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 &
 
 THE 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKS?EARE.
 
 I . * • • ' .* . 
 • • . V 
 
 C. Baldwin. Printer,
 
 THE 
 
 PLAY S 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 Accurately printed from the Text of the corrected Copy left by the late 
 GEORGE STEEVENS, Esq. 
 
 WITH 
 
 A SERIES OF ENGRAVINGS, 
 
 FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS OF 
 
 HENRY FUSELI, Esq. R.A. Professor of Painting: 
 
 AND A SELECTION 
 
 OF EXPLANATORY AND HISTORICAL NOTES, 
 
 From the most eminent Commentators ; 
 A History of the Stage, a Life of Shakspearej ^c, 
 
 BY ALEXANDER CHALMERS, A.M. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 IN NINE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOLUME IH. 
 
 COSTAIVIXC 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 ALL'S "WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 1«1 1
 
 P■^^ 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 434043 
 
 VOL. III. B
 
 * The Merchant of Venice.] The reader wlli find a dis- 
 tinct epitome of the novels iVoin v.hlch the story of this play is 
 supposed to be taken, in the new edition of Shakspeare, 21 vols. 
 8vo. 1803. It should, however, be remembered, that if our poet 
 was at all indebted to the Italian novelists, it must have been 
 through the medium of some old translation, which has hitherto 
 escaped the researches of his most industrious editors. 
 
 It appears from a passage in Stephen Gosson's School of Abuse ^ 
 &.C, 1579, that a play, comprehending the distinct plots of Shak- 
 speare's Merchant r/' Venice, had been exhibited long before he 
 commenced a writer, viz. " The Jew shown at the Bull, repre- 
 senting the greediness of worldly choosers, and the bloody minds 
 of usurers." — " These plays," says Gosson, (for he mentions 
 others with it) " are goode and sweetc plays," &c.- It is there- 
 fore not improbable that Shakspeare new-vi rote his piece, on the 
 model already mentioned, and that the elder performance, being 
 inferior, wiis permitted to drop silently into ublivion. 
 
 This play of Shakspeare had been exhibited before the year 
 1598, as appears from INIeres's Wits Treasury, where it is men- 
 tioned with eleven more of our author's pieces. It was entered 
 on the books of the Stationers' Company, July 22, in the same 
 year. It could not have been printed earlier, because it wjib not 
 yet licensed. The old song of Gcrnutus the Jeiv of Venice, is 
 published by Dr. Percy in the first volume of his Iteliques of an- 
 cient English Poetrji : and the ballad intituled. The niurtucrous 
 Lyfe and terrible Death of the rich Jeicc of Malta ; and the tra- 
 gedy on the same subject, were both entered on the Stationers' 
 books. May, 159i. Steevens. 
 
 The story was taken from an old translation of The Gestn Ro- 
 manorum, first printed by Wynkyn de Worde. The book wiis 
 very popular, and Shakspeare has closely copied some of the lan- 
 guage: an additional argument, if we wanted it, of his track of 
 reading. Three vessels are exhii)ited to a lady for her choice — The 
 first was made of pure qold, well beset w ith precious stones xvith- 
 out, and within full of dead men's bones; anil tlicreupon was en- 
 graven this posie : Whoso chuscth me, shall Jind that he desei-vcth. 
 The second vessel was made of fine silver, tilled with earth and 
 worms; the superscription was thus: Whoso chuseth me, shall Jind 
 that his nature desircth. The third vessel was made oi' lead, full 
 within of precious stones, and thereupon was instulpt this posie: 
 Whoso chwselh me, shall find that God hath disposed/or him. — The 
 lady, after a comment u])on each, cliuses the leaden vessel. 
 
 In a MS. of Lidgate, belonging to my very learned friend. Dr. 
 Askew, I find a J'ale of Two Merchants (>f Egipt and oi' lia/dad 
 ex Gestis Itomanorum. LelaJid, therefore, could not be the ori- 
 ginal author, as Hishop Tanner suspected. He lived a century 
 after Lidgate. I'AUMiiK. 
 
 VOL. III. B 2
 
 The two principal incidents of this play are to be found sepa- 
 rately in a collection of odd stories, which were very popular, at 
 least five hundred years ago, under the title of Gcsta Romanorum. 
 The first, Of the Bond, is in ch. xlviii. of the copy which I chuse 
 to reft^r to, as the conipletest of any which I have yet seen. MS. 
 Harl. n. 2270. A knight there borrows money of a merchant ; 
 upon condition of forfeiting all hisjiesh for non-payment. When 
 the penalty is exacted before the judge, the knight's mistress, dis- 
 guised, in forma viri S; vestimentis pretiosis induta, comes into 
 court, and, by permission of the judge, endeavours to mollify the 
 merchant. She first offers him his money, and then the double 
 of it, &c. to all which his answer is — " Co7tventionern meam volo 
 habere — Puella, cum hoc audisset, ait coram onmibus, Domine 
 mi judex, da rectum judicium super his quae vobis dixero. — Vos 
 scitis quod miles nunquam se obligabat ad aliud per literam nisi 
 quod rnercator habeat potestatem carnes ab ossibus scindere, stjie 
 sanguinis effasione, de quo nihil erat prolocutum. Statim mittat 
 manum in eum ; si vero sanguinem effuderit. Rex contra eum 
 actionem habet. Mercator, cum hoc audisset, ait ; date mihi pe- 
 cuniam & omnem actionem ei remitto. Ait puella, Amen dico 
 tibi, nullum denarium habebis — pone ergo manum in eum, ita ut 
 sanguinem non eftundas. Mercator vero videns se confusum ab- 
 scessit: & sic vitamilitis salvata est, & nullum denarium dedit." 
 Tho other incident, of the caskets, is in ch. xcix. of the same 
 collection. A king of Apulia sends his daughter to be married to 
 the son of an emperor of Rome. After some adventures, (which 
 are nothing to the present purpose, ) she is brought before the em- 
 peror, who says to her, " Puella, propter amorem filii mci multa 
 adversa sustinuisti. Tamen si digna fucris ut uxor ejus sis cito 
 probabo. Et fecit fieri tria vasa. Primum fuit de auro vuris- 
 simo & lapidibus pretiosis interius ex omni parte, & plenum 
 ossibus mortuorum : & exterius erat subscriptio ; Qui yne demerit, 
 in me inveniet quod jneruit. Secundum vas erat de ar- 
 gento puro &- gemmis pretiosis, plenum terra ; & exterius erat 
 subscriptio : Qiii mc elegerit, in me inveniet quod natura appetit, 
 Tertium yas de ■plumho plenum lapidibus pretiosis interius 8f 
 gemmis nobilissimis ; & exterius erat subscriptio talis: Qui me 
 elegerit, in me inveniet quod Dens disposuit. Ista tria ostendit 
 puellae, 8c dixit, si unum ex i«tis elegeris, in quo commodum & 
 proficuum est, filium meum habebis. Si vero elegeris quod nee 
 tibi nee aliis est commodum, ipsum non habebis." The young 
 lady, after mature consideration of the vessels and their inscrip- 
 tions, chuses the leaden, which being opened, and found to be 
 full of gold and precious stones, the emperor says : " Bona 
 puella, bene elegisti — ideo filium meum habebis." 
 
 From this abstract of these two stories, I think it appears suffi- 
 ciently plain that they are the remote originals of the two incidents
 
 in this play. That of the caskets, Shakspcare might take from the 
 Enghsh Gesta Romanorum, as Dr. Farmer lias observed; and that 
 efthc bond might come to him from the Pccorone ; but upon the 
 whole I am ratlier inclined to -^ujpect, that lie has followed some 
 hitherto unknown novelhst, who had saved him the trouble of 
 working up the two stories into one. Tyrwhitt. 
 
 This comedy, I believe, was written in the beginning of the 
 year \59^. Meres's book was not published till the end of that 
 year. Malone. 
 
 VOL, lir.
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED.' 
 
 Duke of Venice. 
 
 Prime of Morocco, > ^,^;^^,.^ ^^ ^^^.^.^_ 
 
 Prince oj Arragon, ) 
 
 Antonio, the Merchant of Venice : 
 
 Bassanio, his Friend, 
 
 Salanio,^ ^ 
 
 Salarino, > Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 
 
 Gratiano, } 
 
 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. 
 
 Salerio,^ a Messenger from Venice. 
 
 Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio. 
 
 Balthazar, \ c< j. ^ t» 4.- 
 
 c,^ 1 r- !^ervants to Portia, 
 
 otephano, y 
 
 Portia, a rich Heiress, 
 Nerissa, her Waiting-7naid. 
 Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. 
 
 Magnifcoes 0/ Venice, Officers of the Court of Jus- 
 tice, Jailer, Servants, and other Attendants, 
 
 SCENE, partly at Venice, arid partly at Belmont, 
 the Seat of Portia, on the Continent. 
 
 . ' In the old editions in quarto, for J. Roberts, 1600, and in 
 the old folio, 1623, there is no enumeration of the persons. It 
 was first made by Mr. Rowe. Johnson. 
 
 ^ It is not easy to determine the orthography of this name. In 
 the old editions the owner of it is called — Salanioy Salino, and 
 Solanio. Steevens. 
 
 ^ This character I have restored to the Personce Dramatis. 
 The name appears in the first folio ; the description is taken from 
 the quarto. Steevens. 
 
 4
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salaniq* 
 
 /Int. In soothj 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 overpcer the petty traffickers, 
 Tiiat curtVy to tliem, do them reverence. 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 ' nrcrone.^ — ] A name given in our author's time to ships 
 
 of great burthen, probably galleons, such as the Spaniards now 
 use in tlitir West I lulia trade. Johnson. 
 
 In Iticaut's Maxima of Turki\h Polilu, ch. xiv. it is said 
 *' Those vast carracks called argosies, whicn are so much famej. 
 for the vastness of their burthen and bulk, were corruptly so de- 
 nominated from lia^osia," i. e. shijys of Hugusay a city and. ter- 
 ritory on the gulf of Vciiicc, tributary to ibe Porte. 
 VOL. HI. D
 
 « MERCHANT OF \TiNICE. 
 
 Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture foxih^ 
 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. 
 
 Sahir. 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 tlats ; 
 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 betliink 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 thouglit 
 To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought. 
 That such a thing, bcchanc'd, would make me sad ? 
 But, tell not me ; I know, Antonio 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandize. 
 
 Aiit. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 
 IVIy ventures are not in one bottom trusted. 
 Nor to one j)lace ; nor is my whole estate 
 Upon the fortune of this present year : 
 Therefo! J, my merchandize makes me not sad. . 
 
 ^ PhicVvnf^ the rrrassy 6cc.'] By holding up tlie grass, or any 
 light body that will bend by a gentle blast, the direction of the 
 wind is found. 
 
 ^     • AndrciKi ~3 The name of the ship. 
 
 ^ Vailing her high top -*-'] i. e. lowering.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. g 
 
 Sahin. Why then you are in love. 
 
 ytfit. Eye, fye ! 
 
 Saldfi. Not in love neither ? Then let's say, you 
 are sad, 
 Because vou are not nierry : and 'twere as easy 
 For you, to lauj^h, and leap, and say, }'ou are merry. 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed 
 
 Janue, 
 Nature hatii tVani'd strange fellows in her time : 
 Some that will evermore peep through tlieir eyes. 
 And laugh, like })arrots, at a bag-piper : 
 And other of such vinegar aspect, 
 'I'liat they'll not show their teeth in way of smile^ 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiako^ 
 
 Sidau. Here comes Bassanio,' your most noblc 
 kinsman, 
 Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; 
 \sc leave you now with better company* 
 
 Sal(tr. I >vould have staid till I iiad mad^ yofu 
 merry, 
 If worthier friends had not prevented me. 
 
 Attt. Your ^vorth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it, your own business calls on you. 
 And you end)race the f)ecasion to departs 
 Satar. Good-morrow, my good lords. 
 Bass. G(X)d signiors both, when sliall v.c laugh? 
 8ay, when ? 
 You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? 
 
 Satar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
 [Exeunt Salarino and Salamo, 
 J.or. My lord Bassanio, since you have foujid 
 Antonio, 
 Wf two will leave you: but, at dinner time, 
 I pray you, liave in mind where wc must mcctw 
 
 D 2
 
 10 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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 rae, you are marv^ellously chang'd. 
 
 Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gra- 
 tiano ; 
 A stage, where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad one. 
 
 G7^a. Let me play the Fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within. 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
 Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaun* 
 
 dice 
 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 of)inion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
 As who should say, / am Sh' Oracle, 
 And, whefi 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, 
 Whrcli^ hearing them, would call their brothers, 
 
 fools. 
 1*11 tell thee more of this another time : 
 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.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 1 1 
 
 Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner- 
 time : 
 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. 
 
 \_E,vei(nt CiRATiANO 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 off .-^ 
 
 Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate. 
 By something showing a more swelling port^ 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance : 
 Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
 From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
 Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, 
 \Mioroin my time, something too prodigal, 
 Ilalli kit me gaged: To you, Antonio, 
 I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 
 And from your love I have a warranty 
 To unljurthen all my plots, and purposes, 
 How to gt*t clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
 Ant. I pray you, good liassanio, let me know it; 
 
 * a more xicellinir jjort, S:c.'] Port, in the present in- 
 
 filanco, coniprt'liends the idea of expensive eyuip.ige, i»ml ex- 
 turnal pomp of appeuruuttt.
 
 12 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
 Within the eye of honour, be assur'd. 
 My purse, my person, my cxtremest means. 
 Lie all unlocked to your occasions. 
 
 £a66\ In my school-days, wheu I had lost' one 
 shaft, 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
 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 doubtj 
 As I \\ ill watch the aim, or to find both. 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again. 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 
 
 A?it, You know me \ye|l ; and herein spend but 
 time. 
 To win4 about my love with circumstance ; 
 And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, 
 In making question of my uttermost, 
 Thaii 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. 
 
 Bfi.^s, In Belmont is a lady richly left, 
 And she is fair, and, fairer than that word. 
 Of w<jnd'rous virtues ; sometimes from her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages : 
 Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
 To Cato's daugliter, Brutus' Portia, 
 fspr is t-he wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
 
 * prest unto it .•] Prcst may not here signify imprest {l^ 
 
 in^o military service, but rcadij. Fjety Fr.
 
 MERCHANT OF VFAICE. IS 
 
 For tlie four winds blow in from every coast 
 Renowned suitors : nnd her sunnv locks 
 Hang on her temples like a golden tieece ; 
 "Whieli makes her seat of Relmont, Colchos' strand. 
 And manv Jasons come in quest of her. 
 
 my Antonio, had 1 but the means 
 To hold a rival place with one of them, 
 
 1 have a nund presages me such thrift, 
 Tliat I should questionless be fortunate. 
 
 Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes ate 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 Helmont, to fair Portia. 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is ; an(i I no question make, 
 To have it of my trust, or for my sake, [^Euciait, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Belmont. A Jioom in Portia's House, 
 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 Par. Bv my troth, Ncrissa, my little body is a~ 
 wearv of this <'reat world. 
 
 \cr. Vou would be, sweet madam, if your mise- 
 ries were in the same abundance as your good for- 
 tunes aie : And yet, for aught I vee, thoy are as 
 sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
 \>itij nothing : It is no mean happiness therefore, 
 to be seated in the mean ; siq)erllintv comes sooner 
 by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 
 
 J^oi'. (iood seiiti-nces, and well pronounced. 
 
 4.\t7", 'i'he\ would be better, if uell followed.
 
 14 MERCHANT OP VENICE. 
 
 Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
 good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor 
 men's cottages, princes* palaces. It is a good 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 
 madness the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good 
 counsel 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, 
 jior refuse whom I dislike ; so is the will of a living 
 daughter curb'd by the will of a dead father : — -Is it 
 not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor 
 refuse none ? 
 
 Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy 
 men, at their death, have good inspirations ; there- 
 fore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three 
 chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who 
 chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, 
 never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you 
 shall rightly love. But what warmth is tliere in your 
 affection towards any of these princely suitors that 
 are already come ? 
 
 Por. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou 
 nalnest them, I will describe them ; and according 
 to my description, level at my aflbction. 
 
 Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth no- 
 thing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great 
 appropriation to his own good })arts, that he can 
 shoe him himself: I am much afraid, my lady his 
 mother played false with a smith. 
 
 N^r. Then, is there the county'' Palatine. 
 
 /.s- there the county Palatine.'} Countij and count in old 
 
 lai)gi\age were synonymous.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 15 
 
 Por. He doth nothins: but frown ; as who should 
 say, And if you rri/i not have me, choose : lie hears 
 merry tales, and smiles not : I fear, he will prove 
 tlie weeping philosopher when he grows old, beiii«' 
 so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
 rather lie married to a death's head with a bone in 
 his mouth, tlian to either of these. God defend 
 me from these two ! 
 
 Ncr. 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 ! ^^■hy, he liath 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 many 
 him, I should marry twenty husbands : If he would 
 despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love me 
 to madness, I shall never requite him. 
 
 Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, 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 pennywortli 
 in the English. He is a proper man's picture;** 
 But, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? 
 How oddly he is suited! I think, he bought his 
 doubl(;t in Italy, his round hose in France, his bon- 
 net in Germanv, and his behaviour every where. 
 
 Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
 neighbour ? 
 
 Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in hiiu ; 
 for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, 
 
 ^ a proper ma/j'j picture,'] Prnpfi is fiandxcme.
 
 1(5 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 and swore he would pay liim 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 nephe^v ? 
 
 Par. 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 .'i little worse than a 
 man ; and when he is worst, he is little better than 
 a beast : and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I 
 shall make shift to go without him. 
 
 Ner, If he should oiler to choose, and choose tho- 
 right casket, you should refuse to perform your, 
 father's will, if you should refuse to accept hini. 
 
 Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 
 set a deep glass of Rhenish \n ine on the contrary 
 casket : for, if the devil be \\ ithin, and that temp- 
 tation without, I know he will choose it, I will 
 do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a 
 spunge. 
 
 iVcr. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
 these lords ; they have acquainted me ^vith 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 
 fathers 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 nianner 
 of my father's \\ ill : 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 l^ray God 
 grant them a fair de])artu?-e, 
 
 A^er. })o you not remember, lady, in your father's 
 
 *> / iJthil-^ the Frenclavnn hcravic liix S7irefij,~\ Alludiii<j to tlie 
 constant assi.stuncc, or rather constant promises of assistance, that 
 the IVench gave the Scots in their quarrels witli the En^^Iiitlh 
 The alliance is here hun>orously satirized. VVAUuuJcroN^
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 17 
 
 time, a ^'enctian, ascliolar, and a soldier, that eoiiie 
 hitluT in company of the Marquis of Montforrat ? 
 
 For. Yes, ves, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so 
 >vas he called. 
 
 Xtr. True, madam ; he, of all the men that ever 
 my foolish eyes looked upon, was the hest deserving 
 a fair lady. 
 
 Por. i rememher him nell ; and I rememher him 
 worthy of thy praise. — How no\v ! what news? 
 
 Entcj' a Serrauf. 
 
 Scrr. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
 to take their leave : and there is a fore-runner come 
 from a fifth, the ])rince of Morocco ; who brings 
 word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 
 
 Por. If I could hid the fifth welcome w ith so 
 go<jd heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I 
 should be glud of his approach : if he have the con- 
 dition^ of a saint, and the comj)lexion of a devil, 
 I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. 
 Come, Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles wt; 
 shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at 
 the door. [^E.irunt, 
 
 SCENE HI. 
 
 A'enice, // pubiick Placc^ 
 
 Kilter li.vssAMO and Shvlock. 
 
 .V//7. Three thousand ducats, — well. 
 Bans. Av, sir, for three months. 
 fS7/j/. For three mouths, — well. 
 Jiii.'is. For the uhu.h, as I told \<)U, Antonio .shall 
 be bound. 
 
 ' the condiliun — j i. v. tlif temper, qvialitics.
 
 ; 8 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 ♦S*/?^. 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. 
 
 Sky. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the 
 contrary ? 
 
 Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ;^my meaning, in say- 
 ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me, 
 that he is sufficient : yet his means are in supposition : 
 he hath an argosy bound to Tripoli s, another to the 
 Indies; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 
 
 hatli a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, 
 
 and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad ; 
 But ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be 
 land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land- 
 thieves ; I mean, pirates ; and then, there is the 
 peril of waters, winds, and rocks : The man is, not- 
 withstanding, sufficient ; — three thousand ducats ;-— • 
 I think, I may take his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured, I may ; and, that I may 
 be assured, I will bethink me : May I speak with 
 Antonio ? 
 
 Bass, If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habita- 
 tion which your prophet, the 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 
 
 * Ihe habitation ivhich your prophety the' Nazarite ^ conjured 
 
 the iexil into .•] Perhaps there is no character through all Shak- 
 speare, drawn with more spirit, and just discrimination, than 
 Shylock's. His language, allusions, and ideas, are every where 
 so appropriate to a Jew, that Shylock might be exhibited for aa 
 excrn])lar of that peciiiar people. Henley.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 19 
 
 you. What news on the Rialto ? — Who is he comes 
 here ? 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Bass. This is signior Antonio. 
 
 Shif. \^Ashk.'\ How hke a fawning publican he 
 
 looks r 
 
 I hate him for he is a Christian : 
 
 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 QJin 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 wheie merchants most do congregate. 
 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
 
 Wliich he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe. 
 
 If I foroive 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 r — Rest you fair, good signior : 
 
 [To Antonio. 
 Your worshi]) was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
 By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet, to su])jjly the ripe wants of my friend,* 
 I'll break a custom: — Is he yet possess'd,* 
 How much you would ? 
 
 ' /Ac ripe wants of mij fncnd,'\ Pipe tmnts arc want* 
 
 cvmc to the hciffht, wants that can have no longer delay. 
 
 • posscsi'i/,'] i. e. acquainted, iiiJ'ormcd. 
 
 i'2
 
 ^o MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shif. Av, ay, three thousand tlucat*. 
 
 Ant. And for three montlis. 
 
 Shy. I had forgot, — three months, ycm told me so. 
 Well then, your bond ; and, let me see / But 
 
 hear you ; 
 Methouglit, 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, 
 *rhis J'clcob from our holy Abraham was 
 (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) 
 Tlie third j)ossessor ; ay, he was the third. 
 
 Ant. And what of him ? did he take inter^t ? 
 
 Shy. No, not take interest ; not, as you would 
 
 Dir(;ctly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
 
 When Laban and himself were compromised. 
 
 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 shcj)lierd poeFd me certain wands. 
 
 And, in the doing of the deed of kind,^ 
 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes ; 
 
 Who, then conceiving, did h\ caning time 
 
 Fall party-colour*d lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
 
 This Avas 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 scrv'd 
 for ; 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass. 
 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 ^^ 
 
 * ' the eanlings? — j Lamiis just dropt : from cc/r, enhi. 
 
 « o/kind,] i. e. of nature.
 
 MERCHANT OF VRMCE. 21 
 
 Sfii/. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : — 
 But nf)te me, signior. 
 
 Jut. Mark }-ou this, Bassanio, 
 
 The devil can cite scripttire for his purpose. 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
 Is like a villain with a sniiling cheek ; 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart ? 
 O, what a goodly outside falshood hath : 
 
 S//I/. Tiiree thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round 
 sum. 
 Tlircc months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
 
 jint. Well, ►Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? 
 
 S/ti/. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
 In the Ilialto you have rated me 
 About my monies, and my usances:' 
 Ntill have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
 For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe: 
 You call me — misbeliever, cut-tliroat dog, 
 And s})it uptm my Jewish gaberdine, 
 And all for use of that which is mine own. 
 Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
 Cio to then ; you come to me, and you sa}', 
 .S7/j//or/.-,'' zee lioiild have vionics ; 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 vour suit. 
 What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
 J lath a (log inoueif ? is it pos.sib/cy 
 A cur can bud three thousand ducat m ? or 
 
 ' my luances:] I/.sr and iimncc nre both words nnciontly 
 
 eniploy'd for usury ^ both in its litvourable and uufiivouriible scusf, 
 I5ut Mr. Hitson sayn, that Ihr and um>icc, nit an nOLljing more 
 than interest ; and tlie fomicr word is ^.ill used by country peo- 
 ple in thf same sense. 
 
 s Shjlnc/i,] Our author, as Dr. I'armcr informs me, took the 
 nameof liis Jew from an old pamphlet entitled : Caleb Sliillucke, 
 ///s I'rophcsie : or the .hivca Picdution. London, printed fi^r 
 T. P. ( riiomaj Puvyer.) No date. Sri'EVEN;>.
 
 22 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shall I betid low, and in a bondman's key. 
 With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness^ 
 
 Say this, 
 
 Fair sir, you spit on me on JVednesday last : 
 You spurn d me such a day ; another time 
 You calfd me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
 lUl lend you thus much monies. 
 
 Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 
 "To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 As to thy 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. 
 
 A7it. This were kindness. 
 
 Shy. This kindness will I show :— • 
 
 Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
 Your single bond ; 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. 
 
 9 A breed for barren metal of lih friend ?] A hreedy that is In- 
 terest money bred from the principal. By the epithet barreriy 
 the author would instruct us in the argument on which the advo- 
 cates against usui-y went, which is this ; that money is a barren 
 thing, and cannot, iike corn and cattle, multiply itself. And to 
 set off the absurdity of this kind of usury, he put breed sca^ bar' 
 ren in opposition. Wakburton.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 23 
 
 Ant. Content, in faitli : Y\\ 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, 
 ril rather dwell in my necessity. m^ 
 
 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. O father Abraham, what these Christians 
 are ; 
 Wliose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
 The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; 
 If he should break his day, what should 1 gain 
 I3y 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 not. 
 
 Ant. Yes, Shylock, 1 will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Sliif. 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 mv 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. 
 
 hrtss. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 
 
 Ant. Come on ; in tliis there can be no dismay. 
 My ships come liome a month before the day. 
 
 [Exetint- 
 
 ' kf^ I'i thek-arful guard, Arc.] Fearful guard, is a guard 
 
 that is not to be trusted, but gives cause of fear. To Jear wm 
 anciently to give U& wgii Wifccl terrvun. JoHNSON, 
 
 VOL. III. E
 
 24 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 ACT. JI. 
 
 S&ENE I. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince o/Morocco, 
 and his Train ; Portia, Nerissa, and other of 
 her Attendants. 
 
 Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion. 
 The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, ^ 
 
 To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
 Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
 Where Phcebus' 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 feard 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. 
 
 Eor. 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 hcdg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
 His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, 
 
 * To f rove ivhose blood is reddest, his, ormhie.~\ To understand 
 how the tawny prince, whose savage diguity is very well supported, 
 means to recommend himself by this challenge, it must be re- 
 membered that red bl-ood is a traditionary sigii of courage : Thus 
 jNIacbeth calls one of his frighted soldiers, a lilt/-Iiver'd boy ; 
 again, in this play, cowards are said to //flT'e livc7-s as ivfiite as 
 milk ; and an efl'eminate and timorous man is termed a milksop. 
 
 JOilNSON". 
 
 ^ Hath, fear'd the valiant,'] i. e. tcrrififd. To fear is often 
 ' u-sed by our old writers, in this sense.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 25 
 
 Yourself, renowned ])rinee, then stood as fair, 
 As any comer I have look'd on yet, 
 For niv affection. 
 
 Mar. Even for that I thank you ; 
 
 Therefore, I pray }ou, lead nie to the caskets, 
 ']'<) trv mv fortune. Bv tliis scimitar, — 
 That slew the Nophy, and a Persian prince. 
 That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, — 
 I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, 
 Oiit-hrave the heart most daring on the earth, 
 I^luck the youn<r sucking cubs from the she bear. 
 Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prev, 
 To win thee, lady : But, alas the while ! 
 Jf Jlercules, and Lichas, play at dice 
 '\^'llich is the better man, the greater throw 
 JNIay turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
 So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
 And so may I, blind fortune leading me. 
 Miss that which one unworthier may attain. 
 And die with grieving. 
 
 Por. You must take your chance ; 
 
 And either not attempt to choose at all, 
 Or swear, beft^'e you choose, — if you choose wrong. 
 Never to sjjcak to lady afterw^ard 
 in way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd.'* 
 
 J\Ior. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my 
 chance. 
 
 Por. First, forward to the temple ; after dinner 
 Your hazard shall be made. 
 
 Mor. Gcx)d fortune then ! [Comets. 
 
 Po make me bless't, or cursed'st among men. 
 
 "* therefore be advis'd.] Therefore be not precipitant ; 
 
 consider well what you are to do. Advi^'U i$ the word opposite 
 to raJi. '^^ 
 
 e2
 
 26 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Launcelot Gobbo. 
 
 Latin. 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, GobbOy 
 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 ru7ining with thy heels : Well, the most cou- 
 rageous fiend bids me pack ; *oia ! says the fiend ; 
 away ! says the fiend, ybr tJie heavetis ; 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 !) 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 nm, fiend ; my heels are at your 
 commandment, I will iun.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 27 
 
 Enter old Gobro, zrifli a Basket. 
 
 Gob. Master, younoj man, you, I pray you; which 
 is the way to master Jew's ? 
 
 LaiDi. IJsiik.'] O heavens, this is my true be- 
 gotten father ! who, being more than sand-bhnd, 
 high-gravel bhnd, knows me not : — J will try con- 
 clusions ^ with him. 
 
 Gob, Master young jjentleman, I pray you, which 
 is the way to master Jev/s r 
 
 Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the ne^t 
 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 hi,t. 
 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 wa- 
 ters : — Talk you of young master Launcelot ? 
 
 Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his 
 father, tiiough 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 ])ray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be- 
 seech you ; Talk you of young master Launcelot ? 
 Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 
 Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of mas- 
 ter Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (ac- 
 <orfling to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, 
 the sisters three, and stich branches of learning,) is, 
 indeed, deceased ; or, as you would say, in plain 
 terms, gone to heaven. 
 
 ' 1 ry conclusions— ] To ^/-//cowc/Mj/onjii to try experiment!-'.
 
 28 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Gob. Many, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
 staff' of my age, my very prop. 
 
 Laun. Do I look hke 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 Laimcelot, 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 arc 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 m,y 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 
 hast 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 I have on my face, when I last saw him. 
 
 Gob. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost 
 
 «-, — );?7y thill-horse — ] T/iill or JiU, means the shafts of a 
 cart <jr wacg-on. '
 
 INIERCIIANT OF VENICE. ig 
 
 tlioii and thy master agree ? I have brought him a 
 present ; How 'oroo 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 serviee ; vou mav tell every finjrer I 
 have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come ; 
 give me your present to one master liassanio, 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 I here comes the man ; — to Him, father : for I 
 am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. 
 
 Enter Bassamo, icith Leonardo, and otJicr 
 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. You may do so : — but let it be so hasted, 
 that supper be ready at the fiirthest by five of the 
 clock : See these letters delivered ; put the liveries to 
 making ; and desire Gratiano to come anon to my 
 lodging. \^Eyu a Servant. 
 
 Laun. To him, father. 
 
 (loh. God bless your worship ! 
 
 lids.s. Graniercy; Would'st thou aught with me? 
 
 a oh. Ilenfs 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, 
 
 Goh. II(* hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
 say, tp sei-ve 
 
 L^aun. Iiiflccfl, the short and the long is, I serv^e 
 the Jew, and 1 have a desire, as my father shall spe- 
 rify, 
 
 (ioh. His mister and he, (saving your worship's 
 reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins : 
 
 Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the 
 Jew having done mc wrong, doth cause me, as my
 
 30 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto 
 you, 
 
 Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would 
 bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is, — — 
 
 Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to 
 myself, as your worship shall know by this honest 
 old man; and, though I say it, though old man, 
 yet, poor man, my father. 
 
 Bass. One speak for both ; — What would you ? 
 
 Laun. Serve vou, sir. 
 
 Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit : 
 Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day. 
 And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment. 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between, 
 my master Shylock and you, sir ; you have the grace 
 of God, sir, and he hath enough. 
 
 Bass. Thou speak'st it well ; Go, father with thy 
 son : — 
 Take leave of thy old master, and enquire 
 My lodging out : — give him a livery 
 
 \To his FoUoxvers. 
 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 pahn.^ 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 
 pf life ! here's a small trifle of wives : Alas, fifteen 
 
 ' . more guarded — ] i. e. more ornamented. 
 
 8 Well ; if any man in Italy have a fairer tahlcy'] Table is the 
 palm of the hand extended. J^auncelot congratulates himself 
 upon his dexterity and good fortune, and in the height of his 
 rapture inspects his hand, and congratulates himself upon the 
 lelicities in his table.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 31 
 
 wives is nothing ; eleven uidows, and nine maids, is 
 a simple cominc;-in for one man: and then, to 
 'scape drowning" thrice ; and to be in peril of my life 
 with tiie eili^e of a feather-bed ;*^ — here are simple 
 'scapes ' Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good 
 wench for this gear. — Father, come ; Fll take my 
 leave of tlic Jew in tlie twinkling of an eye. 
 
 [^Exeunt Launcelot and old Gobbo. 
 
 Bass. I pmy thee, good Leonardo, think on this; 
 These things being bought, and orderly bestowed. 
 Return in haste, for I do fea^t to-night 
 Mv best-esteem'd acquaintance : hie thee, go. 
 
 Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 
 
 Enter Gratiaiso. 
 
 Gra. "\Aliere is your master? 
 
 Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. 
 
 \Ksit Leonardo. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, 
 
 liass. (iratiano! 
 
 Gra. 1 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, 
 (iratiano ; 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; — 
 Parts, tliat l)ecome thee haj)pily enough, 
 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
 Jiut uherethcju art not known, why ttiere they show 
 fSomethmg too liberal :' — pray thee take pain 
 'j\> allav with some cohl drops of modesty 
 Thy skipping sj)int; lest, througli thy wild h(>liaviour, 
 
 ^ in peril of my lif' vifh l/ir eris^c of a fcnlher-bctl ;] A 
 
 CiUJt phra'^e to sigtjily thu danj^i-r of iiiurryin};. 
 
 ' Sumet/ii/i^ tou lihcral ;] i.e. grubS, coarse, liccntiouB.
 
 32 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 I be misconstrued in the place I go to. 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit. 
 Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
 Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
 Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen ; 
 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.^ 
 
 G)^a. Nay, but I bar to-night ; you shall not gage 
 me 
 By what we do to-night. 
 
 Bass. No, that wxre 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. \_E.veunt, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 The same. A Room in Shylock's House. 
 
 Enter Jessica and LAU^■CELOT. 
 
 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 : 
 Bat fare thee well : there is a ducat for thee'. 
 
 sad fs'cnt — ] Ostent is a word very cornmorly used 
 
 for shcAv among the old draiiiatick writers. 
 3 — — — iiour bearing.] Hearing is carriage, deportment.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 33 
 
 Ami, Launcelot, soon ;it siippiT slialt thou see 
 Lorenzo, who is thy new master's "nest : 
 Give him this letter ; do it secretly, 
 And so tkn'well ; I ^vould not have my father 
 kSee me talk with thee. 
 
 Latin. Adieu ! — tears exhihit thy ton<^ue. — 
 ^lost beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew! If a Christ- 
 ian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much 
 deceived : But, adieu ! these foolish drops do some- 
 what drown my manly spirit ; adieu ! \_E.vit. 
 
 Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. 
 Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, 
 To be asham'd to be my'father's child! 
 Jiut though I am a daughter to his blood, 
 I am not to his manners : O Lorenzo, 
 If thou kecjj promise, I shall end this strife ; 
 Become a Christian, and thy lovmg wife. \_E.r'it, 
 
 SCENE \\. 
 
 The same. A Street. 
 
 Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, >Salarino, and 
 
 Salamo. 
 
 Lor. Na\', we will slink away in supjK'r-timc ; 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 All in an hour. 
 
 Gra. ^^'e have not made good preparation. 
 
 Suldr. W\' have not spoke us yet of toreh- 
 beairrs. 
 
 Sniim. 'Tis vile, unless it maybe quaintly order'd; 
 And bitter, in mv miiul, not undertook. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis now but four a-elock ; we have Iwo 
 hours 
 To furnish us ; —
 
 34 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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 paj)er it writ on. 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 
 Gra. Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Laun, By your leave, sir. 
 
 Lor. Whither goest thou ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew 
 to sup to-night with my new master the Christian; 
 
 Lor. Hold here, take this : — tell gentle Jessica, 
 I will not fail her ; — speak it privately ; go. — 
 Gentlemen, \_Exit Launcelot. 
 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 
 I am provided of a toach-bearer. 
 
 Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 
 
 Sedan. And so will I. 
 
 Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano, 
 
 At Gratiano's lodgings some hour hence. 
 
 Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 \_E.veiint Salar. and Salan. 
 
 Gra. Was not tliat 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, 
 I'nless 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,
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 35 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The same. Before Sliylock's House. 
 
 Enter Shylock and Launceix)T. 
 
 Shi/. Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy 
 judge, 
 The diftl'rence of old Shyloek and Bassanio :— 
 What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize, 
 As thou hast done with nie ; — What, Jessica !— 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
 ^\'hy, Jessica, I say ! 
 
 Iaiuu. Why, Jessica ! 
 
 SJiy. Wlio 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. 
 
 Jcs. Call you r What is yo\n' will ? 
 
 Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica; 
 There are my keys : — But wherefore should I go ? 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter mc : 
 But yet rii go in hate, to feed upon 
 The 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-ba^s to-night. 
 
 Iaihu. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master 
 doth expect your reproach. 
 
 io ft-ed iipnn 
 
 The proditral Chiisiian.^ Sliylock forgets his resolution. In 
 a former scene he declares he will iieitlier rat, drink, nor praif 
 with ChristianR. Of this cireunistunce the noct was aware, and 
 meant only to heif^hten tlie malignity of the character, by making; 
 him depart from his most settled resolve, for the prosecution o\ 
 h\% reNciiget SiKtviNs. 
 
 12
 
 36 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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 
 w^as four year in the afternoon. 
 
 Shi}. What ; are there masques ? Hear you me, 
 Jessica : 
 Lock up my doors ; and w hen 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. — 
 
 Misti'ess, look out at window, for all this ; 
 There wdll come a Christian by. 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. SJExit Laun. 
 Shxj, What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, 
 
 ha? 
 Jes. His words were. Farewell, mistress ; no- 
 thing else. 
 
 ^ then il ivas noifor noilnng that my nose Jell a bleeding on 
 
 Black-Monday lard,'] " Black'Monday is Easter-Monday, and 
 was so called on this occasion : in the 34th of Edward III. (1360) 
 the 14th of April, and the morrow after Easter-day, King Ed- 
 ward, with his host, lay before the city of Paris : which day was 
 full of dark mist and hail, and so bitter cold, that many men died 
 OB their horses' backs with the cold. Wherefore, unto this day 
 it hutli been cuiled the Bhcke- Monday.** Stowe^ p. 264—6. 
 
 Grey.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. a7 
 
 Shy. The j)ateh^ is kind enouf^li ; but a huge 
 feeder. 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps b}'- day 
 More tlian the wild eat ; drones hive not with me; 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one tliat I would have him help to waste 
 His borrow'd purse. — Well, Jessiea, go in; 
 Perha])s, I will return immediately; 
 Do, as I bid you, 
 
 8hut doors after you : Fast bind, fist 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. \Eiit. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 The same. 
 
 Enter Gratiaxo and Salarino, masqued. 
 
 Gra. This is tlic pent-house, under which Lo- 
 renzo 
 Desir'd us to make stand. 
 
 Salnr. ' His hour is almost past. 
 
 Ura. And it is mar\'el he out-dwells his hour. 
 For lowrs ever run before the clock. 
 
 Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
 To seal love's bonds new made, than they arc wont. 
 To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 
 
 Gra. That ever holds : who risoth from a feast, 
 With that keen apj)etite that he sits down ? 
 Where is the horse that doth unread again 
 His tedious measures with the unbatd fire 
 That he did ])aee tl^em first ? All things that are, 
 Arc with more spirit chased than cnjoy'l. 
 
 ^ The patch — ] A term iur a fool.
 
 3« MERCHANT OF VENICE, 
 
 How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
 The scarfed bark' puts from her native bay, 
 Hiigg'd and embraced by the strumjx't 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 here- 
 after. 
 Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
 abode ; 
 Not I, but my aifairs, 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. 
 
 Efiter Jessica abo^ce, in boys clothes. 
 
 Jcs. Who are you ? Tell me, for more certaint}^. 
 Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jcs. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ; 
 For who love I so much ? and now who knows. 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ? 
 
 Lor. Pleaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that 
 thou art. 
 
 Jcs. Here, catch this casket ; 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 foUics that themselves commit ; 
 For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
 To see me t/ius transformed to a boy. 
 
 Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer» 
 
 — soirfed bark — ] i. e. the vessel decorated with flags.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 39 
 
 Jes. What, must I hold a caudle to my shames ? 
 They in themselves, good sooth, aie too too light. 
 Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
 And I should be obscur'd. 
 
 Lor. So arc you, sweet, 
 
 Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
 But come at once ; 
 
 For the close niuht doth ])lay the run-away. 
 And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 Jes. I will make last the doors, and gild myself 
 With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 
 
 \_E.vii,jyom 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, hcloxc. 
 
 "\\'hat, art thou come ? — On, gentlemen, away ; 
 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 
 
 [^Exit with Jessica and Salarino. 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Who's there? 
 
 Gra. Signior Antonio ? 
 
 ylnt. 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 fur you. 
 
 Gta. I am glad on't ; I desire no more delight, 
 Tlnni to be under sail, and gone to-night. 
 
 l^Ej'cunt. 
 
 VOL. III. F
 
 40 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 
 Tlourish of Cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince 
 of Morocco^ and both their Trains, 
 
 Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover 
 Tlie several caskets to this noble prince : — 
 Now make your choice. 
 
 Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription 
 bears ; — 
 JVho chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries ; — 
 Who chooseth 7we, shall get as much as he deser'oes. 
 This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; — 
 IVho chooseth me, mast 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 ? 
 fVlio chooseth 77ie, 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
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 41 
 
 May not extend so far as to tlie lady ; 
 
 And yet to be afoard of my deserving, 
 
 Were but a weak disablino; of myself. 
 
 As miieli as I deserve ! — Why, that's the lady : 
 
 I do in bu'th deserve her, and in fortunes. 
 
 In oraces, 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 : 
 
 irho choosctli viCy shall f];ain zchat nianii mai desire. 
 
 Why, that's the lady : all the world desires her: 
 
 From tlu' four corners of the earth they come, 
 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathino- saint. 
 
 The Hvrcanian deserts, and the vastv wilds 
 
 Of wide Arabia, arc as through-fares now. 
 
 For princes to come view fair Portia : 
 
 The watry 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 ?iee fair Portia. 
 
 One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
 
 Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere danmation. 
 
 To til ink so base a thought : it were too gross 
 
 To rib" lier 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 fi";ure of an anirel 
 
 StaiinK'd in gold ; but that's insculp'd^ upon ; 
 
 Jiut here an angel in a golden bed 
 
 Lies all within. — Deliver me the key ; 
 
 Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! 
 
 * To rib — ] i. o. inclose, astlie ribs inclose the viscera. 
 
 ** ; insculij'J vpoti ;\ To inacnlp is to eiigravt'. The mtntn- 
 
 mw is, that the ligarc of the angel is rciued or tiubuwcU wu tb« 
 com, not engraved ou it. 
 
 F 2
 
 42 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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, ^vithin whose empty eye 
 There is a written scroll ? I'll read the writins;. 
 
 All that glisters is not gold. 
 Often ha've you heard that told: 
 Many a man his life hath soldy 
 But my outside to behold : 
 Gilded tombs do ivorms infold. 
 Had you been as wise as bold. 
 Young in limbs, in judgment old. 
 Your ansxver kad not been inscrofd : 
 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. \_E.rit, 
 
 Por. A gentle riddance : Draw the curtains, 
 
 go ; 
 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. \_E.veunt. 
 
 vSCENE VIII. 
 
 Venice. A Street, 
 
 Enter Salarino and Salanio. 
 
 Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
 With him is Gratiano gone along; 
 And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 
 
 Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd th« 
 duke; 
 Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 43 
 
 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 ccrtity'd the duke. 
 They were not witli Bassanio in his ship, 
 
 Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
 80 strange, outrageous, and so variable. 
 As the doo- Jew did utter in the streets : 
 J/y daughter ! — O my ducats ! — O my daughter ! 
 Fled zvii/i a Christ 'uui ? — O my christian ducats ! — 
 Justice! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
 A sealed bae:, fuo sealed bai^s of ducats. 
 Of double ducats J stoCnJrom me by my daughter I 
 And jeu-els; two stones, two rich and precious stones, 
 Stol'n by my daughter ! — Justice! find the girl! 
 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 ]>ay for this. 
 
 Salar. Marry, well remember'd : 
 
 I rca.son'd with a Frenchman yesterday ; ' 
 AVho told me, — in the narrow seas, that part 
 The French and English, there miscarried 
 A vessel of our country, richly iVauglit : 
 I thought upon Antonio, w hen he told me ; 
 And wish'd in silence, that it were not his, 
 
 Salan. You were best t(; tell Antonio what you 
 hear ; 
 Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
 
 Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the eartli. 
 I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: 
 JJassanio told him, he would make some speed 
 Of his return j he answer' d — Do not so, 
 
 ' I rcasjon'd n-ilh a Frenchman yesterday ;] i, c. I converged.
 
 44 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Slubber not'^ busbiess for my sake, Bassanio, 
 
 But stay the very riping of the time ; 
 
 And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of 7ne, 
 
 Let it 7Wt enter in your mind of love : 
 
 Be merry ; and employ your chief est thoughts 
 
 To courtship, and such fair ostents of love 
 
 As shall ccnvenietitly become you there : 
 
 And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
 
 Turiiin«: his face, he put his hand behind him,' 
 
 And with affection wondrous sensible 
 
 He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. 
 
 Satan. 1 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, 
 x\nd comes to his election presently. 
 
 ' Slubber not — ] To slubber is to do any thing carelessly, im- 
 perfectly- 
 
 5 Anil even there, his eye heing hir^ rvif.h fear.t. 
 
 Turning Jiisjace, he put his hand behind him, Sec.'] So curiou.^ 
 an observer of nature was our author, and so minnttily had he 
 traced the operation of the passions, that many passages of his 
 Storks miglit furnish hints to painters. It is indeed surprizing 
 that they do not study his plays with this view. In the passage 
 before us, we have the outline of a beautiful picture, Malone. 
 
 •* embraced hearings — ] The heaviness which he in- 
 
 idulges, and i? fond of.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 45 
 
 Flourish of Corvets. Enter the Prince o/' 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 vou 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. 
 
 For. 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. 
 irho choose th me, must give and hazard all he hath : 
 You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 
 What says the golden chest ? ha I let me see : — 
 fTho chooseth me, shall guin what many men desire. 
 What many men desire. — That many may be meant 
 By the fool multitude, that choose by show. 
 Not k'ariiing more than the fond eye doth teach ; 
 Whicii ])ries not to the interior, but, like the mart* 
 
 let. 
 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. 
 
 5 And io have I address'd vie .•] To address is to prepare* 
 
 * in the force — ] i. e. thu power. 
 
 "> — — jump — ] i. c. agree with.
 
 46 MERCHANT OF VENICE, 
 
 Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house ; 
 
 T'ell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
 
 JVho chooscth me, shall get as 7?iuch 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 deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour 
 
 Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer! 
 
 How many then should cover, that stand bare ? 
 
 How many be commanded, that command ? 
 
 How much low peasantry would then be glcan'd 
 
 From the true seed of honour?^ and how much 
 
 honour 
 Pick'd from the chaif and ruin of the times, 
 To be new varnish'd ? Well, but to my choice ; 
 IFho chooseth me, shall get as miieh as he deserves : 
 I will assume desert ; — Give me a key for this. 
 And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 
 
 jPor. Too long a pause for that which you find 
 there. 
 
 Ar. What's here r the portrait of a blinking 
 idiot. 
 Presenting me a schedule ? I will read it. 
 How much unlike art thou to Portia ? 
 How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings ? 
 iVho chooseth me, shall have as micch as he deserves^ 
 Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? 
 Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ? 
 
 Par. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, 
 And of opposed natures. 
 
 8 HoXiitmtch lotv 'peasantry xmuldlhen he glean'' d 
 From l/te true seed q/' honour ?'} The meaning is, Hoxo much 
 meanness tvould be found among the great j and hoxv much greatness 
 among the mean.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 47 
 
 ^r. What is here ? 
 
 The fire seven times tried this ; 
 Seven times tried that judgment is, 
 That did never choose amiss : 
 Some there be, that shadows kiss ; 
 Such have but a shadozv's bliss : 
 There be fools alive, I wis,^ 
 Silver d o'er ; and so was this. 
 Take what wife you will to bed, 
 I will ever be yo\ir 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 ! Til keep my oath, 
 
 Patiently to bear my wroth. 
 
 [_E,veunt Arragon, atid Train, 
 Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 
 O 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. 
 For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Scrv. Where is my lady ? 
 
 Par. Here ; what would my lord ? 
 
 Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 To signify the ajjproaching of his lord : 
 From whom he l)ringeth sensible regreets ;* 
 
 7 wis,] I know. JVissrn, Gennan. 
 
 ' rt'grcfts ;] i. c. salutations.
 
 48 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath. 
 
 Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
 
 So hkely an ambassador of love : 
 
 A day in April never came so sweet. 
 
 To sliow how costly summer was at hand. 
 
 As this tbre-spurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 For. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard. 
 Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee. 
 Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.— 
 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 ! 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Salanio and Salarino. 
 
 Salan. 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 fiat, and fatal, where the 
 carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, 
 if my gossip report be an honest woman of her 
 word. 
 
 Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that 
 as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours bc- 
 heve she wept for the death of a third husband: But 
 it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or cross- 
 ing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good An- 
 tonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title 
 
 good enough to keep his name company ! — 
 
 Sahtr. Come, the full stop!
 
 ISIERCIIANT OF VENICE. 49 
 
 Solan. Ha, — what say'st thou? — Why the end 
 is, he hath lost a ship. 
 
 Salar. I would it might prove the cud of liis 
 losses ! 
 
 Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 
 cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness 
 of a Jew. — 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 
 How now, Shylock r 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 ; 1, for my part, knew the 
 tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 
 
 Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the 
 hird was fledg d ; and then it is the com^ilexion of 
 tliem all to leave the dam. 
 
 Shy. xShe is damn'd for it. 
 
 Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her 
 judge. 
 
 .S7/?/. My own flesh and blood to rebel! 
 
 Salan. Out upon it, okl carrion ! rebels it at 
 these years r 
 
 Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
 
 Salar. There is more diflerence between thy flesh 
 and hers, than between jet and ivory; more between 
 vour bloods, than there is between red wine and 
 1 henish : — But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio 
 have had any loss at sea or no? 
 
 Shy. There 1 have another bad match : a bank- 
 rupt, aj)rodigal, wiio dare scarce show his head on 
 the Rialto; — a beogar that used to come so snnig 
 upon the marl ; — lei him look to his bond : he was 
 wont to call me usurer; — let him look to his bond : 
 he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; 
 — let him look to his bond. 
 
 I'i
 
 50 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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 his 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, sub- 
 ject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer^ 
 as a Christian is? if you prick us, do we not bleed ? 
 if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison 
 us, do we not die ? and if 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 Christ- 
 ian, what is his humility ? revenge ; If a Christian 
 wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by 
 Christian example ? why, revenge. The villainy, 
 you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard, 
 but I will better the instruction. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Scrv. 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. [E.veiint Salan. Salar. and Servant. 
 
 Shy. How now. Tubal, what news from Genoa? 
 hast thou found my daughter ?
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 51 
 
 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 Frankfort t 
 The curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I 
 never felt till now : — two thousand ducats in that; 
 and other precious, precious jewels. — I would, my 
 daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in 
 lier ear ; 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and 
 the ducats in her coliin ! No news of them ? — \Miy, 
 so : — and I know not what's spent in the seaix'li : 
 Why, tiiou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so 
 much, and so nmch to find the thief; and no satis- 
 faction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring hut 
 -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 Crenoa, — 
 
 Sliy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck ? 
 
 Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming fron^ 
 Tripolis. 
 
 Shif. 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. 
 
 Sky. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good ncM .-, 
 sood news : lia ! 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 sit- 
 ting ! fourscore ducats ! 
 
 'J\ib. 'I'here came divers of Antonio's creditors in 
 my comjjany 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.
 
 52 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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* 
 ncss of monkeys. 
 
 Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
 Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, Tu- 
 bal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight be- 
 fore : I will have 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. \_Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Belmont. A Room in Portia's House, 
 
 Milter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa^ 
 and Attendants. The caskets are set out. 
 
 Por. 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, 
 
 * it tvas mij turquoise ; / had it of Leahy rvhen I leas a 
 
 bachelor .•} A turquoise la a precious stone found in the veins of 
 the mountains on the confines of Persia to the east, subject to the 
 Tartars. As Shylock had been married long enough to have a 
 daughter grown up, it is plain he did not value this turquoise on 
 account of the money for which he might hope to sell it, but 
 merely in respect of the imaginary virtues formerly ascribed to the 
 «tone. It was said of the Turkey-stone, tliat it faded or bright- 
 ened in its colour, as the health of the wearer increased or grew 
 less ; and other superstitious qualities are imputed to it, all of 
 wUich were eitlier monitory or preservative to the wearer.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 53 
 
 (And yet a maiden hath no tonj^uc 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 vours, the other half yours, 
 
 Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then your?. 
 And so all yours : O I these naughty times 
 Put bai's 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 m lengtli. 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Baas. Let me choose , 
 
 For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? tlicn confess 
 "What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 
 Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust. 
 Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love : 
 There may as well be amity and life 
 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 
 
 Por. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack; 
 W'liere men enforced do speak any thing. 
 
 Bass. 1^'omise me life, and Fll confess the truth. 
 
 Por. Well then, confess, and live. 
 
 Bass. Confess, and love, 
 
 I Ltd been the very sum of my confession: 
 () happy torment, when my torturer 
 iJoth teach me answers for deliverance! 
 But let me to my fortune and the casketii. 
 
 ' to peizc ikc time ;] To pcizf^ Is to tvr]^/, or tafaucf ; 
 
 and figurativeJ/, to keep in, ^tupcnse, to d^lajf.
 
 54 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For, 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 musick sound, while he doth make his choice ; 
 Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end. 
 Fading in musick : that the comparisoa 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the 
 
 stream. 
 And wat'ry death-bed for him : He may win ; 
 And what is musick then ? then musick 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. 
 
 IfusicJC) whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets 
 
 to himself, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. 'Tell me^ where isfancy^ hred-, 
 Or in the heart, or in the head? 
 How begot, how nourished? 
 
 * With no less presence,'] With the same dignity of mien, 
 J f ancy — ] i, e. Loxe.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE, 95 
 
 Reply. 
 
 1. It is engender d in the eyes, 
 
 llith gazi?ig Jed ; and Jane y dies 
 In tlie eradle zvliere it lies : 
 Let us all ring faneys knell ; 
 
 III begin it, Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 All. Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 Bass. — So may the outward shows be l^ast them- 
 selves ; 
 The world is still deeeiv'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, 
 Hidino; the crossness 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 searchd, have livers white as milk ? 
 And these assume but valour's excrement,^ 
 To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
 And you shall see 'tis j)urchas'd by the weight; 
 V\ iiich therein works a miracle in nature. 
 Making tiiem lightest that wear niost of it ; 
 So are those crisped snaky golden locks, 
 Whicli make such wanton gand)ols with the wind, 
 Up<m su])jK)sed fairjiess, often known 
 T'» be till- dowry of a second head, 
 The scull that bred lliem, in tlie sepulchre. 
 
 ^ f>;rncioH'! voice,'] Pleasipfj^, winning favour. 
 
 ' approNc // — ] i. e. justify it. 
 
 * rdhj'ir's excrcmi'nt,] i. r. uluit a little iiighcr i? t.ilU;il 
 
 tlic heard u\' Ifcrtulos. 
 
 VOL. 111. p
 
 56 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Thus ornament is but the guilcd shore ^ 
 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
 
 Veihng 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. 
 ij love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy, 
 In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess ; 
 I feel too much thy blessing, make it less, 
 For fear I surfeit I 
 
 Bass. What find I here ? 
 
 \0pe7iing 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 
 .Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hair^ 
 The painter plays the spider; and hath woven 
 A 'j;oIden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, — 
 How could he sec to do them ? having made one, 
 Mcthiuks, it shoidd have power to steal both his, 
 
 '-' the guiled shore — j i. e. the treacherous shore. Shak- 
 
 speare in this instance, as in manv others, confounds tlie partici- 
 ples. Guiled stands lor guilirig. 
 
 ' Fair Portia's counterfeit ?] Counterfeit, wliich is at present 
 used only in a bad sense, anciently signified a likeness, a resern^ 
 Slauce, without comprehending any idea of fraud. •
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 57 
 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
 In underprizino^ it, so far this shadow 
 Doth limp behind the substance. — Here's the scroll, 
 The continent and summary of my fortune. 
 
 Vou that choose not by the Tiew, 
 Chajice as Jaij\ 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, 
 7'ur/i you where your lady is, 
 And claim her with a lovino- /dss. 
 
 o 
 
 A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave : 
 
 [Kissitig 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 be his or no ; 
 So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so; 
 As doubtful whether what I see be true. 
 Until confirnrd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 
 Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
 JSuch a»< I am : tliough, for mysetf alone, 
 I would not be ambitious in my Wish, 
 To wish myself much better ; yet, for you, 
 I w<juld be trebled twentv times myself; 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
 More rich ; 
 
 'I'hat oidy to stand high on your account, 
 I miii;ht m virtues, In-autics, livjngs, friends, 
 Exceed account: but the full sunj of me 
 Is sum ol >omtthiiig ; which, to term in gross.
 
 58 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Is an unlessond girl, unschoord, unpractis'd: 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; and happier than tliis, 
 She is not bred so dull hut 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 sei-vants, 
 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. 
 
 B{iss. 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 appeal 
 Among -the buzzing pleased multitude; 
 Where every something, being blent togetlier,^ 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
 ExpressVl, and not express'd : But when this ring 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence ; 
 O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. 
 
 Ne7\ IMy 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! 
 
 G/Y/. 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 
 
 » — — being blent together,'] i. e. blended. 
 
 3 you can ivish none from me .•] That is, none aivay from. 
 
 noiitt that I shall lyse, if you gain it.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 6g 
 
 The barjiain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
 Even at tliat time 1 may be marned too. 
 
 Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 
 
 G?'a. I thank your lordship ; you have got me one. 
 My eyes, mv 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 wooinu; here, until I sweat again ; 
 And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
 ^\'irh 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 
 Achieved her mistress. 
 
 Por. Is this true, Nerissa ? 
 
 J\rr. Madam, it is, so you stand ])leas'd withal. 
 
 Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good tuitli ? 
 
 Gra. Yes, 'faith, my lord. 
 
 Bass. Our feast shall be much honour d in your 
 inarrias:e, 
 
 Gra. "We'll play witli them, the first boy for a 
 thousand ducats. 
 
 Ncr. What, and stake down ? 
 
 Gra. No; we sliall ne'er win at tliat sport, and 
 
 stake down. 
 
 But who comes h'.'re ? Lorenzo, and his infidel? 
 What, my old Venetian friend, tjalerio ? 
 
 E)?ter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio. 
 
 Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
 If that the youth of my new interest here 
 Have |xjwer to bid you welcome : — By your leave, 
 
 * for internusbion — ] Intermission is pause, intervening 
 
 time, delay.
 
 60 MERCHANT OF VENICE, 
 
 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 
 lord. 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
 But meeting with Salerio by the way. 
 He did entreat me, past all saying nay. 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Sale. ~ I did, my lord, 
 
 And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
 Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter. 
 
 Bass. Ere I ope his letter, 
 
 I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 
 
 Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will show you his estate. 
 
 Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon 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 Jason s, we have won the fleece. 
 
 Sale. 'Would you had won the fleece that he hath 
 lost! 
 
 Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon 
 same paper. 
 That steal the colour 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 ? — 
 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 f^w of the unpleasant'st words.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 6h 
 
 Tliat ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady. 
 
 When I did first inijxirt my love to you, 
 
 I fVeelv 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 
 
 Tliat I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, 
 
 I have enoao'd myself to a dear friend, 
 
 Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, 
 
 To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ; 
 
 The j)a})or 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-marring rocks ? 
 
 Suit'. Not one, my lord. 
 
 Besides, it should a})})ear, 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, 
 Mo keen and greedy to confound a man : 
 He jjjies the duke at morning, and at night; 
 And doth im])each the freedom of the state, 
 If they deny him justice: twenty merchants, 
 The duke himself, and the magnificocs 
 Of greatest jx)rt, have all persuaded with him ; 
 But none can drive him from the envious plea 
 Of forftiturc, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 Jes. Wlien 1 was with him, I have heard him swear, 
 
 ' J'/tc paprr as the body — ] TIiu. expression is somewliat el- 
 lipticiil : " 'I'lie ])aj)cr (n tlie body," iueans-.-thc paper resembles 
 the bud}', is us the body.
 
 U MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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 1 
 
 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 asppears^ 
 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 ; 
 W^lvJn 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 the letter of your friend. 
 
 Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio^ my ships have 
 all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is 
 •very Unv, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since, 
 in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts 
 
 ^ «- — cheer ;] i. e. countenance.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 6^ 
 
 arc chared betxveen you and /, If I might but- 
 ste you at my death : notxc'ithstanding, use your 
 pleasure : if your love do not persuade you to come, 
 let not my letter. 
 
 For. O love, dcsputch all business, and be gone. 
 Bass. Since I have your good leave to go a\Tay, 
 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. \_E.veunt, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Shylock, Salanio, Antomo, 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. 
 
 yhit. 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 : 
 'iliou cairdst 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. 
 
 .Int. I pray thee, hear me speak. 
 
 Shy. I'll have my bond ; 1 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'd fool, 
 To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
 
 1 —   50 i'trtid — ] i. c. 80 foolish.
 
 64 MERCHANT OF VEI^flCE. 
 
 To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 
 I'll have no speaking ; I will have my bond. 
 
 [^E.vit Shylock, 
 
 Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur, 
 That ever kept with men. 
 
 A}if. 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 
 IVIany that have at times made moan to me ; 
 Therefore he hates me. 
 
 Salayi. 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, 
 Tliat 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 ! 
 
 [Eiceunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 
 Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and 
 
 Balthazar. 
 
 Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence, 
 You have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of god-like amity ; which appears most strongly 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 63 
 
 But, if you knew to whom you sliow this honour, 
 How true a iicntlenian vou send rchef, 
 ^Io^v dear a lover of luv lord your husliand, 
 I know, you would be prouder of the work, 
 Than customary bounty can enforce you. 
 
 Por. I never did repent for doing good. 
 Nor sliall not now : for in eom])anions 
 Tliat d(^ eon\erse and waste the time together, 
 Whose souls do l^ear an equal yoke of love, 
 There must be needs a like ])roj)orti<)n 
 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 connnit into your hands 
 The husbandry and manage of my house, 
 1 ntil my lord's return : for mine own part, 
 1 have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow, 
 To live in j)rayer and contemplation, 
 Oidy attended by Nerissa here, 
 I ntil her husband and my lord's return : 
 There is a monastery two miles oft. 
 And there we will abide. I do desire you. 
 Not to deny this imposition; 
 The which my love, and some necessity, 
 Now lays uj)on you. 
 
 Lor. Madam, with all my heart; 
 
 1 shall obey you in all fair connnands. 
 
 Por. My p(!()ple do already know my mind, 
 And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
 In j)lacc of lord Bassanio and myself. 
 .So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 
 
 10
 
 m MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 , Lor, Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend^on 
 
 Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 For. I thank you for your wish, and am well 
 pleas'd 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 
 
 \_Ed^eunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
 Now, Balthazar, 
 
 As I have ever found thee honest, true. 
 So let me tind 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 Bellario ; 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth give 
 
 thee. 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'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 bef-^re thee. 
 
 Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed, 
 
 lE.vit, 
 
 Par. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand. 
 That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands. 
 Before they think of us. 
 
 JVer. Shall they see us ? 
 
 For. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit. 
 That they shall think we are accom])lished 
 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 
 
 * Unto the trunect,] The old copies concur in this readiog, 
 which appears to be derived from tranare, and was probably a 
 word current in the time of our author, though I can produce no 
 example of' it. Steevens.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Qj 
 
 Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays, 
 
 Like a fine braoging yontli : and tell quaint lies. 
 
 How honourable ladies sought my love, 
 
 "\Miich I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
 
 I could not do with all ; 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 shall swear, I have discontinued school 
 
 Above a twelvemonth : — I have within my mind 
 
 A thousand raw tricks of tliese bragging Jacks, 
 
 Which I will j)ractise. 
 
 A cv. Why, shall we turn to men ? 
 
 For. Fve ! what a question's that, 
 If thou V. ert near a lew d interpreter ? 
 But come, ril 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The sa77ie. A Garden. 
 
 E??fer Launcelot and Jessica. 
 
 Lann. Yes, truly : — for, look you, the sins of the 
 father are to be laid u})on the children ; tlierefore, 
 I promise you, I fear you/^ I was always plain with 
 you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: 
 Therefore, be of good cheer; for, truly, I think, 
 vou are dumn'd. There is but one hope in it that 
 can do 3 OM any good ; and that is but a kind of 
 bastard h'j])e neither. 
 
 Je6. And what hope is that, I pray thee? 
 
 ''— — I promise you, I fear you.] i. t. — I fear /I>r you.
 
 68 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Laiui. Marry, you may partly hope that your 
 father ^ot you not, that you are not the Jew's 
 daughter. 
 
 Je(i. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed ; 
 »o the sins of" my mother should be visited upon me. 
 
 Laun. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both by 
 fiither and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your 
 father, I fall into Charvbdis, 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, Laun- 
 celot, if you thus get my wife into corners. 
 
 Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo ; Laun- 
 celot and 1 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. 
 
 Xor. 1 shall answer that better to the common- 
 wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's 
 belly ; the lAoox is with child by you, Launcelot. 
 
 Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more 
 than reiwoi:i : 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 tliinkj tlie best grace of wit will shortly turn into
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 09 
 
 silence ; and discourso grow commendable in none 
 only but parrots. — Go in, sirrah ; bid them prepare 
 tor dinner. 
 
 Laun. That is done, sir ; they have all stomachs. 
 
 Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapj)er are you ! 
 then bid them pre})are dinner. 
 
 Laun. That is done, too, sir : only, cover is the 
 word. 
 
 Lor. W'xW you cover then, sir ? 
 
 Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. Yet more quarrellincj w ith occasion ! Wilt 
 thou show the whole wealth of thy w^it in an instant ? 
 1 pray thee, understand a j)Iain 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. Fur the table, sir, it shall be served in ; 
 i^y^ the nuat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your 
 coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours 
 and conceits shall govern. \_Ej:'it Launcelot. 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words ai-e suited ! 
 The fool hath jdanted in his memory 
 An army of t;ood words ; And I do know 
 A mauv iools. rh;it st;ind in bitter })lace, 
 (iiiriiish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
 Di'fy till matter. Mow cheer st thou, Jessica ) 
 And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
 How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife .^ 
 
 JiLs. Pas^ all evpressing : It is verv meet. 
 The lord Bassanio live an ujjright life ;* 
 F"r. having such a blessing in his lady, 
 He tind^ the joys of heaven here on earth ; 
 And, it on earth he do not mean it, it 
 Is reason he '-hould never come to heaven. 
 Why, if two gods should play some luMVcnly match, 
 And (iU the wager lay two earthly women, ' 
 And i^ortia one, there mu.'^t be soincthin" else
 
 70 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Pawn'd with the otlier ,* 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 ; iirst, 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. 
 
 Jgs. Well, ril set you forth. \_Ejceunt. 
 
 ACT 17. 
 
 SCENE I. Venice. A Court of Justice. 
 
 Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bas- 
 SANio, 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 
 answer 
 A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
 Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
 From any dram of mercy. 
 
 Ant. I have heard. 
 
 Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
 His 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 arm'd 
 To suffer, with a quietness of spirit. 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 his envy's reach,'] Envy in this place means hatred of 
 
 malice.
 
 MERCHANT OP VENICE. 71 
 
 Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 
 iiulan. lie's ready at the door: lie comes, niv 
 lord. 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 
 Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
 face. — 
 Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too. 
 That thou but lead'st tliis flishion of thy malice 
 To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, 
 Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse,-' more 
 
 strange 
 Tlian 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^ 
 Furgivc a moiety of the principal ; 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
 That have of late so huddled on his back ; 
 Enough to press a royal mercliant down, ^ 
 And pluck commiseration of his state ' 
 
 From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint. 
 From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 
 To oifices of tender courtesy. 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
 
 Shy. 1 have possess'd your grace of what I pur^ 
 pose ; 
 And by om* holy Sabbath liave I sworn, 
 'J'o have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
 Ify^iu deny it, let the danger light 
 \ \)(m yfjur charter, and your city's freedom. 
 Voull ask me, why I ratluT choose to have 
 
 * rrmorsr,'] i. e. pity. 
 
 ' ajwarc/il — ] That is, fecmi/ig f not reul. 
 
 * iifwre — ] Tor uhcraix. 
 
 \UL. III. li
 
 72 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
 
 Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 
 
 But, say, it is my humour; Is itanswer'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 ? 
 
 iSome men there are, love not a gaping pig ; 
 
 Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; 
 
 And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose. 
 
 Cannot contain their urine ; For aifection, 
 
 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 bag-pipe ; 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 beat Antonio, that I follow thus 
 
 A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ? 
 
 Basf» This is no answer, thou unfeeling man. 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 Shi/. I am not bound to please thee with my an- 
 swer. 
 
 Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 
 
 Shi/. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 
 
 JBass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 
 
 Shi/. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting 
 thee, twice ? 
 
 Ant. I pray you, think you question^ with the 
 Jew: 
 You may as well go stand upon the beach. 
 And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
 
 * — «— you questioa — ] To question is to converse.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 73 
 
 You may as well use question with the wolf, 
 AVhy he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their liiu^h 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 tliat (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 convenieficy, 
 Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bdss. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
 
 -57/ j/. If eveiy 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,^ 
 W^hich, 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 ? 
 Wliy 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, 
 Tiie slaves arc 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 : 
 
 ^ mnyiy n purchas'd slavCy"] This argument, consldereJ n$ 
 
 UBcd to the particular persons, seems conclusive. 1 see not Iiow 
 Venetians or En{;lishmen, wliile they practise the purchase and 
 »ale of slaves, can much enforce or demand the law of duing t9 
 •then «i ■m: would fhat thej/ should do to ut. JoMNfON. 
 
 U '2
 
 74 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 I stand for judgment : answer; shall I have it? 
 
 Duke' Upon my power, I may dismiss this courts 
 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 Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. 
 
 Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario r 
 Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your 
 grace. [^Presents a letter, 
 
 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 
 Shij. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 
 
 there. 
 Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh 
 Jew, 
 Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can. 
 No, not the hangman's ax, bear half the keenness 
 Of tliy sharp icnvy. 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 mc waver iu my faith. 
 
 riT
 
 MERCHANT OF MLNICE. 75 
 
 To Hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 
 That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 
 Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
 
 Govern d a wolf, who, lian^'d tor hani.iii slaughter. 
 
 Even from the gallows did his fell soul iicet, 
 
 And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam> 
 
 Inflis'd itself in thee ; for thy desires 
 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenotts. 
 
 SJiij. Till thou can St rail the seal from off my 
 bond, 
 Thou but otfend'st thy lungs to speak so loud ; 
 Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will tall 
 To cureless ruin. — ^I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. This letter from Bellario doth conimend * 
 A youns: and learned doctor to our court :— 
 Where is he ? 
 
 Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 
 
 To know your ans\ver, whether you'll admit him.. 
 
 Duke. With all my heart : — some three Or four 
 ofyou, 
 Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
 Meantime, the court shall hear Bcllariq's Letter. 
 
 [Clerk reads ^ Your grace shiiU u)tdcrstan(U thaty 
 at the receipt oj your letter, lam very sick : but in 
 the instant that your messejiger came, in lotii?ig visi- 
 tation was with me a young doctor of Roriie, his 
 name is Balthasar : I acquainted him with the cause 
 in controversy betiveen the Jew and Antonio the mer- 
 chant : we turned o\r many hooks together : he i^i 
 Jurnislid with my opinion ; which, bettered with Jil'i 
 own lear)ung, (the greatness whereof f cannot enough, 
 cojnmend,) comes with him, at wy i}nportunity, to 
 fill up your grace's request in my stead. I beseech 
 you, let his lack of years be no impediment to let him 
 lack a reverend estimation ;Jor J never knew so young 
 a body with so old a head, i leave him to your gra-
 
 1^76 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 cious acceptance, whose trial ^hall better publish his 
 commendation, 
 
 Duke. You hear the learn'd B<ellario, what he 
 writes t 
 And here, I take it, is the doctor come.— 
 
 Enter VoKTiA, dressed like a doctor of laws. 
 
 Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario I 
 
 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 stan4 forth, 
 
 Por. Is your name Shylock ? 
 
 Shy. Shylock is my name. 
 
 Por, Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
 Vet in such a rule, that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn you/ as you do proceed. — 
 You stand within his danger,^ do you not ? 
 
 [7b Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Ay, so he says. 
 
 JPor. 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*4 » 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
 It blesscth him that gives, and him that takes i 
 
 * Cannot impugn youy"] To impugn, is to oppose, to contrs* 
 vert. 
 
 • You stand within his danger,] i. e. within hjg reach or con« 
 trol.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 77 
 
 'Tis mightiest in the miorhtiest ; it becomes 
 
 The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
 
 His scepter shows the force of temporal power. 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 
 '\Mierein 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, — 
 
 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 deed? 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 
 'i'hat malice bears down truth. And I be/5eech yoti. 
 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; 
 
 • i« the course of justice, none qfug 
 
 Should see salvation:] I'orlia referrinp the .few to the Christ- 
 ian doctrine of «alvution, and the Lord'8 I'raycr, is a little out oi 
 character. Blackstoni:,
 
 78 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 And many an error, by the same example. 
 Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 
 
 Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Da^ 
 niel ! 
 O wise young judge, how do I honour thee! 
 
 For. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 
 
 Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'4 
 thee. 
 
 Sliy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
 No, not for Venice. 
 
 Por. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 
 
 And lawfully by this the 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 tcnour.— 
 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 T 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 m^n! 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Por. Therefore_, lay bare your bosom. 
 
 Shy, Ay, his breast :
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. ,f« 
 
 So says tlie bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge ? — 
 Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 
 
 Por. It is so, Aif there balance here, to weigh 
 The «esh r 
 
 Shif. I have them ready. 
 
 Por. Have by gome surgeon, Shylock, on your 
 charge, 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 
 Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 
 
 Por. It is not so exprcss'd ; But what of that ? 
 'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
 
 Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 
 
 Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to '^ay ? 
 
 Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepard.— 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
 (iricvc not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
 F<jr 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 jKnerly ; from which lingering penance 
 Of such a misery doth she cut me oft'. 
 Conmiend me to your honourable wife : 
 IVll 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, 
 AV hethcr Bassanio had not once a love. 
 Uepeiit not you that you shall lose your friend, 
 And he repents not that hi; pays your debt; 
 For, if the .Jew do cut but deep enough, 
 ill j)ay it instantly with all my heart. 
 
 lia.s.'i. Antonio, I am married to a wife, 
 Whicli is as dear to me as life itself; 
 Jhit lite itself, my wife, and all the world, 
 Are not with me estccm'd above t!iy life; 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you.
 
 80 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that^ 
 If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 
 
 Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love ; 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 
 Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
 The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
 
 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. Apound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ; 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
 
 SJiy. Most rightfiil 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 clse.*-s 
 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 ]X)und 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 
 judge ! 
 
 Shy. Is that the law ? 
 
 Por. Thyself shalt 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 !
 
 MERCHANT OF \TENICE. 81 
 
 Shy. I take this offer then ; — pay the bond thrice. 
 And let the Christian go. 
 
 Bcuis. Here is the money. 
 
 For. Soft ; 
 The Jew sliall have all justice ; — soft ; — no haste ;— 
 He shall have notliing but the penalty. 
 
 Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 
 
 Po)\ Therefore, prepare thee to cutoff the flesh. 
 Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more. 
 But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more. 
 Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
 As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance. 
 Or the division of the twentieth part 
 Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn 
 But in the estimation 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. 
 
 For. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy for- 
 feiture. 
 
 Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 
 Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 
 Par. 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 que that word. 
 
 Shy. .Siiall I not have barely my principal? 
 
 Par. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture 
 To be so taken at thy jieril, Jew. 
 
 Shy. Why then tiie devil give him good of itj 
 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 aji alien. 
 That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
 He seek the lile of any citizen.
 
 m MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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: v^',: 
 
 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. 
 
 Uuke. That tliou shalt see the difference of oun 
 spirit, 
 I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
 For half tliy 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 I live. 
 
 JPor. What mercy can you render him, Antonio f 
 
 Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else ; for God's sake. 
 
 Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court. 
 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, 
 
 * yly, Jor the state ; Ac] That is, the state's moiety may be 
 commuted for a fine, but not Antonio's. Malone.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. S3 
 
 Upon liis death, unto the gentleman 
 
 That hitely stole his daut^htcr ; 
 
 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 
 Tlie j)ardon, that I late pronounced here. 
 
 Pur. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou 
 say? 
 
 Shy, I am content. 
 
 Par. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 
 Shy. I priay you, give me leave to go from hence ; 
 I am not well ; send the deed after me. 
 And 1 will sign it. 
 
 Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 
 
 Gra. In christening thou shalt have two god- 
 fathers ; 
 Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten morc,^ 
 To bring thee to the gallows, not tlie font. 
 
 [^Edit Shylock. 
 
 Duke. Sir, I enti'cat 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 soiry that your leisure serves you not. 
 Antonio, gratify this gentleman; 
 For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 
 
 \^E.veunt Duke, Magnijicoes, and Train. 
 
 Pitas. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend, 
 Have by your wisdom been tliis day acquitted 
 Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 
 Three tliousaud ducats, due unto the Jew, 
 We freely cope )'our courteous pains withal, 
 
 ' thou s/ifju/(l's' have had inn morc,'\ i. e, o jury oi twelve- 
 
 lucn, to cyudfum thcc to be hanged. 
 
 12
 
 84 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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. 
 1 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, 111 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, I 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 w_a3 given me by my 
 wife ; 
 And, will 11 she put it on, she made me vow. 
 That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. 
 
 Por. That 'scusc serves many men to save their 
 gifts. 
 An if your wife be not a mad woman.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 83 
 
 * 
 
 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 ! 
 
 {^Eu'eunt Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 ylnt. 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 him. 
 Give him the ring ; and bring him if thou can'st. 
 Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste. 
 
 \_E.Tit Gratiano. 
 Come, you and I will thither presently ; 
 And in the morning early will we both 
 Fly toward Belmont : Come, Antonio. l^Ed^eunt, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The same. A Street. 
 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this 
 deed, 
 And let him sign it ; we'll away to nighty 
 And be a dav before our husbands home : 
 This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 
 
 Enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken: 
 Mv lord Bassanio, upon more advice,^ 
 Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat 
 Your conjpany at dinner. 
 
 Por. That cannot be : 
 
 This ring I do accept most thankfully, 
 And so, 1 pray you, tell him : Furthermore, 
 
 ' ■■'■ upon more advffce,] i- C' more n^cction. 
 
 n
 
 56 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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 PoRTiAi 
 Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 
 
 Por. Thou may'st, I 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 nighty 
 Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls. 
 And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents. 
 Where Cressid lay that night. 
 
 Jes. 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 
 Uj3on the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love 
 To come again to Carthage. 
 
 Jcs. In such a night.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 87. 
 
 Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old .^son. 
 
 Lor. In such a night, 
 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew : 
 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 Jes. And in such a night. 
 
 Did young Lorenzo swear he loy'd her well ; 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith^ 
 And ne'er a trae one. 
 
 Lor. And in such a night.? 
 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
 Jblander her love, and he forgjive it her. 
 
 Jes. I would out-night you did no body come : 
 But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night ? 
 
 Stcph. A friend. 
 
 Ler. A friend ? what friend ? your name, I pray 
 you, friend ? 
 
 Steph. Stephano is my "name ; and I bring word. 
 My mistregs will before the break of day 
 Be here at Belmont ; she doth stray about 
 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
 For happy wedlock hours. 
 
 Lor. Who come5 with her ? 
 
 St I ph. None, \)\ii a holy hermit, and her njuid. 
 1 pray you, is my master yet return'd ? 
 
 Lor. He is not, nor vye have not heard from 
 him. — 
 But •^o we in, I j)ray tiiee, Jessica, 
 And ceremoniously let us prepare 
 ik>iuii welcome: for the mistress of the house. 
 
 VOL. iir.
 
 88 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Ejiter Launcelot. 
 
 Lautu Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola! 
 
 Lor. Who calls ? 
 
 Laun. 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 musick forth into the air. — 
 
 \_E.vit Stephano. 
 How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank ! 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of musick 
 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 cherubins : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 
 ,3 
 
 * wth patines of bright gold ;'\ A patine, from patina, 
 
 Lat. A patine is the small flat dish or plate used with the cha- 
 lice, in the administration of the eucharist. In the time of po- 
 pery, and probably in the following age, it was commonly made 
 of gold. Ma LONE. 
 
 ^ Such harmonij is in immortal souls ; &c.] This passage hav- 
 ing been much misunderstood, it may be proper to add a short 
 explanation of it. 
 
 Siich harmony^ &c. is not an explanation arisinij- from the fore- 
 
 9
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 89 
 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay- 
 Doth grosslv close it in, we cannot hear it.— 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 
 Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ;^ 
 ^Vith sweetest touches pierce your mistress* ear. 
 And draw her home with musick. 
 
 Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet musick. 
 
 [^Musick» 
 
 Lor. The reason is your spirits are attentive : 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd. 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 Fetching- mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
 AVhich is the hot condition of their blood ; 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound. 
 Or any air of musick touch their ears, 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand. 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, 
 ]^y the sweet power of musick : Therefore, the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and 
 
 Hoods ; 
 Since nought so stock ish, hard, and full of rage. 
 But musick for the time doth change his nature: 
 The man that hath no musick in himself. 
 Nor is not mov'd vvitli concord of sweet sounds. 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
 
 j^oinj; line — "So great is the harmony!" ])ut an illustration: 
 -.-"Of the same kind is the harmony." — Tlie whole runs thus: 
 
 There h not one of the hcavciilij orbs Init sings as it moves, still 
 quiring to the cheruoin. Similar to the harmony they inafre, is that 
 f)f iinmortal souls ; or, (in otlier words,) each of us have as perfect 
 hannony in our souls as the harmoni/ o/ the spheres, inasmuch as icc 
 hare the (juality of being moved by sxvect sounds (as he expresses 
 h uhLrwiirda;) but our gross terrestrial part, which environs us, 
 (leadens the sound, and preivnts our hearing. — //, [Doth grossly 
 tlohe it, in,] I a[)prchfn(l, riji'itm to harmoni/. Mai^onk. 
 
 6 — — tuake Diana xvith a hymn ;] Diana is thu moon, who i.s 
 in the next scene ripresented aji sleeping. 
 
 I 'I
 
 go MERCHAiNT OF VENICE. 
 
 The motions of his spirit arc dull as night. 
 
 And his aft'cctions dark as Erebus : 
 
 Let no such man be trusted. — Mai-k the musick. 
 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. 
 
 For. That light we sec, is burning in my halL 
 How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
 80 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. Musick ! hark ! 
 
 JSfer. It is your musick, madam, of the house. 
 
 For. Nothing is good, I see, without respect;'' 
 Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. 
 
 JSfer. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 
 
 For. 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 j)erfection ! — 
 Peace, boa! the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 And would not be awak'd ! \_Musick ceases. 
 
 Lor. That is the voice. 
 
 Or I am much dccciv'd, of Portia. 
 
 For. He knows me, as the blind man knows the 
 cuckoo, 
 By the bad voice. 
 
 Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 7 tvithout respect s"} Not absolutely good^ but relatively 
 
 good as it is modified by circumstances.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 91 
 
 Por. We have been praying for our husbands' 
 welfare, 
 "V^^hich speed, we hope, tlie better for our words. 
 Are they returned ? 
 
 Lor. Madam, they arc 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^ aounds-. 
 
 Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: 
 We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 
 
 Por. 'lliis night, methinks, is but the daylight 
 sick, 
 It looks a httie paler ; 'tis a day, 
 ISucfi as the day is when the sun is hid. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their 
 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. Wf should liold dav with the Antipodes, 
 If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 Por. Let me give light,' but let inenot be light; 
 For a liglit wife doth make a heavy husband, 
 And never be Bassanio so for me ; 
 But God sort all ! — You are welcome home, mv lord. 
 
 Bass. 1 thank you, madam : give welcome to my 
 friend. — 
 This is the man, this is Antonio, 
 To whom I am so inhnitcly bound. 
 
 J* or. You should in all sense be much bound to 
 liim, 
 
 2 // tucket — ] Tdcccila, Ital. a Hourisli on a trunipt-t. 
 
 f Lot me /rive li}i^lit, ivc] 'I'licre is Kcarci Iv any \v<ml with 
 which Shaksptare so much ddiL'hts to irille as with H^ltt, in its 
 various MgiiiHcatiou.'«. Jojinjjun.
 
 92 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 > Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 Poi\ 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, I swear you do me wrong ; 
 In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : 
 Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, 
 Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 
 
 For. A quarrel, ho, already ? what's the matter ? 
 
 Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
 That she did give me ; whose posy was 
 For all the world, like cutler's poetry"^ 
 Upon a knife, Lo've ine^ and leave me not. 
 
 Ner. What talk you of the posy, 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 it. 
 
 Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 
 JVer. 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. 
 
 For. You were to blame, I must be plain with 
 you, 
 
 ' this breathing courtesy.'] This verbal complimentary 
 
 form, made up only oi breath, i. e. words. 
 
 ^ like cutler* s poetry — ] Knives, as Sir J.Hawkins ob- 
 serves, were formerly inscribed, by means of aquafortis, with 
 .short sentences in distich.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT.* 
 
 VOL. Ill
 
 * As YOU LIKE IT,] Was certainltf borrotved. If we believe 
 Dr. Grey and Mr. Upton, from the Coke's Tale of Gameltjn .• 
 which by the ^^ay was nol printed till a century afterward : when 
 in truth the old bard, who was no hunter of MSS. contented hiiiw 
 self 8olely with Lodge's Rosalyndy or Euphue's Golden Legacye^ 
 Mo. 1590. Farmer. 
 
 Shijsspeare has followed Lodge's novel more exactly than is 
 his general custom when he is indebted to such worthless originalsi 
 and has sketched some of his principal characters, and borrowed a 
 lew expri'ssions from it. His imitations, &c. however, are in ge- 
 neral too insignificant to merit transcription. 
 
 It should be observed, that the characters o^ Jaques, the Cloxvriy 
 and Andrei^, are entirely of the poet's own formation. 
 
 Although I have never met with any edition of this comedy be- 
 fore the year 1623, it is evident, that such a publication was at 
 least designed. At the beginning of the second volume of the 
 entries at Stationers* Hall, are placed two leaves of irregular pro- 
 hibitions, notes, &.C. Among these are the following : 
 Aug. 4'. 
 
 *' An you like it, a book. ~| 
 
 *' Henry the Fiji, a book \ to be staid." 
 
 ** The Comedy of Much Ado, a book. J 
 TIvc dates scatter'd over thpse plays are from 1596 to 1615. 
 
 Steevens. 
 
 This comedy^ I licjieve, was written in 1600. Malon&
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED* 
 
 Duke, living in Eiile. 
 
 Frederick, B7^otker to the Duke, and Usurper of his 
 
 Dominions. 
 Pim\Qn^,\ Lords attending upon the Duke in his 
 Jaques, y Banishment. 
 
 Le Beau, a Courtier attending upon Frederick. 
 Charles, his Wrestler. 
 Oliver, "J 
 
 Jaques, > Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. 
 Orlando, } 
 
 Adam, > Servants to Oliver. 
 Dennis, ) 
 
 Touchstone, a Clown. 
 
 Sir Oliver Mar-text, a Vicar. 
 
 c, 1 • ^ > Shepherds. 
 •Sylvius, y ^ 
 
 William, a Country Fellow, in love with Audrey. 
 
 A Person representing Hymen. 
 
 Rosalind, Daughter to the banished Duke. 
 Celia, Daughter to Frederick. 
 Phebe, a Shepherdess. 
 Audrey, a Country JVench, 
 
 Lords belonging to the two Dukes ; Pages, Fores- 
 ters, and other Attendants, 
 
 The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House ; af- 
 terwards, partly in the Usurpers Court, and 
 partly in the Foi^est of Arden. 
 
 * The list of the persons being omitted in the old editions, was 
 added by Mr. Rowe. Johnsou.
 
 MERCHANT OF \T:NICE. qs 
 
 To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
 A thing stuck on with oaths upon your iinger. 
 And riveted so with faith unto your Hesh. 
 I gave my love a ring, and made liim swear 
 Never to part with it ; and liere 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. 
 
 Bas.s. A\^hy, I were best to cut my left hand off, 
 And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [y/ii^e. 
 
 Grcf. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
 Deserved it too ; and then the boy, his clerk, 
 Tiiat took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine ; 
 And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 For. What ring gave you, my lord ? 
 
 Not that, I hope, which you reeeiv'd of me, 
 
 Ba.ss. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
 I would deny it; but you see, my finger 
 I lath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 
 
 P(fr. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
 Lntil I see the ring. 
 
 Ne?\ Nor I in yours. 
 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Ba.'i.s. Sweet Portia, 
 
 If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
 If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
 When nou;i;ht would be accepted but the ring, 
 "^ ou uould abate the strength uf vour disj)U;asure. 
 
 J^or. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the rin^,
 
 ^4 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Or your own honour to contain the rii>f^, 
 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 oiodosty 
 To ursre the thinor lield as a ceremonv ? 
 
 1 11'*' 
 
 Ncrissa 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 ; p tise very life 
 Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? 
 I was enforced 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 
 llie ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 Po7\ Let not that doctor e'er come near my house t 
 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 tiiat doctor for my bedfellow. 
 
 AVr. And I his clerk ; therefore be well advis'd. 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection, 
 
 Crra. Well, do you so : let not me take him then ; 
 For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 
 
 10
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 95 
 
 jiut. I am the unhappy subjoct of those quanvis. 
 
 Pur. Sii*, grieve not you ; You arc welcome not- 
 withstandin*^:- 
 
 Mass. Portia, forgive nie tliis enforced wrong ; 
 And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to tliee, even by thine own ilxir eyes. 
 Wherein I see myself, 
 
 For. Marlv you but that! 
 
 In both my eyes he douV)lv sees himself: 
 In each eve one : — suear bv your double self»' 
 And there's an oath of credit. 
 
 Bass. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
 1 never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 ^hit. I once did lend my body for his wealth ;* 
 Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
 
 [To Portia. 
 Had quite miscan'ied : I dare be boimd again. 
 My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
 \"\ ill never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 Par. Then you shall be his surety : Ciive him this; 
 And bid hiin keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ant. Here, lord liassanio; swear to keep this ring. 
 
 JUass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! 
 
 Par. I had it of hiiii : pardon me, Bassanio ; 
 For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 
 
 \cr. And pardon me, my gentle (iratiano ; 
 For that same sorubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
 In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. 
 
 (ira. Why, this is like the mending of high-ways 
 If\ summer, wlure the ways are fair enough : 
 What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it? 
 
 ' i>nrar bij your double «//i] Duiiblc is licTO used in Q bad 
 
 Bcnsi; i'or—^/iill <>/ dujiiiciti/. 
 
 * J'or fits wciilth ;] For liis advuiitiigc ; to obtain liis liap- 
 
 pine«B. H'tallh wau, ut that liiiiu, the term oj)j)osite to adit r::ilt/, 
 «r Lalamiti/.
 
 g6 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For. Speak not so gross]'-. — You are all amaz d : 
 Here is a letter, read it at y r leisure ; 
 It comes from Padua, fron 3ellario : 
 ITiere you shall find, tb" L x'ortia 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. 
 
 j4nt. I am dumb. 
 
 JBass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you 
 not ? 
 
 Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me 
 cuckold ? 
 
 Ner. Ay ; but the clerk that never means to do 
 
 it, 
 Unless he live until he be a man. 
 
 Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow ; 
 When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 
 
 ji?it. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and 
 living ; 
 For here I read for certain, that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 Por. ' How now, Lorenzo ? 
 
 My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 
 
 Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. — 
 There do I give to you, and Jessica, 
 From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift. 
 After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 
 
 Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
 Of starved people. 
 
 Por. It is almost morning,
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 97 
 
 And yet, I am sure, you arc not satisfied 
 Of these events at full : Let us go in ; 
 And charge us there upon intergatories. 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 Gra. Let it be so ; The first intergatory, 
 That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is, 
 "VMiether till the next night she had rather stay ; 
 Or go to bed now, being tuo liours to-day : 
 But were the day come, I should wish it dark. 
 That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
 ^^'ell, while I live. 111 fear no other thing 
 So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Ea:eunt^ 
 
 5 Of The Merchant of Venice the style is even and easy, 
 with few pecuharities of diction, or anomalies of construction. 
 The comick part raises laughter, and the serious fixes expecta- 
 tion. The probability of either one or the other story cannot be 
 maintained. The union of two actions in one event is in this 
 drama eminently happy. Dryden was much pleased with his own 
 address in connecting the two plots of his Spanish Friary which 
 yet, 1 believe, the critick will find excelled by this play. 
 
 Johnson^
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 ACT J. 
 
 SCEXE I. An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fa- 
 shion bequeathed me : By will, but a poor thousand 
 crowns : 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 pro])erlv, 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 tlie 
 
   stays me here at home unhevt .•] We sliould read ,?fyy, 
 
 1. f*. kef*ps me like a brute. The following words— /or call you 
 f/int Lffjnn'^ — that (hjft'is nut from the stallirij> of an ox i coiifirme 
 tliLs emt ndution. So, Caliban says — 
 *' And here you siy me 
 " In this hard rocK." Warburton". 
 .S//es is bKter than siaiji^ and more lUa'ly to be Shakspeare's. 
 
 VOL. III. L
 
 104 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 me, 
 his countenance seems to take from me : he lets me 
 feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, 
 and, as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with 
 my education. 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 fc- 
 medy 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. 
 
 OIL 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. 
 
 OH. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be 
 naught awhile.' 
 
 vohat make you here?'} i. e. what do you here ? 
 
 3 be better emploij^d, and be naught awhile.] i. e. It is 
 
 better to do mischief, than to do nothing. Johnson. 
 
 I believe that the words be rtaught atvkile, mean no raore than 
 this : " Be content to be a cypher, till I shall think fit to elevate 
 you into consequence." Steevens. 
 
 Naught and nought are frequently confounded in old English 
 books. I once thought that the latter was here intended, in the 
 sense affixed to it by Mr. Steevens : " Be content to be a cypher y 
 till I shall elevate you into consequence." But the following 
 passage in Sivetnnm, a comedy, 1620, induces me to think that 
 the reading of the old copy f naught J and Dr. Johnson's expla- 
 nation are right:
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 105 
 
 Orl' Sliall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
 them ? \Miat 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 vou before whom, sir ? 
 
 Orl. Av, better than he I am before knows me. 
 I know, vou are my eldest brother ; and, in the gen- 
 tle condition of blood, you should so know me : 
 The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in 
 that vou are the first-born ; but the same tradition 
 takes not aw ay 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.' 
 
 Oil. \Miat, boy : 
 
 Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too 
 young in this. 
 
 OH. Vs'Wx. thou lay hands on me, villain ? 
 
 Orl. 1 am no villain :^ I am the youngest son of 
 sir R<jwland de Bois : he was my father ; and he 
 is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot vil- 
 lains : AVert thou not my brotiier, 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 fa- 
 ther's remembrance, be at accord. 
 
 " get you both in, and be jiaug/tt aivhile.** 
 
 Tlic speaker is a cliamber-maid, and she addresses lierself to 
 her mistress and her lover. Ma lone. 
 
 * alhcil, I cunj'ess, fjotir cuming before 7ne is nearer to his 
 
 reyerence.] This, I apprehend, refers to the eourtesy of distin- 
 guiiihitig tlie eltUit son of a knight, by the title of esquire. 
 
 Henley. 
 5 lam no villain :] The word villain is used by the elder bro- 
 ther in its present meaning, for a xvortlilesx, wicked, or bloody 
 man ; by Orlando, in its original sigiiilicatiyn, for a J'cUow of 
 base extraction. JyllNSO.s. 
 
 L 2
 
 loO AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 OIL 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 jxiasant, ob- 
 scuring and hiding horn me all gentleman-like qua- 
 lities : 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 me the poor allottery my father left me by tes- 
 tament ; with that I will go buy my fortunes. 
 
 Oil. And w hat wilt thou do ? beg, when that is 
 spent ? Well, sir, get you in : I will not long be 
 troubled with you : you shall have some part of 
 your will : I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Orl. I will no further 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. 
 
 \_E.veunt Orlando mid Adam. 
 
 OH. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? 
 I will physick your rankness, and yet give no thou- 
 sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis I 
 
 Unter Dennis. 
 
 Den. Calls your worship ? 
 
 OH. 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. 
 
 Oil. Call him in. {Exit Dennis.]— 'TwiU be a 
 good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 107 
 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 
 
 Oil. 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 
 \\\\\\ him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new 
 duke ; therefore he gives them good leave*" to wan- 
 der. 
 
 Oil. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daugh- 
 ter, be banished with her father? 
 
 Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter,^ her cou- 
 sin, 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. 
 
 Oil. Where will the old duke live ? 
 
 Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of Ar- 
 den,*' and a many merry men with him ; and there 
 they live like the old Robin Hood of England : they 
 say many young gentlemen Hock to him every day ; 
 and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the 
 golden world. 
 
 * (rood leave — ] As ollcn as this phrase occurs, it means 
 
 U rradif a'-^oit. 
 
 ' for tlie dulce^s daufr/ilcrf] i. c. tlie usurpins; duke's 
 
 (laupjhter. Sir '1". Ilanmor reads — the 7inv duke's ; and in tJie 
 pre ceding speech — tlie oA/ duke's daiij^hter ; hut in my opinion 
 imiiecessarily. The amhiguous use of the word duke in these 
 passages is niuch in our author's manner. Mai.onk. 
 
 8 /// tlic Jorrsl r»/ Arden,] Ardciuir is a forest of consider- 
 able extent in iVench I'landers, lying near the JNIeusc, and bcr 
 tncen CharlcHiont and Kocroy.
 
 108 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 on. 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 
 acquit 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. 
 
 Oil. 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 villainous 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 
 £igainst thee by poison, entrap thee by some trea- 
 cherous 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 villainous this day living. 
 I speak but brotherly of him ; but should I anato- 
 mise him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, 
 and thou must look pale and wonder.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 169 
 
 Cha. I am heartily <j}^i\ 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 keej) your worship ! \_E.vit. 
 
 Oil. Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir 
 this gamester:"' I hope, I shall see an end of him; 
 for mv 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' enchant- 
 ingly beloved ; and, indeed, so much in the heart 
 of the world, and especially of my own people, who 
 best know him, that lam 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. [E.vit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Laxvn before the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 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 fa- 
 ther, you must not learn me how to remember any 
 extraordinary pleasure. 
 
 Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the 
 full weight tlmt I love theo : if my uncle, thy ba- 
 
 '> • this gamester :] Gamester^ in the present instance, and 
 some others, (Joes not signify a man viciously addicted to games 
 of chance, l)ut a frolicksome person. 
 
 ' f>f all sorts — ] SorlSt '" this pJticc, means ranks and 
 
 dejjrees ol men. Kitson.
 
 110 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 nishfed 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 1 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 oflf" again. 
 
 Ros. What shall be our sport then ? 
 
 Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, 
 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 wo- 
 man 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 
 
 s mock the ^(U)d housewife, Foritine,fro%n}i^r •wheel.'] The 
 
 wheel of Fortune is not the wheel o^sl housevcife. Shakspeare has 
 confounded Fortune, whose wheel only figures uncertainty and 
 vicissitude, with the destiny that spins Uie thread oi iile, though 
 not indeed with a wheel. Johnson.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. ill 
 
 to nature's : fortune reig;ns in gifts of the worlds not 
 in tJie liiioainents of nature. 
 
 Enter Touchstone. 
 
 Cd. No } When nature hath made a fair crea- 
 ture, may she not by fortune fall into the tire ? — 
 ThouE^ii nature hath ^iven us wit to flout at fortune, 
 hatli not fortune sent in tliis fool to cut off the argu- 
 ment } 
 
 Bos. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for na- 
 ture ; when fortune makes nature's natural the cut- 
 ter oW of nature's wit. 
 
 Cel. Poradventure, this is not fortune's work nei- 
 ther, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits 
 too didl to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this 
 natural for our whetstone : for always the dulness 
 of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How now, 
 wit ? whither wander you ? 
 
 Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your 
 father. 
 
 Ccl. Wqxc you made the messenger ? 
 
 Touch. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid to 
 ronie for vou. 
 
 Ron. ^Vliere learned you that oath, fool ? 
 
 'J'ouch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his 
 honour they were gr)od pancakes, and swore by his 
 honour the mustard was nauglit : now, 111 stand to 
 it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was 
 g(tf)d : and yet was not the kniglit forsworn. 
 
 Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
 \f)iir knowledge ? 
 
 7io.v. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom. 
 
 'J ouch. Stand you both f<jrth now : stroke your 
 rliins, and swear by your beards (Imt I am a knave. 
 
 del. By our U'ards, if we had them, thou art. 
 
 Touch, By my knavery, if I had il, then I were :
 
 112 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 pancakes 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 whip'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 wit, 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 Ave 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 ? 
 
 ^ you'll he whip'd Jbr taxation,] Taxation is censure, or 
 
 satire . 
 
 4 since the little wit, that fools have, was silenced,'^ 
 
 Shakspeare probably alludes to the use of fools or Jesters, who 
 for some ages had been allowed in all courts an unbridled liberty 
 of censure and mockery, and about this time began to be less 
 tolerated. Johnson.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 113 
 
 Hos. As wit and fortiino will. 
 
 Tuuch. Or as the destinios docrec. 
 
 Ct'l. Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel.^ 
 
 Touch. Nav, it" I keep not my rank, 
 
 Ros, Thou losest thy old smell. 
 
 Lc Beau. You amaze me," ladies : I would have 
 told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the 
 sidit of. 
 
 Kos. Yet tell us the manner of the wresthng. 
 
 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. 
 
 Lc Beau. There comes an old man, and his 
 three sons, 
 
 Cei. 1 could match this bcs^inning; with an old 
 tale. 
 
 Lc Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent 
 growth and presence ; 
 
 Ros. ^^'ith bills on their necks, — Be it known unto 
 all moi hif these presents^ 
 
 Lc Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
 Charles, the duke's wrestler ; which Charles in a 
 
 5 laid on ivil/i a troivcl.'] To laif on xvith a troxvel, is, to 
 
 (\o any tliirtg strongly, anil without delicacy. If a man flatters 
 }:rossly, it is a common expression to say, that he lai/s it on iiith 
 a Irrrvccl. M. Ma SON. 
 
 '■ Yon amaze me,"] To amaze, here, is not to astonish or strike 
 with wonder, but to perplex ; to confuse, so as to put out of the 
 intended narrative. .Ioiin'son. 
 
 " With hills on their neckx, — lie it knoivn unto all men bt/ these 
 presents,'] I doii't think that by bill is meant either an ijistru- 
 mtnt of war, or one of law, but merely a label or advertisement — 
 an wc nay a plai/-bil/, ii hand-bill ; unless thi'se words were part 
 of Le Beau's s[)eech ; in which case the word /;/// would be used 
 by him to denote a weapon, and by itosalind perverted to mean 
 a label. M. Masom.
 
 n4 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, 
 that there is httle hope of hfe in him : so he served 
 the second, and so the third : Yonder they he ; 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 
 musick in his sides ? ^ is there yet another dotes upon 
 rib-breaking ? — Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ? 
 
 Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here 
 is the 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. Entei' Duke Frederick, Lords, Or- 
 lando, Charles, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Come on ; since the youth will not be 
 entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 
 
 is there amj else longs to see this brokcji musick in his 
 
 sides f] This probably alludes to the pipe of Pan, which consist- 
 ing of reeds of unequal length, and gradually lessening, bore 
 some rcseriiblance to the ribs of a 'nan. M. Mason. 
 
 Broken musick either means the noise wliich the breaking of 
 ribs would occasion, or the hollow sound which proceeds from a 
 person's receiving a violent fail. Douce. 
 
 I can offer no legitimate explanation of this passage, but may 
 observe that another, somewhat parallel, occurs in K. Henri/ V: 
 " Come, your answer in hrokm musick ; for thy voice is musick, 
 f.nd thy I'^nglish broken." Sxkevens, 
 JO
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 115 
 
 Jlos. Is yonder the man ? 
 
 Le Beau. Even he, nuidam. 
 
 Ctl. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks sue- 
 cessiuUv. 
 
 Did'e F. How now, daughter, and cousin ? arc 
 you crept hither to see the wrestUng ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, my liege : so please you give us leave. 
 
 Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can 
 tell vou, 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 you can move him. 
 
 Cel. (.'all him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. 
 
 Duke F. Do so ; I'll not be by. 
 
 [Duke goes apart. 
 
 Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses 
 call for you. 
 
 0;7. I attend them, with all respect and duty. 
 
 Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles 
 the wrestler ? 
 
 0/7. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal- 
 lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try witli him 
 
 the strength of mv youth. 
 
 '' * • • 111 
 
 Ce/. Young gentleman, your spu'its are too bold 
 
 for vour 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 }iray you, for your own sake, to 
 embrace your own safety, and give over this at- 
 tempt. 
 
 Ros. Do, young sir; your rcjjutation shall not 
 therefore bt: mitiprised: we will make it our suit 
 
 9-»— //^ftu satu yoursdf vcilh your eyes, or kueiv yourself wit U 
 your judgment,] i. e. {/i/oit sltould use \our own eyes to sec, or 
 your own judgnnjnt to know yuursctj^ the J'ear iij^ your adventurt 
 u,otdd counsel you. JoHNSOX,
 
 116 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 to the duke, that the wrestHng midit not po 
 lorwaid. 
 
 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, 1 would it 
 were with you. 
 
 Cel. And mine, to eke out hers^ 
 
 Bos. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived 
 in you ! 
 
 Cei. Your heart's desires be with you. 
 
 C/ia. Come, where is this young gallant, that is 
 so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? 
 
 Ori. 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 v\ ere invisible, to catch the strongs 
 fellow by the leg. 
 
 [Charles (uid Orlando wrestle. ' 
 Ros. O excellent young man ! 
 Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can 
 tell who should down. 
 
 [Charles is throzvn. Shout. 
 11
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. ii; 
 
 Dide F. No more, no more. 
 
 Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace ; I am not yet 
 ucll breathed. 
 
 Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 
 
 Lf Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 
 
 Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is home out.'\ 
 AA'hat is thy name, young man ? 
 
 Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of sir 
 Rowland dc Bois. 
 
 Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some 
 man else. 
 The world esteem'd thy father honourable. 
 But I did tind 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. 
 
 \_F.reu?it Duke Fred. Train, ami 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 
 
 calling,^ 
 To bi' adopted heir to Frederick. 
 
 Ro.s: 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, 
 F should have given him tears unto entreaties. 
 Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 
 
 Cel. Gentle cousin, 
 
 Let us ^o thank him, and encourage him : 
 My father's rough and envious disposition 
 •Sticks me at iieart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd : 
 If you do keep your promises in love. 
 Hilt justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
 Your mistress shall be happy. 
 
 ' that calling,] i. e. appellation ; a very unusual, il' a(tt 
 
 unprfcedfuted sense of the word. Steevens.
 
 118 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 
 
 means. — 
 Shall we go, coz ? 
 
 Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 
 
 Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better 
 parts 
 Are all thrown down ; and that which here stands ujd. 
 Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. ^ 
 
 Ros. He calls us back : My pride fell with my 
 fortunes : 
 ril 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. 
 
 [_E.veiint Rosalind and Celia. 
 Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my 
 tongue ? 
 f cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 
 
 Re-enter Le Beau. 
 
 poor Orlando ! 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 
 
 one out of suits mihjbrtime ; j Out of suits xmthf&rtnne^ 
 
 1 believe, means, turned out of her service, and stripped of lier 
 livery. Steevens. 
 
 3 Is hut a quintain, a mere lifcJcss block.'} A guintain was a 
 post or butt set up for several kinds of martial exercises, against 
 wliich they threw their darts and exercised their arms. But all 
 the commentators are at variance about this word, and have il- 
 lustrated their opinions with cuts, for which we must refer the 
 reader to the new edition, 21 vols. 8vo.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. ug 
 
 IIi<;li C(iininciulation, true applause, and love; 
 Yet such is now the duke's condition,* 
 'I'hat he niiiiconstrues all that you have done. 
 Tlie duke is humorous ; what lie is, indeed, 
 More suits you to conceive, tlian nie to speak of. 
 
 Ofi. I thank } ou, sir : and, pray you, tell mo 
 this; 
 Wiiich of the two was daughter of the duke 
 That here was at the wrestlin<j; ? 
 
 Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
 manner;' ; 
 But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter: 
 The other is daughter to the hanish'd duke, 
 And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, 
 To keep Iiis daugliter company ; whose loves 
 Arc 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, 
 liut 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 : fiirc you well! 
 
 [A\t77 Le Beau. 
 Tiius must I from the smoke into the smother; 
 From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother : — 
 But heavenly Rosalind! [/:J.t7f. 
 
 ■'—— ///f t/(tir'i condition,] Tlj8 wari tonditi9n intiiu chu-» 
 ratU-r, ttiDper, di)»poi*itiori. 
 
 Vf^L. iir. M
 
 120 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Eyit^r Celia and Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosahnd ; — 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, 
 lame me with reasons. 
 
 Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; -when 
 the one should be lamed with reasons, and tlie Qther 
 mad without any. .• -r''. /jA 
 
 Cel. But is ail this for your father? 1 )tj{! 
 
 Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: O, 
 how full of briars is this working-day world T , > 
 
 Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown uport 
 thee in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trod- 
 den paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 
 
 Ros. I could shake them oft' my coat ;' these burs 
 are in my heart. 
 
 Cel. Hem theiti away. 
 
 Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have 
 him. 
 
 Cei. Come, come, wrestle with thy aftections. ^ 
 
 Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler 
 than myself. 
 
 Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in 
 time, in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests 
 out of service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it pos- 
 sible, 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
 
 AS YOU LIKE rt. 121 
 
 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 'taith, hate him not, for my sake. 
 
 Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve 
 ^veH?^ 
 
 Ko.s. Let me love him for that ; and do you love 
 him, because I do: — Look, here comes the duke. 
 
 Cci. With his eyes full of anger. 
 
 Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 
 
 Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest 
 haste. 
 And get you from our court. 
 
 Ros. Mc, uncle ? 
 
 Didce. You, cousin : 
 
 Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
 So near our publick court as twenty miles, 
 Tliou diest for it. 
 
 Ros. I do beseech your grace, 
 
 Let me the knowledge of my foult 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 frantick, 
 (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle. 
 Never so nmch as in a tliought unborn. 
 Did I offend your highness. 
 
 Duke. Thus do all traitors ; 
 
 5 Bi/ this kind o/" chase,] That is, by this way o^folloiving the 
 arf^unicnt. Dear is used by Shaksixiare in a doul)le sense lor 
 belox'd, and for hnrtfnl, haled ^ hnleful. Both senses arc authorised, 
 and both drawn Iruui etymology; but properly, beloved is ((ear, 
 and hateful is dere. llosalind uses dearly in tlie good, and Ceiia 
 in t)ie bad scnfie. Jofinsov. 
 
 <^ l\'liy should I not ? doth he not deserve ■weUi~\ Celia answers 
 Kosalijid, (who had desired lier ^'' not to hate Orlando, ibr her 
 nake,") a* if:-lic had said — " love him, for my sake ." to which 
 The former replies, *• Why should I not [i. e. love him] ?" 
 
 M '2
 
 122 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 If their purgation did consist in words, 
 They are as innocent as grace itself: — 
 Let it surtice thee, that I trust thee not. 
 
 Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : 
 7^ell me, whereon the hkehhood depends. 
 
 Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's 
 enouo'h. 
 
 Ros. So was I, when your highness took hii 
 dukedom ; 
 So was I, when your highness banish'd him : 
 Treason is not inherited, my lord : 
 Or, if we did derive it from our IViends, 
 What's that to me ? my father was no traitor : 
 Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much. 
 To think my poverty is treacherous. 
 
 Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 
 
 Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake. 
 Else had she with her father rang'd along, 
 
 Cel. I did not then ( ntreat to have her stay. 
 It was your pleasure, snd 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, 
 Stih we went coupled, and inseparable. 
 
 Oiike F. She is too subtle for thee; and her 
 smoothness, 
 Her veiy silence, and her patience. 
 Speak to the people, and they j>ity her. 
 7'hou 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 ^nd irrevocable is my doom 
 
 ' "•^"remorse ;"] i. e. compassion.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. \13 
 
 Wliich I have pass'd ii|x>n her ; she is baiiish'd. 
 
 Cc/. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my 
 liej;e ; 
 I cannot Hve oat of her compan}'. 
 
 Duke F. Yon are a tool : — You, niece, provide 
 yourself; 
 If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, 
 And in the o^rcatness of my ^rord, you die. 
 
 [^Ed'eunt Duke Frederick and'LoxAs, 
 
 CeL O mv poor Rosahnd : whither wilt thou go ? 
 ^^'iIt thou chanf:je fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
 I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. 
 
 Jios. I have more cause, 
 
 CeL Tliou hast not, cousin ; 
 
 Pr'ythee, be cheerful : knovv'st thou not, the duke 
 Hath banisird me his daughter ? 
 
 Ros. Tliat he hath not, 
 
 Ccl. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love 
 ^^'hich teaeheth thee that thou and I am one : 
 Sliall we be sunder'd r shall wo })art, sweet girl ? 
 No ; let mv father seek another heir. 
 I'herefore devise with me, how we may fly, 
 ^Vhither 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, 
 May what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. 
 
 Ros. Why, whither shall we go ? 
 
 Ccl. To seek my uncle. 
 
 R<>s. Al{\s, what danger will it be to us. 
 Maids as we are, to travel Ibrth so far ." 
 Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 
 
 Ccl. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire. 
 And with a kind of muber smirch my face;"* 
 
 • And with n kind o/uniljcr smirch mij fncr ;] Vtnber is a diiiky 
 ytlIow«colourccl )jaitl), brought from L'lubriu iu Italy.
 
 124 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 ; 
 As many other mannish cowards have, 
 That do outface it with their semblances. 
 
 Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man ? 
 
 Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own 
 page. 
 And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. 
 But what will you be call'd ? 
 
 Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : 
 No longer Celia, but Aliena. 
 
 Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
 The clownish fool out of your father's court ? 
 Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 
 
 Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
 Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away, 
 And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
 Devise the fittest time, and safest wav 
 To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
 After my flight : Now go we in content, 
 To liberty, and not to banishment. \_E.veunt. 
 
 ^ durtle-ax — ] Or cutlace, a broad swortl. 
 
 ' We'll have a stvashingf &'C.] A sivashivg outside is an ap- 
 pearance of noisy, bullying valour. Swashing blotv is mentioned 
 in Romeo and Juliet ; and in King Henry V. the Boy says : — 
 *' As young as I am, I have observed these three sivashers ;" 
 meaniug Nym, Pistol, and Bardolph.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 125 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. 
 
 Enter Duke senior^ Amiens, and other Lords, in 
 the dress of Foresters. 
 
 Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in 
 exile, 
 Ilatli not old custom made this hfe more sweet 
 Tlian that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
 More free from peril than the envious court ? 
 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
 The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, 
 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; 
 ^Vhich 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 w4iat I am. 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venemous. 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ;"" 
 And this our life, exempt from publick haunt. 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 
 
 • Which, like the toad, ugly and venomoux. 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ;"] It was the current 
 opinion in Shakspearc's time, that in the head of an old toad 
 was to he found a stone, or pearl, to which great virtues were 
 uscrihed. ThomtisLujjton, in liis First Jiookc of Nolable 'I'h/iigSf 
 ito. bl. h hrars repeated testimony to tlie virtues of the " Tode- 
 st'iiir, called ('rapni(d/?in.^' In his Seventh liouke he instructs us 
 liow to procure it ; and afterwards tells us — " You uhall knowc 
 whether the Todc-stonr hu the ryjrht and perfect stone or not. 
 Ilulde the stone before u Tode, so that lie may see it ; and if it 
 be a ryght and true Ht(»nc, the Tode will leape towarde it ; and 
 make uh thouf,'h he would snatch it. lie euvieth so uiucli tliat 
 man should have that stone." iJTLJiVL.NS. *
 
 126 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Ami. I -would not change it: Happy is your 
 grace, 
 That call 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 hks me, the poor dappled fools, — 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, — • 
 ♦Should, in their own confines, with forked hcads^ 
 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 : 
 T'o 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 ? 
 
 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies. 
 First, for his weeping in the needless stream ;* 
 JPoor deer, quoth he, thou 77iak'st a testament 
 
 ' -r — 'cvUh forked heads — -] i. e. with arrows, the points of 
 which were barbed. 
 
 "* in ^he needless sireain ;] The stream that wanted not 
 
 iiidi a supply of flioistuvi*.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 127 
 
 As rrorldlings do, i^fving- thy sum of more 
 
 To that u/iich had too much : Tlu-ii, being alone. 
 
 Left and abandoned of his velvet friends ; 
 
 ^Tis riii'ht, quoth lie : this misery doth part 
 
 The flu.r of company : Anon a careless herd. 
 
 Full oftlie pasture, jumps along by him, 
 
 And never stays to greet liini ; Ay^ quoth Jaqucs, 
 
 Sxceepou, you fat and greasy citizens; 
 
 'Tisjust the fashion: I Therefore do you iooTc 
 
 Upon that puor and broken hankrupt there? 
 
 Tims most invectively he piercelh througli 
 
 The body of the country, city, court, 
 
 Yea, and of this our life : swearing, that vvc 
 
 Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse. 
 
 To fright the animals, and to kill them up. 
 
 In their a>;sign 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- 
 men ting 
 Upon the sobbing deer. 
 
 ])uke 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. [_EA'eunt. 
 
 SCENE IT. 
 
 A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke Frederick, T^ords, and Attendant'^. 
 
 Duke V. (Jan it be possible, that no man saw 
 them ? 
 It cannot be : some villains of my court 
 
 ^   to oope him — ] To encounter, or cn^rago with liinu 
 
 J 2
 
 128 A8 YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 
 hither : 
 If he be absent, bring his brother to me, 
 I'll make him find him : do this suddenly ; 
 And let not search and inquisition quail '' 
 To bring again these foolish runaways. \_Ea'eunt. 
 
 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^ 
 
 <> the roynish clovon,'] Roynish, from rognetix, French. 
 
 7 quail — ] To quail is tojciint, to sink into dejection. 
 
 8 -^ you memory — ] Shakspeare often uses memory for 
 
 memorial ; and Beaumont and Fletcher sometimes.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 129 
 
 Of old sir Ro^^ land ! why, what make you here ? 
 
 Whv are vou virtuous ? Wliy do people love you ? 
 
 And wherefore are vou o^entle, stron"^, and valiant ? 
 
 AMiv would you be so fond'^ to overcome 
 
 The bony priser ' of the humorous duke ? 
 
 Your praise is come too swiftly home to you. 
 
 Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
 
 Their oraces serve them but as enemies ? 
 
 No more do vours ; your virtues, gentle master, 
 
 Are sanetitied and holy traitors to you. 
 
 (), what a world is this, when what is comely 
 
 Envenoms him that bears it ! 
 Orl. AMiy, what's the matter ? 
 A (lam. 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 ; — I will not call him son — 
 
 Of him 1 was about to call his father,) — 
 
 Hath heard vour praises; and this night he means 
 
 To burn the lodging wliere 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. 
 
 Tliis is no place,^ this house is but a butchery ; 
 
 Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 
 
 Oil. Wiiy, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 
 
 me go ? 
 Adam. No matter whither, so you come not 
 here. 
 
 *' so fond — ] i. c. so indiscreet, so inconsiderate. 
 
 ' I'lic bony jiri.srr — ] The word homu/ occurs more tlian onic. 
 in the novel from which this play oi' Ax You I Alec IL is tiiken. It is 
 liiicwise much used by the common people in the northern coun- 
 ties. I believe, however, h'Dnj to be the true rcjuhiig. 
 
 MALUNi:. 
 
 * This is no place,] i. e. for you. 
 
 9
 
 130 AS YOU LIKE It. 
 
 Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my 
 food ? 
 Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce 
 A thievish Uving on the common road } 
 This I must do, or know not what to do : 
 Yet this I w ill 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 crowns. 
 The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father. 
 Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse. 
 When service should in my old limbs lie lame. 
 And unregarded age in (rorncrs thrown ; 
 Take that : and He that doth tlie 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 aj)ply 
 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
 Nor did not with unbashful forehead wqo 
 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, 
 W hen service sm eat for duty, not for meed ! 
 Thoii art not for the fashion of these times, 
 W^here none will sweat, but for promotion ; 
 And having that, do choke their service np 
 Even with the having :* it is not so with thee. 
 But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
 
 - (livcTtod — 3 turned out of the course of nature. 
 
 ■* Even iciih the having:] Even with the protnot ion ^iuiie^ by 
 S'carvjceis sen'icc-extinguishf.'tl. JoH^?*D^^
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 133 
 
 That camiof 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 \\o have thy youthful wages spent, 
 "We'll light ujion some settled low content. 
 
 Ad(ivi. 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, hut 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, 
 Thau to die well, and not my master's debtor. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The Forest of Ardcn. 
 
 E?iter Rosalind /;? bor/s clothes, Celia drest like a, 
 Sluplierdcss, and Touchstone. 
 
 Ros^ O Juj)iter! how weary are my spirits! 
 
 Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
 not weary. 
 
 R(js. I could find in my heart to disgrace my 
 man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but ^ in.ist 
 comf-rt the weaker vessel, as doublet ana huse 
 o'.iglit to show itself CO ui"ageo us to petticoat: there- 
 fore, courage, good Aliena. 
 
 Ctl. 1 pray you, bear \f ith me j I oanuot go lio 
 furtl'.er. 
 
 Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, 
 thin I. ear you : yet I should bear no cross," if] did 
 
 ' n') croi^j J A cross M'as a piece of money stamped wiL'i a 
 
 cr#if. On lb* our uullivr U pcrpciuuli/ (iuibbljin;.
 
 132 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 bear }"ou ; for, I think, you have no money in your 
 purse. 
 
 Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 
 
 Touch. Ay, now am I ui 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 didst then ne'er love so heartily : 
 If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
 That ever love did make thee run into. 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 Or if thou hast not sat as I do now. 
 Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise. 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 Or if lliou hast not broke from company, 
 Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 
 Thou hast not lov'd : O Phebe, Phcbe, Phebe ! 
 
 [^E.vit Silvius. 
 
 Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy 
 wound, * 
 
 I have by hard adventure found mine own.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 133 
 
 Touch. And I mine : I remember, when I was 
 in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid 
 iiim take that for coming aniji'ht^ to Jane Smile : 
 and I remember tiie kissing^ of lier batlct,' and the 
 cow's du<;s that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd : 
 and I remember the wooing of a jjeasc'od instead of 
 her; from whom I took two cods, and, giving lier 
 tiiem again, said with weeping tears, Jlcar these. 
 Jur my sake. We, that ai'e true lovers, run into 
 strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is 
 all nature in love mortal in follv.** 
 
 Rus. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. 
 
 Touch. Nay, 1 shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own 
 wit, till I break my shins against it. 
 
 Ron. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
 Is much upon my fashion. 
 
 Touch.. Awi\ mine; but it grows something stale 
 with mc. 
 
 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, clovrn ! 
 
 Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman. 
 
 Cor. Wlio culls r 
 
 'Touch. Your betters, sir. 
 
 Cor. Else are they very wretched. 
 
 Ron. » Peace, I say : — 
 
 ani^Jd — ] Tims tlic old copy. Anig/it, is in the riight. 
 
 I ho word 1.^ usfd by Chaucer, iu I'he Legcnde (jfgood Women. 
 Our niodLTii t-ditors read, </ri/g/it.s, or u* night. 
 
 ' bullet, '\ The instrument with wluch washers beat tboir 
 
 coarse clothes, .((jussov. 
 
 ^ ■'■'0 is all iialttic in love mortal infollij.'] This expression I 
 
 do not well understand. In the middle counties, mortal, from 
 mart, a great quantity, is U'^ed as a particle of am])Iifi(ation; as 
 mortal tall, mortal 'little. Of this sense I believe .Shakspeare 
 tukesadvantage to produce one of his diirling etjuivocations. 'J'hua 
 tiie nieuning will be, so it all nature in /c;vf abounding infollif. 
 
 J<->lJN'>O.V.
 
 134 AS YOU LIKE rr. 
 
 Good even to voii, friend. 
 
 Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 
 
 Ros. I pr ytbee, 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 sheer 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 cur sheepcote now. 
 By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
 That yon 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 
 erewhile, 
 That little cares for buying any thing. 
 
 Ros. 1 pra}' 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 
 place. 
 And willingly coukl waste my time in it. 
 
 Cor. Assuredly^ the thing is to be sold : 
 fRo with me; if you like, upon report, 
 The soil, the profit, and this kind of life. 
 
 9 And little recks — ] i. e. heeds, cares for. 
 
 ' And in my vuice-^'l u« fur as I have a voice or vote.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. J 35 
 
 1 will your very faithful feeder he, 
 
 And buy it with your gold right suddenly. \_Exeinit. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The same. 
 Enter Amiens, jAauES, and Others. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ami. lender the greenzvood free, 
 Ulio loi'cs to lie ziith me, 
 And tune his merri/ note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat. 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemij. 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Ja(j, More, more, I pr'ythee, more. 
 
 A///i. It will make you melancholy, monsieur 
 Jaques. 
 
 Ja{j. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I 
 can suck melancholy out of a S(mg, as a wcazel 
 sucks eggs : Mure, I ])r'ythee, more. 
 
 Ami. My voice is ragged ;* I know, I cannot 
 please you. 
 
 Jufj. I do not desire you to j)lease me, I do desire 
 \on to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call 
 you them stanzas } 
 
 ylmi. What you will, monsieur Jaques. 
 
 Jdfj. Nay, i care not for their names ; they owe 
 me nothing : Will you sing ? 
 
 ra;i<rc(l ;] Oar modern editors (Mr. Malone excepted) 
 
 read ru<rac(l ; but rn-'<red liad aiicicntlv tlu' same meumii'r. 
 VOL. III. N
 
 136 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 A7?ii. More at your request, than to please myself. 
 
 Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll 
 thank you : but that tliey 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 youF 
 tongues. 
 
 Ami. Well, 111 end the song. — Sirs, cover the 
 while ; the duke will drink under this tree : — he 
 hatli 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. 
 
 IVho doth ambition shun, [All together here. 
 And loves to live i the sun, 
 Seeking tlie fool he eats, 
 And pleas d with what he gets. 
 Come lather^ come hither, come hither ; 
 Here shall he see 
 JSfo enemy. 
 But winter and rough weather, 
 
 Jaq. ril give you a verse to this note, that I made 
 yesterday in despite of my invention. 
 Ami. And ril sing it. 
 Jaq. Thus it goes : 
 
 //' it do come to pass. 
 That any man turn ass. 
 Leaving his wealth and ease, 
 A stubborn will to please, 
 
 * disputable r—^^ For disputatious.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 137 
 
 Ducdamc, ducdame, ducdame ;* 
 
 Here .shall lie see, 
 
 Gross fools as he, 
 A}i if he icill come to Ami. 
 
 Ami. AMiat's that ducdame? 
 
 Jafj. 'Tis a (ircek invocation, to call fools into a 
 circle. I'll ^o sleep if I can ; if I cannot, I'll rail 
 against all ihe first-born of Egypt. 
 
 Ami. And Til go seek the duke ; liis banquet is 
 prepar'd. [^Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 The same. 
 
 Enter Orlando and kv>xu. 
 
 Adam. Dear master, I can go no further : O, I 
 die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my 
 grave. Farewell, kind master. 
 
 Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in 
 thee r Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself a 
 little : If this uncoutli forest yield any thing savao-e, 
 I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to 
 thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. 
 For my sake, be comfortable ; hold death awhile at 
 the arm's end : I will here be with thee presently ; 
 and if I l)rini^ thee not somethinir to cat, I'll <rive 
 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 quicklv. — 
 Yet thou liest in the bleak air : Come, I will bear 
 thee to some shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack 
 
 * ducdtime ;] For dncdtme. Sir Tliomas llaumcr, very 
 
 acuf cly and judiciously, reads due ad me, that is, brhig him to mt\ 
 \)x. I'anntT tliiuka it \% evidt-ntly a w«rd coined for the nonce. 
 
 N '2
 
 1 0,(3 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 of a dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. 
 Cheerly, good Adam ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 ' The same. 
 
 A table set out. Enter Duke senior, Amiens,, 
 Lordsy and others. 
 
 Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; 
 For I can no where find him like a man. 
 
 1 Lot^d. 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 m ith him. 
 
 Enter Jasues. 
 
 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. 
 
 Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life 
 is this. 
 That your poor frieiids must woo your company ? 
 Wliat ! you look merrily. 
 
 Jaq. A fool, a fool 1 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-morrow, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, 
 Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune ;* 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke : 
 
 ^ — .— comptwt of jerx,'] i. e. made up of discords. 
 ^ Call me nut fool, till heaven hath 'sent vie fori tine .•] Fnrtuna 
 favet Jatuisy is, as Mr. Upton observes, tlie saying here alluded 
 to ; or, as in Publius Syrus : 
 
 " lortiimi,nimium quevijhvet, stidtumjlicit.'*
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 139 
 
 And lookinc^ on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 
 8ays, very wisely, It is ten clock : 
 
 Thus mail zee see, quoth he, hozv the zvorld wags : 
 
 'Tis but an hour ago, since it rras 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 therebii 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 ; 
 .A.nd says, if ladies he but young, and fair. 
 They have the gift to know it : and in his brain, — 
 Which is as dry as the remainder bisket 
 Alter a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd 
 AVith observation, the which he vents 
 In mangled fcjrms : — O, that I were a fool ! 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 
 Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 
 
 Ja<i. It is my only suit ;' 
 
 Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
 Of all ojjinion that grows rank in them, 
 'J'hat I am wise. 1 must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 'I'o blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : 
 And they tiiat are most galled with my folly, 
 They most must laugh : And why, sir, jmist tlicy vSO ? 
 The why is plain as way to parish church: 
 He, tliat a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 
   onlij suit ;] Huit means pctitioriy not dress.
 
 140 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 squandring 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 
 sin : 
 For thou thyself hast been a libertine. 
 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, 
 
 8 if noty &c.] Unless men have the prudence not to 
 
 appear touched with the sarcasms of a jester, they subject them- 
 selves to his power ; and the wise man will have his folly anato- 
 vnised, that is, dissected and laid open, by the squandring glances 
 or random shots of a fool. Johnson. 
 
 9 for a counter,] About the time when this play was 
 
 written, the French counters (i. e. pieces of false money used as 
 a means of reckoning) were brought into use in England. 
 
 ' ... his bravery — ] i. e. his fine clothes.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 141 
 
 (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
 His tbily to the mettle of my speech ? 
 There then ; How, what tlien ? Let me see wherein 
 My tonojue hatli wrong d him : if it do him riglit. 
 Then he hatli wrong'd himself; if he be free. 
 Why tlien, mv taxing hke a wild goose flics, 
 Uncknm'd of any man. — But who comes here? 
 
 Enter Orlando, witit his swoj^d dranm. 
 
 Or/. Forbear, and cat no more. 
 
 Ja(^. Why, I have eat none yej^. 
 
 Or/. Nor slialt not, till necessity be seiVd. 
 
 J(!(j. Of what kind should this cock come of? 
 
 JJukc S. Art thon thus bolden'd, man, by thy 
 distress ; 
 Or else a rude despiser of good manners. 
 That in civility thou seem'st so empty? 
 
 Or/. 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 brcd," 
 And know some nurture:^ But forbear, I say; 
 He dies, that touches any of this fruit, 
 'J'ill I and my affairs arc answered. 
 
 ./c/y. An you will not be answered with reason, 
 I must die. 
 
 Du/iC S. What would you have ? Your gentleness 
 shall force. 
 More than your force move us to gentleness. 
 
 Or/. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
 
 Du/iC S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
 table. 
 
 Or/. SjK-ak voii so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: 
 I tii'Might, that all things had been savage here; 
 
 * inland Ifred,'] In/and here, and elsewhere in this play, 
 
 is the opposite to nutlnud, or upland. Orlando means to say, 
 that he hud not been /jird aiiiorifr cloicus. 
 
 * And know some nurture :] Nurture is cducntion, breeding.
 
 142 AS YOU LIKE IT, 
 
 And therefore put I on the countenance 
 
 Of stern commandment : But whate'er you arCj 
 
 That in this desert indccessible. 
 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
 
 If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
 
 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church ; 
 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
 
 If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, 
 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
 
 Tn the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 Diihe S. True is it that we have seen better days ; 
 And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church ; 
 And sat at good rtien'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 hrst suffic'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 ! \jE,a:it. 
 
 Duke S. Thou seestj we are not all alone un- 
 happy : 
 This wide and universal theatre 
 Pi-esents more woeful pageants than the scene 
 Wherein we play in. 
 
 * And take upon command --^] At your otvn command.
 
 AS VOlI LIKE IT. 143 
 
 Saq. AH the world's a stage, 
 
 And all tlio men and women merely players : 
 Thev have their exits, and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 His acts being; seven ages.' At first, the infant^ 
 IVIewling and puking in the nurse's arms; 
 And then, the whining school-hoy, with his satchel, 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Inwillingly to seh(X)l : And then, the lover; 
 SiuhinGf 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, 
 iSeeking the bubble reputation 
 
 Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice i 
 In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 
 \\ ith eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances,*^ 
 And so he ])lavs his part: The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slij)per'd pantaloon; 
 AVith sjK'ctacles on nose, and pouch on side; 
 His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide 
 For iiis shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice. 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 
 * His acts being seven ages.] I have seen, more tlian once, an 
 old print, entitled T/ic Stage of Mail's Life, divided into seven 
 a^es. As enibleniaticiil representations of this sort were formerly 
 ?tuek up, both for ornament and instruction, in the generality of 
 houses, it is more probable that Shakspeare took his hint from 
 thence, than from llippocrates or Proclus, who are quoted bj 
 Mr. M;done. IIkm.ky. 
 
 '' — — and bearded like the pard,'] Beards of difierent cut were 
 rtj>proprIated in our author's tune to diHircut characters and pro- 
 ft-^ioiis. The holdier had one fushiou, the judge another, Lh« 
 bibhop ditierent from both, &iC 
 
 1 sudden and ijuick — ] Lest it should be supposed tliat 
 
 these epithets are synonymous, it is necessary to be observed that 
 one of the ancient senses of sudden, la viulerd. 
 
 * modern iudances,^ Mudein meaub trUe^commou, 
 
 10
 
 144 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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. 
 
 Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome : Set down your venerable 
 burden. 
 And let him feed. 
 
 Or I. 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 musick ; and, good cousin, sing. 
 
 Amiens sings, 
 
 ' SONG. 
 I. 
 
 Blow^ blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind ^ 
 As mans ingratitude ; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 Because thou art not seen,^ 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho I ?into the green holly : 
 Most friendship is feigning, 7?iost loving tnere folly : 
 Then, heigh, ho, the holly I 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 • Thou art not so unkind, &c.] That is, thy action is not so 
 contrary to thy kind, or to human nature, as the ingratitude of 
 man. 
 
 * Tht/ tooth is not so keetty 
 
 Because thou art not seen,'] It is the opinion of the best com- 
 Kncntators, that this can only be tortured into a meanmg. Dr, 
 
 11
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 145 
 
 II. 
 
 Freeze^ freeze, fhon bitter ski/, 
 That (lust Jiot bite so nigU 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the ivaters xvarpy 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remember d not.* 
 Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c. 
 
 Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's 
 son, — 
 As you have wliisper'd faithfully, you were ; 
 And as mine eye doth his ethgies witness 
 Most truly linni'd, and living in your face, — 
 Be truly welcome hither ; 1 am the duke, 
 That lov'd your father : The residue of your fortune. 
 Go to my cave and tell me. — (^ood old man, 
 Thou art right welcome as thy master is : 
 Support him by the arm. — (iive me your hand, 
 And let me all your fortunes understand. \^E.reunL 
 
 Johnson paraphrases thus : — Thou iviuter iv/nd, thy rudeness gives 
 the less pain, as thou art not seen, as thou art an enemy that dost 
 nut brave us xvith thy presence^ and whose unkindness is therefore 
 not arrjyrnvated by insult. 
 
 * As friend remember'd not.l^ Remembered for rememberipg.
 
 146 AS YOU LIKE IT, 
 
 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, 
 t should not seek an absent aroument* 
 Of my revenge, thou present : Bui, 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. 
 Of what we think against thee. 
 
 0/i. 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 
 ^lake an extent* upon his house and lands : 
 Do this expediently,^ and turn him going. 
 
 \_E.veunt* 
 
 ' on abseyit argument — ] An argument is used for the 
 
 contents of a book, tlience Sliakspeare considered it as meaning 
 the subject, and then used it for subject in yet another sense. 
 
 ■* Make an extent — ] " To make an extent of lands," is a legal 
 phrase, from the words of a writ, (extendi facias,) whereby the 
 sheriff is directed to cause certain lands to be appraised to their 
 full extended value, before he delivers them to the person entitled 
 under a recognizance, &c. in order that it may be certainly known 
 how soon the debt will be paid. Ma lone. 
 
 ^ expedientlt/,'] That is, expeditions! i/.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT, 147 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Forest, 
 
 Enter Orlando, nith a paper. ^ 
 
 Orl. riang there, my verse, in witness of my lore*.. 
 
 And, tlioii, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey 
 \A'iiii tliy cliaste eye, from tJiy pale sphere above, 
 
 Thy imntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 
 O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, 
 
 And in their barks my thoughts I'll cliai-actcr; 
 Tiiat everv eve, which in this forest looks, 
 
 ♦Shall see thy virtue witnessed every whiire. 
 Run, run, Orlando ; carve, on every tree, 
 7'he fair, the chaste, and unexpressive^ she. \^K.i'it, 
 
 Enter Corin atul Touchstone. 
 
 Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, mas- 
 ter Touchstone r 
 
 Touch. Truly, shepherd, in res})ect of itself, it is 
 a good lite ; 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 
 seiy vile life. Now in respect it is in the tield«, 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 njy humour well ; but as there is no more 
 plenty in it, itgoesnmch against my stomach. Hast 
 anv philosophy in thee, shepherd? 
 
 Cor. No more, but that 1 know, the niore one 
 sickens, the worse at ease he is ; and that he that 
 wants money, mean«, and content, is without three 
 good friends : — 'I'hat the |)ropertv of rain is to wet, 
 ;ind fire to buin : That good pasture makes fat 
 
 * — — unexjirtSiiic — ] For int.rjjresiible.
 
 148 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 
 ^g^,^^ all on one side. 
 
 Cor. For not being at court ? Your reason. 
 
 Touch. Why, if thou never w^ast 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 shep- 
 herds. 
 
 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 tlic grease of a mutton as wholesome as 
 the sweat of a man ? Shallow, shallow : A better 
 instance, I say ; come. 
 
 ' '»«y complain of good breeding,'] May cbmphin of a 
 
 ^ood education^ for being so inefficient, of so little use to him. 
 
 Malonfs 
 
 * liJce an ill-roasted egg,] Of this jest I do not fully com- 
 prehend the meaning. Johnson. 
 
 Shakspeare's similies hardly ever run on four feet. Ma lone.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 149 
 
 Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 
 
 Touch. Your hps will foci them the sooner. 
 Shallow, ao;ain : A more sounder instance, come. 
 
 Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the sur- 
 crery 0/ our sheep ; And would you have us kiss tar ? 
 The courtier's hands are jx^rfumed with civet. 
 
 Touch. Most shallow man' Thou worms-meat, 
 in respect of a good piece of Hesh : Indeed ! — Learn 
 ot 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 ; V\\ 
 rest. 
 
 Touch. Wilt thou rest danm'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, 
 f;vt that I wear ; owe no man hate, envy no man's 
 hajipiness ; glad of other men's good, content wrth 
 my harm : and the greatest of my pride is, to see 
 my ewe^ graze, and my lambs suck. 
 
 Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to 
 brin<> the ewes and the rams together, and to offer 
 to get your living by the co])ulation of cattle : to be 
 baud to a bell-wether;* and to betray a she-lamb of 
 a tuelvemontb, to a crooked-pated,^ old cuckoldly 
 ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st 
 jiot damn'd for tliis, the devil himself with have no 
 hliephcrds ; I cannot see else how thou sliouldst 
 seajje. 
 
 . '' "i^c incision in thcc .'") Warburton says, to make inci- 
 sion was a i)rovcrbial expression then in vogue for to make to uu- 
 Jerstand. lint Steevens thinks the allusion is to that common ex- 
 prtsMon, of nittiu!; such a oiivfui the simples. In citlicr case we 
 regret llie profanene.s. 
 
 ' '^"^" °^^ rav,\'\ i. c. tliou art if^norant, unexperienced. 
 
 ' ^"'"^ '(' « hcll-wetlier ;] n'ether and ram had iyu;ieiitJy 
 
 l)i(j' ■.aiiie nieanijig. JoiiV'jO.v.
 
 150 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my 
 new mistress's brother. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, reading a paper, 
 
 Ros. From the east to xvestern Ind, 
 No jewel is like Rosalind. 
 Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
 All the pictures, fairest lind,^ 
 Are but black to Rosalind. 
 Let 710 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. 
 
 Jfl)iter-garments must be lin'd. 
 
 So must slender Rosalind. 
 
 They that reap, must sheaf and bind ; 
 
 Then to cart with Rosalind. 
 
 Sweetest nut hath sowrcst rind. 
 
 Such a nut is Rosalind. 
 
 He that szveetest Rose will find, 
 
 Must find loves prick, and Rosalind, 
 
 ^ fairest lin'd,] i. e. most fairJy delineated. 
 
 4 But the fair — ] Fair is beauty, complexion. 
 
 ' rank to jnar/wt,'] Sir T. Hanmer reads — rate to marhet, 
 
 which Mr. Malone approves. The liobbling metre of these verses, 
 (says Touchstone, ) is hke the amblings shvffing pace of a butter- 
 woman's horse, going to market.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 151 
 
 This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you 
 infect yourself with them t 
 
 lios. Peace, you dull fool ? I found them on a 
 tree. 
 
 Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
 
 Ros. I'll grart' it with you, and then I shall graff 
 it with a medlar : tiien it will be the earliest fruit* 
 in the country : for you'll be rotten e'er you be 
 lialf ripe, and that's the right virtue of the med- 
 lar. 
 
 Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or no, 
 lot the forest judge. 
 
 Enter Celia, readivg a paper. 
 
 Ros, Peace ! 
 Here comes my sister, reading ; stand aside. 
 
 Cel. JVJiy should this desert silent be ? 
 
 For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
 Ton<^ues Fll hanii; on every treCj 
 
 That shall civil sayings shozi\' 
 Some, hozr brief the life of man 
 
 Runs his erring; pilgrimage ; 
 That the stretching of a spun 
 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 
 Some, of violated voxvs 
 
 'Tici.vt the souls of friend ati,d friend 
 Ilut upon the fairest boughs, 
 
 Or at every sentence' end, 
 
 ^ iJic rarhopt fruit — ] Sluikspcare seems to have had 
 
 litthi knowledge in g.irdeniug. Tlie medlar is one of the lategt 
 Iruits, bein^ uneatable till the end of November. Sti:i:vkn''j. 
 
 ' Thnt shall civil laijings s/i'nv.l Cr//, I believe^ is not de 
 sigr.edly opposed to sclitarif. it incun^ guly^/«»«j or solemn 
 
 hixacvc.vc. 
 
 VOL. IIU O
 
 iol AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 fflll I Rosalhicia xvrite ; 
 
 Teaching all that read, to Joiow 
 The quintessence of ex^ery .sprite 
 
 Heaven would in little shoxv.^ 
 Therefore heaven nature charu'd 
 
 That one body should be flVd 
 Jl'ith all graces wide enlarged: 
 
 Nature presently distiWd 
 Helen's cheek, but not her heart ; 
 
 Cleopatra'' s majesty ; 
 Atalanta's better part f 
 
 Sad Luc ret la's modesty. 
 Thus Rosalind of many parts 
 
 By heavenly synod ivas devised. 
 Of 7-nany faces, eyes, and hearts. 
 
 To have the touches' dearest prized. 
 Heaven would that she these giftsshouldhavej, 
 
 And I to live and die her slave. 
 
 Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious ho- 
 mily of love have you wearied your parishioners 
 A^ithal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people! 
 
 Cel. How now! back friends; — Shepherd, go off 
 dr 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. 
 
 I Eiveunt Corin and Touchstone, 
 
 in little slioxvl] The allusion is to a miniature-portrait, 
 
 The current phrase in our author's time was " painted in little:'' 
 
 Malone. 
 
 ^ Atalanta's better part ;] The commentators are not agreed 
 what this lady's better imrt was : Dr. Jolinson inclines to her 
 bciuity ; Mr. Toilet to lier virgin chastity ; Dr. Farmer and Mr. 
 Malone to her wit ; Mr. Steevens sums up tlie evidence in these 
 v/ords : " after all, I believe tiiat Atalanta's better part, mean* 
 ov\y —tlie best part about her, such as was most commended»" 
 
 " -'~- th(: touches. "— -^J The fuatures ; Ics traiU,
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 153 
 
 Ccl. Didst tliDU hear these vei*ses ? 
 
 7iV;.v. O, yes, 1 heard them all, and more too ; for 
 some of them had in tluni more feet than the verses 
 would bear. 
 
 Ccl. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the 
 verses. 
 
 Ro.s. Av, but the feet were lame, and could not 
 bear themselves without the verse, and therefore 
 stood lamelv in the verse. 
 
 Ccl. liut didst thou hear, without wondcrin<]r how 
 thv name should he han^'d and carved upon these 
 trees r 
 
 Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the 
 wonder, before you came; for look heix3 what I 
 found on a palm-tree:^ I was never so be-rhymed 
 since Pythaj^oras' time, that I was an Irish rat,' 
 which I can hardly remember. 
 
 Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ? 
 
 Rns. Is it a man ? 
 
 Ccl. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
 neck : C'hani;e you colour i 
 
 Ros. I ])r'ythee, who ? 
 
 (\l. () lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends 
 to nieet;^ but mountains may be removed with 
 earthquakes, and so encounter. 
 
 Run. Nay, but who is it: 
 
 Cel. Is it possible ? 
 
 " n palm-tree :] A palm-lrrc, in tlu* forest of Afden, 
 
 is as inucli out of its place, as the linncss in a sul)sequ(at 
 Dcoiie. 
 
 ^ / TL'fl* nezcr so be-rlii/metl since Pijthngoras' (me, that I 
 
 u:as an Irish rat,] llosaliiid is a very learned lady. She tdludcs to 
 tlie Pythagorean doctrine, uhich teaches that souls transmif,Hute 
 from one aiiiiual to anollier, antl rtlatt'S timt in liis time she w.is 
 an JriJt rat, and by some metrical charm was rhymed to death. 
 
 JonN.-;o.v. 
 
 * J'/Unf/s to inert ;] AUndinj; ironieully to thv' pi'ovL-ib ; 
 
 *' Fri^ida may Bittt, but mouuUins never j;re<n." 
 
 O -2
 
 1:54 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 whooping ! ' 
 
 Ros. Good my complexion!*^ dost thou think, 
 though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doub- 
 let and hose in my disposition ? One inch of delay 
 more is a 8outli-sea-oft' discovery.'' I prythee, 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 pry thee take the cork out 
 of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. 
 
 Cel. 80 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. 
 
 Rgs. 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 
 tVre^tler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking ; speak sad 
 brow, and true maid.* 
 
 I out of all whooping !] J. e. out of all measure, or reck- 
 oning. This appears to have been a plu-ase of the same import 
 as another formerly in use, " out of all cr^." 
 
 6 Good mil complexio7i /] A little unmeaning exclamatory ad- 
 dress to her beauty; in the nature of a small oath. Ritson. 
 
 ' One inch of ddqy more is a Sonth-sea-qf discovery.'] The old 
 copy reads — ?,v a South-sea of discovcrie ,- "which, says Mr, Hen- 
 ley, is the only reading that can preserve the sense of Rosalind. 
 A South-sea of discovery, is not a discovery, as far off, hut as 
 COMPREHENSIVE as the South-sea; which, being the largest in 
 the world, aiFords the widest scope for exercising curiosity. 
 
 ^ — — speak sad brcax}, and true maid.'] i. e. speak with a grave
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 155 
 
 CcL I 'faith, coz, 'tis he. 
 
 Ros. Orlando ? 
 
 CeL Orlando. 
 
 Ros. Alas tiie day ! what shall I do with my 
 doublet and hose ? — What did he, when thou saw'st 
 him ? ^^'hat said he ? How look'd he ? AVliereiii 
 went he r'^ What makes he here? Did he ask for 
 me ? Where remains he r How parted he with thee? 
 and when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me in 
 one word. 
 
 CcL 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. 
 
 Cl'I. Give me audience, good madam. 
 
 Ros. Proceed. 
 
 CcL 'J'here lay he, strctch'd along, like a wounded 
 knight. 
 
 countenance, and as truly as thou art a virgin ; speak seriously 
 and honestly. 
 
 '' IVIitrein ivent he ?] In what manner was he clothed ? How 
 did he go dressed ? 
 
 ' (jara^aiitita\s month — ] Rosidind requires nine ques- 
 tions to ho answered in ojic word. Celia tells her that a word of 
 such magnitude is loo big for any mouth but that of Garaguntua 
 the giant of I{!il)elais. Johnson. 
 
 * to count dLtom'wHy'] Atomiex nrc tho9.e minute pnrlirli-i 
 
 dificernible in a stream of suushinc that breaks iuto a darkcuyd 
 room. HicNLtv. '
 
 156 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 
 curviets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a 
 hunter. 
 
 Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart.^ 
 
 Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : 
 thou brin^'st me out of tune. 
 
 Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I 
 think, I must speak. 8weet, say on. 
 
 Enter Orlando a/ul Jagiues. 
 
 Cel. You bring me out : — -Soft ' comes he not 
 Iiere ? 
 
 Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 
 
 [Celia cold Rosalind retire. 
 
 Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good 
 fnidi, 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. 1 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 
 slic was christen'd. 
 
 Jaq. What stature is she of? 
 
 3 Cry, holla 1 to thi/ tongue,'] Ilnlln was a term of tlio ma-* 
 nege, by wliich the ridw restrained and .stop2)'(i his horse. • 
 
 4 V.?—- to kill )ny- lieart.1 A quibble bcfrvcen hfart and harl.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 157 
 
 Orl. Just as lii<;h as mv heart. 
 
 Jaq. You arc full of ])ivtty answers : Have you 
 not been acquaintetl with goklsiuiths' wives, and 
 coini'd thein out of rinjj,'s ? 
 
 Orl. Not so ; but I answer you rii^ht ])ainte(l 
 cloth,' from whence you have studied your ques- 
 tions. 
 
 Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was mad(?: 
 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 
 mvself ; a<]jainst whom 1 know most faults. 
 
 Jar/. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. 
 
 Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for yoiu' best 
 virtue. I am weary of you. 
 
 Jiu]. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when 
 I foiuid you. 
 
 Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, 
 and you siiall see him. 
 
 Ja(j. There shall I see mine own figure. 
 
 Orl. ^Vhich I take to be either a fool, or a 
 rvjjher. 
 
 Ja(i. I'll tarry no longer with you ; farewell, good 
 ?ignior love. 
 
 Orl. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good 
 monsieur melancholy. 
 
 [A'avV jAftUEs. — Celia and Rosalind 
 cojuc forward. 
 
 Riis. I will sj)eak to him like a saucy lacquey, and 
 under that habit play the knave with him. — l)o you 
 hear, forester r 
 
 Orl. Very well ; what would you ? 
 Uus. 1 ])ray you, what is't a clock r 
 
 ' Itiit I nnsurr 1/rm r/irA/ painted cloth.] This ail lulcs t(i tlitf 
 
 f;i.-lii(j|» ill oUl tapfstrv liaiiginj.'s, ol' niottos and moral miiIcuc^;! 
 from the moufhsoJ" t1»c ligurt-'S) workuci yrpaintcil iu ihcui.
 
 158 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; there's 
 no clock in the forest. 
 
 Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest ; 
 else sighing every minute, and groaning 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. Bv no means, sir: Time travels in divers 
 paces with divers persons : I'll tell you who time 
 ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time 
 gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. 
 
 Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal r 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Res, 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 
 goon there. 
 
 Orl. Wlio stays it still withal ? 
 
 Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep 
 between tenn 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.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 159 
 
 Orl. Are you native of this place ? 
 
 Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she 
 is kindled. 
 
 Orl. Your accent is soniethinjj finer than vou 
 could purchase in so removed^ a dwelling. 
 
 lios. I have been told so of many : but, indeed^ 
 an old religious uncle of mine taugnt 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 
 ?o many giddy offences as lie hath generally tax'tl 
 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'vthee, recount some of them. 
 
 Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physick, but 
 on those that are •ick. There is a man haunts the 
 forest, that abuses our young ])lants with caiTing 
 Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon haw- 
 tliorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, 
 deifyin'^- the name of Rosalind : if I coald meet 
 that fancy-monger, 1 would give him some good 
 counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love 
 upon Inm. 
 
 Or/. 1 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; 
 
 '' removed — ] i. c. remote, se(iucstpred. 
 
 "> in-laiid tnan ;] Ig used in this play lor one civil isedy ia 
 
 opposition to the rustick of the priest. 
 
 12
 
 lao AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you arc 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, siniply, your having' in beard is a 
 -N^oun^T^er brother's revenue : — Then your hose should 
 be ungarter'd," your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve 
 unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about 
 you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you 
 are no such man; you arc rather point-device' in 
 your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seem- 
 ing the lover of any. other. 
 
 Oj^L Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- 
 hevc 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 goo4 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 iTason can express how 
 much. 
 
 ^ c blue ej/Cyl i. e. a blueness about the eyes. 
 
 '-* an unquestionable sj)iril- ; j That is, a spirit umdlling ta 
 
 he conversed iviih. 
 
 ' " }]f>ur having — ] Having is possession, estate. 
 
 * Then your hone .should be ungarter'd, itc] These seem to 
 have been the established and charactL^ristical marks by which the 
 votaries of love were denoted in the time of Shakspeare. 
 
 2 pQint'device — ] i. e. exact, drest witJi linical nrcety.
 
 AS YOU LIKE lY. 101 
 
 Ros. Love is mcrolv a madness : and, 1 tell yo'.i, 
 ileserves as well a dark house and a wlii]), as niad- 
 nien do : and the reason why they are not so pu- 
 nished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary', 
 that the whi])})ers are in love too: Yet 1 profess 
 curiuij it bv^ counsel. 
 
 Or/. Did you ever cure any so ? 
 Ro.s-. Yes, one ; and in this manner. lie was to 
 ima;j,ine me his love, his mistress; and I set him 
 everv day to woo me : At which time would I, 
 being hut a moonish youth, ^ jnrievc, be eftcniinate, 
 changeable, longing, and liking ; proud, fanta^^tical^ 
 a])ish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of 
 smiles ; for every passion something, and for no 
 passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for 
 the most part cattle of this colour: would now like 
 him, now loath him ; then entertain h.im, then for- 
 swear him ; now weep for him, then spit at him ; 
 that I (have my suitor from his mad humour of iovc^ 
 to a living humour of niaduess ; which was, to for- 
 swear the full stream of the world, and to live in a 
 nook merely monastick : And thus I cm'ed him ; and 
 this way will I take upon me to wash your liver 
 as clean as a sound sheep's heart, tliat. there shall not 
 be one spot of love in't. 
 
 iJrl, I woidd not be cured, youth, 
 /lo.v. I would cure you, if you would but call rnj* 
 Ko^..rni(l, and come every day to niv cote, and woo 
 inc. 
 
 Or/. Now, by the f lilh of my lo\e, I will; tell 
 me where it is. 
 
 /lO.v. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you : and^ 
 bv the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you 
 live : Will v<)U go? 
 
 Or/. With all my heart, good youth. 
 
 * a nioonitjli '/onth,} i. c. vciriuble.
 
 l52 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come, 
 sister, will you go ? \_E.veunt» 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey;-^ Jasues at a 
 distance, observing tlicm. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 And. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what fea- 
 tures ? 
 
 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 I \_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. 
 
 * Audrey;'] Is a corruption of Etheldreda. The saint of 
 
 that name is so styled in ancient calendars. 
 
 * as the most capricious poet, honest Oxudy tvas among the 
 
 Goths.] Capricious is not here humoursome, fantastical, &c. but 
 lascivious. Upton. 
 
 Mr. Upton is, perhaps, too refined in his interpretation of 
 e%pricious. Our author remembered that caper was the Latin for 
 a goat, and thence chose this epithet. This, I beheve, is the 
 whole. There is a poor quibble between goats and Gaths. 
 
 Malone. 
 
 ' iU-inhaUtsd !~\ \. e. ill-lodged. An unusual sense of the 
 
 word. 
 
 s it strihes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a 
 
 little room .•] A great reckoning in a little room, implies that the 
 entertaininent was mean, and the bill extravagant.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. l(j3 
 
 /I ltd. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest 
 in deed, and word ? Is it a true thing ? 
 
 Touch. No, trulv ; for the truest poetry is the 
 most feigning ; and lovers arc given to poetry ; and 
 what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, 
 they do feign. 
 
 And. Do you wish then, that tlic gods had made 
 me poetical r 
 
 Touch. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me, thou 
 art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have 
 some hojx; thou didst feign. 
 
 Aud. Would you not have me honest ? 
 
 Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-fa vourM: 
 for honesty cou])led to beauty, is to have honey a 
 sauce to sugar. 
 
 Jaq. A material fool!' [^As'ids. 
 
 Aud. \\'cll, I am not fair ; and therefore I pray 
 tlie ^ods 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. MVcW, 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 >bir 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. 
 
 Jiiij. I would fain see this meeting. [/hide. 
 
 Aud. We 1, the gods give us joy ! 
 
 Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear- 
 ful heart, stitggcr in this attempt ; for here we iiave 
 no temple but the wood, no assembl}' but horn- 
 
 ' A material y?x)/ /] A fool with matter in him ; a f'coj blocked 
 wiih n >\\ Ui. 
 
 * / am foul.] Not fair, or homely.
 
 1 64 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 beasts. But what though?^ Courage! As liorns 
 are odious, they are necessary. It is said,— "Many 
 a man knows no end of his goods : right : many a 
 i\mn has good horns, and knows no end of them. 
 Well, that 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 walFd 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 combes 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 Oil. Is there none here to give the woman ? 
 
 Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 
 
 Sir. OH. Truly, she must be given^ or the maf- 
 riage is not lawful. 
 
 J(iq. [Discovering hims(ilf.~\ Proceed, proceed ;» 
 I'll give her. 
 
 Touch. Good even, good master ffhat ye caWt : 
 How do you, sk' ? You are very well met ; God'ild 
 you'' for your last company : I am very glad to see 
 
 * ivhat though ?] Wliat then ? 
 
 3 the rascal.^ Lean, poor deer, are called rascal deer. 
 
 '♦ defence — 3 Dcfencef as here opposed to " no skill,'/ 
 
 ;iijgnifics the art offendng. 
 
 ' i^'ir Oliver ;'\ lie that has taken his first degree at the 
 
 university, is in the academical style called Dojninus, mid in com- 
 nion hniguage was hcretolbre termed ,S?>. The Sir Hugh Evans 
 of Shakspeare is not a Welsh knight who hath taken orders, but 
 only a Welsh clergyman without any regular degree from either ot* 
 the Universities. See Barrington's History of the Guedir Famili/. 
 
 Nichols. 
 
 f> . God 'lid tpii — ] i. e. God yield yovi, God reward you.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. i6o- 
 
 you : — Even a toy in hand here, sir : — Nay ; pray, 
 be fiover'd. 
 
 Ja</. W\\\ you be married, motley ? 
 
 Touc/i. As the ox hath his bow/ sir,tlie horse his 
 curb, and the tkulcon her bells, so man hath his de- 
 sires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nib- 
 bling. 
 
 Jdt/. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
 be nrarried under a bush, like a beggar? Get you 
 to ehureli, and have a good priest that can tell you 
 what maiTiage is : this fellow will but join you to- 
 srethcr as thev join wainscot : then one of you will 
 j)rove 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 beiug well married, it 
 \^ ill be a good excuse for mc hereafter to leave my 
 wife. [ A.sidc. 
 
 Jaq. Go thou with me, and let mc counsel thee. 
 Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ; 
 AVe nnist be married, or we musthvq in bawdry. 
 Fart- well, good master Oliver ! 
 
 Not — <) sweet OJiver, 
 O brave Olivei-, 
 Leave me not behi' thee ; 
 Piut — W'^ind away, 
 liegone I say, 
 I» will not to Avedding wi' thee. 
 
 {^Exeunt Jaule:?}, Touch iTONE, a?id Audrey. 
 
 Sir Oil. "J'is no matter ; nt-'cir a fantastical knave 
 of them all shall Hoiit me out of my calling. [_R.vlt. 
 
 /f/ibow,] i. e. lil'iy'tke. The ancieut yc».i<r iu fuini re- 
 
 «eniLi<d a b^XK
 
 1 66 AS you LIKE IT.. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 The same. Before a Cottage* 
 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 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 re- 
 ligiously ; 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 ? 
 
 ^ Something brotvner than Judas's :]] Judas was constantly re- 
 presented in ancient painting or tapestry, with 7-ed hair and beaj-d. 
 
 "^ lyhilh, his hair is of a good colour.'] There is much of na- 
 ture in this petty perverseness of Rosalind : she finds fault in her 
 lover, in hope to he contradicted, and when Celia in sportive ma- 
 lice too readily seconds her accusations, she contradicts herself 
 rather than suffer her favourite to want a vindication. 
 
 * "-^ the touch of holy hread.] We should read heard^ 
 
 that is, as the kiss of an holy saint or hermit, called the kiss of 
 chnriti/. This makes the comparison just aqji decent; the oth«r 
 impious and absurd. WAitDURXpj?. *
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 167 
 
 Cel. Yes: I think he is not a ])ick-purse, nor a 
 liorsc-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 ? 
 
 Ce/. Yes, when he is in ; })ut, I think he is not in. 
 
 R06. You have heard him swear downright, he 
 was. 
 
 Cel. IFas is not is: besides, the oath of a lover 
 is no stronger th.an the word of a tapster ; they are 
 both tlie contirmers of false reckonin2;s : He attends 
 here in the forest on the duke your father. 
 
 J\os. I met tile duke vesterdav, and had much 
 question^ with hnn : He asked me, of what parentan;e 
 1 was ; I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd,, 
 and let me go. lint what talk we of fathers, when 
 there is such a man as Orlando ? 
 
 Cet. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave 
 verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and 
 breaks them Ijravely, quite traverse, athwart* the 
 heart of his lover r"" as a puny tilter, that spurs his 
 horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble 
 goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly 
 guides : — Who comes here r 
 
 Enter Corin. 
 
 Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired 
 After the shepherd that complain'd of love ; 
 
 X 
 
 0.9 concavr {;<; a cover'd trohlcl,'] i. c. hollow. 
 
 ^ much question — ] i. e. conversation. 
 
 •* — *— fjiiitc traverse, athimrt. Sec.'] An unexperienced lover is 
 here coinpared to apiini/ tiller, to whom it was a disgrace to have 
 his lance broken across, as it was a mark either ol want of cou- 
 rage or address. This happened when the horse flew on one side, 
 in the career : and lience arose the jocular proverbial phrase of 
 spurriii:^ the horse onli/ on one side. 
 
 ^ nfh'is lover ;J i. e. oi" hismittresfc". 
 
 \UL. 111. P
 
 i6s AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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- [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Silvius and Phebe. 
 
 AV/. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not, 
 
 Phebe : 
 Say, that you love me not ; but say not so 
 In bitterness : The common executioner. 
 Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 
 
 hard. 
 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck. 
 But first begs pardon ; Will you sterner be 
 Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ? 
 
 Enter Rosalind, Celia, aiid Corin, at a distance. 
 
 Phe. I would not be thy executioner ; 
 I fly thee, for I ^^ould not injure thee. 
 Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye : 
 Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,^ 
 
   * Tis pretty, sure, andveri^iyrobahk,'] Siue for surel^' 
 10
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. log 
 
 That eyes, — that are tlie frail'st und softest things, 
 
 Wlio shut tlu'ir coward j^ates on atomies, — 
 
 ►Should he ealTd tvranls, huteliers, murderers ! 
 
 Now I do h'own on thee with all my lieart ; 
 
 And, it mine eves can wound, now let them kill thee ; 
 
 Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; 
 
 Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for t^hame, 
 
 Lie not, to say mine eves are nunderers. 
 
 Now show the wound mine eye liath made in thee : 
 
 Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
 
 vSome scar of it ; lean but U})on a rush, 
 
 The cicatrice and capable imj)ressure^ 
 
 Thv palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes, 
 
 AMiieh 1 have darted at thee, hurt thee not; 
 
 Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
 
 That can do Imrt. 
 
 Sil. O dear Phebc, 
 
 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 
 l^iat love's keen arrows make. 
 
 P/ic. But, till that time. 
 
 Come not thou near me : and, when that time comes, 
 AUliet me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
 As, till that time, I shall not j)itv thee. 
 
 Jios. And why, I pray you ? \^yldvancifig.'] Who 
 might be your mother,'^ 
 That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
 Over the wretched - What though you have more 
 beautv, 
 
 ■? 77/r cicatrice and cupnblv iiuprn^fnirc — ] Cicatrice is here not 
 very i)rr)perly used ; it is the scar ofu woiiiul. Capable may iik-hu 
 litTf — perceptible. 
 
 " power o/" fancy,] Faneif is here used for love- 
 
 ■^ U'lu) Jiiiis/it be i/iiur vuittier,'] Jt is coinmoti for thi" poets 
 
 to e\j)rtss eruelty Ijy Haviii;^, ot'tliohe vslio t<Miiinit il, thai they 
 lycre born uf rotkh, <^r tuckltd l)y tigresses. JoiiNStON. 
 
 V 'i
 
 170 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 (As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
 
 Than without candle may go dark to bed,) 
 
 Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? 
 
 Wliy, 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 ; 
 '^ris not your inky brows, your black-silk hair. 
 Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream, 
 Tfiat 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, 
 Tliat make the world full of ill-favour'd children ; 
 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; 
 And out of you she sees herself 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 t 
 Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his oifer : 
 Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.'^ 
 So, take her to thee, shepherd ; — fare you well. 
 
 Pke. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year to- 
 gether ; 
 I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 
 
 Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and 
 
 " Of}iatHre*s sale-work :] The allusion is to the practice of 
 mechanicks, whose tvork bespoke is more elaborate than that 
 which is made up for chance customers. 
 
 * Foul i? mostjbul, being foul lo be a scoffer. "l The sense is 
 The uglij seem most uglij^'iKhen, though ugly, they are scoffers*
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. J7l 
 
 she'll fall in love with my answer : If it be so, as jfast 
 as she answers thee witii h-ownin^ looks^ I'll sauce 
 her with bitter words. — Why look you so upon me? 
 
 P/ie. 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, 
 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by: — 
 Vv'ill you go, sister ? — Shepherd, ])Iy lier 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. 
 
 [E.x'eunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. 
 
 Phe. Dead sheplierd ! now I find thy saw of 
 might ; 
 JVho ever lovd, that lovd not at first sig/it 9* 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 
 
 Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius ? 
 
 Sii. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
 
 P/ie. Why, 1 am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 
 
 »SV/. 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 extern»in'd. i 
 
 Phe. Thou hast my love ; Is not that neigh- 
 bour!)' r 
 
 Sil. I would have vou. 
 
 Phe. ^V by, that were covetousncss. 
 
 .Silvius, the time was, tliat I hated thcv ; 
 
 ' thmtfifi (lU t/ie ■wrrrhl could sec. 
 
 None could Ih- so af)ux'd in fi<s^lit a.s Ju;'] Though all mankind 
 tould lfM>k on you, none cctulcl he so deceived as to tliiok you 
 beautiful hut Uv. Johnson. 
 
 ^ J)tad shepherd ! lunv I find ihi/ srnv ofvii'^hl ; 
 ^Vho ever lov'ci, that hivM not at lirstsij^'ht ?] The sc-con»l ol 
 these lines is from Marlowe's Hero and Lcandcr^ 1GU7.
 
 i;2 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 And yet it is not, that I bear thee love : 
 
 But since that thou canst talk of love so well, 
 
 Tliy 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 80 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. 
 
 Fhe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me 
 ere while ? 
 
 &il. Not very well, but I have met him oft ; 
 And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds. 
 That the old carlot^ once was master of. 
 
 Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for 
 him ; 
 'Tis but a peevish boy :^ — 3 et 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 : — 
 But, sure, he's proud ; and yet liis pride becomes 
 
 him : 
 He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him 
 Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
 Did make oftencc, his eye did heal it u]). 
 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 
 
 -' Thai Ihe oWcarlot — ] i. e. penmitt, from carl or churl f pro- 
 btibly ii word of" Shakspcai'c's coinage. 
 
 '' — - " peevish l/o^.'] Pi-cvish, in ancient language, signifies 
 heali, sillij.
 
 AS YOT' LIKE IT. 173 
 
 Than that mix'd in his check ; 'twas just the dif- 
 ference 
 Betwixt the constant red, and minf^lcd damask. 
 There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd 
 
 him 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 To fall in love with him : but, for my part, 
 I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet 
 1 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 no quittance. 
 I'll write to him a very taunting letter. 
 And thou shalt bear it ; Wilt thou, Silvius ? 
 
 S'tl. Phebe, with all my heart. 
 
 Phc. I'll write it straight ; 
 
 The mutter's in my head, and in my heart : 
 I will be bitter with him, and passing short: 
 Cro with mc, JSilvius, \_Exeunt, 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I. The same. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, Celia, (Did Jaq.ues. 
 
 Jaf/. I pr'\thee, pretty youth, let me be better 
 acfjuainted with thee. 
 
 Jlfj.s. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
 
 J(tf/. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. 
 
 Jl(/.s. 'J'host*, that arc in extremity of eillicr, nvc 
 id)ominai)l(' fellows; and betray themselves to every 
 modern censure, worse than drunkards. 
 
 JcKj. ^V l)\ , 'tis good to be sad and sav nothing.
 
 174 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 politick; nor the lady's which is nice;'' 
 nor the lover's, which is all these : but it is a melan- 
 choly of mine own, compounded of many simples, 
 extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sun- 
 dry contemplation of my travels, in which my often 
 rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sad- 
 ness. 
 
 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. 
 
 Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 
 
 Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in 
 blank verse. [E.rit. 
 
 Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller : Look, you 
 lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable* all the bene- 
 fits of your own country ; be out of love with your 
 nativity, and almost chide God for making you that 
 countenance you arc ; or I will scarce think you have 
 swam in a gondola.^ — Why, how now, Orlando! 
 
 '' ivhich is nice ;] i. e. silly, trifling. 
 
 * — — disable — ] i. e. undervalue. 
 
 ^ — ;^ — «M>H in a gondola.'] That is, been at Venice, the seat at 
 that time of all licentiousness, where the young English gentle*
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 175 
 
 where have vou been all this while r You a lover? — 
 An you serve me such another trick, never come in 
 mv sight more. 
 
 0/7. iNIy fair Rosalind, I come within an hourot" 
 mv promise. 
 
 Ro.s. Break an hour's promise in love ? He that 
 will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and 
 break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute 
 in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that 
 Cupid hath clap'd him o'the shoulder, but I warrant 
 him heart-whole. 
 
 Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 
 
 Ro.s, Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more ia 
 mv sight ; I had as lief be vvooM of a snail. 
 
 'Orl. Of a snail? 
 
 Jios. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
 he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, 
 I think, than you can make a woman : Besides^ he 
 brings his destiny with him. 
 
 OH. What's that? 
 
 R06. Whv, horns ; which such as you are fain to 
 be beholden to your wives for : but he comes 
 armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of 
 his \\ife. 
 
 Of/. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind 
 is virtuous. 
 
 Jlo.i. And I am your Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a 
 Rosalind of a better leer tlian you.' 
 
 Jxos. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in 
 a hohday humour, and like enough to consent : — 
 \\'hat would ycju say to me riovv, an I were your 
 verv very Rosalind r 
 
 men waited tlieir fortunes, debased their morals, and somctimlji 
 lost their religion. 
 
 ' a liosalind oj a hdtcr leer iJinn ijvu.'\ i. c. of a better 
 
 Itataie, complexion, or eoloiu", than you.
 
 175 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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. Veiy good orators, when 
 they are out, they \v\\\ spit ; and for lovers, lacking 
 (God warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 
 
 Orl. Yio\Y 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 yet 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 not 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 time 
 there was not any man died in his own person, vide- 
 licet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed 
 out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could 
 to die before ; and he is one of the patterns of love. 
 Leandcr, 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 Ilellespont, and, 
 being taken witli the cramp, was drowned ; and the 
 foolish chroniclers of that age found it was — Hero 
 of 8estos. But these are all lies; men have died 
 from time to time, and worms have eaten them, bu^ 
 not for love.
 
 AS YOIT LIKE IT. 177 
 
 0/7. I would not have iny right Rosahnd of this 
 Tiiind ; for, 1 protest, her frown niii;ht kill me. 
 
 Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : Ikit 
 come, now I will he your Rosalind in a more 
 cominnj-on disposition ; and ask me what you will, I 
 will jrrant it. 
 
 Or/. Then love mc, Rosalind. 
 Jvos. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, 
 and all. 
 
 Ori. And wilt thou have me ? 
 J\os. Ay, and twenty such. 
 Or/. \Vliatsay"st thou ? 
 Ros. Are you not good ? 
 OrL I hope so. 
 
 Ro.s. Why then, can one desire too much of a 
 good thing ? — Come, sister, you shall he the priest, 
 and marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando : — 
 A\'hat do you say, sister ? 
 OrL Pray thee, marry us. 
 Ct7. I cannot say the words. 
 
 J\os. You must hegin, /nil i/ou, Or/ando, — 
 
 Cc/. Go to : Will you, Orlando, have to wife 
 
 this Rosalind ? 
 Or/. I will. 
 Jvo.s. Ay, but w hen ? 
 
 Or/. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. 
 Ros. 'J'hen vou must say, — / ta/cc t/wc, Rosa/'md, 
 for uifc. 
 
 Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, lor wife. 
 J<o.s. I might ask you for your connnission ; hut, 
 — I do take thee, Orlando, jor my hushand : There 
 a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a wo- 
 man's thought runs bcloii' Iier actions. 
 
 Or/. So do all thoughts; they are winged. 
 Jin.s. Now tell me, liow |(Uigyo»i would have her, 
 after \'ou have possessed her. 
 Orl. Vol' ever, and a daw
 
 178 AS YOU LIKE IT, 
 
 Ros. Say a day, without the ever - No, no, Or- 
 lando ; men are April when they woo, December 
 when they wed : maids are May when they are 
 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 liyen/ 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'* 
 iijx)n a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; 
 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 witli such a wit, he 
 might say, — JVif, zvhither ivilt?^ 
 
 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. 
 
 * T tvill tveep Jbr ?iotJii>/g, like Diana in the Jountain,'] 
 
 Statues, and particularly that of Dianay with water conveyed 
 through them to give the appearance of weeping figures, were 
 anciently a frequent ornament of fountains. 
 
 ^ I will laugh like a hyen,] The bark of the hyena was 
 
 anciently supposed to resemble a loud laugh. 
 
 "* Make the doors — ]This is an expression used in several 
 
 of the midland counties, instead of bar ike door. 
 
 * —* — Wit, ivhithcr xvilt ?~\ This was an exclamation much in 
 use, when any one was either talking nonsense, or usurping a 
 greater share in conversation than justly belonged to him. 
 
 U
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 179 
 
 You shall never take her without her answer, unless 
 vou take her without her tongue. O, that woman 
 tliat cannot make her tault lier husband's occasion," 
 let her never nurse her child herself, for she will 
 breed it like a fool. 
 
 Oii. For these twr) hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
 thee. 
 
 Ron. 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. 
 
 Ros. Av, Qo your ways, go your ways ; — I knew 
 what vou 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 ])romise, 
 or come one minute behind your hour, I will think 
 you the most pathetical bieak-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 jjromise. 
 
 Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wcrt 
 indeed my Rosalind : So, adieu. 
 
 Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines 
 all buch offcjiders, and let time try: Adieu! 
 
 I Exit Orlando. 
 
 Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your 
 
 love-prate : we must have your doublet and hose 
 
 « 
 
 ^ make her fault her hushamPs occasion,'] Tliat is, rcprc* 
 
 •f-nt licr fault as oeca.sioned by lier hubband. 
 
 ' ihc most patbetital (jtra/i-promiac,] Rosalind means « 
 
 lovt'i who»c fuLschood would most dcepfj "//I'd hh mistrcs^.
 
 180 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 plucked over your head, and show the world what 
 the bird hath done to lier own nest. 
 
 Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that 
 thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in 
 love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath 
 an unknown bottom, like the bay 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. \_Ej:eiu}t. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Another Part of the Forest, 
 
 Enter Jagiues and Lords, in the hah'it of Foresters. 
 
 Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer ? 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. 
 
 Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a 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 pur])Ose ? 
 
 '2 Lord. Yes, sir. 
 
 Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so 
 it make noise enough. 
 
 * he<rQt o/'thouglit,] i. e. of melancholy.
 
 AS yOV LIKE IT. 181 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1 . fjliat shall he have, that hilCd the deer ? 
 '2. His leather skin, and horns to n'car. 
 
 1. Then sins; him Innne : 
 Take thou no seorn, to xc^ar the horn ; ( l^^ '^^^ ^l^^\ 
 It was a crest ere thou xt-ast born. \ jcn, 
 
 1 . Thy father s father •uorc it ; 
 
 2. J)i(l thy father bore it : 
 AH. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, 
 
 la not a thino- to laugh at scorn. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.^ 
 
 The Forest. 
 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two 
 oVlock ? And heir mueli Orlando!' 
 
 Cel. 1 warrant \ on, with pure love, and troubled 
 hrain, he hath ta'eu his how and arrows, and is gone 
 t'orll; — to bleq) : — Look, who conies here. 
 
 Enter Silvius. 
 
 67/. M V errand is to you, fair youth ; — 
 My gentle Phcbe bid me give you this : 
 
 [^Giving a letter. 
 I know not the contents ; but, as I guess, 
 Bv the stern brow, and waspish action 
 
 '> The foregoing noisy scene was introduced only to fill up an 
 int( rviti, uliicli is to rcjtrcsient two hours. This contiactioii of 
 the time we might impute to poor llosaliud's iuipiitienee, but 
 that a few minutes at\er wc find Orlando sending liis excuse. I 
 do not seetliLit by uuy i)robable division of the Acts this absurdity 
 CUM he obviated. JiJUNsoN. 
 
 ' and here much Orlando!'] Much ! was frequcjitly usvil 
 
 to indicate disduio.
 
 a82 As YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Which she did use as she was writing of ii^ 
 It bears an angry tenour : pardon me, - 
 I am but as a guiltless messenger. 
 
 Ros. Patience herself would startle at this lettef j 
 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 
 
 me 
 Were man as rare as Phoenix ; Od's my will ! 
 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 arc a fool. 
 
 And turn VI 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 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 thy tyrant 
 writes. 
 
 Jrf thou god to shepherd tiirnd, [Reads, 
 That a maidms heart hath hurnd? —
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 183 
 
 Can a woman rail thus ? 
 67/. Call you this railing ? 
 
 Ros. Jlliy, thy godhead laid apart, 
 
 IVarrst thou with a icomans heart ? 
 
 Did you ever hear such railing ? — 
 
 Jf'hiles the eye of man did woo me. 
 That could do no remyeancc'^ to me. — 
 
 Meaning me a beast. — 
 
 If the scor?i of your bright eyne 
 Have power to raise such love in minef 
 Alack, in me what strange effect 
 IVould they xoork in mild aspect ? 
 Jlliiles you chid me, I did love ; 
 How then might your prayers movi? 
 He, tJiat brings this love to thee. 
 Little knoxvs this love in me : 
 yhid by him seal up thy mind ; 
 Jlliether that thy youth and kind^ 
 /fill the faithful offer take 
 Of me, and all that I can make ;" 
 Or else by him my love deny, 
 And then Vll study how to die. 
 
 Sil. Call you this chiding ? 
 
 Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
 
 ]{os. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. — 
 Wilt thou love such a woman ? — What, to make 
 thee an instrument, and play false strains upon the^! 
 not to be endured ' — Well, go your way to her, (for 
 1 see, love hatli made thee a tame snake,) ^ and say 
 
 * vengeance — ] is used for mischief. 
 
 J youth and kind — ] Kind is the old word for nature. 
 
 4 all that I can make ;] i. e. raise as profit from any tiling. 
 
 J / see, love hath made thee a lame snake,)] This term was, 
 
 vol.. III. Q
 
 184 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 he a true lover, 
 hence, and not a word ; for here comes more com- 
 pany. \_E.vit SiLVius. 
 
 Enter Oliver. 
 
 Oil, Good-nioiTow, fair ones : Pray you, if you 
 know 
 \Miere, in the purlieus of this forest,^ stands 
 A sheep-cote, ienc'd about with olive-trees ? 
 
 Cel. ^^ est of this })lace, down in the neighboar 
 bottom. 
 Tile rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, 
 Left on your right hand, brings you to the place ; 
 Bvit at this hour the house doth ke^'p itself^ 
 'J Tic re's none within. 
 
 OH. If'tliat an eyi* may profit by a tongue, 
 /] hell I should know you by description ; 
 JSuch guRuents, and tfueh years : Tkc boy isfah\ 
 Of U'inalcyavoiu\ mtd bestuxcs hhfisclf 
 LiliC (I ripe sister ; but the uwman low. 
 And brouner 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, wc are. 
 
 OH. Orlando doth conniiend him to you both ; 
 And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, 
 Jie sends this bloody napkin;' Are you he 5 
 
 111 our uuthor'ji time, fre.queiiUy used to express a poor contenip- 
 tihlc i't-llow. 
 
 b 
 
 — piirliont: (iftJiif; forest,'] Pitrlicu, says Manwood's Trea- 
 tise im the Forest Laivs, v. xx. " Is a certaine territorie of ground 
 a(lj;)yiun<,M',iit(> tlie (brt'st, iiitaredand bounded with unmoveable 
 IlJa^I^^, ineeieiJ, and bouiidurles : which territories of ground Mfi5 
 ttlso ibrest, and afterwards disaforestcd againe by the peranibuk- 
 fions made lor the scveriTig of the new forest from the old." 
 
 Keed.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 185 
 
 Ros. I am : What must \vc uncicrstand hy this ? 
 
 Oil. Some of my shame; if you will know of nitj 
 What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
 This handkerchief was stain'd. 
 
 Cct. I pray you, tell it. 
 
 OH. When last the young Orlando parted from 
 
 you, 
 
 He left a ])romise to return again 
 
 Within an hour ; and, pacing through tho forest, 
 
 Ciiewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
 
 Lo, what befel 1 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'crgrown with hair, 
 
 Lav sleeping on his back : about his neck 
 
 A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, 
 
 Who with her head, nimble in threats, approaeh'd 
 
 The o|X}ning of his mouth ; but suddenly 
 
 ISeeing 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 drv, 
 
 Lav couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, 
 
 Wiien that the sleeping man should stir; for 'ti* 
 
 The royal disposition of that beast. 
 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
 
 Tins seen, Orlando did a])proach the man. 
 
 And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 
 
 Ct'l. O, 1 have heard him speak of that same 
 brother ; 
 And hr did render'' him the most unnatural 
 Tliat livM 'mi>ngst men. 
 
 Oil- And well he might §<» do, 
 
 For well I know lu> was nunatmal. 
 
 • And hr (lid rt-nik-r It'nu — 1 i. v. duscribe liiin, 
 
 U -J.
 
 18() AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Ros. But, to Orlando ; — Did he leave him there. 
 Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? 
 
 OH. Twice did he turn his back, andpurpos'd sot 
 But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, i' 
 
 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. 
 
 Cei. Are you his brother ? 
 
 Ros. Was it you he rescu'd ? 
 
 Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill 
 him ? 
 
 OH. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? — 
 
 Oil. 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 pkce ; 
 
 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 I 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. 
 
 '' in rvhiJi hurtling — ] To hurtle is to move with impe- 
 tuosity and tumult. 
 
 9
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 187 
 
 Cel. Why, how no^v, Ganymede ? sweet Gany- 
 mede ? [Rosalind faults. 
 
 OIL Many will swoon A>hen they do look on 
 blood. 
 
 Cel. There is more in it : — Cousin — Ganymede ! ' 
 
 Oil. 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? 
 
 Oil. 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!— 
 
 Oil. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great 
 testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion 
 of earnest. 
 
 Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 
 
 Oil. Well then, take a good heart, and countefr 
 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. 
 
 Oil. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
 How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you, 
 commend my counterfeiting to him : — Will you go ? 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 ' — — Cousiti—Gani/mede f] Celia, in her first fright, forgets 
 RoHalind's character and disguise, and calls out cousin^ then re- 
 coUectb herbell, and says, Ganymtde. Johnson.
 
 188 AS YOU LIKE ITj 
 
 ACT. V: 
 SCENE I. The same. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Touch. We shall find a time^ Audrey; patienccj 
 gentle Audrey. ; ^ 
 
 And. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for ^11 
 tlie old gentleman's saying. 
 
 Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most 
 vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, thei-e is a ybuth herd 
 in the forest lays claim to you. 
 
 And. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interest 
 ill me in the World : here comes the man you mean. 
 
 Ejiter William. 
 
 Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown : 
 Jiy my troth, we that haVe good wits, have much to 
 answer for ; we shall be flouting ; we cannot hold. 
 
 IVill. Good even, Audrey. 
 
 And. God ye good even, William. 
 
 TVill. 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 ? 
 , fyUl. Five and twenty, sir. 
 . Touch. A ripe age : Is thy name \\^illiam ? 
 
 Will. William, sir. 
 ,)f^ch, A fair name: Wast born i' the forest 
 ^ere ? 
 
 IVill. Ay, sir, I thank God. 
 
 Touch. Thank God; — a good answer: Art rich? 
 
 H ilL 'Faith, sir, so, so. 
 
 Touch; 60, si)y is good, very goodj very iexctllent
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. Ksg 
 
 ^^x>(l : — and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art th(ni 
 
 wise ? 
 
 irHl. Ay, sir, I liavc a pretty wit. .,,,^y^ 
 
 Toucli. ^^'hy, tliou say'st well. I 4? now rc- 
 moiulx-r a sayini;- : The fool doth think he is a-./.vc, 
 hui the xii.se man knon's himself to be afooL,, The 
 lieathen phil<)S')j)her, when he had a desire to eat a 
 ^rape, would open his hps when lie put it into his 
 mouth ; nicanin*; thereby, that t^rapi's were made 
 to eat, and Hps to open. You do love this 
 maid ? 
 
 J nil. I do, sir. 
 
 J ouch. (live mc your hand : Art thou learned : 
 
 //'///. No, sir. 
 
 Touch. Then learn this of me ; To have, is to 
 liave : For it is a fisjurc in rhetorick, that drink, 
 heiufi^ })()ured out of a cup into a glass, by iilliut;' 
 the one doth empty the other : For all your writci-s 
 do eonsent, that ipse is he ; now you are not ipse, 
 for I am he. 
 
 Ji'ill. \\'hieh he, sir? 
 
 Toucfi. He, sir, that must marry this woman: 
 Therefore, you clown, abandon, — whi(;h is in tlic 
 vulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish 
 is com])anv, — <jf this female, — which in the com- 
 mon is, — woman, which together is, abandon the 
 s«Hietv of tills female; or clown, thou ])crishcst ; or, 
 to thv better undcrstimdinp;, diest ; to wit, 1 kill 
 thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, 
 thy liberty into bondage : I will deal in ])oisnu wilh 
 the<',«»r in bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with 
 thee m faetion ; I will o'tr-nm thee with ])olicy ; I 
 will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways ; therefore 
 hviiibic, and depart. 
 
 jh((L Do, good \\ illiaiii. 
 
 //'///. (iod ivst yon iiu'rry, sir. j^/vr/V.
 
 igo AS' YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Ente?' 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 ? 
 
 on. Neitiier 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 fa- 
 ther's house, and all the revenue that was old sir 
 Rowland's, will I estate upon you, and here live and 
 die a shepherd. 
 
 *'' Enter Rosalind. 
 
 Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding 
 be to-morrow : thither will I invite the duke, 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.* 
 
 * Jnd ynu, fair sister.'] Oliver speaks to her in the character 
 she had assumed, of a woman courted by Orlando his brother.
 
 Ai YOU LtkE IT. ipi 
 
 Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to 
 see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 
 
 Orl. It is my arm. 
 
 Ros. I thought, thy heart had been wounded with 
 the claws of a hon. 
 
 OrL Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 
 
 Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counter- 
 feited to swoon, when lie showed me your handker- 
 chief ? 
 
 Orl. Ay, and "reatcr 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, sazc, 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 souglit 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 hajjjiiness through another 
 man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I tonnor- 
 row be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how 
 much I shall think my brother happy, in having 
 what he wishes for. 
 
 Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your 
 turn for Rosalind ? 
 
 OrL 1 can live no longer by thinking. 
 
 ' rlubs cannot part t/irm.'] It appears from man}' of our 
 
 old ilraiiKL-;, that, in our author's time, it wiis u common custom, 
 on the breaking out of a fray, to cull out '* Clubs — CltiOs,'" to 
 pari the combatuiits.
 
 192 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Ros, I will weary you no longer then with idle 
 talking. Know of mc then (for now I speak to 
 some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of 
 good conceit : I speak not this, tliat you should 
 bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I 
 say, I know you are ; neither do I lahour for a 
 greater esteeai 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 pro- 
 found in this art, and not yet damnable. If }'ou do 
 love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries 
 it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you 
 marry her v — 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, Imman as she is,* and without 
 anv danjrer. 
 
 Orl. 8peakest thou in sober meanings ? 
 
 Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
 though I t?ay 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 vou vtilL 
 
 Eutcr SiLvrus and Phebe. 
 
 Ijook, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of 
 hers. 
 
 Rlie. Youth, you have done me much ungentle- 
 ness, 
 
 To show the letter that I Avrit to vou. 
 
 •/ 
 
 -* fiiniuni as she is,'] That is, not a phantom, but the rea! 
 
 Hosalind, without any of tlie danger generally conceived to at'- 
 fcnd the rites of incnntation. John.sov. 
 
 ^ bid ifmr JiTcnch ;] i. e. iiixtte youv friends.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 193 
 
 Ros. I care not, if I liave : it is my study, 
 't'o seem (lespitetul and ungentle to you : 
 You are tliere foUow'd by a faithful shepherd; 
 L(X)k upon him, love him ; he worships you. 
 
 P/ic. Goodshepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. 
 
 6/7. It is to he all made of sighs and tears }— ^ 
 And so am I for Phebc. 
 
 P//t'. And I for (janymede. 
 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 
 Jtos. And I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ; — 
 And so am I for Phehe. 
 
 Phc. And I for Ganymede, 
 
 Oti. And I for Kosalind. 
 
 JioSi And I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of fantas\% 
 All made of passion, and all made of wishes; 
 All adoration, duty, and observance, 
 All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 
 All puritv, all trial, all obser\-auce ;^ 
 And so am I for Phehe. 
 
 F/ic. Aild so inn I for Ganynuxle. 
 
 Or/. And so am I for Rosalind. 
 
 lifts. And so am I for no wouum. 
 
 J^hc. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
 you ? [To RosAlInd. 
 
 .S'/V. If this be so, why blame you me to lovi; 
 
 you ? [7(7 l^HLHE. 
 
 Or/. If this be so, why blame you \uv U) love you ? 
 
 iio.v. \N'iio do you sprak to, w//^ blame you iiic to 
 love IfOU ? 
 
 Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. 
 
 llos. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the 
 howling «)t Iri^h Wolvi's against (he moon. — 1 will 
 helj) you, [ To .Silvils] if I can : — I would love you, 
 
 ' all obacrvancc ;] Prohabl} an error, for dbcimvcc.
 
 194 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [To Phebe] if I could. — To-morrow meet me all 
 together. — I will marry you, [To Phebe] if ever I 
 marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow : — I 
 will satisfy you, [7b Orlando] 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. ; ^ 
 
 Fhe. ' Nor I. ^ 
 
 OtL Nor I. :' 
 
 [Ej;eu7ii. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The same. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; 
 to-morrow will we be married. 
 
 Aud. 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 comes 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. 
 
 ' a 'woman of the tvorld.'] To go to the ivorld, is to be 
 
 married. So, in Much Ado about Nothing : " Tlius (says Bea- 
 trice) every one goes to the voorld^ but I."
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 19-3 
 
 1 Poi^e- Shall we clap into't rountUy, witliout 
 IvAwkiiig, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse ; which 
 are the only j^rologues to a bad voice ? 
 
 2 Page. I'faitli, i'faith ; and both in a tune, like 
 two gj'psies on a horse. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 It was a lover and his lass, 
 
 Jflth a hey, ami a ho, and a hey nomno. 
 That o'er the green corn-Jield did pass 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty rank time, 
 JVhen birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bttueen the acres of the rye, 
 
 inth a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 These pretty country folks would lie, 
 
 In spring time, &c. 
 
 HI. 
 
 This carol they began that hour, 
 
 /nth a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 How that a life was but a Jlower 
 In spring time, &,c. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And therefore take the present time, 
 
 IVith a hey, and a ho, and a hey /lonino ; 
 
 For love is crowned with the prime 
 In spring time, &cc. 
 
 Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, thougii there
 
 igd AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 foohsh song. God be with you ; 
 and (aod mend your voices ! Come, Audrey. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Another Part of the Forest^ 
 
 Enter puke senior, Amiens, jAauf^, Orlando, 
 Oliver, and Celia. 
 
 Duke S. Dost thou beheve, Orlando, that the 
 boy 
 Can do all this that he hath promised ? 
 
 Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do 
 not; 
 As those that fe^r they hope, and know they fear.^ 
 
 Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe, 
 
 Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is 
 urg'd : 
 lou say, if I bring iu your Rosalind, 
 
 [To f//eDuke. 
 You will bestow her on Orlando here ? 
 
 8 Trultf, young (rcntlemeuy &c.] The sense seems to be — Though 
 the XKords o/' ike song ivcrc trijiingy the mtisick xms not (as might 
 have been expected) good enough to compensate their defect. 
 
 '* As those that fvar they hope, and knoxv t\\cy fear.'] ' The 
 
 meaning, I tliink, is, As those ivho fear^ — thei/, even those very 
 
 perions, entertain hopes, that their fears will not be realized ; and 
 
 yet at the same time tlioy well hwxv thiit there is reason for Ihcir 
 
 fears. MALONii:.
 
 AS \0V LIKE IT. \Qr 
 
 Duke S. That would I, had I kini^dcMiis to givf. 
 with Ikt. 
 
 Jios. And you say, you will have Ikt, when I 
 briutr hor r [Yo Orlanjx). 
 
 0;7. That would I. were I of all kini;donis king. 
 jKt>,i'. You say, you'll uiarry nie, if I he willing? 
 
 [7b Phebe. 
 Phc. That will I, shoukl I die the hour attor. 
 ]{of>. But, if yoii do refuse to niariv uie, 
 You'll give yourself to this most faitliful shepherd? 
 Phc. So is the bargain. 
 
 Kos. You sav, tluit ycnf 11 have Phebe, if slie will? 
 
 [Tb iSjJ..VlUS. 
 
 S'd, Though to have her and <kath were both one 
 
 thing. 
 liofi. I have proniis'd to make all this matter even. 
 Keep }ou your word, O duke, to give your 
 
 daughter :• — 
 You yours, Orlando, to reeeivc his daughter :-— 
 Keep your wt»rd, Phebe, tliat you'll marry me ; 
 Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd: — 
 •Keep vour word, Silvius, tliat you" 11 marry hvi*, 
 if she rrfuse me: — and from lienee I go, 
 'Jo make these doubts all even. 
 
 [K.i'cu/it Rosalind dm! C^iaa. 
 Duke S. I do remeiidjer in this shepherd-boy 
 Some livrlv touehes of niv dauuhter's favour. 
 
 0/7. My lord, tlie iirsrt tin;e that 1 e^er saw 
 liim, 
 iVI<>thouglit he was a brother to yt>ur daughter: 
 lint, HiV g(j')d lord, this bov is forest-lKuu^ 
 And iiath been tutor'd in the rudimeiits 
 Of many desjxTute studies by liis unele, 
 \Yiiom lie reports to be a greit in4<>iciaji, 
 Qbsourrd in ihr circle of this forest.
 
 198 A.^ YOU LIKE IT, 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and 
 these couples are coming to the ark ! Here comes a 
 pair of verv 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 
 flattered 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 ; ac- 
 cording as marriage binds, and blood breaks :^-t— 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, 
 
 * trod a measure ;] a very stately solemn dance. 
 
 * God'ild you, sir ;] i. e. God yield you, reward you. 
 
 ^ accordi7ig as marriage oinds, and blood h-eaks ••] A man, 
 
 by the marriage ceremony, sweahs that he will keep only to his 
 tvife ; when, therefore, he leaves her Jbr another, blood breaks 
 his matrimonial obligation, and he is FO;pswoRN. Hekley.
 
 AS YOIT LIKE IT. loc) 
 
 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, and 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 dishke 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, he would send me word, he cut it to please- 
 himself: this is called the Qi/'p modest. If again, 
 it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This 
 is call'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : This 
 is call'd the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would say, I lie : This is call'd the 
 Coufitercheck f/uarrclsome : and so to the Lie cir- 
 cumstautial, and tlic Lie direct. 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not 
 well cut ? 
 
 Touch. I durst go no furtlier than the Z/e «Vc«7K- 
 stantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct ; 
 and so we measured swords, and parted. 
 
 Jaq, Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
 of the lie ? 
 
 Touch. O, sir, we quaiTcl in print, by the book ;** 
 
 * — — dulcet dtseaxes.'] 'fins ivord is cnprici^vsltf iiscd for 
 iai/infr.<;^ though neither in its primary or tiguralive sense it ha* 
 any relation to that word. 
 
 * .'icrming,'] i. c. Kccnily. Scrminrr is often used by Sbal- 
 
 speare for becoming, or fairness of apneanincc. 
 
 * O sir^ vec auarrel in jrriul^ bj/ the loo/i ;'} Tl\c fioei ha«, in 
 this scone, rallied the made of formal duelling, then so prcva^cut, 
 
 VOL. III. R
 
 200 A;^ YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 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 swore brothers. Your 
 If is the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If. 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's ag 
 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,^ leadijig Rosalind in xvomaus 
 clothes; a7idCELiA. 
 
 Still Musick. 
 
 Hyra. The}i is there mirth iji heaven, 
 t'Vhen earthly things onade even 
 
 Atone together. 
 Good duke, receive thy daughter. 
 Hymen from heaven brought her, 
 ^ Yea, brought her hither ; 
 
 That thou might* st join her hatidwith his. 
 Whose heart within her bosom is. 
 
 irdth the highest humour and address: nor could he have treated 
 it with a happier contempt, than by making his Clown so know- 
 ing in the forms and preHminaries of it. The particular book here 
 alludetl to, is a very ridiculous treatise of one Vincentio Saviolo, 
 intitled, Of Honour and Honournble Quarrels, in quarto, printed 
 by Wolf, 1594. 
 " ' Enter liyaaen,] Rosalind in imagined by the rest of the com-
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. dOi 
 
 J\OS. To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [7b Duke S. 
 To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [To Orlando. 
 Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my 
 
 dauo;hter. 
 Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Ro- 
 
 sahnd. 
 P/ie. If sight and shape be true, 
 l^'hy then, — my love adieu ! 
 
 Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : — 
 
 [7o Duke S. 
 I'll have no husband, if you be not he : — 
 
 [To ORL.A.NDO. 
 
 Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 
 
 [To Phebe 
 Ht/7n. 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 Ce;.ia. 
 You [To Piiebe] 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 ; 
 
 pany to be l)rou,'jht liy encliantmont, ami is therefore introduced 
 in a supposed aerial being in the character of Hymen. 
 
 * If truth holds true contents^] That is, if there be trnili in 
 truth, unJeKS truth fails of veracity. 
 
 U 2 
 
 1*
 
 202 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 That reason wonder may diminish. 
 
 How thus we met, and these things finish, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 IVedding is great Junos crown ; '' 
 O blessed bond of board and bed ! 
 
 'Tis Hymen peoples every town ; 
 Hio-li wedlock then be honoured: 
 
 Honour, high honour and renozvny 
 
 To Hymen, god of every town I 
 
 Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to 
 me ', 
 Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 
 
 Fhe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine ; 
 Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.^ 
 
 [To SiLVIUS. 
 
 Enter Jagiues de Bois. 
 
 Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word, or 
 two ; 
 1 am the second son of old sir Rowland, 
 That bring tjiese tidings to this fair assembly : — 
 Duke Frederick, hearing how that cv^ry day 
 IVIen of great worth resorted to this forest, 
 Address'd a mighty power ; which were on foot, 
 In his own conduct purposely to take 
 His brother here, and put him to the sword : 
 And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
 Where, meeting with an old religious man. 
 After some question with him, was converted 
 Both from his enterprize, and from the world : 
 His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother. 
 And all their lands restor'd to them again 
 
 combine.'\ Shakspeare is licentious in his use of this 
 
 verb, v.hich here only signifies to bind.
 
 AS YOIT LIKE IT, 20^ 
 
 That were with him exiTd : This to be true, 
 I do engage my hfe. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, young man ; 
 
 Tliou ofter'st fairly to thy brotliers' weddinoj : 
 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, aiid well begot : 
 And after, cviny of this happy number, 
 That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, 
 JShall share the good of our returned fortune, 
 According to the measure of their states. 
 Meantime, forget this new-lalfn dignity. 
 And fall into our rustick revelry : — 
 Play, nmsick ; — 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 ? 
 J a (J. (!c 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 S. 
 Your patience, and your virtue, well deser\ es 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 »SiLVius] to a long and well deserved 
 
 bed ;— 
 And you [7o Touchstone] to wrangling ; for tliy 
 
 loving voyage 
 Is but for two months vicluafd : — So to your plea- 
 sures ; 
 I am for other than for dancing measures. 
 Duke S. .Stay, Jaques, stay.
 
 20.i AS YOU LIKE IT, 
 
 Jaq. To see no pastime, I :' — what you would 
 have t 
 
 1*11 stay to know at your abandon'd cave. \JE..vit. 
 Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these 
 rites. 
 And we do trust they'll end, in true delights. 
 
 lA dance. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the 
 epilogue : but it is no more unhandsome, than to 
 see tlie lord the prologue. If it be true, that good 
 Xiijie needs no hush,'^ 'tis true, that a good play needs 
 no epilogue : Yet to good wine they do use good 
 bushes ; and good plays prove the better by the help 
 of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, 
 that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinu- 
 ate with yoyi in the behalf of a good play ? I am 
 not furnished like a beggar,^ therefore to beg will 
 
 ^ To see no pastime, I : &c.] Amidst this general festivity, the 
 reader may be sorry to take his leave of Jaques, who appears to 
 have no share in it, and remains behind unreconciled to society. 
 He has, however, filled with a gloomy sensibility the space al- 
 lotted to him in the play, and to the last preserves that respect 
 which is due to him as a consistent character, and an amiable, 
 though solitary moralist. 
 
 It may be observed, with scarce less concern, that Shakspeare 
 has, on this occasion, forgot old Adam, the servant of Orlando, 
 whose fidelity should have entitled him to notice at the end of 
 the piece, as well as to that happiness which he would naturally 
 have found, in the return of fortune to his master. 
 
 * no bush,~\ It appears formerly to have been the custom 
 
 to hang a tuft ofivij at the door of a vintner. The practice is still 
 observed in Warwickshire and the adjoining counties, at statute- 
 hirings, wakeSj &c. by people who sell ale at no other time. 
 
 ^ furnished like a beggar,'] That is, dressed : so before, 
 
 he was furnished like a huntsman.
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 205 
 
 not become me : my \vay is, to conjure you ; and 
 I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O 
 women, for the love vou bear to men, to hke as 
 much of this play as please them : and so I cliarge 
 you, O men, for the love you bear to women, (as I 
 perceive by your simperinsT, none of you hate tliem,) 
 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 deried not; and, 
 I am sure, as many as have good beards, or go' d 
 faces, or sweet breaths, \\ill, for my kind of^or, 
 wlien I make curt'sy, bid me farewell. \^K.ve.unt? 
 
 * If I ivere a xvomau,'] In this author's time, the parts of 
 women were always performed by men or boys. 
 
 * complexions that likctl nu',] i. e. that I liked. 
 
 '' Of this play the fable is wild and pleasing. I know not how 
 the ladies will approve the facility with which both Uosaiind and 
 Celia give away their hearts. To Celia much may be forgiven for 
 the heroism of her friendship. The character of Jaques is natural 
 and well preserved. The eomick dialogue is very sprightly, with 
 less mixture of low buftbonery than in some otiier play* ; and the 
 graver part is elegant and harmonious. By hastening to the end 
 of this work, Shakspeare suppressed tlie dialogue between the 
 usurj)er and the hermit, and lost an opportunity of exhibiting a 
 moral lesson in which he might have found matter worthy of hi^ 
 highest powers. Jounsox.
 
 ALL'S WELL 
 
 THAT 
 
 ENDS WELL.* 
 
 SQL. ill.
 
 * All's well that ekds well.] The story of AWs 'well 
 that ends ivell, or, as I suppose it to have been sometimes called, 
 Love's Labour JVon/ie, Is originally indeed the property of Boc- 
 cace, but it came immediately to ohakspeare from Painter's Gi- 
 letta of Narbon, in the First Vol. of the Palace of Pleasure^ 4'to. 
 1566, p. 88. Farmer. 
 
 Shakspeare is indebted to the novel only for a few leading cir- 
 cumstances in the graver parts of the piece. The comic business 
 appears to be entirely of hiso^^Tl formation. Steevens. 
 
 This comedy, I imagine, was written in 1598. MALO^^i^. 
 
 S2
 
 PERSONS represented: 
 
 JfCing of France. 
 Duke of Florence. 
 Bertram, Count of Rousillon. 
 Lafeu,'"^ aji old Lord. 
 Parolles/ a Follower o/" Bertram. 
 Several young French Lords, that serve with Ber- 
 tram in the Florentine War. 
 
 /^i "^ ' V Servants to the Countess 0/ Rousillon. 
 Clown, y ^ 
 
 A Page. 
 
 Countess 0/" Rousillon, Mother to Bertram. 
 Helena, a Gentlexvoman protected bi/ the Countess. 
 An old Widow of Florence. 
 Diana, Daughter to the Widow. 
 
 Mariana^ * iVez^A^oz/r* atid Friends to the WidoziK 
 
 Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers, &c. 
 French and Florentine. 
 
 SCENE, partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. 
 
 * The persons were first enumerated by Mr. Rowe. 
 
 ^ Liifeui] We should read — Lefeu. Steevexs. 
 
 ^ ParoUes,'] I suppose we should write this name — Paroles, 
 i. e. a creature made up of empty words. Steevens. 
 -   Violenta only enters once, and then she neither speaks, nor is 
 spoken to. This name appears to be borrowed from an old me- 
 trical history, entitled Didacoand Violenta, 1576. Steevens.
 
 ALL'S WELL 
 
 THAT 
 
 ENDS W E L L. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCEXE I. Rousillon. A Room in the Countess'? 
 
 }^alact. 
 
 Enter Bertram, tJie Countess of Rousillon, 
 Helena, and Lafeu, in 7notirning. 
 
 Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a 
 second husband. 
 
 JBtr. And I, in goinc^, madam, \^■ecp o'er my fa- 
 ther's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's 
 command, to whom I am now in ward,' evermore 
 in subjection. 
 
 L(iJ ' You shall find of the kin^' a husband, ma- 
 dam ; — you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at 
 all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to 
 
 ' in ward,] ITnder his partinilar care, as my j^uardian, 
 
 till I rorrie to af^e. It Ih now almost foif^otteii in England, tliat 
 the heirs of great fortunes were the King's ti'«;-c/s. \\ littlier the 
 sanif practice prevailed in France, it is of' no great use to encjuLie, 
 for Shakspeure gives to all nations the niaiuiert; of ICngland. 
 
 .JoHSSOX.
 
 212 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 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 
 mourningly : he was skilful enough to have lived 
 still, if knowledge could be set up against mor- 
 tality. 
 
 Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- 
 jruislies of? 
 
 Laf. A fistula, my lord. 
 
 Ber. I heard not of it before. 
 • Laf. I would it were not notorious. — Was this 
 gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Nar- 
 bon ? 
 
 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
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 213 
 
 unclean mind carries virtuous qualities,- there com- 
 mendations go with pity, they arc virtues and trai- 
 tors too ; in her they are the better for tlieir simjjle- 
 ness ; ' she derives her honesty, and achieves her 
 goodness. 
 
 Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her 
 tears. 
 
 Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season 
 her praise in. Tlie 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 giief the enemy to the living. 
 
 * rirliious qualities,'] By virtuous finalities are meant 
 
 ,t|ualities of good breeding and erudition, and not nwral ones. 
 
 Warburton. 
 
 J theij are virtues and traitors too ; in her they are the 
 
 better for their simpleness ;] Her virtues are the better for their 
 iimpUness, that is, her excellencies are the better because they are 
 artless and open, without fraud, without design. The learned 
 commentator has well explained virtues, but has not, I think, 
 reached the force of the word traitors, and therefore htis not 
 shown the fell extent of Shakspeare's masterly observation. /'/>- 
 iues in an unclean mind are virtues and traitors too. Estimable 
 and useful qualities, joined with an evil disposition, give that evil 
 disposition power over others, who, by admiring the virtue, are 
 betrayed to the malevolence. The Ta'tler, mentioning the sliarp- 
 crs of his time, observes, that some of them are men of such ele- 
 gance and knowledge that a young man xvhn falls into their waj/, 
 is betrayed as much Ijy his judgment as his passions. Johnson. 
 
 ■* all livelihood — ] i.e. all appearance of lile. 
 
 * / do affect a sorroxv, indeed, but J have it too.~\ Helena has, I 
 believe, a meaning here, that she does not wish should be nndcr- 
 Btood by the countess. Her nffrted sorrow was for the diath 
 of her father ; her real grief lor thi: lowncss ol her situution, 
 which she feared would for ever be ^^ bar to Ijcr union with lief 
 beloved Bertram.
 
 214 ALL^S WELL 
 
 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 fevy. 
 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 ! Farewell. — My lord, 
 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord. 
 Advise him. 
 
 Laf. He cannot want the best 
 
 That shall attend his love. 
 
 Count. Heaven bless him ! — Farewell, Bertram. 
 
 \_Exit Countess. 
 
 Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged in your 
 thoughts, [To Helena] be servants to you ! Be 
 comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make 
 much of her. 
 
 Laf. Farewell, prctty lady: You must hold the cre- 
 dit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. 
 
 ^ If the living he enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon 
 t}7()rlaL'] La feu says, excessive grief is the enemy qf the living : the 
 Countess replies, If the living be an enemy to grief, the excess 
 soon makes it mortal : that is, If the living do not indulge griefs 
 grief destroys itself by its oixin excess. By the word mortal, I un- 
 derstand that which dies ; and Dr. Warburton [who reads— ie 
 not enemy — ] that tvhich destroys. I think that my interpreta- 
 tion gives a sentence more acute and more refined. Let the 
 reader judge. Johnson. 
 
 ' That thee may furnish,'} That may help thee with more antl 
 better quailtications. 
 
 U
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 215 
 
 Hd. 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 hi< relicks. Who comes here? 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 One that groes with him : I love him for his sake ; 
 
 * 
 
 « Laf. Farewell, pretty ladij : You must hold the credit of your 
 Jcilhcr. 
 
 Hel. 0, ttrre that all !—I think not on my father ;'] Would 
 that the attention to maintain the credit of my father, (or, not to 
 act unhecoming the daughter of such a father, — for sucli, per- 
 hap-s is the meaning,) were my only solicitude! I think not of 
 him. My tares are all for Bertram. Mai.onk. 
 
 V In his brifrfit radiance and collateral light, &c.] I cannot he 
 united with liini and move in the same sphere, but jnust he com- 
 Jhritd at a distance by the radiance that shoots un all sides from 
 him. Johnson. 
 
 ' In our lieart's table ;] A table was, in our author's time, a 
 term fr)r a picture, in which sense it is used here. 
 
 ^ trie k of his sweet favour .•] Trick is an expression taken 
 
 from drawing ; but on the nrcsent occusioy may mean ueith«r 
 traeiuii nor outline, but peculiarity. 
 \o\.. III. 1
 
 21 6 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 virgi- 
 nity ; 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, 
 
 ^ Cold imdom ivaiting on superfluous /o/Zj/.] Cold for naked : 
 jis supcrjluoiis for over-clotlied. This makes the propriety of the 
 antithesis. Warburton. 
 
 •* A7id 710.'] I am no more a queen than you are a monarch.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 217 
 
 it is ever lost : 'tis too cold a companion ; away with 
 it. 
 
 Hcl. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I 
 die a vir^^in. 
 
 Par. There's little can be said in't ; 'tis against 
 the rale of nature. To speak on the part of virgi- 
 nity, 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 liigiiways, 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, idle, 
 made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin^ 
 in the canon. Kec}) it not ; you cannot choose but 
 lose by't : Out with't : within ten years it will make 
 itself ten, which is a goodly increase ; and the 
 j)rincipal itself not much the worse : Away 
 witlft. 
 
 Iltl. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her 
 own liking ? 
 
 Far. Let me see : Marry, ill, to like him that 
 ne'er it likes. 'Tis a connnodity will lose the gloss 
 with lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : off 
 witi/t, while 'tis vendible : answer the time of re- 
 quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her 
 caj) out of fashion ; richly suited, but unsuitable.: 
 just like the brooch and tooth-pick, wliieli 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 dryly ; marry, 'tis a 
 
 ' inhibited sin — ] i, e. forbidden. 
 
 ^' Vo«r date in better — ] Here is a quibble on tlie wot-d 
 
 date, which means both age, und u cai)dicdy;w/Miiuch used in 
 our authyr'ki time. 
 
 T2
 
 ai8 ALL'S WELL 
 
 withered pear ; it was formerly better ; marry, yet^ 
 'tis a v^ithered pear: Will you any thing with it r 
 
 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, adoptions 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. 
 
 ' A phcenix, &c.] The eight lines following /nVM</, I am per- 
 suaded is the nonsense of some foolish conceited player. 
 
 Warbujrton. 
 
 ^ « traitress,] It seems that traitress was in that age a 
 
 term of endearment. 
 
 . ^ Christendoms,'] This word, which signifies the collec- 
 tive body of Christianity, every place M^here the christian religion 
 is embraced, is surely used with much license on the present oc- 
 casion. 
 
 ' And shoiv tvhat tve alone must think;'] And shovo by realities 
 what we now must onlj/ think, Johnson.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 219 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 
 Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. 
 
 \_Edit Page. 
 
 Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can remember 
 ihce, I will think of thee at court. 
 
 Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a 
 charitable star. 
 
 Par. Under Mars, L 
 
 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 retrogade, I think, ra- 
 ther. 
 
 Par. Why think you so? 
 
 Hel. You go so much backward, when you 
 fight. 
 
 Par. That's for advantage. 
 
 Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
 safety: But the composition, that your valour and 
 fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
 like the wear well. 
 
 Par. I am so full of businesses, 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 u])on thee; else 
 thou diest in thine unthankhilncss, and thine igno- 
 rance makes tliec away: i'arewell. Wlien thou hast 
 leisure, say thy j)rayers ; when thou hast none, \x- 
 member thy friends: get thee a good husband, and 
 usfc him as he uses thee : so farewell. \_E.vii, 
 
 * •^0 thou uill be capable of a courtier's counsel,'] i.e. thou 
 
 wilt comprehend it.
 
 220 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Hel. Oar 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, when 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 IL 
 
 Paris. A Room in the Kmg*s Palace. 
 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, 
 xvith letters ; Lords ajid others attending. 
 
 King. The Florentines and Senoys^ are by the 
 ears ; 
 Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
 A braving war. 
 
 3 WJiat potver is it, ufiich mounts my love so high ; 
 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eije?'^ She means, 
 by what influence is my love directed to a person so much above 
 me ? wliy am I made to discern excellence, and left to long after 
 it, without the food of hope i Johnson. 
 
 '* ^iss like native things.'] Things formed by nature for 
 
 each otlier. 
 
 \ ^enoijs — ] The Sanesi, as they are termed by Boccace. 
 
 Painter, who translates him, calls them Senois. They were the 
 people of a small republick, of which the capital was Sienna. 
 The Florentines were at perpetual variance with them. 
 
 Steevens.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. ^2\ 
 
 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 
 
 A7;/^. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it 
 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
 Witli caution, that the Florentine will move us 
 For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
 Prejudicates the business, and would seem 
 To liave us make denial. 
 
 1 Lord. His love and wisdom. 
 Approved so to your majesty, may plead 
 
 For amplest credence. 
 
 Kino;. 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. ^A'^hat'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 natiwe, rather curious than in haste, 
 Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral 
 
 parts 
 May'st thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. 
 
 Bcr. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 
 
 King. I would I had that 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,
 
 222 ALL S WELL 
 
 And wore us out of act. It much repairs me^ 
 
 To talk of your good father : lu 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.^ 
 
 ^ It much repairs me — ] To repair^ in these plays, gen- 
 rally signifies, to renovate. 
 
 ' He had the ivit, &c.] I believe honour is not dignilij of birth 
 or rank,h\Jit acquired reputation: — Your father, ssxys the king, 
 had the same airy Jiights of satirical tvit tvith the young lords of 
 the present time, but they do not what he did, hide their unnoted 
 levity, in honour, cover petty Jcmlts tvith great merit. 
 
 This is an excellent observation. Jocose follies, and slight of- 
 fences, are only allowed by mankind in him that over-powers 
 them by great qualities. Johnson. 
 
 ^ His tongue obeyhl his hand:'] We should read — His tongue 
 obeyed the hand. That is, the hand of his honour^ s clock, showing 
 the true minute xvhen exceptions bad him speak. 
 
 9 So in ajyproqf lives not his epitaph, 
 As in your royal speech.'] Mr. Heath supposes the meaning to 
 be this : « His epitaph, or the character he left behind him^ is
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 223 
 
 King. 'Would, I were \\ith liim ? He would 
 always say, 
 (Methinks, I hear him now : his plausive words 
 He scattered not in ears, but grafted them, 
 To grow there, and to bear,) — Let me not live. 
 Thus iiis good melancholy oft began, 
 On the catastro])he and heel of pastime, 
 When it was out, — let vie )iot live, quoth he, 
 Aftej^ my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff' 
 Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 
 All but nezc things disdain ; whose judgments are 
 ]\Iere fathers of their garments ; ' whose constancies 
 
 E.ipire before their fashions : This he 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 till a place, I know't. — How long is't, 
 count. 
 Since the physician at your father's diedr 
 He was much fanfd. 
 
 Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 
 
 King. If he were living, I would try him yet ; — 
 Lend me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out 
 With several apj)lications : — nature and sickness 
 Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; 
 My son's no dearer. 
 
 Ber. Thank your majesty. 
 
 \_Exeunt. Flourish. 
 
 not so well establihiicd by the specimens he exhibited of his tvorth, 
 ■jm by your royal report in bis favour." 
 
 ' nhose juairmcnts are 
 
 Mere fathers of their i^urmenta ;'\ Who have no otlier use of 
 tbcir faculties, tlian to invent new modes of dresn.
 
 224 ALL'S WELL 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. 
 
 Entei^ 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 
 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 w^ell, that I am 
 
 * -Steivard, awe? Clown.] A Cloivn in Shakspeare is com- 
 monly taken for a licensedjester, or domestick fool. We are not 
 to wonder that we find this character often in his plays, since fools 
 were at that time maintained in all great families, to keep up 
 merriment in the house. In the picture of Sir Thomas More's 
 family, by Hans Holbein, the only servant represented is Patison 
 the /bo/. This is a proof of the familiarity to which they were ad- 
 mitted, not by the great only, but the wise. 
 
 3 to even your content, '\ To act up to your desires. 
 
 * you lack not Jolly to commit them, and have ability enough 
 
 to make such knaveries yours.] It appears to me that the accu- 
 sative them refers to knaveries, and the natural sense of the pas- 
 sage seems to be this : " You have folly enough to desire to com- 
 mit these knaveries, and ability enough to accomplish them." 
 
 M. Mason.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 225 
 
 poor ; though many of the rich are damned : But, 
 if I may have your ladyship's crood will to go to 
 the world/ Isbel the woman and I will do as wc 
 may. 
 
 Cou)it. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? 
 
 Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. 
 
 Count. In what case ? 
 
 Clo. \\\ Isbcl'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, 
 thev sa>', beams are blessings. 
 
 Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. 
 
 Clo. jNIy poor body, madam, requires it : I am 
 driven on by the flesh ; and he nmst needs go, that 
 the devil drives. 
 
 Count. Is this all your worship's reason ? 
 
 Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, 
 sufh as they are. 
 
 Cou)it. iNIav the world know them ? 
 
 Clo. 1 have been, madam, a wicked creature, as 
 you and all flesh and blood arc; and, indeed, I do 
 marry, that I may repent. 
 
 Count, 'i'hy marriage sooner than thy wicked- 
 ness. 
 
 Clo. I am out of friends, madam ; and I hope to 
 have friends for my wile's sake. 
 
 Cou)it. Much 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 
 a-weaiy of. He, that ears my land,^ sjjares my 
 team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: if I be 
 Ids cuckold, he's my drudge : lie, that condbrts my 
 wife, is the cheri^her of my flesh and blood ; he, 
 
 ^ l<> sn In the. rvorh/,'] This phrase lias alrcafly occurred, 
 
 and signifies to be inairivit. 
 
 * iService is no hcritajrc ;] This is a proverbial expression. 
 ' lliat cars niy lamf,] To car is to ploit^/i.
 
 S26 ALL'S WELL 
 
 that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh 
 and blood ; he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my 
 friend ; ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my friend. 
 If men could be contented to be what they are, 
 there were no fear in marriage : for young Charbon 
 the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er 
 their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are 
 both one, they may joU horns together, like any 
 deer i' the herd. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and 
 calumnious knave ? 
 
 Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth 
 the next way :^ 
 
 Tor 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. 
 
 Stexo. 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. TVas this fair face the cause,^ quoth she, 
 
 [Singing, 
 Why the Grecians sacked Troy ? 
 Fond done, done fond. 
 
 Was tliis king Friamsjoy. 
 
 8 A prophet /, madam; and I speak the truth the next xmy :] 
 It is a superstition, which has run through all ages and people, 
 tiiat natural fools have something in then\ of divinity. On which 
 account they were esteemed sacred : Travellers tell us in what 
 esteem the Turks now hold them ; nor had the less honour paid 
 them heretofore in France, as appears from the old word henet^ 
 for a natural fool. Next tmy, is nearest may. 
 
 9 Was this fair foce the cause, &c.] The name of Helen, whom
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 227 
 
 nitk that she sighed as she stood, 
 Jf'ith that she sighed as she stood. 
 
 And gave this sentence then ; 
 Among nine had if one he good, 
 Among nine had if one he good. 
 
 There s yet one good in ten. 
 
 Count. Wliat, one good in ten ? you corrupt the 
 song;, sirrah. 
 
 Cto. 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, 
 (juoth a' ! an we might have a good woman bom 
 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 I 
 con un and you ? 
 
 Clo. That man should be at woman's command, 
 and yet no hurt done !^ — Though honesty be no pu- 
 ritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice 
 of humility over the black gown of a big heart. — 
 I am going, forsootli ; the business is for Helen to 
 come hith(M-. \_Exit Clown, 
 
 Count. Well, now. 
 
 the Countess has just called for, brings nn old ballad on the sack- 
 ing of Troy to tlie Clown's mind. Fond done is foolishly done. 
 
 ' • 'tiioutd mcn<\. the lottery well ;] This surely is a strange 
 
 kind of j)hra'icology. I have never met with any example of it in 
 any of tlie contemporary writers ; and if there were any proof 
 that in the lotteries of Queen Elizabeth's time wheels were em- 
 ployed, I should be inclined to read — lottery n-heel. Ma lone. 
 
 * Clo. That man, &c.] Here is an allusion, violently enough 
 forced in, to satirize the obstinacy uith which the jiuiltans re- 
 fused the use of the ecclesiastical hal)its, which was, at that time, 
 one |)riticipul cause of the breach of the union, and, perhaps, to 
 insinuate, that tlie modest purity of the surplice was soinotiuies a 
 cover for pride.
 
 228 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Stexv. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
 woman entii-ely. 
 
 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. 
 
 Stexv. Madam, I was very late more near her 
 than, 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 god- 
 dess, 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 tirst assault, 
 or ransome afterward : This she delivered in the 
 most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin 
 exclaim in : whicii I held my duty, speedily to ac- 
 quaint you withal ; sithence,"^ in the loss that may 
 happen, it concerns you something to know it. 
 
 Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep 
 it to yourself : many likelihoods informed me of 
 this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, 
 that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt : Pray 
 you, leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank 
 you for your honest care : I vv'ill speak with you 
 further anon. [£.nV Steward. 
 
 Efiter 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 ; 
 
 ' — — if/^encf ,] i. e. since.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 229 
 
 It is the show and seal of iiaLiirc's truth, 
 
 Where love's strong passion is impressed in youth : 
 
 15y our remembrances^ of days foregone, 
 
 ISueh were our faults ; — or then we thought them 
 
 none. 
 I ler eve is sick on't ; I observe her now. 
 
 Htl. What is your pleasure, madam ? 
 
 Count. You know, Helen, 
 
 I am a mother to you. 
 
 I lei. Mine honourable mistress. 
 
 Count. Nay, a mother ; 
 
 Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, 
 Methought you saw a serpent: W' hat's in motlier, 
 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 I does it curd tiiy blood, 
 'j'o sav, I am thv mother? What's the matter, 
 That this distemper'd messenger ot wet. 
 The manv-colourd Iris, rounds thine eye }" 
 Why ? that you are my daughter ? 
 
 Htl. That I am not. 
 
 Count. I say, I am your mother. 
 
 Ihl. Pardon, madam ; 
 
 Tlie count Ilousillon cannot be my brother : 
 
   By our remembrances — ] Tliat Is, according to our recollec- 
 tion. So we say, lie is old Oi/ my reckoning. Johnson. 
 
 5 ir hut's the matter. 
 
 That tills distempered messenger ofivet. 
 
 The man ij -coloured Iris, rounds thine eye ?] There is some- 
 thing exquisitely beautiful in tlii.-i reiircscntntion of that suflu^ion 
 of colours which ghiniuers round the biylil when the eye-liuJies 
 are net witli tears. Hc.nley.
 
 230 ALL'S WELL 
 
 I am from humble, he from honour'd name ; 
 No note upon my parents, his all noble : 
 My master, my dear lord he is : and I 
 His servant live, and will his vassal die : 
 He must not be my brother. 
 
 Count. Nor I your mother ? 
 
 Hd, 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 
 
 mothers, 
 I care no more for,^ than I do for heaven. 
 So I were not his sister : Can't no other. 
 But, I your daughter, he must be my brother ? 
 Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter- 
 in-law ; 
 God shield, you mean it notl daughter, and 
 
 mother. 
 So strive^ upon your pulse : What, pale again ? 
 My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I sec 
 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? 
 
 * I care no more for,] There is a designed ambiguity : / care 
 no more for, is, I care as much for. I wish it equally. Farmer. 
 
 ■^ strive — ] To strive is to contend. 
 
 * Your salt tears' head.] The source, the fountain of your 
 tears, the cause of your grief. Johnson. 
 
 * in their kind — ] i. e. in their language, according to 
 
 their nature.
 
 THAT ENDJS WELL. 231 
 
 If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; 
 If it be not, forswear't : howcVr, I charge thee, ;. 
 As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, ' I 
 
 To tell mc truly. / 
 
 Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! / 
 
 Count. Do you love my son ? 
 
 //f /. Your j)ardon, noble mistress ! 
 
 Count. Love you my son ? 
 
 IIcl. 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 affci'tion ; for your passions 
 Have to the fnll a])peach'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, iiut honest , so's my love ; 
 lie not offended ; for it hurts not him, 
 That he is lov"d of me: I follow him not 
 \\y any token of ])resum])tuous suit; 
 Nor would I have him, till I do desei-ve 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, 
 Ahd lack not to lose ^till :' thus, Indian-like, 
 
 ' cuptious and intenible ayVw,] Dr. Farmer supposes cap- 
 
 ?;V/M.vtobe a contraction oi' aipacioits. 
 
 Mr, Malone thijiks it means ft-c/jjicnf, capable of recchin.^ 
 wbat is put into it; and by inte/tible, incapuble of holding or re- 
 taining it. 
 
 - And lack vol to lose s/i// :] Helena means to say, tluit, like a 
 person who pours water into a vessel fullol lii-les;, and still conti- 
 uues luM employment, though he finds the water all lost, and the 
 vessel empty ; so, though she iinds that l/ie xvnfcrs of her love iirtr 
 »tiII/a^/, that her atli ilinn xa thrown away on an object whom she 
 thinka she never can Ui.'Kerve» she yet is not discouraged, but y^V' 
 fceveres in her hopi-IeS» endeavour lo ueeompli'^h htr wishes. 
 
 VOL. 111. L'
 
 232 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 chastly, 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 truly. 
 To go to Paris ? 
 
 Hel. Madam, I had. 
 
 - Count. Wherefore ? tell true. 
 
 Hei. 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 mclusive^ were. 
 More than they were in note : amongst the rest. 
 There is a remedy, approv'd, set down. 
 To cure the desperate languishes, whereof 
 
 ^ Whose aged honour cite?, a virtuous youth,'] i. e. whose re- 
 spectable conduct in age shoivs, or proves, that you were no less 
 virtuous when young. 
 
 " Wish chastly, and love dearly, that your Dian 
 Was both herself and love;] i. e. Venus. Helena means to 
 say—" If ever you wished that the deity who presides over chas- 
 tity, and the queen of amorous rites, were one and the same per- 
 son ; or, in other words, if ever you wished for the honest and 
 lawful completion of your chaste desires." 
 
 .5 notes^ whose faculties inclusive — ] Receipts in which 
 
 greater, uir/MPi were inclosed than appeared to observation.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 233 
 
 Tlie kino- is ivndcM-'d lost. 
 
 o 
 
 Coioit. Tliis was your motive 
 
 For Paris, was it? speak. 
 
 IIcl. My lord your son made me to think of this ; 
 Else Paris, and the medicine, and the kint^, 
 I lad, from the conversation of my thoughts, 
 llaply, been absent then. 
 
 Count. But think you, Helen, 
 
 If you sliould 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 tliey credit 
 A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
 Embowcird^ of their doctrine, have left oft* 
 The danger to itself? 
 
 //('/. There's somcthintx hints. 
 
 More than my father's skill, which was the greatest 
 Of his jjrofession, that his good receipt 
 .Shall, for my legacy, be sanctilied 
 Bv the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your 
 
 honour 
 But give me leave to try success, I'd venture 
 The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure. 
 By such a day, and hour. 
 
 Count. Dost thou believ't ? 
 
 Iltl. Ay, madam, knowingly. 
 
 Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, 
 and love. 
 Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings 
 To those of nunc in court ; I'll stay at home. 
 And pray God's blessing into thy attempt : 
 lie gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this, 
 W'luit 1 can hclj) thee to, thou shalt not miss. 
 
 '■ Embofivell^d o/ their diocti itie,'] i. e. exhausted of their skill. 
 
 t 2
 
 234 ALL'S WELL 
 
 ACT IL 
 SCENE I. Paris. A Room in the Kings Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords, taking 
 leave for tJte Florentine uar ; Bertram, Pa- 
 ROLLEs, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike prin- 
 ciples 
 Do not throw from you : — and you, my lord, fare- 
 well : — 
 Share the advice betwaxt vou ; if both irain all. 
 The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd. 
 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 
 
 7 and yet my heart, &c.] i. e. in the common phrase, / 
 
 am still heart-ivhole ; my spirits, by not sinking under my dis- 
 temper, do not acknowledge its influence. 
 
 s . let higher- Italy 
 
 f Those 'bated, that inherit bid the fall 
 
 Of the last monarchy,) see, «Src. j The ancient geograpliers 
 have divided Italy into the higher and the lower, the Apennine 
 hills being a kind of natural line of partition ; the side next the 
 Adriatic was denominated the higher Italy, and the other side the 
 lower ; and the two seas followed the same terms of distinction, 
 the Adriatic being called the upper Sea, and the Tyrrhene, or 
 Tuscan, the lower. Now the Sennones, or Senois, with whom
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 235 
 
 Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when 
 
 Tlie bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, 
 
 Tliat fame may ery you loud : I say, farewell. 
 
 2 Lord. Healtli, at your biddinf;^, serve your 
 majesty ! 
 
 Kins;' Those girls of Italy, take heed of them ; 
 They say, our French lack lan'j;uage to deny, 
 If they "demand : beware of being captives, 
 Before you serve.^ 
 
 Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
 
 K'nis;. 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 s])ark 
 
 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars ! 
 Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars. 
 Btr. I am commanded here, and kept a coil 
 
 w ith ; 
 Too nnuuiS, f^"(l the iievt year, and Uh loo earh/. 
 Par. And thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away 
 
 bravely. 
 Ber. I shalT stand here the forehorsa to a 
 smock, 
 Creaking my shoes on the plain masoniy, 
 Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, 
 
 the Florentines are here supposed to be at war, inhabited the 
 hiplier Italy, their -chief town being Arminium, now called 
 I'limini, upon the Adriatic, Hanmku. 
 
 Dr. Johnson says, that the sense may be this: Let upper Itnhj^ 
 where you are to exercise your valour, xee that yon come to srniu 
 hf)nonr\ to the abatement that is, to the (/isrrroce and dcprcsaion of 
 l/insr that have now lost their ancient military fame, and inherit 
 hut the /'ill of the Inst tuon'irchif. To ahnle is used by Shakspeare 
 in the oVigina! sense of abatre, to ilrpress, to sin /r, to tlrjccl, to 
 sul/'/ue. 
 
 V bt-xnrc of beiti^ captives, 
 
 lirfvre you HvTwe.l The word .«rn'<r is equivocal ; the seni-e 
 is, lie not captives before yow serve in the w.nr.
 
 a36 ALL'S WELL 
 
 But one to dance with!' By heaven, I'll steal 
 away. 
 
 1 Lord. Ti-iere's honour in the theft. 
 
 Par. Commit it, Count. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 1 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 
 
 Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! \_E.veunt 
 Lords.] W hat 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 under 
 
 J fiy^d no sxvord ivorn. 
 
 But one to dance ivith .'] It should be remembered that, in 
 Shakspcare's time, it was usual for gentlemen to dance with swords 
 on. Our author gave to all countries the manners of his own. 
 
 ' iheT/ tvear themselves in the cap of the time, there, do 
 
 muster true gait, &c.] The obscurity of the passage arises from 
 the fantastical language of a character like Parolles, whose aflec- 
 tation of wit urj^es his imagination from one allusion to another, 
 without allowing time for his judgment to determine their congru- 
 ity. The cap oj'iime being the first image that occurs, true ga^t, 
 nmnner of eating, sneaking, &c. are the several ornaments which 
 they muster, place, or arrange in timers cap. This is done under 
 the injluence of the most received star ; that is, the person in the 
 Jiighest reouite for setting the fashions : — and though tlie devil wei e
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 237 
 
 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. 
 
 Pa)\ Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most 
 sinewy sword-men. 
 
 [Ej-'eunt Bertram and Parolles. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Kiieeling.'] for me and 
 for my tidings. 
 
 King, ril fee thee to stand up. 
 
 La/. Then here's a man 
 
 Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you 
 Had kneefd, 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. 
 
 Ea/'. Goodfaith, across :'* 
 
 But, my good lord, 'tis thus ; Will you be curd 
 Of your iuHrmity r 
 
 King. No. 
 
 LaJ'. O, will you eat 
 
 No grapes, my ro}'al 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 ; 
 
 to lead the measure or dance of fusliion, such is their implicit sub- 
 mission, that even he must be followed. Henley. 
 
 5 lead tho measure,] i. e. the dance. 
 
 * across ;] This word is used when any pass of wit mis- 
 carries. While chivalry wius in vogue, breaking i^pjars against a 
 quintain was a favourite exercise. He who shivered the greatest 
 number was esteemed the most adroit ; but tlien it was to be 
 performed exactly with the point, for if achieved h\ a side- 
 stroke, or across, it showed unskilfulness, and disgraced the prac- 
 tiser. 
 
 ' jitcdicinc,'] is here put for a she-physiciaiu
 
 23® ^ ALL'8 WELL 
 
 Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary,^ 
 V/ith 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-hne. 
 
 K'uis;- What her is this ? 
 
 Laf. Why, doctor she ; Mv 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 oif thine. 
 By wond'ring how thou took'st it. 
 
 Laf. Nay, I'll fit you. 
 
 And not be all day neither. [_Eait Lafeu. 
 
 King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 
 
 Re-eiifer Lafeu, zvith Helena. 
 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways. 
 Kino;. "   This haste hath wings indeed. 
 
 L,af. Nay, come your ways ; 
 This is his majesty, say your mind to him : 
 
 ^' — —donee canary,] a kind of dance. 
 
 " ker years, profession,] V>y profession is meant her de- 
 claration of the end and purpose of her coming. 
 
 8 Than I dare hlame myweabiess .•] Lafeu's meaning appears to 
 nie to be this : — " That the amazement she excited in him was so 
 great, that he could not impute it merely to his own weakness, 
 but to the wonderful qualities of the object that occasioned it." 
 
 M. Mason. 
 
 10
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 239 
 
 A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors ^ 
 His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressids uncle,'' 
 That dare leave two together : fare you well. [^E.vit. 
 
 Kino-. Now, fair one, does your business follow 
 us ? • 
 
 7/(7. Ay, mv oood lord, (ierard de Narbon was 
 jNIv father; in wliat he did profess, well found." 
 
 K'uio-. I knew him. 
 
 He I. The rather will I spare my pi-aises towaixu 
 him ; 
 Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death 
 Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one, 
 "\^'hich, as the dearest issue of his practice, 
 And of his old experience the only darling. 
 He bad me store uj), as a triple eye, 
 Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so: 
 And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
 ^\'ith that malignant cause wherein the honour 
 Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
 1 come to tender it, and my appliance, 
 "\\'ith all bound humbleness. 
 
 K/?fcr, We thank you,^ maiden ; 
 
 But may not be so credulous of cure, — 
 \\'hen our most learned doctors leave us ; and 
 The conarerrated college have concluded 
 Tliat labouring art can never ransome nature 
 From her inaidable estate, — I say we nmst not 
 So stain our judgment, or currupt our hope, 
 'J^) prostitute our past-cure malady 
 'Jo cmpiricks ; or to dissever so 
 Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
 A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 
 
 /fc/. My duty then shall j)ay me for my pains; 
 I will no more enforce mine olfice on you ; 
 
 '-' Oessid'jJ uncle,'] I am like Pandarus. See Troilus and 
 
 Crosida. 
 
 ' xve/l Jhuml.'\ i. e. of known, acknowlctlgt.(I, cxccllciu-c.
 
 240 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 ont/near death to those that wish him live : 
 But, wh^^t at full I know, thou know'st no part ; 
 I knowing a'l my peril, thou no art. 
 
 Hd. What I can do, cfcii 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, 
 Wheii 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 ;^ 
 
 ' When miracles have by the greatest been denied.'] i. e. disbe- 
 lieved, ox contemned. 
 
 * Myself against the level of mine aim ;] i. e. / am not an im-
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 241 
 
 Rut 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 
 Ilop'st thou my cure ? 
 
 Jit/. 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 IIes})erus hath quench'd his slee]iy lamp ; 
 Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
 Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass; 
 \\ hat is infirm from your sound parts shall fly. 
 Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. 
 
 Kifiii'. t'pon thy certainty and confidence, 
 "V\'hat dar'st thou venture ? 
 
 JIcL 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,* 
 ^^ ith vilest torture let my life be ended. 
 
 Kifig. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth 
 speak ; 
 Hi? powerful sound, within an organ weak: 
 And what impossibility would slay 
 In common sense, sense saves another way.* 
 Thv life is dear; for all, that life lan rate ' 
 
 Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate;^ 
 
 poitor that prodnim one tiling and design anotlier, that proclaim 
 a cure and aim at a fraud. 
 
 * no xL'orse of xcor.st extoifli'd,'] i. e. to be so defamed 
 
 that nothinj^ Mjvtrer can be said a<,'ainst those who are niObt pub- 
 lickly rtporled to be infamous. 
 
 ' And ivhiil nuposi'ihilitij would slai/ 
 Jn common icn.iCj sense saves auolher tivjy.] i. e. and tliat 
 wliich, if 1 truAted to niy reascn, I sboulil think inipossihk-, I yet, 
 ptrctiviiifj thte to be actuated by sonic Liiessed spirit, think tiiee 
 c<ipitb)e of ctfccting. Mai.one. 
 
 ' ill thee hath e.-tiinate ;] May be counted among the gifts en- 
 jojed by thee. Juii.s;iOV. 
 
 II
 
 'Ul ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 physick I will try ; 
 That ministers thine own death, if I die. 
 
 HeL li 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 hea- 
 ven. 
 
 Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly 
 hand. 
 What husband in thy power I will com.mand : 
 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 of 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 cams't, how tended on, — But rest 
 Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — 
 
 ' — — prime — ] Youth ; the vSprightly vigour of life. 
 
 ' '" property — ] In property seen)s to be here used, with 
 
 much laxity, for — in the due performance. 
 
 '> With antj branch or image of thi/ state .-] Branch refers to 
 the a llateral descendants of the royal blood, and image to the 
 direct and immediate line. Henley.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. QA3 
 
 Give mc some help here, ho ! — If thou ])roceed 
 As hio^li as Avord, my deed shall match thy deed. 
 
 \_FluiirLsli. K.vcunt, 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 Rousdlon. ./ Ruom hi the Countess's PaUwe, 
 
 Enter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now ^mt you to tlx9 
 hci<j,-!it of your breedinfz;. 
 
 Clo. I will show myself hi^^hly fed, and lowly 
 tauojht : I know my business is but to the court. 
 
 Count. To the court ! why, what place make you 
 special, when you put oif that with such contempt i 
 But to the court ! 
 
 C/o. Truly, madam, if God have; lent a man any 
 manners, he may easily put it oft' at court : he that 
 cannot make a leg, put otto's cap, kiss his hand, and 
 say nothinf:;, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap ; 
 arid, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were 
 not for the court : but;, for me, I have an answer will 
 serve all men. 
 
 Count. Marry, that's a bountifid answer, that fits 
 all questions. 
 
 C/o. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all but- 
 tocks ; the pin-buttock, the quatch-huttock, the 
 brawn-buttock, or any butto( k. 
 
 Count. AVill your answer serve fit to all questi(^ns ? 
 
 Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an at- 
 torney, as your French crown for your tatlata punk, 
 as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-tiufj^cr, as a pancake for 
 Sh rove-Tuesday, a njorris ibr May-day, as the nai) 
 to Ijis fiolc, the cuckold to his h<jrn, as a s(;ol(ling 
 quean <o a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to tin.' 
 friar's mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his skin.
 
 044 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 fit all demand?. 
 
 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 
 homely 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. 
 
 ' To be 7/oimg af^ain,'] The lady censures her own levity in tri- 
 fling with her jester, as a ridiculous attempt to return back to 
 youth. 
 
 ^ O Lord, sir,^ A ridicule on that foolish expletive of speech 
 then in vogue at court.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 245 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Why, there't serves well an-aiii. 
 
 Count. An end, sir, to your business : Give Helen 
 this, 
 And ur2;e her to a present answer back : 
 Commend uie to my kinsmen, and my son ; 
 This is not much. 
 
 Clu. Not much commendation to them. 
 
 Count. Not much employment for you : You un- 
 derstand me ? 
 
 Clo. Most fruitfully ; I am there "before my legs. 
 
 Count. Haste you again. \_Excunt severally. 
 
 SCENE HL 
 
 Paris. A Room in the King s Palace. 
 Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 
 
 Laf. Thev say, miracles are past ; and we have 
 our philosophical persons, to take modern^ and 
 famihar things, supernatural and causeless. Hence 
 is it, that we make trifles of terrors ; ensconsing 
 ourselves into seeming knowledge, \^ hen we should 
 submit ourselves to an unknown fear,^ 
 
 Par. AVhy, 'tis the mrest argument of wonder, 
 that hath shot out in our latter times. 
 
 Ber. And so 'tis. 
 
 Ijif. To be relinquish'd of the artists, 
 
 Par. So I sav ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 
 
 [.af. Of all the learned and authentick fellowsj^— 
 
 Par. Right, so I say. 
 
 LaJ . That gave him out incurable, — 
 
 5   modern — ] i. o. common, ordinary. 
 
 ■• iinknoivn tenr.] Fear is licrc an oljject of fear. 
 
 ' —— authentick /^/?otw,] The epithet nutltentick was in our 
 author's time particularly applied to the learned.
 
 246 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. 
 
 Laf. Not to be helped, — 
 
 Par. Right : as 'twere, a man assured of an — 
 
 Laf. Uncertain hfe, 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 mc 
 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 be 
 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 fur- 
 ther use to be made, than alone the recovery of the 
 king, as to be 
 
 Laf. Generally thankful. 
 
 Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 
 
 Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here 
 comes the king. 
 
 Laf. Lustick,^ as the Dutchman says : I'll like a 
 
 <5 Why, your dolphin is not lustier :~\ By dolphin is meant the 
 dauphin, the heir apparent, and the hope of the crown of France. 
 His title is so translated in ail the old books. 
 
 " . facinorous spirit,'] Facinorous is wicked. 
 
 s Lustick :] Luitig/i is the Dutch word for lusty, chearful, 
 
 pleasant.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 247 
 
 maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head : 
 \^'llV, he's able to lead her a coranto. 
 
 Par. Mart da Vinaiii-re ! Is not this Helen ? 
 
 Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 
 
 King. Go, call before me all the lords in court.^ — 
 
 [^Exit an Atteudcnit. 
 Sit, mv prcser\Tr, by thy patient's side ; 
 And with this healtlitul hand, whose banish'd sense 
 Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
 The contirmation of my promis'd gift, 
 Wliich 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 voicc^ 
 
 I liave to use: thy frank election make; 
 
 Thou liast power to choose, and they none to forsake. 
 
 I Id. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress 
 Fall, when love please! — marry, to each, but one!' 
 
 JaiJ', rd give bay Curtal," and his furniture, 
 Mv mouth no more were broken^ than these boys'. 
 And writ as little beard. 
 
 Kin<f. Peruse them well : 
 
 Not one of those, but had a noble father. 
 
 //< /. (ientlemen, 
 Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to health. 
 
 All. A\'(' understand it, and thank heavtMi for you. 
 
 I Id. I am a simi)le maid ; and tlierein wealthiest. 
 
 That, I protest, I simply am a maid : 
 
 IMease it your majesty, 1 have done already : 
 
 ' (Per ■whom bath sovereign poruer and father's voice — ] They 
 were his vcardx as well as his subjects. Henley. 
 
 ' marrif^ to cnrh, but one !] i. e. except one. 
 
 " baif Curia/,] i.e. ubav, ilocked horse. 
 
 ' Ml/ month no more were broken — ] A broken vKjidh ii a 
 mouth which hu« lubt part of its teeth. Johnson. 
 
 VOL. III. X
 
 248 ALUS WELL 
 
 The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 
 JVe blush, that thou shoulctst choose; but, be I'efusdt 
 Let the white death'*' sit on thy cheek for ever ; 
 Well neer 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. 
 
 Llel. 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 in your 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 ! 
 
 4 Let the white death, &c.] The xahite death is the chlorosis. 
 The pestilence that ravaged England in the reign of Edward III. 
 was called " the black death.''* 
 
 * the rest is mute.] i. e. I have no more to say to you. 
 
 ^ ames-ace — ] i. e. the lowest chance of the dice. 
 
 7 Laf. Do all they denij her ?] None of them have yet denied 
 her, or deny her afterwards, but Bertram. The scene must he 
 so regulated that Lafeu and Parolles talk at a distance, where 
 they may see what glasses between Helena and the lords, but not 
 hear it, so that they know not by whom the refusal is made. 
 
 Johnson.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 249 
 
 I^f. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none 
 liaveher: sure, they are bastards to the English; 
 the French ne'er got them. 
 
 Hd. You arc too youn*:^, 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 cjrape yet, — T am sure thy fa- 
 ther drank wine. — But if thou bc'st not an ass, I 
 am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee 
 already. 
 
 Hd. I dare not say, I take you ; \To Bertram] 
 but I p;ive 
 ^le and my service, ever whilst I live. 
 Into your ouiding })ower. — This is the man. 
 
 Kino-. \\\\\ then, young Bertram, take her, she's 
 thv wife. 
 
 Bcr. My wife, my liege ? I shall beseech your 
 highness. 
 In such a business give me leave to use 
 The help (jf mine own eyes. 
 
 Kino-. ' Know'st thou not, Bertram, 
 
 What she has done for me ? 
 
 Btr. 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 
 sicklv bed. 
 
 Be}\ But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
 Must answer for vour raisin"' ? I know her well ; 
 She had her brecjling at my father's charge : 
 A poor physicians daughter my wife! — Disdain 
 Rather corrupt me ever! 
 
 King. 'Tis only title** thou disdain'st in her, the 
 which 
 I can build uj). Strange is it, that om- bloods. 
 Of colour, weight, and jieat, pour'd all together, 
 
 **'l(.: i/ri/y lit/c—} i.e. the want of title. 
 X '2
 
 250 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand oft 
 
 In differences so mighty : If she be 
 
 All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
 
 A poor physician s daughter,) thou dislik'st 
 
 Of virtue for the 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 dropsicd 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, 
 
 I'^liich 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, 
 
 Dcbauch'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 viealth, from me. 
 
 Bcr. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. 
 
 King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou sliould'st 
 strive to choose, 
 
 Hel. That you arc well rcstor'd, my lord, I am glad ; 
 Let the rest <io. 
 
 '■^ Where great additions stirU,'] AJditicms are the titles andde' 
 scriptions by v.iiich men are distinguished from each ether. 
 
 ' gocd alone 
 
 J s good, tvithout a name ; vileness is so ;] The meaning is, — 
 Good is good, independent on any worldly distinction or title : sq 
 vileness is vile, in whatever state it may appear. IMalone. 
 
 * rionour*s born,'] is the child of honour. Bern is here used, 
 as hairn still is in the North. HiiN^isy.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 251 
 
 King. My honour's at tlie stake ; which to (Icteat, 
 I must produce my power : Here, take her hand. 
 Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift. 
 That dost in vile misprision shackle up, 
 Mv love, and her desert ; that canst not dream, 
 A^ e, poizinc^ us in her defective scale, 
 Shall weigh thee to the beam ;' that wilt not know, 
 It is in us to j)lant thine honour, where 
 "\A'e please to have it grow : Check thy contempt : 
 Obey our will, w hieh travails in thy good : 
 Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
 Do thine own fortunes that obedient right. 
 Which both thv 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 
 
 hate, 
 Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, 
 Without all terms of pity : Speak ; thine answer. 
 
 Bcr. 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 
 llie praised of the king ; who, so ennobled. 
 Is, as 'twere, born so. 
 
 King. Take her by the hand, 
 
 t/tut canst not (/ream. 
 
 We, poizing us in her defective scale, 
 
 Shn/l tceigh thee to the beam ;] That canst not undcrstani], 
 that if'you and this tiiaitlcn shouKl be ucij^hed togLther, ami our 
 royal favour.-, sliould be tlirown into licr scale, (which you esteem 
 no' light,) we fihould make that in Which you should be placed, to 
 strike the beam. Malonk. 
 
 * Into the hUiggers,] One ^teclvaof the staggers, or the horse's 
 apoplexy, is a ra'^ing impatience, which makes tlie animal dash 
 himselt' with a dc»itructive violence against posts or walls, 'lo 
 thi« the alluhion, I suppose, is jiiade. .Ioiinson. 
 JO
 
 252 ALL'S WELL 
 
 And tell her, she is thine : to whom I promise 
 A counterpoize ; if not to thy estate, 
 A balance more replete. 
 
 Bei\ I take her hand. 
 
 Kifig. 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. 
 
 \_E.veiint King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, 
 and Attendats. 
 
 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 r — 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 you companion to the count Rousillonr 
 
 Par. To any count ; to all counts ; to what is 
 man. 
 
 5 » tvhose ceremony 
 
 Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, 
 And be perform'' d to-night ;] A brief, in ancient language, 
 means any short and summary writing or proceeding. The voic- 
 born brief i& another phrase for the contract recently and suddenly 
 made. The ceremony of it (says the king) shcdl seem to hasten 
 after its short preliminary, and be pey formed to-night, &c. 
 
 Steevens. 
 The meaning of the present passage, I beheve, is: Good for- 
 tune, and the king's favour, smile on this short contract ; the ce- 
 remonial part of which shall immediately pass, — shall folloxv close 
 on the troth noiv plighted between the parties, and be performed 
 this night ; the solemn feast shall be delayed to a future time. 
 
 Malone.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 253 
 
 Laf. To what is count's man ; count's master is 
 of another style. 
 
 Par. You arc too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you 
 arc too old. 
 
 Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ; to 
 which title aoc cannot brinij 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 believinir 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 ! 80, 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 in- 
 dignity. 
 
 Laf. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy 
 of it. 
 
 Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 
 
 I^af. Yes, good faith, every dram of it : and I 
 will not bate thee a scruple. 
 
 Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 
 
 Ltif. 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 tiiy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt Hud what 
 
 '' for txoo ordinaries, '\ Whilst I sat twice with tbcc at 
 
 tal)lc. JoHXSON. 
 
 '' Inkinrr up ;] To /c//ir up is to coiitruflict, to call lo aC' 
 
 count ; as well ;us to pick ';ff the ground. Johnson,
 
 254 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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. 
 
 Far. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
 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.^ \_E.vit. 
 
 Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- 
 grace oft" 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 
 liim with any convenience, an he were double and 
 xlouble 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 liim again. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. Sirrah, your lord and masters 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 Jny 
 good lord : whom I serve above, is my master. 
 
 Laf. Who ? God ? 
 
 Par. Ay, sir. 
 
 L^af. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost 
 thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost make 
 
 . ^ -' in the default,'] That is, at a need. 
 
 '^ for doing I am past ; as I vcill hi) thee, in ivJiat motion 
 
 .age rvi/lgive me leave.'] Mr. Edwards has,' I think, given the true 
 meaning of Lafeu's words. " / cannot do much, says Lafeu ; 
 floing I am past, as I will by tliee in what motion age ivill give me 
 [cave ; i. e. as I tvi/l pass /ji/ thee as fast as I am able : — and he 
 immediately goes out. It is a play on the word past .- the con- 
 ceit indeed is poor, but Shakspeare plainly meant it." Malone.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 255 
 
 hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou 
 wert hest set thy lower })art where thy nose stands* 
 ]W mine honour, if I were hut two liours younger, 
 Yd heat thee : niethinks, thou art a general offence, 
 and every man should heat thee. I think, thou 
 wast created for men to hreathe themselves upon 
 
 thee. 
 
 Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my 
 
 lord. 
 
 Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for 
 piekiuo- a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a 
 vao-alKjnd, and no true traveller: you are more saucy 
 with lords, and honourable personages, than the he- 
 raldry of your birth and virtue gives you commis- 
 sion. You are not worth another word, else I'd call 
 you knave. I leave you. [_E.vit. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 Par. Good, very good; it is so then. — Good, 
 verv o'ood ; let it be c(jneealed a while. 
 
 'Bn\ Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever I 
 Par. What is the matter, sweet heart? 
 Bcr. Although before the solenm priest I have 
 sworn, 
 I will not bed her. 
 
 Par. What? what, sweet heart ? 
 Jkr. () my Parolles, they have married me : — 
 ril to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 
 
 I*ar. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
 Tlic triad of a man's foot: to the wars I 
 
 Bcr. Tliere's letters from my mother; what the 
 import is, 
 I know not yet. 
 
 Par. Ay, that would be known: To the wars, 
 my boy, to the wars! 
 Ilr wears his honour in a box unseen,
 
 256 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 ; Til 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. W^ill 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. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The same. Another Room in the name. 
 
 Enter Helena and Clown. 
 
 Hel. My mother greets me kindly : Is she well ? 
 Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
 
 ' That hugs his kicksy-wicksy, &c.] Sir T. Hanmer, in hi« 
 Glossary, observes, that kicJcsy-tmcksy is a made word in ridicule 
 and disdain of a wife. 
 
 ^ jTo i/je dark-house,] The c^ar/i /^owse is a house made gloomy 
 by discontent. 
 
 9
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 257 
 
 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. 
 
 Hd. If she be very well, what docs she ail, that 
 she's not very well ? 
 
 Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two 
 things. 
 
 Jlcl. "\Miat two things ? 
 
 Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God 
 send her quicklv ! the other, that she's in earth, 
 from whence God send her quickly ! 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 
 
 Ilel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have 
 mine own good fortunes. 
 
 Par. You had my prayers to lead them on : and 
 to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave ! 
 How does mv 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 undoine' : 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 no- 
 thing. 
 
 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 
 knave: this had been truth, sir. 
 
 Par. (io to, thou art a witty fool, I have found 
 thee. 
 
 Clo. Did you [jiid ine in yourself, sir ? or were 
 you taught to lind nu- ' 'i'he search, sir, was pro-
 
 Q58 ALL'S WELL 
 
 fitable ; 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 wrll fed. — 
 Madam, my lord will go away to-night ; 
 A very serious business calls on him. 
 The great prerogative and right of love, 
 AVhich, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
 ledge ; 
 But puts it off by a compeil'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'er-How with joy. 
 And pleasure drown the brim. 
 
 HlL 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. W^hat more commands he ? 
 
 Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
 Attend his further pleasure. 
 
 Hd. In every thing I wait upon his will. 
 
 Par. I shall report it so. 
 
 HeL I pray you.- — Come, sirrah. 
 
 \^Exeu7it, 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Lafeu ajid Bertram. 
 
 Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a 
 fcoldier. 
 
 '■' probable nced-l A specious appearance oi necessity.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 259 
 
 Jier. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant ajjproof, 
 
 Z.(i/. You have it tVoni his own deliverance. 
 
 Be)'. And by other warranted testimony. 
 
 L(/f. Then my dial goes not true; I took tliii 
 lark tor a buntino.'* 
 
 Btr. I do assure vou, my lord, he is very great in 
 kno\vled;:;e, and accordin;j;lv valiant. 
 
 Xtf/. 1 have then sinned against his experience, 
 and transijressed against his valour ; and niv statu 
 that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in niy 
 heart to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, maUa 
 us friends, 1 will pursue the amity. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Tliese things shall be done, sir. 
 
 [yb Bertram* 
 
 Laf. Prav you, sir, who's his tailor ? 
 
 Par. Sir r 
 
 LaJ'. (), I know him well : Ay, sir; he, sir, is a 
 good workman, a very good tailor. 
 
 Ber. Is she gone to the king r 
 
 [^An'idc to Parolles. 
 
 Par. She is. 
 
 Per. Will she awav to-nijrht? 
 
 Par. As you'll have her. 
 
 Ber. I have \vrit my letters, casketed my treasure, 
 (iivon order for our horses ; and to-night, 
 A\ hen I should take possession of the bride, — 
 And, ere I do begin, 
 
 Jjaf. A good traveller is something at the latter 
 end of a diimer ; but t)ne that lies three-thirds, and 
 
 * II bunting.] Tilt; l)nhtiii<r i.s, in fcatlicr, size, and form, 
 
 fco like ihc sky-ltnl, as to rctjuirc nice attention to tliscovir tijo 
 Due from the other ; it also ascends and sings in tlie air nearly iu 
 the same manner : but it I;u;5 little or no song, which gives eslimB" 
 tiun to the bkv-Iurk.
 
 260 ALL'S WELL 
 
 uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, 
 siiould 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. 
 
 Be7\ It may be, you have mistaken him, my 
 lord. 
 
 Lqf. 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. [_E.rit. 
 
 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 
 
 4 You have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all, 
 like him that leaped into the custard ;] This odd allusion is not in- 
 troduced without a view to satire. It was a foolery practised at
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 261 
 
 For present parting ; only, he desires 
 ISonie private speech \vith you. 
 
 Ber. I sliall obey his will. 
 
 You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
 Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
 The ministration and required otiice 
 On mv particular : prepared I was not 
 For sucli a business ; tlieretbrc am I found 
 »*So much unsettled : 'I'his drives me to entreat you, 
 That presently you take your w ay for home ; 
 And rather muse,^ than ask, why I entreat you : 
 For mv resjjccts are better than they seem ; 
 And mv a})})ointments have in them a nei'd, 
 (ireater than shows itself, at the iirst view, 
 To you that know^ them not. This to my mother : 
 
 \_Giriug a letter. 
 'Twill be tu o days ere I shall see you ; so 
 I leave vou to your wisdom. 
 
 I Id. Sir, I can nothing say, 
 But that I am your most obedient servant. 
 
 Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
 
 Htl. And ever shall 
 
 \\\i\\ true obsei-vancc seek to eke out that, 
 \N'lK'rein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
 To I'qual mv great fortune. 
 
 Ber. Let that go : 
 
 Mv haste is very great: Farewell ; hie home. 
 
 I I el. Pray, sir, your paidon. 
 
 Ber. Well, what would you say ? 
 
 Ihl. I am not worthy of the wealth 1 owe j*' 
 Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; 
 iiut, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
 What law does vouch mine own. 
 
 city entcrtaiiHiU'iits, uliilKt tlie jester or /any was in voj^ue, for 
 liiiii to junij) into a large deep custuril, set for the purpose. 
 
 ' Anil rittlivr niiiKe,] lo muse in to xvonder. 
 
   tht iveu/th I owe ;] i. e / otcw, jiot.\css.
 
 262 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Bej\ What would you have ? 
 
 Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : — nothing, 
 indeed. — 
 I would not tell you what I would : my lord — 'faith, 
 
 yes ;— 
 Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. 
 
 Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 
 Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my 
 
 lord. 
 
 Be7\ Where are my other men, monsieur ? — 
 
 Farewell. [E.vit Helena. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 \_E.reunt. 
 
 ACTIIL 
 
 SCENE L Florence. J Room in the Duke's 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended; 
 tzvo French Lords, aiid 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 op])oser. 
 
 Duke. Therefore v»'c marvel much, our cousin 
 France
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 263 
 
 W^ould, in so jiist 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/ 
 Tliat the great figure of a council frames 
 By self-unable motion : therefore dare not 
 Sav what I think of it ; since I have found 
 Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
 As often as I gucss'd. 
 
 Ditkc. Be it his pleasure. 
 
 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our na- 
 ture,^ 
 That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, 
 Come here for physick. 
 
 Duke. Welcome shall they be ; 
 
 And all the honours, that can fly from us, 
 .Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; 
 When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
 To-morrow to the field. \_Flouri6'h. Eseunf. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Koiisillon. J Room in the Countess's Palace. 
 
 E)iter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Count. It hath happened all as I would have had 
 it, save, that he comes not along with her. 
 
 Clo. By mv troth, I take my young lord to be a 
 very melancholy man. 
 
 Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 
 
 ' I cannot y\c\([,~\ I cnnnot inform you of the reasons. 
 
 * an outward man,'\ i. e. one in the secret o^ aifuirs. 
 
 v the ifounger of our nature,] i. c. a« we say at present, 
 
 our youna J'cUoxks. 
 
 VOL. III. Y
 
 264 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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. [E.vit, 
 
 Count. [Reads.] / have sent you a daughter-in- 
 laxv : she hath j^ecovered the king, and undone me. I 
 have zvedded her, not bedded her ; and sworn to make 
 the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run away ; 
 know it, before the report come. If there be breadth 
 enough in the world, I ivill 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. 
 
 » mend the ruff,'] The tops of the boots, in our author's 
 
 time, turned down, and hung loosely over the leg. The folding 
 is what the Clown means by the riiff. Ben Jonson calls it ruffle ; 
 and perhaps it should be so here.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. id5 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam, yonder is heavv news within, 
 between two soldiers and my young* lady. 
 
 Count. \Miat is the matter ? 
 
 Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, 
 some comftjrt ; your son will not be killed so soon 
 as I thought he would. 
 
 Count. \Miy should he be kill'd ? 
 
 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 awa}-. \_Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gen. Save you, good madam. 
 
 Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
 
 2 Gen. Do not say so. 
 
 Count. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, gentle- 
 men, — 
 I have felt ?;o 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 : 
 Wc met him tiiitherward ; from thence we came, 
 And, after some despatch in hand at court, 
 Thither we bend again. 
 
 //t7. Look (Ml his letter, madam ; here's my pass- 
 j)orl. 
 
 * Can woman me — ] i.e. aftuct me suddenly anddecply, »• my 
 .«ex are uxually artected. 
 
 V 2
 
 Q^Qd ALL'S WELL 
 
 [Reads.] IVJien thou canst get the ring np07i my 
 
 finger^ which never shall come off, and show me 
 
 a child begotten of thy body, that I am father 
 
 to, then call me husband: but in such a then 
 
 / write a never. 
 
 This is a dreadful sentence. 
 
 Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 
 
 1 Gen. 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 Gen. Ay, madam. 
 
 Count. And to be a soldier? 
 
 2 Gen. 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 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of 
 speed. 
 
 Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have no- 
 thing in France. 
 'Tis bitter. 
 
 Count. Find you that there ? 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam. 
 
 1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, 
 which 
 His heart was not consenting to. 
 
 Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife ! 
 
 * When thou canst get the ring upon my finger,'] i. e. When 
 thou canst get the ring, which is on my finger, into thy possession. 
 
 •♦ If thou engrossed all the griefs are thiney &c.] Tliis senti- 
 ment is elliptically expressed. If thou kecpest all thy sorrows to 
 thyself, i. e. " all the griefs that are thine," &.c.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 267 
 
 There's nothing here, that is too good for him. 
 But only she ; and she deserves a lord, 
 That twenty such rude hoys might tend upon, 
 And call her hourlv, mistress. Who was with him ? 
 
 1 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman 
 Which I have some time known. 
 
 Count. Parolles, was't not? 
 
 1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. 
 
 Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
 ness. 
 My son corrupts a well-derived nature 
 With his inducement. 
 
 1 Gen. 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. 
 
 2 Gen. We serve you, madam. 
 In that and all your worthiest affairs. 
 
 Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies.^ 
 Will you draw near ? 
 
 \_E.veunt Countess and Gentlemen. 
 Ilel. Till I have no wife, I have Jiothing in 
 France. 
 Nothing in France, until he has no wife! 
 Thou shalt have none, llousillon, none in France, 
 Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I 
 lliat chase thee from thy country, and expose 
 
 J —— a deal of that, too miic/i. 
 Which holds him much to have.'] That is, his vices stand him 
 ill stead. 
 
 '• Not so, &c.] The gentlemen declare that they arc servants 
 to the Countess; she replies, — No otherwise than as khe returns 
 tlie same offices of civility. Johnson.
 
 26s ALL'S WELL 
 
 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-piecing air, 
 
 That sings with piercing/ do not touch my lord ! 
 
 Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 
 
 Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
 
 I am the caitifl" 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, 
 W^hence 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 ofiic'd all : I will be gone ; 
 That pitiful rumour may report my flight. 
 To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day ! 
 For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. 
 
 ^ move the still-piecing otr. 
 
 That si?igs ivith piercing,'] Warburton says the words are 
 here oddly shuffled into nonsense ; but the commentators have not 
 succeeded in making sense of them. 
 
 8 the ravin lion — ] i. e. the ravc7iotfs or ravening lion. 
 
 To raviii is to swallow voraciously. 
 
 9 Whence honour but of danger, &c.] The sense is, from that 
 abode, where all the advantages that honour usually reaps from 
 the danger it rushes upon, is only a scar in testimony of its bra- 
 very, as, on the other hand, it of^pn is the cause of losing all, 
 even life itself. Heatji.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 2(X) 
 
 SCENE in. 
 
 Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Dide <?/* Florence, Bertram, 
 Lords, Ojjicers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Duke. The f^eneral of our horse thou art ; and we, 
 Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence, 
 I'jjon thv 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, 
 
 (ireat 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. iKveunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace, 
 
 Enter Countess and Steward. 
 
 Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of 
 her ? 
 Mif^ht you not know, she would do as she has done. 
 By sending me a letter ? Read it again. 
 
 Stew, f am St. Jaques pilgrim, thither gone: 
 Amhitious love hath so in tue offended. 
 That hari'-foot plod I the cold (ground upon, 
 H'uh sainted vow my faults to have amended.
 
 270 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Write, xvrite, 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, xvith camping foes to live, 
 
 IVhere death and danger dog the heels of worth : 
 He is too good and fair for death and me ; 
 IF horn I myself enibr ace, to set himfree. 
 
 Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 
 
 words ! 
 
 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. 
 
 Stew. 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 in vain. 
 
 Count. What angel shall 
 
 Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive. 
 Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear. 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
 Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Rinaldo, 
 To this unworthy husband of his wife : 
 Let every word v\ eigh heavy of her worth, 
 71iat 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, 
 
 ^ — — Juno,'] Alluding to the story of Hercules. 
 
 ' lack advice — ] Advice is discretion or thought. 
 
 * That he does weigh too light ;] To ivcigh here means to 
 value or esteem.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 271 
 
 Ilearinoj 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 JVithout the Walls of Florence. 
 
 A tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Flo- 
 rence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other 
 Citizens, 
 
 ll'id. 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. 
 
 jnd. 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 arc gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know 
 by their trumpets. 
 
 j\/ar. Come, let's return again, and suffice 
 ourselves wiUi the report of it. Well, Diana, 
 take heed of this French earl : the honour of a 
 ni;iid is her name ; and no legacy is so rich as 
 honestv. 
 
 Hid. I have told my neighbour, how you have 
 been solicited by a gentleman his comjjanion. 
 
 Alar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Pa- 
 rolles : a filthy officer he is in those suggestions ' for 
 
 ' those suggcBtions — ] Suggestions arc tciuiitationj?.
 
 472 ALL'S WELL 
 
 the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana; their 
 promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these 
 engines of iust, are not the thing? 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. 1 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. 
 DUi. You shall not need to fear me. 
 
 jEJwifer Helena, in the dress of a Pilgrim. 
 
 Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pil- 
 grim : I know she will he at my house : thither they 
 send one another ; I'll question her. — 
 God save you, pilgrim ! ^Vhitlier are you bound ? 
 
 Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand. 
 Where do the palmers^ lodge, I do beseech you ? 
 
 tVid. 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 pil- 
 grim. 
 But till the troops come by, 
 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 .■* 
 
 JVid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 
 
 * are not the things they go under :"] They are not the 
 
 things for which their names would make them pass. 
 
 5 palmers — ] Pilgrims that visited holy places ; so called 
 
 from a staff", or bough of palm they were wont to carry,- especially 
 such as had visited the holy places at Jerusalem.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 273 
 
 ITcl. I thank you, and will stavupon your leisure. 
 
 jriil. You came, I think, from France ? 
 
 HcL I did so. 
 
 Jiid. Here vou shall see a countryman of yours. 
 That has done worthy service. 
 
 Htl. His name, I pray you. 
 
 Did. The count Rousillon ; Know you such a one? 
 
 Htl. But hy the ear, that hears most nobly of 
 him : 
 His face I know not. 
 
 l^ia. 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 trutli ;' I know his 
 lady. 
 
 Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count. 
 Reports but coarsely of her. 
 
 }{el. \Miat's his name ? 
 
 Dia. Mousieur Parolles. 
 
 Hel. O, I believe with him, 
 
 In argument of praise, or to tlic 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." 
 
 Did. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife 
 Of a detestinjr lord. 
 
 fVid. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she is, 
 Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do 
 
 her 
 A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. 
 
 * for the kinrr^ &c.] For, in the present instance, signifies 
 
 bccnusc. 
 
 ' mere the truth ;] The exact, the entire truth. 
 
 • exaniin*d.'^ That iti, questioned, doubted. 
 
 11
 
 274 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Hel. How do vou 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 Flo- 
 rentine 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 ? 
 
 T>ia. 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 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Hel. I like him well. 
 
 T)ia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest : Yond's that 
 same knave. 
 That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 
 I'd poison that vile rascal. 
 
 Hel Which is he? 
 
 Dia. That jack-£Hi-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. 
 
 9 hrokes — ] To Iroke is to deal with panders. A broker^ 
 
 in our author's time, meant a bawd or pimp.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 275 
 
 nid. Marry, hang you ! 
 
 JIa?\ And your courtesy, for a rins^-carrier! 
 
 \_E.veu?U Bertram, Parolles, Officers, 
 and Soldiers. 
 JF'id. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will 
 bring: vou 
 \Micrc you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents 
 There's four or live, to great iSaint 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 eharge, and thanking, 
 Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
 I will bestow^ some precepts on this virgin, 
 
 Ul 1 o ' 
 
 ortliy the note. 
 
 Both. We'll take your oifer kindly. 
 
 [^Exciuit. 
 
 SCENE VL 
 
 Camp before Florence. 
 
 Enter Bertram, and the txco 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. 
 
 Bcr. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him ? 
 
 J Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
 knowlcdoc, without any malice, but to speak of him 
 as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infi- 
 nite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the 
 owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship':^ 
 entertainment. 
 
 2 Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, reposing 
 
 ' a TiiKlirnj.] A hiJdtng is a p:Jtiy, co\rartlly relJuw. 
 
 9
 
 276 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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, whicii vou hear him so confidently undertake 
 to do. 
 
 1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, 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 
 do not, for the promise of his life, and in the 
 highest 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 fort : when 
 your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, 
 and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will 
 be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter- 
 tainment,' your inclining cannot be removed. Here 
 he comes. 
 
 Eiiter Parolles. 
 
 1 I^ord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not 
 the humour of hi« design: let him fetch oft' his 
 drum in any hand. 
 
 * he is carried into the leaguer — ] i. e. camp. 
 
 ^ if you give him not John Drum's entertainment,] i. e. ij 
 
 treat him very ill j a proverbial expression of doubtful origin.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 277 
 
 Btr. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks 
 sorely in your disposition. 
 
 2 Lo)'il. 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 ! to cluirge 
 in witlk our horse upon our own wings, and to read 
 our own soldiers. 
 
 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- 
 mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war tl.iat 
 Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had 
 been there to command. 
 
 Ber. VseW, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
 cess : some dishonour we had m the loss of tliat^ 
 drum ; but it is not to be recovered. 
 
 Par. It mioht have been recovered. 
 
 Btr. 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 
 hie jacct.^ 
 
 Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, mon- 
 sieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem Ciin 
 brin:^ this instrument of honour again into his na- 
 tive quarter, be magnanimous in tlie enterprize, and 
 go on ; I will grace the attempt for a wortliy ex- 
 ploit : if you speed well in it, the duke sliall both 
 speak of it, and extend to you what farther becomes 
 his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your 
 worthiness. 
 
 Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake 
 It. 
 
 Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 
 
 Par. I'll about it this evening: and I \\\\\ prc- 
 
 " I woidd/iavc thai drum ur aiwt/in; or hie jacot.] i. e. 
 
 Here lies; — the usual betjiiining of ei)itai)hs. I wuuld (says 
 ParoIIesi) recover cither thtj drum I have lo.st, or aii«»thtr be- 
 longing to the (.neiny ; or die in the attci>i/)t. M.xlonk.
 
 27% ALL'S WELL 
 
 sently pen down my dilemmas/ encourage myself 
 in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepa- 
 ration, and, by midnight, look to hear furtlier 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, 1 know, thou art valiant ; and, to the possi- 
 bility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Par. I love not many words. \^E.vit. 
 
 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 probable 
 
 ^ — I will presentlt/ pen doivn mt/ dilemnia?,'] i. e. he will 
 pen down his plans on the one side, and the probable obstruc- 
 tions he was to meet with, on the other. 
 
 ^ Par. / love not many words. 
 
 1 Lord. No more than ajlsh loves ivater.'] Here we have the 
 origin of this boaster's name; which, without doubt, (as Mr. 
 Steevens has observed,) ought, in strict propriety, to be written — 
 Paroles. But our author certainly intended it otherwise, having 
 made it a trisyllable : 
 
 " Rust sword, cool blushes, and Parolles live." 
 He probably did not know the true pronunciation. Ma lone.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 27^ 
 
 lies : but wc have almost embossed him/ you shall 
 see his fall to-night : for, indeed, he is not for your 
 lordship's respect. 
 
 2 Lo?'d. 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 tind 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 : Ell leave you. 
 
 Bcr. Now will I lead you to the house, and show 
 you 
 The lass I spoke of. 
 
 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, 
 Bv 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 Lo?yI. With all my heart, my lord. 
 
 {_E.vtunt. 
 
 ' rve have almost embossed /u»?,] To emboss a deer is to 
 
 inclose him in a wood. 
 
 " ere xue case /am.'] That is, before we atrip liim naked. 
 
 * rve have i'l/tc u//,v/,] To have our in the vcindf is enu- 
 merated as a proverl)ial saying by Ray. 
 
 VOL. in.
 
 '280 ALL'S WELL 
 
 SCENE VIL 
 
 Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. 
 
 Enter Helena and Widow. 
 
 Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
 I know not how I shall assure you further, 
 But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.' 
 
 Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well 
 born. 
 Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; 
 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 well approves 
 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, 
 When I have found it. The count he wooes your 
 
 daughter. 
 Lays down his wanton siege bfefore 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 
 
 * But I shall lose the grounds I tuork upon.'} i. e. by discover- 
 ing herself to the count. 
 
 * Notu his important — ] Iwporlanty here, is mportunate^
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 281 
 
 That she'll demand : A ring the county wears,* 
 That downward hath succeeded in his liouse. 
 From son to son, some four or five descents 
 Since the first father wore it : this rin^; 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. 
 
 Jl'id. 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. Til add three thousand crowns 
 To what is past already. 
 
 JF'id. 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 nmsicks of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
 To her unworthiness : It nothing steads us. 
 To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists. 
 As if his life lay on t. 
 
 Hd. 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. \_E.veunt. 
 
 ' the countywears."] i. c. the count. 
 
 Z 2
 
 282 ALL'S WELL 
 
 ACT lY. 
 
 SCENE I. Without the Florentine Camp, 
 
 Enter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in ambush, 
 
 1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this 
 hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak 
 what terrible language you will ; 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 asrain ? 
 
 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. 
 
 *♦ some hand of strangers i'the adversary's entertainment.'] 
 
 That is,Jbreign troops in the enemy's fay. 
 
 5 so ive seem to knotUy is to knotv, &c.] We must each 
 
 fancy a jargon for himself, without aiming to be understood by 
 one another, for provided we appear to understand, that wiU be 
 sufficient for the success of our project. Henley.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 283 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill 
 be time enoii2;h to "o home. What shall I sav I 
 have done ? It must be a vxMy 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 tonejue 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 
 j)urpose ? 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 r'^ 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. \^Asidc. 
 
 h 
 
 //(f itiKtance ?] TXm j)ro()f. 
 
 ' (if Iiaj(izrl\<i mulu,] Parolles probably means, he must 
 
 buy a tonj^ue which has still to Icarii the use oi" sjh'chIi, tlint lie 
 may run liimbtlf into no more ditlicultics by hw loquacity. iC^i^u.
 
 ^84 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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. \_Aside. 
 
 Par. A drum now of the enemy's ! 
 
 [^Alarum •within. 
 
 1 Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. 
 
 All. Cargo, cargo, "villiajida par corbo, cargo. 
 
 Par. O ! ransome, ransome ; — Do not hide mine 
 eyes. [^^hcy seize him and blindfold him. 
 
 1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. 
 
 Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment. 
 And I shall lose my life for want of language : 
 If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
 Italian, or French, let him speak to me, 
 I will discover that which shall undo 
 The Florentine. 
 
 I Sold. Boskos vawvado : 
 
 I understand thee,, and can speak thy tongue : 
 
 Kerclybonto : Sir, 
 
 Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
 Are at thy bosom. 
 
 Par. Oh! ' 
 
 1 Sold. O, pray, pray, pray. 
 
 Manka rcxania diilche. 
 
 1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos Tolivorca^ 
 
 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee 
 
 And, hood-vvink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 285 
 
 To gatlier fi-om tliec : haply, thou may'st inform 
 Something to save thy hfe. 
 
 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 Unfa. 
 
 Come on, thou art gi-anted space. 
 
 l^E.vitf with Parolles guarded. 
 
 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my 
 
 brother, 
 We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him 
 
 mntfled. 
 Till we do hear from them. 
 
 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 Rooin in the Widow's House. 
 
 Enter Bertram and Diana. 
 
 Her. They told me, that your name was Fontibell. 
 
 Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 
 
 Per. 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
 
 ^b6 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 : 
 
 My mother did but duty ; such, my lord. 
 As you owe to your wife. 
 
 jbet\ No more of that ! 
 
 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 sei-ve 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, 
 
 ' What is not holy, thai we swear not hy,^ The sense is — We 
 never swear by what is not holy, but swear by, or take to witness, 
 the Highest, the Divinity. The tenor of the reasoning contained 
 in the following lines perfectly corresponds with this : If 1 should 
 swear by Jove's great attributes, that I loved you dearly, would 
 you believe ray oaths, when you found by experience that I loved 
 you ill, and was endeavouring to gain credit with you in order to 
 seduce you to your ruin ? No, surely ; but you would conclude 
 that I had no faitli either in Jove or his attributes, and that my 
 oaths were mere words of course. For that oath can certainly 
 have no tie upon us, which we swear by him we profess to love 
 and honour, when at the same time >ve give the strongest proof 
 of our disbelief in him, by pursuing a course which we know will 
 offend and dishojjiour him. Heath.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 28? 
 
 When I did love you iH ? this has no holding, 
 To swear by him \\ honi I protest to love, 
 That 1 will work uiijainst him : 'J'heretore, your oaths 
 Are words, and j)oor conditions ; but unseal'd ; 
 At least, in my opinion. 
 
 Ber. ( "hanf^e it, change it ; 
 
 Be not so holv-cruel : love is holv ; 
 And niv integrity ne'er knew the cralts. 
 That vou do charge men with : Stand no more oftj 
 }3ut give thyself unto my sick desires, 
 A\'ho then recover : say, thou art mine, and ever 
 My love, as it begins, shall so perscver. 
 
 Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affliirs/ 
 That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 
 
 /it'r. 1 H lend it thee, my dear, hut have no power 
 To give it from me. 
 
 JJia. Will vou not, my lord ? 
 
 Btr. It is an honour 'longing to our house^ 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors: 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world 
 Li me to lose. 
 
 Uia. Mine honour's such a ring : 
 
 My chastity's the jew el of our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
 Which were the greatest oblo(|uy i'the world 
 In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom 
 Brings in the champion honour on my part, 
 Against your vain assault. 
 
 Bcr. Here, take my ring: 
 
 My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine. 
 And ril hi- hid by thei;. 
 
 Dia. \\ hen midnight comes, knock at my cham- 
 ber window ; 
 
 ' / xe^, that men make hopes, in such affairs,] i. e. I perceive 
 that while our lovers are niakirif,' proiessionti of love, they enter- 
 tain hopcH that we shall be betrayed by our j)a5sions to } iilcl to 
 their desireb.
 
 28S ALL'S WELL 
 
 ril 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. 
 
 Be9\ A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing 
 thee. \_E.vit. 
 
 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 marry 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. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Florentine Camp. 
 
 Enter the tzvo French Lords, and txco or three 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's 
 letter } 
 
 ' Since Frenchmen are so braid,] Braid signifies crafty or 
 deceitful.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 289 
 
 2 Lord. I have delivcr'd it an hour since : there 
 is something in't that stings his nature; for, on 
 the reading it, he changed ahnost 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. 
 
 *i Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlast- 
 ing displeasure of the king, who had even tuned 
 his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell 
 you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with 
 you. 
 
 1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and 
 I am the grave of it. 
 
 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman 
 here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; and 
 this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her 
 honour : he hath given her his monumental ring, 
 and thinks himself made in the unchaste compo- 
 .'iition. 
 
 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebelHon : as we 
 are ourselves, what things are we ! 
 
 2 Ljord. 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 
 iiimself.' 
 
 1 Lord. Is it not meant danmable in us,- to be 
 trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not 
 then have his e(jmpany to-night? 
 
 ' in /lis proper stream o*er/lotvs himself.'] That is, betrnux 
 
 his men secrets in his own talk. The reply shows that this is the 
 nicaniiif;. .JonNsf)N. 
 
 » Is it not meant daninable /// «.v,] Adjectives arc often used 
 as adverbs by our author and his contcmporarici.
 
 290 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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' anatomized ; that he 
 might take a measure of his own judgments, where- 
 in so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 
 
 1 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 Rou^illon do then ? will 
 he travel higher, or return again into France ? 
 
 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
 altojjether 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, 
 jfled 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 iine, made a groan of tier 
 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 intelli2;ence ? 
 
 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, 
 point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 
 
 ^ his company — ] i. e. his companion.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. rzgi 
 
 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that lie'll be glad of 
 this. 
 
 1 Lord. How nhghtilv, sonictinies, wc n.akc us 
 comforts of oar losses ! 
 
 2 Lord. And how mig;htilv, some other tines, we 
 drown our gain ni tears ! The great dignity, that his 
 valour hatli 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 yam, 
 good and ill toi;ether : our virtues would be proud, 
 it our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes 
 would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our 
 virtues. — 
 
 Enter a Se^^'ant. 
 
 How now ? where's your master ? 
 
 Scrv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
 he hath taken a solemn leave ; bis 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 swe^t for the king's 
 tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my 
 lord, is't not after midnight? 
 
 Ber. I have to-night desj)atched 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 wiP;, mourned for 
 her ; writ to my lady mother, I am returning ; en- 
 tertained my convoy ; and, between these main })ar- 
 ci'ls (if despatch, eftected many nicer deeds ; the last 
 was the greatest^ but that I have not ended yet. 
 
 2 Lord. If tilt* business be of any diihculty, and
 
 igi ALL'S WELL 
 
 this morning your departure hence^ it requires haste 
 of your lordship. 
 
 Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing 
 to hear of it hereafter : But shall we have this dia- 
 logue 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 : \_E.veu?it 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 ? 
 
 1 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^ xvith Parolles. 
 
 Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say 
 nothing of me ; hush ! hush ! 
 
 1 Lord. Hoodman comes ! — Porto tartarossa. 
 
 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you 
 say without 'em ? 
 
 -♦ bring Jorth this countetjiit module ;] Module being the 
 
 pattern of any thing, may be here used in that sense. Bring forth 
 this fellow, who, by counterfeit virtue, pretended to make himself 
 0. pattern. Johnson. 
 
 ^ in usurping his spurs so Inng^ These words allude to 
 
 the ceremonial degradation of a knight.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 293 
 
 Par. I will confess what I know without con- 
 stmint ; if ye pinch me hke a pastv, I can say no more. 
 
 1 .Sold. Busko chicurmurco. 
 
 '1 Lord. Boblibiudo cliicurmurco. 
 
 1 Sold. You are a merciful oeneral : — Our n-ene- 
 ral bids vouanswertowhat I shall ask vououtof a note. 
 
 Far. And truly, as I hope to live. 
 
 1 Sold. Fir.'it lUmand of h'nn Iwic many horst' the 
 diike is strung. V\\vaX. say you to that ? 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak and 
 unscniceable : the troops are all scattered, and the 
 commanders very poor rogues, upon mv reputation 
 and credit, and as 1 hope to live. 
 
 1 Suld. .Shall I set down your answer so ? 
 
 Par. Do ; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and 
 which wav 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 
 tiie knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chaj)c 
 of his dagger. 
 
 2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keej>- 
 ing his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every 
 thing in him, by wearing his a})parcl neatly. 
 
 1 Sold. \N'ell, that's set dtjwn. 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand horse, I sai<l, — I will 
 fay true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak 
 truth. 
 
 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. 
 
 Btr. liut I con him no thanks fjr't,'' in the na- 
 ture he delivers it. 
 
 Par. J^>or rogues, I }jrav you, say. 
 
 5 that had the whole theorick — ] i. e. theorif. 
 
 ^ I con him no thunkx fjrU,'\ T<i r.nu thnn/cs exactly on- 
 
 Kwers llif I'Vl-iicIi <;cav'jir frrc. 'I'u con i.>> Irj kjiovv.
 
 294 ALL'S WELL 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 Pai\ 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," I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio a 
 hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so 
 many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, 
 and Gratii, two hundred fifty each : mine own com- 
 panj^ Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred 
 and fifty each : so that the muster-file, rotten and 
 sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thou- 
 sand poll ; half of which dare not shake the snow 
 from ofl' 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. W^ell, that's set down. You shall demand 
 of him, xohether one Captain Diimain be ithe camp, 
 a Frenchman ; what his reputation is with the duke, 
 xvhat his valour, honesty, and expertness i?i wars ; 
 or whether he thinks, it zvere not possible, with well- 
 weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a re^volt. 
 What say you to this ? what do you know of it ? 
 
 Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particu- 
 lar of the intergatories : ' Demand them singly. 
 
 I Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain ? 
 
 Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice 
 
 ' if I tvere to live this present hour, &c.] Perhaps we 
 
 should read : — if I were to live but this present hour. Steevens. 
 
 '^ off' their cassocks,] Cassock signifies a horseman's loose 
 
 coat, and is used in that sense by the writers of the age of Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 9 1)11/ conditions,] i. e. my disposition and character. 
 
 '   intergatories :~\ i, e. interrogatories. 
 U
 
 THAT F.NDS WELL. 295 
 
 in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting 
 the Sheriff's fool with child ; a dumb innocent, that 
 could not say him, nay. 
 
 [Di^MAiN lifts up his 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 So/d. 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 ; wc shall 
 hear of your lordship anon. 
 
 1 iSold. What is his reputation with the duke } 
 
 Par. Tlie 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. Marr\% 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 intcr})reter docs it well. 
 
 1 Lord. Excellently. 
 
 1 Sold. T)\^n. The count' safool, and full of gold) — 
 
 Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an 
 advertisement to a proj^er 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. 
 
 * thour^h I kjioxcy /lis brains are forfeit to the next file that 
 
 _ fills.] In Luciun's Coutrinp/antcSy Mercury makes Charon remark 
 a man that was killed by the falling of a tile upon his head, whilst 
 he \va.s in tlie act oi" putting off an engagement to tlie next day. 
 VOL. III. A A
 
 2gQ ALUS WELL 
 
 Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very lionest 
 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 Sold. IFhen he swears oaths, bid him drop gold) 
 and take it ; 
 
 After he scores, he never pays the score : 
 Haff 'won, is match ivell made ; match, and well 
 make it ;^ 
 
 He ne*er pays after debt's, take it before ; 
 And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this. 
 Men are to mell zvith, boys are not to kiss : 
 For count of this, the coimfs a fool, I know it, 
 JVho pays before, hut not when he does owe it. 
 
 Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, 
 
 Parolles. 
 
 Ber. He shall be whip}>ed 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 
 hve, 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- 
 
 * Half tvo)t, is match tvell made ; match, and tvcll make it ;2 
 The meaning is, <* A match well made, is half won; make your 
 match, .tliereibre, but make it well.'*
 
 THAT EXD.S WELL. 297 
 
 fess freely ; tlierefore, once more to tliis captain 
 Dumain : You have answered to his reputation with 
 the duke, and' to his valour : What is his ho- 
 nest)' .' 
 
 Par. He will steal, sir, an es;^ out of a cloister •* 
 for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He 
 jMofesses not keepiuL^ of oaths : in breakini^ them, 
 lie 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 docs little harm, 
 save to his bed-clothes about him ; but they know 
 his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but 
 little more to sav, sir, of his honcstv : he has everv 
 thing- tliat an honest man should not have ; what an 
 honest man should have, he has nothing. 
 
 1 Lortl: I begin to love him for this. 
 
 Ber. For this description of thine honesty ? A 
 j)ox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 
 
 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in 
 w ar r 
 
 Par. Faidj, sir, he has led the drum before the 
 English tragedians, — to belie liiin, 1 will not, — and 
 more of his soldiersiiij) I know not; except, in that 
 countrv, he had the honour to be the officer at a 
 j)Iace there caHd Mile-end, to instruct for the dou- 
 liliug of Hies: i would do the man what honour I 
 can, but of this I am not certain. 
 
 1 Lord. \\c hath out-villained villainy so far, that 
 the rarity redeems him. 
 
 Bcr. A pox on him ! he's a cat still. 
 
 1 Sold. His qualities being at tiiis j)oor price, 1 
 need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to re- 
 voli. 
 
 •* an cnr<T out of n cloister ;] lie idll steal any lliintr, lutu- 
 
 i^Ci- trijliiiy^ from antf j>lai:i-, hoxuevtr Jtulij. liobiiini^ tlif sj^ital, 
 - a conioiuu phrusc, ot the lilic import. 
 
 \ A '2
 
 398 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Par. Sir, for a quaint 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 ?*' 
 vSold. What's he? 
 
 Par. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not altog-e- 
 ther so great as the first in goodness, but greater a 
 great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a cow- 
 ard, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that 
 is : In a retreat he out-runs any lackey ; marry, in 
 coming on he has the cramp, 
 
 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake 
 to betray the Florentine ? 
 
 Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count 
 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 ? 
 
 \Jside. 
 
 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 
 
 ^ for a quart d'ecu — ] The fourth part of the smaller 
 
 French crown ; about eight-pence of our money. 
 
 '' Why dues he ask him (if me ?] This is nature. Every man is, 
 on such occasions, more willing to hear his neighbour's character 
 than his own. Johnson. 
 
 ' •; to begui/e the supposition — ] That is, to deceive the 
 
 opinion^ to make the Count think me a man that deserves mdl.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 'igg 
 
 scnc tlic world for no honest use ; therefore you 
 must die. Come, headsmen, otf with his head. 
 
 Far. O Lord, sir ; let me hve, or let me see my 
 death ! 
 
 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of all 
 your friends. \l''nmuj}iing 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 \-ou, 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. 
 
 Far. Who cannot be crushed with a plot ? 
 
 1 Sold. If you could find out a country where 
 but women were that had received so nmch shame, 
 you might begin an impudent nation. Fare you 
 well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of 
 you there. \_L.vit. 
 
 Far. Yet am I thankful : if my heart were great, 
 'Twonld burst at this : Captain, fll be no more; 
 But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
 As cajjtain shall, simi)ly the thing I am 
 
 j)ly the 
 Wlio k 
 
 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 ! c(kj1, 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. L^''^"'^ 
 
 }
 
 300 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 Avhose 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 ha\e convenient convoy, l^ou must know, 
 I am supposed dead : the army breaking. 
 My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding. 
 And by the leave of my good lord the king, 
 We'll be, before our welcome. 
 
 Wid. Crentle 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 
 
 ^ mjj motive — ] Motive for assistant, or rather for mover. 
 
 9 Wkni saucy — ] Saucy nui}^ very properly signify luxuriotis, 
 and by consequence lascivious.
 
 THAT ENDS ^^^ELL. 301 
 
 Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play 
 With" what it loaths,"for that which is away: 
 
 But moi-e of this hereafter: ^\'ou, Diana, 
 
 Under my poor instructions yet must suft'cr 
 Something in my behalf. 
 
 j^ia. Let death and honesty* 
 
 Go with your impositions/ 1 am yours 
 Upon your will to suffer. 
 
 Hel. Yet, I i)ray 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. AVe must away ; 
 Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us :^ 
 AWs xvtlUhat aids well :^ still the fine's the crown;* 
 Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clow n. 
 
 Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a 
 snii)t-taft"ata fellow there ; whose villainous saffron* 
 would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth 
 
 ' death and liovestji — ] i. e. an hooest death. 
 
 » ipur impositions,] i. e. your commands. 
 
 3 Our i{:atT(ron is prepnr\f, and time revives tcs :'] Time revives 
 us, seems to refer to the happy and speedy termination of their 
 embarriifisments. Slie had just before said : 
 
 " Witli the word, the time will bring on summer.** 
 
 * Airs well that ends xvell ;] All's well that ends well, is one of 
 Camden's proverbial sentences. 
 
 s . sti/l thcfuu\s the crown;] i. e. the end ^ finis coronat. 
 
 '' whme vilhinous saffron — ] Here scmie particuUirities of 
 
 foyliionabk' dress are ridicukd. Snipl-tuffata needs no explana- 
 tion ; but villftinuus saffron alludes to a iantastic fu.->hion, then u -Ii 
 I'ollowed, of using j/rllon) starch for their bands and ruH"
 
 802 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 him ! it was 
 the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that 
 ever nature had praise for creating : if she had par- 
 taken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans 
 of a mother, I could not have owed her a more 
 rooted 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 sei-vice, and a 
 knave at a man's. 
 
 Laf. Your distinction ? 
 
 Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do 
 his semce. 
 
 Laf. So you were a knave at his sei-vice, 
 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 ?
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 303 
 
 Clo. Faith, sir, he has an Enghsh name ; but his 
 phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. 
 
 LciJ ' What prince is that ? 
 
 Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of 
 darkness ; alias, the devil. 
 
 Lqf. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give thee 
 not this to suggest^ thee from thy master thou 
 talkest of; serve hini still. 
 
 Clo. I am a woodland follow, 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 woi.i, 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 ; hut 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 w ays ; let my horses be 
 well looked to, without any tricks. 
 
 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 
 be judes' tricks ; which are tlieir own right by the 
 law of nature. \_Exit, 
 
 Laf. A slirewd 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 
 wliere he will. 
 
 LaJ . I like him well ; 'tis not amiss : and I was 
 
 ' lo suj^gt'st — ] i. e. seduce. 
 
 8 / am a ■woodland Jdlovo^ sir, &c.'] Sliakspcarc is but rarely 
 jjuilty of such impious trash. And it is ob.scrval)lL', tliat tlu.n la* 
 always put«t that into the moutli of Imjooh, which is now grown 
 tkc tljaracteristic of the Jin f ^fintlcman. Wa Rrukton. 
 
 '^ — — u/ili(i]>j)i/.'] i. c. mischicvuuily tf-aggis/i, u/duc/a/.
 
 sm ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 ]>i'0]X)se : 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 lorf" and I 
 wish tt happily effected. 
 
 Laf. His highness comes post fi'om Marseilles, 
 of as able body as when lie numbered thirty ; he 
 will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him 
 tficit ni sui'h mtelligence hath seldom failed. 
 
 Coi/.ut. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him 
 ere I die. 1 have letters, that ray son ^ ill be here 
 to-night : I shall beseech ynur lordship, to remain 
 with me till they meet together. 
 
 LaJ, Madam, I was thinking, with what manners 
 I might safely be admitted. 
 
 Count. You • need but plead your honourable 
 privilege. 
 
 LaJ. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; 
 but, I thank my God, it holds yet. 
 
 Re-aiter 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. . 
 
 11
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. SOS 
 
 Clo. But it is your carbonadoed ' face. 
 
 Laf. Let us go sec your son, I pray you ; I long 
 to talk with the young noble soldier. 
 
 C/o. 'Faith, there's a dozen of em, with delicate 
 fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow 
 the head, and nod at every man. \_E.veimt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCEXE I. Marseilles. A Street. 
 
 Enter Helena, Widow, ^r;?^/ Diana, zvith two 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 lie I. 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 one. 
 To wear your gentle limhs in my affairs, 
 Be bold, vou do so grow in my requital, 
 As nothing can unroot you. In hapj)y time ; 
 
 Enter a gentle Astringer.^ 
 
 This man may helj) me to his nrajesty's ear. 
 
 If he woukl 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 ; 
 
 ' carbonadoed — ] i. c. scorched like a piece of meat for 
 
 the gridiron. 
 
 * Enter n gpntle Astrin;2cr.3 A p;cntl(' nstrin<frr is a frciillcvuin 
 fnlcrmrr. The word is derived from oslcrctis or nuslcrcux, a 
 goshawk ; and thus, says C'owell, in his Laxv Dictinijari/ : " We 
 usually call a falconer, wlio keeps that kind of hawk, art 
 eu-'tritir^rr.**
 
 306 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Hd. That it will please you 
 To give this poor petition to the king ; 
 And aid me with that store of power you have. 
 To come into his presence. 
 
 Gent. The king's not here. 
 
 Hel. Not here, sir ? 
 
 Gent. Not, indeed ; 
 
 He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
 Than is his use. 
 
 JVid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! 
 
 Hel. AlVs 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, 
 Whatc'er falls more. — We must to horse again ; — 
 Go, go, provide. \_E.veunt. 
 
 ^ Our meanx mil make us nieans.^ Shakspeare delights much 
 in this kind of reduplication, sometimes so as to obscure his 
 meaning, Helena says, they ivill Jhllovo with such speed as the 
 means which they have will give them ability to exert. 
 
 9
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 307 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 Rousillon. The bmcr Court oJ'theCountesss Palace. 
 
 Ejitet^ Clown and Parolles. 
 
 Par. Good monsieur Lavatch,* give my lord 
 Lafcu this letter : I have ere now, sir, been better 
 known to von, when I liave held familiarity with 
 fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in for- 
 tune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her 
 strong displeasure. 
 
 C/o. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttisli, 
 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 ; I 
 spake but by a metaphor. 
 
 C/o. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
 stop my nose ; or against any man's mctaphor. 
 Pr'ythee, get thee further. 
 
 Par. Prav you, sir, deliver me this paper. 
 
 Clo. Foil, pr'ythee, stand away; A paper from 
 fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, 
 liere he comes himself. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's 
 cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the 
 unclean Hslipoud of her displeasure, and, as he says, 
 is muddied withul : Pray you, sir, use the carp as 
 you may ; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingc- 
 
 < Lava(ch,2 Th'S i« an undoubted, and perhaps irrcnie- 
 
 Jiable, corruption «)rsornc' French word. 
 
 i ft/loTx t/ie :u/u/.] i. c. stand tu the leeward of rue.
 
 308 ALUS WELL 
 
 niouSj foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his dis- 
 tress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your 
 lordship. \_Ed'it 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 cfecu for you : Let the justices 
 make you and fortune friends ; I am for other 
 business. 
 
 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 dbes 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 oifice of God and the devil ? 
 one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee 
 out. [Trumpets soundly The king's coming, I 
 know by his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further 
 after me ; I had talk of you last night : though you 
 arc a fool and a knave, you shall eat ; ' go to, follow. 
 
 Par. I praise God for you. ' [E.vcuiit. 
 
 f> 
 
 save 7/mir rro?Y/.] i. c. you need not ask ; — here it is. 
 
 ' you shall eat ;J Farolles has many of tlie ]i)ieaments of
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. SOQ 
 
 SCENE in. 
 
 The same. A Room in the Countess's Palace, 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, 
 Gentlemen, Guards, S<^X'. 
 
 Ki?fo\ We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem* 
 Was made nuicli poorer by it : luit your son. 
 As mad in follv, lack'd the sense to know 
 Her estimatiuw liome.^ 
 
 Count. 'Tis past, my liege : 
 
 And I beseeeh your majesty to make it 
 Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth ; 
 W hen oil antl fire, too strong for reason's force. 
 Overbears it, and burns on. 
 
 King. My honour'd lady, 
 
 I have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
 Thcjugli mv reven<j;cs were high bent upon him, 
 And watcli'd the time to shoot. 
 
 Lnf. This I must say, 
 
 But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord 
 Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, 
 Oftence of mi":htv note ; but to himself 
 The greatest wrong of all : he lost a \n ifc. 
 Whose beaut}- did astonish the survey 
 
 ValstalT.and sccnis to be the cliaracter wliith Shakspeare delighted 
 to draw, a ftllow tliat had more wit tliua virtue. Though justice 
 required lliat he slumld be deteeted and exposed, yet his vices sit 
 sojit in him that he is not at last sufRred to ?tarvc. Johnson. 
 
 " esteem — ] Meaning that his esteem was lessened in its 
 
 value by Bertram's miicondutt; since a person who w;"^ honoured 
 tixlh it could be fco ill ti catcd as lielana had bee n, and that with 
 impunity. i 
 
 '^ hunn:.'\ That \fi, coviplelcl^y i^ it,<; full extent.
 
 310 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Of richest eyes; ^ whose words all ears took captive;^ 
 Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve, 
 Humbly call'd mistress. 
 
 King. Praising what is lost, 
 
 Makes the remembrance dear. Weil, 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 relicks of it : let him approach, 
 A stranger, no offender ; and inform him, 
 3o 'tis our will he should. 
 
 Gent. - I shall, my liege. 
 
 \_E.vit Gentleman. 
 
 King. What says he to your daughter ? have you 
 spoke ? 
 
 Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. 
 
 King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters 
 sent me. 
 That set him high in fame. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 Laf. He looks well on't. 
 
 * O/'richest eye^;] Shakspeare means that her beauty had 
 astonished those, who, having seen the greatest number of fair 
 women, might be said to be the rkhest in ideas of beauty. 
 
 * the first view shall hill 
 
 All repetition .'3 The first intervietv shall put an end to all 
 recollection of the past. Shakspeare is now liastening to the end 
 of the play, finds his matter sufficient to fill up his remaining 
 scenes, and therefore, as on such other occasions, contracts his 
 dialogue and precipitates his action. Decency required that Ber- 
 tram's double crime of cruelty and disobedience, joined likewise 
 with some hypocrisy, should raise more resentment ; and that 
 though his mother might easily forgive him, his king should more 
 pertinaciously vindicate his own authority and Helen's merit. Of 
 all this Shakspeare could not be ignorant, but Shakspeare wanted 
 to conclude his play. Johnson.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 3 1 1 
 
 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 tiiou forth, 
 Tlie time is fair again. 
 
 Bcr. My high-repented blames,** 
 
 Dear sovereign pardon to me. 
 
 Ki?io\ All is whole ; 
 
 Not one word more of the consumed tune. 
 Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quickest decrees 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 >Steals ere we can eftbct them : You remember 
 The daughter of this lord ? 
 
 Bcr. Admiringly, my liege : at first 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 Durst make too bold a herald of mv tongue : 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixnig, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 W hich warp'd the line of every other favour ; 
 ►Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stofn ; 
 Extended or contracted all proportions. 
 To a most hideous object : Thence it came, 
 Tliat 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. 
 
 K'uig. Well excus'd : 
 
 That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away 
 From the great compt : But love, that comes too 
 
 late, 
 Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
 
 5 / nm not a day i)f season,'] That Is, of unhtlerriiplcd rain : 
 orif of those ivrt days that ut>ually happen about the venial ec)iiiiiox. 
 
 < My hiftli-rcpenii'tl blames,'] Hii^/i-repcritcd blames, are fuulu 
 rtpcDted of to the height, to the utmost. 
 VOL. III. B U
 
 312 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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. 
 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. W'hich better than the flrst, O dear hea- 
 ven, bless ! 
 Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease 1 
 
 Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's 
 name 
 Must be digested, give a favour from you. 
 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, 
 Tlie last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
 I saw upon her finger. 
 
 Ber, Hers it was not. 
 
 King. Now, pray you, let me see it ; for mine 
 
 eye, 
 While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. — 
 This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
 T bade lier, if her fortunes ever stood 
 Necessitied to help, that by this token 
 I would relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her 
 Of what should stead her most ? 
 
 Ber. My gracious sovereign^ 
 
 Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, 
 The ring was never hers. 
 
 Count. ^Xi} on my life.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 313 
 
 I have seen her wear it ; and she reckoned it 
 At her hfe's rate. 
 
 Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it. 
 
 Bc)\ You arc deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it : 
 In Florence was it from a casement thiown me,* 
 Wrapp'd in a pajxM-, which contained the name 
 Of her that tlnvw 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. 
 Than 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 
 
 5 III Florence xats it from a casement ihraitm me,'} Bertram still 
 continues to have too little virtue to deserve Helen. He did not 
 know indeed that it nas Helen's ring, but lie knew that he had it 
 not from a window. Johnson. 
 
 ^' noble she ivaSy and thourrJit 
 
 I stood ingag'd :] Ingn<r('dy in the sense of uumgrafi^ed, is a 
 word of exactly the same formation as inhahifahlc, which is used 
 by Shakspcare and the contemporary writers i'or nuinhahii able. 
 
 Ma LONE. 
 
 ' Plutus himself i 
 That knons the tinct and multiplying vtedicine^'] Plutus, the 
 •rand alchemist, who knows the tinctun which confers the pro- 
 perties of gold upon base metals, and the mailer by which /^o/f/ is 
 inulliplied, by which a small quantity of gold i» made to commu-. 
 nicate its f|ualities to a large mass of base metal. 
 
 *" 'J'hrn, if yoti know 
 
 That you arc well acquainted with yourself, 
 (.'oti/'fss '/jiY/.s //rrs,] The true meaning of this expression i.*, 
 \f yon hioxv that your faculties arc so sound, nalhrA you have linf 
 prnver consciousness of your mvn actions^ and are able to recollect 
 and relate what youliave done, tell me, &c JoiiNsON. 
 
 B H 2
 
 314 ALL'S WELL 
 
 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. 
 
 Be7\ She never saw it. 
 
 King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine 
 honour ; 
 And mak'st conjectural feai's to come into me, 
 Wliicli 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. \_E.vit 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^ 
 
 9 Myfore-past proofs, &c.] The proqfn ivhich I have already 
 had are sufficient to show that myjearsyfcxe not vniii and iirationaJ. 
 I have rather been hitherto more easy than I ought, and have 
 unreasonahly had too little four. Jo h nson. 
 
 ^ Whohath, for four or Jive removex, come shorty &c.] Who 
 hath missed the opportunity of presenting it in person to your ma- 
 jesty, either at Marseilles, or on the road from thence to Kou- 
 
 9
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 315 
 
 To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
 Aanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speeeh 
 Of tlie poor suppHant, who by this, I know, 
 Is here attending : her business looks in lier 
 With an importing visage ; and she told me. 
 In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
 Your hiohness with herself. 
 
 King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations to 
 marry me, iclien his icife xvas dead, I blush to say 
 it, he won me. Noic is the count Rousillon a 
 u-idouer ; 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: Grant 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 : — 
 Go, speedily, and bring again the count. 
 
 [E.veunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. 
 I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, 
 W^as foully snateh'd. 
 
 Count. Now, justice on the doers! 
 
 Enter Bertram, guarded. 
 King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to 
 
 you, 
 
 sillon, in consequence of having been four or five removes behind 
 you. Malon'k. 
 
 ^ JxkUI buy inca son-in4awin a fairy and loll him :] i. e. I'll buy 
 me a son-in-Iuw as fhc-y buy a horse in a fair ; toulhim, i. c. eiitiT 
 him oil the tout or toll-hook, to prove I came liuucbtiy by him, 
 and ascertain my title to him.
 
 3i6 ALUS WELL 
 
 And that you fly them as you swear them lordship. 
 Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that ? 
 
 Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and Diana. 
 
 Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
 Derived from the ancient Capukt ; 
 My suit, as I do understand, you know. 
 And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
 
 JFid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour 
 Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
 And both shall cease,' without your remedy. 
 
 King. Come hither, count ; Do you know these 
 women ? 
 
 Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny 
 But that I know them : Do they charge me further ? 
 
 Dia. WJiy do you look so strange upon your wife ? 
 
 Bei\ She's none of mine, my lord. 
 
 Dia. If you shall marry. 
 
 You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
 You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; 
 You give away myself, which is known mine ; 
 For I by vow am so embodied yours. 
 That she, which marries you, must marry me. 
 Either both or none. 
 
 Laf. Your reputation [To Bertram.] comes 
 too short for my daughter, you are no husband for 
 
 Bur. My lord, this is a fond and desperate crea- 
 ture, 
 Whom sometime I have laugh'd with : let your 
 
 his'hness 
 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, 
 
 3 . shall cease,] i, e. decetwe, die.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 317 
 
 Till vour deeds gain them : Fairer prove your ho- 
 
 nour, 
 
 Than in niv thought it lies ! 
 
 Did. Good my lord. 
 
 Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
 He had not my virginity. 
 
 King. \Miat say'st thou to her ? 
 
 Bcr. kShe's inijmdent, my lord ; 
 
 And was a common gamester to the camp. 
 
 Did. lie docs me wrong, my lord; if I were so. 
 He mi<:;ht liave hought 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 
 ( 'onferr'd by testament to the sequent issue. 
 Hath it been owM and worn. This is his wife ; 
 'J'hat ring's a thousand proofs. 
 
 King. Methought, you said,' 
 
 You saw one here in court could witness it. 
 
 Did. 1 did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
 So bad an instrument ; his name's Parolles. 
 
 Ldf . 1 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'thc world tax'd and debosh'd ; 
 Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth:'' 
 
 and rick validity,] Validity means v(due. 
 
 ...._ , ,^,, ....... ..J, J . ~ y — ^ — 
 
 5 Metliouo/it, i/oii said,'] The poet him here forgot hinisejl", 
 Diana has huid no such thing. Hlackstonk. 
 
 *• /A'.v (|U()ted — ] i. e. noted, or observed. 
 
 ' IVIkjsc naturt; iicUm, hnt to speak a Iriit't ;] i. o. oril// t» 
 tpuuk u truth.
 
 318 ALL'S WELL 
 
 Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter. 
 That will speak any thin^' ? 
 
 Ki^ig- 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 all 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-price 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, I will return it home. 
 And give me mine again. 
 
 Ber. I have it not. 
 
 King. What ring was yours, I pray you ? 
 
 l^ici' 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 a casement. 
 
 Dia. I iiave spoke the truth. 
 
 * allimpediments infancy* s course, &c.] Every thing that 
 
 obstructs love is an occasion by ivhich love is heightened. And, to 
 conclude, her solicitoticn concurring xvith her fashionable appear- 
 ance, she got the ring, I am not certain that"^! have attained the 
 true meaning of the word raodern, which, perhaps, signifies ra- 
 ther m ea nly pret ty. Johnson. 
 
 *-' May jy.^tly f\\Qi mc.'] May justly make meflist, by depriving 
 me (as Desdcmonasays) of the rites for which I love you.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 319 
 
 Efifer Parolles. 
 
 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 puiTiose : Did he love 
 this woman ? 
 
 Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how ? 
 
 King. How, I pray you? 
 
 Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a 
 woman. 
 
 King. How is that ? 
 
 Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 
 
 King. As thou art a knave, and no knave : — 
 What an equivocal companion^ is this ? 
 
 Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
 command. 
 
 LuJ. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
 orator. 
 
 Uia. Do you know, he })romised me marriage ? 
 
 Par. 'Faith, I know more than Fll 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 
 
 ' comjmnion — J i.e. fellow.
 
 $20 ALL'S WELL 
 
 talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I 
 know not what : yet I was in that credit with them 
 at that time, that I knew of their going to bed ; 
 and of other motions, as promising her marriage, 
 and things that would derive me ill will to speak of, 
 tlierefore 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 
 
 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.^ 
 
 But iJiou art too fine — ] Too Jine^ too full of finesse, 
 
 too artful. A French expression — trop fine. 
 ^ customer. — ] i. e. a common womaa. 
 
 11
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. aai 
 
 Dia. Bv" Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 
 
 Kint^-. \\' he re fore hast thou accus'd him all tliis 
 while t 
 
 Dill. Because he's ^uilt\', ai)d he is not guilty ; 
 He know's I am no maid, and he'll swear to't : 
 I'll swear, I am a maid, and he knows not. 
 Great kino;, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
 I am either maid, or elsi; this old man's wife. 
 
 \_Pointing to Lafeu. 
 
 K'ni^. She does abuse our ears; to prison with 
 her. 
 
 Did. Good mother, fetch my bail. — Stay, royal 
 sir ; [^E.vit W iUow. 
 
 The jeweller, that owes tlie ring, is sent for, 
 And he shall surety me. But for this lord. 
 Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himseif. 
 Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him : 
 He knows himself my bed he hi^di defifd;^ 
 Aiid at that time he got his wife with child : 
 Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick ; 
 ho there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick ; 
 And now behold the meaning. 
 
 Re-enter Widow, witk Helena. 
 
 King. Is there no exorcist"^ 
 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? 
 Is't real, that I see ? 
 
 11(1. No, my good lord ; 
 
 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, 
 
 * J!c kium's himsrlf, &c.] The dialogue is too long, since the 
 audience already knew the whole transaction; nor is tliero nay 
 reason ff)r pu/zling the King and playing with his passions ; but it 
 was much eakier than to make apathetical interview het\veen He- 
 len and her husband, her mother, and the King. Johnson. 
 
 s exorcist — ] SiialispearL' invariably use.s the word exor- 
 cist, to imply a person who can raise kpiri^s, not in the usual sense 
 of oiie tlutt cun lay thtin.
 
 322 ALL'S WELL 
 
 The name, and not the thing. 
 
 Ber. Both, both ; O, pardon ! 
 
 Hel. O, my good lord, when I was hke this maid, 
 I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring, 
 And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says. 
 When from mij finger you can get this ring. 
 And are by me with child, &c. — 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, I shall weep anon : — 
 Good Tom Drum, \To Parolles.] lend me a hand- 
 kerchief : So, I thank thee ; wait on me home, I'll 
 make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies alone, 
 they are scui'vy 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 uncroppcd flower, 
 
 \To Diana. 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower ; 
 For I can guess, that, by the 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.
 
 THAT ENDS WELL. 823 
 
 Advancing:' 
 
 The kings a beggar, noic the play is done : 
 All is well ended, //" this suit he icon. 
 That you express eontent ; nhich ice xcill payy 
 filth strife to please you, day exceeding day : 
 Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts ;^ 
 Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 
 
 [Exeunt.' 
 
 ^ Ours be your patience theuy and yours our parts ;] The mean- 
 ing is: Grant us then your patience : hear us without interrup- 
 tion. And take our parts ; that is, support and defend us. 
 
 7 This play has nianj' dehghtful scenes, though not sufficiently- 
 probable, and some happy cliaracters, though not new, nor pro- 
 duced by any deep knowledge ot" human nature. Parolles is a 
 boaster and a coward, such as has always been the sport of the 
 stage, but perhaps never raised more laughter or contempt than 
 in the hands of Shakspeare. 
 
 I cannot reconcile my heart to Bertram ; a man noble without 
 generosity, and young without truth ; who marries Helen as a 
 coward, and leaves her as a profligate: when she is dead by his 
 unkindness, sneaks home to a second marriage, is accused by a 
 woman whom he has wronged, defends himself by falsehood, and 
 is dismissed to happiness. 
 
 The story of liertram and Diana had been told before of Ma- 
 riana and Angclo, and, to confess the truth, scarcely merited to 
 be heard a second time. Johnsox.
 
 TAMING 
 
 OB 
 
 THE SURE W.* 
 
 VOL. iir. 
 
 Cc
 
 * Tamin'g of the Shrew.] We have hitherto supposed 
 Shakspeare the author of The Taming of the Shreiv, but his pro- 
 perty in it is extremely disputable. I will give my opinion, and 
 the reasons on which it is founded. I suppose then the present 
 plav not originnl/j/ the work of Shakspeare, but restored by him to 
 the stage, with the whole Induction of the Tinker; and some 
 other occasional improvements ; especially in the character of 
 Petruchio. It is very obvious that the Induction and the Play 
 were either the v.orks of ditterent hands, or written at a great in- 
 terval of time. The former is in our author's br^^f manner, and a 
 great part of the latter in his xvorsf, or even below it. Dr. War- 
 burti)n declares it to be certainly spurious ; and without doubt, 
 supposi/ig it to have been written by Shakspeare, it must have been 
 one of his earliest productions. Yet it is not mentioned in the list 
 of his works by Meres in 151;o. 
 
 I have met with a flicetious piece of Sir John Harrington, 
 printed in 1.596, (and possibly there may be an earlier edition,) 
 culled T/ie Melamorphosis ofAjax, where I suspect an allusion to 
 the old play: " Read the Booke oi Taming a S/irexv, which hath 
 made a number of us so perfect, that noio every one can rule a 
 slirew in our countrey, save he that hath hir." — I am aware a 
 modern linguist may object that the word book does not at present 
 seem dramatich, but it was once technically so: Gosson, in his 
 Schoole of Abuse, containing a plenxaitnt hivective against Poets, 
 Pipers, Players, Jesters, and such li/ie Caterpillars of a Common- 
 wealth, 1579, mentions " twoo prose bookes played at the Bell- 
 Sauage ;" and Hearne tells us, in a note at the end of IVilliam of 
 Worcester, that he had seen a MS. in the nature ol" a Play or In- 
 lerlude, intitled The Bo^jke of Sir Thomas More. 
 
 And in fict there is such an old anonymous play in Mr. Pope'.-; 
 list: "A pleasant conceited histor)', called. The Taming of a 
 S/ireii- — sundry times acted by the Earl of Pembroke his servants." 
 Which seems "to have been republished by the remains of that 
 company in 1607, when Shakspeare*s copy appeared at the 
 Black-Priars or the Globe. — Nor let this seem derogatory from 
 the character of our poet. There is no reason to believe that he 
 wanted to claim the play as his own ; for it was not even iirinted 
 till some years after his dcvith ; but he merely revived it on his 
 ^tage us a manager. 
 
 In support of what I have said relative to this play, let me only 
 observe further at present, that the author of Hamlet speaks of 
 Gcmzago, and his wife Bapti^ta ; but the author of The Taming 
 of the Shrevc knew Baptista to be the name of a man. Mr. CapcU 
 mdeed made me doubt, by declaring th'e authenticity of it to be 
 confirmed by the testimony of Sir Aston Cockayn. I knew Sir 
 Aston wa<« nuich acquainted with the writers immediately subse- 
 quent to Shakspeare ; and I was not inclineJ to dispute his 
 
 > OL. III. D D
 
 auth'jiity : bat liow was I surprised, when I found that Cockayu 
 ascribes nothing move to Shakspeare, than the Induct ion- Winced- 
 Ale and the Beggar! I hope this was only a slip of Mr. Capell's 
 memory. Farmer. 
 
 In spite of the great deference which is due from every com- 
 mentator to Dr. Farmer's judgment, I own I cannot concur with 
 him on the present occasion. I know not to whom I could im- 
 pute this comedy, if Shakspeare was not its author. I think hi* 
 hand is visible in almost every scene, though perhaps not so evi- 
 dently as in those which pass between Katharine and Petruchio. 
 I once thought that the name of this play might have been taken 
 from an old story, entitled, The Wi/J lapped in MorelPs Shiny or 
 'Jlie Taming of a Shrew; but I have since discovered among- 
 the entries in the books of the Stationers' Company the following : 
 " Peter Shorte] May 2, 1594, a pleasaunt conceyted Ijistorie, 
 called. The Taminge of a Shroxve.'* It is likewise entered to 
 Kich. Ling, Jan. 22, 1606; and to John Smythwicke, Nov. 19, 
 1607. 
 
 It was no uncommon practice among the authors of the age 
 of Shakspeare, to avail themselves of the titles of ancient per- 
 formances. Thus, as Mr. Warton has observed, Spenser sent 
 out his Pastorals under the title of The Shepherd^s Kalendar, a 
 work which had been printed by Wynken de Worde, and re- 
 printed about tv.enty years before these poems of Spenser ap- 
 peared, viz. 1559. 
 
 Dr. Percy, in the first volume of his Reliqucs of Ancient Eng- 
 lish Poetrij, is of opinion, that The Frolicksome Duke, or the 
 Tinker^ good Fortune, an ancient ballad in the Pepys' Collection, 
 miglit have suggested to Shakspeare the Induction for this co- 
 medy. 
 
 The following story, however, which might have been the 
 parent of all the rest, is related by Burton in his Anatoniy of 
 Melancholi/, edit. 1632, p. 64-9 : " A Tartar Prince, saith Marcus 
 Polus, Lib. II. cap. 28, called Senex de Montibm, the better to 
 establish his government amongst his subjects, and to keepe them 
 in awe, found a convenient place in a pleasant valley environed 
 Mith hills, in ivhich he made a dclitious pnrlcc full of odorifferous 
 flowers and fruits, and a falace full of all XKorldly contents that 
 could possibly be devised, nmsicJce,.pictures, variety of meats, 
 See. and chose out a certaine young man whom with a soporiferovs 
 put ion he so benmnmed, that he perceived nothing: and so, fast 
 asleepe as he ivas, caused him to be conveied into thisfaire gardeyi. 
 Where, after he had lived a while in all such pleasures as sensuall 
 man could desire, he cast him into a slrcpe againe, and brought 
 him forth, thrtt ichen he xvaked he anight tell others he hadheene in 
 Parudi.st."— Marco Paolo^ quoted by Burtoji, was a traveller of 
 tIjc 13th c(-i)tiirv.
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher \^TOte what may be called a sequel to 
 this conifdy, viz. The JVomaii's Prize, or the Tamer Tam^d ; in 
 which Pctruchio is subdued by a second wife. Steevens. 
 
 Our author's Taming of the Shrexo was written, I imagine, in 
 1594. Malgnk. 
 
 BD 2
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 A Lord. 
 
 Christopher Sly, a drunken Tinker. "J 
 
 Hostess, Page, Players, Hu?tfs77ien,f Persons in the 
 
 and other servants attending onC Induction. 
 
 the Lord. j 
 
 Baptista, a rich Gentleman o/" Padua. 
 Vincentio, an old Gentleman of Pisa. 
 Lucentio, Son to Vincentio, ifi love with Bianca. 
 Petruchio, a Ge7itleman of Verona, a Suitor to 
 Katharina. 
 
 Gremio, \ o l ^ t>- 
 
 TT ^ • r Suitors to iJianca. 
 Hortensio, > 
 
 T>- J ^1 r Servants to Lucentio. 
 Biondello, y 
 
 rumio, f Servayits to Petruchio. 
 Pedant, an old Felloxv set up to personate Vincentio. 
 
 Katharina, the Shrexv ; \ r\ i^ ^ -d ^- ^ 
 ■o- 7 c- ^ r L>aus;nters to Baptista. 
 
 Bianca, her Sister, y ° -^ 
 
 Widow, 
 
 Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on 
 Baptista and Petruchio. 
 
 SCENE, sometimes in Padua ; and sometimes in 
 Petruchio's House in the Country.
 
 TAMING 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SHREW, 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Before an Alehouse on a Heath. 
 
 Enter Hostess aiid Sly. 
 
 Sly. ril phecse you,^ in faith. 
 
 Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue! 
 
 Sly. Varc a baggage ; the Slies arc no rogues :^ 
 Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard 
 Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris ;^ let the 
 world shde : Sessa ! 
 
 Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have 
 burst?* 
 
 ' rU phcrsc you,"] To pheese or fease, is to separate a twist 
 into single threads. In the figurative sense it may well enough 
 be taken, like tcaze or toze, for to harass, to plague, or to beat. 
 Perhaps /'// pheese you, may be equivalent to /'// comb yourhcad^ 
 a phrase vulgarly used by persous of Sly's character on like 
 occa'^ions. 
 
 ^ no rogues:] That is, vagrantSy no mean fellows, but 
 
 gentknien. Johnson. 
 
 » paucas pallabris ;] iSly, as an ignorant fellow, is pur- 
 posely made to ami at languages out of his knowledge, and knock 
 tlie words out of joint. The Spaniards say, pocas palabras, i. c. 
 few words: as they do likewise, Ccssa, i. e. be (juiet. 
 
 4 y(,u have burst?] To burst and to break were anciently 
 
 synonymous. Burst is still used for broke in the North of EnglancL
 
 332 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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 : I'll 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 emboss'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 ? 
 I 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. 
 
 ^ Go hy, says Jeronimy ; — Go to thy cold bed, and marm 
 
 ih.ee.'^ These phrases are allusions to a fustian old play, called 
 Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy, which was the common butt 
 of raillery to all the poets in Shakspeare's time. 
 
 '' the thirdborough.] The office of Thirdborough is the 
 
 same with that of Corisfable, except in places where there are both, 
 in whiqh case the former is little more than the constable's assistant. 
 
 ' Brach Alerriman, — the poor cur is einboss'd,] The Commen- 
 tators are not agreed as to the meaning of bi-ach ; it is a species 
 of hound, but of what kind, uncertain. Mr. Malone thinks that 
 Brach is a verb ; and Sir' T. Hanmer reads Leech Merriman : i, e. 
 apply some remedies to him. 
 
 Embossed is a hunting term. When a deer is hard run, and 
 
 foams at the mouth, he is said to be embossed. A dog also when 
 
 he is strained with hard-running (especially upon hard ground,) 
 
 will have his knees swelled, and then he is said to be embQus'd .' 
 
 ; from the French word basse, which signifies a tumour.
 
 TxiMING OF THE SHREW. 333 
 
 Lord. TIiou art a fool ; if Echo were as fleet, 
 I would esteem him worth a dozen sueli. 
 But sup them well, and look unto them all ; 
 To-morrow I intend to hunt asain. 
 
 1 IIiui. I will, mv lord. 
 
 Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk ? See, 
 doth he breathe? 
 
 2 Jinn. He breathes, my lord : Were he not 
 
 warm'd with ale, 
 This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundlv. 
 
 Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine lie 
 lies ! 
 Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! 
 
 Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
 
 Wliat think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
 Wrapj/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 besuar then forsret himself? 
 
 1 Ilitn. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot 
 
 choose. 
 
 2 IIiui. It would seem strange unto him when 
 
 he wak'd. 
 Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless 
 
 fancy. 
 Tlien take him up, and manage wtII the jest : — 
 Carry him gently to mv fairest chamber, 
 And hang it round with all niy wanton pictures : 
 JialiM his foul head with warm distilled waters, 
 And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet : 
 Procure me musick 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, — \\ li;it is it ^ uur honour will command ? 
 L»'t one attend him with a silver bason, 
 Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flower.s j
 
 334 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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 ajjparel 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, 
 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 I^ 
 
 1 Hull. Mylord, I warrant you, we'll play ourpart; 
 As he shall think, by our true diligence. 
 He is no less than what we say he is. 
 
 Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ; 
 And each one to his office, when he wakes. — 
 
 \_Some bear out Sly. A trumpet soufids. 
 Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : — 
 
 [^Ed'it 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 ? 
 
 8 This do, and do it kindly,] Kindly, means naturally. 
 
 ^ modesty.'} By modesty is meant moderation, without 
 
 suffering our merriment to break into an exces$.
 
 TAjNIING of the shrew. 335 
 
 2 Play. 80 please your lordship to accept our 
 ' duty.* 
 
 Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I remem- 
 ber, 
 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 
 '\^^as aptlv fitted, and naturally perform'd. 
 
 1 PUiij. I think, 'twas JSoto, that your honour 
 means. 
 
 Lord. 'Tis very true ; — thou didst it excellent.— 
 "Well, vou are come to me in happy time ; 
 The rather for I have some sport in hand, 
 ^Vherein your cunning can assist me much. 
 There is a lord will hear you play to-night : 
 But I am doubtful of your modesties ; 
 J^st, 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. 
 
 i Plaij. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain our- 
 selves, 
 Were he the veriest antick in the world. 
 
 Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery.* 
 
 ' lo accept our duty.'] It was in those times the custom of 
 
 |)layers to travel in companies, and otier their service at great 
 houses. Johnson. 
 
 * take them to the buttery,] Mr. Pope had probably these 
 
 words in his thoughts, when he wrote the following passage of his 
 preface : " — the top of the profession were then mere phiyers, 
 not gentlemen of the stage ; they were led into the butttri/ by the 
 htcvard, not placed at tlu' lord's ta!)lc,(n the lady's toilette." But 
 he seems not to have observed, that the players here introduced 
 are strollers : and there is no reason to suppose that our author, 
 fleminge, Riirbage, C«)ndelle, &c. who were licensed by King 
 James, wcri- treated in this manner. Malone. 
 
 At tli(; |)eriod when this comedy wa^ written, and for many 
 years alter, tlie profession of a player was scarcely allowed to be
 
 336 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 And give them friendly welcome every one : 
 Let them want nothing that my house affords. — 
 
 [^E.veunt Servant and Players* 
 Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, 
 
 [To a Servant. 
 And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
 That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber. 
 And call him — madam, do him obeisance. 
 Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,) 
 He bear himself with honourable action. 
 Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies 
 Unto their lords, by them accomplished : 
 Such duty to the drunkard let him do. 
 With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy ; 
 And say, — What is't your honour will command, 
 Wherein your lady, and your humble wife. 
 May show her duty, and make known her love ? 
 And then -r- with kind cmbracemcnts, tempting 
 
 kisses, 
 And with declining head into his bosom,- — 
 Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
 To 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 have 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 convey'd, 
 
 reputable. The im'agined dignity of those wlio did not belong to 
 itinerant companies, is, thei'efore, unworthy consideration. I can 
 as easily believe that the blundering editors of the tirst folio were 
 suffered to lean their hands on Queen Elizabeth's chair of state, 
 as that they w ere admitted to the table of the Earl of Leicester, 
 or tlie toilette of Lady Ilunsdon. Like Stephen in Every Man 
 in his IIumoHry the greatest indulgence our histrionic leaders 
 could have expected, would have been " a trencher and a nap- 
 kin in the buttery." Stkevens. 
 
 2 An onion — ] It is not unlikely that the onion was an expe- 
 dient used by the actors of interludes. 
 10
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 337 
 
 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
 
 See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst; 
 
 Anon rU give thee more instructions. 
 
 \^Ed'U 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. 
 Ill in to counsel them : haply, my presence. 
 May well abate the over-merry spleen, 
 Which otherwise would grow into extremes. 
 
 \_E.veu7}t. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. 
 
 Sly /.? discovered in a rich night goxcnj ii-ith At- 
 tendants ; some ivitli apparel, others u'ith hason, 
 cxccr, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, 
 dressed like a Servant. 
 
 Sli/. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 
 
 1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of 
 
 sack r 
 
 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these 
 
 conserves ? 
 
 3 Serv. \Vliat raiment will your honour wear to- 
 
 day ? 
 .S7y. I am Christophero Sly ; call not me — honour, 
 nor lordshij) : I never drank sack in my life; and it 
 you give me any conserves, give me conserves ot 
 beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear : f«»r I 
 have no move doublets than backs, no more stock-
 
 338 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, 
 sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as 
 my toes look through the overleather. 
 
 Lo7^d. Heaven cease this idle humour in your ho» 
 nour ! 
 O, that a mighty man, of such descent. 
 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 pro- 
 fession a tinker ? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale- 
 wife of Wincot, if she know me not : if she say I 
 am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, 
 score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. 
 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 musick ? hark ! Apollo plays, 
 
 * o/' Burton-heath >   i .   Marian Hacket, the fat ale-iKife of 
 
 Wincot,] I suspect we should read — £«rto?z-heath. Barton and 
 Wocdmancotj or, as it is vulgarly pronounced, Woncot, are both 
 of them in Gloucestershire, near the residence of Shakspeare's 
 old enemy. Justice Shallow. Very probably too, this fat ale- 
 wife might be a real character. Steevens. 
 
 ^ lam not bestraught :] Bestraught seems to have been 
 
 Synonymous to distratt^ht or distracted. 
 
 9
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. [339 
 
 And twenty c?igcd iiigbtino-alos do sing: 
 
 Or wilt thou sleep ? Nve'll have thee to a couch, 
 
 .Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
 
 On purpose trinnn'd up for Semiraniis. 
 
 8av, thou wilt walk : we will bestrew the ground : 
 
 Or wilt thou ride ? tliy horses shall be trapp d, 
 
 Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
 
 Dost thou love hawking- ? thou hast hawks will 
 
 soar 
 Above the niornins; lark : Or wilt thou hunt? 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkni 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 Se?'V. Dost thou love pictures r we will fetch 
 
 thee straight 
 Adonis, ])ainted by a running brook : 
 And Cytherea all in sedges hid ; 
 \\'hieh seem to move and wanton with her breath. 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 
 Lord. We'll show thee lo, as $he was a maid ; 
 And how she was beguiled and surj)ris'd. 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming througli a thorny 
 
 wood ; 
 Scratchino" her le^s that one shall swear she bleeds : 
 And at that sight shall sad A])ollo weep, 
 So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : 
 Thou hast a ladv far more beautiful 
 Than any woman in this waning age. 
 
 1 iitrv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for 
 thee, 
 Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, 
 She was tiie fairest creatine in the world ; 
 And yet she is inferior to none.
 
 340 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Sew. Wiirt 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 onc(^ 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 Hacket. 
 
 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. 
 
 ^ lec.t,'\ At the Court-leet, or courts of the manor.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 341 
 
 Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants. 
 
 Pase. How fares my noble lord ? 
 Siy. Marrv, 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 : 
 My men 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 ? 
 
 Lurd. 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. 
 
 Pane. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me ; 
 Beini!; all this time aljandon'd from your bed. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis nuirh ;• Servants, leavr me and her 
 
 aloiiC. 
 
 Madam, undress vou, and come now to bed. 
 
 Page. Tlirice noble lord, let me entreat of you^ 
 To ]3ardon me yet i'or a night or two ; 
 Or, if not so, until th(? sun be set: 
 For you4- physicians have expressly charg'd, 
 In })eril to incin* yuur former malady, 
 Tliat I siiould vet absent me from yo\ir bed : 
 1 lujpe, this reason stands fur my excuse. 
 
 Sli/. Ay, it stands <o, that I may hardly tarry so 
 >i<jn^. lint I would ije loath to fall into my dreanin 
 aj^ain ; I will tlicri'lyre tan y, in desjjitr of tiie lli'sh 
 and the blood. 

 
 342 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Ser'v. Your honour's players^ hearing your ameud- 
 ment, 
 Are come to play a pleasant comedy, 
 For so your doctors hold it very meet ; 
 Seeing too much sadness hath congcal'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 
 eommonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling- 
 trick P^ 
 
 Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing 
 stuff. 
 
 Sly. What, houshold 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. [They sit down. 
 
 ' 7* not a eommonty a Christmas gambol, or a tinnhUng trich?'] 
 Thus the old copies ; the modern ones read — It is not a com- 
 modity, &c. Commonty for comedy, &c. Steevens. 
 
 In tlie old play the players themselves use the word commodity 
 corruptly for a comedy. Blackstone.
 
 TAMING OF TIUE SHREW. 343 
 
 ACT J. 
 
 SCEXE I. Padua. A public Place, 
 
 Enter Lucentio aud Trakio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I bad 
 To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, — 
 I am arriv'd for fruitful Lond)ardy, 
 The pleasant warden of t^ivat Italy; 
 And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd 
 With his good will, and thy o(K)d company, 
 Most trusty servant, well approved 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 traffick tlirough the world, 
 Vineentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
 \'inccntio his son, brought up in Florence, 
 It shall become, to serve all hopes eoneeiv'd,^ 
 To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds : 
 And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, 
 \'irtuc, and that part of philosophy 
 Will I apply, that treats of happiness 
 By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. 
 'i ell jne thy mind : for I have Pisa left, 
 And am to Padua come ; as he that leaves 
 A shallow plav^h, to plunge him in the deep, 
 And with satii'ty seeks to quench his thirst. 
 
 8 iticrcjiious — "i It was prohubly written -:-/7/or««aw? 
 
 Ktodic-s, l)ut ottliis and ji tlMmsaacl such obscrvutions tlicic is lit- 
 tle ctrtaiiit). In Cole's Diclionari/, 1G77, it is remarked — " in- 
 genuous and iu'^ctiioufi aru too of'tt ii coMrouiidcd." 
 
 ' /o serve uU hopes conceivd,] To I'uitil tlic cxpcctutions 
 
 of liis Iriends. 
 
 VUL. III. E K
 
 344 TAMING OF THE SHREW, 
 
 Tra. Mi per donate^ gentle master mine, 
 I am in all affected as yom-self ; 
 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 logick with acquaintance that you have, 
 And practise rhetorick in your common talk : 
 Musick and poesy use to quicken you ; "^ 
 The mathematicks, and the metaphysicks. 
 Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves you : 
 No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en ; — ^ 
 In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 
 
 Luc. 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 
 i^uch friends, as time in Padua shall beget. 
 But stay awhile : What company is this ? 
 
 Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. 
 
 Enter Baptij>ta, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, 
 and HoRTENSio. Lucentio and Tranio stand 
 aside. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, importune 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, 
 
   Aristotle's checks,] Tranio is here descantiog on aca- 
 demical learning, and mentions by name six of the seven liberal 
 sciences. I suspect this to be a mis-print, made by some copyist 
 or compositor, for ethicks. The sense confirms it. Blackstone. 
 
 *— — — to quicken 3^ow;j i. c. animate. 
 11
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 315 
 
 Because I know you well, and love you well, 
 Leave shall vou have to court her at your pleasure. 
 
 Ore. To cart her rather : She's too rough for 
 n\e : — 
 There, there Hortensio, will you any wife ? 
 
 Kath. 1 pray you, sir, [To Bap.] is it your will 
 To make a stale of me amongst these mates ? 
 
 Hur. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? no 
 mates for you. 
 Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. 
 
 Kath. Ffaith, sir, you shall never need to feari 
 I wis, il is not half way to her heart : 
 lint, if it were, doubt not her care should be 
 To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool, 
 ^nd ])aint your face, and use you like a fool. 
 
 Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver 
 us! 
 
 Grc. And me too, good Lord! 
 
 Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime 
 toward ; 
 That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. 
 
 Luc. Hut 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 : 
 
 ' A prctti/ peat!] Peat or pet is a word of endearnnent ir«rm 
 pclit, htllc, an il' it uifcuat pretty little thiojj. 
 
 KE'l
 
 346 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 jNIy 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. 
 
 Ilor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?* 
 Sorry am I, that our good will eftects 
 Bianca s grief. 
 
 GrC' 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. \_Eiit Bianca. 
 
 And for I know, she takcth most delight 
 In musick, 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 faievvell. Katharina you may stay; 
 For I have more to commune with Bianca. \^Exif, 
 
 Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too ; May I 
 not? 
 What, shall I be appointed hours ; as though, bcr 
 
 like, 
 I knew not what to take, and what to leave ? Ha ! 
 
 \Emt. 
 
 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 
 
 4 SO strange?'] That is, so odd, so different from others 
 
 in your conduct. Johnson. 
 
 s cunning men — ] Cunning had not yet lost its original 
 
 signification oC knoiving, learned, as may be observed in the trans- 
 lation of tiie Bible. Johnson. 
 
 * — — your gifts — ] ^Gifis for endownents. 
 
 10
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 347 
 
 nails together, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's 
 dough on both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the love 
 I bear mv sweet Bianea, if I can by any means light 
 on a tit mm, toteaeh her that wherein she delights, 
 I will wish him to her father/ 
 
 Hur. So will 1, signior Gremio : But a word, 1 
 pray. Tliough the nature of our quarrel yet never 
 brook'd jjarle, know now, ujjou advice,^ it toucheth 
 us both, — that wc may yet again have access to our 
 fair mistress, and be hap])y rival's in Bianca's love, — 
 to labour and eftbct one tiling 'specially, 
 
 Gre. ^Miat's that, I pray ? 
 
 Hur. Marrv, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 
 
 Crre. A husband! a devil. 
 
 I lor. I ?ay, a husband. 
 
 Gre. I sav, a devil: Think'st thou, Hortcnsio, 
 though her father be very rich, any man is so very 
 a fool to be married to hell ? 
 
 llor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience 
 and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, 
 I here be jiood fellows in the world, an a man could 
 light on them, would take her with all faults^ and 
 money enough. 
 
 Grv. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her 
 dowry with this condition, — to be whipped at the 
 high-cross every morning. 
 
 Hur. 'Faith, as you say, tlierc's small choice in 
 rotten a])ples. But, come; since this bar in Jaw 
 makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly 
 maintained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daugh- 
 rcr to a husband, we set his youngest free for a hus- 
 band, and tlicii have to't alVesh. — Sweet JJianca! — 
 Ilajjpv man behisdole!'^ lie that runs fastest, gets 
 tlie ring. I low say you, t^ignior Gremio ? 
 
 ■' I nill wish him toiler father.'] i. c. I will rccnmmeiulhim. 
 
 * upon advice,] i. c. on considcigtion, or reflection. 
 
 ** Ilfippy man Lc his dole ! j A proverbial expression. Dole U
 
 348 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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 
 the house of her. Come on. 
 
 \^xeunt Gremio and Hortensio. 
 
 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'd so longly^ on the 
 maid, 
 
 any thing dealt out or distributed, though its original meaning 
 was the provision given away at the doors of great men's houses. 
 
 Steevens. 
 
 ' — — is not rated — ] Is not driven out by chiding. 
 
 • Redime^ &c.] Our author had this line from LiUy^ which I 
 mention, that it might not be brought as an argument for his learn- 
 ing. Johnson. 
 
 3 longly — ] i. e. longingly. I have met with no exam- 
 ple of this adverb. Steevens.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 34^ 
 
 Perhaps you luark'd not what's the pith of all. 
 
 Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty iu her face, 
 8uch 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. 
 
 Tni. 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 
 trance. 
 I pray, awake, sir ; If you love the maid. 
 Bend thou^iits and wits to achieve her. Tlius it 
 
 stands : — 
 Her elder 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. 
 
 Laic. I have it, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Master, for my hand. 
 
 Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 
 
 Luc. Tell me thine first. 
 
 Tra. You will be schoolmaster. 
 
 And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
 That's your device. 
 
 Luc, It is : May it l)e done ? 
 
 * dau'^lttcr of A^enor — ] Europa, for wJiosc sake Jupi- 
 ter transformed himeelfinto a bull.
 
 350 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Tra, Not possible ; For who shall bear your 
 part, 
 Ajid be in Padua here Vincentio's son : 
 Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ? 
 Visit his countrymen, and banquet them ? 
 
 Liic. Basta;^ content thee ; for I have it fiill.^ 
 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 txchange habits. 
 In brief then, sir, sith it your pleasure is. 
 And I avn 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. 
 
 Kiiter Biondello. 
 
 Here comes thp rogue. — Sirrah,, where have you 
 ' been ? 
 
 5 Boxia ;] i. e. '//.? ofough ; Italian and Spanish. 
 
 ^ 1 have it fnU.'\ i. c. conceive our stratagem in its full 
 
 extent, I have alread) planned the whole of it. 
 ' po?/.] rort is figure, show, appearance.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 351 
 
 BioH. Where have I been ? Nay, how now, where 
 are you ? 
 Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes ? 
 Or you stoFn his r or both ( pray, what's the news } 
 
 Luc. Sirrah, come hicher ; '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 1 for my escape have put on his ; 
 For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
 I kiird 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 r 
 
 Bio?h I, sir? ne'er a whit. 
 
 Lia: And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth; 
 Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. 
 
 Bio?i. The better for him ; 'Would I were so too ! 
 Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next 
 wish after, — 
 That LiKcntio, indeed, had Baptista's youngest 
 
 (laughter. 
 T^ut, sirrah, — not for my sake, but your master's, — 
 
 I advise 
 You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com- 
 
 j)anies ; 
 VMien 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 ; 
 J\) make one among these wooers : If thou ask mc 
 
 why,— 
 ?^ufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty." 
 
 [_EA'citni. 
 
 « good and neigkti/.'] The division for the second Act of 
 
 diis j)lay is ncitlur marked in the foho nor quarto editions. Shak- 
 opcare scemti to have nieuut the hrst Act to conclude here, where
 
 352 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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 hut begun. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece ofxvork, madam 
 lady ; 'JVouldU were done ! 
 
 SCENE H. 
 
 The same. Before Hortensio's House. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Grumio. 
 
 Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. 
 To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all. 
 My best beloved and approved 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 am I, 
 sir, that I should knock you here, sir ? 
 
 Pet. Villain, 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 GwxjMio by the ears. 
 
 the speeches of the Tinker are introduced; though they have been 
 hitherto thrown to the end of the first Act, according to a modern 
 and arbitrary regulation. Steevens. 
 
 9 wring it ;'] Here seems to be a quibble between rhg'-^ 
 
 ing at a door, and ixriuging a man's ears. Steevens.
 
 TAMING OF THE ISIIREW. 353 
 
 Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 
 Ftt. Now, knock when 1 l^id )-ou : sirraii t 
 villain ! 
 
 Enttr HoRTENsio. 
 
 Hor. How now? what's the matter? — My old 
 friend Grumio ! and mv good friend Petruehio \ — 
 How do vou all at Wn-ona ? 
 
 Pet. JSignior Hortensio, come you to part th« 
 fray ? 
 Con tut to il core bene troiato, may I say. 
 
 Hor. jlila noiftra casa bow xemito, 
 ]\Io/to hofwrato sionor miu Fetnichio. 
 Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will eompound 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, — lie bid me knock 
 him, and rap him soundly, sir : Well, was it iit for 
 a servant to use his master so ; being, perhaps, (for 
 aught I see,) two and thirty, — a pip out ? 
 Whom, 'would to God, 1 had well knock'd at first. 
 Then had not (irumio 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 ? — () heavens ! 
 Spake you not these words plain, — Sirrah, loiock iiia 
 
 here, 
 lid J) me here, knock me xcell, and knock me sound/j/?' 
 And come you now with — knocking at the gate ? 
 Pet. .Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 
 
 ' • uhal he 'leges in Latin.'] i. e. I suppose, what he nlhj^es 
 
 ill Latin. S'JKKVENs. 
 
 * knock me saiindlif ?] Shakspi-are seems to design a ridi- 
 cule on thisclijjped and ungrammaticid phraseology; whicli yet 
 he haij introduced in Olhtllo : 
 
 " I pray talk me of" Cassio."
 
 354 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Ho7\ Pctruchio^ patience ; I am Griimio's pledge : 
 Why, this a heavy chance 'twixt him and you ; 
 Your ancient, trusty, pleasant sei-vant Grumio. 
 And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale 
 Blows you to Padua here, from old. Verona ? 
 
 Peti Such wind as scatters young men through the 
 world. 
 To seek their fortunes further than at home. 
 Where small experience grows. But, in a few,^ 
 Signior Ilortensio, 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 shrewd ill-favourVl 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 ril not wish thee to her. 
 
 Pet. Signior Ilortensio, 'twixt such friends as wc, 
 Few words suffice : and, therefore, if thou know 
 One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
 (As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance,)* 
 Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,^ 
 As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd 
 
 ^ Where amall experie7tce groivs. But, in a few,] lit a Jewy 
 means the same as ?« */io>-i, injem words, Johnson. 
 
 ■* (As ivealt/i is burthen of my ivooing dance,)] The hurlhcn of 
 a dance is an expression which I have never heard ; the burthen 
 of his wooing song had been more proper. Joiikson. 
 
 ^ Be she as foul as tvas F/orcnf/us' love,'] The allusion is to a 
 story told by (.iower in the first Book De Confessione Amantis. 
 Florent is the name of a knight who had bound himself to marry 
 a djformed hag, provided she taught him the solution of a riddle 
 on which his life depended.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 355 
 
 As Sorrates' Xantippc, or a worse, 
 
 ISlie moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
 
 AiVeetion's edge in me ; were she as rough 
 
 As are the swelhng Athiatiek seas : 
 
 I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ; 
 
 It' wealthily, then happily in Padua. 
 
 Civu. 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 aglct-haby;^ or an old trot 
 with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she liavc as 
 many diseases as two and fifty horses : why, nothing 
 romes amiss, so money eonies withal. 
 
 Ilor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus far ill, 
 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 beyond all measure, 
 Tliat, were my state far worser than it is, 
 I would not wed her for a mine of !;(>ld, 
 
 l^ti. Hortensio, peace; thou know 'i>t not goldTis 
 effect : — 
 Tell me her fathers name, and 'tis enough ; 
 For I will board her, though she chide as loud 
 As thunder, when the clouds in autunni crack., 
 
 Ilor. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
 An artable and courteous gentleman : 
 Her name is Kathariiia Minola, 
 llenovvnM in Padua for her scolding tongue. 
 
 Fct. I know her father, though I know not her ; 
 
 '' uuUt-baly ;] i. <.'. a Uiiniuutive being, not exceeding ia 
 
 si2e tlje tag of u point. An auUt-babij was u small image or head 
 cut on the tag of a point, or hice. 
 
 '' s/ircn'l,] Here nieatid, liaving the 4UHlitie.s of 8 shreu 
 
 The adjective in now used only in the sense vi' acuic, intdhj^cnt.
 
 356 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 And he knew my deceased father well : — 
 I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her ; 
 And therefore let me be thus bold with yoii;, 
 To give you over at this fii-st encounter, 
 Ilnless you will accompany me thither. 
 
 Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour 
 lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I 
 do, she would think scolding would do little good 
 upon him : IShe 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.*^ Til tell you 
 what, sir, — an she stand him'-' but a little, he will 
 throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her with 
 it, that she sliall have no more eyes to see withal 
 than a cat : ' You know him not, sir. 
 
 Ho7\ 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 vv^ithholds 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 ev^er 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 I 
 
 ^ an he begin once, ]ie*U rail in his rope-tricks.] Ropery or 
 
 rope-tricks originally signified abusive language, without any de- 
 terminate idea ; such language as parrots are taught to speak- 
 
 '-* ' stand hivd — ] i. e. withstand, resist him. 
 
 ' that she &/iall have ho more eyes to see voithal than a cat ;] 
 
 It may mean, that he shall swell up her eyes with blows, till she 
 shall seem to peep with a contracted pupil, like a cat in the light. 
 
 JOHNKON. 
 
 * Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en ;'] To take order is 
 to take measures.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 357 
 
 A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. 
 
 Ilor. Now shall iiiv tVioiid Petruchio do me cracc; 
 And otler me, disouis'd in soher robes, 
 To old Baptista as a sehoohnaster 
 Well seen in nuisiek/ to instruet 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 ; xr'ith Jiim Lucentio disguised xviifi 
 books iDidcr his arm, 
 
 Gru. Here's no knavery! See; to beguile the 
 old folks, how the young folks lay their heads to- 
 l^ether ! Master, master, look about you : "VA'ho goe» 
 there r ha! 
 
 Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love :— -• 
 Petruchio, stand by a while. 
 
 Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous! 
 
 [Thei/ rt'tirc. 
 
 Gre. O, very well ; I have perusM the note. 
 Hark you, sir ; I'll have them very fairly bound : 
 All books of love, sec 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 loo. 
 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 \<mi, 
 As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,) 
 As lirndy as yourself were still in place: 
 Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful \>or(U 
 Than you, unless you we^e a scholar, sir. 
 
 ' /rt7/scen in musick^'] Seen is versed, prnclifeil. 
 
 ^ at any Jictiul ;~\ i. t. at all even's.
 
 358 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Gi^e. 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 Hortcnsio. 
 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, 
 Pit for her turn ; well read in poetry 
 And other books,' — good ones, I warrant you. 
 
 Hor. 'Tis well : and I have; rnet a gentleman. 
 Hath jjromis'd me to hel]3 me to another, 
 A fine musician to instruct our mistress ; 
 So sliall 1 no whit be behind in duty 
 To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. 
 
 Gre. Belov'd of me, — and that my deeds shall 
 ])rove. 
 
 Grit' 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 fiiir, 
 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 lier, if her dowry please. 
 
 Gre. So said, so done, is well : — 
 Hortcnsio, 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. 
 
 Gre. No, sav'st me so, friend ? What countrv-* 
 man .'' 
 
 Ptt. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son :
 
 TAMING OF THE SHRE1^^ 850 
 
 M\ father dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
 And I do hope good days, and long, to see. 
 
 G?'e. O, sir, such a life, with sueh a wife, were 
 strange : 
 But if you have a stomach, to't o'God's name ; 
 You shall have mc assisting you in all. 
 But, w ill vou woo this wild cat ? 
 
 Fet. " Will I live? 
 
 iiru. Will he woo her ? ay, or I'll hang her. 
 
 \^Asi(k. 
 
 Pet. Why came I hither, hut to that intentr 
 Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears r 
 Have I not in my time heard lions roar? 
 Have I not heard the sea, pulVd up with winds, 
 Raije like an aniiTV boar, chafed with sweat ? 
 Have I not heard great ordnance in the Held, 
 And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies ? 
 Have I not in a pitched battle lieard 
 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.' 
 
 Grii. For he fears none. 
 
 {Aside. 
 Grc. Hortensio, hark ! 
 This gentleman is happily arriv'd, 
 Mv mind presumes, tor his own good, and vours. 
 
 llor. I ]jromis'd, we would he contributors. 
 And bear his eliarge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 
 
 (ire. And so we will ; provided, that he win hej-. 
 Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 
 
 \_Asiik. 
 
 ^ ixitli bugs.] i. e. with bua bears. 
 
 \ UI,. 111. F F
 
 360 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 EiiterTRxvio, bravely apparelCd ; fl';?f/BiONDELLa. 
 
 D'd. Gentlemen^ God save you! If I may be 
 bold, 
 Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
 To the house of Signior Baptista Minola ? 
 
 Gre. He that has the two fair daughters : — is't 
 \_AsLde to Tranio.] he you mean r 
 
 Tra. Even he. Biondello! 
 
 Ch'e. Hark you, sir ; You mean not her to- — -^- 
 
 Trii' Perhaps, him and her, sir ; What have you 
 to do r 
 
 Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. 
 
 Tra. I love no chiders, sir: — Biondello, let's 
 away, 
 
 Liic. 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 ollence ? 
 
 Gre. No ; if, without more words, you will get 
 vou lience. 
 
 Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
 For me, as ibr you ? 
 
 Gre. But so is not she. 
 
 'I 'ra. For what reason, I beseech you ? 
 
 Gre. For this reason, if you'll know, 
 
 That she's the choice love of signior Gremio. 
 
 Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. 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 :
 
 TAMING OF THE 81 IRE W. 3d I 
 
 And -n slic shall ; Lucentio shall make one, ' 
 
 Thoiif;h Paris came, in hope to s})eed alone. 
 
 Gr€. What! thi^- <jfentleman will out-talk us all. 
 
 Luc. kJir, give him head ; I know, he'll prove a 
 jade. 
 
 Pet. Ilortensio, to what end are aU these 
 words ? 
 
 Hor. JSir, let me be so bold as to ask you. 
 Did vou \«'t ever see Baptista's daughter? 
 
 Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath two ; 
 1'he one as famous for a scoldinir tonjiue, 
 As is the other for beauteous modesty. 
 
 Pet. Mir, 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, insootli ; — 
 The yoimgcst daughter, whom you hearken for, 
 Her father keeps from all access of suitors ; 
 Antl will not ])romise 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, 
 A\ ill 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, 
 Y(ju nmst, as we do, gratify this gentleman. 
 To whom we all rest generally beholdun. 
 
 Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereof, 
 Please yc we may contrive this afternoon,'' 
 And quaff carouses to our mistress' health ; 
 
 * PUnse ye tir mnij contrive ih'is nftcrnoon^] Coiitrivc docs not 
 siguify heru io project y but to spend and vcearoni ; probably from 
 contcro. 
 
 V V 1
 
 362 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 And do as adversaries do in law/ — 
 
 Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. 
 
 Gru. Bion. O excellent motion ! Fellows, let*s 
 begone.^ 
 
 Hoi\ The motion's good indeed, and be it so ; — 
 Petruchio, I shall be your ben ve?mto. [^Exeunt. 
 
 ACT H. 
 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 do. 
 So well I know my duty to my elders. 
 
 Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
 Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not. 
 
 Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive, 
 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 I swear, 
 
 ' as adversaries do in law,] By adversaries in latv I be- 
 lieve, our author means not suitors, but barristers, who, however 
 warm in their opposition to each other in the courts of law, live 
 in greater harmony and jriendship in private, than perhaps those 
 of any other of the liberal professions. Their clients seldom 
 " eat and drink with their adversaries as friends." Malone. 
 
 8 — — Fellows, lct\^ heo^^one.'] Felloius means Jellotv-servants. 
 Grumio and Biondello address each other^ and also the disgui&ed 
 Lucentio. Malone.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 363 
 
 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 vou fair. 
 
 Bian. Is it for him you do enw me so ? 
 Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive. 
 You have but jested with mc all this while : 
 I pr'vthee, sister Kate, untie mv hands. 
 
 Kath. It 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 tfiee with a bitter word ? 
 
 Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revcngM. 
 
 {Flies after Bianca. 
 Bap. What, in my sight r — Bianca, get thee in. 
 
 {E.vit Bianca. 
 Kath. Will vou not suffer me ? Nay, now I see, 
 She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
 I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day. 
 And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.' 
 
 ^ hilding — ] Tlie word Itih/iiifr or hiitdcrVnig, is a low 
 
 icrctch : it is applied to Katharine for the coarseness of licr be- 
 haviour. Johnson. 
 
 ' Andyfor your love to her^ lead apes in hell.'] " To lead apes'* 
 was in f)iir author's time, as at present, one of the eniploynients 
 of a bear-herd, wlio often carries about ojic of those animals along 
 with his bear : but I know not how this phrase came to be applied 
 to old maids. Malonk. 
 
 That women who refused to bear children, shoulil, alter deatli, 
 be condemned to the care of apes in leadin^-xtrin^s, nnglit hare 
 been tonbidered as an act of postliuuious retribution. .SiiciiVENS.
 
 364 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep. 
 Till I can find occasion of revenge. 
 
 \_E.vit Katharina. 
 Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I ? 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a 
 7?iean man; Petruchio, zvith Horteksio as a 
 Musician ; and liKA^iOymth Eiondello bearing 
 a lute and books. 
 
 Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. 
 
 Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio : God 
 save you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you not a 
 daughter 
 Caird 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 
 leave.— 
 I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
 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 wit- 
 ness 
 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 musick, and the mathematicks. 
 To instruct her fully in those sciences. 
 Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant : 
 Accept of him, or else you do me wrong ; , 
 
 I lis name is Licio, born in Mantua.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. n63 
 
 Bdp. You're welcome, sir ; and he for your good 
 sake : 
 But for my daughter Katharine, — this I know, 
 .She is not for your turn, the more mv grief. 
 
 Pef. I see you do not mean to part wilii her; 
 Or else vou hke not of mv compauv. 
 
 Bap. Mistake me not, I speak hut as I iind. 
 ^^ hence are vou, sir? what may I call vonr name? 
 
 Pcf. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, 
 A man well known throughout all Italv. 
 
 JB(/J). I know him well : you are welcome for his 
 sake. 
 
 Ore. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I jiray, » 
 
 TA^t us, that are j)0()r ])etitioners, sj)eak too : 
 liaccare!^ you are marvellous forward. 
 
 Bet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio ; 1 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 hke kindness myself, that have 
 been more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely 
 give unto you this young scholar, \ Prcscalif/g Lu- 
 CENTio.] that hatli been long studying at Rheims ; 
 as cunnmg in Greek, Latin, and other languages, 
 as the (^ther in nmsick and mathematicks : his name 
 is Cambio ; pray, accept his service. 
 
 JjdJ). A thousand thanks, signior Gremio: wel- 
 come, good Cambio. — Jiut, gentle sir, [Vo Tra- 
 MO.] niethinks, you walk like a stranger ; May I 
 be so bold to know the cause of your coniing? 
 
 y'rf/. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own ; 
 That, being a stranger in this city here, 
 Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
 
 * Buccarc !'] A proverbial word, meaning sla)id bach, or give 
 place.
 
 366 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 Hap- Lucentio is your name ? of whence, I 
 pray? 
 
 Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio. 
 
 l^ap. 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, witJi Hortensio, Lucentio, 
 and BioNDELLO. 
 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, 
 
 ' this small pad: et ofGreeh and Latin books .•] In queen 
 
 Elizabeth's time the young ladies of" quality were usually in- 
 structed in the learned languages, if any pains were bestowed on 
 their minds at all. LaJy Jane Grey and her sisters, Queen Eli- 
 zabeth, &c. are trite instances. Percy.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 367 
 
 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 hotter d rather than decreas'd : 
 Then tell me, — If I get your daughter s love, 
 W^hat 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. Til assure 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 cither hand. 
 
 Bap. Av, when the sjDccial thing is well obtain'd. 
 This is, — her love ; for that is all in all. 
 
 Pet. ^^ hy, that is nothing ; for I tell you, fa- 
 ther, 
 I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; 
 And where two raging Hres 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 1 to her, and so she yields to me ; 
 For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. 
 
 Bap. A\'ell may st thou woo, and happy be thy 
 speed I 
 But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 
 
 Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for 
 winds, 
 That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 
 
 B.c-e7iter IIortensio, xcitli his head broken. 
 
 Bap. How now, njy friend? why dost thou look 
 
 so pale ? 
 I lor. For fear, I promise you, if 1 look jjale.
 
 368 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good miir 
 sician ? 
 
 Hor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier ; 
 Iron may hold with her, hut never lutes. 
 
 Bap. W^hy, 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 frcts,"^ 
 And bow'd her hand to teach her nno-erins: ; 
 When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 
 FretSy call y-oii these I* quoth she: I' II fume 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 term?. 
 As she had studied to misuse me so. 
 
 Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ; 
 I love her ten times more than e'er I did : 
 O^ how I long to have some chat with her ! 
 
 Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so disconii? 
 iited ; 
 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,— r 
 
 \_E.veunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, 
 
 and HORTENSIO. 
 
 * — — her frets,] A fret is that stop of a musical instrument 
 which causes or regulates the vibration of the string. Johnson. 
 
 5 And — ^twangling Jack ;] To tmuigle is a provincial expres- 
 f-ion, and signifies to flourish capriciously on an instrument, as j^er- 
 formers often do after having tuned it, prenou« to their beginning 
 ft regular composition. 
 10
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 36q 
 
 And woo her with some spirit wlicn she comes. 
 fSay, that she rail ; Why, then I'll tell her plain, 
 IShc sings as sweetly as a nightincrale : 
 Sav', that >iie frown ; I'll say, she looks as clear 
 As morninp; roses newly wash'd with dew : 
 kiay, slie be mute, and will not speak a word; 
 llien 111 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 denv to wed, I'll crave the day 
 When I shall ask the banns, and when be mar- 
 ried : — 
 But here slie comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. 
 
 Enter Katharina. 
 
 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 lie, in faith ; for you arc call'd plain 
 Kate, 
 And bonnv Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst j 
 liut Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
 Kate of Kate-Hall, my suj)er-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 
 vou hitlier, 
 Remove you hence : I knew you at the Hrst, 
 You were a moveable. 
 
 Pet. Why, what's a moveable ?
 
 370 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Keith. 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 his 
 
 sting ; 
 In his tail. 
 
 Kath. In his tongue. 
 Pet. Whose tongue ? 
 
 Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so fare- 
 well. 
 Pet. W hat, 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. 
 
 s A joint-stool.'^ This is a proverbial expression ; 
 
 " Cry you mercy, I took you for a join'd stool.'* 
 
 See Ray's Colleciion.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 371 
 
 Kath. So may you lose your arms r 
 If you strike me, you are no g;entleman ; 
 And if no crentleman, why, then no arms. 
 
 Fet. A iierald, Kate ? O, put me in thy books. 
 
 Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? 
 
 Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. 
 
 Katli. No cock of mine, you crow too likea craven.'' 
 
 Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you nmst not look 
 so sour. 
 
 Katli. It is mv fashion, when I see a crab. 
 
 Pet. Why, here's no crab ; and tiierefore look 
 not sour. 
 
 Kath. There is, there is. 
 
 Pet. Tiien siiow it me. 
 
 Kath. Had I a glass, I would. 
 
 Pet. What, you mean my face r 
 
 Kath. WVU aim'd of such a young one. 
 
 Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too 3'oungforyou. 
 
 KaiJi. Yet you are wither'd. 
 
 Pet. Tis not with cares. 
 
 Kath. I care not. 
 
 Pet. Nav, hear you, Kate : in soolh, 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 re])ort a very liar ; 
 For thou art pleasant, gamesome, ])assing courteous ; 
 lint slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time fiowers ;• 
 'J'lu)U 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 ; 
 
 7 a craven.] A craven is a dcgencratL*, dispirited cock. 
 
 Cia-.cn wiirt a temi also applied to those who in appeals of battle 
 became recreant, and by pronouncinf^ this word, ealleil for quarter 
 li oiu their opponents ; the consequence of which was they were 
 fi>r ever atler diiemed Liifauious.
 
 372 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers. 
 
 With gentle conference, soft and affable. 
 
 A'^'^hy 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 : tliou 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 i 
 O, be tliou 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. 
 
 Katli. A witty mother ! witless else her so^i. 
 
 Pet. Am I not wise ? 
 
 Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 
 
 Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy 
 bed: 
 And therefore, setting all this chat aside. 
 Thus in plain terms : — Your father 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 houshold Kates. 
 Here comes your father ; never make denial, 
 
 1 must and will have Katharine to my wife. 
 
 Re-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio. 
 Bap. Now, 
 Sigiiior Pctruchio : How speed you with .
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 373 
 
 My daughter f 
 
 Ftt. How but well, sir ? how but well ? 
 
 It were impossible, 1 should speed amiss. 
 
 Bap. Why, ht)w now, daugliter Katharine? in 
 your dumps ? 
 
 Katli. Call you me, daughter r now I })romise 
 you. 
 You have shovvd a tender fatherlv regard. 
 To wish me wed to one halt lunatick ; 
 A mad-eap ruilia\i, and a swearing Jaek, 
 That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 
 
 Pet. Fath( r, 'tis tlms,-— yourself and all the world, 
 That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her; 
 If she he eurst, it is for policy : 
 For shes not frovA ard, but modest as the dove ; 
 IShe is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
 For patience she will prove a second Grissel ; 
 And Roman Lucrece for her chastity : 
 And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together;, 
 'Diat upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 
 
 Kath. ril see thee liang'd on .Sunday first. 
 
 Grc. Hark, Petruehio ! she says, she'll see thee 
 hang'd first. 
 
 Tra. Is til is your speeding ? nay, then, g(X)d 
 night our part ! 
 
 Pet. lie patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for 
 mysel f ; 
 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 ; m\'\ kiss on kiss 
 She vied so last,** protesting oath on oath^ 
 
 * Slw vifil <:o fuit,'] Vi/e and rcvi/i; were terms at cards, uw 
 superseded by the iiioru iiiodcrfi w ord, bruf;.
 
 374 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 That in a twiiik 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 siirew.—   
 . 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, mv Katharine shall be tine. 
 
 J^ap. 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. 
 \_E.veimt Petruchio and Katharine, scve- 
 rally. 
 
 Gre^. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? ' 
 
 Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's 
 part, 
 And venture madly on a desperate mart. 
 
 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 catcli. 
 But now, Baptj^sta, 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. 
 
 9 *tis a luorld to see,'] i. e. it is wonderful to see. This 
 
 expression is often met with in old historians as well as dramaiie 
 writers. 
 
 ' A meacock ivrefch — ] i. c. a timorous dastardly creature.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 375 
 
 Tra. Grey-beard ! tliy love doth freeze. 
 
 Ore. But thine doth fry. 
 
 Skipper, stand back ? 'tis age, that nourisheth. 
 
 'J'ra. But you til, in ladies' eyes that Hourishcth. 
 
 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, 
 Miall have Bianca's love. — 
 ^Jay, senior Gremio, what can you assure her ? 
 
 Grc. 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: 
 \\\ ivory cotlers I have stuff 'd my crowns; 
 In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints,'^ 
 Costly a})parel, tents and canopies, 
 Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearly 
 Valance of Venice oo|d in needle-work. 
 Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
 To house, or housekeeping : then, at my farm, 
 I have a hundred miich-kine to the pail, 
 JSixscore 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 : 
 
 * counlerpoints,'] These coverings for beds are at present 
 
 callfd counterpanes ; but either mode of spelling is proper. Coim- 
 terpoi/it is the rnonklsli term for a ])arti('ular species of musick, in 
 which, notes of etjual di.ratiini, but of dirt'erent harmony, are set 
 in opposition to eadi ollit r. In liie iiiamier counterpanes were an- 
 ciently composed of patch-work, and so contrived that every o«/Jtr 
 or partition in them, \v:;s contra-^ted with one ol' adillereut colyur, 
 though of th'j kunic diuienbions. Srfci.vii.Nt>. 
 VOL. in. G G
 
 376 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
 
 I'll leave her houses, three or four as good^ 
 
 Within rich Pisa walls, as any one 
 
 Old signior Grcmio 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 Grcmio ? 
 
 Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land ! 
 My land amounts not to so much in all i 
 That she shall have ; besides an argosy. 
 
 That now is lying in Marseilles' road : 
 
 What, have I chok'd you with an argosy ? 
 
 Tj^a. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less 
 Than three great argosies ; besides two galliasses,* 
 And twelve tight gallies : these I v/ill 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 die 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 : 
 
 ^ tti^o galliasses,] A galeas or galliass, is a heavy low-built 
 
 vessel of burthen, with both sails and oars, partaking at once oi' 
 the nature of a ship and a galley. Steevens. 
 
 4 out-vied.} This is a term at the old game of g^eek. 
 
 When one man \v8is.xned upon another^ he was said to be out-vied.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 377 
 
 Now, on the Sunday following, siiall Bianca 
 Be bride to vou, if you make tUis assurance ; 
 If not, to signior Greniio : 
 And so I take mv leave, and thank vou both. 
 
 Gre. Adieu, good neiglibour. — Now I fear thee 
 not ; 
 Sirrah, vonntr <ramester,^ vour father were a fiK)! 
 '1 o give thee all, and, in his waning age, 
 Set foot under tliy table : Tut ! a toy ! 
 An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy, fErit, 
 
 Ira. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide ! 
 Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.^ 
 'Tis in my liead to do my master good : — 
 I see no reason, but suppos'd Luccntio 
 Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio ; 
 And tiiat's a wonder : fathers, commonly. 
 Do get their cliildren ; but, in this case of wooing, 
 A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of niv cunning. 
 
 lEait. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in Baptistas House. 
 
 Enter Lucentio, IIortensio, and Bianca. 
 
 Luc. Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too forward, sir : 
 Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
 Her sister Katharine welcom'd vou withal? 
 
 Ilor. But, wrangling ])edant, this is 
 
 ' Sirrah, j/ounrr gamcfcter,] Camester, in the present iiistnnce, 
 ila^ no reference to gaming, and only signifies — a wag, a f'rolick- 
 i»oiue character. 
 
 <■ Yet I have faced it mth ri card of ten.] Th;it i.s, with the 
 highest card, in the yid ninipie ganieb ol' our ancestor:*. 
 
 G (. '1
 
 378 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 The patroness of heavenly harmony : 
 Then give me leav£ to have prerogative ; 
 And when in musick 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 musick 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 retivcs. 
 
 Luc. That will be never ; — tune your instrument. 
 
 Bian. Where left we last ? 
 
 Luc. Here, madam : 
 
 Hac ibat Simois ; hie est Sigcia tellus ; 
 
 Hie steterat Priami regia eelsa seuis. 
 
 Bian. Construe them. 
 
 Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, — Simois, I 
 am Lucentio, — liic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, — 
 Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love ; — Hie 
 steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, — 
 Priami, is my man Tranio, — regia, bearing my 
 port, — celsa senis, that we might beguile the old 
 
 pan 
 
 taloon.** 
 
 no breeching scholar — ~\ i. e. no school-boy liable to 
 
 corporal correction. 
 
 * — — ■pantaloon.'] The old cully in Italian farces.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 379 
 
 Hor. Madam, my instrument's ni tune. 
 
 yRt'turning, 
 B'lan. Let's hear ; — [Hortensio pluys. 
 
 iyii ! the treble jars. 
 
 Luc. Spit in the iiole, man, and tune a^ain. 
 Bian. Now let me see if 1 can construe it : Hac 
 ibat S'wiois, I know you not ; liic est Sigcia tcUuSy 
 
 1 trust you not; — lilc ^tcttrut Priami, take heed 
 he hear us not ; — rcgia, presume not ; — ccha sc?iis, 
 despair not. 
 
 Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 
 
 Luc. All but the base. 
 
 Hor. Tlie base is right ; 'tis the base knave that 
 jars. 
 How fiery and forward our pedant is ! 
 Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love : 
 PedasculCy' I'll watch you better yet. 
 
 Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 
 
 Luc. Mistrust it not ; for, sure, i^aeides 
 Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather. 
 
 Bian. I must believe my master ; else, I j)romise 
 you, 
 
 should be arguing still upon that doubt: 
 But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to you : — 
 (iood masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
 That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 
 
 Hor. You may go walk, [Y'o Lucentio.] and 
 give me leave awhile ; 
 My lessons make no nmsick in three parts. 
 
 Luc. Are you so formal, sir ; well, I must wait. 
 And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd,' 
 Our fine nuisician groweth amorous. \_Aside. 
 
 Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument. 
 To learn the order of my fingering, 
 I must begin with rudiments of art; 
 
 V Pvdascule,~\ Pcflairulc, from pedant. 
 ' but / /jc deceived,] But, i. c. uukss.
 
 380 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 To teach your gamut in a briefer sort. 
 More pleasant, P^thy, and effectual, 
 Than hath been taught by any of my trade : 
 And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 
 
 Bian. Wliy, 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 Hortensid s passion ; 
 
 B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, 
 C faut, that loves xvith all affection : 
 
 D sol re, one cliff, txvo notes have I ; 
 
 E la mi, shoxv 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. [Ed'eunt Bianca and Servant. 
 
 Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to 
 stay. [E.vit. 
 
 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. 
 
 [Exif,
 
 TAJNIING OF THE SHREW. 381 
 
 SCENE H. 
 
 The sarne. Btjorc Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Baptista, Gre.mio, Tranio, Katharine, 
 BiANCA, Ll'centio, cuid Attendants. 
 
 Bap. Signior Luccntio, [To T'ranio.] this is the 
 'pointed day 
 That Katliarino and Pctruchio should be mariiedj 
 And yet we liear not of our son-in-law : 
 What will be said ? what mockery will it be, 
 To want the bridcgrooin, when the priest attends 
 To sjx^ak the ceremonial rites of marriage ? 
 What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ? 
 
 Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be 
 forc'd 
 To give my hand, opjjos'd against my heart, 
 thito 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 frantick fool. 
 Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour: 
 And, to be noted for a merry man, 
 He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, 
 Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns ; 
 Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
 Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
 And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchid's Zi'iJ'e, 
 If it would please him eome and marry her. 
 
 Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista 
 too ; 
 Ujxjn my life, Petruchio means but well. 
 Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
 
 » /w// o/" spleen ;] That h full of humour, caprice, tuid 
 
 intoastancj. Johnson.
 
 382 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ; 
 Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. 
 
 Kath. 'Would Katharinfe had never seen him 
 
 though ! 
 '[E.vit, weeping, followed by Bianca, and others. 
 Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep ; 
 For such an injury would vex a saint, 
 , INIuch more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 JSion. Master, master ! news, old news, and such 
 " news as you never heard of! 
 
 Bap. Is it new and old too ? how may that be ? 
 
 Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's 
 coming ? 
 
 Bap. 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'cn 
 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- 
 
 ' — — two broken points :] 1. e. two broken tags to the laces. 
 
 * • iirfected tvith the fashions, past cure of the fiveSjJ 
 
 Fashions, So called in the West of England, but by the best
 
 TAMING OF THE 8I1REW. 383 
 
 galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past 
 cure ot* the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, 
 beguawn with tlie hots ; swayed in the baek, and 
 shoLilder-shotten ; ne'er legged before,* and witli a 
 lialf-chccked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's lea- 
 ther ; which, being restrained to keep him from 
 stumbling, hatli 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 hef 
 name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there 
 pieced with ]v<ickthread. 
 
 Bap. Who comes with him ? 
 
 Bioji. 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 77/e 
 Jnntwiir of fort y fancies pricked in't for a feather:^ a 
 monster, a very monster in u])]jarel ; 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. A\ lie ? that Petruchio came f 
 
 viTJters on farriery, /rtrcf'HS or /rtrry. Fives. So called in tlie 
 Weht: ivirv t'lsLnvliure, and avarv by tla- French ; a distemper 
 in horses, little diirering from the htrangles. Grey. 
 
 ^ ne'er lef^t^cd bcjorty] i. e. founder'd in his fore-feot. 
 
 '^ crupper (>/ velure,] Veliut is velvet. Velours, 1"V. 
 
 '' stocic — 3 '• G. stocking. 
 
 8 an old /uity and The humour of forty Cdtw'ws pricked i/i*t 
 
 for njcdthtr :'\ This wu« some ballad or drollery at that time, 
 which the poL-t here ridicules, by making Petruchio prick it up 
 in his foot-boy's hat lor a feather. liis speakers are perpetually 
 <juoting scraps and stanzas of old ballads, and often very obscure- 
 1\ ; for, so well are they adapted to the occuiion, that they seCK 
 wf apiece with the rtst. VVakduaton.
 
 384 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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 you 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 unprov^idcd. 
 Fye ! doft" 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 f 
 
 ') — — to digress ;] To deviate from my promise.
 
 TAMING OF THE SIIRE^^^ 38b 
 
 Which, at more leisure, I nil! so excuse 
 
 As you shall well be satistied withal. 
 
 But, where is Kate r I stay too loncf from her ; 
 
 The morning wears, 'tis time wc were at church. 
 
 I'ra. Sec not your bride in these unrevercnt 
 robes ; 
 Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. 
 
 Pet. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her. 
 
 Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 
 
 Pet. Good sooth, even thus ; therefore have done 
 with words ; 
 To me she's married, not unto mv clothes : 
 Could I repair what she will wear in me. 
 As I can chan^iie these poor accoutrements, 
 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
 But what a fool am I, to chat with you, 
 A^Hien 1 should bid good-morrow to my bride. 
 And seal the title with a lovely kiss ? 
 
 [Exeunt Petri chio, (inuMio, iwd Biondello. 
 
 7';y7. He hath some meaning in his mad attire: 
 Wq will persuade him, be it j>ossible, 
 To put on better ero he go to church. 
 
 Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. 
 
 lE.vit. 
 
 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 worshij), 
 I am to get a man, — whate'er he be, 
 It skills not much ; we'll tit him to our turn, — 
 And he shall be Vincentio of Fisa ; 
 And make a^^surance here in Padua, 
 Of greater sums than I have ])romised. 
 So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, 
 And marry sweet Bianea with consent. 
 
 Luc. VVere it not that my fellow schoolmaster 
 Dot!) watch Hianca's steps so narrowly, 
 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriiige ;
 
 3S6 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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 greybeard, Gremio, 
 The narrow-piying father, Minola ; 
 The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; 
 All for my master's sake, Lucentio. — 
 
 Re-enter Gremio. 
 
 Signior Gremio ! came you from the church ? 
 
 Gre. 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-woiins, 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 down fell priest and book, and book and 
 
 priest ; 
 Now take them up, quoth he, if ami list. 
 
 Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again ? 
 
 Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'd, 
 and swore. 
 As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
 But after many ceremonies done.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 387 
 
 He calls for wine : — A health, quoth he ; as if 
 
 He had been abroad, carousincj to his mates 
 
 After a storm : — Quatt'd off the muscadel/ 
 
 And threw the sops all in the sexton's face; 
 
 Having no other reason, — 
 
 But that his beard 2;re\v 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 partinj^, 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 marria^^e never was before ; 
 
 Hark, hark ! 1 hear the minstrels play. \^AIii6ick, 
 
 Enter Petruc hio, Katharina, Bianca, Baptista, 
 HoKTEN.sio, (trumio, (Did Train. 
 
 Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank vou for 
 your pains : 
 I know, you think to dine with me to-day, 
 And have prepared g;reat store of wedding- cheer; 
 But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
 And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 
 
 Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-nii^ht ? 
 
 Pet. I must, away to-day, before ni<!^lit come : — 
 Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, 
 You would entreat me rather <jo than sta\'. 
 And, honest company, I thank you all, 
 
   QuMff^d (ff the muscadel,] The fashion of introducinij 
 
 a bowl of wine into the church at a wcddinir, to be drank by the 
 bride and bridegroom, and persons present, was vciy anciently a 
 constant ceremony ; and, as appears from this passage, not 
 abolished in our author's age. 
 
 * And kiss'd /irr lips — ] This also is a very ancient custom, 
 us appears from tiie ujliowing rul)rick : " JSurgant ambo, spoiisuij 
 et apun^a, el accipiat sponsus pacim a sact-rdute, et fcrat spoiisa;, 
 (iiculans cam, et neniinem ahum, nee ip»>e, nee ipm." Mtumiiie 
 Harum, l'ari«, 1515^, 4to. fol. Gy.
 
 383 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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 you. 
 
 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 eateu 
 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, whiles your boots are green; 
 Forme, 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 r — 
 Father, be quiet : he shall stay my leisure. 
 Gre. Ay, marry, sir : now it begins to work. 
 Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal din- 
 ner : — 
 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 :
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 3S0 
 
 Go to the feast, revel and domineer. 
 Carouse full measure to her maidenhead. 
 
 Be mad and merry. or go iiang- yourselves ; 
 
 But for my huimy Kate, she must with me. 
 Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fict ; 
 1 will be master uf what is mine own: 
 She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house. 
 My houshold-stuft, my field, my barn. 
 My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
 And here she stands, touch her w hoever dare ; 
 I'll bring my action on the proudest he 
 
 That stops my way in 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, 
 
 Kate ; 
 ril buckler thee against a million. 
 
 [^Exeunt Petruchio, Katharine, and 
 GRrMio. 
 
 Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
 
 Ore. Went they not quickly, I should die with 
 laughing. 
 
 Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! 
 
 Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sisttT.^ 
 
 Biau. 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 tabic, 
 You know, there wants no junkets at the feast ; — 
 Lucentio, you sliall supply the bridegroom's place ; 
 And let Bianca take her sister's room. 
 
 Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it } 
 
 Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen, 
 let's go. [^K.rciif//. 
 
 9
 
 390 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 ACT. IV. 
 SCENE L A Hall in Petruchio's Country Houst. 
 
 Enter Grumio. 
 
 Grti. 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 coldly ? 
 
 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, Gru- 
 mio ? 
 
 Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fii*e ; 
 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 mis- 
 tress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 
 
 s 7nan so rayed?] i. e. bexirayedy made dirty.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 391 
 
 Curt. Away, you three inch fool ! I am no beast. 
 
 Gru. Am I but three inches ? why, thy horn is a 
 foot ; and so lono- am I, at the least. But wilt thou 
 make a fire, or shall I con)j)lain of thee to our mis- 
 tress, whose hand (she beinc^ now at hand,) thou 
 shall soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for bcin<^ slow in 
 thv hot othce ? 
 
 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 arc almost 
 frozen to death. 
 
 Curt. There's fire ready ; And, therefore, good 
 Grumio, tlie news ? 
 
 Gru. A\ by. Jack boy ! ho boy /* and as much 
 news as thou wilt. 
 
 Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching :— 
 
 Gru. A^'hy, therefore, fire ; for I have caught ex- 
 treme cold. AV'hcre's the cook ? is supper ready, 
 tlie house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept ; 
 the sei*ving-mcn in their new fustian, their white 
 ^tockings, and every ofiiccr his weddinj^-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, 
 new« ? 
 
 Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master 
 and mistress fallen out. 
 
 •* Jack hoy ! ho boTj /] Is tlic beginning of an old round 
 
 in tlirce parts. 
 
 * lie llie jacks fair within, the jilis fair ivithnut,'] i. e. Are 
 
 the drinking vessels clean, and the maid servants dressed ? Pro- 
 bably the po(!t meant to play upon the words. /«f/: and .////, whieh 
 si'jnil'v fit'o drinking nicrixinrs, as well as 7>ien and maid scn'atits. 
 
 the carpets laid,'] In our author's time it was customary 
 
 to eovir tables with earpets. Floorj;, as a])pears from the present 
 passage and others, were strewed witli rushes. 
 
 VOL. III. H n
 
 39-2 Naming of the shrew. 
 
 Curt. How? 
 
 Gru. Out of tlieir saddles into the dirt; And 
 thereby hangs a talc. 
 
 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 ealled, 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 liill^ my master riding behind my mis- 
 tress : — 
 
 Curt. Both on one horse ? 
 
 Gru. What's tliat to thee ? 
 
 Curt. Why, a horse. 
 
 Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou not 
 
 crossed me, thou should'st have heard how her horse 
 fell, and she under her horse ; thou should'st have 
 heard, in how miry a place : how she was bemoiled -^ 
 }iow he left her with the horse upon her ; how he 
 beat me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded 
 through the dirt to pluck him 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 tlpu 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 hemoiled .-] i. e. be-draggled ; bemired. 
 
 8 nas burst ;] i. e. broken. 
 
 9 he is more shrew thmi ahcl The term shrevj was au" 
 
 eieutly applicable to either sex.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 39a 
 
 I of this ; — call forth Natluuiiel, Joseph, Nicho- 
 las, Philip, ^^'ultcr, Sii^^'arsop, and the rest ; let 
 their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats 
 briisht'd,' and their pirters 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 
 thev kiss their hands. Are thev all ready ? 
 
 Curt. They are. 
 
 Gru. Call them forth. 
 
 Curt. Do you hear, ho ? you must meet my 
 master, to countenance my mistress. 
 
 Gru. W!iy, she hath a face of her own. 
 
 Curt, ^^'ho knows not that ? 
 
 Gru. Thou, it seems ; that callestfor corii|>any to 
 countenance her. 
 
 Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 
 
 Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing- of 
 them. 
 
 Enter sacral Servants. 
 
 \aUi. Welcome home, Grumio. 
 
 jP///7. How now, (irumio ? 
 
 Jos'. W hat, Grumio ! 
 
 JVic/i. Fellow Grumio I 
 
 \uth. How now, old lad? 
 
 Gru. Welcome, you; — how now, you: — what, 
 you ; — fellow, vou ;— -and thus nnjcli for s^reetinij. 
 Now, my spruce companion'^, is all ready, and all 
 things ni'at ? 
 
 j\ai/{. All things is ready: I low near is our nvaster? 
 
 Gru. E'en at hand, alighted* by this ; and there- 
 
 I _ 
 
 time. 
 
 — l/idr blue coats bruslitul,] The dress of servauts at the 
 
 ^ gnrtrrs nf'an iodiHbrciit knit .•] I'erh.ips Ijy " garters oi 
 an imli(f'crf:iU knit," tli;- author meant pa rl i-colout'' d ^^iwlors ; gar- 
 ter.-, of a dijf'-ffnl knit, lii Shakspearc's time huliJJ'ciciU wy^ 
 sometimes used tor dt(j'cnut- 
 
 »l II 2
 
 . 394 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 fore be not, Cock's passion, silence ! 1 beai- 
 
 my master. 
 
 Enter Petruchio mid Katharina. 
 
 Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man at 
 door, 
 To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse ! 
 Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip ? 
 
 All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. 
 
 Pet. Here, sir ! here, sir ! 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 ? 
 
 Grti. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. 
 
 Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt-horse 
 drudge ! 
 Did I not bid thee meet me in the park. 
 And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? 
 
 G?'ii. 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 tine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gre- 
 gory ; 
 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 — ■* ["^ii^gs. 
 
 Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. 
 
 Soud, soud, soud, soud 1 ^ 
 
 ^ no link to colour Peter's hat,'] A linh is a torch of pitch. 
 
 ■* Where, &c.] A scrap of some old ballad, Ancient Pistol 
 elsewhere quotes the same line. In an old black letter book inti- 
 tuled, A gorgious Gallery of gallant hiventions, London, 1578, 
 4 to, is a song to the tune of Where is the life that late lied. 
 
 5 Saudi soud, &c.] This, I believe, is a word coined by our
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 3^4 
 
 Re-enfer Servants, icith supper. 
 
 Why, ^^ hen, I say ? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be 
 
 merry. 
 Oft' with my boots, you rogues, you villains; When? 
 
 It icas tlie friar of orders grei/,^ [Sings. 
 As he forth xcalked on his ivaij : — 
 
 Out, out, vou ro<i;ue ! you ])luck my foot awry : 
 Take that, and mend the plucking oft' the other. — 
 
 [^Strikes hiiii. 
 Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here ; what, ho ! — - 
 Where's my spaniel Troilus ? — Sirrah, get you 
 
 hence. 
 And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither : 
 
 \_E.vii Sen'ant. 
 One, Kate, that you nnist 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 Jail. 
 
 poet, to express the noise made by a person heated and fatigued. 
 
 INI A LONE, 
 
 * It •was the frinr nf orders grey."] Dispersed throiijTh Shak- 
 speare'.s plays are many little fragments of ancient ballads, the en- 
 tire copies of which cannot now he recovered. Many of these 
 being of the most beautiful and pathutic simplicity, Dr. IVrcy 
 has selected some of them, and connected them together with a 
 few fcuppljmenfal stanzas ; a work, which at once demonstrates 
 his own poetical abilitJLS, as well as his respect to the truly vene- 
 rable remains of ourmost ancient bards. Stkevens. 
 
 ^ Come, Kiitr, and wash,] It was the custom in our autlior's 
 time, (and long before,) to wash the hands immediately befora 
 dinner and supper, as well as afterwards. As our ancestors eat 
 with their fingers, which might not be over-clean before meals, 
 and after them must be greasy, wc caimot wonder at such rc^' 
 pcatcd ablutions. STi;iiV£.Ns.
 
 ^g6 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ? 
 
 \_Sfrikes Ithn, 
 
 Kflth. Patience, I pray you ; 'twas a fault un- 
 willing-. 
 
 Pet. A whoreson, bcctleheaded, flap-ear'd knave ! 
 Come, Kate, sit down ; I know you have a stomach. 
 Will you f^'ive thanks, sweet Kate ; or else shall I ? — 
 What is this ? mutton ? 
 
 1 Serv. Ay. 
 
 Pet. Who brought it ? 
 
 \ Serk). I. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat: 
 What dogs arc these? — Where is the rascal cook? 
 How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser. 
 And serve it thus to me that love it not ? 
 There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all : 
 
 [lliToxvs the meat, 8<;c. about the stage. 
 You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves ! 
 What, do yoii 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 away; 
 And I expressly am forbid to touch it, 
 For it engenders choler, plantcth anger; 
 And better 'twere that botli of us did fast, — 
 Since, of ourselves, ourselves are cholerick, — 
 Than fi'.ed 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. 
 
 [^E.veunt Petruchio, Katharina, and 
 
 CUUTIS. 
 
 Nath. \Advanciug^\ Peter, didst ever see the 
 
 like? 
 Peter. He kills her in her own humour.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 397 
 
 Re-cut cr Curtis. 
 
 Gni. Where is he? 
 
 CiU't. In her chamber, 
 Makint;- a sermon of continency to lier : 
 And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, })oor 
 
 soul, 
 Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ; 
 And sits as one new-risen from a dreani. 
 Awav, awav ! for he is cominij; hither. \_KTCU)it, 
 
 Re-enter Petruchio. 
 
 Pet. Thus have I politickly bee^un my reign. 
 And 'tis my liope to end siieeessfaliy : 
 JNly falcon now is sharp, and passing ^'mpt}' ; 
 And, tdl she stoop, she nmst not be full-gorg'd. 
 For tlicn she never looks npon her lure.* 
 Another way I have to man my haggard,^ 
 Tn 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 nif'ht she slept not, nor to-night she shall 
 not ; 
 
 As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
 
 I'll find about the makini;' of the bed ; 
 
 And here 1*11 fling the pillow, there the bolster, 
 
 This way the coverlet, another way tho sheets : — 
 
 » full-*rorcr*d, Ac] A hav'k too mncli fed was never 
 
 tractable. The hire was only a tliint; i-tulTL'tl like tli:il kliul of 
 bird wliieli the liawk was desit;ned to ])Lir.sue. The iisi* of the 
 inrc was to tempt liiin back after lie had Hov\u. 
 
 V to man «ny hag^-ard,] A liiij^;j^nr(l h n ivUil-tiani ; to 
 
 ma]} a hawk is to 'aiiir her. 
 
 ' 'J/uil bate,] 'i'o Lttic k to HiitttT iis a hawk docs when it 
 0woups uj)on its prey.
 
 398 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend,^ 
 That all is done in reverend care of her ; 
 And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night i 
 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 how to tame a shrew, 
 Now let him, speak ; 'tis charity to show. \_E.vit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Padua. Before Baptista's House* 
 
 Enter Tranio and Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca 
 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 you 
 
 read ? 
 Bian. What, master, read you ? first resolve me 
 
 that. 
 Luc. I read that I profess, the art to love. 
 JSian, And may you prove, sir, master of your 
 
 art! 
 Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of 
 
 my heart, [They retire.* 
 
 * "-— amid this hitrh/, I intend,] Intend is sometimes used 
 by our author for pretend.
 
 TAXIING OF' THE SHREW. spp. 
 
 Hor. Quick proceedcrs, mam-! N•^•^■ ^-n i>-.p J 
 pray, 
 You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca 
 Lov'd none in the world so well a&Luccntio. 
 
 Tra. O despiteful love! uuconstant womankind! — 
 I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful - 
 
 Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
 Nor a musician, as I seem to be ; 
 But one that scorn to live in this diso^uisc, 
 For such a one as leaves a gentleman. 
 And makes a q-od of such a cullion : ' 
 Know, sir, that I am call'd — Ilortensio. 
 
 Tra. JSignior Hortcnsio, I have often heard 
 Of your entire affection to Bianca ; 
 And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, 
 I will with vou, — if you be so contentcil, — 
 Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. 
 
 Hor. tSee, how they kiss and court! Signior 
 
 Lucentio, 
 Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow — 
 Never to woo her more ; but do forswear her. 
 As one unworthy all the former favours 
 That I have fondly flatter d her withal. 
 
 Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, 
 Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat: 
 Fye on her! see, how beastly she doth court him. 
 
 Hor. 'V\'ouId, all the world, but he, had quite 
 forsworn ! 
 For me, — that I may surely keep mine oath, 
 I \\\\\ be married to a wealthy widow, 
 Ere three days pass ; which hath as long lov'd me, 
 As I have lov'd this proiul disdainful haggard : 
 And so farewell, signior Lucentio. — 
 Kindness in wrmien, not their beauteous looks, 
 
 ' cidlinv :"] A term of dpgradation, with no very dcciilcd 
 
 meaning : a despicable icllow, a loo), &c.
 
 400 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Shall win my love : — and so I take my leave. 
 In resolution as I swore before. 
 
 [jG.rif HoRTENsio. — -Lucemtio mid 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. 
 
 Biciti. Tranio, you jest ; But have you both for- 
 sworn me ? 
 
 Tra. Mistress, we have. 
 
 JjKC. 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. 
 
 Blan. He says so, Tranio, 
 
 Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. 
 
 Bian. I'he 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 chann her chattering tongue, 
 
 E?tfer B10NDEI.L0, running. 
 
 Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so Jong 
 That I'm dog-weaiy ; but at last I spied 
 An ancient angel * coming down the hjll. 
 Will serve the turn, 
 
 Tra. What is he, Biondello ? 
 
 Bion. Master, a mercatante,"* or a pedant, 
 
 4 An ancient angel — ] For mtf^el Mr. Theobald, and after him 
 Sir T. Hanmer and Dr. Warburton, read englc^ or aguU, but 
 angel may mean messenger. 
 
 ^ Mcuster, a mercatante,] The old editions read marcanlnnt^ 
 The Italian word mercatante is frequently used in the old plays 
 for a merchant, and therefore 1 have made no scruple of placing 
 it here. Steevens.
 
 TA^IINX4 OF THE SHREW. 401 
 
 T know not what ; but formal in apparel, 
 In frait and coiuitcnanoe surclv' like a lather. 
 
 Luc. And what of him, Tranio ? 
 
 Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, 
 ril make him glad to seem Vincentio ; 
 And ^ive iissurance to Baptista iVlinola, 
 As if he were the rii^ht Vmcentio. 
 Take in vour love, and then let me alone. 
 
 [_E.vcuut Ll'centio at/il Bianca. 
 
 Juitcr a Pedant, 
 
 Pcd. God save you, sir! 
 
 Tra. And you, sir ! you are welcome* 
 
 Travel you far on, or arc you at the furthest ? 
 
 Fed. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two : 
 But then uj) farther; and as tar as Rome; 
 And so to 'i'ripoly, if God lend me life. 
 
 7/7/. What eountr\nian, 1 ])ray ? 
 
 Ptd. ' Of Mantua, 
 
 Tra. Of Mantua, sir r — marry, God forbid! 
 And come to Padua, careless of your life ? 
 
 Pcd. Mv life, sir! how, 1 pray ? for that goe5 
 hard. 
 
 Tra. 'Tl^ death for any one in Mantua 
 To come to Padua ; Know yon not the cause ? 
 Your ships are staid at Venice ; and tlie duke 
 (For ])rivate (juarrel 'twixt your duke and him,) 
 Hath publish'd and proelaim'd it openly : 
 'Tis marvel ; but that you're but newly come, 
 You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 
 
 Ptd. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so ; 
 For 1 have bills for money by exchange 
 Fnon Florence, and nmst here deliver them. 
 
 'Tra. ^Vell, sir, to do you courtesy, 
 This will I do, and this will 1 advise you : 
 J^^irsf, tell me, have y(Mi cvit been at Pisa,' 
 
 lU
 
 403 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Peel 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. 
 
 Bio7i. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and 
 ^Ilone. lAside. 
 
 Tra. To save your life in this extremit}^. 
 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.'' 
 
 \_E.veu7it. 
 
 ^ To pass assurance—] To pass assurance means to make a 
 conveyance or deed. Deeds are by law-writers called, " The 
 common assurances of the realm," because thereby each man's 
 property is assured to him. 
 
 ' Go ivith me, <Src.] There is an old cojnedy called Supposes^ 
 translated from Ariosto, by George Gascoigne. Thence Shak- 
 speare borrowed this part of the plot, (as well as some of the 
 phraseology,) though Theobald pronounces it his own invention. 
 Tliere, likewise, he found the names of Fctruchio and Licio.
 
 TAMING OF THE^SHREW. 403 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A Room ui Petruchio's Iluuse. 
 
 Enter Katharina mtd Grumio. 
 
 Grii. No, no ; forsooth, I dare not, for my life. 
 Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite 
 appears : 
 What, did he marry mc to famish mc ? 
 Beao'ars, tliat come unto mv father's door, 
 Upon entreaty, have a present ahns ; 
 If nut, elsewhere they meet with charity : 
 But I, — who never knew how to entreat, — 
 Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ; 
 With oaths kept ^vaking*, and with brawling fed : 
 And tliat which spites me more than all tliese waut?^ 
 He d<Des it under name of perfect love ; 
 As who should say, — if 1 should sleep, or eat, 
 'Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.— 
 pr'ythee go, and get ine some repast ; 
 care not what, so it be wholesome food. 
 Gni. What say you to a neat's foot ? 
 Kath. 'Tis passing good ; I pr'v ihee let mc have it. 
 Gru. I fear, it is too cholerick a meat : — 
 How say you to a fat tripe, linely broifd ? 
 
 Kath. I like it well ; good tirumio, fetch it mc. 
 Gi'U. I cannot tell ; I fear, 'tis cholerick. 
 What say you to a piece of beef, and nuistard ? 
 Kath. A dish tliat 1 do lovi; to feed upon. 
 Gru. Ay, but the nuistard i^ too hot a little. 
 
 yiy voung master and his man cxclmnf^c habits, and persuade ti 
 Scn'ias':, lus he irf culled, to i)ersonatu the Jul her ^ exactly us tii 
 this play, by the pretended danger of his coming from Sienna 
 10 Ferrnra, contrary to the order of the govenuncnt.
 
 404 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Kath. Whv, then the beef, and let the mustard 
 
 rest. 
 Gru. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the 
 mustard, 
 Or else you get no beef of Gruniio, 
 
 Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou 
 
 wilt. 
 Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beef. 
 Kdtli. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding 
 slave, \_Beats him. 
 
 That feed'st me w ith the very name of meat ; 
 ►Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you. 
 That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
 Go, get thee I gone, I say. 
 
 Enter Petruciiio tcith a dish of meat ; and 
 
 IIORTENSIO. 
 
 JFet. How fares my Kate ? What, sweeting, all 
 
 amort ? ^ 
 Ilor. Mistress, what cheer ? 
 
 Kath. 'Faitl), as cold as can be. 
 
 Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon 
 me. w 
 
 Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am, 
 To dress thy meat myself, and brings 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 ])ains 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. 
 
 ^ JV/tfit, stceeliiig, all amort ?] This gallicism is common 
 
 to many of the old plays. That is, all sunk and dispirited. 
 
 '^ And all in;/ pn'ins is sorted to no proof .-^ And all mi/ labour 
 has ended in nothing, or proved nothing.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 405 
 
 Kath. I thank you, sir. 
 
 IJur. S'vjiwWi Potruchio, fye! you are to blame! 
 Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you coinj>any. 
 
 Ftt. Eat it up all, liortensio, if thou lov'st me.— 
 
 \_Adide, 
 Much good do it unto thy oentle heart! 
 Kate, '.at apace: — And now, my honey love, 
 Wdl we return unto thy father's house ; 
 And revel it as bravely as the best, 
 With silken coats, and caps, and o()hlen rinijs, 
 "\\'ith ruits, and eulfs, and tarthin<!,ales, and thing's ; 
 With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, 
 A\ith amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
 ^\'l'.at, hast thou din d ? The tailor stays thy leisure. 
 To deck thy body >vith his ruffling" treasure.' 
 
 Enter Tailor. 
 Como, tailor, let us see these ornaments;^ 
 
 E}itcr Haberdasher. 
 
 Lay forth the gown. — What news with you, sir ? 
 
 ']Iah. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. 
 
 Pit. Whv, this was moulded on a porringer ; 
 A velvet disll ; — fye, fye ! 'tis lewd and tilthy ; ' 
 Whv, 'tis a cockle, or a walnutshell, 
 A k'nack, a toy, a tric^k, a baby'-^ caj) ; 
 • Away with it, come, let me have a bigger. 
 
 Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth lit the timr^ 
 AihI gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 
 
 Pet. \Vhen you are gentle, you shall have onu 
 too, 
 Aud not till then. 
 
 jiur. That will not be in haste. [^Abiik, 
 
 » Tii/// his ruffliiig treasitre.'} i. f. nistliiig. 
 
 * C'cwc, trti/ur, let us see these u-nama.ti ,'\ lu yur poet'* time, 
 wyinen's yown-j were utuully riiat'.e b)- luci'.
 
 / 
 
 ^06- TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to 
 speak ; 
 And speak I v/iil ; 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 v/ill tell the anger of m^^ 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 is a paltry cap, 
 A custard-coltin,^ a bauble, a silken pie : 
 I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. 
 
 Katli. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap j 
 And it I will have, or I will have none. 
 
 PeL 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 : — 
 
 W' hy, what, o'deviFs name, tailor, cali'st thou this ? 
 
 Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor 
 gov.n. [Aside^ 
 
 Tat. You bid me make it orderly and well. 
 According to the fashion, and the time. 
 
 Pel. 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. 
 
   .^ A custard-coffin, 1 A coffin was the ancient culinary terra for 
 the raised crust of a pie or custard. 
 
 ** censer — 3 ^'^ learn from an ancient print, that these 
 
 censers resembled in shape our modern brasieres. They had pierced 
 convex covers, and stood on feet. They not only served to sweeten 
 a barber's shop, but to keep his water warm, and dry his cloths onL 
 
 11
 
 TAMING OF THE 8IIREW. 40; 
 
 Kath. I never saw a better fasliion'd gown, 
 More quaint, more jilcasing, nor more commend- 
 able : 
 Belike, you moan to make a pujjpct of me. 
 
 Fit. Wliy, true ; he means to make a puppet 
 of thee. 
 
 Tai. Slie says, your worship means to make a 
 puppet of her. 
 
 Ft^t. () monstrous arrogance ! Thou hest^ thou 
 tliread, 
 Thou thimble,^ 
 
 Thou yard, three-quarters, lialf-yard, quarter, nail. 
 Thou tlea, thou nit, thou winter cricket tliou : — 
 Bniv'd in mine own house with a skein of thread ! 
 Awav, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant ; 
 Or I shall so be-m.ete* thee with thy yard, 
 As thou ghalt 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 <?tuff. 
 
 Tai. Rut how did you desire it should be made } 
 
 Gru. Marrv, sir, with needle and tln'cad. 
 
 Tai. Butdid vou not request to have it cut? 
 
 Gru. Thou hast faced many things.^ 
 
 7V/i. I have. 
 
 Gru. Face not me: thou hast braved many men;' 
 brave not me ; I will neither be faced nor braved- 
 
 t/iou tlnead, 
 
 T/iOu tliiinblc,'} The tailor's trade, liaving an appearance of 
 cffeininacy, has always been, ainong the rugged Englibh, liable 
 to surcaMiJS and conteinj)!. J(jhn.son. 
 
 '' . Ar'-niete — ] i. e. be-ineasure thee. 
 
 ' faced many things.^ i. e. turned up many gouns, &C. 
 
 8 hrvi\(:d mntii/ tnoi ;] i.e. made many men ///<t. liiavunj 
 
 Has the ancient term lijr clcyance ol'drc:.i. 
 VOL. III. 1 I
 
 408 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 I say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the gown ; 
 but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo, thou 
 best. 
 
 Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to 
 testify. 
 
 Pet. Read it. 
 
 Gru. The note Hes 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. JVitli a small compassed cape ;^ 
 
 Gru. I confess the cape. 
 
 Tai. J nth a trunk sleeve ;■ 
 
 (rru, 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 fin^^er be armed in a thimble. 
 
 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 he shall havQ 
 no odds, , 
 
 Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 
 
 G7'u. You are i'the right, sir ; 'tis for my mis- 
 tress. 
 
 Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master s use. 
 
 ^ a small compassed cape ;] A compassed cape is a round 
 
 cap(3. To comjxiss is to come round. Joiinsok. 
 * thij i\iCiQ-y ard,'] i. e, thy measuring yard.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 409 
 
 Gni. Villain, not for thy life: Take up my mis- 
 tress' ijown for thv master's use ! 
 
 Pet. ^^'^hy, 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, Uk:: ! 
 
 Ftt. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor 
 paid : — {_Asidc. 
 
 Go take it t;ence ; be gone, and say no more. 
 
 Hur. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-mor- 
 row. 
 Take no unkindness of his hasty words. 
 Away, I say ; commend me to thy master. 
 
 [E^vit 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 jxjor furniture, and mean array. 
 If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me: 
 And therefore, frolick ; we will hence forthwith, 
 To feast and sj)ort 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 thitiier walk on foot. — 
 Let's see ; I think, 'tis now some seven o'clock. 
 And well we may come there by dinner time. 
 
 KatU> I cUirc assure you, sir, 'tis almost two ; 
 
 I ri
 
 410 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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, Ict'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. \_E.veimt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
 Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like 
 
 ViNCENTIO. 
 
 Tra. Sir, this is the house ; Please it you, that I 
 call ? 
 
 Fed. Ay, what else ? and, but I be deceived,^ 
 Signior Baptista may remember me. 
 Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where 
 We were lodgers at the Pegasus. 
 
 Tra. ^ 'Tis well ; 
 
 And hold your own, in any case, with such 
 Austerit}' as 'longeth to a father. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Fed, I warrant you : But, sir, here comes your 
 boy ; 
 'Twere good, he were school'd. 
 
 7V«. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, 
 Now do your duty throughly, I advise you ; 
 Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. 
 
 Bion. Tut ! fear not me. 
 
 * "-^--hyxi I h deceked^l But, i.e. unless.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 411 
 
 Tra. But ha?t thou done thy errand to Raptista ? 
 
 B'lon. I told liun, that your father was at W-uicc ; 
 And that you look'd (or liim this day ni Padua. 
 
 Tva. ThouVt a tall fellow; iiold thee that to 
 drink. 
 Here comes liaptista : — set vour countenance, sir. 
 
 Enter B vptista ami Lucentio. 
 
 Sic^nior Baj)tista, vou arc hap])ily met : — 
 
 Sir, [Tu the Pedant.] 
 
 This is the gentleman I told you of: 
 
 I pray you, stand good father to nic now. 
 
 Give nie Bianca for my patrimony. 
 
 Ped. Soft, son ! 
 Sir, by your leave ; having* come to Padua 
 To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
 JMade me acquainted with a weighty cause 
 Of love between your daughtrr and himself: 
 And, — for the good report I hear of you : 
 And lor the love he beareth to your daughter. 
 And she to him, — to stay him not too long, 
 I am content, in a good fathers care. 
 To have him match'd ; and, — if you please 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 caimot be with you,'* 
 Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 
 
 Bdp. 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 both dissemble deeply their affections : 
 And, therefore, if you say no more than this. 
 That like a father you uill deal with him, 
 
 ^ Fur ciirioLLS / cannot he ivith j/oii,'] CurioUi is scrupulous.
 
 412 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 And pass my daughter a sufficient dower/ 
 The match is fuUy made, and all is done : 
 Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 
 
 Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you kpow 
 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 hark'ning still ; 
 And, happily,' we might be interrupted. 
 
 Tra. Then at my 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 arriv'd in Padua, 
 And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. 
 
 Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart ! 
 
 Tra. 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. 
 
 Bap. I follow you. 
 
 \_E.Teunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista. 
 
 5 And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,'] To pass is, in this 
 place, synonymous to assure or convey ; as it sometimes occurs in 
 the covenant of a purchase deed, that the granter has power to 
 bargain, sell, &c. " and thereby to pass and convey" the pre- 
 mises to the grantee. 
 
 ^ We be affied;] i. e. betrothed. 
 
 " Andy happily,] Happily, in Shakspeare's time, signified (tQt 
 eidevtally, as well <\s fortunately. 
 
 10
 
 TAMING OF Tim SHREW. 413 
 
 Bio}2. Cambio. — 
 
 Luc. What say'st thou, Biondcllo ? 
 
 BioTi. You saw my master wink and huigh upon 
 vou r 
 
 Luc. Blondollo, wliat of that? 
 
 B'lou. 'Faith nothinsj ; but ho has left me here 
 behind, to expound the meaninjj; or moraP of liis 
 signs and tokens. 
 
 L.uc. I j)ray thee, morahze them. 
 
 B'lon. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with 
 the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 
 
 Luc. And what of him ? 
 
 Biufi. His daughter is to be brought by you to 
 the supper. 
 
 Luc. And then ? — 
 
 Bion. The old jjriest at Saint Luke's church is at 
 vour command at all hours. 
 
 Luc. And what of all this? 
 
 Biofi. I cannot tell ; excej)t they are busied 
 about a counterfeit assurance : Take you assurance 
 of her, cum prhikgio adimprimendum solum :^ to the 
 church;' — take the priest, clerk, and some suf- 
 ficient 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. 
 
 [Cunng* 
 
 Laic. Hearst thou, Biondello? 
 
 Bum. 1 cannot tarry : I knew a wench married in 
 
 an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley 
 
 to stuft" a rabbit ; and so may you, sir ; and so 
 
 s or moral — ] i. e. tlie secret purpose. 
 
 'J cum privile'^in ad imprnnrndnm solum :'] It is scarce nc- 
 
 rc'Rsary to observe, that tlicse are the words which commonly 
 were put on books where an exchisive rifjlit hail l)een granted f<* 
 particuhir persons for printing tliem. Ukkd. 
 
 ' tn the chnrch ;] i. e. go to the church, ilc.
 
 414 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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. [^E.vit. 
 
 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. \_E.vii. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A pub lick 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 ! 
 Kath, The moon! the sun; it is not moonlight 
 
 now. 
 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- 
 self. 
 It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, 
 Or ere I journey to your father's house : — 
 Go on, and fetch our horses back again. — 
 Evermore cross'd, and cross'd : nothing but cross'd ! 
 JJor, 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. 
 Kdth. I know it is. 
 
 Pet' Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun.
 
 TAMING OF THE 8IIREW. 415 
 
 Kath. Then, God be bless' tl, it is the blessed 
 sun : 
 But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
 And the moon changes, even as your mind. 
 U'hat you will have it nam'd, even that it is ; 
 And so it shall be so, for Katharine. 
 
 Jlor. Pttruehio, ijo thy ways ; the held is won. 
 
 Pet. \\ ell, forward, forw ard : thus the bowl 
 should run. 
 And not unluckily aoainst the bias. — 
 But soft ; what company is coming here ? 
 
 Enter Vincentio, /// a travelUns: dress. 
 
 Good morrow, gentle mistress : Where away ? — 
 
 \_To Vincentio. 
 Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too. 
 Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
 Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! 
 ^\'iiat 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. 
 
 Jlor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a wo- 
 man of him. 
 
 Kulli. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and 
 sweet, 
 "Whither away ; or where is thy abode ? 
 Ilapjjv the parents of so Aiir a child; 
 na]>j/icr the man, whom favourable stars 
 Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 
 
 Pet. \Viiy, how now, Kate ! I hope thou art not 
 mad : 
 This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, witlicr'd ; 
 And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 
 
 Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, 
 'i'liat have been so bedazzled with the sun. 
 
 t
 
 41 6 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 That every thing I look on scemeth 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. 
 
 Vi7i, Fair sir, — and you my merry mistress, — 
 That with your strange encounter much amaz'd 
 
 me; 
 My name is calfd — 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 ? 
 
 Vi7t. 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. 
 
 Viji. But is this ti'ue ? or is it else your pleasure. 
 Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
 Upon the company you overtake ? 
 
 Ho7\ I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
 
 ^ That every thing I look on xeemeth green .*] Shakspeare's ob- 
 servatioHs on the phaenomena of nature are very accurate. When 
 one has sat long in the sunshine, the surrounding objects will 
 often appear tinged with green. The reason is assigned by many 
 of the writers on opticks. Blackstone.
 
 TAMING OF THE jSHREW. 417 
 
 Pet. Come, go alonii;, i^nd sec the truth hereof; 
 For our first merriment hatli made thee jealous. 
 
 \^Ed'cunt Petruchio, Katharina, and 
 
 \ INCENTIO. 
 
 Hor. Well, Petruehio, this hath put me in heart. 
 Have to mv widow ; and if she be forward, 
 Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCEXE I. Padua. Before Lucentio's House. 
 
 Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio, cnul 
 BiANC'A : Gremio u-al/cing on the other side. 
 
 Bion. jSoftly and swiftly, sir ; for the i)riest is 
 ready. 
 
 Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance to 
 need thee at home, therefore leave us, 
 
 Bion. Nav, faith, I'll sec the church o' your 
 back ; and then come back to my master as soon as 
 I can. 
 
 \_E.reunt Lucentio, Bianxa, and Biondello. 
 
 Ore. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio*s 
 hoiLse, 
 IVIv fatlior's bears more toward the market-})lace ; 
 Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 
 
 Vin. You shall not ciioose but drink before you 
 ^o; 
 I think, I shall command your welcome here,
 
 418 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward, 
 
 {^Knocks. 
 Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock 
 louder. 
 
 Enter Pedant above^ at a windoxv. 
 
 Fed. What's he, that knocks as he would beat 
 down the gate ? 
 
 Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? 
 
 Ptd. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken 
 withal. 
 
 Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound 
 or two, to make mei ry 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 cir- 
 cumstances, — 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 fiat 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 Biokdello. 
 
 Bicn. I have seen them in the church togetlier; 
 God send 'cm good shipping ! — But who is here ?
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 419 
 
 jniuc old master, ^'inccntio ? now we are undone, 
 and brought to nothinj;^. 
 
 Vi/i. Come hither, crack-hcnip. 
 
 iScehlg BlONDELLO. 
 
 Biofi. I hope, I may choose, sir. 
 
 Vhi. Come hither, you rogue ; What, have you 
 forfjot me ? 
 
 Biun. For2;ot von ? no, sir : I coukl not forget 
 vou, for I never saw you before in all luy life. 
 
 V'lH. What, you notorious villain, didst thou 
 never see thy master's father, Vincentio ? 
 
 Bioii. Wliat, my old, worshipful old master? yes, 
 marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window. 
 
 Vin. Is't so, indeed ? [/icY/Af Biondello. 
 
 Blou. Help, help, help! here's a madman wdl 
 murder me. [_Exit, 
 
 Fed. Help, son! help, sigjnior Baptista! 
 
 \_llrit,Jrom I he xc'uidow. 
 
 Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the 
 end of this controversy. [^riicif retire. 
 
 Re-enter Pedant below ; Baptista, Tranio, and 
 
 Servants. 
 
 Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my 
 ser\'ant ? 
 
 Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir? — 
 O immortal gods! O fine villiin! A silken doublet! 
 a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain hat!* 
 — O, I am undone! I am undone! wlide I play the 
 good husband at home, my son and my servant 
 spend all at the university. 
 
 Tra. I low now ! what's the matter ? 
 
 Bap. AVhat, is the man lunatick ? 
 
 Tra. Sir, you j-eem a sober ancient gentleman by 
 
 a cnpntnln /irit .'1 is, I bulievc, a liat with u conical crown, 
 
 anciently worn by wull-Urcsbcd men. Johnson.
 
 420 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 your habitj but your words show you a madman : 
 Why, sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and 
 gold? I thank my good fatiier, 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 : I 
 have brought him up ever since he was three years 
 old, and his name is — Tranio, 
 
 Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Luccn- 
 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 villain, 
 where is my son Lucentio ? 
 
 IVa. Call forth an officer : [^Enter one with an 
 Ojficer.~j 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. 
 
 G?^e. 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. 
 
 G?'e. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. 
 
 Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with 
 him. 
 
 ■* — — coney-catched'^'] i. e. deceived, cheated*
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 421 
 
 Fin. Thus strangers may be haled and abus'd: — 
 O monstrous villain ! 
 
 Re-enter Biondello, "uith Lucentio, awt? 
 
 BlAN( A. 
 
 Bion. O, WQ arc spoiled, and — Yonder be Is ; 
 deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 
 
 Luc. Pardon, sweet father. \_Kneclins;. 
 
 rhu Lives my sweetest son ? 
 
 [Biondello, Tkanio, and Pedant run out. 
 
 Bian. Pardon, dear father. [Kncelina;, 
 
 Bap. How hast thou offended: — 
 
 AVliere is Luc^ntio? 
 
 Luc. Here's I^ucentio, 
 
 Right son unto the right Vincentio; 
 That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
 While counterfeit supposes blear d thine eyne.^ 
 
 Grc. Here's packing,*" with a witness, to deceive 
 us all 1 
 
 Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, 
 That faq'd and brav'd me in this matter so? 
 
 Bap. Wliv, 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 happilv I have arriv'd at last 
 Unto the wished haven of my bliss: — 
 What Tranio did, niyself enforc'd him to ; 
 Tlien pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 
 
 /'///. ril slit the villain's nose, that would have 
 sent me to tiie gaoj. 
 
 Bajj. But do you hear sir? [7b Lucentio.] 
 
 5 While counttrfrit supposes blcar'd thine ryve."] To blear the 
 eye was an uncicul phrube sif^nitying to deceive. 
 
 ' IJert'i packjJi^s] i. e. plultiug, uiiderljuml contrivaijce.
 
 411 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Have you married my daughter without asking my 
 good-will ? 
 
 Vin, Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you, 
 ^o to : 
 But I will in, to be revenged for this villainy. 
 
 \_E.rif, 
 Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. 
 
 \_E.vit. 
 
 Luc, Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father will not 
 
 frown. \_E.reu92t Luc. and Bian. 
 
 Ore. My cake is dough -J But I'll in among the 
 
 rest ; 
 
 Out of hope of all, — but my share of the feast. 
 
 lE^'it. 
 
 Petruchio and Katharina advance. 
 
 Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of 
 this ado. 
 
 Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
 
 Kath. What, in the midst of the street ? 
 
 Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ? 
 
 Kath. No, sir; God forbid: — but ashamed to kiss. 
 
 Pet. Wliy, then let's home again : — Come, sir- 
 rah, let's away. 
 
 Kath. Nay, I vv'ill 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. 
 
 \_Edeimt, 
 
 "^ Mif cale is dougJi .•] A phrase generally used wlien any pro- 
 ject miscarrietl, or ratlier when any drsappointnient was sustain- 
 ed, contrary to every appearance or cxpectation>
 
 TAXIING OF THE SHREW. 423 
 SCENE n. 
 
 A Room in Luccntio's House. 
 
 A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vinxentio, 
 Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Pe- 
 TRUCHio, Katharina, Hortensio, and "Wi- 
 dow. Tramo, Biondello, Grumio, and Othtrs, 
 attending. 
 
 Luc. At la^t, though long, our jarring notes 
 agree : 
 And time it is, when raging war is done, 
 To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown.— 
 INIy iair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
 While 1 with self-same kindness welcome thine :— 
 Brother Petruchio, — sister Katharina, — 
 And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, — 
 Feast u ith the best, and welcome to my house ; 
 Mv banquet^ is to close our stomachs u]). 
 After our great good cheer : Pray you, sit down ; 
 For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. 
 
 \_They sit at table. 
 
 Pet. X(^)thing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! 
 
 Bap. Padua atlbrds this kindness, son Petruchio. 
 
 Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 
 
 Ilor. For both our sakes, I would that word were 
 true. 
 
 Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his 
 widow.^ 
 
 8 My banquet — ] A banquet, or (as it is called in some of our 
 old hooks,) an fiflcrpast, was a slight refection, like our modern 
 dcsirt, consisting ot cakes, sweetmeats, and Iriiit. 
 
 '■> fears hi"! widoiv.'] 'To fear, ax has been already obsan'ed, 
 
 meant in our author's time both to dread, and to intin.i(i'ite. 'Iho 
 widow underbtand-^ tlie word m the latter sense; and retruelu»> 
 tells her, he used it in the tbrnier. MaloNE. 
 
 VOL, III. K K
 
 424 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 JVid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. 
 Fet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my 
 sense ; 
 I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 
 
 Wid. He that is giddy, tliinks the world turns 
 
 round. - 
 Pet. Roundly replied. 
 
 Kath. ,^- >. Mistress, how mean you that ? 
 JVid. Thus I conceive by him. 
 Pet. Conceives by me! — How likes Hortensio 
 
 that? 
 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. 
 
 JVid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew. 
 Measures my husband's sorrow by his woq. : 
 And now you know my meaning. 
 Kath. A very rnean meaning. 
 JVid. 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 ? an 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.
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 425 
 
 Ptt. Nay, that you shall not; since you have 
 begun, 
 Have at you for a bitter jest or two. 
 
 Biaii. Am I your bird ? I mean to shift my bush, 
 And then pursue me as you draw your bow : — 
 You are welcome all. 
 
 [^E.Vi'iDit BiANCA, Katharina, z^/;/^/ Wldow. 
 
 Pet. She hath prevented nie. — Here, signiov 
 Tranio, 
 This bird you aim'd at, thoudi vou hit her not ; 
 Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. 
 
 Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd luc like his grey- 
 hound, 
 Which runs himself, and catches for his master, 
 
 Pet. A ^ood swift simile, but something currish. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; 
 "Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. 
 
 Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. 
 
 Luc. 1 thank thee for that gird,^ good Tranio. 
 
 Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you 
 here ? 
 
 Pet. 'A has a little galfd me, I confess ; 
 And, as the jest did glance away from me, 
 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 
 
 Baji. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
 I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 
 
 Pet. AW'll, 1 say — no: and therefore, for assu- 
 rance, 
 Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
 And he, whose wife is most obedient 
 To come at Hrst when he doth send for her, 
 Miall win the wager which we will j)ropose. 
 
 Ilur. Content : What is the wager ? 
 
 Jjic, Twenty crowns. 
 
 Pet. Tvventy crowns \ 
 
 ' t/iut gird,] A gird u a aarcasm, ^olhe. 
 
 k K '2
 
 -* 
 
 426 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 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. 
 
 Bion. I go. [E.vit. 
 
 Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 
 
 Luc. I'll have no halves ; I'll bear it all myself, 
 
 Re-ente?^ 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 answ^er ? 
 
 Gi^e. Ay, and a kind one too : 
 
 Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 
 
 Pet. I hope, better. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife 
 To come to me forthwith. [^E.vit Biondello. 
 
 Pet. O, ho ! entreat her ! 
 
 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 
 vile. 
 Intolerable, not to be cndur'd t
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 427 
 
 Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress ; 
 
 ISay, I command her come to mc. [_E.rif Grumio. 
 
 JFIor. I know her answer. 
 
 Pet. AAliat ? 
 
 Hor. JShc will not come. 
 
 Pcf. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 
 
 Enter Katharina. 
 
 Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katha- 
 rina ! 
 
 Kath. ^Vhat is your will, sir, that you send for 
 me ? 
 
 Ptt. Where is your sister, and Hortcnsio's wife ? 
 
 Kath. They sit conferrinpj by the jiarlour fire. 
 
 Ptt. Go, fetch them hither ; if they deny to 
 come, 
 Swin2:e me them soundly fcrth nnt) their husbands : 
 Away, I say, and bring them hither straiglit. 
 
 \_K.vit 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 life. 
 An awful rule, and ri^ht su}jremacy ; 
 And, to be short, w liat not, that's sweet and happy. 
 
 Bop. Now fair befal thee, good JV'truchio I 
 The wai>er thou hast won ; and I will add 
 Unto tiieir losses twenty thousa-.I crowns I 
 Another dowry to another daughter. 
 For she is chang'd, as she had never beeii. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet; 
 And show more sign of her obedience, 
 1 ler new-built virtue and obedience. 
 
 Be-euter Ka 'miakina, xcitli Hianca and Wirlow. 
 ►See, where she comes ; and brings your froward 
 
 wives 
 As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. —
 
 428 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not ; 
 Oft' with that bauble, throw it under foot. 
 
 [Katharina pulls off her cap, and thro'ws it 
 doxvn. 
 
 WuL Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh. 
 Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 
 
 B'lan. Fye ! what a foolish duty call you this ? 
 
 Lnc. 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. 
 
 Fet, Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head- 
 stronp' women 
 What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 
 
 Jlid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will 
 have no telling. 
 
 Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with her. 
 
 JVid. She shall not. 
 
 Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with her. 
 
 Kath. Fye, tye! 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 tiiy 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 nraintenance : conuTiits 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 thv hands,
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 429 
 
 But love, fair looks, and true obedience ; — 
 
 Too little payment tor so <j,reat a del>t. 
 
 Such duty as the sui)ject owes the prince. 
 
 Even such, a woman oweth to her husband : 
 
 And, when she's fioward, peevish, sullen, sour^ 
 
 And, not obedient to his honest will. 
 
 What is she, but a toul eontendin<; rebel, 
 
 And o-raceless traitor to her loviuLT lord? — 
 
 I am asham'd, that women are so simple 
 
 To ofter war, where they should kneel tor peace ; 
 
 Or seek for rule, supremat'v, and swav. 
 
 When thev are bound to serve, love, and obev. 
 
 A\'hy are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, 
 
 Unapt to toil and troul)le in the world ; 
 
 J5ut that our soft conditions," and our hearts, 
 
 Should wvW agree with our external parts? 
 
 Come, come, you froward and unable worms! 
 
 Mv mind hath been as big' as one of yours, 
 
 IMv heart as great ; my reason, haplv, more, 
 
 To bandy word for \vord, and frown lor irown ; 
 
 lUit now, I see our l.mces are but straws, 
 
 Oiu" strength as weak, our weakness past compare, — 
 
 I'hat seeming to be most, which we least arc. 
 
 Then vail vour stomachs,' for it is no boot; 
 
 And place your hands below your husband's foot: 
 
 In token of which dut\ , if he please, 
 
 INIy hand is ready, may it do him ease. 
 
 J^ct. Why, there's a wench! — Come on, and kiss 
 
 me, Kate. 
 J.m. Well, go thy ways, old lad : for thou shalt 
 
 hat. 
 fhi. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are 
 
 toward. 
 Luc. ]5ut a harsh hearing, when women are fro- 
 ward. 
 
 ' our soft coiulitions,'] The gentle quulitiofl of our miiuU. 
 
 ^ J'hai vail j/our stomac/is,] i. e. abate your pride, your npirit. 
 
 i ]
 
 430 TAMING OF TFIE SHREW. 
 Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to-bed :- 
 
 We three are married, but you two are sped.* 
 'Twas I won the vvager^ though you hit the white ;^ 
 
 \To LUCENTIO. 
 
 And, being a winner, God give you, good night! 
 
 \^E xeiuU VKiRvcmo 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. [^E.veimt.^ 
 
 * .- — you ttw are sped.] i. e. the fate of you both is decided ; 
 for you have wives who exhibit early proofs of disobedience. 
 
 * though ynu hit the white ;] To hit the iKihite is a phrase 
 
 borrowed from archery : the mark was commonly white. Here 
 it alludes to the name, BiancUf or tvhite. 
 
 ^' Of this play the two plots are so well united, that they can 
 hardly be called two without injury to the art with wliich they 
 are interwoven. The attention is entertained with all the variety 
 of a double plot, yet is not distracted by unconnected incidents. 
 
 The part between Katharine and Petruchio is eminently spritely 
 and diverting. At the marriage of Bianca the arrival of the real 
 father, perhaps, produces more perplexity than pleasure. The 
 whole play is very popular and diverting. Johnson.
 
 WINTER'S TALE.* 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 Ll
 
   Wi!«ter's Tale.] This play, throughout, is written in tlid 
 Very spirit of its author. And in teHing this homely atjd simple^ 
 though agreeable, country tale, 
 
 Our siceetest SJiakspeare, Jiincy^s child, 
 Warbles his native ivood-noies iirild. 
 
 This was necessary to observe in mere justice to the play; as 
 the meanness ot'the table, and the ext^avagant conduct of it, had 
 misled some of great name into a wrong judgment of its merit; 
 •which, as far as it regards sentiment and character, is scarce infe- 
 rior to any in the wiiule collection. Warburton'. 
 
 At Stationers' Hall, May '22, \59i; Edward White entered 
 *' A booke entitled A JVyuter Xi/vht's Pastime." Steevens. 
 
 The story of this play is taken from the Pleasant History of 
 Dorastus and Faxvnia, written by Robert Greene; Johnson* 
 
 In this novel, the King of Sicilia, whom Shakspearc names 
 
 Leontes, is called Egistus. 
 
 Polixenes K. of Bohemia Pandosto* 
 
 Mainillius P. ot' Sicilia Garinter. 
 
 Florizel P. of Bohemia. Dorastus. 
 
 Camillo Franion. 
 
 Old Shepherd Porrus. 
 
 Hermiotie Bellaria. 
 
 Perdita ; . . . Faunia. 
 
 Mopsa Mopsa. 
 
 The parts of Antigonus, Paulina, and Autolycus, are of the 
 poet's own invention ; but many circumstances of the novel are 
 omitted in the play. Steevens. 
 
 Dr. Warburton, by " some of great name," means Drj'deri 
 and Pope. See the Essay at the end of the Second Part of The 
 Conquest of Grenada : " Witness the lameness of their plots ; 
 [the plots of Shakspcare and Fletcher;] many of wliich, espe- 
 cially those which they wrote lirst, (for even that age refined it- 
 self in some measure,) were made up of some ridiculous inco- 
 herent story, which in one play many times took up the business 
 of an age. I suppose 1 need not name, Periclcsy Prince of Ti/rCf 
 [and here, by-tlie-by, Dryden expressly names Pericles as our 
 author's production,] nor the historical plays of Shakspcare ; be- 
 sides many of the rest, as The Ji'inter's Tale, Lotc'v Labour'' s 
 Lost, Measure Jor Measure, which were either grounded on im- 
 possibilities, or at lea&t so meanly written, that the comedy- 
 neillu r caused your mirth, nor the serious part your concern- 
 ment." Mr. Pope, iir the Preface to his edition of our nuthor's 
 plays, pronounced the same ill-conGidercd judgment on the piny 
 before u*: " I sliould conjecture (?ays he,) of some of the 
 others, particularly Love's Lahour^s Lost, The \N r*NTEii'i Tale, 
 Conrcdj/ of Errors, and Tiltis Andronicus, that only some ch*-
 
 racier*, single scenes, or perhaps a few particular passages, wdre 
 of his hand, • 
 
 None of our author's piays has been more censured for the 
 breach of draraatick rules than Tke JViRter's Tale. In conflr- 
 matiori of what Mr. Steevens has remarked in another place— ^ 
 ** that Shakspeare was not ignorant of these rules, but disregarded 
 them," — it may be observed, that the laws of the drama are 
 clearly laid down by a vvTiter once universally read and admired. 
 Sir Philip Sidney, who, in his Defe)ice of Poesy, 1595, has 
 pointed out the very improprieties into which our author has fallen 
 in this play. After nientionmg the defects of the tragedy of 
 GorbodnCf he adds : ** But if it be so in Gorboducke, how much 
 more in all the rest, where you shall have Asia of the one side, 
 and Affricke of the other, and so manie under kingdomes, that 
 the player when he comes in, must ever begin with telling where 
 he is, or else the tale will not be conceived ?— Now of time they 
 are much more liberal. For ordinarie it is, that two young princes 
 fall in love, after many traverses she is got with qhilde, de- 
 livered of a faire boy : he is lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, 
 and is ready to get another childe, and all this in two houres 
 space ; which how ahsurd it is in scnce, even scnce may ima- 
 
 gine.'" 
 
 The Winter^ s Tale Is sneered atbjf B. Jonson, in the Induction 
 to BarlJiolvinetv Fair, IGl't: *' If there be never a servant-mon- 
 ster in the fair, who can help it, 7wr a nest of antiques ? He is 
 loth to make nature afraid in his plays, like those that beget 
 Tales, Tempests, and such like drolleries." By the iiest of an- 
 tiques, the twelve satyrs who are introduced at the sheep-shearing 
 festival, are alluded to. — In his convereation with Mr. Drummond, 
 of Hawthornden, in 1619, he has another stroke at his helox^d 
 friend: *♦ He [Jonson] said, that Shakspeare wanted art, and 
 ssornetimes sense; for in one of his plaj^s he brought in a number 
 (cvf rnen, saying they had suiiered shipwreck in Bohemia, where is 
 ao sea uear by lOt) miles." Drummond's Works, fol. 225, edit, 
 1711- 
 
 When this remark was made by Ben Jonson, The Winter* s Tale 
 was not printed. These words, therefore, are a sufficient answer 
 to Sir T- Hanmer's idle supposition that Boheyiiia was an error of 
 the press for Bythinia, 
 .This play, I imagine, was written in the year IGO^. 
 
 Ma LONE, 
 
 . Sir Thojiuas Hanmer gave himself much needless concern that 
 Shakspeare should consider Bohemia as a maritime country. He 
 would have us read Bi/thinia : but our author implicitly copied the 
 siovei before him. Dr. Grey, indeed, was apt to believe that 
 Dorastus and Faitnia might rather be borrowed from the play ; but 
 i have tntt with u copy oi it which was printed in 1588. — Cer- 
 
 m-
 
 vaoies ridicules these geo;irapliif;J nli^tilk«^«:, \\\un ho makes the 
 princess Micomicona land at Obsuna. — Corporal Trim's kfng of 
 liohemia " delighted in navigation, and had never a seu port in 
 his dominions;" and my Lord Herbert tells us, that Do Luines, 
 the prime minister ot" France, wlien he was embassador there, 
 demanded, whether Bohemia was an inland country, or lav " upon 
 
 the seaV There is a similar luistrtke in The Tivo Gentlctnai 
 
 v/' J'erotiHj relative to that city and Milan. Faiimkk. 
 
 The JVi)iter\i Tale may be ranked among the historic plays of 
 Shakspeare, though not one of his numerous criticks and ctmi- 
 mentators have discovered the drill of it. It was certainly in- 
 tended (in compliment to (^ueen Elizidieth,) UvS an indirect apo- 
 logy for her mother, Anne lioleyn. The address of the poet ap- 
 pears no where to more advantage. The subject was too delicate 
 to be exhibited on the stage witiiout u veil ; and it was too recent, 
 iuul touched the Queen too nearly, for tiiebard to have ventured 
 *o home an allusion on any other ground than compliment. The 
 unreasonable jealousy of Lcontes, and his violent nnuluct in con- 
 sequence, form a trur portrait of Henry the Eighth, who gene- 
 rallv made the law the engine of his boistercus passions. Not 
 onlv the general plan of the story is most applicable, but several 
 piissages are so marked, that they touch tlic real history nenrev 
 than the table. Hermionc on her trial says : 
 
 *• . for honour, 
 
 " 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, 
 " And only th.at I stand for." 
 This seems to be taken from the very letter oT Anne Holey n (o 
 the king before her execution, where hlie pleads for tl;e infml 
 Frincess his daughter. Mamillius, the young prince, an uimeces- 
 ^arv character, dies in his infancy ; but it confirms tJie allusion, 
 as Queen Anne, before Klizabeth, liore a still-born son. Hut tin- 
 most striking passage, and which had nothing to do in the tragedy, 
 but as it pictured Elizabeth, is, where Paulina, describing the 
 new-born i'rincess, and her likeness to her father, says: " She 
 has thr \rr'/ tj-'ick < if his //ore;/." There is one sentiMice indeed 
 po applicxdile, both to Elizabeth and her father, lluit I should 
 sasjject the poet inserted it after her death- Faulina, spcukiug 
 «f the child, tells the kiii2: 
 
 " — 'Tis yours ; 
 
 " And might we lay the old proverb to your charge, 
 " So like you, 'tis the %\orse." 
 'The H'liiUr':: Tale was, therefoie, in reality a i\,cond part of 
 Henry the EiiihtJi. W \ i.hoi.k. 
 
 i
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Leontes, Kitig of Sicilia : 
 
 Mamillius, Ids Son. 
 
 Camillo, "^ 
 
 Antigonus, f c- -r r .7 
 i-^^ > Sicilian Lords* 
 
 Cleomenes, I 
 
 Dion, 3 
 
 Another Sicilian Lord. 
 
 Rogero, a Sicilian Gentleman. 
 
 An Attendant on the young Prince Mamillius, 
 
 Officers of a Court of Judicature. 
 
 Polixenes, King of Bohemia : 
 
 Florizel, his Son. 
 
 Arcbidamus, a Bohemian Lord. 
 
 A Mariner, 
 
 Gaoler. 
 
 A?i old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita ; 
 
 Cloxvn^ his Son. 
 
 Servant to the old Shepherd. 
 
 Autolycus, a Rogue. 
 
 TimCy as Chorus. 
 
 Hermionc, Queen to Leontes. 
 
 Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermionef. 
 
 Paulina, JViJe to Antigonus. 
 
 Emilia, a Ladi/, \ ,, .• .1 r^ 
 
 T ^ .1 T V r attendins; the Queen. 
 
 L zio other Ladies, j a ^ "^ 
 
 Dorcas, I Shepherdesses. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Sati/rsfor a Dajice ; 
 Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &c. 
 
 SCENE, sonietitnesinSiciWsi, sometimes in Bohemia,-
 
 WINTERS TALE. 
 
 ACT J. 
 
 SCEXE I. Sicilia. An Antccliambcr in Leoiitcs* 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 
 
 Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo- 
 Iiemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are 
 now on foot, yon shall see, as I have said, great 
 difttTcnce betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia. 
 
 Cam. I think, this cominiij summer, the king of 
 Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which 
 lie justly owes him. 
 
 ArcJi. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, 
 we will be justified in our loves:' for, nideed, — 
 
 Cam. 'Beseech you. 
 
 Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my 
 knowledge: we cannot with such inapiificence — in 
 
 so rare — 1 know not what to say. We will give 
 
 y<ju slwpy drinks ; that your senses, unintelligent 
 of our insiifficience, may, though they cannot praise 
 us, as little accuse us. 
 
 ' fiur entertainment, &'c.] Tliou^/h we cannot give vou 
 
 equal entcrtainmcmt, yet tl)e conjciousneys ut" our good-will shall 
 justify us. JonNaoN. 
 
 '^^ 
 
 «
 
 ^38 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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, tlieir 
 encounters, though not personal, have been royally 
 attornicd,^ with interchange of gifts, letters, loving 
 embassies ; that they have seemed to be together, 
 though absent ; shook hands, as over a vast ; and 
 embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed 
 winds.^ The heavens continue their loves t 
 
 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, phy- 
 sicks the subject/ makes old hearts fresh ; they, 
 
 * royally attornied,'] Nobly supplied by substitutioa of 
 
 embassies, &.c. Johnson. 
 
 3 shooh hands, as over a vast ; and embraced^ as it tcere, 
 
 J'ram the ends of opposed 'winds.'] Shakspeare has, more than once, 
 taken his imagery I'rom the prints, with which the books of hk 
 time were ornamented. If my memory do not deceive me, he 
 had his eye on a wood cut in Holinshed, while writing the incan- 
 tation of the weird sisters in Macbeth. There is also an allusion to 
 a print of one of the Henries holding a sword adorned with crowns. 
 In this passage he refers to a device common in the title-page of 
 old books, of two hands extended from opposite cloudy, and joined 
 as in token of friendship over a wide waste of country. Henlky. 
 
 4 physicks the subject,'] Affords a cordial to the state ;.haci 
 
 the power of assuaging the sense of misery. Johhscwj.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 439 
 
 that went on crutches ere he was horn, tlcsire yet 
 their hte, to see him a man. 
 
 Arch. Woukl they else be content to die ? 
 
 Cam. Yes ; if tliere were no other excuse why 
 tliey shoukl desire to live. 
 
 Arch. If the kins; had no son, tliey 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, Ma- 
 MiLLius, Camillo, and Attendants-. 
 
 Pol. Nine chanoes of the wat'ry star have been 
 The siiepherd's note, since we have left our throne 
 Withcnit a burden : time as long again 
 AVould be till'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, 
 \\\\.\\ one we-thank-you, many thousands more 
 'I'hat go before it. 
 
 Lc<)n. 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 chance, 
 Or breed upon our absence : That may blow 
 No sneaping winds^ at home, to make us say, 
 ik'is is put forth too truly /° Besides, 1 have stay'd 
 'J'o tire your royalty. 
 
 Tliut may A/o:u 
 
 So xneapiiiff II. iwJs — ] i. c. O/i ! that. Snraping, nii>i)ing wiiub;. 
 '' T/iis is put J'orlli too trulif /] i. c. to rnakt- me say, 1 liad too 
 nooil It axon Jul' un/ Jnirs. 
 
 \ or,. III. M M
 
 440 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Leon. We are tougher, brother. 
 
 Than you can put us to't. 
 
 Pol. No longer stay. 
 
 Leon. One seven-night longer. 
 
 Pol. Veiy sooth, to-morrow. 
 
 Leon. We'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' th« 
 
 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 r 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 distafts. — 
 Yet of your real presence \To Polixenes.] I'll 
 
 adventure 
 The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
 
 ' t^^s satisfaction — ] We had satisfactory accounts ves- 
 
 ferday of tJie tftate of Bohemia. Joiixson.
 
 WINTERS TALE.- 411 
 
 You take mv lord, Til pve iiiiu my commis'^inn. 
 To let hull there a month, behind the gtst'' 
 Pretix'd for his parting : yet, good-deed, " LeoutL's, 
 I love thee not a jar o' the clock' beliiiid 
 "What lady she her lord. — You'll stay ? 
 
 Pol. No, madam. 
 
 Her. Nay, but you will ? 
 
 Pol. I may not verily. 
 
 Her. Verily ! 
 You })ut nie ort' with limber vows : But I, 
 Though >ou would seek to unsphere the stars with 
 
 oatlis, 
 Should yet say, Sir, no goi/iir. Verily, 
 You shall not tro ; a lady's verily is 
 As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet ? 
 Force me to keej) you as a prisoner, 
 Not like a guest ; so you shall pay vour fees, 
 When you de})art, and save your tlianks. How say 
 
 you r 
 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 otlending ; 
 NN'hich is for me less easy to 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. 
 
 — Uhiiul llie gest — ] (ied signifies a stage, or jouniev 
 
 In the time of ruyal progresses the kin;j;'s stages, iis we may see 
 Ijv the journals of them' in the lieraUl's office, were called hi* 
 gests ; from the old iTcnch word g,islc, divcrsorium. 
 
 V Tjely good-deed,] sigjiilies, indrcil, in vrri/ deed. 
 
 ' a jar 6* the clock — ] A jar isi, I helieve, a single re- 
 
 petitiou of the noise made by the pendulum of a clock : wliut 
 eJiildrea call the licking of it. SrtLVLN.ii. 
 
 .M M '2
 
 AA2 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Pol. ' We wcre^ 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 frisk i* 
 the sun. 
 And bleat the one at the other : What we chans'd 
 W^as 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'dl 
 
 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'd the 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. 
 
 2 .- . the imposition clear' d. 
 Hereditary/ mirs.'} i. e. setting aside original sin ; bating the 
 imposition from the offence of our first parents, we might have 
 boldly protested our innocence to Heaven. Warburton. 
 
 i Grace to boot /] Grace, or Heaven help me !
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 443 
 
 Lton. At my request, he anouIcI not. 
 
 Ilermione, my dearest, thou never spuk'st 
 To better purpose. 
 
 Her. Never ? 
 
 Leon. Never, but once. 
 
 Her. What ? have I twice said well r when was't 
 before ? 
 I prVthee, tell me : Cram us with praise, and make 
 
 us 
 As fat as time things : One good deed, dying tongue- 
 less, 
 Slaugiitors a thousand, waiting upon that. 
 Our praises are our wages : You may ride us, 
 AVith one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere 
 With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ; — 
 JMy last good was, to entreat his stay ; 
 What was my tirst : it has an elder sister. 
 Or I mistake you : O, would her name wTre Grace ! 
 But once before I spoke to the purpose : When ? 
 Nay, let me havc't ; I long. 
 
 Leon. Why, that was \\\\c\\ 
 
 Three crabbed months had soui'd themselves to 
 
 death. 
 Ere I could make thee open thy white hand. 
 And clap thyself my love ;^ then didst thou utter, 
 / (un yours for ever. 
 
 Her. It is Grace, indeed. — 
 
 Why, lo you now, I liavc spoke to the purpose 
 
 twice : 
 The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; 
 The other, for some wiiile a iViend. 
 
 \_(rivin<r her hand to Polixenes. 
 
 Leon. Too hot, too hot: \_Jside. 
 
 * And clap thyself my love ;"] She opened her Iiand, to clap 
 the palm ot" it into his, as people do when they confirm a harj^aiii. 
 Ilcnce the phrase — to r/ap uji n bar^aiu, i. c. make one with uo 
 other ceremony thau the juucliou ol" hunUs.
 
 444 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 To mingie friendship far, is minglijig bloods. 
 I have trtmor cordis on me :- — my heart dances ; 
 But not for joy, — not joy. — This entertainment 
 May a free face put on ; derive a hberty 
 From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, 
 And well become the agent : it may, I grant : 
 B'^it to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers. 
 As uo'vv they are ; and making practis'd smiles, 
 A.C in a looking glass ; — and then to sigh, as 'twere 
 The mort o' the deer;^ O, that is entertainment 
 My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamillius, 
 Art thou my boy r 
 
 J\Ta?n. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leoti. 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 calFd, neat. — Still virginalling^ 
 
 [Obsermiig Polixenls and Hermione. 
 Upon liis 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/ 
 
 s The mort o,' the deer ;] A lesson upon the horn at the death 
 of the deer. 
 
 ^' lyvcks?'] A supposed corruption of — in faith. Our present 
 vvilgar pronounce ii—Jegs. 
 
 '' Why, thafs mij bawcock.] Perhaps from beau and coq. It 
 is still said in vulgar language that such a one is a jolly cock^ a 
 cock of the game, 
 
 8 Still virginalling — ~\ Still playing with her fingers, as a 
 
 girl playing on the virginals. A virginal is a very small kind of 
 spinnet. Queen Elizabeth's virginal-book is yet in being, and 
 many of the lessons in it have proved so difficult, as to baffle our 
 most expert players on the harpsichord. Steevf.ns. 
 
 p Thou tvaut'si a rou<j^h pash, and the shoots that I have,"] I
 
 ^^'INTER'S TALE. 445 
 
 To be full like me : — yet, tliey say \\c arc 
 Almost as like as c^*;?; ; women sav so. 
 That will say any thing : But were tliey false 
 As o'erdied blacks,' as wind, as waters; false 
 As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes 
 No bourn' 'twixt liis and mine; yet were it true 
 To say this boy were like nie. — Come, sir j>a<^e. 
 Look on me with vour welkin eye :"* »Sw<'et villain ! 
 Most dear'st ! my coUopI'* — Can thv dam ? — may't 
 
 be r 
 Aft'cction ! thy intention stabs the center:^ 
 Thou dost make j)ossible, things not so lield, 
 Comnmnicat'st witii dreams ; — (Ilowcan this be r) — 
 A\ idi what's unreal thou coactive art, 
 And fellow'st nothing : Then, tis very credent,® 
 Thou mav'stco-ioin with somethin<j;; and thou dost; 
 (And that bevond commission ; and I find it,) 
 And that to the infection of my brains. 
 And liardening of my brows. 
 
 Po/. What means Sicilia ? 
 
 Jle?'. He something seems unsettled. 
 
 Pol. rio\v, my lord? 
 
 What cheer ? how is't witli you, best brother ? 
 
 have lately learned that paxIi in Scotland signifies a /lead. Tlie 
 nicaninrj, tiu'iefore, I suppose, is this : Ynii tcU luc, (says Lrt>n- 
 tes to liis mm,) thai i/on are like mc ; that you fire nij/ calf. I am 
 the horned bull : thou wantcst the rough head and die honu* (J" 
 that animal, conipletclij to rcscTniblc ymr fatho: Mai.one. 
 
 ' As (i\r-dipd hlacLs,'] Sir T. ilanmer understands blacbj died 
 too much, and therefore rotten. Johnson. 
 
 * No bourn — ] lioiirn is bouudar}'. 
 
 i xiiclkiu eifc .] Blue eye ; an eye of the same colour with 
 
 the welkin, or sky. 
 
 *   VI 1/ collop!] So, in The First Part o/ Kiui^ IJenrij VT. 
 
 *' (iod knows, tlK>u art a collo/t of my tk-sh." 
 ^ Affictinn! ihif intenttnu stabs the center .-^ /[ffl-ction mean* 
 licre imagination, or periiaps more accurately " the disposition of 
 \\\i- mind when strongly a/fitlcd or posbesscd byaparticular idea.'* 
 ' t7<(/f«/, j 1. e. credible.
 
 446 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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, 1 then was to this kernel. 
 This squash,'' 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, i 
 
 Are you so fond of your young prince, as we 
 £)o 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 ; 
 
 ' This squash,] A squash is a pea-pod, in that state when the 
 young peas begin to swell in it. 
 
 8 Will you take eggs for money ?] The meaning of this is, ikHI 
 
 you fut lip affronts'? The French have a proverbial saying, A qui 
 
 vendez vouz coquilles ? i. e. whom do you design to affront ? 
 
 Mamillius's answer plainly pi-oves it. Mam. No, my Lord, I'll 
 
 Jight. Smith. 
 
 * happy :nan he his dole !] May his dole or share in life be 
 
 to be a happy man. The expression is proverbial. Dole was the 
 terra for the allowance of provision given to the poor, in great fa- 
 milies. The alms immemorially given to the poor by the Arch- 
 bishops of Canterbury, is still called the dole. See The Historij 
 of La^nbcth Palace, p. 31, in Bibl. Top. Brit. Nicwols.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 44? 
 
 And, with his varying childness, cures in me 
 Thoughts that would thick niy blood. 
 
 Leon. So stands this squire 
 
 Offic'd with me : Wc two will walk, my lord. 
 And leave you to your graver steps. — Hermione, 
 How thou lo\'st us, show in our brothers welcome; 
 Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap : 
 Next to thvself, and my young rover, he's 
 Apparent^ to my heart. 
 
 Her. If you would seek us. 
 
 We are your's i'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 vou perceive me not how I give line. 
 Go to, go to ! 
 
 \Afidc. Observing Polixenes aiid 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, knce-deej), o'er head and ears a fork'd 
 one.* 
 
 \^Exeimt Polixenes, Hermione, and At- 
 tendants. 
 Go, play, boy, play ; — thy mother jilays, and I 
 Plav too ; but s(j disgrac'd a part, whose issue 
 Will hiss nil; 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 j)resent. 
 
 ' Appart^nt — ] That is, heir apparent y or the riext claimant. 
 
 * ihr nrb,'\ 'llic word is conimonl)' pronounced and writ- 
 ten iiih. It simiiiick lierc tlie moulli. 
 
 3 To her allowing hushaiul !"] Allmcing in old language i« 
 epprovinp. M m.ose. 
 
 *     - a fork'd unc.^ That is, a Iwrncd one ; a rjickoU.
 
 448 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Now, while I speak this, holds his wife hy 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 gatesr; and tliose gates 
 
 open'd. 
 As mine, against their will : Should ail despair. 
 That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
 Would hang themselves. Physick fort ihere is 
 
 none ; 
 It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
 Where 'tis predominant ; and 'tis powerful, think it. 
 From east, west, north, and soutii : 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 feeVt not. — How now, boy ? 
 
 Mam. I am like you. tiiey say. 
 
 Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — 
 
 What ! Camillo there ? 
 
 Cam. Ay, my good lord, 
 
 Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rt an honest 
 man. — \E.vit 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.* 
 
 Leoti. Didst note it ? 
 
 Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; made 
 His business more material.'' 
 
 Leon. Didst perceive it ?— 
 
 5 it still came home.~\ This is a sea-faring expression, 
 
 meaning, the anchor would not take hold. 
 
 ^ made 
 
 His business more material.'] i. e. the more you requested 
 him to stay, the more urgent he represented that business to be 
 which summoned him away.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 449 
 
 They're here ^ith 1110 alrcudy ; whispering, round- 
 
 Sici/ia /.v a so-Jorih : 'Tis tar £^one, 
 
 When 1 !<liall srust it"^ last. — How camc't, Camino, 
 
 That he did stay ? 
 
 Caf/t. At the i;ood queen's entreaty. 
 
 Leoti. At the queen's, be't : good, should be per- 
 tinent ; 
 But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
 By anv understanding pate hut thine ? 
 For th\' eoneeit is soaking, will draw in 
 More than the common bloeks : — Not noted, is't 
 But of the finer natures ? by some severals, 
 Ot head-piece extraorthnary ? lower messes,^ 
 Perchance, are to this business purblind : say. 
 Caw. Jiusiness, my lord? I think, most under- 
 stand 
 Bohemia stays here longer. 
 Leon. I la ? 
 
 Ca?7i. Stays here lonjjer. 
 
 Leo)i. Ay, but why ? 
 
 CV/;«. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties 
 Of our most gracious mistress. 
 
 Leon. Satisfy 
 
 The entreaties of vour mistress ? satisfy ? — 
 
 Jjvt that suffice. I liave trusted thee, Camillo, 
 With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
 My ciiainber-councils : wherein, priest-like, thou 
 Hast cleans'd my bosom ; I from tliee departed 
 Thy jx'nitent reform'd : but we have been 
 Decciv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 
 In that which seems so. 
 
 7 ulii.^perinir, rounding,] To round in t/ic cnr'is to ii'ltisperj 
 
 or to tell sccrctljf. 
 
 8   ifust it — ] i. c. taste it. Stkevens. 
 
 5 tour r messes y~\ loxwr messes is perhaps used as an ex- 
 pression to signify the lowest degree about tlie eourt.
 
 450 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Cam, Be it forbid, my lord ! 
 
 Leon. To bide upon't; — Thou art not honest: or. 
 If tliou inchn'st that way, thou art a coward ; 
 Which boxes honesty behind/ restraining 
 From course requir'd : Or else thou must be counted 
 A sei'vant, grafted in my serious trust, > 
 
 And therein negligent : or else a fool, 
 That see'st a game play'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 
 
 ' boxes honesty behind,'] To hox, is to ham-string. The 
 
 proper word is, to hough, i. e. to cut the hough, or ham-string. 
 
 ' Whereof the execution did cry out 
 Againd the non-performance,'] This is one of the expressions 
 by which Shakspeare too frequently clouds his meaning. This 
 soundino- phrase means, I think, no more than a tiling necessary 
 to be done. Johnson.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 451 
 
 Is thicker than a cuckoUrs horn ;) or heard, 
 
 (For, to a vision so a})parcnt, rumour 
 
 Cannot be mute,) or thought, (tbr_ cogitation 
 
 Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) 
 
 Mv wife is shp})ery ? If tliou wilt confess, 
 
 (Or else be impudently negative, 
 
 To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say, 
 
 Mv wife's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name 
 
 As" rank as any Hax-weneh, that puts to 
 
 13efore her troth-plight : say it, and justify it. 
 
 Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to Iiear 
 Mv sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
 jMv 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 eves 
 
 blind 
 With the pin and web,' but theirs, theirs only. 
 That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing? 
 Whv, 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 no- 
 things. 
 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. 
 
 the pin and web,] Diuyrdcr* in llif cvc.
 
 452 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Cam» No, no, my lord. 
 
 Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie i 
 
 I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I haie thee ; 
 Pronounce tliee 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. ^Nho does infect her ? 
 
 Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal/ 
 hanging 
 About his neck, Bohemia : Who — if I 
 Had servants true about me : tiiat 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 cuubearer, — 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, 
 
 1 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 thiiik, I am so muddy, so unsettled. 
 To appoint myself in this vexation ? sully 
 
 4 lihe her 7nedal,~\ i. e. her porti'alt. 
 
 ^ MakeH thj question, and go rot! &c.] This refers to what 
 Caeaillo has iust said, rchitive to the Queen's chastity.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 45;* 
 
 Tlic purit\' and whiteness of my sheets, 
 
 Which to preserve, is sleep ; which being spotted. 
 
 Is E^oads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps ? 
 
 Give scandal to the blood o'the prince my son, ^ 
 
 Wlio, I do think is mine, and \o\c as mme ; 
 
 Withouc ripe moving to't r — ^^'ould I do this ? 
 
 Could man so blench r^ 
 
 Cain. I must believe you, sir; 
 
 I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for't : 
 Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness 
 AVill take again your queen, as yours at first ; 
 Even for your son's sake ; and, thereby, for scaling 
 The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
 Known and allied to yours. 
 
 Leon. Thou dost advise mc. 
 
 Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
 I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. 
 
 Catii. 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 vour servant. 
 
 Leon. This is all : 
 
 Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; 
 Uo't not, thou split'st thine own. 
 
 Cam. I'll do't, my lord. 
 
 Lean. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd 
 mc. \_E.vU. 
 
 Cam. O miserable lady! — But, for me. 
 What case stand I in ? I must he the poisoner 
 Of good I*olixenes : and my ground to do't 
 Is the obedience to a master; one, 
 Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
 Ail that are his, so too. — To do this deed, 
 Prr)motion follows : If 1 could iind cxam})lc 
 
 '' Could man so blench ?] To blench is to start ofl", to ») ixIuL
 
 454 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 villainy itself forswear't. I must 
 
 Forsake the court % to do't, or no, is certain 
 
 To me a break-neck. Happy star, reion 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 c4' much contempt, speeds from me ; and 
 So leav es 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 intel ligent to me ? 'Tis thereabouts ; 
 For, to yourself, what you do know, you must ; 
 And cai mot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
 Your cli ang'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 canno t name the disease ; and it is caught 
 Of you that yet are well.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 455 
 
 Pol. IIovv I caught of me ? 
 
 ]\Iake mc not sighted hkc the basihsk : 
 I have look'd on thousands who have spexl tlio better 
 
 Bv my regard, but kill'd none so. (.'amillo, 
 
 As vou are certainly a gentleman ; thereto 
 Clerk-hke, experienc'd, whicli no less adorns 
 Our gentrv, than our parents' noble names, 
 In whose success we are gentle,' — I beseech you, 
 If you know aught which does behove my know- 
 ledge 
 Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not 
 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 off, how near; 
 Which way to be j)revented, 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 foUow'd, as 
 I mean to utter it ; or both yourself and me 
 Cry, lost, and so good-night. 
 
 PoL On, good Camillo. 
 
 Cam. I am appointed Him to murder you." 
 
 " In whose succefis ive are gentle,] Success here means succes- 
 sion. Gentle i8 evidently opijosed to simple; alluding to the dis- 
 tinction between the gentry and yeomanry. 
 
 « / am aj/poinled Him tu murder ijuu.'\ i. c. I am the person 
 appointed to murder you. 
 
 VOL. III. Nn
 
 456 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Pol. By whom, Camillo ? 
 
 Cam. By the king. 
 
 Pol. For what ? 
 
 Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he 
 swears. 
 As he had seen't, or been an instrument 
 To vice^ you to't, — that you have touch'd his 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 
 W here 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 fabrick of his folly ; whose foundation 
 Is jDil'd upon iiis 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 
 
 9 To vice — ] i. e. to draw, persuade you ; probably for advise. 
 
 » vohosc foundation 
 
 Ispil'd upon hisfaith,'\ This folly which is erected on the 
 foundation of settled bditf.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 457 
 
 Mv fortunes to your service, v.liitli are here 
 
 ]U' tliis discovery lost, lie not uncerLaiu ; 
 
 For, by the honour of 7n\' parents, I 
 
 Have utter'd tnitli : which if yon seek to prove, 
 
 I dare not stand hv ; n(M- shall you be safer 
 
 Than one condeinn'd by the king's own mouthy 
 
 thereon 
 His execution sworn. 
 
 Pol.   I do believe thee ; 
 
 I saw his heart in his face. Give mc thy hand ; 
 Be pilot to nie, and thy places shall 
 Still neiii,lihour mine : Mv ships are readv, and 
 My people did expect niv hence departure 
 'i'wo (lavs a2;o. — This jealousy 
 Is for a precious creature : as she's rare. 
 Must it be iijreat ; and, as his person's mifi;hty, 
 Must it l)e violent : and as he does conceiv^c 
 He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
 Profess'd to him, why, hisrevenp;es must 
 In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me : 
 Good expedition be my friend, and comftirt 
 The gracious queen, ])art of his theme, but nothing 
 Of his ill-ta'en susjjicion ! Come, Caniillo ; 
 I will respect thee as a f ither ; if 
 Thou bear'st my life otf hence : Let us avoid. 
 
 Cam. It is in mine authoritv^, to command 
 The keys of all the posterns : Flease your highness 
 To take the urgent hour ; come, sir, away. 
 
 If n2
 
 458 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 SCENE I. The same, 
 
 E7iter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. 
 
 Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, 
 *Tis past enduring. 
 
 1 Lady, Come, my gracious lord. 
 
 Shall I be your play-fellow ? 
 
 Mam. No, I'll none of you. 
 
 1 Lady. Why, my 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 
 now 
 What colour are your eye-brows ? 
 
 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 pi'ince. 
 
 One of these days ; and then you'd wanton with us. 
 If we would have you. 
 
 1 Ljady. She is spread of late 
 
 Into a goodly bulk : Good time encounter her !
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 459 
 
 Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you ? Come, 
 sir, now 
 I am for you again : Pray you, sit by us. 
 And tell 's a tale. 
 
 J\Iam, Merry, or sad, shall't be ? 
 
 Her. As merry as you will. 
 
 JMcim. 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 mc with your sprites : you're powerful 
 at it. 
 
 JMam. There was a man, 
 
 Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. 
 
 Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard ; — I will tell it 
 softly ; 
 Yon crickets shall not hear it. 
 
 Her. Come on then. 
 
 And givc't mc in mine car. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Antigoni's, Lords, and OtJiers, 
 
 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 ?-— * 
 AUu'k, for lesser knowledge!^ — How accurs'd. 
 In being so blest! — There may be in the cup 
 
 * In my jiist censure ? in mij true opinion ?] Censure, in the 
 time of our author, was generally used (as in this instance) for 
 jud<,nncnt, oj)inion. 
 
 ^ A/ac/c,Jor lesser knoxui-edge !'] Tliat is, that vij/ knowledge 
 "Kcre kss.
 
 460 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 A spider stecp'd/ and one may drink ; depart, 
 And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
 Is not infected : but if one present 
 The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye^ make known 
 How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides, 
 With violent hefts :^ — I have drank, and seen the 
 
 spider. 
 Camillo was his help in this, his pander :— r 
 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 toq 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 ? 
 
 Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not pome 
 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, 
 
 4 A spider steep'*d,'\ Spiders were esteemed venomous. 
 
 ^ hefts :] Hefts are heavings, what is heaved up. 
 
 * He has discover d my design, and I 
 Remain a pinch'd thing ;] The sense, I think, is, He hath 
 now discovered my design, and I am treated as a mere cliild's 
 baby, a thing pinched out of clouts, a puppet for them to move 
 and actuate as they please. Heath.
 
 T^ INTER'S TALE. 4(3l 
 
 And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying, 
 Howe er you lean to the nayward. 
 
 Leon. ' Vou, my lords. 
 
 Look on lier, mark her \Nell ; be but about 
 To say, she is a goodlif Iddj/, and 
 The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 
 *Tis piti/ shcs not honest, honourable: 
 Praise her but for this her without-door form, 
 (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and 
 
 straiiilit 
 The shru<j^, the hum, or ha ; these petty brands, 
 That calumny doth use : — O, I am out, 
 That mercv does ; for calumny will sear'^ 
 \'irtue itself -.—these shru<;s, these hums, and ha's, 
 ^^'hen you have said, she's goodly, come between. 
 Ere voii can say she's honest : But be it known, 
 Fron'i him that has most cause to grieve it should 
 
 be. 
 She's an adultrcss. 
 
 //(•;'. Should a villain say so. 
 
 The most rej)lenish'd villain in tlie world. 
 He were as nuich more villain : you, my lord. 
 Do but mistake. 
 
 Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 
 
 Polixenes for Leontes : O thou thing, 
 Which ril not call a creature of thy place. 
 Lest barbarism, making me the ])recedent. 
 Should a like lanf;iiaov use to all dt^grees. 
 And mannerh' distinguishment leave out 
 Jietwixt the prince and beggar! — I have said. 
 She's an adultress ; I have said with whom : 
 More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is 
 A federary" with her ; and one that knows 
 What she should shame to know herself, 
 
 u/V/sear— ] i. e. will siif,nnatize or brand as iufamous« 
 
 » // I'viltrary — ] i.e. confcdfruU'.
 
 462 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 yon, 
 When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
 You thus have publish'd me ? Gentle my lord. 
 You scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
 You did mistake. 
 
 Leon. No, no ; if I mistake 
 
 In those foundations which I build upon. 
 The center is not big enough to bear 
 A 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 
 
 lords. 
 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, 
 
 5* But ijoith her most vile principal^'] One that knows what we 
 should be ashamed of, even if the knowledge of it rested only in 
 her own breast and that of her paramour, without the participa- 
 tion of any confidant. — But., Avhich is here used for onlyy renders 
 this passage somewhat obscure. 
 
 ' i/e, voko shall speak for her^ is afar off guilty. 
 But thai he speaks.'] Far off guilti/, signifies, guiltij in a remote 
 degree. But that he speaks— means, in merely speaki7ig.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 463 
 
 Her. Who is't, that goes with me? — 'Beseeeh 
 your highness, 
 My women may be with me ; for, you see, 
 My phght requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; 
 There is no cause : when you shall know, your mis- 
 tress 
 Has deserved prison, tlien 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 vou soriy ; now, 
 
 I trust, I shall. My women, come ; you have 
 
 leave. 
 Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence. 
 
 \_E,veiuit Queen and Ladies. 
 i. Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen 
 
 again. 
 Ant. Be certain what you do, sir ; lest your jus- 
 tice 
 Prove violence ; in the which three great ones suffer, 
 Youiself, your queen, your son. 
 
 1 Lord. For her, my lord, — 
 
 I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir. 
 Please )-ou to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
 I'the eyes of heaven, and to you ; I mean. 
 In tliis which you accuse her. 
 
 ^int. 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, 
 Jf slie be. 
 
 * ni keep my stahJes xvhere 
 
 J I'jil^^r my ni/c ;] W Mennioiie prove unfaitliful, I'll never 
 tru>t my wife out of my niglit ; I'll always go in cmiples witii lier; 
 and, in that respect, my house shall resemble a stable, where clogs 
 are kept in pairs.
 
 464 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Leon. Hold your peaces. 
 
 1 Lord. Good my lord, — 
 
 Ant. It is for you wc speak, not for ourselves : 
 You are abus'd, and by some putter-on,^ 
 That will he damn'd for't ; 'would I knew the vil- 
 lain, 
 I would land-damn him :^ Be she honour-flaw'd, — 
 I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ; 
 The second, and the third, nine, and some five ; 
 If this prove true, they'll pay for't : by mine ho- 
 nour, 
 I'll geld them all : fourteen they shall not see, 
 To bi'ino- 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.^ 
 
 Ant. If it be so. 
 
 We need no grave to bury honesty ; 
 There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten 
 
 ^ ]mtfer-on,2 '• e. one who instigates. 
 
 4 land-dm'nn him .*] Mr. Steevens, after giving various 
 
 opinions ontliis expression, says, After all these aukward struggles 
 to obtain a meaning, we might, I think, not unsafely read — 
 
 " I'd laudanum him, — " 
 i. e. poison him with laudanum, 
 
 ^ I secH and fee]'* ty 
 
 As you feel doing thus ; and see xnthal 
 The instruments thatj'eel.~\ Some stage direction seems neces- 
 sary in this place ; but what that direction slvould be, it is not easy 
 to decide. Sir T. Hanmer gives — Laying hold of his arm : Dr. 
 Johnson — striking his brows. Mr. Henley thinks that Leontes, 
 perhaps, touches the forehead of Ardigonusxdth his fore and middle 
 Jingers forked in imitation of a. Snail's Horns ;yor these, or 
 imaginary horns of his own like them, are the instruments thai. 
 Jeely to which he alluded, 
 
 12
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 465 
 
 Of the whole dungy earth. 
 
 Leon. Whiit! lack I credit? 
 
 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord. 
 Upon this jjjround : and more it would content nie 
 To have her honour true, than your suspicion ; 
 Be hlani'd ior't how you might. 
 
 Leon. ^^^\v, \>hat need we 
 
 Comnume with you of this : hut rather follow 
 Our forceliil instigation ? Our prerogative 
 Calls not vour counsels ; but our natural goodness 
 Imparts this: which, — if you (or stupitied, 
 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 
 Pro}jerly ours. 
 
 A)it. And I wish, my liege, 
 
 You had onlv in your silent judgment tried it, 
 "\^'ithout more (nerture. 
 
 Leon. How could that be ? 
 
 Either thou art most ignorant by age. 
 Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's ilight. 
 Added to their familiarity, 
 
 (Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 
 That lack'd sight only, nought for apj)robation,'' 
 3^ut only seeing, all other circumstances 
 Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceed- 
 
 'Wt, i"or a greater conhrmation, 
 
 (For, in an act of this imj)()rtance, 'twere 
 
 Mo^-t jMteous to he wild,) I have des|)ateird in post, 
 
 'J'o s;ic!t'd l)c!j)li()s, to Apollo's temple, 
 
 ( leomeiies and Dion, whom you know 
 
 Of stuff 'd sufhciencv 'J Now, from the oracle 
 
 • nimolit for npprohation,'] Apprnhni'iou is put for prnnf. 
 atujl'd i^iijjkuiici/ ;] i. c. of abilities more thaii enough.
 
 466 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 
 Tlian 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 publick : for this business 
 Will raise us all. 
 
 Ant. [^.y.'V/e.] To laughter, as I take it. 
 If the good truth were known. \_E.veunt, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The same. The outer Room of a Prison. 
 
 Enter Paulina and Attendants. 
 
 Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; 
 
 \_Ed'it 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 
 
 9
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 4O7 
 
 I have express commandment. 
 
 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 j)ut 
 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. AVell, be it so, pr'ythee. \_Exit Keeper. 
 Here's such ado to make no stain a stain. 
 As passes colouring. 
 
 Re-cuter Keeper, with Emilia. 
 
 Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady ? 
 
 Kjn'tt. 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., 
 I am innocent as you. 
 
 Paul. I dare be sworn : 
 
 These dangerous unsafe lunes o' the king!* beshrew 
 them ! 
 
 " These dan^eroux unsafe lunes o* the ling /] I have no where, 
 but in our author, observed this word :idoi)tcd in our tongiii-, to 
 tignit'y /rcw.-y, lunact/. But it is a mode ol" expression with tlie 
 French. — // y a de la lune : (i. e. he lias got the moon in iiid 
 head; he is frantick.) Cotj^rave. " Liau; i'oliv. Lesjemmes unt 
 des lunes dam la tcU. Kichelet." Thkobalu.
 
 46s WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 He must be told on't, and he shall : the office 
 Becoines 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 tliriving 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; 
 Wlio, 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 crood. 
 
 Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 
 
 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 jjrocess of great nature, thence 
 Frec'd and enfraiichis'd : not a party to
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 469 
 
 The anoer of the king ; nor guiUy of. 
 If any be, the trespass of the queen. 
 
 Keep. I do beheve it. 
 
 Paul. Do not you fear : upon 
 
 Mine honour, I will stand 'twixt you and danfj-er. 
 
 [Exxuut. 
 
 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 tire, a moiety of my rest 
 Might come to me again. AV^ho's there ? 
 
 1 At ten. My lord? 
 
 [^Advancifig. 
 
 Leon. Ihnv does the boy ? 
 
 1 Atteii. lie took good rest to-night ; 
 
 *Tis hop'd, his sickness is diseharg'd. 
 
 Leon. To sec, 
 
 His nobleness ! 
 
 Conceiving the dishonour of his motlier. 
 He straight dei.'iiii'd, (h<j<)])M, took it decplv ; 
 Fastc iTd and iix'd the shame on't in himself; 
 Threw olVhis s]jirit, his a]>j)etite, his sleep.
 
 470 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 And downright languish'd. — Leave me solely:^ — go,' 
 See how he fares. {Ej^it 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 alhance, — 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 laugli, 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 
 me: 
 Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas. 
 Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent soul ; 
 More free than he is jealous. 
 
 Anf. That's enough. 
 
 1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; 
 commanded 
 None should come at him. 
 
 Paul. Not so hot, good sir; 
 
 I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,— 
 That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
 At each his needless heavings, — such as you 
 Nourish the cause of his awaking: I 
 Do come with words as med'cinal as true ; 
 Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour. 
 That presses him from sleep. 
 
 Leon. What noise there, ho ? 
 
 Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference. 
 About some gossips for your highness. 
 
 Leon. How ?   
 
 4 — — Leave me solely:'] That is, leave me alone
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 471 
 
 Away with that audacious lady : Antigonus, 
 
 I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me ; 
 
 I knew, she would. 
 
 ^-hit. 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, 
 Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it 
 He shall not rule me. 
 
 Ant. Lo vou now; you hear! 
 
 Wlien she will take the rein, I let her run ; 
 But she'll not stumble. 
 
 Paul. Good my liege, I come,— 
 
 And, I beseech vou, hear me, who profess 
 Myself vour 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 v/ere I 
 A man, the worst about you." 
 
 J^con. Force her hence. 
 
 Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes. 
 First hand me : on mine own accord, I'll oft'; 
 Jiut, 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. 
 
 \_Laylng dozen the Child. 
 
 in comforting your evils,'] Comforting is here used in 
 
 the lepal sense of com fort i fig anil abetting in a cnmnial aciion. 
 
 ' the worft aliotit j/w.] Were 1 the neakest of your eer- 
 
 varits, I would ycl claim the conibul against any accuser. 
 
 vol,. 111. O u
 
 472 WINTER'S TALE, 
 
 Leon. Out 1 
 
 A mankind witch ! ' Hence with her, out o' door : 
 A most intelhgencing bawd ! 
 
 Paul. Not so : 
 
 I am as ignorant in that, as you 
 In so entithng 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 
 
 Unvenerable 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 
 doubt. 
 You'd call your children yours. 
 
 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, 
 
 3 A mankind twVcA /] i. e. masculiue. 
 
 * thou art tvonian-tir'd,^ JVotnaJi-iir^d, is peck* d by a 
 
 woman ; he/i'pccled. 
 
 ' thi/ crone ] i. e. thy old worn-out woman. A croan Is 
 
 an old toothless sheep: thence an old woman. 
 
 ^ Unvenerable be tliij hands, iftJwu 
 Tak'st up t/ie priticessy bi/ that torced baseness — ] Leontes 
 had ordered Antigonus to take up the bastard ; Paulina forbid* 
 him to touch the i'rincess under that appellation. Forced is 
 Jahet uttered with violence to truth. Johnson.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 4/3 
 
 Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will 
 
 not 
 (For as the case now stands, it is a curse 
 He cannot be couipeird to't,) once remove 
 Tlie root of his opinion, which is rotten^ 
 As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 
 
 Leon. A callat. 
 
 Of boundless tongue ; who late hath l>i.'at her hus« 
 
 band, 
 An<l now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ; 
 It is the issue of Polixenes : 
 Hence with it; and, together \\'\\\\ the dam, 
 Commit them to the tire. 
 
 Paul. It is yours ; 
 
 And, might we Uiy the old proverb to your charge, 
 No like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords. 
 Although the print be little, the whole matter 
 And copy of the father : eye, nose, \\\), 
 The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the val- 
 ley, 
 The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; his 
 
 smiles ; 
 The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: — 
 And, tiiou, good goddess nature, which hast made it 
 So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
 The oidering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
 No yellow in't ;" lest she suspect, as he does. 
 Her children not her husband's ! 
 
 Leon. A gross hag! — 
 
 And, lozel,'' thou art worthy to be hang'd, 
 lliat wilt not stay her tongue. 
 
 Ant. Hang all the husbands, 
 
 That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 
 Hardly one subject. 
 
 ' So i/rllotv in^! ;] YtHfixv is tlif colour of jealousy. 
 •* Anj, lozfl,] A tcriii ol" contempt, inciiiiiiij; worthless, (li.<:« 
 l)oiie»t. 
 
 UO '2
 
 474 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 heretick, that makes the fire. 
 Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant; 
 But this most cruel usage of your queen 
 (Not able to produce more accusation 
 Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something sa- 
 vours 
 Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, 
 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. 
 
 Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I'll 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 da him good, not one of you. 
 So, so : — Farewell ; we are gone. [jE^.r/Y. 
 
 Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set 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 : 
 
 9
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 47 ij 
 
 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 hitlier. 
 Leon. You are liars all. 
 
 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better 
 credit ; 
 Wc have always truly scrv'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- 
 pose ; 
 Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
 Lead on to some foul issue : We all kneel. 
 
 Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows :— 
 Shall 1 live on, to see this bastard kneel 
 And call me father ? Better burn it now, 
 Tlian curse it then. But, be it ; let it live: 
 It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither ; 
 
 [7b Antigonus. 
 You that have been so tenderly ofticious 
 With lady Margery, your midwife, there, 
 To save this bastard's life: for 'tis a bastard, 
 So sure as this beard's grey, — what will you adventure 
 To save this brat's life ? 
 
 Ant. Any thing, my lord, 
 
 That my ability may undergo, 
 And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ; 
 ril 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. 
 
 Jut. I will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Mark, and perform it; (secst thou?) for 
 the fail 
 
 *> Sivivir hi/ t/iis .srvord,'] It was anciently the cuatom to 
 
 swear by the croi>!» ou tiic huiidlc ul" u sworiL
 
 4/6 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Of any point in t shall not only be 
 
 Death to thyself, but to thy lew'd-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 injustice 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 : 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens. 
 To be thy nurses I Wolves, and bears, they say. 
 Casting their savageness aside, have done 
 Like ojffices of pity,— :8ir, be prosperous 
 In more than this deed doth require! and blessing, 
 Against this cruelty, fight on thy side. 
 Poor thing, condcmn'd to loss ! 
 
 \_E.vit, zvith the Child. 
 
 Leon. No, I'll not rear 
 
 Another's issue. 
 
 1 Atten. Please your highness, posts. 
 
 From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
 An hour since : CUeomenes 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, 
 
 « «---- commend it strangely to some place,'] Commit it to some 
 place, as a strayiger, \vithout more provision.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 477 
 
 The great Apollo suddouly will have 
 
 The tnith of this apjx'ar. Prepare you, lords ; 
 
 Summon a session, that we may arraign 
 
 Our most disloyal lady : for, as she hath 
 
 Been puhlicly accus'd, so sliall she have 
 
 A just and open triid. While she lives. 
 
 My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me ; 
 
 And think upon my bidding. [^E.veufif. 
 
 ACT in. 
 
 SCEXE I. The same. A Street in some Toxcn, 
 
 Enter Cleomenes ajid Dion. 
 
 Clco. The climate's delicate ; the air most sweet ; 
 Fertile tlie isle ; the temple much surpassing 
 The conmion praise it bears. 
 
 Dion. I sliall report. 
 
 For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
 (Methinks, I so should term them,) and the reverence 
 Of the grave wearers. (), the sacrifice! 
 How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
 It was i'the oii'ering! 
 
 Cleo. But, of all, the hurst 
 
 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 oHhe journey 
 
 Prove as successful to the (jueen, — O, he't so I — 
 As it hath Ix'cn to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, 
 The time is worth the use on't.^ 
 
 Cieo. Great Apollo, 
 
 * 7'he time is worth the use on't.'] The time is tiMrth the use oti*/^ 
 means, the time which we have spent in visiting Dtlos, ha:i rc- 
 conjpL-nscd us lor the trouble of so ppwiding it.
 
 478 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 ! [E.veunt, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The same, A Court of Justice. 
 
 Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properlij 
 
 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 in justice ; 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. 
 OJji. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, 
 king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned 
 
 ^ 'Even to the guilt, or the purgation. 2 The word ei'ew is not 
 to be understood here as an advsrb, but as an adjective, signify- 
 ing egiial or ind^lrenf.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 479 
 
 of high treason, in covimitting adultery with Po- 
 ll xencs, king of Bohemia ; and conspiring icith 
 Cainillo, to take awai/ the life of our sovereign lord 
 the kin^, thy royal husband: the pretence^ whereoj' 
 bein^ by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Her* 
 inione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true 
 subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better 
 safety, to Jly uuay by night. 
 
 Jlcr. JSince what I am to say, must be but that 
 \Miich contradicts mv accusation ; and 
 The testimony on my part, no other 
 But what comes from myseli"; it shall scarce boot 
 
 me 
 To say, Aot guilty ; mine integrity, 
 Being counted falsehood,' shall, as I express it. 
 Be so receiv'd. But thus,-^If powers divine 
 Behold our human actions, (as they do,) 
 I 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 
 Ilath been as continent, as chaste, as true. 
 As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
 Than history can pattern, though dcvis'd. 
 And plav'd, to take si3ectators : 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'' 
 
 * prttence — ] le, In tliio place, taken for a scheme laid, a 
 
 dei ig >iJo nncil. 
 
 i — — uiinf iiilfxrili/, &c.] That is, my v/><«c' being accounted 
 xvickednets, my asicrtiwi of it will pass but ibr a lie. ralsehood 
 ueanii both treachery and //r. Johnson. 
 
 6 For life, I prize it — J Lijc is now to me only ^'^r/V/, ami 
 
 as huch only ik considered by mc ; 1 would tlicreibru willingly 
 dismiss it. JoHNko>'.
 
 480 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 merited to be so ; since he came, 
 
 With what encounter so uncurrent I 
 
 Have strain'd, to appear thus : if one jot beyond 
 
 The bound of honour ; or, in act, or will, 
 
 lliat way inclining ; harden'd be the hearts 
 
 Of all that hear me, and ray near'st of kin 
 
 Cry, Fye u]X)n 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 tirst.** 
 
 Her. That's true enough ; 
 
 Tliough '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, 
 
 .' 'T/s a derivative from me to minei] Tliis sentiment, which is 
 probably borrowed from Ecclesiasticits, iii. 11, cannot be too often 
 impressed on the female mind : ** The glory of a man is from the 
 honour of his ftither ; and a mother 171 dishaiiou?; is a reproach 
 unto her children." Steevens. 
 * / Jie'er heard yrf, 
 
 2'hat any of these holder vices wanted 
 
 Less impudence to gainsay tvhat they did. 
 
 Than topeyform itjirst.'] It is apparent that according to the 
 proper, or at least, according to the present, use of words, less 
 should be more, or xvanted should be had. But Shukspeare is very 
 imcertain in his use of negatives. It may be necessary once to 
 observe, that in our language, two negatives did not originally 
 affirm, but strengthen the negation. This mode of speech was in 
 time changed, but, as the change was made in opposition to long 
 custom, it proceeded gradually, and uniformity wa« not obtained 
 IhU tlirough an intermediate confusion. Johnson.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 481 
 
 (With whom I a:n accus'd,) I do confess, 
 
 I lov'il liim, as in honour lie requir'd ; 
 
 AA^ th such a kind of love, as nii^ht become 
 
 A ladv like me ; with a love, even such, 
 
 •So, and no other, as yourself commaHded : 
 
 Which not to have done, 1 think, had been in mc 
 
 Both disobedience and in^ijratitude. 
 
 To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had 
 
 spoke, 
 Even since it could s])eak. from an infant, freely, 
 That it was yours. Now, for conspiracv, 
 I know not how it tastes ; though it be dislfd 
 For me to try how : all I know of it, 
 1^, that C'amillo was an honest man; 
 And, whv he left vour court, the t::;ods themselves, 
 IVottino- no more than I, are ignorant. 
 
 Leon. Vou knew of his departure, as you know 
 IVliat \ ou liave underta'en to do in his absence. 
 
 Her. .Sir, 
 You speak a lanjz;uaQ;e that I understand not: 
 Mv liic stands in the leveP of your dreams. 
 Winch ril lay down. 
 
 Leon. Your actions are my dreamB; 
 
 You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
 And I hut dreaind it: — As you were past all shame, 
 (Those of \ our tact arc so,') so past all truth : 
 ^Vhich to deny, concerns more than avails: 
 For as 
 
 Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself. 
 No falher owninii; it, (which is, indeed. 
 More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou 
 »Shalt teel our justice ; in whose easiest passage. 
 Look for iiD less than death. 
 
 Htr. Sir, spare your threats ; 
 
 ' Mif lift stands in the level — ] ^ " ^^' '" ^^'^ ''^'^'''^ '''» ^^ ^ 
 mthiti tht rcacli. 
 
 ' (Those oj jour fact are S0y)~\ i. c.gueit.
 
 4S2 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. 
 
 To me can Hfe be no commodity : 
 
 The crown and comfort of my hfe, 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 com - 
 
 fort, 
 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. 
 
 1 Lord. This your request 
 
 Is altogether just : therefore, bring forth. 
 And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 
 
 \E.veimt cer^tam 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 
 
 'b 
 
 * Starred most unlucTcilij,'] i. e. born under an inauspicious 
 planet. 
 
 * strength o/" limit.] Strength to pass the limits of the 
 
 child-bed chamber.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 48J 
 
 The flatness of mv misery;-* yi^t with eves 
 Of pity, not revenue! 
 
 Re-enter Officers, nith Cleomenes a?id Dion. 
 
 0//L You here shall swear upon this sword of 
 justice, 
 That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
 Been both at Delphos ; and from thence have 
 
 brouo'lit 
 This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand delivcr'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 vvc swear. 
 
 Leon. Break up the seals, and read. 
 
 Offi. [_Rea(Is.'\ Ilermione is chaste, Polixenes 
 bl(uncless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous 
 tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten ; and the 
 king shall live without an heir, ijthat, which is lost, 
 be not found. 
 
 Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 
 
 Her. Praised ! 
 
 Leon. Hast thou read truth ? 
 
 Offi. Ay, my lord ; even so 
 
 As it is here set down. 
 
 I^eon. Tliere is no truth at all i'the oracle : 
 The sessions shall proceed ; this is mere falsehood. 
 
 Enter a Servant, hastily. 
 
 Sere. My lord the king, the king! 
 Leon. AVhat is the business } 
 
 Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it : 
 The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
 
   TAf flatness o/" wjy ;«/ifry ;] That i-, liow IcJw, how Ji-ci I 
 ain laid by my calamity. Juhnson.
 
 •484 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Of the queen's specd,^ is gone. 
 
 Leon. How I gone ? 
 
 Scrv. 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 : — Ijook 
 down, 
 And see what death is doing. 
 
 Leon. Take her hence : 
 
 Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover. — 
 I have too much belicv'd mine own suspicion : — 
 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
 Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon 
 
 \_Exeimt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm. 
 My great profanencss 'gainst thine oracle ! — 
 I'll reconcile me to Polixenes ; 
 New woo my queen ; recall 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, 
 W hich you knew g-reat ; and to the certain hazard 
 Of all incertaintics himself commended,^ 
 No richer than his honour : — How he glist«:!rs 
 
 * Of the queeri's speed,] Of the event of tlie queen's trial : so 
 we still say, he spedw^AX or ill. Johnsox. 
 ^' —— couiniendt'd,] i. e. committed.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 485 
 
 Tlioroucrh my rust ! and how his piety 
 Does my deeds make the blacker!'' 
 
 Re-enter Paulina. 
 
 Paul. ^yo% the while ! 
 
 O, cut my lace ; lest my heart, cracking it, 
 13reak too ! 
 
 1 Lord. Wliat fit is this, good lady ? 
 
 Paul. W\voX studied torments, tyrant, hast for 
 mc ? 
 What wheels r racks ? fires r What fla>'ing ? boiling, 
 In leads, or oils r what old, or newer torture 
 Must I receive ; whose every word desenes 
 To taste of thy most \a orst ? Thy tyranny 
 Together working with thy jealousies, — 
 Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
 For girls of nine ! — (), 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 beiraydst Polixenes, 'twas nothing ; 
 That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant. 
 And damnable ungrateful : nor was't much, 
 Thou would'st have poison'd good Cajnillo's lio- 
 
 nour,** 
 
 To have him kill a king ; jjoor trespasses, 
 More monstrous standin"; by : whereof I reckon 
 The eas.ting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 
 1\) be or none, or little, though a devil 
 
 ' Does iiii/ lUeds make the blacker /] This vehement retraction 
 of I.eontes, a<:coiiipaniecl with the confession of more crimes 
 than he wa* Ruspetted of, is aji^recable to our dally experience ^>t 
 the vicishitucles of violent tempers, and tlie eruptions of mind* 
 oppressed with guilt. Johnson. 
 
 " T/iou u:ouli{'.\t /unc pLiison'd good Camillo^s honniu\'\ llou 
 .sJxiuld Paulina know- this? No one had charj^ed the King with 
 tills crime except himself, wfiile Paulina was absent, attendmg on 
 *'f»riuit>iic. 'Ihe |)yt*t >wenis to liave forgotten thi*;. 
 
 11
 
 486 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't :® 
 Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death 
 Of the young Drince ; 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 wcrt. 
 
 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. 
 
 tJioush a devil 
 
 Woidd have shed tvater out of fire, ere donH ;] i. e. a devil 
 would have shed tears of pity o'er the damned, ere he would 
 have committed such an action.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 487 
 
 Paul. I ani sorry for't;^ 
 
 All faults I make, when I shall come to know them/ 
 I do repent : Alas, I have show'd too much 
 The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd 
 To the noble heart. — What's gone, and Avhat's past 
 
 helj), 
 Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction 
 At my ])etilion, I beseech you ; rather 
 Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
 Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege. 
 Sir, roval sir, forgive a foolish woman ; 
 The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool, again ! — 
 ril sj)eak of her no more, nor of your children ; 
 ril not remember you of my own lord. 
 Who is lost too : Take your patience to you, 
 And I'll say nothing. 
 
 Lton. Thou didst speak but well. 
 
 When most the truth ; which I receive much better 
 Than to be j)itied 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 cha})el where they lie ; and tears, shed there, 
 Shall be my recreation : So long as 
 Nature will bear up with this exercise. 
 So long \ daily vow to use it. Come, 
 And lead me to these sorrows. \Ftxeunt. 
 
 '> I am sorrjj JhrU ;'\ This is another instance of the sudden 
 changes incident to vehement and ungovernable minds. 
 
 VOL. III. I* P
 
 488 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea. 
 
 Enter Antigonus, with the Child; and a Mariner* 
 
 Ant. Thou art perfect then/ our ship hath 
 touch'd upon 
 The deserts of Bohemia ? 
 
 ; 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 thy 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 instantlv. 
 
 Mar. I am glad at heart 
 
 To be so rid o'the business. [^E.vit. 
 
 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 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, 
 
 * Tkuu art perfect then,'] Perfect is often used for certain^ vaeli 
 ^sured, or tvcU informed, by almost all our ancient writers.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 489 
 
 So fillVl, and so becominp; : in pure white robes, 
 
 Like very saiictity, she did approach 
 
 Mv cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me ; 
 
 And, gas})ing to begin some speech, her eyes 
 
 Became two spouts : the tury spent, anon 
 
 Did this break from her: GoOf/ Antigonus, 
 
 Shice fate, against tin/ better dhpuiilion. 
 
 Hath made t/ii/ person Jar tlic thrower-out 
 
 Of my poor babe, aeeording to thine oath, — 
 
 Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 
 
 There xceep, and leave it eri/ing ; and, for the babi 
 
 Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
 
 I prythee, ealTt : for this ungoitle business, 
 
 Put on thee by my Lord, thou neer shall see 
 
 Thy icife Pauhna more : — and so, with shrieks, 
 
 Mhe melted into air. Artrighted 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, 
 
 Ilermionc liath suti'er'd death ; and that 
 
 Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
 
 Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid. 
 
 Either for life, or death, upon the earth 
 
 Of its right father. — Blossom, speed thee well ! 
 
 \^Laying dozen the Child. 
 There lie ; and there thy character : * there these ; 
 
 \_Laying dozoi a Bundle. 
 Which may, if fortune j)lease, both breed thee, 
 
 pretty, 
 And still rest thine. The storm begins : — Poor 
 
 wretch, 
 Tliat, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd 
 'I'o loss, and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot. 
 
 ^ t/ti/ cliaracter :] thy description ; i. e. the writing after- 
 
 rarch ili*ct»vcreci with I'eriiitu. 
 
 F P'2
 
 4gO WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 But my heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I, 
 
 To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell ! 
 
 The day frowns more and more ; thou art like to have 
 
 A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
 
 The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour ? — 
 
 Well may I get aboard ! This is the chace ; 
 
 I am gone for ever. [^E.vit, 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 
 ovit 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 hav^e 
 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, browzing 
 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 Clown. 
 
 Clo. Hilloa, loa ! 
 
 Shep. What, art so near ? If thou'lt see a thing 
 
 3 A boy or a child,] I am told, that in some of our in- 
 land counties, njemale infant^ in contradistinction to a malt one, 
 h still termed, among the peasantry, — a child. Steevens.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 4gi 
 
 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. 
 
 Sliep. AVhy, boy, how is it ? 
 
 Clu. I would, you did but sec how it chafes, 
 Jiow it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but tliat's 
 not to the point : O, the most piteous cry of the 
 poor souls ! sometimes to sec 'em, and not to see 
 'em : now the shij) boring the moon with her main- 
 mast ; and anon swallowed with vest 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 gen- 
 tleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roar- 
 ing louder than the sea, or weather. 
 
 Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this boy ? 
 
 Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I sav^r 
 these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, 
 nor the bear half dined on the gentleman ; he's at it 
 now. 
 
 Shcp. 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. 
 
 Shcp. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look 
 
 thee iicre, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st 
 
   . flap-draponed //.] i. c. swallowed it, a£ our ancient 
 
 lopcra i>y^nillov<cdJ/ap-dra;^ons.
 
 492 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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.^ We are lucky, boy ; and to be so still, 
 requires nothing but secrecy. — Let my sheep go : — 
 Come, good boy, the next way home. 
 
 Clo. Go you the next way with your findings ; 
 I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, 
 and how much he hath eaten : they are never curst,'' 
 but when they are hungry : if there be any of him 
 left, I'll bury it. 
 
 Shep, That's a good deed : If thou may'st discern 
 by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me 
 to the sight of him. 
 
 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. 
 
 5 —   — a bearing-doth — -] A bearing^cloth is the fine mantle 
 or cloth with which a child is usually covered, when it is carried 
 to the church to be baptized. Percy. 
 
 ^ some changeling ;] i. c. some child left behind by the 
 
 fairies in the room of one which they had stolen. 
 
 ' YouWe a made old man ,-] i. e. your fortune's made. 
 
 • the next ?i'fly.] i. e. the nearest way. 
 
 9 — — never curst,] Curst^ signifies mischievous.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 493 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 E?iter Time, as Chorus. 
 
 Time. I, — thiit 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 receiv'd : I witness to 
 The times that brought them in ; so shall I do 
 To the freshest things now reigning ; and make stale 
 The glistering of this present, as my tale 
 Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
 I turn my glass ; and give my scene such growing. 
 As you had slept between. Lcontes leaving 
 The ertects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving, 
 That he shuts up himself; imagine me. 
 Gentle sjx.'ctators, that I now may be 
 In fair Bohemia; and remember well, 
 1 mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel 
 
 and leave the growth untried 
 
 Of that iiidc ^.'iip ;] Our author attends more to his ideas thau 
 to his words. 'J'/ic groivt/i of the ivide ^aj), is souiewliat irregu- 
 lar ; hut he means, the proicth, or progression of the time which 
 hlled up the gap of the story between I'crdita's birth and her six- 
 teenth year. 'I o leave this growth untried, is, to leave thr jwssagfs 
 ijf the intermediate years, unnoted and unexamined. I'ntried \i 
 not, perhaps, the word which ho would have chosen, but which 
 his rhyuifc rtfjuired. Johnson.
 
 194 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
 
 To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
 
 Equal with wond'ring : What of her ensues, 
 
 I hst not prophecy ; but let Time's news 
 
 Be known, when 'tis brought forth : — a shepherd's 
 
 daughter, 
 And wliat to her adheres, which follows after. 
 Is the argument of time : - Of this allow, ' 
 If ever you have spent time M^orse ere now ; 
 If never yet, that Time himself doth say, 
 He wishes earnestly, you never may. \_E.Tit. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The same. A Room in the Palace of Polixenes. 
 
 Enter Polixenes and Camillo. 
 
 I*ol. 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, 
 I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- 
 tent king, my master, hath sent for me : to whose 
 feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erwcen 
 to think so ; which is another spur to my departure. 
 
 Fol, 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, 
 
 * Is the argument of time ;] Argmnent is the same with suhjed. 
 
 ^ Of this allow,] To alloxv in our author's time signified 
 
 to approve. 
 
 ^ It is fi^een years,'] We should read — sixteen, according lo 
 -several preceding passages.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 49^ 
 
 >vitliout 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 nmch I cannot,) to 
 be more thanktul tO thee, shall be my study ; and 
 my proHt therein, the heapnig friendships.^ Of 
 that fatal country Sicilia, pr ythee speak no more : 
 whose very naming piniishes me with the remem- 
 brance of that penitent, as thou calTst him, and 
 reconciled kinjj, mv brother ; whose loss of his 
 most precious queen, and children, are even now 
 to be afresh lamented. ISay to me, when saw'st thou 
 the j)rince Florizel my son ? Rings are no less un- 
 luijipy, their issue not being gracious, than they are 
 in losing them, when they have approved their virtues. 
 
 Caui. 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- 
 j)eared! 
 
 Fol. 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, 
 tiiev saV; that from verv nothin<r, and beyond the 
 imagination oi his neighbours, is grown into an un- 
 speakable estate. 
 
 Cavi. 1 have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath 
 a d;iu<;hter of most rare note : the report of her is 
 extended more, than can be thought to begin from 
 such a cottage. 
 
 ' nnd }ui/ profit therein, the heaping friendships.] Frirnd- 
 
 xhips is, I bchcve, here used, with siijlicieiit hcence, merely for 
 friendly offices, Malo.s'E. 
 
 ■' nii'^singl},] Misiingli/, i. e. nt intenah, not tx)nstaiitlj.
 
 496 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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. [^E.vetint. 
 
 SCENE IE 
 
 The sa77de. A Road near the Shepherds Cottage, 
 E fit er AvTOLY CVS, singing. 
 
 n 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer. 
 
 With, heigh I the do.ry over the dale, —   
 Whij, then comes in the sweet dthe year ; 
 
 For the red blood reigns in the winters pale^^ 
 
 ' so7ne question — "] i. e. some talk. 
 
 * When daffhdils begin to peer, 
 
 And 
 
 Jag on, jog on, the foot-path ivay,'] " Two nonsensical songs, 
 by the rogue Autolycus," says Dr. Burney: who subsequently 
 observes, that " This Autolycus is the true ancient Minstrel, as 
 described in the old Fabliaux." I believe, that many of our 
 readers will push the comparison a little further, and concur with 
 me in thinking that our modern minstrels of the opera, like their 
 predecessor Autolycus, ore pickpockets as well as singers oi non- 
 sensical ballads. Steevens. 
 
 9 For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.'] The meaning is 
 the red, the spring blood now reigns o'er the parts lately under 
 the dominion of xvinter. The English pale, the Irish pale, were 
 frequent expressions in Shakspeare's time ; and the words red and 
 pale were chosen for the sake of the antithesis. Farmer*
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 497 
 
 The -white n/iect bleaching on the hedge, — 
 
 frith, hey! the sueet birds, O, hoxc tlici/ sing! — 
 
 Doth set mi) pugging tooth ' on edge ; 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark, tJiat tirra-lirra chants, — 
 
 /nth, hell! with, hey! the thrush and the jay: — 
 
 Are summer somis /or me and mif aunts,'^ 
 Jlhile ue lie tumbling in the hay. 
 
 I have seiTeil prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore 
 three-pile ;^ but now 1 am out of service : 
 
 But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? 
 
 Tlie pale moon shines by night : 
 And zihen I xcander here and there, 
 
 1 1 lien do most go right. 
 
 If tinkers may have leave to live. 
 
 And bear the soic-skin budget ; 
 Then my account I well may give, 
 
 And in the stocks avouch it. 
 
 My traffick is sheets ; when tlic kite builds, look 
 to lesser linen. INIy father named me Autolycus ; 
 who, being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was 
 likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles: With 
 (lie, and drab,^ I jiurchased this caj)arison ; and my 
 revenue is the sillv cheat:' Gallows, and knock, 
 are too powerful on the hi<;hway : beating, and 
 hanging, are terrors to me; for the life to come, I 
 -•lecp out the thought of it. — A prize ! a j)rizc I 
 
 ' /"'.-ft'"o ffi^ifi — ] \teThn])H proirfTinrr^ ]. c. thievish. 
 
 • mi/ fituits,'] Aunt appears to liuve been at this time a 
 
 tant word I'or a bawd. 
 
 ' xvore three-pile ;] i. e. rieh velvet. 
 
 "♦ IVith flic, and dra/t,] i. e. with ^'uminj? and whoriji^ 
 
 f the kill} c/iaU ;] Cant term for picking' pocki-t:^.
 
 49B WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 cock's mine. 
 
 \^Asick. 
 
 Clo. I cannot do't without counters. — Let me 
 see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast ? 
 Three pound of sugar ; Jive 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, se- 
 ven ; a race, or two, of ginger ; but that I may 
 ^^S ^—four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins 
 othe sun. 
 
 Aut. O, that ever I was born ! 
 
 [Grovelling on the ground. 
 
 Clo. I'thc 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 
 
 ^' tods:~\ " Every eleven weihex tods ; i. e. tvill produce a 
 
 tody or twenty-eight pounds of wool : every tod yields a pound 
 and some odd shillings ; what then will the wool of fifteen hun- 
 dred yield?" 
 
 ' three-man song-men ally'] i. e. singers of catches in three 
 
 parts. 
 
 * means — ] Means are tenors. 
 
 'J warden pa ;] Wardens are a species of iarge pears-.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. Agg 
 
 me more than the strij)cs I have received ; which are 
 mighty ones, and milhons. 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor man ! a milhon of heating niay 
 come to a great matter. 
 
 uluf. I am rol)bed, sir, and beaten ; my money 
 and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable 
 thino's put ujxMi me. 
 
 C/o. WlmU by a horse-inan, or a foot-man ? 
 
 Auf. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. 
 
 C/o. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, bv 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. 
 
 {^He/ping 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 : Ofter 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 
 
 ' Ktt/i trol-uiy dames:] Tron-madame, Frcncli. The old. 
 
 English title of this game was pioton-Ziolcs ; as the arches in the 
 machine through which the bails are rolled, resemble tiie cavitie* 
 made i'or pigeons in u ciovc-hoHH'.
 
 500 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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. 8wcet sir, nmch better than I was ; I can 
 stand, and walk : I will even take my leave of you, 
 and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 
 
 Clo. Shall J bring thee on the way ? 
 
 Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir. 
 
 Clo. Then iare thee well : I must go buy spices 
 for our sheep-shearing. 
 
 Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! — \_ETit Clown.] 
 Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your 
 gpice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too : 
 If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the 
 
 * motion of the prodigal son,'] i. e. the puppet-shelve then 
 
 caHed motions. A term frequently occurring in our author. 
 
 i Prisr, Jhr tnj life, prig ;] To prig is to Jilch. 
 
 ' 11
 
 ' WINTER'S TALE. 50i 
 
 shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my 
 inime put in the book of virtue ! 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the foot-path xcay. 
 
 And merrily hent the stile-a:* 
 A vierry heart goes all the daxj. 
 
 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 ^ive 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 obscurd 
 With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid. 
 Most goddess-like prank'd up:'' But that our feasts 
 In everv mess have folly, and the feeders 
 Digest it with a custom, I should bhish 
 'i\) see you so attired ; sworn, I think, 
 'lo show myself a glass. 
 
 •* hent the stile-a .-] To hent the stile, is to take hold ot'it. 
 
 5 your extremes,] That is, the extravagance of his ojndiui. 
 
 tQ obscuring himself" in a swain's wearing," while he '* pranked 
 LtT ui» most godde.vs-likc." 
 
 ^ Thr gracious mark — J The object of all men'n notice. 
 
 ' ——— prank'd up :] To prank i» to dress with ostentation.
 
 502 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 great- 
 ness 
 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 
 
 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 firc-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 
 Buj'n 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, 
 
 8 To ?ne, the difference — ] i. e. between his rank and hers. 
 
 '^ /lis Tvork, so noble. 
 
 Vilely bound up ?] It is impossible for any man to rid his mind 
 of his profession. The authorship of Shakspeare has suppHed him 
 with a metaphor, wliich, rather than he would lose it, he has put 
 with no great propriety into the moutli of a country maid. Think- 
 ing of his own works, his mind passed natui-ally to the binder. I 
 am glad that he has no hint at an editor. Johnson. 
 
 9
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 503 
 
 ^^'hich then will s])eak ; that you must change this 
 
 })nrpose, 
 Or I my lite. 
 
 Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 
 
 ^Vith these forc'd thoughts, I pry thee, darken not 
 The mirth o'the feast : Or I'll be thine, my fair. 
 Or not mv 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. lie merry, gentle ; 
 Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing 
 That you behold tlie while. Your guests are coming: 
 Lift uj) vour countenance ; as it were the day 
 Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
 ^Ve two have sworn shall come. 
 
 Per. O lady fortune. 
 
 Stand you auspicious ! 
 
 £)ifer Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo di^' 
 guhed ; Clown, jMop&a, Dorcas, and Others. 
 
 Flo. See, j^our guests approacli : 
 
 Address yourself to entertain them spriglitly, 
 And let's be red with mirth. 
 
 Shop. F\e, daughter ! when my old wife liv'd, 
 upon 
 This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook ; 
 Both dame and servant : welcom'd all : scrv'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 
 Witli labour ; and the thing slie took to quench it, 
 She would to each one sij) : You arc retir'd. 
 As if you were a feasted one, and not 
 The hostess of the meeting : Pray you, bid 
 Tliese unknown friends to us welcome : for it is 
 A way to make us better friends, more known. 
 
 VOL. III. Q a
 
 604 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 Pol. 
 
 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 w inter 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 floweis of winter. 
 
 Pe}\ Sir, the year growing ancient, — » 
 
 Not yet on summer's death, i>or on the birth 
 Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o' the sea-r 
 
 son 
 Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, 
 Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
 Our rustick 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 picdness, 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 
 
 * For / have — ] For, in this plgce, signifies — because that.
 
 WINTER'S TxVLE, 505 
 
 A ocntler scion to the wildest stock ; 
 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 
 Bv bud of noisier race : Tills is an art 
 
 AA'hich does nieud nature, — chanije it rather : but 
 
 The art itself is nature. 
 
 Per. 80 it is. 
 
 Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, 
 And do not call them bastards. 
 
 Per. rU not put 
 
 Tlie dibble'" in earth to set one slip of them : 
 "No more than, were I painted, I would wish 
 This youth should say, 'twere well ; and only there- 
 fore 
 Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you; 
 \\nt lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; 
 The mari2;old, that goes to bed with the sun. 
 And with him rises wee])ing ; 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 
 flock, 
 And only live by gazing. 
 
 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'die spring, that might 
 Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours ; 
 That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
 Your maidenheads growing: — O Proserpma, 
 For the fl(jwers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall 
 From Dis's waggon! dafl'odiis. 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim, 
 
 » dtbhlc — ] An instrument used by gardeners to make 
 
 holce iu the earth iox the retcj.iion ofjoung plants. 
 
 u a2
 
 506 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 But sweeter than the hds 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 
 
 flowers : 
 Methinks, I play as I have seen them do 
 In Whitsun' pastorals : sure, this robe of mine 
 Does change my disposition. 
 
 ^lo, Wh^t you do. 
 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
 I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
 I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
 Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs. 
 To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you 
 A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do 
 Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
 No other function : Each your doing,"* 
 So singular in each particular. 
 Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds. 
 That all your acts are queens. 
 
 Per, O Doricles, 
 
 3 , — tuolets, dint, 
 
 But sxveeler than the lids of Juno's eyes,"] I suspect that our 
 author misttikes Juno for Pallas, who was the goddess of blue 
 eyes. Sweeter than an eyedid is an odd image, but perhaps he 
 uses sxwd in the general sense for delightfid. Johnson. 
 
 4 — _ j^^ack your doingy &c.] That is, your manner in each 
 act crowns the act. 
 
 12
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 507 
 
 Your praises are too laroc : but that your youtli, 
 And the true blood, uhich fairly peeps tlirou«x]i it, 
 Do plainlv p;ive you out an unstain'd shepherd ; 
 AA'ith wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
 You woo'd me the false way. 
 
 Flo. I tliink, you have 
 
 As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
 To put vou 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. 
 
 Cld. Come on, strike up. 
 
 Do7\ Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, gar- 
 lick. 
 To mend her kissing with. 
 
 Mop. Now, in good time ! 
 
 Clu. Not a word, a word; we stand ^ upon our 
 manners. — 
 Come, strike up. \^Mitsick. 
 
 Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 
 
 Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what 
 Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter ? 
 
 Sliep. They call him Doricles ; and he boasts 
 himself 
 To have a worthy feeding :° but I have it 
 
 5 ur stand, &:c.'\ That is, wc are now on our behaviour. 
 
 ^ . a ivorl/ij/ IcciUn^ :] 1 conccivcjcedini^ to be a pastiirCy
 
 508 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Upon his own report, and I believe it ; 
 
 He looks like sooth : ^ He says, he loves my daugh - 
 
 tcr ; 
 I think so too : for never gaz'd the moon 
 Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, 
 I think, there is not half a kiss to choose. 
 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 bagpipe 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 : 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 d.ViA 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 
 
 and a xmrthij feeding to be a tract of pasturage not inconsider- 
 able, not unworthy of my daughter's fortune. Johnson. 
 
 ' He looks like sooth :] Sootli ir truth. Obsolete. 
 
 8 fadings ;] An Irish dance of this name is mentioned by 
 
 Ben Jonson, in The Irish Masque at Court. 
 
 9
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 50g 
 
 the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Jf'hoop, do 
 me no hurm.^ good man ; })uts him off, shghts him, 
 with fVhoop, do tne 7io harm, good man. 
 
 Pol. Til is is a brave fellow. 
 
 Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable- 
 conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?* 
 
 Scri'. He hath ribands of all the colours i'the 
 rainbow ; j)oints, more tlian all the lawyers in Bo- 
 hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to 
 him by the gross ; inkles, caddisses,' eambricks, 
 lawns ; why, lie sings them over, 'as they were gods 
 or goddesses ; you \vould thuik, a smock were a she- 
 angel : he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the 
 >vork about the square on't.* 
 
 Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him a}> 
 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, singing. 
 
 Lawn, as while as driven snow ; 
 Cyprus, black as eer was crozv ; 
 Gloves, as sweet as damask roses ; 
 Masks for faces, and for noses ; 
 
 ' unbraided wares ?] By unhraided tcarw, tlie CloiVTi 
 
 means, has he any thing besides laces which are brnidedy and are 
 the principal commodity sold by ballud-singinj; pedlers. 
 
 ' caddixses,^ Cndfli:i is, I believe, a narrow worsted gal- 
 loon. I remember when very young to have heard it enumeriited 
 by apedler among the articles of his pack. There is a very nar- 
 row slight ser^^e of this name, now made in France. J/i/clc is a 
 kind of tape also. Malone. 
 
 * ihr s/cnv-hand, and the work about the square o«V,] Per- 
 haps the sleeves and busoiu part of a shill.
 
 510 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Bugle bracelet, necklace-ambe7\ 
 
 Perfume for a ladys chamber : 
 
 Golden quofsy and stomachers. 
 
 For my lads to give their dears ; " 
 
 JPinSy and poking-sticks of steel, 
 
 What maids lack from head to heel: 
 
 Come, buy of me, come ; come bay, 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 cnthrall'd 
 as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands 
 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. 
 
 Afop. He hath paid you all he promised you : may 
 he, he has paid you more; which will shame you to 
 give him again. 
 
 Clo. Is there no manners left amono- 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 : Clamour 
 your tongues,"* and not a word more. 
 
 ^ kiln-hole,'] Kiln-hole is the place into which coals are 
 
 put under a stove, a copper, or a kiln in which hme, &c. are to 
 be dried or burned. To watch the kdn-hoh, or stoking-hole, is 
 part of the office of female servants in farm-houses. 
 
 * — — Clamour yowr tongues,] Perhaps the meaning is. Give 
 qne grand peal, and then have done. " A good Clam" (as I learn 
 from Mr. Nichols,) in some villages is used in this sense, signify- 
 ing a grand peal of iUl the bells at once. Maloni;.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 5n 
 
 ^[op. I have clone. Corned, you promised me a 
 tawdiv 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 ? 
 
 Aitt. And, indeed, sir, there are cozen ere abroad; 
 therefore it behoves men to be wary. 
 
 Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing 
 here. 
 
 Ant. I hope so, sir ; for I have about me many 
 parcels of charge. 
 
 Clo. ^^'lult hast here ? ballads ? 
 
 Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in 
 print, a'-life ; for then we are sure they are true. 
 
 ^lut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a 
 usurer's wife was brousrht to bed of twent>' m^nev- 
 bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat adders' 
 heads, and toads carbonadoed. 
 
 J/op. Is it true, think you? 
 
 ylitt. AVry true ; and but a month old. 
 
 Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! 
 
 jlut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mis- 
 tiess Taleporter ; and five or six honest wives' that 
 were ])resent : Why should I cany lies abroad ? 
 
 jMop. 'Pray you now, buv it. 
 
 Clo. Come on, lay it by : And let's first sec more 
 ballad? ; well buv the other things anon. 
 
 Ant. Here's anotiier ballad, Of a fish, that ap- 
 peared upon the coast, on Wednesdav the fourscore of 
 Aj)ri!, 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 exchanue flesh with one 
 that loved her: The ballad is very pitiful, and as 
 true. 
 
 you promised me n tawdry hiro,] Taxvdiics were a kind 
 
 ©f necklucfb worn by country wenches.
 
 512 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 have some merry ones. 
 
 Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one ; and goes 
 to the tune of Tzvo maids wooing a man : there's 
 scarce a maid westward, but she sings it ; 'tis in re- 
 quest, 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 1 7nust go ; 
 Where, ii Jits not you to know. 
 
 D. JFhither? M. O, whither ^ D. Whither? 
 M. It becomes thy oath full zvell. 
 Thou to me thy stcret6 tell: 
 
 D. Me too, let me go thither. 
 
 M. Or thou gost to the grange, or mill : 
 D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
 
 A. Neither. D. JPliat, fieither? A. Neither. 
 D. Thou hast sworn my love to be ; 
 M. Thou hast sworn it more to me : 
 
 Then, zvhither go'st 9 say, zvhither ? 
 
 Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves ; 
 My father and the gentlemen are in sad^ talk, and 
 
 * — — sad — ] For serious.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 513 
 
 wt'll not trouble them : Come, bring away thy pack 
 after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both . — .Ped- 
 ler, let's have the first choice. — Follow me, girls. 
 Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. [Aside. 
 
 jnil you buy any tapCy 
 
 Or lace for your cape^ 
 My dainty duck, my dcar-a f 
 
 Any silk, any thread. 
 
 Any toys- for your head, 
 Of the Jiexvst, andjin\st,Jinst wear a? 
 
 Come to the pedler ; 
 
 ]\Ioncys a medler, 
 That doth utter all mens zcare-a. 
 
 \_Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, 
 and iMopsA. 
 
 Enter a Ser\'ant 
 
 Strv. 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 gallimaufiy ' of gambols, be- 
 cause 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 ! we'll none on't ; here has been too 
 much humble foolery already : — I know, sir, we 
 weary you. 
 
 Pol. You weary those that I'efresh us : Pray, let's 
 see these four threes of herdsmen. 
 
 »[!cri . One three of them, by their own rej)ort, 
 
 ' That doth utter — ] To utter. To vend by retail. 
 
 " all men (jfhair ;] J\lcn of hair, are hairi/ men, or snli/rx. 
 
 A dance ol'satyru was no unusual entertainment in tlic middle 
 ages. 
 
 •^ thru call thcmsctves sultiers :] He means .SV////r.v. 
 
 ' gauiTnaf'/'ri/ — ] A confused heap oftliings tf)getlier.
 
 514 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 sir, hath danced before the kinor ; 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. 
 
 Sei^xi, Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit, 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with Txvelve Rustich, habited 
 like Satyrs. 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 docs 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 
 ITp in my heart; which I have given already, 
 
 * 1)}/ the squire.] i. e. by the foot rule. Esq-uicrre, Fr. 
 
 ? Pol. O, father, i/ouHl knoxv more of that hereafter.'] This is an 
 answer to something which the Shepherd is supposed to have said 
 to Polixenes during the dance. 
 
 '^ I straited — ] i. e. put to difficulties.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 515 
 
 But not deliver d. — O, hear me breathe my life 
 Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, 
 Ilath 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 ? — 
 I low prettily the young swain seems to wash 
 The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out :— • 
 But, to your protestation ; let me hear 
 AMiat you profess. 
 
 Flo. Do, and be witness to't. 
 
 Pol. And this mv neitrhbour too ? 
 Flo. And he, and more 
 
 Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all: 
 That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarcli, 
 Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth 
 That ever made eye swerve ; had force, and know- 
 
 Icdgrc, 
 iSIore than was ever man's, — I would not prize them, 
 \\'ithout her love : for her, employ them all ; 
 Commend them, and condemn them, to her ser- 
 vice, 
 Or to their own perdition. 
 
 Pol. Fairly offer'd. 
 
 Cam. This shows a sound affection. 
 Slitp. Bat, my daughter, 
 
 ^uy you the like to him ? 
 
 Per. I cannot speak 
 
 So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better : 
 By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
 The purity of his. 
 
 Slitp. Take hands, a bargain ; 
 
 And, friends unknown you shall bear witness to't : 
 
 * or the fann*d snmv, 
 
 TliaVi boUfd, Ac] The fine sieve used by millers to »«?pa- 
 r^tc iiuweriVum bruji ik culled u bulling clulh.
 
 516 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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, 
 I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
 Enough then for your wonder : But, come on. 
 Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 
 
 Shep. Come, your hand ; 
 
 And, daughter, yours. 
 
 PoL Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you ; 
 
 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 r 
 
 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 v/hose joy is nothing else 
 But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel 
 In such a business. 
 
 ^ dispute /'.ffi axon estate?'] Perhaps for dispute we might 
 
 read compute : but dispute his estate may be the same with talk 
 over his ajfairs. Johnson.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 51/ 
 
 Flo. I yield all this ; 
 
 But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
 ^Miich 'tis not tit you know, 1 not acquaint 
 Mv lather of this business. 
 
 Pol. Let him knovv't. 
 
 Flo. He sliall not. 
 Pul. Pr'ythce, let him. 
 
 Flo. No, he must not. 
 
 Ship. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to 
 orieve 
 At knowing of thy choice. 
 
 Flo. Come, come, he must not :— 
 
 Mark our contract. 
 
 Fol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 
 
 [^Discovering himself. 
 ^^'hom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
 To be acknowlcdg'd : Thou ^ scepter's heir, 
 That thus affect'sta sheep-hook! — Thou old traitor, 
 \ am sorry, that, by hanging thee, 1 can but 
 ►Shorten thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece 
 Of excellent wiiehcraft ; who, of force, must know 
 
 The royal fool thou cop'st with ; 
 
 She p. O, my heart! 
 
 Pul. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, 
 and made 
 More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, — 
 If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh. 
 That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never 
 I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession; 
 Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin, 
 Far than Deucalion off; — Mark thou my words; 
 Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for tliis 
 
 time, 
 lliough 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.
 
 518 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 That makes himself, but for our honour therein. 
 
 Unworthy thee, — if ever, henceforth, thou 
 
 These rural latches to his entrance open. 
 
 Or hoo}3 his body more with thy embraces, 
 
 I will devise a death as cruel for thee. 
 
 As thou art tender to't. \\E.rit> 
 
 Per. Even here undone! 
 
 I was not much afeard :^ for once, or twice, 
 I was about to speak ; and tell him plainly. 
 The selfsame 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 Florizel. 
 I told yon, 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 farther, 
 But milk my ewes, and weep. 
 
 Cam. Why, how now, father:* 
 
 Speak, ere thou diest, 
 
 Shcp. I cannot speak, nor think. 
 
 Nor dare to know that which I know. — O, sir, 
 
 [To Florizel. 
 You liave 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 ad- 
 venture 
 To minde faith with him. — Undone ! undone ! 
 
 o 
 
 7 / ivas not muck afeard : &c.] The character is here finely 
 gvistained. To have made her quite astonished at the King's 
 discovery of himself had not become her birth; and to have gi- 
 ven her presence of mind to have made this reply to the King, 
 had not become her education. Warbueion.
 
 WINTER'S TALE 519 
 
 If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
 
 To dio when I desire. [^E.vit, 
 
 Flo. ^Miv look you so upon me ? 
 
 I am hut sorrv, not afeard ; delay'd, 
 But nothing aker'd : AVliat I was, I am : 
 More straining on, tor plucking hack; not following 
 Mv leash unwillin<rlv- 
 
 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 purjx>se to him ; — and as hardly 
 A\'ill he endure vour sight as vet, I fear : 
 Then, till the fury of his highness settle. 
 Come not hefore him. 
 
 Flo. I not purpose it. 
 
 I think, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Even he, my lord. 
 
 Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be 
 thus ? 
 How often said, my dignit}'' would last 
 lUit till 'twere known r 
 
 Flo. It cannot fail, but by 
 
 The violation of mv faith ; And then 
 Let nature crush the sides o'tlie earth together, 
 And mar the seeds within ! — Lift up thy looks :— 
 From mv succession wipe me, father ! I 
 Am heir to my affection. 
 
 Cam. Be advis'd. 
 
 Flo. I am ; and hv 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 ; 
 
 *• and by mif fancy :] It must be remembered tliat J^wcy 
 
 ill our uutbor very often, us in this plaee, means love. 
 VOL. \\l. K R
 
 520 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 t!»e profound seas hide 
 
 In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 
 
 To this my fair belov'd : Therefore, 1 pray you. 
 
 As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend. 
 
 When he shall miss me, (as, in faitli, I mean not 
 
 To see him any more,) cast your good counsels 
 
 Upon his passion; Let myself and fortLine, 
 
 Tug for the time to come. Tiiis 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 v • r need. 
 
 Flo. joark, 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 j 
 Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
 And that unhappy king, my m. aster, whom 
 I so much thirst to see. 
 
 Flo. Now, good Camillo, 
 
 I am so fraught with curious business, that 
 I leave out ceremony. [Goingr 
 
 Cam. Sir, I think, 
 
 You have heard of my poor services, i'the love 
 That I have borne you lather ? 
 
 Flo. Very nobly
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 521 
 
 Have you deserv'd : it is my father s musick, 
 To speak your deeds ; not little of his care 
 To have them recompens'd as thought on. 
 
 Cam. Well, my lord, 
 
 If vou may please to think I love the king ; 
 And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is 
 Your gracious self; emhrace but my direction, 
 (If your more ponderous and settled j)roject 
 Mav surt'er alteration,) on mine honour 
 111 ])oint you where you shall have such receiving 
 As shall become your hi<ihness ; where voli may 
 Enjoy your mistress ; (from the whom, I see, 
 There's no disjunction to be made, but by, 
 As heavens forefcnd ! 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, Cam i Ho, 
 
 May this, almost a miraclc) be done ? 
 J'hat I may call thee something more than marl. 
 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 uildly do ;' so we profess 
 Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and llics 
 Of every wind that blows. 
 
 Cam. Then list to ine '. 
 
 This follows, — if you will not change your purpose, 
 
 ' Yuiir discontenting y?///!eri/mi<: to qualij'(j.'\ Discontenting is 
 in our author's language; the same as discoutentcdi 
 ' But as tlte uiithoiight-on accident is guilty 
 To what tir rii/dl</ do ;] (Jtidtij to, thougli it .sounds harsh ti^ 
 our ears, was the piira^eology of the time, or at least of Shak- 
 sipearc ; and thi^ is one of those passages that bliould caution wi 
 pot fo disturb hi.s text merely because the lauj^uu',^* apyears dif- 
 iVrcnt from that now in use*. M alone. 
 
 k )i 'i
 
 522 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 But undergo this flight ; — Make for Siciha ; 
 
 And there present yourself, and your fair princess^ 
 
 (For sOj I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes ; 
 
 She shall be habited, as it becomes 
 
 The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
 
 Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping 
 
 His welcomes forth : asks thee, the son, forgiveness. 
 
 As 'twere i'the father's person : kisses the hands 
 
 Of your fresh princess : o'er and o'er divides him 
 
 'Twixt his unkindness 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, 
 W' hat 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 ofl' one, to take another : 
 Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who 
 Do their best otfice, if they can but stay you 
 W here you'll be loath to be : Besides, you know. 
 Prosperity's the very bond of love ; 
 Whose fresh complexion and whose heart togetlier 
 Affliction alters.
 
 AVINTER'S TALE. 523 
 
 Per. One of these is true : 
 
 I think, affliciion may subdue the check, 
 But not take in the niind.'^ 
 
 Cam. Yea, say you so ? 
 
 There shall not, at your father's liouse, these seven 
 
 years, 
 Be horn another such. 
 
 Flo. My good CamiHo, 
 
 She is as forward of her breeding-, as 
 I'the rear of birth. 
 
 Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity 
 
 Slie lacks instructions ; for she seems a mistress 
 To most that teach. 
 
 Per. Your pardon, sir, for this : 
 
 I'll blush vou thanks. 
 
 Flo. My prettiest Perdita. 
 
 But, O, the thorns we stand upon! — Camillo, — 
 Preserver of my tather, now of me ; 
 The medicin of our house ! — how shall we do ? 
 AVe are not furnish'd like Bojiemia's son ; 
 Nor shall appear in JSicily 
 
 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 ap})ointed, as \%- 
 I'he scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir. 
 That you may know you shall not want, — cnie word. 
 
 I'J'fuy talk aside. 
 
 Enttr AuTOLYCus. 
 
 /lut. Ila, Iia! what a fool honestv is! and trust, 
 his sworn brother, a very simple <;i'ntleman ! 1 Ir.ivc 
 sold all my trunn>ery ; not a counterfeit stone, not 
 
 * But not take in the mind.'} To take in ancicntlj meant to 
 conquer, to get the better of.
 
 524 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 a riband, glass, pomander/ brooch, table-book, 
 ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn- 
 ring, to konD my pack from fasting : they throng 
 who shouia buy first ; as if my   inkets 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 
 gtuck in ears : you might have pinched a placket, 
 it was senseless ; 'twas nothing, to geld a codpiece 
 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 
 •svith a whoobub against his daughter and the king's 
 son, and scared my choughs from the chafl^ I had 
 not left a purse alive in the whole army. 
 
 [Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita, co??ie 
 forzvard. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ccim* Who have we here ?- 
 
 [Seeing AyxoLYcys. 
 
 ' pomander,] A pomander was a little ball made of per- 
 
 iumes, and worn in the pocket, or about the neck, to prevent ia- 
 fection in times of plague.
 
 WINTER'S TALK. 525 
 
 "We'll make an insTrumont of this ; omit 
 Nothing, may give us aid. 
 
 Ant. If tiiey have overheard me now, why 
 
 hanging. [^Aside. 
 
 Cam. I low now, good fellow ? why shakest thou 
 so ? Feai not, man ; here's no harm intended to 
 thee. 
 
 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 
 
 Catn. \Vhy, be so still ; here's nobodv 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. [A.fide. 
 
 Ciun. Nay, pr'y thee, despatch : the gentleman is 
 half t]a\'ed already.* 
 
 Aut. Are you in earnest, sir r — I smell the trick 
 of it. — [^A^iik. 
 
 Flo. Dcs})atch, I ])r'ythoe. 
 
 Aut. Indeed, I have iiad earnest; but I cannot 
 n ith conscience take it. 
 
 Cam. Unbuckle, un1)ucklc. — 
 
 [ Flo. and Autol. exchange garnimts. 
 Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
 Come honpc to you! — you must retire yourself 
 Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat. 
 And i)luck it o'er your brows ; ninifle your face ; 
 iJismantle you ; and as you can, dishken 
 The truth of your own seeming ; that you may, 
 (For I do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard 
 fict undescried. 
 
 * boot.'] That is, something over and above, or, as we novr 
 
 ia\, .sntiirthin-j to lutjt. 
 
 5 is luilf ^ny^i\ ahead ij.'\ i. c. lialf stripped ulicady.
 
 526 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Per. I see^ the play so lies. 
 
 That I must bear a part. 
 
 Carn, No remedy, — 
 
 Have you done 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. [.Thej/ converse apart. 
 
 Cam. What I do next, shall be to tell the king 
 
 [^Aside. 
 Of this 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 ! — 
 
 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 e.vtempore. The prince himself is about a 
 piece of iniquity ; stealing away from his father, 
 
 '' > fjohat have tve t'wainjbrgot f] This is one of our author's 
 
 dramatick expedients to introduce a conversation apart, account 
 for a sudden exit, &c. So, in The Merry Wives of Windsor ^ Dr. 
 Caius suddenly exclaims — " Q'ai/ foiiblie?" — and Mrs. Quicklj 
 »— *' Out upon't ! uhat have I forgot ?" Steevens.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. jo; 
 
 \vith his clog at his heels : If I thouoht it were not 
 a piece of honesty to acquaint the kin^ withal, I 
 would do't : I hold it the more knavery to conceal 
 it : and therein am I constant to my profession. 
 
 i 
 
 Enter Clown and Shepherd. 
 
 Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain: 
 Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
 ing, yields a careful man work. 
 
 Clo, Sec, see ; \\\\a\. a man you are now ! there 
 is no other way but to tell the kin<; she's a change- 
 liniT, and none of your flesh and blood. 
 
 Slicp. Na}', but hear me. 
 
 Clo. Nav, but hear me. 
 
 Shop, (io to then. 
 
 Clo. She beinir none of vour flesh and blood, 
 your flesh and blood has not otVended the kins^; 
 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. 
 
 Shtp. I will tell the king all, every word, yca^ 
 and his son's ])ranks too ; who, 1 may say, is no hf>- 
 nest man neither to his lather, nor to me, to ""o 
 about to make me the king s brother-in-law. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, brc)ther-in-lavv was the furthest off 
 you could have biru to him ; and then your blood 
 had l)etMi the dearer, by 1 know how much an 
 ounce. 
 
 Aitt. AVry wisely ; pupj)ies! [^As'uh. 
 
 Ship. AN'ell ; let us to the king; there is that in 
 this fardel, will make him scratch his beard. 
 
 ylui. I know not what mijH'diinent this comj)laint 
 niay be to the flight of my master. 
 
 Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. 
 
 Jl
 
 5'2S WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 jiiit. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so 
 sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket np my ped- 
 ler's excrement. — | Takes ojf his false beardr\ How 
 now, rusticks ? whither are you bound ? 
 
 Shep. To tlie palace, an it like your worship. 
 
 Aiit. Your aflairs there ? what ? with whom ? the 
 condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
 your names, your ages, of what having,'' breeding, 
 and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. 
 
 Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 
 
 Aut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy : Let me 
 have no lying ; it becomes none but tradesmen, and 
 they often give us soldiers the lie : but we pay them 
 for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel ; there- 
 fore they do not give us the lie.^ 
 
 Clo. Your v/orship had like to have given us 
 one, if you had not taken yourself with the man- 
 ner.^ 
 
 Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir ? 
 
 Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier. 
 See'st thou not the air of the court, in these enfold- 
 ings ? hath not my gait in it, the 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 I com- 
 mand thee to open thy affair. 
 
 ' of tvhat having,] i. e. estate, property. 
 
 8 therefore they do not give us the lie.'] The meaning is, 
 
 they iirejjuid for lying, therefore they do not give us the lie, they 
 sell it us. 
 
 '> — rvith the n-anjTcr.'] In tlic fact. 
 
 ' — — insinuate, or toze — J To insinuate, ar.d to ieasCj or 
 ioaze, are opposite. The fornner signifies to introduce itself oh- 
 liquely into a thing, and the latter to get something out that Mas 
 knotted up in it.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 529 
 
 Shcp. My business, sir, is to the king. 
 JkL What advocate ha'<t thou to him ? 
 S/uj). I know not, an't hke you. 
 Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; 
 say, you have none. 
 
 S/itp. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock, nor 
 hen. 
 
 yiut. How blcss'd are wc, that are not simple 
 men ! 
 Yet nature niig'nt have made me as these are, 
 Therefore I'll not disdain. 
 
 Clo. This cannot be but a great cwurtier. 
 Ship. His p;arments are rich, but he wears llicm 
 not handsoinelv. 
 
 C/o. He seems to he the more noble in Ijt iiin; fan- 
 tastical : a great man, I'll warrant ; I know, l-y tliQ 
 pickinij on's i-.x-lh. 
 
 yiut. Tiie fardel there ? what's i'the fardel ? 
 Wherefore that box ? 
 
 Ship. Nir, there lies such secrets in this firdel, 
 and box, which none must know but tlie king; and 
 which he shall know within this hour, if 1 may 
 come to the speech of him. 
 
 yiiu. Age, tliou hast lost thy labour. ' 
 
 S/icp. Why. sir? 
 
 j4ut. The king is not at the palace : he is gone 
 aboard a new siiip to purge melancholy, and air 
 liimself: For, if thou be'st capable of things se- 
 rious, thou must know, the king is full of grief 
 
 Shep. ISo 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should 
 have married a shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fist, let 
 him fly ; tile curses lie shall have, the tortures he 
 shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of 
 iJion'=ter. 
 
 C/o. 'J'hiiik vou so, sir? 
 
 j*l((t. Not he alone ^hail sufler what wit can make
 
 530 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 heavy, and vengeance bitter ; but those that are ger- 
 mane to him, though removed fifty times, shall al! 
 come under the hangman : which though it be great 
 pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling 
 rogue, a ram-tender, to oflfer 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. lias the old man e'er a son^ sir, do you hear, 
 an't like you, sir ? 
 
 Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive ; 
 then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the head 
 of a wasp's nest ; then stand, till he be three-quar- 
 ters 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 oftences being so capi- 
 tal ? Tell me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,) 
 what you have to the king : being something gently 
 considered,' I'll bring you where he is aboard, ten- 
 der your persons to his presence, whisper him in your 
 bchalfs ; 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 
 
 a the hottest day prognostication proclaims,'] That is, the 
 
 hottest day foretold in the almanack. 
 
 J being something gently considered,'] Means, / having a 
 
 s;cntlemanlike consideration given me, i. e. a bribe, ivill bring you, 
 &c.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 531 
 
 of his hand, and no more ado : Remember stoned, 
 and flayed ahve. 
 
 Sltt'p. An't please you, sir, to undertake the busi- 
 ness fur u?, liere is that gold I have : I'll make it as 
 mueh more ; and leave this young man in pawn, till 
 I bring it you. 
 
 Ant. Alter I have done what I promised ? 
 
 SItcp. Ay, sir. 
 
 Aut. ^\ ell, give me the moiety : — Arc you a 
 ])arty in this business r 
 
 Clo. In some sort, sir : hut though my case be a 
 pitifnl one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 
 
 ^'lut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son : — 
 Hang him, he'll be made an e\am})le. 
 
 Cln. Comfort, good comfort: we nmst to the 
 king, and show our strange sights : he nmst know, 
 'tis none of your daughter, nor my sister ; we are 
 sone else. Sir, I will \n\{t vou as much as this old 
 man does, when the business is performed ; and re- 
 main, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. 
 
 Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward th« 
 sea-side ; go on the right hand ; I will but look up- 
 on the hedH;e, and follow vou. 
 
 Clo. AN'e are blessed in this man, as I may say, 
 oven blessed. 
 
 Slitp. Let's before, as he bids us : he was provided 
 to do us good. 
 
 \_E.vciint She])herd and Clown. 
 
 Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune 
 would not sufter me; she dn»ps booties in my 
 mouth. I ;im courted now with a dt)uble occasion ; 
 gold, and a njeans to do the prince my master 
 good ; whicli, who knows how tbat may turn hack 
 to my advancement ? I will bring these two moles, 
 tljcse blind ones, aboard him : if he think it lit to 
 sliore tliem again, and tbat the comj)hiint lliev have 
 to the king concerns him nothing, let hint call lue,
 
 532 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 rogue, for being so far officious ; for I am proof 
 against that title, and what shame else belongs to'ts 
 To "him will I present them, there may be matter in 
 it. lE:vit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. Siciha. A Room in the Palace of 
 
 Leontes. 
 
 Etifer 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 lieavens have done ; forget your evil ; 
 With them, forgive yourself. 
 
 Leon. W^hilst 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 svveet'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 mal;e a perfect woman ; she, you kilf d. 
 Would be unparallcl'd. 
 
 -* Or, from tJie all that are, took something good,'] This is a fa- 
 vourite thought ; it was bcstcvcd on I}.iiranda and Rosalind be- 
 fore. JoiINiSOJf.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 533 
 
 Leon. I think so. Klird! 
 
 She I kiird ? I did so : but thou strik'st me 
 Sorelv, to say I did ; it is as bitter 
 L'pon thy tongue, as in my thought : Now, good 
 
 now, 
 Say so but seldom. 
 
 Clco. Not at all, good lady t 
 
 You might have spoken a thousand things that 
 
 would 
 1 lave done the time more benefit, and grac'd 
 Your kindness better. 
 
 Paul. You are one of tliose, 
 
 "Would have him wed again. 
 
 Diu)i. If you would not so, 
 
 Y'Hi pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
 Of his most sovereign dame ; consider little, 
 ^^'hat danfrers, by his hio'hness' fail of issue. 
 May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
 Incertuin 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 
 Vv'ith 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 kinir Leontes shall not have an heir, 
 'J7)l his lost child be found ? which, that it shall, 
 Is all as monstrous to our human reason, 
 As niv Antijronus to break his grave, 
 And COMIC again to me; who, on my life, 
 Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your coun- 
 
 •vcl, 
 JVIy lord should to the heavens be contrary.
 
 534 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 corps ; and, on this stage, 
 (Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vex'd. 
 Begin, And ivlii/ 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 
 Shou'd rift^ to hear me ; and the ^^ ords that follow'd 
 Should be, Rernember mine, 
 
 L.eon. Stars, very stars. 
 
 And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife, 
 I'll have no wife, Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Will you swear 
 
 Never to marry, but by my free leave ? 
 
 incense me — ] i. e. Instigate me, set me on. 
 
 ^ ahou'd rift — ] i. e. split.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 535 
 
 Leon. Never, Paulina : so be blcss'd my spirit ! 
 
 Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his 
 oath. 
 
 Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 
 
 Paul. Unless another, 
 
 As like Hermione as is her picture. 
 Affront his eye.^ 
 
 Clcu. (Jood madam, — 
 
 Paul. I have done. 
 
 Yet, \i my lord will marry, — if you will, sir. 
 No remedv, but you will; ^ive me the othce 
 To choose vou a queen ; she shall not be so young 
 As was your former ; but she shall be such. 
 As, walk'd your tirst queen's ghost, it should take 
 
 joy 
 To see her in your arms. 
 
 Leon. My true Paulina, 
 
 We shall not marrv, till thou bidd'st us. 
 
 Paul.   That 
 
 Shall be, when your tirst queen's again in breath ; 
 Never till then. 
 
 Enttr 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. 
 
 Lton. 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 forc'd 
 By need, and accident. What train ? 
 
 Gent. But few. 
 
 And those but mean. 
 
 Lcvji. His princess, say you, with him- 
 
 ' ^iff^f'^ff ^^'*' ''i/<'-3 '^^ aj/'ront, is to meet. 
 VOL. HI. S S
 
 536 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I 
 think, 
 Tliat e'er the sun shone bright on. 
 
 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 themc,)^ She had not been, 
 Nor teas not to be equaUd ; — thus your verse 
 Flow'd with her beauty once ; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd. 
 To say, you have seen a better. 
 
 Gent. Pardon, madam ; 
 
 The one I have almost forgot ; (your pardon,) 
 The other, when she has obtain'd your eye. 
 Will have your tongue too. This is such a 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 tlian any man ; men, that she is 
 The rarest of all women. 
 
 Leon. Go, Cleomencs ; 
 
 Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, 
 Jiring them to our embracement. — Still 'tis strange, 
 \_E,veunt Cleomexes, Lords, and Gentleman. 
 He thus should steal upou us. 
 
 Paul. Had our prince, 
 
 (Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
 Well with this lord ; there w^s not full a month 
 Jietween their births. 
 
 Leon. Pr'ytlice, no more ; thou know'st. 
 
 He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure, 
 
 ^ Is colder than that theme,)] i. e. than the hfeless body (jf 
 Ilerraione, the thane or subject of your writing. ^'lAtONB. 
 
 11
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 537 
 
 When I shall sec this s^entleman, thv speeches 
 Will brini;ine to consider that, which may 
 Unt'uniish me of reason. — They arc come. 
 
 Re-c)ittr Cleomenes, xcith Florizel, Perdita^ 
 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Your mother was most true to wedlock, ])rinec ; 
 For she did print vour royal father oil, 
 Conceivinix you : AWre I hut twenty-one, 
 Your father s imaj^e is so hit in y^") 
 His very air, that I should call you ))rother, 
 As I did him ; and sjjeak of somethini;- wildly 
 By us perform'd before. jVfost dearly welcome ! 
 And your fair princess, t^oddess \ — (), alas ! 
 I lost a coii})le, that 'twi\t heaven and earth 
 Mi<i;ht thus have, stood, be«;ettinp; wonder, as 
 You, oracious couple, do I and then I lost 
 (All mine own folly,) the society, 
 Amitv too, of your brave father; whom. 
 Though bearin<;' misery, I desire my life 
 Once more to look upon. 
 
 Flo. By his command 
 
 Have I here touclfd Sicilia: and from him 
 Give you all {^reetinu;s, that a kin<j;, at friend,^ 
 Can scud his brother : and, but infirmity 
 (AN'hich waits upon worn times,) luitii something 
 
 seiz'd 
 His wish'd ability, he had himself 
 Till- lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
 Measur'd, to look uptHi you ; whom he loves 
 (He bade nic say so,) more than all the scepters. 
 And those that })ear them, living. 
 
 Lton. , (), my brother, 
 
 '' thai a /iingy ■AXjiinnl,'] A( friend, per Imps means, nt 
 
 fric/iUi/iip. 
 
 US '1
 
 538 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 (Good gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee, 
 
 stir 
 Afresh within me ; and these thy offices. 
 So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
 Of my behind-hand slackness ! — Welcome hither. 
 As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
 Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage 
 (At least, ungentle,) of the dreadful Neptune, 
 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 dismissed ; 
 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, 1 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 daughter now have look'd on. 
 Such goodly things as you ?
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 539 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. Most noble sir, 
 
 That, which I ■^liall report, will bear no credit. 
 Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
 Bohemia "greets you from himself, by mc : 
 Desires you to attach his son ; who has 
 (His dignity and duty both east oft',) 
 Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
 A shej)herd's daughter. 
 
 Leon. Wliere's Bohemia ? speak. 
 
 Lord. Here in the city ; I now came from him : 
 I sjx*ak amazedly ; and it becomes 
 My mar\'el, 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 sceminp- ladv, and 
 Her brother, having both their country quitted 
 Witii this young prince. 
 
 Flo. Camillo has betray 'd me ; 
 
 W hose 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 jjoor men in question.' Never saw I 
 Wretches so quake : tiiey kneel, they kiss the earth ; 
 Forswear tluMHsolves as often as they speak : 
 Bohemia stoj)s his ears, and threatens them 
 With divers deaths in death. 
 
 Per. O, my poor fatlier I — 
 
 1l\\q. iieaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
 Our contract celebrated. 
 
 Leon. You arc married ? 
 
 ' — — ?7j (jucition.] i. c. conversation.
 
 540 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Flo. We are not, sir, nor are wc 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 daugliter of a king ? 
 
 Flo. She is, 
 
 When once she is mv wife. 
 
 Leon. That once, I see, by your good father*s 
 speed. 
 Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
 Most sorry, you have broken from his liking. 
 Where you were tied in duty : and as sorry, 
 Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty. 
 That you might wejl enjoy her. 
 
 Flo. Dear, look up : 
 
 Though fortune, visible an enemy, 
 ►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 
 mistress. 
 Which he counts but a trifle. 
 
 Paul. Sir, my liege, 
 
 Your eye hath too much youth in't : not a month 
 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such 
 
 gazes 
 Than what you look on now. 
 
 Leon, I thought of her. 
 
 Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 
 
 \To Florizel. 
 
 ' The odds for high and low's alike.'] A quibble upon the false 
 dice so called. 
 
 ^ Remember since you o'w'dno more to timey &c.] Recollect the 
 period when you were of my age.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 541 
 
 Is yet unanswered: I will to your father; 
 
 Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
 
 I am a friend to them, and you : upon wliich errand 
 
 I now go toward him ; therefore, follow me, 
 
 And mark what way I make : Come, o^ood my lord. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The scnnc. Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman. 
 
 Aut. 'Beseeeh you, sir, were your 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 : whereu])on, after a little ainazedncss, we 
 were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, 
 methoujrht 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 : — Hut 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 verv gesture ; they 
 looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or 
 one destroyed : A notable passion of wonder a})peared 
 in them : but the wisest beholder, that knew no 
 more but seeing, could not say, if the importance 
 were joy, or sorrow:* but ii^ the extremity of the 
 one, it must needs be. 
 
 * if tlir impnrtanco iverc jnijy or xnrrnw :~\ Importance 
 
 litre means, tlie tiling hnpoilcd.
 
 542 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Enter another Gentleman. 
 
 Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more : 
 The news, Rogero ? 
 
 1 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 
 deliver 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 his character : — 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 
 castin"" up of eyes, holding up of hands ; with 
 
 5 the affection of nobleness,'] Afcction here perhaps means 
 
 disposition or quality.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 543 
 
 countenance of such distraction, that they were to 
 be known by gaiment, 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 
 clipping her;" now he thanks the old shepherd^ 
 which stands by, like a weather-bitten conduit of 
 manv kinirs' reigns. I never heard of such another 
 encounter, which lames report to follow it, and un- 
 does description to do it. 
 
 2 Gent, ^^'hat, pray you, became of Antigonus, 
 that carried lience 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 : 
 lliis av<juclies the sliepherd's son; who has not only 
 his innocence (wiiich seems much,) to justify him, 
 but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina 
 knows. 
 
 1 (rC/it. What became of his bark, and his fol- 
 low ers ? 
 
 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their 
 master's death ; and in the view of the shepherd : 
 so that all tlie instruments, which aided to expose 
 the child, were even tlien lost, when it was found. 
 But, O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sor- 
 row, was fought in Paidina ! She had one eye de- 
 clined for the loss of her husband ; another elevated 
 that the oracle was fullilled : She lifted the })rincess 
 frnm the earth ; and so locks her in embracing, as 
 if she would })in her to her heart, that she might no 
 more be in danger of losing. 
 
 ^ fuvnnr.'] i. e. ((mntonancc, fcafiirofl. 
 
 ' ikilh tlip|»ii)j^ Itrr ; J i. v. enil)raciiig htr.
 
 544 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 ] 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 attentivcness wounded his daughter : till, from 
 one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 
 tdas ! 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 he is 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. 
 
 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 piece the rejoicing I 
 
 1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the 
 benefit of access ?^ every wink of an eye, some new 
 
 8 most marble therefl^ i. e. those who had the hardest 
 
 hearts. 
 
 " Who Kvould he thence^ that has the benefit of access ?] It was, I
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 545 
 
 fj^ace ^^ill hv horn : our absence makes us unthrifty 
 to our knovvledire. Let's along;. 
 
 [^Exeunt (lentlemen. 
 Aiil. Now, had I not the dasli ot mv former 
 hfe in na\ would preferment dro]) on nu head. I 
 hrouglit the old man and his son aboard the prince ; 
 told him, I heard him talk of a tardel, and I 
 know not what : but he at that time, over-fond of 
 the slie])herd's dau<;hter, (so he then took her to he,) 
 who bewail to he nnich sea-sick, and himself little 
 better, extremitv of weather continuin";, this mys- 
 terv remained undiscovered. Jiut 'tis all one to 
 iiie ; for had 1 been the iinder-out of this secret, 
 it \\ould not have ichshed among my other dis- 
 credits. 
 
 Ktilvr Shepherd (Uiil Clown. 
 
 Here come those I have done <i;ood to against Tuy 
 will, and already appearing in the blossoms ot their 
 fortune. 
 
 Shcj). Come, boni' ; I am jia^^t more children ; 
 but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen 
 born. 
 
 Cln. You arc well met, sir : You denied to fight 
 with me this other day, liecause I was no oentleman 
 born : See you these clothes ? say, you see them 
 not, and think me still no gentleman born : you 
 were be^t sa\', these robes are not gcTitlemen born, 
 (iive me the lie; do; and try whether I am not 
 now a gentleman born. 
 
 suppose, only to spare Iiis own labour tliat the poet put this whole 
 .'■CL-nc into narrative, for thou^'h part ofthe transaetion wits already 
 known to the audience, and therefore could not properly he shown 
 ajzain, yet the two kin^s Miij,'ht have nut upon tiic stai^e, and, 
 atter the cxuinination oi' the old Shepherd, the young lady might 
 Jiavc been recognised in siglit ottlic hpcctalors. Johnson.
 
 546 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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 we shed. 
 
 Skep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 
 
 Clo. Ay ; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so 
 preposterous estate as we are. 
 
 jlat. 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 r 
 
 Jlut. 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 
 
 ' franklins sai/ it,~\ Franklin is a freeholder ^ or yeoman^ 
 
 a man above a villairiy but not a gentleman.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 5-J7 
 
 lliou wilt be drunk ; but I'll swear it : and I would, 
 thou would'st be a tall fellow of thy hands. 
 
 Aiit. I u ill prove so, sir, to my power. 
 
 Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow : 
 If 1 do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be 
 drunk, not beins-^atall fellow, trust me not. — Hark! 
 the kings and tl)e ])rinces, our kindred, are <;oin2j 
 to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll 
 be thy good masters.. \_Ed\'iuit. 
 
 8CEXE III. 
 
 The same. A Room in Paulina's House. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Polixen'es, Florizel, Perdita, 
 Camillo, Paulina, Lc^ds, and Attendants. 
 
 Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great com- 
 fort 
 That I have had of thee ! 
 
 Paul. W'h.^t, sovereign sir, 
 
 I did not well, 1 meant well: All my services, 
 Vou have jxiid home : but that you have vouchsaf d 
 With vour crown'd brother, and these your con- 
 tracted 
 Heirs of your kingdoms, my }K)or house to visit, 
 It is a surjjliis of vour grace, which never 
 My life mav last to answer. 
 
 Leon. O Paulina, 
 
 We honour you with trouble: But we cairie 
 To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
 Have wepass'd through, not without much c(»\utent 
 In many singularities ; but we saw \nA 
 That which my daughter came to look upon, 
 The statue of her mother. 
 
 Paul. As she liv'd j^ccrless, 
 
 ^!>o her dead likeness, I do well believe,
 
 548 WINTEPJS TALE. 
 
 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 lifo as lively mock'd, as ever 
 S>till sleep niock'd death : behold ; and say, 'tis w^ell. 
 [Paulina undrazvs a Curtain, and discovers a 
 statue. 
 I like your silence, it the more shows off 
 Your wonder : But yet speak ; — first, you, my liege. 
 Comes it not something near ? 
 
 Leon. Her natural posture I — 
 
 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. — 73ut yet, Paulina, 
 Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; notliing 
 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 her 
 As she liv'd now. 
 
 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 coldiy stands) when first I woo'd her ! 
 I am asham'd. : Does not the stone rebuke me. 
 For being miore stone than it ? — O, royal piece. 
 There's m[\gick 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, 
 Dear queen, tliat ended when I but began, 
 Give me that hand of yours, to kiss.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 549 
 
 Paul. O, patience: 
 
 The statue is but uewly iix'd, the colour's 
 Not dry. 
 
 Canu Mv lord, vour sorrow was too sore laid 
 on ; 
 ^Miich sixteen winters cannot blow away, 
 »S(> nianv summers, dry : scarce any joy 
 Did ever so loni; live; no sorrow, 
 But kiird itself nmch sooner. 
 
 Pol. Dear my brother. 
 
 Let him, that was the cause of this, have power 
 To take off so nmcli grief from you, as he 
 ^\ ill piece up in himself. 
 
 Paul. Indeed, my lord, 
 
 If I had thou2;ht, the sight of my poor image 
 Would thus have wrought* you (for the stone is 
 
 mine,) 
 I'd not have show'd it. 
 
 Ja'o)i. Do not draw the curtain. 
 
 Paul. No lonuer shall vou gaze on't ; le«t vour 
 faiK?y 
 May think anon, it moves. 
 
 Leon. Let be, let be. 
 
 Would I were dfad, hut that, methinks, already — 
 What was he, that did make it .- — Nei-, my l<^rd, 
 "\\'<.»uld you not deem, it hrcath'dr Jind that tliose 
 
 v<'ins 
 Did verily hear bl<x)d r 
 
 Pol. Masterly done : 
 
 Tlic very life seems warm upon her lip. 
 
 Leon. The fixure of her eve has motion iiTt,' 
 
 ' vcrou^fit — ] i.e. worked, agitatctl. 
 
 * 'i'/ic fixure (>/' /itr c.yc has motion iii'l,] The nicaniu^^ is 
 thoLijili tile e)e be Hxed, [as the eye ola stutLie alway^* t^,] >*.'l il 
 seeiiih to havi- motion in it : that trejnulous motion, which is per- 
 ceptible in tin- eye ul' a living i)(,rivn, Uow umcU soever one en- 
 deavour lu fix it.
 
 550 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 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't 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 chiz- 
 
 zel 
 Could ever yet cut breath ? Let no man mock me. 
 For I will kiss her. 
 
 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. 
 
 Pe7\ So long could I 
 
 Stand by, a looker on. 
 
 Paul. Either forbear. 
 
 Quit presently the chapel ; or resolve you 
 For more amazement : If you can behold it, 
 I'll make the statue move indeed ; descend, 
 And take you by the hand : but then you'll think, 
 (Which I protest against,) I am assisted 
 By wicked powers. 
 
 Leon. What you can make her do, 
 
 I am content to look on : what to speak, 
 
 * As tve are mock'd xdth art."] As, is used by our author here as 
 in some other places, for " as ij." With has the fore© of by.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 551 
 
 I am content to hear ; for 'tis as easy 
 To make her speak, as move. 
 
 Paul. It is requird. 
 
 You do awake your faith : Then, all stand still ; 
 Or those, that think it is unlawful business 
 I am about, let them depart. 
 
 Leo)i. Proceed ; 
 
 No foot shall stir. 
 
 Paul. Musick ; awake her : strike.— 
 
 [Mustek. 
 Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more : approach ; 
 IStrike 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 ; 
 
 [Hermione comes dozen from the Pedestal. 
 Start not : her actions shall be holy, as. 
 You hear, my spell is lawftil : do not shun her. 
 Until you see her die again ; for then 
 You kill her double ; Nay, present your hand : 
 When she was young, you woo'd her ; now, in 
 
 age. 
 Is she become the suitor. 
 
 Leon. O, she's warm ! [Embracing her. 
 
 If this be magick, let it be an art 
 Lawful as eating:. 
 
 Pol. She embraces him. 
 
 Cam. She hangs about his neck ; 
 If she pertain to life, let her sj)eak too. 
 
 Pol. Av, and mak't manifest where she has 
 liv'd. 
 Or, how stofn from the dead ? 
 
 Paul. That she is living. 
 
 Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
 Like an old tale ; but it appears, she lives, 
 Though yet she +^pcak not. Mark a little whilc-^ 
 riease you to interpose, fair madam ; knocl, 
 
 VOL. III. Tt
 
 551 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good lady; 
 Our Perdita is found. 
 
 [Presenting Perdita, tvlio kneels to Hermione. 
 
 Her. You gods, look down. 
 
 And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
 Upon my daughter's head ! — Tell me, mine own. 
 Where hast thou been preserv'd ? where liv'd ? how 
 
 found 
 Thy father's court ? for thou shalt hear, that I, — 
 Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle 
 Gave hope thou wast in being, — have preserv'd 
 Myself, to see the issue. 
 
 Paul. There's time enough for that -; 
 
 Lest they desire, upon this push to trouble 
 Your joys with like relation. — Go together. 
 You precious winners all ; ^ your exultation 
 Partake to every one.^- I, an old turtle. 
 Will wing me to some w ither'd bough ; and there 
 My mate, that's never to be found again. 
 Lament till I am lost. 
 
 Leon. O peace, Paulina ; 
 
 Thou should'st a husband take by my consent. 
 As I by thine, a wife : this is a match. 
 And made between's by vows. Thou hast found 
 
 mine ; 
 But how, is to be question'd : for I saw her. 
 As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said many 
 A prayer upon her grave : I'll not seek far 
 (For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee 
 An honourable husband : — Come, Camillo, 
 And take her by the hand : whose worth, and ho- 
 nesty, 
 
 5 You precious winners all ;] You who by this discovery have 
 (rained what you desired, may join in festivity, in which I, who 
 have lost what never can be recovered, can have no part. 
 
 ^ . your exuUation 
 
 Partake to every onc.1 Partakehere means participate.
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 553 
 
 Is riclilv noted ; L\iid hero justitiod 
 By us, a piiir of kings. — Lot's from this pkce. — 
 "\^ hat r — Look ii})Oii my brother : — botli your par- 
 dons, 
 That o'er I put botuoon your holy looks 
 iMv ill susjMoiou. — Tliis your son-in-law, 
 And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,) 
 Is troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina, 
 Lead us from hence ; where wo may leisurely 
 F. ich one deinand, and answer to his part 
 Porform'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
 Wc were dissever d : Ilastilv lead away. 
 
 [Exeunt.'^ 
 
 ' This play, as Dr. \\'arburton justly observes, is, with all its 
 absuiclitics, very entertaining. The character of Autolycus is 
 naturally conceived, and stron^'ly represented. Johnsov. 
 
 EXD OF VOLUME THIRD. 
 
 r. Ibldvia, Pnour.
 
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