and valour, — this night show it : if thou the next night following enjoyest not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery, and devise engines for my life. Rod. Well, what is it ? is it within reason, and compass ? Iago. Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. Rod. Is that true ? why, then Othello and Des- Jemona return again to Venice. Iago. O, no ; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident ; wherein none can be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio. Rod. How do you mean — removing of him ? Iago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's place ; knocking out his brains. Rod. And that you would have me do ? Iago. Av ; if you dare do yourself a profit, and aright. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thi- ther will I go to him ; he knows not yet of his honourable fortune : if you will watch his going thence, (which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and one,) you may take him at your pleasure : I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me ; I will show you such a necessity in his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high supper- time, and the night grows to waste : about it. Hod. I will hear further reason for this. I igo. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt. SCENE IU.— Another Room in the Castle. Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and Attendants. Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further. Oth. O, pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk. Lod. Madam, good night ; I humbly thank your ladyship Des. Your honour is most welcome. Oth. Will you walk, sir ? — O, — Desdemona, Des. My lord ? Oth. Get you to bed on the instant ; 1 will be returned forthwith : dismiss your attendant there ; look, it be done. Des. I will, my lord. [Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants. Emit. 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 bade me to dismiss you. Emit. Dismiss me ! Des. 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 I ; my love doth so approve him, That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, Pr'ythee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in them . Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed. Des. All's one : — Good father ! how foolish are our minds ! — If I do 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 my mind ; I have much to do, But to go hang my head all at one side, And sing it, like poor Barbara. IVythee, despatch SCENE r. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 929 Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ? Des. No, unpin me here. This Lodovico is a proper man. Emil. A very handsome man. Des. And he speaks well. Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his nether lip. i. Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow ; [Singing. Her hand on her bosom, her hand on her knee, 5ing willow, willow, willow : The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans; Sing willow, &c. Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones ; Lay by these : Sing willow, willow, willow ; Pr'ythee, hie thee ; he'll come anon. Sing all a green willow must be my garland, n. Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve.— Nay, that's not next. Hark ! who islt that knocks ? Emil. It is the wind. Des. I call'd my love, false love ; but what said he then? Sing willow, &c. H I court mo women, 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 heard it said so. — O, these men, These men ! — Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia,— That there be women do abuse their husbands In such gross kind ? Emil. There be some such, no question. Des. 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. Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world ? Emil. The world is a huge thing; 'Tis a great For a small vice. [price Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not. Emil. By my troth, I think I should; and undo't, when 1 had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring ; nor for measures of lawn ; nor for 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 s\ich 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' faults, If wives do fall : Say, that they slack their duties, And pour out treasures into foreign laps ; Or else break out in peevish jealousies, Throwing restraint upon us ; or, say, they strike Or scant our former having in despite ; [us, Why, we have galls ; and, though we 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, As husbands have. What is it that they do, When they change us for others ? Is it sport ? I think, it is ; And doth affection breed it ? I think, it doth ; Is't frailty, that thus errs ? It 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. Des. Good night, good night : Heaven me such usage send, Not to pick bad from bad ; but. by bad, mend! [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.— A Street. Enter Iaqo and Roderigo. logo. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight 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. lago. Here, at thy hand ; be bold, and take thy sword. [Retires to a little distance. Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; And yet he has given me satisfying reasons : — 'Tis but a man gone :— forth, my sword ; he dies. [Goes to his stand. logo. 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 remain, He hath a daily beauty in his life, That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor [peril: May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much No, he must 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 thine. [Draws, and loounds Roderigo, Rod. O, I am slain ! [Iago rushes from his post, exits Cassio behind iv 3 Q the leg, and exit. 930 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Cas. 1 am maim'd forever : Help, ho! murder ! murder ! IF alls. Enter Othello, at a distance. Oth. The voice of Cassio : — Iago keeps his Rod. O, villain that I am ! [word. Oth. Hark ! 'tis even so. Cas. O, help ! ho! light! a surgeon ! Oth. 'Tis he ; — O brave Iago, honest, and just, That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong ! Thou teachest me, — Minion, 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 lust's blood be 'spotted. [Exit Othello. Enter Lodovico and Gratiano, at a distance. Cas. What, ho! no watch? no passage? murder! murder ! Gra. 'Tis some mischance ; thecryis very direful. Cas. O, help ! Lod. Hark ! Rod. O wretched villain ! 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. Nobody come ? then shall I bleed to death. Enter Iago, with a light. Lod. Hark! Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons. Iago. Who's there ? whose noise is this, that Lod. We do not know. [cries on murder ? Iago. Did you not hear a cry ? Cas. Here, here ; for heaven's sake, help me. Iago. What's the matter ? Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. Lod. The same, indeed ; a very valiant fellow. Iago. What are you here, that cry so grievously ? Cas. Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains ! Give me some help. [this ? Iago. O me, lieutenant ! what villains have done Cas. I think, that one of them is hereabout, And cannot make away. Iago. O treacherous villains ! — What are you there ? come in, and give some help. [To Lodovico and Gratiano. Rod. O, help me here ! Cas. 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 Togo. Who is't that cried ? [cried ? Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! O Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio ! Iago. O notable strumpet! — Cassio, may you suspect Who they should be, that have thus mangled you ? Cas. No. Gra. I am sorry, to find you thus : I have been to seek you. 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 ? I cry you gentle pardon ; These bloody accidents must excuse my 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 said ; — the chair : — [A chair brought in. Some good man bear him carefully from hence ; I'll fetch the general's surgeon. — For you, mistress, [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. Iago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale?-0, bear him out o'the air. — [Cassio and Rod. are borne off. Stay you, good gentlemen — Look you pale, mis- tress ? Do you perceive the gastness of her eye ? — Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon : — Behold her 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 Roderigo, and fellows that are scap'd ; He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. Emit. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cassio! Iago. This is the fruit of whoring. — Pr'ythee, Emilia, Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night : — What, do you shake at that ? Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I therefore shake not. Iago. O, did he so ? I charge you, go with me. Emil. Fye, fye upon thee, strumpet ! Bian. I am no strumpet : but of life as honest, As you that thus abuse me. Emil. As I ? foh ! fye upon thee Iago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd : — Come, mistress; you must tell us another tale. — Emilia, run you to the citadel, And tell my lord and lady -what has happ'tL — SCENE II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 931 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 bed asleep. A Light burning. Enter Othello. Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — Let me not name it to you, you chaste 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 Ms sword. Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. Put out the light, and then put out the light : If I quench 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 I cannot give it vital growth again, [thy rose, It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the tree. — [Kissing her. balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her sword ! — Onemore, onemore. — Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, And love thee after: — One more, and this the last : So 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? Oth. Ay, Desdemona. Des. Will you come to-bed, my lord? Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona ? Des. Ay, my lord. Oth. If you 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 ? Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by : 1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; No, — Heaven forfend. — I would not kill thy soul. Des. Talk you of killing ? Oth. Ay, I do. Des. Then, heaven Have mercy on me ! Oth. Amen, with all my heart ! Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. Oth. Humph! Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then, When your eyes roll so; Why I should fear, I know not, Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet, I feel, I fear. Oth. Think on thy sins. Des. They are loves I bear to you. Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest. Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving. — - Alas, why gnaw you sc your nether lip ? Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : These are portents ; but yet, 1 hope, I hope, They do not point on me. Oth. Peace, and be still ! Des. I will so : What's the matter? Oth. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd, and Thou gav'st to Cassio. [gave thee, Des. No, by my life and soul ; Send for the man and ask him. Oth. Sweet soul, take heed, Take heed of perjury : thou'rt on thy death-bed. Des. Ay, but not yet to die. Oth. Yes, presently: Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; For to deny each article with oath, Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me ! Oth. I say, amen. Des. And have you mercy too ! — I never did Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio, But with such general warranty of heaven As I might love : I never gave him token. Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his hand. perjur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart. And mak'st me call, what I intend to do, — A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 1 saw the handkerchief. Des. He found it then I I never gave it him : — Send for him hither, And let him confess a truth. Oth. He hath confess'd. Des. What, my lord ? Oth. That he hath us'd thee. Des. How? unlawfully? Oth. Ay. Des. He'll not say so. Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd ; Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't. Des. My fear interprets then, — What, is he dead ? Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great re- Had stomach for them all. [venge Des. Alas ! he is betray'd, and I undone. Oth. Out, strumpet I Weep'st thou for him to my face ? Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. Oth. Down, strumpet 1 Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. Oth. 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, my lord ! Oth. What noise is this ? — Not dead ! not yet I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; [quite dead? I would not have thee linger in thy pain. — So, so. Emil. [Within.'] What ho, my lord ! my lord! Oth. Who's there? Emil. [ Within.'] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you. Oth. Yes; — 'tis Emilia: — by and by:— She's dead. 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death ; The noise was high. — Ha ! no more moving? Still as the grave. Shall she come in ? Were't good ? I think, she stirs again : — No. — What's the best ? If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : My wife ! my wife ! what wife ? — I have no wife : O, insupportable ! O heavy hour ! Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon ; and that the affrighted globe Should yawn at alteration. Emil. [Within.] I do beseech you I may speak O, good my lord ! [with you, 9*2 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT V 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. O, good my lord, yonder's foul murder Oth. What? now? [done. Emil. But now, my lord 1 Oth. It is the very error of the moon ; She comes more near the earth than she was wont ; And makes men mad. Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Ve- Call'd — Roderigo. [netian, Oth. Roderigo kill'd ! And Cassio kill'd ? Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. Oth. Not Cassio kill'd ? Then murder's out of And sweet revenge grows harsh. [tune, Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! Emil. Alas ! what cry is that ? Oth. 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 I Des. A guiltless death I die. Emil. O, who hath done This deed? Des. Nobody ; I myself ; farewell : Commend me to my kind lord ; O, farewell. [.Dies. Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd ? Emil. Alas, who knows ? Oth. You heard her say herself, it was not I. Emil. She said so ; I must needs report the truth. Oth. 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 I Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. Oth. She was false as water. Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 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. Thy husband knew it all. Emil. My husband ? Oth. Thy husband. Emil. That she was false to wedlock ? Oth. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true, If heaven would make me such another world Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 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 slime That sticks on filthy deeds. Emil. My husband ? Oth. What needs this iterance, woman ? I say, thy husband. Emil. O mistress, vill any hath made mocks with My husband say, that she was false ? [love ! — Oth. He, woman ; I say, thy husband : Dost understand the word? My friend, thy husband ; honest, honest Iago. 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. Oth. Ha! Emil. Do thy worst ; This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, Than thou wast worthy her. Oth. Peace ! you were best. Emil. Thou hast not half the power to do me As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt ! [harm, As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed, — I care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee known, Though I lost twenty lives : — Help! help, oh! help! The Moor has kill'd my mistress ; Murder! murder! Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago. Mon. 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. Gra. What is the matter ? Emil. Disprove this villain, if thoube'st a man: He says, thou told'st him that his wife was false : I know, thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain : Speak, for my heart is full. Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no more Than what he found himself was apt and true. Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false ? Iago. I did. Emil. 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. Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; 1 am bound to speak ; My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed. All. O heavens forfend ! Emil. And your reports have set the murder on. Oth. 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, — I smell't ; — O vil- lany ! — I thought so then ; I'll kill myself for grief. — villany, villany ! Iago. What, are you mad ? I charge you, get you home. Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 'Tis proper I obey him, but not now : [speak ; Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. Oth. O! 01 01 [Hanging over his wife. Emil. Nay, lay thee down and roar ; For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent, That e'er did lift up eye. Oth. O, she was foul !— [Rising. 1 scarce did know you, uncle : There lies your niece, Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp'd : I know this act shows horrible and grim. Gra. Poor Desdemona ! I am glad thy father's dead ; Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now, This sight would make him do a desperate turn, Yea, curse his better angel from his side, And fall to reprobation. Oth. '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 6CENE II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 933 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 heaven ! O heavenly powers ! /ago. Come, hold your peace. Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out ; — I hold my peace, No, I will speak as liberal as the air ; [sir ? no ; Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. Iago. Be wise, and get you home. Emil. I will not. [Lvgo offers to stab his wife. Gra. Fye ! Your sword upon a woman ? Emil. O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief thou 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. logo. 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 : murderous coxcomb ! what should such a fool Do with so good a wife ? [Iaoo stabs Emilia, then runs out. Oth. Are there no stones in heaven, But what serve for the thunder ? — Precious villain ! Gra. The woman falls ; sure he haskill'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 have here recover' d from the Moor : Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass, But kill him rather ; I'll after that same villain, For 'tis a damned slave. [Exeunt Montano and Gratiano. Oth. 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 ? I will play the swan, And die in music ]-"Willow, willow, willow. — 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. Oth. 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 thee dear : Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, Or, nak^d as I am, I will assault thee. Re-enter Gratiano. Gra. What is the matter ? Oth* Behold ! I have a weapon ; A better never did itself sustain Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day, That with this little arm and this good sword, 1 have made my way through more impediments Than twenty times your stop : — But, O vain boast! Who ean control his fate ? 'tis not so now Be not afraid though you do see me weapon'd ; Here is my journev's end, here is my butt, And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. Do you 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 wench I 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 ? 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 ! dead ? Dead ? O! O ! O ! Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio, carried in a chair, and Officers, with Iago, prisoner. Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate man? Oth. That's he, that was Othello ; here I am. Lod. Where is that viper ? bring the villain forth. Oth. I look down towards his feet ; — but that's a fable : If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. [Othello wounds Iaoo. Lod. Wrench his sword from him. Iago. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. Oth. I am not sorry neither ; I'd have thee For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. [live ; Lod. O thou Othello, that wast once so good, Fall'n in the practice of a cursed slave, What shall be said to thee ? Oth. Why, any thing : An honourable murderer, if you will ; For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villany : Bid you and he consent in Cassio's death? Oth. Ay. Cos. Dear general, I never gave you cause. Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. Will you, I pray you, demand that demi-devil, Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body ? Iago. 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. Oth. Well, thou dost best. Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befaH'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. Oth. 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 meant to have sent this damned villain ; But that, belike, Iago in the interim Came in and satisfied him. Oth. O the pernicious caitiff ! — How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief That was my wife's ? Cas. I found it in my chamber : And he himself confess'd, but even now, That there he dropp'd it, for a special purpose, Which wrought to his desire. Oth. O fool ! fool ! fool ! 934 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ACT V. Cas. There is, besides, in Roderigo's letter, — How he upbraids Iago, that he made him Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came That I was cast : And even but now he spake, After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, lago set him on. Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with Your power and your command is taken off, [us ; And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, — If there be any cunning cruelty, Than 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. Oth. 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 yeu, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice : then must you speak 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 eyes Albeit unused to the melting mood. Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees Their medicinal gum : Set you down this : • And say, besides, — that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turba-n'd Turk Beat a Venetian, and tradue'd the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog, And smote him — thus. [Stabt hmsJ/. Lod. O bloody period I Gra. All, that's spoke, is marr'd. Oth. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee ; — No way but this, [Falling upon Desdemona. Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies. Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no For he was great of heart. [weapon ; Lod. O Spartan dog, More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea ! Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; [To Iago 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 governor, 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 act with heavy heart relate. \Eseunl ABATE, to depress, sink, subdue ABC-book, a catechism Abjects, servile persons Able, to qualify or uphold Abortive, issuing before its time Absolute, highly accomplished, perfect Abused, deceived Aby, to pay retribution for Abysm, abyss Accuse, accusation Achieve, to obtain Acquittance, requital Action, direction by mute signs, charge or accusation Action-taking, litigious Additions, titles or descriptions Address, to make ready Addressed, or addrest, ready Advance, to prefer, to raise to honour Adversity, contrariety Advertisement, admonition Advertising, attentive Advice, consideration, discretion, thought Advise, to consider, recollect Advised, not precipitant, cool, cau- tious Afeard, afraid Affect, love Affection, affectation, imagination, dis- position, quality Affectioned, affected Affections, passions, inordinate de- sires Affeered, confirmed Affied, betrothed Affined, joined by affinity Affront, to meet or face Affy, to betroth in marriage Aglet-baby, a diminutive being Agnize, acknowledge, confess A-good, in good earnest Aiery, the nest of an eagle or hawk Aim, guess, encouragement, suspicion Alder-liefest, most dear of all things Ale, a merry meeting Allow, to approve Allowance, approbation Amaze, to perplex or confuse Ames-ace, the lowest chance of the dice Amort, sunk and dispirited An, as if Anchor, anchoret Ancient, an ensign Anight, in the night Answer, retaliation GLOSSARY Anthropophaginian, a cannibal Antick, the fool of the old farces Antiquity, old age Antres, caves and dens Apparent, seeming, not real, heir ap- parent, or next claimant Appeal, to accuse Appeared, rendered apparent Apply, to attend to, consider Appointment, preparation Apprehension, opinion Apprehensive, quick to understand Approbation, entry on probation Approof, proof, approbation Approve, to justify, to make good, to establish, to recommend to approba- tion Approved, felt, experienced, convicted by proof Approvers, persons who try Aqua-vita, brandy, eau de-vie Arbitrate, to determine Arch, chief Argentine, silvery Argier, Algiers Argosies, ships of great burthen, gal- leons Argument, subject for conversation, evidence, proof Arm, to take up in the arms Aroint, avaunt, begone A-row, successively, one after another Art, practice as distinguished from theory, theory Articulate, to enter into articles Articulated, exhibited in articles Artificial, ingenious, artful As, as if Aspect, countenance Aspersion, sprinkling Assay, test Assincgo, a he-ass Assurance, conveyance or deed Assured, affianced Astringer, a falconer Ates, instigation from Ate, the mis- chievous goddess that incites blood- shed Atomies, minute particles discernible in a stream of sunshine that breaks into a darkened room, atoms Atone, to reconcile Attasked, reprehended, corrected Attended, waited for Attent, attentive Attorney, deputation Attorneyship, the discretional agency | of another Attornied, supplied by substitution ol embassies Attributive, that which attributes or gives Avaunt, contemptuous dismission Averring, confirming Audacious, spirited, animated Audrey, a corruption of Etheldreda Auqurs, auguries or prognostications Aukward, adverse Authentic, an epithet applied to the learned Awful, reverend, worshipful Awless, not producing awe B Baccare, stand back, give place Bale, misery, calamity Bateful, baneful Balked, bathed or piled up Balm, the oil of consecration Band, bond Bandog, village dog or mastiff Bank, to sail along the banks Banning, cursing Banquet, a slight refection, a dessert Bans, curses Bar, barrier Barbed, caparisoned in a warlike manner Barful, full of impediments Barm, yeast Barn, or bairn, a child Bai nacle, a kind of shell-fish Base, dishonoured Base, a rustic game, called prison-base Bases, a kind of dress used by knights on horseback Basilisks, a species of cannon Basta, Spanish, 'tis enough Bastard, raisin wine Bat, a club or staff Bate, strife, contention Bate, to flutter as a hawk Batlet, an instrument used by •washers of clothes Batten, to grow fat Battle, army Bavin, brushwood Bawcock, a jolly cock Bay, the space between the main beams of a roof Bay-window, bow window, one in a recess Beak, the forecastle, or the boltsprit Beard, to oppose in a hostile manner to set at defiance Bearing, carriage, demeanour 936 GLOSSARY. Bearlng-clvLh, a mantle used at christ- enings Beat, in falconry, to flutter heating, hammering, dwelling upon Beaver, helmet in general Beck, a salutation made with the head Becomed, becoming Beetle, to hang over the base Being, abode Belongings, endowments Be-mete, be-measuro Be-moilcd, bo-draggled, be-mired Bending, unequal to the weight Benefit, beneficiary Bent, the utmost degree of any passion Benumbed, inflexible, immoveablo Beshrew, curse Best, bravest Bestowed, left, stowed, or lodged Bestraught, distraught or distracted Beteem, to give, to pour out, to permit or suffer Bewray, betray, discover Bezonian, a term of reproach Bid, to invite, to pray Biding, place, abiding Bigging, a kind of cap Bilberry, the wortleberry Bilbo, a Spanish blade of peculiar ex- cellence Bilboes, a species of fetters Bill, a weapon carried by watchmen, a label, or advertisement, articles of accusation Bisson, blind Blank, the white mark at which an arrow is shot Blast, burst Blear, to deceive Blench, to start off Blent, blended, mixed Blind-toorm, the slow- worm Blistered, puffed out like blisters Blood, ancestry, high spirits, true metal, passions, natural propensities Blood-boltered, daubed with blood Blown, puffed or swollen Blows, swells Blunt, stupid, insensible Board, to accost, to address Bobb, to trick, to make a fool of Bird-bolt, a species of arrow Bodged, boggled, made bungling work Bodkin, a small dagger Bold, confident, to embolden Boldness, confidence Bolted, sifted, refined Bolting-hatch, the receptacle in which the meal is bolted Bombard, or bumbard, a barrel Bombast, the stuffing of clothes Bona-robas, strumpets Bond, bounden duty JBony,or6onny,handsome,good-looking Book, paper of conditions Boot, profit, advantage, something over and above Bore, demeaned Bore, the caliber of a gun, the capacity of the barrel Bores, stabs or wounds Basky, woody Bosom, wish, heart's desire Bots, worms in the stomach of a horse Bourn, boundary, rivulet Bow, yoke Brace, armour for the arm, state of defence Brach, a species of hound Braid, crafty or deceitful Brake, a thicket, furze-bush Brave, to make fine or splendid Bravery, showy dress Brawl, a kind of dance Breach, of the sea, breaking of the sea Breast, voice, surface Breath, breathing, voice Breathe, to utter Breathed, inured by constant practice Breathing, complimentary Breeched, sheathed Breeching, liable to school-boy punish- ment Bridal, the nuptial feast Brief, a short account, letter, or enu- meration Bring, to attend or accompany Brize, the gad, or horse-fly Broached, spitted, transfixed Brock, a badge* Broke, to deal with a pander Broken, toothless Broker, a matchmaker, a procuress or pimp Brooch, an ornamental buckle Brooched, adorned as with a brooch Brotherhoods, confraternities or cor- porations Brow, height Brownist, the name of a sect Bruit, noise, report Bruited, reported with clamour Brush, detrition, decay Buckle, to bend, to yield to pressure Bugs, bugbears, terrors Bulk, the body Bumbard. See Bombard Bunting, a bird outwardly like a sky- lark Burgonet, a kind of helmet Burst, broken Bury, to conceal, to keep secret Bush, the sign of a public-house Busky, woody. See Bosky But, only, unless, except Butt-sha% an arrow to shoot at butts with Buxom, obedient, under good com- mand By, according to, by means of By'rlakin, by our lady kin or little lady Caddis, a narrow worsted galloon Cade, a barrel Cadent, falling Cage, a prison Cain-coloured, yellow Caitijf, a prisoner, a slave, a scoundrel Calculate, to foretell or prophesy Caliver, a species of musket Call, to visit Callet, a lewd woman Calling, appellation Calm, qualm Canary, a sprightly nimble dance Candle-waisters, those who sit up all night to drink Canker, the dog-rose Canstick, candlestick Cantel, or Cantle, a piece of any thing Cantons, cantos Canvas, to sift Canvas-climber, a sailor who climbs to adjust the sails Cap, the top, the principal Cap, to salute by taking off the cap Capable, perceptible, intelligent, quick of apprehension, ample, capacious Capitulate, to make head Capon, metaphor for a letter Capricious, lascivious Captious, capacious or recipient Carack, a ship of great bulk Carbonadoed, scotched like meat for the gridiron Card, perhaps a sea-chart Care, to make provision, to take earo Care, inclination Careires, the motion of a horse Carkanet, necklace or chain Carl, clown or husbandmen Carlot, peasant Carren, a critic Carpet-consideration, on a carpet, a festivity Carriage, import Carried, conducted or managed Carry, to prevail over Cart, a chariot Case, contemptuously for skin, outside- garb Case, to strip naked Casques, helmets Cassock, a horseman's great coat Cast, to empty, as a pond, to dismiss or reject Cast, cast up, reckoned Castilian, an opprobrious term Castiliano vulgo, a cant term of con- tempt Cataian, some kind of sharper Catling, a small lute-string made of catgut Cavaleroes, airy, gay fellows Caviare, a delicacy made of the roe of sturgeon Cautelous, insidious, cautious Cease, decease, die, to stop Censure, judgment, opinion Censure, to judge Censured, sentenced, estimated Centuries, companies of an hundred men each Ceremonies, honorary ornaments, tokens of respect Ceremonious, superstitious Certes, certainly, in truth Cess, measure Chace, a term at tennis Chair, throne Chamber, ancient name for London Chamber, a 6pecies of great gun Chamberers, men of intrigue Champain, an open country Chance, fortune Changeling, a child changed Channel, a kennel Character, description, hand-writing Chardcler, to write, to infix strongly Charactery, the matter with which letters arc made Chares, task-work Charge, to put to expense Charge, commission, employment Charge-house, the free-school Chariest, most cautious Chariness, caution Charitable, dear, endearing Charles' s-wain, the constellation called the Bear Charneco, a sort of sweet wine Charter, a privilege Chaudron, entrails Cheater, escheator, an officer in the exchequer ; a gamester GLOSSARY. 93V Check, command, control Commodity, interest, profit Coronet, a crown Check, to object to, to rebuke Commonty, a comedy Corrigible, corrected Checks, probably for ethics Compact, made up of Costard, the head Cheer, countenance Companion, fellow Coster-monger, meanly, mercenary Cherry-pit, a play with cherry-stenes Company, companion Cote, to overtake Cheveril, soft or kid leather Comparative, a dealer in comparisons Coted, quoted, observed, or regarded Chew, to ruminate, consider Compare, comparison Cotsale, Cotswold in Gloucestershire Chewet, a noisy chattering bird Compassed, round Covered, hollow Chide, to resound, to echo, to scold, to Compassionate, plaintive Count, to make account, to reckon be clamorous Competitors, confederates or associates upon Chiding, sound Complements, accomplishments Count Confect, a specious nobleman Chiding, noisy Complexion, humour Countenance, false appearance, hypo- Childing, unseasonably pregnant Comply, to compliment crisy Chopin, a high shoe or clog Compose, to come to a composition Counterfeit, a likeness, a portrait Chough, a bird of the daw kind Composition, contract or bargain, con- Counterpoints, counterpanes Cirri stom, the white cloth put on a new sistency, concordancy County, count, earl baptized child Composture, composition, compost ■Cower, to sink by bending the hams Chrystals, eyes Comptible, submissive Cowl-staff, a staff for carrying a largo Chuck, chicken, a term of endearment Con, to know tub Chuff, rich, avaricious Conceit, fanciful conception, thought Coy, to soothe or stroke Cicatrice, the scar of a wound Concent, connected harmony in general Coyed, condescended unwillingly Circumstance, detail of an argument, Conclusion, determination, resolution Coystril, a coward cock, a mean or a circumlocution Conclusions, experiments drunken fellow Cital, recital Concupy, concupiscence Cozier, a tailor or botcher Cite, to incite, to show, to prove Condition, temper, character, qualities, Crab, a wild apple Civil, grave or solemn vocations or inclinations Crack, dissolution Civil, human creature, any thing Condolement, sorrow Crack, a boy, or child, a boy-child human Conduct, conductor Cranks, windings Clack-dish, a beggar's-dish Coney-catched, cheated • Crants, chants Claw, to flatter Coney-catcher, a cheat, or sharper Crare, a small trading vessel Clear, pure, blameless, innocent, quite, Confession, profession Craven, a degenerate, dispirited cock fully, perfectly Conject, conjecture Craven, mean, cowardly, to make Clearest, purest, freest from evil Conjecture, suspicion cowardly Clear-story, a species of windows in a Confound, to destroy, to expend, to Create, compounded, cr made up church consume Credent, creditable, credible Cleave, to unite with closely Confounded, worn or wasted Credit, account, information, credulity Clerkly, like a scholar Consent, to agree Credit, a great light set upon a bea- Cliff, a key in music Consent, conspiracy, will, assent, con Cling, to shrink or shrivel up united voice Cress ive, increasing Clinquant, glittering, shining Consigned, sealed Crest, the top, the height Clip, to embrace, to infold Consist, to stand upon Crestless, thoso who have no right Closely, secretly, privately Consort, company to arms Clout, the white mark at which archers Consort, to keep company with Crisp, curling, winding, curled, bent, take aim Constancy, consistency, stability hollow Clown, a licensed jester in families Constant, firm, determined Critic, cynio Clubs, a popular cry on a street- Constantly, certainly, without fluctua- Critical, censorious quarrel tion Crone, an old worn-out woman Clutched, grasped Contemptible, contemptuous Crosses, money stamped with a cross Coach-fellow, one who draws with a Continent, the thing which cuntains Crow, to exult over confederate Continents, banks of rivers Crow-keeper, a scare-crow Coasting, conciliatory, inviting Continuate, uninterrupted Crown, to conclude Cobloaf, a crusty, uneven loaf Contraction, marriage contract Crowned, dignified, adorned Cock, cock-boat Contrarious, different Crownet, last purpose Cockle, a weed Contrive, to spend and wear out Cry, a troop or pack Cockled, inshelled like a cockle Control, to confute Cue, in stage cant, the last words of the Cock-shut-lime, twilight Convent, to serve or agree preceding speech Codling, anciently an immature apple Convented, cited, summoned Cuisses, armour for the thighs Coffin, the cavity of a raised pie Conversation, familiar intercourse, Cullion, a despicable fellow Cog, to falsify, to lie, to defraud conduct, behaviour Cunning, sagacity, knowledge Cognizance, the badge or token Converse, interchange Curb, to bend or truckle Coigne, corner Conversion, change of condition Curiosity, finical delicacy, scrupulous- Coil, bustle, stir Convertite, convert ness or captiousness Collect, to assemble by observation Convey, to perform sleight of hand, to Crious, scrupulous Collection, corollary, consequence manage artfully Curled, ostentatiously dressed Collied, black, smutted with coal Conveyance, theft, fraud Currents, occurrences Collier, formerly a term of the highest Convince, to overpower, subdue, con- Cursed, under the influence of male- reproach vict diction Colour, pretence Convicted, overpowered, baffled Curst, petulant, crabbed, shrewish 01 Colourable, specious Convive, to feast mischievous, severe, harsh, vehe- Colours, appearances, deceits Cope, to encounter, to engage mently angry Colt, to fool, to trick Cope, covering Curstness, ill-humour Co-mart, a joint bargain Copped, rising to a cop, or head Curtail, a cur of little value Combinale, betrothed Copy, theme Curtal, a docked horse Combine, to bind Coragio, an exclamation of encourage- Curtle-ax, or cutlace, a broad-sword Combined, bound by agreement ment Custard-coffin, the crust of a cuetard Comforting, aiding Corinthian, a wencher or pie Commence, to give a beginning Corky, dry, withered, husky Customer, a common woman Commended, committed Corners, by-places Cut , a horse Commission, authority, power 1 Corollary, surplus Cyprus, a transparent stuff »38 GLOSSARY. Doff, or doff, to do off, to put aside Dally, to play or trifle Damn, condemn Danger, reach or control Dank, wet, rotten Danskers, natives of Denmark Dare, to challenge or incite Dark-house, a house made gloomy by discontent Darkling, in the dark Darraign, to arrange, put in order Daub, to disguise Daubery, falsehood and imposition Day-bed, a couch Day-light, broad-day Day-woman, dairy-maid Dear, best, important, dire Dearn, lonely, solitary Death-tokens, spots appearing on those infected by the plague Deboshed, debauched Decay, misfortunes Deceivable, deceptions Deck, to cover, a pack Decline, to run throughfrom first to last Declined, the fallen Deem, opinion, surmise Defeat, destruction Defeatures, features, change of features for the worse Defence, art of fencing Defend, to forbid Defensible, furnishing the means of defence Defiance, refusal Deformed, deforming Deftly, dexterously, with adroitness Defy, to refuse, to disdain Degrees, steps Delay, to let slip Demerits, merits Demise, to grant Demurely, solemnly Denay, denial Denied, disbelieved or contemned Denier. , the twelfth part of a French sous Denotements, indications or discoveries Deny, to refuse Depart, to part Departing, separation Depend, to be in service Deprive, to disinherit Deracinate, to force up by the roots Derogate, degraded, blasted Descant, a term in musio Desert, merit Deserved, deserving Design, to mark out Despatched, bereft Desperate, bold, adventurous Detected, charged or guilty Determined, ended Dibble, aninstrument used by gardeners Dich, dit or do it Dickon, familiarly for Richard Die, gaming Diet, regimen Diet, to oblige to fast Diffused, extravagant, irregular Digress, to deviate from the right Digression, transgression Dint, impression Direction, judgment, skill Disable, to undervalue Disappointed, unprepared Disclose, to hatch Discontenting, discontented Discontents, maloontents Discourse, reason Disdained, disdainful Disease, uneasiness, discontent Diseases, sayings Disgrace, hardship, injury Dislimns, unpaints, obliterates Dispark, to destroy a park Disponge, discharge as a sponge Dispose, to make terms, to settle matters Disposition, frame Disputable, disputations Dispute, to talk over Dissemble, to gloss over Dissembling, putting dissimilar things together Distaste, to corrupt, to change to a worse state Distemper, intoxication Distemperature, perturbation Distempered, ruffled, out of humour Distractions, detachments, separate bodies Distraught, distracted Diverted, turned out of the course of nature Dividable, divided Division, the pauses or parts of musical composition Divulged, spoken of Doctrine, skill Doff, see Daff Dole, lot, allowance Dolphin, the Dauphin of France Don , to do on, to put on Done, expended, consumed Dotant, dotard Double, full of duplicity Doubt, to fear Dout, to do out, extinguish Dowle, a feather Down-gyved, hanging down like what confines the fetters round the ancles Drab, whoring Draught, the jakes Drawn, embowelled, exenterated Dread, epithet applied to kings Drew, assembled Dribbling, a term of contempt Drive, to fly with impetuosity Drollery, a show performed by puppets Drugs, drudges Drumble, to act lazily and stupidly Dry, thirsty Ducdame, due ad me, bring him to me Dudgeon, the handle of a dagger Due, to endue, to deck, to grace Dull, melancholy, gentle, soothing Dull, to render callous, insensible Dullard, a person stupidly unconcerned Dump, a mournful elegy Dup, to do up, to lift up E Eager, sour, sharp, harsh Eanlings, lambs just dropt Ear, to plough Easy, 6light, inconsiderable Eche, to eke out Ecstacy, alienation of mind, madness Effects, affects, or affections, actions, deeds effected Eftest, deftest, readiest Egypt, a gipsy Eld, old time, or persons Element, initiation, previous practice Embossed, inclosed, swollen, puffy Embowelled, exhausted Embraced, indulged in Eminence, high honours Empery, dominion, sovereign command Emulation, rivalry, envy, factious con tention Emulous, jealous of higher authority Encave, to hide Enfeoff, to invest with possession Engine, instrument of war, military machine, the rack Engross, to fatten, to pamper Engrossments, accumulations Enkindle, to stimulate Enmew, to coop up Ensconce, to protect as with a fort Enseamed, greasy Enshield, shielded Entertain, to retain in service Entertainment, the pay of an army, admission to office Entreatments, the objects of entreaty Envy, hatred or malice Ephetian, a cant term for a toper Equipage, stolen goods Erewhile, just now Erring, wandering Escoted, paid Esil, a river so called, or vinegar Esperance, the motto of the Percy family Espials, spies Essential, existent, real Estimate, price Estimation, conjecture Eterne, eternal Even, calm, equable, temperate, equal, fellow Even, to act up to Examined, questioned, doubted Excrement, the beard Excrements, the hair, nails, feathers ol birds, &o. Execute, to employ, to put to use Execution, employment of exercise Executors, executioners Exempt, excluded Exercise, exhortation, lecture, or con- fession Exhale, hale or lug out Exhibition, allowance Exigent, end Exorcist, a person who can raise spirits Expect, expectation Expedient, expeditious Expiate, fully completed Expostulate, to inquire or discuss Exposture, exposure Express, to reveal Expulsed, expelled Exsuffiicate, contemptible, abominable Extend, to seize Extent, in law, violence in general Extern, outward Extirped, rooted out Extracting, that which draws away from every thing but its own object Extravagant, wandering Extremes, extravagance of conduct, extremities Eyases, young nestlings Eyas musket, infant lilliputian Eye, a small shade of colour Eyliads, glances, looks. See Oeiliads Eyne, eyes Face, to carry a foolish appearanco Faced, turned up with facings Facinorous, wicked Fact, guilt Factious, active GLOSSARY. 939 Faculties, medicinal virtues, office, ex- First, noblest, most eminent Fronted, opposed ercise of power Fit, a division of a song Frontier, forehead Fadge, to suit 01 fit Fitchew, a polecat Frontlet, a forehead cloth Fading, the burthen of a song Fitly, exactly Frush, to break or bruise Fain, fond Fives, a distemper in horses Frustrate, frustrated Fair, beauty, complexion, fairness Flap-dragon, a small inflammable sub- Fulfilling, filling till there be no room Fair-betrothed, fairly contracted, ho- stance, which topers swallow in a for more nourably affianced glass of wine Full, complete Faith, fidelity Flapjacks, pan-cakes Fullams, loaded dice Faithful, not an infidel Flask, a soldier's powder-horn Fullest, most complete and perfect Fait? fully, fervently Flatness, lowness, depth Fumiter, fumitory Faitort, traitors, rascals Flaw, sudden violent gust of wind Furnished, dressed Fall, to let fall, to drop Flayed, stripped Fall, an ebb Flecked, spotted, dappled, streaked G False, to make false Fleet, to float Gabardine, a loose felt cloak Falsely, dishonestly, treacherously Fleeting, inconstant Gad, a pointed instrument Falsing, falsifying Fleshment, first act of military service Gain-giving, misgiving Familiar, a demon Fleired, having the flews or chaps of a Gainsay, to unsay, deny, contradict Fancy, love hound Gait, way or steps Fancy-free, exempt from the power of Flickering, fluttering like the motion Galliard, an ancient dance love of a flame Gall lasses, a species of galleys .Fang, to seize or gripe Flight, a sort of shooting Gallowglasses, heavy armed foot. Ranged, possessed of fangs Flourish, ornament Gallow, to scare or frighten Fans, ancient Flote t wave Gallymawfry, a medley Fantastical, creatures of fancy Flush, mature, ripe Game, sport, jest Fap, drunk Foeman, an enemy in war Gamester, a frolicsome person, a wanton Far, extensively Foin, to thrust in fencing Gaping, shouting or roaring Forced, stuffed Foizon, plenty Garboils, commotion, stir Pxshions, farcens or farcy Folly, depravity of mind Garish, gaudy, showy Fast, determined, fixed Fond, foolish, or prized by folly Garner, to treasure up Fat, dull Fonder, more weak or foolish Gasted, frightened Fate, an action predetermined by fate Fondly, foolishly Gaudy, a festival day Favour, countenance, features, indulg- Fools' zanies, baubles with the head of Gawds, baubles, toys ence, pardon, appearance a fool Gaze, attention Fear, the object of fear, danger Foot-cloth, a housing covering the body Gear, a general word for things oz Fear, to intimidate of the horse, and almost reaching to matters Feared, frightened the ground Geek, a fool Fearful, timorous, formidable For, for that, since, because General, generality Feat, ready, dexterous Forbid, under interdiction General, compendious Feat, an exploit Force, power Generation, children Feated, formed, made neat Force, to enforce, to urge Generosity, high birth Feature, beauty in general, cast and Force, to stuff Generous, most noble make of the face Forced, false Gentility, urbanity Federary, a confederate Fordid, destroyed Gentle, noble, high-minded, belongin/ Fee-grief, a peculiar sorrow Fordo, to undo, to destroy to gentry Feeder, an eater, a servant Foredone, overcome Gentry, complaisance Feere, or Pheere, a companion, a hus- Forfended, prohibited, forbidden German, akin band Foreign, employed in foreign embassies Germins, seeds begun to sprout Feet, footing Forepast, already had Gest, a stage or journey Fell, skin Fore-slow, to be dilatory, to loiter Gib, a cat Fell-feats, savage practices Forestall, to prevent by anticipation Gifts, endowments Fellow, companion Forgetive, inventive, imaginative Giglot, a wanton wench Fence, the art of, or 6kill in defence Forked, horned Gilder, a coin valued at 1*. 6d. or 9s. Feodary, an accomplice, a confederate Formal, not out of form, regular, sen- Gild, gilding, golden money Fester, to corrupt sible, in form, in shape Gimmal, a ring or engine Festinately, hastily Former, foremost Ging, a gang Festival term, splendid phraseology Forspent, wasted, exhausted Gird, a sarcasm or gibe, emotion Fet , fetched Forspoke, contradicted, spoken against Gleek, to joke or scoff, to beguile Few, in short, in few words Forthcoming, in custody Glimmering, faintly illuminated by Fico, a fig Forwearied, worn out the stars Fielded, in the field of battle Foul, homely, not fair Gloze, to expound, to comment upon Fierce, proud, hasty, vehement, rapid Fox, a cant word for a sword Glut, to englut or swallow up Fig, to insult Foxship, mean, cunning Gnarled, knotted Fights, clothes hung round a ship to Frampold, peevish, fretful, or cross Good-deed, indeed, in very deed conceal the men from the enemy Frank, a sty Good-den, good evening File, a list Franklin, a little gentleman or free- Good-life, of a moral or jovial turn Filed, defiled holder Good-jer, gougere, morbus gallicus Filed, gone an equal pace with Free, artless, free from art, generous Gorbellied, fat and corpulent Fills, the shafts Fret, the stop of a musical instrument, Gossips, tattling women who attend Filths, common sewers which regulates the vibration of the lyings-in Fine, the conclusion string Gossomer, the white cobweb-like ex- Fine, full of fineness, artful Friend, a lover, a term applicable to halations that fly about in ho*. Fine, to make showy, or specious both sexes, a paramour sunny weather Fineless, boundless, endless Friend, friendship Government, evenness of temper, de Firago for Virago Friend, to befriend cency of manners Fire-drake, Wui-o'-the-wisp, or a fire- Frippery, a shop where old clothes Gourds, a species of dice work were sold Gouts, drops Fire-new, bran-new, new from the forge Frize, a cloth made in "Wales Grace, acceptableness, favour Firk, to chastise From, in opposition to G race, to bless, to make happy 940 GLOSSARY Gracious, graceful, lovely High-fantastical, fantastical to the Indijferent, sometimes for different, Grained, furrowed, like the grain of height impartial wood, dyed in grain or indented High^repented, repented to the utmost Indite, to convict Graincrcy, grand mercy, great thanks Hight, called Induction, entrance, beginning, prepa- Grange, the farm-house of a monastery ; Hilding, a paltry cowardly fellow rations a lone house Hint, suggestion, circumstance Indurance, delay, procrastination Gratillity, gratuity Hiren, a harlot Infinite, extent or power Gratulate, gratifying, acceptable His, often used for its Ingaged, sometimes for unengaged Grave, to entomb Hit, to agree Ingraft, rooted, settled Graves, or greaves, armour for the legs Hoist, hoisted Inhabitable, not habitable Greasily, grossly Hold, to esteem Inherit, to possess Greek, a bawd, or pander Holla, a term of the manege Inhibit, to forbid Green, unripe, not fully formed Holy, faithful Inhooped, enclosed, confined Greenly, awkwardly, unskilfully Home, completely, in full extent Inkhorn-mate, a book-mate Greets, pleases Honest, chaste Inkle, a kind of tape, crewel o» Grief, pain, grievances Honesty, liberality worsted Griefs, grievances, wrongs Honey-stalks, clover flowers Inland, civilised, not rustic Grievances, sorrows, sorrowful affec- Honour, acquired reputation Insane, that which makes insane tions Hoop, a measure Insconce, to fortify Grieve, to lament for Hope, to expect Insculped, engraven Grise, a step Horologe, clock Inseparate, inseparable Grossly, palpably Hox, to ham-string Instance, example, proof Groundlings, the frequenters of the Hull, to drive to and fro upon the Instances, motives pit in the playhouse water without sails or rudder Insuit, solicitation Growing, accruing Humorous, changeable, humid, moist Intend, to pretend Guard, defence Hungry, steril, unprolifie Intending, regarding Guard, to fringe or lace Hunt-counter, base tyke, worthless dog Intendment, intention or disposition Guarded, ornamented Hunts-up, the name of a tune, a Intenible, incapable of retaining Guards, badges of dignity morning song Intention, eagerness of desire Guerdon, reward Hurly, noise Intentively, with full attention Guerdoned, rewarded Hurtling, merry with impetuosity Interessed, interested Guiled, treacherous Husbandry, thrift, frugality Intergalories, interrogatories Guinea-hen, a prostitute Huswife, a jilt Intermission, pause, intervening time Gules, red, a term in heraldry Intrenchant, that which cannot be cut Gulf, the swallow, t!;e throat I Intrinse, intrinsicate Gun-stones, cannon-balls Ice-brook, a brook of icy qualities in Invention, imagination Gurnet, a fish resembling a piper Spain Inwardness, intimacy, confidence Gust , taste, rashness r fecks, in faith Iron, clad in armour Gyve, to catch, to shackle Ignomy, ignominy Irregulous, lawless, licentious fyves, shackles Ill-inhabited, ill-lodged Issues, consequences, conclusions Ill-nurtured, ill-educated Iteration, citation, or recitation II Images, children, representatives Hack, to become cheap and vulgar Imaginary, produced by the power of J Haggard, a specieB of hawk imagination Jack, a term of contempt Haggard, wild Imbare, to lay open or display to view Jack-a-lent, n puppet thrown at in Lent Hair, complexion or character Immanity, barbarity, savagencss Jack guardunt, a jack in office Happily, accidentally, fortunately Immediacy, close connexion Jaded, treated with contempt, worthless Happy, accomplished Imp, to supply Jar, the noise made by the pendulum Hardiment, bravery, stoutness Imp, progeny of a clock Harlocks, wild mustard Impair, unsuitable Jouncing, jaunting Harlot, a cheat Impartial, sometimes used for partial Jesses, straps of leather by which tho Harp, to touch on a passion Impawned, wagered and staked hawk is held on the fist Harrow, to conquer, to subdue Impeach, to bring into question Jest, to play a part in a mask Harry, to use roughly, to harass Impeachment, reproach or imputa- Jet , to strut Having, estate or fortune, promotion, tion, hinderance Jovial, belonging to Jove allowance of expense Imperious, imperial Journal, daily Haviour, behaviour Imperseverant, perseverant Jump, to agree with, to put into agi- Haught, haughty Impeticos, to impctticoat or impocket tation Haughty, high, elevated Importance, importunacy Jump, hazard, to venture at Haunt, company Importance, the thing imported Jump, just Hay, a term in the fencing-school Importing, implying, denoting Justicer, justice, judge Head, the source, the fountain Impose, injunction, command Jut, to encroach Head, body of forces Impositions, commands Jutty, to project Heart, the most valuable or precious Impossible, incredible or inconceivable Juvenal, a young man part Impress, to compel to serve Heat, heated Impress, a device or motto K Heat, violence of resentment Impugn, to oppose, to controvert Kam, awry, crooked Heavy, slow Incapable, unintelligent Keech, a solid lump or mass Hebenon, henbane Incarnardine, to stain of a red colour Keel, to cool Hefted, heaved Incensed, incited, suggested Keep, to restrain, to dwell, to reside Hefts, hcavings Inclining, compliant Keisar, Caesar Hell, an obscure dungeon in a prison Inclip, to embrace Kernes, light-armed Irish foot Helmed, steered through Include, to shut up, to conclude Key, the key for tuning, a tuning Hence, henceforward Inclusive, enclosed hammer Henchman, a page of honour Incony, or kony, fine, delicate Kicksy-wicksy, a wife Hent , seized or taken possession of Incorrect, ill-regulated Kiln-hole, a place into which coals an- Hereby, as it may happen Increase, produce put under a stove Hermits \ beadsmen Indent, to bargain and article Kind, nature, species Tlett, behest, command Index, something preparatory to Kindless, unnatural GLOSSARY. 941 Kindly, naturally Kindly, kindred Kinged, ruled by Kinsman, near relative Kirtle, part of a woman's dress Knave, servant Knife, a sword or dagger Knots, figures planted in box Know, to acknowledge Know of, to consider Labras, lips Laced mutton, a woman of the town Lackeying, moving like a lackey or page Lag, the meanest persons Lances, lance-men Land-damn, to destroy in some way Lands, landing-places Lapsed, time suffered to slip Large, licentious Lass-lorn, forsaken of his mistress Latch, to lay hold of Latched, or letched, licked over Late, lately Lated, belated, benighted Latten, thin as a lath Lavoltas, a kind of dances Laund, lawn Lay, a wager Leaguer, the camp Leasing, lying Leather-coats, a species of apple Leave, to part with, to give away Leech, a physician Leer, feature, complexion Leet, court-leet, or court of the manor Legerity, lightness, nimbleness Leges, alleges Leiger, resident Leman, lover, mistress Lenten, short and spare L'envoy, moral, or conclusion of a poem Let, to hinder Let be, to desist Lethe, death Lewd, ignorant, idle, wicked Lewdly, wickedly Libbard, or lubbar, a leopard Liberal, licentious or gross in language Liberty, libertinism License, an appearance of licentiousness Lie, to reside, to be imprisoned Liefest, dearest Lieger, ambassador at a foreign court Lifter, a thief Light o' love, a dance tune Lightly, commonly, in ordinary course Lightness, levity Like, to compare Likelihood, similitude Likeness, specious or seeming virtue Liking, condition Limbeck, a vessel used in distilling Limbo, a place supposed to be in the neighbourhood of hell Lime, bird-lime Lime, to cement Limed, entangled or caught, with bird- lime Limit, appointed time Limited, appointed, regular, orderly Limits, estimates, calculations Line, genealogy Lined, delineated Link, a torch of pitch Linstock, the staff to which the match is fixed when ordnance is fired List, the bound or limi: Lither, flexible, yielding Little, miniature Livelihood, appearance of life Livery, a law phrase belonging to the feudal tenures Living, estate, property Living, speaking, manifest, actual Loach, a small fish Lob, looby, a term of contempt Lockram, some kind of cheap linen Lodestar, the leading or guiding star Lodged, laid by the wind Loffe, to laugh Loggats, a game played with pins of wood Longing, longed for Longly, longingly Loof, to bring a vessel close to the wind Loon, or lown, a base fellow Lop, the branches Lot, a prize Lottery, allotment Lover, a mistress Lown. See Loon Lowted, treated with contempt Lowts, clowns Lozel, worthless, dishonest Lubbar. See Libbard Lullaby, sleeping-house, i. e. cradle Lunes, lunacy, frenzy Lurch, to win Lure, a thing stuffed to tempt the hawk Lush, rank, luscious Lust, inclination, will Lustick, lusty, cheerful, pleasant Ltcsty, saucy Luxurious, lascivious Luxuriously, wantonly Luxury, lust Lym, a species of dog M Mace, a sceptre Mad, wild, inconstant Made, enriched Magnificent, glorying, boasting Magnifico, a chief man or grandee at Venice Mailed, wrapped up, covered with Main-top, top of the mainmast Make, to bar, to shut Makest, dost Malkin, a scullion, a coarse wench Mall, Mrs. alias Alary Frith, or Moll Cut purse Mallecho, mischief Mammering, hesitating Mammets, puppets Mammock, to cut in pieces Man, to tame a hawk Manacle, a handcuff Manage, conduct, administration Mandrake, a root supposed to have the shape of a man Mankind, masculine Marches,the borders, limits, or confines Marchpane, a species of sweetmeat Martial-hand, a careless scra w l Martlemas, the latter spring Match, an appointment, a compact Mate, to confound Mated, amated, dismayed Meacock, a dastardly creature Mealed, sprinkled or mingled Mean, the tenor in music Mean, the middle Means, interest, pains Measure, the reach Measure, a stately solemn dance Measure, means Meazels, lepers Medal, portrait Meddle, to mix with Medicine, a she-physician Meed, reward Meed, merit, desert, excellence Meet , a match Meiny, people, domestics Memories, memorials, remembrances Memorized, made memorable Memory, memorial Mephostophilus, the name of a spirit or familiar Mercatanti, a merchant Mere, exact, entire, absolute Mered, mere Mermaid, siron Messes, degrees about court Metal, temper Metaphysical, supernatural Mete-yard, measuring-yard Mewed, confined Micher, a truant, a lurking thief Miching, playing truant, skulking about Mien, countenance Mince, to walk with affected delicacy Minding, calling to remembrance, re- minding Mineral, a mine Minnow, a small river fish, a term of contempt Minstrelsy, office of minstrel Misconceived, misconceivers Miscreate, ill-begotten, illegitimate Misdoubt, to suspect Miser, a miserable creature Misery, avarice Misprised, mistaken Misprising, despising, or undervaluing Missives, messengers Mistaken, misrepresented Mistcmpered, angry Misthink, to think ill Mistress, the jack in bowling Mobled, or mabled, veiled, grossly co- vered Mode, the form or state of things Model, image, representative, copy Modern, trite, common, meanly pretty Modesty, moderation Module, model, pattern Moe or mowe, to make mouths Moiety, a portion Mollification, pacification, softening Mome, a dull 6tupid blockhead Momentany, momentary Month's mind, a popish anniversary Mood, anger, resentment, manner Moody, melancholy Moon-calf, an inanimate shapeless mass Moonish, variable Mope, to appear stupid Moral, secret meaning Morisco, Moor or Moorish, or morris Morris-pike, Moorish pike Mortal, murderous, fatal Mortal-staring, that which stares fa- tally Mortified, ascetic, religious Most, greatest Motion, a kind of puppet-show Motion, divinatory agitation Motion, desires Motions, indignation Motive, assistant cr mover, that which contributes to motion Mould, earth 042 GLOSSARY. Mouse, to mammock, to tear to pieces O'er-parted, having too considerable a Partizan, a pike Mouse, a term of endearment part Parts, party Mouse-hunt, a weasel O'er-raught, over-reached Push, a head Mowe. See Moe O'er-wrested, wrested beyond the truth Posh, to strike with violence Moy, a piece of money or a measure of Of, through Pashed, bruised, crushed corn Offering, the assailant Pass, to decide, to assure or convey Much, an expression of disdain Office, service Pass, to exceed, to go beyond common Much, strange, wonderful Offices, culinary or servants' apartments bounds Muck-water, drain of a dung-hill Old, frequent, more than enough Passed, excelling, past all expression Muffler, a kind of dress for the lower Old age, ages past or bounds part of the face Once, sometime Passes, what has passed Muliters, muleteers Oneyers, accountants, bankers Passing, eminent, egregious Mulled, softened and dispirited Opal, a precious stone of almost all Passion, suffering Multiplied, multitudinous colours Passionate, a prey to mournful sensa- Multiplying, multiplied Open, publicly tions Multitudinous, full of multitudes Operant, active Passioning, being in a passion Mummy, balsamic liquor Opinion, obstinacy, conceit, character Passy-measure, a dance Mundane, worldly Opposite, adverse, hostile, adversary Pastry, the room where pastry was Mure, a wall Opposition, combat made Murky, dark Or, before Patch, a term of reproach Murrain, a plague in cattle Orbs, circles made by the fairies on the Patched, in a parti-coloured coat Muse, to admire, to wonder ground Path, to walk Must, a scramble Orchard, a garden Pathetical, deeply affecting Muline, to rise in mutiny Order, measures Patient, to make patient, to compose Mutines, mutineers Ordinance, rank Patine, a dish used with the chalice, in Orgulous, proud, disdainful the administration of the Eucharist N Osprey, a kind of eagle Pattern, instance, example Napkin, handkerchief Ostent, show, ostentation Pavin, a dance Napless, threadbare Ostentation, show, appearance Paucas, few Native, formed by nature Overblow, to drive away, to keep off Pay, to beat, to hit Nature, natural parent Overture, opening or discovery Peat, a word of endearment Nay-word, a watch-word or by-word Ounce, a small tiger, or tiger-cat Pedascule, a pedant Neat, finical Ouph, fairy, goblin Peer, to come out, to appear Neb or nib, the mouth Ousel-cock, the cock blackbird Peevish, foolish Neeld, needle Out, be gone Peize, to balance, to keep in suspense, Neif, fist Out, full, complete to weigh down Nephew, a grandson or any lineal de- Outlook, to face down Pelting, paltry, petty, inconsiderable scendant Outvied, a term at the game of gleek Pennons, small flags Nether-stocks, stockings Outward, not in the secret of affairs Penthesilea, Amazon Newness, innovation Owe, to own, possess, govern Perch, a measure of five yards and a Newt, the eft Ox-lip, the great cowslip half Next, nearest Perdurable, lasting Nice, silly, trifling P Perdy, par Dieu, a French oath Nick, reckoning or count Pack, to bargain with Perfect, certain, well informed Nick, to set a mark of folly on Pack, combined, an "accomplice Perfections, liver, brain, and heart Nightcd, made dark as night Packing, plotting, underhand con- Perjure, a perjured person Night-rule, frolic of the night trivance Periapts, charms sewed up and worn Nine men's morris, a game Paddock, toad about the neck Nobility, distinction, eminence Pagan, a loose vicious person Perspectives, certain optical glasses Nobless, nobleness Pageant, a dumb show Pervert, to avert Noddy, fool, a game at cards Paid, punished Pew-fellow, a companion Noise, music Pain, penalty Pheere, see Feere Nonce, on purpose, for the turn Pains, labour, toil Pheeze, to teaze or beat, to comb or Nook-shotten, that which shoots into Palabras, words curry capes Pale, to empale, encircle with a crown Pia mater, the membrane covering the Northern man, vir borealis, a olown Pall, to wrap, to invest substance of the brain Note, notice, information, remark Palled, vapid Pick, to pitch Novice, a youth Palmers, holy pilgrims Picked, nicely dressed, foppish Novum, some game at dice Palmy, victorious Pickers, the hands Nourish, to nurse Palter, to juggle, or shuffle Picking, piddling, insignificant Nowl, a head Paper, to write down, or appoint by Pickt-hatch, a place noted for brothels Nurture, education writing Piece, a word of contempt for a woman Nuthook, a thief Paper, written securities Piel'd, shaven Parcel, reckon up Pight, pitched, fixed Parcel-gilt, gilt only on certain parts Pilcher, a pilch, the scabbard Obligations, bonds Parish-top, a large top formerly kept Pilled, pillaged Observed, paid respective attention to in every village to be whipped for Pin and web, disorders of the eye Observing, religiously attentive exercise Pinnace, a small ship of burthen Obsequious, serious, as at funeral ob- Paritor, an apparitor, an officer of the Pix, a small chest in which the conse- sequies, careful of bishop's court crated host was kept Obsequiously, funereally Parle, parley Placket, a petticoat Obstacle, obstinate Parlous, perilous Plague, to punish Occupation, men occupied in business Parlous, keen, shrewd Plain song, the chant, in piano cantu Occurrents, incidents Part, to depart Plainly, openly Oe, a circle Partake, to participate Plaited, complicated, involved Oeiliad, a cast or glance of the eye. Partaker, accomplice, confederate Planched, made of brands Bee Fyliads Parted, shared Plant, the foot O'erdicd, dyed too much Parted, endowed with parts Platforms, plans, schemes O'er-looked, slighte-l Participate, participant, participating Plau4ive, gracious, pleasing, popular GLOSSARY. 943 Pleached, folded together Propagate, to advance or improve Rack, to exaggerate Plot, piece or portion Propagation, getting Rack, to harass by exactions Point, a metal hook fastened to the Proper, well-looking, handsome Rack, the fleeting away of the clouds hose or breeches Proper-false, proper or fair, and false Racking, in rapid motion Point, the utmost height or deceitful Rag, an opprobrious epithet, Point-iie-vice, with the utmost possible Propertied, taken possession of Ragged, rugged exactness Properties, incidental necessaries to a Rake, to cover Points, tags to the laces theatre Rank, rate or pace Poize, weight or moment Property, due performance Rank, grown up to a great height and Polled, bared, cleared Property, a thing quite at disposal strength Pomander, a ball made of perfumes Propose, to image, to imagine Rapt, rapturously affected Pomewater, a species of apple Proposing, conversing Rapture, a fit Poor-john, hake dried and salted Propriety, regular and proper state Rarely, curiously, happily Popinjay, a parrot Prorogue, to lengthen or prolong Rascal, applied to lean deer Popularity, plebeian intercouse Provand, provender Rash, heady, thoughtless, quick, violent Port, external pomp, figure Provencial, Provencal, from Provence Rash remonstrance, premature disco- Port, a gate Provincial, belonging to one's province very Portable, bearable Provost, a sheriff or gaoler Rated, chided Portance, carriage, behaviour Prune, to plume Ravin, to devour eagerly Possess, to inform, to make to under- Puck, a hobgoblin in fairy mythology Ravin, ravenous stand Pugging, thievish Ravined, glutted with prey Possessed, acquainted with, fully in- Pun, to pound Raught, reached formed Purchase, stolen goods Raw, ignorant, unripe, unskilful Possessed, afflicted with madness Purchased, acquired by unjust methods Rawly, young and helpless Potch, to push violently Purlieu, border, enclosure Rayed, bewrayed Potents, potentates Pursuivants, heralds Razed, slashed, raised Pouncet-box, a small box for perfumes Put to know, compelled to acknowledge Rear-mouse, a bat Bower, forces, an army Putter-on, one who instigates Reason, discourse Practice, unlawful or insidious strata- Putter-out, one who places out money Reason, to talk, to argue for gem at interest Rebeck, an old musical instrument Practise, to employ unwarrantable arts Putting-on, spur, incitement Receiving, ready apprehension Practisants, confederates in stratagems Puttock, a degenerate species of hawk Receipt, receptacle Prank, to adorn, to dress ostentatiously, Recheate, a sound by which the dogs to plume Q are called back Precedent, original draft Quail, to faint, languish Reck, to care for, to mind, to attend to Precept, a justice's warrant Quaint, fantastical, graceful Reckless, careless, heedless Precisian, a great pretender to sanctity Quaint-mazes, a game running the Recollected, studied or often repeated Prefer, to recommend, to advance figure of eight Record, to sing Pregnancy, readiness Quaked, thrown into trepidation Recorder, a kind of flute or flageolet Pregnant, ready, plain, evident, appo- Qualify, to lessen, moderate Recure, to recover site Quality, confederates Red-lattice, the sign of an alehouse Preanant enemy, the enemy of mankind Quality, profession, condition of life Reduce, to bring back Premised, sent before the time Quarrel, a quarreller, the cause of a Reechy, discoloured by smoke, smoky, Prenominate, already named quarrel greasy Pre-ordinance, ordinance already esta- Quarry, the game after it is killed Refell, to refute blished Quart d'ecu, forth part of a French Refer, to reserve to Presence, the presence-chamber, a pub- crown Regard, look lic room Quarter, the allotted posts, station Regiment, government, authority Presence, dignity of mien, form, figure Quat, a pimple Regret, exchange of salutation Prest, ready Queasy, squeamish, delicate, unsettled Reguerdon, recompense, return Pretence, design, intention Quell, to murder, to destroy Relative, nearly related, or connected Pretend, to intend, design Quench, to grow cool Remembered, remembering Pretended, proposed or intended Quern, a hand-mill Remembrance, admonition Prevent, to anticipate Quest, inquest or jury, search, expedi- Remorse, pity, tenderness of heart Prick, the point on the dial tion Remotion, removal or remoteness Pricks, prickles, skewers Question, conversation Removed, remote, sequestered Pride, haughty power Questrist, one who goes in quest of an- Render, to describe Prig, to filch other Render, a confession, an account Prime, youth, the vigour of life Quests, reports Renege, to renounce Prime, prompt Quick, lively, sprightly, living Repair, to renovate Primer, more urgent, more important Quicken, to animate Repeal, to recall Primero, a game at cards Quiddits, subtilties Reports, reporters Principality, the first or principal of Quillets, law chicane Reproof, confutation women Quintain, a post set up for various ex- Repugn, to resist Principals, rafters of a building ercises Reputing, boasting of Princox, a coxcomb, or spoiled child Quips, reproaches and scoffs Requiem, a mass for the soul of a per- Probal, probable Quire, to play in concert son deceased Process, summons Quit, quitted Resolve, to be firmly persuaded, satis- Procure, to bring Quit, to requite or answer fied Prodigious, portentous, ominous Quittance, return of obligations Resolve, to dissolve Pro/ace, much good may it do you Quiver, nimble, active Respect, consideration, caution Profane, love of talk, gross of language Quote, to observe Respective, respectable, respectful, lb* Profession, end and purpose of coming mal Progress, a royal journey of state R Respective, cool, considerate Project, to shape or form Rabato, an ornament for the neck Respectively, respectfully Prompture, suggestion, temptation Rabbet-sucker, a sucking rabbit Retailed, handed down Prone, sometimes humble Race, original disposition, inborn qua- Retire, to draw back Prone, forward lities, a smack or flavour Reverb, to reverberate Proof, confirmed stateof mannood Rack, wreck Revolts, revolted 944 GLOSSARY. Rib, to enclose Scroyles, scabby fellows Sith, since Rid, to destroy Sculls, great numbers of fishes swim- Sithence, thence Rift, split ming together Sizes, allowances of victuals Riggish, wanton Scutched, whipt, carted Skains-mates, loose companions Right, just, even Seal, to strengthen or confplete Skirr, to scour, to ride hastily Right-drawn, drawn in a right cause Seam, lard Slack, to neglect Rigol, a circle Sear, to stigmatize, to close. See Sere Slave, to treat as a 6lave Ringed, environed, encircled Season, to temper, to infix, to impress Sleave, the ravelled knotty part of the Ripe, come to the height Seasoned, established or settled by silk Rivage, the hank or shore time Sledded, riding in a 6led or sledge Rivality, equal rank Seat, throne Slights, arts, subtile practices Rivals, partners Seated, fixed, firmly placed Slips, a contrivance of leather, to start Rive, to burst, to fire Sect, a cutting in gardening two dogs at the same time Road, the haven where ships r*dc at Securely, with too great confidence Sliver, to cut a piece or slice anchor Seel, to close up Slops, loose breeches, or trousers, t**r • Rogues, vagrantg , Seeling, blinding dry dress Romage, rummage Seeming, specious, hypocritical Slough, the skin which the serpent Ronyon, a scurvy woman Seeming, seemly annually throws off Rood, the cross Seen, versed, practised Slower, more serious Rook, to squat down Seld, seldom Slubber, to do any thing carelessly, im- Ropery, roguery Self-bounty, inherent generosity perfectly, to obscure Rope-tricks, abusive language Semblably, in resemblance, alike Sm ilingly, with signs of pleasure Round, rough, unceremonious Seniory, seniority Smirched, soiled or obscured Rounded, whispered Sennet, a flourish or sounding Smoothed, to stroke, to caress, to fondle Rounding, whispering Sense, reason, natural affection, feeling, Sneap, to check or rebuke, a rebuke Roundel, a country-dance sensual passion Sneaping, nipping Roundure, circle Sensible, having sensation Sneck-^up, a cant-phrase, " go hang Rouse, a draught of jollity Septentrion, the north yourself " Royal, due to a king Sequestration, separated Snuff, hasty anger Royalizc, to make royal Sere or sear, dry Snuffs, dislikes Royalty, nobleness, supreme excellence Serjeant, a bailiff or sheriffs officer Soil, spot, turpitude, reproach Roynish, mangy or scabby Serpigo, a kind of tetter Solely, alone Ruddock, the redbreast Serve, to fulfil Solicit, courtship Ruff, the folding of the tops of boots Serve, to accompany Solicit, to excite Ruffle, to riot, to create disturbance Set, seated Soliciting, information Ruffling, rustling Sctebos, a species of devil Solidarcs, ancient coin Ruin, displeasure producing ruin Several, separated, appropriated Sometimes, formerly Rule, a method of life Sewer, an officer who placed the dishes Sooth, truth Ruth, pity, compassion on the table Sooth, sweetness Shame, to disgrace Sorriest, worthless, vile S. Shame, modesty Sorry, sorrowful or dismal Sacred, accursed Shard-borne, borne by shards or scaly Sort, to choose out Sacrificial, worshipping wings Sort, a company, a pack, ranks and Sad, grave or serious Shards, the wings of a beetle degrees of men Sadly, seriously Shards, broken pots or tiles Sort, to happen, to agree Sadness, seriousness Sharked, picked up as a shark collects Sort, the lot Safe, to render safe his prey Sort and suit, figure and rank Sag or swagg, to sink down Sheen, shining, splendour, lustre Sot, a fool Salt, tears Sheer, pellucid, transparent Soul-fearing, soul-appalling Sanded, of a sandy colour Shent, ruined, scolded, rebuked, Sound, to declare or publish Satisfy, rest with satisfaction ashamed, disgraced Sound, soundly Savage, silvan, uncultivated, wild Shent , to reprove harshly Sowl, to pull by the ears Savageness, wildness Sheriffs-post, a large post set up at Sowter, perhaps the name of a hound Saucy, lascivious the door of that officer for affixing Spanned, measured Saw, anciently, not a proverb, but the proclamations, &c Specialty, particular rights whole tenor of any discourse Shive,& slice Sped, the fate decided Say, silk Shot, shooter Speed, event Say, a sample, a tast or relish Shovel-board, a game Sperr, to shut up, defend by bars, &c. Scaffoldage, the gallery part of the Shoughs, shocks, a species of dog Spleen, humour, caprice, spirit, resent- theatre Shouldered, rudely thrust into ment Scald, a word of contempt, poor, filthy Shrewd, having the qualities of a shrew Spleen, violent hurry, tumultuous Scale, to disperse, to put to flight Shri/t, confession speed Scaled, over -reached Shrive, to confess, to call to confession Spleens, inclination to spiteful mirth Scaling, weighing Shut-up, to conclude Spot, stain or disgrace Scall, an old word of reproach Side-sleeves, long sleeves Spotted, wicked Scumble, to scramble Siege, stool, seat, rank Sprag or spackt, apt to learn Scan, to examine nicely Sight, the perforated part of a helmet Spread, to stand separately Sca7it, to be deficient in, to contract Sightless, unsightly Sprighted, haunted Scantling, measure, proportion Sign, to show, to denote Sprights, spirits Scapes of wit, sallies, irregularities Silly, simple or rustic Springhalt, a disease incident to horses Scared, frightened Silly sooth, plain simple truth Springing, blooming, in the spring of Scarfed, decorated with flags Sincere, honest life Scath, destruction, harm Sinew, strength Sprightly, ghostly Scath, to do an injury Single, weak, debile, small, void of du- Spurs, the longest and largest roots cf Scathful, mischievous, destructive plicity or guile trees Sconce, a petty fortification, the head Sink-a-pace, cinque-pace, a dance Square, to quarrel Scotched, cut slightly Sir, the designation of a parson Square, regular.equi table, just, suitable Scrimevs, fencers Sir-reverence, a corruption of save- Square, compass, comprehension, 01 Scrip, a writing, a lis* your-reverence complement GLOSSARY. 945 Squarer, a quarrelsome fellow Suggestions, temptations Thirdborough. See Tharborouoh Squash, an immature peascod Suited, dressed Thought, melancholy Squiny, to look asquint Sullen, obstinately troublesome Thrasonical, boastful, bragging Squire, a square or rule Summer-su'elling, that which swells or Thread, fibre or part Staggers, delirious perturbation expands in summer Thread, to pass through Stale, a bait or decoy to catch birds Su mm oners, summoning officers Three-man-beetle, an implement used Stale, a pretence Sumpter, a horse that carries neces- for driving piles Stale, to allure saries on a journey Three-pile, rich velvet Stand, to withstand, to resist Superjfuous, over-clothed Thrift, a state of prosperity 8UMdi*Q bowls, bowls elevated on feet Superstitious, serving with supersti- Throes, emits as in parturition Stannyal, the common stone-hawk tious attention Thrum, the extremity of a weaver's Star, a scar of that appearance Supposed, counterfeited, imagined warp Stark, stiff Sure, safe, out of danger, surely Thrummed, m&Aeoi coarse woollen cloth Starkly, stiffly Sur-reined, over-worked, or ridden Tib, a strumpet Starred, destined Suspire, to breathe Tickle, ticklish State, a chair with a canopy over it Sioaggerer, a roaring, fighting fellow Tickle-brain, some strong liquor State, standing Swart, or swarth, black, or dark brown Tight, handy, adroit State, official state, dignity Swarth, or swath, as much grass or corn Tightly, cleverly, adroitly States, persons of high rank as a mower cuts down at one stroke Tilly-valley, an interjection of con- Station, the act of standing of his scythe tempt Statist, statesman Swashing, noisy, bullying Tilth, tillage Statue, a portrait Sivath, the dress of a new-born child Timeless, untimely Staves, the wood of the lances Sway, the whole weight, momentum Tinct, tincture Stay, a hinderer, a supporter Sweeting, a species of apple Tire, head dress Stead, to assist, or help Swi/t, ready Tire, to fasten, to fix the talons on Sticking-place, the stop in a machine Swingc-bucklers, rakes, rioters Tire, to be idly employed on Sticklers, arbitrators, judges, sidesmen Swoop, the descent of a bird of prey Tired, adorned with ribands Stigmatical, marked or stigmatized Tod, to yield or produce a tod, ox Sligmatic, one on whom nature has set T twenty-eight pounds a mark of deformity Table, the palm of the hand extended Tokened, spotted as in the plague Still, constant or continual Table, a picture Toll, to enter on the toll-book Stilly, gently, lowly Tables, table-books, memoranda Tolling, taking toll Sti7it, to stop, to retard Tabourine, a small drum Tomboy, a masculine, forward girl Stith, an anvil Tag, the lowest of the populace Topless, that which has nothing abov Stoccata, a thrust or stab with a rapier Taint, to throw a slur upon it, supreme Stock, a term in fencing Take, to strike with a disease, to M«*Bt Topple, to tumble Stock, stocking Take-in, to conquer, to get the better of Touch, sensation, sense, or feeling Stomach, passion, pride, stubborn reso- Take-up, to contradict, to call to an Touch, exploit or stroke lution, constancy, resolution account Touch, a spice or particle Stoop, a measure somewhat more than Take-up, to levy Touch, touchstone half a gallon Tall, stout, bold, courageous Touches, features Stover, a kind of thatch Tallow keech, the fat of an ox or cow Touched, tried Stoup, a kind of flagon Tame, ineffectual Toward, in a state of readiness Slrachy, probably some kind of do- Tame snake, a contemptible fellow Toys, rumours, idle reports, fancies mestic office Tamed, flat, spiritless freaks of imagination Straight, immediately Tarn, to stimulate, to excite, provoke Toze, to pull or pluck Strain, descent, lineage Tartar, Tartarus, the fabled place of Trace, to follow Strain, difficulty, doubt future punisnment Trade, a custom, an established habit Strait, narrow, avaricious Task, to keep busied with scrrples Tradition, traditional practices Strailed, put to difficulties Tasked, taxed Traditional, adherent to old customs St range, odd, different from Taurus, sides and heart in medical Trail, the scent left by the passage Strange, alien, becoming a stranger, a astrology the game stranger Tawdry, a kind of necklaces worn by Traitress, a term of endearment Strangely, wonderfully country girls Tranect, a ferry Strangeness, shyness, distant behaviour Taxation, censure or satire Translate, to transfer, to explain Stranger, an alien Teen, sorrow, grief Trash, a hunting phrase, to correct Strangle, to suppress Temper, to mould like wax Travel, to stroll Stratagem, great or dreadful event Temper, temperament, constitution Traverse, a term in military exercise Strict, hard Temperance, temperature Traversed, across Striiie, to contend Tempered, rendered pliable Tray-trap, some kind of game Stuck, a thrust in fencing. See Slorr.ata. Tend, to attend upon, to wait for Treaehers, treacherous persons Stock Tender, to regard with affection Trenched, cut, carved Stuff, baggage Tendering, watching with tenderness Trick, trick of the times Stuff, substance or essence Tent , to take up residence Trick, peculiarity of voice, face, <$- Stuffed, plenty, more than enough Tercel, the male hawk Trick, smeared, painted, in heraldry Subscribe, to agree to Termagant, a god of the Saracens Tricking, dress Subscribe, to yield, to surrender Termagant, furious Tricksy, clever, adroit Subscription, obedience Tested, brought to the test Triumphs, masques, revels, public ex Submerged, whelmed under water Testern, to gratify with a testor, or hibitions Subtilty, deception sixpence Trojan, cant word for a thief Subtle, smooth, level Tetchy, touchy, peevish, fretful Troll, to dismiss trippingly from the Success, succession Tharborough, thirdborough, a peace tongue Successive, belonging to the succession officer Troll-my-dames, a game Successively, by order of succession Theme, a subject Trossers, trowsers Sudden, violent Theorick, theory Trow, to believe S'ifliciency, abilities Thewes, muscular strength Truth, honesty Suggest, to tempt, to prompt, to in- Tliick, in quick succession Tucket, or tucket sonnuance, a flourish stigate Thick-pleached, thickly interwoven Turleygood, or turlupin, a species of Suggestion, hint Thill, the shafts of a cart gip*y » p D46 GLOSSARY. Turn, to become acescent Turquoise, a precious stone Twangling, an expression of contempt Twigging, wickered Tycd, limited, circumscribed Type, distinguishing mark, show or emblem Tything, division of a place, a district Vail, to condescend to look, to letdown, to bow, to sink Vailing, lowering Vain, vanity Vain, light of tongue, not veracious Valanced, fringed with a beard Validity, value Vanity, illusion Vantage, convenience, opportunity, ad- vantage Vantbrace, armour for the arm Varlet, a servant or footman to a warrior Vast, waste, dreary Vaunt, the avant, what went before Vaward, the fore part Velure, velvet Venew, a bout, a term in fencing Vengeance, mischief Vent, rumour, matter for discourse Ventages, the holes of a flute Venies, hits in fencing Verbal, verbose, full of talk Verify, to bear true witness Very, immediate Via, a cant phrase of exultation Vice, the fool of the old moralities Vice, to advise Vice, grasp Vie, to contend in rivalry Vied, bragged Viewless, unseen, invisible Villain, a worthless fellow, a servant Virginalling, playing on the virginal, or spinnet Virtue, the most efficacious part, valour Virtuous, salutiferous Virtuous, belonging to good-breeding Vixen, or fixen, a female fox Vozamcnts, advisements Voluntary, voluntarily Vitarist, supplicant Vouchsafed, vouchsafing Vox, tone or voice Vulgar, common Vulgarly, publicly Umber, a dusky yellow-coloured earth Umbered, discovered by the gleam of fire Unaccustomed, unseemly, indecent Unaneled, without extreme unction Unavoided, unavoidable Unbarbed, untrimmed, unshaven Unbated, not blunted Unbolt, to open, explain Unbolted, coarse Unbookish, ignorant Unbreathed, unexercised, unpractised Uncape, to dig out, a term in foxhunting Uncharged, unattacked Unclew, to draw out, to exhaust Uncoined, real, unrefined, unadorned Unconfirmed, unpractised in the ways of the world Under generation, the antipodes Undergo, to be subject to Under-skinker, a tapster, an under- drwer Undertaker, one who takes upon him- self the quarrel of another Underwrite, to subscribe, to obey Under-wrought, under-worked, unde- termined Undeserving, undeserved Unearned, not deserved Uneath, scarcely, not easily Unexpressive, inexpressible Unhappy, mischievously waggish, un- lucky Unhidden, open, clear Unhoused, free from domestic cares Unhouseled, not having received the sacrament Unimproved, not guided by knowledge or experience Union, a species of pearl Unkind, contrary to kind or nature Unmastered, licentious Unowed, that which has no owner Unpregnant, not quickened Unproper, common Unqualitied, unmanned, disarmed of his faculties Unquestionable, unwilling to be con- versed with Unready, undressed Unrespective, inattentive to conse- quences Unrest, disquiet Unrough, smooth-faced, unbearded Unsisted, untried Unsisling, always opening, never at rest Unsmirched, clean, not defiled Unsquared, unadapted to their subject Unstanched, incontinent Untempering, not tempering, not soften- ing Untraced, 6ingular,not in common use Untrimmed, undressed Untruth, disloyalty, treachery Unvalued, invaluable Up-spring, upstart Urchins, hedge-hogs, or perhaps fairies Usance, usury Use, practice long countenanced by custom Use, to make a practice of Use, interest Used, behaved Usurping, false Utis, a merry festival Utter, to vend by retail Utterance, a phrase in combat, extre- mity W Waft, to beckon Wage, to fight, to combat, to prescribe to Wages, is equal to Waist, the part between the quarter- deck and the forecastle Waist, the middle Walk, a district in a forest Wannion, vengeance Ward, posture of defence Ward, guardianship Warden, a species of pears Warder, guard, sentinel Warn, to summon Wassels, meetings of rustic mirth Watch, a watch-light Water-work, water colours Wax, to grow Waxen, increase Wealth, advantage, happiness Wear, the fashion Wee, little Weeds, clothing Ween, to think, to imagine Weet, to know Weigh, to value or esteem, to deliberate Welkin, the colour of the sky, blue Well-found,oi acknowledged excellence Well-liking, plump, embonpoint Wen, swollen excrescence Wend, to go Whelked, varied with protuberances Whe'r, whether Where, whereas Whiffler, an officer who walks first in processions Whiles, until Whip, the crack, the best Whipstock, a carter's whip Whirring, whirring away White, the white mark in archery White death, the chlorosis Whiting-time, bleaching time, spring Whitsters, the bleachers of linen Whittle, a species of knife Whooping, measure or reckoning Wide, remotely from, wide of the mark Wilderness, wildness Will, wilfulness Wimple, a hood or veil Winter-ground, to protect against the inclemency of winter Wis, to know Wish, to recommend Wit, to know Witch, to charm, to bewitch Wits, senses Wittol, knowing, conscious of Witty, judicious, cunning Woe, to be sorry Woman, to affect suddenly and deeply Woman-tired, henpecked Wondered, able to perform wonders Wood, crazy, frantic Woodman, an attendant on the forester Woolward, a phrase appropriated to pilgrims and penitentiaries Words, dispute, contention Work, a term of fortification Workings, labours of thought World, to go to the, to be married Worm, a serpent Worship, dignity, authority Worth, wealth or fortune, the value, full quota or proportion Worts, herbs Wot , to know Wound, twisted about Wreak, resentment Wreak, to revenge JPraf.aninstrumentfortuningtheharp Wrested, obtained by violence Writ, writing, composition Writhled, wrinkled Wrongs, the persons who wrong Wrongs, injurious practices Wroth, misfortune Wrought, worked, agitated Wrung, pressed, strained Yarely, readily, nimbly Yearns, grieves or vexes Yeasty, or yesty, foaming or frothy Yeild, to inform of, condescend to Yeild, to reward Yellowness, jealousy Yeoman, a bailiff's follower Yesty. See Yeasty Zany, a buffoon, a merry-andrew INDEX THE CHARACTERS, SENTIMENTS, SIMILES, SPEECHES, AND DESCRIPTIONS IN SHAKSPEARE. SECTION I.— CHARACTERS OF HISTORICAL PERSONS. A Arthur, a hopeful young prince, unfortunate Alcibiades, banished for in- terceding for his friend visits Timon with two Misses exhorted to cruelty by hiin, and the women to lust conquers Athens Antony, Mark, his conference with Brutus after Caesar was murdered his reflections on it, when alone - 6peaks Caesar's Funeral Oration - his eloquence praised by Cassius - his valour degenerates into fondness for Cleopatra resolves to leave her - his former bravery described by Octavius Caesar Pompey's wish, that he may live on in love and luxury quarrels with Octavius, which ends in a marriage with Octavia his genius inferior to Octa- vius's - complains of Octavius's ill treatment to Octavia beaten at Actium, and de- spairs after it - sends to Octavius to treat and is refused - grows jealous of Cleopatra beats Caesar, by land, and meets the queen in rapture his fleet revolting,he quarrels again with Cleopatra being told she is dead, he falls on his sword carried to Cleopatra, he dies tnher arms Octavius and his generals lament and praise him and Cleopatra Ajax, his character B Blanch, her beauty and virtue Burgundy, duke of, a false ally ... PLAT. PAGE. PERSON. King John Tim.o/Aih. 645 647 — 653 Jul. Ccesar 698 — 700 - 706 Ant. $ Cleo. 708 711 - 713 - 714 - 715 J Sooth. \ Ant. - 723 - 726 — 727 - 731 : 732 733 - 734 Tro. <$• Cres. 735 736 604 Ser. King John 337 Cit 1 Hen. VI. 474 Beaufort, Cardinal, vid. "Win- chester - Buckingham, duke of, treach- erous, cruel, mercenary in Henry VIII. *s reign, rash, choleric - his character given by Henry VIII. condemned Bullen, Anne, her beauty item - item • item ... Brutus, reserved and melan- cholic ... spirited up by Cassiusagainst Caesar ... of great authority with the people - his self-debate upon Cassar's death - opens himself freely to the conspirators declares for saving Antony importuned by his wife Portia • his speech to the people, to justify Caesar's murder quarrels with Cassius relates the death of Portia sees Caesar's ghost takes his last farewell of Cassius - - - resolves to die, and kills himself - prais'd by Antony Banquo, his character (for the rest, vid. Macbeth.) - Constance, a mother passion- ately fond Cade, John, a bold crafty rebel ... Clifford, bold and revengeful Caesar, Julius Catharine, queen to Henry VIII. pitied by Anne Bullen her speech to the king before her divorce praised by the king recommends her daughter and servants to him XUlY. 1 Hen. VI. Rich. III. Hen. VIII. Jul. Ccesar Macbeth King John 2 Hen. VI. 3 Hen. VI. Rich. III. Hen. VIII. PAGB. PERSON 576 -. 596 3 Gent. King. Cham. Suf. 2 Gent Case. Macbeth York Prince Norf. 048 INDEX. rur. >AGK. PBB80N FLAY. PAtfK. Cromwell, Thomas Hen. VIII. 595 phrey, ambitious, and given Cranmer's character by Gar- to superstition 2 Henry VI. 488 diner • — 97 walks in procession for pe- by Cromwell — 600 nance, and is banished 495 by the king — - Edward IV. amorous, brave, his speech over princess ( successful 3 Henry VI. I Elizabeth — 601 his two sons \ Rich. Ill 554-5 Coriolanus. brave, proud, a murdered 564 contemner of the populace Coriolanus Edward, prince of "Wales, son ' chides his soldiers when re- to Henry VL — ,644 puls'd ... — 660 Elizabeth, queen, propheti- his character — 661 Com. cally described by Cranmer Hen. VIII. 601 his entry into Rome after a complimented by the title victory - — 663 of the vestal queen Midt. N.Br. 135 Obcron his actions summed up by Enobarbus, a brave Roman Cominius — 665 Com. captain - Ant. <$• Cleo. approved by the tribunes, dies with grief for deserting he rails at the populace — 666 Antony - — 731 banished - — 674 applies to, and is kindly re- P ceived by Aufidius - — 677 Faulconbridge, boastful, brave not to be diverted by his and enterprising King John friends from invading Fulvia's death and character Ant. % Cleo. 711 Antony Rome - — 681 yields to his mother's en- G treaties - — 684 Glendower ... 1 Henry IV. 391 slain by the envy and trea- described by Hotspur _ 392 chery of Aufidius — 686 Gloucester, Humphrey, duke Cffisar, Julius, suspicious oi of, gives up his white staff 2 Henry VI. 495 Cassius - Jul. Caesar 689 Cesar sees his duchess's procession refuseth the crown that was for penance _ _ offered - — - Case. accused to the king by the addicted to superstition, and queen and others _ 496 loved flattery - — 693 Case. Dec. arrested for high treason, he dissuaded by Calphurnia defends himself — 497 from going to th,e senate — 695 murdered by strangling — 500 "Warwici his contempt of death — - Caesar Gardiner, bishop of Win- firm against those who chester, flattering and cruel Hen. VIII. 600 King wrong him — 697 C assassinated — - H his ghost appears to Brutus — 705 Henry V., whilst prince Richard II. 375 Boling. Cassius confers with Brutus item - 1 Henry IV. 393 K. Hen. against Caesar - — 688 Hotspur, (vid. Percy.) - — his character — 689 Caesar Henry V. in armour _ resolves to kill himself, if Henry IV. described by Hots- Caesar is made king - — 691 pur ... 397 Ver. his quarrel with Brutus — 703 his son, prince Henry _ 399 ill omens stagger him, item ... — 401 Ver. though an Epicurean — 706 Henry V. 2 Henry IV. 425 K. Hen. presages he should die on item Henry V. 434 Cant. his birth-day — - nenry VL, meek, religious, kills himself — 707 unfortunate 1 Henry VI. 461 mourned and praised by Ti- Henry VIII. vid. Q. Catharine, tinius, Messala and Brutus — - Anne Bullen _ Casca's character — 690 Cas. Cleopatra, the power of her ) Ant. and ] Cleopatra 7H (Ant. ( Eno. I beauty over Antony 716 John , king, dissembling, cruel, her character of Antony irresolute, unfortunate King John when he had left her — 713 Joan, the maid of Orleans 1 Henry VI. 463 her sailing down the Cydnus raises friends 481 described [for the rest, vid. taken prisoner Antony.] — 716 condemned to be burned _ 483 her lamentation ever the James I. king, prophetically dead body of Antony — 734 described by Cranmer Hen. Fill. 601 resolves to die - — - Julio Romano, his character Wint. Tale 291 3 Gent. visited by Octavius — 736 affronted by her treasurer L Seleucus _ 737 Lear, king, choleric, fickle, kills herself with aspicks — 738 mad, miserable Lepidus's character by Antony King Lear 1 D by Pompey Jul. Ccesar 702 Douglas - - - 1 Hen. IV. 397 Hotspur ' ' Duncan, king of Scotland,' M | murdered, vid. Macbeth — - Mortimer ... Margaret, Henry VI. *s queen, 1 Henry IV. 382 E enraged with her own Edward the Black Prince Richard II. 361 York miseries, exults at others Rich. III. Eleanor, wife of duke Hum-, Moor, Sir Thomas - 1 Hen. VIII. 593 IWol. INDEX. 949 PLAT. PACE. PERSON. PLAT PAGE. PERSON* Mcnenius Agrippa, his fable described by his mother, the of the belly and limbs Coriolanus 656 duchess of York Rich. III. 567 Duch. his character by himself — 663 Men. his character of Coriolanus — 671 S Macbeth, his bravery in battle Macbeth 310 Salisbury's death and cha- hath his greatness foretold racter - 1 Henry VI. 466 Talbot by witches — 311 Suffolk, proud, false, enter- the conflict of his mind prising . 2 Henry VI. when he first intended to his death mm 504 kill the king — 312 his temper described by his T lady - — 313 Talbot, when prisoner in Lady, resolves on murdering France - 1 Henry VI. 465 Talbot the king, and encourages slain with his son — 479 Macbeth — - Tirrel, James Rich. III. 564 Page he staggers in his resolution, Timon of Athens, beggared by > Timon 637 ( Apem. \ Flav. and is confirmed again by flatterers 638 his wife — 314 item ... _ . Sen. his soliloquy before he kills his last entertainment for the king, and horror after — 315 the parasites — 645 meditates Banquo's death, retires and shakes off hu- and employs murderers — 318 manity - — 646 Banquo's ghost appears to digging for roots, finds gold _ - him - — 320 visited by Alcibiades, ex- consults the witches again — 322 cites him to cruelty - — 647 his character by Malcolm — 325 pinched with hunger, his distracted with horror — 327 reflections on the earth — 648 despairs on hearing the compares himself with Ape- English advance against mantus - — 649 him » • — - he gives gold and encourage- told of his Lady's death — 328 ment to the thieves — 650 slain by Macduff — 329 visited by his honest steward by the poet and painter 651 N by the senators, entreating Northumberland's grief for him to command against Hotspur 2 Henry IV. 406 North. Alcibiades — 652 Orpheus's musio - his death and epitaph — 654 Hen. VIII. 588 Song. V item - 2 Gen. Ver. 32 Pro. Volumnia, a mother of an Octavius Caesar, his interview heroic spirit Coriolanus 658 with Brutus and Cassius Jul. Caesar 705 instructs Coriolanus to ad- [for the rest, vid. Antony dress the people — 672 and Cleopatra.] diverts him from destroying Rome ... 684 P Valeria's chastity praised by Percy, Harry Hotspur 1 Henry IV. 380 K. Henry her husband — 683 item - — 394 mm item ... — 400 P. Henry W his death 2 Henry IV. 406 Mortimer Winchester, Cardinal Beau- character, by Lady Percy — 413 fort's character 1 Henry VI. 471 Glou. Portia, a Roman lady of an his death - 2 Henry VI. 503 heroic spirit, vid. Brutus — Warwick, brave but incon- \ 2 and 3 j* Hen. VI. stant ... R Wolsey, Cardinal, his character Richard IL, his ill conduct Richard II. 360 Gaunt. by Norfolk, &c. Hen. VIII. 576 item ... — - — his power over the king — . 583 Norfolk item ... — 362 upbraided by queenCatherine 588 item - 1 Henry IV. 394 K. Henry his reflection on his fall — 592 Richard I., his character King John 333 Bast. his death related, and mixed f Grif. \ Cath. Richard HL, ambitious, brave, \ 3 Hen. VI character — 595 dissembling, cruel, unfor- y and tunate - j Rich. III. Y his birth prodigious 3 Henry VI. 540 K. Henry York, archbishop of 2 Henry IV. 407 Mortimer his person and manners de- duke of, enterprising, va- ) 2 and 3 f Hen. VI. scribed by queen Margaret - Rich. III. | 548 liant, unfortunate 950 INDEX. SECTION II.—INDEX OF MANNERS, PASSIONS, AND THEIR EXTERNAL EFFECTS N.B. — The Names of the fictitious Persons to whom these Characters are applied, are annexed in an Alphabetical Index ensuing. Vide Sec. iii. • PI.AY. ►AG*. PERSON. PLAY. PAOB PERSON A Father, an unnatural, in York Richard II. 375 Ally, a perfidious one, in Father's passion on the il Burgundy 1 Henry VI. '474 conduct of a daughter M.A.ab.No. 123 -€ Leon. Ambition - Hen. VIII. 593 Wolsey fondness for his child Wint. Tale 269 Leo. Pol. covered with specious hu- French quack's airs in Dr. mility - Jul. Caesar 692 Brutus Caius ... M.W.o/Wi. Ally, jealous of a successful Fury ... Ant. Sf Cleo. 728 Eno. friend ... Ant. Sf Cleo. 721 Ven. Ambitious woman in Eleanor 2 Henry VI. 488 G Anger, in the duke of Buck- Gravity affected to be thought ingham - Hen. VIII. 576 wise - Mer. of Ven. 175 Gra. its external effects painted -~ 591 Wolsey Grief ... Richard II. 356 Duch. Affliction - Tempest 16 Ariel its nature to multiply af- Admiration — 19 Prospero flictions — 362 Bushy . Atheistical hardened villain, beautifully described in Cor- vid. Barnardine - — delia - King Lear 836 Gent. Avarice and cruelty, vid. Shy- at parting of lovers, queen lock, Mer. of Ven. ~~ Marg. and Suffolk a mother's, for her son mur- 2 Henry VI. 502 B dered - 3 Henry VI. 540 Queen Bishop, true to his sovereign, wrought to rage in queen Carlisle - Richard II. Margaret Rich. III. 547 a rebel, York 2 Henry IV. a father's, an old general, Boasters, the Dauphin, &c. Henry V. 446 for his sons and daughter Tit. Andro. 781 Titus Boaster, the Bustard King John a virtuous wife's, wronged described — 337 by her husband a husband's, on the murder Cymbeline 754 Imogen C of his wife and children Macbeth 326 Macduff Courtier, a bold plain-dealing, a valiant father's, for the Gaunt ... Richard II. death of a brave son — 330 Siward Kent - King Lear an accomplished one, vid. H Buckingham, Hen. VIII. — Hope - Richard II. 362 Queen Courtship, Gloucester's to Lady item ... Rich. III. 571 Richard Anne « Rich. III. 544 Gloster Hostess, Quickly 2 Henry J V. honourable, enjoined by a Highwayman, Gadshill 1 11,-nri/ IV. father ... Tempest 15 Prospero Horror, its outward effects Hen. VIII. 590 Norfolk described - Mids.N.Dr. 132 Ege. raised in the characters of a beautiful scene betwixt Aaron, Tamora, and Satur- Romeo and Juliet Rom. Sf Jul. 852 nius - Titus Andr. Counsellor, an honest one, vid. Gonzalo — I Child, the duty it owes a Justices, country, Shallow and father ... Mids. N.Br. 132 The. Silence - 2 Henry IV. Country Squire in Slender M.W.o/Wi. Inconstancy 2Gen. ofVer. 27 Pro. Chastity scandalised, beauti- Jealousy, in Ford M.W.ofWi. fully painted in Hero M.A.ab.No. 123 the riso and growth of it Chastity, vid. Valeria - — charactered in Leontes Wint. Tale Courage in old men — 126 Leo. Ant. item ... Tro. Sf Cres. 627 Courage ... Tarn, of 8fC. 250 Petruchio in Posthumus Cymbeline 750 different notions of it in a the motives, growth, and senator, and a general Timon 644 1 Sen. Ale. fatal effects of it admirably Care, in a merchant Mer. of Ven. 174 Sal. Sol. shown in Othello Othello Constancy - Ant. Sf Cleo. 737 Cleopatra Joy, excess of, produces tears Ingratitude, in Lucullus, Lu- M.A.ab.No. 108 Leon. D cius, Sempronius Timon 640 Daughters undutif ul, in Gon- eril and Regan King Lear K Daughter, dutiful, in Cordelia — King, of rash ill conduct, Despair, in the agonies of Richard II. Richard II. death, cardinal Beaufort 2 Henry VI. 503 wise and valiant, Henry IV. \Sf2Hen.IV. of pardon Wint. Tale 278 Pau. weak, choleric, miserable, Lear ... King Lear E meek, religious, unfortunate ) 1,2,43 f Hen. VI. Envy - Hen. VIII. 592 Wolsey in Henry VI. amorous, brave, successful, • F in Edward IV. 3 Henry VL Pear, arising from an expected bold, crafty, cruel, dissem- evil ... 2 Henry IV. 406 North. bling in Richard III. Rich. III. 1 INDEX, 951 PtAY. PAGE. i PERSON. PLAY. PAGK VEOSOX. King, brave, religious, fortu- P nate, in Henry "VTL - Rich. III. Pedantry, in Sir Hugh Evans in Armado, Holofernes, Na- M.W.ofWi. L thaniel - Love'sL.Lost Love, expressed by a soldier Henry V. 458 K. Henry Princes, young and valiant, virtuous - 3 Henry VI. 530 Warwick prince Henry and Lan- protested by Richard III. Rich. III. 569 caster - 1^2 Hen. IV. the first motions expressed Prophetess, in Joan of Orleans 1 Henry VI. 463 by Henry VHI. vid. Anne Pride - Tro. ^ Cres. 618 Ulysses Bullen by Miranda and Ferdinand Tempest 11 R the crosses of it Mids. N.Br. 132 Lys. Her. iRage, arising 'from grief, vid. appointment protested — 133 Her. Northumberland its nature — - Hel. arising in a father from the charm to enkindle it - — 185 Oberon undutifumess of his chil- in the queen of fairies, beau- dren - King Lear tifully imagined — 139 Queen in a son for the murder oi given over — 140 Dem. his father, in Richard 3 Henry VI. 520 changed to aversion — 141 Lys. Rebel, crafty and timorous, commended and dispraised 2Gen.o/Ver. 20 Val. Pro. Northumberland lS;2Hen.IV. froward and dissembling — 22 Juliet crafty and resolute, West- expels all other passions Mer. of Ven. 185 Portia moreland ~~ its original AsY.Likelt 213 Rosalind brave and indiscreet, Hot- its several offices — 216 Sil. spur - — all other passions lost in it Twel. Night 63 Duke Revenge, implacable Mer. of Ven. 189 Ant. Gra at first sight — 68 Olivia in man and woman com- S pared - — 70 Du. &Vio. Superstition, in Glendower 1 Henry IV. concealed, beautifully paint- Sister, tenderly affectionate, ed - — Viola vid. Isabel in a young brave general Tro. $ Cres. 603 Troilus constancy in, protested — 617 Tr.&Cres V quitted by a soldier — 620 Pat. Villain, false, crafty, bold, its qualities Rom. % Jul. 847 Romeo described in Edmund King Lear impatient of delay — 854-6 Jul. & Fr. the murderers of Clarence Rich III. 550 item - — 859 Juliet Virtuous severity of mind Mea.f. Mea. 91 Lucio impatient of absence Othello Bian. Lust - M.W.o/Wi. 61 Song W in a grave minister of state Mea.f. Mca. 95-97 Ang. Wife, lamenting her husband a good one, vid. Catharine, Rich. III. 553 Queen M queen to Henry VIII. Madness, real in Lear, coun- complaining of the unkind- terfeit in Edgar King Lear ness of her husband Com. of Er. 296-8 Adr. Melancholy Com. of Er. 307 Abb. the ill effects of her jealousy — 307 Abb. several kinds of it AsY.Likelt 211 Jaques. complaining of being for- Mother, lamenting her sons Rich. III. 553 Duchess saken by her husband Macbeth 323 L. Macd item • - — 565 Queen Womankind, their nature 2 Gent. Ver. 32 Val. Murderer, in Exton Richard II. 378 item ... Mea.f. Mea. Isab. SECTION III.— INDEX OF FICTITIOUS PERSONS, WITH THE CHARACTERS ASCRIBED TO THEM. A Ceres, or the country Tempest 15 Arviragus, vid. Guiderius Clown - As Y. Like it Anthonio, a cruel, false, and item - Twel. Night usurping brother Tempest Cloten, insolence and folly Cymbeline Angelo, a severe new governor Meaf. Mea. Claudius, blood, incest, and Adriana, a peevish, jealous usurpation Hamlet wife Com. of Er. Cressida, a Miss - Tro. Sj Cres. Anthonio, a friend Mer. of Ven. Adam, a grateful old servant AsY.Likelt D Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, a Desdemona, beauty and inno- foolish cowardly knight Twel. Night cence sacrificed to jealousy Othello Apemantus, a cynic Tim. of A th. Desdemona's character — 907 Brab. item ... 908 _ B item - _ 911 Cassio Barnardine, an atheistical item __ lb. & Iago hardened wretch Mea.f. Mea. item ... [ago Benedick, Beatrice, two sa- item Othello tirical wits M.A.ab.No. item ... — Bellarius, fortitude in disgrace Cymbeline E Edmund, a crafty, false, enter- C 1 Celiban, a savage man Tempest 5 prising villain • King Lear \ ', 052 INDEX. »:.ay. PAOB. PERSON. PI.AT. P.V.I'.. PfhS'lN Egeus, a cruel morose father Mids.X.Dr. Falstaff, sir John, encomium on the virtues of sack 2 Henry IV. 424 P his character of justice Shal- Falstaff, sir John, resolves on low and his family _ 428 an intrigue with Mrs. Ford receives news of Henry IV.'s and Mrs. Page M.ir.o/m. 42 death _ 430 his billet-doux - — 44 presents himself to Henry V. _ 431 settles an assignation with reprimanded by the king, Mrs. Quickly — 46 and ordered to the Fleet _ - his discovery of it to Ford, an account of his sickness Henry V. 438 Hostess disguised like Brook — 47 of his death _ 440 his first address to Mrs. Fluellen, stout and choleric Ford - — V ' Florizcl, constant in love Wint. Tale surprised, and escapes in a Flavius, a frugal honest basket « — - steward ... Tim. o/Ath. his account of his being Fairies - Rom. Sf Jul. 849 Mer. thrown into the Thames — 53 Friar .... another assignation with Mrs. Quickly — ■ G makes a full relation to Ford Gadshill, a highwayman 1 Henry IV. 384 of his former disappoint- Gower, a good officer Henry V. ment - — 54 Gonzalo, an honest counsellor Tempest meets with Mrs. Ford, and Guiderius, and Arviragus, is again surprised — 55 native royalty exerting it- escapes undiscovered in the self in a low savage life Cymbeline disguise of an old woman — 56 Grave-digger Hamlet his soliloquy on this occasion — 58 a third meeting settled with n Mrs. Quickly — 59 Hermia, constant in love Mids.N.Dr. relates to Ford his late dis- Hero, innocence scandalized M.A.ab.No. appointment — - Hermione, wronged innocence Wint. Tale meets Mrs. Ford in Windsor Hamlet, an accomplished Park 60 young prince, unfortunate Hamlet surprised, and seized by Mr.i his soliloquy on his mother's Ford 1 — 61 marriage with his uncle — 875 his course of life described sees and converses with his by prince Henry 1 Henry IV. 380 father's ghost - — . 878 concerts a robbery with the addresses himself to Ophelia prince - — 381 as a distracted person — 880 his horse taken from him in converses with Polonius — 882 the adventure - — 385 with Rosencrantz and Guil- insults the prince to conceal denstern _ 882 his own cowardice — 388 his soliloquy about his own personates the king, to chide delay to revenge his father's prince Henry - — 390 murder - — 885 the tavern bill found in his his soliloquy whilst ho me- pocket - — 391 ditated self-murder, inter- his raillery on Bardolph's red rupted by Ophelia — 886 nose - — 395 his character by Ophelia _ 887 his quarrels with the hostess — - his advice to the players his description of his new- about pronunciation and raised company — 398 action - — - his description of honour — 401 professes his friendship to his behaviour in the battle at Horatio, with a detestation Shrewsbury — 402-3 of flattery _ - wounds Percy after he was discovers the king's guilt by dead, and assumes themerit the play - — 889 of killing him - — 403 banters the messengers the rails at his page, the prince, king and queen sent to him — - and the mercer 2 Henry IV. 407 debates with himself whether reprimanded by the chief he should kill the king at justice - - 408 his prayers — 891 arrested by Mrs. Quickly — 410 upbraids the queen with her pleads before the chief jus- guilt, when the ghost ap- tice — 411 pears again to him — 892 pacifies Mrs. Quickly, and examined by the king, ban- borrows more money — - ters him, and is ordered to his letter to the prince — 413 go to England - — 894 treats Doll Tearshcet - _ 414 blames his own inactivity _ 895 revenges her quarrel on converses with the grave- Pistol ... — 415 maker, and moralises on surprised with her by the the skulls _ 899 prince whilst he was railing fights with Laertes in the at him - — 416 grave ... — 901 inlists soldiers before justice relates to Horatio the king's Shallow - — 418 order to have him put to his character of the justice 420 death in England — . Colevilo prisoner 1 - 42* banters a fop who brought a INDEX. 953 i — — PI.AY. PAKB PERSON. PLAT. PAGB. PKRSO!. challenge from Laertes, Othello, accused by him and accepts it Hamlet 902 before the duke, he relates Hamlet, asks Laertes* pardon the whole progress of his before they fight, for his amour - Othello 908 former rashness — . 903 described by Iago, of a tem- kills Laertes, the king, and per easy and credulous — 911 dies himself — 904 his meeting at Cyprus with Horatio, a fine character of Desdemona — friendship — Iago begins to work him up to jealousy _ I his soliloquy after it - — Iris, or the rainbow Tempest 14 his jealousy confirmed, a Juno, the blessings of marriage — 15 beautiful scene — Isabel, a sister tenderly affec- asks Desdemona for the tionate --- Mea.f. ilea. handkerchief, tells the vir- Don John, an envious melan- tues of it — choly villain M.A.ab.No. his passion worked up by Jaques, a melancholy satirical Iago, till he falls in a character As Y. Like it trance - — Imogen, distress in a beautiful listens to Cassio's discourse innocent wife Cymbeline with Iago — Juliet, beautiful, constant, and wrought up to fury, he re- unfortunate in love - Rom. Sf Jul. solves to murder Desde- Iago, a consummate villain Othello mona and Cassio strikes Desdemona — K examines her and iEmilia — Katherine, a shrew Tarn, of Sh. kills Desdemona his bitter remorse after — L he kills himself — Launce, a clown 2 Gen.ofVer. Lucio, a half-witted rake Mea.f. Mea. P Leonato, a brave old man, and Posthumus, fond and jealous Cymbeline a tender father M.A.ab.No. Prospero, a magician Tempest Leontes, extremely jealous Wint. Tale Protheus, false to his friend Lavinia, beautiful, innocent, and mistress 2 Qen.ofVer. and greatly unfortunate Titus Andr. Parolles, a lying cowardly cap- Laertes, the duties of a son tain - All's well Ac and a brother Hamlet Pandarus, a he -bawd Tro. $ Ores M Q Miranda, beautiful and inno- Quickly, a bawd - \ M.W.otWi. cent - Tempest Mor. l%ZHen.IV. Morochius (a Moor) his person Queen, ambition, cruelty, and and manners Mer.ofVen. falsehood Cymbeline Malvolio, a fantastical steward Twel. Night Mercutio. quarrelsome Rom. Sf Jul. R Rosalind, beautiful and witty As Y. Like it N Romeo, passionately tender, Nurse - — and unfortunate in love Rom. <$• Jul. Orlando, a younger brother S Sycorax, a witch Tempest neglected by the elder As Y. Like it ISilvia, beautiful and constant IGen.ofVer. Ophelia, beauty and innocence Shylock, a jew, cruel and distracted with calamities Hamlet covetous Mer.ofVen. Othello, hi3 service of import- ance to the state owned by T Iago - Othello 906 Thurio, a rich simple pretender owns himself of royal des- to love - 2Gen.ofVer. cent, and love the sole mo- Sir Toby Belch, a sot Twel. Night tive of his marrying Desde- Titus Andronicus, a brave sol- mona ... — 907 dier and unfortunate father Titus Andr. seized and insulted by her Tamora, vid. Horror — father ... Thersites, envy and calumny Tro. $ Cret. i SECTION IV.— INDEX OF THOUGHTS OR SENTI1V [ENTS. A Astrology ridiculed King Lear 819 Banishment, (in Mowbray, Actions to be carried on with banished) Richard II. 358 Mowbraj resolution Hen. VIII. 578 Wolsey Banishment, comforted - — 359 Gaunt Authority, the JU privileges of Bastardy, defended . - King Lear 818 Bastard it - Mea.f. Mea. 95 Isabel Adversity, the advantages of C 1 it • - - As Y. Like it 201 Duke Sen. Content in a private life - 2 Henry VI. 510 1 Tder U54 INDEX. PLAT. VAOI PEMSOK. wr. PAGE PERSON. Crown, the pleasure of wear- Honour ought to be conferred 1 ing one - 3 Henry VI 515 Richard on merit only Mcr. of Ven. 183 Ar. Conscience Rich. III. 550 2Vil. due to personal virtue, not item .... — 573 K. Rich. to birth AlVsweVlSfC. 227 King Ceremony - Tim. ofAth. 436 continued acts necessary to Changes, in friendship and preserve its lustre Tro. $ Ores. 619 Ulysses hate Coriolanus 676 Cor. Hypocrisy - Hamlet 886 Polonius Conspiracy, dreadful till exe- cuted - Jul. Ccesar 692 Brutus I Cowards die often — 695 Caesar Ingratitude King Lear 822 Lear Conduct in war, superior to Innocence 2 Henry VI. 501 K. Henry action - Tro. % Cres. 608 Ulysses Imagination, strong in lovers, Christmas, how the time is poets, and madmen - Mid. If. Dr. 145 Thes. reverenced Hamlet 873 Mar. Courtship, advice to young K ladies how it should be ad- Kingo, their right divine Richard II. 366 K. Rich. mitted — 876 Laer. Pol. their miseries Henry V. 450 K. Henrj Cuckolds make themselves Othello ^EmiL item ... Rich. III. 550 Brakenb. item ... Henry VIII. 584 Anne D King-killing, detested - Wint. Tale 271 Cam. Dying words, their forco Richard II. 360 Gaunt. Day, happy - ( unfortunate - - ( King John 339 ) K.Phil. J Const. L — - Life .... \ Henry IV. 403 Hotspur Death invoked — 342 Const. the necessaries of it arc Doubt and delay - Rich. III. 565 K. Rich. few ... King Lear 828 King Lear Dependents, not to be too unpleasant King John 343 Lewis much trusted by great the vicissitudes of it - Henry VIII. 592 Wolsey men - Hen. VIII. 582 Buck. moral reflections on the Duty expressed with simplicity vanity of it Mea.f. Mea. 98 Duke acceptable Mid. N. Dr. 148 Thes. item ... AsY.Likeit. 204 Jaques Death, the terrors of it - Mea.f. Mea. 96 Claud. Libels against the state - Titus Andr. 787 Sat. the desire of loved objects Life, the shortness and vanity heightened by it M.A.ab.No. 124 Friar of it - - - - , Macbeth 328 Macbeth a necessary end, and should not be feared Jul. Ccesar 695 Caesar M Delights, violent, not lasting Rom. <$• Jul. 857 Friar Man .... King Lear 830 KingLcai Drunkenness, an unmanly Marriage - - - 1 Henry VI. 484 Suffolk vice ... Othello Mercy in governors praised Man's superiority over woman Mea.f. Mea. Com. of Er. 94 296 Isab. E Mediocrity, the happiest 6tate M.r.ofVen. 175 Nerissa Eclipses, their influence King Lear 819 Gloster Mercy ... — 190 Portia i JMusic, finely praised — ! 193 Lorenzo F 1 1 1 Marriage alters the temper of Faction, how to be carried on 1 Henry IV. 397 Wor. both sexes AsY.Likeit 212 Rosalind item - — 400 K. Henry Mind, not dress, adorns the Favourites of princes,wretched Hen. VIII. 593 Wolsey body ... Tarn, of, S[C 262 Petruchio Friendship, none observed in Melancholy, the parent of love - M.A.ab.No. 113 Claud. error ... Jul. Ccesar 707 Mes. Fruition more languid than Man, the dignity of his nature Hamlet 883 Hamlet expectation Mer.ofVen. 181 Sal. Gra. i Fortune - — 191 Ant. O Friendship grounded on inte- Oaths, illegal, not obligatory 3 Henry VI. 517 Richard rest changed with fortune Tim. o/Ath. 646 Sex. to princes, little valued by Fly, reflections on the killing their people - 526 K. Henry one - Tit. Andro. 782 Titus Ornament, a specious delu- sion Mer.ofVen. 185 Bassanio G Opportunity to be seized on in Good to be drawn out of evil Henry V. 448 K: Henry all affairs Jul. Ccesar 705 Brutus Great men, their favours un- certain Rich. III. 559 Hastings P Greatness, subject to censure Mea f. Mea. 103 Duke Power, impotence of human Richard II. 358 Gaunt Gold, its power over man Tim. o/Ath. 647 Timon Poetry, Hotspur's contempt item ... — 650 — of it 1 Henry I V. 392 notspur item ... — 652 — Pardons of popes ridiculed King John 340 K. John Greatness meets with con- Power, abuse of it Mea.f. Mea 94 Isab. tempt when it declines Tro. % Cres. 618 Achil. Patience ... Com of Er. 296 Adr. Gold, its power Cymbeline Clotus the theory of it rarely prac- item ... Rom. 4- Jul 868 Romeo ticable . - - M.A.ab.No. 126 Leon. Grief, immoderate discom- Populace, factious and fickle Coriolanus m Mar. mended Hamlet 874 King Providence directs our ac- tions ... Hamlet 901 Hamlet H Preferment, gained by favour, Honour, man's greatest trea- not merit Othello 905 Iago sure ... Richard II. 355 Mowbray Patience ... mm — Holy war ... 1 Henry I V. 379 K. Henry Honour ... — 383 Hotspur R described — 401 Falstaff Religion, of great use in re- new-made described - King John 333 Bastard bellion - 2 Henry IV., 407 Mortimer , INDEX. 955 rtAY. PAGE. PERSON. PLAY. PXGB. PKB80N. Reputation - Othello Iago Thoughts, ineffectual to mode- item — — rate afflictions - Richard II. 359 Boling. Travel, advantage of it - ZGen.ofVcr. 22 Val. Ant S a father's advice to his son. Speech, haughty, discom- before going Hamlet 876 Polonius mended - 1 Henry IV. 391 Wore. Slander sticks long Com. of Er. 300 BaL V Speculation more easy than Virtue, to be employed for the practice - Mer.ofVen. 175 Portia public - Mea.f.Mea- 87 Duke Season, necessary to give every conspicuous exposed to envy As Y. Like it 202 Adam thing its perfection - — 194 — and vices chequer man's life All's well %c. 236 I Lord Study, dispraised - Love'sL.Losi 150 Biron Vicious persons infatuated by Solitude, preferred to a court Heaven - Ant. $ Cleo- 729 Antony life - AsY.Likeit 201 Duke Sen. Satire, not to descend to par- W ticular persons — 204 Jaques Words give ease to grief - Rich. III. 566 Queen Solitude, a fine description World, the vanity and disso- of it ... Cymbeline 752 Bel. lution of it Tempest 16 Prosperc Slanders unavoidable — 754 Pis. beautifully painted at large Wives, the duty they owe to As Y.Likeit 205 Jaques. T their husbands - Tarn, of, Sfc. 266 Kath, Thought 1 Henry IV. 403 Hotspur advice how to choose - Twel. Night 70 Duke SECTION V.— SPEECHES. A TABLE OF THE MOST CONSIDERABLE IN SHAKSPEARE. EXHORTATORY. King Lear's abuse of power King Lear 838 Bishop of Carlisle in defence Bastard Falconbridge against of King Richard Richard IX, 371 the French King John 350 Henry IV. to the Prince before Talbot to his men, retreating 1 Henry VI. 466 he died - - - 2 Henry IV. 426 Suffolk against Duke Hunv Henry V. to the Chief Justice — 429 phrey - 2 Henry VI. 498 Canterbury to excite Henry V. King Henry to Suffolk, on to begin a war - Henry V. 434 Duke Humphrey's death _ 500 Henry V. to his soldiers - — 442 Queen Margaret's answer — . Henry V. to Westmoreland — 451 to York, when taken pri- King John to Hubert, to kill soner, and his reply - 3 Henry VI. 518 Arthur King John 342 Edward and Clarence to queen .Bastard to king John, to fight Margaret — 523 the French — 337 King Henry to Glocester, be- John of Orleans to Burgundy, fore he is killed by him — 540 to forsake the king of Eng- Queen Margaret to Edward land's interest 1 Henry VI. 474 IV. 's queen and the duchess Clifford to king Henry, to Btir of York Rich. III. 566 him up to revenge 3 Henry VI. 521 Queen Catherine to the two Queen Margaret to her soldiers *— 438 cardinals Henry VIII. 588 Richmond to his soldiers, be- Timon to his false friends Tim. o/Ath. 645 fore the battle of Bosworth Rich. III. 571 Richard III., on the same oc- EXECRATIVE. casion — 573 Richard II. to England, on his arrival Richard II. 365 VITUPERATIVE. KingLear against his daughters King Lear 822-7 Bolingbroke to Bushy, on his Suffolk on his banishment 2 Henry VI. 502 injuries received Richard II. 365 Lady Anne against Richard Gaunt to king Richard - — 360 III. Rich. III. 544 York to Bolingbroke, on re- Queen Margaret against him, bellion — 364 &c. ... 548 King Henry to his son - 1 Henry IV. 393 Timon on the Athenians Tim. o/Ath. 645 Worcester to Henry IV. — 400 on mankind _ 648 Archbishop of York on the Coriolanus on the people of inconstancy of the populace 2 Henry IV. 410 Rome, who banished him Coriolanus 674 Westmoreland to the Arch- bishop, on taking arms — 421 DELIBERATIVE. Lancaster on the same subject — 422 King Richard in prison - Richard II. 376 King Henry IV. on avarice — 426 Prince Henry on resolving to to prince Henry, when he leave his debauched way of had taken the crown - — - life 1 Henry IV. 381 King Henry V. to Falstaff — 431 Lord Bar-dolph on fighting with to Cambridge, Scroop, and superior forces 2 Henry IV. 409 Gray, on their conspiracy Henry V> 439 Burgundy for peace Henry V. 457 The Constable and Grandpree The citizens for a marriage against the English — 450 betwixt the Dauphin and King Lear against women King Lear 838 Blanch King John 337 950 INDEX. wtktt PAiiR. PKRSON. PLAV. ' FAOB. PPJMPN. Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Cardinal Wolsey to Cromwell Hen. Vlli. 593 on Achilles's desertion Tro. % Cres. 607 Queen Katharine, recom- mending her daughter to NARRATIVE. the king ... — 596 Hotspur to th« king, about Helena, on her husband's fly- delivering prisoners - 1 Henry IV. 382 ing from her to the war All's well $c 281 The chief justice's defence to Hermione, defence when im- king Henry V. 2 Henry IV. 429 peached of adultery - Wint. Tale 276 Exeter's, of the deaths of York Mark Antony, on Caesar's and Suffolk Henry V. 455 murder - - - Jul. Casar. 700 Duke of York's, of a battle 3 Henry VI- 518 funeral oration over the Richard's, of the duke of body ... _ . York's fighting — 520 Clarence's dream of drowning Rich. III. 549 SOLILOQUIES. Norfolk's description of the King nenry IV., on want of interview betwixt the kings 576 sleep ... 2 Henry IV. 417 of England and France Henry VIII. Prince Henry, on the troubles King Henry VHL's, on his attending greatness - — 426 divorce -*- 587 Henry V., on the miseries of Antigonus's account of a ghost kings ... Henry V. 450 appearing to him Wint. Tale 278 On new-made honour, by the Bastard - - - King John 333 PATHETIC. On self-interest, by the same — 338 Richard II. on the vanity of Duke of York, on the sur- power and misery of kings Richard II. 367 render of Anjou to the on the same, renouncing French ... 2 Henry VI 488 greatness in despair - — 368 on his design to seize the at his renouncing the crown — 371 throne for himself — 499 Lady Percy's, to Hotspur 1 Henry IV. 386 Young Clifford, on the death Lady Percy to Northumber- of his father _ 512 land ... 2 Henry IV 413 King Henry, on the happiness King Henry IV., on the vicis- of low life 3 Henry VI. 524 situde of human affairs — 417 after he lost the battle, on Prince Henry, defence of him- his queen going to France 528 self ... — 427 Gloucester, on his deformity, King Lear, in the storm King Lear 829 and ambition - — 528 to Cordelia — 840 Warwick's dying speeeh - 3 Henry VI. 538 to her dying — . 844 Richard III., on his deformity Rich. III. 542 Constance to Salisbury - King John 338 Tyrrel, on the murder of King her speeches on the loss of Edward's two sons — 565 Arthur ... — 343 Richmond, the night before Salisbury on taking arms the battle — 572 against his king — 349 Richard III., in despair - — 573 Suffolk to Margaret, in love Cardinal Wolsey, on the vicis- with his prisoner 1 Henry VI. 481 situdes of life - Henry VIII. 592 Henry VI., on Duke Humph- Prospero, to the spirits - Tempest 17 rey's disgrace - 2 Henry VI. 498 Angelo, on temptation to lust Suffolk, and Queen Margaret, by a virtuous beauty - Mea.f. Mea. 92 parting - - - — 502 Iachimo, looking on Imogen Edward IV., on the murder of asleep ... Cymbeline 747 Clarence - Rich. III. 552 Posthumus, against women — 751 Duko of Buckingham, after Romeo, over Juliet in the condemnation - Henry VIII. 582 vault . . - Rom. Sf Jul. 869 Queen Katharine, before her The King, despairing of pardon divorce - — 586 for incest and murder Hamlet 890 N. B. The Speeches in Julius Ccesar, Antony and Cleopatra, Macbeth, Hamlet, and Othello, are chiefly placed under the Titles of those Plays. SECTION VI.-INDEX OF DESCRIPTIONS, OR IMAGES. England only conquered by I. Descriptions of Places. intestine divisions its interest in relation to King John 35 Bastard B France - - - 3 Henry VI. 531 Hastings Bank, flowery Mids.N.Dr. 136 Oberon its situation Cymbeline 751 Queen D Dover Cliff ... King Lear 837 Edgar F Field after a battle Henry V. 454 Mount. E England celebrated Richard II. 360 Gaunt G Gloucestershire - - Richard II. 363 North. dispraised by the Constable of France Henry V. 444 Constab. I described in its situation King John 334 Austria Inchanted isle • • Tempest 13 Caliban INDEX. 957 PLAT. 1 PAOK. PBIUON. 1 PLAT. PAGE. PERSON. K j Fairies. Mab the queen of \Rom. ^ Jul. 850 Merc. Kent - - - - 2 Henry VI. 508 Say Fairy masquerade \M.W.o/Wi. 60 L Lombardy - Fortune-teller Com. of Er. 308 E. Ant. Tarn, of Sgc 247 Lucentio G General, leading a victorious N army Coriolanus 665 Com. Nile, its flow described - Ant.% Cleo 720 H Hypocrite P Rich. III. 549 Gloster Pisa - Tarn, of, $c. 247 Luc. item — 559 Glo.Bucl, S The Severn item Rom. <$- Jul. 859 Juliet 1 Henry I V. 382 Hotspur I Salique Land Henry V. 434 Cant. Irishmen Richard II. 361 K. Rich A Justice AsY. Like it 205 Jaques T A Jester ... Twel. Niglit 73 Viola Trent, at Burton 1 Henry I V. 392 Hotspur Tower of London Rich. III. 856 K King, a good one described Macbeth 325 V Knights of the garter 1 Henry VI. 475 Talbot Vale, a dark and melancholy Kentishmen 3 Henry VI. 517 York one - Titus Andr. 777 Tam. King, a good — 536 K. Hcnvy H^Descriptions of Persons. L Lover, banished Rom. 8j Jul. 860 Romeo Lovers humorously describee 851 Mercutio A Lovers parting Cymbeline 742 Imogen Apothecary, his poverty and 6hop described Rom. 4" Jul. 868 Romeo Lover described - ' < As Y. Like it 202 205 Sil. &. Clo Jaques item ... 2 Gen.ofVer. 23 Spe. B item ... — 26 Val. Beautiful maid Tarn, of, SfC. 263 Petruchio constant — 28 Jul. A Bishop in arms 2 Henry I V. 421 West. banished — 30 Val. Bedlam Beggars King Lear 826 Edgar in solitude — 37 _ Beautiful person petitioning IGen.of Ver. 30 Proteus Lover described AsY. Like It 208 Rosa A Bailiff Com. of Er. 303 S.Dro. Lovers parting Tro. $ Cres. 622 C Commons of England Richard II. 363 Bagot M Messenger, with ill news 2 Henry IV. 406 North. their inconstancy 2 Henry I V. 410 York item ... King John 338 Const. Courtier, an unsuccessful one Hen. VIII. 585 Old. L- with good news 2 Henry IV. 425 K. Hem? Cheats, several sorts Com. of Er. 296 Ant. A Madman King Lear 836 Cordelia Constables and watchmen M.A.ab.No. 120-5 A Miserable mother in Con- Courtier, humorously de- stance ... King John 342 scribed - As Y. Like it 217 Touch. Edward IV. 's widow - Rich. III. 565 Queen Candidate for an office - Coriolanus 665 Cor. Mermaid ... Mids.N.Dr. 135 Ob. D A Deformed person Melancholy man Hamlet 883 Hamlet King John 339 Const. N A Dying person, by poison, in News-tellers King John 346 Hubert king John — 352 A Nun Mids.N.Dr. 133 The. of old age, in prison, in Mortimer 1 Henry VI. O by strangling, in Duke Old man oppressed with cares Com. of Er. 309 ^Egeon Humphrey 2 Henry VI. 501 War. vigorous, from temperance in agonies of despair, in in youth AsY. Like it 202 Adam cardinal Beaufort — Old man in the extremity of Drunken men Tempest 15 Ariel decay ... — 205 Jaques Dying of grief All's well Sfc. 236 1 Lord Old men subject to ingratitude Tim. ofAth. 640 Timon Debtor - Tim. ofAth. 639 Sen. Duellist - Rom. <§• Jul. 854 Mercutio P Death, in a beautiful face — Cap. Post-messenger 2 Henry I V. 406 Trav. item - Cymbeline 760 Arv. see the same described King Lear 826 Kent item ... Rom. Sf Jul. 869 Romeo Pedants, in Armado, Holo- E Englishmen in preference to fcrnes, Nathaniel Love's L-Lo. Q the French Henry V. 446 K. Henry A Quarrelsome person - Rom. S; Jul. 857 Mercutio described by the French 1 Henry VI. 463 ridiculed forfollowingFrench S fashions Henry VIII. 579 Soldier, young, brave, and ridiculed for hard drinking Othello 914 Iago unpolished Tro. % Cres 6?4 Ulysses Soldiers in armour 1 Henry I V. 397 Vemon F Serving-man King Lear 831 Edgar A Foppish courier 1 Henry I V. 382 Hotspur Sea-faring persons in distress Tempest 3 Prospcrc Flatterers of great men - King Lear 825 Kent Savage man— vid. Caliban — I'uiries » Mids.N.Dr. 134 Swimmer JjX. Ccesar 698 Cassiuc 058 INDEX. Tl*Y. PAOK. PKRSON. PLAT. PAOB. PERSON. Swimmer ... Tempest 7 Francisco F Soldier As Y. Like it 205 Jaques Fashions, of Italy, &c. - Richard II. 360 York School-boy — - — Faoe of a person near death Hen. VIII. 596 Patience Shepherd - -— 206 ill-favoured Friendship betwixt two young Tempest 1 Gonzalo T ladies ... Mids.N.Dr. 141 Helena Twins, their likeness described Friend Mer. of Ven. 187-8 Bass. Por in the two Antipholuses Fortune, and her votaries Timon 634 Poet and Dromios Com. of Er. Family, ruined by prof useness — 643 Talkative coxcombs Mer. of Fen. 189 Lorenzo Trojans - Tro. Sf Cres. 608 .(Eneas G Gratitude in an old servant As Y. Like it 202 Adam V f Pemb. (KJohn Gentle temper Hamlet 901 Queen Villain's look - . - King John 345-7 H W Horse, Richard's, rode by Witch— vid. Sycorax Bolingbroke Richard II. 377 "Woman of a satirical wit M.A.ab.No. 114 Benedict Hounds and hunting described Mids.N.Dr. 144 ThesJBp item ... ~ 118 Hero Housekeeping, riotous - Timon 640 Flavius Wife, a good one Mer. of Ven. 189 Jessica Hounds, horses, hunting Titus Andr. 777 Tamora Woman's man Love's L. Lo. Biron Hurricane Tro. SfCres. Troilus Witches, and their charms - Macbeth Horror in one buried alive Rom. SfJul. 866 Juliet Woman, a lewd one Tro. Sf Cres. 624 Ulysses I Insurrection of the populace Y Richard II. 366 Scroop Young gentleman, an accom- Interview of the kings of Eng- plished 2 Gen.ofVer. 26 Valentine land and France Hen. VIII. 576 item - Cymbeline 740 1 Gent. Jests and jester Love's L. Lo. 173 Bosaline Youth, a pert pretender Mer. of Ven. 188 Portia Invention, a dull one Othello 912 Iago Younger brother, kept without Jealousy described — 919 - Sf Oth. education AsT.LikeU 196 Orlando Youth, a beautiful one de- K scribed — 211 Phebe King's-evil, and its cure - Macbeth 325 Malcolm Young lady playing on the Kingdom, oppressed by an lute and singing Titus Andr. ft Martius usurper ... — 325-6 Mac. Bos Youth, a pert one Cymbeline 755 Pisanio two of royal birth — 760 Bclarius L Love, humorously described Love's L. Lo. 157 Biron improves all our faculties — 163 - JJI^-Descriptions of Things. fantastical — 172 - Lioness - - - As Y. Like it 214 Oliver A Life, a pleasant one described Ta. of the Sh. 245 Lord in army disbanded 2 Henry IV. 423 Bastings in a wild solitude ^ - Tim. ofAth. 648 Apem. embarking Henry V. 441 Chorus English, new raised - King John 334 Chatillon M Angling ... M.A.ab.No. 118 Brs. Masque, rural Tempest 14 Ambitious love All's W., $c. 220 Helena Moon - Mids. N.Dr. 129 Thes.Hip Art and nature, vid. Nature item _ . - — 133 Lysander Angling, Cleopatra's Ant. Sf Cleo. 717 Masquerade, a scene of one M.A.ab.No. 113 Moon ... As Y. Like It 205 Orlando B Music ... Ttcel. Night 63 Duke Beauty, vid. Bullen, Anne Martlet's nest Macbeth 313 Banquo item - Tempest 11 Ferdin. Madness for grief and love, in neglected 2Gen.of Ver. 36 Julio Ophelia - - - Hamlet 895-6 described by Romeo - Horn. Sf Jul. 850 . N Nature, state of - C Tempest 7 Gonzago Challenge, the ceremonial of Nature and art Wint. Tale 282 Pol. Per. one ... Richard II. 354 Combat in the lists, its cere- O mony - — 357 Oak, large, old AsY.Likelt 214 Oliver Coronation, the ceremonies of one Hen. VIII. 594 3 Gent. P Parting of lovers - Rom. S; Jul. 862 D Popularity Richard II. 359 K. Rich. Denial of favours Timon 640 Flavins Pride — 357 Diamond ring Tit. Andro. 778 Martius Peace - — - - Death Cymbeline 764 Posthum. after civil war - 1 Henry IV 377 K. Henrj Dreams Rom. Sf Jul. 849 Mercutio Prodigies Richard II. 365 Cap. item ... 1 Henry IV. 392 Glend. B item ... 2 Henry IV. 426 CI. $ GL Kntry of king Bichard and item ... Jul. Cuesar 690 Casca Bolingbroke into London Richard II. 374 York Peace - - _ - Rich. III. 542 Richard Earthquake 1 Henry IV. 391 Hotspur betwixt York and Lancaster — 574 Richm. Kntry of Coriolanus into Borne Play, a bad one described Mids. N.Dr. 146 Philost after victory Coriolanus 663 Brutus Picture of a beautiful woman Mer. of Ven. 185 Bassanii Pompcy's Jul. Caesar 688 Mur. Pictures of Adonis, Venus, lo, Earth, and its products Rom. Sf Jul. 854 Friar Daphne, and Apollo - Ta.oftheSh. 245 INDEX. 95fa PLAY. PAOE. PEBSON. . PLAT. PAGE. PERSON Poetry ... Timon C34 Poet Prodigies - - - Jul. Caesar 695 Calphur. IV.— Descriptions of Times and item ... Hamlet 873 Horatio Seasons. Poison mm 898 Laertes Year, unfruitful and sickly Mids. N.Dr. 135 Titania R Spring ... Love'sL.Lost 173 Song Rumour ... 2 Henry IV. 405 Warwick Winter - - - AsY.Likelt 201 DukeSen. item ... — 418 item ... Love's L Lost 173 Song Roses, red and white, the Daybreak 1 Henry IV. 393 Glend. badges of two parties - 1 Henry VI. 469 item ... 1 Henry VI. 467 Bedford item ... Rich. III. 572 Stanley S item ... Mids. N.Dr. 142 Puck A Song (Welsh) 1 Henry IV. 393 Mor. 4- Gl. item ... M.A.ab.No. 129 Pedro Sleep 2 Henry IV. 417 K. Henry item ... Tro. Sf Cres. 621 Troilus Signs of change in government Rich. III. 554 3Cit. item Rom. Sf Jul. 862 Sleep Mids. N.Dr. 142 Oberon item ... Hamlet 873 Horatio A Stream beautifully described 2Gen.o/Vcr. 28 Julio Morning ... Richara II. 366 Richard Sleep, sound Mea f. Mea. 100 Claudio A low'ring morning 1 Henry IV. 400 K.&P.H Stag, in the chase AsY.Likelt 201 1 Lord clear ... 3 Henry VI. 520 Richard Snake ... — 214 Oliver Morning . - - Tempest 17 Prospero Sound sleep Jul. Caesar 693 Brutus item ... Mids. N.Dr. 142 Oberon Storm at sea . Othello 911 A pleasant morning Titus Andr. 777 Tamora item ... Rom. Sf Jul. 853 Friar T Sun-rising - - - Tit. Andr. 776 Titus Time, the seeming inequality item ... Rom. Sf Jul. 846 Hen. Mon of its motion As Y. Like it 208 Rosalind Evening, a fair one Rich. III. 571 Richard Twilight King John 351 Melan. V item ... Macbeth 319 1 Mur. Vision, of good spirits - Hen. VIII. 595 Night, in a camp - Henry V. 447 Virginity AWs wellfyc 220 Parolles stormy - King Lear «29 A. Victory long disputed Macbeth • 310 Midnight - - - King John 342 K. John A Victory and pursuit of the item ... 2 Henry VI. 491 Boling. conquered Cymbeline 763 Posthum. item ... — 503 Night Mids.N.Dr. 140 Hermia W item 148 Puck War, the prognostics of it Richard II. 365 Captain beautiful description of a preparations for Henry V. 437 Chorus moonlight Mer. of Ven. 193-4 Lor. Por ill effect* of — 457 Burg. tempestuous Jul. Caesar 690 Casca item ... 2 Henry VI. 512 Y. Cliff. item ■■ " " l 3i6 Lennox A. Wreck Tempest 2-4 Mir.Ariel Macbeth 317 OldM.^K item ... Com. of Er. 294 JEgeon item ... — 319 Macbeth described by a clown • Wint. Tale 279 item ... Tro. ^ Cres. 631 Achilles White hand 284 Florisel item ... Rom. 8f Jul. 859 Juliet White hand Midnight ... Hamlet 890 Hamlet Wonder, proceeding from sud- — 291 3Gent.<£c. den joy ... Tro. Sf Cres. 604 Troilus SECTION VII.- INDEX OF SOME SIMILES AND ALLUSIONS. A Courtship, the degrees of it Authority, compared to 8 compared to dances - 113 Beatrice farmer's dog King Lear 838 Lear Anger, to a high-mettled D horde ... Hen. VIII. 577 Norfolk Dissimulation, to a snake 2 Henry VI. 498 Q. Marg to boiling water - . . Ambition, to the shadow of a E dream ... Hamlet 882 Guilden. England, to an eagle 435 Scotland, to'a weazel Henry V. - Ely B Queen Elizabeth, to the mai- A doubtful battle, to a swan den Phoenix Hen. VIII. 601 Cran swimming against a stream 3 Henry VI. 518 York to a cloudy morning and a F stormy sea — 524 K. Henry Father (good) of a bad son, to Beautiful maid, to a siren Com. of Er. 302 S. Ant. the clear spring of a muddy stream ... Rich. II. 375 Boling. C Favourites, to a new-trimmed Courage compared to a falcon Richard II. 357 Boling. vessel ; and their enviers to to a captive set free — . Mowbray •ravenous fishes Hen. VIII. 578 Wolsey Contention, to a horse broke to honey-suckles excluding loose - - - 2 Henry IV. 405 North. the sun - M.A.ab.No. 118 Hero Consideration, to an angel Henry V. 434 Cant. Catharine, Queen, to a lily Hen. VIII. 589 Queen G A crowd dispersed, to wild Garden, compared to govern- geese ... Mid. Nt.Dr 139 Puck ment in disorder Rich. II. 369 •JGO INDEX. Government, to bees FLAY. Henry V. FAOK. 436 rBUON, Cant. H.AY. FAGB. F2IMOK Glory, to a circle in the water 1 Henri/ VI. «M Pucelle. Opportunity, to the tide Jul. Cces. 704 Brutus General, an old, to a winter lion " 2 Hairy VI 513 York P Promises, to the garden of 11 Adonis - ... 1 Henry VI Dauphin Henry, Prince, comparinghim- self to the sun in clouds 1 Henry IV. 381 P R to rich ore in a dark soil — - - Rebels, returning to allegiance, to Mars - Hen. V.ProL 433 like a flood King John 351 Salisbury to a strawberry growing Reason returning, to the morn- ' among weeds Henry V. 434 Ely ing ... Tempest. 17 Proteus ileart, a penitent one, to a ripe mulberry Coriolanus 672 Vol. S Sun rising in a cloudy sky, to I King Richard in discon- Insurrection, to a storm 2 Henry IV. 4J6 ] P. Henry tent ... Richard II. 368 Boling. to bees ... 2 Henry VI. 600 |Wor. Sun rising after a dark night, King James I. to a cedar Hen. VIII. 602 Cranmer to the restoration of a law- ful king ... — 366 K.Rich. K Spies, to limed twigs 2 Henry VI. 490 Suffolk King Richard, compared to a Soldiers, to bees Tit. Andro. 788 Goth. falling star and setting sun Rich. II. 365 Salisbury King's return to his country, T compared to a mother's Treason, compared to a fox 1 Henry IV. 401 Wor. meeting her child — 366 K. Rich. Tears, to dew on a lily - Tit. Andro. 781 Titus L W Love, compared to a canker in Worcester, Earl of, in rebel- a bud 2 Gent. Ver. 20 Pro. Val. lion, compared to a me- to April weather — 23 Proteus. teor - - - - 1 Henry IV. 401 K. Henry to a waxen image — 27 - Warwick's death, to the fall Lover, to a chameleon - — '24 Speed of a cedar 3 Henry VI. 538 Warwick Love, compared to a figure on Wolsey, Cardinal, to a falling ice ... — 32 Duke angel ... Hen. VIII. 593 Wolsey Lover, successful, to a con- Wanderer, to a drop of water queror - Mer.ofVen. 186 Bassanio in the ocean Com. o/Er. 295 Ant. his thoughts, to the inarti- World, compared to a stage As Y. Li. It 205 Jaques culate joys of a crowd — — * Widow, to a turtle Wint. Tale 29? Paulina 11 Y Mind, in doubt, compared to Duke of York fighting, to a the tide - - - 2 Henry VI. 414 North. lion among a herd of neat 3 Henry VI. 520 Richard Maids to flies Henry V. 459 Bur. ! THE END, BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. / V I YD- 0307 1? U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES CDD55?nS7 :■'- ^vkTU ■4k &U **£ ».^